Capture Your Grief 2015 - Regrets + Triggers

I've been struggling lately to stay on top of this project.  I'm tired, but it's also a little mentally draining, as I'm thinking about certain things I haven't thought of in a while.  I'm re-living other things.  And well, the pregnancy hormones don't help! ;)

So I'm going to slowly play catch-up.  I might end up skipping some subjects all together or I may just finish this project in November, we'll see.  One day at a time.

I don't think I have any regrets in regards to how I've grieved so far.  If anything, I'm proud of myself for having been able to keep a positive attitude, most of the time, throughout this tragedy.  This isn't to say I have no regrets when it comes to Preston.  With all my heart, I wish I'd taken the day off, the day he passed away.  Maybe he'd still be with us.  I wish I'd at least considered a community daycare instead of being stuck on wanting an in-home daycare.  I wish I'd found a way to spend even more time with him.  I wish I had a better memory.

Is there a way to heal these regrets?  I try to keep in mind that there's only so much I can control.  Even if I'd done all those things, he might still have passed away.  I don't know how the universe works.  So, I remind myself, control what you can.  Keeping that in mind, I'm able to not feel so much guilt in regards to these regrets.  They probably will never go away, but I won't let myself feel the sting on a daily basis.

Triggers?  What are triggers exactly?  It can be anything that "triggers" your memory, making it flash back to the original trauma or feelings relating to the trauma.  I have several.  They may not be as difficult to deal with as they used to be, but depending on the day, they can be just as bad as they were a year ago.  Grief has no timeline.

• Fire trucks, ambulances and sirens.  I wasn't there, but I know that Preston was taken to the hospital by paramedics in an ambulance.  Sirens tend to send me for a loop.
• Driving by the hospital that's next to my house.  I do it every day, and it sucks.  That's where I found out I had a miscarriage in 2012, and that's where my son was pronounced.  I've gotten pretty good at ignoring it, but just thinking about it now, is making me really emotional. I don't throw a lot of hate out there... but I hate that place.  One more year until that new highway exit so that I can not drive by it every day....
• My cell phone ringing at work.  It still haunts me: "Preston's not breathing".  I guess there's a reason my cell phone is always on vibrate instead of on a ringer.
• Excessive complaining regarding kids.  It just makes me sad, because I'd give anything to have my son back, even if it meant a thousand sleepless nights and tantrums.  I understand everyone needs to vent, but it's still something I struggle with.
• Any news item regarding kids being mistreated.  The younger they are, the worse it is.  I'm sure these stories are hard for anyone.  They're difficult for me because, why does someone who mistreats children have children, when I did everything right and lost mine? For no reason!

In the shadows, the light exists.  Remember that.  While this post itself has been sending me into a tailspin, I just received the sweetest message from my cousin:

Preston came for a beautiful visit with me today. He appeared to me in the most radiant rainbow I have ever seen. It had the most vibrant colors I have ever seen set against a dark grey sky.

Thank you for sharing Natalie.   I appreciate you, and bless my son for sending you that rainbow when he did. <3


While this is the subject for day 13, today is October 15th.  It is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.  At 7pm, around the world, candles are being lit in remembrance of babies who have passed. #Wave of Light

My candle has been lit for the past hour.  For Preston, and for all the friends he's made along the way.  All the babies, who look down from Heaven at us tonight.  Missing you every day baby boy. Mama loves you <3

The light above the sink

There's a light right above our sink.  For 14-15 weeks, it was on 24/7, except for that one time when it burnt out.  I left it on one night because I didn't want to have the light on in the hallway.  That light would have woken up my hubby, or my baby.  It probably would have kept me up too, even if I was only sleeping no more than two hours at a time.  I needed this light, so that I could go down the stairs without tripping, especially while holding Preston.  Perhaps I was paranoid to drop him not that I can ever see myself letting that happen.  I'm notoriously klutzy though, so I didn't want to risk it.  We did everything right, everything by the book, even when that meant taking precautions.

The light above the sink helped me get Preston's bottle ready - whether that meant heating up pumped breastmilk, or preparing formula.  It allowed me to see as I washed his bottles, pacifiers and pumping supplies, all the while he slept in the living room, a few steps away.  It gave me just enough light, to do what I needed, while providing a quiet, calm environment for my son.

This light has been off for months, and months.  I've had to turn it on a couple times, like today and it triggers so many memories.  My husband can't stand to see this light on.  I wouldn't be surprised if he's thought about taking this light out altogether.

It's tough, to have this light on, and not see the drying bottle rack on to the right of the sink.  It's difficult to not have bottles to wash, to not have that little grey tub we brought back from the hospital, filled with bottles and boiling hot water.  It's challenging to be at the sink, under this bright light without lullabies playing in the background from Preston's swing as it sways him to sleep.

