St Dominic and other D-Day Things



Every day is a new one because no day is like the one before. The passing goal is to make each one better and to continue on the journey we have been luck enough to have.

Normally I have a quote for these blogs, something which relates to whatever topic I'm about to talk about as I go. Today, there is no quote or words of inspiration I can offer that will soothe the dull ache in my soul. It's been awhile since I needed to put my feelings out there, but today, I need the release of the feelings that rest so deep within.

There has been so much that has happened over the course of the last few weeks, such change which gone to the very core of life. I left a job that has been a huge part of my life and my family for the last five years. I have gained employment in a new profession, every day is new and is a chance for me to take a deep breath and try to move forward in my life.

Change is not a bad thing. I will repeat. Change. Is. Not. A. Bad. Thing. Right now it is the most beautiful thing in my life, especially when those changes are positive and have a good impact on my future, I can justify that...



Kaiden, Frank and I at the bench site.

It started like any other Wednesday. Most people don't realize, as I don't publically acknowledge it, that I have been sick since last week. I have been feeling drawn and deeply pulled down, I mostly think it is due to being sick, but as today progressed, I realized it is a lot more than that.

It started with one of my best friends texting me about the Memorial Bench her and her husband are doing for Dominc's Memory. It is something I am looking forward to, I want to be able to go take the boys on a hike, have a picnic and talk about him and life. It will feel like he is there with us every time we are there. It was no big deal, she asked me about something I wanted written on the bench, I asked for more time to think about it, because it is a big thing to consider. I want to write more than Beloved Son. Beloved Brother. Forever in Our Hearts.

From there, I started looking at my desk and thinking I needed new pictures of the family for my desk. Simple enough.... until I wondered if I would put Dominic on my desk. The people in my new workplace, I don't think they know... I prefer if they don't look at me and think "poor grieving mother" as much as possible. So... how many sons do I have? I want to put him on my desk... he lives on in me ever day... but, will I upset others? When people ask me his name and how old he is, what do I say? "He will be forever 5 months old." There have been a million things I've learned to say to comfort the OTHER person, they will never have the words to comfort me.

It became something that was bothering me right up through lunch... to the point that I started having flashbacks of him. Him as he grinned at me as I lathered him up in the bathtub. His beautiful smile as I asked him if he was going to make big splashes for me before he started throwing his limbs in all directions in the bath, getting the entire bathroom wet. The way he laid his head against me as I talked to him, listening to me like a little man, as if he couldn't get enough of my words. The way I sang to him in the car when he would cry, and how at the sound of my voice he would stop. How he looked the day they laid him in my arms and I had to say goodbye.

From there... I cried. It took my entire lunch to get myself back under control. Bringing myself to heel, I walked back into work.

That's when the phone calls started coming in. Either the client or the company's name for the next three hours revolved around the name "Dominic". What on earth have I done to be tortured so badly with his memory today?! What did I possibly do?

And then finally... before leaving work, in the parking lot before driving, curiosity got the best of me. I googled... St. Dominic. To read the entire text as I did, please feel free to Click Here, before continuing on or after if you wish. St Dominic. Of all the stupid things to look at when I was getting ready to leave for work, that is the one I chose to do. Things popped out at me immediately: Patron Saint of Astronomers; Died in August; He was named after Saint Dominic of Silos, who is said to be the patron saint of hopeful mothers; "before his birth his barren mother made a pilgrimage"... the list went on. My son loved stars... he had a glowing star bed-buddy in his crib, that was the start. I was once considered barren myself, I had been told I couldn't have children and I had went through an incredible journey with all of my boys (I consider my bonus boys a journey too).

 



Dominic and I | Mother's Day 2015
4 weeks and 3 days old

All of these things... and finally, for the 45 minute drive home... I cried. I let it all out. It is now I realize, after all is said and done, that God didn't punish me today for something. He was reminding me. Reminding me that it is okay to be what I am, to grieve and be seen grieving. That the harder I try to push all of it out of myself, the harder it will come back onto me. That I have to face this life for what it is and stop making myself think that for some reason it isn't okay to just break down. That it isn't okay to just have a bad day.

