Fear

Today Rowan went to the hospital for an MRI. Because he is only three, they put him under anesthesia. I think that it would not have been so awful for me if this had been a year and a half ago. I guess I cant say for sure, but today was... beyond horrible.

It started with the build up, as all hard things do. For the last couple days I have had horrific images running through my head... having to see him the way I saw my other son, having to feel his cold skin, and having to make those phone calls... to stay sane and tell other people that I have lost a child. I lived it in my head in flashes, and each one came with a sharp pain deep in my heart.

I haven't slept much. I haven't been concentrating. I cant control this fear. I told myself that the risk was low. I told myself that it is for the better. Doctors do this all the time. He is a strong and healthy boy. No amount of justification took away that fear.

Being in the hospital was hard. Being in those rooms. It wasn't, but it may as well have been the room that Rhys went to, where they tried so desperately and so fruitlessly to bring him back to life. Those rooms weren't, but may as well have been the rooms that my children played in, blissfully unaware of the grief surrounding their parents. They may as well have been the rooms that we cried in... well, I did cry in them. I couldn't help it. I was so scared.

Then I watched them put him out. I watched him and was so scared, waiting for something to go wrong. I watched him breathing and sleeping, his chest rising and falling as it was supposed to be. I kissed his face and could do nothing but wait.

Things went perfect. Rowan went through his scan with no problem, and he woke up with no problem. He is my perfect boy.

But after today, I feel so broken.

Happy Birthday, Rhys

Today is a day of cakes and decorations, the first taste of chocolate, messy faces, laughter, love, pride and adoration.

On Sami's first birthday she started walking for the first time. We had a pool party. On Rowan's first birthday, he got to spend time with his Uncle Cooper. He got a musical turtle and Thomas toys that he loved endlessly. I burned some plastic in the oven and it made the cupcakes taste bad. On Rhys's first birthday... I wrote a blog, wishing that I could be creating memories with my son.

Rhys Tracy Zael Prescott was born at 9:50 AM on 17 August 2012. He was 8lbs, 10oz and the most perfect, beautiful baby ever born.

We were fortunate enough to have five weeks and five days with him.
Happy First Birthday, my son Rhys.

Not sad... something else.

Days like today I feel like I should just be put somewhere alone, to live out this punishment for whatever cosmic crime I have committed. I just want to be by myself. I want to let my sadness out in whatever form it happens to be manifesting itself in, rather than let it be crankiness, irritability and impatience.

I fought with my husband today over nothing, I think because we are both sad. He said he feels nothing. I won't push, because maybe that is what he wants to feel. I sort of wish I could feel nothing, just for a little while.

Instead I feel like I snap easily. I don't have the patience for my kids... my beautiful, living, breathing children. I am short with my husband. I don't have it in me to perform day to day tasks. The laundry is piling up, so are the dishes. I just want to scream.

Why can't my sadness just be sadness? Why does it have to be irritation? Or anger? Or the desperate need to just be alone in the quiet?

PSA

Hey heart.... stop it! Stop being broken.

I  mean it. I am tired of it.

Unexpected trigger

A warning to my readers, this post is graphic and possibly very upsetting.

Today was a beautiful day. I was happy and spending time with my beautiful children and my husband, and feeling motivated to try something new.

We had a gallon of milk in the fridge about to go bad, so I figured I would try and make some feta cheese! How crafty! How exciting!

I put the milk on to slowly boil and put the kids up to their beds for a nap. Todd was getting ready for work, and I was watching my milk warm. It took a long time to boil.

Finally is started steaming, and I would stand over it and stir. The smell was not unpleasant to me but for some reason it was making my stomach turn. As I kept stirring and it got hotter and hotter, I just kept feeling sicker and sicker. I wanted to be by it, watch it boil, tend the project... and be by the smell... but I also wanted to run and cry and vomit.

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. The milk achieved boil, and I pulled it off the heat and added the lime juice and vinegar. All of a sudden it hit me... as the smell wafted up to my face it hit me... it was the same thing I smelled as I gave my infant son CPR. The smell of the milk, warm and curdled. When I gave him CPR his stomach emptied. It got all over me, all over him and the floor. I had a baby blanket that I'd wipe his face with as I tried to resuscitate him.

All that night in the hospital that I what I smelled on me. I smelled it as they told me my son was dead. I smelled it when I made the phone call to my family. That smell... the death of my son.

