I guess it’s nothing new to say that I am broken. I’ve been this way for a while now. Since December 30th 2014 at about 3:45 in the afternoon. When we were told his heart had stopped and mine broke into pieces.
It’s so hard to know how to go on after that moment. The first few moments and days are the hardest. I couldn’t think, or breathe, or move, or sleep, or really do anything without physical and emotional pain. The most soul crushing weight I have ever felt. Even still as I sit here almost a year later writing this I am overwhelmed with sadness, and heartbreak, but it’s not just emotional, I don’t feel the physical pains of having my son anymore, but I am effected physically in a lot of different ways. Mostly I am tired. I am unbelievably, emotionally, physically, and mentally drained beyond the point of exhaustion.
Everyday is hard. Some days are better than others as with most things, however I have this never ending heartbreaking sensation at all times that something is missing. Because he is. Literally a piece of me is missing. People say all the time he’s watching over you, he is in your heart, he’s here in spirit, etc. and while those things can sometimes be comforting to think, the fact of the matter is he’s gone. I will never again get to kiss or hug or see my son. I’ll never get to know who he would have been. I’ll never get to see what he would have looked like as a child or teenager, and I’ll never see him turn into a man. I’ll never get to experience any of the those special bonds between a mama and her son.
I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t fall asleep in tears every night or wake up in tears every morning. I can say his name, and usually a few sentences about him before the tears start flowing. But I don’t feel as if I am moving forward. My world has stopped and I don’t know how to start it again. That’s not to say that life hasn’t stopped moving, because it has definitely kept going. It’s shit all over me this year. Just when I think I’ve reached my breaking point something else happens and I have to just keep picking myself back up and keep going. It’s not an easy thing to do when all you feel like doing most of the time is crying. It seems to be my favorite activity whether I like it or not.
However I am learning, or trying to learn, that even though the bad stuff is always easier to see, to feel and to believe, good is out there too. Every time life has taken a shit on me in the last year someone amazing has stepped up to help me. My husband is always there picking me up off the floor after I have broken down in tears screaming and crying for some stupid reason that set off my volcano of emotions. My family is the best. I have parents, step parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends who have helped me out in a million ways. They’ve given me everything from alcohol, warm meals, a shoulder to cry on, a warm bed to sleep in, their time and knowledge fixing things, and even their cars to drive when I have been in need. I would not be here if it wasn’t for the kindness of the people who love me.
Which is another thing I am needing to learn. I am loved. I am cared for. I am strong. I am a fighter. I can do anything I set my mind to, which means I can be happy again. I am lucky to have the people in my life who are there.
When your child dies inside of you and I am sure even when they die outside of you, there is such an intense amount of guilt. I am his mom and I was supposed to protect him. I was supposed to provide for him and keep him safe and I failed. No matter how much everyone says it’s not my fault or there was nothing I could have done, the fact still remains that I failed to keep my baby safe, and that guilt eats at my heart every single day. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says because that’s what happened. I failed.
As I said the bad is easier to feel and believe.
However, I am slowly coming to the realization that I’m going to have to continue being strong, because the pain isn’t going to go away, and if I want to be happy again then I am going to have to start believing, and seeing and feeling some of the good stuff at least half as much as I am letting in the bad. And that no one is going to be able to make me be happy again but me and I have to decide whether I am ready to start fighting towards reaching that happiness.
I know that sounds silly. Of course I want to be happy again, but the journey to get there I know is not going to be easy. Nothing worth having is easy. And I have a hard time doing things that I know will cause me any kind of emotional pain because I have had enough. Even if it’s worth it I don’t want to do it because it’s to hard and it will make me cry and I am just so drained on all of it. But logically I know I am going to have to start doing some of those hard things and asking for help and figure out how to start my world again or else I will forever be broken.