If I had to give a label to my journey it would be learning how to feel. I have never felt so much in my life. I have always been on the more reserved side with emotions, but this experience has taught me that I cannot do that anymore. I miss my son. I miss the life I was building with him in it. I miss everything... but I cannot change what happened or what will come. All I can do is hope for a future that makes sense. A future where I can be at rest with his memory and his eternal beauty.

 

The Nursery

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” ~ Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

There comes a time where you logically know that you have to let go of some things. That there is so much that has changed in a short period of time. In February my entire life changed in a huge way, my husband and I separated, we were separated still when Dominic had passed away. I had put the nursery together by myself, piece by piece I created a room that was just my room with my son. It is strange to think that he so rarely spent much time in there, but still it is a pulse of him.

Since everything happened, Frank and I have been mostly impossible to separate since Dominic passed. We use each other to keep ourselves strong, when one of us falters, the other helps us back up. It's strange to think that something so tragic could bring two people so closely back together, but no one else in the world understands what we are going through. Even people who have lost a child will tell you they understand, but no one grieves like you because you were the only ones to have that child. 

Naturally, the course of time we have decided to merge our households back together. It is a survival tactic. But, what that means is that now... we have to do what we think would be impossible: we do not have the room for all three boys to be in one bedroom anymore. They have to be spread out between two rooms.... Dominic's room.

We put it off for the last two months, half the time the door was closed or one of us would go in to bask in the smell of our child who you could still feel in the room. But, it has to go... the nursery has to go. 

So, we started doing it. Jordin helped Frank take down the crib, I started pulling clothes out of dressers. I put aside one tote, it is the only thing I am allowing myself to keep. I put in a couple onesies, a few blankets that were specifically his, odds and ends that meant something to Frank and I. Once it was done, I piled his stuff that we didn't need, messaged Frank's cousin to come get things from us, she just had a little boy, so it is a perfect resource to give them to. It was after that, once I stopped moving and stopped focusing on the next step it all hit me.

I sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by parts of the crib that meant so much to me to have for him. I had finally done it right... the way I wanted to do it from the start. A nursery, a rocking chair, an organized room with all the cute baskets and the clothes bin that matched. It all was still there like it had been to begin with. I sat there, on the blue carpet I started to stare at.

Where had I gone wrong? I certainly loved him. I made sure he was happy, whole, healthy. Did that not count for me? What did I do to deserve this pain? Surrounded by things that represented my attempt to make sure he had the closest to a perfect life I could provide, I broke down. It has been quite a while since I had a real break down. Even the week before when there was a newborn in the office, I had held it together.

It becomes more real when you have to take a part what you built. Much like growing him, I had created this home too. It all washed over me, the grief that I keep forgetting will pounce on me in what feels like my weakest moments. 

Frank found me... weeping in my sorrow and longing for the child I can never hold again. He didn't say anything. He sat with me and held my hand as I cried both silently and noisily at once. He had just finished fixing the washer, that had been messing up and not draining properly. From his pocket he pulled a wet baby washcloth and laid it on the floor between us. It's when I started to laugh while crying. Here was another reminder, another sign that he had been here and now he was gone. Then I realized... these things aren't my son. I did everything I could, as did Frank, to give him the best we knew how... and in the short time he was here, we certainly did.

We both picked ourselves up, he went to finishing dinner, I finished packing up stuff. We decided on what to keep, what to let go of. What are clothes? Nothing. They don't represent our son. The crib we will put in storage for now. The boys will love having their extended space... it isn't a stab at the memory, it is just moving forward. And at some point, we have to move forward, at least a little. 

It is okay that I miss my son. It is okay to have moments that I feel the weight of that loss. This is a healthy grief. I let myself have it... I pull myself up. That's what this is all about, at least in my mind. We moved on with laughing boys, joking and working through the ache which never seems to go away, it is just duller sometimes. Like a toothache that you are putting off because maybe you don't really need the dentist. 

The nursery isn't my son... it's time to let it be. Time to embrace the living and by living, we honor Dominic.

My Relationship with God

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Revelation 21:4

I was born into a home with a mother who was Lutheran, a father who was slightly atheist, a grandfather who was Methodist. So to say I started my life out with a mixed bag of tricks would be fair. I remember my relationship with God being on of diversity, especially the first time I went to church with my grandmother in the U.P. That was an entirely different flavor, it is however when I fell in love with Latin.