It really ruined my day. I feel so upset, so heart broken all over again. What a horrible memory. It made everything so fresh.

Wee ones.

There is a really big empty spot in me where my son once was. I held him, and talked to him. I nursed him and loved him and was his mother. I had three beautiful children, and now when people ask me how many kids I HAVE, I am force to say two. I HAVE two amazing and beautiful children... and for that I am blessed.

... but I should have three.


Today my husband told me he would love to have another, if only we didn't have to endure the horror that is me being pregnant... well, not in so many words, but that is the general idea.

Pregnancy does NOT suit us. When we are pregnant... yes we, because he suffers too... we are not compatible. I get sensitive, and scared, and anxious. I feed off of all the insecurities that I might feel on any given day. My expectations of him SOAR. I think "Why should I do the dishes?! Why should I cook and clean, work and deal with the kids... I'm busy creating life here!!!" and then I get belligerent when he doesn't read my mind. It's not fair to either of us. And he withdraws. He finds other things to occupy his time because he can't handle that.

So how do I fix that? I can try and make promises, but we all know all reality goes out the window when pregnant hormones kick in.

Part of me is begging to have another, begging for the life in my arms. Begging for the sweet baby breath, the soft snugly head to rub my chin on, the soft little one inch of foot to rub my thumb along. Babies are amazing, and I don't feel like I would be having one to replace my dear Rhys.

NOTHING. NO ONE. will ever replace the child that I lost. The little boy that I am supposed to be loving right now will NEVER have a replacement.

That is not to say I can not love another child.

We love Sawyer. My sister-in-law has an amazing little baby. I thought meeting him would be the end of me. I thought jealousy, shame, fear, sadness... I thought all sorts of negativity would overwhelm me upon meeting him. All I felt was LOVE. Pure love, as any mother to any other mothers child would feel. The feeling of needing to love and protect and nurture.

The bottom line is that babies are amazing...and that I have drank too much tonight and so should stop talking.

Good night.

Checking in.

I have been a bit of a ghost. I don't mean for that to be a pun or a joke, but it is kind of funny to me anyway.

I haven't written in a long time. I had plans to write a really awesome post about my trip back home. Being with my family in Oregon was more healing to my heart than anything has been yet. I felt surrounded by love, comfort and safety. I spoke openly about Rhys, shared pictures, and was hugged constantly.

Then I went on a cruise with my best friend in the whole wide world. We had a blast, but I felt bad. It was kind of the opposite feeling of being at home. I was away from my family, away from my kids for the first time ever. I felt bad talking about Rhys, because we were supposed to be on vacation, though I know she wouldn't have judged me for it, and was loving and comforting when I did talk about him. To be honest, I can't wait to go again, because next time, I know what I'm getting in to. Next time I will have had more time to heal. Next time it wont be my first time away from my kids.

Then shit got real at work. I have been INSANELY busy. I put in about 10 hours a day, and every weekend I am rocking study, and spending time developing new friendships with some very nice girls. (That means I have been going out and getting drunk, heh!)

So between not being able to really sort my feelings in to words, procrastinating because there was something I already wanted to say, and just being too damned busy to sit down and write, I have become a bit of a ghost. And I feel like that is what Rhys is sometimes, too. Or maybe he was just a figment of my imagination. Or maybe he was a twinkle in the sky, a star that I reached out and got to touch for just a little bit.

There have been a few days in the past few months that have hit me with crippling sadness and a depth of loss that is incomprehensible to anyone but those who have lost in the same way. There are nightmares that plague me, and daymares that pop up out of nowhere. There have also been a few days where I am nearly blissful, with just the softest edge of grief lingering at the far reaches of my being. Lets be honest, it will always be there. But mostly, I have been busy.

Today is Father's day. Todd is taking it so much better than I took Mother's day. I am glad, because the guilt, the self loathing and sadness that I couldn't contain is something I would never ever wish on him. He is such an amazing father, and my children are so lucky to have him.

I hope to come back to writing. It's not like a bunch of people read this, but it is cathartic. Thank you, friends who are reading. I know your hearts are with me, and it is much appreciated.

Exhausted

Gosh it's been a long day. Actually, a long couple of days...

Who the hell am I kidding?! It has been a long...everything it seems. Long five months.
My beautiful son is five months gone.

