"You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." -Counting Crows

Why We're Here...

My husband David and I delivered a stillborn Baby Boy that we loved, and wanted. Our first and only son, Logan, had Down Syndrome. Our daughter's smile is a little light in the darkness. She turned one year old three days after our sweet Logan tip-toed away on January 24, 2009. After 2 1/2 years we found out we were having another baby, whom we affectionatly called Rudy. Just shy of 6 weeks we found out Rudy was Ectopic. Rudy was surgically removed on May 26, 2011 delivering another blow to our already broken hearts.

Most days I am smiling, genuine smiles.

A fellow DBM and I were emailing and she said this:

"I often look at you and how hurt you still are and wonder what's wrong with me. Why do I feel pretty okay at 9 months and you're still so hurt at a year?"

The thing is, Logan's blog is where I sift through the intense stuff. I don't use this blog, just to blog about my everyday life and goings on. I have tried to keep it exclusively about the muck I am trying to sort through that is wrapped around Logan. I noticed recently myself, the folks who read Logan's blog don't get to see the times that are good, the days that are happy and filled with laughter. Part of that is unfortunate because it does give the impression that I am still neck deep in depression. I am not. I think that I came out of the deep depression at around 10 months. I had weeks where I would feel great, and then I'd have a few rough days or a week, and then I would surface again. Most of the time, these days, I'm angry at the people around me for their stupidity. A lot of this stems from unresolved issues I had long before Logan. I think about Logan everyday, but it is a very rare thing for me to cry over (maybe once a month, maybe). I struggle also with the fact that David is so far from having another baby, which in turn makes me feel like I am grieving the other children I always planned on. I find too that my grief cycles on about the same wave as my menses, meaning hormones are playing a major role in that. Not that I am trying to minimize my grief, but I think that I come across a whole lot more sad in my blog than I do in real life...if for no other reason than because I don't blog about the sunshine. The point is, no matter where others may be in their grief, its probably all normal, I am normal. Everyone grieves differently, and at different lengths and degrees. Sometimes I read other stories, mom's who seem to be coping better than I am and I wonder. Sometimes I read stories about mother's who see far more filled with sorrow who's child has been dead far longer and I think to myself that I don't feel nearly that sad, what's wrong with me?? So you see? I think that it depends on the person. And I also think it depends on the time. Grief comes in waves. A mom may be feeling great now, and in three months feeling devastated. Maybe not. The point is no one should feel weird at all. Perhaps some find more comfort from the Lord and that gives them a peace many can't get a grip on. I've thought about that. Maybe if I could let my anger go, maybe I could find peace and comfort in Christ again. I don't know. But I do know this. So many of us try to over think this whole grief thing, and I think its just best to let it be and it will take care of itself. For months I wondered if I needed a shrink, if I needed pills. Now I see that I just needed time. Within 6 weeks I was questioning my sorrow. SIX WEEKS! I laugh at that now. Six weeks was a blink in the cycle of grief. I was just in a hurry to get it over with. These days I let it be and when I am at a high point I try to enjoy it, and when I am at a low point I take it for what its worth and know that I will cycle right back out of it, because that's what I've done for the past 13 months now.

But life the way it is now is bearable, most days. Most of the time I find myself going about life the way I used to, perhaps a little more intense and a little more sensitive than I used to be, but I don't walk around dusting and sobbing. I enjoy my old hobbies, my old shows. I enjoy my friends, have made new friends and go out and enjoy their company. I enjoy my daughter, my husband...not the dog. I still can't find it in me to tolerate the dog (who incidentally puked on the floor this morning because she doesn't know how to moderate her water intake!!). I'm not nearly as angry in general, or as angry with God as I was even a few months ago. I'm even contemplating returning to church again. I've started to look at Logan's death as horribly unfortunate for me, not personal (most of the time), and not some horrid act of God so much as it happens sometimes, and sadly it happened to us. Not that there aren't moments where I fall back into the mindset that God is punishing me, has it out for me, or abandoned me..because I am human and I still have those thoughts on occasion. For the most part these days are filled with laughter and life, new plans and hopes for the future. Instead of bad days or weeks, I have bad moments. Logan being dead makes me sad. Its just a fact, not one that will likely ever change. I can't believe that at 80 I won't still feel sadness for my son. But it doesn't rule my life anymore. It doesn't trump every thought that I have, every event that takes place. I think I have learned to try to accept it instead of fighting it off and trying to understand it. Sometimes really crappy things happen to people. Guess it was my turn. It could have been so much worse, and for that I am thankful that it was not. I believe that certain things will always tug at my heart. But I am long past breakdowns. I am long past feeling the urge to have my eyeballs floating in vodka because I just don't want to feel the sadness anymore. Yesterday I even decided that I was going to move Logan's box of ashes. Which means I have to touch the box. Open the box. Remove the inner box. I haven't touched that box since the day it arrived so many months ago. And I surprised myself by realizing that the reason I wanted to move the box from sitting askew on the top of my very dusty armoir was because I was tired of seeing a box sit up there. I've decided, for now, to place him in the hat box on the stand near my bed. The hat box is empty anyhow. I couldn't bring myself to put him in the armoir or in the closet, but I thought this was a huge step for me. So, at some point today, the box will be moved. And I can say with almost all certainty that it will not make me cry. Almost. Being that close may affect me, but the thought of it does not. I guess I can't be sure.

So no, the year mark was not some magic date that set me free. In fact, I went into a real funk for a few weeks around that time. I will say that I do notice that every month I feel a little less sad, a little less depressed, a little more hopeful and normal again. And here at 13 months I can say with out a doubt that I will survive. My life will go on. I will find as much happiness again as one could hope for. I know it now because I feel it, and not because some one assured me it would be so.

However I will continue to have bad days here and there, how could I not? I will always need a safe place where I can come and sort through the struggles I face being a DBM. And I will use this blog to do just that. I just wanted to share with everyone that though it may seem like I am really struggling on a daily basis, in fact I am not. Most days I am smiling, genuine smiles and feeling real deep down satisfaction and happiness. But, I think, my memory of Logan will always hang around like a shadow. I'll find better ways to work around it, through it and with it, but I believe it will remain. How could it now? He was my son.


Michele said...

He'll always be your son, sweetie. Always...

Mary said...

Sometimes I feel like I only post some of the most depressing things. I am trying to even it out the happy and the good. But greif is very unpredictable.

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