#30 Write Your Grief: Because I Love Me...

Because I love me...

...I will be authentic with everyone.

...I will be transparent with most. 

...I will be intimate with only some.

At bible study tonight we talked about secrets and how they can be good or bad and how they can sometimes be the death of us.  Secrets manifest and impact, sometimes control, almost every aspect of our lives.  The secrets involved in the deep, dark, late nights alone with my thoughts can control me or I can try and love myself as everyone else loves me.  I can verbalize those secrets and those deafening thoughts and at least get them out into my world so that I am not alone.  

#23 Write Your Grief: Through Their Eyes

Sometimes, if we shift our gaze, change our perspective, we can see ourselves as love sees, see ourselves as they see us. Somehow, it changes things. If even just for a moment, can you see yourself through their eyes?

I'm not sure anyone else in my life thinks of me the way my kids do.  They have this faith in me that if damaged by my human nature and mistakes it's restored within minutes.   I guess if I thought about how Charlie would feel about me now, or even Macy or Johnny, I would love myself differently.  If I could change my perspective for just a minute I would give myself a lot more grace.  If I could shift my gaze from my constant mistakes to something better or more meaningful I would be a lot more likely to live life to the fullest. 

If Charlie were still here he would be 1 year, 5 months, 1 week, and 4 days old.  I would be his place of refuge when he couldn't sleep.  I would be the one he called on when he was hungry.  And I would be the voice he was drawn to when he needed a familiar face.  If he were here I would be more needed.  If he were here my purpose would be greater.  If he were here I wouldn't need to try and look through his eyes because I would be able to look into his eyes and see exactly how he felt about me.  I would be able to see a purpose outside of myself and I would be able to fulfill that purpose.  I don't enjoy trying to look through his eyes.  This is getting more and more painful to write about. 

#22 Write Your Grief: After Death

Imagine you can write in the voice of the one you love: write from their perspective. Let yourself roam, try to keep yourself out of any preconceived ideas you may have, and simply let the writing  write itself.

This was an extremely difficult prompt for me.  I almost quit this course altogether because it actually made me angry all day.  I felt this fire inside of me when I read some of the prompt...The truth is, not one single one of us knows what happens after death.  I guess now that I have calmed down part of me understands that I do not know from experience what happens after death; but I do know.  I have faith that God's word will come to fruition.  I will see Charlie again in heaven and the best part is he is already there now.

I continued reading, "None of us know." After reading this and feeling it almost rip a piece of the only in tact part of my heart out, I am learning how crucial it is to speak for yourself in this arena of grief because "no one" and "never" are not words that are fair to use when speaking to people about this sacred place in their heart.  While you may find no joy or hope in heaven, I do.  My heart hurts for you if you do not have that hope because I can honestly say that is what gets me through this dark place in my life when it gets to heavy to carry.  

I believe with everything in me that Charlie is in heaven.  He is experiencing the fullness of joy and to be honest I don't know that he is actually looking down on me or any of us.  I think he has been given a gift; he has escaped this world of sin and pain and he is happier than we will ever know this side of heaven, as a saint.  I do not believe he would write me a letter or speak to me right now because I don't think in order for him to be happy he needs to see me or watch over me.

Nothing in heaven dies or rusts.  We know that nothing grows old and absolutely nothing is boring.  He has better things to do with this new and perfect life he has been given and I am okay with that.  As his momma I just want him to be happy; and I am content knowing that he is more than happy.      

#20 Write Your Grief: A Shift in Grief

What does a shift in your grief, even a tiny, momentary one, mean to you?  What does it say about loss? Or love? 

I'm afraid of the pain dulling because I am afraid of more and more time separating Charlie and I because I am afraid since I only knew him outside of my belly for 17 days I may forget something; or everything.  Any tiny shift in grief makes this reality evident.  It is one of the most painful parts of grief because it makes my grief turn into guilt or the possibility of guilt.  It's all so tricky, really.  One thing leads to another or the thought that "another" might be possible.  It includes "what ifs" and "it could have been" and all of those things only shatter the hope that I am trying to focus my mind on each and every day.  Charlie is okay.  He was given his miracle. 

