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...