Me Without You

“You cannot defeat darkness by running from it, nor can you conquer your inner demons by hiding them from the world. In order to defeat the darkness, you must bring it into the light.” ~ Seth Adam Smith, Rip Van Winkle and the Pumpkin Lantern

Two trips around the sun. Two years since our world was rocked. Two years since the last time that I held him in my arms. It's amazing to look back... to know so much time has passed between then and now and yet I can still feel it like yesterday. Here's the thing though: it does get better.

There's a lot of people that will be reading this blog, once I've posted it, not sure what to expect. I sat and I went through my previous posts, looking them over and letting myself feel all of the things I felt through this time. This blog isn't going to be about the profound impact that losing a child has on not only the mother, but the family. It isn't going to be about hurt, pain, suffering, fears, etc.

This time last year, I will tell you I was in a deep, dark place. I wanted to die, I didn't want to continue to live this life with this hole I have inside of me. It was too hard. It didn't feel worth it. If you're feeling that way... if anyone you know is feeling that way... this blog is for them and you. Because tonight my blog is about life.

My son will never live as we knew him ever again. But over the last couple weeks I have been blessed by technology, by posts I had placed two weeks ago of my son. About the life that we got to live with him, the memories that are inside my heart that got to finally play out in front of my eyes and I got to feel the love I will always have for my children deep within me again. Last year, those same videos destroyed me... they ripped out my very soul. Life goes on.

You have two choices when you're looking at the options when it comes to depression: let it eat you alive or fight it. Please. Please fight. It is worth the fight. I went to counseling twice a week, every week, for months. We put me on pills that made me feel all sorts of kinds of ways, but here is what I know: I am a fighter. And so I fought.

The first episode of my PTSD and depression started right after Dominic's first birthday. I looked at oncoming traffic and thought, "You know... if it looked like an accident." The thought terrified me when I parked the call and sat in the parking lot of work and cried my eyes out. I knew what that was. And even though I was safely back into the parking lot I knew that I was failing myself but my children at home who had been through enough. The next thing I did was make the phone call to my doctor -- an amazing man who has been there for me through puberty, entering adulthood, my first (awful) pregnancy, my second (equally awful) pregnancy, and then the worst moment of my life: my son dying. I knew he would help me. I called my doctor.

I cried on the phone when I told the nurse I was thinking about killing myself. He got me in the next morning. It got worse before it got better -- that first year after Dominic died was not kind to me, folks. I also lost several other people, including my Grandfather, who was hands down one of the largest influences in my life. After that -- I had to stop working, I had to learn how to live again.

My son is gone -- but I have to continue to live. Why? Because there is so much to live for. Those smiling faces that greet me every morning, for one... the boys were a huge impact. But there is so much more, you just have to look around.

I want to start a discussion about mental health. About taking care of yourself before anyone else. It sounds selfish, but I can tell you from experience, if you continue to put crap in your backpack thinking you'll handle it later? Eventually, that backpack snaps. And when it snaps... I will tell you it is a damn hard thing to do to put it back the way it was. It is never truly the same again.

Mothers, we're especially bad at this. We give and we give, then there's nothing left. We burn out. We all have that potential. We can all burn out if we are too busy emptying that cup without putting something back in. Take care of yourself, know what that means for you. What it means for me may not be what it means for you. For me it is giving myself a break, sitting down sometimes in a quiet dark room and absorbing the nothing.

Two years after my son's death... I ask you to live. I beg you to not stop anything or anyone stop you from finding your happy. Hug your kids. Love your spouse. Strive for your dreams, even if everyone else rolls their eyes at them. Live. Because that is what this life is about, living.

So, it begs to be said: I miss my son. But I'm thankful that I get to keep him with me always.

Until next time...

First Trip Around the Sun

 "The people who say you are not facing reality actually mean that you are not facing their idea of reality." ~ Margaret Halsey

Music

The hours keep ticking away... I'm watching the clock without realizing. It's been happening since yesterday, I'm not sure when I started doing it. I actually didn't realize it at all until around 2:30 pm today when I thought: "12 more hours... and this would be a year since Dominic died." The tragic thing of it is, I don't know why my brain registered this bit of information when we got the report from the police after the autopsy was done. For weeks after he died every day at 2:30 am I would sit there and think, "It has been ___ days/weeks/months since Dominic died." 

