Writing my Heart Out: A Dad’s Perspective

The following is a post from Double A, his first.

First and foremost I just want to say that I am so proud of my wife (E) and what she has accomplished through her Blog; the followers she has inspired and comforted and the bravery she demonstrates as she shares her (our) experiences through this terrible time. I love you Erin with all my heart.

I thought I would try this writing thing too and we’ll see what happens, although I don’t pretend to be as eloquent in my writing, as Erin.

To be honest I don’t know where to start I have so many thoughts, feeling and emotions running through my head that it seems impossible to sort out—Erin, I don’t know how you do this—but I’m going to try.

I guess to start…THIS SUCKS! Actually, writing, “THIS SUCKS” in all caps would seem like I’m angry and that’s not even it…at least right now. I should say, “i’m numb”. I type that in all lowercase because I don’t think there’s anything on this keyboard that is opposite of all caps and exclamation marks that can express feeling as numb as I do.

I don’t know what happened, seriously, WHAT HAPPENED! (Ok there I was a little angry). All I know is last weekend we were high off happiness. We were with friends, who are also pregnant and have lost in the past, watching the ND game eating Lou’s pizza (awesome pizza BTW and I’ll get back to that later on).

Sunday, we went out to buy some maternity clothes. Seeing Erin’s excitement and being a part of her fashion show-off was fun. Yep, everything was looking good for us; we were finally being rewarded for our persistence, patience and all of the hurt we had gone through with the past pregnancies.

The past few days have been a blur, but there are some things that stick out in my mind and keep running over and over again as if someone has strapped me to a chair and put toothpicks in my eyelids so that I HAVE to watch this horror movie play, self rewind, and then start over again. (BTW, toothpicks in my eyelids are about as accurate I can get in how my eyes feel with all the crying I have been doing.)

Ok, after a great Sunday…now slam on the breaks, here comes Monday—another day commuting into the office, working, and then commuting home. I got home early that night and was excited to relax; a little wine and a nice dinner followed by our shows. That night was the farthest thing from relaxing.  Little did I know I was going to spend the next few days in the hospital?

Have you ever had the feeling where you wish you could freeze time in the situation you were in right before that terrible thing happened to you? Let’s just say, I would still be on that road commuting home. I could just live in that time as long as the babies are ok. “If I’m still commuting home, then that means we won’t go to the hospital and we will still be pregnant.” Argh. it doesn’t work that way. Life keeps moving forward and yet, I can’t FAST FORWARD either. That horror movie reference I made earlier; yeah, not only is there no stop button, there’s no Fast Forward button either.

I remember the feeling I had as I told myself Monday evening before any doctors came in that it was going to be ok; that we’ll be home in a couple of hours…no big deal. And then that feeling turned into panic once I realized we weren’t going anywhere and we were in trouble. I had to make that damn call again to our parents that we were once again in the hospital…the same call we had to make the last time this happened.

Monday evening turned into Tuesday early morning with little to no sleep, followed by Tuesday (shit I even have to stop right now to figure out what happened next, things are so foggy). Um…Tuesday late afternoon it all went to crap. Short version, we lost our children. All I could think was, we started out with 3 and now have none.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. I can’t get the image of Erin in pain out of my head. I was so angry. I don’t know if I believe in God; I don’t know if I still have my spiritual beliefs anymore, but in my head I yelled as loud as I could to “someone or something up there, beyond us”…”I fucking hate you!” And, somehow through all this I still want to believe there’s something so I apologized for saying that; don’t know to whom but I did.

It’s just that I’ve never seen Erin in so much pain and yell out like she did and as I’m writing this it still haunts me and probably will for some time. Great, so not only do I have to freak’n morn my children buried in the ground, I get to relive Erin’s crying out in pain too. Sometime I wish I were a heartless SOB so I wouldn’t have to feel this way, but then again all I have right now is the pain to remember my children.

I will say that if I could see one shred of positive in this whole thing it’s the amount of love and support from our friends and family. To hold onto that that helps a little so I’m thankful for that.