At one point last year I was so upset on the phone with my sister that she couldn't even understand what I was saying.  I had interchanged Charlie's birthday with his angel day and then I completely blanked on his weight and height from when he was born.  What kind of mom forgets their child's birthday?  Or just a month after he is born how could I have forgotten how much he weighed?!  It was heartbreaking because this shift in my grief made me feel guilty.  It made me sick to think that I could possibly let these important details of his life slip from my mind.  It made me wonder if others would question how much I loved him.  The thing though that I keep telling myself is that Charlie okay.  He was given his miracle whether I remember his birthday or not.

Part of me thinks that my inability to remember could be replaced or interchanged with my ability to forget.  Am I forgetting because I need to to stay sane or am I forgetting because I am not remembering enough?!  This argument in my mind is ongoing.  It keeps my grief alive and real.

The worst part of all this is that I miss Charlie with everything in me.  These stupid silly thoughts take my focus from him and put it on me and my selfish, confused, grief stricken self.  I've got to let go of that and just remember him and how he changed my life for the better.  He made me a mom for the third time.  And now as I mentioned before I get to remember that he is in heaven.  He is happier than he could ever be here on earth.  

#19 Write your Grief: Remember and Forget

What do you want to remember?  What do you wish you could forget? 

I want to remember what it was like to have three little ones in my house.  When I got pregnant with Charlie we were really not intending to get pregnant.  However, we were excited for the blessing of another little one in our home.  When I told one of my friends we were pregnant she responded with, "How exciting!  Welcome to the three kids club..."  That replays over and over in my head.  Am I still in the club?   Or did my friends kick me out when Charlie passed?  I really have no idea (except for about 6 or 7 days) what it is like to have three little ones in our home.  I just know that my mind couldn't wrap itself around the idea before all the sudden he was gone. 

On the other hand, I wish I could forget the panicked yelling of the doctors and nurses in the emergency room when they rushed him back to intubate without warning or explanation.  I wish I could erase that from my mind.  I never want to hear it again and yet of all the memories that is the one that stands out the most.  That is the one I replay over and over and over in my mind.   

#18 Write Your Grief: My Blessing To You

For today's writing, read through John O'Donohue's Beannacht, Blessing.
Take a moment for it to settle behind your own heart.
As you are ready, write your own blessing for your companions in this broken-heart space. What do you wish for, knowing that the pain itself cannot be fixed?

I have an acquaintance that recently lost her daughter.  I think about her all the time.  Literally, all the time she crosses my mind and while I don't know exactly, I have some idea about what she is living.  Everything she lives I relive my own version of it.  As someone that has shared this territory this is my hope for you and for anyone that has also lived this nightmare.

When you find yourself not wanting to emerge from your bed, I pray someone walks into your room and needs you.

When you want to drive through a fast food restaurant for the third time that week, I pray you know that God will provide the nourishment you need for the time being.

When you find yourself crying in the middle of the grocery store, I pray you can let the tears fall without shame or fear.

When you want to return to a place you shared with your loved one, I pray you do; if you need to. 

When you see only darkness and it feels like there are only ever going to be storms, I pray God brings the biggest, most beautiful rainbow you have ever seen.

When you feel like no one understands or cares, I pray someone texts you and says "I'm carrying this for you today, I can feel your heart is heavy..."

When you and your husband are not on the same page, I pray he smiles at you and you recognize the love you share with him even in the midst of tragedy.

When your heart physically hurts, I hope something makes you laugh.

When you visit the cemetery, I hope the wind blows through your hair or the sun shines on her headstone so that you know you are not alone.

When you feel like you can't sing to the songs that come on the radio, I pray your favorite song comes on and you sing your heart out. 

When you want to wish your life away, I hope someone walks in and says, "Let's go get ice cream."

When your life feels completely different and like it will never be normal, I pray you have a friend that says, "I am still here.  I am not going anywhere." 

When you need your mom, I hope you don't even have to ask her to come; I hope she just knows you need her. 

When you feel like your mailbox is empty (void of any sympathy or well wishes), I pray you get a special note that means more than the rest because you know someone is thinking of you, not out of  obligation, but rather out of love.

When you need to talk to someone, I pray you find the perfect someone.  