Our brains are morbid things that just simply can't let go of that kind of stuff. I knew this week was going to be bad... I had no idea until Thursday just how bad it truly was going to be. I had not slept the night before and I had to go to therapy -- my first sign should have been I tried to put it off. I will tell you what -- if you have plans with me and I find a reason to get out of them the day I'm supposed to meet up with you -- you had best believe that either my schedule got out of control or I simply cannot get the will to find the energy to deal with whatever is on my plate. 

It was so therapy went that day. The guy I am seeing is new to me -- we've only seen each other four times, this was number four. Every other time I had gone in, I had been the definition of composure. Sure, confident, easily talking about my problems and what I thought I needed to work on to move forward with my life. Every single time I have been able to talk about the kids, my life, Dominic, work, all these things that should upset me -- they should be making me feel something, I did it with a properly condition responses that I thought I should give him. This week... I didn't. 

Now, here's the thing about emotions and me -- I never do anything with half my heart. I either have everything or nothing, there's no middle ground with me. And I am fine until someone else brings it up. If someone else brings it up, I'm so emotionally screwed I won't be able to fix any of it. It was exactly how he greeted me that blew the lid off my whole "I got this" routine I have been doing with him. He asked me how I was, I responded with alright. We sat down and all he had to say was: "Alright? Normally you say you're good." 

It was over folks. I cried non-stop for the next hour and fifteen minutes. It just... wouldn't...stop. We talked about the fact I treat myself horrible, we talked about techniques that could help me through the next week, we did breathing exercises (which made me feel like a dumb-dumb.) All the while I grew more and more frustrated with myself. At the end, he told me the following: "You know, you are very brave. You walk in here every week prepared to do the work. You are strong and brave."

Here's the problem: I don't believe him. 

Hold you collective comments until I'm done -- I know what you are going to say. You're going to give me a whole list of reasons why I am brave, why I am strong, about how me getting out of bed alone is an achievement. And I will tell you, I would say the same things to another woman in my position. So, here's the big truth: I am hard on myself. 

It's true. It's horribly true. So even when this man is sitting across from me -- this is what's going through my head:

"If I was so strong, I wouldn't have a hard time doing my hair in the mornings."

"If I was so brave, I wouldn't be afraid to go to the grocery store by myself."

"If I was so brave, I wouldn't get scared every time my son sleeps and check on him multiple times during the night."
"If I was so strong, then I wouldn't have such a hard time controlling my emotions."

"I'm not strong, I'm weak."

"I'm not brave, I'm a coward."

"I am not working because I'm not strong."

"I'm not brave, because I cannot even make it into work without a meltdown."

"If I was strong, then I would be able to not hesitate before I did anything."

The list continues folks. Why? Because that is part of grief, depression, and anxiety. You see, I don't trust in me anymore. I don't trust that I can make good decisions, I don't trust any decisions I made before and the ones moving forward.

I have constantly told people over the last few months that I feel like I have completely come undone, that I am still trying to pick up the pieces of myself, and now and then, I cut myself on the edges. They're sharp... so sharp. And every time I cut myself, I think less and less. But it was a good indicator that this week was going to go absolutely out of control.

I left there with my head held high... simply because I had cried everything out I could possibly, and well... pride. I'm not about to go walking around looking like I've been crying everywhere, makeup running down my face, swollen from tears... nope. Not gonna do it.

It was last night that it pretty much came to a close: there's no getting out of this. It was 2:30 am... I was thinking about how in 24 hours... it'll have been a year since the worst set of memories happened. I wanted nothing more to find some warmth there just wasn't to be had in my bed, wrapped up in my blankets, trying to absorb into the mattress and pillows. It finally came, sleep... it was what I craved. Unfortunately, your dreaming mind seeks to tell you what your awake ears refuse to hear.

I started dreaming about the day that Dominic passed way. It was like every nightmare you could imagine -- only it happened. It was my reality. It's funny, I don't remember the overwhelming pressure that comes with death. There was no crumbling moment for me.... I didn't fall to my knees weeping like you see in all the TV shows and movies. 

The things I remember are things that will be forever etched in my memory and replayed for me like my own home movie. I remember my Aunt waking me up, that Frank had called, he was calling 9-1-1, that Dominic was cold, and blue. I thought right away that I had been over there the night before, I had opened Frank's bedroom window because Dominic was fussing, I told Frank that it was too hot in there. Maybe he left the window open! Maybe he was cold! I needed to get there to warm him up! I was only a couple weeks out of major shoulder surgery, it didn't stop me from getting in the car, from not even bothering to put on my sling as I slammed the door, slammed the car in reverse and sped to Frank's house. When I got there... my hopes fell the moment I stepped onto the porch. 

