It's late.
I have gotten rather down lately. At first I thought it was just being drained for working so many late nights and long days on this project. Stress. Missing my sons. Missing friends and loved ones. Hormones. Or something.
Life has not turned out the way I thought.
I still think of Andrew almost constantly. And others who have meant so much. Well, who still mean so much.
My baby died.
My ................baby...................died.
He's gone.
I dreamt of being a mother from when I was very little. And getting married. Having a house. You know, the typical dream many little girls have.
Somehow losing a child was not part of that dream.
And if anyone would have told me that I would lose a baby I think I would get very upset and tell them they were nuts or something.
The grief group we went to, I have thought of calling one of the other women who lost a child. You know................ I read through the newsletter they send out on a monthly basis. This was the first we received.
I looked at the list of the others who lost their children. I fervently searched and contemplated which woman I would call and saw that two of them had lost a baby. I was excited to find someone that knew the pain I feel. And then my heart fell....................
None of them lost their children to an accidental death. I mean, none of them lost their baby to an accidental death. There was one couple who lost their baby to SIDS at about five months. That's so sad.................. that would be hard. I can't imagine................................
But it seems very few lost their child, their baby, their infant, to an accident. A fluke. ...........................
Actually no one at the parent's grief support group lost their baby to an accident. Lots of congenital diseases, which I know would be awful to go through. SIDS............something else that would hurt. Some miscarriages, which I know that pain.
But Andrew..................... no one lost their baby to an accident.
My little special is gone..............................
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
Five Months
Five months ago today I was dreading living because of the immense pain and loss I felt over Andrew dying. Five months. My gosh. It's so hard to believe. I couldn't imagine what life would be life. What it would become without my son. And here we are. Today is the five month mark.
And its Mark's birthday. I didn't remind him. It didn't seem right. He may remember. Most likely not. I say it and he usually replies, "oh that's right." I made him a birthday card and took him to dinner and we enjoyed a few hours without kids. Even struck up a conversation with the couple at the table next to us. Tomorrow we'll celebrate as a family. The boys are very excited.
It's strange. We'll celebrate. It's the anniversary of his death and we'll celebrate life.
I guess that's good. We are finding some moments of enjoyment these days. Well, I am at times anyway. I'm not 100% sure about Mark. I think he does too. He's in a lot of pain still. I feel so bad. I think he's dealt with some of it but every so often he opens up and there is such pain in his voice. Such sorrow. Sorrow that is so deep that it catches me off guard. He really doesn't talk much about Andrew and his grief. What he's thinking.
Then again I don't talk to him much about mine. It's very difficult to voice out loud. I can write about it but talking about it is difficult. But I think it's also that it's hard to feel safe with many to share something so intense and personal.
There are few I have felt totally safe with. My dear big brother-friend Terry. He's away for the next year and can only be reached by email or snail mail. Dick, my other big brother-friend. And Dick's wife. Some friends I have lost contact with. And a friendship that I cherish and hold dear in my heart.
I don't know how to talk to them either. Such an enigma. I don't know what to say and I want to say so much.
Wish they would call.
Give me a big hug.
Hold me.
Tell me it's going to be okay.
Listen.
Share.
Just be there.
So alone.
So utterly alone.
And its Mark's birthday. I didn't remind him. It didn't seem right. He may remember. Most likely not. I say it and he usually replies, "oh that's right." I made him a birthday card and took him to dinner and we enjoyed a few hours without kids. Even struck up a conversation with the couple at the table next to us. Tomorrow we'll celebrate as a family. The boys are very excited.
It's strange. We'll celebrate. It's the anniversary of his death and we'll celebrate life.
I guess that's good. We are finding some moments of enjoyment these days. Well, I am at times anyway. I'm not 100% sure about Mark. I think he does too. He's in a lot of pain still. I feel so bad. I think he's dealt with some of it but every so often he opens up and there is such pain in his voice. Such sorrow. Sorrow that is so deep that it catches me off guard. He really doesn't talk much about Andrew and his grief. What he's thinking.
Then again I don't talk to him much about mine. It's very difficult to voice out loud. I can write about it but talking about it is difficult. But I think it's also that it's hard to feel safe with many to share something so intense and personal.
There are few I have felt totally safe with. My dear big brother-friend Terry. He's away for the next year and can only be reached by email or snail mail. Dick, my other big brother-friend. And Dick's wife. Some friends I have lost contact with. And a friendship that I cherish and hold dear in my heart.
I don't know how to talk to them either. Such an enigma. I don't know what to say and I want to say so much.
Wish they would call.
Give me a big hug.
Hold me.
Tell me it's going to be okay.
Listen.
Share.
Just be there.
So alone.
So utterly alone.
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Awakening of the Musician in Me
I've been working all weekend. I have a report that goes to a City Council in a few weeks and it's turned out to be more work assembling all the data from the team than I thought. And I have to put a draft in front of the team this week for their final review before sending it to the Client.
