A few weeks ago there was a horrific accident involving a bright, beautiful and enthusiastic young 15 year old girl. That girl was the sister of one our oldest son's hockey teammates.
Evan and I went to the funeral.
Torture.
Pure, gut wrenching, torture.
The church over flowed with people. Loved ones. Friends. Acquaintances. I suspect people who didn't even know this young soul personally, but felt compelled to pay respects to such a young life lost.
We got two of the last seats (extra seating just outside of the congregation itself).
I sobbed. Uncontrollably. Along with the hundreds of other breaking hearts in that church. My son held my hand as I much as I held his... my 11 year old son.
This girls father spoke. Our friend. A broken man at the funeral of his daughter. The daughter he had just played catch with the day before her death. The man whose soul was drenched with the rawest of pain....
The tears flowed freely. The "ugly cry" reared it's head.... exhausting.
I sobbed for that family. I sobbed for a life gone far too soon. I sobbed for the one's left behind to mourn such a life full of love and prosper.
I sobbed for our Nicholas. I sobbed as the memories of losing our son poured to the forefront, once again...
The look in this young girls mom's eyes as she hugged me and locked eyes with mine... "how do you do it?" she asked... I just hugged her extra tight.
Truth is there is no answer to that question.... her life is forever changed. Forever shattered in that moment. I wanted to tell her that there will be light, but not today. There will be light when there is meant to be light.. her daughter will provide that.
But today, she is broken... fractured... immobilized by a loss so deep that there are truly no words.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Spring..... again
Funny... as I look back at the posts at Nicholas' Touch around this time of year it is always the same... the arrival of Spring... a new season to rejuvenate life and refresh the soul.
I awoke this morning from a horrifying 'flashback' type of dream. They are terrifying and merciless ... when they happen they rock my world as I am transported back to the day my baby boy was ripped from my body.... to the day when I so desperately wanted to hear him cry, wimper, anything...
He didn't... he never will... and I know that. The mind is an intricate piece of machinery, however, and it can rip you apart when you least expect it... play games with your already fragile heart and cause the raw, in the moment pain to come roaring back...
I accept it. The pain. The longing. The guilt. The love.
Below is what I wrote just last year.... March 22/2013
______________________________________________________________________
It comes every year. I should be used to it by now. I should be prepared for the shock. I should be able to stare it in the eyes and steady myself. I should be able to keep my composure.
But every year it comes... and every year the grief of carrying Nicholas in my heart explodes into a nasty mess. A heated pool of anguish over the loss of my third son.
Spring.
It gets me every time.
I stare out the window and witness the tulips slowly rising... the abundance of Robins with full bellies waiting to lay their eggs. I admire how the grass magically turns from dry, brown, dead.... to lush, green and inviting. I pop open the windows in our home to release the staleness of winter and allow the cool spring breeze to revitalize the air. The sun shines and I can feel the warmth as it tries to soothe my soul.
The new life. The freshness of the air. The vitality of the buds on the verge of blooming..... it's all so bittersweet.
I love Spring, but it's all such a heavy reminder.
Such life and growth..... but he's dead.
As I read my own words they sound so harsh. Probably because no one should have to write those words. No one should have to endure the death of their own child. So, the words may be harsh, but they are my reality. My world.
As the fragrance in the air subtly changes from winter cold to spring fresh.... I miss him.
That's what our Nicholas smelled like. Fresh, soft, spring air. A pure and gentle cocktail of beautiful baby.
Sigh......
Happy Spring, sweet Nicholas.
I awoke this morning from a horrifying 'flashback' type of dream. They are terrifying and merciless ... when they happen they rock my world as I am transported back to the day my baby boy was ripped from my body.... to the day when I so desperately wanted to hear him cry, wimper, anything...
He didn't... he never will... and I know that. The mind is an intricate piece of machinery, however, and it can rip you apart when you least expect it... play games with your already fragile heart and cause the raw, in the moment pain to come roaring back...
I accept it. The pain. The longing. The guilt. The love.
Below is what I wrote just last year.... March 22/2013
______________________________________________________________________
It comes every year. I should be used to it by now. I should be prepared for the shock. I should be able to stare it in the eyes and steady myself. I should be able to keep my composure.
But every year it comes... and every year the grief of carrying Nicholas in my heart explodes into a nasty mess. A heated pool of anguish over the loss of my third son.
Spring.
It gets me every time.
