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...