Grief. I've never had a loss like this in my 30 years. I don't know how to grieve. I don't know what's right or wrong. I don't know if my life will ever resemble what most would consider "normal". I find myself navigating through the days as though nothing is out of place. I still wake up each morning and climb out of bed. I still make plans. I still answer "I'm okay" when asked how I am doing, even when I'm far from okay. I smile and laugh at silly things around me, even when I feel guilty for finding humor in such a sad world. I am asked why Carter died from people who never knew him or his 7 years of struggles and I answer in synchronized memory from words I've repeated 10,000 times. But through my facade of being "okay", I am broken into a million pieces. I find myself looking for signs everywhere that Carter is still near by. I grasp on to every cloud that resembles wings and every scent that reminds me of him. I still trick myself into thinking he's alive and tucked away somewhere safe where he will some day come home again. Part of this game, involves not thinking too much. I physically and intentionally remind myself not to go there when my thoughts start to wander to his last hours, last minutes and last breathes. I run. I keep running. Some days I am good at this game. I go to work and occupy my thoughts with what is right in front of me and that is it. It's when people see his picture in my work badge and ask how old he is and how many children I have. A very difficult question to answer. I still cannot say his name or age in past tense...I cannot say I only have 2 children. I cannot. Those words grab me from the dimension thousands of miles away and the last 6 weeks comes flying to the ground faster than the sound barrier and I feel the floor shake below me. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes and my chest tightens to the point that I cannot breath. There's no way around the words, "my son died". There's no lie that can make his heart beat again. There's no wish that will ever make him come back. As each day run into the next, I find myself feeling more sad and angry. Through my uncertainty with grief, this is all I know. This is where I am. But one thing I do know in my mixed up mind, is that I want to talk about him. I want to be asked about him. I don't want to be asked if I am okay, because I will never be okay. But ask me about him. Keep his memory alive, because that is all I can do. If I cry, just let me cry. If I end up turning around and walking away, please don't feel bad. The scariest part of grief for me, is the lack of control. I'm used to always being in control of my emotions and this is the first time in my life...I am on the verge of disaster at all times. Carter was my entire world for 8 years (womb time and all), so I am still trying to figure this out...who I am now. So please bear with me as I try to figure this out. Please don't mistake my silence or lack of responses for not caring or thinking of you...I just can't find the right words for most things right now. I'm focusing a lot of my thoughts on defying grief. It might not make sense, but none of this makes sense.
I want to thank all of my family, friends, co-workers, hospice team, Lyle Torrant Center family, Mott family and everyone I've met along the way...for texting, messaging, calling, sending cards and flowers and lifting us up when we are falling. Please bear with me.