I never identified as any particular religion, I just liked to listen to the theories that someone would tell me... then I would go on to the next. This relationship with God continued through college, when I learned to question the existence of God and what that existence meant to me.

It was in my Philosophy class when I looked up for the first time across the classroom and asked someone during a debate to prove to me that God existed. The debate took a turn I do not think the professor expected as I listed to people wage war against my questioning of their beliefs. He, however, gave me an A in the class when my response to them was this: "It does not matter to me if God exists or if He or She does not exist, I can never know the answer so therefore it does not matter." He had dubbed me Classroom Buddha, though he only called me it privately with a chuckle.

It was one of my customers at a local place I used to be a server at who got to learn of my darker side of religion. See, people feel so deeply that it becomes both a weapon and a tool. I was listening to a customer, who is a professed born again Christian who used to be a street walker (interesting phrasing there I remember quirking a brow at), who was telling another customer that Harry Potter was witchcraft and anyone who read it was going to Hell. I listened to her politely and continued to be neutral until she took my wrist. For those who didn't know me then or don't know me face to face now... I don't care to be touched by people I don't know or don't trust. So there this woman was, looking up at me and she asked a question which still echos in my brain today: "You are a good Christian Girl, aren't you?" Was I? Am I? It took me a moment of hesitation to finally respond: "It depends on your definition ma'am, I was raised Methodist, my father is Atheist, and my mother was Lutheran before we started going to a Methodist church. One of my closest friends is Jehovah Witness. I've studied a large amount of religions and decided I'm agnostic." She released me with a disgusted look on her face, saying in a tone: "Well I feel bad for your family, you're all going to Hell." I shrugged and while I was walking away added, "I read Harry Potter anyways, damned if you do and damned if you don't."  She never let me wait on her again.

It was a "man friend" of my mother's who I offended with my aloofness. He was what you would call a leader amongst his fellowship, he specifically was a Youth Leader for the teens amongst this group. Now, I'm an educated woman, I've read literature that others wouldn't bother with... I've read the bible... several different versions for curiosity, and while I can't spout out the passages and the paragraphs in context, I do understand the difference between our modern interpretations and King James Version.

Much like the woman I had offended before, he asked me: "Do you believe you are going to heaven?" I probably looked at him as if he had grown another head, but I answered still, "Yes. I believe I will go to heaven." I'm sure he thought he was doing some good thing by saying to me, "How do you know?"

I immediately felt my tension rise and considered his question. He didn't ask me what God meant to me, he didn't ask me my views, he was asking me what I thought my ticket to heaven was. So, I answered as truthfully as I could, "I wake up every day and try to be the best human being I can. I do no harm, I attempt not to judge, and I try to simply lead my life so if I were to have to answer for it, I can feel assured that I made the choices that were best for me."

Of course... this answer is wrong. And he vividly told me so, followed by a lot of reasons (I wasn't really listening) that unless I went to church and prayed for forgiveness, I was going to Hell. Frankly, my answer to him was colorful... I will not repeat it for the sake of my mother, but needless to say, he never talked to me or saw me again. I'm glad she's found someone else anyways... I didn't like him much.

And so my relationship to God comes full circle to my current situation. The Pastor who lead the memorial for Dominic was a comfort in his new age way of leading... he understood that what Frank and I are going through, a mother and a father losing their child so young or at all, is painful. He prayed to God with us to help people find the words to say to us or not at all... that we would be spared the difficult conversations.

The truth is... I don't believe God cares, per say, for our loss. I think two people in a world of sorrow and hate is too drowned out by the sounds. But today on a friend's Facebook, said the following status:

"If you need a prayer today. This very moment. Step out on Faith. Message me and I will pray with you today. If you NEED God's ear, for Him to listen and to MOVE in your life today. Message me. Today a window is open, there is no coincidence, stand under it before it closes."

Something about that status moved me... in both anger and relief. To the status I messaged him this:

"In this moment, I pray that God help me find the path to heal with the least amount of pain through it. That He hold my son as his own and keep him close as I cannot. Let my struggle be temporary and grant me forgiveness for my anger... I cannot understand, but I strive to move forward still. Amen."

