Thursday, February 4, 2010

Dark Times

Oh my....I'm back to my blog for therapy, once again. Journalling in this space has been sometimes the only thing that relieves my mind, gives me comfort. Once I purge onto this screen, I can rest my thoughts or shift to something else. I can release the burdens of what is going on in my head--and in my heart. My last post was a huge vent for me. And I received some of the most supportive, helpful comments and emails from this community. The words I read after I posted affected me in ways that I wonder if you have any idea what you did for me. But then I know that I have read your blogs and left comments, trying to help you along...because that's what we do. And I know you do know that you have touched me. Because you know. You know this awful road I am on. And you know all the obstacles, the diversions, the temptations, the hills and the valleys. So thank you. Thank you for being there and helping me through that moment and getting me past it. I took your advice and I held back. FB has not even been a temptation anymore. So, whew! It feels good to have it behind me.
I have really been in a dark place. Last week was really, really hard. Thankfully this week has been better. What is my "dark place?" Deep, deep sadness. Regrets. Wondering what ifs. Wishing... Missing.... Longing.... Hurting.... And withdrawing. I have really pulled myself in since that last post. I have not reached out to anyone. I have not had any contact with anyone, really, but my family. I know everyone else has moved on. I realized that my problems are not their problems. I wanted them to be and I wanted that kind of it was their problem. But it's not. And I can't expect...or ask that of anyone. Life does go on--for them. Unless you have suffered this loss, there is no way of knowing. I would not want to know...I really wouldn't. I wish I didn't.
But life goes on for them, while mine is spiralling. Still, after nearly 10 months, I think about what happened every day. Several times a day. Every night, still, I go to sleep thinking about the day I had Chase. I think about the doctor. A lot. I wish I could have gotten inside his head. And what's worse, I wish I still could. It bothers me. I wish I could move past it, but I can't. It surrounds me. Daily I am faced with him, or some small degree of separation from him. In a small town I can't remove myself from his presence. And I can't face him. I feel like I need to meet him head on and talk to him. But I can't. He won't. It will never happen. No closure, no answers, no story. And for that I am labeled. By whom, I guess, is irrelevent. Because as I have said, I've withdrawn. That's the only way to protect my physical, emotional and mental well-being. I get the peace I seek from my family. I did have lunch with a friend this week and I really enjoyed it. She came to me, of course, and I am thankful for that. But what she doesn't know is how badly and why I needed that contact. I'm human. I am woman, for pete's sake. So as much as I would like to shut everyone out, I can't. I don't need much, but I do need a little. But the vast majority I am surrounded by can't provide that. She did, though, and I needed it.
But I don't look, act, or even feel, like the recluse I have described. I can tell that I have withdrawn, but I don't feel like a standout. I have the facade that we all know so well going on. I smile and converse and move on. But the tears are right there under the surface. A lot of phone calls this week about stuff we still need to take care of...and I talk, even laugh because it's the only way I know to get this thing done when you know the funeral home director personally, but wonder if they know that underneath that normal-sounding, jovial voice is an ocean of tears. Just waiting to hang up the phone so I can let them go.
So there is still a lot of pain. We talk of Chase daily with the kids. He even has a Mii so Reese can blay baseball with him on the Wii, morbid maybe to some but we love it. But there is not a moment that goes by that I don't think of him either being here with us, his things I still have in the house, the formula in the cupboard, the hospital I drive by all the time and the tragic events that took place there. And it has sent me in this very dark direction on my path. My heart litterally feels heavy sometimes with the sadness that I bear. I miss him so badly. He is growing up fast and he's not even here. I can't believe he'd be almost 10 months already. He was such a sweet, sweet boy and we would have been such a happy family. I remember being so unsure if we wanted to have another baby or not and then we got pregnant with Chase and were so excited to add on and complete us. Now I know that having a baby would be truly a blessing but I will never, never feel we are complete. I feel like my hands are tied. I can't fix it this time. And that is what hurts. It always will. I'm not sure what our family will be...but I know what it won't have. Because we will always miss him. He will always be a part of us, but never here.
Onward I push. With my family. We are strong, we are together, and we will live our lives with pride, joy and love. We pull each other along when one of us needs a little help. I am so thankful for that. They are who bring me out of the darkness that I seem to fall into. Chase, too. I cry for him, but I also smile about him. I love you, little man. While you are with us and we include you in everything we do, I still miss you every moment of my day.


