Category Archives: sadness

Brutally Beautiful

Death, expressly a sibling’s death, is never an easy concept to grasp. It is especially traumatizing for young children. One day someone who has been an integral part of their life from birth disappears, never to be seen again. Their entire understanding of life as they knew it changed by this event. Fortunately I never dealt with this when I was a child. Unfortunately, I have to watch my two sons live it.

My childhood was a charmed one. I had one younger sister and we played dolls, house, store and many other common childhood games. My children also do this, with one major difference. Their play commonly includes an aspect of heaven or death. Being that their brother lives in heaven, this is extremely relevant to them. It’s all they know. When playing with other children, however, it is obvious that many of them do not normally bring heaven and death into their play.

My boys’ realm of knowledge of heaven and death does not hold the same emotional weight as an adult’s. Teachers and others who have since interacted with my children are quick to comment on how matter of fact they are about heaven and death. From the beginning of my grieving process I have been brutally aware of what my other two children are missing out on. They are not because this is all they have ever known. It is their reality.

In one sense their reality is brutal but in another it is beautiful. Their spirituality is a beautiful thing. They are aware that love transcends all. They are aware that their brother is always with them. They are aware that he is always sending signs. It has definitely changed the lens through which they see the world. It has changed the lens through which we all see the world. Sometimes I wonder what our family would look like if we never had to endure this pain. I think we would be beautiful. It’s something I mourn every day. Beautiful is not our reality so we will be brutally beautiful. Love to heaven…

A Single Red Balloon

Your classmates moved up to middle school yesterday. They reached a major milestone in their lives. It is one they will remember forever. You weren’t there in the flesh. Yet floating right next to the row of seats was a single red balloon. A powerful reminder that you were there in spirit. Your friends’ faces lit up with smiles as their names were called to receive certificates and awards. Under those smiles some of them saw the balloon and it touched their wound. You will forever be remembered as the boy who died right before first grade started. Over the past few weeks of seeing your friends it has become clear that this event has touched all of their lives. Those who were closer to you struggling with the idea that one day they can be on a playdate with their six year old buddy, saying they will see him on the first day of school, and the next day he can be gone. The uncertainty and fragility of life plaguing their six year old selves.

Your own brothers are obviously not immune from this either. While we openly discuss you and our emotions surrounding losing you, I often question how they truly are feeling. Sometimes they are transparent in their feelings and other times it is a mystery. Leading up to yesterday’s moving up ceremony many emotions coursed through me. As the mother of the family, I believe this means that many emotions coursed through the entire family. Unfortunately when children are younger their emotions often manifest behaviorally. The National Institute of Mental Health (NIH) states that children under 5 may, “cling to a parent, return to behaviors common to being younger and show signs of fear”, among other symptoms. These are behaviors that I have seen present themselves in my youngest son. The NIH states that children 6-11 may, “have nightmares or problems sleeping, have outbursts of anger and start fights”, among other symptoms. Again, I have seen these in my 7 year old. These behaviors are also common in children who have not seen and experienced what they did. The uncertainty and fragility of this situation plagues me as a mother.

Child loss sets a ripple in motion that affects many people, some for a lifetime. Your brothers are forever at risk to falling prey to their emotions. The fear this ignites in me is raging. What if one day they turn to drugs or alcohol to escape the pain they experienced when they were younger? We will always give them unconditional love and support but what if that’s not enough? This is where my trauma manifests itself. In knowing that nothing can be controlled, my fears arise. Uncertainty, fragility.

There is no telling where time will take any of us. We have learned that nothing is guaranteed. Life is precious and each moment truly counts. We can’t control anything. We simply are not that powerful. All we can do is use the past to guide us in the present. We can let the visual of that single red balloon remind us to do our best to stay present and appreciate life. We can carry on your spirit by spreading kindness and love. We can recognize that the uncertainty and fragility of life is truth, but not let it take over. Love to heaven…

It’s All Relative: RIP Kate Spade

As I opened up my computer to write this post yet another piece of sad news was absorbed. Kate Spade is dead at 55 due to suicide. Heartbreaking. The news blurb stated that she is a mother and a wife. The entire world knows she was successful. Looking in one may question what could have been so bad that she would take her own life? That’s when my dad would pull out his favorite phrase, “It’s all relative”. Oddly enough that was going to be the topic of this post before I read about Kate Spade. Her death makes it even more relevant.

