Holiday Horror

Ok, so maybe the title of this blog is a LITTLE over dramatic. My children had a delightful Christmas. Sami and Rowan were spoiled rotten by relatives. Todd and I, well... watching the children enjoy Christmas was nice, but the whole day was overlaid with a heavy sadness.

All day my thoughts were heavy with longing for the 15 lbs of happy infant that should have been in my arms. I should have been sitting back on the sofa, watching his little baby senses take in the whole scene: bright paper, lights, squeals of delight. He would have been handed a piece of red and silver ribbon, which he would clutch in his chubby baby fist and wave around with little coordination. He would give us that big, gummy baby smile.

Happy memory:
Rhys was in my arms, and as usual we were just enjoying each others presence. I was talking at his cute little face, and touching his soft little cheeks. All of a sudden, he broke into the BIGGEST baby grin, all gums and joy. At 5 weeks and 5 days, my son gave me everything my heart could have asked for. He gave me a smile that will live in my heart forever.

How could any Christmas compare to that?

Further holiday challenges included socializing with people that I didn't know. They were delightful, and thank god for everyone's favorite social lubricant. Despite these things, I still have trouble talking with new people, or people I haven't dealt with since the death of my son. I feel like my story wants to jump out of my mouth, unbidden, every time it opens.

Also, my sister-in-law, Micaela, is 7 months pregnant with a little baby boy. She got all kinds of awesome baby stuff for Christmas. She talked to me about her pregnancy.

And here was the biggest kicker of the day. After opening presents, Sami sat  on her auntie Micaela's lap, and Micaela told her that there was a baby in her belly. Sami looked at her auntie and said, "Oh, my mama had a baby. He was baby Rhys, and he was so cute. Then he had to go to the doctor, and he is not coming back. He is gone now, and we miss him, and sometimes we look at pictures. There are pictures of mommy, and daddy, and Sami and Roro with baby Rhys."   Micaela sat and cried, and it took everything in me to not run from the room. It is good that Sami can talk about it. I am glad she got that opportunity to share, and I am impressed with her comprehension of the situation. It still broke my heart.

All in all, it was as pleasant a holiday as one could expect, being 3 months from the death of a child. Happy Holiday's everyone. Love to all.

A quick blah-blah

I have overcompensated for my grief this year in purchases. I bought my kids WAY more presents than I should have, and also overspent on extended family. I just want to GIVE to everyone. I want to give love and happiness and joy, simple pleasure, anything... any tiny positive thing that I possibly can to as many people as humanly possible. I want give all my love to all the people out there. 

Things that wont bring Rhys back include: over eating, over spending, drinking too much, and anything.

So I guess it'll come down to a New Year's resolution. I will limit my bad grief habits. I will allow myself the occasional grief indulgence in order to prevent me from falling into a pit of sadness that I cannot claw my way out of, but I cannot keep living like this. I have already taken steps to improve my diet, and have cut way back on drinking (part of improving my diet) and I will put a serious reign on my budget. 

Auld Lang Syne and all that, you know. 

My children are grieving. Sometimes I forget that they miss him, too. Samantha asked when we would see baby Rhys, and I had to tell her, again, that we won't see him again. That we have the love in our heart for him, but he is gone, and we have to just remember him. Rowan heard this, and my poor heart broke when he started to cry. The three of us sat on the sofa and looked through the Rhys album we created for his memorial. The kids enjoyed pointing everyone out, "Look, mama, its Sami, and Roro, and Auntie, and Mercy, and Baby Rhys! Baby Rhys is so cute." 

He was a damn cute baby. I have to remember him in my heart and try and be happy... happy that I had time with him, that we shared the brief and magical bond of mother and son. I should be happy that I have known his weight in my arms and I have felt what it is to love him. 

So in case this is all I get in before 1 Jan. my heart is with everyone in this season of giving, thank you for thinking of me as well. Here is to a New Year, with all the pomp and circumstance. 

