Last Monday I was motivated for half of the day, among other things I started reading this book……. “Shattered Surviving the Loss of a Child”. Initially skepticism and sarcasm controlled my brain. I learned that all the feelings I was having were normal…… something I’m pretty sick of hearing honestly. I know they are normal what I don’t know is how to process them or move through them or really do anything but sit on my couch and cry, but the book told me what I wasn’t supposed to do. Don’t overeat, don’t under eat, don’t eat junk food, don’t drink alcohol, exercise, but not too strenuously or often, sleep, if you can’t sleep rest, but don’t stay in bed too long, if your working don’t expect much from yourself, don’t shop, don’t have sex, don’t gamble, don’t do drugs….. prescription or recreational (thanks for clarifying)…… yeah…..

What are you supposed to do? Breathe, talk, write. This was a bit laughable initially but I was so desperate to leave the place I was I decided to just go through the motions. 

Monday and Tuesday were terrible. I cried basically all day. By the end of both days I went to bed physically sick with grief. Like flu symptoms. I was nauseous, had chills, body aches I was sure I would have to have Scott get up with Lennon the next morning because I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, but I woke up the following mornings just fine. 

I don’t know if I’ve written about it yet but I’ve had this recurring dream that Daws is alive, but still sick and I’m frantically trying to save him. Sometimes I find some kind of info and I just can’t get it to the doctors sometimes I’ve found a medicine that will save his life but I can’t get it to him in the hospital. Like there is an accident in front of me or the bridge collapses or something crazy like some sort of traumatic video game. I never reach the end. He never dies in my dream nor do I ever get to him to save him. I always wake up feeling exhausted, and defeated, and of course sad he’s not actually still alive. I didn’t have the dream on Tuesday night. 

Wednesday my tides turned a little and I felt like I was finally coming up for air. Wednesday I felt like I wanted to get involved in things I wanted to plan some fun things with Lennon so I did. 

Thursday I didn’t have the dream again AND I slept til my alarm went off for the first time in a month. 

Ok so maybe the book did help. However, I did work out every day which is probably more than I’m supposed to and it was probably to strenuously, but gimme a break I could be abusing drugs here. I did breath practice some deep breathing exercises. This is something I think I trained myself to do a long time ago. I talked a little bit. I’ve had one phone call with a grief counselor but I set up more and got set up to join a virtual support group where I probably won’t say much (I dunno we’ll see). Verbal communication has never really been a strength of mine. I’m the type of person who is in the shower the day after they have a conversation with someone and think “Dang I should have said that. It would have been hilarious”. I think that’s why everyone thinks I’m a good writer because I can go back and edit if I think of a better way to express my thoughts after the fact. 

Most of my talking was to myself, or to Daws. 

I joined a FB group for grief support. I read and listened to books and poetry and songs more than ever and sang in my car at the top of my lungs. I did write a good bit. I wrote letters to God and to Daws. I wrote letters I’ll never send of jealousy, guilt, anger, and forgiveness. 

I’ve been part of a group I’m quite passionate about called Trive Through Cancer. They helped me with all of the holistic remedies I was using to help Daws. It’s not a cheap group to be a part of and it broke my heart having to leave, but Season, who is the functional nutritionist that hosts the group offered to let me stay without payment ❤️, so I went on the platform to catch up with these cancer moms that had become so much a part of my life. Our zoom meetings were like my “happy hour” when Daws was here. It was just so fun (in the strangest definition of the word) to follow these other journeys and learn and feel like maybe you helped somehow. I read comments about fear of doing the right things and comforting responses from other members praising said mom’s efforts and how there will always be fear of consequences out of our control. I felt like the comment was directed toward me even though it wasn’t necessarily. 

Also, every day around 3 o’clock I stopped doing all of the other things. Usually I had some wine….. I know, shoot me, and I worked on getting through the evening with Lennon which is another challenge all in itself. Sometimes I feel disconnected from her which I hate, and I’m not really sure why I feel like that. Maybe I’m just too overwhelmed at the moment maybe because we grieve so differently. She is always there to comfort me, and tell me “It’s healthy to cry” or tell me I’m the best momma and how much she loves me. I swear this is supposed to be the other way around. Sometimes it makes me sad that she’s handling it so well, but then she’ll pick

 a book about angels or heaven for her bedtime story and break down, and then I feel bad she feels any grief at all. Sometimes she does get a little moody and man right now it is hard to put your foot down and argue with a 6 year old about not eating junk for dinner, or bath time, or screen time, you know all the regular things. When she does have an outburst or a tantrum it’s hard to not think it’s because of the death of her brother and attribute it to the fact that she’s an independent 6 year old girl….. I suppose it’s a combination of both

My biggest struggles currently are the demonic thought that he’s gone so I shouldn’t be happy, like ever. How could a mom that lost her baby be happy if he’s not here to share in my happiness? How can I honor him properly if I’m not always sad. My logical mind knows that is 100% backward and I can’t properly honor him if I am always sad, but some backward brain wave still thinks people will not understand how much he means to me unless I live my life completely crushed……. I know…… I’m working on it. 

