“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...