It's a lot of copying and pasting and formatting of the data. It's monotonous but it's a project where I have quite a bit of responsibility. I like a challenge and this project has definitely stretched me and taught me quite a bit. An opportunity that has only come about because of the faith some of my current and past colleagues have placed in me. And although the Project Manager relies on me heavily and admitted in my annual review that I know the project better than he does and have been an integral part of the team, I am away from my boys. And I don't like that.
The weekend before Andrew died I worked most of that weekend on this project. Next Friday is the 5 month anniversary of his death. (It's also Mark's birthday.) He's almost been gone as long as he was with us here in this life. And that makes me sad. I remember kicking myself when he died that I had worked so much that week because . . .
I regret that I didn't get to spend more time with him. If I had known ........... I would have taken the week off from work and held him the whole time. I would have stayed at the hospital every minute. I would have done it differently .............................. I would have taken more pictures. I would have gotten another family picture of us. We only have 1 with the 5 of us.
I wouldn't have let him go..........................................
And suddenly, in the midst of the swirl, I am aware that I miss writing. I miss making music. I miss being able to dance. I miss a lot of things. And I can't help but smile as I think of these things and get a bit sentimental.
I have a dear friend of mine who seems to see such good in me whether I am feeling good about myself or not. Is always very encouraging regardless of my disposition. Optimistic. Positive Always good to talk to. Everyone should have someone like this in their life. This is an individual I think very highly of. Someone who replied to my question, "you know what I thought of that I could do to make a difference in the world?", that I was going to start making music. The statement, probably meant to be a bit sarcastic, caught me off guard but it touched me. I don't think many know or notice that music is so strong in me. Especially not now with what I do.
Why does this person come to mind right now? Well, one way I keep myself on task during such repetitive work is to watch documentaries, movies, TV shows on the Internet or whatever. I've learned about the Kennedy's, earthquakes, WWII, Dolly Madison, the Silver Pharaoh, etc. They mostly go in the background as I work and keep my mind from wandering. (Some may not believe it but it works when I'm doing housework as well.) Otherwise I find that my mind gets too pensive and wanders off on its own rabbit trails and then I don't get much done.
So I have had a movie on about a young man who heard music in nature and everyday life, and where it lived in him and was real. He was a composer and musician. Could read music and play by ear. He played Debussy's "Clair de Lune", which I absolutely love, and I had to stop working for a minute to revel in the tones and picture the water. The calm and beauty of a serene moment on a beautiful day. It is a goal of mine to learn how to play it someday. I love Debussy.
And for the first time in a long time, I longed to make music again as he dreamed of doing for the rest of his life. But he had few opportunities and it drove him nuts. A drive I vaguely remember and have buried within myself because I do not have the means to handle the flood it would unleash within me. I have no way to let it out.
Well, the main character had a friend who came along side him and encouraged him in his gift. Helped him to go after it. So naturally I thought of my friend who I think may understand a little bit of how I love music and its drive within me. .....................................
Then it reminds me of how I miss playing. Miss working at it. Miss being part of the music as it's being formed. Being in the midst of the sound as it bends and moves and goes forth. Feeling the music and its emotions and the story it tells. Oh the excitement and the thrill of performing. Working so hard and then the release in the performance. Sharing it with others. Oh how glorious and fun!
And oh my gosh I have gotten lost. Hold K, now is not the time for that. That is for another season of life.
See how I just shift moods? Directions? Lines of thought? I can meet a friend I cherish for coffee feeling just fine and then can shift to being sad and low ten minutes later. Will not even be thinking about Andrew or the grief and concentrating fine and then move into a period of a few hours where I am fuzzy in the head. Like suddenly arriving into a foggy patch on the ocean of life.
As usual, my thoughts turn another direction. A place they frequently go - to Andrew.
Andrew never heard me play.
He heard me sing.
He saw me being silly and goofy.
He even saw me dance.
We shared so much together he and I in his short little life. Because I could read it in his little eyes. A language we spoke only to each other it seems.
But he never heard me play.
There were so many things I told him about or sang to him or read to him but I never played for him. I talked to him about my music. My dreams that seem to have come from a past life now. But I never really got my flute out and played for him.
I am saddened as I think ahead in life on the things that I will miss out on because he is not a part of our family in this life any longer. And milestones I'll miss about his life. But to think about not sharing something that is so intense for me and so personal and something that is so important to me ...............
He never heard me play.
He never heard me play.
Someday, I'll have to play for him.
So Many Things
by kk
I shared so many things with you
My loves, my hopes, my joys.
I told so many things to you
My faith, my life, my loves.
I gave so many things to you
My strength, my love, my all.
And now you're gone, apart from me
My flesh, my blood, my child.
I'll carry so many things of you
My boy, my joy, my son.
