Anniversaries are Different for All

 

Anniversaries are rough. Holidays are rough. When so close together, they are sometimes overwhelming. I find myself in a state of so many mixed emotions around the Christmas. I am excited to celebrate and excited to spend quality family time. I am sad because there is a hole, an empty feeling like I forgot something.

Nine years ago, our son Strider died 3 days before Christmas, and was born still the next day. For each person in my family, the days before Christmas holds something different.

For my husband, the anniversary isn’t so much about Strider as the memories of the event. His memories are of me having a seizure and choking on the blood from the tongue I bit. Waiting for the ambulance. Phone calls to family. Catching his dead son at the birth that I slept through. Sitting by my side while I was in an induced coma, waiting for me to wake up. Hearing the words, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” more than once. Having to explain to me over and over that our son was dead when I woke up, because the drugs I was on were messing with my memory. I can’t imagine his pain.

For my oldest daughter, her memories begin with me being carried out by the paramedics. She saw 4 of them carrying out her bloody mom. She then didn’t see me for many weeks, as I was in intensive care. For her, this built a fear of anyone in a uniform, a fear of her mom getting sick, and a sadness around Christmas. She remembers missing Christmas. She remembers a note from Santa saying Christmas was being put off for a few days while mom gets better. For her, Strider is a very small part of the anniversary.

For my youngest daughter, it is barely even a memory. She was only 4 when all this happened. This time of year is more about the excitement of Christmas, and I am grateful for that.

 

For my mother, this is a traumatic time of year. She was on a plane to come visit us when I started having seizures. She was expecting a joyous Christmas, the best since Shawndra had died. Instead, she was greeted with a dead grandson and a daughter fighting for her life. She hates Christmas. I don’t blame her.

For me, the anniversary is all about my son. No one was more connected to him than me. I carried him for 9 months. I endured a horrible pregnancy. I felt him kick. I heard his heartbeat. I planned for him. I bought him new clothes. I had my home set up for his home birth. The top of our dresser was set with a changing table, cloth diapers, organic onesies, hats, and a wipes. I was asleep while everyone else was in trauma. I was fighting for my life, but blissfully unaware.

In the days that lead up to the anniversary, I am conflicted by feelings of excitement and sadness, joy and pain, smiles and tears. This year I have been hit with all types of physical ailments leading into this holiday. I have a leg/back injury that just won’t heal. I have a new bald spot on the top of my head from my alopecia. I had a terrible sinus infection last month. I somehow fought off the flu last week, but felt terribly tired in the process. I got pink eye. I feel a new cold creeping in today. Yesterday one of my very best friends said anniversaries are physical. My body is proof.

Anniversaries mean something different to everyone, because everyone’s experience is different.

 

 

Those who go before us

It’s been years since my kids died. I have reached a point of peace, and for that I am grateful. It certainly wasn’t always this way. I didn’t always feel OK. I have spent years feeling sad, depressed, shocked, confused, and cheated. Mostly cheated.

This is Shawndra’s senior year. She should be getting ready for college. She should be dating. She should be varsity this year. She should be driving her sisters to school. She should be thinking about Homecoming. Should should should should should. . .

This is Strider’s 3rd grade year. He should be learning about multiplication and division. He should be learning about Stellar Nuclear Synthesis and rocks. He should be playing soccer and baseball. He should be driving all his sisters crazy. Should should should should. . .

This is not their path. I miss them. I miss the idea of them. I miss their futures. However, I am at peace with their deaths. I know that our paths will cross again. I cannot spend my life dwelling on what could have been. There is so much life left to live.

In the meantime, I have so many wonderful things to be grateful for. I have two amazing daughters. They are both brilliant, beautiful, funny and wonderful. They keep me on my toes, and that is a good thing. Life isn’t always perfect, but always worth it. I have an amazing husband, my soul mate. He is a beautiful person, inside and out. I have a fuzzy family, too! I am so grateful for all that I have. I am very lucky.

From time to time I talk about my kids that died. I know this makes people uncomfortable. However, I am going to file that under a You Problem. I won’t censor myself for the comfort of others. Children die. It’s a reality. It hurts. Forever. Bereaved parents never get over it. We just learn how to live with the pain.

“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars