I read this story in the Compassionate Friends newsletter and felt the need to keep it on my blog (with acknowledgement of the author, of course - so I hope she doesn't mind). It is a reminder of where I have been since the loss of my grandson and hope for where I wish I could be. I am certainly not there yet, and maybe someday I will be, but for now this brings comfort on bad days and brings me hope in the new year.
Those of us who receive the Compassionate Friends newsletter have experienced something in common — the shattering of our human machinery upon impact with a son or daughter’s death. Whatever helped us keep moving before, nothing works for us now. Our lives ground to a halt.
In the stillness of grief’s long night, I felt despair over trying to repair something that would always lack a vital part. How could I ever rebuild the machinery of my life without that precious part? Any repair work would require my permission and participation. Looking at the tangled, damaged parts of myself, I questioned how to salvage any thing workable from the wreckage.
Eventually, blessedly, the desire to move again, to get back into life’s traffic, got me doing something. At first it was tinkering, experimenting with the broken parts, imagining them whole again. Then I tried to learn by watching others who were rebuilding. It helped to read repair manuals, painfully written by people like me. The process was tedious and exhausting; there were setbacks, hidden costs, and false starts.
One surprising day my engine actually turned over — I moved a little. Before long, the motor sounded stronger. It almost seemed to hum, as I remembered it could. With persistence, I worked up to a decent speed, regained my sense of direction, and even began appreciating some sights along the way. I discovered that a rebuilt engine could carry me, despite the missing part. Occasionally it sputters, misfires, or floods, being sensitive to road hazards other drivers don’t see. Some hills always seem too steep; certain roads have too many memories. Sometimes the fog is too thick to drive through. When necessary, I slow down, make adjustments, or pull off the road temporarily.
I wanted to write about my experience out of gratitude. Each of us has our own long night of grief and our own reawakening from it. The mystery of healing defies simple explanation. Do invisible hands help us in the healing process? I don’t have an answer, just astonishment at the process which moved me from the tangled wreckage of myself to a sturdy rebuilt that appears whole, even though it isn’t.
In closing, I lovingly acknowledge my daughter, Beth, who believed deeply in the possibility of rebuilding her own life. Joan Page — TCF, Miami
Showing posts with label Tragedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tragedy. Show all posts
I've been having a real hard time with Christmas. All I could think of was last year's tree with the Baby's First Christmas stocking hanging on the top of the tree...followed by a photo of that stocking at the baby's funeral. Those two images are so intertwined that I cannot separate them so there is no joy in the upcoming holiday. I have no desire for a tree, for holiday shopping, for cookie baking, for decorating, for all the things that I enjoyed during the Christmas season.
Then Adam posted his comment on Facebook about how he misses Stephen so much and that he knows he would have really liked the snow. That comment was a real slap in the face for me. It was a reminder that others were hurting more than me and that I should be helping hold them up instead of being a burden on everyone around me as a wallow in my own sadness. So I'm suking it up and going shopping. The cookie dough is in the fridge.
Thank you Adam for straightening me out, I really needed the kick in the ass.
Then Adam posted his comment on Facebook about how he misses Stephen so much and that he knows he would have really liked the snow. That comment was a real slap in the face for me. It was a reminder that others were hurting more than me and that I should be helping hold them up instead of being a burden on everyone around me as a wallow in my own sadness. So I'm suking it up and going shopping. The cookie dough is in the fridge.
Thank you Adam for straightening me out, I really needed the kick in the ass.
Compassionate Friends held a balloon launch to honor the children’s names that are being dedicated to the memorial ‘wall’. The term ‘wall’ is loosely defined as it is actually a circular granite bench that surrounds a mini-garden that is known as the memorial garden. Basically it’s a giant planter in the middle of the community center’s main sidewalk; it’s a pretty space and a nice space. Our sweet baby Stephen’s name was one of the new names engraved on this granite ‘wall’ so our balloon was launched honoring his memory.
Since we’re new to this experience, we didn’t really know what to expect. When we walked into the meeting room, the first person we encountered was a man who was Jeff’s umpire partner a few years back, Wayne. Jeff immediately approached him to find out his connection to this group and it turns out he is the brother-in-law to one of the Compassionate Friends co-leaders and he was asked to read the names of the children who were dedicated on the new wall.
After talking to Wayne, we went over to a table where they were selling blue rubber bracelets like the original LiveStrong ones. These ones are swirly blue and while like clouds and they say FORVER IN MY HEART flanked by a butterfly on each end. We bought two and the money goes to Compassionate Friends. The last table we stopped at had little square sheets of paper to write a message on. The idea was to write your message, roll it up, tie it to a balloon and send it up to heaven.
We were told ahead of time to bring a photo of our child so I brought the special photo/poem tribute that my friend Chris had a photographer make for me. I put it in a table top photo frame that would stand up easily. I found the table with all the photos; it was filled with candles, flowers, and many other children’s photos and I gently placed our baby’s picture among the rest. Bailee also brought a photo, one I had never seen before so I was pleasantly surprised. I didn’t think there would be something new I didn’t know about so this was wonderful to see. She had the photo in a gorgeous frame given to her by our friend, Midge.
We sat down by our friends, the Hortons, whose daughter died from MS in December. We chatted for a while, and then another CF member, Chris came and sat by us. Chris and his wife Kim lost their baby to Trisonomy 13, a genetic disease that only allowed him to live the first day after birth. Chris brought his parents along and he introduced them to all of us. Chris is connected to Jeff because they worked together at GE. I met him when we did the 2-day MS bike ride together on Team GE. Chris and Bailee were much more so connected by the loss of their children and at the end of this event they spent some quality time talking things out and catching up with the current events in their lives. I was glad both Bailee and Adam had Chris to connect with.
The program started with a greeting from the Compassionate Friends leader followed by a moving song about balloons to heaven. Wayne and the chapter co-leader took turns reading the new names then there was a 10-minute video that contained the photos of all the children honored over the years. I really did not want to see the video, the self-centered version of me felt this would be wasting my time since our baby boy would not be in it and even as the production started to roll, all I could think of was that I could have done a better job of putting together this thing. It was full of hokey misused transitions from photo to photo and it was on a video that you can purchase. Where’s the DVD version?
Then the photos became familiar. Too many babies, too many small children, and too many names that I knew! Young children and grown children, somebody’s children. I am humbled by the experience. By the time the video ended I felt compassion for all these people who attended. I thought of all those mothers and fathers and all that loss and that the loss was mine as well as theirs. I felt like I wasn’t alone in my grief.
