Where we are

My friend Carly just published some amazingly helpful posts for babyloss parents and anyone who knows anyone going through this, from friends and family to healthcare professionals.  I find these helpful even nearly 2 years from losing sweet Chase.  This journey is not one I would chose for anyone, but we don't have the choice.  When we are on it, some days the only way to make it through the day is with the help of others on the same ride.  Through blogs, emails, cards, etc.,  I have found comfort from "friends" that have reached out to me and honestly know what I am feeling and going through.  Understanding that grief doesn't just happen and then it's over, but that it comes in waves is crucial to comforting someone experiencing this.  

I knew that bringing home Owen would be emotional, but I didn't know that I would grieve Chase as deeply as I have in Owen's presence.  There is not a moment that goes by that I don't think of Chase and miss him painfully.  Catching a glimpse of Owen from afar, sleeping peacefully and remembering Chase in his isolette; wishing I had a better picture of Chase that I could see his whole face; blotchy skin on Owen and remembering Chase's when he was declining; the clothes that Chase should have worn and handed down to Owen with spit-up stains but instead, they are brand new.  I worry every time Owen makes a funny face or twitches in his sleep that something is wrong, remembering how scared I was that Chase was going to have a seizure...and then he finally did.  And newborns twitch a lot, let's face it, so just imagine my anxiety levels these days.
I have listened to Chase's song, Godspeed, a lot since Owen came home--it's on all the playlists I made for him.  I could not listen to it before as it was just too painful.  And now when I listen to it, it really isn't any less painful, but I want to hear it.  It's strange to me because it acutely reminds me of the funeral service yet I want to hear it and listen to the whole thing, with Owen in my arms.  I feel a little safer, I guess.  I can still cry every time I hear it, but I almost want it to bring me happiness, too.  I can't take away the sorrow I feel, but I can make it a little happier by sharing these moments with Owen....being thankful for Chase and everything that he taught me and brought me.  It isn't any easier to hear this song, but now I want to hear it.....whereas before Owen came home, I couldn't bear to hear that melody.

I still feel a lot of pain, a LOT of pain.  I have thought about some pretty painful moments that I never let enter my head since losing Chase and I cry.  But again, I am thankful now, too.  This journey has continued, but the path I am on has changed.  Some moments I am so sad that I still don't think I can move on.  But I do, because I want to.  I have beauty in my life.  I am deeply blessed.  Yet no matter how much joy I feel, I will always feel sorrow.  But I know that I will get to see Chase again some day.  And that he is waiting for us in a place that is incredibly beautiful.   I know this in my heart.  Yet miss him with my entire soul.  Carly said it this way and I thank her for putting it in these words.  She is an amazing woman.

"I thank God every day for all 4 of my children. I am not angry now, but thankful that my son has given me this beautiful life that I live today. I know that the place that Christian is in is so incredibly amazing. I will miss him every day for the rest of my life. I thank my angels for helping me to rise above my sadness. I thank God for sending Christian into my life even if it was only for the shortest stay.

I found my way out of the dark forest and I am now living in the amber glow. Life is rich. Life is precious. Life is beautiful."

An ugly post....for BLMs only

I hate to follow that post of such positivity with this one....but my blog has come to my aid countless times providing me with comfort and support from the only people in the world who truly can understand me and empathize with  me for being the social outkast because my baby died: other BLMs.  And so I share this....

I have not vented nor had the need to vent, about lost and broken friendships for several months.  Those doors are closed, or so I thought, and I am focused on what matters in my life: my family.  Not friendships that appear smooth on the surface while causing me pain underneath.  I no longer have room in this heart  of mine that has been slowly pieced back together, though one piece will forever be missing.  My circle has definitely shrunk.  And my family is really my center point and where I get all the love, nourishment, companionship, and entertainment from.  I just wish what was in my head was the same as what is in my heart.

I don't know if I have written about the doctor and his family leaving town but they did this summer and it gave me a small peace of mind knowing I don't have to worry about turning the corner and running into them or seeing them on the road, etc.  My guard was lifted a tiny bit.  And I probably have written about losing friendships because the doctor's wife is still friends with those in our old circle, while we are not.  I had "friends" tell me that we need to remember that this tragedy happened to TWO families in this town, theirs and ours.  Though it was our son who died while theirs get kisses and hugs from them every day.  As if it is important enough to mention, I was once very close friends with his wife, but our friendship fell apart about a year before I became pregnant with Chase.  I have never been able to decide if this severed friendship led to the demise of my patient/doctor relationship during my prenatal care or not.  There was nothing offered or received from her after the birth or death of Chase so all of it is neither here nor there in my mind.  The problem I had was the support my friends were offering her rather than me.  Why was it so important to them to remind me that she was not in the delivery room or that horrible operating room where her husband cut into me while I was screaming my lungs out and hitting him.....hours, hours, after he should have done something to save Chase, but was just too arrogant to admit that he might need to be concerned about the care he had given up to that point.  

