Author: griefmom

I am a mom to 3 wonderful boys- 2 on earth and one in heaven. I am married to a wonderful man who happens to be the love of my life. I am privileged to work with young moms as they learn to parent. I'm Catholic and have faith that I will one day see my son in heaven. This blog is about my journey- as I figure out who I am in the face of an unimaginable loss. Life is difficult but beauty can be found after the struggles. The struggles, in fact, make life even more beautiful.

Reframing

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Reframing. Adjusting. Shifting. Sometimes it feels like there was a tornado. It kept some things intact and others…not so much. When something horrible happens you have to rebuild, and that rebuilding can be painful and scary.

My life is kind of in a reframing place right now. I can’t change what happened. Believe me, if I could I would. Whatever it would take I would change it back. But that is just not how life goes. So now I have to take the mess, the pain, and the sadness and start to rebuild. As for how that will happen or what it will look like, well I’m not really sure. What I do know is that this very sad thing, the death of my child, will not ruin me. My job now is to sort through the mess and figure out where to start this process. I know I’m stronger now then I was before but I need to figure out how to proceed. So thank you to all who are still here, sticking by me as I figure out the new me. And stay tuned for what that will mean. I can’t wait to find out.

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The Ugly Black Line

 

 

Oldest and youngest
He loved getting his picture taken
Oldest and middle playing a computer game in our Broadway house
At the park in Broadway
Gabe loved all animals

We were standing in the back to school aisle section, looking for dividers and fine tipped dry erase markers. My middle son and I were just about done with his school shopping and we had walked all over to find those things. We finally found the markers and as we were leaving I saw a familiar face. A face from our time in Broadway, back when I was a mom with three busy young boys. I met her at story time, and the funny thing is once we moved away I would still run into her periodically but it was almost always during back to school shopping. This time though- it just about knocked the wind out of me. Her very chipper “Hi!” told me she probably had no idea that one of my boys died. Immediately I felt JUST like how I did right in the beginning, in the early days when I would cry and hyperventilate in the shower. Because the reality of the death of a child setting in is so painful that it truly, literally takes your breath away. As I stood in Target even just breathing took work. I had to focus on it. And I had to keep going. Because this was my sons back to school shopping trip and I wasn’t going to let grief take over.

As we finished our shopping I was disturbed and unfocused. I wondered if I should have made conversation. I know I might have looked rude- in the past when we have crossed paths we would chat for a few minutes, catching up. But I knew that catching up would mean saying that reality out loud. And in that moment I couldn’t do it. I realized she may have known- it was all over the news when it happened- but just seeing someone from that life before was such a strong trigger.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the before and after and this was a clear example of that line. Of my life before and my life after. So many things in life are marked by a line like that and I’ve had many of those events. But nothing like this. Nothing marked by such a dark, clear, and sad line like this one. Gabe’s death was sudden. He looked perfect when he walked out the door that day, and in a matter of minutes life changed. For me that line isn’t the slightest bit fuzzy. It’s a line made of black sharpie. On one side my oldest child was here. On the other side he isn’t. Looking back through the many pictures on my Facebook page I can see that line. I have pictures of him from April 7- his last pictures. But anything from April 8 on is from the after. I can’t even begin to describe how it feels to see those pictures and know- life was one way in this picture, and it was completely shattered in the next.

 

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Gabe on April 7, 2016 waiting for his cardiology visit

My life before and my life after are two very different things. They have some of the same things but also some very different things. Some of the same friends and some different ones. That dark line is the reason for this blog, it IS the What I Can’t Control. It impacts every facet of my life from how I parent to how I remember (or really how I struggle to remember) things. And it impacts how I respond to seeing an old friend in Target. I’m sure that’s not the last time I’ll react that way. I’m sure I’ll never get used to it. So all I can do is keep going and try to enjoy life, but I have to accept those feelings in those out of the blue moments, wherever and whenever they happen. I have to let life and grief coexist.

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Never letting go

By now I’m sure just about everyone has seen this story :

https://people.com/pets/grieving-mother-orca-still-carrying-dead-calf-two-weeks/

On July 24 this mother orca gave birth to her calf, and it didn’t survive. For over 2 weeks now the mother has been carrying her baby, not letting him sink. As she swims, her pod sometimes takes turns bringing the calf to the surface and they are bringing her food. This mother carrying her baby around is a visible sign that she is grieving and people are saddened and fascinated by it.