It's a lot of copying and pasting and formatting of the data. It's monotonous but it's a project where I have quite a bit of responsibility. I like a challenge and this project has definitely stretched me and taught me quite a bit. An opportunity that has only come about because of the faith some of my current and past colleagues have placed in me. And although the Project Manager relies on me heavily and admitted in my annual review that I know the project better than he does and have been an integral part of the team, I am away from my boys. And I don't like that.
The weekend before Andrew died I worked most of that weekend on this project. Next Friday is the 5 month anniversary of his death. (It's also Mark's birthday.) He's almost been gone as long as he was with us here in this life. And that makes me sad. I remember kicking myself when he died that I had worked so much that week because . . .
I regret that I didn't get to spend more time with him. If I had known ........... I would have taken the week off from work and held him the whole time. I would have stayed at the hospital every minute. I would have done it differently .............................. I would have taken more pictures. I would have gotten another family picture of us. We only have 1 with the 5 of us.
I wouldn't have let him go..........................................
And suddenly, in the midst of the swirl, I am aware that I miss writing. I miss making music. I miss being able to dance. I miss a lot of things. And I can't help but smile as I think of these things and get a bit sentimental.
I have a dear friend of mine who seems to see such good in me whether I am feeling good about myself or not. Is always very encouraging regardless of my disposition. Optimistic. Positive Always good to talk to. Everyone should have someone like this in their life. This is an individual I think very highly of. Someone who replied to my question, "you know what I thought of that I could do to make a difference in the world?", that I was going to start making music. The statement, probably meant to be a bit sarcastic, caught me off guard but it touched me. I don't think many know or notice that music is so strong in me. Especially not now with what I do.
Why does this person come to mind right now? Well, one way I keep myself on task during such repetitive work is to watch documentaries, movies, TV shows on the Internet or whatever. I've learned about the Kennedy's, earthquakes, WWII, Dolly Madison, the Silver Pharaoh, etc. They mostly go in the background as I work and keep my mind from wandering. (Some may not believe it but it works when I'm doing housework as well.) Otherwise I find that my mind gets too pensive and wanders off on its own rabbit trails and then I don't get much done.
So I have had a movie on about a young man who heard music in nature and everyday life, and where it lived in him and was real. He was a composer and musician. Could read music and play by ear. He played Debussy's "Clair de Lune", which I absolutely love, and I had to stop working for a minute to revel in the tones and picture the water. The calm and beauty of a serene moment on a beautiful day. It is a goal of mine to learn how to play it someday. I love Debussy.
And for the first time in a long time, I longed to make music again as he dreamed of doing for the rest of his life. But he had few opportunities and it drove him nuts. A drive I vaguely remember and have buried within myself because I do not have the means to handle the flood it would unleash within me. I have no way to let it out.
Well, the main character had a friend who came along side him and encouraged him in his gift. Helped him to go after it. So naturally I thought of my friend who I think may understand a little bit of how I love music and its drive within me. .....................................
Then it reminds me of how I miss playing. Miss working at it. Miss being part of the music as it's being formed. Being in the midst of the sound as it bends and moves and goes forth. Feeling the music and its emotions and the story it tells. Oh the excitement and the thrill of performing. Working so hard and then the release in the performance. Sharing it with others. Oh how glorious and fun!
And oh my gosh I have gotten lost. Hold K, now is not the time for that. That is for another season of life.
See how I just shift moods? Directions? Lines of thought? I can meet a friend I cherish for coffee feeling just fine and then can shift to being sad and low ten minutes later. Will not even be thinking about Andrew or the grief and concentrating fine and then move into a period of a few hours where I am fuzzy in the head. Like suddenly arriving into a foggy patch on the ocean of life.
As usual, my thoughts turn another direction. A place they frequently go - to Andrew.
Andrew never heard me play.
He heard me sing.
He saw me being silly and goofy.
He even saw me dance.
We shared so much together he and I in his short little life. Because I could read it in his little eyes. A language we spoke only to each other it seems.
But he never heard me play.
There were so many things I told him about or sang to him or read to him but I never played for him. I talked to him about my music. My dreams that seem to have come from a past life now. But I never really got my flute out and played for him.
I am saddened as I think ahead in life on the things that I will miss out on because he is not a part of our family in this life any longer. And milestones I'll miss about his life. But to think about not sharing something that is so intense for me and so personal and something that is so important to me ...............
He never heard me play.
He never heard me play.
Someday, I'll have to play for him.
So Many Things
by kk
I shared so many things with you
My loves, my hopes, my joys.
I told so many things to you
My faith, my life, my loves.
I gave so many things to you
My strength, my love, my all.
And now you're gone, apart from me
My flesh, my blood, my child.
I'll carry so many things of you
My boy, my joy, my son.
