What do I say?

The biggest worry that I had about moving into a new area was having to tell people over and over again that one of my children died. When you meet someone a common question that is asked is "how many children do you have". That question is usually fine because I tell them three and leave it at that. It's the following questions after that one that are usually hard. They ask the ages and so on. Brock and I usually say a girl that is 4, a boy that would be 2.5, and a 6 month old. Some people catch onto the "would be" part and some don't. Some do catch on but pretend that they didn't hear it. Usually the conversation ends quickly after that because it gets awkward and they don't know how to handle the situation after that. Every time-every conversation is just as hard. It's still stings every time. It is something that I dread going to church because of. Going to the park, or just seeing someone outside. I will never leave my son out, but every time I get into a conversation with someone the question I always think in my mind is "what do I say?". Am I strong enough today to go into detail about Corby. Can I handle that conversation today? It has really taken a toll on me lately, but I still put on a smile and act like my life is just as normal as the person sitting next to me.
Ledger had his 6 month well check today with a new pediatrician. I have been dreading today since the minute I made the appointment because I knew that I had to tell him about Corbyn. I was dreading talking to him or his staff about my utter terror to get Ledgyr vaccinated and why. Would he understand? Would he be compassionate or just chalk Corbyn up as another SIDS case and brush it off because that just happens. ( yep people have said that to me) I wanted to, so bad, cancel the appointment and call our old pediatrician and tell her that we will be traveling an hour to her because she understands. She lived our horror right alongside us and gets it. She knew Corby personally from the time he was born and fell in love with him just as we all did. I didn't have to explain to her all my fears because she understood already. I didn't have to talk to her about my dead son and not having any answers because she was the one calling the medical examiner daily for weeks asking her questions and trying to find answers herself. She was the one that went to seminars with Corbyn in mind trying to find some path to go down to hopefully get answers.
I went to the appointment and the minute the medical assistant walked us into a room the first question she asked was about Ledgyr's vaccinations. Through tears in my eyes all I could say was that I would talk to the doctor about that. The appointment was already starting off on the wrong foot. I wanted to run out and not even see the doctor. When he came in it started out fine because he didn't know yet. He asked if there was anything that I or our other pediatrician is worried about with Ledgyr. The conversation immediately went down hill from there, but I had to tell him about Corbyn and my concerns about getting Ledgyr vaccinated. I wasn't strong enough emotionally today to go into detail about it all, and it felt like he was unsure on how to handle the situation anyway. I had just let a bomb off in the room and he wasn't prepared for it. He told me that he was so sorry, but I didn't feel like he really understood. Like he really got the depth of pain that Corby's death has caused. We hurried through the appointment and I quickly left.
All I wanted to do was cry and scream and hit something over and over again until I mutilated it the minute I walked out of that office. I'm tired of this pain. I'm tired of always having that conversation and feeling that sting over and over again. I hate more than anything that I have to have such a horrible conversation. Why me? Why my perfect son? Why can't I be overly excited to move into a new neighborhood and meet new friends without having to have this storm cloud follow me everywhere I go striking lightning bolts at me reminding me of my constant pain? I hate always having to ask myself when a new conversation starts "what do I say this time?".

"How will my dead son come up in this conversation?" "How will I emotionally handle it this time?".

18 months

Today marks another milestone. Not the usual type of milestone that we usually think about when it comes to children. It's been 18 months since my sweet baby boy left this earth. 18 months from the last day that I was in an innocent blissful life. I remember 18 months ago so vividly. I even remember what color of scrubs I wore that day to work. I remember the last meal I made for my baby. In fact, it's still in a tupper ware in our freezer. I can't seem to get rid of the very last thing that my baby tasted. Brock says that he wouldn't be able to eat it if I made it again because it reminds him so much of that day.  It's been 18 months since the last time I kissed that perfect little chubby cheek. 18 months since I nursed him last. It's also been 18 months since I saw that hurt look on his face when he received his flu shot. I wish more than anything that I didn't take him to get his shot that day and hurt him. I found out some more information on why Corby passed from the researcher back at Boston Children's Hospital and that is coming in another post that is a work in progress right now, but I am now aware that his death was inevitable. It was just a matter of when.
I find it quite amazing, though, the feeling I have as I walk around today. My heart feels just as shattered as it did 18 months ago, but I, once again, feel like I am being carried today. I feel of this outpouring love from someone that I can't see. I'm quite certain that my Savior knew that I would need his strength and support today. I feel him, once again, carrying me in my time of need. I am reminded of this poem:

Footprints in the Sand

One night I had a dream.

