Remembering My Babies

Well, the one month anniversary of Beau and Maisie's passing has come and gone.  I wanted it to be memorable, but I think I failed.  My husband and I fought over what to do and by the time we made up, it was so late that most stores were closed.  We did go to Lowe's and get a ladder-style shelf to put in the living room.  Currently, it holds a lamp, the babies' urn, two stuffed elephants that Tender Mercies gave us, a little wooden plaque given to us by our cousins, and their memory box from the hospital.  It's looking pretty sparse at the moment, but we decided that on each month anniversary, we will add something to the shelf.  Once we reach their annual birthday, we will celebrate and come up with something different to do.  At that point, the shelf should be pretty full.

While the shelf is beautiful, I am bummed about how the day went.  I really wanted it to be special for them, but it was basically a normal day.  I went to work and slogged through the motions.  Several people asked if I was okay because I didn't go to lunch with everyone.  When I told them it was the month anniversary, they gave me a pity smile and just backed away, as if I had some contagious disease that could affect them or their children.  I know I shouldn't look at it that way, but I've been angry with people lately.  Maybe it's part of the grief?

It really hurt me that no one even thought about them or me on that day.  I know they weren't anyone's babies but ours, but still.  I really needed a message, a card, something from anyone that said, "I still remember them."  It's so difficult right now, because if I don't bring them up, people continue to go on their lives as if they never existed.  Even if I do bring them up, I get fewer and fewer responses on Facebook as time passes.  I get comments now like "keep your chin up" and "pick yourself up by the boot straps and move on."  Everyone's over it and they're ready for me to be over it too.  But those babies changed my whole world, first when I learned that they were a reality and then again when I lost them.  They are all I think about right now and it feels like everyone else, including my husband, has gone back to the "real world" and my babies are just a sad thing that happened once and have been forgotten.  That really kills me. 

I feel like I need to think and talk about them all the time as a way to keep their memories alive.  I can't really find anyone to talk to about it.  I want people to ask me about them so I can acknowledge their existence and the imprint they've left on my life.  I get so weighed down by the grief that I just want to vent.  I'm worried that if someone doesn't let me unload sometime soon that I will just be that weirdo that brings it up in every conversation, hoping someone will bite.  I envision people whispering about me, warning each other to stay away, lest they end up backed into a corner being forced to listen to me lament about my dead babies.  It's not socially acceptable to talk about such unpleasant things, and yet, it makes me feel better.  I hate being a burden on everyone I love, but I'm not a mystery.  I tell everyone exactly what I need and if that makes them uncomfortable (which is usually does nowadays), they just stop talking to me or they don't respond to my messages or they don't answer the phone.  Maybe I already am that weirdo who has pushed everyone away because she was such a downer about her dead babies.  I also thought that something like this would bring me closer to my husband, family, and friends, but so far, it just seems to have isolated me from absolutely everyone else because they just don't understand.  Will my relationships ever go back to normal again or is this just the beginning of a life filled with loneliness and anger?