When things are Up I am Down

The anaology that grief is like riding a roller coaster is so true.  In the early days you measure progress in minutes, then hours than finally days. 

2.5 years later I am still riding this roller coaster but it seems to be in weeks.  I had been doing so well until my last visit to the cemetary and I melted down. I found myself lying on the cold ground without the strength to stand up, I did not have the strength to talk on the ride home.  The next few days I fought off crying episodes and was a mess. My energy again was being used to keep myself together, which made casual conversation and working quite difficult.  What really upset me was how after so much time I could be in such a weak grief striken state without the knowledge to pull myself out. 

This last episode did not make much sense to me, things were looking up at home. I was working again, the house was saved and we are all healthy and striving. So why? Why now?

This past weekend I skipped my visit to see him because I could not sink down any lower and I knew I did not have the strength to visit. With this decision the full force of guild swept over me.

I am at a personal impass. Do I visit and accept that it may bring me down for a few days or do I skip visits because I can't afford to go down and accept the guilt it brings.  Neither option feels comfortable to me. The reality is I need to ride this next phase of grief and find some resolution to deal with these feelings. 

His Stone

On the weekend DH and I finally went and placed the order for Harrison’s grave marker. We had discussed the marker and visited the supplier but could not both agree on how to personalize the monument. The stone is so very important to us as it will be the only public marking that shows he existed. Because he never took a breath there is no record of who Harrison was, no birth certificate, no death certificate not even a legal document of stillbirth naming him.


The wording on the stone brought up a lot of grieving differences DH and I have. DH sees him as his baby forever where as I want him to grow up and mature. DH loves the song from Robert Munsch; Love you Forever. The song

“I'll love you forever, I’ll like you for always. As long as I am living my baby you will be.”

Mr. Munch wrote this song in honour of his two stillborn children. DH and I both love the sentiments of the book and chose to inscribe “I’ll love you forever, I‘ll like you for always” on his stone. At my request we did not include the final two lines because it did not fit our personal beliefs.

The final personalization of the stone was a monkey; we referred to Harrison as our lil monkey! He was given a few stuffed monkeys before birth and we always imagined him being an active lil man climbing and jumping. A dear friend of DH drew us a monkey that fit both what DH and I had in mind.

We had to personally deliver the design to the stone maker which completely dumbfounded DH who works in information technology as to why the memorial place did not have an e-mail or a website. At the visit DH offered to send him the drawing in .jpg format so he could manipulate them, again the electronic version was turned down. The following morning it dawned on me as to why this industry did not make proper use of technology. The majority of cliental do no work with computers. We were using a service too soon in our lives with our modern day expectations. The death of a child and the experience of the parents are so out of life’s organized plan and this was just another reminder.
Placing the order for his stone has given me some needed peace and ability to move forward to welcome Sprout.

I am proud of myself!

I realize friends and family can’t anticipate all the hard milestones and which ones I am afraid of or are particularly emotional for me. Often times when I share that certain days or events are much too hard for me I am met with stunned non-understanding looks. In those moments I feel judged by those whom I thought I could be honest with. It pains me.

The pain of losing my son and the darkness in my heart I do not share with too many. I do this out of love, I don’t want the people I care for to understand something so dark and painful. However I still want their support. Last week I shared how hard this 40 weeks mark was for me, how I felt time was distancing me from him. I asked for support. I don’t think anyone understood or cared and it makes me feel so alone. Those that do understand are the friends in the blogs and message board sphere. Thank You for those that made the simplest act of a kind word or an e-mail telling me you are thinking of me and validating that I am aloud to feel this way.

In support group we talked about friends and family. The common re occurrence was that many close friends were no longer in the picture and those from a distance became the light. Unfortunately some of the friends I thought I was closest too I am going to have to let go for my own good. I can’t handle anymore rejection and as a mourner I know I deserve the time to feel the way I do. Also I deserve some patience and understanding to navigate the ups and downs. He will always be a part of me and there will always be an emptiness that can never be filled.
I wish those closest to me would congratulate me. I am proud of my grief work, I am proud I have survived, I am proud of my courage and I am proud that I can still smile.

I found this article from another blogging mother. The Death Of A Child - The Grief Of The Parents: A Lifetime Journey


Here is an exert which enforces the validity of what I am feeling.

