Only the strong survive.

Throughout this journey I cannot tell you how many times I have heard the statement, "Your a strong woman/mom/person/girl, etc." It's a statement I have grown to hate.

Before loosing Sam I took that as the greatest compliment. After all, that's how I was raised. Strong, independent woman. I still am, just in a different sense. I know I am a mom that knows what she wants for her children. Does that really make me strong?

What does "strong" mean?

Who determines the perimeters of "strong"?

I hate this phrase more now after loosing Sam than anything. I take it as a threat to my grief and where I stand in my grieving journey. I know people don't intend it to be that way, but, that's what it feels like every time someone says it to me.

I may appear to be strong because I have to lie. I have to lie to make people think I'm not about to crumble.

You see if I let people in to what is really going on then they hop on the concern train and pester out of good love and heart. I don't like to be pestered, I need to figure things out for myself. Hardheaded, stubborn they call it.

Sometimes I just want to be weak and ball up into the fetal position and cry for days on end. But I can't I have to be a mom and wife.

Now that my second son is in the NICU, I have heard this phrase resurface again and again. I hate it, I really do. I'm not "strong", I'm a mother. You have no clue how I am behind this facade. I plow through what I have to to make it and crumble when it's least expected. Being here I am inundate with emotions that have to be kept in a tight-lid jar. If I let them go, I could risk being separated from my only living son. People here "worry" about me and my well being because they know my fragile past, I've only mentioned it a thousand times. We are the only parents here that are ALWAYS here.

We're here because of Sam. We're here because of our experience with the unthinkable.
We live the unthinkable.
Don't tell me it's impossible.
Don't tell me "he'll be fine".

You don't know that. Who made you fucking God?

We live too far to miss a possible goodbye if it came to that. I never got a hello with Sam. How could I risk a missed goodbye with my second son. Sam died alone. If it came to that with Angelo, I don't want him to take his last breath without one of us being here. Sam has taught me every second of life is precious. If I can witness and behold every second of it before it's swept from my feet, you'd better be damned that I'm not going to miss that.

I want to turn to faith. In this hard time.

But I have none. I obviously want something to hang on to because I'm mentioning it, but I hold it at arms length. I feel like I've been shit on so many times, someones got to be to blame for it. I haven't been able to figure out all the horrible things I've done that could have brought this punishment on. Why me?
Why us?
Don't start reciting the bullshit line,
"Everything happens for a reason" or "God only gives you what you can handle."
Bullshit!
And this is your God? The one who says my son is in Heaven. Why would I trust a creator that has only shit on me when I needed "Him" most?

It's for the strong folk. The ones that are able to release their worries and pain to the higher. It's the weak that are too stubborn to release from the white-knuckled grip.

It's all a game. This talk about strength. It's what people tell you when they have nothing else to say to someone that's in a shady place too murky to travel themselves.

It's a game for the grieving and bleeding. It's not strength you see before you, it's a mom just trying to hold it together long enough to cry alone and release the pain when permissible.

It's just a battle of wits for me. Don't tell me I'm strong, it's only hurtful to my grief.

Through the wringer

Wow! A lot has happened since I last posted. I will give a quick update and move forward with my post.

1. Had another baby boy on June 18th
2. Been in the NICU since his birth because of complications and he was 6 weeks early.

Now, where do I begin...

We must have told Sam's story, our story about a thousand times since his brothers birth. Having another boy was enough of a stressor, now having my little boy in the NICU is beyond stressful. I feel like I have to validate my fears and anxiety. I have to let nurses and doctors know that we have a legitimate reason to be fucking crazy!

"If I walk out of here without my son, I have to know I left no stone unturned. I have to make sure I do everything in my power to protect him." This is what I tell the doctors. They usually nod and do as I ask.

We've been treated so nicely while here. I just hate being here. Counting down the days, counting the days that have past. Being torn between my children again. My girls have done a great job going with the flow but I know they are shaken by all of this, I know they want things to be different.

Then there's Michalina. She has had her moments were I can see the joy in her eyes that she can embrace the fact that she has a brother here on earth. Then I can see the fear and hurt she has for seeing him through the glass when she comes to visit, wanting him to desperately come home. She gets scared that the outcome may be the same as Sam's, she doesn't tell me that but I can sense it. How do I comfort that when I have the same fears?

