In the past I had heard stories of loss and did the typical, gasp, sigh, and "Oh poor them" or "that's terrible". When I had heard stories about child or infant loss I'd usually add the thought or expression of "How did they get through that?" or "How are they even functioning now?". Especially if you can see who the story is about. You might see a woman smiling with her kids, knowing a sad background story of how she lost her spouse suddenly one day. Or parents running errands with their kids, knowing that they had lost a child tragically. They always look normal and you always wonder how they do it. Now I know. I know that they don't even know how they do it. In the last two weeks I've gotten groceries, done homework with the kids and gone to church. I've even cooked a few new tasty recipes. But I don't know how. I don't know where the energy comes from to get out of bed in the morning. I don't know how my clothes match or how I've been able to smile and manage small talk a few times. It's just happened. Somedays I am choking on tears all the way through, forcing the smiles out. Somedays I have moments where I think to myself "I'm ok right this second". Usually the days are followed by sad, lonely nights. I get all the kids to bed and look at the pictures of Wyatt on my night stand and the pain stabs me all over again. My heart feels hollow. It's a pain that I can't describe and I hope that no one else would ever have to feel again. It's empty, like my heart echos. Even if I had more children there would this very silent and still void. I'm not sure if the children feel it. Tyler and I do, and we can confirm it with just a look at one another.
Last night I was talking to my husband about things that have popped into my head during the day. For example, the most recent painful one is remembering giving Wyatt over to the nurses to be taken away. I had handed him to Tyler and Tyler asked if I wanted him back for a moment before he gave him over. I declined at the time, but the other day I panicked. Why didn't I take him back that one last time? Why didn't I tell him I loved him one more time? Or kiss his cheek or rub his soft hair against my cheek one more time? Why would I have said 'no'? The panic grips my heart and then aches as I realize I can't do anything about it. After telling this I then asked him "How are we still alive? How did we go through that and have come out living on the other end?" We both just shook our heads. Surely our hearts should have stopped beating the moment that Wyatt's did. I wish it would have. It only seems natural. How am I here and my son is not? How could I have survived one of those unbearable stories that you only hear about?
It should be noted that things are not great and will never be the same. Before I was in grad school with the three kids at home. Somehow I managed to juggle everything. "there are 24 usuable hours in every day" was my motto. Since Wyatt left us I can't multitask worth a darn. Tyler let me drive down the road to the store the other day. "Where are you going?" he asked on the way home. I had no idea where I was and only realized it when he asked the question. Even after he asked it was difficult to navigate my way back to familiar territory. I didn't know where I was, and honestly I didn't care. At times I have gone to turn the parking break off and turned the blinker on instead. Needless to stay I try and stay home as much as I can. How I ever did homework and took care of the kids I will never know. I'm not sure how I would ever do it again. I literally don't think straight. When I am thinking it's usually about God, and fate, and prayer and why? I don't understand anything anymore. My life has no solid foundation. I have housework to do, birthdays to plan and holidays to prepare for. I have 'thank you' cards still from Wyatt's memorial to be filled out and photo albums to fill of him. It's all happening slowly and in my own time. I hope that doesn't sound selfish but I'm doing all I can.
I miss my boy. I want to hold him again. I want to be with him.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Daily Reminders
It seems to me that, in the past, my perception of how other people must be grieving was way off. Not that I didn't feel sorrow for other's who lost loved ones, but I just assumed that time healed all wounds. I figured you lose a person and as time passes, it gets easier. My grandparents were very easy to lose-not in a harsh or mean way but it was natural and they had lived long full lives. With Wyatt I have discovered that things will never be the same.