This has surfaced once again because though the family has relocated, she apparently, is back in town...for a party.  A party with my former friends, whom I really wonder why I ever called them my friends or me theirs.  This is one of those "clicky" desperate housewife type parties that the invite list changes every year--depending on the party thrower.  I have never made the cut anyway, which is funny I know (pie in my face), unlucky me--whatever.  But this year, they went out of their way to invite her again.....so she could make a special flight back into town just for it.  Makes it sound like a pretty special party, huh?  I thought so, too.   These are the same friends who threw the doctor and his family a going away party this summer in a town three hours away bidding farewell to them with hugs and kisses and nice gifts.  Wow--that kind of support for the man who did all this to me?  Do they know that....or have they just forgotten?  From the people who were supposed to be my friends?  They never offered me that kind of support.  Unless you call coming into my home the second Chase died to break down my crib and remove all my baby belongings so I wouldn't have any reminders of him when I walked in the door.  Really?   LIke I was going to leave Albuquerque and forget about my dead son if the crib and his clothes were not in my room anymore?  At the time I tried to look into this with the best of intentions and understand these things as best I could.  But wow, 1 yr 7mo2wk and 2 days into this grief cycle and it sounds insanely absurd to me now.  If they would have truly known me and been my real friends, they would have known that that baby furniture had been in my bedroom far longer than it had not over the prior 5 years and removing it from my room under normal circumstances would have not even felt right to me.  It was definitely not going to be something to send me over the edge coming home from the hospital without my baby in my arms.  Quite the contrary, in all actuality, but again, how would they know that.  

My anger comes out again....not from my heart, but from my head.  A conflict so very difficult to mend....and will forever keep me out of balance.  But my heart is in the right place.  It is my head that still seeks confrontation and closure, which I will never get.  Not the closure I want.  When I ask what I could have possibly done to these people to make them so nonchalantly continue including this family in their lives and support them, someone said to me, "they just don't know what to say to you probably."  Not.  They feel guilty for supporting that family and not supporting ours.....despite over 30 years of knowing our family.  I'm only venting here because it is the therapy I need.  I don't seek their friendship or their comfort or their companionship.  I am a different person.  One they will never understand and will never know and I don't expect or desire that to change.  I am getting this anger and frustration off my chest (out of my head) so I can once again lay it to rest without being judged.....and just hope it doesn't ever surface again.  Because rest assured you'll hear about it here if it does.  *sigh*

Real Life

I know how hard it is to parent a child in heaven.  But sometimes I forget how hard it is to be a sibling to one.  Last night the kids were at the table doing their homework and Emma brought in a package that had arrived from gramma.  She opened the box and gave everyone their little goodies that gramma had sent.  There was something for everyone....mom, dad, the three of them, and the new baby.  And she was not happy.  After a lot of prying and a couple threats (which I am not proud of), she spilled her feelings to me.  She was upset that gramma had not sent anything for Chase.  She was afraid that Chase was being forgotten and I could see it in her eyes as her tears began to flow, that this terrified her.  She was happy that everyone including the baby had a present in the box, but nothing in there for Chase meant he was forgotten, to her.  I explained to her that I didn't like the idea of buying things all the time for Chase as we have a big collection of memories and keepsakes for him and adding more things to that collection, is not something I wanted to deal with anyway.  She insisted that it didn't have to be a lot, maybe a photo of him or a letter or note to him.  She just wanted recognition of her little brother.  That's all.  Acknowledgement that he is part of our family and always will be even though he isn't here in our presence.  I grabbed her and hugged her and told her that we were not forgetting about him.  I told her we talk about him all the time and we will talk about him to his little brother every time we hold him and play with him and that this was her job, too. She knows that we do that....she told me that whenever her friends at school ask how many there are in her family, she tells them "7: me, Karly, Reese, Chase, the new baby, mom and dad."  She said she doesn't explain what happened to Chase unless they ask.  But she wants to say and hear his name to know that he is remembered by all and is a part of all our lives.  It hurts not to feel this confirmation.  

