One year...365 days...8,760 hours...525,600 minutes. Or in the case of this last leap year, 366 days, 8,784 hours, and 527,040 minutes. That's how long it's been since I've held my little boy. In the last week or so I've had many people ask me how I was feeling and doing with Fane's 1st anniversary coming up. And I didn't really know how to respond. I didn't really know what I was feeling about the whole thing. I didn't know what to expect. And I kind of felt like I should be more of a mess based on the way people were asking me. Now that it has come and nearly gone I can say that it wasn't that bad.
In some ways it was just like any other day. Fane's still gone, that part isn't new. I still miss him. I still cry for him. I still ache to hold him again. What's different is that I can no longer think back to what I was doing with him a year ago. By now he was already gone a year ago. At this point, I think back to when I was laying in a hospital bed...dealing with the news that they had found him. But it wasn't him anymore. It was just his body. I think about the ambulance ride from one hospital to the next. Laying in bed all night, hardly sleeping. Talking to my sister in the morning. Coming home to a Faneless house for the first time. Hugging my brother when I walked in the door. My brother who we always say doesn't like to be touched. Crying and apologizing for being so stupid. Going to the funeral home and seeing his poor little body all battered and bruised...and cold. Wanting to see his eyes one more time...and so many more memories from the first awful, awful days.
I went to see him today. That's what we call it, going to see Fane. I half expected to actually see him there when I pulled up. Or at least I was hoping to. I sat and cried, more accurately, sobbed. I read him a story-Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You. It was a book I had bought copies of for all my kids. I planned on saving them for a big milestone like graduation or something like that. But I suppose it's message is so fitting for our current...situation (for lack of a better term).
I think of atheists and wonder how they deal with death. I have no clue how they cope with it. I don't mean that as an insult, I just honestly can't imagine going through something like this without faith in anything. It's hard enough for me even with my belief in a heavenly reunion. How do you deal with it when your belief is that they're gone? Dead. Worm food (as I've seen written so many times). Most of the time the only thing that keeps me sane is my faith.
This morning I got up early with Canaan. I sat down at the computer and got on Facebook. One of the first things I saw was a post of Jesus Loves Me. That was Fane's favorite song and we sang it at his funeral. I couldn't help but think it was one of those "God speaking" moments. It blessed me so much and really set the tone for my day.
Facebook was full of messages from friends today. People remembering the significance of this day. People talking about Fane, remembering him. There is nothing I appreciate more than people remembering him. When I mention him, it's not so people will feel sorry for me and remember the pain I feel. It's so they'll remember him. I want nothing more than for him to be remembered. And to know that he is remembered. So more than well wishes and sorrow for me, I love hearing people share memories of Fane and tell me how special he was/is.
I look at so many people and forget that they live the normal normal...if that makes sense. I've gotten used to an abnormal normal. I buried my child which is abnormal. And since then we have adjusted to a new normal I had hoped would never be mine. It's something I live with day in and day out. So I forget that most people don't live this way. And it still sometimes doesn't feel real. These things happen to acquaintances of acquaintances of friends. But they don't happen to you...until they do happen to you.
This year on the whole has been the worst and hardest of my life. But I don't really like saying that either. My oldest son was taken from me which was absolutely devastating. And it still devastates me on pretty much a daily basis. But my youngest son was also given to me. I can't call it a complete bust. I am still blessed in so many ways. I have five children that I am oh so proud of. Four of them live with me and one of them is waiting for me. Although, I suppose he's not really waiting for anything where he is now. I'm the one that's stuck doing the waiting. I have a husband who loves us all and has a good job that supports us. I have family and friends I can call on at any time. And we have an amazing church family. For all of this I am grateful.
This is somewhat of a rambling and ineloquent post. But I didn't feel right about letting this day pass without writing something. So to summarize, I am doing well. I read posts from other grieving mothers and realize I've relatively got it together. I'm in a good place. I still hurt...a lot. But that doesn't mean I've given up on living. I am changed. I am more subdued, less joyful. I am aged. I feel so much older than other people my age. Sometimes I feel older than people a generation older than me. I've experienced more than many people ever will in their entire lifetimes. I am matured. They say having a child makes you grow up a lot. I think losing a child makes you grow up a whole lot more. I have grown so much. And yet, I think I still have a lot of room to grow more. Year two has officially begun. We shall see what it has in store...