When you want to cry, I pray you can find a pillow, or the shower, or the back of your closet to just let it all out. 

When you forget to pay your bills or to buy groceries for your family, I pray the other people in your life show you grace.

Most of all, when you think you need to do something to "make this go away" or to "be normal" for your friends and family, I pray you show yourself some grace and love the person you are with this in your life because this grief and this new thing you have to carry is how you show all of us you loved your little girl with all your heart.

I pray all these things.  Amen.

#16 Write Your Grief: Condition of my Heart

What is the condition of your heart?  
As you begin to feel or find an image, write. Describe what you see.  Spend some real time with it. If it's an image, describe it.  If it's a sense, tell us how it feels. Don't rush. Really show us.



My heart is hurt; on the verge of never recovering.  The only image that I can come up with is an emergency room.  Actually the exact place is a room in the emergency department at Children's Hospital that then turns into a quiet room in the ICU where things may never get better but at least for certain moments things are stable. 

At first, I see a blurry blob of doctors and nurses standing over me.  There are blinding lights shining in my eyes.  I'm overwhelmed with the anxiety of what is happening.  The noises are deafening.  They block everything the people are saying out so that all you can hear is the beeping.  I am poked and prodded and eventually something is shoved down my throat with no warning to help me breathe.  I calm down only because I was given medication to keep me still and cooperative.  I go from upset and unable to breathe to feeling some relief.  The only problem is that what is lurking in the background is far more difficult to resolve than anyone knows.  Right now I can breathe, but soon they will see that they can't help me; breathing is not enough.  They will know that nothing will change the circumstances.

There are only a couple of doctors and nurses left making sure I am stable.  They walk me quietly up to the ICU.  I feel every bump or crack in the floor as I roll through the hospital.  I'm cold and now I'm hot.  I'm not sure how I feel or what my heart needs.  It seems like everything has changed.  I go from an emergency; a life or death situation, to calm.  I'm doing fine at the moment and with the lights dimmed I fall asleep.  This is the only time I don't feel the pain.

I wake up to a nurse shining a light in my eyes as she prys open my eyelids.  Something isn't right.  I know that but I have no idea what to do next.  I keep my eyes closed.  I am in an out of consciousness.  I'm having seizures.  They place something on my head, my heart, my body and my neck to ensure that it is in fact a seizure or seizures.

I can't go on with this description of the condition of my heart.  There are so many parallels.  I feel like I want to take all this pain and all these horrible things away from Charlie that's why I am stuck here.  I want this to be the condition of my heart because I don't want it to be Charlie's story.  The picture at the beginning of the post is not of Charlie or his room or really where I feel like my heart lives.  I just found one online because for some reason I couldn't make myself look at those pictures tonight.  I'm there in that hospital room, able to live and breathe sometimes on my own and others times not so much.  I'm alive just still in the hospital and the wreckage so to speak.      

#15 Write Your Grief: What I Have Learned

Take a few moments today and look back over the writing you've done in the last two weeks.  Has anything developed or become clear in your writing that you hadn't seen before?  Have you learned anything about yourself, or your grief, or the way things live in you?  Had anything surprised you?  Disappointed you?

I learned very early on in this course that I am not defined by grief, rather grief is a separate thing that I have to learn how to carry.  And while I want to carry it gracefully I also can't let it get the best of me by not being vulnerable in it.

Through this course I uncovered something that I never actually wrote down but something that was holding me back. A. LOT.  It was a reminder that I needed to let go of and I am finally realizing through all the bits and pieces that I have written that it is going to be important for me to let go in order to keep going.  So, I did let go and not because I don't want to remember but because I need to know this "thing" I was holding onto wasn't going to be what kept Charlie's memory alive.

If I start at the beginning, I should tell you I can't keep a watch battery working in my watches.  I love watches and I have many of them, but just something in me makes them stop.  I could (and have) replaced every single battery in my watches at a single time only to have every single one of them stopped within the week.  With that being said, since Charlie died every single watch I own I set to July 17th at 10:30 pm.  They were dead anyway, right?  And the worst part of all of this is that I wear a watch every single day and I look at it a million times a day even though they don't work.  For over a year when I looked at my watch, whichever one I chose that day, I saw 10:30 pm.  The correct time was never visible.  The time that was in its place was painful and I'm realizing it was almost like I was torturing myself by leading myself to believe that I could possibly forget something (anything) about that awful day or about Charlie's short life.  I was sure guilt would take over the grief if I forgot anything so I tried not to let it and this is how I compensated.   

