Carbon Copy.

Neuroticism is a fundamental personality trait in the study of psychology, manifested by characteristics of anxiety, moodiness, worry, envy and jealousy. Individuals who score high on neuroticism are more likely than the average to experience such feelings as anxiety, anger, envy, guilt, and depressed mood. They respond more poorly to environmental stress, and are more likely to interpret ordinary situations as threatening, and minor frustrations as hopelessly difficult. They are often self-conscious and shy, and they may have trouble controlling urges and delaying gratification. (Source:  Wikipedia)

I am really worried about my daughter.  Since we lost Nicolai ('Pi'), her anxiety and worry are starting to noticeably affect her.  Especially at night, when we are laying in bed, side by side.  I see my own neuroticism coming out in her more and more.

Last night she asked me if I would shoot myself in the head if she died, so that I could become an angel and be with her and Pi in Heaven.  I asked here where she came up with such a violent idea - had she heard somebody talking or seen something on TV?  She replied no, that she had just thought of the idea on her own and had been worrying about it alot.  Then she started to cry.  She said that she wants to become an angel so that she can see Pi, but that she would miss me too much to be away from me.  "Why can't we become angels together?" she asked.  She then continued, between sobs, to ask what would happen to her if I died?  If her whole family died, and she was all alone?  And how did I know that I wasn't going to die and leave her all alone?  What would happen if she died before her family, and was all alone in Heaven?

My heart was in my throat.  My little girl, barely five years old, grappling with the permanency and vastness of death.  She shouldn't have these questions t such a young age.  She should have had a few more carefree years, living the life of a normal preschooler, worrying only about trivial issues that can be easily be fixed with a band aid or ice cream cones. 

Throughout this worry and fear, she still has this beautiful idea and vision of Heaven and angels.  I am thankful for that.  However, I truly dread the day when she grows old enough to question the validity of Heaven and the afterlife.  Because that is when the darkness truly sets in, and that is a thought process that no one can escape from once they allow themselves to wander there.

A couple weeks after we lost Nicolai, Natalie had a dream that she and Nicolai were flying through the clouds together and she was chasing him from cloud to cloud.  They both had white angel wings ("but not that round circle thing on our heads") and they were giggling as they flew above the world.  Then, they came back to the earth and were playing hide and seek among the trees, and Nicolai disappeared.  She couldn't find him again after that.  But she wasn't worried, because he was happy and smiling when she saw him last and she was sure that he was okay. 

It's been nearly 5 months since we lost Nicolai.  I have asked Natalie, on two or three occasions, if she still remembers this dream.  Some of the details have faded (of course), but she still vividly remembers the color of his shoes and his coat in the dream, and what their wings looked like.  Her description to me now is exactly the same as it was 5 months ago.  I try not to put too much heart in this.  There are a million reasons that people dream certain things, and I am (unfortunately) not naive enough to believe that this dream has any cosmic meaning, no matter how badly I want it to.

Then, on the flip side, my own neuroticism.  What if this dream does mean something?  What if both of my children are destined to become angels before me?  What if something is going to happen to my precious daughter and I lose her too?  What if her dream is foretelling the future?

Or, what if something terrible is going to happen to me or my husband?  What if the reason that I lost Nicolai was because he would have lost one or both of his parents and/or his sister and he would been left an orphan, or I would have been unable to mentally/emotionally care for him due to extensive and all encompassing grief ?  What if there really is a cosmic reason for his death?  What does it mean?  Does it mean anything?  How do I process all of this without sounding like a crazy person?

I don't want my daughter to keep herself up for nights on end as I do, to worry about the things she cannot change, in a world that will go on long after we have departed.  I don't want her to feel the darkness and the emptiness that I do.  I wanted to protect her from all of this, and I can't.

Just Breathe.

Having lost my baby just 6 weeks ago, I now worry excessively and irrationally about my 4.5 year old daughter.  Every little sniffle, cough, tummy ache - and I'm terrified that she is going to die too.  It doesn't help that last night, as she was laying down relaxing in bed, she suddenly jumped up and started crying.  She told me that she thought her heart had stopped like the baby's did (because she was lying so still) and she needed me to check her heart and to make sure that she was still breathing.  She didn't want to die too.

The past week she has come up with a plethora of heart wrenching questions, usually asked during non-opportune times like while we are driving home from school, waiting in line at Walgreens, or on the playground.  These are times when I absolutely cannot lose my composure, lest I drive off the road or make other parents question my sanity.

Some of the questions that have come out this week (note:  my daughter always called the baby "Pi" - we don't really know why and she just called him that from the moment we told her about the pregnancy, and that is what she continues to call him.)

"Did it hurt Pi when he died?"
"Did Pi cry when he died?"
"Did Pi know that he was dying?"
"Why couldn't the doctors help Pi to not die? Hospitals are supposed to make you feel better and not die."
"Why didn't I get to see Pi - you and Daddy did, I really wanted to see what he looked like?"
"Did you bring flowers to Pi when he died to make him feel better?"
"What happened to Pi after he died?"
"Why can't God bring Pi back for just a little while so I can play with him?"
"Am I going to die too?"
"I want to be an angel right now so that I can play in the clouds with Pi"

The questions go on and on.  They are heart-breaking.  She asks me every day when the "baby fairy" is going to come and put another baby in my tummy.  She got so used to me being pregnant, that now all she wants to do when she plays with her Barbies or plays doctor is to pretend that she is having a baby.  It's so fucking sad, I can't deal with it.

Yesterday was my 6 week follow up appointment with my OB.  The waiting room was miserable.  I counted 2 newborn babies (one who was crying) and 5 pregnant women, one of whom bumped into me as I was leaving.  I sat in the chair and plugged my ears with my fingers, closed my eyes, and rocked back and forth until the nurse called me back.  I'm sure everyone thought that I was nuts.  As predicted, no results back from the post mortem, although my OB did call the pathologist who said that the results would be back by the end of this week and that so far, on the preliminary report, she didn't see anything that stood out as a conclusive cause of death.  I had 10 vials of blood drawn to check for various things in hopes that if something showed up in them, I could be treated for it so this wouldn't happen again.

And tomorrow was supposed to be my due date.  Instead of having my baby, I will be more than likely reviewing his autopsy report.