I dreamed I was walking along the beach

with the Lord..

Across the sky flashed scenes from my life..

For each scene, I noticed two sets of

footprints in the sand,

one belonging to me, and the other to the Lord..

When the last scene of my life flashed before me,

I looked back at the footprints in the sand.

I noticed that many times along the path of my life

there was only one set of footprints.

I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest

and saddest times in my life.

This really bothered me 

and I questioned the Lord about it:

"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you,

you'd walk with me all the way.

But I have noticed that during the most 

troublesome times in my life 

there is only one set of footprints.

I don't understand why 

when I need you most you would leave me." 

The Lord replied:

"My precious child, I love you and would

never leave you.

During your times of trial and suffering,

when you see only one set of footprints, it was then

that I carried you."

by Mary Stevenson

 I know that he is also lifting me and trying to lessen my pain through other people. I have had two seperate people text or message me telling me that they are thinking about Corby today, as well as one earlier this week. I can see one person being a coincidence, but multiple people is a little different. After telling them what day it was today none of them made the connection, but all now know why they were prompted to reach out to me.
I hadn't even planned on today being a hard day, but I guess I don't plan on any of my hard days being hard. I hadn't even realized the day until yesterday when I realized that Ledgyr was 6 months. Then the cascade of thoughts came.... Ledgyr was born almost 1 year to the day after Corbyn died. Ledgyr is 6 months today so tomorrow Corby will have been gone 18 months. He never lived to see 18 months alive, but he has been gone for that long.
I thought that I would be ok through today, but as the night came yesterday I felt the anxiety ever so slowly creep up. Brock took us out for a dinner date to a restaurant that he has been raving about for a while now. I remember looking at the ornery girl sitting at a table across from me and wondering why her day was so horrible. I wondered if the child she was holding in her arms wasn't her first and if she too had more than the one child. That's when I thought about how people look at us and only see 2 children. The thought came that strangers will never know that I have one more child than what it looks like I have. After dinner we went home and I immediately started to clean. That is my way of trying to eliminate my stress or anxiety I have. I think I vacuumed the same area 10 times. For what ever reason I don't know, but I know that it's SUUUPER clean now. Brock even noticed that I was in a cleaning frenzy. I don't think that he put it all together though.
After I left work today I went and visited my boy. I planned on staying for a couple of minutes just talking with him. I decided to take a blanket out of the car and sit next to his grave, but when I laid the blanket down my body collapsed on it and I began to sob. There was a car that drove up next to me to visit another grave and I wonder what the two old men in the car were thinking when they saw me there. I really don't care what they were thinking actually. I was at a cemetery for heavens sake, but it didn't stop me from uncontrollably weeping over my son's grave. I stayed for a really long time and I didn't realize it until Brock text me asking me when I was going to be home. I haven't cried that hard in a long time. I was trying so hard to will myself into the ground and pull his body back up so that I could hold him. Touch him. Feel his soft baby hair. I know in reality I wouldn't want to see his body now, but I don't think about that. I think about the body of the baby I knew. Being there took every ounce of energy I had left in me. I still don't know how to handle these days. I don't even know how to see the signs of when I'm going to have a bad day.
I have had a rough patch lately. That probably didn't help the situation. There has been a lot of death that has surrounded me the last few weeks. On a good note I have been able to give out Corby baskets. One of the deaths was a guy's wife that I grew up with. I didn't know her personally, but in a way we were connected because she too lost a baby boy. I was so unbelievably sad for my friend that he lost a son and now his wife, but at the same time I was envious of her. She is now with her baby in Heaven. Most days I go to sleep still hoping that I won't wake up in the morning. No, I'm not suicidal. I'm not going to hurt myself in anyway, but just like an act of nature took my friend's wife I wish that same thing would happen to me to an extent. I more or less just want this pain and never ending anguish to go away. I see how much her passing has affected her family still here and I know I don't want to do that to Brock and my babies still here on this earth. It has also shown me the reality of it all. Just because you have lost once doesn't mean you are immune from losing again. It really struck a chord with me. I'm terrified that I will lose another child, but I'm also terrified that I am going to lose the love of my life. My rock. My best friend and eternal companion. I asked Brock what he would do if I died, and he sat there for a minute and really didn't know what to say. He then responded with "I don't know- that's not one of those things I like to think about and plan ahead for because it's not going to happen". He has more faith than me. That's why he's my rock. My anchor from not being lost forever.
I wish more than anything that my trial in life didn't consist of knowing this sort of death. I wish I didn't know that my children can die. Every parent has that thought somewhere in the back of their head, but the majority of them never really know the reality of that thought. I wish more than anything I was one of them.
Thank you my friends who reached out to me today. You will never quite understand how much a simple few words can mean to a bereaved parent. It made me be able to continue on in my day with enough emotional energy.

