tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51928297724982812522024-03-13T14:25:34.633-07:00Keeping up with Angels...I am a Wife and Mother. I am a Daughter and a Sister. I am a Follower. I started this blog as a way to begin to heal from the loss of my son David. I have learned that a Mother cannot 'heal' from a life without her child, there is only acceptance. I have learned that others who have walked in my shoes have so much to teach me and that I have so much to learn. My hope is that one day- I will have so much to teach and someone will find a thread of hope or a twinkle of peace in my words.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-35134050954091682292010-02-08T11:06:00.001-08:002010-08-06T13:11:42.251-07:00hello peace, my name is JaniceI have been feeling sort of free lately. Free in the sense that there isn’t something I’ve forgotten to do, or some tiny detail that desperately requires my attention. I can only assume it another byproduct of loss, the sense that something is always left undone or unremembered. How should I react to feeling out of place when I feel free from sadness and guilt? I guessed for about 3 weeks now that it was some fluke of an occurrence and that all my drowning emotion would come back and laugh it up that I ever felt otherwise but it’s been about a month and I get through the days without it all. <br /><br />I suppose God may have more planned for me in this life than loss... and I suppose that I am up for it...Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-28566710066436691482009-10-26T07:20:00.000-07:002010-02-25T13:19:46.753-08:00Dear David,David, my sweet son, I cannot believe that today has come. I've turned around and another year has passed. Our last moments together still seem so close to me, time has not disturbed them as it has my other memories of you. I can still feel the softness of your tiny cheeks on my fingertips. I can even remember the very second that I last kissed the bridge of your nose, it was so familiar, as if that part of you was made just for me, like puzzle pieces. I remember the feeling of your hands in mine for the last time, I will never forget your tiny palms on my thumbs and how your fingers curled around mine. I remember the feeling that I would have only this moment with you to carry me through the rest of my life. I held you trying to soak up every last second before I had to say goodbye to you. I know now that you were already home with God but those last few memories beside you are so big for me. I remember how soft your hair was and how I never had noticed the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">blond</span> in your hair until it glimmered in the light that day. I remember how much I wanted to wake you up and hold you in my arms. I suppose I hadn't the ability to realize the finality of that night in the hospital, I would imagine if I did then I would have stayed there beside you until they made me leave. It was all so surreal David, sometimes it still is. Four years in most circumstances is just a quick moment passing by but four years without you to hold and watch grow has been like waking every morning to the beginning of another eternity. My journey in faith has promise and hope for us sweet son, we will be together one day and I will hold you in my arms no matter how big you have gotten, I may not put you down for a thousand years. I have not forgotten the sound of your laugh or the light in your eyes sweet baby and I can't wait to enjoy every moment of you again, I miss you so much. I love you Tiger, so much.<br /><br />MommyJanicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-89356871713191545902009-10-06T07:15:00.000-07:002009-10-31T07:20:28.496-07:00Matthew 19:14 NIVLet the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as theseJanicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-89452035312412380732009-09-23T09:37:00.001-07:002009-09-23T10:23:18.804-07:00As october creeps inThings are starting to get a bit overwhelming. I'm stressed and am quickly becoming reluctant to schedule anything, regardless of it's importance. I'm certainly not sleeping well and can't stand the thought of being around other people. I've been so emotional and unable to put it into words... it must be october coming around again to beat me up and leave me vulnerable. <br /><br />october is a bully for the most part but last year when November finally appeared to rescue me, and welcome my daughter into the world, I saw a faint glimmer of something more meaningful. My ability to cope seems to be progressive so, in general, I can safely expect it to be more than a glimmer this time around. <br /><br />I figure october is here to keep me in line and help me never to forget just how precious life is. Once it's gone, I always have my head on straight about how blessed I am and how I could lose it all in an instant. I hate new perspective though because it always seems to come at a cost... but it's here so I should get to appreciating it right? <br /><br />I have a week or so before I find myself drowning in an unforgiving month so I should relax already but the tell-tale signs of an october are upon me. I guess I can only hope that when it is done with me I find something even more profound in it's incessant need to show it's ugly face again and again. We'll see.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-11270851874348881182009-06-10T21:00:00.000-07:002009-06-10T11:05:18.157-07:00She has 5My dearest friend just gave birth to her... second son, third living child, fifth baby. It was so sweet to see her happy and full of life. Kissing his little cheeks and letting him root on her nose. It is so perfect. She is such a good friend, she never judges my postion on anything, or my struggles, she just supports me and seems to float on through life enjoying the ride, most of the time:) <br /><br />It was about 2 months after David died that she miscarried at around 10 or 12 weeks, if I remember correctly. I walked in after work one day, I was living in her house, if you'd call it living...a better description is existing, anyway I walked in so excited to find out about her prenatal appointment, maybe she was 8 weeks, I don't even know I guess, that whole year was a blur. Either way, I said, 'How is that little baby, did you hear the heartbeat', her response was so difficult for me, the news was hard yes, but the manner of her response was so unexpected, 'I didn't hear it, there isn't one and please don't cry about it because I've already cried about it and I don't want to anymore', she was belly-down on the sofa staring ahead at the TV while I ran into the kids room to try and stop the wildfire that had just consumed my heart. <br /><br />I'm a big 'a loss is a loss' kind of bereaved parent, I don't know the journey of pregnancy loss, or the pain of never meeting my tiny baby before they return to God, but I know what it's like to miss first birthdays and never hear 'mama' from my child's mouth... any parent of loss knows these all the same, so the whole thing left me heartbroken, on top of heartbreak. Plus, I barely had the energy to wake up and take care of C, how was I to comfort my friend, when she clearly had taken the whole thing and buried it deep inside? It was over that day and time passed with no talk of it.