As a human grieving mom, I’m noticing some things about how similar this is to my journey and the journey of so many. At first that horrible sadness is ok to others. It is widely accepted and even expected. Grieving parents will be sad. But what is happening now is the news articles about this orca are shifting. It has gone from acceptable to concern and talk about intervening. Clearly people are starting to think her mourning is just not OK. Clearly she needs to eat. There is an undercurrent that seems to be saying she is not well. She needs to move on. This sadness is not acceptable. We must FIX this! The irony of this is that people don’t seem to realize that intervening or removing the calf will not fix this. Sure on the surface we won’t see such an outward sign of her sadness. But inside? She will still feel the same. In her heart she will still be carrying the weight of her baby who is gone.

 

Missed Milestones

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Driving. It’s something Gabe never got to do. Well, not legally anyway. He drove on someones private property, and he pulled the car from the back to the front to park it once, but that is the extent of it. On his 15th birthday (which ended up being just 19 days before he died) he went to the DMV website and started taking practice tests. He often talked about what kind of car he would get, and how he would modify it. He was completely unrealistic in what he would have actually been able to get, but he liked to dream big. He was SO excited at the prospect of driving.

Gabe driving was not something that his dad and I were too excited about. He was reckless-always. Reckless on his bike, on his skateboard, in his actions.

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I imagine he would not have been the most careful driver. Gabe had a hard time thinking things through. He had ADHD, sensory processing dysfunction, and difficulties with planning. Driving would have been an extremely challenging task. But he was very thrilled about it.

Driving has been on my mind lately because Gabe’s middle brother will soon be learning to drive. Milestones like that are hard to navigate. It is wonderful to see him grow up, to see who he’s becoming, and help him figure out life. It is also so difficult though because my oldest didn’t make it this far. Since 19 days after he turned 15, my middle son has lived longer than his older brother. That is a very difficult reality. And I’ll feel it again when the youngest surpasses that age.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. This year should look very different. The rest of our lives should look very different. Sometimes I think people feel like parents grieve too long, but I know I will never stop grieving. I can’t. Because when a child dies you lose the FUTURE. You still have A future, but not the one that should have played out. I know, many things alter the future and we have to shift and reassess, change and rewrite things. But the death of a child is a completely different thing. I can’t just rewrite things, because my brain always sees the picture of life as it should be- with my oldest son who is now 17 pulling up to the front of our house in a beat up old car, and telling us that he got another ticket. Because that is exactly how it would be.

 

 

The Empty Room

It’s right there. At the top of the stairs. Gabe’s room. It’s filled with stuffed animals, tons of clothes, and little things he collected over the years. The sheets are still on his bed, unwashed. The clothes he wore on April 7 are still in his hamper (though I have to be honest- I put them there. They were on the floor before).

Gabe’s room is not in great shape. There is plaster chipped on the walls, and cracks, and some paint peeling from the window frame. He didn’t seem to mind those things. He just loved that it was HIS room. He had this great loft bed and he loved being high up. We offered to get him a normal bed but he never wanted that.

Above Gabe’s door is a window, as old houses often have. Sometimes he would try to sneak and text friends late at night, but I could see the glow of the screen through the window. Handy for his parents, not so handy for him. Gabe also had a temper and would often slam that door. Amazingly the glass never broke.

I think the most interesting thing about Gabe’s room is how I haven’t been able to change anything. I never understood, before, why people kept things the same after someone died. I never understood how people could hold on to everything. I understand now. I don’t want to get rid of anything he touched. It is all there. It is some tiny connection to him, and I want to keep it all- his shirts, pants, socks, wallet, backpack, skateboard and helmet. Everything he wrote, everything he touched. The items that we carefully selected to display at his funeral are in there too, in blue plastic boxes lovingly packed up with the help of a wonderful friend.

Maybe one day I’ll feel the courage to change his room. Or maybe not. And that’s ok.

Off to the Races

What a busy day! Yesterday was the second annual Silver Lake Boat Races. This event was held to benefit Camp Holiday Trails in Charlottesville, and was held in memory of Gabe. It was a wonderful event that brought out many in our community.

This year the event raised $744 to send to CHT! We are so thankful to the Town of Dayton for making it happen. We are also thankful for the Dayton Police Department for helping with traffic, the Sheriffs that were there, and of course Rockingham County Fire Rescue- they were ready for any emergency. The Dayton PD and RCFR were two of the groups that helped try to save Gabe’s life, so their presence really meant a lot to us. Thank you to all family and friends who showed up watch, to those who entered boats, and to those who cheered on friends and family. It was a wonderful event and we think it was a great way to remember Gabe!

