Happy Birthday

Today is my oldest son's birthday. He would have been 19 today. I am incredibly sentimental and nostalgic about birthdays on a good day. This is, to no body's surprise, not any easier now. I was trying to think how I could write about my plethora of memories, the flooding of glimpses of years of birthday parties, the idea of maybe expressing how I was only a child thinking I knew a lot more than I did, getting ready to be a parent for the first time, not having any idea what was ahead. But in all of the recollections and thoughts that came about in the past few days, the following article that I kept in a draft status kept creeping back in to my mind.

The idea came to me on the 9 month mark of my son's passing. It struck me to the core. I remember sitting there for over an hour in the realization of the simplicity of the idea.

God gives you 9 months to carry a child for a reason. Your body changes, your instincts change, your priorities change, your mind changes, your overall outlook changes.  Preparing for life to begin. You try to prepare, You read books, you talk to people who are parents, who are expecting also, you talk to health care professionals, you prepare yourself for all the ways your life is about to change. And then at that moment when you see your child for the first time, you realize how unprepared you are. How woefully unprepared. How very little you know. You knew your life was about to change, but you didn't know how much. You are no longer the person you were, and will never be again.
I realized at the 9 month anniversary of my son's death, that these 9 months were so similar. My body changed, my priorities changed, my instincts changed, my mind changed. I talked to health care professionals, I talked to people who had lost a child, I talked to friends and loved ones, I tried to prepare myself for how my life was forever changed. It took my body 9 months to realize the extent of the damage, if you will. And I am still woefully unprepared. But I think it was not a mistake that this struck me on this particular date. 9 months is the time it takes for your body and mind to connect and realize that life is going to be totally different for you, even if it doesn't understand how much. It is the beginning of a new era. Whether you wanted it to come or not.

Tested, Tried, Prevail.

Some days I feel especially vulnerable and fragile. This really has nothing to do with losing a son. Well, sometimes it does. I mean to say, I have always felt this way. Since losing Austin, it has been heightened, deeper and occurs more often. Waves of grief, sadness, despair, self hatred and all these other emotions wash over me and it is really hard to push through them. Crawling into my bed and staying there is what I feel like doing most. Last night, I had such an episode and my bed was not readily available. As I was waiting for my daughter’s class to get over, I came up with a mantra to keep these feelings at bay. To keep from crying in the hallway of a public place (which I do frequently now), I recited: “I am strong, I am powerful, I will fall and I will pick myself up, I will succeed, I will conquer, I will be tested and I will be tried, but I will prevail. I am beautiful, I am loved by the people who I love most, I am important, I have changed lives, I have lots left to do, I have strength and I have character. I am strong. I am powerful. I will prevail. I will succeed. I will prevail. I am funny and strong and beautiful. I have gifts from God. I am worthy.” Do I believe these words? Not really. Not yet. But I am trying. 

The difference....

A year ago today was the last time I saw my son alive. We attended my middle son's school play, where there was a small ceremony for the students to honor someone who has inspired them or made a difference in their lives. My son chose his older brother. And I sat there watching the two of them, tears running down my face, I knew that no matter what happened in my life, they were there for each other. That I had raised a son, who was inspiring to his little brother, even if they did fight and argue all the time. That night, after the play, we filled out college scholarship applications and just had a good time with good conversation and a lot of laughs. Around 10 he needed to leave to go to his dads for school the next day, and we stood at the door saying good bye. I hugged him and didn't want to let go. I still remember the hesitation in his goodbye. Like there was something he wanted to say, but then decided not to. Maybe there wasn't anything there and it was in my head. But now, I will never know. My imagination gets the best of me. Every day I relive the last year, then the last 18.  I hear the phone ring, i feel the pain, I see the events of the next week/month/year run through my head. I feel sick, my heart breaks.  I hear my sons first cry and the last conversation we had. But to realize this day, last year I spoke to my son. I held him in my arms,  I told him I loved him. I heard his laugh. We were about to realize his future. The gravity of knowing how much and how little difference a day and a year make is a heavy, heavy burden. I tried so hard not to take things for granted. I knew they were only little for a short time. Life changes in a moment. The things you thought you'd hear forever, like the sound of his laugh, are now mute. The things you prepare yourself for - the leaving of the nest, family, growing older, all gone in a second. And never to feel the way his hair felt in your hand again, to never hear his beautiful laugh, never to listen to his stories or opinions, to never see those eyes again is heartbreaking. A year. Such a short time. But its like an eternity.

Today's Sadness

I counted today. There are 11 posts that I have not finished. Some of them have the potential to be very powerful, thought provoking, worthwhile posts. Some do not. I should finish them either way. And publish them. Not writing is not helping. But today, those posts have to wait. Today is a week away from the one year anniversary of my son's death. A lot has changed in a year. A lot has not.

Today I went to the visitation for a co-worker's twenty year old son. We are casual acquaintances, but I knew I needed to go. The feeling of aloneness and sadness is too great for her to not know there are other people in the world who grieve like her, and for her. And I am glad I went. But it was really hard. I knew how she felt. My stomach wrenched like hers did, because I know that pain. I know that moment. And it hurts alot. It hurts still that much.