Much love. 

The Physiology of Grief.

I have never been an emotional eater, but I do gain a lot of weight whenever I am pregnant. I haven't had much trouble getting it off previously, and I was losing fine after my baby Rhys was born. I was only 20 lbs from being my pre-pregnancy weight, and losing by the day.

After Rhys died I didn't eat for a week. I couldn't. I ate a strawberry when it was forced upon me, a few bites of dinner. Eating made me feel physically sick. Then one day some switch flipped and all of a sudden I was eating. I was eating well. Too well. I was eating a lot... and drinking. Drinking all those delicious calories. Mmm, beer calories, vodka calories, juice mixer calories. Tons of em.

And now here I am, almost three months later and nearly 20 lbs heavier than I was when I lost him. I am nearly 40 lbs heavier than I was before I was pregnant with him. I am starting to eat better, eat a lot less and try to eat a lot healthier. I am trying my damndest to not go to McDonald's on day's that I feel too sad to fix dinner for my kids. I am not drinking every day, and on days I do drink it is not nearly as much... yet I am still 40 lbs heavier than I was before him.

I want to make the excuses. I want to say that this weight is something he gave me, how could I possibly want to lose it? I want to rage against the bad feelings I have about myself when I look in the mirror, I want to scream "GRIEF IS MAKING MY PANTS TOO TIGHT!" and be ok with that. 

But that is all those are. Excuses. Bad excuses. Rhys gave me so much love, and he brought so much light into my life. He showed me that my two children could be beautiful and loving and proud of a new tiny member of the family. He showed me that my capacity for love is greater than I could have guessed, and that my love can extend beyond life and breath. He showed me that I should love wholly and entirely while I can, because as cliche as it sounds, you never know when it will be over, suddenly. Unjustifiably. My beautiful son, my baby who is gone from me forever, is not an excuse. He is not a reason to stay fat and sad. 

But how do I get out of this? How do I make my body stop being so fat? How do I make the celery and the extra flights of stairs, and the nights where I want just one more drink, but stop myself... how do I make them make a difference? Why am I letting myself carry an extra 40 lbs around my belly and thighs when I should be carrying an extra 20 in my arms? 

I do want to eat all the time. I am constantly hungry, empty, feeling like another helping might fill me a little. I want to imbibe, revel in the delicious heavy haze that drinking affords me... heavy in my head, and heavy on my cursed bathroom scale. 

How do I come out of this? How do I recover? How do I find it in me to make my body into something I am proud of again? How do I make myself really want to?

And beyond that... how do I just be ok?

Did I WHAT?!

I tend to consider myself a very understanding and forgiving person. I know that most people don't know how to be around me, how to react when I tell them my child is dead. I know people, especially young people that I encounter in the military, will not know what to say, or how to respond. I don't expect anyone to. I expect a level of insensitivity, a  lot of saying the wrong thing with the best of intentions, and a whole lot of stupid or sympathetic looks.

What I DO NOT expect, and am having a really hard time forgiving is downright stupidity.

Today as I was walking out of work, sort of rushed, I ran into a guy that I have spoken to on a few occasions, a fellow Sailor, a mature, ranked individual who seems like a kind and caring individual from the few interactions I have had. As I was about to go out the doors, he stopped me, and we shook hands in that passing-in-the-hall sort of way, and he asked me where my baby was. (I haven't seen him since I was pregnant, and I think he was just alluding to the fact that I am no longer pregnant, because of COURSE I wouldn't have the baby with me at work...)  I paused for a moment and considered lying. I do just about every time someone asks that sort of question, but instead I looked him in the eyes, I sighed and I said "He died." At this point we were a few steps apart, with him carrying on his way and me on mine. "Oh," he said. I thought that was it. Then he looked at me deadpan as he walked away and asked...

"Did you eat him?"

...

What in the FUCK is wrong with that guy?! There are no words to describe the feelings that have coursed through me over this statement in the last hour and a half since it happened. Seriously... what the fuck?