I saw it all again last night like that... I walked up the steps, almost running when the door opens. Frank's standing there in his boxers, the EMS and police are standing around him in a half circle. He can't see me... I can hear the sound he's making... it's not a cry... it's not a weep... it is the sound of someone's soul being ripped out of them. My son is dead. I don't need anyone to tell me -- it's the only logical response that would make sense why they would be around Frank and not helping my son. He's already gone. 

I stopped. In my tracks, on his porch, where he couldn't see me but the EMS lady could -- she looked me right in the eyes, her head barely moving a fraction of a fraction of an inch: she shook her head no at me. Her and I had an understanding from that single moment... it was final. I lowered my hands to my knees as I stood there, took a deep breath and felt myself steel to it. There was nothing I could do, my son was dead. That's where the numbness set in. 

There was a great deal of things that happened after -- but my mind seemed to brush over them quickly enough, getting to the one that was the most important. When they asked me if I wanted to go in and say goodbye before they left with him. I remembered the same EMS lady, I wish I could remember her name, she told me she would wrap him up so that it seemed like maybe he was just sleeping. Even now... as I'm writing this... I'm crying. She took such good care of my son, she wrapped him so perfectly that at first look... you might have thought he was just sleeping. But as I held him... that wasn't the case. He was heavier than he should have been, his lids didn't rise to my words or my tears. How many times had he and I cried together in the middle of the night that first month when it was just he and I? Me learning how to be a single mom and him not understanding why I didn't know what to do to help him. How many times had I held him close to my chest and felt him curl into me with love and affection? It was all gone. His face, his beautiful face... he'd never look at me again with those eyes that looked far more like mine than his dad's. That face that always brightened the moment he saw me. There would be no more smiles and coo's for me... no more me asking him to say hi for the camera and he reflected my same facial gestures back at me. 

You see, the reason that it all hurts so much right now is not simply for the fact he was taking from us. It is because I weep for the fact he will not continue to grow, that he will not hit those milestones that I see so many of my friends happy over as they post pictures and videos on their Facebook walls. It's so bittersweet as I watch kids take their first steps, as I see those beautiful faces grow. I miss him... I miss him so much.

No one knows, but there's something I do now that is because of him. I still do it, over a year later and I turn the radio up and sing. Most people probably just think I'm one of those people, which is true. But, the bigger reason is that Dominic hated the car. If I wasn't singing, then he would cry every time I stopped at a stop sign or a light. So I would sing to him -- the sound of my singing and the movement of the car eventually would make him settle to either falling asleep or be lulled at least into a state of not crying, though most often it was sleep. I still do that. I still imagine him right there with me... listening to my voice as I lull him into a state of restfulness. I miss my car buddy.

There's so many things I miss -- tonight just brings every single one of those feelings, those emotions, into the fold and presses them down around me. It's like a crushing weight -- all it is though is a trip around the sun. Why does this have to be the day that feels like the end of them? This day is almost harder, at least then I was numb, I don't have the relief that shock holds for someone. Now I get to feel it all, and really feel it this time.

I started this blog hours ago... finding a song... finding a quote... letting the words settle upon my fingers as I typed them for the world to see. But, here's the thing, it helps me. It helps my feelings by getting them out of my fingertips and out of my head. It helps. And so do my friends, my family, my loved ones who I know will have my back this coming week -- from the ones who sent me a care gift, to the other that sends me baby pictures for me to coo over, to just a friendly hand there to squeeze my own when the tears won't stop. 

It's just another trip around the sun... but here's the thing: there's not going to be a dawn for me tomorrow. Do me a favor, remind me the sun rises again? I might need the reminder.

Words in the Crowd

“It has been said time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.” – Rose Kennedy

 Music to Accompany: Click Here 

I have decided that August is my hell... I wonder how long it will be like this.. how long I will struggle with the profound knowledge that this is the month that my son left my arms forever. There are those who will likely understand, the people who have experienced such a profound loss that it spreads along time without end. Mine doesn't seem to stop, an endless list of reasons and memories that continue to loop through my mind.

I don't know at what point I suddenly realized it was August 1st, but from the second that the calendar rolled over, I started counting down the days. The days to when my own personal nightmare started. The last year was too much for words, but in the next 19 days there will be such a wound that will reopen, I don't know how I will ever close it back up. How do you heal? I'm told, repeatedly, that time will take care of it. But I think sometimes that isn't true... that I will feel constant that my soul has been laid bare for all to see. 