A guy just joined my division. Fresh to the Navy, the guy has been in less than a year! How wild is that? His wife is from Seattle. They have a baby. Six months old. He was born one day after Rhys.

I love knowing people in my division, knowing their families, being a part of their lives... but I genuinely hope I never have to see that beautiful baby boy. There is nothing more I can say, no way to soften those words, or be more or less honest. That makes me feel guilty and sad.

I am so pooped. I am bummed because on Thursday there is an awesome spin class at work, but that is the day that Todd has evening class. So today I picked up the kids and took them to the grocery store. They asked for pancakes for dinner, so that's what we'll have. They also wanted sausage. I got bacon for Todd, and fun-fetti pancake mix for the kids. We will make them together, a family thing... an attempt at least. Sometimes my patience is unreasonably short. I hope tonight is not that way. I hope that it can be a nice mom and kids night, and that my mind doesn't dwell on how it would be different with Rhys around.

It's not like his presence would have made things better in so many ways. My kids wouldn't magically behave, my house wouldn't be effortlessly cleaner... dinner wouldn't be less of an inconvenience. In fact, doesn't having a baby exacerbate all these problems?

But if he was here... I'd be damn thrilled to have those problems.

Always there.

My life, in a nutshell,

 is dashing from one task to another. 

Up, dressed, kids up, dressed, 

  off to work/school/daycare, 

work work work 

  workworkwork 

  WORKWORKWORK, 

spin class,

kidstoddhome,  

fix dinner, eat, 

  pay bills, make appointments,

  bathe kids, kids to bed, 

yoga, 

  collapse on the sofa and sleep. 

All time for feeling is gone. 

I don't have time for grief, joy, amusement...

I feel like I am moving from one objective to the next. 

Somehow I find time for stress:

  Too many bills, not enough money, 

  too little time, too many tasks. 

  Too many people, not enough talking,

  too much talking, not enough thinking. 

Bickering, 

  trying to listen intently, 

  trying to be interested, involved, amused.

I'm on autopilot. 

I'm spinning my wheels. 

I'm...

Alone in the car for a moment. 

I'm in the house for just a minute,

  after Todd and the kids have left, before I head to work. 

I am in the bathroom washing my hands 

  on the way from my office to someone else's. 

I am walking to my car from spin class... 

These are the moments that it hits.

It hits without warning, without any tangible provocation. 

It hits so hard.

It startles me every time. 

I jump at a sound, painfully familiar... 

  a strangled cry, a sound of infinate pain... of release. 

It's me, 

  and I never know it right away. 

Then the tears come. 

Sometimes they just stream down my face, 

  a silent and scared sadness

  that doesn't want anyone to know. 

Other times it comes in sobs, 

  loud and uncontrolled; 

  sudden, violent, and terrifying. 

You are always there, my son, 

  please don't feel forgotten,

  please don't feel passed by. 

You are always there at the edge of everything I do.

You are always right there...

  but not there enough.

And so my grief finds me, 

even if I don't have time for it, 

it finds the time for me. 

But, my baby, you are always there. 

Still breaking...

I feel like my heart is in a constant state of breaking. On the 26th of September my heart shattered, and I thought it would just be the most broken it could possibly be forever, but somehow... somehow my heart is still breaking. Those tiny pieces of shattered heart feel like they are continuing to break, until I am sure that all that will be left is a pile of shattered heart dust, bits of broken heart so tiny that a slight breeze will be off with them. 

And then what will I have? 

I will still have my two beautiful children, full of life and joy, new experiences, humor and love. I will still have my husband who is my rock, my light, my voice of reason. I will still have the love of family and friends who have shown that through it all they will still be here. 

I have to keep reminding myself of these things, because its so easy... so easy to just look in at my ever-shattering heart and be swallowed in my grief. 

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Sam and Ro started daycare. They are in a home with a nice woman who teaches them things, plays with them all day, and takes them to the gym and the park. I think that is nice. Todd is in school, learning new things and meeting new people. He has so much homework, he keeps so busy. I am wrapped up in my duties at work, trying to eat healthy and get to the gym. Life is so busy. I guess this is "moving on." I still feel stuck in my sadness. Every day I take my 75mg of Zoloft, dedicate myself to what needs to be done in the moment, and live. I breath and I feel and I respond. I try to be thoughtful of my feelings, and especially of those of others. I hurt. God, how I hurt.

