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!