It is hard to describe how you feel when you lose your child. Words do not really suffice. Even word pictures can fail or poetry or music. They can capture different parts of it. Little snapshots. But you would have to put all of the pieces together to begin to get a glimpse until you walk this path on your own. Then the snapshots speak in full-color, highly defined, larger than life panoramic views.
Today was just another day in our new normal life.
I went to work.
Samuel did his homeschool lessons.
Alex and Ryan played.
The homeschool computer died, literally. It wouldn't start back up after it was shut down.
And my husband struggled a bit.
I knew he was a bit tired today and a bit down but I didn't know to what extent. While Mark can be open at times, but those moments are not frequent. So I drove home at the end of my day and wondered what the evening would bring.
I walk through the door and the usual happens. Little boy voices yell out, "mommy!" My youngest runs over to me and hugs my legs. Shiloh scampers over as well, tail wagging and bark yipping as jumps up to give her greeting.
All was normal as I put away my dirty lunch containers in the kitchen sink and head to hang up my coat with dog at my heels. After hanging up my coat, I turned to find my husband standing in the doorway. Then I began to suspect that all may not be normal. Something was up.
"What's up?" I asked him. He had an odd look on his face.
He shared that he hadn't had a good day and stepped closer to me. I knew that he needed me and reached out to touch him when our youngest came between us and rattled something off. He pulled back and went back into the kitchen. I quickly dealt with our son's need, got the dog to back down and went after my husband.
I hardly got to the other side of the dining room table when he turned around and I saw tears in his eyes.
"I kept seeing Andrew's dead body over and over again today."
That caught me.
"It kept playing over and over again in my mind all day. The moment that I found his lifeless body."
His face was extremely downcast and his heart was heavy. That was obvious from his demeanor. And now my heart was sad.
I have had nightmares where there are dead babies everywhere, or seeing children dying or holding a dead baby in my arms. It's the worst when they come in succession night after night. But almost unbearable when they repeat in a night. Terrifying when you keep going into another terror after waking up from a previous one.
The most unbearable though are the memories of Andrew in his last days. And it pains me that Mark is haunted in his own way. In a way I can't imagine. In a way I will never know. And I feel so powerless to help. He and I have talked about how the memories haunt us. But Mark has shared little.
Today, he shared some more. And then he said that he had to have some time to get out of the house as the tears grew heavier in his eyes. I wasn't surprised and let him go to have some time.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
How Do You Deal With Your Child's Pain Anyway?
I have been going to the mommies group for about 4 months now. I'm starting to remember their names and stories and the names of their children. We all cry at least once a meeting. But usually more.
Some months we talk more. Other months we share extensively about the details leading up to our child's loss. Others it seems we're all more vague. It just depends. And it's not like we discuss it ahead of time. We are free to share.
The pain. The anger. The hatred. The questions. The differences.
Some of the women struggled with infertility and then miscarried or lost a son early on. Others had tragic stories of premature labor or tragic labors, SIDS or odd genetic disorders.
My son is one of the oldest children to die in the group. That is odd. Some women lost then within a few hours of birth, to stillbirths to one whose son lived for 31 days.
No one lost their child to a freak accident.
I downplay the fact that I have 3 other children. I don't want to seem to rub it in. I don't struggle with infertility. My family line seems to be that way. The stories these women share who do have a hard time conceiving make me sad.
I wonder if any of them think that at least I have other children I have bore. Which is true. But no one has said that. Or even hinted that they are upset I have living children.
And none of them could find anything to say when I shared last month that it about kills me as I think of the pain my sons are enduring in all of this. It's hard for Mark and I. Unbearable even at times. But they are so young. And it's difficult to understand.
One of the other mothers reminded me that kids are strong and they do bounce back better than we think. To not worry.
My response was agreement at her statement. But it was hard to hear them tell me that they wish they had caught Andrew. Or that they are so upset that they were at school and not at home at the time. That they would have protected him. How do you deal with that pain that you feel for them? My voice broke as the tears began to well up. How do you not feel like you are being stabbed in the heart because of the pain they feel that you can't take away from them? I looked down at the floor and began to cry.
The room fell silent. And tears ran down my face as I stopped talking. "I don't know how to deal with that?" And for a few moments, no one spoke.
What was there to say? And someone else shared their pain in a different situation.
Some months we talk more. Other months we share extensively about the details leading up to our child's loss. Others it seems we're all more vague. It just depends. And it's not like we discuss it ahead of time. We are free to share.
The pain. The anger. The hatred. The questions. The differences.
Some of the women struggled with infertility and then miscarried or lost a son early on. Others had tragic stories of premature labor or tragic labors, SIDS or odd genetic disorders.