I immediately filled out my note to heaven. I asked Bailee and Adam if they wanted to do the same and they declined. It was too hard for them. I asked Jeff if he wanted to do it and he said no, he says he sends a message to the baby daily so he didn’t see this as necessary. Sandy, Stephen’s other grandma picked out the balloon and I tied my note to it. I gave the balloon back to Sandy so she could release when it was time. By the time I finished writing my note, an ex-co-worker from years ago, Laurie approached me wanting to know why I was there. I explained that my daughter’s baby died from SIDS and she immediately hugged me then hugged Bailee twice. She said her friend’s son had died from a choking game where he hung himself. I told her I was there when the parents came to the first CF meeting and I told her I was sorry she had to be a part of all this grief as well.
After some volunteers handed us flowers we walked out to the memorial garden. Everyone gathered around to get ready to release the balloons. Bailee ran back in to the building to get the baby’s photos so we could beat the rush later. When Bailee came out Sandy gave the balloon back so she could release it. The queue was when the butterfly balloon goes up, and then we release the balloon. The group fell pretty silent as they all went up. It was an incredible sight. We didn’t stay to enjoy the camaraderie, it just felt right to go.
Since we’re new to this experience, we didn’t really know what to expect. When we walked into the meeting room, the first person we encountered was a man who was Jeff’s umpire partner a few years back, Wayne. Jeff immediately approached him to find out his connection to this group and it turns out he is the brother-in-law to one of the Compassionate Friends co-leaders and he was asked to read the names of the children who were dedicated on the new wall.
After talking to Wayne, we went over to a table where they were selling blue rubber bracelets like the original LiveStrong ones. These ones are swirly blue and while like clouds and they say FORVER IN MY HEART flanked by a butterfly on each end. We bought two and the money goes to Compassionate Friends. The last table we stopped at had little square sheets of paper to write a message on. The idea was to write your message, roll it up, tie it to a balloon and send it up to heaven.We were told ahead of time to bring a photo of our child so I brought the special photo/poem tribute that my friend Chris had a photographer make for me. I put it in a table top photo frame that would stand up easily. I found the table with all the photos; it was filled with candles, flowers, and many other children’s photos and I gently placed our baby’s picture among the rest. Bailee also brought a photo, one I had never seen before so I was pleasantly surprised. I didn’t think there would be something new I didn’t know about so this was wonderful to see. She had the photo in a gorgeous frame given to her by our friend, Midge.
We sat down by our friends, the Hortons, whose daughter died from MS in December. We chatted for a while, and then another CF member, Chris came and sat by us. Chris and his wife Kim lost their baby to Trisonomy 13, a genetic disease that only allowed him to live the first day after birth. Chris brought his parents along and he introduced them to all of us. Chris is connected to Jeff because they worked together at GE. I met him when we did the 2-day MS bike ride together on Team GE. Chris and Bailee were much more so connected by the loss of their children and at the end of this event they spent some quality time talking things out and catching up with the current events in their lives. I was glad both Bailee and Adam had Chris to connect with.
The program started with a greeting from the Compassionate Friends leader followed by a moving song about balloons to heaven. Wayne and the chapter co-leader took turns reading the new names then there was a 10-minute video that contained the photos of all the children honored over the years. I really did not want to see the video, the self-centered version of me felt this would be wasting my time since our baby boy would not be in it and even as the production started to roll, all I could think of was that I could have done a better job of putting together this thing. It was full of hokey misused transitions from photo to photo and it was on a video that you can purchase. Where’s the DVD version?
Then the photos became familiar. Too many babies, too many small children, and too many names that I knew! Young children and grown children, somebody’s children. I am humbled by the experience. By the time the video ended I felt compassion for all these people who attended. I thought of all those mothers and fathers and all that loss and that the loss was mine as well as theirs. I felt like I wasn’t alone in my grief.
I immediately filled out my note to heaven. I asked Bailee and Adam if they wanted to do the same and they declined. It was too hard for them. I asked Jeff if he wanted to do it and he said no, he says he sends a message to the baby daily so he didn’t see this as necessary. Sandy, Stephen’s other grandma picked out the balloon and I tied my note to it. I gave the balloon back to Sandy so she could release when it was time. By the time I finished writing my note, an ex-co-worker from years ago, Laurie approached me wanting to know why I was there. I explained that my daughter’s baby died from SIDS and she immediately hugged me then hugged Bailee twice. She said her friend’s son had died from a choking game where he hung himself. I told her I was there when the parents came to the first CF meeting and I told her I was sorry she had to be a part of all this grief as well.
After some volunteers handed us flowers we walked out to the memorial garden. Everyone gathered around to get ready to release the balloons. Bailee ran back in to the building to get the baby’s photos so we could beat the rush later. When Bailee came out Sandy gave the balloon back so she could release it. The queue was when the butterfly balloon goes up, and then we release the balloon. The group fell pretty silent as they all went up. It was an incredible sight. We didn’t stay to enjoy the camaraderie, it just felt right to go.
I got to the gym this morning with this overwhelming feeling of sadness, almost worse than yesterday. I couldn't place the feeling, didn't know why my mood was so overwhelmingly terrible. I thought Mother's Day was pretty terrible but today seems so much worse. I had my running clothes on, but I just couldn't do it. The temperature was 37 degrees this morning, cold but I have run in much colder temperatures. It was a good excuse to stay in and I was so weak it was all I needed to cave in.
I hopped on the recumbant bike with my Kindle 2 and started to read. My headphones were on and the book was a great distraction. Except that the sad parts made me cry. I was a basket case. My friend Steve finished his workout on the treadmill and came over to the bike, put his arm on my shoulder and wished me a happy belated Mother's Day. I said thank you through many tears. I was out of control. I headed into the locker room and when I hit the shower, I sobbed for 20 minutes straight. I was glad no one shows up to the gym in the morning since I was so out of control.
I slowly got dressed and headed to my desk. I made sure I had my headphones with me because I could not handle hearing about everyone's happy weekend. I didn't understand why my emotions were worse today. Marilyn stopped by to see if I was OK and of course, I was crying again. She understands more than most since her partner's son died last year. She is a seasoned griever of a child. I felt relief that most everyone knew not to ask me about yesterday. They seemed to understand that the answer was going to be pretty awful.
I spent the evening deep in thought, reflecting on the past two days. I realized that today I was crying for me and for my loss. This was another event without the baby, no new milestones, just memories of a minute in time that will effect our eternity. Yesterday we cried for Bailee and her loss, we comforted her, cried with her, did the best we could for her. But today was about my own grief. It was like catching up with the feelings I had yesterday but had to suspend. It was my day to let it out.
