June 2, 2010
My dearest Matthew,
I have finally come to an experience I never thought I’d meet. For the first time in my life I feel some anger at God. This anger frightens me. God is my protector and Savior and yet here I am. I have been told many times that these feelings are normal, but somehow it feels wrong. I understand that God Himself made this emotion and that He can handle all that I can give Him. But still, I don’t like living with these feelings festering beneath the surface.
Oh, son. What could possibly send me over the edge into the unknown? Why has it taken so long? You’ve been gone for 1 year, 3 months and 13 days. Wouldn’t this have made more sense when I first lost you? It just seems that since your death, so many things have piled up on me. I don’t get to watch you, my precious little boy, grow up. God took you home from me. I know it’s not to punish me. I know He hurts for me too. But the feelings are surfacing that this is unfair. Then he took Simon half way through my pregnancy. That I just can’t understand. Emilie has had to defend daddy to a little girl while swimming that said daddy suffocated you. That is such a horrible thing to do to us. Who would start a nasty rumor like that? They have torn another piece of my heart out. Like that wasn’t enough, He has taken my fertility away. And the proverbial straw that broke the camels back? That was yesterday. As much as I was trying not to get excited or even hopeful, it was there. The only time I have been “late” was when I’ve become pregnant. For 7 glorious day, I let hope creep in. And just like that, it’s gone. Since losing you, I feel as though I am the butt of some cruel joke. Why? I just don’t understand. As much as I think about it, I just don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve such pain. It just seems to never end. As though I get through one hurdle of my grief and take a tiny step forward, another disappointment is sent my way. I just want it to end. I don’t know how much more I have the strength to take before I finally lose my mind.
Of course you also understand that I am also busy filling my time enjoying the wonderful gifts of your brothers and sisters. They keep me going and they keep me happy. Being a mommy is my life’s calling and I love every moment of it. I never forget about my children with me. I give them my all. They are my life. But it’s in those quiet moments when they are in bed and the house is quiet that I get fearful. Those quiet times when I sit alone with you and Simon and think of you. Talk with you. And completely and utterly miss you. That those temptations creep up on me. I get tempted to let despair overtake me. To let anger envelope me. To cry and scream at God with hatred. I don’t really hate God, but the temptation is there when I am at my lowest. That is when I must force myself to let go a little bit more to God. To give you back to God. To say goodbye again. It is such a strange battle. You are no longer here with me and yet I have to let you go everyday. It is something that must be done everyday. I end every day with my prayers. I spend a long time begging God to help me heal. To take good care of you and your brother. To protect our family and not let us lose our faith. I give you boys to God. And I ask that He help comfort me and help me through another day.
Our co-leader at Compassionate Friends described an experience she had. She described how at councelling, her “professional” said it was important for her to describe her son as dead. That she needed to tell herself that every day. She had a real struggle with it. So she looked up all the things that dead means. She came to the conclusion that dead did not describe her son, but her. Life described her son. She has moved forward in that it is not right for us to speak in the past tense with our children. To say that we “loved” them. Because as parents to a child who has died, we know that we will always love them. They are a part of our lives everyday. They are alive in our hearts. They are never truly gone. I much prefer that way of thinking. I just wish there were more people who could understand that. If they did, then ther would be no more time frame in which we must be done our grieving. Get it done. Get over it. Move on. In reality, we will be grieving our whole lives. The only true thing that can end our grieving completely is when we die ourselves and join our children forever. From the many other parents who have lost children many years ago, I have learned that life will get easier. The grieving will get easier. And lives move forward. But I realize the truth that their grieving will always be there. Society understands that an alcoholic is always an alcoholic. They become recovering alcholics. We never go back to who we were before our child died. We will always be grieving. We evolve and become recovering parents. New people. And hopefully, we will be stronger for it.
So on this note, Matthew. I give you to God again today. And pray you know I love you. I look forward to the day when I get to see you once again and envelope you in my arms. You are always in my thoughts. You have helped me to enjoy the others so much more everyday. Please help give us the courage we need to get through our lives, one day at a time.
Loving you always,