Some days I think I'm doing alright, then the next day I wake up feeling horrible. Sometimes it's something someone says or something we have to do as a family, and I become acutely aware of Christopher's absence. We recently took our Christmas card photos and we had struggled with a way to include him. I still struggle with whether or not we should get him a stocking to hang next to Charlie's. I should. I want to. But is it just torment to put his name up everywhere? We had wanted to donate gifts or money for Christmas to children the same age Christopher would be. It's a week away from Christmas and I still have no idea who or what to give to.
As a mother, I'm supposed to nurture and make my home a loving place. As a grieving mother, I am sometimes left with this question of how to do that for a child who isn't with us. More than four months after we lost him, his handprint and footprint finally hang in our dining room alongside mine, Darrell's and Charlie's. It makes me feel good to see him. It makes me feel awful to know that this is one of the few physical reminders I have of him. I have photos of him I want to hang in the house too, but have yet to find the energy to sort through them and organize it.
Sometimes loving and nurturing him requires a sort of emotional detachment. I have to look at the positive side of making his presence felt in our lives. I have to look at hanging the handprints and footprints as a sweet reminder of the time he spent with us, not as a reminder of how he was so unfairly taken from us. I looked at including sunflowers in our Christmas photo as a bright, beautiful symbol of him--we used sunflowers at his celebration of life--not as the replacement for the baby we couldn't hold in our arms.
I have found myself going through quiet phases, needing to turn away from trying to be normal and carrying on with my life. I sometimes ignore emails, calls and texts for days, until I am feeling up to being myself again. I feel guilty for pushing family away, and even pushing my husband away sometimes. But then I remind myself that there really are no rules for grieving and that sometimes it's okay to be selfish, to take a little time for myself. Sometimes getting through the day with Charlie requires every ounce of energy I have, so there is nothing left...sometimes not even for myself.
Charlie is a very sweet and very independent boy. He never stops amazing me. He's so observant, loving and affectionate. He's challenging and sometimes he's just a stubborn toddler. He can be manipulative in the best ways--he snuggles in for more hugs at bedtime, just to avoid having to go to bed. Smart boy. Softie mom. There are days when it's extremely difficult, but I try to appreciate all of these things, even the tantrums. We are so lucky and blessed to have Charlie in our lives, and I can honestly say that I'm not sure how, or even if, we would be getting through this loss without him. He continues to be a warm light in a very dark time.
There is so much beauty and so much sadness in this journey that sometimes it's hard to reconcile it. Of course, if I could change how things turned out, I would. I would give so much to have Christopher in our lives. But now it's a part of my journey to figure out how to continue living a fulfilling life while sorting through the sadness. I am constantly lifted up and shown the way by some of the most amazing people who have stepped up to be there for us during this time, and am eternally grateful for their love.
Stars shine brighter in the darkest skies, and I've definitely felt the presence of some very bright stars in the past several months