I stare out the window and witness the tulips slowly rising... the abundance of Robins with full bellies waiting to lay their eggs. I admire how the grass magically turns from dry, brown, dead.... to lush, green and inviting. I pop open the windows in our home to release the staleness of winter and allow the cool spring breeze to revitalize the air. The sun shines and I can feel the warmth as it tries to soothe my soul.
The new life. The freshness of the air. The vitality of the buds on the verge of blooming..... it's all so bittersweet.
I love Spring, but it's all such a heavy reminder.
Such life and growth..... but he's dead.
As I read my own words they sound so harsh. Probably because no one should have to write those words. No one should have to endure the death of their own child. So, the words may be harsh, but they are my reality. My world.
As the fragrance in the air subtly changes from winter cold to spring fresh.... I miss him.
That's what our Nicholas smelled like. Fresh, soft, spring air. A pure and gentle cocktail of beautiful baby.
Sigh......
Happy Spring, sweet Nicholas.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Newspaper!
Nicholas,
I had the absolute honour of sharing you with our community the other day. Our local newspaper visited to do an interview with me regarding our journey after losing you and the hope and comfort that has risen because of it. I think your Mama did okay... not too many hiccups, not too many moments of having to catch my breath. You give me strength every day, buddy... and the will to continue what we do to help others experiencing the same type of heartbreak....
The direct link to the newspaper article and interview are here.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Abandonment
Hey Buddy,
Yesterday was a day to remember. To keep safe in my heart for many years to come. Yesterday a community of people came together to remember, honour, pay respect to two beautiful, tiny souls. Souls that weren't given a chance at life. Souls that were left to die... alone, in the dark, in the cold, with no one to cuddle them, no one to love them as children deserve to be loved. Yesterday I stood respectfully before their tiny, white coffins. Those coffins. Many memories of my last moments with you.... a coffin should not be that small. It's cruel. Unfair. And far from okay. I stood there and the tears came. The lump formed... as I imagined these precious lives being so unnecessarily cut short. Imaging their helplessness ... and the helplessness these mothers felt. Praying that the media coverage the service was getting will somehow, someway break through a barrier of society that doesn't seem to want to touch these subjects. Hoping that "the powers that be" will find compassion for these lost souls... for the parents that are scared or sick... Wishing that there will be something put into place to help. To give these parents an option. An option over abandonment. An option over death.
I felt my body physically ache and become weak with grief as those sweet baby boys were carried out of the funeral home. I had to remind myself to breathe... to steady myself as my heart broke all over again. We followed the hearse to their grave. A peaceful, delicate spot carved in the garden of the cemetery... The temperature was beyond cold (-30) and the wind whipped the snow around us. It was bitter... yet fitting. I could endure a few minutes of dreadful cold to say goodbye to these boys. To give them the dignity and respect they did not get in life. To love them and comfort them on the last leg of their journey.... because they deserve it. Because we cared.
Yesterday was a day to remember. To keep safe in my heart for many years to come. Yesterday a community of people came together to remember, honour, pay respect to two beautiful, tiny souls. Souls that weren't given a chance at life. Souls that were left to die... alone, in the dark, in the cold, with no one to cuddle them, no one to love them as children deserve to be loved. Yesterday I stood respectfully before their tiny, white coffins. Those coffins. Many memories of my last moments with you.... a coffin should not be that small. It's cruel. Unfair. And far from okay. I stood there and the tears came. The lump formed... as I imagined these precious lives being so unnecessarily cut short. Imaging their helplessness ... and the helplessness these mothers felt. Praying that the media coverage the service was getting will somehow, someway break through a barrier of society that doesn't seem to want to touch these subjects. Hoping that "the powers that be" will find compassion for these lost souls... for the parents that are scared or sick... Wishing that there will be something put into place to help. To give these parents an option. An option over abandonment. An option over death.
I felt my body physically ache and become weak with grief as those sweet baby boys were carried out of the funeral home. I had to remind myself to breathe... to steady myself as my heart broke all over again. We followed the hearse to their grave. A peaceful, delicate spot carved in the garden of the cemetery... The temperature was beyond cold (-30) and the wind whipped the snow around us. It was bitter... yet fitting. I could endure a few minutes of dreadful cold to say goodbye to these boys. To give them the dignity and respect they did not get in life. To love them and comfort them on the last leg of their journey.... because they deserve it. Because we cared.