There are no words.

The Verdict...

Re-posted from Glow in the Woods:

 In the state of Maryland, whenever a child dies there is an investigation and an autopsy to determine the cause of death. 

Today, two months, two weeks and three days after his death, the medical examiner notified my investigator that the cause of death for my beautiful and perfect baby Rhys was Sudden Unexpected Death in Infancy (SUDI). My son was just that... beautiful and perfect. There is no medical explanation for his death. He did not have any undocumented defect or any chromosomal abnormality that contributed to him not being in my arms tonight. There was no good reason for him to die. 

Tragically, this explanation leaves me feeling guilty. If it was not nature, not something wrong with his amazing, tiny little body... then what did I do wrong? I checked on him. 45 minutes before I found his lifeless little body I saw him breathing, I saw him whole. Now I feel like I will never be whole again... and I feel that I don't really deserve to be. I should have checked on him more. I should have woken him up. I should have... I should have done so many things. 

The crime has been committed, and now the verdict stands. I will have to live the rest of my life without him. SUDI. That is the punishment. 

Please forgive me this self abuse. I feel that I am only saying what so many of us think on a regular basis. Please forgive me this moment of weakness, of falling apart. Please take my words at face value only and know that tomorrow morning I will wake up and tell myself that it is not my fault, that no matter what this would have happened anyway... that I am not to blame. Let me have this hurt tonight, open and honest and pure. 

Thank you for listening and understanding my pain. My heart goes out to all of you, all of us. Thank you.

Some days

Some days I feel like my heart is trying to leap out of me.

Luck.

I am a very fortunate woman. I have two beautiful kids, who are happy, healthy, and full of love. I have an amazing and supportive husband who is patient and compassionate and great at making me laugh. I have a nice nuclear family. I have a job. I have a dog. I have my health. Friends. Family. Clean water. Electricity. Music. Laughter.

And still I am missing something.

I didn't know that I was so incomplete until he was born. I didn't know that he made my entire life whole, that he perfectly completed my family. I didn't know there was a big hole where the youngest brother was supposed to be. How could it be that I didn't see that emptiness until he filled it and then left it empty again?

I have been having a hard time. I get sad and just hurt and hurt. I still have break downs where I can't help but sob. Will this pain every dull?

"Most deaths due to SIDS occur between 2 and 4 months of age, and incidence increases during cold weather. African-American infants are twice as likely and Native American infants are about three times more likely to die of SIDS than Caucasian infants. More boys than girls fall victim to SIDS."                                                   -From this site.

I didn't know that being Native made it more likely for my child to die randomly in his sleep. Or being a boy. Todd said that in a book he was reading on coping with infant loss it said that once you have an infant die of SIDS you are more likely to have another one do the same.

Part of me wants to have another child. I want to give my babies a youngest sibling. I want them to have a Jessa, or a Caela, like Todd and I have. They were so good with him. And he made our family so complete. But the horror, the sadness, the pain... I couldn't endure it again. There is something in this world that says that I am more likely to have my baby die than many others... I know the chance is always there, but having an increased chance? I don't think I can take it.

Maybe some day I will feel differently.

For now I just have to remind myself that I am one lucky lady. I have two happy, healthy, beautiful children who are full of love. I have an amazing husband. I have a job. I have a dog. My health. Friends. Family.

Its a mantra.

Taking the bad with the good.

Some days are just so hard, and others seem to just pass, but then there are the days that are a strange mix of horrible and great. That was today. I had a lot of ups today, but my downs were unfortunately deep.

Triggers today included an innocent discussion with someone and riding in a big truck.

This morning as I was walking to my office I ran into a guy that I have known for several years. We aren't friends or anything, but we are friendly. I know he knows about my situation, because my chain of command put out an email to everyone in the department to let them know... it is a blessing because a lot of people aren't asking me how my baby is. If people don't ask I don't have to see their faces when I say "He is dead." The rough part of it is... no one knows how to talk to me. I ranted previously about the people directly in my office, but when I speak to people in my Navy community it is different. Some don't recall straight away that I am the one who has the dead baby.