Since we were having this conversation and I was including the other two in it as well, Reese got a real sad look on his face and said to me, "I really hope we get to bring this baby home, mom."  I told him that we most definitely will and then he said to me with raised up sad eyebrows, "Mom, do you have a different doctor this time?"  I said, "Yes, baby, I do and you are gonna love her.  She is very nice and is taking very good care of me."  To that, he replied, "Good."

Woah.  I looked at each of the kids and my heart felt so incredibly heavy.  I could see and feel their pain, their worry, their fears and I wanted nothing more than to make it all go away.  But I know I can't.  I know that, like me and Patric, through all their excitement for their newest little brother and their anticipation for taking care of him and loving on him, they are scared to the very core that this, too, will be taken away.  It's like we are all standing here, tightening our guts, just waiting for someone to punch us there again.  Because they, too, really just want Chase back.  And it's this sadness and longing that makes the rainbow very hard to see, at times, through the dark and heavy clouds in our sky above us.

Welcome....,my baby boys....

I have great news.  I just did not ever feel the time was right to share it here.  This blog is about our life, our family.  But it has been, for so long, a place for me to grieve--to talk about Chase and what he means to us and how much we miss him.  Because that is what I needed this blog to be.  I see my friends here, hear from them here, share with them here, all of our feelings about missing our babies.  And I understand, now, how BLMs have so much trouble announcing their rainbow pregnancies.  There are so many conflicting emotions, and I have been blogging may way through them over here, if you are interested.  But it is time, now, to officially share our news....Enter....Pearson baby #5, due February 13th:

                                

I can't share this news, however, without including a picture of Chase, too.  He has to be on this post, right there with his little brother.  He is such a big part of this baby.  He is the reason this baby is here.  He has helped carry me this far through this pregnancy, no doubt.  But now there is a new little one to focus on, and that is hard to do, when you know all you really want to do is hold the one that should be here.  

I am so incredibly happy about this pregnancy.  I love this little guy already more than I ever thought possible.  With every kick, every swoosh I feel from him, I feel love.  I am normally not a peaceful, joyous pregnant person, but I have to say that I have enjoyed this pregnancy more with the perspective I have than I ever thought I would.  I have fears, of course.  I am scared out of my mind for what can happen.  But somehow, I have been at peace with all those concerns.  I have felt Chase carrying me, assuring me it's okay to be happy, not to be sad.  There are pangs of guilt, when I see toddlers his age or when I hold his clothes or things that his little brother will now wear instead of him.  But these feelings are overwhelmed by the love I feel for this little one, the joy I have, the anticipation of bringing him home and holding him.  

Saying these things, typing these words, I still painfully miss my little guy.  Even Emma said to me the other day....."Mom, I'm just not sure what I want more.  I really am excited for the baby, but I miss Chase and I don't know if I want the new baby or Chase more.  Because the new baby probably wouldn't be here if Chase was alive."  We all feel it.  The confusion.  The emotion.  The fear.   A million times I have imagined this baby in my arms, carrying him out of the hospital, taking him home.  But a part of me feels that there is a huge gap in there.  The emptiness; a void.  That something is missing in the middle of all this.  And how do you move on from that?  I used to wonder how I could move pass Chase and love a new baby.  How could a mother just move on like that?  It's not something I want to do.  And I don't feel entirely like I am moving on.  I feel like a part of my life stopped when Chase died.  It will always feel that way.  But there is not a bone in my body that won't and doesn't already love this new little baby.  And that is where Chase is helping me.  He is holding my hand & my heart this whole time, letting me know he is here with me, loving me and loving this baby, and that it is ok.  He knows how much I love him.  It is me that can't measure that, making it so hard to be okay with loving someone new now and physically giving that love to this baby instead of Chase.  But he is helping me with that and I am grateful for him.  

So this announcement isn't a typical "We're having a baby!" announcement.  It's more than that.  It's where we are with our grief, where we are with our "new normal."  And it's about Chase still being with us.  I feel in a way he is taking care of his little brother, they are somewhere in the same "place" right now.  And when the time is right, Chase will bring his brother into our world, to hold and love on.  Until then, however, I will love what I cannot hold, with every ounce of my broken heart.