I hopped on the recumbant bike with my Kindle 2 and started to read. My headphones were on and the book was a great distraction. Except that the sad parts made me cry. I was a basket case. My friend Steve finished his workout on the treadmill and came over to the bike, put his arm on my shoulder and wished me a happy belated Mother's Day. I said thank you through many tears. I was out of control. I headed into the locker room and when I hit the shower, I sobbed for 20 minutes straight. I was glad no one shows up to the gym in the morning since I was so out of control.
I slowly got dressed and headed to my desk. I made sure I had my headphones with me because I could not handle hearing about everyone's happy weekend. I didn't understand why my emotions were worse today. Marilyn stopped by to see if I was OK and of course, I was crying again. She understands more than most since her partner's son died last year. She is a seasoned griever of a child. I felt relief that most everyone knew not to ask me about yesterday. They seemed to understand that the answer was going to be pretty awful.
I spent the evening deep in thought, reflecting on the past two days. I realized that today I was crying for me and for my loss. This was another event without the baby, no new milestones, just memories of a minute in time that will effect our eternity. Yesterday we cried for Bailee and her loss, we comforted her, cried with her, did the best we could for her. But today was about my own grief. It was like catching up with the feelings I had yesterday but had to suspend. It was my day to let it out.
Mother's Day came and went in the most difficult fashion. It was the most terrible day since the baby died. Bailee called a few days earlier and asked what I was doing Sunday knowing my desire to celebrate any holidays is gone. I told her I would do whatever she wanted to do, no matter what. She just wanted to spend the day with us.
Jeff made blintzes for breakfast, one of her favorite things. I thought I would distract her for the day by canning a batch of jalapeno carrots, another of her favorites so we went to the store early to get the ingredients. Bailee got to the house and instantly started to cry. I could tell that she probably cried on her way over since her face was red and swollen when she walked in the door. So we cried it out together. I gave her the flowers we bought for her then we had breakfast.
We headed to the kitchen where we finished the dishes together and started on the carrots. I got her to peel 5 pounds of carrots while I prepped the canning jars. By the time she finished, I had the jars ready and the onions, garlic, and jalapenos chopped up and ready to go. We used the salad shooter to thin-slice the carrots and started filling the jars. Bailee filled them with all the ingredients, I covered them and started the canning process. This was something she always wanted to learn and then she got the added bonus of taking some jars home with her.
Once we started to boil the jars, Jen, Matt, and Matt's mom Marliyn came over. I offered them a beverage and we sat at the kitchen table while waiting for the jars to finish. Jen brought a lovely gift, one of the foody events that we both enjoy. I can't wait to do this Milwaukee food tour. It is a great gift. Jen also brought her sister a handmade photo album filled with baby photos. It was beautiful, thoughtful and made everyone cry. This day is so hard and so sad.
As we completed all the jars, I moved them out of the way and served some snacks. Jen, Matt, and Marilyn were ready to head out but not before giving us some more cool Harley stuff from work. I got a new rain suit which I really wanted. Just as they were leaving there was someone at the door. It was such a wonderful surprise, Nick came to see me! He gave me a big hug and told me how much he loves his 'second mom'. It was so good to see him and it made me cry. He handed me a plain white envelope and it contained a gift certificate for the Packing House, our favorite place. It was from both Nick and BJ. What a surprise!
Nick stayed for a little while. He worked long hours all week and right through Saturday and he wanted to rest for the remainder of the day. After he left Jeff made Bailee corn on the cob and tenderloin steak. More of her favorites. He just wanted to spoil her as best as possible. So the final thing was a piece of Simma's cheesecake that we got for her at Sendik's earlier in the day.
Around 6pm Bailee packed up her things and headed home. I felt a little relieved that we could help her get through this most difficult day. She said she will probably cry all the way home and that wouldn't really surprise me. She talked about bringing the baby's urn with her today but I am glad she didn't. I think it gives her comfort to have him near, but for me I find it terribly traumatic. Our lives are hard enough so I don't need any encouragement when it comes to pain.
And now the day's over, but I don't feel any better.
Jeff made blintzes for breakfast, one of her favorite things. I thought I would distract her for the day by canning a batch of jalapeno carrots, another of her favorites so we went to the store early to get the ingredients. Bailee got to the house and instantly started to cry. I could tell that she probably cried on her way over since her face was red and swollen when she walked in the door. So we cried it out together. I gave her the flowers we bought for her then we had breakfast.
We headed to the kitchen where we finished the dishes together and started on the carrots. I got her to peel 5 pounds of carrots while I prepped the canning jars. By the time she finished, I had the jars ready and the onions, garlic, and jalapenos chopped up and ready to go. We used the salad shooter to thin-slice the carrots and started filling the jars. Bailee filled them with all the ingredients, I covered them and started the canning process. This was something she always wanted to learn and then she got the added bonus of taking some jars home with her.
Once we started to boil the jars, Jen, Matt, and Matt's mom Marliyn came over. I offered them a beverage and we sat at the kitchen table while waiting for the jars to finish. Jen brought a lovely gift, one of the foody events that we both enjoy. I can't wait to do this Milwaukee food tour. It is a great gift. Jen also brought her sister a handmade photo album filled with baby photos. It was beautiful, thoughtful and made everyone cry. This day is so hard and so sad.
As we completed all the jars, I moved them out of the way and served some snacks. Jen, Matt, and Marilyn were ready to head out but not before giving us some more cool Harley stuff from work. I got a new rain suit which I really wanted. Just as they were leaving there was someone at the door. It was such a wonderful surprise, Nick came to see me! He gave me a big hug and told me how much he loves his 'second mom'. It was so good to see him and it made me cry. He handed me a plain white envelope and it contained a gift certificate for the Packing House, our favorite place. It was from both Nick and BJ. What a surprise!
Nick stayed for a little while. He worked long hours all week and right through Saturday and he wanted to rest for the remainder of the day. After he left Jeff made Bailee corn on the cob and tenderloin steak. More of her favorites. He just wanted to spoil her as best as possible. So the final thing was a piece of Simma's cheesecake that we got for her at Sendik's earlier in the day.
Around 6pm Bailee packed up her things and headed home. I felt a little relieved that we could help her get through this most difficult day. She said she will probably cry all the way home and that wouldn't really surprise me. She talked about bringing the baby's urn with her today but I am glad she didn't. I think it gives her comfort to have him near, but for me I find it terribly traumatic. Our lives are hard enough so I don't need any encouragement when it comes to pain.
And now the day's over, but I don't feel any better.
Bailee called. The death certificate came today. The cause of death is officially listed as SIDS. It's so hard to think about all these feelings. There is this sense of relief that she did nothing wrong. And there is this deep sadness of all that this piece of paper means. He was real, he was here, and he is gone. It feels so final. A tiny little life summed up on one piece of paper. Bailee is sad.