<br /><br />Fast forward 6 months to the following July, My friend had conceived again and was about 4 or 5 weeks I think, when I called to tell her that Sang and I had just found out we were pregnant, she was the first call I made after I came to terms with the fact that David wouldn't be my last, as I had planned it to be, and her words were so painful, 'Guess what, Sang and I are expecting... we get to be pregnant together!!' she was in NY or West VA or somewhere, I know she was away because I would have driven straight to her house otherwise, like I did with David. She was quiet and calm, not like her when I tell her babies are coming, and said 'I don't know about that, I'm spotting' we got off the phone and she miscarried within a day or two. Again, no talk of lost futures or broken Mommies. <br /><br />She had a perfect little boy the following year and her newest little one was born almost a week ago. Still no talk of her second or third, they don't have names and we don't ever talk about them, I don't even know how she feels about that whole year of her life. I don't know if she is plagued inside by how quickly those times passed and how little attention was devoted to her losses, I don't know if she sees them as losses at all, I can say honestly that I don't know if she even thinks of them as babies and not just pregnancies... all I do know is that she has one more than me, she has 5. Three here with her and two waiting for her in heaven, things like this make me feel crazy, is it even normal to grieve for other people? <br /><br />When I look at her with her children I always think of those two pregnancies and what they were to me, how her babies, here and gone, help me everyday to see that life does go on and loss goes on and love goes on and Mommies go on and on and on...<br /><br />Welcome Baby A.R., you're a lucky little guy to have the Mommy you do, you'll never have to question her strength, I sure don't.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-17210471377230256832009-06-04T12:03:00.000-07:002009-06-07T18:03:56.488-07:00He would be about the same age...I often distance myself now from 4 year old's, it was once 3 year olds and before that, 2 year olds... it's tough being uneasy around innocent children because they are the age David 'would be'. I only knew 3 or 4 people that had babies about the same time and I rarely, if never, see them or their children. Not for that reason, just because our lives took different paths. I was out this weekend and ran into a old co-worker that had a little girl the same time I had David, we were out around the same time giving birth. <br /><br />I remember after David died our desks were together, our backs to one another but we shared an office space. Her daughter's pictures would change with the seasons, her daughter near flowers in the spring, in the pool at summer, her first birthday blowing out candles and so on... my son's pictures stayed the same... 6 months old... in late fall. They never changed, they never moved and even though C grew, I never changed his pictures out either because I knew I couldn't change David's... so C stayed 3 and 1 month for about a year and a half. <br /><br />I would sob and read the bible at my desk, I would keep things of David's on my desk and journal freely when I felt like it. My desk quickly became a memorial after I returned to work. I never cared about the girl behind me and what she made of the whole thing until one day she leaned over my desk and said, "you have to stop crying and move on, you're young and you'll have more, you have to move on and take all these pictures down, it's hard for me to look at them". <br /><br />I was so heartbroken, her pictures were the hard ones to look at, her coming in everyday and being fine and listening to her talk all day about what Blain was doing was what was really difficult. Did she think it would be easier for a mother to just forget her child existed and move forward... from then I called David 'my goldfish' when talking about him in front of her. She thought of him as such, just something I had that died... so flush it down the toilet, get over it and get a new one already.<br /><br />I have never seen her since I left that job in February of 2007 so it's been about 2 and half years. Her daughter was with her, she was in a dress, running around with no care of who I was or why I was talking to her mother. She looked sweet and whimsical, happy and kind. I thought- 'Gosh, that's how old David would be'. David would be here beside me running into her and he wouldn't care who she was or why I was talking to her, he would be tall and talking and kind and happy. He would be as big as her daughter and if he was here I might not hate this woman as much as I do and I might not want so badly to run away and wish I had never met her. <br /><br />I felt the pain rushing in the second I saw her and I thought nothing could hurt more than remembering how mean she had been, then I looked down at her beautiful daughter and I stood... corrected.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-40042511181662273412009-05-06T07:42:00.001-07:002009-05-06T07:57:32.413-07:00... for a little Cub's Mama-I know so many people who would disagree with my advice completely here but as someone who wears your shoes (or some like them) everyday... I say don't face it if you can't - don't force yourself to take steps you aren't ready for, the time flys by so quickly after the first year and life, it takes over and you don't get these opportunities to breakdown or ignore it, you have to 'keep on keepin' on'.