Monday, June 27, 2011
Grief is like a heavy coat. You can take a coat off and put it on. The heaviness of grief comes and goes. Sometimes it comes on so strong that it physically feels like wearing a heavy floor length fur coat in ninety-eight degree weather.
Today is like that for me. The lump in my throat has grown so big I can barely swallow, and my breathing is very calculated. My heart is broken like I've never experienced, and while I know it's okay to cry, I have four children with me all day. It hurts them to see their mommy cry and I can't just cry everyday all day. If I really let go that's what I would do, at least for two or three days at a time.
This loss is overwhelming, and there are many aspects of this grieving process that continue to catch me off guard. One thing that I really didn't expect was that I would constantly feel the need to check on my son. Then in the midst of wanting to peek in on him I realize that there is only an empty bassinet. No baby, no crying, no need for a feeding or a diaper change, just the heaviness of loss and an empty bassinet are what we have to peek in on.
David's life here on earth fits into a photo album and two small boxes. Two small boxes of the things that were his during his short stay with us. It's almost too much to bare.
I called Shands today to see if we could get his ashes yet, and she said they weren't ready. All I could think of was why are they taking so long to get my son to me. I know it may seem ridiculous but I just want what's left of my son to be at home. It's the only part of him I get to bring home from the hospital, and the thought of leaving my son there the day we were released has stabbed like a knife everyday since his birth and death
Initially this blog was to help us get our thoughts out and to let our friends and family stay updated on where we were at in this journey. At some point later the purpose became to encourage others. Today, this journal entry is completely selfish. My heart is broken and I keep looking for relief from the heaviness of the coat that I am wearing. I thought this might help me feel as though I have taken the coat of grief off, even if only for a minute. The truth is though, that I know this will never be made right in this lifetime, and there will be no true relief until I get to see my son again. How long this life has begun to seem.