I believe there is a higher power, by whatever name you choose to call It, that is there... that there is a heaven and there is a hell. I choose to believe that we might have multiple lives, depending on the circumstances before, that we get a chance as souls to try again. I believe that we all serve a purpose, though few will ever come to truly know what it is.

I do not believe my son's death was an act of God. I do not believe the things people say: "Everything happens for a reason"; "Heaven needed him more than we did."; "God has a plan."; "Perhaps something good will happen, God knows what he does." If you are one of the million people to say this to me, take no offense when I say... You need to stop. Please, do not put this tragedy in God's hands. If God took my son because he felt he was needed more than I did than I hate God like one could not fathom at the moment.

I am angry with God... especially when I see the careless tossing of life all over. Refugees fleeing countries, their children dead before their eyes. The crack-head mother who takes her children to a crack-house but CPS tells the concerned father "but at least she admitted it happened to us.... at least she can get help." My son his gone... other's spit on life while I would do anything for my son back in my arms. I am angry with God.

I think God understands. I think God is large enough that He can hold that weight upon his shoulders, where humanity cannot. I think God takes comfort in my mourning, it means the gift of Dominic he gave me was worth something, it mattered. There was a song that Frank picked out at the memorial I think was perfect, it spoke of he hope a mother had to see her child again. To hold him again. That there was a place God had made for them to be together again.

I still wake up every day and try to do right by humanity. I wake up every day a little stronger or a little weaker depending on what had happened in that day. I mourn loudly... I mourn quietly. I remember my son as I sing in the car, as I walk into my day to day, I remember everything.

I think back to that moment when they took him from my body. They had told me that I shouldn't be afraid... that he might not cry right away. My son, my beautiful son, he screamed before they even had him out. The sound was so beautiful to a mother... they laid him beside me while they worked to make sure I was okay. It was the only time he got quiet. I felt my soul move... to change so that my world tilted on axis and now, this little baby was mine, and I his.

My soul is missing a piece of it. I will never get it back. It isn't some kind of dream I can shake off. It's not something you can fix. It's not something you can see or touch. Everything seems a little duller now, and sharper other places. A piece of my soul has left, and I miss it so, I'm angry with God. I'm angry with people. I'm angry with myself. I'm angry with the silence in the room. I'm angry with the noise that won't go away. I'm angry. I'm entitled to it.

My relationship with God has always been an odd one. I hope He knows when he created me, he truly did create me in his image. This too I can endure, I know I can. I am thankful that God has given me the grace to stand tall even though I feel weak, to speak though I wish to whisper, to live even if I wish to stop, to reflect though I have lost.

Thinking in Circles

"If a mother is mourning not for what she has lost but for what her dead child has lost, it is a comfort to believe that the child has not lost the end for which it was created." ~ C.S. Lewis

 
There have been things that have occurred to me in the last couple days that I found odd at first. But as the time goes on, I have discovered that there is a lot to be learned in the battle with loss and with the life that goes on after.

The first is that it seems like the needless loss of life lately has really gotten under my skin. You hear about tragic events which are going on currently, things like school shootings and people running from their counties seeking help. Right after Dominic died was when the first photo was published of the children who's family had put them on a boat to get as far away from their country as they could. So much loss of life... it hit me square in the chest, like a hammer which had come down. Why do we hate? To what extent of fear would these parents have to be under in order to put their children through an experience they may not live through? My son was ripped from my arms through happenstance, through no act of neglect or for any reason which would justify it in some strange way. These parents are braving putting their children through endless trials... some did not make it. Do they regret or stand by their choice? A parent, a true parent (not the ones who pretend like having a child makes you one, just like not having a child doesn't mean you aren't, though that's another topic for another day) would do anything for the health and well-being of their children. I can stand here today and tell you that I or Frank would be willing to sacrifice ourselves for our son to live again. So much needless death... it hurts the soul.

The second thing that came to me was that people grieve in different ways, but people react to grief in different ways. Anyone who knows me knows I am not really a touchie feelie type of person. Granted, with the children I'm extremely affectionate, but after you hit about 15 that affection changes to a degree. While at work, my first day back fulltime mind you, a co-worker who had not seen me since stopped me as I was walking out of her office. She's a mother of little boys too... this hit home for her more than another might feel it. She broke down as she asked me how I was handling everything. It was interesting, she felt guilty for the fact she was crying and I was not. How do you tell person you have no more tears to cry at the moment? That two days before you had been weeping at your desk because you forgot about a date that had passed by which had been significant to you? How do you tell that person their tears helped just a little bit, that you aren't alone and so you feel a little better? I hugged her instead. Because the truth is, at times... I don't have the words for you just like you don't have the words for me.

