death of toddler – Page 14 – Sunshine, Angels and Rainbows

Chasing The Sun

We are on the last leg of our 3 day journey West to our friend Ed’s wedding. I have taken in the plains, loads of windmills, corn and some of the most beautiful open spaces that I have ever witnessed.

We have had 2 of the longest days as we continually drive into different time zones. We cheer as we gain hours and sunlight on long stretches of open road. We are in affect going back in time, how I wish it were that simple.

Parker is doing all of the driving. Maybe ‘Old Sheryl’ would have dared to try to steer this monster rig, but there’s no way now. We are essentially on a huge bus, towing Sven, the mighty Volvo.

I was unsure how I would feel being in a vehicle for so long. It’s more like a house on wheels, Parker had said. It feels like a train, which is somewhat comforting. Then you realize that there are no tracks, just hard, unforgiving pavement. It’s been tough to say the least. While Darcy and I sat curled up reading, I imagined the worst several times. My mind conjured up these awful images of impending doom. The nightmares have been pretty graphic too. The amount of times that I have had to tell Parker that I’m nervous or uncomfortable is a little crazy. It’s like the trip has kicked my PTSD into high gear again. I just keep thinking that I can’t afford to lose Parker or Darcy now too.
But I’ve almost made it. I can just about taste the fresh air in my lungs from the Rocky Mountains.

Colorado Bound

I’m sitting in the back of the motor home heading down the highway in somewhere NY. This is how we will spend the next two days until we arrive in Colorado. The air out here seems cleaner and the excitement for our upcoming adventure is tangible.

Parker and I had a couples session with our therapist yesterday and she was asking us what we were looking forward to and what our concerns were for our trip. The usual stuff came up, how we would survive in a motor home for 2 days straight with a 5 year old and a dog, how we would handle any stress, etc.

I told Parker that I felt like this is the first vacation that wasn’t a response to losing Benny. Disney was a direct reaction to his death and as much fun as it was, it was lot, really soon after the accident. I had just started feeling better physically after the holidays and Disney was a huge step for me. I was anxiety ridden before we left and made myself physically ill on the way home. I wasn’t quite ready to leave the bubble.

Storyland was also fun, but it was hard. We had brought Darcy there when she was 20 months old, so it was different to be there with a 5 year old. We received Storyland as a gift from a very generous friend of the Greg Hill Foundation. Again, it links back to the accident.

I’m not sure if I’m sad or ok about this being the first vacation about us. It definitely feels less forced, like we’re not trying to make for something that’s missing. My anxiety level over that seems much lower (over other things like packing, a fridge/freezer that doesn’t work, lack of sleep, MUCH higher!). Maybe I shouldn’t overthink it and just take it at face value. Breathe in the Rocky Mountain air and enjoy being that much closer to heaven for awhile.

Pictures

We’re leaving on vacation tomorrow and I had promised Darcy that we would work on a scrapbook of her and Benny. Of course I forgot to print out pictures, so here I am at midnight uploading to Wal-mart in my frenzied last minute panic.

I just sent 187 pictures to be printed. 187 memories of my family complete. 187 times when we were whole. 187 times before the accident that made us a family of 3 again.

I don’t often go here, because it hurts too damn much, but I’m sad tonight. I think some part of me goes about my day playing a part, as if Bennett didn’t exist. What an awful way to live my life. It’s too hard to remember what actually happened, so I think I’ve processed it as if he’s gone away. Not tonight.

I’m looking at these pictures and it devastates me so much to see my kids together. That will never happen again, Darcy will grow older in pictures alone. She has a brother that she doesn’t get to see, or touch or laugh with. There is no feeling on earth worse than this right now.

I know that I had it all and now it’s gone, he’s gone. I cannot get Darcy’s comment out of my head when I told her to play by herself, ‘but mom, I had a brother.’ It’s brings so many happy, painful memories to my mind. I cannot stand being alone in this house with her, it reminds me too much of what’s missing.

I had a son. His name was Bennett. I miss him.

Empty Arms

I’ve been realizing that I have two hands again. I have just recently realized that my arms are empty. Sure Benny was walking and doing his own thing, but he was still getting picked up and held (mostly as I was chasing him or trying to get him off of something). I have arms that ache to hold my toddler.

I really miss that feeling, of having someone in my arms while trying to do a million other things, ‘octopus mom.’ I hate the fact that I have two hands to fill the dishwasher, or carry laundry up and down the stairs.

When I’m around other toddlers and babies I need my fix. I need to smell that baby smell, feel their soft skin and snuggle with their rolls. I cherish my time with Evie and Rory and every other little one that I’m so blessed to have in my life. I would carry Darcy around, but she’s too big now (which I hate).

I spent so much time looking forward to my kids being independent, that now that Darcy is, it sucks. She’s going into 1st Grade! Why must she grow up? I hate this.

NO, it doesn’t get easier!

