Reflections on 1 year without him

November 16th of last year was the first full day of not laying my eyes on my son.  He was buried November 15th, 2011.  My wife's eyes and mine were the last eyes on earth to see my son.  I know this because I shut the lid on his casket.  Until his burial my wife and I made our way to the funeral home multiple times a day to talk to him, cry next to him, stroke his soft hair, kiss his forehead, hold his cold hand, hold him in our arms and even have a photo shoot done.  Our first official family photograph session, pictures that are so emotional that I have only looked at them once.  But he is gone now.  And has been for a full year (leap year nonetheless).  Four seasons underground while above his mommy and daddy have cried, held eachother, laughed, even made another child.  His one year birthday and anniversary of his death came and went.  The days leading up to them were harder than the actual anniversaries themselves.  Grief that I have buried for months while I become a "productive member of society" again came rushing back with gusto.  I melted down, thought the vile, insane thoughts that I felt right after he died, and even did a ton of research on why my baby died.  I still have no answer to that question, nor will I ever.  Alls I can understand from his death is that we(including the doctors/nurses/surgeon/OR staff/respiratory team/OR team/Nurse Practitioners/chaplains) all tried their hardest to bring my boy back to health.  I will be forever grateful for them. 

For the past year I had this idea that after 1 year has passed a wave of peace would wash over me and I would feel like myself again.  Well, I do feel like myself because I have changed over the past year.  I am no longer the person I was before November 9th 2011.  I am thankful that my wife loves me for what I am no matter who I become.  I still do not know exactly who I am. Am I a good person, bad, neither, both?  People tend to look to you as a decent, loving person after you lose a child.  Which I dont understand.  If they saw inside my mind when grief is consuming me they would think otherwise.  Thoughts I am so ashamed of I share with no one and damn grateful when they pass.  Like grief they do pass, I know they will come again. 

Losing Marcellus has taught me a lot though, it has taught me that I can survive.  I have faced the worse, nothing that happens can be AS BAD as losing my son.  Sure there are going to be some awful times in my life.  But when I face those times I think to myself 'this is not as bad as losing my son.' He has taught me a lot of how to handle lives wicked situations. 

I have also learned that my wife and I are different people, and thats ok.  She grieves much differently than I do.  Dates are much more important, so are the memories of each day he was alive.   She has blogged about all of them.  I have not read them, not because I dont want to but because its too hard.  Just like his video's and most of his pictures, remembering that he was here and at one time I was able to hold him hurts too much.  I want so badly to go back and be that guy, mostly because I feel like I wasted a lot of time doing other things and not just being with him.  I was trying to balance my school, the house, the dog, taking care of a wife and new mother who just had a c-section, and have a baby in the NICU with just one car meant that I spent a lot of time away from his isolette.  I was doing my best, and I had no idea that my son was going to die, but now I regret it terribly.  I should have been there more, been by his side, hold him, touch him, just stare at him.  I miss that part of him, I miss his life. 

I also learned that men can cry.  And should.  This world festers a lot of pain, and sometimes its too much for even the stoic of gentlemen.  But men are not suppose to cry in this western world.  Growing up we are told that from a young age.  Crying is associated with girls and babies, we are neither.  Whenever I would get hurt as a child and start to cry my dad would snap at me "stop crying!"  Stifling a cry as blood trickled down your leg was terrible, you still were hurt but now you also felt ashamed.  It was not until I was 12 that I learned a valuable lesson, men can cry.  My grandfather suffered a debilitating stroke when I was 11 or 12.  This once strong farmer who never needed anyone to help him was fighting to live.  My dad took me to see him.  He was unresponsive and hooked up to a ton of machines.  I was scared to see him in that room, I never knew him so helpless.  As we drove away I started to cry.  Being with my Father I also got ashamed so I turned away and tried to stop.  He did not yell at me to 'stop crying',  he held my hand and let me cry. 

I miss my son, even after a year I miss him just as much as I did a month after he died.  It will never go away, peace may come someday but not for a long time.  And even when it does, I will still miss him. 

1 Year Birthday

A year ago today my head was reeling.  Spinning out of control as I tried to grasp the gravity of the situation.  My wife had gone into preterm labor and my son was born at 28 weeks 5 days gestation.  The words of the Neonatologist ran through my head about my son doing very well for his size and weight.  From the beginning the prognosis was good.  I could not believe what had just happened.  A complete opposite birth story than the one we had meticulously planned for our first child.  His birth was suppose to happen at home, around Christmas, with a midwife in attendance.  Instead it was hectic, a couple days before Halloween, and a plethora of doctors and nurses.  I had no time to digest that my son was going to need intensive assistance for a long time and my wife just had major surgery.  Through all this time I had no idea what really lay in store...Death. 

This day a year ago his 1 year birthday was far from my mind.  Although I had little doubt that we would be celebrating with him in 1 year and remarking how far he has come that year.  I kept telling Marcellus that I hope that his time in the NICU would be the hardest time in his life and he would have no memory of that.  I was right, but not in the way I wanted to be.  A year ago I had no idea I would have to host a 1 year birthday for my dead baby. 

1 year birthdays are a huge milestone.  I have said it before that just like the 3, 6, and 9 month birthdays they are a bragging right saying "look, I did it, I kept this baby alive for this long!"  But what about when you have not succeeded in doing this.  Marcellus died before his 1 month birthday which means I got plenty of practice in having mixed emotions on the 28th of each month.  On one hand I tried to celebrate the 12 days he was actually alive while over whelming sadness that he was not here loomed over me.   Over the past few months the 28th (and the 9th) have just went by with little fanfare.  I did not want to celebrate his 10 or 11th month birthday, I just wanted to get through the day.  So when his 1 year approached, I was quite unprepared.   How do I celebrate a baby who is not here?  But we did it, we started out by going to his tree and having a balloon release.  Then we read him his story and showed everyone his maple tree.  We came back to the house and had brunch and just visited with close friends of ours and his.  It was a  good birthday party.  We sang happy birthday to him, although it felt weird to sing happy birthday to someone who is not here, no one knew where to look. 

I had hoped that I would find peace by his 1 year birthday.  For some reason I thought that peace was my ultimate goal in grief.  Peace in his death, not accepting, but the ability to say 'he is dead and there is nothing I can do about it.'  Of course I have not found peace, I hate that he is gone and it still makes me angry.  My grief is solitude now, what little I can get.  I have been internalizing it intensely.  I think that is ok.  I still grieve, lately quite often, but I do it in private.  There is nothing I can say to my wife that she already has not heard.  I do not need to, she already knows what I am feeling.  I do not feel confiding in other people because I do not want to hear advice or any type of consolation. I know I have some very special people who will listen to me and just let me speak what I need to, and they understand what I am going through.  I am thankful for that.  I just need to figure out my own head I think.  Really I want to speak to someone who cannot speak back.  So I have been confiding in Marcellus quite often. I speak to him now, much more than I have before (the dog also gets an earful).  I am scared of my life sometimes.  I am scared of what it has become.  I am scared of the uncertainty of what is to come.  So many things mean little to me and so few things mean so much. 

It will take me years to find any sense of peace, I will not get over this anytime soon.  Nor do I want to.  I want to grieve, I want to cry, I want the urge to break things, I want to crumple into a ball in my bed and just lay there paralyzed with grief like the other night.  I want to think about him mindlessly as I run down the path.  I want to tell people about him without them having that damned fucking reaction.  Most of all I want my son back.  Can I have him back for his birthday?  Please?  If only for a couple minutes so I could hold him and hug him and tell him over and over that I love him like I did when he was dying?  So I could say all the things I did not have time to say during those awful minutes before he died?  Marcellus I had so much I wanted to say to you, the only thing I could say was 'I love you.'  I love you so much Marcellus, I love and miss you so damned much.   You mean so much to me even after being gone for so long.  Marcellus I will always miss you.  I will miss you for every second of my life.  I wish I had one more chance to kiss you on your forehead and stroke your beautiful hair.  The only thing I ever want for my birthday ever again is to hold you one more time. 

9 Months, really!

I wanted to take a look back at what my life has become living in grief.  Marcellus's 9 month anniversary of his death (or passing depending on who I am talking to) just came to pass yesterday.  The week leading up to it was hard on me.  I have had multiple days where I felt despair and general sadness infiltrate my entire life.  I suffered from lack of motivation, moments of pure sadness, and at points just stared into the distance disconnected from everything around me.  This was all leading up to yesterday, his 9 month.  Some arbitrary anniversary I have deemed as a milestone.  In reality it was just another day.  But I chose to treat it as the milestone it is.  I have learned that it helps to do something meaningful for someone on these anniversaries.  So I gave blood again.  Just like his 3 month and his 6 month.  And I will again on his one year.  I got real nervous and did not want to go but I did.  Because really, I stayed when he died, I have faced the most terrible and horrible thing a person can face and that is their childs death.  I can handle a blood donation.  But I could not handle his time of death, it still gets me after nine months.  I took a nap so I would not be awake for it.   I just did not want to see 12:43 pm pass on the 9th of the month pass this time.  The anniversary continued with my wife and I spending time together finding bears to send to a friend so she can donate to Molly Bears.  We were able to go shopping (and get ice cream) on his anniversary of his passing.  8 months ago we barely got out of bed.  We have come a long way. 

