"I grieve for all the tomorrows that will never be. I grieve because God now holds you instead of me."
I'm not doing okay, and I am not going to pretend like I am anymore. The holidays have started and they have hit hard. I knew they would be a struggle, but I think even I am surprised at how hard they have become, and they really aren't even here yet. My support group ladies have told me that the anticipation of certain days are always worse than the actual day. I have found this to be true for some days, but not all. In some cases the anticipation was actually better than how the day turned out. I am living in the anticipation of Thanksgiving and Christmas, and crossing my fingers they are easier than this painful anticipation that is surrounding me right now. I miss Sawyer, but I desperately miss the memories and all of the firsts I am missing out on without him here.
I was excited about Christmas cards this year and how we would be able to send them out as our first "family" Christmas card. As you select only the 'best' family photos, perhaps the ones taken by a professional in the fall landscape, I will be thumbing threw the few family pictures I have, all taken many months ago and no opportunity to take new ones this fall. I almost don't even want to send out a Christmas card, but I know Sawyer wouldn't like that. This is our first "family" Christmas, even if it is our first Christmas that should be with him, but it is instead without.
I have always cherished the fact that my family is relatively close, and when Josh and I got married I was really happy to learn that his family is really close as well. I remember last Christmas being 4 months pregnant and wondering how in the world we were going to attend ALL of the family gatherings with a 7 month old. This year I wish we had that problem. Instead, we are trying to strategically avoid certain things we know will just be a painful reminder of what we are missing out on. For instance, the order of opening gifts at my grandma's house is from youngest to oldest. The youngest? Well, it would have been Sawyer. I honestly don't think I could sit through that, turn after turn, with the harsh reminder that he just ISN'T here. I know my family will change the order and do whatever, but it still sucks that it even has to be different. It should be the same, and he should be here taking his turn, just like everyone else.
These last 6 months without Sawyer I have learned a lot. A lot about myself, a lot about others, and a lot about this journey we call grief.
I have learned... it is okay to struggle with your faith. While I know that God has a plan for Josh and I through losing Sawyer, it doesn't make it easier on the days I still just want to scream out "WHY ME?", because those days really do still happen. I don't have to pretend that I have it all together anymore, because I really just don't. Maybe it is because I have distanced myself, or maybe the looming threat of the upcoming holidays just has me in a dark place, I am not sure. Either way, I don't like it and I am doing my best to stay in His word and cling to His promises. Promises that I will experience joy and feel happiness again, even if it seems,at times, like a far, far, far away promise.
I have learned... that after about two months the only people left are the ones who are in it for the long haul. The initial 'rush' of people is long-gone, and the people checking in on me are few and far between, but it hasn't gone unnoticed on my end. I have slowly picked up on the people who just don't text/call/reach out me to check on me anymore, but it has also made me more aware of the people who are still standing by me as a support system. People were so eager to 'see' me and check-in on me right after we lost Sawyer, but I haven't heard from many of those people lately. I guess everyone assumes that 6 months out I should be back to normal and I am not. I am not okay, and really the pain is just as bad today as it was the night he died in my arms. I do, however, understand that losing Sawyer does not affect everyone on a daily basis like it does me. I guess I just wish that people still cared a little bit, or at least acted like they did.
I have learned... grief makes you a self-absorbed friend for longer than you want to be. I wish I had the energy to be that "happy, go-lucky, let's hang out friend" but my energy is spent getting out of bed and literally surviving through the pain each day. It takes a conscious effort on my part to 'pursue' friendships but not because I don't want to be in them but because my thoughts are consumed with Sawyer, my husband, and trying to get a hold on my relationship with Christ. I am SO thankful for those close friends that have pushed through, and have continued checking on me and encouraging me, when it seems that everyone else has all but forgotten. I know that friendship is a two-way street, but in times of grief and heartache it causes one friend to have to drive farther than the other, all with the expectation that the other friend will return the drive one day. So, friends, thanks for driving a little bit farther these last few months.
I have learned... grief sucks for longer than I thought it would. I honestly thought 6 months out I would have a total handle on all of this and be deeply rooted in my relationship with Christ and be happy, go-lucky all the time. The truth? Satan is at full attack, especially since most of those "prayer warriors" have just stopped praying for us. I am bitter, I am angry, and I am sad. Josh and I needed faithful praying friends 6 months ago, but honestly we still need them now. I think the holidays have really taken a toll on me, but I really am just as heartbroken as I was 6 months ago.
I have learned... people would rather ask others how I am doing rather than asking me. Their reasons are unknown, but I have my guesses. They either don't really care and just want the scoop, or they realize my heart it still hurting and they just don't want to feel awkward when I tell them how I am feeling. Whatever it is, that is their problem. Piece of advice? If you genuinely care, just ask me. It means more than you know, and more than hearing that you "asked someone how I was doing".
