Today was a hard day. Life is moving too fast.
Prior to losing Jeremiah, I was looking forward to the fall. I had pictured me with a round belly taking Gavin to the bus stop, dropping Gabe off at preschool and sharing our excitement for our new arrival with our boy's teachers and friends. I was looking forward to taking Gavin and Gabe school shopping. I was anticipating some level of bedrest so, I bounced different ideas around in my head about how Tom and I were going to manage drop-offs and pick-ups with the boys. I imagined a lot of different things.
All of those ideas are irrelevent now. My fall is going to be so different that I had pictured.
I'm not ready for all of this change. I'm not ready for Gavin to go to school all day. The emotional and fearful part of me feels like I am losing another little boy. I've had lunch with Gavin nearly every day for the past six and a half years. All that is coming to an end.
As I went to Gavin's Parent Information Night tonight, I was reminded that, ready or not, time is moving and unfortunately I have to keep up even though I don't feel like there is any way that I can.
After our meeting at the school, I drove separately from Tom and the boys, and we went to the store to get school supplies for the boys. I knew I needed to be alone for a few minutes and let some of the emotion within me come out. So, for the quick ten minute drive to the store, I cried. I released. I begged life to slow down and wait for me. I need more time! It's so hard to keep up!
So, instead of sharing our excitement with our boys teachers this fall, I will share that our baby died. Gavin and Gabe's little brother died. Jeremiah is dead.
Kids are often asked to share about their families and I want their teachers to be prepared for however Gavin and Gabe decide to describe their family. It's hard enough for me to answer that question!
The reality that Gavin and Gaabe have had to experience and feel death at such a young age angers me. It's just not fair. I feel as though a huge part of their innocence has been taken from them. At some point, I imagine I will have a nice long conversation with God about that. I bounce back and forth with my faith. I trust God and all that He does, but I have every right to be angry about it at the same time. The anger is at bay right now, but I imagine it will come to a boil at some point. God will be ready for me, that I know...
----------------------------
This evening as I walked across our yard, I looked down at my feet and I stepped through the dewy grass. I noticed two little, white moths following along with me. One on my right side and one on my left.
A smile crept across my face. It reminded me that as lonely as I feel at times, my boys, Aiden and Jeremiah are with me... every step I take.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Chili's
Yesterday I was reminded that, like it or not, I am on a rollercoaster ride. On a ride that I don't necessarily control. I just better buckle up.
Our neice came over yesterday evening to watch Gavin and Gabe for a few hours so my husband and I could go to a meeting together about a really great financial class that is offered through our church. After the meeting we decided to stop into Chili's to grab an appetizer and have a little (uninterrupted) conversation. It's been hard with two young boys, with their energy and their needs, to really sit down and talk with each other.
Our conversation flowed, we discussed the meeting that we had just been to and we talked about our future. It was as though for a few brief moments, our grief wasn't the topic of conversation, it wasn't the huge elephant in the room. We weren't talking about how sad, depressed, and lonely we felt. We were simply enjoying each other's company, enjoying our conversation and then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, she entered the room... A cute, young waitress. My eyes wandered over to her. I couldn't help but notice her little, growing belly.
She's not the first pregnant woman that I have seen this past month and she most definitely won't be the last. At first, I just silently smiled. I smiled thinking about the precious little baby that she had in her belly. I thought about the joy she must be feeling. The excitement. I tried to look away and continue our conversation, but it was almost as if time just stood still. I couldn't take my eyes off of her belly. As I thought about it more, I guessed that she was probably about 20 weeks into her pregnancy.
And then, it hit me. That should be me! I don't think I took another bite of food. I had to fight with every fiber in my body to remain seated and not just get up and run out the door. I wanted to run and hide. The tears welled in my eyes. That is what my belly should look like. I should still be walking around filled with joy, with excitement. My belly should be growing!
Instead my belly is empty. My heart aches.
I tried to join back into the conversation with my husband, but I couldn't. All I could think about was how differently our conversation would have been had our life not been turned upside down. I thought about the future plans that we were talking about that they were most definitely entirely different than they would have looked if we hadn't just lost another son.
I so badly wanted to talk to the young, pregnant girl. I wanted to make sure she knew how special, how lucky she was. I wanted to tell her to not take a moment for granted. I wanted her to know how beautiful she was and what a beautiful gift she had in her belly. I just wanted to make sure she really knew all of these things.
Within a few minutes, we paid for our appetizers and left. I may be grieving, but I'd like to think that I'm not crazy. In my head, I said all of these things to this girl, but I'm not crazy enough to actually approach someone!
I breathed a sigh of relief as we walked back out into the fresh, fall-like air. Partly because I had just removed myself from the first situation that triggered all of these emotions, but mostly, I breathed a sigh of relief because an innocent trip to Chili's made me realize that as numb as I am and I feel, I am beginning to feel.
