Lucky

Sometimes I feel blessed but not lucky.  Sometimes I feel lucky and don't know what all my blessings actually are....

I was talking to a fellow BLM and dear sweet friend the other day on the phone.  She is a little bit farther along on this journey than I am and I have looked to her for some specific help on mine.  She has supported me in ways more than she will ever know.  And hopefully I have given her the support she needs and comfort when it is not coming from anywhere else.  I know a lot of what she is feeling and she knows the same for me.

Almost.

This is her fourth Christmas without her angel baby and my third and we were talking about the struggles we encounter during the holidays....the tears at the drop of a hat....the traditions that are happy but sad....the acknowledgement of our babies that is and isn't there and how to acknowledge them...still.  I was telling her how it has been killing me the last few months whenever I see Chase's photos around the house--and I see them All.The.Time.  They are everywhere.  Not huge photos but little tiny "reminders" posted in about every room.  Our bedroom, my bathroom counter, the office, the kids' rooms, the refrigerator door.  The one on the refrigerator door is one my daughter put there this summer--a magnet that was in her school locker last year.  Its of her holding her baby brother.  The photo is a snapshot in time--a moment in time that is dreadfully painful.  And whenever I see that photo, I feel on the edge of a very high cliff....one that if I am not careful I'll slip and fall right off of.  Those moments were so dark in my memory.  So very tragic and so very very painful.  For a long time I needed those photos around me everywhere.  I needed them to keep him near me.  Everywhere I go.  To see him....not all those tubes and the machines and the blood.  But I saw him as my little boy.   

Now when I see those photos I see the moment in time that they were taken.  And it reminds me of what a painful time in my life that was.  It's hard to pull through that and see our son for the babe that he was.  I feel and see that pain all over again.  

And then while talking to my friend I realize that I am lucky.  So.Very.Lucky.  to have those pictures.  To have held my sweet boy.  To have touched him and felt him and seen him.  She never had that privilege and for that I am deeply saddened.  I am so very grateful for having those pictures and that thought helps me see past the darkness of my photos.  I am very lucky.  I wish so badly she had a picture.  I'm sure she does in her mind but one to see with her eyes and make a connection.  Never in a million years would I have thought that I would be so *lucky* to have pictures with tubes and blood and machines of a very very sick child and that the child would be mine.  But I am.  And I love them with every ounce of my soul.  Thank you to my sister for taking those pictures.  Thank you to God for giving me those four days with my son. Thank you to my son for giving us the love you gave us in that hospital room and I am so thankful that we were all with you when you left us that very sad and painful day.  Because you felt loved, from the very beginning, to the very end.  And that love is still present and felt every day of our lives. ...til we meet again little man.... I love you.

An emotional journey

Sometimes I forget.  I get so used to these kicks in my growing tummy and feeling them all throughout the day, every day, and I forget that I am the only one who has these constant reminders of this angel that is soon to be gracing our arms, our home, our hearts.  I spent the morning with Emma last Friday in the doctor's office waiting to have a terrible rash of hers  looked at, which turned out to be an allergy.  But I was grateful for the alone time we spent together.  We read, we talked, she watched some TV but mostly we talked.  She was very emotional and I thought this had maybe brought on or aggravated her rash, she was so emotional.  She wanted reassurance, or guarantee, that the baby was going to be fine.  And then she wanted just to talk about Chase.  She didn't want Chase to be forgotten when we brought this baby home.  Chase was/is her little brother.  He reminded us all of her and she was so proud of that.  This was very special to her and she didn't want that to ever go away....even though everything feels so distant the more time passes.   I tried to share with her my experience with this pregnancy....my reassurances, my signs from Chase, my peacefulness, the physical signs, the kicks, the messages that this baby was sending me.  These things I feel constantly.  I wish I could give her all those things that I have that help me feel peace, but I can't.  I put her hand on my tummy and she patiently waited and felt the baby kick and a glow instantly appeared on her face.  I told her that when this baby was born and when she held him in her arms the first time that her heart would heal in so many ways.  I promised her that Chase would be there with us to share that moment and to help her, too, feel that it was OK to love this new little baby like we so badly want to love him, Chase that is.  I want her to feel OK with these emotions like I do, but I forget what it's like to not have any thing to feel to remind me of Chase.  Because I feel him all the time around me with this new little one.  She asked me what if this baby looks a lot different from Chase, are we going to forget him?  I told her this baby needs his own identity.  But he is most certainly, in my opinion, a gift.  A gift that Chase has helped bring us.  And for this reason, Chase is always in our hearts and our minds when we prepare for and bring this baby home.  Which I am most positive that we will.  