A Cemetery

I stopped by the cemetery that we are considering moving Chase to today.  My friend's son is buried there and I wanted to visit his grave.  She lost her son just after his birthday in 2007.  He died the 13th of April and Chase was born the 14th of April.  I feel a connection there, not only because I knew her son, but also because of the dates being so close to Chase's death and birth date.  Her son's birthday is just 6 days before his death date, 23 years later.  Chase died just 4 days after his birthday.  She has reached out to me and provided comfort to me like only mothers who have lost children can.  For that I am grateful.

I saw a grave of an infant, died in 2007.  It tears me up to see graves like that with all sorts of little toy trucks and airplanes and helicopters so curiously laid upon it.  I wish I could visit Chase's grave and share toys with him in this way, too.  Reese has a handful that he has saved just for his little brother.  I long to visit the gravesite of my son, to see his name in stone, to see our names right with his, as close as we can get in this human life of ours.  I looked around the cemetery and felt it would be a nice place to keep his "box", as we call it.  When I asked the kids the other day if they thought it was a good idea to move Chase to this cemetery, they said yes.  Actually Reese said, "no mom I want him at my house! Please?  Can we have him at our house?"  I explained the purpose of this cemetery and I think they all understood.  The fact that we may or may not be living in Ruidoso makes our decision to disinter him more complicated.  But, again, I looked around the cemetery and it felt "right".  Twelve years ago, Patric and I were married about 15 minutes down the highway.  Three of our children were born here.  Whether or not we live here in 5 years doesn't mean we won't ever be back.  We have several reasons to come back here, several concrete reasons, and one of them is his grandparents.  I would have the comforting feeling that his grandparents will always be here.  They will never move so they will always be close, and I know his G would love that.  These thoughts make this decision a little bit easier.  If that is ever possible.

I'm writing these thoughts down because I want it be known that when your child dies, cemeteries and grave sites are not something that you had ever thought about before.  Choosing a place to keep your child for the rest of time as you know it, is really an impossible choice.  There is no way of knowing the right answer.  Because, as our funeral home director pointed out to us, where we bury him, is where we will want to be buried essentially, so we may as well purchase 3 lots instead of 1.  See?  Things you never thought about, right?  Who would have known that when you give birth, days later you will be deciding where you want to be buried when you eventually die 50 years later.  Cremation was, for us, not something for considering on the spot but choosing which cemetery seemed preposterous to decide.  

The first year I was only consumed with having his grave stone ordered and in hand.  Then when it came time to lay the stone, we felt the permanence of this deed and wanted to do something about the fact that we wanted Chase closer to us.  Once we decided to do this and talked to the funeral director to find out if it can even be done, only to learn that there is even a word for it, then we had to pick where.  The cemetery I visited today was our pick, until we started to consider the facts--that our family would not forever reside in Ruidoso.  We weren't convinced that we would be raising our family here and did not want to move Chase again when we decided we were leaving.  And so here we are.  His stone sits in the garage at the funeral home across the street.  And his "box" is still 6 hours away.

So these are my thoughts today.  I hope to close this chapter soon, though I won't ever know when that will be until it actually happens.  I would rather think of my son as I saw him in the hospital isolette and those days when he fought for his life.  I would rather remember him as best I can than think of the cemetery where his box will forever remain.  But this is life as best as we can understand.  I was searching on old (really old) computer CDs the other day and found this saying that gave me chills.  I have no idea why it was on my computer years ago.  Here it is....

It is a deep mystery, This matter of Life and Death.

That the same person who brought us a thousand joys, can one day leave us shedding a thousand tears.

So suddenly, sometimes we grope blindly for words left unspoken, and for the hug we needed to give, to say goodbye.

And we wonder, how this thread holds us all to life can be so thin and fragile.. 

Until one day we find the faith and courage to accept, that the living aren’t meant to understand death, only to accept and celebrate life, and to remember that the only real death is forgetting.

Visiting Chase's Grave

We visited Chase's grave this week. It was a six hour drive returning to a place that would remind us so acutely of a time of deep pain and anguish. The weather was grey and gloomy the entire trip and even if we wanted to, we would not be able to set the monument for Chase. The sancrete would never have dried with the constant drizzle. We paid our respects regardless and arranged and re-arranged the flowers we had brought for him, from us and both his grandmas. As if we were "fixing" them for him, like a parent always feels we must do. Something to busy our hands, I guess. The rain was persistent, but not obtrusive. We were able to have a good visit, if that is possible. For a moment, maybe two minutes, while Patric and I were alone at his grave and the kids were in the car, the sun poked through the clouds. It was so magical how this happened. I wish I would have pointed my camera up and just snapped a shot, in hopes that I might have deciphered something later that I couldn't comprehend in that moment. If ever I have felt it, though, it was Chase speaking to us. Looking down on us tell us he was okay.

