There is a lot in this life to be afraid of.  People hurting you, hurting your loved ones, even your own thoughts.  I’ve spent a lot of time afraid of my own feelings and probably will continue to be for some time.  I couldn’t tell you how long it will take for me to face it.

I haven’t met up with a friend in a year because I’m afraid of what I would feel when I look at her child.  My own thoughts paralyze me even when I just think about it.  My Elin should be playing with her child.  Have a couple of teeth like her child.  Saying mama or papa by now like her child.  I’m afraid to make her feel bad because of the way I feel.  I’m afraid that I will see her child and start crying.  I haven’t been to my daughter’s grave since her funeral because I’m afraid to break down again.  I ride the bus past several times a month and think I can go today but when the stop comes I just let it pass on by.  I had some of my daughter’s photos touched up because I was afraid someone would tell me she was ugly with purple blotches on her skin.  I was afraid someone would hurt me with their words.

Every day I live with the fear that my son will not get to come home with me when he comes.  I’m afraid I will have to bury another child.  I’m so tired of being afraid, but every day it comes.  Every day I make it through to fear another day.


A year and other things

A Year

Yesterday, a year has passed since we said hello and goodbye to our daughter Elin. I miss her everyday. The kids and I celebrated the day down at the beach. Playing in the sun and visiting with our neighbors upstairs. It was wonderful. I was expecting overwhelming sadness to hit me but it never did. Fleeting thoughts that she should be there with us enjoying the sun but not overwhelming. I really felt her with me and was able to face the day with a fairly strong smile on my face. Maybe now I can face going to her grave, we will see. When the time is right I will know.

Other Things

Baby is doing well.  Almost 17 weeks have gone by.   I’m starting to feel some movement on a regular basis but not much yet.  Hoping for a easy pregnancy to say the least.  We have an ultrasound right before midsommar.  So we’ll get to see the baby soonish.

Really looking forward to Midsommar this year.  We will be heading out to the country and hanging out with friends and family.  We’re having wild boar!  That will be interesting.

Hope everyone is having a great end of school year!  Will post again soon.

A break

So I have not blogged in some time.  Seven whole months to be precise.  Typing to everyone here day after day ended up being too much.  I felt like I was raking the coals over a smoldering burn.  My wounds no longer fester though.  They are forming scabs and very slowly starting to heal.  I don’t feel as raw and angry as I did back in October.  Elin’s first birthday is creeping up on me and I still have not been able to bring myself to visit her grave.  I’m afraid the scabs will fester again.  I’m afraid the anger will come back.  Maybe I can go on her birthday.  I still don’t know if I can.  I feel emotionally fragile around the edges.

Speaking of emotional frailty, we are expecting a new little one come late October or early November.  Most days I feel like a walking time bomb.  Worry, guilt, more worry, more guilt.  You get the idea.  Every time I feel that I can be happy about making it 11 whole weeks, guilt creeps up on me.  Like I’m betraying the memory of my angel both in my eyes and in the eyes of my living children.  Though I am sure this is not the case, my brain seems to think on rare occasions that it is.  Gah, pay no mind to the emotional woman behind the screen.  Some day she will lose her marbles but it is not today.  I know in the real world I honor my daughter’s memory by not allowing grief to rule my days, by moving with life again.  I honor her by keeping her in my heart.  She is with me always.

Okay enough emotional crap!  Or I will start to bawl and there will be no stopping it.  On a lighter note, I finally started Swedish for Immigrants back in January.  For the most part I am doing fairly well even with all the sickness my oldest daughter has had and all the appointments I end up having in the mornings.  I have found however Swedes do not talk like Americans and you can not directly translate everything you are thinking in your head.  Apparently while trying to say I am dissatisfied with the state of public toilets in Sweden, I was actually saying in Swedish I am dissatisfied with using the toilet in front of a public audience in Sweden.  Boy was that a laugh for the class.  I haven’t turned that many shades of red in a very long time.  While I am learning a lot, meeting people is still difficult.  I am the only one in my school who is a native English speaker.  Trying to make friends while talking like children in a foreign language is not easy.  Ah well I always have my Mums in Sweden, without whom I probably would have lost it a long time ago.

