Day 9: Family

My family has been through hell.

It seems like it started with Henry. My son, my only boy. Carrying him was both the best and worst time of my life. We were so excited for our boy to join our family - and then ripped apart when we found out that he just wouldn't. I still can't think about those months. I remember screaming, sobbing. I have to block it out to function.

I remember his little breaths, his warmth in my arms. I remember the fear as his feet and hands started to lose color. I remember the terror as he passed. That's when I disconnected fully with life. I've been disconnected since, once finding sparks of connection with my girls, and sometimes my husband.

I can't connect with my family. Even after we've lost another child in our family - my sweet, amazing niece. P was the smartest kid her age - I was always so blown away by her intelligence. And her heart - she loved so fully.

God, I miss that kid.

But I digress. Even though I've had a taste of what my brother and sister in law are going through.. I can't connect with them. Really, with anyone. I feel like my eyes glaze over most days, and I just flutter along the top of issues. I used to be an extrovert - now I retreat to small places, small groups. I don't do well in large groups, or in deep discussions. I can exchange pleasant conversation, but that's it. Let's talk about the weather some more, because it's a mindless topic and my mind is too damaged to focus properly.

My attention is absorbed on my children, so that I don't have to function. If Eleanor cries from across the room, I'm able to escape anything to get to her.

I'm beginning to worry that I won't ever be able to connect to people again. I have so many friends; but I've lost that pull with most of them. I've lost the ability to concentrate. I've lost my sense of time.

I want to feel again -- all the time. Is it normal to only feel with my surviving children? I look into their eyes, and it's my salvation.

It's been 871 days since Henry breathed. Two years and nearly five months.

Capture Your Grief: Day One

Day One – Sunrise

I watched the darkness this morning, and as the trees were gently revealed by the first hints of light, my mind moved to my son. Henry. I was nursing my rainbow, Eleanor, and thinking of her big brother that caused her to become. We were so thrilled when we found out about Henry. We were completing our family. Amelia would have her sibling, and we’d have two wonderful children to raise and laugh with through our days.

But then, Henry’s brain didn’t form as perfectly as the rest of him. In fact, it stopped right around the five week mark. He had a condition called Holoprosencephaly, and it would cause his death. His brain never developed the mechanisms necessary to support his life. But, he had me.

I was his life support. My body kept him growing, kept him alive.

As the edges of each leaf became visible, I cried. Big, slow tears. Bittersweet tears. When he left us, after only fourteen hours, I didn’t know how to survive it. I didn’t think it was possible. I disconnected. 

My only connection to the world was Amelia, and strangely, my anxiety. I kept worrying about others. How was Jason doing? My family? How did they see me? 

I still feel the disconnect. Like I go through the motions, and glaze over everything. I'm just.. floating through life. I only feel the connection when with Amelia, and now, with Eleanor. I feel the connection with Jason, when we have time to actually talk. I've lost the moment. It doesn't feel like real life. 

It really doesn't feel like real life. I feel like I'll still wake up. I'll wake up, and Henry will be fine. Persephonee will be laughing with a gap in her mouth where her baby tooth fell out. Chris would be publishing his third book. I'd be chasing a toddler while wearing my newborn and joking about giving one of them away. 

Sometimes, it feels like if I try hard enough, I can get back to that alternate reality. One where we haven't lost so much. Henry in 2013. Persephonee this year. I don't want to lose any more, and I'd do anything to have these two back. 

Amelia started doing a preschool night at Bobbi's church, on Wednesday nights. She likes it. But last night, she asked about the concept of death. It's so hard, because there's so much I want to explain to her.. but I can't. I try to explain it in simple concepts, and I try to keep from saying that Heaven's a great place. I don't want her to ever want to go there. It's a restful ending, not a carnival filled with games and cotton candy. 

The sun rose, and the day seemed dull. Eleanor fell asleep, and was snuggled in her bassinet. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the still morning. Without my kids, I don't know what I would do. I would feel this numb all the time, and I don't want to live like that.