So this guy says "Hey! How are you?" which is a very general and innocuous greeting... under most circumstances. To the lady with the dead baby this is not so. At least, everyone thinks that. I know when you ask me how I am that you are not looking to hear me tell you that I am hurting, that every day I am pained and empty, that while I can walk around and talk and perform daily tasks marginally well, I am a wreck. I know you don't want to hear that I am drinking too much, eating too much, and trying to lust away my pain, and I know you don't want to know that none of it really works. So when you say it, when you ask "How are you?" and then realize that you have just invited a tidal wave of emotion, that you have just made some social faux pas because I cannot answer with "Great!" or even "Good," and that it is even forced for me to say "Ok," please just take my casual "Fine, thank you," as a normal courteous response, and maybe as a sign of forgiveness for asking. The stricken look I get after someone asks that, when they realize as it is coming out of their mouths, before I can answer casually... is almost comical. I can't promise that I won't get weepy, because I can't promise that these days. I can only promise that I will not hold it against you. It's just a greeting.

So, this guy asks how I am, then immediately tries to back pedal. He tries to add words to his question, so there is no pause. "Hey! How are... you? Gosh it sure is cold, I just started wearing my winter coat, and even still I am still chilly." And I say "I am ok, thank you. How are you?"
And what does he say? "Oh, well enough. I'm alive."
And my heart screams at that answer. Yeah. You are alive. That is well enough. Not everyone is so lucky.
Maybe it was something on my face, because he tries to pedal out of this, too, but he was spinning his wheels. "Yeah, I mean, it's good to be alive. I have been busy, and stuff. Ya know, not great, but alive. At least I am still breathing."

And my heart screams and screams and screams.

This oaf is alive. And breathing. Some of my last memories of my son are me finding him not. Not alive. Not breathing. So fuck you, buddy. All of this, my heart is screaming, and I want to scream, and I want to cry, and I want to run from the building.

Instead I say "Well, nice to see you. Take care," and I walk to my desk. 

Such a simple encounter... how could it feel so horrible?

The other time I had a total break down today was around 10:00. A friend gave us some sofas, so I went to rent a flatbed truck from Home Depot. As I was driving the truck down the highway, I hit a bridge, and at the seam where the bridge and the road met, the truck bounced and jostled. I flashed back to that night, riding in the front of the ambulance that came to take Rhys to the hospital. I sat in the passenger seat in the front. There was a window, and I could have looked back, but I didn't. I rode all the way to the hospital without looking in the back. I knew he was gone. I knew nothing could be done, and I did not want to see what they were doing, or not doing, or any of that. Instead I just sat in the front seat, and whenever we went over a bump the ambulance bounced and jostled.

These were the lows... the horribly low lows of my day. I cried while I washed dishes and cut broccoli for dinner, but that was just sadness, not horrific heart-rending pain.

The high parts of my day were getting the new sofas, and rearranging the downstairs to fit them with Todd. I love my husband. He works in fascinating ways. He is so particular about placement of things, and he gets so frustrated. We have a lot of things, and a not so big house. So when we try to make everything fit, it is not necessarily aesthetically ideal... at least for him. He doesn't like having the movie shelf by the TV. Its too busy, and too distracting. He doesn't like it when the room doesn't flow. When there is something wrong with the way something looks to him, he can tell you exactly what he doesn't like. I, on the other hand, can't. If it doesn't feel right, I have to move and adjust and switch things until it DOES feel right. So we got to do our fun redecorating dance today. It always makes me happy to see his mind at work.

And our house feels clean. And we have ample seating. And my sofas are SOOOOO comfortable.

Not the best day, but not the worst.

40th Day.