But these are things we talk about.  I share my feelings with her in hopes that she, too, will feel some of the same things.  Because the pain is too close to think of this pregnancy any other way.  There are lots of things I am worried about and scared of but I strongly feel that we need to help ourselves get through this waiting part.  I can't even begin to explain how much I love feeling this baby kick me.  It is purely amazing when he is going crazy in there.  With the other 4 pregnancies, I never EVER thought of it the way I do now.  I never appreciated it or loved it or cherished all those movements and "totally bizarre" kicks.  They were just a part of being pregnant.  But now I absolutely adore them.  It is the coolest thing ever and I am so lucky to be carrying this little guy with me every day 24/7.  I can't imagine when he is born and I have to share him with Patric & the kids!  That's sometimes how I feel, honestly.  Not realistic, I know, but I love carrying him right now that much.  I love him that much.  And I can't wait until he is part of us....on the outside, too.  Thank you Chase.  You are my sweet angel, my sweet baby boy.  I love you so much.

It hurts to know so much

Last night I went to check on Karly and found her deep in thought about something while she was getting ready for bed.  I could tell she had something on her mind just by the way she was going about her business.  In fact, her mind was almost speaking out loud.  When I asked her what she was thinking about, she said, "Mom...(long pause) do you think the baby is going to be okay?"  I said, "Definitely, I do, honey."  And she started talking about her close friend at school whose mom just had a baby boy a couple weeks ago and how she wanted that so bad.  "Hope is just so lucky."

Yes, Hope is lucky.  But only you know how lucky she is, sweet girl.  Hope loves her new baby brother for sure, but she doesn't have the slightest idea how incredibly lucky she is.  And I wish you didn't know either, baby girl.  Karly said, "It's not fair, mom."  I know.  It most definitely is not fair, but you will get to hold this baby brother very soon.  "But mom I have to wait like 6 months or something and that is just so long."  Well, not quite that long but you get to feel him move in my tummy and talk to him and you'll get to hold him in your arms soon enough.  You just have to wait a little bit longer, honey.

This is the strangest thing about this pregnancy.  Not only for me, but for all of us, in some ways it seems like a continuation of Chase's pregnancy.  I don't know why it feels that way.  The time between Chase being born and getting pregnant again certainly was real.  It was painful.  And it was long (or so it seemed).  But now that I am pregnant and with big belly, it seems like I've been pregnant the whole time and we are still waiting for this baby to come out.  Why?  We all miss Chase and talk about him and ache for him daily.  It's not like he's still in my tummy at all.  I have heart-to-heart convos with Reese & Emma, too, about missing Chase and longing for this baby, but not wanting to forget Chase.  This feeling is odd and a struggle for us all.  But this is how we operate.  And, as tough as it is, we are making the most of it.  Loving our angel in heaven.....yet dreaming of holding our next one that is on his way to earth in due time.   

  

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.

Moving On

That post title does not mean I am moving on after Chase. I am stuck in time with him. That one thing is motionless, while everything else around it keeps moving, he is frozen in time and I miss him every day with every bone in my body. I should be a whole year into his life soon...watching him learn to walk and listening to his first words and watching his big sisters and big brother entertain him and care for him. I never stop thinking about those things. And then I look at his picture and I am taken back. To those 4 days of excitement, fear, hope, sadness and confusion and it feels as though time has stood still.