My emotions have been on a downward spiral. I look around our room and know that my boy could be worse, but that doesn't make it better or any less painful. I am grateful we are not in other possible situations, but I live in anger and fear that he is even here. I am terrified that if I walk out of the doors without my husband at his bedside, he's going to die alone or that I won't have the time to say good-bye.

My grief has taken a turn, a downward spiral type of turn. I'm not sure when I will be able to get a handle on it again.

Maybe I never will.

Poetic

Just now driving home from a morning breakfast-picnic at Sam's park and an afternoon of shopping with my girls, I see it...

The first and only Monarch butterfly I've seen all season.

It was beautiful. Just as I remember it on that cold windy late October day at Sam's park.

My little boy saying, "Hi, Mommy, I'm here."

This one was different.

I first noticed it as the van in front of me smacked it with the car.

It quickly disappeared from sight. It was gone just like that. Another victim to passing car.

Just then I see something fly from the front of this car and flail in the sky, as if trying to stay afloat.

The Monarch.

Desperately clinging to life.

Trying to fly.

Trying to stay alive.

I watched helplessly as this beautiful creature danced with death. Obviously there was nothing I could do....

But drive and flashback to 2 years, 2 months, and 4 weeks ago.

Did he dance with death?

Did he desperately cling to life?

Or was it quick?

Did he suffer?

I would have saved him if I could.
If I'd known.
I would have laid my own life down for him. I still would, just for a moment with him.

...and it was gone. I could no longer see dance with death. I supposed it died. How could something so fragile survive.

Life's fragile.

Life changes in a second.

Life is out of my control. I hate that.

That Monarch was my son. Gone in an instant.


Ahhhh...He laughs again at me. You don't make it easy to find faith.

Groundhog Day

That's right my post is going to be about Groundhog Day. How does that have anything to do with grief? I'll tell you...

A poetic viewing of the movie Groundhog Day on Saturday sparked a question in my husband. He says to me, "If you had to do/live one day over and over again, which would it be?"

With out hesitation I answer, "as much as it would hurt...giving birth to Sam. Even though the pain would be so great, I'd get to hold him everyday."

I miss him. I yearn to hold him and feel him again.

Days have been rough lately. Just feeling very exhausted in my faith and its slipping quickly. Am I really going to see him again? How do I trust God again?

I want a Groundhog Day.

Mommy loves you.

I'm leaving

I never thought this would be me. You know the mom that wants to stay at home with her kids. I always thought of myself as the mom that couldn't wait to get away from her kids. The independent mama who worked full time and managed the house at night. The mom that was confident leaving her kids with someone else.

It's not me. I'm not the mom I thought I once was. It's not that it wasn't hard leaving Michalina, but I got used to it quickly and knew really nothing else. It was what I always knew would happen. With her I had tunnel vision; have a baby, stay home for the summer, return to work in August. That was it. I guess I never really pictured myself getting so attached to my children.

Sam has taught me different.

He has taught me that my dream job is to be a mom and the very best mom I can be. He has shown me my true purpose in life.

Mother.

But I can't live up to that lesson. I can't keep that promise.

Money. The root of all evil.

It's money that holds me back from living that lesson, that dream.

Because of money I am unable to stay home with my girls and be the mother I want and know I can be.  I return to work tomorrow.

That's the thing about being a teacher. There is very little leeway when it comes to working options. I don't have the choice to work from home or return part-time. There are students there awaiting my return. They need me, but I don't need them.

He says it can't be done. He says it's too much to leave; a teacher's retirement plan, a teacher's benefit's. I never thought my life, my dreams would be run by money. I never have let it before. Why am I allowing it now? Having breathed death, I say, "What if I/we don't live that long?" "What if I die old with regrets?" I have always thought I lived by my life's motto, It's the risks you don't take, you always 
regret.

I have been blessed with some very understanding team mates and colleagues. I have been granted a transition to ease my way back into my duties; aka leaving Vivianna. I don't know how I would be if I didn't have this easing. Even still, I will be in my office wiping away the tears that scourer my face leaving tracks of sadness while milk sprays from my chest into tiny plastic bags awaiting an infant that refuses to be fooled.

I have had kind words told to me and offers of assurance and peace, but save your breath. I know she will be left in good hands, I'm blessed with that option, I know that. That is not it. I'm not only leaving them, I'm leaving my hopes, my dreams, and exclusively breastfeeding. So save your breath because you can't replace my hopes, dreams, and bonding.