As part of the grieving process, bereaved parents experience ups and downs and a literal roller coaster of emotions. For these parents, a personal history includes a past with the child and a present and future without the child. For most grieving parents, it is vitally important to verbalize the pain, to talk about what happened, to ask questions, and puzzle aloud, sometimes over and over.
It is the nature of grief that feelings, thoughts, and emotions need to be processed and that those in grief must look into their hearts and souls and try to heal from within. Each does this in his/her own way. "Grieving parents are survivors" (Rando 1986, 176), and each survivor travels this lonely and painful road in a way each maps out. In traveling this road, parents often respond differently, learn to live with their grief separately, and express their sadness uniquely. Grieving parents can and often do feel alone, disconnected, and alienated. They need to know that there are many ways to grieve; there is no timetable for grief's duration; there are no rules, boundaries, or protocols for grieving.
Moreover, those who seek to comfort grieving parents need to recognize and understand the complexities of the parents' emotions and should avoid relying on preconceived ideas about the way a couple is supposed to grieve if their child dies. Reactions of grieving parents may seem overly intense, self-absorbing, contradictory, or even puzzling. For bereaved parents, the death of a child is such an overwhelming event that their responses may often be baffling not only to others but to themselves as well.

My Best Companion

(Kiara and I resting and waiting for Harrison)

My best friend is an unlike any other, she is my cat, Kiara. As odd as this may be to admit she has been my warmth and comfort these past few months and I feel the need to thank her. She has always been there for me when I have been beyond comfort and angry at the world. She makes it so hard to be angry when she brushes up against my leg or crawls up on me and brushes her cheek against mine. She lets me cry and allows the tears to fall off my face onto her. She watches the wet path of tears and I know she feels my pain.

As a matter of fact she is with me right now on my lap watching me type. I am never alone.

When my arms are longing to feel the warm weight of my child she crawls into them and falls asleep against me. For a brief moment I allow myself to imagine the warmth and the weight being my baby, I try hard to see his face and imagine how he would smell.

For hours we will sit together and day dream, greave and mourn. She does not ask for anything just nudges her body into mine or will reach her paw across me.

    “The cat has too much spirit to have no heart”
     -Ernest Menaul
    "When I'm in the doghouse, my cats still come to visit. --Unknown"

She thought all the baby stuff was hers!

Back from Holidays

Believe it or not it was just as cold in Florida as home.

The specialist recommended I get lots of fresh air and sunshine, no prob doc! A sunny vacation was planned....NOT.

Dh and I decided to venture out in the misleading sun for a walk to a coffee shop. We bundled up in our winter coats, hats, mitts and brought the camera for the obligatory beach and pool photo. We stood in front of the water fountain, flanked with palm trees huddled together for warmth and posed on the beach with coffee cups in hand, faces red from the sting of the cold ocean air.

Finally on our last day it warmed up. I had saved my trash/gossip magazines for my beach trip. In one day we lounged by the beach, the pool, swam, rode our bikes and ate ice cream. It was hard work to squeeze 7 days of warm vacation into a few hours!

The last time we visited Florida as a couple was April 2009, two weeks following Harrison's passing. Dh had 3 weeks of paternal leave and I was on 12 weeks of maternal leave from our jobs. Time and an unwelcome freedom. Dh always spoke of making the 22 hour drive down south. Who was I to stop a grieving father from accomplishing a goal.

It was so hard to leave our house, I still clung on to hope that I would wake up from my nightmare. I would accept someone knocking on my door and handing me my baby, no questions asked. (I still do have this fantasy) I hated being any further from his resting place and his belongings that filled our house. Regardless we packed our belongs and off we went.

We were going to document this trip as if it was no different than any other vacation. We took pictures of the temperature leaving home and another one once we reached our final destination. We did all those obligatory shots I talked about. We tried our hardest to smile, this is what our son would want. Looking back at those pictures our eyes tell no lies, we are broken and pained.

Getting away to the land of silver hair and snowbirds was great. There was no reminders of our sorrow, no one knew that we were the saddest people alive. We could talk about our feelings when we felt like it. We did not have to hear the numerous awkward condolences and put on our brave masks. It was just DH and I! We cried and we laughed, some times both emotions would come out together.

The drive back was hard, we were ready to come home but not ready to face our reality. As we approached home it felt like loads of brick were being piled on my chest.

The house was quiet, full of those horrible funeral arrangements with dropping leaves. Our mail box was not full of congratulations cards but the opposite. His room was empty just waiting for him to come home. 3 weeks into it and I was still in a fog.

Well we had sun, sand and an attempt at fun!