A couple weeks ago I spilled a rum and coke on my keyboard, and since then I have fought the urge to type anything. I have had a million times where I have wanted to sit down and say things, just get them out, but now, now that I have taken my nice quiet keyboard and replaced it with a dusty old clacker from the garage... Now I feel overwhelmed.

Today is the 40th day. I am a Tlingit Indian, and Tlingits have a tradition called the 40-day party. It is a chance to honor the deceased, and to help send them off, and to help with the grieving process. On the 40th day we honor those who have passed by burning a plate of food for them... usually their favorite.

Well, Rhys died with nothing eaten but breast milk... and now we are in low supply of that. Besides, I don't think that would burn so well. Instead we will be burning things I craved during pregnancy. My mom is making a pot roast, we will be having tacos.

Some moments I feel so despondent, like the world will never be ok again. Other times I feel so numb, and empty, and listless. Mostly, I just feel sad. I feel like I lost something, and no amount of searching will result in it being found, but I just can't stop looking anyway.

I have been back at work a bit. It is a lot harder than I want it to be. My branch chief had a baby two months before me. We were pregnant at the same time. I went in to let her know that I was trying to come back, and plastered all over her office are pictures of her precious little boy, those big round cheeks, and that sweet little mouth. It hurts me in my heart to see him. I want to bury my nose in the neck of my little boy, smell his baby scent, and feel the soft tickle of his fluffy hair on my cheek. I want to feel his little fingers wrap around one of mine, and rub my thumb on his silky little feet as he nurses. I want to not cry every time I walk into her office, because all I can think of are these things.

Yesterday was really rough. There is a gentleman that walks through the office and jokes with everyone, he is from another shop, so he doesn't know the intimate goings on, and I guess he wasn't given the "Watch out for Prescott, her baby died" speech that everyone else was given. He walked in yesterday and saw me, back from my extended maternity leave, and goes "Hey, where are all your baby pictures? I want to see that baby!" I started crying immediately... I couldn't help it.
"He died,." I said. I want to see that baby, too, but I can't anymore. Not ever again.

It's strange. I have an office full of people who are warm and friendly and eager to share stories and joke. I know my chain of command spoke with them, let them know that I don't want to talk about it, and they are being so respectful. I know they must be uncomfortable, or unsure of how to be, but it isn't like it used to be. I used to walk in and be greeted warmly... now people don't even aknowledge me. I try to resume business as usual, to chirp out a happy greeting, and chat normally, but I am largely ignored. I know they don't mean to be that way, but sometimes it makes me feel like maybe I am just a ghost floating unnoticed through the office. Maybe in a way, I am the one who died.

I know this post has been long, disjointed and a little bit random. I apologize for that. I am just letting emotions out in a way other than crying. Maybe I will be able to do more later... though I make no promises. I am not loving typing on such a loud key board.

It's Morphin' Time

Halloween.

What a spook-tacular holiday. Little ghouls and boys dress up and beggar themselves about the neighborhood for candy and the occasional scare, the streets are abound with witches, goblins, princesses and superheros. What was truly frightful about this day for me was the day it was supposed to be.

Todd was struck with genius one day as we were sitting around. There were five of us. Todd, Me, Sami, Rowan and Rhys. Just the right amount for a Power Ranger's family costume. I ordered red sweats for Todd, and bought blue sweats for Rowan, black for Rhys. I was still on the prowl for pink and yellow for Sami and me. I was going to sew on the white diamonds around the chest, make an awesome gold pendant belt, and find some sweet white boots to "top" off the ensembles. I was so excited, and I think Todd was too.

How cute would that be?

I don't really remember what I said, or how long after his death it was, but I know we were on the front porch, entering the house. It may have been our first time coming home together... I turned to Todd and said something along the lines of "We don't have enough to be the Power Rangers." For some reason it seemed so important in that second. Todd told me we could do something else, and still in my mind I had to figure out how to fill the spot of our tiny Black Ranger. The dog? Could I dress up a doll? Should I invite a friend?