You see, I woke up several nights ago dreaming of him. His smell was there, the feel of him against my lips as I sang to him quietly in my arms. You would think that there would be some kind of comfort to be found in that. But, it is also my curse that I remember things so clearly. When I woke he wasn't there... I couldn't find him to hold again. I sat for a long time in the middle of the night, the house quiet and his ashes in my lap. Wishing I could hold him just one last time, but I know that one last time will never be enough.

The problem lays more in the fact that my cracked mask is only seen to me. That my pain is often invisible to others. Grief as deep as mine is hidden behind layers of emotion, one laid out on top of the other like coats of paint hiding the imperfections in the wall. I remind myself to be positive, I lay the pictures down in front of myself from each day, reminding myself that I have so much to live for. And it isn't that I don't know that, that I don't know I am loved, that I don't know that I have people who would happily guide me through the next days. It's that I know that eventually... sooner or later... those people will leave too.

To say I have trust issues is barely touching the surface of how deep it all goes. But as I say that, I look over photos again, thinking about the love I had and still have in me. As much as I miss my son, I am in no hurry to meet him and my maker. I mourn deeper, for all that I won't see in the future -- I mourn for the could have beens. He would be old enough to start talking to me, babble or what not, but I can picture his smiling face on a toddling child who just wants to explore the world. I can imagine him making noises at me still, the way he touched my face as if he was touching my soul. Would he look even more like Kaiden than he already did? Would he still show those hints of my facial features under his chubby cheeks? Would he have his dad's spirit or mine? Would he grow tall, strong, and with purpose?

I try so hard to push the thoughts ahead... I tell myself that after the 29th, I'll feel a little better. That I will have survived the first year without him. I wonder if I lie to myself though, as if I am making up stories to try to keep myself from falling to pieces. And I have fallen to pieces, I've yet to pick them all up. How can you even be able to do that when the edges still cut your hands when you try? 

People ask me what they can do to help, I have no answer for it. Do you talk more? Do you talk less? How do you ask for help when you don't know what the problem is or where you will go? It hurts. Living hurts. How do you ask for help with that?

I'm seeing a new therapist, his insight is welcomed as a different perspective than I've ever had before. It's hard to see everything through the eyes of another, I don't envy his job. His job is to give me the tools -- the gloves, persay -- to pick up the pieces again. I almost pity him as he sits across from me, I watch him work through having to tell a mother how to get over losing her son. I doubt he knows the things that go through my head as he talks to me. He has books all over his office about grief, about developing healthy minds and habits, he has a picture up that has a quote about strength. He says he admires mine, meanwhile I look at the features of his face and wonder what it would look like if he went through what I have. Would the lines and sleepless nights touch him like I feel like they have me?

It is this way with a great deal of my appointments -- me half listening as people tell me things I've either heard or read a hundred times. How to you explain to people they now sound like the adults from the Peanuts? That while I hear them, I am inspecting them instead, finding the indicators of stress and mark them for what they are. The tired eyes, the laugh lines, the proof that they have endured too. If they have, then certainly I can too, right?

It's what it is all is about. Finding a way to make it through? I want to do more than ride the waves and come out at the other side. I want to learn how to live again, how to enjoy life again. I'm a work in project, finding my happy again, even though I don't know where that path will lead me. 

So tonight, I go to bed knowing I am one day closer to tomorrow... closer to the day that I know my soul will ache at as it inches closer. And with that ache I will remember... If I weren't here... I'd never feel the ache... and that ache means he existed... that his life mattered, even if it was only to me.

To my baby... to my Dominic... I miss you. And I'll stay here missing you, because I love you and your brothers enough to stay.

Until next time...

“It has been said time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.”

– Rose Kennedy

- See more at: http://www.psychic-readings-guide.com/quotes-about-grief/#sthash.H35B8KHP.dpuf

“It has been said time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.”

– Rose Kennedy

- See more at: http://www.psychic-readings-guide.com/quotes-about-grief/#sthash.H35B8KHP.dpuf

“It has been said time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.”

– Rose Kennedy

- See more at: http://www.psychic-readings-guide.com/quotes-about-grief/#sthash.H35B8KHP.dpuf

“It has been said time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.”

– Rose Kennedy

- See more at: http://www.psychic-readings-guide.com/quotes-about-grief/#sthash.H35B8KHP.dpuf

“It has been said time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.”

– Rose Kennedy

- See more at: http://www.psychic-readings-guide.com/quotes-about-grief/#sthash.H35B8KHP.dpuf

“It has been said time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.”