Obviously Kate Spade was in such a severe depressive state that she was unable to see the possibility of hope. Tragic, simply tragic. While members of the public view her life as charmed, it is all relative. Fame, fortune and success mean nothing if you are unable to reap the benefits of joy. As my readers know from my last post, there are times when my own life seems void of hope. Thankfully I have never reached the point that Kate Spade reached. While the thought of ending it all to be reconnected to Christian has passed through my mind, it has also receded fairly quickly, even at my worst. Just those short glimpses into how terribly hopeless depression makes me feel is enough to comprehend how someone would think suicide makes sense.

Over the past week there have been moments of joy and their have been moments of sadness. I have cried tears over all that has been lost. I’ve watched a friend lose an amazing family member to ALS, yet again too young. I’ve witnessed the generosity  of those around me in bittersweet acts of kindness. I’ve rejoiced over my first article being published. I have watched my son’s classmates celebrate their last field day as elementary students. I’ve had my seven year old tell me that when he gets older he will go sky diving and purposely not put up his parachute so he can go to heaven and see his brother. It has been an emotional roller coaster. And yet, it’s all relative. These are incredibly difficult situations to face, but someone has it worse than me. It’s all relative. Someone has it better than me too. None of this truly matters as much as the outlook you have on your situation.

We all have things that we go through. No one escapes this life unscathed. Some of us are more fortunate in this area and have less tragic things affect us, but either way we all have our troubles. You never know what someone else is going through, so please remember to treat everyone with kindness. Things may look picture perfect on the outside and be broken beyond belief on the inside. Be kind. Pass it on. RIP Kate Spade. Sending prayers and love to your family, especially your daughter. Love to heaven…

Hugs From Heaven

Albert Einstein said, “Energy cannot be created or destroyed, it can only be changed from one form to another.” When we lose someone we love, we quickly learn this lesson. Yesterday this idea was further strengthened for me when a mom from the school where Christian attended Kindergarten, and where Anthony goes now, approached me. She asked if she could speak to me for a moment, assuring me that nothing was wrong. She proceeded to tell me a story about how her dog ran away last weekend. The last place he had been was the playground built in Christian’s memory.

It took four long hours and then she miraculously found him in some thick brush a little ways away from the playground. When she reached this point of the story, I had an idea of what she was going to say. It did not come as a surprise when she said that she truly believes that Christian helped her find her dog. I won’t go into the details. That is her story to tell. The thing that did come as a surprise was how she described Christian’s energy. She had never met him before. In fact, she and her family had only moved to the community when the playground had just been completed. Yet, she was able to describe his spirit and his energy in the exact same way I feel him. She even commented that he “has such a large presence for a young boy”. She also said, “it’s like a big hug”. It was invigorating to hear someone who never knew him describe him as I feel him. In a way it was validating that he is watching over the community. It was validating that others who were not connected to him in the Earthly realm find connections to him now.

As a bereaved mother, I wish with all my might that Christian was still here. It has been a long process to actually accept that. I’m still not sure I am fully there, even though I live it. Of course intellectually I know he will never be in my arms again, but to know that he actively lives on in spirit, makes my heart sing. Love to heaven…

Memorials, Memories and Mugpotato

I am sitting quietly in my bed, hoping if I don’t breathe too loudly my son won’t hear me. As far as I can tell, he only came in to change his clothes and pee. My mind and body are exhausted to the core. My husband travelled all week and is finally home. The kids are outside with him and I am writing in pure silence.

Not once, but twice, today I found myself in tears. Funny when those things spring out of your eyes and you are not expecting it. In hindsight, on the heels of all of my achievements yesterday, I should have seen it coming. There was a lot of emotion attached to them.

Tomorrow proves to be another exciting and emotional day. The customized backs will finally go on to the buddy benches at Christian’s Adventure, the playground built in memory of him. These backs are complete with his drawings and his name written in his own handwriting. So, yeah, more tears tomorrow.

I have been asked a few times since my post yesterday if all of these tributes to him evoke more happiness or sadness. The truth is both equally. My main quest as a mom of a child who has passed away is to make sure he is never forgotten. These projects and tributes ensure that he will not be forgotten. They are also extremely emotional because there would be no reason for them if he was still here.

Today, as I was sitting on the bench at school, one of Christian’s Kindergarten classmates came over. He said, “Do you remember me?” I said, “Of course! How are you Mateo?” We talked for a little bit and then I said, “For the first 2 days of Kindergarten Christian came home telling me that he had a boy named Mugpotato in his class. Of course I said, ‘can’t be Christian.’ He swore your name was Mugpotato.” Finally on the third day he came home and his little voice said, “Mom! His name is Mateo!” We had a good laugh about that one!

Mateo and I talked for a little longer and then I said goodbye. As I walked down the steps to sign my son, Anthony out as a walker, I passed more of Christian’s classmates. I heard one girl say, “Hey, there’s Christian’s mom!” That’s right, I thought, I will always be Christian’s mom. He may not be here to tell me funny stories anymore or to give me the gossip about who likes who in his class, but I will always be his mom. He will always be in my heart, and in his friends’. For that, I am eternally grateful. Love to heaven…

Just as I was finishing this post, there was a familiar ring, letting me know the front door had opened. Then breaking the silence, “Mom?” My time is up!

Get It Done!

I am really good at procrastinating about some things. When I have a list of emotionally difficult tasks to complete, I tend to let them pile up and knock them out all at once. Today I feel like I am standing on a mountain, waving a victory flag! My list of emotionally charged tasks is complete, for now. My mountain imagery is a bit dramatic, but some of these tasks have been lingering for over three years. They have caused me sleepless nights, wracked me with guilt and led to negative thoughts. Today I feel accomplished. The tasks are not fully complete yet, but the ball is no longer in my court!

Why have I procrastinated for so long? Well some of these tasks being completed makes losing Christian even more real. Sure, it’s been more than three years if reality, but certain things confirm the finality of loss. Some other tasks required photos to be reviewed and words written about my angel. Again, causing me to confront a time in my life when all of my children lived with me on Earth is extremely difficult.

The amount of relief I feel after completing these tasks is actually surprising. It was weighing me down even more than I realized. The outcome is still the same. Christian is gone forever. Now, however, I am relieved of a small amount of parental guilt. We all feel better when we are relieved of any guilt!

So, my PSA today is to stop procrastinating! Maybe you need to schedule in your hard tasks, maybe you need to get a friend to nudge you or maybe you need to get a new to-do pad. I forgot I did that this weekend. Who knows if that is what inspired me? Whatever it is, get to it and stop stressing it, says the woman who procrastinated completing a task for three years! Another lesson learned. Love to heaven…

How to Survive A Bear

Living in my mind is a big bear. He appears to be cute and friendly, so he is appealing. When I get closer to him, however, the truth is revealed. He is extremely dangerous. If I engage with him, his presence will most certainly be a block along my path. I cannot react based on my fear. It has the potential to destroy me. If I can remain in the moment and be clear headed and calm, my chances of him backing away are greater. Learning these tactics seem straight forward and simple. Employing these tactics when emotions, especially fear, is running high is a whole different story.

Some people call the bear in their mind their demons, some call it resistance, some simply call it their mind. For me, I have newly discovered the concept of the bear. The visual helps me to remember what to do when I know he is trying to run the show. My ability to remain in the moment and clear headed is what fighting looks like for me. If I try to “fight” him off, it becomes even more of a struggle. One of my favorite quotes is, “What you resist, persists.” Showing him resistance means he will be there longer, trying to dominate my actions. Leaving him be means he will leave me be to be me! It means not listening to him when he tells me I can’t or I’m too tired or too (fill in any negative adjective).  Being me means doing, not trying, to be my best. It means accomplishing my goals. It means being the best version of myself. It means finding success!

When the bear appears on my path I have to remind myself of my goals and of my whys. If I am able to follow the steps outlined above, I can survive the bear. He simply moseys on away and I go about walking my path. It frees me up to be the best I can be. If I engage with the bear and attempt to fight him, allowing my emotions to make my decisions, he knocks me down. I always get back up but not without bruises. Dealing with grief and the bear has altered my encounters with him. He has always tried to control my journey. He has always showed up just when things seemed to be going really well. Its just that in the past I had more reserves to remain calm and clear headed. It has become more difficult since losing Christian. I am learning how to deal with grief and the bear in my life. The bear will never go away. Learning how to control my reactions to seeing and hearing the bear is the best way to stay sane on my journey. It may even make him appear less frequently, allowing my journey to be smoother and allowing me to reach my goal with less difficulties. These lessons are said to be gifts of grief. Love to heaven…

When Heaven is Where Your Brother Lives

As a mother of one, I was terrified to add another child to the mix. How could I do this to Christian? What if I didn’t have enough love for both children? How would I handle those times when both of them needed me at the same time? These are all questions that ran through my mind. Very common questions and thoughts. All were answered as soon as my second son entered the world. I had just given Christian one of the best gifts, a younger brother. From personal experience, I knew what a gift this was. Having a sibling means having someone to play with, someone to learn from, someone to share with. Sure, there would be a learning curve, but eventually he would thank me for this other being who would wholly understand the idiosyncrasies of our family, like no one else.