Taking advantage of the grieving

This is more of a venting post.

Before Corby passed the last thing we thought we would ever have to do was think about purchasing burial plots for ourselves at such a young age let alone for one of our children. We didn't have the money to pay for all the costs associated with a funeral as well as plots for Brock and myself as well as Corby. My grandmother graciously said that we could burry him in her plot temporarily until we could afford a permanent resting place for him. Yes, I know about the angel sections at all cemeteries. I didn't want him by himself around strangers so I loved the idea for him to be put in my grandmother's plot. I didn't think about that she already has a headstone for her plot since my grandfather passed away several years ago so that meant that we couldn't do a nice headstone for Corby. I hate the fact that he doesn't have anything other than the marker from the mortuary marking where is beautiful body lay to rest.

Now that we have moved we thought it would be a good time to move him closer to us and where we will most likely spend the rest of our lives. I was shocked when I looked into all the fees associated with just moving him. Just to move him (not including burial plot prices) is close to $4,000!!! WHY?!? Why are there so many "fees" involved!?!? I can rent a backhoe and dig it myself and put his vault on trailer and move it too for heavens sake! The amount of money that we have saved for his headstone won't even come close to covering those fees. It's not like he's a full grown person either. I see now why so many people elect to cremate. It's such an easy way to go and you aren't paying crooks thousands of dollars just to fund their next mansion all because they know you will pay it because you are grieving and only want the best for your loved one. I wish that I could have had enough emotional strength to do that, but I didn't. I still don't. The thought of them doing an autopsy and harvesting his tissue was way more than enough for me to handle. I couldn't think about burning his little body too. 

So now as it stands my baby needs to stay there without a headstone marking that he is even there. I'm frustrated and so upset! I hate how everything costs money now. I hate that the state owns my child. MY DNA! The very thing that I grew inside of me and raised for 13.5 months now can't be touched or moved without signing legal documents and paying thousands of dollars. Thousands of dollars that will take us so long to come up with just so that we can give our child a permanent resting spot next to Brock and I when we die.

PTSD- How real it is!

Anyone that thinks of the army PTSD always comes to mind, and how a lot of soldiers suffer from it after coming back from war. What a lot of people don't realize is that PTSD can happen in anyone. Post traumatic stress disorder-what is it? I remember learning about it when I was in school, but I really didn't quite understand it. After reading a lot of stories from other parents that have also lost children the same way that we lost Corbyn I realized that I have PTSD by what they talked about as happening to them and classifying it as PTSD or diagnosed with PTSD. After realizing that I had it I had to look it up. This is what I summed up from my findings. It's classified as an anxiety disorder. It is relived through intrusive, recurrent recollections, flashbacks, and nightmares. Anyone with a traumatic event occurring that they were in or witnessed can develop PTSD. I never thought that I would have PTSD after Corby passed.  I don't just have it a little, either. It's especially worse when I'm tired or overly emotional. I have the kind of anxiety that cuts you, and shallows your breath. The kind that feels like no matter how hard you try you can't expand your chest enough to ever breath in a full breath.

The other day I was in the kitchen with by back turned and I heard someone behind me and when I turned around I saw Addy standing there in the entrance of the kitchen. I didn't see my Addy, though, I saw a lifeless dead version of Addy and it horrified me. She was pale-grey with purple lips and dark lifeless sunken in eyes. I couldn't help but gasp when I turned and first saw her and I immediately asked her if she was ok and went over to her. She kept looking at me and saying "I'm ok mama. What's wrong?" I had to close my eyes several times before I saw my real baby girl again. I started sobbing shortly after that because of how bad it terrified me. My adrenaline was so high I was shaking. That's been the worst of the experiences I have had so far. Usually I experience anxiety with my children sleeping. The weird part about how I saw her was that Corby didn't look anything like that when I found him. He still looked like he was sleeping. Just like a beautiful angel. Those of you that saw him at the funeral you would agree that he looked like he was just sleeping. He looked that same way when I found him.