I have been granted permanent residency here in Sweden just earlier this month.  I can now work, study, and pay tax in Sweden without worry of being sent home when my temporary permit expires.  I am here without an expiration date!  It feels wonderful.  However, I can not vote as of yet.  That is for citizens and I don’t know if I’ll be taking that step or not.  That is years down the road so I do not have to worry about it just yet.

Spring has come to Stockholm!  The weather has been beautiful.  The trees are sprouting leaves, flowers are blooming and the birds are singing.  Twenty five degrees Celsius in the sun.  A wonderful breeze coming off the water.

With that I will end here for today.  I hope that wherever everyone who reads this is, life is good for you.  I love you Elin and miss you everyday.

Life’s Lessons

I miss my baby girl like there is nothing else in this world.  I know one day I will get to hold her again.  But if this has taught me anything it has taught me that life IS precious.

I feel that the Swedish people in general are very reserved.  No one smiles as you walk by.  No one looks up from what they are doing to smile as you walk by.  If you smile at them you get a very odd look.  Once you get into an inner circle, you are friends for life.  Breeching that wall sometimes is difficult.  I think I made a few feel that I should be locked away today.  On my walk to and from Skärholmen, to visit my doctor, I sang.  Loudly like no one else was there.  Oh did I get some looks.  I see people with mp3 players everywhere but I have yet to see or hear someone burst out in song.  Does it really matter what other’s think of you?  Truly?

Live life like there is no end to it, Sing loud and badly like no one can here you, Dance to your own groove like no one can see you and do it all in public!


I couldn’t think of a snazzy way to say I don’t know what to name this post.

The last months have been something out of a nightmare that feels like it is only getting worse.  I’ve fought depression my whole life.  I’ve been able to pull myself out of the episodes I’ve had even if it took some doing.  Not this time.  I finally had to ask for medication to help me.  I don’t want to put my kids through another round of psycho-mom.  This is something I’ve been unable to pull out of alone.  I’m hoping with the anti-depressants and therapy I can at least be okay some day.    I’m hoping that the therapist I see this afternoon has a really good understanding of the English language cause there are just some things you just can’t put into crappy Swenglish.


I know that no one in my life has told me that it would be fair.  Since I’ve actually become a grown up, and it didn’t happen when I was eighteen by the way, those rose colored glass have become more clear.  I know that life is not fair, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to stamp my feet like a child and scream about it’s unfairness.

As most of you know I recently suffered an ectopic pregnancy since losing my youngest daughter.  In all my reading through many different sites online, I’m finding I will have to wait until at least November to try for another baby.  Now not only has my chances of getting pregnant gone down by fifty percent, I have to wait even longer for my rainbow to come into my life.  I am not a patient person.  It is a virtue I lack in the worst way sometimes.  I can not even begin to explain my absolute NEED for another baby in my healing process.  I know that some people will understand while others think I’m absolutely off my rocker.  It’s perfectly okay.  I’ve been told that I’m just going to have to wait, that I should wait until I’m “over” the loss of Elin.  I will NEVER be over the loss of my child.  I will ache for her all of my days, even as I hold my other children.  I have accepted that she is not here with us.  I wish upon everything that is good on this earth that I could change it.  I can not.  I have accepted this as well.  That knowledge does not make everything better.  Acceptance does not put hope and joy back into my heart.