You don't understand, you can't.

What if she dies while I'm away and I miss another goodbye? What if she has a "first" while I'm away? Death has changed me without ever asking for permission. I've tried to tame those ill thoughts of death and negativity but it's hard. Even when I'm able to wrangle the demons they are still waiting and taunting me in the corner, laughing at me.

No matter where I am, where my thoughts and grief are, I'm leaving you day dream. Goodbye.
I'm sorry I let you down.

Even though...

Even though it's only been one year, one week, and six days is it time to do things differently?

I love it! Do things differently. That's a joke. There is no timeline in grief. Screw time. Just like it's screwed me.

Lately I have run into two people who have felt that I should be doing things differently in my grief. People that have judged where I am at in my grief and felt that I owe them or others something. I mean after all it has already been one year, one week, and six days...

Is there a disclaimer in grief that says after the one year marker you should do things a certain way?

I don't think so. That's a crock of shit if you ask me. My world has been turned upside down more than most would ever know and you are trying to tell me how I should go about living my life?

NO!
I'm not depressed.

I have, and do, give myself many smiles and much "happiness".

Are they different smiles and laugh's than they used to be before I buried my son?

Your damn right they are. They will always be different. My life has been changed.


I know my grief.

After all, it's been one year, one week, and six days. I know this thing called grief that follows me forever without rest. I know it's movements. I know it's manipulations.

I don't fear my grief. So don't make me shelf it for your pleasure.

I know when to be gentle with myself and I know when to push myself through the grief that I battle daily.

It's not going anywhere. Grief that is.
It's here for good. It's not a bad thing. As long as you get to know it. My son is dead for God's sake. You want me to curb grief? Not going to happen. It will creep in when I allow it. It doesn't abide by your rules.

Respect me. Respect my family. Respect my grief...my forever grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How do you tell a friend...

...even though it's been one year, one week, and six days you are still hurting.

The hurt is not lighter. Not easier.
Just different.

I'm hurt because I have some friends who won't talk to me because of their own fear...
I'm hurt because some see me as the same person I used to be.
I'm hurt because some deserted me.
I'm hurt because some have forgotten.
I'm hurt because some won't say his name to my face.
I'm hurt because some won't even read my blog for fear of stirring up uncomfortable feelings.

I'm just hurt.

It's not about your closure. It's not about you. For once I had to be selfish and deal with my loss. Not the loss of your friend. I am still Stefanie.

Like me, for the Stefanie who has given birth to death
or
Hate me, for the Stefanie who is selfish in her own grief.

I have learned to put all these feelings of hurt and loneliness on the shelf. I have learned to rid my life of senseless negativity because I have other things to focus on. Others things that are not even known by most readers and friends.

To stir up those shelved emotions is big. When a grieving mother is asked to discuss feelings, it's different. It's no longer a casual conversation. It's an invitation into a battlefield. Your asking me to enter a place I felt I have conquered.

Please don't make me go there for your own self righteousness.

I'm exhausted.
I'm hurt.
You left me. Your were my friend. Where were you to hold my hand in the darkness?

After all it's been one year, one week, and six days...

Allow me to introduce myself.

I'm Stefanie. I am married to the love of my life. I have three children; one is my sunshine in my darkest days, one soars high in the sky with his wings spread wide and a gleaming halo, and the other fills my life with hope. My life has been changed by experience. I walk a journey through grief. I'm learning everyday to live my life all over again. Please be gentle....

...even though it's been one year, one week, and six days.

Healthy Dose

I rolled out of bed this morning, thankful it is Friday. After forcing myself into the shower and convincing myself to actually do my hair instead of putting in in a pony, I moseyed downstairs. I looked out my back window and saw a beautiful sunrise. I didn't take a picture because I was in a mad hurry; but I did take a moment to look at it and soak it up. I tell Michalina to look at the sunsets and thank Sam for painting such a beautiful sunset. We joke and that all the angels get together and paint each sunset. So, this morning I thanked my little man for a beautiful sunrise.

After soaking that in, I get in the car to head into to work. Nothing like a small, healthy dose of Bobby Brown. Yep, I said Bobby Brown. My Prerogative (minus all the sluty parts)! After my post yesterday, I mean rant, I thought what a perfect song to follow. It's my prerogative to grieve how I want to grieve and everyone else should mind their own business.

Everybody's talking all this stuff about me

                                                       Why don't they just let me live?

