Grief Week

With seven years of grieving experience, I have come to know what to expect during my grief season and what I need. This week is A’s seventh birthday. I planned ahead by taking the entire week off of work so that I can fall apart and get in touch with all of the emotions I so often quell throughout the year. I also stocked my freezer with ice cream and my pantry with Oreos*.

This morning, E and I drop the girls off at their schools and he continued on to work. I returned home and set up (grief) shop. A thick blanket on the recliner, water bottle and coffee within arm’s reach, a box of tissues, A’s tiny urn. I settle in and delve into books that get me in touch with my grief and that validate my feelings and my experiences (like They Were Still Born and Bearing the Unbearable and Love You Forever – all of which were written by bereaved parents).

This week, for me, is an opportunity to inhabit my grief. I wade into the thick stew of emotions and, without judgment, embrace whicheverfeelings come. I give myself permission this week to fall apart; to abandon my usual responsibilities (ie regular showering, laundry and making meals for my family – we’ll subsist this week on pizza, frozen chicken tenders and mac-n-cheese) and to do whatever feels right in the moment. Could be sleeping. Could be exercising. Could be gardening. Could be journaling.

I will go through A’s pictures; all of the ultrasounds and also the photos of our one day together. I will watch the short video my husband took, unbeknownst to me at the time, while I cradled that long, limp boy and delicately caressed his perfect body while quietly uttering, “I don’t understand.” over and over again.

I will listen to songs that trigger tears. I will bawl, howl and sob. I will re-read the condolence cards we received seven autumns ago (only those with heartfelt, genuine notes). I will mound the used tissues up, wet with tears and snot, until they topple onto the floor.

I will honor my love for my boy by honoring my grief over his absence.

*I am in no way compensated for promoting Oreos. I doubt Oreos need any promotion.

Why he died?

Dragon, age 3 years 1 month, in her bed looking up at A's photo on the wall:


Dragon, "Where's A?"

Me, "He's right there, on the wall where he always is."

Dragon, brow furrows, pondering

Dragon, "He died?"

Me, "Yes, Love. He died."

Dragon, "He passed away?"

Me, "Yes, he passed away."

Dragon, "Why he died?"

Me, "We don't know. He was just a little baby when he died."

Some more...

...random thoughts.

My sleep deprived brain, which is coursing with mommy hormones, is playing tricks on me. It's telling me to return to the hospital. That he is exactly where we left him. Down the hall to the corner room. Crack the door and peek in to see our precious son in the isolette right beside the window. We wanted him to experience the beautiful sunset that fateful birthday. 

Let's just go get him. He must be there, right where we left him.

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We are 5 weeks into breast feeding. My boobs leak, often. Most times it just happens naturally an hour or so before she's due to eat again. But they also leak when I think about my babies. I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep and all I could think about was sweet A. Sure enough the milk starting flowing. In a way this comforted me. My boobs, my body still recognize him as my child even if so many others no longer mention him.

Many family members and friends are lining up to meet Dragon. A few of them, for various reasons, have never seen A's photos. I want to make it a rule - If you haven't sat with us in the heartache of looking through his album, then you don't get to snuggle this warm, living bundle of adorable-ness. You cannot acknowledge half of my children. It's all or none.

And don't me started on our friends who never sent a text, card, email or called after A was stillborn. Never said a thing, even 7 months later when we got together or the first time since his birth.

But I don't make any such rules. And I don't cut said friends out of my life. I am trying to be forgiving. Trying.

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It is low tide. The waves gently carry my son further away from me. I stand on the shore his infant sister at my breast. Clutching her with one hand, my other arm reaches desperately for him. He floats calmly on the waves. I cannot reach him. I cannot put her down to dive in. I scream; call his name, implore him to come back. I crumble to the ground sobbing, knowing he is beyond my reach. I glance down at the baby on my chest and cry harder.

Why does it feel like one or the other?

Photos

I finally worked up the courage and energy to bring some of A’s photos into work. The small company I work for was enthusiastic and supportive throughout my pregnancy and continues to be so in this unthinkable aftermath. But I was still hesitant to share his photos. I felt protective not only of my son, but of E and my family. Some of the pictures are very intimate. Also, I was concerned about how others would react; as evidenced by the public “controversy” of the Duggar’s recent loss and Rick Santorum acknowledging details of his son’s death after living only 2-hours.

As a solution, I selected only 6 photos to bring to work. This way folks didn’t feel obligated to thumb through the entire album and I could still feel like I was protecting the privacy of my family.

There’s a group of friends at work who had been asking to see A’s photos they were a given, but I didn’t want everyone to feel pressured to look at them if they weren’t comfortable. So I went around to those who had requested but did not approach coworkers I was unsure about. What I quickly learned was that many people were waiting for me to reach out. They were trying to be respectful toward me and here I was avoiding them in trying to prevent them from feeling uncomfortable! I had to be the one to initiate it; many colleagues were not going to come seeking me out, asking to see A's pictures.

After that realization sunk in, I ran around nearly the entire office and spread the sunshine of my effing adorable son. Many people cried, some smiled the entire time; I received lots of hugs. Only one person was befuddled when I mentioned I had photos of A and would he like to see them. He didn’t realize we would have pictures; but he looked them over just the same and even asked questions!

I feel as though the experience of sharing A’s photos has really opened up the minds of some of my coworkers. My big-boss, the guy whose name is on the business, hasn’t come over to view them yet, but he did share the story of his first child who died around 4 ½ months gestation. Hopefully, he’ll stop by my desk in the near future.

Overall it was a positive experience. I was quite happy and definitely proud to show off my little guy. Given the reactions I received, I'm more apt to consider sharing his photos with others again. 

On a side note, the last couple weeks have been really dark for me. Prior to then, I had been feeling relatively well; having many okay days. But lately it’s like I’ve regressed back to those early days. Just yesterday I sobbed into E’s shoulder that I don’t want to do this anymore. This was a common refrain for me in the immediate weeks following A’s death. I don’t want this life without A, I don’t want to struggle each day, I don’t want to have unpredictable mood swings, I don’t want to be broken, I don’t want to be a bereaved parent, I don’t want any of this!

I wish I could hit the ESC button and end this alternate reality in Griefland like a computer game. Abort! Abandon ship! I quit! Or if some higher power could reach down into Griefland Dr. Suess-style-Horton-Hears-a-Who-style and pluck me up and out of here. *sigh*