My son is one of the oldest children to die in the group. That is odd. Some women lost then within a few hours of birth, to stillbirths to one whose son lived for 31 days.
No one lost their child to a freak accident.
I downplay the fact that I have 3 other children. I don't want to seem to rub it in. I don't struggle with infertility. My family line seems to be that way. The stories these women share who do have a hard time conceiving make me sad.
I wonder if any of them think that at least I have other children I have bore. Which is true. But no one has said that. Or even hinted that they are upset I have living children.
And none of them could find anything to say when I shared last month that it about kills me as I think of the pain my sons are enduring in all of this. It's hard for Mark and I. Unbearable even at times. But they are so young. And it's difficult to understand.
One of the other mothers reminded me that kids are strong and they do bounce back better than we think. To not worry.
My response was agreement at her statement. But it was hard to hear them tell me that they wish they had caught Andrew. Or that they are so upset that they were at school and not at home at the time. That they would have protected him. How do you deal with that pain that you feel for them? My voice broke as the tears began to well up. How do you not feel like you are being stabbed in the heart because of the pain they feel that you can't take away from them? I looked down at the floor and began to cry.
The room fell silent. And tears ran down my face as I stopped talking. "I don't know how to deal with that?" And for a few moments, no one spoke.
What was there to say? And someone else shared their pain in a different situation.
I Missed an Anniversary
How interesting.
Over the weekend, it was the 8 month anniversary of Andrew's death. And I didn't notice it. Granted I was a bit down-hearted. But it didn't occur to me.
In fact, I didn't notice the anniversary of his birthday last month on the 18th. It even fell on the same day as my father's birthday and I didn't think of it.
Odd.
Maybe it's a good sign that I'm starting to move on a bit. Am healing a bit from the loss.
And somehow I feel a bit like I have betrayed him. I know I haven't. But it's still there. This little hint that I shouldn't have forgotten. Stop it K. You know you haven't forgotten him. He will always be with you. Will always be in your heart.
Oh this cruel game that grief plays on your mind and heart and body.
If I was a little girl, I would stick my tongue out at it and call it a silly name. Or tell on it.
But seeing as how I am quite a few decades beyond that . . . I will . . . . . . . . . . I will . . . . . . . . . . I will just cry.
Over the weekend, it was the 8 month anniversary of Andrew's death. And I didn't notice it. Granted I was a bit down-hearted. But it didn't occur to me.
In fact, I didn't notice the anniversary of his birthday last month on the 18th. It even fell on the same day as my father's birthday and I didn't think of it.
Odd.
Maybe it's a good sign that I'm starting to move on a bit. Am healing a bit from the loss.
And somehow I feel a bit like I have betrayed him. I know I haven't. But it's still there. This little hint that I shouldn't have forgotten. Stop it K. You know you haven't forgotten him. He will always be with you. Will always be in your heart.
Oh this cruel game that grief plays on your mind and heart and body.
If I was a little girl, I would stick my tongue out at it and call it a silly name. Or tell on it.
But seeing as how I am quite a few decades beyond that . . . I will . . . . . . . . . . I will . . . . . . . . . . I will just cry.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Too Reflective For My Own Good
I remember my son Andrew. I remember so much about him and yet I feel as though I am forgetting him at the same time. How odd when he is often in my thoughts.
I wake up and think of him.
I go to work and I think of him.
I see my other sons growing up and I think of him.
I go to sleep and think of him.
No matter where I am or what I am doing, he is not far my thoughts.
And I know that that is all I have of him now.
Memories.
Thoughts.
Questions.
Feelings.
Moments.
A few things that were his.
A few pictures capturing his image.
Only my mind holds who Andrew was.
A few others knew Andrew. And a few got to meet him while he was alive.
But me . . . I carried him. I had him physically with me for a year since it was at the beginning of June one year that I found out I was pregnant with him. And it was June of the following year that I let go of him.
One thing I wish for so much. One thing I long for and regret. That we do not have 1 single video of him. No record of his little coo's. Nothing to show others his darling little laugh. No video for me to hear him again.
And that makes me so sad.
It makes me want to cry.
It recarves the hole in my heart where he resided.
I miss you little special. I miss you so much at times it hurts too much for me to bear!
Little special.
My little special.
I wake up and think of him.
I go to work and I think of him.
I see my other sons growing up and I think of him.
I go to sleep and think of him.
No matter where I am or what I am doing, he is not far my thoughts.
And I know that that is all I have of him now.
Memories.
Thoughts.
Questions.
Feelings.
Moments.
A few things that were his.
A few pictures capturing his image.
Only my mind holds who Andrew was.
A few others knew Andrew. And a few got to meet him while he was alive.
But me . . . I carried him. I had him physically with me for a year since it was at the beginning of June one year that I found out I was pregnant with him. And it was June of the following year that I let go of him.