Tell me why I don't need commission

Make my own decisions

That's my prerogative

It's my prerogative

-Bobby Brown

Believe it or not, it put a smile on my face. 

We made it...

We managed to make it throught our first Thanksgiving without Sam. It's not like he was ever really "here" for it to begin with but this falls into the dreams category and an added dose of the parallel life of "should have's".
We started the morning at Sam's park with a simple Dunkin Donuts picnic. We ran into some friends there and they stopped by to wish Sam a happy Thanksgiving too. We took our time there and spent a nice Thanksgiving bagel and donut with our Sam.

Then we get to the part of the day that really sucks. Maybe it is just me but I have had moments since I lost Sam that rub me the wrong way that I would have never noticed before I lost him. Almost as if I have an insensitive radar that is on high alert 24-7. Or maybe it is the holiday season that brings this out in mothers that have lost a baby. But when you hear rumors that "you are depressed" because you are excluding yourself from family gatherings? Oooo that erks me. Or when you start to talk about your son that is no longer with you, people clear the room?

Today went well until I could no longer hold it together anymore. By the end of the day I could barely hold myself together. I know that not everyone's life revolves around my angel baby, but fore real could people just remember and acknowledge his existence? I talked about displaying Sam's picture with the rest of the family and I get dismissed with I haven't thought about it. REALLY! You haven't thought about displaying and proving my son's existence? Oh, I'm sorry did I inconvenience your life by tossing in a bump? I am consumed and forced to live a life that I NEVER planned and you haven't thought about it? How could you not, he's your Grandson. He did exisist. He did live even if it was only inside me. And he is a part of this family. 

What I am learning now is I have to sometimes defend or teach people about grief. I'm am not depressed because I exclude myself from events, I'm fucking grieving the lost of my son! We all do this our own way and the is no right way to do it. THERE ARE NO RULES IN GRIEF! So don't give me or my family your advice on how you think I should be handling my grief. If that means I cannot do the same ol' things that I used to. Then so be it. I am not the same person I used to be. I can't pretend that nothing happened. I can't pretend that my son never existed. I will forever defend him, it's my job as a mother to him. 

Exhaustion

I never realized how physically exhausting it is to live. You see since loosing Sam, I have fought to live each day of my life. For the past five months I have thought about what it would be like with him here and acknowledge how my life has changed since he was born. These are thoughts that are constantly running through my head. I could be having a conversation with someone and they have no clue as to what my brain is really processing. In this effort to conform to "normalcy" I have let my guard down and put myself in a situation that I wasn't in a state of mind to do. This weekend I attended a festival that was great for regular people, but not for me. I was surrounded by friends and families with smiles on their faces having a wonderful day enjoying each others company. Not to mention the babies in my face all day and the happy families. Let me clear one thing up, it is not so much the babies and pregnant women that tear me apart but it's the happy families that just make me feel like the unexplainable. Don't get me wrong I cringe when I hear a baby cry or make those cute little baby noises; but happy families, Ugh! 


Needless to say, I did something that I wasn't ready for that day. Since my grief likes to take the route of a spinning spiral, I can change at any moment. For the past couple of days all I have wanted to do is curl up next to Sam's wall and veg out for hours on end. Then life gets in the way and I do things to please others instead of respecting my emotions at the moment. I am realizing again, that just because I have a daughter and it has been 5 months since I lost Sam, does not mean that I head into a "normal" life. I need to do what is right for me and my family.


Back to my exhaustion. I know many of you will shake your head in agreement when I say that grief is physically exhausting, while others will do the same out of false empathy. There are moments in my days where I feel that I am literally trying to catch my breath or hold my eyes open. This is in no means because I am over exerting myself physically throughout the day, it is because I am so emotional drained. I wonder how long this will last? Then again, I don't want it to stop. I feel like stopping the pain that I feel for loosing Sam is a reminder of it's reality; a reminder that he existed. I know, I know, I won't ever forget my son; but, being happy, to me, feels like I have started a new chapter. For those of you that don't know me, I do not like to settle. And, being content in my life without my son feels like settling. It brings me back to my post about "acceptance". It is not okay that my son died, and it is not okay that people will forget him and forget my family's grief.


I will forever be missing my baby and I will forever be grieving. I will not heal I will only manage to live knowing I am one day closer to being with my baby boy. So, please, spare me the speech and let me grieve.