So long story short, I have saved money each month for several months to purchase a new watch.  This past weekend I purchased an apple watch.  It sounds a little over the top I know, and while this is something I really wanted it is also something I have quickly learned that I needed.  This new watch battery won't die and it will always, always show the correct time whether I want it to or not.  I can no longer cause myself pain in this way.  I am free of it.  And no matter what I thought before, I now know that I could never possibly forget my baby.  I could never lose the memories I have of him...watch or no stupid watch.   

 

#14 Write Your Grief: Dear Charlie

Imagine writing a letter to the one you've lost:
what would you show them in this new "home" town?

Dear Charlie,

The place I am about to introduce to you cannot even begin to compare to your forever home; heaven.  The Lord is with you and you get to see more beautiful things than I can even comprehend. I am so glad for that, but I still want to share this sacred space of ours with you.  

If you were still here you would have moved into our new home with us.  It was a new beginning, a fresh start, a place for happy memories.  You would have had your own room, closest to your dad and I.  I think you would have loved it.  Macy and Johnny would have helped you up and down the stairs.  They would have chased you around the basement.  They would have made sure to sneak you snacks from their bowls like they do for Scout.

This time of year is difficult because so many things remind me of you.  We had one less high chair at our table for Thanksgiving.  I have one less person to buy gifts for this Christmas.  I see things every time I go out that I think you would have loved to play with.  And as I put up the decorations I put your stocking up with the rest of ours, tied your jingle bell from Santa's sleigh around the nail that holds your stocking, and just stared it.

You would have loved Christmas here.  We decorate big around our house.  Your dad is one of the biggest Christmas lovers there is.  He is so particular about the lights on the house and even more so this year since everything is new.

 It will be our first Christmas here.  I am so glad that I can share this special place we now call home with you.  It's ready for some of our favorite memories.  All we are missing is you.   

You are here and you are loved even though you are not physically here.  I see you everywhere.  We have not forgotten you Charlie and we never will. 

Love,

Momma         

#13 Write Your Grief: Fairy Tales

 That old wise witch is the one everyone wants to avoid. She knows too much about death and loss. She's scary. Who knows what might rub off if you let her come inside. And really, who wants to think about death or disease when you're trying to have a party?

But the old witch shows up, doesn't she. She arrives, with a short, respectful bow, eyeing her wary hosts. She knows better than to wait for an invitation that will never come.

She doesn't cause death, she is simply comfortable with it. Because she is no longer afraid of death - or life, she delivers the clear message of destiny.

The 13th guest is a gift, but not everyone sees it that way. 

Your presence brings the reality of life - of living here, so close to the fault line of death - it can be hard to feel welcome anywhere.

 Imagine yourself in a fairy tale.  Are you the old wise person that brings the uncomfortable gift? How do the people around you see you: are they afraid, superstitious, uncomfortable? 

Living in the midst of a fairy tale would be fantastic.  I'd take that story in a heartbeat!  The only problem is I can only see myself living inside the character of the Wicked Witch in Snow White with that awful poisonous apple.

And the real problem is I was given the apple.  I didn't conjure it up or even ask for it.  I was handed the apple against my will to hold in my hands for the rest of my life.  I've said before I can't imagine allowing people to get too close or see my real raw grief because I think it may be contagious.  In this fairy tale that darn apple is ready to pass on whatever grief, guilt, hatred, frustration, etc. that lives inside me to whomever comes near.  People look at me, see the apple, and then quickly turn away so that they can avoid eye contact; avoid that poisonous apple.    

My presence whether everyone realized it or not brings people too close to the fault line of death.  Certain things aren't said in front of me.  People avoid eye contact.  I am sure I have not been invited to events because of my loss.

