May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
-Irish Blessing

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Right Where I Am 2012: 8 years and 260 days (Wyatt) - 1 year 2 months and 19 days (Eli)

I find myself sitting in probably the same place most likely doing the same thing as last year when I wrote this post for Still Life With Circles.  On a quiet spring afternoon in front of my laptop taking a "break" from work.  It is Wednesdays when I find myself most alone with my thoughts.  Our daughters spend Wednesdays at Grandma's house while I spend Wednesdays with my laptop and a time clock.  This year there is one important difference -- there is six week old little girl sleeping peacefully in the bassinet which just one year ago her two and a half month old big brother would have been.  Today my eyes are slightly puffed from sleep deprivation rather than from shedding tears while all alone with my memories and my wants.

I have lost two sons to Potter's Syndrome, Wyatt in June 2003 and Eli in March 2011.  Even though Eli's loss is much more recent I find my thoughts centered on Wyatt more and more as the days pass.  I know why.  His birthday is next week, his ninth birthday in heaven.  Despite his absence there are still preparations for that sacred day.  I planned our weekly menu and a special meal which we will take graveside to enjoy along with homemade chocolate cupcakes lovingly decorated by myself and his sisters.  We still need to buy a small birthday toy which vexes me every year.  I have no idea what a nine year old boy would like.  Each year he grows older I miss knowing him even more.  Babies are easy.  They don't have much gender specific toy preference.  But as the years go by I realize that his likes and dislikes would be more refined and pronounced.  He would have his own style, catchphrases and mannerisms.  I will never know what those would have been.  I will never know what gift he would have really coveted for his ninth birthday, or for that matter, his third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh or eighth.  So today, this week, my heart is especially heavy and if it's possible, I miss him even more.

It is hard to grieve two children.  Especially when what I know of my children consists of hours and minutes rather than days, weeks, months or years.  Our living room wall is literally covered with framed pictures of our children - our sons and daughters.  We have framed pictures of Eli sitting out on tabletops which have not been moved for more than a year.  My grief for him today is somehow lesser.  Less not in the sense that I miss or love him any less than Wyatt, but that there is just more distraction.  We now have four living daughters, the most recent born just six weeks ago today.  Life is busy, it's messy, frustrating, overwhelming, exhausting, hilarious, exhilarating, joyful and crazy.  There is so much need that my need to grieve is often compartmentalized into a small dusty corner that doesn't get visited often enough.  I almost have to remind myself to go there. Those framed photos are like a string tied around my finger.  Having his sister here is a bittersweet reminder that he is not.  We would not have her if Eli had lived.  I don't like to dwell on this too much.  Eli would have been our last child and I would not trade him for her or her for him but the reality is that we were never meant to have both.

Today I find myself at peace with our losses, with the huge absences that our sons' brief lives left in our hearts.  That has not changed in the last year.  Somehow between the loss of our first and last sons I found how live without and yet still live.  That small but important lesson got me through to today and will take me past tomorrow.


21 comments:

  1. I so understand this. I also have four living children who don't give me the time to stand still and cry and that is exactly how I keep going.

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    1. Definitely the truth, and I don't know if it'd be better if they did give me the time to cry...

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  2. Such beautiful words. I love your description, of a string tied around your finger. The presence of the children that you have echoing those who might have been there.

    How to live without and yet still live. Such a puzzle, one that nobody would want to have to solve but when you have an answer, no matter how fleetingly the riddle is solved, such a gift.

    I'm so sorry for the loss of your boys, Wyatt and Eli. Your description of the difficulties of choosing a toy for Wyatt brought tears to my eyes, so difficult. And I just wish we knew, all those refinements, all those likes and dislikes, the catchphrases and mannerisms. Just anything at all.

    Thank you for this beautiful post, so full of peace.

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    1. Thank you for your kind comment, I wish I could say more, but my sincerest gratitude for sharing your words will have to do :)

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  3. "That small but important lesson got me through to today and will take me past tomorrow." - it is reading these Right Where I Am posts that is getting me through each day, and giving me a tiny piece of hope that I will get through tomorrow. Thank you for sharing your story. Thinking of you, Wyatt and Eli.

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    1. Tomorrow will always come, it always does. Some tomorrows are much much easier than others though...