That time did not arrive as quickly as I had hoped! The learning curve and adjustment took some time. Quite honestly, it was probably more difficult for me than him. When the time came however, that he and Anthony were able to play together, they melted my heart. There was a lot of fighting. I am not going to sugar coat that. There were also a ton of laughs. The two of them together would sing silly songs, dance around, play with cars, build blocks; all the normal things that brothers do. As a parent, seeing two beings who you love more than anything, love and enjoy each other, makes your heart sing.

Then, when Anthony was one, we found out there would be yet another little person added to our family. Surprise and fear are just two words I will use to describe our emotions at that time. After getting over the surprise, excitement also set in. We knew that baby number three would complete our family. We were overjoyed when Nicky made us a family of five, no one more than Christian. Anthony had just turned two, but Christian, at the age of five really loved Nicky. He was the first person to make him laugh, he loved helping me take care of him and he loved being an older brother to two younger siblings. With three boys under five, I was completely overwhelmed. We added a move into that equation when Nicky was eight months old and I was spent! The boys, however, rolled with it all. They grew closer and closer. When Christian went off to Kindergarten, Anthony would say immediately after he left, “I miss Christian.” Life was fast paced, demanding, crazy and exhausting.

Fast forward to today, where my two boys are five and seven. Life is fast paced, demanding, crazy and exhausting. That love and admiration between all three brothers remains. Added into the equation is the sadness of their oldest brother not being here physically. It is a harrowing experience to try to explain to a five and seven year old where their brother is, why he is not here, when they will see him again and that most people don’t enter heaven that young. Children simply do not process things the way we do, which was a positive aspect of them being so young when we lost Christian. As they grow however, and their brains mature, so does their level of understanding.

Anthony, who is seven, seems to be entering a deeper level of understanding. A few different things have happened lately, leading me to this conclusion. Just yesterday, while playing at a nature park with friends, he broke down in tears. At this park there is a beautiful memorial to Christian. It is a tree with three bird houses, one for each of my boys. Under it is a rock with Christian’s name inscribed on it. Anthony was sitting on the rock, sobbing. When I reached him he verbalized that each time he sees something that reminds him of his brother or hears someone talking about his brother, it makes him want to cry. Heart breaking, simply heart breaking. A child at the young age of seven should not have to deal with the depth and meaning of the emotions surrounding such a tragedy. This is his journey, though. Through my own journey I have learned that there is nothing I can do to change that. He needs to walk his own path. Certainly I can, and do, guide him. I encourage him to feel his feelings and share. As a family, we talk about Christian openly and often. Yet, no one truly knows how Anthony feels, other than children in his position.

It is downright terrifying to know that as much as I want to take this pain away from him, I cannot. My mother has voiced this same sentiment to me about my own journey and pain. All I can do is let Anthony know that he will never be alone on his journey. He will always have his family walking beside him. I can also give him the tools to get through his pain. No one escapes the world without pain. My hope for him is that learning how to use these tools at a young age will make him that much stronger. He needs to know we are a family of fighters. We are a family of strength. We are a family of love. If nothing else, my hope is that he learns this. Child loss is an ongoing barrage of emotions, especially for the family. I must arm my children with the tools to walk on their journey through their pain. Along with their angel, I will never let them walk alone. Love to heaven…

Surrounding Support

Yesterday I started to write this post. I published it by mistake before I finished it. I did eat a healthy breakfast and… it ended there. I was exhausted and feeling sad. I couldn’t, in good conscience, claim I followed through on my healthy habits.

This morning. I wrestled with myself. I woke up exhausted again but I followed through with my workout and have more energy than I did when I woke up! Now I feel validated to publish this post!

I hope everyone had a happy and blessed Easter. Our day was filled with egg hunts, excited children, family, love and blessings. I fell into bed last night! Unfortunately, my sleep has not been great lately. Last night was another night of twists and turns and nightmares. Honestly, after the night I had, I felt like today would just be a survival day not a “living” day. Until, I looked down at my phone.