Friday, January 24, 2014
"I Mention Him"
Exactly, buddy.... never far from my thoughts.... always in my heart
I Mention Him
I Mention Him
Not to make you uncomfortable,
He's my son, I should be able to talk about him.
Not to dwell,
He will forever be my son, part of my life, my heart.
Not to make you feel guilty,
He is a child just like your own, but he's in Heaven.
Not to bring you down,
It brings me joy to speak of him fondly.
Not to get attention,
He exists in my life just as your topics of conversation exists in yours.
Not to gain sympathy,
Believe you me, I wish I did not have to speak on him the past tense.
Not to bring you down,
My grief is lifelong, my healing is in the only life he has now, his mommy.
Not to rub it in your face,
I would never wish this on ANYONE!
Not to make it about me,
I am just another parent trying to speak of my kids the way you do yours.
Not to suck you into my world,
Your world is just as important to me.
Not to distract you,
I want to hear how your life is going, your happiness is relevant.
Not to take away from the conversation,
Yet life as well as death is a part of common conversation.
Not to make my life seem more important than yours,
I am my own person in my own journey and I share what is in my heart just as you do.
Not to remind you of your own grief,
We all walk our own paths and stumble as all humans do, we should pick each other up.
Not to garner your support,
Everyone gives whatever they can to enrich the lives of the ones they care for.
Not to remind you,
No one needs to be reminded of the loss of a child.
Not to haunt you,
It sucks, it truly does but not speaking of him haunts those who love him.
He
is my son, I mention him, his life, his passing, and the times since
then because I live every one of those moments in real time everyday.
He is a part of my being. He is a part of my soul. He has a place in
my heart. I carried him in my womb. I watched him struggle. I made
the hardest decision a parent will EVER have to make...I let him go.
But understand, though I let him go physically, spiritually, mentally,
and emotionally, he will ALWAYS be with me! I am thankful for it, it's
all I have and at this point, it is all I need.
He's my son, I should be able to talk about him.
Not to dwell,
He will forever be my son, part of my life, my heart.
Not to make you feel guilty,
He is a child just like your own, but he's in Heaven.
Not to bring you down,
It brings me joy to speak of him fondly.
Not to get attention,
He exists in my life just as your topics of conversation exists in yours.
Not to gain sympathy,
Believe you me, I wish I did not have to speak on him the past tense.
Not to bring you down,
My grief is lifelong, my healing is in the only life he has now, his mommy.
Not to rub it in your face,
I would never wish this on ANYONE!
Not to make it about me,
I am just another parent trying to speak of my kids the way you do yours.
Not to suck you into my world,
Your world is just as important to me.
Not to distract you,
I want to hear how your life is going, your happiness is relevant.
Not to take away from the conversation,
Yet life as well as death is a part of common conversation.
Not to make my life seem more important than yours,
I am my own person in my own journey and I share what is in my heart just as you do.
Not to remind you of your own grief,
We all walk our own paths and stumble as all humans do, we should pick each other up.
Not to garner your support,
Everyone gives whatever they can to enrich the lives of the ones they care for.
Not to remind you,
No one needs to be reminded of the loss of a child.
Not to haunt you,
It sucks, it truly does but not speaking of him haunts those who love him.
He
is my son, I mention him, his life, his passing, and the times since
then because I live every one of those moments in real time everyday.
He is a part of my being. He is a part of my soul. He has a place in
my heart. I carried him in my womb. I watched him struggle. I made
the hardest decision a parent will EVER have to make...I let him go.
But understand, though I let him go physically, spiritually, mentally,
and emotionally, he will ALWAYS be with me! I am thankful for it, it's
all I have and at this point, it is all I need. Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Thinking...
I think about you so much. I think about how much you have enriched my life... how much strength I am able to present, because of you. I think about our connection and the connection I have been honoured to make with others... I dream about your tiny, little spirit and just how big it truly is. My heart is healing and I am relieved to say that I feel at peace. I
On your 5th birthday we visited a small hospital in Ottawa. I presented 6 Comfort Boxes to an audience of 8 nurses, doctors, caregivers.... 6 Comfort Boxes in your name and in your honour. Your legacy continues, buddy.
On that very day, just as we were posing for a group photo I spotted a ladybug.... a beautiful, perfect ladybug silently perched on a luscious plant inside of the hospital. My heart was stunned at the timing... it was also filled with joy and warmth as I realized that your spirit was there.. with your family, far from home... offering your energy and your light to an emotional day.
