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?