Capture Your Grief 2015 - Normalizing Grief

After a loss as tremendous as losing a baby, normal is a word that goes out the window.  You are no longer normal.  Your reality is turned upside down.  You feel sequestered as you try to navigate the map that is grief.  Twists and turns when you least expect it.  Detours at every corner.

When we feel a certain way, we believe that it isn't normal.  For me, my first fears of not reacting normal were when I was still in shock and I couldn't cry.  My brain was telling me I should be a ball on the floor, unable to function, crying uncontrollably.  Except I was numb.  My body was protecting my heart.  I soon learned from reading about other experiences and talking to other bereaved parents that there was no right or wrong way to grieve.  Part of me wanted to feel what I would have considered normal (the ball on the floor) but grief had another path for me.

And while normal as we knew it might be completely out the window, with time, we learn to create a new normal.  Mine includes this blog and memorializing Preston.  Mine includes a lot more positivity than what existed before losing Preston.  Mine includes a whole new outlook on life, where the small things are appreciated to a new degree.

With today's subject, CarlyMarie requests that we share an experience that might make someone else say "Hey, I feel that way too!" (quote from CarlyMarie's page), therefore normalizing grief.  Our experiences are all different.  Our journeys all differ.  Our emotions diverse.  But at some point, hopefully we cross the path that someone else has traveled.  I will try to do that by sharing something new.

When my fears of miscarriage dissipated with my current pregnancy, some fears instilled themselves in me.  Fears that Preston would be forgotten.  Fears that others would think that now that I have another baby, I can "move on", whatever that means.  Fears that people might think that with Samantha's arrival, I won't have any more sad moments.  Fears that society expects me to finally stop grieving.  It's part of the reasons I kept this pregnancy under wraps for so long.

And I know better.  Preston will never be forgotten.  Not by me.  Not by his father.  Not by his family.  Not by his friends, our friends.  Not by those who have truly been touched by his smile, his story, his being.  #SpreadHappinessForPreston is here to stay. Every year.

Moving on is an interesting concept.  If I can be brutally honest, losing a baby is not something you "get over".  It's not something you get past.  It stays with you.  Every day.  Another human being will not change that, no matter how loved.  We aren't talking about buying a new laptop because you broke your previous one.  We're talking flesh and blood.  We're talking a little life that you helped create.  I won't move on, and honestly, I don't want to.

I've had many reasons to be happy this year.  And last year.  I have a lot to be grateful for.  I know it, because I made myself take a 30 day challenge (the first post of this series can be found here).  That doesn't mean that I don't miss my son.  That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.  My heart continues to bleed every day.  And while Samantha will help cauterize the scar Preston left on my heart, it will continue to bleed.  I will continue to miss him.  I will continue to fear losing her, the same way I lost him.  Innocence - gone forever.  Sadness will follow me like a shadow.  And I know that it's okay.  I know that I can and should let it in, when it needs to.

I will never stop grieving.  That's all there is to it.

Yet, all that being said... those fears I mentioned before, they are still there.  And I know some people will have those expectations of me.  Of my husband.  People will always judge.  Let them.

Rise above, and know that you are not alone.  Grief has no timeline.  Certain events or moments, don't make it go away.  Your grief, can be what you want it to be, what you need it to be. Don't let others dictate it, or how they think it should be.

Routine

It isn't always easy to find a picture which fits my subject for the day.  Sure I can always use a picture of Preston but I only have a limited supply of those, and I prefer to stretch them out,  I thought I'd use this picture today, that of my cat, Calex, taking a snooze... because to me routine equals comfort.  Additionally it also equates to security and to a certain extent, normalcy.

I've been in and out of a routine since Preston was born.  Our routine was always being adjusted as Preston grew bigger.  His meals became less frequent.  His awake time became more frequent and for longer periods of time.  He began sleeping more at night.  3 months after his birth, I returned to work, and again, there were adjustments to our routine.  I picked him up from daycare 3 times a week.  I was getting the hang of it though.  Get ready in the morning for work.  Spend 15-20 minutes with Preston.  Go to work.  Work.  Pick-up Preston.  Feed Preston.  Make dinner & eat.  Play with Preston.  Feed Preston.  Rock Preston to sleep.  Rinse & repeat and plug in other weekly activities like groceries, dishes, etc.

When we lost Preston, routine went out the window.  There was nothing routine about our life anymore.  Routine had been deleted from our world.  I feel like it was non-existent for a while.  Every day was new, different and filled with different emotions.  There was a large hole in our lives, in our hearts.  There still is, but we've learned to adapt.  We've created a brand new routine and little by little, we tweak it to make it feel like we are normal people, even if we are not.

Routine brings comfort and security because I don't have to think about the future, and what could possibly go wrong next.  I don't have to anticipate the worse case scenarios, though, I don't know that it could get much worse than it already has gone.  That security of knowing, tomorrow is a work day, and I'll be busy until I get home from work, is soothing and a time of day that I know I can rest my mind from missing my son.

It was wonderful to be on vacation.  Going to bed and waking up whenever I pleased.  No need to make dinner, or do chores.  No phone calls to take.  To bills to pay.  No constant work during the day.  And the reminders of Preston in Vegas were few and far between, probably not a bad thing.  I don't want to associate Vegas with Preston.  At the same time, I didn't enjoy the lack of signs from Preston, reminders of my son.  However, I think it gave my mind and my heart a well deserved break after a tumultuous 8 months.

And now we are back.  Wake up at 5:00 and get ready for work.  Leave the house at 6:00.  Start working at 7:30 until 4:00.  Commute back home.  Clean the kitchen and make dinner.  Watch a bit of TV and hang out with hubby.  Bedtime.  Rinse and repeat.  Sound similar to your life?  Yeah, it probably does.  That factor makes us like normal people, brings that normalcy feeling to our lives.

Add the hole that exists in our lives and it becomes apparent that we unfortunately aren't normal.  I'd give anything for normal.  To fade into society.  Silence often surrounds me; on the train, at night, during my lunch break.  During those ever present moments of silence, I think of my son.  Of what could have been.  I remember his smile, and coos but I will never see and hear them again.  And then, it is morning again, and the routine brings me comfort again, as I am not forced to sit in a chair and think about my loss for every second of every day.  Routine is a welcome escape which enables me, to savor the moments I spend thinking about my son.  I may not be consciously thinking of him all day long, but he is never far from my thoughts and always, always and forever in my heart.

Does routine bring you comfort too?  If you don't have a set routine, do you think it would be helpful in your journey of grief?  If you aren't living through a loss, does routine help you with certain aspects of your life?