This past month, I've questioned myself. Questioned my numbness. I've wondered how my grief can be so different this time around than it was when when we lost our first son Aiden. Is it because I loved Aiden more? Is it because I've already experienced this type of devastating loss? Is it because my faith is stronger? Is it because I am a mother with boys who need me? Why can I not cry and scream out????
When we lost Aiden, I wasn afraid that my tears would never stop. Lately, I have been afraid that my tears would never start.
I know that as I grieve the loss of Jeremiah, all the hopes and dreams we had for him and for our family, I shouldn't compare it to the grief I felt when I lost Aiden, but it's hard not to. It's hard not to expect the same feelings, in the same time frame. It's hard not to rely of that previous experience to guide me in some way through this new experience.
But Jeremiah was Jeremiah. He is not and was not Aiden. I must accept the difficult truth, that I have two sons to mourn.
Years ago, my neice, who was probably about ten at the time, asked, "Can you love someone that you never got to see?" I ask myself that same sort of question... How can you love someone so much when you never really got a chance to know them?
I think the simple answer is: You're a mother. That's how. You just do.
Our neice came over yesterday evening to watch Gavin and Gabe for a few hours so my husband and I could go to a meeting together about a really great financial class that is offered through our church. After the meeting we decided to stop into Chili's to grab an appetizer and have a little (uninterrupted) conversation. It's been hard with two young boys, with their energy and their needs, to really sit down and talk with each other.
Our conversation flowed, we discussed the meeting that we had just been to and we talked about our future. It was as though for a few brief moments, our grief wasn't the topic of conversation, it wasn't the huge elephant in the room. We weren't talking about how sad, depressed, and lonely we felt. We were simply enjoying each other's company, enjoying our conversation and then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, she entered the room... A cute, young waitress. My eyes wandered over to her. I couldn't help but notice her little, growing belly.
She's not the first pregnant woman that I have seen this past month and she most definitely won't be the last. At first, I just silently smiled. I smiled thinking about the precious little baby that she had in her belly. I thought about the joy she must be feeling. The excitement. I tried to look away and continue our conversation, but it was almost as if time just stood still. I couldn't take my eyes off of her belly. As I thought about it more, I guessed that she was probably about 20 weeks into her pregnancy.
And then, it hit me. That should be me! I don't think I took another bite of food. I had to fight with every fiber in my body to remain seated and not just get up and run out the door. I wanted to run and hide. The tears welled in my eyes. That is what my belly should look like. I should still be walking around filled with joy, with excitement. My belly should be growing!
Instead my belly is empty. My heart aches.
I tried to join back into the conversation with my husband, but I couldn't. All I could think about was how differently our conversation would have been had our life not been turned upside down. I thought about the future plans that we were talking about that they were most definitely entirely different than they would have looked if we hadn't just lost another son.
I so badly wanted to talk to the young, pregnant girl. I wanted to make sure she knew how special, how lucky she was. I wanted to tell her to not take a moment for granted. I wanted her to know how beautiful she was and what a beautiful gift she had in her belly. I just wanted to make sure she really knew all of these things.
Within a few minutes, we paid for our appetizers and left. I may be grieving, but I'd like to think that I'm not crazy. In my head, I said all of these things to this girl, but I'm not crazy enough to actually approach someone!
I breathed a sigh of relief as we walked back out into the fresh, fall-like air. Partly because I had just removed myself from the first situation that triggered all of these emotions, but mostly, I breathed a sigh of relief because an innocent trip to Chili's made me realize that as numb as I am and I feel, I am beginning to feel.
This past month, I've questioned myself. Questioned my numbness. I've wondered how my grief can be so different this time around than it was when when we lost our first son Aiden. Is it because I loved Aiden more? Is it because I've already experienced this type of devastating loss? Is it because my faith is stronger? Is it because I am a mother with boys who need me? Why can I not cry and scream out????
When we lost Aiden, I wasn afraid that my tears would never stop. Lately, I have been afraid that my tears would never start.
I know that as I grieve the loss of Jeremiah, all the hopes and dreams we had for him and for our family, I shouldn't compare it to the grief I felt when I lost Aiden, but it's hard not to. It's hard not to expect the same feelings, in the same time frame. It's hard not to rely of that previous experience to guide me in some way through this new experience.
But Jeremiah was Jeremiah. He is not and was not Aiden. I must accept the difficult truth, that I have two sons to mourn.
Years ago, my neice, who was probably about ten at the time, asked, "Can you love someone that you never got to see?" I ask myself that same sort of question... How can you love someone so much when you never really got a chance to know them?
I think the simple answer is: You're a mother. That's how. You just do.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Family Portrait?
This was our family portrait.