I have learned... just because I lost my baby doesn't mean I automatically know what to say to other grieving mothers. I can relate and talk with them, but I feel about as useless as I know many of you do when talking to me. I don't know what to say to make it better, and I wish I did. I can, however, help them through their feelings and let them know that the feelings they have are valid. I love (and I am SO thankful for them) the ladies in my support group, not because they have all the 'right' things to say, but because they listen and help me understand that the feelings I am experiencing are all very valid and I am not alone. They can share how they handled situations to offer better insight, but other than that we just share our feelings and work through it together.
I have learned... people just don't get it. Unless someone has experienced child loss they don't understand most of what I am feeling. I am also very young and have a lot of friends who don't have children. Many of them have admitted to me that they cannot even begin to imagine losing a child because they don't know what it is like to have a child. I am thankful for the people who just listen, and don't try to offer advice. If you haven't been here you can't offer advice, and if you have been here you know that there really just isn't any advice, it's more of just sharing experiences and learning things from one another.
I have learned... I look at everything different. I look at how you talk to me differently. I look at how you act towards me differently. I look at pictures differently. I look at memories differently. I look at making memories differently. I look at experiences differently. I just look at life as a whole very differently. I used to walk in to a room and try to figure out what I thought of all of the people. Now? I walk in a room and wonder "what are all these people thinking about me?" Gives a new meaning to the 'elephant in the room'. I know people will probably be surprised to hear that I actually feel that everyone is walking on eggshells around me and that they are changing how they act, but I do. It's just a different perspective I have I suppose.
I have learned... that I am not done learning yet. I know the process of grief will continue to show more about myself and more about others. I just have to chose how I am going to accept that information and how I am going to let it define me as a person.
So, there it is. I am struggling to keep my head above water and I don't feel the need to hide it anymore. There are no words to explain the pain and struggle of losing a child. There is nothing I can compare it to in order to help people understand. You might actually be surprised at the things other people try to compare it to, it always baffles me. (It also doesn't make me feel better when you tell me a story of someone you know who is 'worse' off than I am). Sometimes I interact with people and want to say, 'do you even remember?' They probably do, but I guess it is just easier if they avoid the topic all together. I will be selfish and say that these next six weeks I need lots of love, encouragement, and prayers.
I will continue writing through these next six weeks because in all honesty this blog is the best therapy for me. My activity on Facebook is still on a minimum. I wanted to do the 30 days of thankful but realized after day 3 I just couldn't get on Facebook everyday. If your main way of contacting me is through Facebook, I would suggest finding another way because I really won't be getting on too often these next 6 weeks.
Until next time,
Ashlyn
I was excited about Christmas cards this year and how we would be able to send them out as our first "family" Christmas card. As you select only the 'best' family photos, perhaps the ones taken by a professional in the fall landscape, I will be thumbing threw the few family pictures I have, all taken many months ago and no opportunity to take new ones this fall. I almost don't even want to send out a Christmas card, but I know Sawyer wouldn't like that. This is our first "family" Christmas, even if it is our first Christmas that should be with him, but it is instead without.
I have always cherished the fact that my family is relatively close, and when Josh and I got married I was really happy to learn that his family is really close as well. I remember last Christmas being 4 months pregnant and wondering how in the world we were going to attend ALL of the family gatherings with a 7 month old. This year I wish we had that problem. Instead, we are trying to strategically avoid certain things we know will just be a painful reminder of what we are missing out on. For instance, the order of opening gifts at my grandma's house is from youngest to oldest. The youngest? Well, it would have been Sawyer. I honestly don't think I could sit through that, turn after turn, with the harsh reminder that he just ISN'T here. I know my family will change the order and do whatever, but it still sucks that it even has to be different. It should be the same, and he should be here taking his turn, just like everyone else.
These last 6 months without Sawyer I have learned a lot. A lot about myself, a lot about others, and a lot about this journey we call grief.
I have learned... it is okay to struggle with your faith. While I know that God has a plan for Josh and I through losing Sawyer, it doesn't make it easier on the days I still just want to scream out "WHY ME?", because those days really do still happen. I don't have to pretend that I have it all together anymore, because I really just don't. Maybe it is because I have distanced myself, or maybe the looming threat of the upcoming holidays just has me in a dark place, I am not sure. Either way, I don't like it and I am doing my best to stay in His word and cling to His promises. Promises that I will experience joy and feel happiness again, even if it seems,at times, like a far, far, far away promise.
I have learned... that after about two months the only people left are the ones who are in it for the long haul. The initial 'rush' of people is long-gone, and the people checking in on me are few and far between, but it hasn't gone unnoticed on my end. I have slowly picked up on the people who just don't text/call/reach out me to check on me anymore, but it has also made me more aware of the people who are still standing by me as a support system. People were so eager to 'see' me and check-in on me right after we lost Sawyer, but I haven't heard from many of those people lately. I guess everyone assumes that 6 months out I should be back to normal and I am not. I am not okay, and really the pain is just as bad today as it was the night he died in my arms. I do, however, understand that losing Sawyer does not affect everyone on a daily basis like it does me. I guess I just wish that people still cared a little bit, or at least acted like they did.