There are no words in the English language that can accurately describe to you the chilling feeling I have. I go from fine one moment to not the next. Work is both a thrill and a horror at once. Will someone mention him? Will they not? At times the fact someone hasn't said anything is almost bothersome more than those who do. I grieve... actively... and so sometimes I scare people around me. Let's share a secret... I am a stoic member of society. To see me cry, to see me joyfully laughing, all fo these things are oddities moreso than another might be. I feel things either extremely hot and extremely cold.... there's nothing inbetween anymore. But, the point is that you get people who run from you, avoid you, weep for you, stumble over their words, or simply those who just look and smile sad.

The person who said it best this week was my Physician's Assistant who was checking out my shoulder. The nurs asked me how physical therapy was going. Very stoically (which is resting b*tchface for those who are not aware), I told her simply I had stopped going. She gave me a tsk and asked me why. I looked at her... considered for a moment if I should be kind or be harsh, I decided on neutrality: "My son died. I don't have the energy." She stopped in her tracks... she couldn't get out of the room fast enough, you should have thought I had had contracted the plague. As she left, barely even saying goodbye, mind you, I considered her reaction. It was a few minutes later the PA come into the room, she sat down and discussed my shoulder with me, had me do some resistance tests with her and she told me I was doing great! (yay!) And then she looked at me, I have started to recognize this look and both dread and anticpate it.

"How are you holding up since Dominic passed?" She asked with a slightly sad tone, her head tilting to the side as I paid attention to her.

I felt myself square my shoulders, answering back simply, "I'm okay, it's not easy."

She leaned forward, taking my hand and scooting so that she was in my space. Quietly she said to me, "Honey, it's hell... it's head and it's okay to own it. There is no one in this room you have to be strong for."

How this woman, this complete stranger, knew in that moment that was exactly what I was doing is beyond me. Because that's what I tell everyone. What else are you supposed to answer with when someone asks? The truth? Hardly... here's a list of truths I cannot say:

• Every day is a different nightmare... because every day I have to wake up to the sound of silence in my son's nursery.
• Every day is a battle against myself, in controlling myself.
• Work is a blessing and a curse, it's full of memories but it is a distraction. It hurts to walk in... it hurts to not.I'm not okay sometimes, I'm great others.
• I cry for no reason at all now, because this hurts too deep to find the words.
• I look onto joy for your happiness of a new child, but I wonder why God took mine from me.
• I want to sleep...
• I don't want to sleep....
• I want the thoughts to stop spinning around in my head...
• I want to be able to remember a single thing today.
• I want to forget I exist.
• I want to remember everything.
• I want to celebrate life, but I feel guilty doing so... how can you live for someone who is gone?

I could go on for eternity on the things that go on in my head and for a moment, with that woman who had only met me one other time, I quieted. It's okay to be a mess. I often tell mothers who have just had a baby to "be kind to yourself." But here I am, weeks out from my baby being taken from me, and I'm expecting myself to be together for someone else.


I need to be kind to myself. I need to be kind to myself first... others second. But any mother will tell you that is an impossible task. I turn my mind to attempt to improve my life... one moment, one breath, one step at a time. I will live for my son... who is gone but still lives in my heart. 

Tonight, of all nights, I miss my baby... but I take comfort in the fact I got moments with him. Though brief, they and him were real....

Until next time.

 

Grief of the Past, Present, and Future

"Jesus Said: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven. So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost." Matthew 18: 3-4, 10, 14

 It often seems difficult to describe, grief is not a tangible thing you can wrap your hands around and simply handle. I pride myself on being a person who is controlled, anchored, focused. There has never been anything in my life I haven't been able to tough out. I was once told by a therapist that I am an "emotional steamroller." The pure definition of it is that when things, emotions in particular, get in my way, I bulldoze my way through them through pure will. It is an effective, albeit unhealthy, coping mechanism. It was created by my childhood and the things I endured... I didn't have a choice, I had to power through in order to push forward and come out in the end unscathed. When the dust settles, I deal with whatever is left behind, if anything, after I no longer feel emotional about it.