And that is what living with grief is like, a realization that you are living and making it, even though it is so damn hard everyday you are doing it.   There are good days mixed in here, a lot more 'meh' or mediocre days than actual good days but they exist.  But the bad days never leave, and sometimes the bad days turn into a bad week.  And you ride it through and say 'well that sucked' but you are able to ride them out, which is a miracle in its own way.  Just like grief will deliver me countless bad days for the rest of my life, its just the nature of the condition, it will allow me to enjoy the good days as well. 

One major reason why I can enjoy a good day is seeing my wife smile, and hearing her laughter.  It is so wonderful to see her when she is happy.  It lifts me up so much more than she knows.  I know its a conditional happiness, there is pain behind the smile but she lets her happiness through instead of quelling it like we have done for so long these past months.  I just hope one day I can see the smile I saw when she was with Marcellus.

Failure

I have not been around lately nor felt the need to blog/write.   Not that I am not grieving, I am.  Not always actively grieving but still passively grieving.  I visit grief every time I see a family with a baby or small boy.  I grieve whenever I see pictures of him that are posted all around the house.  I grieve when I talk to friends or family.  I grieve when I smile or feel happiness.  Mostly I grieve my son not being here, silent grief that seeps in my head at any given moment.  I dont talk about it much anymore, but I am pretty much grieving him at any given moment in my day.  I grieve him listening to music, I grieve him doing work in the house, I grieve him reading a book.  I grieve him running.   I grieve him working.  I am still very much grieving for my son. 

Sometimes I feel like I grieve because I believe I failed him.  This is a recurrent issue with my grief that I have not come to terms with nor do I want to at this point.  I failed my son, I failed to keep him safe, to keep him alive.  I know that there was not much I was able to do for him in the first place but there is always something.  SOMETHING could have saved him, and I did not find it.  As a father I did not do what I should have done.  Researched more, asked more questions, wondered why his bowel moments were always so runny, asked why it took so long to have one.  A tie could have been made to a sick bowel and I could have asked them to look into it and maybe he would still be here.  I failed him when I sat by his isolette on the 9th and the chaplain is telling me that my despair is clouding the positive feelings we needed to be giving him.  Why couldn't I be more hopeful?  Why did I shut down so quickly.  I failed him as I stood by watching him being loaded into a hearse that was way too oversized for his tiny white casket by only a couple pallbearers.  I failed my family as the tears fell for my sweet boy.  Sure everyone says its not my fault and I did everything I could for him and I believe that but I still failed to keep him alive. 

I dont watch his video's, I can look at pictures of him because they are still.  But anything that shows him living its too hard to watch.  I remember his second ultrasound watching the chambers of his heart and thinking to myself that when I look at my son throughout my life I can think back to the time I saw into his heart.  Now that heart beats no more, it lies with him in his grave never to beat again.  How can such a strong heart give out like that?  I wish so very much I could see it beating again.   I have a recording of his heartbeat on my phone, such a wonderful recording I will keep forever yet it stabs deeply whenever I hear it. 

I dont know if I will ever get over feeling like I failed him, especially when I see so many people with their living children, reminders of that one sticking thought I deal with.  Im sorry Marcellus, Im sorry for not doing enough to keep you alive, I am sorry I failed you.  I love you so much please forgive me.

Some things on my mind

My head feels like it has been pulled in a million directions lately.  So many new things are happening it is hard to comprehend them all and do the things necessary to get them done.  For instance, I have my skills evaluation to be a CNA in a week and a half.  Back in November I was confident that I could pass these skills since I was doing so well in the class. Now however I am nervous as hell because what if I crumble under anxiety because I have not done them since.  I am practicing them and studying but I lack the confidence needed to complete them efficiently and correctly (I have only 30 minutes).  IF I pass I can become a CNA and change jobs which will be a good thing for me.  I am terribly miserable at my job now, I feel so out of place and unnoticed.  I walk around invisible being forced to interact constantly with customers who have no idea I am a father to a beautiful boy.  No one talks to me there, no one cares for me.  I just want to scream and run out the door everyday I am there. 

And Sunday is Fathers Day, a day which I am not looking forward to.  I am trying not to dwell on the day in general but it still finds its way into my thoughts constantly.  Marcellus will never get me a Fathers Day card, someday my hopeful future children will but he can never do that for me.  It all boils down to he will never be able to hug me and tell me "happy Fathers Day daddy!" In a voice I have no idea what would sound like.  Fathers Day will be hard, I may write more on it separately.

I also am much more fragile emotionally than I once thought.  The past few days I have been absorbed in my best friend from college's wedding that I have lost track of my own grief.  I am the best man in this wedding to reciprocate for him being the best man in mine.  He lives across the country and I have not seen him since... last summer I believe.  I have not seen him since we had Marcellus.  I am so worried he will not accept me as a grieving parent and grieving friend.  That I have changed too much for his liking.  I hope he can accept me for what I am now and I can put my emotions aside and embrace his wedding as a joyful, happy time. 

All this boils down into the avocado incident and my emotions.  There have been isolated incidents where my wife or I have lashed out on anything close to vent the anger that boils inside us at any given moment.  Traveling home from dropping my wife off at school I merged left onto a highway and in front of a truck speeding in the left lane, this truck then had to slow down as I occupied their space to speed ahead of the traffic group.  I moved to the right lane as soon as possible but not soon enough for this group of guys because they made sure to tailgate me and give me the bird.  An event that makes anyone upset on the road but it made me sad.  I felt terrible that these group of random people were so infuriated at me that they would do such a thing.. do they not know that I am fragile emotionally?  Do they not care?  So when I did arrive home I was hungry and I thought my avocado was ripe enough to eat.  Well when I cut into it I could tell it was not, faced with the possibility of wasting the avocado or trying to continue to make my sandwich I decided on the latter.  But the pit was not cooperating with me and it was really difficult to get out.  I then left that for later and grabbed the other half and tried to cut my slices out but they too were too difficult.  My misjudgement led to anger and I took my knife and sent pieces of avocado flying all over the kitchen as I brutally hacked it in an angry rage.  I immediately felt remorseful for my actions, and for wasting a perfectly good avocado.  I just cannot control my anger sometimes and have to release it, had not those gentlemen not flicked me off, or my son not die in November that avocado may have been just put in the fridge for later.  I am terribly busy and I have to set my grief aside some days, but it will be there when I least expect to show me that it will wait for me, no matter what.

This Morning

I slept in late, but then got up and started my morning routine.  He soon crept into my thoughts as he always does in the morning.  I am glad to think of him so often.  I have a faint smile when I think of him sometimes, but most of the mornings I carry a heavy heart.  I try to quell that heart with coffee and the computer.  Distractions do wonders when you are in grief.  I decided this morning that after breakfast and a few really good songs that I would get up and start picking up the living areas.  I noticed my steps are heavy as I move about, picking up random memories of his life and death strewn about like seeds waiting to trigger a reaction in my heart.  The house is starting to look a little better as I organize and clean up.  But it will never look good, my baby is not watching me intently as I pick up and watch him while mommy grabs a few extra hours of sleep.  My heart is heavy because he is trying to hang on to me as I work, I carry my son with me always and forever will.

The Grind

Entering the grind we become numb.  Work, clean, chores, computer, sleep, eat, work.  An endless list of things to tack on our day yet they all become a monumental challenge.  We are struggling now to fit our own lives into this daily grind, how do we adept to a life without our son?  I do not know, I can only try.  Where does our son fit into this life, we planned to focus our busy lives around his growing life.  Now that our life is filled with nothing but time and his life is no more, we are left with the wreckage of our new life.  It has taken months to get to where we are and I feel like we are no further along than we were months ago.  I have not added anything new besides a headstone for my son in my life.  The only accomplishment is a piece of blue slate with my wifes handwritten message etched in it.  Hardly an accomplishment which I ever wanted to live to see.  I am no further in my life, no further with our family, only farther away from my son as every day passes.  I am alone in this life, floating along in this grind, trying to find a safe place to plant my feet.  I fear there is no safe place anymore. 

I thought I was doing ok.  I got my grades back from last semester and they were all A's.  It is the only time in my life I have ever gotten straight A's and the only time that I have a 4.0 gpa going.  I also am going to be getting ready to go home here soon to see Marcellus's headstone put in.  I am not too upset by that because I feel like we owe it to him to have a permanent marking of his spot.  I also have been losing weight and found a passion for running when there is little passion left in my life.  I thought things were going well until I have been hit with some curveballs that have added up. 
First, I signed up for a CNA test and the date is the day after we leave.  Not a huge deal but 101 dollars down the drain.  Why they do not let you pick your date is silly.  I then got my financial aid suspended because since I withdrew my fall semester my completion rate is below the mandatory 67%.  I just had to send in my appeal accompanied with the death certificate to say "I had to withdraw from the fall because my 12 day old son died."  A couple that I know that lost their baby in January 2011 after over five months of battling for his life just had their rainbow baby.   A beautiful little girl who they just brought home from the NICU.  Seeing them bring such a small, healthy little baby home reminded me that Marcellus probably could have came home earlier than they told us if he would have done well.  I am happy for them however, the pain they have endured escapes me.  How one can put their life back together after that is amazing.  And now my brother and wife are pregnant again.  They had an early miscarriage but got pregnant again right away.  He told me the news and told me that he got to call mom on Mothers Day with the news to let her know she will be a grandma again.  I sent my mom a card telling her that I appreciated her.  She got a call from my brother that she might have a grandchild that wants to stay longer than a couple weeks gestation or 12 days after he/she is born.  My brother and sister-in-law are older, and I know that they want to be good parents to more kids than just their little lime they lost recently.   But I cannot help think that it should be us too, we should be given the chance to raise a child here, in our home, like my friend.  I just want that chance. 

