Death – Page 17 – Sunshine, Angels and Rainbows

Happy Birthday Buddy

Today I should have been up early making a special breakfast for my newly aged 5 year old. I should have been wrapping presents that contained ‘boy stuff,’ (I must admit that I have no clue what 5 year old boys are into) and freaking out because 5 means school in the Fall and a whole new rite of passage.

Instead I dropped off the kids and set about cleaning and staging my home to go on the market tomorrow. A huge departure from where I expected to be on May 17th those 5 years ago when Benny was born.

In between freaking out over getting everything accomplished, I realized that I can’t even picture it. I can’t fathom a 5 year old Benny. It seems so old and he was so young when he died. This is the first time where I’ve really struggled with this. Darcy was barely 5 when he passed.

How has so much time passed? I’m amazed at how raw it all still feels after 3 and a half years. My days are busy, Fletch keeps me busy and Darcy is non stop talking, dancing, going. They make it better, but it still never truly goes away.

I’m amazed that we are even in a place where we would consider moving from this house. It might sound strange because of what happened here, but so many beautiful things have happened here too. This is the only home my children have known and we’ve lived here nearly 13 years.

So many changes as I look back over the last few years. So much has stayed the same though, mostly this constant ache to have back something that is no longer attainable.

So instead of celebrating a 5 year old, we will celebrate his memory. I’m amazed every year by how many lives he touched in his short time here. Happy Birthday Buddy. We love you lot’s and miss you always.

Scars & Shipwrecks

I’ll just leave this comment here…

Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

Losing A Sibling

This is absolutely heartbreaking to watch. I know that Darcy was young when Benny died, but this is still so close to home.

When My Sibling Passed Away

Perspective

This story shares such a beautifully simple way to live your life. It is all about perspective. I hope someday that I can be as positive as Mo Gawdat.

Happiness

What You Shouldn’t Say

A blog that I read that is normally snarky has been sharing the grief articles en masse this week. Here’s another one that I’ve already written about, but bears reminding.

What a Grieving Parent Doesn’t Want to Hear

Childloss

This is so perfectly written, I had to share.What Does Child loss Look Like

Reality TV

In the Fall I posted about the show This is Us. I was amazed by how much they touched on grief in the first episode. While the show jumps around throughout the span of the triplets life, you see glimpses of how the family has moved forward.

I have to be honest, I was hoping for so much more. In the first few episodes they touch on the baby’s death. The family cries, the mom has a hard time bonding with the new adopted son and then life goes on. I haven’t heard about it since.

No one has mentioned the baby. There has been no mention of if the baby is buried somewhere or if it even has a name (which I assume it doesn’t because they were going to use it’s name for Randall). Birthdays go by and they talk about ‘the big 3’ but there’s never a mention of the fact that on that day they also lost a child.

The episode where Randall eats shrooms and feels like a replacement for the baby that passed makes sense. How would he not feel that way? I know it was a different time and people weren’t expected to grieve like they are given the space to today. I get that. I still expected more.

How does mom not look at those 3 kids every day and not see one missing? How does she not feel that inside? We’ve never seen that. Maybe it’s coming and I should just wait, because the show jumps around. I’m frustrated. Even in present day, no one talks about the baby. Why?

And Just Like That…

Parker messed up royally. Why is it when we give them a little praise that they feel like it’s a free pass? No I did not write that last blog to give him the freedom to make poor choices.

It sounds like I’m talking about one of my children, ‘make better choices…’. Sigh.

Things in his life were out of control last summer. We talked about it and I told him he needs to change. I would be there to support him, but he had to put in the work. As much as I like to be in control, I hold no illusions that his issues are his issues. I cannot fix them for him, nor can I take them on. All that I can do is support him. And decide how much I am willing to invite into my life.

I said in the last post that there are days when yes, I question him and us. This is one of those days, this is what it looks like. I will not hide it or pretend things are OK when they are not. This is marriage. And I’m not ashamed at all to show just how imperfect it is after child loss.