One thing I wish for so much. One thing I long for and regret. That we do not have 1 single video of him. No record of his little coo's. Nothing to show others his darling little laugh. No video for me to hear him again.
And that makes me so sad.
It makes me want to cry.
It recarves the hole in my heart where he resided.
I miss you little special. I miss you so much at times it hurts too much for me to bear!
Little special.
My little special.
It Shouldn't Be This Way
It was really weird picking out Andrew's last outfit he would ever wear. An outfit he would never be aware that he had worn it.
But I remember being so upset that the outfit we picked out for him didn't fit. Not necessarily because of the outfit. It disturbed me that he was naked. Undressed. Laying on a cold metal slab until his hand-carved casket arrived from the monastery in Dubuque.
When we dropped off our final selection, chose more out of desperation of having to find something than something we really wanted, the coordinator escorted us to a room where we could be alone. We were totally wiped out. We had spent 2 - 3 hours shopping. Had spent some money on something that was alright but I wished would have been more "him".
At least he would be dressed now.
We just sat there and didn't say a word. Feeling numb. Feeling exhausted. Feeling that it shouldn't be this way.
It shouldn't be this way.
But I remember being so upset that the outfit we picked out for him didn't fit. Not necessarily because of the outfit. It disturbed me that he was naked. Undressed. Laying on a cold metal slab until his hand-carved casket arrived from the monastery in Dubuque.
When we dropped off our final selection, chose more out of desperation of having to find something than something we really wanted, the coordinator escorted us to a room where we could be alone. We were totally wiped out. We had spent 2 - 3 hours shopping. Had spent some money on something that was alright but I wished would have been more "him".
At least he would be dressed now.
We just sat there and didn't say a word. Feeling numb. Feeling exhausted. Feeling that it shouldn't be this way.
It shouldn't be this way.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Outfit
One of the tough moments, of many, came within an hour of meeting at the funeral home and making arrangements.
The funeral director left the room for us to look through books on flowers and caskets. Consider these odd things that we had to deal with. When she returned to the room, I recall feeling a slight bit composed. Jaime, the director, told us that she just heard that they had just received his remains.
That stopped the room. Nothing moved. Everyone looked at us watchful of what we would do. And the oddest feeling. A sudden pit in the depth of our hearts. A sinking feeling. A sharp pain of loneliness.It caught in my throat.I reached out for Mark's arm.My eyes looked down as my face fell.
"Really?" Was our reaction. "He's here."
"Yes."
It was such an odd feeling knowing that he was now at the main funeral home loctaion.
They were verifying his measurements and confirmed the size of casket that would be needed for him. And soon learned that the Mickey Mouse outfit was too small. We would have to find him something else. But there was nothing else at home.
We went out on the oddest shopping trip. Something cute. Something him.
We walked through a few different stores. There were some cute outfits but none of them were right.
But Mark picked out a red polo T-shirt and blue jean shorts. I didn't like it but we felt ill as we looked through the baby clothes at the stores. I was so exhausted and mentally drained. I didn't think I would ever find the right outfit. And didn't want to drag this out any more than it had.
But he couldn't be naked.
The funeral director left the room for us to look through books on flowers and caskets. Consider these odd things that we had to deal with. When she returned to the room, I recall feeling a slight bit composed. Jaime, the director, told us that she just heard that they had just received his remains.
That stopped the room. Nothing moved. Everyone looked at us watchful of what we would do. And the oddest feeling. A sudden pit in the depth of our hearts. A sinking feeling. A sharp pain of loneliness.It caught in my throat.I reached out for Mark's arm.My eyes looked down as my face fell.
"Really?" Was our reaction. "He's here."
"Yes."
It was such an odd feeling knowing that he was now at the main funeral home loctaion.
They were verifying his measurements and confirmed the size of casket that would be needed for him. And soon learned that the Mickey Mouse outfit was too small. We would have to find him something else. But there was nothing else at home.
We went out on the oddest shopping trip. Something cute. Something him.
We walked through a few different stores. There were some cute outfits but none of them were right.
But Mark picked out a red polo T-shirt and blue jean shorts. I didn't like it but we felt ill as we looked through the baby clothes at the stores. I was so exhausted and mentally drained. I didn't think I would ever find the right outfit. And didn't want to drag this out any more than it had.
But he couldn't be naked.
No One Got to Meet Him
Life is very surreal after you lose your baby.
I remember that less than 48 hours after Andrew had died, my husband and I found ourselves at a funeral home with a very nice garden. I kept looking out the window at the garden whenever the funeral director or her coordinator left the room. And I would often think of how beautiful the garden was. How idyllic life looked as the sun shone brightly down on all this lush greenery and flowers.