I can do things for my son, like put in a headstone, brew a beer, read him stories, give blood, March for Babies, etc...  but I can never do things WITH my son.  I want to do things with my children, to raise them, to shape them, to help them become good, loving people.  I want to accept them for who they are, I want to pick them up when they scrape their knee or when they become heartbroken.  I want to be the person they look up to.  I want to be there for a long time when they grow older.  I want to hold my wifes hand on a Mothers Day far off in the future as we are surrounded by our children and grandchildren and know that Marcellus shaped this family for what it is.  I just want that chance. 

Six months, still no home

Last night my wife asked me why I do not blog as much lately, I do not know why.  Maybe I am sick of it, maybe I am sick of this grief.  6 months ago I lost Marcellus and now I have to find my new normal.  A lot has changed for me in the past couple of weeks, we did March for Babies.  Our team won second for money raised and won best t shirt.  It was an incredibly humbling experience and awe inspiring to have so much support for my little buddy.  Last week I completed my semester, the semester which I started last fall and had to stop six months ago after he died.  In a way I did not want this semester to end, it was my connection to him.  He helped me study for Anatomy and I did not want to stop doing that.  But I have to move forward, to 'move on' as others who have no idea what its like to lose a child say to you.  We are now getting ready to go back home in a couple weeks for his headstone. 

Which brings me to what is home now?  If Marcellus is our son and your family makes your home then what do you do in our case.  Before Marcellus it was just my wife and I.  This was our home, where we were.  And that was only cemented when we found out about him, I really started to consider NC our home.  We were going to bring a child into the world.  Two northerners from Minnesota were going to have a Carolina baby.  When he died and our family shattered we buried him in Minnesota because we did not know where we would be in 10 years.  The thought of moving him makes me cringe, I never want to.  But now my child's soul is in heaven and his body is in Minnesota.  His parents are left heartbroken in NC, where do we call home?  Is it when we go back to the grave and see his spot?  Do we call that little chunk of land home?  Or can we still call NC home, maybe the hospital was our only true home.  I do not know.  I hate this all, it makes me sick. 

I have to go to work today.  I never planned on it, I swear I requested the day off and they are suppose to let me know if I did not get it off.  But I have to go to work and leave Mommy by herself for the evening.  I do not know how I will do it, hopefully I make it through.  And if I cannot, I will leave.  I hate it there anyways, everything seems so far away.  My son, my family, the fact that I am a father.  I just feel like a worthless plebeian there.  No one is going to know that it is exactly 6 months ago that I lost him, and if I tell people I will look like I am rubbing it in their faces demanding sympathy.

I demand nothing, because I could not demand Marcellus to stay with us, he left because his body could not sustain his soul.  I could feel him trying to stay with us, he wanted to so badly.  But he could not, and we have to live with that for the rest of our lives... you've got to be kidding me.

Productive member of society

Apparently I am one of those people.  Productive member of society. I dont want to be!  I still want to grieve and do nothing else.  My schooling is past the point last semester where I had to withdrawl.  I needed to actually spend time learning the new material instead of reviewing.  My grades subsequently have went up because of this.  I have found it easier to do work and not just walk through the aisles feeling sorry for myself.  I have started my garden that I always wanted to.  Sure its just potted plants but I spent two days on it and its nice.  I also fixed up the deck with another chair and a table.  I can now sit out here under the protective umbrella of citronella and watch the day go by.  The sound of the road is in the background and continuous but I hear nothing of the neighbors, nor can I see them.  I cut down four small pine trees that blocked the sun from coming through shining on the deck on the evening hours.  They also felt too intrusive as they hung over.  But I have no houses around me in the back and woods are all I see.  I actually have some privacy!  It is peaceful and I have sat out here many days this week just relaxing, listening to music, and thinking about my son.  I have been so busy lately that I have not even wanted to write.

I dont know why, I still think about him constantly.  I just have not felt the need to blog or journal.  Partly because there is not one singular thing weighing heavy on my mind.  I have been so scatterbrained and busy bodied that thoughts come and go.  Maybe my brain is processing my grief differently, or something is wrong and I have not figured it out yet.  Sure the big thing that is wrong is my son is dead and his six month birthday is coming up and all I can think about is how I should have a six month old at home but that cant warrant not wanting to write.

For now I will continue to do work on the house, work on the deck and garden, and work for school and see what will come of it.  I will be one of these fabled members of society everyone thinks I should be.  Too bad I only want to be Marcellus's daddy. 

Breakdown

So I am trying to decide if this was really a good thing.  I had a miserable night last night, I cried and cried because it hurt just as bad as after we lost him.  This gut wrenching pain twisting a knot in my chest cutting off air as streams of tears fell from my eyes and the inevitable stinging snot poured from my nose.  I missed him, I missed him so sharply that it consumed me.  The dog and the wife cuddled with me and we all cried (Perk misses him too.)  But why did I break down like that?

Yesterday I met up with a friend.  I had not seen him alone in a while, in fact the last time I saw him alone I brought him into the NICU and showed him Marcellus.  He gave the most awe inspiring reaction to him and he could not have been happier for me.  I felt so proud as a daddy to show off my son to one of my close friends.  You could tell he fell in love with him the moment he saw him, as most people did.  We talked for a little bit and then we left the NICU to go back to the hospital room.  He turned me around and gave me a big hug and told me how happy he was for me.  And I was happy, I was happy that I finally made it as a father and my life felt complete. That was the last time I had hung out with him alone.  So yesterday I brought him to the tree, I showed off his honor tree instead of him.  We walked around some parks and chatted for a couple hours.  We talked a lot about grief and Marcellus along with other non-dead baby things.  It was a really good time for me because I was able to get out and spend time alone with a friend in the outside world.  Just one more big step in grief that we are taking together. 

But after our support group meeting it hit me, I wish I could have had him over and showing him off again while my wife was on campus getting some work done.  As we get more and more able to step outside of these comforting walls I start to feel remorseful that I am able to do these things.  I should not be able to go for a walk with a friend in a park, I should be busy with a baby, a 5 month old! 

Last night we also wanted to see how long it took to get him out during the c-section so we tore apart my wifes records.  Well in doing that we inevitably moved on to his records and she kept asking me questions of 'what does this mean' etc. since I had the computer and some knowledge of medical terms.  She then asked me what does pneumatosis mean.  I did not know so I looked it up on wikipedia.   It means that there are bubbles of air trapped outside the intestine.  And it is specifically associated with NEC which happens only to preemies.  The wikipedia article also showed an x ray picture as a visual aid.  The same type of x ray that the doctor showed me the morning of his death.  He pointed out the bubbles and said that the black areas are free air, not good.  At that time the doctor knew he was a goner, and rationally I knew too.  He was not showing me the x rays because he wanted to inform me of the situation so I could make an educated decision, he was showing why he was going to die.  Mommy and Daddy held onto hope still at that time but we both knew in our minds he was leaving us that day, we just wanted more time.  Seeing that picture reminded me of that moment, and was the straw which caused this cascade of tears to flow. 

But I needed it, I had not been crying over him the last couple days and feeling oddly normal and adventurous.  These events happened today to bring me back to my real world, the world where he is 1200 miles away in a white box signed by friends and family.  And I am here wading through a sea of sadness and grief just trying to find any sort of ladder to pull me out.  I miss my son, I miss him more than I could ever describe.  I will never be done grieving him. 

These walls

Im safe here, protected by some invisible barrier against the world.  Inside these walls my son lives on through memory.  His pictures hang off the walls and litters the tables.  We mention his name as casually as we mention what we should have for supper.  Anyone who enters here knows that Marcellus is discussed openly, freely, almost as easily as if he was here, pooping in his diaper as we swoon over him.  We do not hide him, we talk about him constantly.  We talk to him constantly, keeping our conversations in polite language just in case he is listening for fear of him learning a dirty word up in Heaven.  We also have an unspoken rule of crying wherever, whenever, and for whatever reason we choose to cry over.  Tissue boxes run a plenty here, and when one is out of reach our shirts, blankets, or even the dog make an acceptable substitute.  Marcellus is here, inside these walls, forever. 

Outside however he becomes much more abstract.  He is a memory, an event to people.  A definition of suffering for some, a point of strength for others.  He is mentioned a lot less when we are outside these walls.  People will come up to us and ask how we are doing but they will not mention his name because of some sort of cultural code that we do not talk casually of the dead.  I do not know how to breach these walls with him, to carry his memory with me so openly and freely as I do inside this house.  I cannot start a conversation as "my son is Marcellus, he died almost 5 months ago, now what do you want me to help you find?"  No one is going to come up to me and say "I see you are in grief, tell me something about your son."  Even my Mom has trouble mentioning him directly to me.  I can hear she is uncomfortable talking about him but she will listen to me, not that I think she does not care for him.  It hurts her too to hear me in pain, and for her to lose her grandson, she just deals with things differently than I do. 