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  4. To lose one child seems cruel enough, but two... My heart goes out to you, beautiful mama.
    You picked lovely names for your sons. I wish they could join you and the rest of your family around the dinner table.
    xo

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  5. Oh Mandy, I feel like we are old friends. I can't tell you how thankful I am to have you in my life (even if it's just through the blogosphere). I can't remember how or when exactly I stumbled upon your blog but I can tell you that you've impacted my life in so many ways. It's like you're part of my family! My mom has been reading your blog as well and we often find ourselves saying, "Well, how's Mandy doing?"
    Your comments on my blog are always felt with so much love and appreciation! I hate that we share Potter's Syndrome but I'm so thankful at the same time. Much love!

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    1. Thank you so much, Molly, I am thankful that you stumbled across my blog and that I've gotten to know you and your beautiful family through your blog! You often speak to my heart :)

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  6. This is so beautiful, so articulate. Thank you. I related so much to what you said about the grief being lessened--not less, but we are more distracted from it. That is it. I am so grateful for Right Where I Am this year, as I revisit grief. It is helping me immensely. Thank you. xo

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    1. I too am grateful for the opportunity to write this post. It's funny how often I write, but I never quite get this kind of post out there. Reflection has been bittersweet but nice.

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  7. I can't imagine going through what you are, with both your losses. What a perspective you have and you share is so eloquently.

    Peace to you in the days ahead. And thanks for taking part in this project.

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    1. Thank you, I can't believe I'm still standing after two losses. But - here I am.

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  8. Thank you for sharing where you are right now - I love the image of the grief being socked away in a dusty corner, while the energy of life and home and living children demand the attention.

    Beautiful, insightful piece of writing.

    xoxoxo

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    1. I wish that corner wasn't dusty but I need to be honest, that bit hurt a little to write (& admit).

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  9. I know just what you mean. It is hard to find time to acknowledge the grief in a busy house. I am also a mother of 6, also 4 girls and 2 boys and one of my boys is the reason I am participating in this project. I've read through some of your blog and relate to much of what you say and am awed by the strength you have shown in your boys stories. I am just so sorry you do not have them with you in your busy house. I also know how difficult those conversations are with people who make casual remarks. We never wanted boys until we had Freddie and the time between him and Ben was fraught with dealing with boy stuff and boy questions. So hard.

    Sending you love

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    1. Thank you, it is nice to find other moms with many children. It's hard to have so many and yet still feel the acute loss of one (or two now in our case). I struggle with feeling that I should be more thankful and less grief-ful some days.

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  10. So very sorry for your losses...thank you for sharing your story and congratulations on your new addition. <3

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  11. I am so sorry for the loss of your Wyatt and Eli, and so grateful for the way you write about them here. I'm really struck by how you and your family are still remembering and celebrating Wyatt's birthday with your family - your preparations are so beautiful and thoughtful, but homey. And what you wrote about choosing a toy for Wyatt made me tear up, too. I wish, so much, that he was there, that you could know the nine-year-old he would have been.

    Love to you.

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  12. "There is so much need that my need to grieve is often compartmentalized into a small dusty corner that doesn't get visited often enough. I almost have to remind myself to go there. Those framed photos are like a string tied around my finger. Having his sister here is a bittersweet reminder that he is not. We would not have her if Eli had lived. I don't like to dwell on this too much. Eli would have been our last child and I would not trade him for her or her for him but the reality is that we were never meant to have both."

    I'm sorry for simply quoting a huge chunk of your own writing back at you but this... this is exactly how I feel too. The small dusty corner, the photos acting as reminders and the knowledge that both my dead daughter and my living son are my "last" child and I would never have had them both yet adoring them both equally.

    Thank you for writing.

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  13. "Somehow between the loss of our first and last sons I found how live without and yet still live.  That small but important lesson got me through to today
    and will take me past tomorrow."
    I can't imagine going through what you've been through and, still being able to speak those words. Not one, but two losses. I know that there was a time when I never thought i would survive one loss either and, that I did, because we're strong when we have to be. But my heart goes out to you and I'm shedding tears for you today, even as I admire your strength with all my heart. I'm so so sorry for the loss of your boys, but I'm glad you have your girls to bring you joy in spite of it all. Wishing you peace and healing.

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