Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Talk about him, because I can't

Talk about Bram. I always want to, yet in the past few weeks I hesitate. I hold back. As long as you don't mention him I assume you're too uncomfortable, that you can't handle it. My everyday is TOO uncomfortable and I can't handle it. But until you say his name I assume I can't talk about him, because suddenly everything will be sad, and I'll be ruining everyone's day.

There are so many situations where I feel I can't talk about him. I can't bring him up in parenting groups when people start talking, or occasionally whining, about their current set of parenting challenges. When all I want to say is "I'll take your freaking problem!" because I want him here to be my current parenting challenge. But he's not so I resent you, and I'm jealous, and it hurts to see you taking for granted even the hard moments. Yet that's crazy, parents need and deserve to vent, but it hurts anyway.

So talk about Bram, because I can't. I don't know when it's ok to bring him up. So I hide in my room, and post about him on facebook, because you can't make me censor myself there, though it's come up.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Trying, trying, trying.... failing

I'm trying, trying to be present and do things, function, help, enjoy life.

I'm failing. I'm flailing.

My heart hurts. And my body hurts. By the end of the day the lightest touch feels like hot razor blade slicing and searing my flesh. I have a head ache that doesn't seem to ever stop, and it moves from my head down my whole spine. I'm confused, so confused all the time, disoriented. I forget where I am, I forget how to get places, I forget which direction home is, I forget what day it is.

I'm so messed up and I'm failing my friends, and I'm a crappy friend. I want to be there for them. When I am it exhausts me until I'm so weak I can't lift my arms above my head, I can't lift my baby, and taking steps is painful and slow.

I'm trying, and I'm failing, and I'm sorry.

Grief is a whole lot more than emotion, this physically rips through your body. It destroys you, from the inside out.

6 months without and a new wave of grief has pulled me from shore. But I'll keep trying to make my way back.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013


I feel these moments of expectation from myself, from outsiders: it's time to be ok.

I want to be ok, and some days I can feel it on the edges. But we're still not there. I'm still not there. When you look at natural disaster or acts of terrorism, somethings never get to the point of ok. It's been nearly 70 years since Hiroshima  and the whole world is still being effected by that devastation. It's been 8 years since hurricane Katrina  and it's still not the same. There's a link to obesity in families that have experienced famine, 2 and 3 generations out. That's genetic change from devastation!

I assume I'll heal, as someone who's lost most of their skin to fire, I'll be me, I'll be functioning, I might even be happy, but I'm disfigured, I can't feel things the way I used to, and I don't see myself the same way. Only no one else can see the devastation I've endured, no one can see me and ask about my scars. It's just assumed I'm some self absorbed messed up chick.

In the therapy we've been doing I feel an undo pressure to get better, but I'm not. I'm getting better at faking it. I'm getting better at being a fraud and putting on my face, laughing, smiling, reassuring, making jokes just for the sake of making everyone else feel better, to make everyone else more comfortable.

I feel like my time for being sad is expected to be over, it's time to get over myself and this "issue" and start taking care of others as I used to.

I'm not there. I'm sorry. I'm still a wreck. I can hold it together for short periods of time and then I'm knocked down recovering from the emotional exertion that is the equivalent of triathlon.

And if one more person tells me to pull it together for the boys, because apparently being sad and respecting your healing process means you suddenly stop mothering and loving and taking care of your children, I will lose it. I will go off on you, I don't care who you are, or what you think you know about me. You have no idea, how much I do for my boys, how much time I spend loving on them, nurturing and nourishing their bodies and souls. They have not, and will not be forgotten. Thankyouverymuch!

Today I miss him. Every day I miss him. Every day I shed a few more tears for him.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Mother's day

Tomorrow is mother's day. The first without him.

All my life I've only been sure of one thing: I want to be a mom. Dream fulfilled and then some.

I get to be T's mom, and K's mom, and A's mom. I get to be Bram's mom. Forever and ever and all that it means. Joys that reach higher than satellites, lows that I can't begin to describe but some mothers know these lows.

For mother's day though, as much as I'm hurting, I'm thankful for them.
I'm thankful that I get to be their mom.
I'm thankful that I get to hold them for however long they are here.
I'm thankful for their smiles and laughs.
I'm thankful for their big hearts.
I'm thankful for their passions.
I'm thankful for their humor.
I'm thankful for their insight.
I'm thankful for the lessons I learn because of them, and the lessons I learn with them.
I'm thankful for the moments where I can look at them and my heart swells so big I squeal with the delight that "I did that!"
I'm thankful for the moments where they act as my mirror, making me become a better version of myself for them.
I'm thankful for their "isms" like Bram's "oh yeeeah?! oooooh noooo!" or "peig? nooo i noo peig....." or K's response to many things with "it's my destiny!!!" or T liking his trips to the "chirofractory" and of course baby A's "gub!"
I'm thankful for every toy I've tripped over, and every lego I've stepped on as proof of their play and joy.
I'm thankful for their arguments.
I'm thankful for them loving me and feeling comfortable enough with me to speak their minds freely. Even when it hurts my heart.
I'm love that they know their own minds well.
I love their conviction.
I love their willingness to learn.
I love their willingness to stand firm in whatever they've taken a firm stance on. Even when it's the stance of being contrary to me.
I love them because of who they are.
I love them without condition.

Mother's day isn't about me. It's about what they made me. They made me mother. And for that I am forever thankful.

I love my boys. More than I can say. And I miss Bram. And missing him hurts. Motherhood hurts.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The way I'm staying ok

I haven't found a new normal. This life where Bram isn't here, is still disjointed and chaotic  But I have been functioning at a more acceptable level. Go me, but to do so.... I've shut my brain off.

I've stopped thinking, because that's where the pain dwells. As long as I don't think. I'm ok. But then I'm in situations where I suddenly have to think and it's like oh yeah! There's the searing acid that's been drenched upon my heart and soul! I forgot you were there! And it's things like the bill from the hospital, or finding a shirt or shoe of his where I wasn't expecting, or a little blue eyed blonde haired boy who's just the right height and weight, or the laughter of any 3ish year old boy and there I am melting away back into the abyss. 111,712 steps backward. also, that number is intentional 11/17/12 the day he died

But as long as I'm not thinking. I get out of bed. I laugh. I smile. I enjoy the day. Just can't think.

No idea how long I'll be able to scrape by living with minimal effort. It's comforting to have found a level of functioning, I'm still not to healthy, but I have to embrace these very small victories.

Coming out of my coma. Lots of work ahead, but I can do it.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013


My loss is worse than your loss because....

Well at least you got XX long with your child....

At least you got to prepare and say good bye....

At least their death was peaceful....


I just posted on facebook: Comparison is the thief of joy. But you know what, it's also the thief of grief.

My loss is huge. Bram died is such a tragic, unforseeable way. But that doesn't make it more than your loss, it doesn't make my loss less than yours.

Come together and honor our paths.

And at the same time I understand. I understand the longing to find parents like you, parents that know, proof that you can keep going, proof that you will not be swallowed whole. You want parents that get it, that get it better than parents who haven't lost the way you lost. I myself have felt excluded by some groups because Bram was too old. And other groups because Bram was too young.

Don't compare. Don't compare any parts of your life. It robs you. And the parents of loss have already been robbed of so much.