Friday, January 11, 2013
Friday, October 26, 2012
How am I Doing?
It's been 9 months, 2 weeks, and 1 day since Fane left. I oftentimes have people ask me how I am doing. Typically I say good or fine. And most of the time those answers aren't really lies. Most of the time I really am good or fine. At least as good or fine as I get since the accident. As good or fine as a mother who's lost a child can be. There really is a lot more that goes into it than that. But I use the same response for times when I really am not feeling good or fine or anywhere near to those standards. For one thing, those responses have become so natural to me. Like a reflex, I say them without even thinking about it. Secondly, I figure most people don't really want to hear how I really am doing. Thirdly, I realize that I'd probably break down right then and there on the spot if I were honest. And I guess it's my own stubborn pride at work there. I don't want people to see me blubbering. So, for those of you who do want to know, here is how I really am doing:
I still cry everyday. Every. Single. Day. Some days more than others. I honestly don't think there's been a day since the accident that I haven't cried at all. Fane's absence has become the new normal even though there's really nothing normal about it. It's almost gotten to the point where I'll think to myself, "Did that really happen? Did I have a son one second and in the next he was gone?" And then I'll look down at the hideous scar on my arm and am vividly reminded that, yes, it all really happened. The reality of it hits me and I struggle. I still have moments when I literally crumple to my knees because I just can't stand any longer. I still will go to the place we buried him (I can't bring myself to call it a grave even though I know very well that's what it is) and lay there sobbing so hard I gag. And every now and then I still beg God to send him back to us because heaven is just too far away at the time.
I am more irritable than I ever used to be. I have less patience. Things get to me like they never used to. I have very little tolerance for (what I see as) petty parental complaints. Things such as kids waking you up in the middle of the night. Do you have any idea what I would give to have Fane wake me up in the middle of the night again? Or your babies are growing too fast. You cried because you put your kid's size 12 month clothes away? Try going through your kid's closet for the last time, storing clothing you got for next year that he'll never get to wear now. You broke down on her first day of school? Fane doesn't get a first day of school. Guess I sound a little bitter. I don't really mean to be. Like I said, things irritate me a lot easier than they used to.
It bothers me when people say, "I know how you feel." And I know they mean well, but I don't like it. Really? You know how I feel? Even if you have lost a child also, you don't know how I feel. Do you know how I feel every time I drive by the ditch where my son died? Do you know how the most random thought will trigger the memory of the accident? How I'll relive the entire car ride from church to the ditch? Replaying our conversation? Saying it's okay, we're just going in the ditch, we'll be fine? Replaying Fane's cries that turned into screams from all four of my kids? Do you know how it feels to relive laying in the ditch with your arm stuck under the vehicle? Not being able to get free to take care of your three screaming children, two of them still strapped upside down in their car seats? Or not being able to look for the fourth baby even though you know in your gut exactly where he is but hoping, praying you're wrong? Do you know how it feels to have your daughter come up to you crying because she misses Fane and wants him to come home? Do you know what it's like to live with the knowledge that you were driving the vehicle that killed your son? Our personalities are different, the circumstances surrounding our children's deaths were different, and our circumstances in the aftermath are different. You may know some of what I am feeling and can relate. Yes, it is painful for anyone who loses a child. I'm not saying my loss is more painful than yours or vice versa. I'm just saying you cannot know how I feel. Just as I couldn't know how you felt when you lost your son or daughter. Saying that you know how I feel...well, to me it's a little insulting. Like it's belittling my pain.
I sleep clutching his ratty blue "Buddy" every night. When Fane was born he was given one of those little security blankets with a stuffed animal head attached. We noticed he had grown rather attached to it by his first birthday. It was then dubbed "Buddy" and they were henceforth inseparable. He would drag it all around the house and basically could not sleep without it. I usually washed it once a week, the thing smelled so bad. I meant to wash it the day of the accident but for some reason ended up not getting to it. I was happy I didn't. I had never before enjoyed that smell but suddenly it became precious. A couple of months after the accident it stopped smelling and I was devastated. I hated to wash it again. Anyway, now Buddy sleeps with me every night because it's the closest thing I have to Fane.
