Tuesday, September 20, 2011


I have been feeling so alone. I know that is not the case. I know that a lot of people have experienced what I've experienced. I know that there are men and women who've experienced much worse - much bigger losses; but that's what this does to us, right? Isolates us. It's an unspoken thing. No one wants to hear about me talk about my dead baby. No one wants to hear about me talk about how sad I am. And so I keep it in. I try to focus on other things. I try to focus on my health, my other babies' health, my job, being a mom...and those things work to distract me until I get stressed and then it all comes back with a vengence.

This week was one of those weeks. I had friends over and that totally worked to distract me from Cole's birthday, but then when I sit or come home, it's multiplied times a hundred.

Today I came home and bawled. I'm just so sad. I wish there was a better word than sad. Heartbroken. In the literal sense - I literally feel like my heart is in a million pieces (but still stuffed in the same spot - forced to continue to pump blood and function). I've been asked a million times, "how do you do it?" And my answer has always been the same. "Because I had to. Clear and simple." But I'm now asking myself the same question. How do I do it? A piece of me, a beautiful little boy I met a year ago, died and how do you go on with your day? And how is it that a year later I'm, in some ways, more torn up about it?

This was my post one year ago today:

We reached two more milestones today: (1) we visited the funeral home and picked out Cole's urn and (2) we wrote Cole's obituary.

Day by day.

Moment by moment.

Little by little.

It feels like just yesterday. I can remember standing in that room. I remember filling out the paperwork and writing under relationship to deceased "Mama." I remember the man saying, "how old was Cole?" and then instructing us that based on his size we would need to pick an urn that was at least a certain size. I remember wondering how his little body was going to get there?...would they drive him over? Would he personally look at him before he was cremated...would he wear the outfit we had last seen him in... And we stood, Mr. Howard and I, looking at a wall of urns and I remember thinking, "How do I pick one? HOW DO I PICK ONE?!?"

How do people do this more than once? How do people lose children much older than Cole? And then when I'm feeling really, really sad...I think about how selfish I am...how frustrated I am with myself for feeling so sad because there are men and women who have lost adolescent or teenage children and they seem to deal with it all a million times better than I am (of course, I know this to be irrational. I don't see them in the shower clumped up in a ball crying...I see them like they see me - put together, at work, in the real world, functioning). 

I'm trying to remember my own words of wisdom: "Day by Day...moment by moment...little by little..."


Courtney said... Best Blogger Tips[Reply to comment]Best Blogger Templates

I know you are not looking for validation for your sadness...but I want to say it is ok. You can be sad all you need to, because you are not so wrapped into your sadness that you cannot function. It is totally to still have bad days and want time to just grieve and cry. I also think that a huge difference between losing a an older child is there are often memories to look back on and smile about, to be happy about. I think THAT is what gets parents of older children through it...but parents like you, like us, and many others whose blogs and we stalk. We never had those memories. We never had the smiles to remember. You never saw him watch you, open his eyes. It makes it harder to reflect and not feel just sadness. You will go through the stages of grief a lot, and everytime each stage will last different amount of time than the last time...but it is ok. I am always down for a good cry...so I'm right here if you need a shoulder to sob on.

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