He has his demons and I have mine. I have learned over the last few years though, that I cannot take on his demons or his failures. I can just hopefully help him through them.

It’s hard when you know just how short life is. It makes you really question what works and what doesn’t and puts things into pretty clear perspective. God, adulting is hard!

I Won’t Give Up On Us

We were listening to some lullaby music on Pandora tonight and this song came on. I love these lyrics and this song and how meaningful they are.

Over three years ago Parker and I stood together teriffied at what had just happened. We were not prepared for what lay ahead. Nothing prepares you for child loss.

Our therapist said that we were a good match because we both had pretty tough childhoods. We were already survivors in our right. Maybe that instinct just kicked back in.

We were friends first, for a long time before we dated. We’ve always been very comfortable with one another. Maybe that made it easier. We didn’t feel like we had to be brave for each other. We could just be.

We’re alike in a lot of ways, but so different. I’m more aggressive with things that I want, I’m strict with the kids and I like feeling in control. Parker is more laid back with most things. He can change plans on a whim and time means nothing to him. There are times when I wonder how we DO work. But his strengths are my weaknesses and vice versa.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say there were many times that I wanted to give in. I think that’s pretty normal in any marriage. I’m sure there will be many more in the future. I just look at how far we’ve come in the last 3 years. He knows my pain better than anyone else. He has fought alongside me to make this marriage work. He has loved me when I didn’t know if I could love myself.

There are no guarantees for the future, we know this only too well. I just know that I will continue to fight for us. We are far from perfect, but damn we’re good!

3 Years ‘AA’

I have been hiding out. Every part of my being has resisted writing about this since November 8th. It has been a long, dark road from there for me.

I haven’t wanted to write this out of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of judgment, fear of offending someone. Please understand that this is my point of view based on my life experiences. Walking a mile in my shoes and all that.

I’ve been desperately sad. Three years is a very long time to not hold or kiss your child. It’s nearly double the amount of time that I got to have him on this Earth. That broken part of me that happened on November 8th is still there. It will always be there.

My daughter is now 3 years older as well. She was so little. Even though we speak of Benny often, I can see that her memories are fading a bit. It’s awful. I hate it.

My youngest son has now surpassed his older brother in age. Think about that for a moment. It seems like that defies logic. It does for me. I wish more than anything that they would grow up together as brothers.

I look at my husband as the only other human being who completely understands me and this pain. I cannot imagine what this would be like without his love and support.

I have made it three years, survived the unimaginable. I hate this anniversary that marks the passage of time away from my son. Every year is different and hard for various reasons. This year was different however. Because November 8th was also Election Day.

I tried so hard to separate my son’s tragedy from the circus that was going on. It was hard not to get sucked in though, it was hard not to be excited. It was the first time that my daughter was old enough to understand what was going on.

We went to the cemetery and brought Benny some be trinkets. My younger son sat in the grass and played with his departed brothers toys. It was bittersweet to watch. On one hand, they were playing together, on the other hand, it was close as they would get.

When we came home we began watching the electoral map. I tried so hard to distance myself from it all. It shouldn’t have mattered as much as my Bennett. Maybe that’s why it was so alluring, it was a break from our reality.

I stayed up and watched. Completely heartbroken. Completely shattered at what was happening. I honestly couldn’t figure out why I was so upset.

My husband kept saying, ‘don’t let this get to you. Today is about Benny.’

That’s when I understood. He was right, today was about Benny. It was about why I’m still here. It was about all of the love that we felt after our lives fell apart.

I felt disillusioned. In the moment that I understood that Trump had won, I felt that love had lost. You see, love is why we’ve made it as far as we have. The love that I share with the many family, friends and strangers that have lifted us up.

At least if I have to live in a world without my son, I was convinced that it was a good world, a kind world, filled with love. Now I’m not so sure. I’m confused. I’m devastated that what I thought all along, isn’t quite true. For me, it’s like learning that Santa isn’t real.

So bear with me. And if you don’t share my views, at least please respect them. I cannot help the way I feel.