4th Birthday

And so what should be my son's 4th birthday passes by quietly and I somehow survive it. Just like I survive every other single day without him. We didn't really do anything special this year. We went to the cottage for some R&R, visited with some great friends and had some cake.

Years ago we got lots of messages of love on Ethan's birthdays. We still got a lot but not nearly as many as we used it.  It feels fitting.  The lessened amount of messages.  Him not being here is part of our daily lives. Some days hurt far more than others. But it is our norm. All day. Every day. And we don't talk about him with other people as much.

It still hurts. We still miss him all the time. And wonder how he would be. What would he like? Would he be funny? Shy? A good brother to Chlo?

This whole babyloss thing sucks. Ho hum

Mommy Guilt

So many times we hear about mommy guilt. How we, as mothers, feel like we are failing our children for usually the most ridiculous reasons from a logical standpoint.

Mommy guilt does not go away when you child dies. In fact, sometimes the death of your child exemplifies that guilt.

I went to the viewing of my friend's father who recently passed. Never even mind the obvious triggers - another post for another day. The funeral room was covered in flowers. Covered. I have never seen so many flowers in my life. This man was very loved and so many people are sad.

Likewise, my child was loved by so many. Everyone was looking forward to meeting him or her (we didn't know).

And then he died.

And as you do in life, we made the conscious decision not to invite anyone to his funeral. Not to provide the funeral details to anyone. We felt like it was the best thing for him. We wanted to protect him and that was our choice as parents.

But he was dead.

Staring at all of these flowers really got to me. So many people loved this man. So many people showed their love. We didn't give Ethan that. We kept him to ourselves. I even barely let anyone else hold him. There were only 3 bouquets of flowers at the funeral home - 2 from my parents and one from my husband's work.

Did we do the wrong thing? Did he deserve better? Does he deserve better? Should we have let people, in the least, send flowers?

Logically, I don't even like flowers. But logic doesn't rule. I had a something along the lines of a mini panic attack. I am one of the lucky ones who has found an amazing friend with a similar history. Like an alcoholic calling their sponsor, I called her right away and she was able to talk me off the ledge.

Mommy guilt. It gets you even when your child is dead.

Triggers

On my way to a fun xmas baking day, I reach over to grab some comfy pants and there they are. The pants that I wore to the hospital on my way to have my first baby. The baby who would finally fulfill my life long dream of becoming a mother. I have already tucked the shirt I wore away in my memory box. That shirt is sacred. But those pants.

I was so happy. So very happy. I don't even know if there is a word that can describe the joy I felt. I was finally going to meet my baby that I spent every second of the past 41 weeks and 4 days with. The little one who was going to make my life complete. Perfect.

And then he died.

He died.

My baby died.

And no one knows why.

So I stare at these comfy pants. So full of broken dreams. And I am right back in the moment. So happy. So excited.

And then he died.

And then part of me died. And a part of me dies again, every single day. Because these little triggers don't happen once and a while. They happen daily - sometimes multiple times. A song, a smell, a shirt, another happily oblivious pregnant mum. I often say with friends that it is an awful burden to bear. But that burden also keeps him alive.

He did make me a mum. He was my firstborn. He will always be my son. Just not how I wanted. Because he died.

Personality

I'm staring at a picture of Ethan at my desk and I can't help but wonder what he would have been like. What his personality would be like. Would he be calm and kind like his daddy? Or a little out there and crazy like his mommy?

Why didn't he even get the chance to turn into his own little person?

Wave of Light 2015

Today is International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness day and I just feel rage. I am so angry that Ethan died. I am so angry that countless other babies have died. When I posted my pic to Instagram, there were over 17,000 posts with the hashtag #waveoflight. SEVENTEEN THOUSAND.

So here is my picture of our candles being "lit" (they are LED). And you can sort of make out Ethan's hand and foot prints.  And if you look really closely, you will see a crocheted football hat that has an ugly plastic box inside that houses the remains of my first born, my son. My gorgeous bum chinned, dark haired, soft skinned, handsome, sweet precious boy.

How do we live in a world where this happens so much. And why is relatively nothing being done about it? I don't want to donate my money to cancer research or the heart & stroke, I want to donate money to research into how babies die. Why do some have cord accidents and live? Why do some swallow meconium and die? How do we not know why Ethan died?

Fuck.

Intention

My intention for this year's Capture you Grief project is to spend more time with Ethan. As time goes on, he gets further and further away from me and it hurts my heart. I intend on spending some time every day with him - whatever that means. Whether it is talking to him, or about him, thinking about his handsome face, remembering all of his features and how he felt in my arms. Whatever it is each day. Hopefully I can turn it into an every day thing. Even if it's only 5 minutes out of the day.
Now this isn't to say I am not thinking about him because I do. Every single day. But I need to feel near to him. I don't ever want him to just be a memory. He is my son. My first born. My forever love.

Sunrise

I didn't wake up for the sunrise on day 1. I meant to but C was sick so we slept in. I remember missing it last year too. And the year before. I can't believe this is my third October / my third Thanksgiving without my son. Ugh.

Instead of a sunrise I posted a tree with its leaves changing. I figured sunrise is the start of a new day like the leaves changing is the start of a new season.

I hope this season sees me able to spend more time with my son. I have said it before, C is all encompassing. My life is her. But she is getting older and requires a bit less hands on attention.

I don't remember the sunrise on the day Ethan was born. I don't even remember if my hospital room had a window. I guess when you go to the hospital expecting to finally meet your baby but then he dies and you don't get to bring him home,  it makes details a bit fuzzy.

I do know that now I appreciate sunrises  (and sunsets) a lot more than I used to. I stop and look at the beauty of nature.

I also can't believe that my son died but the sun still rises. My world came crashing down but everything else kept on going, like a normal day.

I'm a bit all over the place today. These are just my random thoughts on the sunrise.