When we sat down to plan Reece’s funeral, our funeral director looked at us and said, “It’s not very often we are planning a funeral for a child.” And it’s true. We went on to discuss how due to modern medicine (mostly), our society isn’t as familiar with childhood death as we were some time ago. We…
Hmmmm. Where to begin? It’s been a crazy
month life and lately, I haven’t even known what to write or say to do it justice. It’s hard; it feels terrible. The end. However, life continues and so shall I. In truth, there are just so many things I can not share over a blog. There are so many things that are not public details and many, many things I am contending with that require I not state them publicly. I have many mixed and layered emotions about life and to wing something out there without a bigger context could be harmful to many people, including my family and Terry specifically. So what’s left to write? Well, (insert long pause) I’m not quite sure. I would have never opted to start a blog after Terry passed away, but since I have already been doing this for quite some time, closing up shop isn’t such an easy decision. There may come a point in time when various things in life demand that I stop…my career, my family, etc. We’ll see how it goes.
For now, I can say that I feel very lost on this journey of life. I’m not lost in knowing who I am, but I’m not certain how who I am and what my life is fit in to anything. They don’t fit into the life prior to Reece’s passing or after Reece’s passing. And honestly, I’m exhausted. I re-read my posts from months and even years ago and in some sense, it’s as though I can’t identify with the life I lived. At times, I truly don’t know up from down when I read some of my posts. However, I know they were written in truth. I just don’t know what I think of some of my writing at this point. Some things are encouraging and others seem like platitudes. Dare I say some of it sounds naïve?
I’ve tried to explain to a few friends that after Reece passed away, at least we had the comfort of each other as our own little family. We had immediate things we could lean into and rely on and we had each other. Most importantly, we could rely on ourselves for daily functioning. This situation has left very little comfort in any sense. I’m grateful my parents have been willing to step in and incorporate my household into their home. I’m grateful I have very close and trusted friends and advisors. I’m grateful for the outpouring of support I’ve received. I’m grateful that despite the difficult nature of losing a child, I know who I am and how I handle crisis because of it. I am in a rare class that can honestly say, “I’ve been there before.” (At least in some sense.) But the day-to-day is quite raw.
There is no comfort in my marriage or my home. There is no comfort in hearing things like, “You’ll do it for your kids,” or, “God can do anything.” My kids feel overwhelming to me. Yep, I will eventually do it for my kids, because I love them more than anyone on the face of the earth. But right now, if I don’t do it for me, I absolutely can’t do it for them. And I know God can do anything. Anything includes things we also don’t want to have happen but do happen anyway. I’ve had a lot of that type of “anything” happen, so that also doesn’t feel that great or encouraging. I know it will get better, but better right now feels theoretical.
I’ve said a lot of swear words lately. My mind is mush in regard to what I’m going to do going forward. I have a lot to contemplate and that includes the knee jerk desire to try to fix everything and act from a fear response versus trust in God and His plan. I know in my heart that he is good, but I’m just not sure how that’s going to turn out in my life. It would certainly be nice to have some clear direction. I’m not going to hold my breath.
The kids are doing as well as can be. They are involved with a few things and I am attempting to keep them in a few of the activities they were in prior to this all happening. Britta and I had our dance show earlier this month. I say “our” because we were in a “Mommy-and-Me” class all year. I took dance lessons as a child and I really thought it would be a fun activity for us to do together over the year. Other than the times I had to remind her that we were there to dance together and it wasn’t just a class for me to dance and her to goof around, it did prove to be enjoyable. The parents participated in the year-end show and, under the circumstances, I was not exactly looking forward to getting up on stage. It turned out to be a fun and fairly normal thing for us to do together. We danced to “Rubber Ducky” and it turned out to be pretty cute. Here we are, pre-show, after changing in the car (ahem…every dancer must know this skill).
One final thought. I’m taking some liberties in this post and allowing some pretty raw feelings to come out. Before you get too depressed and decide to never read the blog again, let me disclose my previous statement, “I know who I am and I know how I handle crisis.” I truly have been here before. They aren’t the exact same circumstances, but there’s enough overlap. Had I not walked through those things, I would not be able to confidently state that it will get better. And it will. But it is a process and this one, unfortunately, is even messier than the last. There is more to clean up and it requires perseverance and time. One I feel short on and the other feels excessive. I’ll let you decide. Additionally, there are incredibly uncomfortable feelings of depending on others for just about everything. But seriously, there are bright spots and they will continue to increase. It feels totally ridiculous to come out here and say life is wonderful and every day feels better than the next. It isn’t and it doesn’t. That’s part of this. That’s what it is like two months into this process. That’s why I’m exhausted. BUT–it will eventually feel a whole lot different. If the blog stays up, perhaps you’ll feel you can read it long enough to see those bright spots again. It’ll happen. If you can’t stick around, that’s fine too. Regardless, should you happen to run into me somewhere remember–I’m just a normal person like anyone else. Just a squirrel trying to get a nut.
Shortly after Reece passed away, I had this deep desire to go rock climbing. I’m talking about the kind of rock climbing where you need ropes and spiked shoes and you basically hang off the side of a cliff. This goes against just about everything that feels natural and normal to me. I’m pretty risk…
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
Early on in my pregnancy with Reece, I purchased a blue onesie. I remember holding it up as though there was a baby in it and saying, “I can actually feel him! I know he’s not here yet, but I can imagine what it will feel like to hold him.” Even though I couldn’t see him,…