I just want my little baby back. I want to hold him in my arms, and nuzzle is fuzzy little head with my nose and mouth. I want to see his big, beautiful eyes looking up at me. 

Sometimes I think I am beyond all the whys, all the hows... but they always pull me back.

Grief is cyclical  they say. It will come in waves. I must be on a high wave. 

I guess I should just wait for it to abate. 

Who is the master?

I frequently feel like I am the MASTER of grief. I think to myself "I am so strong, and so amazing and making so much progress. I can think back on my dear son and remember with love and happiness. Aren't I great?"

Then days like today happen, and I wake up absolutely heart broken. Today, my grief is the master of me. All I can think about is my baby boy, who should be here in my arms, should be babbling on the floor, knowing how to roll over and learning to rock on his hands and knees. He should smile his silly smile at his brother and sister as they wave toys at him, or sing him cute little songs. Today is a heartbreak day. I am enveloped in my grief, and it is all I feel around me. I am bathing in it, breathing it, living it. It is all my day is.

Todd is starting school. It's very exciting and very stressful. He hasn't been in school in a decade. While we are registering him for school we are also registering our children for daycare. The kids are so excited.

At the registration office yesterday the lady that was helping us was telling us how limited spaces are in the Child Development Centers on base, and that our best bet was to go with a family in-home provider. "You don't have an infant, and that is a good thing. Those spots are hard to come by."

I don't have an infant, and that is a horrible and sad thing. Spots be damned.

And so I am left with the question, am I so strong as I think I am? Is it normal to think I am handling my grief like a champ one day only to be wracked and ruined the next? Is this progress?

Big Navy.

It is almost four months since the death of baby Rhys.

A lot has happened recently. I was offered a new duty at work. Its a big one. Its called ALPO, and for all you non-Navy folks that is Assistant Leading Petty Officer. Basically it means I was granted a leadership position within my Navy division. For me, this is kind of a big deal. It is very validating. It means that someone knows that I have been working hard to be ok, and I am succeeding at it. It means they think me capable of increased responsibility, they think I can take care of other people. Its kind of a big deal, and it means  A LOT to me.

More on the Navy side of the house... I took my Chief's exam last week. I went in so horribly unprepared. I told my therapist that I just hadn't had the time and I was feeling guilty. I feel guilty because this is my big chance to make a difference in the way my family lives. If I make Chief, it means more money. If I could have just focused, made myself sit down and study anything... it would have been great. But I couldn't. I didn't. I am ashamed. My therapist said I shouldn't put so much pressure on myself. There is always next year. I am caring for my family the best I can. It was more important for me to spend the time healing and spending time with my husband and kids than to devote it to studying. I will be that much readier for next year.

And finally... here is my big conundrum. I am a Sailor, and I love the Navy, and I think I am good at my job. I feel like I could do it for the next 10 years... if it didn't mean being away from my children. I have job security, more money than I could make doing just about anything in the civilian sector, and best of all, insurance! If I can last just 10 more years, I will have retirement. But... after losing one child, suddenly and unexpectedly... how can I ever EVER make the decision to be away from the two I still have?

I love my Navy, but my family comes first. So what do I do?

To be completely honest, one year ago I was planning on getting out at the end of this enlistment. I was ready to put my family first, buckle down and get a "real" job, let Todd go to school, give my kids some stability... no more moving, picking the school they would go to for their entire childhood, letting them make friends they won't lose every three years. After Rhys died the Navy showed me how awesome being a part of this community can be. I had the most amazing outpouring of support and love... more than I ever could have hoped for. I had strangers making food for my family, I had leniency in the work place, and NON STOP love and kindness from people who knew little more of me than that I was one of them, and I was in need. It was amazing, and touching, and... enough to make me want to stay a part of this community.

This is where it gets hard, because I know that it has something to do with where we are. This duty station is so much nicer about things than the last one was. Where we were before was horrible, and when I was in need there (granted, it wasn't the death of a child I was in need over) I was shunned, and told that maybe the Navy wasn't the right place for me. Here it is different. I feel a sense of community, and I feel like people have my best interests at heart. How can I just turn away from that? It may not be the same kind of stability that I would like to offer my children, with school and the same house to come home to every day of their upbringing and so forth... but it is a very important stability that I can't imagine finding somewhere else.

Is there a right answer? Can't someone just tell me what to do?