Fear and anxiety are always present. What’s the next blow life has to offer me? How would I ever recover from another thing? What’s my meaning? What’s my purpose now? How do I fulfill that purpose? What do I want to do to make money? The opportunity is overwhelming. 

Then just fighting with the thought that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t supposed to be my life. We had the kids close so they could be each other’s playmates. Life would just be starting to get easier if Daws just didn’t get cancer. We would be living the dream. Now, I feel like it’s a nightmare. 

I am Lennon’s playmate. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing with her but sometimes mom needs some adult time too. Our family was complete and it’s not anymore. Do we have another baby? I figure I have about 2.5 years to decide, but I’m running out of time and I’m afraid of making the wrong choice. If we do, we start all over and Len will be a babysitter not a playmate. Will our family feel complete then? Its not bringing Daws back. We will always be missing him. Will I always have this emptiness? 

I had complications with cholestasis with Len and Daws. What if it happens again? What if something happened to the baby? I would die. What if something happens after? To Lennon, to Scott, to anyone? Do I just white knuckle the people I have and love currently and grow with our little family of three? Am I just looking for someone to take care of again? Or is this something I truly want?

Monday of this week was good. I woke up around 4 am and in my half asleep state I felt an amazing comfort. I knew he was there. I tried desperately to talk to him but all I could get was that he was ok and all I could tell him was how much I loved him. I woke up. I felt a sense of peace, and was able to fall back asleep until my alarm.

Later that day I was walking Ralph, and right there on the side of the road was a turtle. I wrote about turtles in another post. They’ve kind of been a thing through his treatment. I feel like I always saw them in random places, and one of the resident doctors even called Daws a turtle once because his heart rate was so slow and he was always cold. It made me feel good to see the little guy. 

I walked on wondering if Daws would visit me as a turtle or send turtles my way for comfort. It made me think of an old friend. She used to live here, but she moved and I haven’t seen her in years. She lost her dad at a young age and believes he sends her dimes. She will always find them randomly and it’s just interesting that it’s the dime that always turns up not the “lucky penny” anyways I walked about 10 more feet and what did I find? A dime…….I guess I was really connected with the deceased that day. 

Tuesday I started door dashing. I figured it was a way to bring in a few bucks and stay busy. I was about finished from the lunch rush and headed home when I got an alert for a pick up. Starbucks for Allison J. Cool. Easy enough I went to pick it up. The delivery spot was close. As I neared I started to realize it was maybe the same plaza where he got his therapies. This plaza still zaps my heart when I drive by. His PT’s name was Ali…. I’m thinking there is no way. There’s other businesses there. Allison isn’t an uncommon name. There is a coffee shop that was open right next to the office they would have gotten coffee from instead of door dashing Starbucks right? I was already committed though I needed to suck it up and finish the delivery. I got close and it seemed like maybe it was a different business, and then I got a message “I’m outside.” I turned around and sure enough there was Ali. I had big sunglasses on so for a second I thought maybe she wouldn’t know it was me. She did. As I got closer she started to cry. She said something but I didn’t hear in my fight or flight daze. I wanted to throw the coffee at her and get out of there. She hugged me, and said something along the lines of “I wouldn’t be able to do it” I think……I cried. I’m not sure if I said anything or not, and I started walking back to my car. His speech therapist came running out after me. She hugged me and told me how sorry she was and said she would love to get coffee sometime. It wasn’t a bad meeting, sad, but not bad.

I don’t know why, but something about that encounter sent me in a backward spiral. Back to dreams and sleep problems. Happier dreams at least but they still leave me sad when morning comes, and back to the what ifs. What if I had pushed for the swallow study to happen sooner? I knew the ENT was right as soon as he suggested aspiration, but we had to wait 2 weeks for the swallow study. What if I brought him in sooner when he got the sepsis and we avoided that? That was our last great day, tearing around the hallways of the hospital, playing in the playroom with all kinds of new toys, and singing “if you’re happy and you know it” with the actions. 6 hours later the septic shock (I guess) had set and we were discussing him possibly not making it through the night. What if we chose to intubate him? He was such a fighter. What if he was still fighting? What if he could’ve come back? I know that likelihood is basically 0, but what if? Why did God get him through the brain tumors and still take him away from us?….. I guess maybe it wasn’t God that got him through the tumors, maybe that part was strictly Dr Thompson. 

Anyways here I am, back at the bottom, headed in to work out………