I don't see this changing, though eventually, I'm told, it will. But what has moved on is life as we know it. I have moved on with life. I laugh with my children, with my husband. I learn things about myself. I love like there is no tomorrow. I feel things ever so acutely. I empathize with people, things, situations. I am sometimes amazed at how I am able to move past things that, before Chase died, I would have dwelled on, fretted about, stewed over....for weeks. I don't do that anymore. My adult relationships have changed. That's because my needs have changed. Things that I say, feel or do are not justified always. I can't explain "why" when it comes to my feelings. When they get hurt, I make sure it won't happen again. And if that means moving on and not looking back, then that is what I do. I protect myself much better than I ever did before. Or maybe I have a little extra help from up above, I don't know. I don't need anyone to understand me. There is no reason for that because there is no way they ever will. And as a result, I have no desire to explain myself. I go on because I have to. This, I have learned.

I miss my sweet boy. Every moment of every day, I miss him.

Not in the mood

We took the kids to Albuquerque this weekend to watch Walking with Dinosaurs. We went to the Children's Museum and thought we might catch the zoo, too, but the weather had other plans for us. Instead, before heading home we stopped at the mall to take care of some exchanges we needed to make and one of them was in GapKids.

I didn't need to go in BabyGap, we were strictly in the kids' side but the checkout counter is the divider between the two stores. There were so many cute things that kept catching my eye and I always wonder what I would be stealing from the budget to buy Chase from these kinds of stores. I wanted to be sad that I didn't shop in babyGap anymore because my kids are too big for it. I wanted to be sad that I didn't shop there because Reese refuses to "dress up" in jeans and anything with buttons. But I don't get that privilege. I hate that I don't shop in that store because I can't bear the site of the things I should be showing off my baby boy in. I hate that I don't have a reason to shop there because my son is gone. Standing in that store, looking at those things is torture to me. And what is worse, I did this to myself, I snatched a super soft, tiny stuffed blue elephant at the counter as the clerk was checking me out and asked her if I could buy that, too. As luck would have it, it had no price tag. Of course she couldn't look on the other tags of the same brand of animals to see that it was $5.50. She had to look at every book behind the counter to find the right "number" for it. And when she couldn't find it, she had to call her manager to look through the same books only then to go to the "back" to see if they had any more back there with the tag on it. We stood there for probably 20 minutes waiting but I had to have this elephant. I wasn't exactly sure why. I used to always buy these little stuffed animals from Gap when the kids were babies. They were just the right size for them to hold as babies and for some reason lovely to chew/suck on. Gross, I know, but this elephant reminded me of that. It reminded me of my babies that have grown up. It also reminded me of my baby that would never grow up. I had to have it and standing there waiting for the stupid clerk to find the right number was like twisting the knife that has been stuck in my heart for 11 months and a day now. Especially when she looked at Karly and asked who it was for. I guess she didn't hear her when Karly asked me if it was for Chase and if we were going to send it up to him in heaven on a balloon. And then, as the timing was impeccable, the "funeral home guy" calls to tell me the proof for the monument is in. Lovely. While I'm busy wasting time with a @*$&# clerk buying a stupid $5 toy for my son whose headstone is waiting for my approval to be carved. Tears welled up in my eyes but I couldn't leave without my baby's soft toy.

Just weeks away from Chase's birthday. I can't even explain how sad this is. That time is going so fast and that our littlest Pearson is not here to share it with us.

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.

Can't Let Go....the ugly side of grief

During a very cathartic, blood vessel-popping workout, I listened to this song...several times. I'm dripping in sweat and tears & high on endorphins and am writing this down because I've had this in my head for 10 months now and never said it. There is so much of this song that says it for me. I know what this song was written for but when I listen to the words, so many of them are mine. Because I'm not ready. I can't let go of the issues I have with him for letting my delivery happen the way it did.

