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.

Positively February: Day 2

"What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose.  All that we love deeply becomes a part of us." - Helen Keller

I found this quote not long after we lost Preston.  It brought me a lot of comfort and with time, I've come to truly embrace it because I find it to be very true.  Preston lives in my heart and he is forever a part of me.

Love works in mysterious ways.  It blindsides us.  It overwhelms us.  It makes us whole.

We suffer heartbreaks.  They can bring us to our knees.  They can take the breath out of our lungs.  A heartbreak can shatter our whole world.  Trust me, heartbreaks do exist and not just in love songs.

But the thing is, Helen Keller is right.  Relationships have a way of changing you, of shaping who you are as a person.  At least, this holds true for people you love and respect.  You want to be the best you can be for them.  You learn from them, and strive to be like them.

I probably sounds weird that I strive to be like a 16 week old baby, my son.  Yes, a part of me does strive to be more like him.  I strive to find that pure happiness that my son had.  I strive to not let things upset me so easily.  Not much made him cranky or upset.  I strive to continue learning, like he did every day.  I strive to not worry what others may think, he sure didn't.  I strive to share that happiness that resonated from him because I really FEEL like that is something he would want me to do.

So read Helen Keller's words.  Read them several times.  Let them sink in.  Know that no matter when you may have lost your baby, he or she is with you always.  Simply because, our babies, are forever a part of us and they will live on in our hearts forever.

Positively February: Day 1

Well February is here!  I've looked at so many positive sayings and thoughts since losing Preston, and so many of them touched me and helped me heal as I reflected upon them.  I hope that by sharing some of these, you find some healing too.

I found this positive thought, and it seems to be perfect for starting us off:

Get up, dress up, show up & never give up

One of the hardest things after losing your child is just getting up and going about your day.  Your routine has just been shot to hell and not only are you emotionally shattered but you are also disoriented. Nothing seems real.  Nothing makes sense.  Time seems to stand still but the clock keeps on ticking.

This phrase reminds me that of my new motto: one day at a time, one step at a time.  It takes a lot of willpower to get up every day, especially those first couple months.  Just getting up, out of bed, is a step taken towards the healing path.  If it's all you can do for weeks, or months, consider it an accomplishment.  It truly is.

When you feel up to it, take the next step and get dressed.  Do your hair, or make-up.  If you are up for it, all of it.  Taking these small steps, one at a time, will help you build a new routine.  It'll be difficult the first times, but it'll get easier with time, and repetition.  I strongly believe that routine helps with establishing a healthy healing path.  It gives your mind something to expect, something to concentrate on.  It gives your body a pattern to follow, and your body needs the routine too.

I will take the phrase literally and say that the next step is showing up, though it doesn't have to be.  Throw yourself back into social situations when you feel up for it.  It will be difficult and being in a crowd can be filled with triggers - moments or things that remind you of the loss, the pain and what you once had.  Showing up can mean telling yourself you will go, with an open ended option to leave at anytime.  It can mean trying to go, but turning around when you are halfway there.  One day, you will make it to the door and walk through.  And it'll feel okay.  The triggers won't be as intense.  One small step at a time, is all you have to do.

Never give up.  I don't have a choice to give up, life didn't stop even if it feels like it did.  The first weeks, months were incredibly difficult.  Difficult really doesn't begin to explain how painful it was to go through.  It's still "difficult", but I suppose the pain is less intense.  This doesn't mean I love my son less than I did 10 months ago.  It just means that my heart and mind have come to accept what has happened.  Doesn't mean I like it.  It doesn't mean I want to accept it.  It doesn't mean that any morning is easy to awaken from.  I've come to appreciate everything in my life a lot more though, and that's a blessing.  Not something I asked for.  It came at a high price.  I'd exchange this appreciation back for my son any day.

The lesson here is that we all have survival in us.  It's in our blood, because really when you have no other choice, your body and your mind will go into survival mode - as long as you allow yourself to it.  Just take it a moment at a time.  Survival isn't a race.  It's not a competition.  It's about overcoming the worse possible thing that can happen to you, and finding a way to continue on.  For me, it's been appreciating the blessing that Preston was in my life, for the short time he was with us.  It's been sharing my son's smile with the world.  It's been sharing my experience, in the hopes of helping someone.  And I'm proud of my son for taking me down this path.  His smile reminds me every day that happiness exists, even in the darkest of times.  You just have to take it a day, or a moment at a time.

