To Share or Not to Share

I have struggled all week to decide whether to to post this blog online or to keep this private. Using Caring Bridge during Jeremy's illness was so helpful for a number of reasons. One of the ways that it helped us was the ability to journal through the experience of Jeremy's illness and battle to survive. This blog is essentially that, a way to let out the feelings that rage in my soul. I have wondered if people out there will have any interest at all reading about such a tragedy, such sadness, and such despair.

I have spent hours late at night, while I can't sleep, reading blogs of other family's that have lost a child. This has been so comforting. One of the ladies posted a message about what it is like the first few weeks after the death of a child. I decided I couldn't write it any better than she did. Booth Farley writes "There seem to be moments - days, weeks - in the midst of grief that can best be described as "emotional pauses." Things just stop and suddenly you feel absolutely zero. They're pauses because, of course, they don't last forever, but while they do, living feels somewhat like standing in the center of a whirling merry-go-round: the world around you moves, rides the tide of joy and laughter and sorrow and sadness and you - you're watching it fly past without a single movement. You are still and yet you are carried by the constant motion around you." Check out her website if you can and keep her in your prayers too.
http://conorbootheandgirls.blogspot.com/

This has been a tough week. My friend gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. What a blessing! I wanted so badly to be happy for her and to congratulate her in person. I cried the whole way to the hospital and once I got there I cried for about 20 mins in the car before I had the strength to get out of the car. I knew I was going to the very place where I had delivered Jeremy just six short months ago. The images, hopes, dreams, and feelings from that day flooded back and filled my heart and soul. I ran into one of the nurses that had taken care of me all four times that I delivered at this hospital. She asked about Jeremy and how he was doing. I tried to answer the question without having to get into the whole story but my answers must have been too vague and she just kept asking. I knew I wasn't going to be able to get out of the conversation. So for the first time I had to tell someone that was more of an acquaintance, that Jeremy had died. So I cried some more. Then, as I pulled myself together, I tried to enter her room and I realized that she already had company. I waited in the lobby of the unit for awhile and you guessed it, cried so more. Then I heard her husband walking down the hall. He walked this gentleman to the elevator. Here's the interesting part! I could hardly believe my ears when I heard it. My friend said " Thanks for coming Jeremy!" I couldn't believe it! I immediately began to think Okay, God cut me a little slack here. You knew how hard it would be for me to come here today. Why couldn't that man be named anything else? Why did his name have to be Jeremy???? I did finally get to see my friend and her baby. I am glad that I went. I felt happiness watching this family embrace the newness of that little miracle and to welcome her into their family. I felt good being able to support my friend during a momentous time in her life, just like she has done for me many times over.

I also visited with another friend and her family. This time the circumstances were not joyous, in fact they were tragic. My friend and her family were involved in a car accident over the weekend and their little precious 14 month old baby was killed. I couldn't believe it. I grew up with this person and I never in my wildest dreams thought we would one day share this grief, this pain. I knew I had to go and at least see her. I KNEW how she was feeling. So I once again prayed for the strength to enter the funeral home to see her and her family. It has only been a few weeks since Jeremy has passed and so the funeral home was a difficult place to go. Thank goodness my mother went with me. While we were walking there, I saw a flag that had a large sun and lots of sunflowers on it. I instantly thought of Jeremy, and what he would say to me if he could. I felt that same unexplained strength come over me again, knowing that by gaining the strength to enter the funeral home, that I would be helping someone else that was feeling the very same grief that I am. I know that in time, we will help each other through this, with the help and grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. Please keep this friend in your prayers too, Jesus knows her name and her needs.

But wait there's more. . . Scott and I visited Johns Hopkins Hospital twice this week. We met with a bereavement coordinator earlier in the week to help us with the vast amount of resources available to us and how best to utilize them for our specific needs. Then on Friday, we took our youngest to see the cardiologists to determine the condition of his heart after a heart murmur had been detected. Thankfully, He is fine. PRAISE THE LORD!! However, the journey through the hallways of that hospital was extremely difficult. Again, the prayers, the hopes, the dreams we had, have all been shattered. We have been left here to pick up the pieces and to make something with our lives without Jeremy. We had the opportunity to see some of the people that took such loving care of our son and to hug them. It felt good to see them as that too has been difficult. We had formed relationships with these doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists. Those relationships have come to a screeching halt since Jeremy passed away. It feels strange not talking to them, not calling the hospital every day, not going there every day. It feels even worse entering that hospital, not going to the PICU to see Jeremy, and then leaving AGAIN without our son. To end a long story, we spent six very long hours that day at Hopkins. We ended the day in the ER because our son had a problem waking up from the sedation medication that he was given for the test. He was throwing up and we just couldn't get him to wake up. The doctors wanted to do the safe thing and to monitor him closely. Well, what was safe for him, was torture for Scott and I. We both cried and then the panic attacks started. This was the very place where Jeremy had gone itno cardiac arrest to begin with. The nurse was trying to get a blood pressure and this caused the pulse ox machine to read an inaccurately. The red flashing number and the sound of the machine did us in for the night. We knew we had to get out of there and fast. Thankfully a doctor came in the room that remembered us and assured us that our son was fine and that we could go home. It was an exhausting day. We put the kids to bed and we went to bed too. That night as we prayed, we gave thanks that our son was healthy and without any heart problems.

We had a family dinner this weekend. I experienced some of those "emotional pauses" throughout the night. In fact I feel those a lot lately. The worst part was when we left and we were driving home. It felt like we had left our son behind. He wasn't in his carseat and I couldn't find him. The tears started to flow, the sick in the stomach feeling was back, I couldn't make heads or tails with the situation, and then it started again. . . the guilt. If only I had known just how sick he was. If I had only made someone listen to me and do some tests. If only I had taken him to the doctor sooner. What if I had gotten him to the hospital sooner, maybe they could have helped him and this wouldn't have happened. Maybe I would still be able to have my son in my arms right now.

I hope and pray that every week will not be a tough as this one. I pray that there are more peaceful moments and healing times that don't hurt so much.

As sick as I feel in my stomach, even as I write this, I am also comforted that Jeremy is in heaven and that he will not suffer any longer. I know that I will see him again. I just feel so far away from him and that feels so unnatural for a mother. The bedtime routine between a parent and their child is so endearing. I miss that quiet, tender time holding him as he fell asleep in my arms. I miss that peaceful slumber face and the feeling that comes over a parent, when all the children are finally asleep and all is right with the world. My three children on earth are asleep and I still feel lost. The world is not right. We feel hollow inside and there is an emptiness within our home. This is the worst time of the day for us. . . I pray every night that I can fall asleep quickly and not "stew" on things that I cannot control or change.

Tomorrow is a new day. I will get up, put on my make-up, and make myself do something fun with my children. They need and deserve a happy childhood. I will fake it until I feel it!