April Showers

I have always disliked the month of April. It seems every year it's a complete mess, the world is flipped off it's axis, and I cannot wait for it to be OVER.

This year, obviously, has been the same.

May, though, isn't so much easier.

Mothers Day is just a few weeks away.  There are certain holidays, dates, periods of times, that are more bittersweet than others after you've lost a child.

Mothers Day is definitely one of them.

I will do something special with the kids.  What, I am not sure yet.  I do know, though, it will include a trip out to see Colton.

I feel so fortunate to have my other children. I think with great sadness of all the childless mothers.  The mothers who have no children here on earth with them, yet are mothers just the same. I pray their families acknowledge them, acknowledge the child or children they've lost.  I know how hard the day is for me, I cannot imagine the pain they must feel.

I feel blessed to be planning my daughter's first birthday party.  I feel blessed to be celebrating my own birthday, just the day before Mothers Day.  I feel blessed to every day wake up with the knowledge I am surrounded by love, both here on Earth and all around me.

April showers be gone please ... May flowers and a blooming abundance of hope lie ahead.

Simplicity

 

I know my heart. I know my journey. I know my pain.

 I also know my hope. I know my healing. I know my love.

 

 And I pray they never do. 

If given three wishes I'd wish 

To hold my son

To have a healed heart

And for NO ONE to ever have to bury their child.

How lucky I am to have Colton.

While this pain is great, my love for him is greater. 

How lucky I am.

Appreciation

If you've never suffered an immeasurable loss you cannot imagine how it feels to trudge through the trenches.  You cannot imagine the swirling, overwhelming emotions that slam and drag you like a roaring tide of an ocean.

I received a nasty comment on one of my posts.  Since I moderate comments, it won't be posted.  And since it was anonymous, I cannot address it directly with the commenter. (I hate that ... if you have something to say, don't hide. Don't be a coward).

But I'll address their hate here.

The comment basically said my posts are a "gut punch" and ungrateful for all those that were there for me when I lost Colton.

I utilize my blog to work through the grief. To work through the loss and the pain that I felt - and feel - about losing my son.  I utilize it to reflect on the mistakes I made after his loss and I hope that by being raw and naked in my pain, possibly someone else will benefit and not feel so alone.

Immediately after I lost Colton many friends did come to my side.  My best friends Nikki and Bridgett were on the phone constantly with me, checking on me all day, daily.  My friend Amanda was on the next flight from across the country and spent many days with us and helped take care of me and my family.  My huge surrogate "family" poured in literally thousands of dollars to cover the burial fees, the headstone, and anything else we needed.  Food poured in from local surrogates and from my wonderful work family.  My dear friend Mary spearheaded organizing information for the funeral, paying what needed to be paid and she and Leah printed cards honoring Colton for the service.  Cards and gifts poured in from across the country.  Dear friends, work friends, Internet friends, almost strangers, showered us with care.

I have not forgotten that. I will forever be grateful for the overwhelming care that was shown when I lost Colton. I still thank those people often for their love and support.

However, most I have never talked to again.  Some are no longer friends.  Some have betrayed me and exploited their contact with my family.  Some are still great friends.  Few ever speak of Colton, though.  Most stopped talking about him immediately.  Do I appreciate anything less? No.  I know that child loss is hard to talk about.  I know they cared and some still care. But life goes on for others.

My blog is about my personal journey of grief.  It's about feeling abandoned by those in my own home.  It's about abandoning my home and my family.  It's about my journey through the pain.

My take on this comment? If you are hurt by my pain because I'm not continuously thanking you then please reevaluate your motives in life.  If you were looking for praise, you were selfish.  If you are too cowardly to come to me directly and discuss this with me ... then are you really a friend anyways?

I do, beyond words, appreciate the support that flooded in after I lost Colton.  It came in like a thundering tide.... and receded and disappeared just as quick.  Does that make me upset? Absolutely not. 

To those reading this that supported me, please know I DO appreciate EVERY gesture and every ounce of love my family was shown.  My lack of acknowledgement is not a lack of appreciation. My blog is for healing, and will continue to be.