The other thing I am noticing now is not only an emotional numbness but also a physical numbness. That Lou’s pizza I was talking about earlier; last night we had that for dinner and I might as well have been eating cardboard. That wine I was also drinking…yeah that had no flavor and the funny movie we rented with Jason Segal, who we love, not as funny. So I feel like Erin and I are walking zombies, just going through the motions but nobody’s home.

So I’m not sure why I wrote this; I still feel like crap but if there are any guys out there who are going through what I am going through or have gone through this, maybe this will help them express their feelings or reach out too or simply know that this affects the guy just as much as the woman.

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6 thoughts on “Writing my Heart Out: A Dad’s Perspective

  1. I am so incredibly sorry. For your pain, for your losses and for the cruel, cruel twist fate. Thinking of you, your wife and your angel babies.

  2. Here from LFCA — First, I just want to say to both of you how incredibly sorry I am for your losses. Please know, both of you, that you’re not alone in this tragedy. I wish the internet could be there to scoop you both up and hug you, but you’ll need to know we’re doing that virtually. Second, thank you both for writing. It does suck. It is horrible. My daughter’s week was also a nightmare that I’d like to forget, which is I suppose a terrible thing to think being that that’s the only time she was here. It’s awful that the children’s memory is wrapped in this horrific package — believe me, I’ve often wondered if a select lobotomy was in order. And like you, I often wondered if I could freeze time somewhere long before the horrible thing, and just stay there so I’d never know. Finally, people often speak of losing some sense during grief; my therapist claimed she lost her sense of color when her mother died, and like you, I lost my sense of taste for quite some time.

    We’re all on this side now. Holding you all in my heart.

  3. AA–Thanks so much for sharing. It’s been clear to me from the beginning that E is so LUCKY to have you as a partner through all of this. I also have a partner but he’s a little on the “stoic”/repressed side, which has been SO hard. You two are “blessed” (mixed feelings re that word! but it’s more than “luck”) to have each other, and to have your steely resolves to make it to the finish line, one way or the other. Thinking of you every day.

    XXX MTM

  4. Thank you for writing this, A. For being brave enough to put your thoughts and feelings out there. Too often, we expect men to fall to the wayside and be the strong one. Too often, we don’t take into account that you guys are hurting too.

    I’m so sorry you and E are not holding your children. That who are mourning them. No parent should have to live through this. Thinking of you both and sending so much love.

  5. Pingback: Things We’re Not Supposed to Say | Will CarryOn

  6. AA,
    My heart aches for you and E.
    S. had kept me apprised of how things were going–how happy you two were–and then delivered the devastating news about your tragic loss; we cried; we know how much you loved them. We hurt for you.
    As someone who has also experienced the worst possible nightmare of losing an infant child, I won’t insult you by saying everything will be all right. Knife-in-heart-ish reminders like the standard seemingly innocuous question “how many kids do you have?” will haunt us until the end of our days.
    Yes, this fucking sucks. FUCKING SUCKS BIG TIME. You didn’t deserve this. E didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this. Your kids belong with you. Our kids always belong with us. I want to knock people’s teeth out when they say everything happens for a reason. NO REASON will ever justify this tragedy and others like it.
    Everyone deals with grief and loss differently, so please understand that the only way I know how to deal with it (and I want to stress “deal with it” versus overcome it) is my own way and may not be yours. But I deal with my loss by being as supportive of and attentive to my wife as I could, despite the unbelievable difficulty that healing at different paces presents. I also focus on forcing myself to do good for other people (usually strangers) even though it was difficult to see the point of doing much of anything. I also let myself cry when I feel like crying, yet embrace those times when I do feel happiness, ie. won’t allow myself to feel guilty when I feel happy (this was and still is something S struggles with).
    I’m sorry I missed the service, but would be happy to buy you a drink, or several, if you ever need to get out of the house and talk.
    With sympathy and love,
    D.

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