  1. Oh Christy, your words resonate me. I am sorry that any of us know what it's like to live this many months without our children. When you said "I think about the doctor. A lot. I wish I could have gotten inside his head. And what's worse, I wish I still could." I just thought wow, that is SO me. It haunts me everyday, all the unanswered questions. And we really are the only ones who get to carry this burden. I wish I had words that could ease your pain. I know that darkness all too well, praying for some sunshine in your heart and soul soon.

    That is too adorable that your children made a Mii for Chase. I love that you talk about him with your kids daily, that is so awesome. Thinking of you. xx

  2. I like that Chase has a Mii and that they play Wii with him. Makes me smile. :) I'm sorry the days have been so dark. I hope that some light will shine to you. I'm glad you could go out with your friend. Doesn't seem to happen very often for us. I know I stay rather holed up.

  3. Oh, Christy. So, so much of this sticks with me. I know it comes in waves and these huge ones crashing through are the worst.
    I, too, love that you have a Mii for Chase :) We have a Mii of my father-in-law-he played with us before he got sick and now that he's gone everytime he shows up in one of our games, it makes us smile. I'm sure others think that's morbid, like you said, but I don't care.
    Sending you hugs, friend.

  4. I so wish you could get the closure you need and want. I find myself withdrawing from people often and then I bring myself back to the surface by getting together with a friend. You are right that we need that contact sometimes. I am happy that you were able to have lunch with a friend.

    I love that you talk about Chase daily with the kids. I especially love that Reese plays Wii with Chase. That is so sweet!

    I think about you often and feel connected to you in many ways. Not only do we share the names of Emma and Chase, but so many of your thoughts feel like they could be my own.

  5. I am terribly withdrawn as well. It's so hard to be around people whose lives have gone on when mine is halted. Do they remeber, is it anything more to them than just a passing thought? They don't understand, they can't possible begin to understand this pain.

  6. I wish that you didn't live in a small town.. but then again even in a big place.... it is small when your child is not with you. Keep going! just a suggestion but, have you tried accupunture? It helped me get some of the grief out. Nothing like crying on a table with needles but.. just saying it has really cleansed me. Thinking of you.. and mentally kicking your Dr.

  7. Christy,

    I'm 22 weeks along in my pregnancy. EXACTLY where I was when Ethan died. My friends friend ( exactly 22 weeks along as well)...lost her baby last week. She named him Ethan. My friend avoided me for days becasue she didn't know how to tell me that her friend had lost her baby or that she had given her son the same name as we did to our Ethan. It's been one year and seven months since our Ethan died and when I heard the pain this other mom was enduring...I fell apart. The tears have flowed at the drop of a hat this week. I imagine how alone and empty she is feeling and my heart hurts so bad for her...I feel like I lost Ethan all over again this past week. This is a sad, lonely and painful club we all belong to. I am grateful everyday for the women who have held me up and who contiue to hold me up on this difficult journey. Not sure what my point to all this is except that it's okay to be in your dark place. It's okay to cry and it's okay to grieve for your son. And it's SO okay to ask for us to hold you up during those days. I know how much I appreciate you holding me up on my dark days! Just one day at a time my friend....and somedays you will only be able to get through one minute at a time.
    Sending you lots of hugs and love!!!

  8. Oh Christy, I can feel your pain through you words, probably because I can resonate with so much of what you are saying. One thing that stuck out to me is that you said that you understood that others have moved on, that this is your pain and not theirs. I don't agree with you fully. Yes, they have moved on, but your pain should partially be their pain too. True friends, I mean the one who would do anything for you (and i'm sure you've learned through this journey that many who you thought were true friends, indeed aren't), would feel your pain. Your friends would hurt for you and with you. I know what its like to face a crowd of blank faces, or of people laughing and smiling. I know what its like when no one talks about your child who has died (or in my case, children). I hate it, and I resent those people who don't remember them. It hurts and I fear that some of my relationships will never be the same because of how these "friends" and family members have behaved. To me, my husband and children are the only ones who count. The few close friends who remember my babies, I will forever be grateful too. I am done wasting my time on those who don't care one bit for me. I've said this on other blogs before, but I hope all of these "friends" of ours, have better friends then they have been to us. xo

  9. This grief can be so lonely. Not many understand and like you said many people move on even when we are stuck back in time. It is hurtful at times, but this grief is our demon not theirs so I get how they have gone on with their lives. I am glad you are feeling better, please know I am always here to listen (but you better e-mail if you need me becuase I am sooo behind on my reading!!) Thinking of you and your sweet Chase! xx

  10. I have so been there- in those dark days- and they are so very lonely and when you're alone with those 'whatifs' they can almost drive you crazy- but you're right- you are strong- you are together and you live an amazing life that others should strive to- hold on to that- and each other! Sending HUGS!