Jeff joined Bailee and I at Compassionate Friends tonight. Usually he has a class on Tuesday nights so he can't go but his class was cancelled for tonight. He asked what to expect and I didn't want him to create an opinion based on mine so I told him he would have to see for himself. I did explain that there would be a formal meeting with introductions of the whole group then an informal time where you have the opportunity to connect afterwards.
Personally, I looked forward to meeting the group leader, a woman named Rosemary, since she did not attend the two previous meetings that I went to. The co-leader kept saying 'I wish Rosie was here' throughout those previous meetings so I wondered what kind of wonderful person this was and whether these meetings would get better. I did not get much out of those first two.
We got to the meeting a little late, and luckily there were three chairs together so we could all sit down without making too much of a commotion. Jeff had to stop and pay the funeral lunch bill, it was a little overdue but it was hard to find the time to stop down to the Community Center to get it taken care of. But since we were there for this meeting, he figured he could take the time to get it done.
As we walked in the door, Jeff instantly stopped in his tracks and shook his head - a former co-worker was in attendance. It saddens everyone when new members come, but this first experience for him hit hard since it was someone he knew. This young couple, Chris and Kim had a baby with Trisomy 13. Diagnosed at 20 weeks into her pregnancy, they knew the baby would die within a day of birth. This was especially hard to take since we both knew Chris from doing a two-day MS-Ride together just a few summers ago.
Rosemary introduced herself and it felt like a commercial for her fund-raiser benefit in her daughter's behalf. She went on to say that her group gives the money they raise to a woman undergoing cancer treatment to help her and her family out and what a success it was again this year. This is my take, jaded as it is since I don't really get these meetings. I keep attending though because Bailee wants to go so I will continue to go as long as she wants me to. Each person took a turn introducing themselves then gave a little history on why they were there. Most of these people I met in previous meetings but after the first five people, there was a new couple. They could hardly speak. The mother introduced herself and her husband and went on to say that their 12-year old son was goofing around in his room and accidentally hung himself. I could feel the raw emotion. It was so strong and painful that I wanted to reach out and hug them at that very moment.
So there it was, the reason to attend the meeting. The humanitarian part of me wanted to reach out to them and the selfish part of me felt sudden realization that I had moved past the stage where they were at. It was my first glimpse at this new version of normal. Even though my heart still aches every single day, I have moments where I can breathe and think of doing things I like to do. This couple was in so much pain, and I remembered how that felt. And I noticed for the first time that I wasn't in the place that they were in. It felt a little like some sort of progress. But I felt bad at my discovery at these parent's expense.
One of the things I don't like about these meetings is that most of these people had grown-up sons and daughters that had died, not many people here had lost children so it is hard to relate to them. It's just not the same. So Jeff is fidgeting in his seat. His anxiety is partly from listening to people talk about how their grandchildren have to struggle without their parent, or about how their other children will suffer because as parents, they aren't the same. And partly because he feels he can't get a word in. Another thing that happens at these meetings is there is always someone who wants to do all the talking. I didn't want to tell Jeff that, but he's getting the experience for himself. When he finally does jump in, he feels instantly better.
Jeff did state that he feels like as a man, he has to be there for his wife and daughter through our pain and he doesn't have time to grieve for himself. Earlier during the meeting, the co-leader made a statement about how important it is to take care of yourself first, then you are better equipped to take care of others. She reiterated that message to Jeff. He just needs to remember to take care of himself first. I also reminded him that no matter what, this is something he can't fix, so he shouldn't worry so much about us, we all own our own feelings that he can't change.
So the meeting came to an end, and instantly different people gravitate to each other. Bailee, Chris and Kim sat together, then another couple who had a SIDS baby joined in the conversation. I hung back with Jeff and I told him that this is what I do, I leave Bailee to connect with others in her situation. She says things in conversations that she doesn't say to us, these are the people who understand and the people that she needs. He gets it so he stays out of their conversation as well.
One of our neighbors, Chris attends these meetings, her daughter died from MS at the young age of 30. Chris doesn't like these meetings, she says they concentrate on death and sadness too much and all she wants is to remember her daughter in happier times. I haven't figured out why she comes, I think I might be to connect to Bailee. I understand these meetings to be a way to feel less isolated, to connect with others experiencing the same horror of losing a child. To get understanding, acceptance, and tolerance for the deep and long-term sadness that comes with the territory.
For me, I think I have come to a place where the sadness and pain of loss is still extremely close to the surface but it is not so raw as it was in the beginning. I feel like I am in a dark place and I won't ever come out of it but once in a while a little light comes in. My heart aches when I look at my daughter's sad face. She looks so lost that sometimes I have to look away. I know I can't help her and that just deepends my own pain.
As for Jeff, when I asked him what he thought of the meeting, he said he's not sure yet, he is still processing it all. I do think that we made a connection to Chris and Kim that will last.
Personally, I looked forward to meeting the group leader, a woman named Rosemary, since she did not attend the two previous meetings that I went to. The co-leader kept saying 'I wish Rosie was here' throughout those previous meetings so I wondered what kind of wonderful person this was and whether these meetings would get better. I did not get much out of those first two.
We got to the meeting a little late, and luckily there were three chairs together so we could all sit down without making too much of a commotion. Jeff had to stop and pay the funeral lunch bill, it was a little overdue but it was hard to find the time to stop down to the Community Center to get it taken care of. But since we were there for this meeting, he figured he could take the time to get it done.
As we walked in the door, Jeff instantly stopped in his tracks and shook his head - a former co-worker was in attendance. It saddens everyone when new members come, but this first experience for him hit hard since it was someone he knew. This young couple, Chris and Kim had a baby with Trisomy 13. Diagnosed at 20 weeks into her pregnancy, they knew the baby would die within a day of birth. This was especially hard to take since we both knew Chris from doing a two-day MS-Ride together just a few summers ago.
Rosemary introduced herself and it felt like a commercial for her fund-raiser benefit in her daughter's behalf. She went on to say that her group gives the money they raise to a woman undergoing cancer treatment to help her and her family out and what a success it was again this year. This is my take, jaded as it is since I don't really get these meetings. I keep attending though because Bailee wants to go so I will continue to go as long as she wants me to. Each person took a turn introducing themselves then gave a little history on why they were there. Most of these people I met in previous meetings but after the first five people, there was a new couple. They could hardly speak. The mother introduced herself and her husband and went on to say that their 12-year old son was goofing around in his room and accidentally hung himself. I could feel the raw emotion. It was so strong and painful that I wanted to reach out and hug them at that very moment.
