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.