Speaking of acceptance, I am absolutely tired of hearing things like you just need to get back to your normal life.  This coming from my own doctor!  What the hell is normal anyway?  I get up every morning.  I take care of the munchkins and husband.  I laugh with them.  I play with them.  It is something I have to make myself do as I’d much rather not face the world at all most mornings but I do it all the same.  All the while I think about how I should have a three month old baby about now.  I look at the things I do with my oldest daughter and think I will never get to do this with Elin.  I will never get to put pretty pink bows in her beautiful brown hair as I dress up Linnea’s hair in the mornings.  I will never get to watch Elin sleeping as I sit and watch Linnea’s face as she is sleeping.  I will never get to watch Elin eat food as I’m wiping it from Linnea’s face and hair.  These are thoughts that sneak up and attack me when I least expect them to.  Don’t get me wrong I don’t analyze everything I do with my kids, but these thoughts are there.  Just like some days the thought of jumping in front of the next bus sounds good.  I don’t do it obviously as I am sitting here typing to the world.  If this is normal, I guess I have it completely pegged.

Well it is just about time to get my daughter from dagis……

Things just keep on getting better

So I was given the okay to try to conceive once my first period came after Elin was born into God’s arms.  Hubby and I decided that we weren’t going to try but we weren’t going to prevent either.  If it happened it happened.

Well it happened.  Three days before my second cycle was to begin I started feel the wonderful symptoms of pregnancy.  I tested.  I got two faint positives but a line is a line right?  The day after my second cycle was to begin, I started bleeding so I figured we had a miscarriage.  I can deal with this.  I’m not broken.  WRONG!  Two weeks later I’m still spotting and still feel pregnant.  I go up to the emergency room and they send me up to the emergency gynecology department.  I do the normal pee in a cup thing for them.  I really hate that by the way.  I’m still getting a positive pregnancy test.  Which is not abnormal but not too normal two weeks after a miscarriage.  We do an ultrasound.  I have still a hormonal cyst on my ovary, which is normal during pregnancy, that is telling my body I still need the pregnancy hormones.  I’m told that it should resolve itself and I can go home after I leave a few vials of blood.

A few days later, I’m getting ready to leave for T-centralen here in Stockholm to hand over my youngest son to his father as our summer together was coming to an end.  I started cramping so bad.  The kind of cramps that make you want to curl up in a fetal position on the floor and just cry for hours.  I figure that my body was getting ready to start it’s next cycle.  I’ve had these kind of cramps when I was younger.  WRONG AGAIN!  Keep reading I’m getting to the action part, really I am.

The next day we go to a scheduled meeting with the head midwife of the team that was taking care of us during our tragedy.  The autopsy results are all in.  There was NOTHING wrong with Elin at all.  Nothing that should have caused her death.  Even the knot in her cord was not the cause as it was not tight enough to stop the blood flow or even slow it down.  They found NOTHING!  I felt like she died all over again.  Even with the slightest thing wrong with her, I could at least eventually make some sense out of all this.  Her heart just stopped beating.  The midwife equated her with infants who die to S.I.D.S.  So I’m sitting there spiraling toward depression, she tells me she was apprised of the miscarriage and I needed to go upstairs to leave another blood sample.  So I’m seriously trying not to lose it while they are taking more vials of blood.  At least the technician doing it had the decency not to keep talking in Swedish when I told her I didn’t understand her.  We talked in pantomimes.  Someone walking in would have thought we were both deaf.

We get home.  I’m just in shock.  Not talking, not doing much of anything.  I tell the hubby I’m taking a bath.  This had to have been less than two hours after I let the vampires of the hospital take more blood.  We get a call from the hospital.  You need to come back in, your hormone level has doubled since you were here last.  Oh crap!  That’s all I could think.  Another ultrasound reveled a six week two day gestational baby in my fallopian tube with no heart beat.  Damn it all to hell!  I seriously feel doomed.  I get an I.V. in place, no matter how many times you tell someone that it doesn’t work in one certain place they are determined to make your life worse by putting it where it hurts the most.  I’m sent down the hall to my new room for however long it will take me to get on the emergency surgery list.  I was told that I had until midnight to eat something, then only clear liquids until six in the morning then nothing.  Hubby and I go get some food cause hospital food in general is just nasty, hospital food in a foreign country is worse.  He bought me some goodies.  He felt terrible doing it but he left me there so he could come home and take care of our kids.  The night nurse came in, turned off my light at nine o’clock and told me good night in Swedish.  Since when does a grown woman need to be told it was time for bed?  She came back in and was talking to me.  For the life of me I didn’t understand a word.  No matter how many times I told her I didn’t speak Swedish she still when on and on about something.  I wanted to slap her.  Jag pratar inte svenska.  Min svenska inte så bra.  How hard is it to get that I don’t speak your language?   If she spoke slower I might have understood some of what she was saying but yeah she didn’t understand anything I said anyway so why would she slow down.  I mean if it was me, okay she doesn’t speak my language maybe one of the other nurses on the ward speaks her language.  ARG!