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Here are a few pictures from the day:

Healing of the Heart

Where to begin? Sometimes the words just don’t come, and this is one of those times. I’ve been thinking about how to start this in a special way, but I guess there is really no special way. This weekend I had the incredible privilege of going on a retreat. This retreat, however, was different from most retreats. This retreat was exclusively for a very special group of moms. Every mom there had lost a child to Congenital Heart Disease. This retreat was started in memory of a sweet baby named Hayden Jeter Dorsett. His mom started Hayden’s Heart (http://www.haydensheart.org/) as a way to honor his memory and reach out to cardiac and angel families.

I know as the days come I will process more but for now the most important thing that stands out is the beauty that was there. Beauty in these moms who continue to go on without their babies. Beauty in the stories of the babies, fighting for life from before they were even born. Each mom there loves her baby (or child, or teen) no matter how long they have been gone. Some of us were so lucky to have years. Some didn’t even have hours. There were so many differences in our stories- in our backgrounds, ages, families, experiences, and the conditions our children have. But the one thing that tied us together- the death of our children-  is far more important than all of those differences. That one thing is so horribly sad and creates a very strong bond. There is unbelievable power in being in one room with so many other women who know. They know what it’s like to hear that their child is sick and needs surgery. They know what it’s like to have to worry if their child will make it. They know what it’s like to see things that no one would ever want to see. And they know what it’s like to have to continue to carry on without their child.

This retreat was a gift to each one of us. The picture above is from our art therapy session. We were each given the same materials and the same instructions, yet each painting tuned out so differently. I think this is much like our journeys. We were each given the worst thing that can happen. The deaths of our children. And each of us will continue to carry on and live in different ways. We will make something beautiful out of this sad thing we have been given, but for each of us the results will be different. I’m thankful to know these women and look forward to staying in touch and seeing where each of our journeys takes us.

 

***Ady, Hayden’s mom, has a dream to create a house specifically for families who have lost a child. Information can be found here if you would like to make a donation to this mission of Hayden’s Heart:
https://www.classy.org/campaign/building-haydens-house-one-family-at-a-time/c129159

If you would like to donate to Hayden’s Heart to support the organization please click here:
http://www.haydensheart.org/donate.html

 

 

 

Lean on Me

 

Sometimes in our lives
we all have pain
we all have sorrow.
But if we are wise
we know that there’s
always tomorrow

 

Friendship. The world of a grieving parent is defined by the before and the after. The line between the before and after is THAT DAY. That awful day when everything changes and the world as you know it gets shaken to the core. So many things are different from that point on. And when the people involved become different, as we do, relationships change. I am not the same person I was. I know that. Truthfully it is not possible for me to be that person. That person was extremely optimistic, kind of Pollyanna like (some of you probably don’t know what that means). I did worry a lot about things like Gabe’s health, but it in general I almost always had a smile on my face and was just really positive.

When the worst thing that can happen DOES happen though it makes that kind of happy attitude change a bit. Some days I really can’t force myself to smile. There’s a man in Bridgewater who sits in the Dairy Queen parking lot EVERY school morning, rain or shine, and waves at cars and buses that pass. Before Gabe died I always smiled and waved back. Now when I pass him some days I smile. Other days I just can’t.

So I think it’s understandable if people back off. Not everyone is going to like this new me. I’m OK with that. When this tragedy happened though something else happened. There were people, some I knew mostly as acquaintances that turned into more. They stepped up and spent countless hours with me and with my family. There are a couple of friends who were there before and reached out and were there as much as we needed them. These people have all made this tragedy survivable. My friends have been there with hugs, coffee, meals out together, too many miles of walks to begin to guess, lazy time at the pool, pedicures, and even a wonderful day at the spa. They have continued to invite us to get togethers, girls nights (ok just me for that one), parties, and weddings, and they understand if we need to leave because we are sad. They have become a beautiful family to me and the boys. They love us in our happiness, but also in our sadness. That is not always an easy thing to do.

Through Gabe’s death there is also another category of friends that I have met. These people know the same pain as me. They have had to say goodbye to a child. There is a connection between us because we share a pain that is so deep it can’t be understood. We can talk about the horrible circumstances around our worst days and not have to be afraid of sharing too much. We don’t necessarily make the best friends because we are all dealing with grief, and forgetfulness, and lack of energy- but we all GET it! So expectation is low and we are very forgiving of each other. We form this club that no one wants to join- but we are all glad to have each other. There is power in looking at another Mom who lost a child so many years ago and seeing that life can still be OK, that it’s not how you wanted it to turn out but it can still be ok.

On Thursday of this week I will get the wonderful experience of meeting a new group of bereaved moms. These moms have all had children die due to heart defects. Some as babies, some older. We all come from very different backgrounds but we all share that one really big thing.  We will be free to talk about our children, living and dead, and not have to worry about saying the wrong thing. This will be a different kind of retreat and I think I will like it.