I wish I could bring his memory outside these walls as easily as bringing a baby in a car seat would be.  Maybe thats why I find it troubling to leave them, why this house comforts me so.  I miss him, I am still very much in a lot of pain over him.  I do not expect this pain to leave anytime soon.

Wheelbarrow

My take on grief is like this.  When you find out your child has died you pick up a wheelbarrow holding a pile of small rocks.  At first this is so overwhelming because you realize you have to push this wheelbarrow for the rest of your life.  Then day by day for the first month or so the wheelbarrow gets lighter and lighter because you get used to it.  And then you start to think that 'this isnt so bad, I can do this for the rest of my life.'  Little do you know that you have just been carrying your shock around because in the span of a short time your grief dumps an almost immovable pile of baseball sized stones in your wheelbarrow.  Every bit of your body strains against this load and you start to realize how incredibly difficult this is going to be.  A little bit each day if you work at your grief you take one or two rocks off your pile, some days you put some back on.  If you stop grieving you set your wheelbarrow down but it will be waiting for you to pick it back up, there is no walking away from it. Some day years from now your wheelbarrow will be empty, you have wiped it clean of even rock dust accumulated from years of hauling these rocks around.  You have reached a sort of peace with grief, but even then you still have to push the empty wheelbarrow around for the rest of your life.

Right now the wheelbarrow is chock full of rocks and sometimes it feels like people are throwing them at me just in spite.

5 Month Birthday

Its the 28th again, and that means a monthly birthday for my boy.  We are still very much in that age where birthdays go by month until some point in time when we start counting by years.  5 months today, just think of how much he would have grown.  How big he would be, the facial expressions, the coo's, laughs, giggles, little things I miss and I never even heard or seen them.  But these are not the things we are focused with on his birthday.

We are focused on things to remember him by.  In the next few months we have a lot of things coming together that will show the world that my wife and I love our son more than we love ourselves.  That we miss him so terribly much that it is impossible to describe.  We are putting in his headstone in the end of May, a beautiful dark blue stone without too much flashiness yet so much personalization.  As much as I will hate to see his name carved into eternity I want him to be justifiably marked the same as any other person in that cemetery.  A month from today we are marching for him at March of Babies in Durham.  We have raised way more money than I could have thought of and it is truly humbling to know that so many people have come forward in support and share how he has touched their lives as well.   And in less than two hours we are driving to a neighborhood park where we are getting a tree planted in his honor!  It is a maple tree with a plaque and its being put in by the parks system here.   He will have a space in Raleigh were we can go to honor him! 

But I would trade all this in for the chance of spending his 5 month birthday playing with him on the mat, taking a picture of him and posting it on the fb for our friends to see how well he is doing, maybe even catching a birthday nap.  Hearing him laugh, coo, giggle.... Thats what I want for his 5 month birthday.

I want a baby

I want a baby, bad.  Not just any baby, my baby.  Do not expect me to be running around Babies R Us like its Black Friday and every baby is up for grabs, I want to put in my time and do it right.  But I want it now, I hate this waiting game life plays with us and says 9 months till its ready!  (Or 7 months if you're Marcellus.)  But I guess it is necessary and adds to the old excitement of having one. Everyone sees a baby bump and goes bonkers, "oooh is this your first one?"  "do you know the sex yet?"  "can I touch it?"  Questions we got with Marcellus and questions we will get again, and since we will be walking around without him, people will naturally assume that it is our first.  It isn't.  I have a son, a beautiful, wonderful, perfect little angel who watches over me every day.  How do we tell people that?  Do we lie and say 'yes' and beat ourselves up later?  Or do we figure out an answer that honors him and satisfies the question without the awkward 'I'm sorry' bullshit we put up with.  I guess we have to figure that out if we are lucky enough to get pregnant.  I say lucky enough because we know now how much this baby things is up for chance. 

We are not guaranteed a baby, pregnancy after the first trimester does not mean that no matter what we are bringing a bundle of joy home.  Pregnancy now means 9, or 8, or hope not 7 months of worrying, wondering, high-risk doctor visits, cervical ultrasounds, progesterone, prostaglandin, and on and on. Pregnancy no longer means 'I cant wait to meet him/her', baby showers, the carefree attitude we had last time.  But even though pregnancy has changed, and it will be hard, I want to do it.  I want to support my wife no matter what throughout it.  I will not complain like I did last time when she was laying on the couch and I had to fetch her water or food.  I will gladly help her in any way I can. 

I will wait for my rainbow baby, and when I get him or her I will love them the way Marcellus showed me!

Pain, pain, and more pain

I was laying in bed and thinking about my family last night.  How each member of my immediate family has some sort of pain inflicting them.  My wife and I of course have the debilitating acute pain of Marcellus leaving us, My brother and his wife just lost their first child to a missed miscarriage, and my Mom just had major surgery and will be recovering for six weeks.  I think about all of them a lot and their pain while not trying to put mine of the pedestal.  Sure I would take major surgery for the rest of my life to keep Marcellus around, and we can empathize with my brother and sister in law a little bit on loss and grief, I just do not know if they understand the complete magnitude of pain we have suffered.  In fact, most days I cannot believe it myself.  I sit wondering a lot how I even managed to survive such an event.  I understand now why my brain put me in shock for a month, if it had not I would have lost it.  Watching Marcellus die was literally more pain than one body can handle at one given time.  His departure meant that every aspect of our lives are going to be tinged with this knowledge, this underlying factor that he left us and we are grieving parents.  Any pain we hear about from here on in we will unknowingly compare to our pain and therefore our reaction will be based on that. 

My pain has been different lately, in the last week or so it has manifested itself quietly inside me.  I carry my pain now as a tumor, a silent rogue ready to spread at a moments notice.  I go to group but I feel less like talking, I cry a lot less now.  Maybe I am just taking a break or maybe my body is resting me for the coming months when some people say it gets worse.  Ick, get worse?  How can this get worse, how can I stand to look at his mommy fall apart and my heart absolutely break for her.  How can I look at other babies and other pregnant people and not want to throw things at them.  How long can I keep this pain inside myself and not let it affect me negatively. 

The short answer of course is "get it out,"  let the pain flow out of you through constructive and healthy ways.  Be more mindful of it.  But its so tiring, the pain is so draining that I want to do other things with my life than just sit and be in pain!  Let me be numb for a while so I can rest my body and accomplish some other things in life and have a reason for all this damn pain!  I will come back to it, this pain is cyclical.  My family will experience even more pain and that will open these wounds like a scab being ripped off.  I am not done, far from it. 

But through all this pain, numbness, and grief I have seen some sheds of hope.  Sheds that our live together and as a family will become a new whole.  Marcellus left, died, croaked, kicked the bucket, cashed in his chips, passed on, passed away, went to be with the lord, etc.  Those are all euphemisms for him dying but not leaving.  Our new whole will be with him as it should have been 4 months ago.  He is the only family member not feeling pain, he is helping us through ours and will continue to do so for the future as an integral part of this family, he is still with us.

I am sitting here, drinking the beer I brewed for Marcellus to share with people when they came over to visit him.  It is a gorgeous day and I just got brewing for the first time since he was born.  I had  the recipe all weighted out ready to go before he was born but then all that fell to the wayside after he was born. 

Brewing today was a mix of emotions for me.   I feel guilty for actually doing something I enjoy, something I feel is selfish.  On the other hand I know I cannot let his death dictate my life.  If he would have lived I would have found time to brew, sure it would not be that often but my wife would have given me a morning to do it...maybe.  But now I can brew how ever much I want to.  In fact I could brew again tomorrow if I wanted to, after work.  And I could brew as much as I wanted for however long until we deliver again.  And that really sucks.  I do not like all this free time, all the countless hours on netflix, being able to cook nice meals, taking the dog out for long runs, brewing beer.  I want to be busy, to be eating food thrown together in a haste.  I want to wake up to a crying baby, to be too tired to brew or even to drink. 

Marcellus told me it was ok to take time for myself.  While brewing a bunch of hawks flew overhead and landed in the trees.  They talked to me, one even squeaked like he did.  I feel it was him telling me that I can do some of these things I love, as long as I do them with him.  And I did, he was here with me the whole time, he never left my mind.  It was kind of nice to be with him like that, my brewing buddy!  So I named the beer after him, Black Hawk Ale.  Hopefully it is good, the beer I brewed for him is really good.  I like having something I created for him around.  I will be sad to see the last one go. 

I miss him terribly, I have so much to write about, I could go on forever!  But I think I will just take in some fresh are and calm sky, and watch the hawks circle overhead.  I love you Marcellus!

4 Months Today

It seems like an eternity, Marcellus being gone this long.  We often ask each other how in hell we are able to survive nonetheless function through this?  We read a lot of stories of other parents who lost children and babies and we think to ourselves 'how could anyone survive that?'  Then we have to take a step back and remember that WE are surviving that now, that our lives are tragic and unchanging, that other people hear about Marcellus and ask themselves how we manage to get through every day. 