The next morning I’m denied food or even water and offered a drip to keep me hydrated.  After a lot of whining and crying when they told me I couldn’t do something, I was wheeled down to surgery.  My body is then completely exposed then covered with a warmed blanket.  The male nurse put some saline into my I.V.  It hurt and he looked at me strangely telling me it shouldn’t hurt when he injects salty water into my veins.  He then moves the I.V. to my arm where I wanted it the day before but was told I couldn’t have it there cause it would hurt worse than the back of the hand.  I’m put to sleep, then I’m guessing they put their little guns in the incisions they made and a camera in my belly button.  I’m sure I looked like an old atari game.  Ms. Claw is going to get that evil offending tube and yank it right out.  I’m sure they were more delicate than that but you get the idea.  I wake up a few hours later to some guy puking and coughing in the bed across from me.  My entire right tube is now gone and the hormonal cyst was punctured to get it to drain.  I’m not sure at this point what that means for the future.  I was told that my body will compensate and still release an egg every month to be fertilized but I’m not banking on anything.

After being awake for an hour down in recovery, I’m wheeled back upstairs.  I snooze off and on for another hour.  Waking up every time the beeping in the hall came on, the one that alerts nurses someone is calling for them.  I finally get out of bed.  I’m restless, overly tired and extremely emotional.  I figured I would walk around.  I’m told I need to get back into bed.  I told the nurses, not no but hell no I was stiff I needed to move.  Not eating all day I was hungry.  I took my one hundred kronor and figured I would take the elevator down and walk the whole twenty steps to the pressbyran and buy me an apple.  Again going with the foreign hospital food is nasty thing.  The nurse told me I wasn’t going anywhere, I just had surgery I needed to lay back down.  I looked her straight in the face and told her I had surgery hours ago and to find me a doctor I wanted to go home.  So more crying and throwing a two year old tantrum, the doctor comes in and says it’s perfectly fine if I want to go home.  It was late so most patients want to stay another night.  I told her my fat arse is not not sleeping in that bed another night.  I wanted to go home.  As I was leaving the nurses were all talking under there breath, in Swedish, and giving me weird looks.  I’m sure they never want me back in their ward again.  I’m not a very good patient.

So I go outside to grab a taxi.  I ask in my limited Swedish if the driver speaks English.  He said he speaks a little and he would give me a ride.  He asked if I had money.  I told him that my husband would be waiting for us and would pay him then.  The ride home was not easy and the driver asked a few questions.  He asked me where I was from and I told him I was from America.  He looked overly pleased by that.  He was a middle eastern immigrant and for the life of me I couldn’t tell you which country.  We got there and my husband paid him.  I guess he was doubtful because he told him that he would have given me a ride for free because his country loves Americans.  I guess being from the country responsible for ferreting out Sudam Hussain, not sure if I spelled that right, made some countries happy according to this particular immigrant.

I’m now home feeling, once again, like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck maybe a Peterbilt but I can’t be sure I wasn’t looking.  I guess the gas they use to expand the abdomen makes your muscles in your upper arms and shoulders feel achy for a few days.