What the hell was wrong with me?! How could I have possibly thought that I could tackle such a huge sewing job right after the death of my son? How could I have so easily replaced him in our family costume scheme? It didn't take too long for me to snap back to reality and realize I would not be able to do it. Of course this caused a whole different point of stress... what would we be doing for Halloween?

Fortunately, my sister Paige swooped in with her amazing sewing skills and unstoppable creativity. She saved the whole day for us. She sewed up a Dora and Boots costume for the kids, on short notice, no less. Todd and I let go of the pressure we were putting ourselves under to dress up and let it be just a day for the kids. It was their first time Trick or Treating. Their costumes were a HUGE hit! Parents all over the block ooh-ed and ah-ed at how cute they were, and they even got their pictures taken!

Rhys didn't even live for six weeks. It's not like we had a million billion actual plans for him, things to do together... at least nothing concrete... except for this. This one day was supposed to be a family thing, dressing up together. It made the day hard for us. It was sad.

But man, Dora and Boots really brightened it. Happy Halloween.

How cute is that?!?

Pokemon, I choose you.

Yesterday was the worst day that I have had in a long time. I guess not a LONG time, because he has only been gone for a month... but sometimes it feels like the days last years, and sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that I held him in my arms.

The night before last Todd and I made the big move. We did not go through our nightly routine of blowing up the air mattress and fixing a bed on the living room floor. Instead we each grabbed our DS, a pillow and blanket from the pile of bedding we had down here and marched purposefully upstairs... to our room, to our bed... to the bed that our baby last lay in.

We took our games so that we could play until we fell asleep. A large part of sleeping down stairs for me has been to not only avoid the flashbacks I have every time I walk into that room, but also to use the TV down here to keep my mind from drifting too far towards the sadness and upsetting thoughts that seem to be trying to overwhelm me. I am playing Pokemon, and it helps. It doesn't take much thought and is nice and repetitive so that I can play it till I am nearly blind with exhaustion.

Falling asleep wasn't bad. Waking up was.

I opened my eyes and at the same moment my chest opened up and the shattered pieces of my broken heart blew from my ribcage, like dry autumn leaves in a burst of wind. All the breath went out of me and a sob caught in my throat. I felt frozen in my own mind. I relived it all, in slow motion, in fast forward, in reverse, on repeat. It might have been seconds or hours that I lay there, stuck in my misery. It could have been days for all I could tell.

I walked through the door and looked to him on the bed, watching his little body for the steady rise and fall that had been there the last time I had looked in on him. I looked for the gentle shift of the lines on his little stripped dino onesie that I loved so much. I watched for the natural signs of life that I had seen an hour ago. I looked for breath. There was none.

I feel like my heart should have stopped right then and there. My heart and my breath and my whole world should have ended with his. I shouldn't be sitting here writing, and crying, and feeling anything while my baby, my sweet little tiny baby, is gone. I shouldn't have been lying in the bed he last slept in, I shouldn't be remembering things and feeling things and being sad, or horrified, or miserable, or whatever words you can put to the grief that I felt.

But I am. And I was. So I reached up to the DS that had fallen from my hands as I drifted to sleep, and through my tears I began another Pokemon battle. I let myself feel sad as I played, but I let the game fade into my mind and the images fade out. It was super effective.

All of yesterday was tainted with sadness. I should have realized that it was the four week mark, but I didn't. I am trying not to kick myself for that today. Even if I didn't acknowledge it as the four week mark, my whole body felt it. Tears were in my eyes, or fighting to be there, every minute of the day, and my chest felt tight with grief from wake up till sleep.

Snivy, Tepig and Oshawott, Pokemon Black and White 2 Starters.

I hope today is better, but if not, I can always call on Lucario, Onix and Magnemite to help me through the day. And maybe help me through tomorrow. And maybe help me through every day for a while. Maybe I'll even catch 'em all.