So there it was, the reason to attend the meeting. The humanitarian part of me wanted to reach out to them and the selfish part of me felt sudden realization that I had moved past the stage where they were at. It was my first glimpse at this new version of normal. Even though my heart still aches every single day, I have moments where I can breathe and think of doing things I like to do. This couple was in so much pain, and I remembered how that felt. And I noticed for the first time that I wasn't in the place that they were in. It felt a little like some sort of progress. But I felt bad at my discovery at these parent's expense.
One of the things I don't like about these meetings is that most of these people had grown-up sons and daughters that had died, not many people here had lost children so it is hard to relate to them. It's just not the same. So Jeff is fidgeting in his seat. His anxiety is partly from listening to people talk about how their grandchildren have to struggle without their parent, or about how their other children will suffer because as parents, they aren't the same. And partly because he feels he can't get a word in. Another thing that happens at these meetings is there is always someone who wants to do all the talking. I didn't want to tell Jeff that, but he's getting the experience for himself. When he finally does jump in, he feels instantly better.
Jeff did state that he feels like as a man, he has to be there for his wife and daughter through our pain and he doesn't have time to grieve for himself. Earlier during the meeting, the co-leader made a statement about how important it is to take care of yourself first, then you are better equipped to take care of others. She reiterated that message to Jeff. He just needs to remember to take care of himself first. I also reminded him that no matter what, this is something he can't fix, so he shouldn't worry so much about us, we all own our own feelings that he can't change.
So the meeting came to an end, and instantly different people gravitate to each other. Bailee, Chris and Kim sat together, then another couple who had a SIDS baby joined in the conversation. I hung back with Jeff and I told him that this is what I do, I leave Bailee to connect with others in her situation. She says things in conversations that she doesn't say to us, these are the people who understand and the people that she needs. He gets it so he stays out of their conversation as well.
One of our neighbors, Chris attends these meetings, her daughter died from MS at the young age of 30. Chris doesn't like these meetings, she says they concentrate on death and sadness too much and all she wants is to remember her daughter in happier times. I haven't figured out why she comes, I think I might be to connect to Bailee. I understand these meetings to be a way to feel less isolated, to connect with others experiencing the same horror of losing a child. To get understanding, acceptance, and tolerance for the deep and long-term sadness that comes with the territory.
For me, I think I have come to a place where the sadness and pain of loss is still extremely close to the surface but it is not so raw as it was in the beginning. I feel like I am in a dark place and I won't ever come out of it but once in a while a little light comes in. My heart aches when I look at my daughter's sad face. She looks so lost that sometimes I have to look away. I know I can't help her and that just deepends my own pain.
As for Jeff, when I asked him what he thought of the meeting, he said he's not sure yet, he is still processing it all. I do think that we made a connection to Chris and Kim that will last.
It's a gorgeous evening and I thought I would sit outside and enjoy the weather. A few glasses of wine, some cheese slices and the view is making me melancholy. Melancholy is not a good idea today. I can hear the laughter of children playing and see people walking on the parkway path. All I can think of is how I will not get to push a baby buggy. I cannot stop the tears.
Easter is coming. My plans are to go to church. That's all. I don't have what it takes to do any other holiday stuff. Usually my sister makes dinner but she is going to take her family to Florida for spring break. And I am not going to do it. I just don't have the energy.
I worry that there will be family expectations but I can hardly cope with the concept of getting through a holiday without the baby. Talk of coloring easter eggs gives me a pain that pierces right through my heart. I don't know how I am going to get through the day.
Plus I have a terrible cold. My body aches, my head hurts, and everything is out of whack. I just want to hide under the covers and sleep through it all.
I worry that there will be family expectations but I can hardly cope with the concept of getting through a holiday without the baby. Talk of coloring easter eggs gives me a pain that pierces right through my heart. I don't know how I am going to get through the day.
Plus I have a terrible cold. My body aches, my head hurts, and everything is out of whack. I just want to hide under the covers and sleep through it all.
Jeff took me to Sobelman's tonight. He thinks I need a change. He knows I needs something although he doesn't know what will help. You would think he could figure it out by now, nothing can help, no one can help. Nothing. I am comforted from his trying to help. I really did not want to go but I had to let him try. Just like the weekend phone calls - how can you tell someone who is trying to help to stop? You don't really want them to stop but it's still so taxing to go along with it as well. So I went, and it felt good to see him feeling helpful. I have to suck it up.
I think I'm having a breakdown. I went to work and started to itch. I haven't been this edgy for a long time. It's palpable, the pain and sadness makes it hard to breathe. I tried to talk to Michelle and I just started to cry. She is so kind and patient. She listens without saying anything. I have never known anyone who listens so intently without commentary, just listening. It is the most wonderful gift. She is the most wonderful gift.
But there's this itching. I have a rash and I itch all over. I am pretty sure it's psychological even though I have physical symptoms. I just don't know how to make it go away. Marie says I should try yoga. I think that was a nice way to agree with my psychological diagnosis. Of course, I think she is right. I will give it serious consideration but I don't think I have the energy to take the initiative to follow through right now. I listen intently to any advice from Marie, she's had similar tragedy in her life so she understands my suffering. I am so grateful that she is so close to me, she makes me comfortable when I am at work.
I just wish I could be lifted from all this pain. I'm really glad I have Michelle or I don't think I could go to work at all.
But there's this itching. I have a rash and I itch all over. I am pretty sure it's psychological even though I have physical symptoms. I just don't know how to make it go away. Marie says I should try yoga. I think that was a nice way to agree with my psychological diagnosis. Of course, I think she is right. I will give it serious consideration but I don't think I have the energy to take the initiative to follow through right now. I listen intently to any advice from Marie, she's had similar tragedy in her life so she understands my suffering. I am so grateful that she is so close to me, she makes me comfortable when I am at work.
I just wish I could be lifted from all this pain. I'm really glad I have Michelle or I don't think I could go to work at all.
The weekend was weird. Everyone was thinking of us. Between email and phone calls, everyone wants to check up on us to see how we're doing. Although it is sweet and thoughtful, it is emotionally draining every time we answer one of these calls. There's this fine line between telling the truth and telling everyone what they want to hear. The thing is if we tell them the truth, that everything just sucks we risk the connection - maybe they won't call again and we certainly don't want to push people away. On the other hand, if we tell them what they want to hear, it's pretty unbearable to say we're doing OK when we're not. The only good we get out of it is that sense of making everyone else feel better. You can hear the feelings of relief in their voices, they are glad they called. Of course, obviously we answered the latter. The heavy feelings of sadness that blankets us now seems even worse.