The day I wished I lived in a soap opera

General Hospital has been really good lately.  I guess, they are gearing up for "February Sweeps" which usually makes for interesting story lines.  If you aren't familiar with the "sweeps" term, it's basically a month were Nielsen logs everything targeted households are watching on TV and therefore they try to make their shows as good as possible to attract the most viewers possible.  At least, that's how it started and I think the goal was to help advertisers target their audiences better.

Anyway, the top story lines right now are:

• The jail break: Sonny, Julian, Ava and Franco just escaped jail... and were in a car accident.
• Fluke: There is an imposter Luke: Possibly the late Bill Eckert? And he's trying to kill everyone the real Luke loves.
• The bombs: There's a bomb on the Haunted Star, where all of Luke's loved ones are gathered for the unveiling of a new clinic.  There's another bomb in the basement of Luke's childhood home, the future site of the new clinic - and Dante's trapped in the basement (and somehow still alive after being hit in the HEAD with a crowbar..)
• Jake was arrested: Jake is really Jason, but had reconstructive face surgery, has amnesia and is being brainwashed by Helena who is in cahoots with Fluke,  Oh and he planted the bomb on the boat

You see the crazy stuff I watch? I suppose I find it entertaining because as ABSURD as some of this stuff is, the actors make it seem real.  After watching General Hospital for so long, I truly find that most soap stars, are much better actors than some really big movie stars.  But, that's just me.  Maybe I just haven't watched enough movies.  But soap stars, they really have a way of making you believe their characters and the emotions they are going through.  

They take you on their journey.  It gives you insight into what someone else might actually be feeling or thinking.  So much so, that often times you feel like you are on that same journey.  We didn't do anything on New Year's eve, which is pretty standard for us.  Brett fell asleep so I caught up on General Hospital.  In this episode, Ric, who was once a very evil character, returned.  Everyone believed him to be dead, as his death had been faked to expose the true head of the Jerome crime family, Fluke.  But now that Fluke's identity was revealed, Ric was able to come out of protective custody, though he was kidnapped, and was now just freed thanks to his half brother Sonny. On New Year's eve, he showed up on Liz' doorstep and I cried.  I cried like I hadn't cried in a long time.

I realized right then and there that I wished I lived in a soap opera.  Where it would be possible for Preston to show up on our doorstep, even if not for another 25 years.  I do live in the real world, I know that won't happen.  It didn't keep me from hoping it could come true, if only for a few moments.  Ric's return really hit me hard.  I cried myself to sleep that night.

Don't feel bad for me though.  These moments happen.  They can be triggered by the simplest things sometimes.  I get through them, as with everything else.  Survival is my new reality.  And with time, I'm learning that survival can bring about beautiful things, wonderful thoughts.

And really, I don't want to live in a soap opera.  Every time someone is driving on screen, there's an accident.  How can everyone be such a bad driver??

Snowmageddon

With the news all about a massive storm hitting the East Coast today, it feels like a great time to share one of my most memorable winter moments. It was 1980 something and we had snow... a lot of it.  Back then, the cold didn't phase me.  Perhaps it was the 3 or 4 layers of clothes I had on, the mittens and hats.  Or maybe it was just the pure innocence of childhood.  I must say I miss those days as I can't stand the cold as an adult.  Makes for interesting conversations about the thermostat in the house as my husband, doesn't like to be too warm.

Back to the memory - 1980 something with mountains of snow.  Growing up, my house was on a street corner which meant 2 driveways.  That snow-blower was a great investment, right Dad?  The snow would be dumped from the driveways to the sides of the driveway and made for great fort building.  This particular year, I remember we made a wonderful fort.  Ted and I, well probably mostly Ted, made nooks and room divisions.  We even had a fridge with a door that opened and a TV.  You can see it in the pictures below.  It's the square with sticks in it, because TVs had antennas back then.

It was great fun.  The building, and then playing in the fort for days.  I often wonder what type of winter sports and winter activities I would have done with Preston.  The snow doesn't stay on the ground for very long here in Colorado.  Perhaps it does in the mountains, but here in the foothills, a couple days and it's gone.  Where does this leave the building of a snowman?

I know we would have gone sliding on the little hill behind our house.  Maybe we would have gone to the mountains and hung out in the lodge as his dad snowboards the day away.  We could have taught him to snowboard or ski out back, start small you know?  Snow angels in the snow?  Skating.. maybe? Though I'd have a hard time teaching him seeing as I can only turn one way, lol.

