3 Whole Years

This is a post I've wanted to write for a little while now, but needed some major strength and a lot of time to sit down and write. I guess now is as good a time as any.

First I wanted to post this poem that I took from a friends blog. Her little girl passed away in February. I cried the entire time I read this poem because it says all of the things that I haven't been able to express. And having it typed out for some reason, really brings the emotions out as though I'm finally saying it. I hope that makes sense. On some of these I wanted to add my own thoughts to it, so anything I write will be marked with a *.

Normal

Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone
important is missing from all the important events in your family's life.

... Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays
Christmas,New Years, Valentine's Day,and Easter. * Or whether to take anything at all because it almost seems silly at times because you know your child will never actually get to play with anything you bring.

Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable with a
funeral than a wedding or birthday party...yet feeling a stab of pain in your
heart when you smell the flowers and see the casket.

Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and
screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything.

Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why didn't I's
go through your head constantly. * This is my biggest hurdle. I don't know that I'll ever be able to get past the what if's and why didn't I's.

Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind, holding
your head to make it go away. * Especially on the anniversary of Ian's death. I wake up in the morning to that horrific phone call. Then take myself through each and every moment of the day from calling my husband to tell him that Ian didn't have very long, listening through the phone to my son being given his name and blessing and then finally talking to the doctor confirming that Ian had left this earth. I can remember each of these moments as though it was yesterday.

Normal is staring at every child who looks like she is my child's age. And then
thinking of the age he would be now and not being able to imagine it. Then
wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen. * Sometimes I wonder if it's easier or harder having Darek for this reason. I know almost exactly what Ian would look like and what he would be doing. Sometimes I think it makes it easier (especially when Darek is being a stinker), but then makes it extremely hard when I have those very special, wonderful moments with Darek. I know that I should have double those moments, double that happiness, double that love.

Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness
lurking close behind, because of the hole in my heart.

Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday,
commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how awful
it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of my "normal".

Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your
child's memory and his birthday and survive these days. And trying to find the
balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really. * And finding a way to do it where I'm not taking away from the happiness of Darek's birthday.

Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special my
child loved. Thinking how he would love it, but how he is not here to enjoy it.

Normal is having some people afraid to mention my child.

Normal is making sure that others remember him.

Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but
we continue to grieve our loss forever.

Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets
worse sometimes, not better.

Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss,
unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the
remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare. Losing a parent
is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.

Normal is realizing I do cry everyday. * I feel lucky that it's not an everyday occurrence for me anymore.

Normal is disliking jokes about death or funerals, bodies being referred to as
cadavers, when you know they were once someone's loved one.

Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying
together over our children and our new lives.

Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. "God may have done this
because..." I love God, I know that my child is in heaven, but hearing people
trying to think up excuses as to why children were taken from this earth
is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.

Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did
laundry or if there is any food.

Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have three
children or two, because you will never see this person again and it is not
worth explaining that my child is in heaven. And yet when you say you have two
children to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your
child. * I hate this more than anything. There is no easy way to do this and unfortunately it's one of those questions you are asked all the time. It is the most difficult question for me to answer and I always get the biggest lump in my throat as soon as I am asked this question.

Normal is asking God why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking
if there even is a God. * I have never questioned if there is a God, but I always wonder why.

Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a million years.

And last of all, Normal is hiding all the things that have become "normal" for
you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are "normal".†

There are a few of these that I thankfully feel don't really apply to me. But this is a very good look at normal for me. I have struggled a lot in the past few weeks. I think part of it was because the anniversary would be coming soon but there were many other factors as well. I have been feeling as though I have been moving backward instead of forward with my feelings about Ian's death. I have been feeling some extreme bitterness and anger that I don't think I've been allowing myself to acknowledge or admit to. But because I haven't acknowledged it, it's been growing inside and prohibiting me from coping and moving forward. I'm hoping that writing some of these feelings down will help.

The guilt I feel is something I don't know how to get past. There are a few times I remember being back in Virginia that I felt so torn. There was one time I remember being at the hospital with Ian. Ryan had already returned home, so I had to leave Darek with the family we were staying with (since he wasn't allowed to come with me to the NICU.) At the hospital there was very little I could do. I would talk to, read to, and sing to Ian but I recall feeling bored (again, feelings I don't want to admit to) and wanting to go back to Darek, where I could actually take care of him and felt needed. I can't forgive myself for feeling that way, for not enjoying every moment I had with Ian. It's hard for me to remember and focus on the sweet moments I had with him. I tend to focus on the negative and things I could have/should have done. I wonder all the time if I should have been more forceful with the doctor and demanded that they keep doing everything in their power to keep Ian alive. Maybe he would have gotten better. Maybe I would have had the time to get back to Virginia to be with my little boy as he left this world. I know he was in excellent hands, but I wanted it so badly to be me.

I asked Alex a few weeks ago if he ever thinks about Ian. He replied, "No, not really." It was a bit of a shock to me and it wasn't that it made me mad, just so sad. But what can I expect? And this is where more of my anger comes in. I get so angry sometimes with God that he didn't allow Alex the chance to meet his little brother. I know it may have been harder on Alex when Ian died, but he deserved to have some positive memories with the little brother he had waited so long to get. One day, after having a really hard day, Ryan came home from work and sensed there was something wrong. I told him I was okay, but soon burst into hysterics and started telling him everything that I had been holding in. One thing that has made me feel like I should hold it all in was the fact that everyone around me seemed to be okay. I felt like I was a crazy person for still feeling like a basket case after 3 years. Ryan explained that for him, he had to come to terms with death at a very young age because of close friends, grandparents and others that had died. He said he also thinks very factually an feels that Ian's body was just not made to stay on this earth for long. He doesn't question or do the "what if's" because the outcome will never change. He tried to be comforting and told me that I shouldn't feel crazy, that my feelings are completely valid. I told him that I wish I could be like him, just accept what has happened and continue on. Why can't I?

The part of the poem that says, "Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. "God may have done this because..." I love God, I know that my child is in heaven, but hearing people
trying to think up excuses as to why children were taken from this earth
is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother." This is something that even I have done. I try to cover my sadness by saying, "Well it's probably better that he's not here because he would've had a difficult life and possibly had health problems and many other struggles." I realized the other day that this is really not how I feel. It's true that he may have had many struggles and issues, but the truth is, I don't care! I would've loved my son no matter what! I would have taken care of him and given him the best life he could've had here. I know this is completely selfish. But I also think of the joy he would have experienced too. There are so many people here that love him so much.

Because we had Ian for such a short period of time, I felt like anything I hadn't shared on my blog before he died was something I needed to keep to myself, something I didn't want to share. I think I felt that if I shared everything about him, all the pictures, all the video, then there would never be anything else ever again to share about him. And even though that's true, it's something I'm trying to accept. So looking through some videos, I found 2 that I had never posted. It still makes me sad to watch, hearing the hope in our voices, knowing the dreams that we had for our little boy. But these are moments that we'll always get to remember.








I will always miss my little boy. I know that will never change. I wonder if one day some of the guilt or sadness will go away. I just hope that the few wonderful memories I do have with Ian won't ever fade. I don't ever want to forget him or feel like he's fading from my memory. I hope he can feel my love for him and knows who I am. And as always, I hope that I can live the kind of life that will one day allow me to be with my baby again so I can truly show him how much I love him.