Bailee and Adam are moving. They knew they couldn't stay where the baby died. There was just too much sadness in the air. The bad memory of that one horrible day outweighed all the other days. She can't even take a shower with her eyes closed because of her last good memories was bathing the baby the night before he died. It just haunts her.
Once the decision was made and the deal was sealed on the new house in Racine, reality set in. And I knew it would come - that feeling of leaving behind all the good memories. Bailee called to tell me that she is moving and I could hear the sadness in her voice. So I asked. How does that make you feel? She said she was afraid that she was leaving some of his spirit behind since this was the place with all the good baby memories. The place where he lived in his short time here. I told her that his spirit and all the love in that house was in her heart and in her memories and she would never be leaving that behind.
Bailee said that Adam calls it's a fresh start. So the planning begins. She spent the next two weeks packing and planning and getting ready for the move. When the time got closer she asked me to keep the baby's urn so she didn't have to worry about this little precious cargo during her move. I told her fine, I would keep the little jar in a safe place until she was ready to have it back. She just didn't want to worry about anything bad happening to it. I think everything bad has already happened. I didn't begin to fathom the effects of the baby's ashes in that little urn and how it would make me feel.
Maybe it wasn't so much the urn, maybe it was Bailee's treatment of it. She dropped it off on Friday night and when she left, she made sure to say good-bye. She talked to the urn like she was talking to the baby. "Good-night, sweet dreams, grandma and grandpa will take good care of you." My heart was breaking all over again. I cry everyday but it's been a while since I cried this hard.
All I can think of is the urn, the sadness, and my poor baby girl clinging to it. Thing's just don't get better.
Once the decision was made and the deal was sealed on the new house in Racine, reality set in. And I knew it would come - that feeling of leaving behind all the good memories. Bailee called to tell me that she is moving and I could hear the sadness in her voice. So I asked. How does that make you feel? She said she was afraid that she was leaving some of his spirit behind since this was the place with all the good baby memories. The place where he lived in his short time here. I told her that his spirit and all the love in that house was in her heart and in her memories and she would never be leaving that behind.
Bailee said that Adam calls it's a fresh start. So the planning begins. She spent the next two weeks packing and planning and getting ready for the move. When the time got closer she asked me to keep the baby's urn so she didn't have to worry about this little precious cargo during her move. I told her fine, I would keep the little jar in a safe place until she was ready to have it back. She just didn't want to worry about anything bad happening to it. I think everything bad has already happened. I didn't begin to fathom the effects of the baby's ashes in that little urn and how it would make me feel.
Maybe it wasn't so much the urn, maybe it was Bailee's treatment of it. She dropped it off on Friday night and when she left, she made sure to say good-bye. She talked to the urn like she was talking to the baby. "Good-night, sweet dreams, grandma and grandpa will take good care of you." My heart was breaking all over again. I cry everyday but it's been a while since I cried this hard.
All I can think of is the urn, the sadness, and my poor baby girl clinging to it. Thing's just don't get better.
I really tried to move on today. If Jeff wouldn't have mentioned it, I probably wouldn't have even tried. He said it was time to put the swing away. I agreed.
I've been thinking about it for a while now. But when the process of taking the batteries out, getting the box from the garage, going over the instructions so to take it apart properly, just the thought of those many steps felt overwhelming. So every time I considered it, just mentally taking it apart wore me out and so I stopped before I even got started.
But today I took it more seriously because Jeff said it out loud. I would really try this time, and it seemed do-able. Mentioning the swing didn't have a negative emotional effect as it sometimes does so I thought I was ready to pack it up. I picked up the swing and moved it to the foyer so I could vacuum the entire living room. I thought about where I would store the blankets and the little stuffed horse, the dangling toys from the attached mobile, and that was it.
I found myself on my hands and knees on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing could console me, nothing could stop the terrible pain and grief over putting away the baby's swing. Even the cat was concerned about my horrible wailing. The pain was so palpable I couldn't get up off the floor. I was so distraught, I cried myself to sleep and napped for a good hour.
When I got up I was still out of sorts, so deeply saddened. I felt like I was physically traumatized as much as emotionally. I told Jeff that I was sorry for not completing the task but I just couldn't. He thought that was part of the reason to put it away-it might just ease my sadness-if it wasn't there to remind me as it does. He's right, I'm sure, but it's physically impossible for me to do.
I've been thinking about it for a while now. But when the process of taking the batteries out, getting the box from the garage, going over the instructions so to take it apart properly, just the thought of those many steps felt overwhelming. So every time I considered it, just mentally taking it apart wore me out and so I stopped before I even got started.
But today I took it more seriously because Jeff said it out loud. I would really try this time, and it seemed do-able. Mentioning the swing didn't have a negative emotional effect as it sometimes does so I thought I was ready to pack it up. I picked up the swing and moved it to the foyer so I could vacuum the entire living room. I thought about where I would store the blankets and the little stuffed horse, the dangling toys from the attached mobile, and that was it.
I found myself on my hands and knees on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing could console me, nothing could stop the terrible pain and grief over putting away the baby's swing. Even the cat was concerned about my horrible wailing. The pain was so palpable I couldn't get up off the floor. I was so distraught, I cried myself to sleep and napped for a good hour.
When I got up I was still out of sorts, so deeply saddened. I felt like I was physically traumatized as much as emotionally. I told Jeff that I was sorry for not completing the task but I just couldn't. He thought that was part of the reason to put it away-it might just ease my sadness-if it wasn't there to remind me as it does. He's right, I'm sure, but it's physically impossible for me to do.
This was our second time at Compassionate Friends. I'm still not so sure this is something that is a fit for me. At the first session, the group leader could not attend so someone filled in for her. Everyone raved about this woman I never met, and I thought for sure this meeting would be better just because the facilitator with the great reputation would be there. But she wasn't there. So through the meeting the fill-in person repeated many times, I wish Rosie was here, she is better at this. It wasn't instilling any warm feelings for me.
The thing that surprised me was that there were quite a few new people there. Too bad, for them, I thought. I knew some of the new people, there was a neighbor who's daughter died from MS, a member of my church who's son took too many prescription drugs. There was a doctor, a woman who's son drowned, and a young couple who's baby died from SIDS. They only had their baby for a week before he died, I was heartbroken all over again just listening to their story. After the formal meeting they really wanted to connect with Bailee. The amazing thing is that they told her about a SIDS group that meets at Children's Hospital. I think she is going to go and skip coming here.
