When dealing with grief and trying to heal one's broken heart, it becomes necessary to turn your focus and attention, at least every once in a while, toward the things that make you happy. The reason for this is grief has a tendency to swallow you whole and poop you out without a second thought. You lie there wondering "how on earth could this have happened to me?" and "where's the rulebook for getting through this?" As time passes-days become weeks, weeks become months-you're left with a hole in your heart the size of Texas, people have come and gone, and often times you're surrounded by people who haven't the slightest clue as to what you're feeling or that you may be hurting in the first place. Each individual experiences grief in their own way. But as I've been caught up in my own grief for the last 11 months I've realized the importance of reminding myself of the happiest things in life too:
~ Evan (He always has to be first)
~Watching the leaves change in the Fall
~ Road trips ~Caprisuns
~ Children ~ Family ~ Tripod
~ Lacy (the newest member of my favorite things club)
~ Ben and Jerry's Halfbaked ice cream
~ Watermelon in the summer
~ When the color of my shirt changes my eye color
~ Aggie Basketball ~ Celtic Music ~ Funny Jokes
~ Talking about Scotlin ~ Thunderstorms ~ Getting unexpected visitors
~ Breath taking photography
~ Having a clean house ~ When the cashier talks to me like I'm important to them
~ Late night walks
~ Laughing so hard that I cry ~ Running into an old friend
~ Crying just because it's easier to let it out than to hold it in
~ Having friends that would do anything for me
~ Hot baths ~ Good books ~ Yummy-smelling lotion
Those are just a few. Special thanks to my family (especially you, Julie and Crystal) and wonderful friends that make the hard times easier and the worst times bearable.
At 35 weeks pregnant, I had a huge belly and complained ALL the time about how I just couldn't wait to not be pregnant anymore. (Hind-sight is 20/20, right?) After experiencing a loss, people tell you that the Holiday's will be hard. I assumed that meant Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. But now I know that it means ALL Holidays. I know what you're thinking; why would Halloween make the loss of your baby hard? I mean, there's no sense of family or home on Halloween that would make you miss your baby, right? Wrong. This time last year, I saw all the trick-or-treaters and wondered what I would dress Scotlin as next year. I carved pumpkins with friends and joked that they were as big as my belly. This year, people around me complain about having to take their kids trick-or-treating, when I would take their place in an instant if it meant Scotlin was alive and here with me. I know this has become my little soap-box: the "appreciate what you have because you never know who would give anything to have it too" but I just feel a sense of longing today for my little boy and part of me thinks that if you knew how bad I missed him, you would never utter a word of complaint about your own children. No one except Evan sees me in the depth of the night when I sob and ache and lie awake because my full-term, 6 pound and perfectly healthy son died suddenly, unexpectedly and for no reason other than a stupid accident. He turned one-too-many times and the cord was too tight. I was in labor for 12 hours and had to leave the hospital with a blanket and flowers. Never underestimate the grief of a mother missing her child. And it's not just on Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or a birthday or an anniversary. It's Halloween too, and it EVERY day.