The getting through part of everyday is not hard, its the getting through part with our sanity that is the kicker.  Everyday I wake up I think about him, then I think about him gone, then I just say 'you know what, I am going to give up on today.'  But I then realize that doing this will not help my grief in any way so I decide to suck it up and do something 'productive' and 'worthwhile.'  I do schoolwork, I go to work, I take care of the dog, I cook, I clean, and I make sure my family has what it needs to function.  But believe me, the only thing I really want to do all day is sit on the damn couch, eat pizza and drink beer, and watch cartoons all day. Living a normal existence after losing Marcellus is hard, it is damn hard.  If my six months ago self looked at me now and how much I get done in a day he would be disgusted.  He would think that I am some lazy ass bum.  And he would have some choice words as well.  But I know why I cannot get everything done that I want, because what I want I can never do.  I want to be busier than ever taking care of a small baby!  I want to be running errands late at night, I want to be changing diapers and endlessly doing piles and piles of laundry.  I do not want to wake up with the option of beer, pizza, and Futurama OR being productive.  I should not have another option besides being busier than hell!

Our new normal lives have taken a toll on us, and we decided to take a little trip out into the mountains to promote clarity and relaxation. We are staying at a bed and breakfast, it has a jacuzzi tub and, until last night I did not realize this, FREE BREAKFAST!  I was laying in bed thinking, wow this is a really nice bed, I now know where the bed part of bed and breakfast come in, but why do they include the word breakfast in their title?  It took me two seconds later to realize we do get yummy breakfast with our stay and I am super excited.

Today we planned on going hiking and screaming if we wanted to, well we decided to save that hike till tomorrow.  Someone phoned ahead and we get a picnic basket with our hike tomorrow!  Today we are going to just explore the town, get a massage, and just do what we want.  It is his 4 month angel birthday today, I cannot stop thinking about him.  Four months ago he died, leaving me a broken shell of a man.  I crumbled at the site of his mother holding him while he took his last tired breaths.  My heart exploded out of my chest and I let the world see my despair.  How could he die?  How can any baby die?  It is such a sick and tragic even to take the life of such a small, innocent being.  Marcellus had no chance in his life, he had only 12 days to receive as much love and caring as we could dole out to him and we did.  We loved him immensely, we still do.  Everyday we love him more and more because everyday we are finding out what his death means to us and more importantly that before he died he LIVED.  I am not just a baby loss daddy, I am a DADDY!  I changed his diaper, I held him, I experienced the absolute complete joy of him being born and the doctor telling us its a boy!  "Its a boy, its a boy, we have a boy!" My wife exclaimed through clouds of sedation, I was stunned as I looked at her elated face, she went through so much to get here and she did it the way only the best mother in the world could do, I am so proud of both my wife and my son!

I love my family, it is not perfect but no family is.  I love it because it is my family, even though Marcellus died 4 months ago today, he made it our family.  He will forever be the firstborn child, my reason for being productive in life.  My reason for loving my wife so unconditionally and my family so patiently.   I love you Marcellus!  I miss you so terribly much!

Did not expect that

I have been kind of excited for the next few day.  Counting down the days to my spring break.  Even though my classes are online and I work we decided to take this week off and relax.  I do not work for a week so maybe I can get some other work and grieving done.  What I am really excited for is going to a city in the mountains in two days.  We are staying at a bed and breakfast, going to do some hiking, maybe some exploring of the downtown, eat out at some good restaurants, and even share a bottle of wine.  We are also going to do a lot of grieving and crying.  We need to get out of our 'comfort zones' as I call them, get out of the house, of group, of the workplace, places we are familiar with and know we are 'safe'.  We need to go exploring, both physically and emotionally.

My wife asked what if we cry the whole time, well then we will cry somewhere new.  We just need a change of scenery, a change of pace, and time to relax.  But we still had to finish out the week which means I still had to work today.  Work has been quite the issue for me, to see people so pent up about products that do not make life more enjoyable is hard.  But I play along and do my job, as boring as it is. 

Today however was not boring, it was very hard.  Not physically or mentally but emotionally.  About 30 minutes left of my day and 30 minutes left until my vacation I overheard a gentleman asking about me, as I randomly walked past.  I then hear him ask about my baby and my wife.  At first I thought who the hell is this person and why is he asking about my dead son?  I acknowledge myself and he comes up to me and asks about the baby.  Finally I recognize him, he was one of my wife's old tutors from last year. He knew I worked there, and he knew we were expecting.  He looked at me inquisitively, expecting an answer.  The only thing I could say as I drew myself out of my own shocked state was "he died."  He was then shocked in his own way and started apologizing.  I told him that he was born premature, and died unexpectedly.  It was very awkward, I did not even get to mention his NAME!  He then told me that it happens to a lot of women and that we are still young and can try again.  He then said something that was odd, playing off the young comment he stated that he himself was 47 and he had his son late in life and he wont be having another one.  Like that was suppose to comfort me?  That I can have more children in life than him because I am younger?  Like that is suppose to minimize Marcellus's death?  The more children you have the easier it gets to grieve one?  I about said "at least you still have your child" but bit my tongue.  He was only trying to help me.  We parted and I said do not apologize for not knowing, it was kind of nice to hear someone ask about the baby even for just a second.

But that second turned into a flood of misery.  I started sobbing uncontrollably as I ran into the breakroom hoping to God that no one was in there.  I called my wife and asked her to come get me and we talked quick as I told her what happened.  I could not stop crying, I have never cried at work like that.  It was just so painful to tell someone that he died.  I then collected myself and went to clock out, I did not want to be getting paid for crying and then returned to the breakroom.  My wife arrived at work and I darted out of there 10 minutes before I was suppose to go home.  I then cried some more in the car and at home.  It was such a blow to me, an agonizing situation to deal with.  I should have been telling him that he was doing good, so happy and healthy, bouncing up and down, eating like a champ!  But I did not, I told him that he was dead, I left out the part where mommy and daddy feel like they died along with him.  But that is another post. 

I miss him,  I love him so much! 

Do people change to tragedy?

My dog just put his paw on my hand and looked up at me like he was saying "its ok Dad, I am here for you."  Sometimes our comfort through this comes in unsuspecting ways.  When Marcellus died I had envisions that our families and close friends would come together and unify in some giant support ring to get us through this.  Why not?  Not one of them had to deal with something like this, the death of a nephew, grandchild, godchild, and close friend's baby should have been so tragic to rock them out of their core comfort zones and reach their hand out to us.

Sadly we did not receive that support, and we know why.  We are no deserving of such support, even though Marcellus's death is indeed tragic, we cannot sit back and expect that adequate comfort will come rushing to us from family that is ill equipped with the skills to deliver.  Marcellus's life, and death changed my core thinking and beliefs.  His life story did not change my parents, brothers, friends, etc.  Their life beliefs still hold true to their own roots.  Do not get me wrong, we have their support, just not in the way I expected.  They are not sending us messages saying they are thinking of him constantly.  Sure they are thinking of me but I am their child, they never got to physically see Marcellus, their only grandchild.  My brother got to see him, but only after he passed.  It shocked him, and I could tell seeing a dead preemie baby was way out of his comfort zone of chocolate milk, IPA, and airplanes.  But then again, watching Marcellus die was WAY out of my own comfort zone as his parent.

Our own friends have been there in their own way, some have been absolutely instrumental in our grieving process and in our efforts to honor his life.  Others just do not have the skills and resources available personally to be there.  Our friendships have not crossed that boundary and even as tragic as this is, we cannot form new boundaries on the spot, they take time.

I used the words tragic and tragedy because we like to feel that tragedy elicits change in our life. But it does not, how many times after a tragedy do we continue on as normal.  But tragedy does elicit change when it hits too close to home or you have no personal experience with tragedy until now.  For example, Marcellus's death rocked my wife and I to our core being, changing us forever.  However we were changed as parents when he was born so our life was on a new path anyhow.  But Marcellus's life and death have changed our relationship with other key players in our recovery.  The dog is sympathetic, only because I do not feel that dogs can show empathy that I will take his sympathy.  He is patient, loving, calming, and just there when we need to snuggle with some one or something.  My brother-in-law is instrumental in our grieving, he latched onto Marcellus even after he died and has been a source of uncomplicated support to my wife and I.  He is 11, he knows what to say, he says the basics.  "I love you, and I miss him."  We need to hear that from all of our family, but only he knows how to deliver that so simply you wish the others would follow his lead.

Really this all should be unnecessary, babies should not die.  Parents should not bury their child or children.  This is so messed up and backwards that I have a hard time realizing the scope of it all.  Sometimes I just view Marcellus as a child who died, and not my own child who lived.  I am immersed so much in his passing that I do no think about his breathing, his little heartbeat, his eyes scanning around until they saw us.  Morgan played the recording of his heart beat to me the other day and it sent me into a full on meltdown.  I busted up my (already broken) laptop and sobbed uncontrollably in a darkened bathroom.  Why? Because I forgotten the fact that at one point his little heart, probably the size of a large nut, was beating at 140 bpm, and more importantly his heart was beating because my son was alive, not only dead.