I'm on a journey, come along for the ride if you will.  But never, please never, make my pain about you.  I pray you never have to understand or relate to the pain of losing a child. I pray no one does.  But my pain IS my own. I'm sorry you lack the compassion to understand ... my blog isn't about you.

Mercy

People make mistakes.

I have made a lot of mistakes.

When I lost Colton a downward spiral spun like a hurricane, fueled by the ocean of tears.  I made bad decisions. Lots of bad decisions.

I wept in silence.
I pacified instead of demanding more.
I asked for the wrong things, and didn't vocalize what I really needed.
I retreated into myself instead of begging others to come in.

That lead to infidelity, disassociation, and ultimately the loss of all my family, not just my son.

I was angry, for a long time, that I was abandoned in my grief.  It really hasn't been until recently that I have found forgiveness through one simple, little thought.

We're all doing the best we know how.

For some, that comes with pity. How sad they don't know and can't do better.
Some with pride. How amazing they are under such duress.
And some just surviving ... look at them trudging through.

Brian and I had no idea how to handle our loss.  He dove right back into work, right back into normal life. He said over and over "we have other kids to worry about, it happened, move on".  For a long LONG time I was angry at him for that. How could I move on? My son was dead! My breast still hurt, my stomach was still swollen, and my heart still shattered. 

By the time I could function again I lived in anger and frustration. I resented that it felt like I was the only one that Colton mattered to. The only one that knew and acknowledged Colton lived. 

The anger and frustration fueled me. Why should I talk when no one listened? Why should I say I'm sad when I needed to "suck it up".  Why should I care if no one else did??

I wish I had had the clarity then to think "he's doing the best he knows how".  I wish I had extended the empathy and compassion I so desperately wanted.  Had I done those things life may be very different now...

Brian and I are forced into a new relationship now. We will never not be in each others lives. We have Delaney. 

I think that we both could have lived the rest of our lives without talking, without forgiving, without ever acknowledging the downfall of our lives and where we ended up.

I don't pretend to know the reason for Delaney coming into our lives right as we split up.  I don't know the purpose of our forced relationship.  But I do know that I have explored MY heart so much more and I have made evaluations I may have never made.

I am not the person I was three years ago when I lost Colton, two years ago when I started my affair, or (almost) one year ago when Delaney was born.  I have changed in so many ways.  And, for once in a long time, I feel whole. I am at peace. I am secure in knowing my weaknesses and overcoming them.  In many ways I am rebuilding the woman that was before Colton died.  Will I ever be the same? No.  But I am certain I will be better.

I forgive because I have mercy. We are all only doing the best we know how.  What a beautiful life we could lead if we all extended the same mercy to one another.

A Story Never Told

One of our greatest joys in life (at least for me, probably most) is sharing our lives with others. We have pride in the life we live, the people we chose as our partners, and the children we create.  Part of the joy of bearing children is watching them grow and seeing how they integrate into this crazy world and how the world takes them in.

I find sadness that no one will ever know Colton.  I was blessed to know him. I know that he had hiccups often.  He preferred laying on my left side (would he be a lefty like dad??).  He liked spicy food and loved pizza (momma's boy!!).  He mellowed in a warm shower and celebrated when he got ice cream.  He danced to mine and Logan's voice, and mellowed to his dads.  He would poke back and forth with me, and curl up in his dads palm.  He was calm, overall.  Would he have been the same on the outside?

I grieve that I won't know that answer. I also grieve that neither will anyone else.  I got to know him through all those months I was blessed to carry him, know him, and love him.  No one else will ever know him like I did.  And that brings it's own agony.  The agony of the untold story the grew inside me. The story  no one else will ever know.

How I wish Colton could have stayed and told his story to the world.

Flying Free

I haven't taken Delaney out to see Colton before. To keep it real... I have had an irrational fear of the cemetery.  I had this crazy fear if I took her out there, death would steal her from me too. (Have I mentioned  how irrational grief can be??). 

