Last night was Wyatt's funeral. My whole life I've heard the saying "A parent should never have to bury their child". I always agreed, but never really knew. I'm tired of people who want to share some common experience with us so they tell us that they lost their great-grandfather. I'm sorry, but as sad as death is, that is not as sad. I've lost all of my grandparents. It was sad. But it was also the natural order of things. It happened and we all knew it would happen. I cried but I didn't hurt. I didn't feel like life stopped. Heaven was easy to believe in. Babies and children, however, are not supposed to die. Their bodies haven't suffered yet, they don't long for heaven. They still think earth is heaven. They haven't sinned against anyone yet, they haven't abused drugs or alcohol. They are pure and wonderful. This has made it much harder to believe in heaven. As opposed to the suffering of an elderly person, babies are young and vibrant and it's hard to imagine a place better for them than swaddled and loved by their family. The loss of Wyatt has left a hole in our family that will never be filled. I wish it wasn't there, but I can't change that. I can't go back and make him live.
I'm amazed at the turnout for Wyatt. Many people I had never met from the squadron and our church came to support us and love us. Some of the nurses who got to meet Wyatt in the NICU came. I'm the most amazed at the two couples we met who had lost babies as well. I don't know how they were strong enough to make it through the service, and then come share their stories with us. I find the most comfort right now from others who have survived this.
The hardest moment for me came before the service even started. My husband and I were alone in the church aside from a few others who were setting up tables. I set up the small table with his urn and pictures and some flowers in the front...and then I just sat there. Just me, Wyatt, and the hum of the building's air conditioner. It was the first time Wyatt and I had been alone and I wished like hell it had been me holding him instead of staring at his urn. For a week now I hadn't been able to get a good cry out-it was always burning behind my eyes or sitting in my throat but it wouldn't just come out. But right then it did and it felt ok. I cried the rest of the night. I'm sure I looked like hell, I didnt even bother with make-up, that would've been more of a hassle with all the tears. I'm proud of my husband who was brave enough to speak about Wyatt infront of everyone. I certainly wasn't that strong. I'm proud of my church who gave us a beautiful service. Many people told us how beautiful it was but I'm not sure an infant's funeral can ever be beautiful. Most of the night I didnt know what to say to people giving us their condolescences, or I said the wrong things, or I spaced out. I was constantly thinking of how much pain I was feeling and that I wished like hell there was a chair or couch around so I could sit down and take the pressure off of the stitches. For a few hours I was ok with my body being the victim of bad doctors. I was staring at my son and he was worth it all. He was worth me dying if I had to. The disconnect comes in the fact that he isn't here to hold and love. He isn't here as a constant reminder of why I am sliced to shreds. Only when I see his picture do I remember.
Last night was very much like watching a movie. I have been to other funerals where I see the parents or the remaining spouse and wonder how they are dressed and are eating and functioning. Now I can say firsthand that I know. It just happens. I got myself showered and did my hair and then wondered how the hell I was able to sit there and do my hair. It's like when you drive somewhere and then aren't sure how you got there because you weren't paying attention. Refusing to get dressed and go to the funeral wouldn't have brought him back, so I went. Thank God there were people to help do the footwork. Not only was I not physically able to do much, my brain certainly wasn't there either. During the time we spent at the church, for set up and the service and the clean up, I thought that maybe this would be it. This would signal the road to emotional recovery. We honored Wyatt, most of the sympathy cards have come and been put away in his baby box, the department of records has sent us the birth and death certificates....there should be nothing left really. No more constant reminders or work to do for our dead baby. With all the extreme pain that I am in I can only pray that I do recover and return to normal. I don't want my constant reminder of Wyatt to be that I can't breathe well or live in pain for the rest of my life. I'd rather just see a small faded scar and know that I tried to save him. Despite the funeral, however, this morning feels no different. I still look at Tyler and ask "What do we do now?" He just shakes his head. Niether of us know. So the question remains for me....What happens now?
Your blogs are amazing and I'd like you to know that I went through MANY of the SAME emotions and questions... Jared and I went through the same questions as well! We were stuck in the middle of wanting to continue to remember Kylee, but desperately wanting to get back to 'normal'. However, 'normal' really wasn't/isn't normal anymore. We had to find a new 'normal'. The pursuit of that is ever changing for us. We will never be the same.
ReplyDeleteI know how you feel about getting the plates, ssc, death/birth certificate and milk coming in with no one to share it with. I was so upset when we received a birth certificate with a huge DECEASED stamp on it! The pain of losing Kylee, but feeling conflicted of wanting to move on. I beat myself up for awhile, too. Wondering what I could have or should have done. Why my body or me didn't save Kylee. My husband was the same way as Tyler, he was content much sooner that I was. He seemed to be fine with the way things played out and, to my knowledge, never blamed himself for it. I wished I could have been more like him in the beginning of all of this. I wish I could have given my life to save Kylee's and at a point at the hospital, my life could have been in danger. Thankfully, we never had to come to the decision, but the doctors were talking to me about taking medication to 'flush' Kylee out if her birth didn't come naturally. Our story too is similar in that Kylee was doing just fine before all of this, in fact, they think it was only two days since the infection started, but they don't know how or why.
I am relieved, yet deeply saddened, that someone else has had the SAME emotions and process that I had. Please know you and your family continue to be in our thoughts and prayers continually. I'm not just saying that to say that, I'm saying that because it's true. I'm not sure if God willed our situation to happen or allowed it to happen, but either way, He knew we could bear it all. Although, not alone. This taught us to depend on Him more than ever. In that comes a small token of what God sees in us to endure the most tragic thing on this earth, the loss of a child. My heart goes out to you, Kylee. I pray for a speedy recovery, the ability to figure out what the new 'normal' is and continued honesty with your emotions.
Love, Katrina