Compassionate Friends is a place where you can feel safe, feel understood, and get comfort. The thing is that I don't feel understood. I am in a room full of people who have lost sons and daughters. I don't know the devastation of losing a child, I am the grandmother of our lost baby, but I know that most of these people did not lose children. And when I say children, I mean the dictionary's first interpretation of a person under legal age, pre-pubescent, young children. Not grown sons and daughters who had their own style, personality, careers, even children. These people have memories of someone who has grown into their own selves. They have many memories to share and grieve over. We have none of these things, which is why I don't feel understood. The loss of this baby is like nothing I have ever felt before. And I have lost a father too soon, he was 53, a brother too soon, he was 24. I would never discount the terrible loss of these most important people in my life but it paled in raw, emotional suffering compared to this baby. This pain is so great my bones have never hurt like this. And there is no one to relate to, except this new couple that came to the meeting. I was glad that Bailee connected to them.
I gave Bailee as much space as I could. I wanted her to be able to try to find her own purpose to be here. I didn't want to be the reason she came. I reached out to Dick, the man who went to my church, and I think we really connected. I hope I can be of help for him to heal. Although I do understand that healing is not really possible, maybe the better word would be comfort. I am certain we will connect more often at church from now on and I am glad for that.
As we left the meeting we walked out with Chris, our neighbor. She did not like coming to the meeting and she told Bailee why. I stayed out of her conversation with Bailee. They were both the mothers of children lost so I hoped they would find comfort in each other. Chris went on to say that these people come here and re-live their death memories and Chris wanted to remember the good memories during her life instead. She didn't like how these meetings made her feel. Bailee commented that she thought it was a little disturbing that many of these people have been coming for years. She knows she will never be the same, that she will always have a broken heart over this baby but she was pretty sure she didn't want to be doing this for years.
My own personal feelings were somewhat the same. I felt like I did want to be there to share my pain, but I wanted to talk about my pain, not listen to others who have been coming there for years. The co-leader explained that many people who have been coming for years are proof that you can get on with life, not the same life you had before but survival is possible. With all the reliving of the pain of the loss that these people discuss, it doesn't feel at all like they have got on with anything. It feels more like they want to re-live their pain over and over, no time for me to share my pain. Maybe it is selfish of me, but I didn't come to the meeing to be an audience for these people. I wanted help for my grief, to find a way through my pain. The amazing thing is that the best comfort that I got came from Dick, the new member to the group. Maybe we can start our own support group at church.
I really wish Jeff could come to these meetings. I would like to know what his feelings are about them. Maybe they would help him. At least he would be another opinion on whether there is value in attending. I will attend again next month, but I am pretty sure Bailee will not. I still have to see of Rosie is worth the wait.
The thing that surprised me was that there were quite a few new people there. Too bad, for them, I thought. I knew some of the new people, there was a neighbor who's daughter died from MS, a member of my church who's son took too many prescription drugs. There was a doctor, a woman who's son drowned, and a young couple who's baby died from SIDS. They only had their baby for a week before he died, I was heartbroken all over again just listening to their story. After the formal meeting they really wanted to connect with Bailee. The amazing thing is that they told her about a SIDS group that meets at Children's Hospital. I think she is going to go and skip coming here.
Compassionate Friends is a place where you can feel safe, feel understood, and get comfort. The thing is that I don't feel understood. I am in a room full of people who have lost sons and daughters. I don't know the devastation of losing a child, I am the grandmother of our lost baby, but I know that most of these people did not lose children. And when I say children, I mean the dictionary's first interpretation of a person under legal age, pre-pubescent, young children. Not grown sons and daughters who had their own style, personality, careers, even children. These people have memories of someone who has grown into their own selves. They have many memories to share and grieve over. We have none of these things, which is why I don't feel understood. The loss of this baby is like nothing I have ever felt before. And I have lost a father too soon, he was 53, a brother too soon, he was 24. I would never discount the terrible loss of these most important people in my life but it paled in raw, emotional suffering compared to this baby. This pain is so great my bones have never hurt like this. And there is no one to relate to, except this new couple that came to the meeting. I was glad that Bailee connected to them.
I gave Bailee as much space as I could. I wanted her to be able to try to find her own purpose to be here. I didn't want to be the reason she came. I reached out to Dick, the man who went to my church, and I think we really connected. I hope I can be of help for him to heal. Although I do understand that healing is not really possible, maybe the better word would be comfort. I am certain we will connect more often at church from now on and I am glad for that.
As we left the meeting we walked out with Chris, our neighbor. She did not like coming to the meeting and she told Bailee why. I stayed out of her conversation with Bailee. They were both the mothers of children lost so I hoped they would find comfort in each other. Chris went on to say that these people come here and re-live their death memories and Chris wanted to remember the good memories during her life instead. She didn't like how these meetings made her feel. Bailee commented that she thought it was a little disturbing that many of these people have been coming for years. She knows she will never be the same, that she will always have a broken heart over this baby but she was pretty sure she didn't want to be doing this for years.
My own personal feelings were somewhat the same. I felt like I did want to be there to share my pain, but I wanted to talk about my pain, not listen to others who have been coming there for years. The co-leader explained that many people who have been coming for years are proof that you can get on with life, not the same life you had before but survival is possible. With all the reliving of the pain of the loss that these people discuss, it doesn't feel at all like they have got on with anything. It feels more like they want to re-live their pain over and over, no time for me to share my pain. Maybe it is selfish of me, but I didn't come to the meeing to be an audience for these people. I wanted help for my grief, to find a way through my pain. The amazing thing is that the best comfort that I got came from Dick, the new member to the group. Maybe we can start our own support group at church.
I really wish Jeff could come to these meetings. I would like to know what his feelings are about them. Maybe they would help him. At least he would be another opinion on whether there is value in attending. I will attend again next month, but I am pretty sure Bailee will not. I still have to see of Rosie is worth the wait.
As I try to get through the day, the more I feel stuck. I don't know what to do with myself but it doesn't really matter since I don't want to move on. Or maybe it's just that I don't know how it's possible. Today I realized that the horrible, raw grief that I felt in the beginning is starting to wane. As if no matter how much salt is poured on the wounds it just can't hurt as badly as before. But that raw pain has been replaced with a deep, deep sadness that weighs so heavy on me that it explains my feelings of being stuck. Sometimes I can hardly breathe. I can't catch my breath. The days all meld into an empty abyss where nothing matters, there's nothing but pain but I got through another day.
Thinking about the future is hard. Everything is tempered with this pain in my heart. But I keep telling myself that planning things, getting things done is therapeutic. Of course, I don't know what I am talking about so I just make it up as I go. Anything to take my mind elsewhere cannot be a bad thing, can it? At the very least it keeps me preoccupied with thoughts other than the baby.
