I was talking to someone about how you feel when you are very first given the news that someone you love is in the hospital, especially when their life is in danger. It hurts, it's terrifying, in some ways it feels like everything freezes the moment the news breaks. I remember feeling like it was wrong, 100% wrong for the whole world to continue turning when mine had just spun off its axis like that. How could people continue going to work? How could I carry on with life? I'm sure anyone who's experienced a sudden tragedy, a death, an accident, an illness that really stopped them in their tracks can relate with that feeling. Just for a few days, couldn't the entire world stop while I came to grips with what was going on? Some days, I still wish the world could stop turning again, just to give me a minute to think, to feel, to remember, to not rush on with him gone.
A few months ago, a friend of mine received the horrifying news that her oldest son (in his early 20s) had passed away. He had a genetic condition that was related to the health problems that caused his death, but it was still unexpected. She is a therapist herself, and it has been so eye opening to me to see her post about the trauma and stress that she has experienced and that she's able to recognize in her life as a result of losing a child. Her openness has helped me to realize that some of my issues are pretty normal for a parent coping with loss.
Nightmares have become a huge part of my life since Gideon passed away. I can't tell you the number of times I've had a dream where I watch one of my children drown or fall off a cliff since he passed away. I have come to terms with the loss of my child, but my head and heart are terrified that I'll ever have to face the tragedy of losing a child again.
My heart shatters with people I know if I hear that one of their children has died. It hurts so much and I feel my own pain all over again as I sympathize with them. I have shed tears with every friend of mine who has lost a child since I lost mine, whether they have known it or not.
I still miss the milestones. I miss him on his birthday, and on holidays. I miss him when my other kids have their special moments: when we celebrate them getting A's, or at recitals or soccer games, or when they participate in their firsts. The memories are something I did not get enough of, and I long for more.
I have a harder time now when my children leave my sight, to go to school or other places without me. That sounds a little weird, but it is true, I'm afraid to lose them, I'm afraid to hurt again.
And both pregnancies I've experienced since Gideon's have been filled with far more anxiety than my earlier pregnancies were. I am still eager for each ultrasound, but I'm also a little terrified that they'll find a problem that is life threatening and I'll have to endure it all again.
It's a rough road, it's definitely bittersweet. There are a lot of things in my life that are harder since losing a child.
However, like the sky after a thorough rainstorm, there are some things that are clearer and more beautiful in my life as well. And if all I did was talk about the negatives, I wouldn't be acknowledging the beautiful blessings I've experienced since Gideon passed away.
Along with the terror and fear of losing my children has come a sense of treasuring who they are and the moments that I have with them. I'm grateful for the perspective that reminds me to love and treasure these moments, especially now that I have teenagers and a preteen who have quite the delightful temperament at times. It helps me cope with this difficulty and at the end of the day, I can still hug them and sincerely love them, despite their occasional abrasive nature.
Along with the fear in the pregnancy came a realization of the miracle that a healthy human baby is. When Miriam cried out in the hospital, I shed tears of joy, because this child could breathe, she could cry. And even though a crying baby is no fun, I appreciated the fact that her lungs were that developed, and that she didn't have to spend time in the NICU.
The milestone days are hard, they are. I want to know who he would be, so badly I wish I knew him better. Again, though, this has taught me not to take the chances to get to know people for granted. We live in a world where we're often very preoccupied by screens and not reality. And I'm still guilty of spending too much time in those arenas too. But I love the chance to have a sincere heart-to-heart with ANYONE, but especially my own family members, because all people are precious, and I am so grateful when I get to make those kind of real human connections.
There's nothing good about nightmares. I can't think of a silver lining on that one. I don't think I learn much from them, except to be grateful when I wake up and realize that I'm alive, my children and husband are OK. But most of us have experienced that after a nightmare, I don't think I am the only one. They're not fun.