Friday, October 28, 2011
The ER
For some reason that I don't recall now, Mark and I got to talking about what happened in the ER. Maybe Andrew was more on my mind because I saw an ambulance today with its lights flashing. No sirens though. Whenever I see ambulances with their lights on I usually have to swallow hard because I immediately think of Andrew. How he rode to the hospital that Thursday afternoon all by himself, surrounded by strangers, as he struggled to stay alive. All because the police had to question Mark about the incidents surrounding the accident. Th inhumanity. The insensitivity.
My little special rode in an ambulance that had its lights and sirens going.
It was a life and death matter.
I cried as I told Mark that they worked on Andrew for 40 minutes non-stop. That it didn't occur to me at the time that his heart had stopped. They had no pulse when I first arrived in the ER.
I remember asking them, "what do you mean he doesn't have a pulse?" It was like I couldn't think. That usually meant that a person was dead. But that couldn't be happening with my little special. No. My mind was racing so fast I honestly couldn't tell you what I was thinking.
Mark started crying too. I cried more as I finally felt the sorrow and fear and pain I felt at that time that I suppressed at the moment to be strong for Andrew.
I was afraid. Afraid that my son was dead. Afraid that my son would die. Afraid of the pain I would feel over such a loss. Afraid of how to face life without my son. Afraid of how hard life could possibly be. Afraid he was hurting.
And I hurt for him.
They were poking him with needles left and right once they got the vent back in and found his pulse. And I wanted to cry because I imagined that he might be feeling the pain. He might be aware that he was lying there all vulnerable and they were sticking him in his arms and legs and chest and neck trying to find a line. And then they couldn't get the lines to stay. And they just kept poking him. And I couldn't tell t hem to stop. I knew it was needed. But I didn't want him to hurt. I was so afraid he was hurting. In pain and I couldn't hold him to comfort him. I was only allowed to touch his shoulder.
Well, except for a few minutes where they were focusing on his legs and other things. I looked at his arm and longed with everything in me to hold him. To hold his little hand like I always did. So purposefully I gently stroked his arm and put my finger in his hand. And I knelt down to whisper in his ear how much I loved him and that he was doing so good.
I tried not to think too much as the doctor drilled into Andrew's leg. The nurse assigned to me explained that this was a technique used on babies to get IV fluids or medicines into their bodies. Their bones are so spongy that they are able to be punctured by a needle.
My lips quivered and tears welled up in my eyes as I saw the needle pop back out of the wound and saw its size.
"It really doesn't hurt as much as you think. It's just like a needle prick to us." The nurse told me reading my mind.
Somehow I struggled with believing that. And wanted to take away his pain. Take his place. Have him wake up and be all better.
"There were so many people, Mark. So much going on. And everyone is talking about all this technical medical language." I paused to wipe my nose and look at the dining room table. Then I continued. "So many people were pulling for him. The people at the desk, nurses, doctors, everyone was looking in the room with the same look. They were all concerned for him. Praying he would be okay. From what I heard even the president of the hospital heard about him and was concerned."
Oh gosh does my heart hurt right now. Oh.........................I hope he didn't feel much pain.
Gosh do I hate this pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Gosh do I miss my son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My little special rode in an ambulance that had its lights and sirens going.
It was a life and death matter.
I cried as I told Mark that they worked on Andrew for 40 minutes non-stop. That it didn't occur to me at the time that his heart had stopped. They had no pulse when I first arrived in the ER.
I remember asking them, "what do you mean he doesn't have a pulse?" It was like I couldn't think. That usually meant that a person was dead. But that couldn't be happening with my little special. No. My mind was racing so fast I honestly couldn't tell you what I was thinking.
Mark started crying too. I cried more as I finally felt the sorrow and fear and pain I felt at that time that I suppressed at the moment to be strong for Andrew.
I was afraid. Afraid that my son was dead. Afraid that my son would die. Afraid of the pain I would feel over such a loss. Afraid of how to face life without my son. Afraid of how hard life could possibly be. Afraid he was hurting.
And I hurt for him.
They were poking him with needles left and right once they got the vent back in and found his pulse. And I wanted to cry because I imagined that he might be feeling the pain. He might be aware that he was lying there all vulnerable and they were sticking him in his arms and legs and chest and neck trying to find a line. And then they couldn't get the lines to stay. And they just kept poking him. And I couldn't tell t hem to stop. I knew it was needed. But I didn't want him to hurt. I was so afraid he was hurting. In pain and I couldn't hold him to comfort him. I was only allowed to touch his shoulder.
Well, except for a few minutes where they were focusing on his legs and other things. I looked at his arm and longed with everything in me to hold him. To hold his little hand like I always did. So purposefully I gently stroked his arm and put my finger in his hand. And I knelt down to whisper in his ear how much I loved him and that he was doing so good.
I tried not to think too much as the doctor drilled into Andrew's leg. The nurse assigned to me explained that this was a technique used on babies to get IV fluids or medicines into their bodies. Their bones are so spongy that they are able to be punctured by a needle.