I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying

I'm so mad and I can't let this go. Be it in a court of law or in the back alley, I need the closure that I don't know if I will ever get. I need to ask him why he did what he did and didn't do what he didn't do. I need to know what he was thinking and why he told me not to tell anyone what he did. I can't let this go. I see his wife and though I have conversations played out in my head with her, I can't let that go, either. She didn't do this, no, but maybe she shares his secret. Maybe he has been honest with her. Maybe he has told her something that I need to know.(Edited to add:) But no one understands this....why I can't treat her like nothing happened...why seeing her makes me feel the way it does...why I am so hurt by the sight, mention, or someone's interaction with her...why I have a problem with her at all. And to tell you the truth, I don't know why, either...but have him be the cause of your son's death and then tell me how you feel about it. Then try to justify your feelings to everyone else.

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round

I would trade Tim's last breath for one more day, hour, minute or second with my son and wouldn't think twice. But that's only because this didn't have to happen. There are accidents that happen and there are accidents that don't need to happen. I tell my kids this all the time.

He could have actually considered that something might have need to be checked out....all that blood for 13+ hours. He could have actually considered that he might have made a mistake and caused this bleed. He could have actually considered the fact that I had concerns....more than just a worried pregnant mom. But he didn't. He didn't take any precautions. He assumed he was right. And he assumed everything was fine. And he didn't check into any of the things I so desperately needed him to and asked him to. He ignored my feelings.....as I had come accustomed to by this time. His conceit is known by all, but only we suffer because of it.

It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her

Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger

My emotions towards this man have transcended to my daughters. Without directly telling them, they know clearly how we feel about Dr. Harkins, despite our very close friendship once upon a time. He did not come to Chase's funeral, nor did his wife. As I lay on his operating table, he told me to tell him what I felt. And I screamed from the moment his knife touched me until I slipped into la-la land; his nurse laying her body on my chest to hold me down. The fear that raced through my veins...the fear that I was going to die....that I would leave my 3 lovely angels motherless....is forever seared in my memory. He came into my hospital room sobbing after I came out of recovery. He mumbled, "I'm so sorry" and that's it. I don't know what he was sorry about. I don't know what he was thinking or what he felt. I was in shock. I was still scared about my own life. I had no idea what was in store for my newborn son. And I never got the chance that I so badly want, to ask him about these things. To question him. To close this chapter and move on. And I doubt I ever will. It's not right. Not right in anyone's eyes....

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

Edited: Gray area above.

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 support....like 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.

The Struggle, Part II of ???

I can't believe Christmas is over. Well, the holiday is not over for us, but I just can't believe that this is the end of December. The year seemed to fly which is so weird because so often I don't know if I can make it through the day, or the minute or the second. The pain I felt going to bed on Christmas eve and then on Christmas morning was excruciating. As I lay in bed that night trying to fall asleep, I missed our baby boy so much. I had that dull ache, a nauseating feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach that was emotional and physical all at once. Just sick that he is not here with us. At eight months old, and with 3 older siblings, he would have so much fun watching and learning what to do on this special holiday. We would have had so much fun watching and learning what he could do. I cried myself to sleep eventually that night and woke up in a hurry as the other three yelled at us from their rooms. I rushed around to get the final preparations complete and then watched as they tore open gifts, handed out gifts and played with their new toys. Then I sat down by Chase's tree and read the kids' letters to him, read Karly's present she made for him and just cried. I was so confused. I looked at the three kids and Patric and thought about how happy I was to have them and be a part of their lives and how much joy they give me every day. But then I looked down in my lap at his pictures and could not stop crying because our little boy was not here and he really should be. Of course, it was that "inside", quiet-as-you-can-cry, but the tears were unstoppable. Karly gave me a hug and a smile and I smiled back at her and loved her right back. And I wiped my tears and put on my happy face, but kept crying on the inside.

