Capture Your Grief 2015 - Dark + Light

As you can imagine, losing a child comes with a lot of darkness.  Interminable sadness.  Heavy constant guilt.  Persistent denial.  Relentless anger.  It can make sinking into a deep depression extremely simple.

It's a dangerous path that I have not allowed myself to travel too deeply.  Surely I have had terrible days.  There are gaps of time which are forever gone from my memory.  The days and months following Preston's death.  In that time span, I have some very vivid, too vivid memories.  The rest though is blank.  How I coped?  How I felt?  Numb is perhaps the best way to explain it?

Still, I do know that I tried everything to not allow myself to get to a place that was too dark.  I made an effort to smile or laugh daily, because that is what Preston would want.  I've promised myself to allow myself to feel the darkness when it creeps in.  It sometimes feels good to be sad.  To cry.  To be angry.  I'd go as far as to say that it is necessary to let the dark in.

Much like with an eclipse, after the darkness, the light returns.  With every day that ends with the sun setting, each new day begins with the sun rising, even when we can't see it due to cloud cover.   "Never fear shadows.  They simply mean there's a light shining somewhere nearby".  I wrote a post based on this quote back in February.  It's linked in the event you are interested.

The point is, grief can also bring about light.  It is not easy to come by and requires willpower.  I've been able to embrace the light by trying my best to honor Preston's memory.  The memory of this happy little being.  My promise to him has been to try and smile every day.  If I can accomplish that, then I feel like I'm fulfilling my oath.  Some days the smiles are few.  And that's okay.

What's worked for me is to basically let the darkness in when it needs to, but to remember that the light is always around the corner.  You just basically have to be open to let it in.

#CaptureYourGrief - Day 14: Dark/Light

On day 14, Carly Marie wants us "acknowledge the dark and the light sides of grief".  I think that's a great way to describe grief - dark and light.  I often refer to it as a roller coaster ride.  The high, light notes where you feel at peace.  Where you are able to smile, find happiness, find the gratitude in life.  The low, dark moments, where you feel constant anger, pain and guilt.

Have there been moments where everything falls apart?  They are happening less, but they happen.  Preston's room is a place where I always seem to fall apart.  Looking at his crib, where his imprint remains.  Looking at all his things jumbled into a small room, where you can no longer walk through easily.  A room that used to be filled with joy, feedings, laughter and story time.  A room where we bonded.  And now, the door remains closed, as if it hides dirty secrets.  Yet, it remaining open, is too difficult to bear.  One day, will a little brother or sister claim this room as their own?  Will we be able to transform it into a new room?  Will we keep part of the nursery the same or will we revamp it all together?  One day, we will have to answer that question.  Until then, the room will remain a difficult space.  A dark place even though I know deep inside, that it is still filled with happiness.  It's just damped by the sadness of the events of March 13th.

Moments of light?  On our recent vacation, we drove from Albany, NY to Cooperstown, NY through a beautiful scenic route.  Trees of orange, red, yellow, brown and green.  Farm after farm.  Small towns here and there.  And then there was this little road that took us into a forest.  The light was dampened by the leaves above us, but sparkled onto the lake to our left.  What feeling of peace.  It was breathtaking.  And then, we were in the village of Cooperstown.  It beamed of history.  Old brick buildings.  Quiet streets, with little shops.  We visited the Baseball Hall of Fame of course.  It would have been nice to have Preston with us, and I think for a little bit, our minds and heart may have gotten a rest... like we were in an alternate reality.  Reminiscing of our road trip last year when I was pregnant with Preston.  And while I feel some guilt for not thinking about Preston every minute of every day, I know he knows I have to live my life.  I have to be able to have "normal" moments, enjoy my life.  And I think that this vacation showed me that I can have a happy life with happy moments.  I enjoyed time with family.  I enjoyed the drive with my husband.  I enjoyed the visit with friends.  I enjoyed just walking around Manhattan with Brett.  I thought of Preston every day, but I didn't let the sadness of losing him plague every moment of our vacation.  I will forever think of Preston every day.  I will forever remember what his short life brought to me.  I will always be thankful that God blessed me with such a precious baby boy.  He's opened my eyes to all the beauty that is around us.  He's taught me that happiness lives all around me - we just have to open our eyes and heart to it.