So I'm working on overcoming fears. So yesterday we went to visit Colton. I realized two things.

One, this is a place of love and joy and peace, not fear.

Two, Colton needs new flowers. 

Delaney was so full of joy out there. Laughing and giggling.  I snapped this as she started to squeal as a butterfly had landed on her hand and took off again. 

The butterfly was a bright, pure white. Beautiful, innocent, and comforting. And on the wings of that butterfly flew off my fear...

Happy Easter, Colton. We love and miss you. And promise to visit again soon .. .. ..

"Playing the Victim"

I wonder how many others have been told, after losing their child, to stop playing the victim?

From Merriam-Webster:

vic·tim

noun \ˈvik-təm\

: a person who has been attacked, injured, robbed, or killed by someone else
: a person who is cheated or fooled by someone else

: someone or something that is harmed by an unpleasant event (such as an illness or accident)

Robbed? Yep, robbed of my son and a life with him.

Cheated? Yep, definitely feel cheated.

Harmed by an unpleasant event... CHECK!

Don't fucking tell me not to "play the victim". 

I had no choice in my situation. I didn't chose to live in a harmful situation. I didn't put myself in a situation to be attacked, injured, robbed, or killed. Though, the situation BEYOND MY CONTROL did kill part of me.  I didn't CHOSE to be a victim but sure as shit I was injured, cheated, and harmed by my son dying.

I can't just "suck it up and move on".  I can't blame anyone else. I can't just say "it happened" and move on. 

My son died.

I think I'm allowed a lifetime of grief.  Is it horrible every day? Does it control my life?

No.

But it still sucks. It still hurts. I still have triggers that throw me into the day he died and the week following of letting him go and burying him.  I still have moments of overwhelming grief.

And that's okay.  It's NORMAL. 

People grieve in all kinds of different ways.  Some bottle it up. Some bury themselves in work. Some try to pretend it never happened.

I'll never apologize for FEELING.  I will never apologize for expressing  my pain and working through it. I will never, ever apologize for loving my son so much that it brings me to my knees weeping and causes me to act irrationally and breaks my heart still.  And forever. I lost part of me. I lost my son. 

Grief makes no sense. Being overwhelmed by love and grief isn't playing a victim. It's surviving a loss beyond comprehension. A loss and a grief I wouldn't wish on anyone. 

Letting go...

It's been three years, five months, and one day since I delivered Colton.

In all this time I was able to let go of one thing. ONE. (A stroller...). A while back I made two boxes of sorted Colton things. There were things I would never get rid of and things I would. Maybe. Someday.

Today was that day.

I have struggled for the last three years to get to this point. The tub of "to let go of" clothes and blankets was huge. All wonderful things meant for my wonderful boy. They'd been washed and folded with care. And have sat for years now.

This year, though, one of my best friends had her own little boy. And it finally felt right.

Today I took over that huge bin. And I gave it to her and Baby J. And ... I felt peace. The fear and anxiety I had been carrying so long wasn't there.

And I let it go. It really is just clothes and blankets. It's just stuff. I didn't lose anything by giving them away. I gained joy that I could share those with my friend and her son.

Letting go. It's taken me a long time. But I'm okay. And that I will hold on to.

Destruction

You, my sweet, are entwined in my soul.

You are part of every breath I take,
Every laugh I make,
Every tear at stake.

The silence of your heart
Tore me apart

The silence in the night
Stole my light

The night you left my womb,
The agony did consume

The calm in the air
I could no longer care

Captive by the longing
Following paths into wronging

Others who I loved, who I also missed
I was so lost, so sad, so pissed

I lost you, lost me
Why couldn't anyone else see?

The pit was deep, destroying, and dark
The bite of anger much worse than the bark

All gone now, the past did crumble
Only a sorry, so meek, could I mumble

Rock bottom is softer than the hell
Of losing it all, the abyss in which I fell

I reach to you,
Will you grab my hand too?

You, my sweet, are entwined in my soul.
Pull me toward your light, out of this hole.