Patric and I have had several deep conversations lately about him and where we each think he is or what he is or just what we think period. And in those conversations I have been comforted in a way only my soulmate could comfort me. It turns out that we have both been feeling Chase's presence in and around us. There have been specific moments and specific feelings, however indescribable they are, that we have communicated to each other and felt the same thing.

We are not on the same path in our journey as we were in the beginning. Patric is seeking different things that I am right now. He is comforted in different ways than I am. We feel very much the same on a lot of things, and we are both searching, but searching for different answers and different explanations. I had received several texts and emails and cards and even some packages in the mail leading up to and on Chase's birthday. My sisters, in particular, sent me some very, very touching gifts that mean so very much to me and remind me how exactly my little boy touched their lives as well. Friends of ours from all over the country sent texts, to my phone, letting us know that we were in their thoughts and offering any help that me might need to get through this last week. It wasn't until we were in bed Wednesday night laying, waiting, to fall asleep, that I realized that Patric hadn't personally received any of these things that I had. No texts, no emails, no phone calls, no package. Nothing. Nothing specifically directed to him. I know he didn't expect this, he's really not the type to even want something on an occasion like this. It is comforting to him to see that I have family and friends in my life that care enough to do this for me. But as his wife, I want to just cover him up with love from me and the kids...in hopes that he feels just as loved as we do. I know men grieve differently and have different needs in grief but it doesn't stop me from wanting to protect his feelings with some sort of force field of love from us to try to equal that which I feel. The truth is I know he has more of that from us than he ever bargained for and that's really all he will ever need. But in a time of such pain and suffering I want to make it better for him when I can't.

Returning to Chase's grave this week stirred up a lot of emotions I hadn't felt for a long time. The pain felt raw and the wound felt very fresh. It did for all of us, you could see it, hear it, and feel it from the girls as they cried from their bellies, quivering from their sobs, missing their baby brother so dearly. My anger came back. I became very mad again, like it had all just happened, recalling in my head how the events throughout those days transpired, wishing things had been done differently. So desperately wishing I had done something when I knew I should.

But this visit was about Chase and thinking about him. And I have been working on/thinking about this a lot lately....my vision of my sweet baby boy. God how I miss you sweet Chase. I can't begin to tell you how much. But I want you to have fun up there...and enjoy this birthday and all those to come...and one day, we will all be together again. I love you.

Lost in Time

I don't know how I'm doing lately. I feel weird. I have felt different the past week or two and I don't know why. I can't say that I feel good, but I do feel that this roller coaster ride is about to dip. Soon. I haven't shed many tears lately. That is odd. I feel like they are close, but they are not falling right now. I don't feel any peace. I don't feel normal. As usual, I feel like the facade I am displaying is very believable. But it's completely fake. I don't know if I feel numb. I don't think about Chase any less. I think of him all day long, when I fall asleep at night, when I wake up in the morning and a thousand times in between. I still miss him...but some days it feels so unreal. Like, did it really happen? It feels like yesterday, but yet so long ago. It's so hard to explain.

I don't know why I feel this way. It is unsettling. I doubt so many things about myself....am I good mother? A good wife? A good homemaker? A good ANYthing? I can take compliments, but I don't believe them. Not at all. I have no confidence in me right now, or who I am. I don't even know that person. Sometimes it feels like the old me almost, but I know that person died with Chase, so it can't be. I'm confused. I'm lost..... Hoping the dip in this ride comes and goes quickly....just waiting.

Judging Grief

What I am about to say is not intended to touch everyone. It is not going to be understood by most. And by all means, I am not trying to change or fix anyone. I am purely and genuinely going to vent.

I don't understand the way people react to someone's grief. I have read about, been told it would happen and seen people react to me in very peculiar ways. Specifically, people have left my side and no longer fill the role of a friend.

I know someone who's son, years ago, was killed just days before his college graduation. My heart went out to her. She was not a close friend, but a friend indeed and I didn't know what to do for her. She was surrounded by so many who loved her and had so much support, or so it looked from the outside. I felt so bad for her and wanted badly to reach out to her. I had been told that a couple months after a tragedy is when people generally find themselves alone as their family goes back home and everyone goes on with their lives. So I wrote in my day planner on the day 2 months from her tragedy to send her a card and I did so. I saw her a few months later and asked her how she was doing and was surprised how much she shared with me. At the time, I did not know how to handle her grief. Now I do. Now I know and understand how much she wanted to talk about her son to me, a distant friend. But one thing I didn't do, was judge her.

