A bit more of the same

The sadness is really hitting me hard. I think in a way that's better than just being enraged and frustrated with everything all the time, though. I believe that is part of how I block the sadness because I'm so afraid of actually feeling it.

This afternoon I found all the unlabeled videos, nearly all of which, I'm sure, have some amount of Hannah video footage. Mostly between ages 6 months to 2 years old; we seemed to stop taking so many videos then and did more stills.

I do have some great stuff that other friends took -- one in particular I will always treasure, and I think I will show it to Emily when the time is right. The day I went into labor with Emily, my friend Pam came over to pick up Hannah so she could spend the day there, giving me a break and playing with Pam's daughter Laura (preschool buddy). I didn't realize I was actually in labor until a bit after Hannah left.

So after Jon comes back home, and we decide to go to the hospital, I call Pam to let her know the situation. She then got out her video camera and while filming, told Hannah the news that we were going to the hospital so that the baby could come out. Hannah was absolutely overjoyed and excited -- jumping up and down and yelling about how her baby sister was coming. I will always be so grateful to Pam for having the foresight to videotape that moment.

So I watched a few of the baby videos today. Oddly enough, they didn't make me as sad (after I'd already had a crying jag in the a.m.). Instead, they just made me feel happy, as though somehow she wasn't completely lost to us, and reliving a lot of the memories was fun too. Her first birthday party is a very special one, not just for the occasion, but for old friends who were there at the party, people we haven't seen for a long time and are missed.

I also felt a completely egotistical swell of pride at seeing how absolutely gorgeous she was as a baby, and how smiley and happy her disposition was. She was like the kind of baby you see in baby shampoo commercials or in movies -- just completely adorable. From the first minute of her life until the very end, I was so completely proud of her (even when she drove me batshit crazy). Everyone was so taken with her, was charmed by how she always smiled at and tried to interact with everyone she saw, how much joy she seemed to be always filled with. That never changed. She had so many friends, and wanted to make friends with everyone she ever met. Everybody who ever taught her or coached her or babysat her adored her. I remember the first time I had a conference with Laura W., her preschool teacher. After talking about the concepts and activities that the kids were doing, and telling me how well Hannah was settling in and how much fun she was having, she said: "Well, whatever you're doing with her, just keep doing it -- she is a joy to have in my class."

She had her moments, her annoying habits, the occasional tantrum or bratty spell, and was quite proficient at whining when she wanted to be, but looking back, she really was an easy child (after the colic stopped). I just wonder why a kid like that had to be taken away so early. She would have made some kind of difference in the world. I don't even know how to express it without it sounding like a eulogy.

That makes me feel even worse about my difficulty coping with Emily. It's like in a way I find no joy in parenting any more, and it isn't because of Emily at all -- it's because I am not well. I love Emily, as I loved Hannah, with every fiber of my being and then some. I have happy times with her every day, we do have a very strong bond -- I even miss her at night sometimes, when she's in her room and we're in ours, and I am proud of her too. But I do not feel the same joy I felt with Hannah, or the same excitement about her future, or the same savoring of even the small moments with her.

Am I, on some level, angry because she isn't Hannah? I haven't wanted to even consider that but I can't account for my overall feelings any other way. I have to repeat here that it isn't actually Emily I have the problem with -- but the loss of Hannah and the emptiness that her absence has created in me. I am just not a whole person any more, and I don't know how to be, or if it's even possible. It's almost like the grief is just now setting in, which seems crazy considering it's been 21 months since the accident.

But I don't want to ruin Emily's life or her emotional well-being with my grief or anger or depression. I want her to know that she is just as important, that we love her as much and are proud of her, and that she doesn't have to do anything to make up for Hannah's absence -- we just want her and love her as she is. But then WHY can't I actually COPE with the simple everyday reality of Emily? It's like there's some kind of noise or wall or something that prevents me from tapping into the love and joy I have with her and just LIVING it, constantly and always. It comes and goes in jagged irregular patches, and sometimes there is far too much nothingness in between those patches of joy.

Maybe I don't let myself feel my love for her as much because there is too much at stake -- I absolutely cannot go through anything like this again and for some reason, on some level, I'm afraid to be close to her in case something happens.

??? I don't know. I know this is one for the therapist, but I have a hard time opening up about this stuff even to him. I can kind of talk about it with Jon, but it's difficult, because he's also under a crushing emotional load and we both need to be at least minimally functional.