I was told our first Christmas without him would be the hardest. But I had no idea. I did not expect the huge wave that would hit me. And I didn't allow myself to think that Patric would be having an equally painful time, in his own way, and not the same as mine. The question I don't have the answer to is where do you meet when you no longer grieve in the same way as your spouse, but you are both still in so much pain? After finally realizing this, I don't know how to fix it. How do I comfort him on his journey when I am on the same journey but in a different vehicle? I can't quite reach him the same way as when we were both riding side by side and he can no longer do the same for me, either. I know we are there for each other, but our needs are different now. I don't know how to solve this one, but I think that understanding that this is happening is a start. I can't explain this very well, but I'm just trying to say that I love my husband more than anything. And I know that he is going through the worst tragedy that anyone ever has to go through. There are times that I may be able to comfort him and there are times that I may not know what to do. The compounding factor of this is that I, too, am going through the exact same worst tragedy ever, but dealing/thinking/hurting differently because I am me and he is him. I am so sorry, Patric, for being so caught up in my sorrow and guilt and sadness, that I have somehow looked past yours. I should be the rock for you that you are for me. You know me, and you love me for who I am and I am the luckiest girl in the world for that. Just know that you mean the world to me and I am trying. Trying to cope, trying to live, trying to love all my kids with all my heart the best that I know how. And, with every breath, I love you.

***

For what he is

I had a mother of all roller coaster days today. I had lunch with some great ladies and just by chance the conversation turned to my pictures of Chase. I happened to mention as we headed out the door to our cars that the nurse who was in the operating room for my surgery had taken some pictures of Chase soon after he was born (because our camera was no where to be found) and had supposedly emailed them Patric but we had never seen them. And her phone had gotten stolen by the time I asked for them so apparently there were some phantom pictures of Chase out in cyber space that no one has ever seen that I will never get. My friend immediately speaks up and says, "I think we have them." I have been thinking/searching for these pictures since April to no avail. It's an ever longer story how she ended up with them so just know that I was hit with one of those tidal waves of grief. I was so hopeful that she might have them, but prepared that she wouldn't. I wanted to see them so badly. The earliest images of my newborn son, captured in time. Before I had even got home, she had already texted me that she sent them to my email address. I don't know why, but as I drove home, I felt like I was going to get to see my baby for the first time again. That's what it felt like. But I knew that I didn't really have him. But it was still a sense of anticipation like I was about to get something that I wanted for a real long time, but I would never get what I really wanted.

So all those emotions come back to me. How perfect he looked. How chubby his legs were. My, his nose looks big! How could he have died? He looks too healthy. How could this have happened? Anger rages within the depths of every cell in my body. Pain fills my heart, my head, my gut. He just needed his mama to hold him, it feels like. It hurts so incredibly bad. This wave is way over my head. I'd been keeping my head above the water up until this point.

I struggle with many things. As time keeps on, there's a part of him that feels like is slipping away. Because I know he is no longer a newborn; now he is 8 months old. And I don't know what that looks like on Chase. In these pictures I know he was going to have his own look. I can't imagine what he would look like at 8 months. I can only see him as he looked days old. And I feel like this is jading me. I don't know what I am supposed to think of him like? I read many different ways people imagine a lost child. And I feel that everyone has their own opinion and own belief. But the problem is, I don't know what I believe. And I feel like it is getting in the way. I can't think of my baby the way I want to because I don't have an image. Or the only image I have is frozen in time the day after he was born and is that what he is looks like in heaven? I had read in a book that he will look age appropriate and I will recognize him when I see him in heaven so that was what I was trying to do....imagine him growing up. But I can't. I don't have a picture in my head of that because I never saw it with my eyes to transfer it to my brain. I need something tangible. Or I need to freeze him in time.

