My ramblings

November 1, 2019

Three Thousand and fifty days. (3,050)

Seventy-Three thousand Two Hundred hours. (73,200)

It has been 3,050 days.

I’m not even sure if I should say 3,050 days since my life changed, or since I last held Ian and Owen, or since the last time I lost my way. All of those things are true.

The average human takes about 12-18 breaths a minute. So, for the sake of round numbers & using 15 beats per minute. It has been approximately 1,098,000 breaths I have taken on this earth without them. 

The last 1,098,000 breaths have taken a lot more strength and a lot more work than all of the ones prior to June 24^th, 2011. In fact, some days I feel like I can’t even get those 15 breaths a minute. Somedays, it feels like there is no breathing at all.

You may be thinking “It’s been 8 years get over it”. Or “you should be able to deal with it by now”.

One of the best things someone ever told me was that grief has no time expectations.

You would be amazed at how one day in my life completely changed the course of my future. I can reflect back over the last 8 years and I can see how much this life has been altered. 

For a long time, my triggers would include specific smells, certain noises, bright round lights like the ones in an operating room. I could even close my eyes and be triggered by the silence. I had consistent night terrors for months afterward. I woke up screaming, crying in a cold sweat and my body would feel empty, weightless (which was nice for a change, LOL), and exhausted.

I had a hard time identifying the emotions. Sadness didn’t feel like what it used to. There was a threshold for pain that was unmatchable. Anger was a daily feeling but I couldn’t get it out of me. I struggled to process the new normal. I threw myself into things to keep me busy. I created this fortress around myself. I made sure that I appeared to have it together & that I mourned and grieved. I think I actually convinced myself that I had already mourned their loss.

Then, I had Maddox. After the twins were born, I was able to hold them. Until long after they passed. I wanted every moment with them. After Maddox died, I wanted to go home. I think I’ve said in here before, that I was home by 6am after Maddox was born after 1am that morning Feb. 23, 2012. I refused to feel anything. I chose cremation for him, instead of a burial like the twins because I just didn’t want to process anything else. 

I felt like I needed to take a hot shower and wash off the failure, the unhappiness, the embarrassment.

Those 3 things may not make a lot of sense to you, but yes, I felt like a failure.

Allow me to explain. There wasn’t a definitive reason that the twins died. Many theories were discussed from Incompetent cervix, to an infection in my cervix or in the twins’ umbilical cords I had to accept that sometimes it just happens with twins. It’s very hard to carry twins. There was no reason to believe anything else was wrong because I had 2 previous healthy pregnancies. The feeling of failure hit when I lost Maddox.

People kept telling me,  “you didn’t do anything to cause this”, “you couldn’t have planned for this”, “it’s not your fault”. Those phrases apparently really resonated with me because I did begin to blame myself. Sometime in 2012, I began a downward spiral of self-blame and self-loathing.

When things were already at the lowest they could be in my mind, I sat back in anger and discouragement and watched my marriage crumble.

Every hour of every day…I was saying to myself:

You shouldn’t have missed that one day of prenatal vitamins.

You should have let that person help you carry equipment to the field for baseball.

You should have listened when your husband needed you to be there.

You could have been more support to him, to your boys, to your family.

You could have taken care of yourself better.

The list just grew. It grew until I couldn’t focus on anything else. I drank whiskey to make the numbness stay numb. I back away from friendships and relationships because I just was not worthy of something good. I lost 3 children and a husband in the span of 16 months. What person doesn’t consistently feel defeated after that?

I felt like the biggest disappointment. Our family was so excited for twin boys. They had hope when we found out about Maddox. I let them down. I disappointed everyone. I disappointed myself, my then husband, my living children. I just failed. In the biggest way a person can fail. Moms take care of their children, not hold them while they die. Wives take care of their husbands in all situations. They support them, communicate with them & be there emotionally and mentally during tragedy. For better or worse, right? This was our “worse”.

I failed at all of those things. I couldn’t be there for my husband because I couldn’t be there for myself. I couldn’t be there for my children because I couldn’t comprehend enjoying motherhood after the loss. It just became a massive spiral. 

I hated myself. I hated that I wasn’t able to be a mom to those 3. I hated myself for not being able to hold my marriage together. I failed. I failed in motherhood, I failed as a wife. I just failed. 

I began just being the “yes” person. I got involved in projects to keep my mind busy, I said yes to every committee, every opportunity, every little thing so that I could just feel like I was wanted and needed. When in reality, I was just filling a role, filling a chair at the PTA table, filling my chair at work. The person I appeared to be didn’t even exist. I walked around like a shell of a human being. There are a lot of days that I am still only a shell. 

I let myself get completely torn down, but wasn’t quite broken.

I craved the feeling of completeness. I wanted a “family” back again. I wanted to feel happiness, and the last moment of happiness I could remember was when It was My Husband, My 2 older boys & me. I was happiest in my life when I had the family unity.

I unfortunately created that out of a relationship that was absolutely no good for me. I am not placing blame, because I am just as much to blame as he is. Neither of us were in a place where we should have been leaning on one another. We both had strong opinions, strong values & beliefs & an even stronger ability to destroy each other. We did destroy one another. At one time, in some other lifetime, we would have been perfect together. While I did pour my entire self into this life with him, he poured only what he was capable of. I was chasing a fulfillment that was never going to come. He needed someone to be his everything & as much as I tried, I didn’t have anything else in me to give. Not because of him, but because I wasn’t a “whole” person. Love was never the issue. We both passionately loved the other, but it was a toxic love that eventually broke me entirely.

Cancer invaded my body late in 2017. Many days, weeks and months of treatments. My hair thinning so much I couldn’t do anything to it. My appetite gone, my energy zapped, my body hurting so badly I didn’t want to move. I woke up every single day and did it by myself. I drove myself to my treatments & procedures. I didn’t involve anyone because I just couldn’t bear to feel that I was the cause of more pain to my family. I had put them through enough with funerals, divorce papers, & now this. I just couldn’t do any more damage to anyone else. Especially not my kids.

Then, in May of this year, I stood on the sidelines and watched a family I love dearly, go through an unimaginable pain. Their teenage son took his life. A life so promising and beautiful. A family broken to pieces and a tragedy that makes no sense left for the rest to deal with. This particular boy was very special to me. I loved him & treated him as if he were my own. I don’t pretend to know all of the things that led to this, but I do know enough. I know he was loved. He was an incredibly gifted and creative kid. He was smarter than most when it came to nature, to football facts & to comedy relief. He was a snuggler when he wanted to be & he had such a pure and gentle heart.

I didn’t expect to have so many emotions surrounding his death. Recently, I have found pictures, Christmas notes, letters from camp & some football & pokemon cards that belonged to him. I get filled with emotion, tears, smiles of joy remembering things he loved.

It has been nothing short of a miracle that I am sitting here writing today. Not because of the cancer. Not because of the broken heart, Not because of the extreme losses of my kids & husband….but because of my self-hatred. 

Any given day in the last 3,050 days, it would have been easier for me to just stay in bed. So many days I have cried out to God to just make it stop. I’ve done counseling, I’ve taken medication, I’ve done a 2-week outpatient program for grief. I don’t know what is going to happen moving forward. Im grateful I am still here. I’m hopeful that my experiences will wind up being someone else’s good fortune.

There was no grand plan with this entry. Other than the fact that I had feelings and thoughts I needed to get out.