Capture Your Grief 2015 - Sunrise

A cool fall morning.  As it should be, given that summer has officially come to an end.  But all is not always as it should be.  Many parents can attest to that this month, as they continue to mourn the loss of their child throughout October - Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month.

CarlyMarie, a bereaved mother and founder of Project Heal, has brought back the October "Capture Your Grief" project for a 4th year.  I participated in this project last year and found it very healing.  If you wish to read (or re-read) by blogs from last year, you may click here.

Like last year, the subject for October 1st: Sunrise.

I ride the train most mornings to go to work.  This time of year, the actual sunrise occurs while I'm about halfway to work and it's quite difficult to capture a good picture since the sun rises on the other side of the highway, behind several buildings that obstruct the view.  I was able to take a couple of pictures this morning, but none really capture the sun breaking the horizon.

As I prayed for all the parents who'd lost a child, whether it be during pregnancy or afterwards, what struck me most was the color of the sky.  It was remarkably cloudy this morning which would have made a picture of the actual sunrise very difficult.  About 15 minutes before the actual sunrise, the clouds were blue and in between all the clouds, the sky was pink.  It was beautiful, and oh so appropriate given that the awareness ribbon for Pregnancy and Infant Loss is just that - pink and blue.

As the sun was rising, the clouds stayed blue and the sky that was pink, turned white.  I found this fascinating.  The sky is usually blue with clouds of white.  It was as if the sky was using the metaphor that losing a child is the opposite of what should be.  The sky was right.  Losing a child is not something that should be.  Our children should always outlive us.

Watching the sunrise was not something I practiced often before Preston passed away.  Even when it was right there for me to savor as my day began.  Sunrises now signify so much to me.

Quietness.

Tranquility.

Peace.

It is a rare morning that I don't watch the sky change colors before my eyes and don't think of Preston.  Those moments make me feel close to him, especially when the sky is turning all different shades of colors.  Preston was so fond of bright colors.

It's a healing experience to just sit and watch a sunrise.  Even if you don't see all of it.  I find that it allows my day to start with some sense of serenity.  While the stillness of the morning can be extremely challenging without Preston, the atmosphere of calmness brings me a lot of peace, and helps me move forward with each new day.

Do you watch the sunrise here and then? How does it make you feel?

Positively February: Day 15

"I may not be there yet, but I am closer than I was yesterday."

Healing can be a slow process.  Healing is not linear as it is filled with waves.  Waves of emotions and events.  All the same, every day, you are closer to being healed than you were the previous day.

Every day where you get out of bed, you are one step closer.  Every little step you take, you are closer than you were yesterday.  A little step it all it takes.  Getting dressed.  Making dinner or just actually eating.  Going for a calm walk.

I know.  None of it is easy.  Especially not during the first days, first months, first special occasions.   Not to sound depressing or pessimist, it's never really easy.  It's just different and it becomes part of you.  Healing, slowly but surely becomes part of your reality.

With positive energy and thoughts, we can achieve a lot of really amazing things.  Most importantly, for me anyway as a bereaved parent, it helps me with the notion that I am doing better than I was yesterday.

Set-backs occur for sure.  Just yesterday I found myself crying as I looked at pictures of Preston.  This isn't something that usually happens.  For whatever reason, yesterday, it brought a half hour of tears.  It felt like daggers kept stabbing me in the heart.  Does that mean that yesterday, I wasn't closer than I was the day before? No.  Grief is not linear, just like healing.  I just keep reminding myself of what my friend Krystal's told me many times.  Every day, I am one day closer to being reunited with Preston.  And that's all the proof I need to know that this quote is for real.

Positively February: Day 6

"Healing through giref is not about learning to STOP missing you.  It's about learning to live my life WHILE missing you."

These are wise words.  Unfortunately, many grieving parents hear words that would be better left unsaid: "Aren't you over it yet?", "At least he/she was only a few months old, it would have been worse if he/she was older", "You can have other kids", "You will move on, it just takes a bit of time".  I'm sure the intention behind these atrocities are nothing but good, but such statements as these are  terribly hurtful.  Children aren't interchangeable.  A child cannot replace another.  Age doesn't matter, once you are pregnant and long and love your baby, it's traumatic to live through a loss.  You don't move on, or get over it.  Ever.

The wise words above though, they speak the truth.  There is not a day that goes by where I don't miss Preston, think of Preston, and wonder what could have been.  As the time goes tick tock though, I am learning to live my life without him, while missing him.  Missing Preston is part of me now.  It will not go away, and that's perfectly okay.  I can smile and laugh.  I can have fun and relax.  This doesn't mean I'm not grieving.  This doesn't equate to having "moved on" or "being over it".  There's no "at least" in grief.  There's no "being over it" and there is no "moving on".  There is moving forward.  There is healing.

You may be the victim of some harsh words.  I hope with all my heart that I'm right and that if it does happen, the intention wasn't to be hurtful.  People just don't know what to say.  They think they are being helpful, not hurtful.  Losing your child isn't something you ever imagine, or should imagine.  And even if I were in a situation where I would have to say something to someone who lost a baby, I don't think I'd know what to say, and I may mistakenly utter a "at least".

