A Realization: I will Always be a Grieving Mother

I am now 8 1/2 months out from the night Willy passed.  It's been a struggle consisting of some fantastic highs (yes, grieving people can still have fun), and some very dark lows. With very few exceptions I keep my thoughts to myself.  I go into a private place when I want to actively grieve (not just the normal grief feelings that seem to always be present.) Sometimes at night I lie in bed and play Willy videos and just remember. I don't usually tell anyone. Even though my life is great and things are going really well, I feel different than I did on 11/4/15.  I've come to realize I will never feel the same. There will always be this sadness, this heaviness, that casts a pall over everything. If my grief emotions could be explained via a quantitative scale from 1 to 100, (100 being full on grief), some days are 10, some are 50, some are 100... And every single number in between. But there is never a zero. Zero does not exist on the quantitative emotional grief scale. And it never will.

Writing helps.  In addition to writing this blog, I also journal.  I always feel better after I write. I don't make public all of the writing I do. Some is just for me. Some I write here. I have a lot of friends who are in the same boat (darn special needs world!) and hopefully these writings will resonate.  But basically it's my journey and I want to document it all.  I don't want to forget any of it, the good, the bad, all of it.

I had dinner with a dear friend last week.  We had some great conversation and laughs and it was fun to catch up.  At one point she asked me how I was doing with grief.  I very much appreciated her asking that question. I've been surprised at how many people (the majority actually) don't ever ask how you are doing after the weeks post-funeral fade away. I understand it's normal in my world and maybe not normal in theirs.  Children don't die in most people's world so perhaps it's just not knowing what the protocol is. In many of my relationships Willy is just never mentioned unless I bring him up. It hurts although I understand it.

I've also had the "it's time to move on" and "it's time to focus on the other children" and those sorts of things. These things aren't said to be mean and so I am empathetic. I wouldn't know what to say to me either if I hadn't been in this life for so long before Willy passed.

But these sorts of things are not helpful. Obviously I know that it's time to focus on Grant and Gabby who for so long took the back burner. We have all been working hard to concentrate on their needs. The guilt I felt for so long not having the time to spend on them just makes comments like that become salt in the wound. I've said it in conversation and that's okay.  It's not okay for me to be sharing thoughts about Willy and have someone say "well it's time to focus on the other two now and move on."  (Yes, there have been people who have said that.)

I'm also still amazed at how people compare grief.  I have to be careful here as to not downplay other people's grief.  But having your child take their last breath in your arms after a very intense and horrible 11 year battle is not the same as your 95 year old grandma dying peacefully in her sleep after a good, long life. It's just not. Or, God forbid, your pet.  Yes, I had someone tell me about how their dog died after I shared Willy's story.

I try to go to the cemetery a couple times a month.  I lie there on a blanket and talk to Willy.  The last time I went Grant went along. In a nod to a maturity beyond his 14 years, he quietly asked me if I wanted to be alone on the blanket. I told him it didn't matter and that he was welcome to stay if he wanted.  He sat down next to me, without fanfare, for a little while and then left and let me have some alone time with Willy. These moments at the cemetery have become more peaceful than they were in the beginning so I feel some hope here with regards to my grief.

Our lives are good. The move to Saline has been wonderful. It's been fantastic to see old friends and make new ones. Grant has started running with the Saline Cross Country team for the summer conditioning program.  He will officially join the team in August. Todd and Trish put Gabby in swimming lessons at the Saline Rec Center and she's doing wonderfully.  We are all busy but our jobs are going well.  For our Clan, things are good. I wondered what our life would be like post-Willy since he was always the glue that kept us together and it's been great.  There's been a lot of healing between the four adults and we are a cohesive family unit. I have nothing to complain about.

But there's always that dark down deep. It lurks. It's almost impossible to explain unless you've been there.

As I type there are a few parents in my group who have recently lost their children or have taken their children home on hospice to pass.  Some might question why I stay involved. It's like in the beginning of the journey. I learned from parents who had gone on this path before me and then I became the seasoned pro and helped others. My mission is now to help others with the next step of this journey.  My goal is to be honest and present my grief the best I can.  I don't want to be alarming and I don't want to sugarcoat it.

The one thing that haunts me is the last hour of Willy's life.  I wasn't intuitive enough to realize his breaths were getting shorter and there were more breaks between breaths. I knew enough to take a video which I replay and cry. I'm simultaneously devastated and grateful that I was the one who was with him when he took his last breaths.

Willy's last breaths

Every second of that night is etched in my mind as clear as day. I keep forcing myself to work through that night in hopes of some closure because I am tired of it haunting me. He was comfortable. I was right beside him. He was loved.

11/5/15 12:20 a.m.