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 CommentsTags: child loss, death of a baby, grief, new not so normal, perspective, thoughts
I am, once again, joining still life with circles for right where I am. Angie 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.
Hasta Luego House and Hair
June 2, 2013 at 11:48 am | Posted in Grief, life after loss, Love, normal? | 7 CommentsTags: child loss, death of a baby, hope, Jake, life after loss, new not so normal, perspective, post traumatic stress disorder
“How would this do: and they all settled down and lived together
happily ever after?’
‘It will do well, if it ever comes to that,’ said Frodo.
‘Ah!’ said Sam. ‘And where will they live? That’s what I often wonder.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
I wrote about our old house in this post. We had been renting it since we moved in 2007. It was not the plan to rent it all this time but as my grandfather used to say “people make plans and G-d laughs.” And, there was the real estate market crashing. . .
Last week we sold the house. Before the closing I went in to walk around. I stood in what was supposed to be Jake’s room. The once baby blue walls are now whitish. The room was empty. No tears filled my eyes as I entered. Jake was not there. I did not really think that he would be – I know that he is with me where ever I go. The address does not matter.
Completely unrelated (except for the fact that it also happened last week), I donated my hair for the 4th time to Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths. So far, “Pantene has donated 24,000 free real-hair wigs” to cancer patients throughout the country. It takes 6 donations to make 1 wig. So, I have officially donated 2/3 of 1 wig.
Last Day of Kindergarten
May 22, 2013 at 10:56 pm | Posted in Jake, Love, Sawyer, twins | 9 CommentsTags: child loss, death of a baby, hope, kindergarten, last day, life after loss, new not so normal, parenthood, perspective, thoughts
Today was the last day of kindergarten for the twins. They have both been telling me for the last several weeks, “Mama, we are ready to go to 1st grade.” I am so very happy watching them grow up. This is what I want. The twins are alive and growing. So, why am I sad?
I know that I am not supposed to “grow” Jake and Sawyer up. There is no point in mourning the 7-year-old and the 3-year-old who I will never know. Logically, I know this is true. However, somehow between the end of the year parties, musicals, recitals and tournaments my mind finds time to imagine the little boy who should be sitting in my lap watching his older siblings. And, then my mind wanders to the proud older brother who should be sitting next to me watching his younger brother and sister.
There is no 3-year-old sitting in my lap. No 7-year-old next to me. However, I am here in the land of the living. Evan and I are watching the twins grow while remembering Jake and Sawyer. Life is bittersweet. Miraculous and Miserable.
Ready or not . . .
Thank you!
April 28, 2013 at 8:54 pm | Posted in Grief, Jake, life after loss, Love, Sawyer | 9 CommentsTags: baby loss, child loss, death of a baby, gratitude, hope, life after loss, March of Dimes, perspective, thoughts, ways to honor the memory of your child
Yesterday was the March of Dimes – March for Babies. We warmed up:
We ran:
We rested:
And most importantly, we remembered Jake, Sawyer and all the other babies who were not there to march with us:
Thank you again for supporting our team this year and in past years. We appreciate all of your amazing kindness and generosity.
The Best Ever Big Brother and Sister
April 14, 2013 at 10:22 pm | Posted in Grief, Jake, life after loss, Love, Sawyer, twins | 8 CommentsTags: child loss, death of a baby, family, life after loss, new not so normal, parenthood, perspective, thoughts, twins, unexplainable
Recently, the twins have started to read. Gone are the days when Evan and I are the only readers of bed time books.
When I was pregnant with Sawyer I bought the twins “Best Ever Big Brother” and “Best Ever Big Sister.” I bought the books to help with the adjustment of having a new sibling. The twins have always known about their big brother Jake but they never met him.
After Sawyer died I thought I had taken the books out of their room and put them away. I apparently did not because the other night the twins dug up the “best ever” books.
As I was putting away their clean clothes, the twins each read their version of the “best ever” books. I could not move as my already shattered heart broke just a bit more every time one of twins read the lines meant for Sawyer, “One day you’ll be big like me.”
My tears over hearing those books read overshadowed my pride that the twins are actually reading by themselves.
Once again, I am reminded that I lead a double life. I am here with the twins and Evan. Then there is the other part of me who is on planet my baby died with Jake and Sawyer. I try to keep my double life in balance. I try my best to stay present with the twins but Jake and Sawyer are always with me too. Most of the time it works but sometimes the balance just breaks.
Names in the sand (part 2) and Spam
April 12, 2013 at 8:36 am | Posted in after death?, Grief, Jake, life after loss, Love, Sawyer | 9 CommentsTags: child loss, death, death of a baby, gratitude, hope, perspective, thank you, thoughts, ways to honor the memory of your child
So sorry if you recently received spam from me. I have changed my password and hopefully I should be spam free now.
