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I spend my days binge watching Netflix, baking shows, murder mysteries, and Supernatural (a guilty favorite). Mom and I go on walks and we work on leash training Guster. I’m slowly working on my physical strength and stamina. The dogs are constantly underfoot and causing havoc. There is very little quiet time in my days. I stay mentally busy, other than writing and blogging, avoiding reflection and my inner thoughts. And it’s a part of my healing process right now.
But when my mind and soul are quiet, and I allow myself, questions and images of Christian’s last day plague my thoughts. Why did it have to be me? Why did it have to be him? What did we do that it happened to us? I am angry. And hurt. I am desperately sad. And jealous of every parent I see who has their precious child to hold close. I’m scared of ever trying again; I’m scared of never trying again.
This is completely unfair. No one should ever have to watch their child die. A parent should never have to plan for their child’s funeral, especially within the first weeks of life. Yet I know life is not fair and so many parents have gone through similar circumstances, if not the very same. Part of me wants to be buried with my son. Part of me wants to never leave the house. Another part wants to avoid seeing anyone who knew I was pregnant. And another part avoids any trigger that will bring on the painful memories.
But after almost two weeks of this, I am tired of avoiding. I’m tired of acting like Christian wasn’t the biggest part of my life for the last nine months. He may be gone but the impact of his birth and short life are so profound. His death still hurts like crazy. It still feels like a piece of me is missing. I will never get over not being able to bring him home, but I can make his presence known there.
I want to fill my home and heart with him as much as possible. He was and always will be my son, my first born. I’ve started printing pictures and canvases to fill our walls with his beautiful face. They make me sad that my baby is gone, but so happy that he was mine. It is one small step in healing and celebrating his life.
The Hardest Thing to Do
But I still can’t go in his room. It’s the one thing I cannot face yet. The other day when the hubs asked if we were going to box up his crib and store it, I broke down. The thought of how happy I’d been when we put it together and the excitement of when the sheets were on the mattress and it was ready for his homecoming…and now it will remain empty and never be used for its original recipient. It’s devastating. Disappointing. Absolutely defeating. So many things remain unused in that room, waiting for their owner. So many memories left unmade. A future unfulfilled. It’s still just too hard to see it all.
With each new day my goal is to face the pain and grief little by little. I don’t spend my day wallowing in grief. I can’t. It would be way too much for me to handle. It is the only way I can move forward and yet acknowledge how much Christian means to me and husband. I don’t want to forget and I don’t want to act like it never happened. I want to talk and think about Christian every day, as much as I can bear. Because as short and small as his life was, it was important. He is important. He is loved. And he is missed. And I never want to act like that isn’t true.