– Rose Kennedy

- See more at: http://www.psychic-readings-guide.com/quotes-about-grief/#sthash.H35B8KHP.dpuf

My Burning House

"I've been sleepwalking, been wondering all night, trying to take what's lost and broke and make it right. I've been sleepwalking, too close to the fire. But it's the only place that I can hold you tight, in this burning house." Music to accompany the post. Click here to play.

I haven't posted in a long time... it'd been a huge battle since the last time I did. So much has happened, too much to add into simple post. With that said, this post will not be for the faint at heart. Please proceed with caution. 

Kaiden holding Dominic | April 10, 2015

We are approaching upon the year of Dominic's death, the date will be August 29, 2016. After his birthday, April 9th, I found myself in a hole I could not dig myself out of. You see, my son existed, and I loved him so. After he passed away, I tried so hard to push through -- I never wanted to see the pity I see in the eyes of others, the uncomfortable conversations when someone asks where my lovable little boy is, the fear that someone will mention him... the fear someone won't. I had piled all these things on myself: lost son, had funeral, reconciled with my husband, went from single mother for 9 months back to a married woman with 4 kids, changed jobs, hated leaving the previous position, but felt the change would be good.

And it was all going good... as the best laid plans often to until God took the oars out of my raft... I'm left with no control over the following events: Death. First, my great-grandfather died -- he was an amazing man, I only knew a small snippet of the things he had to teach me. He was Ninety-Nine years old, a man who on his 99th birthday threw the opening pitch at the Dow Diamond's Loons Statistic. He was so proud of that moment. I hear often about how cherished and great he was.

Then, my Grandmother died... my mother's mother. She had been suffering in what surely would have been her own personal hell... to an extent it was a mercy for her to be called with her Lord. She was a deeply religious woman who I always looked up to - I can see that now, going through everything I have, how much courage and determination that woman had. Towards the end, as her time was getting short, I think we understood each other better. I hope, now she is in Heaven, she knows just how much I loved her and the mark she made on me for the rest of my life.

Shortly after, I had to temporarily end my relationship with my mother. I don't want it to be more than it is, we love each other, I'm sure, but people sometimes have gotten past the point where you can continue without damaging the relationship first. I told her I wanted to go to therapy with her... she told me no. We parted ways.

Kaiden and Dominic | August 28, 2015

These are influential events leading up to the Birthday of my Dominic. After that hit... I was done. I could take no more... I asked for help, started going to therapy when thoughts of killing myself started to creep in. And when I first got the call on April 28th, my world came crushing in around me.

My grandfather, the man I attribute to raising me in every way, the most influential person in my life, my hero, my connection to God, my everything... His heart had stopped and he was rushed into the hospital. With my cousin, Jordan, and my grandmother, Ann, we said a prayer... the words that left me were these: "God... you owe me this one. You have taken too much, you cannot take this one too. Not now... please not now. Why would you do this to me now?"

I left the hospital knowing one thing: he was going to go to God soon. I was there when he went, watching him be taken off the tubes and machines that were keeping him alive. I had cried so much before, that in that moment I no longer had the tears to shed for others who expected them. I felt it fitting though, it felt like the changing of the guard. I remembered something he told me before: "Kimmie Kay... your grandparents die to prepare you for your parents, your parents to prepare you for your friends, your friends to prepare you for your own. It is all a way to set you up to learn about the process of dying." While seemingly morbid, it was the truth.

Here's the thing about this man: I have only known unconditional love from one single person from the day I could remember. I'm sure my parents love me, I"m sure plenty of others do too, but he was the absolute only person who loved me no matter what. Come Hell or High Water... he would have been by my side to the end. He certainly did when he sung me "My Little Sunshine" privately to only me on the funeral of my son's death. 

With the passing of my grandfather, the fragile hold I had on my world came apart: I was depressed, anxious, and I wanted to kill myself. I would think of all sorts of things, how I could just walk out into traffic, drive into traffic, how I could take the right combination of pills to kill myself. Then I would be with all these people I love in Heaven, right? It was a dangerous and dark time.. the world seemed endlessly devoured by darkness.

My therapist took me off of work, I haven't worked sense, out on medical leave until we can get me to the point where I no longer want to kill myself. I'm not sure it will ever happen. The only time I find the relief in it is when someone places a baby in my arms. It all washes away then, holding this tiny bundle of hope, of unconditional love that I can pass on to the next. 

I can not say that anything in particular has helped me. I fear not working, because I have never not worked. I fear working, because I love being home with the kids and their presence soothes my soul. I'm gaining weight because I don't sleep, then I don't have the energy for anything else.

