Part 2: Keeping my Sobriety midst losing a Child.

I read back on Part 1 of this entry on losing my child.  My son.  As much as I tried to portray how it felt, I fear that I will never be able to make anyone understand what/how it feels.

I ended my last entry being pushed out of the hospital doors in a wheelchair.  I can still remember that feeling of pure emptiness.  The void.  In my womb.  Being stuffed into the passenger seat of the car and flowers in vases placed on my lap to hold on the way home so that they would not ‘spill over’.  The sweet scent of lilies and roses now remind me of my son.

I could fill you full of the entire story of what/how the weeks following thereafter were like.  Fact is the details do not matter.  I was heartbroken.  And despite having a partner who was also grieving in his own way, I felt so entirely alone.

In the hospital they make all kinds of arrangements for your deceased child.  They give you pamphlets on grief.  Sweet emblems of ways to remember them.  The Head director of the funeral home that we worked with was especially kind and took extra care of us.  In all reality though, so much focus is put on ‘coping with the loss of your child’.

I remember the first month afterwards more than anything I nearly tore the eyes out of lady that said ‘cope’ to me.

The last thing in the WORLD that I wanted to do was “Cope”.

The most terrible part about it all was that I felt that somehow, somewhere, this was MY fault.  Something I had done or failed to do.  Or….just simply karma biting me in the rear for my past.  I was convinced this was my fault.  After all, it was my body that went septic.  When Brian was born, he was perfect.  Tiny, but perfect.  Absolutely no problems or complications with HIM.  It was MY body that had failed him.  I really took victim stance on this.

Nothing, absolutely nothing prepared me for being around babies though.  My milk dropping, and even worse, seeing babies born that were within months of Brian’s due date.  The thoughts haunting me that “if I could’ve just held onto him for another 5 weeks, he would have made it”.

I really, any mother who has lost a child really could go on and on and on about the pain. Owee owee owee.

God that sounds so cheesy.  A title labeled “support system”.  It really doesn’t even begin to describe what I had.  Everyone’s experience with miscarriage, stillborn, death of child etc. is individually different and unique, however we all have a support system or the lack thereof.

For starters, I must mention that the 3 people who held my hand while I was in labor screaming, 106 degree temperature & septic was my cellmate in jail 3 years ago, my fiancé, and my boss who hired me as a known felon and in the outpatient portion of rehab in the past who I didn’t even work for any longer but had become a good family friend.

The first people who were there after hearing, were another 2 of my sisters in recovery I had met through incarceration, a childhood best friend I had known since I was 5, but had only reunited with in the years of recovery.

The people who cleaned my home, brought meals to me and my family, cared for my children, came and got the dog we were babysitting within minutes of asking for help were people ranging from the most religious of backgrounds, in-laws,  to the Universe loving hippy.

There were also those that trickled in the weeks afterwards sending their condolences, but I will never forget the kindness of those that really reached out to us….to me those first weeks.

In hindsight, I probably didn’t show that much appreciation.  I wasn’t in a place to.  I was so emotionally drained.  Yet….I think those that helped, knew that.  So if you’re going through this, don’t go out of your way to exhaust yourself for others.

There are 3 valuable lessons I would hope to portray and honor my sons life through.

#1-  It isn’t your fault. Stop overanalyzing.  Stop playing the victim and taking energy away from your child’s life.  It isn’t your fault.  Every time you or I make it our fault, we are actually doing our child an injustice.  Instead we should be asking ourselves, “how dare I make this about myself”.

#2-  People are good.  I recently read an entry another mother wrote about her support system implying that fact is sometimes the people who you think will be there for you the most are not there, and then those that you would never expect it from, are there.  I hope I was able to portray what a different array of people that came to our aid.  For those that are judgmental, on both sides, realize that good is in all of us.  At one point in a room of 5 in the hospital the only one who wasn’t a felon was my fiancé.  Comical really, because none of us look like it now that we have experienced recovery.  Also on the other end, to the non-trads and rule pushing, foul mouthed new to recovery addicts……yes, those God fearing religious based praying fools were there for me and my family.  They did not judge.  And they know exactly where I come from, what I have done, and who I am today.  This really was a beautiful example of just GOOD people, amazing humans coming together.

#3-  I NEVER had this kind of support in addiction.  In addiction I am also implying deceitful behavior, dishonesty, flakiness, unreliability.  I never had good people in my life.  Until I started treating others in the way that kept my karma in check. The particular people who helped me I hadn’t even done anything special for ever, yet I hope they realize I have and will continue to always pay it forward to those in need like I was.

In reading this you were probably expecting to read some mope story, there is plenty of that material out there though.  Nor did that material really help me.

All in all….I’m not grateful for the people who helped me, helped us ‘grieve’.  I’m grateful for those that helped me fight, helped me to keep breathing, to find a reason to get up in the morning, the people who talked about my child with me other than just saying they were sorry.

I am grateful for those that truly taught me, how to Honor My Son.

Losing a child, grieving, is never about making anyone understand.  Or having to relate with anyone.  I am not alone, my son can relate.  There is no injustice in no one ever understanding that bond or pain.  It is my son and I’s only.