Have you ever read the story in Luke 10 about the good Samaritan?  That's me.  I have been left half dead on the side of the road and people just pass me by.  Don't get me wrong there are people in my life (many people) that act as the good Samaritan but there are also a lot of people that avoid me.  I really have no idea if they are afraid or just uncomfortable.  Whatever it is, it hurts.  I don't want this stupid apple.  I want my boy back.  I want my fairy tale before it was transformed into a nightmare. 

#12 Write Your Grief: In Order For Me To Go Looking for Pain...

In order to go looking for that pain, in order to feel it directly and with love, what would it take? What would need to happen in order for you to feel safe or strong enough to soften into your pain? Time? Privacy? Wine? An anchor on the other side? A guarantee of outcome?


In order for me to go looking for pain I would need to be with others.  The only problem is that I am not able to do that yet.  I am unable to expose anyone else to this pain unless it happens on accident.

In order for me to go looking for pain I would have to know that the unbearable would become more bearable.

In order for me to go looking for pain I would have to know that my husband is going to respond with sensitivity and compassion.  I would have to know that we would be good once we went after this pain together.

In order for me to go looking for pain I would have to know that a small part of who I was would come back.

In order for me to go looking for pain I would have to be alone.  I would have to be able to talk with God alone and open my heart completely without fear of hurting someone.

In order for me to go looking for pain I would have to be guaranteed that I could breathe during it and after it.  I don't know that I believe that because it takes my breathe away even when I am not trying to seek after it.

In order for me to go looking for pain I would have to have other's grace but not intrusion.

I am not sure I will ever go looking for pain.  It comes without warning so often that I just can't bear the thought of actually looking for it and seeking it out.  I don't want it.  I want to be free of it.  

#11 Write Your Grief: Journal of a Solitude

As you read the excerpt below, think and reflect on these themes:

How has this loss has torn up your roots; how it has made all things feel sharp?

For a little while, it is as if my nakedness were clothed in love.
But then, when I come back, I shiver in my isolation, and must face again,
and try to tame the loneliness.
May Sarton, from Journal of a Solitude. 

Trying to tame loneliness is hard but completely necessary when you have friends in your life that have no idea what this valley of the shadow of death is like deep within your soul.  They try to understand.  They want to make it better, but they just can't.  Then they get weary too.  In those moments when you know it's uncomfortable for them you have to shiver in the isolation alone. You have to face it all again alone.  You have to tame the loneliness in order to look like you are okay; alone.

The very definition of lonely is "without companions; solitary."  The most bizarre part of this all is that you could be surrounded by hundreds of people or even just a few very genuine and loving people and you could still be lonely.  How is that possible?  I ask myself that all the time.  In those moments when I am surrounded by genuinely happy people, how am I still so lonely in this grief? 

#9 Write Your Grief: Choose a Color

Set your timer. Choose any color. Let your mind follow that color to a memory, or a scene, or a story of any kind. Put your hand to the page and begin.

When I think of Charlie I think of blue; a blue balloon to be exact.  One particular memory that I will never forget is the first day I returned to work after losing Charlie.  I wanted to avoid it; hide forever, but I knew it would be better for me to push myself.  I needed something normal in my not normal reality.  Teaching was normal.  It was a good, good normal that I desperately needed.  The day went by, people avoided me, some people hugged me, I felt like a million eye balls were watching me all day long but I taught.  I think I actually smiled.  As I walked out at the end of the day I turned to go down the stairs and as I looked up I saw a blue balloon was in the foyer.  It was waiting for me.   It was like Charlie or maybe my Heavenly Father was saying, "Well done...you did it."  I felt proud.  I felt like I was going to be okay.  I felt like while it was going to be a long road {for the rest of my life} I could take it a day at a time.  The blue balloon has shown up so many other things in the most perfect places.  Every time I see a balloon especially a blue one, I remember Charlie and I thank God for giving me a happy memory of him at that exact moment.

#8 Write Your Grief: Guiding Star

Tell us about a guiding star inside your grief: are there people-whether real, or fictional-who live their own grief in a way that gives you encouragement, inspiration, or direction?

I have a person's telephone number saved in my cell phone that is waiting for a phone call from me.  A kind and always loyal friend gave me her number a few weeks ago and said, "I think you are ready to talk to someone that has walked this in front of you.  I think you need to know you are not alone."