<br /><br />If you're anything like me, the things you feel right now will fade one day and even though they hurt like hell- you will miss them, or at least I do. The first year after David died I felt so close to him, like I could feel him around me and I let time and the world force grief and mourning on me when I just wanted to co-exist with my loss. I still feel him and I still think of him a hundred times a day but it feels different.<br /><br />Just do what <strong>you</strong> need to do and if that's to avoid it and pretend it's not there or to set up camp under the dining room table to avoid the world, then do it. You will never have this opportunity again. If you think the world around us isn't tolerant of loss in the first year, wait until you're 3 years out, that's when a fort under the table gets you a real label...<br /><br />Painfully, time keeps moving and us being frozen in a world of motion has always felt to me, like being caught in a tornado... just take your time and in your time you'll find a way through the storm. <br /><br />Be well Mama, you deserve some peace.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-65957830365143243602009-05-05T11:08:00.000-07:002009-09-17T10:24:42.556-07:00Bleeding Hearts<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/SgCBUsU0YtI/AAAAAAAAANg/zRHgwCofySk/s1600-h/IMG_0158.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/SgCBUsU0YtI/AAAAAAAAANg/zRHgwCofySk/s400/IMG_0158.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332404151302513362" /></a><br />I took these a couple weeks ago in my Mom's garden. I always wondered as a child why my mother was so fond of this plant, it seemed so sad, the name and the little dangling flowers... not so much since David died though. Death is sad, plants are not. <br /><br />It fascinates me that they grow several to a branch, leaning on one another. It makes me think of each little flower as a parent's broken heart and there is some comfort to knowing that we are all tied together in this. <br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/SgCElRYLrFI/AAAAAAAAANw/egRqcEch4UA/s1600-h/IMG_0149.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/SgCElRYLrFI/AAAAAAAAANw/egRqcEch4UA/s400/IMG_0149.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332407734661524562" /></a>Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-41076315250109868192009-05-03T07:29:00.000-07:002010-08-06T13:06:47.969-07:00My baby had, didn't have...?, would have had...?, another birthday<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/Sf2qrYGSXZI/AAAAAAAAANY/T-RKK5oLHlE/s1600-h/IMG_0413.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/Sf2qrYGSXZI/AAAAAAAAANY/T-RKK5oLHlE/s320/IMG_0413.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331605196056452498" /></a><br />The day came and went. It was quiet for the most part, uneventful as to be expected. I said something at the cemetery about every year it seems like I need less from his birthday, less talking, less consoling, less tears, just less of everything. I couldn't even use the word dead on his first would-be birthday... I said 'passed' and 'gone', now I must sound bitter, I'm not but I probably sound it, because I don't even think before I speak anymore... I always feel bad when I talk about him being dead because people seem so surprised by how I talk about it. It's not that it's any easier to talk about or any less painful to say, I just don't feel the need to make others feel better about David dying, that's their path to walk not mine. I'm doing the best I can and sadly, sometimes I need to hear that he is dead because I've tried pretending that it hasn't happened and I've tried ignoring it and I've tried to use nice words to make it hurt less but all that does is hurt more that I can't even accept it. <br /><br />I remember when he first died I used to walk around sighing and say "I don't know" over and over again like a lunatic. It was almost like a nervous habit... I would just say it to break the silence I think. "I don't know" and everyone around me would be like "what, what don't you know?" to which I would respond "I don't know". I remember his entire first birthday was spent crying and saying that I didn't know. I realized on his would be 4th birthday that I still 'don't know' what I didn't know. The difference is that I've stopped saying it. <br /><br />I think that is all time does for mourning mothers, it's all still there, the pain and the unknown and the panic... it all still exists and controls our every move but at some point we just get so used to it that it feels normal and we stop questioning it. <br /><br />I'm rambling. <br /><br />Would-be birthdays are so unimaginably impossible.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-13560814631020530542009-04-21T10:34:00.000-07:002009-04-21T10:47:09.914-07:00rain again pleasei'm left with what's left, i haven't even the words right now.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-90494844779725484642009-03-24T07:17:00.000-07:002009-03-25T14:12:46.438-07:00Another 24...I am so deeply saddened this day- for reasons I simply don't understand. I want to hold my tiny child. I want to kiss his sweet face and stare into his perfect green eyes. I want to hear his laugh and feel the softness of his little hands. This yearning is so consuming and so terribly inadequate for an aching heart. <br /><br />The countdown starts today... one month until what would have been my David's 4th birthday. The thought of his birth reduces me to tears. I can feel the emotion swell behind my eyes like a million forceful rivers pushing against the dam. The very thought that I cannot hold him shakes me to my core. It crushes my weakened spirit that all my efforts to remember him will not produce anything to pacify my tattered heart or appease my desperate need to be close to him today. <br /><br />The numbing pursuit of any emotion other than loss, always, always comes up short. I am always left unsatisfied. It leaves me alone to scrutinize over the painful details of his death. I have no release. This, the aftermath, forbids me to remember our happy moments and robs me of the six months that he brought so many treasures and so much fulfillment to my existence. Nothing helps to satisfy my unrealistic need to separate loss from love- this juncture can not be undone and I long to embrace the joys of his brief life, so taken for granted. <br /><br />I need peace, I crave something- anything peaceful. <br /><br />I now know that I am bound eternally by this imperious pain to remain broken, to walk this unending road, to accept this trial. I must submit to my journey- as pieces of something once whole- I submit. I am not allowed options. I can choose only to sweep up the fragments of the person I was and carry them with me on my path...so I shall.