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Random Thoughts of Grief

My heart physically aches for my boy tonight. It is unbelievable what grief does physically to the body. One moment I will feel fine, happy even. But then the slightest thing will happen or I will see one tiny little detail in something, and I’m hit like a wave with this unbearable weight. Like someone has thrown a brick at my heart. I lose my breath for just a second and my mind is taken back to those moments in that hospital room…

The silence of the monitor. Those words, and then the lack thereof because no one knew what to say. The feeling of panic and throwing up. Telling the nurse “please done leave me” as I waited for Matthew to get there. The tears. Feeling numb. Being so surrounded by love but feeling so alone. Writing the Facebook post about what had happened. The ache of my entire body. “I feel like there is a lead blanket on top of me.” Going home, empty handed. Telling Brooklyn that her brother was with Jesus.

Trying to live every moment after those moments has been torture. Have I found joy since then, yes, some. But it still hurts. It physically hurts to miss someone so much. To wonder about what life would’ve been like. To see others around me enjoying their newborn babies. To hear the pregnancy announcements and watch growing bellies everywhere. Some days it’s bearable, others its not.

Time is going so slowly and so quickly at the same time. It feels like yesterday, but I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. I can’t explain it, really. Life is so different. There are now two main parts of my life. Before Bennett and now. I cherish the time he was with me. I am thankful for it. But I am greedy because I wish so badly that there was more. I wish we had been given more time. I wish that I had seen him take a breath and open his eyes. I wish that I had dressed him. And taken more pictures. And spent more time holding him.

I just wish and wonder so many things about what should’ve been. And it hurts to think I may never know and that I can’t go back….

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Letter to Bennett

My Dear Bennett,

I am laying here in bed, and I can’t stop thinking about you. About all of the dreams I had for you and things we should be doing right now. I should have been able to dress you up yesterday in a “First 4th of July” outfit. I should be snuggling you in my arms right now. Singing you a lullaby. Wiping your tears when you cry. But instead I wipe my own tears. They fall so often sweet boy, but I know you see them. I miss you every day. Sometimes I still can’t believe you are not here with us. That we didn’t get to decorate your room or take pictures with the four of us. Our pictures will always have a missing piece now.

You are so loved. Brooklyn talks about you every day. She really wants to play with you. I heard her tell a little girl at the playground that she has a brother, but that you’re not here. It broke my heart. You big sister misses you so. She has such a big and innocent heart.

I still buy you things, every once in a while, when something makes me think of you. I bought you a little blue puppy dog and a soft blanket. It makes me feel better to hold things that could’ve been yours.

Sometimes I feel like you are with me. I will be sitting in the quiet and I just get a feeling that you are nearby. I close my eyes and I can feel a warmth. I know you are watching over us, waiting for us. I will get up there as soon as I can sweet boy. There is a song I have been listening to that talks about how one day God will bring me home to you. I know this is true in my heart, but I am so impatient. I want to see you again so badly. I want to stroke your cheeks and kiss your forehead. Please know that I hold those few moments we got together so dear to my heart. I will never forget your face or your smell. I will never forget how you felt in my arms. You are forever my son. Like the stars will always exist, you will always be mine. My beautiful baby boy. My Bennett.

I am sending up some snuggles and kisses for you tonight. Please watch out for them.

I love you to the stars and back,
Mommy

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New Normal

I am creating a new normal. A new me. I can never be the same woman, mommy, wife, or friend that I was before. Everything has changed now. This process is tedious and I don’t want to do it, but its necessary. I have to figure out how to be me and grieve Bennett at the same time. I have to figure out how to function without feeling the pain every second. I have to figure out how to think about him without wanting to run screaming into a dark hole and stay there forever. This will be my new normal.

I have learned that despite my wanting to stay in March and never move on, the world does move on, and I’ve had to go with it. But I’m not the same. I can have the same conversation about something as before, but my brain and my heart don’t process it the same.

Let me tell you something about the new me. Talking about your pregnancy and labor is impossible for the new me. I don’t want to do it. Chances are, if you talk about having your baby, I’m going to do one of two things: ignore you or walk away. Or both. I don’t want to hear people talk about how so-and-so is pregnant and due any day now. I don’t want to see your huge pregnant belly. It’s impossible to do this and not feel broken. Its impossible to not think about what should’ve been. The old me loved seeing pregnancy unfold and to talk about labor and newborns. But the new me doesn’t, at least not yet.

I’m hoping I can build the strength to be happy for pregnant mommas into the new me. Eventually, maybe this won’t be so hard. But the key word is eventually. Please be patient with me. It’s hard work creating a new normal. It’s like starting all over unexpectedly. One breath at a time.

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Goodnight

It’s night time again and everyone around me sleeps. My online friends slowly dwindle as they head off to bed. They have been a comfort, chatting with me as lie here in need of a distraction. The memories of that day continue to come back to me. It is so bittersweet. I want so badly to remember the time we spent together in that hospital room. The few hours I held my son and kissed his sweet forehead. But, at the same time, I want to forget about how painful and heartbreaking it was to hold my son’s lifeless body. It’s so contradicting. It’s so hard to remember something so wonderful and devastating at the same time.

I am wide awake. The insomnia I suffer is relentless. I can lay here in the dark, and try to think of other things. I can listen to calming music and meditate on the things in my life I should be grateful for. I can watch tv or read a book for distraction.

