I am simultaneously happy and heartbroken. Happy and thankful that I am here to witness and partake in my older 3 children's beauty. The other half of me is crushed that Ethan isn't here to partake, at least in this earthly way. So when you ask me how I am doing, I may genuinely reply "well" with a smile, though a part of my heart is filled with sorrow too.
This is a bizarre way to live life. Balancing two emotions, that often contradict one another. When grief was a stranger to me I didn't realize that intense emotions on opposite ends of the spectrum are not exclusive of one another. It's a strange existence, simultaneously living fully in a world of happiness amd fully in a world of sadness. Guess I'll just have to get used to it.
Perhaps this is what people mean when they say things won't get "better" but they will become "different" over time. "Better" doesn't really seem appropriate any more, it's not like my son's death can improve. So I aim for "different" in a more manageable, less raw, functioning sort of way. To those of you who read this and know what it is like to have your baby die, is this what you speak of? This pain, this longing for my son to be here is ever present. It will never leave. Nor do I want it to, if I am being honest. Perhaps healing is the process of integrating this permanent longing into my being, into my day-to-day life, while I find a way to experience the joy the rest of my life has to offer.
That's a tall order, even on a day filled with the low tide grief. But maybe, just maybe, this process is beginning.
Perhaps this is what people mean when they say things won't get "better" but they will become "different" over time. "Better" doesn't really seem appropriate any more, it's not like my son's death can improve. So I aim for "different" in a more manageable, less raw, functioning sort of way. To those of you who read this and know what it is like to have your baby die, is this what you speak of? This pain, this longing for my son to be here is ever present. It will never leave. Nor do I want it to, if I am being honest. Perhaps healing is the process of integrating this permanent longing into my being, into my day-to-day life, while I find a way to experience the joy the rest of my life has to offer.
That's a tall order, even on a day filled with the low tide grief. But maybe, just maybe, this process is beginning.
Yup - life will be forever different for you now. You will have good days, you will have bad days.
ReplyDeleteSince my daughter was born, I have been filled with so many emotions! I am so happy to have her here, but then it makes me miss my son even more. Life will never be the same for those of us who lose a child.
http://thecookiegal.wordpress.com/2012/06/29/a-very-emotional-day/
Nancy
Oh Nancy,
DeleteI am so sad that your boy isn't here, and so happy that your daughter is...all at the same time. A huge part of me wishes I could have another child, not to replace Ethan, but to have another, more recent experience with pregnancy/delivery/etc. that ends positively. Hearing how your rainbow child makes you so happy, though escalates your sadness for your son's absences is poignant. Perhaps having another baby (even though we can't) wouldn't be the answer for us at all. Thank you for sharing. All my love to you. and always remembering your sweet boy with you.