So I am thinking about craft fairs, motorcycle trips, and a vacations. I am not sure I have the energy to plan these things but I find it distracting in thinking about planning them.
As for really getting something done today, I am writing more thank you cards. I still have a stack to write so I hope I can get through some of them. It's so emotionally draining to do, so little by little I will get through this next hurdle. I still have flower arrangements that need tending. Bailee wants to dry the flowers and keep them which means I have to take care of it since she is not emotionally equipped to get to it. Whatever I can do to help her I will do.
An amazing thing has been happening. People that I don't even know are sending me wonderful notes of sympathy and encouragement on this blog. I cannot even describe how touching and comforting that is. When over 100 people showed up for the baby's funeral the funeral director said it gave him a renewed faith in humanity. That's exactly what the comments on my blog are doing for me.
If I could add you all to my list of those I have to write thank you notes for, I would.
So I am thinking about craft fairs, motorcycle trips, and a vacations. I am not sure I have the energy to plan these things but I find it distracting in thinking about planning them.
As for really getting something done today, I am writing more thank you cards. I still have a stack to write so I hope I can get through some of them. It's so emotionally draining to do, so little by little I will get through this next hurdle. I still have flower arrangements that need tending. Bailee wants to dry the flowers and keep them which means I have to take care of it since she is not emotionally equipped to get to it. Whatever I can do to help her I will do.
An amazing thing has been happening. People that I don't even know are sending me wonderful notes of sympathy and encouragement on this blog. I cannot even describe how touching and comforting that is. When over 100 people showed up for the baby's funeral the funeral director said it gave him a renewed faith in humanity. That's exactly what the comments on my blog are doing for me.
If I could add you all to my list of those I have to write thank you notes for, I would.
It was one month ago today that our sweet baby boy died. Every passing mark of time, no matter how insignificant seems magnified. Every Wednesday marks another week without him, and now every 21st will mark another month without him. Since his death, I have not been able to see anything but darkness, no future, nothing but a black hole without any ending. My dreams are the opposite, though. Not black but all white, like being in an airplane, looking out and seeing nothing but clouds. Even the clouds have no end, there is nothing in the future but an endless view of nothing. I feel like I am covered with a heavy blanket of dispair and I am not strong enough to lift it. Not that I want to try.
But this morning I got up feeling fidgety. Like I should be creative. I collected the funeral cards up that have been scattered around the house and put them in one pile. I picked out some of the wilted flowers from the last funeral bouquet. Some of the flowers are drying for Bailee. She wants to keep some from every arrangement she got so I have them in a cardboard container in the dining room. It feels a little like progress.
It's snowing pretty hard this morning. There's a pretty white blanket of snow covering everything and the world looks clean and fresh, like a blank canvas. In my creative mood, I am thinking about how I will spend spring creating a memorial garden for Stephen. I have the location picked out. Maybe I can look forward a little bit.
But this morning I got up feeling fidgety. Like I should be creative. I collected the funeral cards up that have been scattered around the house and put them in one pile. I picked out some of the wilted flowers from the last funeral bouquet. Some of the flowers are drying for Bailee. She wants to keep some from every arrangement she got so I have them in a cardboard container in the dining room. It feels a little like progress.
It's snowing pretty hard this morning. There's a pretty white blanket of snow covering everything and the world looks clean and fresh, like a blank canvas. In my creative mood, I am thinking about how I will spend spring creating a memorial garden for Stephen. I have the location picked out. Maybe I can look forward a little bit.
We went to our first Compassionate Friends meeting last night. It wasn't easy. I was ready to back out and Bailee was ready to go. So it was good to have that little push to get me out the door. When we pulled into the Community Center parking lot, it was a different story. She didn't want to get out of the car. From her heavy sighs, I could tell this was very tough for her. I got out and told her I understood if she wanted to go back home. I suggested that we go in and say hi to Tom then we can go back home if she wants. But we stayed.
The meeting was big; there were many people there, which is too bad. That just means lots of sorrow, lots of losses. There was a couple there who also lost a baby to SIDS. It was nice to hear others talk about hope, feelings of sadness, feelings of frustration, fear, and disbelief. All the same things I think about. It is true that this group makes me feel less alone but I don't feel like we belong either.
Compassionate Friends is for people who lost a child, and more than half of these people lost grown up children, not babies or toddlers, or young people. And I couldn't really connect with those whose children had grown up to have children and have all the experiences that our baby will never know. It just doesn't feel quite like we fit real well with this group.
I did feel bad for the couple who lost their son to the war in Iraq, the man whose 14 year old daughter was killed in a snowmobile accident, and the woman whose baby lived for a day. In fact she brought birthday treats because her son would have been 1 year old this month.
I did get something out of it, no doubt about that, but I thought it would be different. We will go back next month to see if we can connect with the other SIDS couple.
The meeting was big; there were many people there, which is too bad. That just means lots of sorrow, lots of losses. There was a couple there who also lost a baby to SIDS. It was nice to hear others talk about hope, feelings of sadness, feelings of frustration, fear, and disbelief. All the same things I think about. It is true that this group makes me feel less alone but I don't feel like we belong either.
Compassionate Friends is for people who lost a child, and more than half of these people lost grown up children, not babies or toddlers, or young people. And I couldn't really connect with those whose children had grown up to have children and have all the experiences that our baby will never know. It just doesn't feel quite like we fit real well with this group.
I did feel bad for the couple who lost their son to the war in Iraq, the man whose 14 year old daughter was killed in a snowmobile accident, and the woman whose baby lived for a day. In fact she brought birthday treats because her son would have been 1 year old this month.
I did get something out of it, no doubt about that, but I thought it would be different. We will go back next month to see if we can connect with the other SIDS couple.
The day started ok. Jeff went out early in the morning and came back with Great Harvest bread, a dozen roses, and a valentines card. I was feeling almost human, so we went out to do some grocery shopping to buy lobster and steak for dinner. After all, it is valentine's day.
We busied ourselves all day, with cleaning and cooking and trying to forget for a little while. It wasn't until dinner that it hit me. All the valentines cookies, homemade crafts, and celebrations I was going to have with our little boy would never be. There would be no valentines for grandma.
How am I going to get through a real holiday when I cannot even handle a stupid non-holiday like valentines day?
We busied ourselves all day, with cleaning and cooking and trying to forget for a little while. It wasn't until dinner that it hit me. All the valentines cookies, homemade crafts, and celebrations I was going to have with our little boy would never be. There would be no valentines for grandma.
How am I going to get through a real holiday when I cannot even handle a stupid non-holiday like valentines day?
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