My lips quivered and tears welled up in my eyes as I saw the needle pop back out of the wound and saw its size.
"It really doesn't hurt as much as you think. It's just like a needle prick to us." The nurse told me reading my mind.
Somehow I struggled with believing that. And wanted to take away his pain. Take his place. Have him wake up and be all better.
"There were so many people, Mark. So much going on. And everyone is talking about all this technical medical language." I paused to wipe my nose and look at the dining room table. Then I continued. "So many people were pulling for him. The people at the desk, nurses, doctors, everyone was looking in the room with the same look. They were all concerned for him. Praying he would be okay. From what I heard even the president of the hospital heard about him and was concerned."
Oh gosh does my heart hurt right now. Oh.........................I hope he didn't feel much pain.
Gosh do I hate this pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Gosh do I miss my son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
To My Little Special
Little special, this is our first harvest without you. We are learning to find ways to celebrate you and talk with the boys about you. It hurts at times but the boys seem to like this and want this. It almost doens't phase them at all when we talk about you. Almost like they don't feel anything. I know that's not true but it's just how it looks to us.
Regardless, it seems that they need that. To talk about you. Remember you. Have things around that are yours. So we're doing it. The pictures are the hardest. But since the boys were so glad to see pictures of you, I guess we'll push ourselves to get a collage printed up and framed of pictures they chose and that we chose.
We sure do love you and miss you so much. It's kind of nice though to think of traditions we can start that can include you since we know you are still with us.
It's not as difficult as I thought it was. Maybe that's becuase at Alex's grief class, we had to say your name, who you were to us and that actual word, "died". They said Alex needed to hear us say the proper term and not sugar coat it and he needed to say it too. So we did even though it kind of was something I had to almost force out of my mouth.
It's been so hard. I honestly thought you'd wake up and we'd take you home in a few days and then the doctor ................................................
Andrew........................................ I don't know what to say..................................... I love you so much. And miss you so much. Sure you were unexpected surprise but boy were you such a delight. Such a joy to me. You added so much to my life in your short little life.
To you, I could do no wrong. I was mommy. Someone you looked at all big eyed and lovingly like I was the most wonderful person in all the world.......................................... because in your little eyes, at your little age, that is what a mommy is for a baby. And it was so wonderful.......................
I was your mommy.
I still am your mommy.
I am your mommy that misses you.
And I often wonder what that would have looked like as you got older.
Oh Andrew..................................................... oh Andrew . . . . . . .
Regardless, it seems that they need that. To talk about you. Remember you. Have things around that are yours. So we're doing it. The pictures are the hardest. But since the boys were so glad to see pictures of you, I guess we'll push ourselves to get a collage printed up and framed of pictures they chose and that we chose.
We sure do love you and miss you so much. It's kind of nice though to think of traditions we can start that can include you since we know you are still with us.
It's not as difficult as I thought it was. Maybe that's becuase at Alex's grief class, we had to say your name, who you were to us and that actual word, "died". They said Alex needed to hear us say the proper term and not sugar coat it and he needed to say it too. So we did even though it kind of was something I had to almost force out of my mouth.
It's been so hard. I honestly thought you'd wake up and we'd take you home in a few days and then the doctor ................................................
Andrew........................................ I don't know what to say..................................... I love you so much. And miss you so much. Sure you were unexpected surprise but boy were you such a delight. Such a joy to me. You added so much to my life in your short little life.
To you, I could do no wrong. I was mommy. Someone you looked at all big eyed and lovingly like I was the most wonderful person in all the world.......................................... because in your little eyes, at your little age, that is what a mommy is for a baby. And it was so wonderful.......................
I was your mommy.
I still am your mommy.
I am your mommy that misses you.
And I often wonder what that would have looked like as you got older.
Oh Andrew..................................................... oh Andrew . . . . . . .
Andrew's Pumpkin
This weekend we had such beautiful weather. The boys played outside with the puppy, running all around, giggling and enjoying the outdoors. And knowing that the oldest two were having a pumpkin decorating contest today at school, I loaded up the van with the 3 musketeers and we headed out.
In my usual fashion, I didn't tell the boys what we were doing until we were in the van and on our way. So I was beaming with excitement to share the good news that we would be shopping for pumpkins to decorate. Upon learning this, each let out an exclamation of joy and the anticipation could be felt as the kids bounced around as I drove to the store.
Each boy excitedly picked out his own pumpkin with each struggling to lift theirs. I enjoyed quite a few laughs and chuckles as they were doing this and expressing their joy. And suddenly I thought of getting an extra one. A small one for us to do for Andrew. To honor him. Granted, I am sure that not many people do a pumpkin for their child who is passed away but I thought the boys would find this to be a fun thing to do and let them know that he is still with us. So one of the boys excitedly picked out a cute little pumpkin for Andrew.
