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.