Before Chase died, I could have never imagined the pain she went through and how it would guide her every day. How that pain would override every thought, every emotion, every feeling, every thing she did in her life. So I never judged her actions, her choices, her weight loss, her weight gain, her change in appearance, her behavior. After the loss she had endured, any of those things were destined to be affected or change and change again and my heart continued to ache for her. This was the outsider's point of view of grief that I had.

Now, having lost my own child, and having endured the pain of this and learning to live with it every day of my life, I don't understand why I am judged. "Chase died and then she just quit talking to me." In my head, I can just hear these comments. "She got mad at me because I'm still friends with her doctor's friend's sister's husband's cousin's neighbor's uncle. How insane is that? Like they had anything to do with it."

I can't explain my feelings. I can't tell you why I feel the way I do or why I do the things I do or why I say some of the things I say. I'm hurting. Inside. Always. And the anger side of grief will sometimes guide me to do things that I could not ever expect you to understand. Unless your child had died, too. Think of it this way, and then try to justify the way you feel. Try to explain it to someone why you can't stand to be around someone who is 6 degrees of separation away from the person who is responsible for your son's death. Sounds crazy, I know.

The "funeral home guy" told me that his very close friends lost a teenage son and because of the whole funeral and burial thing, his grieving friends quit talking to he and his wife. He acknowledged that they probably equated the death of their son to them but he didn't know why they quit talking to them--they had been such close friends. My reaction to that was, "Don't judge them". No, you didn't cause the death of their son, but you remind them so vividly of those particular moments following their tragedy that I don't blame them. I don't know why we act this way, but I completely understand. It's unfortunate and, sadly, I can totally relate. I, personally, wanted to jump in a hole--to hide from everyone, everything. All the while feeling like I was living in a glass house. Maybe it was my own insecurities, my shattered faith, my pain, but I didn't want to see anyone I knew....except for my closest friends.

To date, however, nearly all of those closest friends are gone. Most have left my side. Some made choices. Choices I could not accept. For reasons I cannot explain. So I remain misunderstood, misjudged. As if it matters. Because I am much better off than I was, all things considered. There are new friends in place. Some closer old friends. And I am starting over, the new me. I'm not going to say improved, but I will call myself real. I see things with people so much more clearly than I ever had. My family, though the most important thing in my life before Chase died, is the center of my universe. And I love them with every breath I take.

Still here

I miss him so badly. I look at his pictures and I feel him like I am still losing him--in a different way. I look at the pictures and I have them memorized. But as time passes, I have to try harder to see those moments in action....moving, not just still shots in my mind, but his life with us. Those moments. The tragedy. In moving, real life action. Because if I don't try to recall those things, it feels like these are just pictures. Pictures of something that happened...but no memory. I have several different snapshots of him that don't even look like the same baby. I have my favorite photo...the perfect gerber baby face, plus a few tubes and medical leads. But I also have photos of him that aren't so hot. And as my jaded memory slips further away, and I realize what really happened....I see it in these pictures. The magnitude of what happened, how he was born and how lifeless he must have looked in the isolette while the doctor and nurses were working and him. And all that can change my view of what all happened. Maybe we were unrealistically hopeful, despite those words from the doctor that echoed in my brain, "babies are remarkably resilient and often times surprise us...." And he most certainly was as healthy as an ox. That's the one thing I do know.

Almost as accurate as my internal clock is this one particular wave of grief that happens about every 30 days. Hormones, maybe, psychological, maybe. But it's that huge cloud of darkness that just looms over me and I can almost feel the weight of it, physically. So that's where I'm at. Hurting. Like it was yesterday. And no, I don't think it gets easier. I think you learn how to deal with it, yes. But the pain doesn't lessen. That's why there are graves at the cemetery with fresh flowers every week for a baby that died 50 years ago. The focus of the pain shifts from different aspects of the situations that occurred. I may be consumed with a particular moment of his life, before he was born or after, what is still to come, but it all hurts the same. None of it is ever going to change. The pain is never going to go away. I am never going to be ignorant of this feeling or free from it. And that is why learning to live this way, learning to fight the battles I must fight this way, learning to go after my goals and dreams with this in my heart is making me a much stronger person. It's like fighting a battle with one arm and winning and that's what I'm going to continue to do. That's the mom Chase would be proud of.