My husband and I have managed to play a few boardgames with the kids and we've had a good time. But our laughs aren't the same as they were. Our enjoyable moments are not without a deep sorrow in our guts that never goes away. One moment we are talking to the children and in the next moment we are opening the mail with our son's birth and death certificates and crying like it just happened all over again. It's always right there, I'm always right on the edge of the greatest sorrow and pain I've ever known. I don't have to try and feel it or reach hard to find. It's there waiting for a small trigger to set it off. It can be a quite moment where my mind wonders back to handing Wyatt to the nurses in the hospital for the last time, or a quick glance at his picture, my daughter (whose face looks just like Wyatt), or a sharp pain from the c-section wound that reminds me I should be holding a baby. There are reminders everywhere, it's constant. And people don't realize it. I tried a postnatal workout tape, but the instructor kept talking about strengthening exercises to help hold our new baby. I ordered a wrap for my c-section incision and the lady on the other end of the phone offered me congratulations on my new baby and asked what gender it was. Someone in the store today was hollaring "Wyatt!". The man at Walgreens pharmacy asked if I was pregnant before handing me a prescription. I should be. I want to say yes. I'd be 33 weeks right now. But I have to say "no" and I don't want to. I keep getting emails from my husbands coworkers announcing the new babies every time they are born. I swear there's one almost every day. The other day it was twins, who had a much higher chance or mortality than Wyatt. I still don't know what to do with his baby clothes. They're just hanging there in the closet. I looked at them today and cried at the irony of a onesie I bought from my University. It says "I'm an answered prayer" across the front. I thought it was true at the time. When we first thought we might miscarry Wyatt and then didn't we thought God had heard us and answered our prayers. Now I don't know what to think. There's a lump in my throat every time I have to answer how many children I have or how many "live births" I've had from doctors. I couldn't even get my OB to take me seriously about some of the c-section problems until I lied and told her I was taking antidepressents. She just kept telling me that I was so depressed it was causing the pain. After I told her I was taking them she announced how "great I looked!" She told me they were working and to stay on them. I'm sure I'm severely depressed but I'd like a doctor to listen to me without thinking I'm crazy. I had packed up all of my maternity clothes but now find I still have to wear the pants. Either my body was badly hacked up in that c-section or it's still swollen. Wearing maternity clothes post pregnancy is something I've never had to experience, it's insult to injury. No baby to show for all of this pain and yet I have to wear maternity clothes. My skin is ragged and looks like an old woman's. Never had that happen before either. All of these things would be worth it if Wyatt were here. But since he isn't I despise my body even more, trying desperately to get it back to the way it was. I couldn't even nurse, which was always my best way to lose the baby fat. I should've pumped, I guess, but I didn't think of it at the time. I was too consumed by it all.
I wondered today what I would've put Wyatt in for halloween. It's the perfect time of year to be born, infant costumes are the sweetest. I wondered what Wyatt's favorite food would have been or what he would have named his kids. There's always a new thought that brings more sorrow, like 'I'll never have grandkids from Wyatt'. There's so many missed chances, missed opportunities to have loved him or to have spent with him. It'll never be the same. Our laughs aren't as happy. Our quiet moments are much quieter. Every family activity is missing a person. There'll always be a hole. I told my husband the worst thing about death is that it's so final. I can't change it. I can't go back and get another chance to do things differently during the pregnancy. I can't make different decisions about giving birth or having a c-section. I can't go back and try different doctors or a different state. I can't make him live. I can't do it. And it drives me insane.
My husband and I have managed to play a few boardgames with the kids and we've had a good time. But our laughs aren't the same as they were. Our enjoyable moments are not without a deep sorrow in our guts that never goes away. One moment we are talking to the children and in the next moment we are opening the mail with our son's birth and death certificates and crying like it just happened all over again. It's always right there, I'm always right on the edge of the greatest sorrow and pain I've ever known. I don't have to try and feel it or reach hard to find. It's there waiting for a small trigger to set it off. It can be a quite moment where my mind wonders back to handing Wyatt to the nurses in the hospital for the last time, or a quick glance at his picture, my daughter (whose face looks just like Wyatt), or a sharp pain from the c-section wound that reminds me I should be holding a baby. There are reminders everywhere, it's constant. And people don't realize it. I tried a postnatal workout tape, but the instructor kept talking about strengthening exercises to help hold our new baby. I ordered a wrap for my c-section incision and the lady on the other end of the phone offered me congratulations on my new baby and asked what gender it was. Someone in the store today was hollaring "Wyatt!". The man at Walgreens pharmacy asked if I was pregnant before handing me a prescription. I should be. I want to say yes. I'd be 33 weeks right now. But I have to say "no" and I don't want to. I keep getting emails from my husbands coworkers announcing the new babies every time they are born. I swear there's one almost every day. The other day it was twins, who had a much higher chance or mortality than Wyatt. I still don't know what to do with his baby clothes. They're just hanging there in the closet. I looked at them today and cried at the irony of a onesie I bought from my University. It says "I'm an answered prayer" across the front. I thought it was true at the time. When we first thought we might miscarry Wyatt and then didn't we thought God had heard us and answered our prayers. Now I don't know what to think. There's a lump in my throat every time I have to answer how many children I have or how many "live births" I've had from doctors. I couldn't even get my OB to take me seriously about some of the c-section problems until I lied and told her I was taking antidepressents. She just kept telling me that I was so depressed it was causing the pain. After I told her I was taking them she announced how "great I looked!" She told me they were working and to stay on them. I'm sure I'm severely depressed but I'd like a doctor to listen to me without thinking I'm crazy. I had packed up all of my maternity clothes but now find I still have to wear the pants. Either my body was badly hacked up in that c-section or it's still swollen. Wearing maternity clothes post pregnancy is something I've never had to experience, it's insult to injury. No baby to show for all of this pain and yet I have to wear maternity clothes. My skin is ragged and looks like an old woman's. Never had that happen before either. All of these things would be worth it if Wyatt were here. But since he isn't I despise my body even more, trying desperately to get it back to the way it was. I couldn't even nurse, which was always my best way to lose the baby fat. I should've pumped, I guess, but I didn't think of it at the time. I was too consumed by it all.