Before I had Ledgyr, I would go in and check to see if Addy was still breathing while she was sleeping several times in a night. Every time I would go in the first time I would look at her I would see her dead. Now that I have Ledgyr I see him that same way too. I have anxiety the minute I make the decision that I'm going to check on them until I go in and actually check. Brock has asked me why I go in and check on them? Because if I don't then I will have worse anxiety and think the whole time that what if they are in there struggling to breath and if I would have just gone in to check on them I could have saved them. So I have to check on them. I have nightmares that I walk in to check on both of them and they are face down in their bed just like I found Corby. I dream about picking out caskets and colors of flowers for both of them now. I find myself planning out each of their funerals wondering what I would have at each of them while driving or when I'm left to my own thoughts. Then I catch myself and stop myself from continuing. Most people unintentionally day dream about beaches or other happy times. My grieving mind doesn't immediately go to happy day dreams. It's been traumatized and goes to what it's been used to for the past 542 days.

I even have a hard time at work. It's not as bad as it used to be, but I still have some days where I can't handle it. My office is right next to the phlebotomy area where they draw the children and there is no insulation between my office and that room so I hear everything as clear as day. I would have literal panic attacks when I would hear a toddler crying when they were getting their blood drawn, and I would have to leave my office usually sobbing or I would start shortly after. I finally asked the phlebotomy staff to let me know before they drew a baby or child so that I could leave my office and I wouldn't have to hear it. I talked to my grief counselor about this and she said that I needed to train myself to be OK with it. She told me to start out by staying in there for a few seconds until I couldn't stand it any longer and then leave and gradually work up to ignoring it completely. Most days I'm fine with it now. Every once in a while it still gets to me especially if there is a little boy crying that sounds similar to what Corby sounded like.

Lately, there have been a lot of deaths around me. I find myself in a constant panic attack. There is always this burning sensation that something is about to happen and I can't control it or stop it. Every time I hear of another death my mind goes back to our initial days after Corbyn passed away and I cry. I cry a lot. I hate seeing that there is still death happening around me. I hate that it is a constant thought on my mind. I even look at our dog now and get sad because I know that she isn't going to live forever rather than enjoy the time we do have with her.


PTSD will always be part of my life. I will always have anxiety of losing another child or even my husband. Just like I will always have my grief. It's almost like they go hand in hand. I used to think that this was me slowly going crazy. I had to have my counselor tell me several times that I am not going crazy and that this is all very normal. I hear that it's not as prominent as the years pass, but it will always be there. It's probably a way for my mind to steel itself to the next trauma that happens to me. Yes, I said next trauma. I don't believe that because I lost a child that I am free from having any other trauma or trial happen to me. Will I still try to control it in every way possible even though I did that with Corby and it didn't help? Yes, because that's what gives me the most comfort is feeling like I'm somewhat in control even though I know deep down that it is ultimately His plan.  I know I should probably have more faith that Heavenly Father won't let that happen to me, but I don't. Not yet anyway. I had faith that my children would be safe..... Look where that got me. Yes, I am broken and grieving. Broken into so may pieces and in so many ways. Will I ever be completely whole and fully  repaired? Probably not. Can I be mended? I'm sure I can. Mending anything takes time. Imagine shattering your favorite mug- you don't want to get rid of it because it's always something that you wanted part of your life. So what do you do? You carefully take each piece and glue it back together. It may take you several hours to mend your precious cup. After it's mended you see each and every crack still, but at least the mug is back together. That is what it's like for a parent that has lost a child. Their soul is like your mug. It gets shattered into tiny pieces, and piece by piece they pick them up and try to mend it back together. This takes years and years to mend. Not just a few hours. That's why getting over it is not easy or even really possible. What happens if that mug you love so dearly gets ever so slightly bumped? Because it's so fragile it will most likely break off a glued piece or shatter all over again. This too happens to us. We look whole and fixed on the outside, but even the slightest bump can break us all over again. We will NEVER be the same. I will never be the same. I wish more than anything that I could go back to my un-shattered whole self again that was innocently happy and oblivious to this sort of life and pain. Here I am, though, slowly mending myself and doing the best I can.