If you have such words said to you, remember this quote.  You don't have to move on because society says you have to.  You don't have to get over it and return to your "old" self.  You will heal, but you will miss your baby forever.  And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. <3

Positively February: Day 3

"Healing takes time and you are doing the best you can.  And that is perfect."

I'm unsure of the author of this quote, but this is something I need to be reminded of often.  Maybe less now, but for months and months I struggled with the fact that I'd have a really good day... and the following day I'd feel like I was hitting rock bottom.

Healing is a process that I will live with forever - with regards to my physical and mental health.  With my physical health, having Crohn's means that I will inevitably one day have another flare-up.  I will need extra medications to bring down the inflammation in my intestines and scar tissue will build up.  Hopefully, the flare-ups happen few and far between which would mean a lower chance of repeated bowel resection surgeries.

With my mental health, I don't foresee there being a day where I don't think about my son.  Thinking about my son doesn't always make me sad, but it happens.  I miss him every day, but I know that it's unhealthy physically and mentally for me to immerse myself into sadness all the time.  So I try the best I can not to.  It happens that I fail completely.  It happens that I let the anger get the best of me.  I do let the guilt eat at my soul, try as I may not to.  There are days where all I want to do is scream, and shout and kick whatever is in the way.

It's all in futility though.  Nothing will bring back Preston.  All I can do is embrace this path of healing, and live a life that honors the memory of my son.  My son has given me so much, and part of it is this journey down the path of healing.  It's opened my eyes to so much.

So I welcome the healing, and the bad days.  The days of regression and of deep grief.  All I can do, is take it a step at a time.  And that is, just as quoted, perfect.

Slow healing wounds & patience

For as long as I can remember I've healed slowly.  Mosquito bites seem to stay forever.  When I catch a cold, I can't shake it for several weeks.  I "bruise like a peach", to quote Joey on Friends referring to Ross.  And when I get a bruise, I seem to stay bruised forever.  I've been this way for a long time.  I've read several articles that seem to link slow healing with auto-immune diseases like Crohn's.  Additionally, I feel like Remicade is adding another layer to delaying my healing powers.  You see, the way Crohn's works is that my immune system will attack good cells instead of just sick cells (like infected mosquito bites cells or common cold cells).  Remicade causes my immune system to stop attacking healthy cells, but at the same time, it stops attacking the sick cells too.  This is especially true in the first couple weeks following my treatments, which are currently every seven weeks.

I feel like I've grown to be a very patient person.  In part due to waiting for days to feel well enough to accomplish more than just the necessary tasks to get through each day.  In part due to waiting days, weeks, months to not feel abdominal pain.  In part due to living without my husband for almost a year before being able to move to the States.  And many other instances, but I think those are the most defining things that have led to considering myself to be patient.

The healing process that comes with losing a child is a very slow one.  It requires patience.  Patience to get used to the new reality.  Patience to allow certain feelings to subside: guilt, anger, sadness, numbness, devastation, to name a few.  Patience to understand that these feelings may suddenly re-emerge months, years later.  Patience to deal with others, who don't quite know how to react, who don't know what to say.  Patience with regaining certain feelings: joy, fulfillment, enjoyment, peace.  Patience to deal with others who are also mourning your loss.  Patience with others because they are able to return to their lives as if nothing ever happened.

I may not have lost Preston years ago, but I did have at least one miscarriage.  I think I had at least another one but I'll never really know since I was in the hospital with a bowel obstruction when it happened.  I was on so many drugs that I don't recalling asking them to take a pregnancy test, and while they drew blood every day, no one ever mentioned anything to me.  Perhaps they didn't want to add to my existing pain?  Or perhaps I wasn't pregnant after all.  My miscarriage and the loss of Preston, I feel have been two terribly different experiences for me.  Having a miscarriage was devastating, don't get me wrong.  It took time to get in a better place, but I think finding out a couple months later that I was as ill as I was, softened the blow.  I would have been 5 months pregnant when I had my first obstruction.  And then close to giving birth when I had my second one.  I was not a healthy person during the 4 months interval between both obstructions.  My GI always says, healthy mom = healthy baby.  I don't think our little peanut would have been healthy and I would have felt terribly guilty if that was the case.  So, once I had these reasons, it made it easier for me to heal.  I still wonder what could have been, but sadly, I don't think of this baby as much as I think about Preston.  I hope that doesn't make me a bad mama.  I would have loved this baby as much as I loved Preston.  With Preston, I fear we will never have a reason, which will cause us to always try to find a reason.  That itself, will most likely slow down the already slow process of healing after losing our son.

Preston's been gone for almost 5 months now.  It feels like an eternity.  It feels like yesterday.  Time stopped that fateful day and I wonder if it will ever start again.  I do feel like I am healing.  This blog has had a lot to do with it.  But as all my other wounds, it is a slow process.  I thank everyone who continues to have the patience to ride along with me every day.  It truly makes a difference, and I want you to know that.