I wanted to share this from a fellow blogger. It’s as if she’s reading my mind.

Broken Mothers Club

I am now, as of 3:30 today, seven months into what a fellow blogger calls devastation day. I have always just called it “that day” or the day my son “left us”. Her way of saying it seems the most fitting lately. I feel like a nuclear bomb went off inside me that day and I will never be the same, ever.

For seven months now, people have been saying will get easier. It will get better. The pain will seem to slowly ease. Well, guess what? It doesn’t! At least not for me. People keep saying how strong I am and how I have just “picked myself up by the bootstraps and kept going.” No, as I have said before, I am an expert faker. I can smile to your face and scream and cry on the inside.

Wanna know the real harsh truth. Seven months in and it…

View original post 464 more words

Sometimes…

About 8 years ago, my 3 Day walking team and I put out a cookbook. I was going through it tonight looking for something and found these words that I wrote,

“sometimes people just pass through our lives and only stay long enough to make a difference.”

How very true indeed. When I think about all of the lessons that my children have taught me about life and love I feel lucky. They changed me, they changed my marriage and they made us a family. They made my life whole.

So my life is a little bit more like a donut now, there’s a big piece missing from the center, my munchkin is gone. I never thought that I would have a boy, it seemed such a foreign idea to me because I had two sisters. It hurts to remember all of the laughter that that little boy brought into my life. How coy he was when he smiled and how ridiculous he was when he tantrumed (it really was quite funny). He made me so happy and balanced out his sister. They were yin and yang. Maybe it was because they were so young yet, but they rarely fought. Most of the time Benny had Darcy in stitches, laughing hysterically over some antic that he had pulled. He was a performer and comedian and could have done so many amazing things with his life.

Today I was cleaning in my room and Darcy was behind me every time I turned around. I finally told her she needs to learn to play by herself for a little bit. I was picking something up off the floor when she said to me, ‘it’s because I don’t have a brother anymore to play with.’ It was a good thing that I was bent over so that she couldn’t see my face. How does one even respond to that? It was like someone physically stabbed me, it hurt so much. I wish I can make it all better, but I can’t.

Benny taught me happiness and laughter. Everything could be funny with him around. He taught me about patience like never before. He taught me about having a little boy and loving a son. Mostly he taught me life is short, there are no guarantees, how presumptuous of us to assume that there is a tomorrow. His life changed me, his death changed me. I miss the laughter and smiles. I miss Darcy’s playmate.

Rant

I am angry. I am disappointed. I am so fucking tired of the people in our lives letting us down. People who are supposed to be there for us, take care of us. I’m so tired of lowering my expectations. It is unfair. I’m so tired of fixing their fucking issues. I’m tired of the immaturity, the inability to be responsible for anything!!

For the life of me I do not understand how. I really don’t. How people can continuously fuck up their own lives and the lives of everyone else around them, yet nothing ever happens to THEM. Unbelievable.

End Rant.

‘Normal’

This was sent to me by my friend Sue…very appropriate

Are You Normal Yet?” — A Mother’s Response

This moving letter was sent to me by a mother whose son had died 18 months ago. She got a call from a friend who wanted to go out with her, BUT the defining question was, “Are you normal yet?” This is the response given by the mother. Pay close attention to her words. She shares a lot of wisdom for those parents who are grieving the loss of a child, as well as for those who want to know what to say to grieving parents.

“I awoke this morning feeling so great. It’s been a year and a half since my 18-year-old son died, and I can finally say that I’ve worked through the grief and I am back to normal. Thank you to everyone that told me to take all the time I needed. Time certainly does heal all wounds. Now, maybe you can tolerate being my friend again as I am now the same person as I was before my son died.
And, you were right to tell me that Danny is in a better place, and that I must feel good knowing that he is not suffering any more. I do hope your children go to that better place as soon as possible so you, too, can experience such comforting thoughts.
And, thank you for telling me that you know just how I feel as many of you (my friends) have experienced loss. Loss of parents, grandparents, and even pets. At first I felt so alone and my pain so minimized by your words, but after time and getting over the initial year-long shock, I realize that the loss of a child is no more profound or devastating than that of your beloved pet. Thank you for setting me straight and making me realize that loss is loss. And, that someone who loves their pet dearly suffers the same devastation as that of a parent who loses a child.
On a couple of occasions over the past 18 months I have shared with some the overwhelming sadness in my heart, and all-over physical pain that can threaten at any given time to debilitate me. I was criticized and told that these feelings were not okay. I was informed that Danny didn’t want me to be in pain and that he would be very unhappy if he knew the extent of my suffering. Thank you for that admonishment, as of course you do know better than I. I really appreciate the guilt that I was perhaps making my son unhappy even in heaven.
Oh, and as so many of you have pointed out, at least I have other children. Yes, loving my other children and tending to their needs sure makes losing Danny so much easier to handle. Whenever I expressed any upset at the hurtful, insensitive support, I was quickly told I should appreciate the fact that people mean well and that sometimes they just don’t know what to say. Thank you for pointing this out. I now realize that along with my heavy burden of grief, I must also make sure that I smile and say ‘thank you’ no matter what is said. The grieving parent must not ever upset the well-intentioned by being honest!
I think it’s about time grieving parents tell the truth!! We don’t need to be bullied into being okay with whatever is being said just because it is well-intentioned. There is rampant grief illiteracy among the
vast majority of people. The only ones who can bring about change are the grieving parents, so let’s start by being honest about cruel, hurtful, minimizing platitudes. We can do so kindly and tactfully. I appreciate that you care and that you mean well. Your support means a lot to me. Your words, however, are painful to hear. Let me share with you what would be helpful.
What grieving parents would appreciate:
Ask about our child – anything is fine. Don’t act like he never existed. Trust me, you may think you are reminding us of our pain, but you’re not. Our pain is always there.
1. Share a memory you have of my child.
2. Send me flowers on his birthday or his death day. Those are hard, hard days.
3. Grieve with us. Listen to us. And, most of all be willing to learn. We don’t need advice. Again – we do not need advice. Just remember him.
4. Know that I am forever changed, and accept that fact. I will never be just like I was before. This grief is different than any other. We know because we have lost pets, parents, and grandparents, uncles, aunts, and even spouses and siblings.
Our hope and our task are to learn to balance the pain and incorporate it into our lives. In order to survive it at all, the grief must become part of who we are forever.”