Grief is inherently selfish, I grieve because I lost my son, I lost all those things I was looking so forward to.  I need to remind myself to grieve for him too, grieve for his LIFE not only his death.  Grieve for the shitty card that he drew in life, grieve for the chances he never got, grieve for the pain he felt as he got sick.  Grieve for the fact that as his father I could not protect him.  Grieve for the fact that he is my firstborn.  I miss him, I will  concentrate on grieving for him and not just me today.

Marcellus I LOVE you!

Mementos

He is still here.  He is right here, he will always be here.  I do not doubt that he is still my son, shining down on me, telling me that he does love me and he did want to stay.   I know that I could not save him, that even though I wished so hard I could not keep him here in his body.  But even so he is still here, permeated throughout everything I know.  I can look around at so many items that speak in his honor.  Willow Tree figurines of faceless angels holding tiny sculptures representing not only Marcellus but of hope in general.  Hope that he is with the angels, waiting for the day when we come home to him.

But one thing that touches me more than all of the mementos we have of him is the castings of his hands and feet.  Done by Tawny and Patty after he died they are life sized exact models of his hands and feet.  Complete with the lines in his skin.  Due to his dehydration from dying they are very wrinkly.  But even so they are held in a position that could replicate him sleeping.  I pass by them a lot more since they are on the mantle above the fireplace.  They are like little hands reaching out to grab me and remind me that he was here in body not just in spirit.  2 Minutes after he was born I gave him my finger to hold and he grabbed on to it to say 'daddy, I am here, even though I am early, I am here with you!"  That moment could be the best moment in my life.  The bond between father and son was created at that particular moment in time.  I wish for that bond again in life so dearly, everytime I walk by I rest my finger that he held in the hand molding, to bring myself back to where I was so long ago.  Sometimes I wish he would take control of the model of his hand for a brief moment and grab my finger again.  I wish for any moment in life where he lets me know that he is ok. 

I believe he is ok, that some angel is cradling him, waiting for us to get there and take over.  I also believe he is here, weaved into my spirit, guiding me through this terrible existence I must now endure.  I just wish he was here with us, putting up with our guided attempts at parenting.  I wish bottles, diapers, toys, and baby monitors were his mementos, things that remind us of him.  Things that he should be using, not stuffed in the closet or the dresser drawer awaiting first use hopefully some day.  Replaced with these items with his name printed, we must suffice with them until we can hold him in heaven. 

Busy week

My tiny little bundle of joy.  I was at work last night after a busy week of studying and working.  Probably the busiest week I had since his death that did not involve flying back for his funeral, planning funeral, crying, making poster boards, visiting families, crying, etc.  The last non-grieving busy week I was suppose to have was the week he was born.  He came on a Friday night and I had 3 tests and CNA the week following.   I ended up skipping all 3 tests.  The first time in my 6 years of college education (no I am not a doctor) of ever skipping a test because of an excuse, legitimate or otherwise.  That was suppose to be my busy week and it turned out to be very busy for a very different reason.  Busy because of Marcellus, because my son just decided "hey now is a great time, here I am!"  Silly son, he is so silly.  But this last week was my new busy week, I only had one test but it felt like 3.  I had to work on top of it and I really had no time to think about him or myself. 

So last night when I was working and wrapping my head around what had happened this last week I began to wonder if I was entitled to grief.  I really wanted to call out, to not show up for work.  A manager told me a while ago that if I ever need to not show up I can just call, its ok.  I felt entitled to if I need to.  I never felt like 'well I am not sick, how can I call out?'  I always told myself that if it gets bad or if I cannot go, I wont.  Me being there is not as important as my mental and emotional well being.  Last night I did not feel like that was the case, I really felt like staying home, that I needed to rest and recuperate after my busy week. But I did not, I felt obligated to go to work.  That I owed them for being there, that they were important.  Work ended not being bad, but I could have benefited staying home I think.

I need to learn to stay home on days like that.  When I am wiped out,  I need to stay home for him, I need to stay home for myself.  I miss him.  I love him.

I needed that

I have not felt like writing in the past few days.  I have had bad days for sure.  Moments of sadness and despair mixed in with the ever present longing for my son.  I often stand wondering how I can continue on like this.  I know it gets 'better' but when.  I see my wife and she has a hard time every day, I see her and wonder how long we will last going through this.  How long can people keep up heavy grief? 

Do I have a reference point though?  Is my grief today, more than 3 months out comparable to the grief 2 months ago or even a month ago?  I do not think so.  If I took myself two months ago and compared it to today I would be shocked how far I can come in grief.  Ever so slowly I join the masses in their daily drudgery.  I wonder if I will ever become like them, or I will forever be a changed man.  Will I be concerned about what house I live in, what car I drive, how many numbers my bank account has in it, that the barista at starbucks got my skinny no cream hazelnut bullshit correct or not.  No, those do not mean anything.  I am going to be concerned about my children, about my wife, about my animals, concerned that they are happy, healthy, and have a meal for tomorrow. 

Losing a child makes you reflect on your own childhood and how your child will never be able to do the things that you did.  Marcellus was going to be my boy who I relived my childhood through.  I was going to teach him all the necessary father things but also be right down there assembling legos and other cool project with him.  I love playing, I love imagining, creating a world outside my own, a perfect escape.  Having a mind like my own meant that Marcellus and I would be creating such lavish adventures together.  With his mind and my talents and experience, we were going to do great things.  Now I create an imaginary world where he is alive.  I fantasize about him being here, about playing with him, about raising him.  Sometimes it is so real I smile until I snap out of it and I see that he is not here, he is gone. 

Even though I will never get to 'play' with Marcellus he will show me the way in playing with my other children.  I want to be the daddy who is down there having fun with his kids after work.  My dad just sat on the couch and watched the news as I turned the carpet into a battlefield.  I want to be the evil dictator my sons valiantly destroy with their lego crusaders.  Losing Marcellus has helped me see that is the father I want to be.  Because I wanted to do all those things with him.  It sucks that I had to pay that much to learn so little about myself.  Hopefully my other children thank Marcellus silently for this gift to them.

I needed this, I needed to read a blog about Valentines Day yesterday about how this holiday sucked and why.  It is about love, and the love we have for our family.  I cannot give Marcellus a valentines treat, I just can miss him over Valentines day.  But really, everyday is Valentines Day for Marcellus, because everyday I say I love him so much! 

I miss my son very much.  I miss what was, what could have been, and who he would be.  But I need to remember what Marcellus is.  He is my first born son, my light of my life.  First of hopefully many.  I love you baby boy!

3 months today

In tradition of his angel birthdays my wife and I embraced each other at the time of his death.  It seems that is the time that looms over us no matter what we are doing on the anniversaries.  It probably will continue too.  I was so focused on his death the last few months. The first month I was focused on making sure to actually breathe.  But after that I have been focused on why he died and how in the hell it actually happened to us.  I know now that it happens.  It just happens.  This is not repayment for some dastardly deed in my past, it is not a lesson I am meant to learn.  Marcellus just died.

But how could I accept this?  That God just let Marcellus die because he was not worthy of some divine intervention.  Why was he not worthy?  Does God have the power of foresight and see that his life would not have warranted such a save by him?  Why was his cast into the pile like all the other angel babies we know?  Was not God listening to our prayers and pleads on that day to save him, to let us have more time with him.  To let him live the life we meant for him to live? Why was he not saved? Surely God cannot show unfathomable love to all of us yet only save some of us.  If he feels as much love for everyone on the planet equally then why did he let this happen?  Maybe he was powerless, maybe he could not change the fact that Marcellus suffered from a 'chain of events' that made his body an unworthy inhabitant of his soul.  I can understand that, I was powerless too.  I stood there looking down at the bloated body of my precious son and wanted so badly to fix him, to do something to reverse his impending death.   I stood over him pleading God to change our place, that I would rot in a nursing home for years if he would just save my son.  God just give me a chance to raise him.  Did God not save my son because I was not worthy enough to be his father?  That may be the case, but how do you explain my wife, his mother.  I dare no man, no angel, no deity to see the love my wife poured into my son and then decree that she is not worthy to be with him.  Marcellus was worth saving, he was worth a life like any other boy you see running on the playground with skinned knees.  His life was worth much more than the 12 days he was given.  It just must have happened.

If that is what it is then I have to go forth and live for him.  Marcellus deserves a father who will take care of his family.  Of his mother, his big furry brother, his future little siblings.  A good and decent father.  A wise and kind father.  A father who will make so many good decisions and a few mistakes.  A father who will not put his job before his family, put his pleasures in front of his duties.  Hopefully I can live like the father Marcellus deserves.

I started today by repaying the debt Marcellus owes.  3 months ago he got 3 and a half times more blood than his body had.  For his 3 month angel birthday I donated blood.  I donated blood last time 10 years ago in high school.  I vowed never to give blood again when I almost fainted that time.  Today when I gave blood I again almost fainted.  But I will be back in 3 months.  I might almost faint again, I will find out.  I want to continue giving blood on his angel birthdays every 3 months for him.  Maybe my blood will go to a NICU baby fighting for his life like Marcellus did.  Maybe my blood could help save that babies life so their parents one day can take that baby home like we should have.  I can only hope. 