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-24339350783963189252009-03-20T06:35:00.000-07:002009-03-25T14:17:18.252-07:00My little guy...<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/ScOb2l4VuRI/AAAAAAAAANA/W1HIc2qSNI0/s1600-h/scan0001.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/ScOb2l4VuRI/AAAAAAAAANA/W1HIc2qSNI0/s400/scan0001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315263347410974994" /></a>Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-62808584764594235682009-03-16T11:02:00.002-07:002009-03-16T11:16:41.253-07:00How do I know though? HOW do I KNOW?Sang and I went to David's grave this past weekend on our way out to dinner. It was simply awful. awful. awful. I've lost my faith that all this mindless motion that I create can keep me distracted, can keep me busy.<br /><br />I feel more insane this week than I did the week David died. I never questioned the "process" before. I hated it but I never had the whole "how can I change this?" feelings. Now I hate the process and I don't care to even entertain the idea that it's going to produce any other result than my son being dead. I am here, right here at disbelief and denial- isn't that step 1 in the process?<br /><br />How I have come here? Where did my progress go? Who can help me?<br /><br />I stood there, in the rain, and instead of seeing a headstone and thinking about my beautiful greed-eyed boy- I thought about a box holding baby bones. My child is a box of baby bones and I don't want it to be that way. I cried and I didn't care that I was losing control. It was all slipping away from me, my sanity and my composure.<br /><br />I asked Sang 'how do you know? How do you know that he's there? I don't feel him!" and Sang just listened, I think perhaps unsure of how I landed myself back here at what appears to be 'square one'. But seriously now... How do we know? I used to go there and put flowers and feel him there watching me and now I am scared to think about my son being there in a cemetery in a box, in the earth. The images are unthinkable and I am broken all over again.<br /><br />There is of course a horrible feeling of grief and guilt that accompany any thought of him, my tiny child. I don't want to be here in this thinking! I want to be on my way back to a shadow of who I used to be. I want to be happy when I think of my son, I want to be whole. My little baby is gone and I am broken... the only difference between now and three years ago is that I don't feel I have the right to just break down and give up- I feel like the show must go on and I will just have to keep praying for some peace.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-13324978524242492132009-01-20T08:41:00.000-08:002009-03-06T10:02:57.074-08:00Dear Kendra-Kendra-<br />My dear friend-<br />My words are so inadequate today<br /><br />I am so sorry that you must know this loss<br />and that your daughter isn't here with you<br />I am so very sorry that you have to live even one day without her here in your arms.<br /><br />I wish you could know the softness of her skin<br />I wish you could know her sweet touch and the sound of your name from her mouth<br />I wish that you could see her blow out birthday candles and tear open colorful packages<br /><br />I am broken that you will never know the sweet innocence in her brown eyes<br />You are forced instead to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">remember</span> the flutter of hope they gave you only once<br /><br />I wanted to stop the world that day, four years ago<br />I wanted to freeze time and allow you to take what you needed from those tender moments<br />but time was not mine either<br />Painfully, time continued on it's selfish way<br /><br />I miss knowing you, with light and joy always in your eyes<br />I miss the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">beautiful</span> person that knew pain only as a feeling, not the way of life it has become<br />My heart is broken to never know the person you would be had your daughter stayed with you on earth<br /><br />There are no words, dear Kendra.<br />There are only hopes, and dreams, tiny unfulfilled futures, and sorrow this day.<br />Though her time in life was short, it was a lifetime, a beautiful and meaningful lifetime.<br /><br />I truly love the person that you have become in her loss<br />A mother of strength and hope, a mother that knows a deeper love<br />than any mother should ever have to know<br />I love you and your daughter forever for what you have given me in this life.<br />I, selfishly, love that if we must walk this path, we can walk it together.<br /><br />It is with hope that I pray this day does not consume you<br />I pray that you understand her sweet purpose to your life<br />and that you never question your devotion to her<br /><br />It is with sorrow that I remind you, tomorrow is never promised<br />and that it was you and your daughter that taught this to me<br />To both of you, I am forever grateful<br /><br />In love, dear Kendra I cannot wait to meet your sweet child in eternity<br />until then, my heart aches for you<br />I am so sorry for your loss,<br />From one mommy to another, I am so sorry.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-13112962715631392982008-10-20T06:38:00.000-07:002009-03-20T07:00:57.216-07:00Ecclesiastes 3<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/ScOdMgokPvI/AAAAAAAAANI/WggqiCcolv0/s1600-h/scan0003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 340px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/ScOdMgokPvI/AAAAAAAAANI/WggqiCcolv0/s400/scan0003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315264823471390450" /></a><br /><br />Everything Has Its Time<br /><br />To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: <br />A time to be born, And a time to die; <br />A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted; <br />A time to kill, And a time to heal; <br />A time to break down, And a time to build up; <br />A time to weep, And a time to laugh; <br />A time to mourn, And a time to dance; <br />A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones; <br />A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing; <br />A time to gain, And a time to lose; <br />A time to keep, And a time to throw away; <br />A time to tear, And a time to sew; <br />A time to keep silence, And a time to speak; <br />A time to love, And a time to hate; <br />A time of war, And a time of peace.