Where we are

My friend Carly just published some amazingly helpful posts for babyloss parents and anyone who knows anyone going through this, from friends and family to healthcare professionals.  I find these helpful even nearly 2 years from losing sweet Chase.  This journey is not one I would chose for anyone, but we don't have the choice.  When we are on it, some days the only way to make it through the day is with the help of others on the same ride.  Through blogs, emails, cards, etc.,  I have found comfort from "friends" that have reached out to me and honestly know what I am feeling and going through.  Understanding that grief doesn't just happen and then it's over, but that it comes in waves is crucial to comforting someone experiencing this.  

I knew that bringing home Owen would be emotional, but I didn't know that I would grieve Chase as deeply as I have in Owen's presence.  There is not a moment that goes by that I don't think of Chase and miss him painfully.  Catching a glimpse of Owen from afar, sleeping peacefully and remembering Chase in his isolette; wishing I had a better picture of Chase that I could see his whole face; blotchy skin on Owen and remembering Chase's when he was declining; the clothes that Chase should have worn and handed down to Owen with spit-up stains but instead, they are brand new.  I worry every time Owen makes a funny face or twitches in his sleep that something is wrong, remembering how scared I was that Chase was going to have a seizure...and then he finally did.  And newborns twitch a lot, let's face it, so just imagine my anxiety levels these days.
I have listened to Chase's song, Godspeed, a lot since Owen came home--it's on all the playlists I made for him.  I could not listen to it before as it was just too painful.  And now when I listen to it, it really isn't any less painful, but I want to hear it.  It's strange to me because it acutely reminds me of the funeral service yet I want to hear it and listen to the whole thing, with Owen in my arms.  I feel a little safer, I guess.  I can still cry every time I hear it, but I almost want it to bring me happiness, too.  I can't take away the sorrow I feel, but I can make it a little happier by sharing these moments with Owen....being thankful for Chase and everything that he taught me and brought me.  It isn't any easier to hear this song, but now I want to hear it.....whereas before Owen came home, I couldn't bear to hear that melody.

I still feel a lot of pain, a LOT of pain.  I have thought about some pretty painful moments that I never let enter my head since losing Chase and I cry.  But again, I am thankful now, too.  This journey has continued, but the path I am on has changed.  Some moments I am so sad that I still don't think I can move on.  But I do, because I want to.  I have beauty in my life.  I am deeply blessed.  Yet no matter how much joy I feel, I will always feel sorrow.  But I know that I will get to see Chase again some day.  And that he is waiting for us in a place that is incredibly beautiful.   I know this in my heart.  Yet miss him with my entire soul.  Carly said it this way and I thank her for putting it in these words.  She is an amazing woman.

"I thank God every day for all 4 of my children. I am not angry now, but thankful that my son has given me this beautiful life that I live today. I know that the place that Christian is in is so incredibly amazing. I will miss him every day for the rest of my life. I thank my angels for helping me to rise above my sadness. I thank God for sending Christian into my life even if it was only for the shortest stay.

I found my way out of the dark forest and I am now living in the amber glow. Life is rich. Life is precious. Life is beautiful."

A quote worth reading

My baby sister (she's not a baby anymore, trust me) sent me an email with a quote in it that I couldn't post to my blog quick enough. I have written about (here) and certainly read a lot about the friendships that quickly or eventually end of those of us who have suffered the losses we have. And what ends the friendships that we had before our losses are the changes that we have gone through and how completely different we become once we begin this journey and the fact that our "old" friends just don't get it, let alone, know how to act around us. When I read this quote, I said, "exACTly" to myself. Because it's those who want and try to fix it for us, or who want so badly to have us go on with our lives and move past the tragedy, who end up leaving us. Let me know what you think:

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."
~Henri Nouwen

The Facade

I am a living facade. I went out of town this weekend with a friend and her teenage daughters to run in a 5k. We had a great time. Her girls are wonderful kids and I really enjoyed the time spent with them. I enjoyed the quality time with my friend. But it was the first night I had spent away from my family since Chase died. I felt like a child....packing his blanket. I thought for a second not to take it, but I have not gone to bed without it since April 17th. I have it by my cheek every night I go to sleep. And since we were all sharing a hotel room, I thought (only for a second) about what I would look like, a healthy 37-year-old woman, sleeping with her dead child's blanket. But I took it. And I needed it. Inconspicuously, I fell asleep, my tears falling on my secret security blanket, feeling as though Chase was with me. Thinking how he should be snuggled in next to me right now, here with me on this weekend trip.

But I laugh. I smile. All the while on the inside I am sad. The guilt for showing happiness waxes and wanes. I think what I must look like: a mother who lost her baby and seems to go on like it never happened. But it doesn't bother me. Because it's not true. It's this facade. Not like the self-aclaimed FB facade. This is a real life facade. I act one way and feel completely different on the inside because of real life. My. Real. Life. I can't walk around like I'm depressed. I'm not depressed. I am a woman with a broken heart. And that broken heart is healing. Slowly. But it has left behind a hole. A hole that will never mend. And I will forever be crying inside. It will never go away.

This came from my friend Kristy's blog. I'm not sure if she wrote it or not. I saved it in my notes and found it the other day. And it is me.

Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS, but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.

Thankyou to my friend and her daughters for not judging me. But for giving me a good time. And running with me. :) I needed that!