Right Where I am: 7 years, 9 months, 2 weeks and 3 years, 5 months and 2 weeks

June 8, 2013 at 12:44 am | Posted in life after loss, Love | 10 Comments
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I am, once again, joining still life with circles for right where I amAngie started this project 2 years ago.  She asked other bereaved parents to write about where they are in their grief, kind of like “a map on the road of grief.”

I am right here, 7 years, 9 months, 2 weeks since Jake died.  This week I have been working in the office I returned to after my “maternity” leave with Jake.  I remember walking down the halls looking for places I could duck into so that others walking by me would not see my tears.  This week there were no tears.  Seven years ago, I would start my sentences unsure that I could follow my own thoughts long enough to complete them.  This week I know I can finish my conversations without being overtaken by missing my baby boy.  The memories of Jake are safely tucked away as I continue to live my life.  It is exhausting.

I am also 3 years, 5 months and 2 weeks since Sawyer died.  His unknown cause of death does not preoccupy my every waking moment  but I am haunted by the emptiness.  My inability to protect yet another son from death still makes me want to scream (perhaps not as loudly as in year one or two).   I try to stay present and not let my mind wander to the 3-year-old boy who I will never know.  I do not always succeed.

I do not think of the miscarriage.  There is no point.

I try to live, hope and take care of my living children.  However, there is another part of me who wants to be with all of her children.

I am right here.


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  1. Aw, I am 3 years and 4 months from my daughter dying at full term pregnancy. Today, it is ok. I had severe chronic PTSD. I only came out of that in March/April 2013. So, it is fairly recent. I feel awake, alive and invigorated. Today, now I have a granddaughter who is 22 months old (I couldn’t have any more children), she looks at me, holds out her hand and smiles, when she says nana….finally I can have a normal relationship with her. the legal case for my daughter is still ongoing….. I wish that would come to an end. My daughter is still in my life and in my heart, but it isn’t so painful anymore. Today I am able to think about other things, apart from her. I carry her with me in another part of my life 🙂

  2. Kudos to postitivagirl. And Lanie, keep looking forward and please try to stop keeping track of the past with a daily count. The past doesn’t change; the future is what we look forward to and where we can make a difference.

  3. Thinking of you, of Jack, of Sawyer. It’s been just over a year for me, and my mind often goes to the wondering place, of what she’d be like now. It’s so hard. Thinking of you.

    Julie, the daily count is because of a project being done on another blog. “Right Where I am”. It’s at stilllifewithcircles.blogspot.com It’s a great project that helps parents who have lost think about their journey and where they are, right now, in their grief.

  4. Thinking of you right where you are and seeing, through your words, how very far you have come in many many ways. You are so strong. I am so very proud of you.

  5. Honoring Jake and Sawyer and you as their mom. Wish they were just down the hall.

  6. Sending you love along with my thought of the boys.

  7. I am right here, with you. Always and forever. Love, Evan

  8. We’re here for you too! Love, Eden, Doug and Jadan

  9. Your boys are absolutely gorgeous – I am so sorry that they are not in your arms. I loved your description of your memories of Jake being safely tucked away. Nearly five years after I lost my daughter, I am nearly in that place, where I would like to be. Keeping her safe.

    I’m sorry that you have no reason as to why your dear Sawyer died. I can only imagine that it must be something that preoccupies every waking moment in those early weeks and months. Terribly hard.

    That pull in both directions, toward all your children, I feel that I recognise that. I lost one of twins from my first pregnancy and often feel torn.

  10. That photo of Sawyer on the page you link to is so beautiful. I’m so sorry that Sawyer and Jack are not with you. Trying to stay present is hard, but I suppose it is all we can do. And, yes, it is so exhausting. Thank you for sharing where you are.

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