I wondered today what I would've put Wyatt in for halloween. It's the perfect time of year to be born, infant costumes are the sweetest. I wondered what Wyatt's favorite food would have been or what he would have named his kids. There's always a new thought that brings more sorrow, like 'I'll never have grandkids from Wyatt'. There's so many missed chances, missed opportunities to have loved him or to have spent with him. It'll never be the same. Our laughs aren't as happy. Our quiet moments are much quieter. Every family activity is missing a person. There'll always be a hole. I told my husband the worst thing about death is that it's so final. I can't change it. I can't go back and get another chance to do things differently during the pregnancy. I can't make different decisions about giving birth or having a c-section. I can't go back and try different doctors or a different state. I can't make him live. I can't do it. And it drives me insane.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Grief
I haven't written in a while. I've wanted to every single day but honestly....I just haven't been sure what to write. I think this is the "huh" phase of grief. I'm not sure if that's 'technically' a phase of grief, but it is for me. For almost four weeks I've cried uncontrollably at least a few times every single day. Then it subsided. I've still cried once a day this last week, but I've been much more numb. I've also started to talk to people....fairly well, I think. I've managed to go to church and our church group and be ok in those places. I finally got some groceries. It's interesting to me, that I feel like I have more reason than I ever have to be mean and cynical to people. After all, most have no idea what I've gone through and what I'm going through. Losing Wyatt has done something to me, though. I feel even more need to be very polite. I'm very quiet and soft-spoken which have never been traits of mine. I can't tell if I'm worn out and beat down or that I'm seeing life as more fragile and precious. Or possibly both. I haven't gotten short with my children, no matter how much they've acted out. At least they're alive. I want them to know how precious they are to me. I wonder if Wyatt knows how precious he was and is to me still? I never got to hold him while he was living, so I wonder how he would know how very much I love him?
There are many aspects to this "huh" phase. I've changed personally somehow. I'm a different parent. I also stopped my degree and with it all future plans for a career. I don't even know if that's the right career anymore. If it's not, than what do I do with life? When do I go back to school? Where do I go back to school? If I don't go back to school, what do I do? I can't watch hardly anything on TV. It's all so sad and I never noticed it before. Every law show or crime show...someone is always getting hurt. Those are human lives being lost, why would I want to watch that for enjoyment?Then there are reality shows full of stupid people putting priorities in the wrong place and thinking stupid things are important. Really? Why in the world would I watch those? Movies, too, are all so violent and ridiculous. Full of very unimportant things. You know what's important? Family. That's it. Not cars or careers or money or how many people you can date, or who looks better or who can win money....everything seems frivolous. While things are complicated for me right now, they are in some ways very simple. Everything that I thought was important really wasn't. My kids, my husband, their health and my health. That's what is important. I've had to take the past 5 weeks and do everything that I can to try and heal and regain my health. I can finally walk again, and bend somewhat to pick things up. The very small and simple things I had taken for granted I am now so thankful to be able to do. Like sleep without excruciating pain (there is still pain, but the excruciating part has subsided), or go to the bathroom in a somewhat normal manner, or sit up, or get a glass of water by myself. Up until about 5 days ago I couldn't even take a deep enough breathe to speak loudly. Being able to do some of these things again has made me feel grateful for the most basic bodily functions. As I feel like I've regained some ability, however, I have shifted my focus back to Wyatt. I lost a son. It still seems surreal. I have two babies in heaven now before me. It breaks my heart. Even with faith in God death is a scary thing. It's mysterious, people don't come back to tell us it's ok on the other side. Wyatt went there and I wasn't there to protect him or go there with him. I feel very helpless, it was my parental responsibility to protect him and I couldn't do it.