Thank God I Am An Atheist!

Triggers today:
Everything.

When I was young I fought the urge to not believe in a higher power. I tried to see God in things, to believe that he was there, that there was a bigger plan and everything happens for a reason. I don't think I need to go into the reasons with my VAST internet audience (sarcasm.) but it became clear to me that this was just not the case. There was too much bad happening to good people, and too many bad people getting away with horrible things for me to be able to say "It is all part of God's plan."

That... and the whole religion thing just didn't add up scientifically.

Well, I tried. I went to church with friends, I read the bible, I looked for meaning and His truth and all that good stuff, and then I slowly and reluctantly let it go. Never in my adult life have I been so glad. It breaks my heart to see other moms, other parents of lost babies, seeking a meaning... asking all the questions that are there to be asked, searching their hearts and minds for a reason that their baby died.

My baby died. He just did. Bad things happen to good people, not everything has a reason, a meaning, a justification. Of course I find myself asking "Why?" but it is an empty word, a meaningless expression of hopelessness, loss, and sadness. It is like asking "Why does the universe even exists."

Religion gives people a lot of nice answers, ready packaged with a nice bow. "It's all part of the plan." Why would any plan include the death of a tiny, completely innocent baby? To strengthen me? To test me? Well I have one thing to say to that. Fuck you.

Pardon me. I know that could be taken as offensive. I do appreciate that people find comfort in their religion, in their faith, but I am finding comfort in my lack of such.  I find comfort in the fact that things just happen, that there is no purpose, no way to explain away my sons life, to give meaning and purpose to his death. There is no way to justify the loss. I think if I had to seek out these things, meaning, purpose, justification... then I would be left not only feeling devastated but also more confused and more abandoned, lost. What God would let someone feel this pain?

That being said, I do hope that those moms and dads, those aunts, uncles and grandparents out there who need their God find comfort in the communities they have, the beliefes they hold, and I hope, and hope to the bottom of my existance, that they are finding comfort and getting the answers they need.

Snagged from here.

But thank God I am an atheist.

40 Days

Triggers in the last 24 hours:
Folding up the last few bits of baby clothes left over.
Watching a snake die on tv.
Tucking in the kids.
Seeing the woman that taught me infant CPR.
A man in the gym asking another man about his new baby.
Being in the car.
A show on tv reminding me that 50 days is not a long time... and knowing that Rhys was alive for less time than that.

Toady was Todd's birthday. He is 32. I wish we felt like celebrating. I wish I could give him piles of presents and cake and everything he could ever want, but more than anything, I wish I could give him back his son.

We have been ok today, for the most part. I see his sadness, and I have tried to keep positive, but I don't think we can shake this dark cloud. I think that's ok though, part of the new "normal" for a while. Will it fade? Will there be a day when the fact that my child died isn't a half second from the forefront of all my thoughts?

A week after Rhys died I went with Paige and Jessica (my sisters) and we got our hair cut. I told the lady that I was cutting my hair as a sign of my grief, and she was very accepting and understanding. I told her "Short. Make it short." She cut off most of my hair, and I had a very cute shaggy cut. It was playful and adorable and it looked so fun. I liked it, but it wasn't enough. She kept trimming and trimming and finally said, "Honey, do you want a buzz cut?" Yes. That is what I did. I did it because I needed to see something that would shock me out of the deep, all encompassing grief that overwhelmed me every time I looked in the mirror and saw the woman that I was. It worked! Amazingly, it worked. When I next looked in the mirror I didn't immediately see me, but I also didn't see the mother to a dead baby.

I am starting to see me now. And I am the mother of a dead baby, and I always will be. But now, when I am around people, I don't know if they are staring because they know that, or because of my crazy ass hair cut. And that is a good thing.

Todd got a lot of phone calls today. I think that was nice. I can't imagine how he must hurt today, how it must feel to be reminded that he is still alive, so close on the heels of a reminder of how fragile life is. "Congratulations. Today you have breathed air for 32 years. Your heart has beat, you have experienced joy, love, and developed as a person... for 32 years. Happy Birthday. You have had 32 years."