I agree wholeheartedly.  The days where grief falls like a big white blanket of snow over everything "normal" gives me literal panic attacks.  And for whatever reason these days now as I do them for a second time, like family pictures and Thanksgiving, seem harder than they were the first time.

I am not expecting for this person on the other line to really give me advice or help me learn to cope; rather tell me that the way I grieve is just fine.  Maybe just listen a lot.  Talk a lot too.  The way we grieve is not going to be the same and it's okay that it's not.  We both lost children but in completely different circumstances.  I just want to know from someone that isn't trying to be a good friend or make me feel "more normal" that what I am doing and what I am trying to do every day is enough.

I think the reason I feel like I will eventually gather the courage to call her is because in the midst of her grief she has something else that defines who she is; hope.  I have that too.  I want that truth to never slip from my heart and soul because without that I am not sure I could do this grief thing.  Having the hope of the promise of heaven is what has kept me going on the worst days.  I want to see her faith and I want to see her carry that hope above her grief.  That hope in someone else is the encouragement, inspiration, and direction of a million men.  It is powerful.      

#7 Write Your Grief: Found Poetry

Our prompt today was a little different.  We were told to find a Sunday paper, or any newspaper and open it up to an article with a lot of words.  I grabbed my favorite pink pen, took a deep breath, and then started circling words that jumped out at me.  

I used The Fort Thomas Recorder which seemed to have just the words I needed to share a few things that are always on my heart in regards to Charlie.

Here goes nothing...

Kindergartner
Fresh haircut
Today was a special day
He knew people
I thought he looked fantastic
Memories
Quite frankly
Dreams

Hopes
Make Christmas brighter
Santa
Generosity
Bring them a gift
Someone is thinking of them
Great tradition
Now, spend the holiday alone

First, hints of hope
It's a mystery
And will remain a mystery
Feels like a dream
Tucked away in his heart
Emotions are running
Swiftly after death
Walk away inspired. 

#6 Write Your Grief: What Would It Mean to Offer Kindness?

"Let me be to my sad self hereafter kind." Peter Pouncy

What would it mean to offer kindness to yourself in your grief?  What would kindness look like? 

When I think about offering kindness to myself the first thing that comes to mind is the word "impossible."  These have to be the absolute worst circumstances to try and be kind to myself.  I feel like I am failing so many people in so many ways.  I feel like I am only half a wife, half a mom, half a daughter, half a sister, half a friend, half a teacher, half a person sometimes.  How can you forgive and forgive the same person for the same silly mistakes over and over and over again.  When I feel like I could be better and I know I have been better, how can I just overlook the mistakes?  How can I overlook the carelessness?

So I guess I can't answer this question right now.  I am just not sure what it would mean to offer myself kindness? 

#5 Write Your Grief: Giving Grief a Voice

Let's think of this exercise as inviting your grief to introduce himself or herself to you.  Who are you?  Tell me who you are...
  
This came to me in the middle of the day yesterday.  I knew exactly what I wanted to say and wrote it quickly on my phone so that I wouldn't forget.  But I lost it all.  For some reason the note was not there when I opened it today to post it.  This piece was actually the piece that made me feel like this writing class was going to be worth it.  This was worth the feelings and pain that it is bringing up in me because I was able to introduce grief as someone separate from myself.  It isn't me.  It's like someone following me around.  I'm sad I lost it, but grateful I was able to get the thoughts on paper for a bit and brand it on my heart to help myself know we are not one in the same. 

#4 Write Your Grief: People always say it hurts at night...

People always say it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken...

I have lived and breathed this reality.  It definitely hurts more at night.  Charlie died at 10:30 on July 17th, at night.  He started having seizures while he was in the hospital, at night.  I went home a couple of nights to eat dinner with the twins while we were in the hospital and one evening when we came back our doctor explained that he was not getting better.  She said in a very kind and soft voice that we shouldn't leave anymore, at night.