I forgot

**I’ve seen the above image in several places, so I’m not sure who to give credit to. I know I have seen it on a great grief blog called The Life I didn’t Choose. The image is pretty perfect**

Memory loss. I think as we get older we all start to forget things. Maybe our brains just start to hold onto some things more than others. We misplace keys, forget where we put something, and forget an important date here or there. It’s pretty normal.

When a child dies, though, it is a huge shock. So many things changed when Gabe died and one of the first things I noticed was how my memory just seemed to disappear. I know, people suffer memory loss and think this is similar, but it’s not. It’s not even close. I know because I’m going through it and it started happening immediately. The first thing was a few days after Gabe died. Someone told me they would stop by our house in 5-10 minutes. When the doorbell rang and I opened the door I realized that in those 5-10 minutes I had already forgotten that they said they would stop by.  This type of thing continued at home and at work. I’m thankful for such an understanding boss, because I know that it must have been almost impossible to put up with in those first months (and really the first 18 or so months). I know there were so many times I said I would do something and would get sidetracked and completely forget. And not just a forget and remember 5 minutes later type thing. Oh no, the things I forgot would be gone forever so if I didn’t complete that task immediately it would not have any chance of getting done.

I think around Christmas this past year the fog finally started lifting a tiny bit. Not as much as I’d like, and definitely not as fast as I’d like, but my memory doesn’t seem quite as stunted now.

Going through memory loss like that has been extremely disturbing to put it mildly. Not only do have my own things to remember- to keep the house going and things with work, but I also have to keep track of the boys schedules and appointments. So things get dropped. Rehearsals get missed. Appointments go unscheduled. Every time I walk in the front door I see that there are cobwebs that need to be wiped from the porch. But it’s forgotten as soon as I walk through that door. I remember the next time I unlock the door from the outside. I notice the horrible weeds growing around our house, but that too is forgotten once I get inside. The inside is the same way. I forget to vacuum, or dust. I forget that I need to do a load of laundry or forget that I started it. I think about defrosting chicken but then get sidetracked and forget to actually do it, only to remember later that I didn’t actually take the chicken out to defrost. I forget birthdays. I forget so many things. I think about checking on a friend and then forget to follow through.

I’ve realized that living with the grief of child loss is exhausting. I remember when Gabe was a tiny baby at Duke the doctors told us that his hair, skin, nails, and even teeth might suffer- his body was putting all of it’s energy to healing the most important part- his heart. I think that’s kind of what happens to the parents when a child dies. The parent needs to put all effort into basic functioning and there just isn’t room to think of other things. The priority is survival and everything else is extra. It takes so much effort to survive that there is just nothing left to remember small details like birthdays and appointments. Details like cleaning and cobwebs and dinner and laundry.

So I try. I try my hardest to remember those things. Some of the ability to remember those details is coming back. Some of it is not. So I work with what I have. I know I can’t rush it. This will just have to be good enough.

As I wrote this I realized it’s entirely possible that I’ve already written about some or all of this. So if I did, I’m sorry. I forgot.

Time

When a child dies there is an initial shock. It is a huge shock and time seems to stand still. The beginning is purely about survival. I think that shock is the only way parents can survive the death of their child. If we felt all the sadness at once we would never make it.

As time goes by the shock slowly eases up, in layers, and the sadness really hits.  And it is like that horrible sadness hits over and over. The sadness comes from those little reminders around the house like their things, their seat at the table, their bedroom, and their pictures. Then as more layers of shock wear off you start to realize:

Life goes on as usual for everyone else

My world and my surviving sons world has been broken. But everyone else’s world keeps going. It feels so wrong! It feels like the entire world should stop when such a huge part of mine died. Yes others are sad too, yes they miss him, but it’s not in the same way. It’s not the same when it was your child, living in your home. It’s not the same for anyone else. That makes this journey the hardest.

As time goes by and more shock wears off a bit you start to realize things- his friends are driving and he should be too. His friends are getting jobs and he should be too. His friends are heading into their senior year, thinking about college. They are planning their lives but he is not. We, as his parents see every bit of that. Each milestone his friends reach is one he will never reach. And that is extremely painful to see. I’m so happy for those friends and their families as they do these things, but there is also a brutal unfairness that is excruciating.

I think this is why the death of a child alters the parents and siblings so much. Because it changes the future. It changes the way the future should be, the way we thought it would go. I don’t think our brains and hearts will ever fully understand that. This child should be here and he is not. That just doesn’t make sense.