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.