I know there is a way out. I've been posting positive things on Facebook. I have joined Younique, which has provided me a positive support group of women who are willing to help me fight the hard fight, a couple have gone through what I have as well. I try to take care of the house, do the domestic things needing done.

But I can't help but feel... in my dreams... in the night... as my world burns around me, that I can touch them. I can see them there, hold them close. This is where I am, my friends... Lost, alone, worried about the future. And tonight, of all nights, I miss them both so badly it hurts. With ever tragic even, I relive the death of my son... all those emotions come crashing in again. All I can do is float down the river that God has refused to give me a paddle on.

Until again...

Grief is not a wave… it’s a Ninja.

“A mother never gets over losing her child. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, how old her child was when they died, or the reason they were taken away, grief does not ever expire. Never tell a mother who’s child died to move on, to get over it, or ‘be happy’ that their child is in Heaven now. You are ‘sick’ of hearing about it? She has to live with it every single day.” ~Unknown

I have reached a stage in my grief I cannot explain, it is some weird place between acceptance and anger that flares unexpectedly in the most random of situations. More than that, I have also reached a place where I know my grief is no longer manageable on my own. For those who don’t know me well, this is a huge admission.

I cannot do it alone.

For those who do know me, understand the place I have to come from in order state that to the world, not to mention myself. Denial is a powerful thing.

Here’s the thing, I know that I am grieving, I know that I am going to struggle from day to day – I understand that all of this is ‘normal’. Here’s the thing: nothing about grieving for a child is normal. Not everything can be placed in these pretty little packages. It’s sneaky, it’s a damn ninja.

So, because my grief has gotten beyond my control, my doctor has sent me to a therapist. Which, by the way, is a necessary evil, in and of itself. I really don’t care for talking about my feelings, but I went into it with the hopeful heart that maybe someone could really help me navigate this minefield I am in.

I was disappointed…

First of all, you don’t need a flipping degree to take one look at my life and a moment of hearing my history to know that my life is stressful. I wouldn’t be sitting in a therapist’s office if my life was rainbows and butterflies. Meanwhile, I also don’t expect this to be an excuse for any kind of behavior – which is, apparently, a new concept. Because, apparently, me not blaming my parents or my son’s death for all of my problems in life is a foreign concept.

In addition to that... we described how grief felt, I would say it is like a ninja, cutting me down at the knees when I least expect it. She disagreed, she felt it was more like a wave... sometimes catching you from behind, but you could withstand sometimes. I still disagree... it's a damn ninja that waits in the shadows, waiting for you not to be watching your six. This is a fact.... sneaking ninjas.

And then the kicker came… the one that that made me want to facepalm: “Have you considered Group Therapy?” How do you explain, to a complete stranger, that you attending a group therapy situation would not make yours better? The grief of others frustrates me depending on what comes out of their mouths. “I know how you feel because ________” tends not to bother me. However, if the words “My life is so hard…. ______________” comes out, I want to chuck the chair I’m sitting in at the person. When someone talks about how they’re an addict because of their grief or how hard their life has been makes me want to flip desks.

Everyone has been dealt a hand, some are better than others, but there are certain things that make them better or worse… which lead to the big question: “Have you turned to substance abuse?” “I’m surprised you haven’t… as stressful as your life is.” Like me drinking away my feelings will bring my son back…. Or won’t perpetuate the problems I’m having financially… or help my boys know how to grieve… or help me get up for work in the morning… I’m sure chugging from a bottle is the cure-all for everything!

In the end, this was the diagnosis: she can’t help me. I need to find someone who is better suited to my particular brand of crazy, apparently. I walked in hopeful, walked out sad.

I also hit a curb with my car and cried about it in a Walgreens parking lot like a crazy woman.

I’m not a crazy woman, but the 40 lbs I’ve gained and the frustration I feel seems like it’s straight out a strange romantic comedy book…. Next thing you know I’ll be showing up to work in my bath robe and be confused when HR comes to talk to me.

Perhaps that won’t happen… but I often feel as if it is on the verge… right there on the edge. But, perhaps that isn’t all that strange. I find solace in the crochet I’ve recently been taught how to do, in chatting with friends on my way to and from work when I don’t trust my mind, to listening to music to help move the blues along the way, I write when things just can’t stop leaking from my soul.

Here’s the facts: Life is hard. I don’t want to cook. I don’t want to clean my house. Sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting for the other thing to happen…

Here’s more facts: I love my boys. I love my house. I love my dogs. I love my life. It’s hard… but I am not willing to trade anything for another.

I miss my son… but that’s okay. And I need to find a therapist.