Moreso, I need to think of him for what he is. Not what he is not. He is my baby boy, perfect in every way, with a head full of hair, perfect nose, chubby legs and 10 perfect fingers and toes. And he lived with us for three days. He loved us and we loved him, more than anything in this world. He knows that and so do we. He taught us things that we never knew. And we taught him what a family can be and is. That is what Chase is to me. And always will be. No more struggling to conjure up an image of what he must look like to all those who are up there in heaven with him. No more struggling to grasp how he would look as an 8-month-old baby if he were here with me. I have my photos to remember him by and that is how it will remain for me. Frozen in time.

The Mountains & the valleys

My blogger friend, Laura, told us about a website where you can have your blog printed and bound into a book and I have been ready to do that. I need to do it a) before the book gets too big that I won't be able to afford to bind it ;) and b) to put it with my pregnancy journals and stow them away....somewhere...for my girls, should they ever have any interest in this stuff called life that I am experiencing. Anyway, I have been waiting for the perfect post to end this part, called Book I, or something like that.

I guess what comes to mind is how I have changed since Chase died and who it is, exactly, that I am now. The thing is, I'm still not sure. And don't know that I ever will. For when Chase died, he took part of me with him. And just as I feel like I didn't get to know him, there's a part of me that I won't ever get to know.

Of course there is telling in what is not here. I do know some things just merely by what is not in my presense. The first thing is this.....Before Chase died, I had a feeling, or a curiosity, or a premonition, if you will. It had started a long time before April of 2009 and I don't know exactly when, but I had some sort of "feeling", and I don't know a better way to describe it, that something bad was due for our family. I had often thought about the devestations that happen in our world and how lucky, incredibly lucky, we were to not have experienced any such tragedy, to not have cancer or diseases or have someone close and dear to us have to experience that, no natural disasters to take our possessions or damage our outlook on life. Our kids have all of their grandparents and were lucky enough to know several of their great grandparents. And most of all, Patric and I were healthy and fully capable of providing ourselves and our children with enriched lives. I am not an overly obsessed worrier, but I found myself increasingly worrying about something happening to someone close to me. It just seemed like were were playing a game and had escaping all of the bad things that happen to people. We were lucky. And I say that all the while admitting that we had our share of professional and financial troubles. I just felt that as bad as things got in our pocketbooks, we were so lucky to have our health and our family.

Then Chase died. And though a lot of events happened that day and up to that day that gave me the premonition that something bad was forthcoming, I never expected to lose my child. But it happened. It happened to me. It happened to my kids, Patric, our family. We lost a life; forever ripped from our hearts. I would like to say that for this price, I no longer worry that something bad will happen to us again, but I can't. Because I know that life offers no guarantees. Nothing is given to us. We are dealt a hand and we must decide what to do with it. And the only thing I can say is that I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. I might do a few things differently, mainly because I feel love in a different way that I used to. I feel things differently than I used to. I feel differently than I used to. And I guess that is a little bit of who I am now. I know that the mountain that we have come upon in living without Chase has not defined us, rather it has shown us a deeper perspective of who we are. We never thought we could live on, but we are. We. Are. Because such is life and we have to decide how we are going to Live. On. Our kids think and feel differently, too. I can see it in their eyes. I can feel it in their touch. I can hear it in their words. Losing Chase and trusting that they will get to see him again has given them a faith that not very many know. A perspective like this is something that their lives would have been fulfilled not to have known. But as life would have it, they now feel, love, and see things deeper than they did before April 17th. They know how to survive in a way that we never could have taught them. They watched Chase fight and they know that they have it in themselves to fight, too. They know that family means we all stay together and though we might not be able to see Chase, we feel him and we know he is there. And Chase feels us. He feels our love. He has to. How can he not?

So it is with this post that I close this journal and move on to the next one. I can't really call it a Chapter or a Book because I don't feel like have have achieved anything or reached a goal or started anything anew. All I know is this life will go on, our stories will continue and our love will always endure. I won't say that there is always tomorrow, but I do know that our family is definitely more than forever.