Marcellus I love and miss you so terribly much.  You left me this day 3 months ago.  While I can never understand why, I understand you did not want to leave, you had to.

His permeating memory

I am sitting here waiting an hour before I go to work. I am watching a Hoarders, have the dog sleeping on me, and I am drinking my coffee.  I did not sleep well last night, I kept having dreams which kept waking me up.  I do not think they were nightmares but they are just part of the long sets of dreams I have been having that are unpleasant.  I do not know what triggers these dreams, they are of nothing specific which I can remember but I know that they are upsetting.  I do wish I could dream of just him, to relive some of the good memories I have of my sweet boy.

And I do have memories of him, wonderful memories of when he was alive.  My grief is so inward and consuming that it is selfish. Sometimes I am not sad that he is gone, I am sad for myself, I am throwing myself a pity party.  I see pictures of him all over, we drug out his stuff last Wednesday night to remind ourselves that he was with us and we did get to hold him.  We got his Molly Bear and we can feel his weight on our chests like we did in the NICU.  I need to be sad for that, I need to miss that.  I do not want to sit here and say 'woe is me,' I want to miss my son and be sad that he is gone.  I want to be sad because at one point in my life I was so very happy with him. My Dad told me that over time the bad memories of your life fade but the good ones still stay vivid.  Right now the bad memories of his death are so overpowering they overshadow the amazing moments we had with him.  I want to look back and smile at seeing his big dark eyes searching around for us.  I want to remember his yawns, hiccups, and twitches.  I want to remember holding his little butt and feet tucked in while laying on my chest, his tiny breaths pushing warm air near where his head lay.  I want to remember what it was like to see him nestled in with my wife, as they both look so happy an content with their lives that nothing, not even the constant noise and bustle of the NICU bothered them.   I need these memories to sustain me in my life.  I cannot make it without them.

Marcellus, you will always be my good memories for the rest of my life.  When I am sitting, staring off into the nothing and everyone thinks I am spacing out I am really not.  I am remembering fondly you.  My mind is never absent, you are always there, willing to accompany me through anything.  I miss you little buddy, so much. You can visit my dreams anytime.  I love you baby boy!

Father and Son

I remember as a kid watching my Dad in his room reloading.  The rhythmic movements of his press, smell of the gunpowder, his classical music playing, him pausing to tell me about some minor detail in the process.  I remember him fixing supper and always cutting up an orange in half moon shapes with the rind on.  Like that is some classier way of eating an orange?  I remember him opening a beer and letting me take the first sip.  I remember so many of the little things I watched my father do as a kid.  I remember them because he was my hero, sure I was scared of him but that was part of his power as a father. He always dispelled wisdom in doses, often portraying it in a way which made you think and reason it over.  He was not so much a 'because I said so' kind of parent but as a 'this is why we do it my way' kind of father.  Sure it was frustrating to try to work around that kind of reasoning but I still tried.  Most of all he was someone who would take the time to explain anything when you asked him.  He knew most of the answers and the ones he didn't he made me look up. I remember these things about him because I did those things.  I was his son, he let me into his life and showed me how as a son I should live it.

I think most men want a son when they start a family.  Not only to pass on the name and title like some medieval tradition but to teach what their father taught them and to improve what they felt were injustices done as well.  My father was not perfect, far from.  He is an alcoholic with a short fuse, stemming most likely from being in the War.  He has his viewpoints and feels very strongly about them, sure that is an admirable trait to have but so is allowing the other side to express theirs.  But with all those shortcoming he passed down what it means to be a man and more importantly what it means to be a good person in this society.  I wanted so badly to do the same with my son or sons.  When Marcellus died he took that.  He took my right to be a father.  I became a different kid of daddy, a type of daddy no parent can prepare you for.  A daddy to a beautiful angel.

Marcellus will never watch me do any project, he will never listen to me telling him stories about my childhood, he will never ask me those questions about how the world works.  I will never be able to play that roll I cherished so much as a child.  I will never be able to tell him about the interesting side to history that the school system so blindly looks past.  I will never be able to show him what being a good person is about and why he needs to be one too. 

I know more about losing a child than my mother, my father, my grandparents, and my brother.  And thank God I do.  I also hope that 30 years from now I will know more about losing a child than my children would need to know. I could teach my Dad what it is like to be a father to an angel but I do not want to.  It is something that is better not knowing in life. I finally know something more than my Dad, and that SUCKS.

Marcellus, I wanted so badly to be your daddy on earth.  To take you into this life and show you how to be a good person.  I cannot do that with you ever.  You are learning so much without me teaching you.  I hope you teach me someday what Heaven is like.  Because when that day comes I want to hear all about it!  I miss you so much.  I love you baby boy!

3 Month Birthday

Have you ever thought why we section off the first months of a babies life in birthdays?  Yesterday was Marcellus's 3 month birthday.  Most people will celebrate their babies 3 month birthday with at a least a little celebration that is meaningless to a baby.  These birthday's are for the parents, a little self recognition of being able to keep their baby alive for 3 months and hopes for 3 months more. 

We celebrated Marcellus's 3 month birthday with a lady I only knew because she was a last ditch effort to keep our son here on this earth.  Patty a chaplain at the hospital we stayed at knew Healing Touch.  Marcellus's Grandma also knows healing touch and suggested it.  During that terrible day we would have tried anything.  Obviously Healing Touch was not the miracle I secretly hoped for as I watched my babies body start to bloat and bleed.  What we learned was that Marcellus was trying to stay with us, he wanted to be with his Mommy and Daddy as much as we so desperately wanted him to be with us.  His body was just failing, his body could not hold his soul anymore.  We were helpless, we had no way of fixing him.  No way of creating a safe haven for his soul to stay. 

I often how I let him get sick. We just expect babies to be born healthy and here to stay.  Those monthly birthdays are just reminders that we are capable human beings performing the simple act of procreation.  It is not that simple, there is so much that goes into keeping your baby here.  The reminders must be necessary because it is hard work keeping babies alive, and the monthly birthdays serve as recognition of parents hard work.  I will keep 'celebrating' Marcellus's monthly birthdays, especially for the first year.  His mommy and I have hard work ahead of us too, but we have one more monthly birthday than most parents to recognize.  That is of course Marcellus's angel birthday 11 days from now.  I get to go about this next week and a half until the 9th knowing this is how short Marcellus was with me, in my trusting care.  I let him get sick, I do not now how I did and know that I could not do anything to change the course of what happened but I still feel like I let him down.  I so desperately wanted to celebrate these monthly birthdays with him here in our arms. 

I miss you so much little buddy.  Last night I sat in my car screaming because I could not possibly comprehend that I am here doing this, why are we doing this?  Why do we have to do this without you?  This all feels so unnatural, so beyond wrong.  The fabric of my life has been torn to shreds.  I wish you were here so very badly.  If there was ever anything I could do to reverse this, to change our fortune I would.  I just want the chance to raise you.  I love you so much Marcellus, I will always love you with everything I have until the end of my days!

Marcellus's Sunset

Why haven't I linked his sunset!
This is his sunset done in Australia by a very nice photographer who also lost a child. Part of our internet dead baby club which sucks.  This sunset, along with his Molly bear, windchime back in Fairmont, angel statue are beautiful milestones.  Milestones in his life, milestones which he will not be a part of.  I love creating memories for him, I just want to be creating memories with him. 

Life without him is such a two way street. Grief consumes everything.  My life has been infiltrated by my grief for him.  I looked at pictures from when we were pregnant with him but the only thing I could think of was how did I not know we were going to lose him.  Those wonderful, innocent memories are gone.  I want to be able to look at pictures of me finding out, pictures of us at the beach and be like 'these are moments with Marcellus.'  But all I can think is wishing I could be back there, to go back in time and relive those moments.  Fleeting, happy moments that I did not know what soul crushing grief is like.

But I cannot go back in time.  At least not yet.  I am stuck here. I am stuck living with this every day.  And I do, I live with it.  Grief has become me, changed me into a different man.  A better man?  Doubtful, but definitely different.  I worry my friends and family will abandon this new me.  I can recall how I acted before Marcellus, and what my friends took to define me and I think now that I will never act like that again.  I have become more sincere, more real.  What if my friends who knew me throughout the years say that this is not the person they are friends with and abandon me?  I am so worried about that.  Marcellus abandoned me, will my friends too?  What about my family?  Blood is forever but emotions are strong.  Maybe I am making too much of this.  I am letting my grief infiltrate my relationship with family and friends.  I am changed, but that does not mean I need to try to change back to who I was in the past. 

I need these memories of him, I need to create new ones with his name.  I will never be able to cry out his name to him as he plays in the yard, to see his name written in school papers or even in finger paint when he is learning how to spell it.  I am haunted that I will never hear his laugh, or hear him say "I love you daddy,"  I need these memories to feel like I am still being a good daddy.  The best daddy in the world to my perfect little angel.  Wow, that cliche never had such a literal meaning until now.  I have an angel, who picked the sunset, influenced what kind of windchime to buy for his grave, and lets us know that he loves us in signs we can interpret. 