Then we headed inside to get markers and a few other items. The boys were bouncing off the cart as we went around the store and kept talking about how much fun it was going to be when we decorate the pumpkins. I am pretty sure that anyone walking by us knew what we were going to be doing since the boys were being so vocal.
-----------------
Fast forward to Sunday afternoon and the boys were about to lose it since they were still having to wait to decorate pumpkins. And finally the moment arrived. I got out the cardboard mat we put down to protect the dining room table, broke open the markers and each boy had to pile out the front door to bring in their pumpkin. I'm sure we looked rather clumsy and disorganized and perhaps could have qualified as a comedy clip it was so hap-hazard.
So me and the boys gathered around the table, chose a marker and began to create masterpieces that I'm sure would shame VanGogh and other impressionist and modern painters.
Ryan shaded in parts of his pumpkin in red and then in green. Very modern. Very abstract in look and feel. He was quite proud and jabbered with excitement as he showed it off to me. Then he was done and moved onto playing with the puppy.
Alex made a face with red eyes and an open mouth with, I think, black pointy teeth. Imagine the famous "The Scream" painting without the background, a rounder face and no shading on a pumpkin. ....... Okay, maybe forget the reference to "The Scream".
And Samuel had to do a running commentary on everyone else's piece as he said he was waiting for the black and the red. So I began to work on Andrew's pumpkin because the boys told me that was mine to do. I started by drawing his name and then colored in the block letters I drew and then just started writing loving thoughts to Andrew.
Samuel finally decided to start drawing on his. He drew a huge smiley face. It was the kindest pumpkin you'd ever meet.
But wanting Andrew's pumpkin to be something we all shared in as a family, I invited each boy to draw something to either say to Andrew or to remember him by or to honor him. Whatever they wanted to do in honor of his life. I was glad to see how much they wanted to participate in decorating his pumpkin. How anxious they were to draw something for him. And they didn't hardly bat an eyelash. No tears or sad looks. Just big smiles and excited chatter as they drew their creations.
Alex drew the lion that he shared at his kids' grief class he attended a few weeks ago. So I noted that under the lion. And Samuel drew Andrew's face. I labeled that as well. Matthew was too busy chasing the puppy to notice we were doing the pumpkin and I asked Mark if he wanted to do something as well. He wrote a special message on it to join my "We love you" and "We miss you" messages. I also documented the year and that he would be 10 months old now if he were with us.
The boys were very proud of their pumpkins. I took pictures and we set them on the front porch. Of course, the boys had to bring Andrew's pumpkin out and determine where it would go. Then I asked Alex if we should put it out by his grave after the end of the month. He shook his head big at me. He wanted to come with. Just amazing. "Yeah mom, let's go visit my dead brother's grave," was like his thinking.
I paused as I thought of taking it out to his grave and leaving it there. If others would see it and say something like, "oh, they decorated a pumpkin for him." Or something like that. And here Alex seemed to be happy that we were doing something to remember him and then went on with life like I had just told him I was going to take him to visit a friend.
Lord, show us ways to honor Andrew that will include our boys so that they learn how to love someone even when they're gone.
In my usual fashion, I didn't tell the boys what we were doing until we were in the van and on our way. So I was beaming with excitement to share the good news that we would be shopping for pumpkins to decorate. Upon learning this, each let out an exclamation of joy and the anticipation could be felt as the kids bounced around as I drove to the store.
Each boy excitedly picked out his own pumpkin with each struggling to lift theirs. I enjoyed quite a few laughs and chuckles as they were doing this and expressing their joy. And suddenly I thought of getting an extra one. A small one for us to do for Andrew. To honor him. Granted, I am sure that not many people do a pumpkin for their child who is passed away but I thought the boys would find this to be a fun thing to do and let them know that he is still with us. So one of the boys excitedly picked out a cute little pumpkin for Andrew.
Then we headed inside to get markers and a few other items. The boys were bouncing off the cart as we went around the store and kept talking about how much fun it was going to be when we decorate the pumpkins. I am pretty sure that anyone walking by us knew what we were going to be doing since the boys were being so vocal.
-----------------
Fast forward to Sunday afternoon and the boys were about to lose it since they were still having to wait to decorate pumpkins. And finally the moment arrived. I got out the cardboard mat we put down to protect the dining room table, broke open the markers and each boy had to pile out the front door to bring in their pumpkin. I'm sure we looked rather clumsy and disorganized and perhaps could have qualified as a comedy clip it was so hap-hazard.
So me and the boys gathered around the table, chose a marker and began to create masterpieces that I'm sure would shame VanGogh and other impressionist and modern painters.
Ryan shaded in parts of his pumpkin in red and then in green. Very modern. Very abstract in look and feel. He was quite proud and jabbered with excitement as he showed it off to me. Then he was done and moved onto playing with the puppy.
Alex made a face with red eyes and an open mouth with, I think, black pointy teeth. Imagine the famous "The Scream" painting without the background, a rounder face and no shading on a pumpkin. ....... Okay, maybe forget the reference to "The Scream".