But I cannot escape those memories. They are constantly surrounding me, going through my body like waves. I close my eyes and I’m in that room again. The cart they put newborn babies on for their first exam. The scale used to weigh them. The rocking chair in the corner. The blanket with blue and pink feet on it. I remember the taste of being sick after hearing those awful words. I hear the silence of that ultrasound machine, telling me my boy is gone. The silence is so unbelievably loud.

Could I take something to help me sleep? Yes, of course I could. But it wouldn’t make it all go away. It’s a part of me now, I might as well embrace it. Take it head on. That’s what people keep telling me, that I am so strong for facing this. But I do not feel strong. I am not a warrior. I am just an unwilling participant in this journey.

So here I will lay, late into the night, playing out what has become my life in my head like a movie. Over and over again. Perhaps it will make my empty arms not feel so empty. Maybe the hole in my heart will shrink just a little bit. I just hope that as I do finally drift off to sleep that Bennett will come sit next me, right on my pillow. Come visit me, my sweet boy, and please help my dreams be of peace.

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Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is this weekend.  I am not looking forward to it.  To start, I have not been the best mommy for Brooklyn lately.  I find myself getting frustrated and overwhelmed when I am with her.  She has that “I’m 3 and the world should revolve around me and I should get everything I want, when I want it” attitude.  Its exhausting.  I have no patience for the whining and crying.  I love her with all of my heart and cannot imagine my life without her, but she drives me nuts.  Despite all of my efforts to “fake it ’till I make it” for her, I am feeling like an inadequate mother to her.

I also have this ache to hold all of my babies this Mother’s Day.  I am so lucky to have Brooklyn here with me, as I know that some mommies who have lost have no baby to hold.  But I still have a missing piece.  Mother’s Day just isn’t the same, and I suppose it never will be.

I will go through the motions.  Breakfast, going to the park, visiting the cemetery, going to Grandma’s house to celebrate.  But it won’t be the same.  I am a mother, but I am missing two children.  I’m not really sure what there is to celebrate in that… 

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My Story

My name is Lauren and I am the Mommy to an Angel.  I did not chose my story.  In fact, my story chose me and I wish that I could refuse it; to say that this is not part of my life.  But we don’t get to chose our path, God does that for us.  At times, I want to scream that God’s plan is stupid.  God’s plan doesn’t make any sense.  There is no reason I, or anyone, should have THIS as part of their story.  I share it with you only so that you may somewhat relate to the agony I have lived through.  I lost a child.

My baby boy, Bennett Allen, was born on March 13, 2013.  What was supposed to be a day filled with joy and excitement for the future quickly turned into a day of darkness and dread.  Those words repeat in my head over and over.  “I’m so sorry, there is no heartbeat. Your baby has passed away.”  Sometimes when I’m thinking about that day, it replays in slow motion.  Everyone’s voices are deeper and they move slowly around the room.  Other days, the entire experience is in fast forward, everyone is moving quickly.  Either way it replays is unbelievable and painful.

“What now?” I asked.  “You will give birth to your baby.”  That’s impossible.  There is no way I can possibly give birth to my baby boy.  He is dead.  What you are asking me to do is impossible.  I can’t do it.  I don’t want to be here.  I can’t believe this is me right now.  But it was me.  And I did give birth to my baby boy.  Bennett was born at 8:09pm on March 13, 2013 after a 24 hour labor.  For 24 hours, I sat in that hospital bed, knowing that when my son was born, I would not actually get to meet him.  We said goodbye and hello at the same time.  We would never see his eyes or hear his cry.  I would never get to comfort him in the night.   Or sing him a lullaby.   His sister would never get to play with her brother.  His Daddy would never get to teach him about baseball.  I would never get to teach him how to love and care for others.  He was already gone, before he even got here.

It has been 8 weeks and the pain is still with me every day.  There is no pain like this one.  My heart aches to hold my little one.  My arms are empty.  And it hurts.  I force myself to put a smile on my face and go about my life.  But part of me is stuck back on March 13th, and it’s like I’m being ripped in half.  I long to go back to that day and hold my dear boy again.  To stroke his tiny cheek and count his tiny fingers and toes.  If I’d known how quickly that moment would have passed, I’d have held him longer.  But I had to let go.  I had to say goodbye.

I can’t believe this is my story.  I want to give it back.  To choose another path.  This one is dark and lonely and filled with sadness and emptiness.  I want to go back and feel Bennett moving in my belly again.  I want to hear his heartbeat and feel one with him again.  But I can’t.

The house is quiet and still
Here I sit, alone
The world keeps spinning
I’m stuck in this place

My body aches
Arms, belly, heart
Empty
Longing to hold my dear one

Phantom kicks
From the inside of my belly
But he’s not there
It’s all in my head

Close my eyes
Remember his peaceful face
Tiny hands, tiny feet
No breath, no life

Who would he have been?
What would he have become?
Questions I’ll never get answered
I’ll never know my dear son

I don’t want to wait
“’Till we meet in heaven”
I want him now!
I want him here

“It was for a reason”
“He was meant for more than this life on Earth”
I don’t want to hear these words
They don’t touch this agony

I’m confused and lost
Why me?
Why my baby boy?
It’s not fair.

There’s a hole in my heart
Nothing will fill it
And I’m all alone
In this house, quiet and still.