I still peek around the door into what is now just the girls' room after they're asleep just to make sure that Fane really is gone. Or maybe it's in hope that he'll have miraculously returned as if nothing ever happened. I've had many dreams of that happening. Typically in each dream I fear sleep, thinking I'll wake up and he'll be gone again. Or I won't let him out of my sight thinking I'll turn back and he'll have disappeared.
I don't care for driving, especially at night. Typically, I don't drive at night unless I absolutely have to. Driving the stretch of road where the accident happened is particularly difficult. I often don't feel safe in a vehicle. I know all to well how it feels to be in control one second and then suddenly not the next. Even the slightest swerve freaks me out. I am really not looking forward to winter roads.
I regularly think about what he would do in various situations. How he would be interacting with his sisters and brother. It breaks my heart to think of Saphira and Hawke not even remembering him. Saphira knows him in pictures but I don't think she remembers him. Hawke was two and a half months at the time of the accident. I doubt at this point he even knows Fane was ever here. Aria will ask about him from time to time and it just warms my heart. I try to picture what he would be like now, nine and a half months older. I see other kids his age playing and I hurt knowing he'd be playing with them if he were still here.
It's not all bad, though. I have good times. I smile. I laugh. I am trying to keep things in perspective. I know I am not the first mother to lose a child and I haven't been the last. I know I have not been singled out to carry this burden. There are others like me out there. It could have been much worse. I could have lost all four of my babies in that accident. There have been countless other parents who have lost multiple children in one fell swoop. So really, I don't feel I have room to complain. And I try not to most of the time. Yet complain I do from time to time. I am only human and it is in my nature after all.
I still have my faith. I know there are some who would mock me for it. Perhaps even some who read this blog. That's fine it's your prerogative. Just as it is mine to continue to praise God and trust Him in the midst of my suffering. Well, try to trust Him anyway. That part isn't always so easy. Yes, my baby boy is gone for now. But I do believe I'll have him back one day. For a follower of Christ this life here really is the dream, a nightmare for some that will be over in a blink. And one day I believe I'll wake up on the other side to an eternal reality. A reality in which I'll ask myself if this earthly lifetime of mine ever really happened. That's my hope anyway. And a big part of what keeps me pressing on.
And now I feel as though I'm rambling. The thoughts that were in my head when I started seem to no longer be there. Perhaps it's the hour. This is late for me.
I still cry everyday. Every. Single. Day. Some days more than others. I honestly don't think there's been a day since the accident that I haven't cried at all. Fane's absence has become the new normal even though there's really nothing normal about it. It's almost gotten to the point where I'll think to myself, "Did that really happen? Did I have a son one second and in the next he was gone?" And then I'll look down at the hideous scar on my arm and am vividly reminded that, yes, it all really happened. The reality of it hits me and I struggle. I still have moments when I literally crumple to my knees because I just can't stand any longer. I still will go to the place we buried him (I can't bring myself to call it a grave even though I know very well that's what it is) and lay there sobbing so hard I gag. And every now and then I still beg God to send him back to us because heaven is just too far away at the time.
I am more irritable than I ever used to be. I have less patience. Things get to me like they never used to. I have very little tolerance for (what I see as) petty parental complaints. Things such as kids waking you up in the middle of the night. Do you have any idea what I would give to have Fane wake me up in the middle of the night again? Or your babies are growing too fast. You cried because you put your kid's size 12 month clothes away? Try going through your kid's closet for the last time, storing clothing you got for next year that he'll never get to wear now. You broke down on her first day of school? Fane doesn't get a first day of school. Guess I sound a little bitter. I don't really mean to be. Like I said, things irritate me a lot easier than they used to.