Moving like a sloth is also part of where I am. I feel almost mindless and cannot focus on anything. I haven't driven anywhere since we lost Wyatt and I'm honestly nervous to. There are moments throughout the day when I feel like I'm doing ok, and then I go to do something- like get dressed or shower or get something in another room- and it takes ten times as long as it normally would have. Everything is challenge. It feels like I'm learning motorskills all over again. Tyler will talk to me and I don't hear what he says. It's not that I am thinking about something else or listening to something else....I just didn't hear. This is the first time in my life that my brain is "nowhere". It just goes off, somewhere, like it checks out for moments at a time.
While I don't cry all the time now, crying and becoming hyperemotional is very easy. Even if it's a moment that I am not thinking of Wyatt, I tear up. I was watching a documentary on Jesus last night and I burst out into tears. I am meeting many people who have lost children (it's like a secret club that you never wanted to be a part of) and seeing pictures of their babies or hearing their stories make me cry uncontrollably. Singing in church starts the tears all over again. I sing words to God that I'm not really pleased with. Talking about anything in the future with my husbands makes us cry because Wyatt was supposed to be here on our life journey.
I have strong phobias that popped up in the hospital, the day after they took Wyatt away. I am TERRIFIED of being alone. The dark scares the hell out of me. I feel like life is so fragile that I could lose any other member of my family at any moment. Lexi coughs during the night and I think she's suffocating. She has slept in a few times and I make Tyler wake her up because I'm scared there is something wrong. Tyler drove the kids to a store while I rested and I was in a panic the whole time that they would get in a car accident and I would lose the rest of my family. I've never been gripped by so much fear before. I have this urgent need to hold everyone I love close and cherish them.
The whole shape of our family is changing again. I believe we have 9 months of pregnancy to prepare emotionally and physically for an addition to the family. By the time the baby comes you have a good grasp that life will include one more person. In one instant our family went from 6 to 5 and we don't have months to adjust to that number. A doctor told us that they had heard it takes about year before you feel "normal" moments again. Initially that seemed like a long time but I get it now. Wyatt was going to be with us forever. But certainly everything in the next year was planned with him. The holidays we planned around having a new baby. The winter we counted on combatting a new infant with my infamous seasonal depression. The summer we planned on getting easier with Wyatt getting older and then back around to his first birthday. All of these things remind us of him. Our family Christmas ornament has Wyatt on it. We were about to order his personalized Christmas stocking to match the rest of ours. I don't have a use for the infant car seat winter cover that I bought to help with the strong Idaho winters. I kept trying to recover physically so I can get on with life, but I don't think that will happen. I don't think there will be a "get back to normal". I don't think you're ever the same again. That can be good or bad, and right now I don't feel either.
There is a grief creed that the hospital chaplains sent us. I think it accurately describes my life right now.
I believe grief is a process that involves a lot of time, energy, and determination. I won't "get over it" in a hurry, so don't rush me!
I believe grief is intensely personal. This is my grief. Don't tell me how I should be doing it. Don't tell me what's right or what's wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time.
I believe grief is affecting me in many ways. I am being affected spiritually, physically, emotionally, socially, and mentally. If I'm not acting like my old self, it's because I'm not my old self and some days I don't even understand myself.
I believe I will be affected in some way by this loss for the rest of my life. As I get older, I will have new insights into what this death means to me. My loved one will continue to be a part of my life and influence me until the day I die.
I believe I am being changed by this process. I see life differently. Some things that were once important to me aren't anymore. Some things I used to pay little or no attention to are now important. I think a new me is emerging, so don't be surprised-and don't stand in the way.
There are many aspects to this "huh" phase. I've changed personally somehow. I'm a different parent. I also stopped my degree and with it all future plans for a career. I don't even know if that's the right career anymore. If it's not, than what do I do with life? When do I go back to school? Where do I go back to school? If I don't go back to school, what do I do? I can't watch hardly anything on TV. It's all so sad and I never noticed it before. Every law show or crime show...someone is always getting hurt. Those are human lives being lost, why would I want to watch that for enjoyment?Then there are reality shows full of stupid people putting priorities in the wrong place and thinking stupid things are important. Really? Why in the world would I watch those? Movies, too, are all so violent and ridiculous. Full of very unimportant things. You know what's important? Family. That's it. Not cars or careers or money or how many people you can date, or who looks better or who can win money....everything seems frivolous. While things are complicated for me right now, they are in some ways very simple. Everything that I thought was important really wasn't. My kids, my husband, their health and my health. That's what is important. I've had to take the past 5 weeks and do everything that I can to try and heal and regain my health. I can finally walk again, and bend somewhat to pick things up. The very small and simple things I had taken for granted I am now so thankful to be able to do. Like sleep without excruciating pain (there is still pain, but the excruciating part has subsided), or go to the bathroom in a somewhat normal manner, or sit up, or get a glass of water by myself. Up until about 5 days ago I couldn't even take a deep enough breathe to speak loudly. Being able to do some of these things again has made me feel grateful for the most basic bodily functions. As I feel like I've regained some ability, however, I have shifted my focus back to Wyatt. I lost a son. It still seems surreal. I have two babies in heaven now before me. It breaks my heart. Even with faith in God death is a scary thing. It's mysterious, people don't come back to tell us it's ok on the other side. Wyatt went there and I wasn't there to protect him or go there with him. I feel very helpless, it was my parental responsibility to protect him and I couldn't do it.