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-31517006343109590272008-07-15T13:19:00.000-07:002009-03-10T10:43:53.029-07:00a little lostIt's a daily <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">occurrence</span> that my little one floats through my mind... some tiny detail of his brief existence on earth. Usually he crosses my mind with a memory of his life, then within minutes I am shot back to October 26<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span></span> and I am there at his death. It isn't some calm that I crave, or some detail to fit in and make it all make sense... but there is just something that keeps me from <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">remembering</span> his life, instead I replay his death. I almost feel like I was there when he died, like I was in the room with him, in the ambulance while they were trying to bring him back... but I wasn't. It's not to be explained I guess. Mommies just know what is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">happening</span> with their babies, I suppose. I could have it all wrong, I could just have made all these thoughts up to keep myself from going insane but when I think of him, I think of his death and how I think it happened.<br /><br />I know I was really sad that day, a lot of people told me they believe I knew it was happening just by the way I was acting, kind of gloomy and distracted. I was asked at just about the moment he died what was going good in my life and my response was "just my boys, nothing but my boys" and within minutes, my phone was ringing off the hook for me to learn that the only thing I had to be grateful for at that moment in my life, was gone.<br /><br />I was wearing a baby blue shirt with a sweatshirt over it, grey dress pants. I was depressed for some reason that day, I was lost and I was unhappy and uneasy. I don't know why but I had tennis shoes on, even though I was coming from work. I don't remember much more than that but it's taken 2 and half years just to remember these few things and now that I have... I am back at square one I think. I am finally able to remember the 10 minutes before his death, does that mean his death actually happening is next for my comprehension? I hope not, I promised myself never to believe that it was an event that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">occurred</span> and then ended. Losing David is forever and as these tiny memories come back to me, slowly but surely, I am terrified to see what will come of me once I actually process that I sat down at that table to order dinner and my phone rang.<br /><br />I sound crazy I know, this is where I am today though.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-66855654047711984562008-06-25T13:23:00.000-07:002009-02-24T06:51:26.348-08:004:24I always wonder about parents that lose their babies. I wonder where they are in their loss. I wonder what knowledge they could offer me. I wonder what I could offer them. I make these ridiculous attempts to meet every Mommy and Daddy in the world that has a child, not with them. It's exhausting.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-44602303277409401942008-05-14T07:15:00.000-07:002008-05-14T07:37:15.694-07:00Mother's DayI don't know why Mother's day is always so impossible for me. I have so much to be grateful for, so many things to thank God for... 2 healthy children, 6 months with David, a healthy pregnancy, a supportive husband... and yet I spend mother's day feeling cheated. I avoid every person I know that hasn't lost a child, I fill the day with things that have no significance to celebrating motherhood. It wasn't until 8pm, putting C and N down to bed that I actually thanked them for having something to celebrate. What kind of selfish person have I become? I was so fortunate to have David come into the world alive, then to spend 6 perfect months with him and to have him pass so peacefully and painlessly, how many people who have lost their children can say they are as lucky as I am? My child was term, healthy, happy... and Mother's day feels like a funeral...<br /><br />This is where I am today.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-12026226426080632372008-04-23T10:43:00.000-07:002008-04-23T11:55:49.733-07:00It became my realityWhat makes it real?<br /><br />Time? Pain?<br /><br />Is it waking that first morning and screaming as loud as you can because it wasn't a nightmare at all? That scream lives inside of me forever. Being a dream was all I had left to hold onto when sleep finally won the battle... but I woke and it wasn't over. Pain and emptiness were there instead of my tiny, beautiful child. He was there the morning before, I remember. The first time I woke without him was impossible but not yet real, I was frozen this day, the second worst day of my life. I started sleeping in the crib that night. Imagine how that looked, but I still remember how it felt. Safe and warm as if I were as close to him as I could be. In complete honesty, 2 and half years later, I would opt to never have slept anywhere else since. I remember the smell and the cramped coziness of his tiny bed. I had put him down there to rest while I got ready, so why not sleep there? Sometimes he would roll over in the morning and look at me through the crib and if he saw me he would start a protest to be 'freed'. I brought him home from the hospital and gave him a tiny tour of that crib, 'and here is your sheets, and your music player, and Mommy sleeps right here beside you'.<br /><br />Is it the funeral or the memorial? Touching him and kissing his tiny nose for the last time as they closed his casket, does that mean he's really gone? He was wearing a soft little sleeper with a firetruck on it, it said "little hero" with a puppy. I put a little gold St. Christopher medal around his neck, though I realize he needed no more protection, not from me anyway. Then I pinned a tiny silver Miraculous medal to his sleeper. I bought two, one blue on silver, one pink. They were made for little children to wear on Easter Sunday or for their first communion, my son wore it to his funeral, does that make his death real? Does the consuming pain of the words 'in the ground' ever stop? Who thought to bury the people we love in the ground anyway? My little boy's Father would just say over and over how cold the ground was in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">October</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">November</span>, he thought he could do something to keep David warm. I knew he was not there in the ground but still, not real enough then to elaborate on the thought.