Peace

In this moment, right this second, I feel peace.

We went for a walk tonight, ate, played, talked to granny and poppa, then got ready for bed.  As we rocked, Delaney reached up and touched my face and my heart melted away.

I made acknowledgements and realizations today I have avoided. I let go of unrealistic attachments that held me in place. I accepted realities that will never change. And I felt peace.

I cannot change other peoples feelings regarding the loss of Colton. Everyone is doing the best they know how. Its different for each of us, how we handle this crazy emotion called grief. Its not right or wrong, its just our way. To pass judgement, to hold it against someone, to yearn for something more ... it won't help and can only hinder healing.

I have held on to things of this world ... Colton's bedroom, his chair, his clothes, grasping to all that remains in our world of him.

But the wise words of Logan have really been playing in my head. Colton is all around us all the time. He is the air we breath, the laugh we bellow, the tears that fall. He is enveloped in our hearts and our fabric of life. He is everywhere!

I was told today Logan and Delaney and no one else can heal me. That I'm dysfunctional because I relate them to my grief and healing. I disagree. I believe the the love we share with the people around us is what heals us. I think the absence of that paralyzes and destroys us. The innocence,  the purity, and the LOVE I share with my children ... there's power in that. There is healing. There is peace!

Love does heal. Love conquers all.

There's a saying "one step forward, two steps back". Well, its quite amazing when the two steps back are a running start for a huge jump forward.

Peace.

In finding my voice. In confidence in myself. In joy in my love ... and in my loss.

Collateral Damage

A few weeks ago Logan was upset, about what I don't even remember, and he proclaimed "I just want to be with my brother!".

I immediately thought he meant his older brother, who is living back South with his father. I said, "You know you can't just go see Jo". To which he replied...

"NOT JONAH. COLTON!"

My heart stopped, dropped to my gut, and tears boiled.

I didn't say anything. What could I say.

I finally mustered "Why would you say that?".

He burst into tears and said "I just miss him so much".

Sometimes as adults we get so lost in our own grief, in our own lives passing us by, that we forget about the collateral damage.  I know that Logan thinks about his brother often, yet we don't talk about him often. I forget that, just as I need others to ask me about Colton, maybe he needs to be asked about him too.

All I could say was I miss Colton too.  And I wish he were here, with us.  And that it would crush me if Logan was with him, as that would mean I lost Logan too.

Logan replied that Colton is with us. He's always with us.  That he protects Delaney and that he feels him all the time.  What comfort I gained from that! What power in his little words.

He went on to express he just wishes he could hold him and play with him, like he does with Delaney.  He wishes that he knew what he looked like and they could play catch.

Logan would have been an AWESOME big brother to Colton....

I feel so alone in my grief sometimes. And I wonder if Logan does, too.  I am learning that I can't expect others - Logan especially - to talk to me about Colton. Maybe I need to make that effort.

I have to be careful who I share with. I learned that the hard way.  Even his father I cannot trust with my feelings of loss and longing.  But I'm not alone in my grief.  And that is something I need to remember, and respect, and honor.

And talk about ...

Guilt

I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling like I failed Colton.

I know - logically - I did everything I could to protect him. However, he died. In my womb. Under my care.

He died.

I couldn't protect him from whatever took him. I couldn't stop it.  I didn't even know anything was happening. How could I not know?

And now, I'm in a situation where I know danger is slamming head on into my daughters life. And I'm helpless. I can do nothing.

But pray. And pray. And pray some more.

The feeling of despair and guilt and fear of what you cannot control is overwhelming. It drowns you, suffocates you, and leaves you struggling to survive.

I couldn't protect Colton from the darkness that took him. And I feel lost, like I can't protect Delaney from the danger facing her. And I am angry, because she doesn't have to be in harms way. She doesn't have to be exposed to dangerous people and unhealthy situations.

But I cannot control every aspect of her life. I cannot make others see what they chose to be blind to.

And so I pray.

And I pray that this time prayer is enough to protect my sweet baby.  I am obviously powerless to do so myself.