Beautiful things do happen.
Love your sweet soul, buddy...
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
On your 5th birthday we visited a small hospital in Ottawa. I presented 6 Comfort Boxes to an audience of 8 nurses, doctors, caregivers.... 6 Comfort Boxes in your name and in your honour. Your legacy continues, buddy.
On that very day, just as we were posing for a group photo I spotted a ladybug.... a beautiful, perfect ladybug silently perched on a luscious plant inside of the hospital. My heart was stunned at the timing... it was also filled with joy and warmth as I realized that your spirit was there.. with your family, far from home... offering your energy and your light to an emotional day.
Beautiful things do happen.
Love your sweet soul, buddy...
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
November 6 and 7, 2013 - You have given us so much.....
Originally posted - March 2009
The days leading up to Nicholas' birth were so surreal. I'm convinced that I was in complete shock... and in complete despair. I often wish that I consciously connected with him more during those last few days. Instead, I felt shame. Not ashamed of my sweet baby boy, never that, but ashamed of myself. Ashamed that I had let this horrible thing happen to my baby. Ashamed that my body couldn't keep him safe. I changed in the dark. I wore the absolute baggiest clothes I could find and I physically cringed when my husband would touch my belly. I disconnected because that is what felt safe for me at the time. I didn't want to bond any more than I already had with this baby for fear of completely breaking down. I now know that was the stupidest thing I could have done... our bond was already as strong as strong could be and I wasted precious time.
Secretly I cherished the kicks, the nudges, the hiccups and the bubbles those last few days, but never again did I say "Oh my gosh, watch my belly, he's rocking and rolling again". It's very difficult to put into words why.... I think all of you know the feeling. Complete helplessness. Deep and utter sadness. Those days were so incredibly hard. I couldn't understand why he was so active and seemingly okay when the opposite was true - he would not have that "life" when he wasn't connected to me. It truly is amazing what we do for our babies... how we nourish them, grow them.. and love them so.
It's funny, everyone always seemed to ask how I was sleeping, if at all. I never had any problem sleeping. I was so completely and totally drained that closing my eyes and falling asleep was a relief. My problem was waking up. It literally hurt to wake up... to reality. Every day we would wait for the phone call from the doctor to say that the ethics committee had met and made their decision. Every day I held my breath as the phone rang and rang and rang. I was very angry at the fact that an "Ethics Committee" held the fate of our family and our precious baby at their mercy.
We finally got the call and went into the hospital on Thursday, November 6, 2008. We got to the clinic early and there only a few people walking the halls. I was in autopilot... I remember one pregnant lady sitting across from us. She had seen my bag and pillow and commented on the fact that we were going to have our baby that day.... little did she know.
I have never, ever cried so much or felt such immense pain as I did when I felt our sweet baby boy go...
I was given something to relax me and then the induction began. It seemed to take forever. I was feverish and nauseous from the gel the doctors were giving me every few hours. I was given an epidural where I could manage the dose... I remember forcing myself or my husband to press that button... I wanted to feel this labour. I wanted to work for my Nicholas. This was the last thing we were going to do together... and I wanted to remember every (although painful) minute.
Fast forward to the next day... Friday, November 7, 2008. My body seems to have shut down. I am not dialating, I am not contracting. I can't even do this right.
Then suddenly I feel the tremendous urge to push. He's ready. I'm not. I'm not ready to push him out of me. I'm not ready to let go.
I remember these young, inexperienced (in bedside manner anyway) interns coming in to assist with Nicholas' birth. They were anything but gentle. Not that I cared, really. I didn't care about anything at that point, except for holding my beautiful boy in my arms. I'll never forget the feeling of him slipping out... slipping away. I howled.... just howled. It was over and I was lost. I couldn't keep him safe any longer.
He is just beautiful. The first thing my husband and I noticed was his red hair. Our first born has red hair and Nicholas was the spitting image of him. He smelled so clean and fresh. His skin was so smooth and perfect. His lips so red and kissable. I couldn't get enough of him and yet I felt myself detaching.... shock has a funny way of protecting was needs to be protected. I thank God for shock. It allowed us to savour the precious time we had with our son. To love him. To caress him. To just "be" for at least a few hours before we had to say goodbye.
Goodbye. What an impossible thing to do.
to be continued...
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