But our son... he had 40 days.

Todd and Rhys

Some previously posted material

Posted to Todd's Facebook page; shared on mine, 27 Aug 2012:
 
Please do not comment. I’m not writing this as a plea for sympathy, condolences or support. I know everyone who reads this will want to express those feelings, but right now we have enough. We need time and we don’t want to read those things right now. In a few days, maybe some calls from close friends or thoughtful messages would be welcome, but for now we just want to spend time together and wit

h our families. With that said and with great heaviness in my heart, I need to announce the death of Rhys Prescott around 11pm 9/26/2012 at 5 weeks and 5 days old. He was happy and healthy, so all we’ve been told is this is most likely SIDS but we won’t know more for some time. I know this is not the best way to get this news and I know how much it will pain many of you, but we want to avoid people ignorantly asking how he is doing or talking to us about him right now. We aren’t ready. Again, please try to refrain from comments. Instead, feel free to “Like” to show support, even though it’s not a likeable situation. We will understand.

 

Posted to my Facebook page, 3 Oct 2012:

I would like to say a deep and heartfelt thank you to our friends and family for their thoughts and kind words, and also, thank you to everyone for your respectful distance while we have worked through the hardest situation of our lives. It has been one week since we lost our baby boy, and while the pain is not subsiding, it means a lot to know that there are people out there who love and support us. Not many people even got the chance to know and love baby Rhys like we did, but knowing that you love us has been helpful in ways you cannot even imagine.

"If they knew sweet little you
They'd end up loving you too"
~Alison Krauss

Posted to Glow in the Woods, 19 Oct 2012

Three weeks ago today I held my beautiful baby boy in my arms. I tickled his cheeks and he gave me the sweetest smile in the whole wide world. Happiness and pride surged in my heart as my husband and I cooed over his chubby little body, and that joy knew no bounds when his big brother and sister joined in. Our family was five, and it was perfect.

Three weeks ago tonight my family became four again. For five weeks and five days, we were five, a perfect and magical five. My joy that knew no bounds is now a pain of the same magnitude.

This site has given me great comfort and great sadness. I find comfort here because I know I am not alone, I am not the freak I feel like I am. There are other mothers, other parents out there that know my pain and loss. This comforts me and breaks my heart all at the same time. Thank you all for sharing your stories with me, even though you don't know me. Thank you for being there.

Realizations

Today Todd and I were talking and he made a very good point.

When you have a baby your world changes. When you become a parent things are not the same. Your whole world shifts. You can never be the same person you were before, no matter how hard you try. There is something within you that is just different. It's not bad, just not the same. The bottom line is your world is very different.

And when you lose a baby your world changes. No matter how much you heal, no matter what thoughts you have, no matter what, period... your whole world shifts. You can never be the same person you were before, no matter how hard you try. There is something within you that is just different.

This has been a difficult concept for me to grasp. I definitely pick up on these things later than Todd does. I hear myself echo his sentiments as they strike me later than they did him. It is one of the many feelings I have felt, unspoken before I hear them come from his mouth. We are always going to be parents that lost a baby. It is a part of who we are. That empty spot where our infant son was supposed to blossom into our toddler, our preschooler, our teenager, our grown man... that will always be. It will always be a big emptiness.

All in all, Todd and I are lucky. It feels so sick to say that we are lucky, because lucky people don't have a dead baby. We are lucky because we have two beautiful children. We are lucky because we have can lean on each other. We are lucky because all of our family reached out and has been helping us. We are lucky because my Navy community has really come forward and supported us.

Rhys Prescott, 17 Aug - 26 Sept 2012

We are lucky...but still, we are empty, and we are changed, and we are the parents of a dead baby, who had all the potential in the world snatched from him for absolutely no reason. We are not ok... but we will be.