Maybe not a rainbow ... but definitely my sunshine.

Clouds stormed on my day.

And my sunshine shown down on me, brightening my day. I thank God for my miracle. I pray he continues to protect her. I pray for guidance and serenity for me. I pray for her father, for clarity and guidance.

And I thank Him. I get it. Maybe rainbow isn't the right term for me....

But sunshine is almost too mild for how much she lights up my life and heals my heart!

My Pain is My Own

I'm going to be okay.

I cannot control other people. I cannot fault them for doing the best they know how, however little that is.

I can control me. I learned a valuable lesson. Or reminder?

My pain is my own. Only I can heal it. Only I can move through it. I don't need anyone else. And I should be discerning with who to trust. Who are friends. Who are not.

I made horrible mistakes. I have forgiven myself.

I love Colton. I love Delaney. I will defend them, protect them, and love them before, beyond, and greater than anything else.

I will love ME. I will protect me.

Sometimes our moments of weakness make us stronger.

I am better than I was yesterday, I will be better tomorrow. And slowly I will continue to heal.

My pain is my own. And so is my healing.

Betrayal

Today I was punched in the gut. Knocked flat on my ass. All the progress I made dissolved in an instant.  I lost my shit and acted like I swore I never would again... When you are shattered again though how do you maintain control?

This past week I have obviously been having a hard time. I reached out and thanked people that helped me immediately after his loss. I reached out to his dad.  He was never a support but he's his dad. And the only connection to Colton. I made myself vulnerable WHICH I HATE. And will not do again.

I went to drop off my daughter this morning and Brian had someone there. Long story short its one of my old friends, Jenelle.  One of the people who came to the rescue when I lost Colton. Someone I trusted.

I had sent her a message the other day to thank her again for her support when I lost Colton. I never heard back, which hurt and I didn't understand. Now I do. She's supportting Brian. They're dating ... in love .... happily ever after...

I feel so betrayed. I can not even completely pinpoint why. I opened up to both of them and they've been sharing my feelings together. I feel like a fool. Like a mockery. I feel betrayed. I feel like Colton's loss destroyed our relationship and now has been exploited to develop theirs. She contacted him. After three years?? Why? Why him? They would never know each other had I not lost Colton...

I just feel sick. I feel like.... I don't even know.

Betrayed. Like Colton has been used, exploited. Like I've been lied to. And I am supposed to trust them with my daughter?

Sad. So sad today.

I will not lose control again. I will not trust him. I will not make myself vulnerable. I will not be betrayed again.