And Samuel had to do a running commentary on everyone else's piece as he said he was waiting for the black and the red. So I began to work on Andrew's pumpkin because the boys told me that was mine to do. I started by drawing his name and then colored in the block letters I drew and then just started writing loving thoughts to Andrew.
Samuel finally decided to start drawing on his. He drew a huge smiley face. It was the kindest pumpkin you'd ever meet.
But wanting Andrew's pumpkin to be something we all shared in as a family, I invited each boy to draw something to either say to Andrew or to remember him by or to honor him. Whatever they wanted to do in honor of his life. I was glad to see how much they wanted to participate in decorating his pumpkin. How anxious they were to draw something for him. And they didn't hardly bat an eyelash. No tears or sad looks. Just big smiles and excited chatter as they drew their creations.
Alex drew the lion that he shared at his kids' grief class he attended a few weeks ago. So I noted that under the lion. And Samuel drew Andrew's face. I labeled that as well. Matthew was too busy chasing the puppy to notice we were doing the pumpkin and I asked Mark if he wanted to do something as well. He wrote a special message on it to join my "We love you" and "We miss you" messages. I also documented the year and that he would be 10 months old now if he were with us.
The boys were very proud of their pumpkins. I took pictures and we set them on the front porch. Of course, the boys had to bring Andrew's pumpkin out and determine where it would go. Then I asked Alex if we should put it out by his grave after the end of the month. He shook his head big at me. He wanted to come with. Just amazing. "Yeah mom, let's go visit my dead brother's grave," was like his thinking.
I paused as I thought of taking it out to his grave and leaving it there. If others would see it and say something like, "oh, they decorated a pumpkin for him." Or something like that. And here Alex seemed to be happy that we were doing something to remember him and then went on with life like I had just told him I was going to take him to visit a friend.
Lord, show us ways to honor Andrew that will include our boys so that they learn how to love someone even when they're gone.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Our First Grief Support Group
I was hoping to go to a mommy's grief support group that meets here in town monthly. After the parent's meeting at the beginning of the month, I looked forward to meeting some moms and learn how they're coping and be able to process more of the grief. But I wasn't able to make it even though I lined up a babysitter. Our pictures at church took longer than we thought, and there was a mix-up with the babysitter and I had a great evening with my boys playing silly games as I put them to bed.
The parent's group was good and hard and disappointing.
There was a decent turn out. I took a few things to snack on but found that I had no appetite once I sat down and couldn't seem to taste anything anyway. So there was no pleasure found in trying to munch on anything. Even chocolate didn't taste appealing. That really surprised me but I guess that's how it goes when you're in a room with strangers that you know have exerienced the exact same loss as you in some form.
With each introduction we learned of people who miscarried, had stillbirths, lost teenagers, adult children and for different causes. One was SIDS, one was some heart condition, another couple had struggled for years and years and finally had a child. I practically lost it as they said their only child died at age 7. Here we have 3 others and they have struggled so to have that one that they then lost.
Tears came to both of our eyes as one couple lost their 5 1/2 month old son in April. I immediately looked down at the table thinking that I couldn't hear much more of this. This was too close to home.
Many others were crying as we all introduced ourselves and we shared about precious Andrew of course. And I added that we had lost Lexi since Mark doesn't really remember her. Even though that saddens me I guess it's to be expected. I was early on in the pregnancy and Mark didn't get to see her on ultrasound or feel her. She was too young. So it seems I'm the only one that remembers her besides the boys' godmother. She mentioned Alexa the last time we visited them during the summer. It amazed me that anyone else remembered I had carried her and lost her. It was good to know someone remembered her besides me.
So.................after introductions anyone who's child was celebrating a birthday, the anniversary of their death, was new or just wanted to, could light a candle in honor of their child. Suddenly I became so tense and so emotional that I just stared at the table. Mark whispered to me if I wanted to do it, I stared at him with big eyes and shook my head while mouthing no. Then I looked down at the table and Mark stood up to go to the table to light a candle for Andrew. Everyone was sniffling by this time right along with me and Mark lit the candle speaking Andrew's name. I couldn't move as tears streamed down my face.
"My baby." I thought to myself.
They shared about their group and then a lady who lost a niece or nephew, shared about a book. One that told the story of a little boy who died years ago at age 13 or 14 and how he had made such a strong impact before he died on many lives. While some of it was rather intriguing and encouraging, one father, the one who had suffered multiple miscarriages with his wife, asked how you were supposed to deal with the loves ones that tell you to just get over it and move on.
Many spoke up expressing their apologies for this insensitivity. Others gave them advice that I thought was a bit insensitive. I kept thinking that he more needs to hear that we understand and have experienced this too and that he was heard more than any advice. Because there really isn't much you can do for people that either have not experienced this loss giving them no right to say anything or people who don't know how to handle what you're going through. While spoken with good intentions in mind.............................