Ever since I had Aiden's feet tattooed on my own, I have tried to have a family picture of our feet whenever we have our family pictures taken. A gentle and loving way to acknowledge his existence in our hearts, in our minds, and in our family. The cherry blossoms on my foot are also a reminder of the beauty and the delicate nature of human life.
How will our family pictures look in the future??? How many scars must I wear?
Next Saturday I am going to get a memorial tattoo for my precious Jeremiah. This ink I wear, the ink I look forward to getting next week, I love. My heart has been ripped from my body and I want a visible, beautiful reminder.
Aiden Robert, Gavin Thomas, Gabriel Ewan and Jeremiah Oliver. These are my children. They are my heart and soul.
Ever since I had Aiden's feet tattooed on my own, I have tried to have a family picture of our feet whenever we have our family pictures taken. A gentle and loving way to acknowledge his existence in our hearts, in our minds, and in our family. The cherry blossoms on my foot are also a reminder of the beauty and the delicate nature of human life.
How will our family pictures look in the future??? How many scars must I wear?
Next Saturday I am going to get a memorial tattoo for my precious Jeremiah. This ink I wear, the ink I look forward to getting next week, I love. My heart has been ripped from my body and I want a visible, beautiful reminder.
Aiden Robert, Gavin Thomas, Gabriel Ewan and Jeremiah Oliver. These are my children. They are my heart and soul.
3 Weeks Later
Wow. I can hardly believe that three and a half weeks have passed by. It's been three weeks since we buried our son, Jeremiah. I can hardly believe that I am saying those words. I don't want to say it outloud. Although, I may say those words, my heart refuses to believe it and really feel the depth of that pain. I can't believe that this is my life. I am 33 years old and I have buried two sons. Seriously? How does one cope with that???
There are so many thoughts racing through my head at any given time these days. Most of them about the future because I am so afraid to look back. So afraid to feel all of the emotions that are screaming inside of me. I continue to push them down and am too afraid to let them surface. Tears fill my eyes, but I quickly dry them.
We buried our first son, Aiden, over 7 years ago. I remember the pain and the heartache and how unbearable life seemed at times. I learned so much about myself- my strength, my faith, and hope. I remember the fear that the tears would stop. I remember so badly wanting to grieve the 'right' way. Mostly, I remember that I survived. And more than that, I thrived.
Today, after now burying another child... another child that MY body has failed, I am trying to remember all of the wonderful, beautiful things that my son Aiden's life taught me. But, I am so far refusing to feel and although I am able to remember the life lessons that I learned, my connection to them is so distant. I am numb.
I know that I will heal. I will find joy again. Life will look beautiful again. That is that reality of the future. As for now, as for today, I just don't know how my heart can handle this. If I know all of those things, can't I just fast-forward to that time and be there? I don't want to feel between now and then... but, I know that I have to.
I have so many expectations of myself. I know I need to feel. I need to grieve. I need to scream out... But, simply put, I can't. Not now. I am so afraid, yet I don't know exactly what it is that I fear. I have lived through a mother's worst nightmare. Now, I just need to do it again. Again?
Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that I would be a mom. Really, it's all that I wanted to be. And I am. I look into the eyes of our living sons, Gavin and Gabe, and am forever thankful that I get to share my life with them and be a part of theirs. But, our family is not complete.
There are so many thoughts racing through my head at any given time these days. Most of them about the future because I am so afraid to look back. So afraid to feel all of the emotions that are screaming inside of me. I continue to push them down and am too afraid to let them surface. Tears fill my eyes, but I quickly dry them.
We buried our first son, Aiden, over 7 years ago. I remember the pain and the heartache and how unbearable life seemed at times. I learned so much about myself- my strength, my faith, and hope. I remember the fear that the tears would stop. I remember so badly wanting to grieve the 'right' way. Mostly, I remember that I survived. And more than that, I thrived.
Today, after now burying another child... another child that MY body has failed, I am trying to remember all of the wonderful, beautiful things that my son Aiden's life taught me. But, I am so far refusing to feel and although I am able to remember the life lessons that I learned, my connection to them is so distant. I am numb.
I know that I will heal. I will find joy again. Life will look beautiful again. That is that reality of the future. As for now, as for today, I just don't know how my heart can handle this. If I know all of those things, can't I just fast-forward to that time and be there? I don't want to feel between now and then... but, I know that I have to.
I have so many expectations of myself. I know I need to feel. I need to grieve. I need to scream out... But, simply put, I can't. Not now. I am so afraid, yet I don't know exactly what it is that I fear. I have lived through a mother's worst nightmare. Now, I just need to do it again. Again?
Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that I would be a mom. Really, it's all that I wanted to be. And I am. I look into the eyes of our living sons, Gavin and Gabe, and am forever thankful that I get to share my life with them and be a part of theirs. But, our family is not complete.
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