There's a saying that I'm sure you've all heard before: "To have a child is to have your heart walk around outside your body". Those of you with kids would probably agree that it's a true statement.
What do you do when part of your heart is outside of your body and out of your reach forever?
Living without my firstborn is living with a constant ache. There is always someone missing. Always something else that should have been but never will be. The day Kenneth died, my heart was ripped into a million little pieces. Some of the pieces have come back together again, especially since we now have Grant as well, but the parts that belonged uniquely to Kenneth are still missing and will always be missing. How do you get used to living without your child?
I haven't had much choice over these past two years but to keep moving and keep living. The other option is to curl up and die, and there are too many people that need me for that to be an option. I don't understand it when I get the comments of "you're so strong". I'm not strong at all! I'm a good actress, that's all. I'm very good at pretending things are fine when really, they aren't. Two years later, and I still have days when the fact that Kenneth isn't here is like being kicked in the gut.
The thing is, at this point people expect you to have gotten back to normal. In the first days and weeks or even months after a loss, people give you a lot of slack, but two years later and you're expected to have put your grief into a little box and close the lid. In order to get through the day, I use that box, but I can't keep it closed indefinitely. He was my child, my precious little boy that I wanted to raise and hold and love, and for some obscene reason we were cheated out of that. It will always hurt to think about what might have been, what should have been.
I want my little boy back, and I can't have him. I want my family to be whole, and it will never be whole. I want so desperately to know what he would have been like as he grew up. It's so hard not to be bitter about this, even now, two years and a half years later. Bitterness is poison, and I know it is, but how do you come to the point of acceptance with this kind of a loss? How do you tell God, "Thy will be done", when His will was to rip your precious child away from you? How do I teach Grant that God loves us when I doubt it so often now?
What do you do when part of your heart is outside of your body and out of your reach forever?
Living without my firstborn is living with a constant ache. There is always someone missing. Always something else that should have been but never will be. The day Kenneth died, my heart was ripped into a million little pieces. Some of the pieces have come back together again, especially since we now have Grant as well, but the parts that belonged uniquely to Kenneth are still missing and will always be missing. How do you get used to living without your child?
I haven't had much choice over these past two years but to keep moving and keep living. The other option is to curl up and die, and there are too many people that need me for that to be an option. I don't understand it when I get the comments of "you're so strong". I'm not strong at all! I'm a good actress, that's all. I'm very good at pretending things are fine when really, they aren't. Two years later, and I still have days when the fact that Kenneth isn't here is like being kicked in the gut.
The thing is, at this point people expect you to have gotten back to normal. In the first days and weeks or even months after a loss, people give you a lot of slack, but two years later and you're expected to have put your grief into a little box and close the lid. In order to get through the day, I use that box, but I can't keep it closed indefinitely. He was my child, my precious little boy that I wanted to raise and hold and love, and for some obscene reason we were cheated out of that. It will always hurt to think about what might have been, what should have been.
I want my little boy back, and I can't have him. I want my family to be whole, and it will never be whole. I want so desperately to know what he would have been like as he grew up. It's so hard not to be bitter about this, even now, two years and a half years later. Bitterness is poison, and I know it is, but how do you come to the point of acceptance with this kind of a loss? How do you tell God, "Thy will be done", when His will was to rip your precious child away from you? How do I teach Grant that God loves us when I doubt it so often now?
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September 3, 2009 at 7:32 AM
My sister was killed in a car accident 6 years ago. It was hardest on my mom. I never understood how she was SO sad ALL the time..it was like nothing ever made her happy. Ever. Things have gotten better but after having a child of my own, I can see where she is coming from.
*hugs*
September 3, 2009 at 7:29 PM
I wish I had answers. You are strong. I'm not sure I could act like things were ok. I think people who expect you to be able to just put that grief away, ever, have no clue what it means to truely love a child. I can't fathom the pain of losing one of my boys. That is a loss you never get over. I pray for more good days than bad for you, but I know there will always be bad days.