My normal is not normal. My normal is heavy. It's exhausting. It hurts.
I don't fit in where I used to.
I'm angry. How does everything manage to go on, when my son does not?
How come there is no book like What to Expect When You Didn't Get What You Were Expecting? Where are the instructions for people that don't know how to just be?
When does it hurt the most? Finally, a question with an easy answer. In the car, all alone. Music makes me think. Silence makes me think more. When I see babies, especially boys. When I see the For Sale sign in my yard, and realize I will have to take his name off of the nursery wall... and it won't be put back up. When people ask "What's wrong?" or "How are you?" and I answer with "nothing" or "fine". The short answer: always.
It drives me crazy that people don't know or care that he existed. The little boy that is the biggest part of my life, to others means nothing. I see him as my son, others see him as a painful trigger.
My mind is tormented, every day brings a different thought on what to do next. Even if I could have another baby, can you imagine that pregnancy? I don't see how I would make it through. The constant anxiety and fear that something could be going terribly wrong...
All innocence in that sense has totally been lost.
"Don't let anyone stop you from being exactly who and how you need to be. Do not stop. Do not stop. Get up, stand up, throw those fucking hands up. Push out the night. Hide from the daylight. Embrace your endless, enraging tears for your child, your daughter, your son, your big sticky stinky shitting fucking life.
It's true, it really does suck this much, and it always will. Always always always. It will always suck exactly this much that you and me and my wife and your grandparents and our siblings lost a life that was going to be amazing." - glow in the woods
Gavin. It means Little Hawk. Or Battle Hawk, in the Welsh meaning. I didn't look this up until after his life, but it fits. His main NICU nurse told me that before he died she thought he looked like he was ready to fly away, and fly away my little hawk did.
My heart aches for you. We lost our son when he was 5yrs old, during open heart surgery. He was born with Williams Syndrome. He died at birth but they revived him.
ReplyDeleteHoney,they pain is huge almost crushing and unless someone has felt it they can't understand what you are feeling.
It took about 2 years to really start moving on but you learn to carry the grief better. For you having another baby will be a healer, even though that may be too hard to face right now.
Gavin would want you to spill all your love onto another, he wouldn't want you to shrivel up with sadness.
I promised my son I'd not waste the love I had for him and I forced myself to work through for that purpose.
Big hugs you can email me if you want, I had 2 babies after my son was diagnosed, I understand your pregnancy fears.
I'm here from Western Australia, glad I've found you.
Wishing some gentle peace upon you this weekend.
Thank you Jules for your kind words :) It is hard to go on, and most days are better than others but there are still some where I feel like hiding from the world. I hate that I connect to people in this way, but I appreciate that there are people who understand me. I'm so sorry for the loss of your son, maybe our boys will find each other! One can hope anyways. Thank you again, your comment meant a lot to me!
ReplyDeleteKara