Until next time…

The Bereaved Mother

"Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms. She is breathing, but she is dying. She may look young, but inside she has become ancient. She smiles, but her heart sobs. She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she I, but she is not, all at once. She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity."

It is a hard journey to put into words what we have done for the last few months. But all of it comes to head, it feels, this week. As sleepless nights become moreso, as fears become irrational, as the torment of the lost slip through our figures into a grief that cannot be tied down.

It is, as always, an unpredictable thing. My grief in relation to my loss of Dominic is never easy to put into words. While I have been fine all other holidays, Easter hit me hard. Perhaps it is because the holiday is about renewal, but in truth there was more to this.

Last year, Easter was the first one with shared custody with my Husband. Being separated with kids is hard, and we had agreed to share holidays. I had Dominic... that was it. I remember being curled around him and promising him, between the two of us I would never let go, that Mommy loved him, that it was our fresh start. Who needed someone who didn't want to be there in the first place?

A few days later... I went into labor. He was my new start. My world seemed brighter, more focused and positive than it had ever been. Though, yes, I still suffered from PPD, it was different than before. I remember pacing non-stop when his father took him for even an hour, impatient and worried. I became the cat who had lost her kitten. 

I have to tell those people who are probably rolling their eyes and waiting for me to "get on with my life.": You don't get over something like this. It doesn't get better. It just puts on a new pair of clothes every day just like I do. Today it is the blazer I wore to work, tomorrow it is the heels I use to make me feel stronger, tomorrow it's the brightly colored fill in the blank.

Here's the truth: it's a process. I wake up fine, and by noon I'm not. I wake up not okay, but by the evening I wonder why it was so hard. But it's silly what's so hard -- cooking dinner, cleaning the house, putting away the laundry. On the outside, I'm so strong and ready for everything, on the inside I'm just tired. So very tired...

How do you explain soul tired to someone? It's not the same as being physically tired. It's like an emptiness that weighs. It gets harder sometimes to carry than anything else in my life. It is a force of nature in and of itself. My life cannot become about the child I lost, I work hard to make sure I focus my attention on the boys who are here instead. On trying to communicate better with my husband. On trying to do good at work and find small achievements every day. On the projects outside.

I'm trying to stay motivated... trying to move forward... but moving forward is also remembering. I miss my son... my arms ache for him. I miss his laughter and his light. But as I said the day of his memorial: It is often the brightest lights that go out first.

April 9, 2015 my son was brought into this world screaming... then growling softly as I nursed him. April 4, 2016... I wish for just one more moment of that scream and cry... if only I could have it.

Until next time...

The Dogs Pulled Me Home...

“You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” ~ Marcus Aurelius

The dogs pulled me home...

How it came about, it is simple, I decided that they and I were going to go for a walk. It was cold, it was windy, we went anyways.

First, you would likely ask my why on earth I would do this? The answer is simple, I am stuck inside my mind. Perhaps first we should start at the beginning of this past week. Perhaps even before that...

Last week, I turned 30 years old. Unlike may of my peers and those of my same age, It doesn't really bother me. The only hitch in the entire thing is the worry over where the path will go over the next few years, in particular, babies. As you might imagine... this is a difficult idea. Do we try for another? Our son passed away, completely healthy, and happy. Do you try again? If we do, how long do we wait? It is recommended two years... but... that seems so long. It seems like I will be so far into our lives by then. It really is not so, but the mind works in odd ways, doesn't it?

And so, I went to the doctor this week to talk about where I am with everything. I go every couple of months to just do a mental wellness check, we talked about a lot. The first, that I am not alright. I am on the surface, I do all I can to keep my life together: work, take care of the boys, keep the house clean, keep life moving forward every day. I average about 5 hours of sleep a night, I wake up every morning simply to do it again... to press forward... to march on. It often feels as if I carry the world on my shoulders.

But that's not what you see, is it? When you see me outside of here, on the street, in the store, with my kids, I wear my strength like an armor that you can never see through. It's what I have to do to keep going. My doctor wrote me a prescription of eating healthy and working out, taking more time for me for my own mental wellness. This all good in theory, but sleep is precious, time with my family more so.

The dogs pulled me home today...

Not because I couldn't walk myself, but because for a moment I lost my way. Most don't know, I was quite quiet about it when it happened, but today is not just valentines day to me... it also marks the day that I found out that Frank was not only leaving, that our marriage was done, but it is the day that I found out there was another woman involved. This isn't something you forget, it courses through you like your own blood does. The day started out alright, as most days do, but soon darkness started in.