Maybe my favorite, would have been cuddling by the fire on a cold day, where it snows non-stop.  Watch movies and read books together.  Yeah, I think, that would have been perfection.  What a wonderful image to go to sleep on :)

PS. The biggest irony of this post - it was 70 degrees today :)

Time Paradox

I've mentioned it before, I'm a huge General Hospital fan.  I've been watching since before I was a teenager and have gone on very few breaks.  I used to tape the episodes on our VCR, and now thanks to DVRs, I never miss an episode.  Some of the funniest lines I've heard have come from this show.  And some of the deepest.  A couple weeks ago Carly said the following:

Bad things happen fast, but we have to deal with them slow.

It struck all my brain cells and tugged at my heart.  I don't know that there is a better way to describe the tragedy that is losing your child.  This line hit me so hard, that I don't remember why Carly was saying this, and to whom.  Regardless, she is right.  Time often seems to be a paradox.  It moves at the same rate every day, yet sometimes it appears to go at the speed of light, and other times, it moves as slow as a snail.

The day Preston passed away was probably one of the slowest days I've ever lived through.  The ride to the hospital was excruciatingly slow.  The traffic didn't help.  It felt like we were in a time warp, when we spent time in the ER holding our little boy.  You could feel every second tick by, making it seem like the events that had unraveled weren't reality.  The next days, weeks and even months did not move much faster.  The endless nights of insomnia, of tossing and turning, of feeling like I was supposed to be doing something, only to be reminded that my routine had no more purpose were just that - endless.  There were moments of reprieve once the weekend came and I got some sleep, only thanks to Xanax.

Yet, it all happened in the blink of an eye.  One minute he was breathing, one second later he was not and it was over.  There was no warning.  There was no window of time where he could have been saved, as much as I would have liked to believe it.

The experience is similar when I think of being sick.  In the bat of an eyelash I was in excruciating pain caused by blockages in my intestines.  I was fine one day, I was not the next.  I made it through a day of work, but once I got home, it was now unbearable.  And again, dealing with it, I remember seeing the clock tick-tock by oh-so slowly.  The wait in the emergency room, which really was quick, felt like hours.  The wait for a doctor again, was probably minutes, yet it felt like a whole evening.  The wait for the administration of morphine for some relief, even longer.  The days without eating felt like weeks.  The week in the hospital felt like a month.  The recovery, it was actually slow, but it felt even slower because of everything I couldn't do.

Time can feel like torture.  Time can seem to have disappeared.  While I continue to heal on this journey of grief, it is an extremely slow journey.  I will continue to be on this journey for the rest of my days, I'm certain of it.  And still, it seems unreal that all this happened over 10 months ago.  It feels "wrong" that I'm approaching the one year mark of this terrible event that changed my life forever.  That same fact is scary, because it's been a long journey.  A painful journey.  A healing journey.

I fear, I will never understand time...

Is there anything duct tape can't fix?

When we took our road trip to Cooperstown and Montreal this past fall, we flew in and out of New York.  We took the time to visit our good friend Jimmy and he took us walking onto the Brooklyn Bridge.  Quite an experience.  Fantastic views of the city.  As with most roads it seems, a lot of construction was happening on the bridge.  As you can tell from the picture above, it might not be in the best shape... but hey duct tape is keeping this lamp up...

It made me laugh.  I love duct tape.  I've used it on many things myself in the hopes of a quick and easy fix.  It usually works.  And it comes in a lot of fun designs and colors nowadays.  But is there anything duct tape can't fix?  As much as I wish I could put a piece of duct tape on my heart, I don't think it would work.  Which really makes me wonder, do I even want my broken heart healed?

I've been thinking about it for a long, long time.  And honestly, even if it is sad, no.  I don't want my heart to ever be completely healed, even if it was an option.  I don't want to forget my son.  If I had my way, I wouldn't want anyone to forget my son, and hopefully my blog makes it so that a lot of people remember him for a long time, if not for eternity.  He was a truly special little guy.  And my dad is right in what he told me on the phone earlier today - he's made an impact on a lot of lives.

Some things you can fix and some you cannot.  Somethings are meant to be broken, never to be made whole again.  And so yes, my heart is broken and it has healed and will continue to heal, but it will never be completely whole until I am with Preston again one day.  And since I can't be with him now, I wouldn't have it any other way.  Much like we have scars that remind us of a struggle and give us strength, my broken heart reminds me of how wonderful my life was when Preston was with us.  It reminds me of everything he's taught me - when he was here and when he wasn't anymore.  It reminds me that healing exists and that one day, we will be reunited in the kingdom of God.

Do you have anything you wish you could fix with duct tape? Or perhaps something that is broken, that you don't want to ever fix?