Pastor Quimby and Sandra accompanied us on this occassion. They were sent by our church to be with us as we learned of Andrew's bleak condition.
Our head pastor was unable to come since he was preparing for church. Our church has services on Saturday nights and Sunday mornings.
Oddly, we had never met Pastor Quimby and his wife before that moment. What a way to meet people!
They were very kind and compassionate. Very understanding. They were new at our church. Had just arrived a few weeks or days earlier or something.
They were kind of like grandparents to us. Wisdom. Understanding. Caring. Patient.
So we're sitting there being asked questions we never thought we would think about for Andrew.
What day should we have the funeral
Who will do the ceremony
Burial or cremation
Musical selections for the funeral
What flowers do we want to pick
Flowers? I had no idea. What do you do for flowers? I just wanted my son back. My head swam as I looked through the book of flower selections.
We often glazed over. We cried. We giggled. They asked us what Andrew was like.
About the boys.
And they never rushed us. They would even tell us that we didn't have to decide certain things until the next day or Wednesday. That was a relief to not have to decide on everything right away.
What did we bring for his personal affects was one of the more sorrowful and moments. It took me quite awhile to figure out what to bring the day before. And was torture to look through his little things. So painful I can't even write of it right now. One of the more agonizing moments. . .
I brought out the plastic bag that held his most dear possessions. A quilt he got in NICU from a generous family that wanted to bless us as we celebrated his first Christmas in the hospital. Another blanket that he also got in the hospital. It lays under him still.
But the outfit. The outfit I chose was this adorable 3 month old Mickey Mouse shirt and matching trousers. It was an outfit Andrew got. It was no dress outfit like most are buried in. But it didn't seem right that he be put into a suit. Although he would have looked extremely adorable and handsome, he had never worn one. So I looked through all of his outfits to find something that was his alone. I couldn't bear the thought of another wearing anything that was new for him. To this day I still struggle with that. All that he wore, whether his prior brothers wore it or it was new, are packed away in a plastic storage bin.
The outfit was so cute. I loved putting him in it. A favorite of mine. I thought he would be showed off well in that.
Obviously we chose an open casket.
No one got to meet him. We had to hide him away to protect him from germs and illness. At least we would have one moment where all could meet him.
I remember that less than 48 hours after Andrew had died, my husband and I found ourselves at a funeral home with a very nice garden. I kept looking out the window at the garden whenever the funeral director or her coordinator left the room. And I would often think of how beautiful the garden was. How idyllic life looked as the sun shone brightly down on all this lush greenery and flowers.
Pastor Quimby and Sandra accompanied us on this occassion. They were sent by our church to be with us as we learned of Andrew's bleak condition.
Our head pastor was unable to come since he was preparing for church. Our church has services on Saturday nights and Sunday mornings.
Oddly, we had never met Pastor Quimby and his wife before that moment. What a way to meet people!
They were very kind and compassionate. Very understanding. They were new at our church. Had just arrived a few weeks or days earlier or something.
They were kind of like grandparents to us. Wisdom. Understanding. Caring. Patient.
So we're sitting there being asked questions we never thought we would think about for Andrew.
What day should we have the funeral
Who will do the ceremony
Burial or cremation
Musical selections for the funeral
What flowers do we want to pick
Flowers? I had no idea. What do you do for flowers? I just wanted my son back. My head swam as I looked through the book of flower selections.
We often glazed over. We cried. We giggled. They asked us what Andrew was like.
About the boys.
And they never rushed us. They would even tell us that we didn't have to decide certain things until the next day or Wednesday. That was a relief to not have to decide on everything right away.
What did we bring for his personal affects was one of the more sorrowful and moments. It took me quite awhile to figure out what to bring the day before. And was torture to look through his little things. So painful I can't even write of it right now. One of the more agonizing moments. . .
I brought out the plastic bag that held his most dear possessions. A quilt he got in NICU from a generous family that wanted to bless us as we celebrated his first Christmas in the hospital. Another blanket that he also got in the hospital. It lays under him still.
But the outfit. The outfit I chose was this adorable 3 month old Mickey Mouse shirt and matching trousers. It was an outfit Andrew got. It was no dress outfit like most are buried in. But it didn't seem right that he be put into a suit. Although he would have looked extremely adorable and handsome, he had never worn one. So I looked through all of his outfits to find something that was his alone. I couldn't bear the thought of another wearing anything that was new for him. To this day I still struggle with that. All that he wore, whether his prior brothers wore it or it was new, are packed away in a plastic storage bin.
The outfit was so cute. I loved putting him in it. A favorite of mine. I thought he would be showed off well in that.
Obviously we chose an open casket.
No one got to meet him. We had to hide him away to protect him from germs and illness. At least we would have one moment where all could meet him.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)