It is also safe to assume that this is the first situation in my life I cannot just push through. It's impossible for me simply to shut it off and push through. This runs too deep, it is too sneaky, grief is a damn ninja. My son was my miracle, he was my life, he was a piece that will forever be missing from my heart. I see him in everything... and I mean everything.

The pictures on my urn for Dominic was one of these things today. The beautiful smile of his face as he wore a onesie that said "Wild about Mommy" on it. I loved it on him, his smile was so big, he was laughing at me as I crouched over him after I had barely gotten him changed on the floor with one arm. It was a success in my world... to him it was simply funny that I kept asking him "Do you still love your cripple mommy?" I had posted the picture on Facebook. The thought, the memory, of course, took me to my videos... watching the video of me trying to get him to say hi to the camera as I recorded him in my lap. As he pressed his cheek against my side in the video, it echoed through my soul, resting deep within my gut. Grief sets in. That was in the past. I will never feel the press of his warmth, the feel of him sleeping against my shoulder, the smell of him.

That is my present... as I sat there staring at the urn, I could hear the boys playing. They came rushing in from outside, rosy cheeked, laughing about jumping on the trampoline we got Jordin for his birthday. He's nine.... he's growing so fast. My first son, though not of my womb, he is of my soul. He noticed me staring, he sat in the chair near me and hugged me. I hugged him back, fighting back tears. I don't hide my grief from the boys... it is important they see me mourn. I doubt it has been more obvious to them that I have feelings. He didn't say anything, he just sat with me while I held him close. I've loved his boy since the first time I saw him... he was 8 months old, sitting on his daddy's car, his mommy holding him there and joking about how much he loved the car. It was long before Frank and I got together... in this one 9 year old, there are so many memories. 

The wind blew outside, the wind chime ringing softly on the shepherd's hook just on the other side of the window pane in the front lawn. Amy was given it by a co-worker the week after Dominic had passed. I remember her taking it out of the box and being annoyed with the sound in the living room, too large and too loud for the house. But now, it is comforting me when the wind blows through it.

This too is my future... having to learn to live without a piece of me. You see, it is my theory you give pieces of yourself to others, those you love, they take part of your soul and keep it forever. There is a piece of me in Jordin, in Malachi, in Kaiden, in my family that I love, to my children's father, to my friends who are more family than others, to so many. This one is gone forever, and I must learn how to endure. How do you learn to live without that part of you? Is there some sort of method I've missed when I've been steamrolling through all my problems? Is there a lesson to be learned?

I don't believe this was the will of God. I don't think it was anything but a bad thing that has happened. When I close my eyes at night, I never know what I am going to get. Am I going to see the cold features of my son who is gone? Or will I see the smiling handsome man who stole my heart before he was ever out of the womb? Will I wake to check on the boys? Or get up to check on Frank or Amy to make sure they are fine? Will a noise in the middle of the night cause the hair on my neck and arms to rise?

Sometimes the grief is too heavy. I wake up, I get the boys off to school, I get Frank off to work, I take care of everyone else... then suddenly I am too heavy. I go and lay down until the last moment before heading off to get ready to go to work, wishing I could just have one more hour... one more moment of the silence and the darkness of my bedroom. It is a battle of my own will against that of my grief. Sometimes the grief wins. Sometimes my will does. It's like flipping a coin some days. 

I now count the days, weeks, and hours since my son has left us. I used to count the days, weeks, and hours he was old... it is a painful reality to know, before long, the time he has been gone will be longer than the time he was here. The holiday's scare me, just like Jordin's birthday party did this weekend. I watch the boys, so full of life and happiness, and I am filled with the happiness for them and the sadness that I will never see Dominic running along side them.

Frank asked me what was wrong when he got home from work. It is difficult to say everything and nothing all at once, that there is no specific thing dragging me under. His presence helps though, to know there is someone else to understands the emptiness one minute and the overwhelming feeling the next. He has started rubbing my neck, an affectionate gesture that says far more than the words we don't say:

"I'm sorry we lost our son."
"I'm sorry we didn't have more time."
"I wish we could hold him again."
"I wish you had gotten to experience more with him."
"I'm sorry that we had spent so much time fighting, less time living."
"I am sorry...."
"....I miss him too."
"I hurt too."
"I'm drowning."
"I understand."
"We will survive, I just don't know how yet."
"I am here."
"We will be okay."