I kept wanting to say that I was so sad that others were so insensitive. But then others were sharing about the circumstances surrounding their child's death and relatives and friends and all that. Many of us were crying. My nose was running like a constantly dripping sink. The stories were just so . ............. heartfelt....................
It seemed like we were all opening up. And even though some stories hurt to hear and some had very encouraging things to say or were very touching, it was still good becuase it was just like they had read my mind. It was good to know that others were hurting the same way. Asking the same questions. Wondering the same things. And some were saying how they couldn't believe in God now or didn't know how to relate to God. I could understand that even though I'm not struggling with that at the moment. I have struggled with that.
People were being very real. Very transparent. It was really good. And then one woman made a comment that shut it all down. Then the lady began to share more about this little boy.
One woman stood up in tears and said she didn't want to hear about this little boy, she wanted to hear about all of our children. Our memories. Get to know our kids. Not someone that is far away. So she left the room saying she was done with the group.
I felt so bad for her that she felt so hurt by the group. She said that no one ever got to share. We all didn't know each other.
After what I had witnessed that sure made me wonder. We left shortly after the book discussion was done.
The parent's group was good and hard and disappointing.
There was a decent turn out. I took a few things to snack on but found that I had no appetite once I sat down and couldn't seem to taste anything anyway. So there was no pleasure found in trying to munch on anything. Even chocolate didn't taste appealing. That really surprised me but I guess that's how it goes when you're in a room with strangers that you know have exerienced the exact same loss as you in some form.
With each introduction we learned of people who miscarried, had stillbirths, lost teenagers, adult children and for different causes. One was SIDS, one was some heart condition, another couple had struggled for years and years and finally had a child. I practically lost it as they said their only child died at age 7. Here we have 3 others and they have struggled so to have that one that they then lost.
Tears came to both of our eyes as one couple lost their 5 1/2 month old son in April. I immediately looked down at the table thinking that I couldn't hear much more of this. This was too close to home.
Many others were crying as we all introduced ourselves and we shared about precious Andrew of course. And I added that we had lost Lexi since Mark doesn't really remember her. Even though that saddens me I guess it's to be expected. I was early on in the pregnancy and Mark didn't get to see her on ultrasound or feel her. She was too young. So it seems I'm the only one that remembers her besides the boys' godmother. She mentioned Alexa the last time we visited them during the summer. It amazed me that anyone else remembered I had carried her and lost her. It was good to know someone remembered her besides me.
So.................after introductions anyone who's child was celebrating a birthday, the anniversary of their death, was new or just wanted to, could light a candle in honor of their child. Suddenly I became so tense and so emotional that I just stared at the table. Mark whispered to me if I wanted to do it, I stared at him with big eyes and shook my head while mouthing no. Then I looked down at the table and Mark stood up to go to the table to light a candle for Andrew. Everyone was sniffling by this time right along with me and Mark lit the candle speaking Andrew's name. I couldn't move as tears streamed down my face.
"My baby." I thought to myself.
They shared about their group and then a lady who lost a niece or nephew, shared about a book. One that told the story of a little boy who died years ago at age 13 or 14 and how he had made such a strong impact before he died on many lives. While some of it was rather intriguing and encouraging, one father, the one who had suffered multiple miscarriages with his wife, asked how you were supposed to deal with the loves ones that tell you to just get over it and move on.
Many spoke up expressing their apologies for this insensitivity. Others gave them advice that I thought was a bit insensitive. I kept thinking that he more needs to hear that we understand and have experienced this too and that he was heard more than any advice. Because there really isn't much you can do for people that either have not experienced this loss giving them no right to say anything or people who don't know how to handle what you're going through. While spoken with good intentions in mind.............................
I kept wanting to say that I was so sad that others were so insensitive. But then others were sharing about the circumstances surrounding their child's death and relatives and friends and all that. Many of us were crying. My nose was running like a constantly dripping sink. The stories were just so . ............. heartfelt....................
It seemed like we were all opening up. And even though some stories hurt to hear and some had very encouraging things to say or were very touching, it was still good becuase it was just like they had read my mind. It was good to know that others were hurting the same way. Asking the same questions. Wondering the same things. And some were saying how they couldn't believe in God now or didn't know how to relate to God. I could understand that even though I'm not struggling with that at the moment. I have struggled with that.
People were being very real. Very transparent. It was really good. And then one woman made a comment that shut it all down. Then the lady began to share more about this little boy.
One woman stood up in tears and said she didn't want to hear about this little boy, she wanted to hear about all of our children. Our memories. Get to know our kids. Not someone that is far away. So she left the room saying she was done with the group.
I felt so bad for her that she felt so hurt by the group. She said that no one ever got to share. We all didn't know each other.
After what I had witnessed that sure made me wonder. We left shortly after the book discussion was done.
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