You see, it wasn't that I was grieving (at least not just that) but that I was also fixated on this loss that went deeper. So much deeper. It was a year ago today that I set my compass on something different, on the fact I was 8 months pregnant and I couldn't let myself slip, I had a family to take care of. And though the fact I was scared to be a single mother of a 5 year old and a newborn, I knew one thing: I am strong enough for this.

It was how I lived the next 7 months, knowing I was prepared. Even as I got put on bed rest, when I dislocated my shoulder and then had to have surgery, even as I watched my husband leave and then what he left me for fall apart. You might have though, being the one left behind, I would have been glad to see it... I wasn't. All I could think was that my poor boys were going through such a wave... such a torment.

And then my son died... the one thing that had gotten me through everything, every night that I went to bed alone, it was him... him who I curled around and talked to, who moved within me and reminded me that he loved me, even before he could look at me. It was him, that I got up in the morning (like clockwork) to get Kaiden up for school, to get myself up and moving. Time and time again, it was because of him. Even the morning I woke up, confused because I had cramps only to realize they were contractions 5 minutes apart... it was him.

The dogs pulled me home...

It was with all of these feelings, that I have pushed down to make it through life alone that drove me to it. I have to stop eating my feelings, the 40 lbs I've gained since Dominic passed away states that clearly enough. And when I went for the sugar, after a day of prepping food for the next week, making myself prepare for the gym and such, I reached for the nearest sweet and stopped short. My doctor told me to try to find solace in the exercise... 30 minutes a day... just 30 minutes and we could be away from the container of frosting that was whispering "eat me... you'll feel better" from the cupboard.

First, I tried to take the dogs on a bike ride... I had spent $40.00 on this attachment to my bike that I could take the dogs running while I rode. It took Zoey, my 75 lb pitbull, all of 3 minutes to break it off the bike, stripping the nut that holds my tire on. Twice as upset before, I leashed up both dogs, threw on my boots, and started walking.

The dogs pulled me home...

It seemed like a good idea until I was about a half of a mile away from the house. You know, about the time the fatigue set in from walking in the snow to go in the first place. There is a path, but the recent snow has made it pretty much like walking on sand. While that seems magical, in retrospect, it was a lot more than I had signed up for. I finally stopped... at 0.58 miles to bend over and cry. The tears freezing down my face before I even really got a chance to enjoy the emotion attached to them. I thought about just giving up... about calling Frank to have him come get me (and the dogs)... what in the hell was I thinking in the first place?! This wasn't going to fix anything, now not only was I upset at cards I had been dealt, but now I was freezing, sore, angry at myself and the world, so much more...

Zoey tugged on the leash... bent over, hands on my knees I looked in her direction. She was pulling backwards, towards home, watching me. Brodie, our black lab and lovable fat-butt, licked my face and his tail went "tick...tock" as he waited for me to move again. I had been standing there for all of a minute, in self-loathing, hating myself for making this path, hating myself for being weak in the moment, hating myself for not being able to forgive Frank for the mistakes he has made, hating myself because I've been eating my grief, hating myself... because I'm human. Because I'm not made of stone and I felt weak in a single... moment.

The dogs pulled me home...

Normally, I make them walk beside me, this time... they led. Not pulling hard, simply keeping me moving, one foot in front of the other as I walked back home. It was harder walking back, the wind had been at my back before, this time it was in my face, my legs and body was tired from the unexpected more-than-a-walk walk I had decided to do. They kept me moving, picking up speed as we got closer to home.

The dogs pulled me home, into the warmth and shelter of my life. Frank greeting me in the garage to laugh at my huffing breath, the dogs happy to be back, to the boys eagerly jumping up and running to me as I walked in the door, back to the laundry to be done and the life to keep moving forward. The boys and I put on a movie, and that was the night. Everything I walked out the door with was gone in the snow... I lost it somewhere along the hill on my way back, I felt it lift, I felt it leave me.

It probably seems like just a sad story, simple and easy to dismiss. But, my dogs saved my from myself today, so did the walk. I may not have came home to do push-ups or sit-ups, I didn't come home to save the world, but I came home... I will keep coming home... I will keep doing what I do.

Because, in the end, no matter how many times people tell me that what I do is amazing, I don't feel amazing inside. My world is carefully placed, my life is filed, stored, and timed to keep me moving forward because I have to. The truth is, sometimes I'm not okay, and I need to remember that it is okay not to be okay. It may change, but right now... I'm okay. Who knows what I will be tomorrow, but if it all creeps upon me again... I'm going to take my dogs for a walk.

The dogs pulled me home... and I'm glad they did.