I miss him, looking at his sunset does not make me miss him any less.  It is not about trying to lessen my grief, it is about trying to bring him closer to me.  I love my son so much and always will.  I will never pass up a chance to show people how much I love him.
 

We got the Birth Certificate today.  I was excited to see the letter.  I have his birth certificate, he was real!  I walked to the house slowly as I looked at it.  Walking in the door my wife notices a changed expression on my face.  She asks what is wrong and I say "deceased in the corner."  Even his goddamned birth certificate is stained with his death.  It permeates everything about him.  Our child has been defined as the dead son.  I was so looking forward to his birth certificate in being the one thing untouched by his passing.  My ticket into the world that he was alive.  I have the official copy of the death certificate in the state of NC I wanted him to exist living in the state as well.  However it is not that.  Another disappointment in my life when it comes to me and him. 

Marcellus never disappointed me, not even by dying....I DISAPPOINTED HIM!  I cannot do anything right!  I failed to keep him alive, I failed to get his birth certificate while he was still living, I failed to put the damned batteries in the camera before my wifes first K-care with him.  I failed noticing something was wrong the day he was born.  I failed him so miserably.  I am so lonely without him.  I feel so lonely, so sad, so broken. 

I hate this.  I have nothing else to say other than I hate this and this sucks. I lied, I have one more thing to say.  Marcellus, I love you so much I miss you more than anything possible.  I love you baby!

Part of the club

My professor put up a pdf of pictures of his first child.  A beautiful girl at 7 lbs.  He looks so tired yet so happy to have her.  They are an older couple in their mid thirties just starting their family.  Her due date was a day before Marcellus's.  Marcellus of course came long before Emily did but I thought on some levels they were going to be the same.  I do not know my professor personally but I bonded to him because we both had pregnancies going on at the same time.  And our names are mike, we have to stick together.  When Marcellus came early I thought to myself 'wow, I am going to be a father so much longer than him, I will be the teacher and he can learn from me!'  Sadly that was not the case.  He is part of this international club called fathers with children on this earth.  I subscribe to the Grieving Fathers group on facebook.  I know how hard it is to see your baby take its last breath.  The unholy pain that follows after, the sickening feeling in your stomach as you close the lid on the casket knowing you will never see the thing you desire most in your life again.  I am glad that my professor hopefully will never know those feelings.  Hell he does not even know I lost my son.  I just have not found it relevant to email him and say "hey dr. mike I looked at your pictures, they are awesome, congrats on your healthy baby, being able to be outside with her, taking her home, losing sleep with her.  btw, I cried when I saw them because my baby died, have a good day." 
Its just another reminder of what could have been, what should be, what people take for granted is such a precious gift.  I want to be a part of that club so bad, I want to be the father here on earth daddy.  I want to take pics of my baby with the dog, I want to send out birth announcements, I want to field calls asking hows the wife and baby.  I want to go to the grocery store late at night to get ointments.  I want to go to babywearing groups and learn new exciting ways to strap your baby to your chest.  I want to spend long nights at home just staring at my baby.  I want the dishes to pile up, laundry to back up, I want to not care about that as long as our baby is smiling and pooping.  I want those things so badly but I want them with Marcellus.  Until I want them for the next baby I have to bid my time, wait my turn to join the other club.  Its too bad I cannot get my membership revoked to the club I belong to now. 

Babies! Babies everywhere!

I feel like I am watching Oprah somedays.  Everyone is in her audience and everyone gets.... BABIES!!
"You get a baby! And you get a baby! Everyone gets a baby!!!"

However I am just watching, not participating.  Oprah does not have a baby for me, or at least I missed the form to sign to keep mine.  But everyone else signed all the forms, initialed in the right spots, listened to the show lawyers telling them how they get to keep the babies Oprah so graciously got them.  Everyone has babies, or that is what I feel like.  My professor is having a baby.  Probably already had it.  It was due a day before Marcellus.  Every other lady at Parent Care had a child except us.  I see babies at work all the times.  Mothers pushing their little bundles of joy around the store as they find the perfect dish to complete their wedding gifts they got two years ago.  Even grief parents on the web I am following are having their babies again.  I watched a video put up of a 4 year old boy who died and the second half of the video was focused on their little baby boy.  I am happy for these people, even more happy than for normal people who get to have babies.  Through some bizarre way of thinking I feel that people who have lost children are more deserving of subsequent children.  But those are not the happy people with babies I see all around me.  So many happy people participating in the ill conceived 'right' of having a child.  Everyone get a baby, everyone expects a baby.  It is not a right however, it is a grateful privilege.

A grateful privilege that I wish to partake in again someday when we are ready.  How will we know when that is?  My wife says a sign may be when we stop wishing that the new baby would be Marcellus and we could pick up where we left off.  I agree with that.  I do not think that Marcellus is going to come back as a do-over but I worry about me being disappointed in any subsequent children that they will not be able to fit the perfect image that I have made for my son.  If our children survive past infancy and we are grateful enough watch them grow up I know they will make mistakes, and I will make mistakes with them.  They will disappoint me some point in my life.  Marcellus never disappointed me, I cannot be disappointed at him for dying, that would be unfair to him.  He is perfect in every way to me.  A grief book stated that grieving parents often transform their dead infants into saints.  And that is true, you have to die to be a saint.  Even Marcellus's uncle is calling him the patron saint of time.  

I know Marcellus is not crawling around the streets of heaven garbed in the robes of sainthood.  There are no Cathedrals being built in Italy or Ireland to house his bones.  Marcellus is just another baby, one given to us not by Oprah but God.  We did sign the forms, we did initial in all the right spots.  We just never wanted to sign those forms giving him back to God.

Others

There is us, my wife and I, and others.  I feel so isolated, I do not know my life before he was born, that seems so far away.  Being back in school reminds me of it a little.  How much work I put into school while working, CNA class, taking care of a dog and pregnant wife boggles me.  I still have a lot of work to do now, but it is not the same.  You would have taken up all of my time, and you still do.  There are times where I cannot do anything else but sit and be worthless.  I am not as productive at work, school I care less about.  I do not wish to take CNA class again, to add another level of stress on my life.  I will just take the test. 

Tomorrow is your due date, I was so busy yesterday with work and school I did not get a chance to really grieve over you.  I did not cry yesterday, I feel like such a bad person.  The night before I cried a lot as my emotions just boiled over.  It was rather sudden and all consuming the night before, like a teapot working itself up to a whistle.  Once the water got hot enough inside it all hell broke loose.  That is how I felt.  I was cruising along the whole day ok until bedtime when I just started to get really disconnected and I needed to go upstairs and talk to my son.  I grabbed his picture and started to cry and then had a fit of anger which included a lot of yelling, sobbing, and throwing of plastic buckets in empty bathtubs.  I am not better, I am not ok.  I am in grief.  I felt better after having a breakdown, sometimes mommies and daddies need to breakdown like that. 

These are all tangents to what is really bothering me.  What is bothering me is today.  I have to get off this couch in 15 minutes and put my work clothes on and go take care of shoppers.  I have to walk around and parlay to their needs.  I have to put Marcellus on my 'shelf' until I can come back to him.  It is Saturday morning and all the happy families are going to be out.  I am going to see all the unhappy fathers who have to spend their precious weekend day in a store surrounded by the babies they never get to see since they work so much during the week.  I am going to sit there and envy every single one of them.  I am going to think of how big you would be. I am going to think of in a parallel universe mommy would be sending me pictures of you to keep me going.  She still sends me messages but she cannot send a picture of you doing something cute because you are dead.  I wonder if I will make it today.  Some days nothing seems important, just my family. 

Tomorrow is Marcellus's due date.  We highly doubt he would have gone to term but it still is another date in his life.  What it really means to me is that he has been dead for 2 months and he was not even suppose to be born yet based on a little flip wheel.  DEAD FOR TWO FUCKING MONTHS!  You have to be shitting me, this is so not real.  This is so messed up.  This is so not fair.  This sucks so goddamned bad!  I hate this so much. 

Marcellus,

I do not mean to swear.  I have been trying not to swear to be a better person for you.  To try to live his life like I would have if you were here with him safe in my arms.  But I just needs to sometimes.  I have a lot of anger over your death which releases itself slowly.  I just miss you so damned much.  I am so afraid of today, that I cannot do it some days.  Your due date is tomorrow, why are you dead?  Why are you dead for so damned long that there are new people at group, people who have had their children die AFTER you did.  You are suppose to be so brand new, so young, so innocent.  You are suppose to be the wonderful announcement of facebook and the subject of so many heartfelt congratulations!  You are not suppose to exist in this blog, this blog is not suppose to be here!  I am not suppose to know Colin, Cooper, Hazel, Miracle, Ashlynn, Zachary, Samuel, Wyatt, and anyone else I missed.  I am not suppose to know any of them!  I am suppose to know you all chubby, smiling, and crying.  It hurts so much to think about what I could know, what another life would have in store for me.  The life that we planned out with you.  My heart pours out for you, just bleeding all over, this wound cannot be patched, it has to heal on its own.  Oh baby I hurt so bad for you, I miss you so very much.  I need you so bad.  This sucks this sucks this absolutely FUCKING sucks!  I love you so much, no swearing in heaven!  I love you baby boy, I love you son.  You are my everything!  I love you so very very much!