Those things aren't far away.  Bottles in Preston's closet and a few in the garage, in a bag in the baby carrier.  I'm so thankful that Barry went to pick that up from the nanny's.  I couldn't deal with it.  Not now, not 10 months ago.  The drying rack may be Preston's closet, or perhaps in a cupboard with the baby bullet & supplies - which I never got to use.  The swing is in the nursery, along with the bouncer, and the bassinet, and the mini bassinet.  Out of sight, out of mind? If only it were so easy.

It's more like out of sight, less on my mind.  Less in my face.  Less of a reminder of what's missing, even if I'm ever so aware of my baby not being here.  There are just certain things, certain smells, certain sounds, certain situations that trigger certain memories which are more difficult to live with.

For today though, turning on that light to do dishes, wasn't as painful as in the past.  It made me smile to remember all those evenings I spent with Preston.  All those dishes I did.  My hands got so dry. While I can not bring back the past, I cannot relive all those precious moments - I have the memories.  I hope to never lose my mind so that I can remember until my time comes.

Triggers can be painful.  But every now and then, the pain is worth the reminder.  I hadn't thought about those evenings in this way in a long time.  Much like I hadn't seen a beautiful sunset in months.  It was a purple haze of a sunset, and it totally made me think of Preston.  And it made me smile.

Are you better yet?

Are you better yet?  Are you back to normal?  These questions arise from time to time, and there's a simple answer. No.  I'm not better, I'm never going to be back to normal.  I have a new normal, and while I'm learning to deal with the loss of my son, I can't fathom ever being "better".

My life was pretty much perfect before Preston stopped breathing during his afternoon nap on March 13th.  I was healthy.  I had the most beautiful baby boy and most loving husband in the world.  I had the perfect work-home life balance.  The only thing that would have made it "better", would have been to eventually add to our family.  Should we be blessed with other children in the future, it won't necessarily be better.  It'll be good, but it'll be different.  Better would be having Preston still be with us.

It's interesting, because that means that I'm no longer the same person.  The old Cat died with Preston, and now there is a new Cat.  Not to say that this new Cat is not good, but she's very different.  I used to care a lot about what other people thought of me.  I wanted to be liked.  I wanted to fit in, but often didn't.  I wanted to be accepted.  While I had started caring a lot less about these things after my health issues in 2012, I truly no longer care.  If you like me, you like me.  If you don't, your loss.  I'm done caring about what others think of me.  Maybe you find me annoying.  Maybe you find me too goody, goody.  Oh well.  Life's too short for me to waste sleep over what others think of me.  Hopefully this doesn't come off the wrong way.  I will care what you think of me if I somehow mistreat you, because that wouldn't be my intention.  Hopefully you get my drift.  I just don't need negativity in my life if I can help it. :) 

In essence, I haven't completely changed.  I'm a good person, with a good heart.  I'm a hard worker, and I like things done a certain way.  However, it's now much harder for me to find joy without a reason.  I have less energy, less spunk.  Motivation is even harder to come by.  I no longer like to plan things in advance, perhaps by fear of having my dreams shattered.  I rarely daydream anymore.  I look forward to things, but with much less enthusiasm. 

With a reason, I can smile.  I can laugh.  I can dream.  I can have a good time.  Without it though, it's easy to let reality sink in.  Reality is, we've been dealt a rough hand, and it's difficult to find a new reality.  Five months out, we have a new routine, but it's a painful one to accept.  It's a hard one to want to follow.  The reminders are everywhere.  Formula in the pantry.  Sonogram pictures on the fridge.  Baby bullet food processor in the kitchen cabinet.  Baby book on the side table in the living room.  Closed nursery door.  Urn, blankets, onesie on the bedroom dresser.  Stroller in the garage.  Empty car-seat holder in the car.  Why not put those things away where they can't trigger sadness?  Some of his things need to stay where they are.  He was part of our lives, and he continues to be in memory.  While the reminders can trigger sadness or tears, I'm thankful that we can have these reminders, because it's proof of how much he changed our lives.

So perhaps I'm a different person now because of this tremendous loss, but I'm also a different person because of my sweet P.  He made me a better person.  He made me a more compassionate person, more empathic too.  He opened my eyes to how beautiful things can be, things that are right in our face but that we're too busy to notice.  He made me want to help out others.  He made me want to spread the happiness he created.

While I feel fulfilled when I receive feedback about being inspiring or motivating, my ultimate goal is simply to share my journey in the hopes of helping others.  I don't need recognition (even if it is nice to receive).  I just hope that the short life we gave our son, can somehow change the world... and I know, that sounds truly impossible.  But, if I can make at least one person smile every day, I feel like Preston is leaving a bigger and bigger mark every day.