It bothers me when people say, "I know how you feel." And I know they mean well, but I don't like it. Really? You know how I feel? Even if you have lost a child also, you don't know how I feel. Do you know how I feel every time I drive by the ditch where my son died? Do you know how the most random thought will trigger the memory of the accident? How I'll relive the entire car ride from church to the ditch? Replaying our conversation? Saying it's okay, we're just going in the ditch, we'll be fine? Replaying Fane's cries that turned into screams from all four of my kids? Do you know how it feels to relive laying in the ditch with your arm stuck under the vehicle? Not being able to get free to take care of your three screaming children, two of them still strapped upside down in their car seats? Or not being able to look for the fourth baby even though you know in your gut exactly where he is but hoping, praying you're wrong? Do you know how it feels to have your daughter come up to you crying because she misses Fane and wants him to come home? Do you know what it's like to live with the knowledge that you were driving the vehicle that killed your son? Our personalities are different, the circumstances surrounding our children's deaths were different, and our circumstances in the aftermath are different. You may know some of what I am feeling and can relate. Yes, it is painful for anyone who loses a child. I'm not saying my loss is more painful than yours or vice versa. I'm just saying you cannot know how I feel. Just as I couldn't know how you felt when you lost your son or daughter. Saying that you know how I feel...well, to me it's a little insulting. Like it's belittling my pain.
I sleep clutching his ratty blue "Buddy" every night. When Fane was born he was given one of those little security blankets with a stuffed animal head attached. We noticed he had grown rather attached to it by his first birthday. It was then dubbed "Buddy" and they were henceforth inseparable. He would drag it all around the house and basically could not sleep without it. I usually washed it once a week, the thing smelled so bad. I meant to wash it the day of the accident but for some reason ended up not getting to it. I was happy I didn't. I had never before enjoyed that smell but suddenly it became precious. A couple of months after the accident it stopped smelling and I was devastated. I hated to wash it again. Anyway, now Buddy sleeps with me every night because it's the closest thing I have to Fane.
I still peek around the door into what is now just the girls' room after they're asleep just to make sure that Fane really is gone. Or maybe it's in hope that he'll have miraculously returned as if nothing ever happened. I've had many dreams of that happening. Typically in each dream I fear sleep, thinking I'll wake up and he'll be gone again. Or I won't let him out of my sight thinking I'll turn back and he'll have disappeared.
I don't care for driving, especially at night. Typically, I don't drive at night unless I absolutely have to. Driving the stretch of road where the accident happened is particularly difficult. I often don't feel safe in a vehicle. I know all to well how it feels to be in control one second and then suddenly not the next. Even the slightest swerve freaks me out. I am really not looking forward to winter roads.
I regularly think about what he would do in various situations. How he would be interacting with his sisters and brother. It breaks my heart to think of Saphira and Hawke not even remembering him. Saphira knows him in pictures but I don't think she remembers him. Hawke was two and a half months at the time of the accident. I doubt at this point he even knows Fane was ever here. Aria will ask about him from time to time and it just warms my heart. I try to picture what he would be like now, nine and a half months older. I see other kids his age playing and I hurt knowing he'd be playing with them if he were still here.
It's not all bad, though. I have good times. I smile. I laugh. I am trying to keep things in perspective. I know I am not the first mother to lose a child and I haven't been the last. I know I have not been singled out to carry this burden. There are others like me out there. It could have been much worse. I could have lost all four of my babies in that accident. There have been countless other parents who have lost multiple children in one fell swoop. So really, I don't feel I have room to complain. And I try not to most of the time. Yet complain I do from time to time. I am only human and it is in my nature after all.
I still have my faith. I know there are some who would mock me for it. Perhaps even some who read this blog. That's fine it's your prerogative. Just as it is mine to continue to praise God and trust Him in the midst of my suffering. Well, try to trust Him anyway. That part isn't always so easy. Yes, my baby boy is gone for now. But I do believe I'll have him back one day. For a follower of Christ this life here really is the dream, a nightmare for some that will be over in a blink. And one day I believe I'll wake up on the other side to an eternal reality. A reality in which I'll ask myself if this earthly lifetime of mine ever really happened. That's my hope anyway. And a big part of what keeps me pressing on.
And now I feel as though I'm rambling. The thoughts that were in my head when I started seem to no longer be there. Perhaps it's the hour. This is late for me.
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