In case you could not see the link to Jake’s name in the sand here it is:
Thank you again Carly Marie! Here is Sawyer’s too:
Sending you all hugs and hope. I truly appreciate you reading and remembering Jake and Sawyer.
Silence
March 30, 2013 at 10:03 pm | Posted in Grief, life after loss, Love, normal? | 15 CommentsTags: Jake, life after loss, new not so normal, perspective, Sawyer, thoughts, twins, unexplainable
There are times when I am at a loss for words. People talk to me. And, I can not respond. At all. Here are a few examples:
- At work the other day someone asked my opinion about his home computer. I said my answer depends on who uses the computer. He went on to talk about his wife, his school age daughter and 5-year-old twins. I said I have 5-year-old twins too. Once the words came out of my mouth I wanted to take them back. I knew his next question before he asked it.
“Are the twins your only 2?”
“They are our only 2 at home.”
“Oh, so does your husband have kids from a previous marriage?”
“No.”
“Do you have kids from a previous marriage?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Silence. More silence.
- I am at the doctor. A nurse notices the scar tissue from my c-sections.
She asks “How old is your youngest child?”
I do not respond at all.
She tries again,”When was your last c-section?”
Tears silently stream down my face as I say “November 17, 2009.”
The nurse in response to my tears, “You must really not feel well.”
I try to respond but no words come out of my mouth.
- I am on a very bumpy flight with the twins (and without Evan). I am turning green.
An extremely kind stewardess offers me a drink of water and then proceeds to tell me about another mother flying alone with her 4 kids.
She is just trying to make me feel better.
After the stewardess finishes telling us about the air sick mother of 4, the twins start to whisper to each other.
Then they start to loudly whisper to me. “Tell her about Jake and Sawyer.”
I do not say anything. I listen as the twins tell the poor sweet stewardess about their dead brothers.
Sometimes I wish I really did know Scotty and he could beam me up.
Life
March 24, 2013 at 12:14 am | Posted in Grief, life lessons, Love, normal? | 4 CommentsTags: child loss, life after loss, new not so normal, perspective, quotes, thoughts
Staying Present
March 18, 2013 at 9:56 pm | Posted in Grief, Jake, Love, normal?, Sawyer, twins | 12 CommentsTags: cancer, child loss, life after loss, new not so normal, perspective, quotes, staying present, Valerie Harper
Recently, I was reminded once again to live in the present. I watched an interview with Valerie Harper. She spoke so honestly about how she is trying to live in the moment and live her life to the fullest despite her terminal brain cancer diagnosis. In her interview, Harper reminded us all that “None of us gets out alive. Don’t go to the funeral before the day of the funeral.”
I replayed her interview in my head when I saw a daunting hill on mile 12 of the half marathon I was running. My first thought was to jump to the future (at least for a couple of hours to when I was showered and not running). I tried to focus on the moment. It was a beautiful day. Only 1.1 miles to go. The run was rough but I made it.
I again thought of Valerie Harper as I was helping the twins with their homework. One of the twins had the assignment to draw a family picture in order from tallest to shortest.
Who is the tallest? No problem. “Daddy is the tallest!”
Who is the shortest? Tougher question. “Mama, who was taller, Jake or Sawyer?”
The “not living in the moment me” would have taken into consideration that Jake should be 7. He should be taller than the twins and Sawyer (who should be 3).
I pulled myself back to the present reality. I answered, “Jake was the shortest.”
My therapist is always reminding me not to grow Jake and Sawyer up. The loss of Jake and Sawyer as babies is horrible enough without also grieving the loss at every age. I am still working on this. . .
Tears in Heaven
March 12, 2013 at 9:50 pm | Posted in after death?, Love | 5 CommentsTags: child loss, new not so normal, parenthood, perspective, thoughts, tragedy, ways to honor the memory of your child
In my 20’s I went to see an Eric Clapton concert. He sang “Tears in Heaven.” I knew that he had written the song for his young son, Conor, who had died. Below are the lyrics in case you have not heard the song:
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you feel the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on
‘Cause I know I don’t belong here in heaven
Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I’ll find my way through night and day
‘Cause I know I just can’t stay here in heaven
Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please
Beyond the door there’s peace I’m sure
And I know there’ll be no more tears in heaven
Eric Clapton wrote in his autobiography that “Tears in Heaven” did not have a big budget but “If you really want to know what it cost me then go visit my son’s grave in Ripley, England.” He went on to write that this song was originally not meant for the public. It was part of his grieving process. What finally convinced him to release the song was the hope that it would help others.
In my 20’s I had no way of identifying with this enormous loss. I just enjoyed the concert. Now when I listen to the song I know all too well the heartbreak and sadness. If I could have warned my 20-year-old self, what would I say?
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