The Rainbow After the Storm

My little Delaney. My sweet little Delaney ... I have hesitated so much to vocalize these feelings because of fear of how it would be interpreted. I love my daughter more than words can even begin to explain. I treasure her and appreciate her presence in my life. I am grateful she was given to me.  She is my joy. She's also my sadness...

~~~~~~~~~

There is beauty in the storm, with the rainbow representing the end of the storm and brighter days.

So I have my rainbow baby. And, according to so many, her light shining on me should make my days all better. I read all about having the rainbow baby and heard from my friends how healing she would be.

But no one really talks about the flip side.

No one talks about looking at your rainbow and celebrating the shine but seeing reflected in it the shadow of what was lost. The darkness of the storm. The only reason the rainbow is referred to in such a way is because of the storm. They'd just be another child in the family. But they are the rainbow, the promise, blah blah blah.

My pregnancy was filled with dread. When would I stop feeling her? When would she die?

She failed her bio-physical profile ultrasound. I kept asking "but her heart is beating right?".  She wasn't moving, she wasn't responding to stimulation. Something was wrong. And I just knew she was on her way to meet Colton too.

We induced immediately. When I delivered her she was blue, no cries. The cord was double wrapped around her neck. Very quickly my OB unwrapped the cord and she cried. I think. Maybe? I don't even remember. I do remember feeling guarded. Feeling a wall. A protective barrier. She was perfect, and beautiful, and ... alive.

But Colton was still dead.

See, the rainbow was there but she was shining through the cloud in the room. The thundering, deafening, pouring rain cloud. And this little rainbow, this little shining beacon in that cloud. Everyone else was celebrating, happy, and I was .... detached. Feeling the ache of the storm, the darkness, the memory of what was lost before. Seeing her held up and pink and alive in the doctors hands. And seeing the dark room, the lifeless body, the silence of when he held Colton just the same. Two wrinkles in time, paralleling in that moment. Torturing me and blessing me all at once.

Every milestone is so bittersweet. Would Colton have crawled at the same age? Would he have had a tooth sooner than Delaney's perpetual teething-with-no-results? Would he be so close to walking?

More painfully ... would he have her beautiful golden brown locks? Her piercing blue eyes? Would his laugh sound the same? What about that smile? Would he have a dimple too? Would his eyes dance with excitement and joy? Would he be as curious and adventurous and outspoken? Would he love making music and dancing at the slightest sound of a tune? Would he ......................

I rock Delaney in Colton's rocking chair every night. It's still Colton's rocking chair in my mind and heart. She's borrowing the space. She sleeps in his crib.

And the guilt I feel for this? Immense. Overwhelming. Crushing.

She is worth her own identity. She's worth her own life. She's worth being celebrated and loved without the comparison. Without the longing for knowledge of who her brother would have been.

And yet she's Colton's rainbow. She's a promise. Right? A promise of what though?

The pain isn't gone. It's not lessened..  Sometimes it's even magnified.

And the guilt for feeling this way. A punch into the gut. A feeling of failing another child, just in a different way. Failing to be able to give her untainted love. To give her an individual assessment and appreciation.

I love her so much, so I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling like she's a reminder of all I lost. I want to just love her. Just enjoy her. I don't want to cry when I rock her in the middle of the night, longing to know who Colton would be, longing to have held him and rocked him in his chair.

I want to be her rainbow. I want to heal so that she never feels like a shadow. So she knows she's Delaney. And she's wanted and loved and treasured.

Not as the rainbow baby, but as my baby.

I Came in Like a Wrecking Ball

Grief is like a wrecking ball.  It swings through, destroying everything it touches.  The quake subsides and you think it's past when it rivets back on the pendulum and slams into you again.

Through time the span widens, the time between impact broader.

If you know anything about physics or the laws of gravity, though, you can guess what that extra time does to the momentum and point of impact.

*SLAM*
*CRASH*
*CRUMBLE*

Where the hell did that come from? How long has the grief been suspended in space, so that when it hit it debilitated me?

Two days ago I found myself gasping for air. The thought of Colton slammed into me, knocking me from my precarious perch of sanity and mobility through life. I spiraled down a dark, all too familiar path of despair.

Last night I lay there, at the bottom of that pit. I laid there, my arms wrapped tightly around a stuffed monkey that protects the sound of my sons heartbeat, and covered in the only blanket to ever touch and protect my sons skin.  Desperately begging it to protect and comfort me.

I sobbed myself to sleep. Engrossed and devoured by the horrific reality ... my son died.

Some days it doesn't seem real. It feels like a story someone told me.  Something make believe from someone else's book of life. A bad dream. A fallacy of my memories.

When the memories crash into me I sucomb and drown in the pain of the reality.  Acknowledging I didn't feel him, no heartbeat on the dopler, no movement on the ultrasound, no waves of boom-boom, boom-boom....

Silence.

Yet that wail...? That primal deep wail of excrutiating pain and overwhelming grief....

Holy shit, that's me...

Shhhhhhhh .... No one can hear! What if you scare someone else? Make them uncomfortable?

Silence came with a price. I silenced my screams in that moment to spare everyone around me. Not realizing that was the first time of many. Not realizing silence meant death for me, too.

I lie to everyone daily, including myself. I walk around like a whole person, with a whole life, with a whole heart. I am a shell. I am what was left after that primal scream ended and the silence began.  Just like the ultrasound, just like my sons heart. Silent and dead.