I guess it makes sense that the smell that makes me most miss my little boy is his lovie.  A small, cotton, heart covered "Snoedel" that the nurses gently placed on his head to keep him warm one of the first nights we were there.  Of course the smell of Charlie has long since faded but I still hold it and smell it and it sort of takes me back to him.  I don't have many things that belong to Charlie so this is precious.  It is a comfort now for me like it was for him.  While it may not smell of him, it still reminds me of his smell.  It reminds me of something that I can't ever have again.  It reminds me of our time together.    

#3 Write Your Grief: A Vastly Changed Landscape

How do you live in a landscape so vastly changed?

I grabbed Charlie from the back seat and while unlocking his car seat and pulling him over the twin's seats I jammed my finger.  Pain shot through my hand and arm but I didn't even have time to react, I just kept going.  I moved in a fluid motion that kept everything around me moving as well.  I ran into the emergency room where our doctor had already called to ensure we would be able to walk right in.  He was clearly more concerned that I realized he was that day.

My thoughts bounced from "I'm sure this is nothing..." to "What am I going to do without my baby?"  Literally every thought and every possible scenario played out in my head just in the amount of time it took two nurses in the front to check Charlie's temperature and vitals.  They did not have a look of concern on their face, so for a minute or two I actually settled down.  Maybe it's nothing.  I'm sure it is nothing.   

And just like that everything changed in an instant.  I was lifted out of the lush green forest into an empty and desolate wasteland.  I didn't have time to prepare myself.  The nurse grabbed Charlie from my arms and yelled, "I need some help.  He's not breathing."  I heard panic in his voice and then I watched over 30 people swarm the ER from every single specialty within the hospital.  I couldn't see Charlie.  I couldn't keep standing.  I couldn't sit down.  My eyes filled with tears and I couldn't see anything.  I remember someone asking me if I wanted a chair.  I just needed to see Charlie.  I waited and waited for what felt like eternity and then I finally heard someone yell, "Someone update the mom.  Someone quickly!"

It is impossible to prepare for something when it changes in an instant.  It is impossible to figure out the best way to deal with it.  So with the only words I had left I said, "I need someone to get my husband."

Our entire life changed that day and then again 10 days later.  I wish I could go back to my picnic in the forest.    I wish I could hide in the shade of the huge Oak tree.  Instead I search desperately for water.  I beg with my hurting eyes for help.  I look for any mirage that will make my day a little brighter, bring a little hope.  Some days I see the old reality, our old home, our old life.  Some days it is so far away I am not even sure I remember what it looked like at all. 

#2 Write Your Grief: If You Could Tell People Something...

If you could tell people something, tell them what is true, what is right, what is true about grief and love and loss, something they do not know, or can't know, what would it be?  If you could address them, what would be said?

What you don't know is I can't bear this pain alone.  Now that I have walked so much of it (seemingly) alone I need you.  I need someone that will let me fall apart and not expect or want to be able to fix me.  I need you to want to help me carry this.

What you don't know is that at the very same time I am trying to protect you from this hurt.  When I hide my pain behind a mask of "I'm good" every. single. day. I'm actually saying don't get too close, this might be contagious.  I couldn't bear to know your heart has to feel this pain.  I know that is ridiculous but it feels like it (whatever "it" is) is leaking out of my body and changing all the people around me too.

What you don't know is that I think that if you see the deepest place in my heart (the place only God has seen) you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore.  You wouldn't want to have to face me each day, you would rather avoid me.  You would know when I walked a certain hallway and you would purposefully go the other way to avoid the pain.

What you don't know is that it makes me think different things are worthy of my time.  I have let go of certain things that I no longer want to define me and while it feels good it is also scary because this is not who I have been for 29 years.

What you don't know is I feel like I can't truly be honest with anyone.  Even when I post the most scary and troubling moments and memories on the blog or say things out loud to my family and friends, no one will ever know when something triggers a memory that is too much to bear, no one will ever know what my insides look like because they can't understand.

What you don't know is that I want to keep this from happening to anyone else because this makes life too hard.  It makes life feel unfair.  It makes life sad.  It makes me feel like I can never be normal again.  I want my old happy self back, but I do not want to ever ever forget the memories or time I had with Charlie.  I would not trade that for anything.

What you may not know is that I long for heaven like I never have before.