The list goes on, the things we say without saying them. We say them with a look, a glance, we say them as we sat at our son's funeral. We say them silently with a soft touch and a sigh. We live by supporting each other, helping each other make it to the next step the next moment. This is our now...

I hope in the future it will get easier. That the pain won't hurt as much as it does now. I hope that I will stop wondering what he would look like, though the truth is that he would have looked like Kaiden's carbon copy. Whom, of course, looks just like his father. 

I hope... 

Until next time...

These Things Happen

"When a man looses his wife, He is called a widower. When a woman looses her husband, she is called a widow. When a child looses her parents, she is an orphan. But when a parent looses his child… There is no name for this type of pain. It is hard to live and has no name." ~Major Bloomberg

Grief is a funny thing. Sometimes I long to weep, other times I feel angry at anything that passes by. Today was an angry day. I find I don't have many of these, just maybe one or two in the past few weeks. I generally can find someone who really deserves the anger to take it out on. The telemarketer isn't at fault for the fact they had to call you, that's what they're paid to do.

The first time, I won't lie, it was my Mother. It is no new fact to anyone who knows my mother or I that our relationship has always been strained. Safe to say, this added variable of her losing a grandchild mixed with me losing my son was like dynamite. But, I felt rightous with my anger, safe and warm in what I knew was a place I was justified. I wore my anger like armor, using it to set my course and clear the path for possible healing in the future. I would find it safe to say my mother would disagree.... I'm sure she would say that I was being a "brat" and other descriptions of me. That's why there are two sides to every story... sometimes one sees things more clearly than the other.

Today was another day. On Sundays, I hostess at a little family diner here in town where I work. I woke up just ready to fight... night terrors, I find, can do that sometimes. I spent my sleepless night dreaming of my son.... of him in various states of being, happy, sad, tiny, bigger... dead. I remembered him as I held him before the paramedics took him away. How cold and heavy he was.... I woke up in a completely wrong state of mind. My son is gone... I cannot hold him and love him and kiss is boo-boos. I cannot smell the baby lotion mixed with his own scent anymore. This is a special kind of torture that takes place every night just for me.

However, I went to work. I forced myself to look around and pay attention to others, the new girl struggling to find he place in this chaos she had been abandoned in was the first. I tried to show her the ropes, in particular how to talk to customers.... how to greet, seat, and say good-bye. It went well... until I ran into one of the customers who I used to know best when I worked before. This woman, whom I hadn't seen in the last couple months since I came back, I hugged and sat down. Of course... she asked me how the kids were. My heart shattered.... what exactly do you say? "I had a baby... but now he's gone..." it just doesn't have the best ring to it.

So, I told her about Kaiden... about how happy he is at school. I talked about Jordin and Malachi, about how they like their teachers and how big they are getting. And then finally, I quietly added, that I had a child back in April... but he died about four weeks ago. My heart was in my throat, tears were threatening. This woman I loved so dearly reached over to my hand and made me look at her....

"These things do happen... dear.... it's part of Motherhood, just like the rest. We get the good, the bad, the ugly. We also get the most beautiful."

It all faded away, at least for the moment, as I listened to his woman tell me that it was part of the hat I wear so proudly. She is right; over 23,000 infants died in the United States in 2013. My son is a statistic amongst them. There are thousands of families in the US, not to mention in the world, who are going through the same feelings I am every day. They all feel the ups and the downs. She was right.... it's part of motherhood.

Strength has always been my most utilized armor I have in my possession. You see, I am stronger than most because I have endured more than others. I would not wish this on any of the other people I know, and trust me... I know a lot of people who have had babies recently. Out of them all, I wish it wasn't me... but part of me is glad. I can endure this. I can move forward. This will not break me. It will not break me because I have the understanding that my son lived happily in the five short months we got with him. My son was loved more than any child could ever hope for. 

I smiled and tightened my grip on her hand. I'm sure she saw the tears in my eyes and saw the holes in my soul. I hugged her again when she left, told her I loved her as she went out the door. I find I do that a lot more these days, tell people I love them. Our lives are so short. 