The Struggle, Part I of ???

I am struggling these days, with my faith, and often I am comforted from reading my fellow baby loss moms' blogs. I have been relieved many times to run across a blog of a mother who struggles with finding answers on this journey we are on. Not because I want her to struggle or I want her to even be on this journey, but because I know I am not the only one feeling and thinking the way that I do. There are some who are very strong in their faith and are using it to survive their grief. There are some who have modified their beliefs to fit how they view their loved one(s) in the afterlife. And there are some who simply have too many questions to understand or trust in something that would justify the tragedy of losing a child.

My comfort comes from knowing that there are others who feel the same as I do. Even though I feel guilty for my faltering faith, I feel as though I am not alone. I have been told that I will need Him to get through this and that those who have God in their lives survive this sort of thing while those who do not, sink into a hole they can never quite get out of. I do try to go to church. I respect my church community and am grateful for them and their support. But every Sunday when I walk in there and sit in those pews, with my empty arms and a hole in my heart, I struggle. I struggle to see past the tiny casket that was so beautifully displayed right there in front of me with our baby peacefully resting inside it. So many people walk on ice not knowing what to say to me, some not saying anything, some speaking, but in words I can not comprehend some times. I tear up at things that relate to me in ways no one else would or could possibly understand.

Sometimes a person's frankness on topics hurts. Such is the case with a lady I have been talking to about a headstone for Chase's grave. I had asked for something specific and she said she can do it but suggested something quite different instead that she not only thinks I will like and will look very pretty but it will also work better in the cemetery we have buried him in. She does not have a website so I cannot see a sample of what she is talking about. She tells me, though, that a black stone (which I prefer) will "show the dirt out there much the same way that a black car does when it gets dirty." Wow. I never thought of it that way. I never thought of a black head stone and a black car and compared the two. I guess because I have never really thought about a black head stone before. She was a really nice, well-intentioned lady but I cried and cried as soon as I got her off the stupid phone.

People do not mean to be hurtful. But you can only try so hard to be sensitive to someone's tragedy and when it comes right down to it, unless you've felt what they feel, or know what they know, you just will never understand. I was told in church this morning, "if there is ever anyone who needs prayers, it's a preacher who is starting a new church!!" Again, wow. That blows me away. And I'm pretty sure that clearly illustrates my lack of faith right now. But in my mind losing a child is the hardest thing that someone could go through. I suppose that is my opinion and there are others who would disagree.

In my prayers this morning, I tried to pray for God to hold Chase and give him a hug for me. But I couldn't finish my request. Because I want to be holding Chase. I don't want anyone else holding him. I have never left my kids, as babies, in the care of someone other than their grandmothers. So for the most part, I have always been the first one my child sees when waking up from their naps, the one to kiss their boo-boos, the one they run to when they are scared. They have never gone to a day care or babysitter where someone else does these things for them and this has always been something that I have been very, very thankful for. I would get jealous if I saw someone else comforting my child this way. And that is how I feel about God. I am jealous of him or Jesus, or the angels, or whomever is getting to hold my Chase in Heaven right now. I am finding it very hard to trust in them and want them to love him. Because to me, they are strangers. I know that is completely wrong to think that way and it will surely send me spiralling down into that deep hole, but that's how I feel. I don't "know" God, not the way that I should, not in a way that I can trust him to take care of my son for me. This might be the way that I will get to know him, who knows. But I have to think of Chase and what is best for him. And what is best for me. I know Chase doesn't want me to be so lost. And I know my little man wants me to know that he is okay. But to come to peace with what all of that means is what I am searching for on this journey. So reading the stories of those who have lost babies will continue to give me comfort. I will continue to look to them and their faith and maybe someone will see my struggle as one they are having as well and feel comforted, too.