Tuesday, January 8, 2013

The nightlife of a grieving mother

Today I forgot, and I went to ask the boys where Bram was and it hit me. I remembered it all over it again. And I hurt. I want to scream until I lose my voice. I want to scream but I'd wake everyone in the house. It really is more than one person can bear without breaking. So my mind protects me from breaking allowing the to pain ooze slowly, scabbing over, sheering off, becoming fresh over and over. When it's quite, when I'm triggered, when I'm alone. Fresh, raw, helpless.

In the hustle and bustle of the day you can turn away from the pain, neglecting it, praying every corner you turn will have him on the other side. If people are around they can keep you busy, keep you distracted, keep you going, keep you avoiding the now, most importantly keep you from hurting. But people are moving forward(not moving on, because I know he has not been forgotten and won't ever be, just moving forward), lives continue, and I'm left gasping for air when there is none to breathe. As much as everyone is here, this is a lonely path. Today brought ample amounts of quite, and the pain has been exceptionally painful.

Then the stillness comes. When night descends and the house is quite things change for the worse. The darker the sky, the harder the path. At night, it's just you, trapped, unable to escape from agony. Sometimes when I have neglected the pain too much and anxiety begins to set in I start to hear this thumping. I realize it's my heart pounding against my sternum trying to make it's way out to scream in my face. It's telling me "you are still broken, your agony is more than your mind or soul can handle and you shut yourself from it, but I'm reminding you, YOU ARE ALIVE, you are incapable of stopping this pain, and even as this weight bears down on you with bone crushing force. You. Are. Alive. and you are broken." The reminder is loudest in the quite, in the dark, in the loneliness.

So I sit here, alone, my heart screaming, my mind trying to protect, wrecked and in a pit of despair. And it motivates me to share these truths. I miss Bram. He was supposed to be here, He was supposed to grow up. He was supposed to become a man, and a father, and hold me in old age, and he never will. I still don't know how to exist without my perfect boy. This my life at night.

3 comments:

  1. I love you Sam. Thanks for sharing the rawness. We need to hear it too, and grow to appreciate that it is to live with fully opened eyes.

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  2. Ive had many nights like that, and lots of love and reaching out helps me, my heart breaks for you, you are supposed to have your baby and more than anything I wish I had some magical power to make that happen. After a while, there are more breaks to have a normal sleep, but of course that doesn't mean their wont be anguish again. IGrief is like the ocean, the tides change and theirs low tied and hi tied, all one can do it learn to float on them, and the bittersweet beauty comes through, the danger is sinking or drowning and those times when it's too much struggle to ride and float, sometimes need others in the water helping you keep your head high enough so you can breath until the water smooths out. I will forever miss my nephew, the trama of that gets better after time, but there will always be a hole that was where his life with all of us would be, but that doesn't mean that happiness and joy won't be experienced. Just that its there, I'm amazed at how well you articulate the experience of the night. My heart goes out to you and hope you reach out to be held in those hours, and have a trauma support as you manage the extreme trauma of losing your child. Very grateful to have you in this world and that you loved him so much and that love inspiring more compassion in this world.

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  3. I have been following your blog for a few weeks now. My heart completely breaks for you. I have too lost a child, it has been six years for me and I remember these nights. I still have them sometimes. Bram is a beautiful child and I am so sorry for what happened to him. You will never stop missing him, it will never "get better" like "they" say it will but I do promise you one day it will not feel as raw. Right after losing my daughter the only way I could explain the feeling to anyone is comparing it to being a junky that is unable to get another fix. Longing for something so badly that can never be. There is not only emotional pain but there is also a presence of physical pain that comes with grieving. My thoughts and prayers continue to be with your family.

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Thanks for reading and loving Bram!