There was an inspirational message from my trainer and good friend. She declared that, “Easter is about rebirth and new beginnings so what better time to recommit yourself… start with evaluating your why”.

In that moment, I knew I had to show up for myself today. Part of that meant starting the day with a healthy, well intentioned, breakfast. I could have come down and just eaten what I felt like. There are plenty of sweets left over from yesterday, despite most of them being given away. Instead, I relied on my normal routine breakfast so I didn’t have to think. In eating a breakfast I knew was healthy, I immediately began the day in a positive manner.

Support and routine habits are two of the most important tools for making changes. In my case, I am striving to continue on my healing path. These tools are not only helpful in my situation, however. These tools apply to all situations in which change is the desired outcome.

As a bereaved mother, support has looked different for me throughout my journey. In the beginning support was basic. I needed people to help me survive, help me take care of my boys, to let me know they were there to help me with anything. Shortly into the journey, support looked like coffee dates, lunches with friends and walks. It has evolved into many things. In addition to my friends who have been there since the beginning, my support now means having a trainer, who has become a dear friend and amazing support. It means having a workout partner, who is also a dear friend. It means attending therapy sessions each week. These people and actions keep me accountable. They keep me on track. They remind of why I am working hard on this journey. When I get too into my head, they call me out on it.

They also keep me in my routine. Some days I need their help more than others. When I am following my routine, it makes things that much easier. It takes thinking out of the equation. It’s Tuesday, so I go to workout class at 9. I’ve been doing this for over a year. I know if I go, I will feel better. I also know if I don’t go, my trainer will call me to see what happened. There are checks and balances in place for me. In the past, needing this much help would have felt weak. Now, I know what I need to be successful and I fully accept and embrace it. That doesn’t mean I don’t fall down. I do. It just means I get back up quicker. Don’t ever be afraid to ask for what you need. No one exists alone in this world. Love to heaven…

Resurrection

Okay, so I know I mentioned this before but, with Easter upon us the concept of resurrection is floating around in my mind again. When Christian passed away, I actually prayed to God repeatedly that he would be resurrected. It was so incredibly unbelievable to me that I lost a child. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me. It wasn’t the life I had thought about or planned! If something so terrible could happen, then something unexpectedly positive could happen. In the twisted logic of a grieving mother, this meant that resurrection was possible. If child loss had become a part of my journey, then so could resurrection.

I was desperate. Anything to bring my boy back. You see, after losing him there was no way I could go on. Unfortunately, I knew people who had lost children prior to me. As everyone does, I thought, “I don’t know how they do it. I could never go on”. That belief was even stronger than the one that said, “This could never happen to me”. Surviving child loss was not something I would be capable of. I was sure of that. Those early days were, and still are, a complete blur. The years have passed and there are still days that remain a blur. Some days I don’t know how I am going on, living, and he isn’t. Yet, here I am, three and a half years later, still alive, a survivor of chid loss.

In the early days after the accident all I know is I ate, drank, tried to sleep and existed. Thankfully, there were plenty of people around to help take care of my children, my husband and myself. Our family, also stricken with shock and grief, found ways to help and take care of us. Friends were constantly calling, texting and stopping by. Community members who we knew and didn’t know, donated money and made meals for us through the New Year. The level of support was amazing. As a Catholic, my faith wavered greatly, other than my belief that my son may be resurrected! I can vividly remember my sister saying, “I believe these people are God. God is in the faces and hearts of these people right here”. Looking back, I see truth in that. At the time, there was no God to me because my son had been taken from me. Everything I once believed in was shaken. I was forced to find a reason to go on, something to live for.

My other two boys are my reason. They are my motivation and reason to continue. They need me and don’t deserve to lose their mother too. Their brother was not resurrected from the dead, but in a sense their mother was. After surviving a death of who I was, a new me was resurrected as a different mother. My resurrection was out of necessity. In order to go on, my beliefs had to change. In order to go on everything had to change. The glasses through which I saw my life and the world needed to be completely different. For me, this means daily work on my mind, body and soul. This was not part of who I was in the past. It is integral to who I am today. Surviving child loss also means reminding myself every day of my reason to go on. To all those survivors out there, survivors of anything, keep remembering your reason to survive. Love to heaven…