<br /><br />It didn't become real to me until I celebrated my son's 1st birthday without him. There were balloons and psalms and presents... the balloons were let off into the sky, the psalms all choked out through tears, and the presents all left tied to a light over my son's headstone or <span style="color:#000000;">placed </span>carefully on top of rose petals that covered the words "David 'Beloved' Ford Dates". A ton of my friends and family came, but instead of holding my big boy in celebration, we held <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">each other</span> in his absence. He had no cake. No cards. He had no special outfit for his '1' pictures. Had this really happened to me? Is it possible that one year prior I had given birth to a child that I no longer had in my hands? My quiet secret pain was real. I hid it from myself and from those around me, I shuffled along in my day, I went through the motions all leading up to that day, 6 months of motions. Then April 24th, 2006 came and I had only memories, both happy and painful but not tangible.<br /><br />It became so real, too real. Every birthday is more real for me. Do I buy toys for a 6 month old, or a 3 year old? Should I read verses of loss or faith? Should I light candles for a 3 year old in heaven or a 6 month old no longer here? Do I tell my children that we are celebrating 6 months of life, or 3 years since birth? We buy cakes now, My Hubby bought David a cake last year and we let C blow the candles out. 2 of them. I have to wonder if the cake was for David... or me? Who cares, it had his name on it... something I never would have seen if he didn't do anything at all. A mother deserves to see her childs name on a birthday cake. I can't imagine I made a wish though, it would have been for something impossible.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-1255402507504958692008-04-21T08:56:00.000-07:002008-04-21T10:12:36.927-07:00David's StoryI don't know where to begin such a sweet yet painful story. I suppose I should start with what a blessing he was to me. I was so excited about having another little guy that I had planned and planned for almost year and when we decided to try again, I had everything basically down to an art. We conceived in the first month. It was right about then that my marriage seemed to unravel before my eyes. It was okay though, I had my Big boy and another would be along soon. Who could be ungrateful right? Within 3 months, time proved that I was to be divorced with 2 little boys to raise on my own. I thanked God everyday for my pregnancy because it truly kept me grounded, my little Angel carried me through.<br /><br />He was born, beautiful, on April 24<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span></span></span>, 2005. He was 8 pounds and 10 ounces, quiet and calm just like his brother's birth. He was born just after midnight at 12:27am. I named him David Ford, after my Uncle David that had passed years earlier. He was handsome and tiny, and a miracle. I couldn't imagine how I had lived a day of my life without him. We went home after 2 days from the hospital to the 3 bedroom apartment I was renting with my sister. He and I shared a room of course, he was only about a foot from my bed though he rarely slept in his crib after midnight.<br /><br />I was on maternity leave for 6 weeks, which I now recognize as the only time in his short life that I got to spend with him without any pressure to be constantly moving <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">through</span> the day. It went by fast, he nursed what seemed like a hundred times a night, he was a quiet boy but was a lot of work when the sun went down. I guess it was God's way of giving me little extra bits of time with him. It was brief, our time together at home. It feels unfair.<br /><br />I returned to work the day after my 24<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span></span></span> birthday. June 8<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">th</span></span></span>. Barely 6 weeks. I had found a sitter <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">through</span> my mom, a nice older lady and her daughter-in-law. They watched another little girl and they were able to watch the boys for very little. I didn't have any money to my name from not having worked for 6 weeks, I borrowed it from my mom. The next 4 and half months of my life are a blur, I worked and commuted, that was my life. My ex-husband picked the boys up each day and brought them over to my house, sometimes I would get home after David had gone to bed but most days I got home just early enough for him to start fussing and be put down for the night. The guilt consumes me, it's the one part of grief that never stops suffocating you. I'd give my life for my kids but I didn't even have 10 minutes to spend with them after work. Dinner, baths, pajamas...<br /><br />Time passed, I got used to the horrible routine. Up every morning, get C ready, get David ready, get ready, drive to the sitter- 2 hours of traffic, work, 2 hours home, boys to bed, sleep...<br /><br />October 26<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">th</span></span></span>, 2005... wake up, feed David, put him back down, get dressed, get C up and ready, get David ready... Their Dad came to pick them up that day for some reason, I think it was the first time in David's entire life, God letting his Dad see him once more I think, off to work I went. It was an awful day, I was sad all day, people told me later that I must have known it was going to happen because I was depressed all day long. I was leaving work an hour early to meet my Father and go to some seminar about 'getting more out of life'... amazing... but my phone rang at dinner and my son had stopped breathing.