This submission was provided by Share's Board Member, Michelle Foster.
Car Stickers
Before I had children, I always thought of myself as being
the type of mom to have those family stickers on the back of my SUV (not
minivan!). A daddy and a mommy. Then kid stickers that would start as babies
then grow into toddlers, children and finally the kids’ chosen sport-adorned
teenagers. I couldn’t picture what being a mother would be like, but I could
definitely picture the stickers.
And there were always two kids’ stickers on the back of the
car. So what happens when you have two children, but one of them is in Heaven?
The car stickers are not an option now. How would I represent my angel, Chase,
on the car? Do they make angel baby stickers? If they did, wouldn’t that be
extremely depressing to not watch his sticker grow next to my son Evan’s?
The answer to that question is obviously “yes.” There is
nothing more soul crushing than losing a child. The car sticker scenario is
just one of the things I grapple with as I grieve. It represents a whole host
of things that are different than I ever thought they would be.
Birthdays, for instance. When I found out I was having
twins, it was a shock. But when it sinks in, you start to think about what life
is going to be like with two babies. And now, all that is gone. On Chase and
Evan’s birthday, we will visit a cemetery. We will “celebrate” Chase’s birthday
through tears and heartache, never feeling for one second like it should feel on that day. I will do my
best to separate those emotions so that Evan gets the true joyful birthday
celebration he deserves. But the broken expectations of those days will always
be there.
One of the other things I would think about after finding
out about twins was going to the grocery store. That probably sounds a bit
weird. But I always wondered if we’d have to have two shopping carts. I’d
thinking about my husband and me wheeling both kids around the store. One cart
will suffice now.
When you start to develop expectations of your life with
your child(en), when those things don’t come true, it’s just a constant
reminder of your loss. Nothing ends up how you thought it would be. Whether you
lose a baby at 10 weeks or if you lose him at one month old, there was time
where you dreamed of your new life.
After a loss, you work on building new expectations. And
while they’ll never be the same, they can
be great. I tell myself that they will
be great, though it’s hard to believe sometimes.
Roller Coaster: Waves
of Grief
Both of my sons started out their lives in the NICU, Chase
passing away there after 30 days and Evan coming home to us 12 weeks later.
They have some stock lines they like to use in the NICU. When you first enter
there, they talk about how much of a “roller coaster” it is. In my experience,
this is a horrible representation.
Think about a roller coaster. You hear the click click click
and develop an exhilarating anticipation for what’s to come. Then as you reach
the top, you start your descent. There were a lot of descents in the NICU, but
there weren’t a lot of exciting and happy moments of anticipation. Most of the
anticipation is full of fear and doubt.
For me, one of those moments of anticipation didn’t end with
any upswing. It ended with me losing my first born son. Not a roller coaster.
I would say that the roller coaster metaphor better fits my
experiences after my loss. I have Evan and he gives me joy…He takes me to the
top of the mountain. I am fortunate to be able to separate my feelings about
losing Chase from the happiness I get from Evan.
But still, I’m only one person, so it’s nearly impossible to
feel dual emotions. One minute, I’m marveling at Evan and the next, I start the
rapid descent to despair when the gravity of losing Chase hits me.
Downward, so quickly, to a place where there’s nowhere to go
but up. Most times, up doesn’t come as quickly as I would like.
When you experience the loss of a child, the ride never
stops. I hear from other bereaved parents that it will change over time, but
still – we’re strapped in until the end. Riding this ride that we never thought
we’d be on …We didn’t get in this line. For some of us, we never fathomed this
ride even existed.
Nevertheless, I’ll ride this never-ending roller coaster and
pray for more ups and fewer downs.
The Unfortunate Truth
About Tax Season
My husband and I just did our taxes. We lost our son, Chase,
at one month old last year. I experienced an intense wave of grief first when I
realized Chase would be on 2013’s return as a dependent. My baby is on my tax
return. He existed. He was here with us, even if for a short period of time.
Too short.
My second, even larger, wave of grief came when I realized
that he won’t be “counted” on 2014’s return. It feels like Uncle Sam is playing
a cruel joke on me. He was here, now he’s not. Here’s another reminder (as if I
need one) scheduled for April 15, 2015.
But then, when I read the tax rules, I learn that mothers of
stillborn babies don’t get to claim their children on their returns. Those
babies matter. They have forever changed the world by being here. As have the
babies who didn’t make it as long.
The tax process is cold and impersonal. It’s about numbers,
not about emotions. Sometimes, numbers are easier to focus on while walking
along this empty road. They are steadfast, and sure, you can manipulate them to
a point, but they are still rather inflexible.
Then you have your emotions, your feelings, your heart.
These things are less steadfast. One day, you can be going along, feeling good
(whatever that means). Then the next day, you could struggle to get out of bed.
Little things can send you spiraling out of control.
When you mix these two worlds together, “tricky” doesn’t
even begin to cover it. When we file our taxes next year, I will have to resist
the urge to scream from the rooftops that I have two children, not one. Yet
another tangible reminder of my loss. And just because he’s not here, doesn’t
mean he’s not real. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a continuous impact on the
world.
Luck?
Do you ever feel lucky? There is probably a small distinction
between being lucky and being blessed. I know I’m blessed. But I don’t feel
lucky.
It’s weird to think about being lucky in the context of life
in general. You play blackjack and hit an ace king. That’s pretty lucky. You
win the 50/50 at trivia night. Exciting moment. But in life, is there luck?
I would guess a lot of people that utilize Share’s great
services and support don’t feel lucky. If we were lucky, we’d have our babies
with us. If we were lucky, we wouldn’t have the unfortunate benefit of
perspective that no matter how bad things seem, they can always get worse.
I certainly didn’t feel lucky when I held my son as he left
this earth, And despite all of the blessings that have happened to us since his
passing, his twin brother’s health, my husband’s promotion, our beautiful home,
I still don’t feel like there’s any luck in my corner.
I guess that’s why I’m glad I draw the distinction of
blessings and luck. I can see my blessings every day, even if they look blurry
through my tears. Right now, I understand that the 30 days I got to spend with
my son, Chase, were a blessing, though serve little consolation for my broken
heart. I see a thousand blessings when Evan smiles and a million more when he
giggles. My husband is supportive and amazing. He is a blessing to me.
I know you might not feel lucky, but I hope you can find you
blessings.
The July/August Sharing magazine is now available! The topic is Getting Away and provides articles and stories from bereaved parents about vacationing after their loss. The issue really has some wonderful articles, which we hope bring you comfort and hope for the future.