(I read this on another blog and it seems so accurate about this: "Your address book changes. People may disappear – sometimes right away, sometimes down the line. Sometimes people couldn’t understand why I had changed; they were waiting for me to “get over” my grief and come back as I once was. People got “tired of our troubles” or thought I should be able to move on sooner than I was able. If I didn’t or couldn’t move at their timetable or respond adequately to their efforts to move me on, they moved on without me. One friend who had a decent amount of support following the death of a child said to me, “Now that I’m ready to do things, there’s no one left to do anything with.”)
I have learned... grief makes you a self-absorbed friend for longer than you want to be. I wish I had the energy to be that "happy, go-lucky, let's hang out friend" but my energy is spent getting out of bed and literally surviving through the pain each day. It takes a conscious effort on my part to 'pursue' friendships but not because I don't want to be in them but because my thoughts are consumed with Sawyer, my husband, and trying to get a hold on my relationship with Christ. I am SO thankful for those close friends that have pushed through, and have continued checking on me and encouraging me, when it seems that everyone else has all but forgotten. I know that friendship is a two-way street, but in times of grief and heartache it causes one friend to have to drive farther than the other, all with the expectation that the other friend will return the drive one day. So, friends, thanks for driving a little bit farther these last few months.
I have learned... grief sucks for longer than I thought it would. I honestly thought 6 months out I would have a total handle on all of this and be deeply rooted in my relationship with Christ and be happy, go-lucky all the time. The truth? Satan is at full attack, especially since most of those "prayer warriors" have just stopped praying for us. I am bitter, I am angry, and I am sad. Josh and I needed faithful praying friends 6 months ago, but honestly we still need them now. I think the holidays have really taken a toll on me, but I really am just as heartbroken as I was 6 months ago.
I have learned... people would rather ask others how I am doing rather than asking me. Their reasons are unknown, but I have my guesses. They either don't really care and just want the scoop, or they realize my heart it still hurting and they just don't want to feel awkward when I tell them how I am feeling. Whatever it is, that is their problem. Piece of advice? If you genuinely care, just ask me. It means more than you know, and more than hearing that you "asked someone how I was doing".
I have learned... just because I lost my baby doesn't mean I automatically know what to say to other grieving mothers. I can relate and talk with them, but I feel about as useless as I know many of you do when talking to me. I don't know what to say to make it better, and I wish I did. I can, however, help them through their feelings and let them know that the feelings they have are valid. I love (and I am SO thankful for them) the ladies in my support group, not because they have all the 'right' things to say, but because they listen and help me understand that the feelings I am experiencing are all very valid and I am not alone. They can share how they handled situations to offer better insight, but other than that we just share our feelings and work through it together.
I have learned... people just don't get it. Unless someone has experienced child loss they don't understand most of what I am feeling. I am also very young and have a lot of friends who don't have children. Many of them have admitted to me that they cannot even begin to imagine losing a child because they don't know what it is like to have a child. I am thankful for the people who just listen, and don't try to offer advice. If you haven't been here you can't offer advice, and if you have been here you know that there really just isn't any advice, it's more of just sharing experiences and learning things from one another.
I have learned... I look at everything different. I look at how you talk to me differently. I look at how you act towards me differently. I look at pictures differently. I look at memories differently. I look at making memories differently. I look at experiences differently. I just look at life as a whole very differently. I used to walk in to a room and try to figure out what I thought of all of the people. Now? I walk in a room and wonder "what are all these people thinking about me?" Gives a new meaning to the 'elephant in the room'. I know people will probably be surprised to hear that I actually feel that everyone is walking on eggshells around me and that they are changing how they act, but I do. It's just a different perspective I have I suppose.
I have learned... that I am not done learning yet. I know the process of grief will continue to show more about myself and more about others. I just have to chose how I am going to accept that information and how I am going to let it define me as a person.
So, there it is. I am struggling to keep my head above water and I don't feel the need to hide it anymore. There are no words to explain the pain and struggle of losing a child. There is nothing I can compare it to in order to help people understand. You might actually be surprised at the things other people try to compare it to, it always baffles me. (It also doesn't make me feel better when you tell me a story of someone you know who is 'worse' off than I am). Sometimes I interact with people and want to say, 'do you even remember?' They probably do, but I guess it is just easier if they avoid the topic all together. I will be selfish and say that these next six weeks I need lots of love, encouragement, and prayers.
I will continue writing through these next six weeks because in all honesty this blog is the best therapy for me. My activity on Facebook is still on a minimum. I wanted to do the 30 days of thankful but realized after day 3 I just couldn't get on Facebook everyday. If your main way of contacting me is through Facebook, I would suggest finding another way because I really won't be getting on too often these next 6 weeks.
Until next time,
Ashlyn
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