<br /><br />I stopped breathing too. He was at the sitter sleeping, napping with his brother in the room. The sitter went in to check on him and she said he looked pale, so she picked him up and he was 'limber' so she called 911. Ambulances came, they were 'trying', I was frozen with fear and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">paralyzed</span> by hope, hope that it would be not be what it was. I prayed and I prayed and I begged and reasoned, pleaded, I even bargained but on the other end of that call the response to "what's happening" from my Son's Father was, "Janice, he's gone, he's gone" I just screamed as loud as I could, "No, No, No". The screams were so piercing that I felt like they weren't coming from my own mouth. It couldn't be, this isn't the way things happen... I'm only a child myself, I can't possibly be losing, have lost, my son.<br /><br />It took and hour and half to get through traffic to C and my family. My Dad drove what felt like 3 miles per hour the whole way there. They stuck us in this tiny box of a room to wait for the medical examiner to let me see him again. It was so unreal. He was gone, and when I held him for the last time in that hospital bed I knew I was saying goodbye for a lifetime.<br /><br />This is the day the color drained from my life, the day time started over from 24 years into life to 'X' number of years until I see him again. Most people in my life know the story form being there or hearing it, but I have never told this story because of how much it hurts to know it is real and that it is not a story at all, it is my life. This is how I lost my son. I was not there with him, I did not get to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">whisper</span></span> in his ear while they tried to bring him back, I didn't even get to hold my son's body while he was still warm. I said goodbye to my son at 7am that day, I would never see him in my time on earth again.Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-63572074425422216292008-04-15T07:26:00.000-07:002008-04-15T07:50:52.649-07:00perhaps it's me<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/SATAx81l1sI/AAAAAAAAAB8/3blvZGd3oO4/s1600-h/david1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189484635014682306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/SATAx81l1sI/AAAAAAAAAB8/3blvZGd3oO4/s400/david1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I sort of feel the last couple of weeks as though David's loss is a story someone told me, instead of a reality that I live each day. I don't know if it is his birthday coming up or some other mix of emotions that is holding onto me. I've felt this way in the past, about a year ago but decided it was only a defense against the pain. This time it isn't letting up, the tears aren't coming. It <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">doesn't</span> feel real, nor does it feel like it will become real. I want to cry and be sad, I want to let some of it out and remember how much I miss his tiny life. When I think of him the last couple of weeks I just immediatley think of the happiest times I had with him then change my thoughts to the other happenings in my life. I think I am avoiding the part where he isnt here any more. What's my problem?<br /><br />I believe I'm passed feeling 'robbed', I can honestly say that horrible feeling hasn't knocked on my door in quite a while. I don't really accept it but I am coming to understand in my faith that he had a bigger purpose and that he was never really meant to stay and grow with me. I keep reading these other blogs and this information for grieving parents and I get so mad when people say that it's okay that I turned my back on God and questioned him when David died... I never turned my back on God, if anything I turned to him when David died. Mourning the death of your child is so personal, for everyone I think. I truly allow the people in my life to grieve and mourn in any way they can even if it means drinking themselves to sleep for a year or putting it away and pretending it never happened. I am not those people, I do not know what a day in their life is like, therefore I dare not judge or interpret <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">any ones</span> 'journey'. But when I read these generalizations of grieving parents I feel like it sets a guideline for others to grieve by. I spent so much time after David died trying to go through these stupid steps set forth by some idiot who, I later found out, never lost a child. Is that fair to the rest of us?<br /><br />I played with the idea of attending the MIS meetings and the infant loss cermonys but they were too much for me. I see how people find so much peace in that setting to see all these other people living their lives against the odds we ever thought we could again after such tradgedy. I wish I had the courage to walk into one of those meetings and scream how much my beautiful son means to me and how much I worry about his big brother for having this happen at the tender age of 3, but I stay silent and grieve and watch the world spin. Now I've turned it off, or at least down. I can write and talk and think about it without really letting it consume me, I don't know what I'm so afraid of, perhaps it's that first year and half of non-stop crying and depression. Or at least that's what it was for me, maybe I'm afraid I will spiral back into what I was a year ago.<br /><br />perhaps it's me</div>Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-54783023334863092552008-04-10T10:42:00.000-07:002008-04-13T12:33:26.183-07:00to say the least<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/R_5Trwp-ZOI/AAAAAAAAAA4/O6XL11QhXwg/s1600-h/david2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187675832037827810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O7r7RXuIn7g/R_5Trwp-ZOI/AAAAAAAAAA4/O6XL11QhXwg/s400/david2.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Everyday is a struggle, everyday a challenge. There are so many kind words spoken to mothers who live each day without their babies, but the cold truth is that they are just kind words.<br /></span><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">These words are always welcomed, as I would never look down upon someone trying to love me or make me feel better, but I know they have more meaning to the person saying them than they will ever have to me. It's part of the territory, one of the realities of an existence without your child. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The truth is that time... it heals nothing. Mothers that lose their little innocents, never get better. It is simply never going to be alright, and why would I want it to be? What kind of mother wants to be 'alright' that her child's future is no longer in her hands? We aren't even the same people anymore. I died when my son died and a new me had to be reborn out of his loss. That is the truth. I'm not angry so I hope I don't come off that way, I just miss that me sometimes and I look back at pictures of me before I lost David and I want to talk to that girl. I want to remember when my biggest challenge in life was getting the bills paid or mending a suffering relationship. My biggest challenge since that day is not throwing in the towel, at any given moment, "maybe today I will take a warm bath around 3 then climb into bed and not get out until 2010". That's a challenge for me each day. Bills and hurt feelings are so plastic and insignificant now, who cares? </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have to credit the people in my life that stuck around after I lost David. Most of them disappeared. Sadly. Though I find it to be no reflection of who they are as friends, but just their inability to deal with something so real and so consuming. I miss people in my life. It's hard to make new friends, all I want to do is talk about baby grave sites and SIDS research, people don't exactly form a line for conversation like that. I've become so socially awkward that I embarrass myself every time I open my mouth. I even tried having a few drinks when out with new people and it was far worse. I guess it takes time to become functional in society again and to feel comfortable enough with yourself to feel comfortable around others. The part that really throws me off is how outgoing I used to be, I was social and fun to be around and funny, everyone always told me how funny I was. I am none of those things now. I'm not witty, or friendly, or even original. That girl I used to be did die with her son and it breaks my heart that my children will never get to know her.</span> </div><div></div><div></div>Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-35316243793872015882008-04-10T08:15:00.000-07:002008-04-21T10:32:17.116-07:00How many of your angels live at home?<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of mine does, the other two live here with me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have to be honest, my little David truly defines who I am as a mother. It's easy to judge that statement from the outside but any other Mama that has walked a day in my shoes probably only sees it as a part of a journey. I didn't know how much I could love my children until I lost one, a terribly sad reality and something I'm not proud of, but I thank God everyday for my perspective. How many parents can say they love their children everyday like it is their last? </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I do now, every child, everyday! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's taken me so much to get to where I am now. I still tell most people I have 3 little boys at home, then I usually give them the age David would be when they ask. It's painful to think every time that he is not 3, he is not at preschool, he is not keeping me busy or fighting bedtime at night... but even more painful to not mention him at all. He was here, he deserves to be accounted for, even if I won't be completely honest, that's where I am right now. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I try endlessly to come up with these great ideas to fill the house with his memory, little projects that I can look at everyday but half-way through them all I have choked on the taste that once I actually complete one, it will be another step down in the 'process' which really pisses me off. I don't ever want to be through a process of losing one of my children, I still don't like to think past the last time I saw him, much less finish a frame to put on the wall, a picture that will never be replaced with his kindergarten picture, or his first communion, or a picture from his prom. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The last time I saw him he was so happy... he fussed from the other room while I was getting my big guy dressed so I came in and he smiled as if he had gotten what he wanted. I brought him this little blanket he loved to chew on, he reached both hands out for it and when I put it in front of him, he grabbed it and put it in his mouth, contented and peaceful. So I shuffled along in my morning to get the day going, I opened the door, handed his carrier to his Dad, and watched him from the door never knowing that I would have to wait a lifetime for that moment to come again. </span>Janicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5192829772498281252.post-69169710231669698792007-09-17T05:52:00.000-07:002010-08-06T13:07:13.243-07:0009/17/07Today I am not the mother of a dead child, I am just a mother<br />not that I am so numb to think he sleeps soundly in the next room, but only that today in the some 50 times that he came to mind I was not filled with feelings of sorrow or loss<br />I did not sit to cry or space out and stare off into nothingness<br />I not once came to think 'how did he die', 'what could I have changed', 'I should have had an autopsy'<br />I did not think about my tiny lost child in an ambulance, or hospital bed, or morgue<br /><br />I know he is not here, I know he has passed on<br />I know his body is buried and a eulogy read in his memory<br />but a glitch in my thought process prevents the rush of emotion that accompanies my every thought of him<br />that he was torn from me, that I should have been there, that he is dead<br /><br />I have felt this once before, a year or so ago, I went an entire day not crying or thinking about his death, my loss<br />I felt almost as if when I walked in my front door, he too would be jumping up screaming 'mama mama'<br />I hated myself after that day, as if I didn't deserve such peace<br />today I am fine with it and I do not hate that I am calm<br />I know tomorrow morning when the sun slips itself through the blinds and taunts me to survive another day in his absence, I will pull myself from my slumber and resume my grief, resume my burden of what 'would have been'<br />I will trade this quiet calm for an unsettling pain that never stops and never will<br />I took a break today but the painful truth is I have come to feel at home with who I have become...<br />the mother of a dead childJanicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16057110200648498980noreply@blogger.com0