Moving like a sloth is also part of where I am. I feel almost mindless and cannot focus on anything. I haven't driven anywhere since we lost Wyatt and I'm honestly nervous to. There are moments throughout the day when I feel like I'm doing ok, and then I go to do something- like get dressed or shower or get something in another room- and it takes ten times as long as it normally would have. Everything is challenge. It feels like I'm learning motorskills all over again. Tyler will talk to me and I don't hear what he says. It's not that I am thinking about something else or listening to something else....I just didn't hear. This is the first time in my life that my brain is "nowhere". It just goes off, somewhere, like it checks out for moments at a time.
While I don't cry all the time now, crying and becoming hyperemotional is very easy. Even if it's a moment that I am not thinking of Wyatt, I tear up. I was watching a documentary on Jesus last night and I burst out into tears. I am meeting many people who have lost children (it's like a secret club that you never wanted to be a part of) and seeing pictures of their babies or hearing their stories make me cry uncontrollably. Singing in church starts the tears all over again. I sing words to God that I'm not really pleased with. Talking about anything in the future with my husbands makes us cry because Wyatt was supposed to be here on our life journey.
I have strong phobias that popped up in the hospital, the day after they took Wyatt away. I am TERRIFIED of being alone. The dark scares the hell out of me. I feel like life is so fragile that I could lose any other member of my family at any moment. Lexi coughs during the night and I think she's suffocating. She has slept in a few times and I make Tyler wake her up because I'm scared there is something wrong. Tyler drove the kids to a store while I rested and I was in a panic the whole time that they would get in a car accident and I would lose the rest of my family. I've never been gripped by so much fear before. I have this urgent need to hold everyone I love close and cherish them.
The whole shape of our family is changing again. I believe we have 9 months of pregnancy to prepare emotionally and physically for an addition to the family. By the time the baby comes you have a good grasp that life will include one more person. In one instant our family went from 6 to 5 and we don't have months to adjust to that number. A doctor told us that they had heard it takes about year before you feel "normal" moments again. Initially that seemed like a long time but I get it now. Wyatt was going to be with us forever. But certainly everything in the next year was planned with him. The holidays we planned around having a new baby. The winter we counted on combatting a new infant with my infamous seasonal depression. The summer we planned on getting easier with Wyatt getting older and then back around to his first birthday. All of these things remind us of him. Our family Christmas ornament has Wyatt on it. We were about to order his personalized Christmas stocking to match the rest of ours. I don't have a use for the infant car seat winter cover that I bought to help with the strong Idaho winters. I kept trying to recover physically so I can get on with life, but I don't think that will happen. I don't think there will be a "get back to normal". I don't think you're ever the same again. That can be good or bad, and right now I don't feel either.
There is a grief creed that the hospital chaplains sent us. I think it accurately describes my life right now.
I believe grief is a process that involves a lot of time, energy, and determination. I won't "get over it" in a hurry, so don't rush me!
I believe grief is intensely personal. This is my grief. Don't tell me how I should be doing it. Don't tell me what's right or what's wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time.
I believe grief is affecting me in many ways. I am being affected spiritually, physically, emotionally, socially, and mentally. If I'm not acting like my old self, it's because I'm not my old self and some days I don't even understand myself.
I believe I will be affected in some way by this loss for the rest of my life. As I get older, I will have new insights into what this death means to me. My loved one will continue to be a part of my life and influence me until the day I die.
I believe I am being changed by this process. I see life differently. Some things that were once important to me aren't anymore. Some things I used to pay little or no attention to are now important. I think a new me is emerging, so don't be surprised-and don't stand in the way.
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