So much has happened in the last forty eight hours.  I’m really just not sure how I actually feel yet.  I’m still in shock over it all.  Elin’s death with no explainable reason, the tubal pregnancy, the surgery, losing hope for the future.  It’s all just too much right now.  I haven’t even processed it yet.  I’m sure I’ll be writing again in a few days about how unfair life is and how much it all sucks.

Am I ever going to get to see the sun again?

Should have beens

The should have beens are getting to me today.  Today I should be holding Elin, watching her try to hold her head up by herself, hearing her first laughs.  I don’t think any of this is fair.  I miss my little girl.

When I was pregnant with her I had read some things about the wives tales.  One of them said not to raise your arms above your head or you could strangle your baby with it’s cord.  Sadly I wonder if that really is true.  As a short woman I’m always having to reach for something above my head.  Could not doing that have saved my daughter?  Probably not, but once in a while it sneaks up on me and makes me feel like I could have done something, anything to save her.  In all reality, with a true knot in her cord, it seems like no matter if I went into labor the day I last heard her heart beating that this would have still been the result.

I remember sitting here playing poke the belly with her.  I poked in and she would poke out.  I left my hand there and she pushed out so hard with her foot she startled me.  I practically jumped out of my chair.  My poor husband was looking at me like I had lost my mind at first.  We would play music for her and she would calm down so fast.  I think she enjoyed it.

Elin, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you.  My heart aches for you.  My heart swells with love for you.  Someday I will get to hold you again.  Till then be the light in the dark for all of us.  I miss and love you so much.

Strange memories

I’m sitting here listening to Steve McDonald’s Sons of Somerled CD, some celtic music.  The strangest memory came over me.

About eleven years ago, I was married to a guy and lived with him in Southern California.  It wasn’t a lasting relationship to say the least.  My friend, David, and I were driving down from Independence, Oregon to San Diego to pick up all my things.  We took the truck.  Oh we had a blast.  Listening to crazy things on the radio, talking up a storm, sleeping at truck stops with his head hanging out one window and my feet hanging out the other.  What a sight we were to truck drivers I’m sure.  They probably thought a seven foot tranny was sleeping there.  Around three in the morning we’re flying down the road and this song came on an A.M. radio station.  A celtic song that sung about a walking cane.  I still to this day have not found that song online nor who sang it.  He was snoozing in the passenger side while I’m doing seventy down the freeway and we hear a clunk clunk.  David wakes up startled yelling what the hell.  The most disgusting stench was coming from the vents.  We both forgot to keep an eye on the oil on our wonderful trip and cracked the block in the engine.  We ended up in this little rinky dink town that didn’t even know how to take a credit card over the phone.  We had friends in the travel industry and they got us both bus tickets to the airport and a flight home.  His mom was so not pleased with us in the least.  I think she was mad at me for at least a year over that.

The things that come to mind when you are listening to certain music huh?

Getting There

I can honestly say that I am doing better.  I miss my baby girl like nothing else I’ve ever missed in my life but I have found acceptance.  I’m at a 65/35, good days vs bad days.  I think that is a pretty decent split at this point in time.

We recently spent a week out at my mother in law’s summer home.  It was the best medicine I could hope for.  Quiet reflection and peaceful surroundings always make me feel more myself.  It reminded me of my childhood days when we would spend time out at my grandmother’s farm.  Coffee on the deck, everyone gathered around the table for breakfast, watching the young trees bending in the wind.  I had only one break down while we were there.  My oldest son, Tristan, made me a birthday card.  He drew little stick figures and put names on them all.  He started drawing a sixth person, Elin, and crossed it off.  It sent me over the edge and started bawling once he was out of sight.  I didn’t want him to think I didn’t like his card because I did.  I think he thought it would make me cry if he put her on the card but unfortunately with her crossed off like that it had the same effect.  It hurt so much to see it, though I KNOW he didn’t mean anything by it.

I’m going to leave you all with a song.  It is very powerful to me.

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