We’re getting there…

So Liam, the other day I sat down with a friend and they asked how I was doing. I appreciate beyond words people checking in but this question is so hard to accurately answer, I usually answer with, yeah we’re getting there. However, ‘getting there’ probably means completely different things to the both of us. 

So what does ‘we’re getting there’ mean to me Liam? Well let’s start at the beginning: waking up. Every morning that I wake up, I wake up without you. I wake up and hear one boy calling my name and me calling for my other boy. The struggle trying to juggle the two tears at my heart and I am just left with an empty sadness that I am learning to push through. It doesn’t mean the pain is getting any easier or that days don’t still start with tears…it simply means we are getting there, we are getting better at pushing those feelings down to try and start the day in a timely and somewhat composed manner. 

If we are able to get going and move to breakfast and dressing it is a good day, some days we can’t though and on those days we just lay there, covers pulled up. We lay there until one of us has the strength to motivate the other or your brother really needs our help or attention. Although, even at the age of two, he has figured out the days to push and the days to just slip in between us and hold our hands.

As I dress your brother in the morning I enjoy the giggles and tickles that we share and I never rush the process now because I am all too aware of how precious these moments are. On days when I find an item of clothing that no longer fits him, I fold it up and place it into the cube with its corresponding size and then I cry. I cry because I was meant to be putting that away for you. I stop and try to imagine what you would look like in it. Then I wonder will we ever use it again or will the boxes of clothes just sit there until we have the courage to donate them. Then I cry again. 

After Caden is dressed we both go into your room and we open the blinds, rearrange the flowers, read some cards and talk to you about the day ahead. This is another getting there moment. I used to slump to the floor in tears when I did this for the first few months Liam, wailing ‘it’s not fair,’ now I have learnt to cry standing up…we’re getting there. 

Breakfast can be a ten minute quick eat where we eat and then move on to the next task or it can stretch out for an hour depending on what I think about, hear or see on the TV or if I accidentally scroll through social media. The other day there was an article on the morning news about a parent who killed their infant…breakfast took over an hour that day. Liam, the other day your brother got two drinks ready and one was for you…breakfast took over an hour that day. The other day I accidentally read a social media post from a proud parent, stating how they couldn’t wait to see their son grow up…breakfast took an hour that day. However, on two days that week we were able to manage breakfast in under 15minutes, so Liam, we are getting there. 

The next decision of my day Liam is to leave the house or stay home. This continues to be the biggest internal struggle I have each day after your death. I know Caden needs to be playing, interacting and communicating with people his own age but there are very few ‘safe spaces’ for me to take him to do this.

I really do try: we went back to swimming…however it was with a different group, as our group went ahead of us after all the time we needed away. Caden was apprehensive at first because he didn’t know any of the faces but it was going well. Then a boy in Caden’s class welcomed a new baby brother, who watches from the side of the pool. I make sure to strategically place my back to the side of the pool as much as possible within the lesson so I can get through, just. 

Your brother’s gym has a policy where no babies under one are allowed on the gym floor so another safe option, as long as I walk in head down past all the babies in their prams and carriers waiting with their grandparents until their older brother or sister’s lesson is over. 

Liam, I make a daily effort to take your brother for a walk and to a park to play. I used to love the opportunity to chat to other parents while doing this, however, now I try to ignore and not make eye contact with any other parents on these walks and especially at the park. I feel so rude behaving like this but it is my survival mode, I can’t risk them asking, ‘is he your only child?’ or them introducing their baby boy or two boys to me…it has happened so many times before and it obliterates my heart. 

Liam, I also try to schedule a playdate for your brother with friends who have a child his age each week. These friends however cannot have two boys, a baby boy or be pregnant with a boy. I know Liam that sounds ludicrous, petty and nasty because I have two gorgeous sons but the pain it causes is paralysing. Watching them get to raise their boy while I mourn mine completely demolishes me and the rest of the day is spent breathless, crying and hating the world, myself, my body and every other thing that isn’t your brother or Daddy. I enter survival mode to not enter destructive mode because Caden deserves a functioning (if we can call it that these days) mother. So sure we’re getting there, we are just not getting out and talking to people because there are so many ****ing triggers that mean we cannot live as we used to. 

Liam, it is not only leaving the house that can cause our day and world to crumble…social media is a wonderful thing but it is also the biggest trigger out there. I love reading stories from people I have never met but who I feel so connected to because of the understanding we share. They have experienced this type of pain, many are now years into their grief journey and their stories, pictures and quotes are uplifting and comforting despite both of us communicating such tragic circumstances. I leave the screen feeling ready to tackle the world after reading some of these posts. However, there is the flip side. Pregnancy announcements, birth announcements and photos of happy families that show their children growing and playing together can ruin me. Of course people should be proud of and sharing these wonderful events and memories, however, right now they are not wonderful for me. Liam, my life right now is about surviving not living, no one can ‘live’ life properly through this pain. So when I face a trigger like this, I just survive through the tears and try and force as many empty smiles as possible to give Caden and others the best I can offer. So yeah we’re getting there but getting there means stepping away from contact with most people that are not in my safe zone and not going near to or enjoying any activities, places or digital spaces where they are. 

Then Liam there is the end of a day. After a home cooked meal, if I can be bothered cooking, we try to keep ourselves busy. In the night Caden, sleeps and that means time to explore my thoughts and depending on the night that can mean pouring my energy into blogs or posts that help me release any stored grief and will hopefully help someone else in the future navigate this awful grief journey. Then we try and fall asleep before we fall in pieces. 

So Liam while it is our baby boy, you, that died, it is also us that now has to live life walking on eggshells. Daily we are left  wondering when the next word, image or thought will come that triggers a wave of crippling grief that knocks the breath out of us and sends us into an imaginable spiral of sadness and pain that no person should have to endure. Liam, I know people are probably thinking, it’s been five months, that they should be moving forward now, learning to deal with triggers and not making so much fuss over such small things. That they should be moving forward because you were just a baby, it wasn’t like you were ten and we had watched you grow. What I just want everyone to understand Liam is that how long we knew you doesn’t matter. How old you were doesn’t matter. You are our son. Our son died. We loved you from the moment the two lines appeared. We planned our future together the moment we saw your little body kicking away on our first scan. We were meant to be raising you now and not remembering you.  So yes we are getting there but the dark abyss that we must crawl our way out of is deeper and darker than anyone other than another bereaved parent can imagine so we continue to ‘get there’ each day. Just surviving when we need to and trying to find strength for Caden and your memory to ‘live’ in all the gaps.   

Liam, we are getting there but the process is slow. I hope that our friends and family can understand that after five months the pain is as real today as it was holding you and watching you take your last breath. Five months hasn’t changed anything except that we are just getting better at choosing safe places to explore and doing just enough to survive to keep moving forward. I hope none of my friends or family ever have to live in this way. I really hope that when someone asks, ‘how are you?’ they understand how much of our old daily life we now miss out on when I reply, ‘we’re getting there’ and that their understanding is what supports us to get one more good morning, evening or trip to the park in each week…while we remember you Liam and raise Caden. 

Love Mummy