Bereaved Mother

Benny’s Garden

After the accident, Parker had these grand ideas about creating a garden/zen like space somewhere in our yard. If you don’t know my yard, it’s the kind where wild things grow, where nature takes over and landscaping is a battle. When we bought our house some ten years ago, the yard was so overgrown you could barely see the front of the house. I remember walking through the backyard and feeling like I was in the book ‘The Secret Garden.’

For years we’ve tried our best to tame our wild things. For years we’ve also tried our hand at a vegetable garden to no avail. We tried to grow them in pots from seeds, than seedlings with no success. This year I figured that if my soil could produce such beautiful flowers and an abundance of weeds, logically it would be the best place to grow our vegetables.

Parker borrowed a rototiller and built raised beds. Darcy and I had planted seeds back in March and some of those we were able to transplant, but most of them didn’t make it. We had tried sunflowers, but they also were sun fried and wilted. So while Parker was on the Great Race we planted cucumbers, peppers, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, strawberries, squash, corn, pumpkin and beans from seedlings. I really had no clue if this would work or what would grow, so Darcy and I planted a little bit of everything. We put up some netting, watered nightly and sat back and watched the garden bloom! It finally worked!

Darcy and I began calling this our ‘Benny Garden.’ I hung my wind chimes out on a tree nearby and bought a large metal sunflower and hung it on the fence. We moved our ‘Benny light’ that was given to us by a stranger from the roadside memorial and put a little picket fence complete with pinwheels, Benny’s favorite.

At the same time we bought the seedlings, we bought more sunflowers and tried again to grow them in pots. I eventually moved the pots over to the vegetable garden and was excited when the sunflowers actually began to grow! What was even more exciting were the sunflowers that were mysteriously growing in both raised beds. The only ones that we had planted were in the pots and now 10+ sunflowers have started to sprout up everywhere in the beds inexplicably. Perhaps inexplicably isn’t the right word. Once again, my little man’s work.

Just when I feel like I haven’t gotten a sign in awhile, something so concrete happens. People say that it’s happening because we are open to it, but I would say it would be hard to miss what’s happened in the last 9 months.

Storyland

Last weekend we escaped to New Hampshire. I say ‘escaped’ because Parker and I had 2 blissful days alone. We could actually start AND finish a conversation uninterrupted, stay up late, and go to a restaurant without a kids menu. I love Darcy and try very hard not to take a moment of my time with her for granted, but it was a nice break.

Tara and Chris met us with the kids on Friday and we ventured to Storyland. We already did Disney, so I was unprepared for my reaction in Storyland. Maybe it was because Darcy was around the same age as Benny the first time we took her, maybe it was because there were a million little blond eyed angels with curly blonde locks, or maybe the numbness is starting to give way to reality. Whatever the case, it was tough.

You can’t really dwell on it when you’re running around with three very energetic kiddos, so once the moment happened, something would distract me and I would be on my way. We had a really great time and it was so nice to see Darcy really break out of her comfort zone and exhibit some confidence. We had a blast.

When we were sitting in the condo I noticed that Chris’ bag had the number 88 on it, the bag that we took around to the park and hiking. We were also lucky enough to hear Benny and the Jets on the way to our Sunday hike to the river. Darcy and I always sang that song to the dude, and it’s probably how his nickname came about. There’s those signs again. It was comforthing to know that he was there with us, I just rather it be in person…