I have also realized that, though the world never stops turning for anyone or anything, moments count. Any moment can be precious if it's treated that way, made to be precious, and made to count. Pictures capture moments, and I'm so grateful for the technology that allowed us to take pictures in the hospital and to remember the few moments we did have with Gideon, and for the memories I can capture and review through photographs or videos now and in the future.
Many people are absolutely baffled that I am pregnant again. I honestly hate being pregnant. It makes me so sick, it's uncomfortable, it's stressful, and I like my normal body so much better. This is actually my 8th pregnancy, we had a miscarriage before I was pregnant with Gideon. And I fully own that I'm at least a little crazy for doing this so many times, especially since I don't love it. However, after Gideon's loss, I came to realize that, at least for me, raising a child is easier than burying one. I love being a mother, even though it's incredibly hard. Watching my children grow up, taking the moments to hold those babies and toddlers and to teach them, nothing else comes close to that experience. Each human life is its own miracle, and my desire to participate in that miracle only grew as I felt and continue to feel the loss of my little boy. Believe it or not, I actually thought Gideon was going to be the "caboose" in our family. The changes my heart experienced definitely opened up my heart to the possibility and desire of having more children after we buried him. The little girl we added to our family after Gideon brought so much joy into our family, and gave our waiting arms a chance to hold and love a little one, which we had TRULY felt like we missed. Sometimes I feel a little bit bad for the children I had before Gideon's loss, because I didn't love and treasure their babyhood as much as I have after burying him and wishing he was here to cuddle and love.
I don't explain that because I think everyone who loses a baby should feel what I have felt, nor do I explain it because I am trying to talk anyone into dealing with things the way I have. I don't expect anyone or everyone else to react to loss in the same way that I did. Nobody should feel bad for deciding that, after a loss, they can't do it again and put themselves through the possibility of more pain. Not everyone who loses a child will want to have more children after that, and that's OK. Another thing I have realized and continue to be very aware of is that everyone's experience with loss is NOT THE SAME, and, as people, we have to allow grief to happen and heal in whatever way works for each individual. Even my own husband and I do not always feel grief at the same level, at the same time, or always completely understand what the other one is thinking or feeling as we've journeyed through grief. Even though many of our experiences with his loss were shared, we still don't feel exactly the same about everything.
One HUGE thing I've learned from this journey through the loss of my sweet boy is that life is such a different experience for each of us, and we can't expect any solution to be "one size fits all". In our very polar world, many political parties assume that their "answers" should fit each and every person in the world. I do agree that there are some rights and truths that should be universally applied to ALL people, but I think too often, we expect that one solution, one method will work for everyone. We are all on such a different road, with different experiences and education, with different perspectives and power, with different abilities and gifts, that we have got to stop expecting everyone to have the same opinion as we do, or to do things the same way we would do them. It is OK for us to realize that we are all on our own journey, and to appreciate the learning and perspective we can gain from each other, without having to agree on how its done. Life and perspective is a blessing we so often take for granted, and I am grateful to have so many friends and family who don't see things in the same way as I do, but who have loved me and allowed me to be me through this journey. I'm sure a few friends and family have wondered about me having more kids, about why I've shared my feelings, about why faith in God is so vital to me, but I appreciate that, despite our differences, they have let me share my perspective and been respectful, even if they don't agree.
I'll share one last thought about something I've learned and am still sorting out how to deal with. Each person who lives has so much potential to change the lives of the people around them. Even my little Gideon, who only lived for a week, has massively impacted my life and the lives of people in my family. How much more impact should I be able to have, having been alive over 1000 times longer than he? I think those of us who are still so blessed to be alive often don't realize our potential to make the world better. Feeling the impact of a human being who only lived a week has made me realize that my own impact could be so much greater, and that all people have an amazing potential to enlighten and uplift others, whether we seize the potential or not. I'm not constantly motivated (because, really, who is?!) but I have noticed that since he died, I want to use that potential more and more.
I keep on learning from loss, I keep growing and changing. It's hard, painful growth, like when muscles break down and rebuild themselves stronger and better. Superman said "No pain, no gain" and there's much wisdom in that.
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