Granted, my mood stayed slightly jagged after the fact. But in all, I felt another piece of my shattered soul come back. It can easily come apart again... but something tells me that this piece of logic will hold steadier than the others.

These things happen... but so does living for every moment. Living for my sons, for myself, to lead others forward. I miss my son... I love him every day. I live in my days trying to show others how much I love them as well. I will be okay. We will all be okay.

Until next time...

A Start of the Story

“No woman can call herself free until she can choose consciously whether she will or will not be
a mother.” ― Margaret Sanger

You'd never know, as I was growing, the only thing I was sure of was that I wanted to be a mother. I watched my younger brother, neighbor kids, and friends... I watched the grow, I knew that it was the path I was most sure of. I knew it was something I wanted... I wanted a large family, I wanted to fill a home full of love and warmth, to grow and have a family. I still remember the day I was told I couldn't have children. I had fought years with my battle with my fear of my possible infertility. It was such a time where I looked in the mirror and decided if I couldn't be a mother to my own children, I would be a mother to others. Surely, there are plenty of children in need of love, and I have a heart which needs to fill that need.

Kaiden was born a little over a year later, my tiny miracle that came as a total surprise to his father and I, who was there when I was told I'd never have children. I still remember the sound of his cry... the smell of him as I held him close to me. I remember the struggle of PPD, of the anxiety I felt even leaving the house. Pregnancy was not my friend, I lost 60 lbs pregnant with Kaiden... I was in pain all the time...

Still, almost 5 years later, my husband and I decided to try for another. We decided just before my cousin's wedding. He looked at me, stroked my check, whispered to me he wanted another child with me... that I was a remarkable mother. You see, I had one biological and two bonus boys at the time. They are the stars of my life... the sparkling light in the darkness which guides me through it all. He never wanted another child.... then suddenly he did. I had my birth control removed, we tried for another.

Two months later, I started feeling sick.... I took a test... nothing...

Another month later, I took another test and there was no arguing, I was pregnant.

To say pregnancy is a beautiful is true yet not. There is nothing beautiful about the way I carry children, I am sick constantly, I am completely useless as a human while I carry the child. But, right away... I knew this one was special. As he grew, so did my love for him... I would sing to him after my husband left, deciding he was looking for something else in life.

I remember the morning of my scheduled C-Section. I woke up confused and wondering what the pain in my abdomen was. It took me about three minutes to figure out I was in labor. I called up one of my best friends to come and get me... we went to the hospital. I remember joking with the staff, them telling me I was the most fun woman in labor they had ever seen. Why wouldn't I be happy? My son was on the way!

Dominic was born on April 9th, 2015... he was everything perfect and beautiful in the world. They told me not to be afraid when he was born, he might not cry right away. My beautiful boy started screaming the moment they cut me open. I cried as I heard him, I knew... I just knew this child was of my soul, I could feel it.

I would be lying to say I wasn't scared... the chances of being a single mom with possible a newborn was frightening. But there was one thing I remembered... I was born to be a mother, just as much as he was born to be my son. He finally stopped crying the first time when they laid him in my arms... my beautiful baby boy.

Kaiden loved being a big brother, the pride in his eyes when he held him for the first time is beyond words. He was in awe of this small thing... this whimpering little bundle that had made him into a big brother. All the boys loved him... his father loved him... he was so easy to love.

I struggled deeply, and still do, with my PPD this time around. With Kaiden, I had not wanted to be anywhere near him... with Dominic, I couldn't possibly let him out of my sight or hearing range. It was impossible to drop him off to his dad, I would fret and walk around the mall in circles until it was time to go get him again. Anxiety mixed with Depression is a horrible thing... I spent many the sleepless nights checking on him.

My son died on August 29th, 2015. I don't believe that "everything happens for a reason" or "God needed him more than we did." You can keep your cliche pep talks for someone who cannot rationalize on their own. My son died because he was rolling over too soon... my son was too advanced for his body functions... he rolled over in his sleep, after my husband had checked on him, onto his face. My son died....

This blog is my story.... is Dominic's story. As I continue, I will talk about my battles with PPD as well as the grief with the lost of a child.


Until next time...