And now, at this moment, I am very angry. I am angry for her. That she has to know this pain. That she has to join the others who share this pain. That she has to feel different. That she has to hurt every moment from here on out. That she has to carry this. And I am angry that I understand this. I am angry that I have to know how this feels. That I can understand it and not just sympathize from afar. I am angry because I do not feel it was my son's time. Because I was not ready for him to go. Because I didn't have a choice. Because I gave him life, and was on the cusp of seeing all my hard work pay off only to have the rug ripped out from underneath me. And 357 days later my heart still hurts. I am angry that I see my son's face where it will no longer ever be. I am angry that this has been an extremely hard year, and there isn't an end in sight. I am angry that my friend has to now start down this same journey. And I am sad. Sad that looking for a happy moment should be so hard.

Merry Christmas

It has been so long since a post has made it from mind to computer to publishing, I feel like today is my first day posting. I apologize for my time away. I have probably a dozen articles half written. I am sure they will make it here eventually, and even if the time line is off, I hope you will understand. And if you don't, that's okay with me too.  Time seems to be accelerating and fast forwarding itself so much, I feel as if I do not have time to finish writing. To put things in perspective. To dig through the pain to form words. To feel.

I have made it through Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mostly on auto pilot with a lot of tears, frustration, pain and confusion. I am not sure there is really anything else I can say about that. It was just less. Less joyous, less fun, less heartfelt, less... everything. A lot of time gets spent avoiding the large void in the room. I try to skirt around it, as to not acknowledge it, for fear it will suck me in entirely. Christmas is no different. Another day. One less stocking to hang, one less person to enjoy, but all the while there is this horrendous vortex swirling through my life trying to make eye contact with me, trying to make me engage with it, all the while I refuse it.

The year is ending and I am happy it is. But I am afraid to let it go as well. I am afraid of what 2012 will bring. I am afraid it could be worse. And everyday without my son takes me both closer to him and further away. Its agonizing. I have done what has been asked of me this year. I have come to work, I have done extra projects this year, I have fulfilled my obligations, I have suffered through the "firsts." I have pretended through birthdays, holidays, vacations and every day life. I am tired, but there is no end.

But really, all I wanted to say was "Merry Christmas & Happy New Year"

Business of Death

I spoke about expecting too much from people last time, I believe. I have been saving these sentiments for a time when I was a little further from February, to make sure I was not completely fueled by raw emotion. Not that the emotion is less raw to be honest, but here goes anyway. Before the bitterness that follows starts, I would like to stop and say thank you to the people that did help, that were wonderful, caring and compassionate. I have not, nor will I ever, forget your hospitality.

I am well aware of the way businesses are run. Even the businesses of death. I understand these things, I get it. I am also aware that I have extremely high expectations of people, especially in a professional environment.  So with all of that being said, I have been absolutely floored in the way a lot of businesses handle grieving parents. Almost to the point of considering a career in the field so that people who are at their worst moment would not have to deal with the things that I find rude and unacceptable. Unfortunately I have no knowledge or interest in that field. I understand it is a for profit business, I am not disillusioned there.  I also understand there are things you have to be clear on and sometimes a little blunt. But if you can not gauge the reaction of people, if you can not be couth about it, if you have been in the business so long you actually become offensive, its time for you to step aside. Its time for you to cash in your own chips. Just a couple examples – the funeral director was in a hurry, he obviously had an agenda that was not ours. I understand you have to keep things on track, sometimes you have to say things bluntly so people understand. But there is a caring way to do this and a rushed, uninterested way of doing this. I felt we received the latter. The first headstone person we contacted made us go out to the cemetery weeks after burial, while she roamed around and inspected graves and asked us how we were related to so and so. I will never forgive her and hope God has some special punishment for her (even though I know that's not the way it works). And the one we finally went with has called my son by 3 different names, none of which was his. There are several similar occurrences that left the same foul taste in my mouth, some of which I have blocked, some of which I have let go, but none of which were good. People need to think, they need to care. I realize they cant get involved in every persons life, but they can at least be compassionate. They can be professional. If your business is death, you should be damn good at it, because it matters to the living. 

Unreasonable Expectations

I have probably always known this, but as of late, I have come to the realization that I simply expect too much from people. I expect organizations to be organized, companies to care about their customers and employees and offer good customer service, elected officials to not be greedy, immature brats, and people to be decent, intelligent and reasonable. That, apparently, in this day and age is too much to ask. Now, I must put my disclaimer in here. I am not perfect, nor do I think I am. I often fall short of my own expectations. Perpetually actually. I think its unfortunate that I both expect too much and that people rarely live up to my inflated expectations. I have noticed lately I really struggle with dealing with the disappointment and often find myself incredibly angry at small disappointments. It is very clear this has to do with loss, guilt, anger and grief. But is it so hard for people to try a little harder? Or are my expectations just completely skewed? Maybe I should work a little on forgiveness. It has come up a time or two; I believe I am incapable of forgiveness for certain offenses. Or maybe I just am incapable of calling it forgiveness.  If everyone always lets everything go, when are people held accountable for their actions? When are they called to be a better person? I understand it is not for me to judge, but expectations are not barbaric, are they? Either way, maybe the problem isn't that people disappoint me continuously or that I disappoint myself, but rather that I need to let that go. Insert internal struggle here.