Internal bleeding

I wasn’t ready to be done with the days of co-sleeping, long, restless nights of a crying babe, the bond of breastfeeding, a sleepy sweet child nestled in the Rock-and-Play, his sisters playing around him, talking to him, holding his hand, brushing his head carelessly as they passed by, planting wet, sticky kisses on his forehead. I wasn’t ready.

And yet, in 3 months, I turn 38. Jim is 41. Time is passing us by, like it does everyone. This season in my life – my season of childbearing – perhaps it is at an end. Was James my last?

Today, the grief has been physical. I find my hands shaking. Chills wrack my body. I shake. Tears have gathered behind my eyes all day at the slightest provocation. Yet, they will not release. I want to go outside and run in circles, screaming at the incoherent stars, screaming until my body is empty, and I can at last lie down, press my cheek to the cold earth, and rest. Let the rain fall on me, let the hypothermia creep over me like an icy blanket, starting with each extremity until I am numb, mindless, still.

I just don’t know how we go on. I don’t know how life ever feels good again. I don’t have answers for any of this pain. There are no answers to this pain. I carry it with me every second. There is no moment when I am free.

I had a panic attack last night. It was at my in-laws’ house. We had gone for my nephew’s birthday, and I was preparing a meal for the girls before leaving. As I stood there, performing such an innocuous task, my hands started to shake. My heart started to race. I felt clammy, scared, hollowed out.

My son is dead.



That thing that only happens to other people? Yes. It happened to me.

Not only did he die, but we had to make the decision of whether to keep intervening on his behalf or to let him go. We had to decide if the unknown future was a fate worse than death. We had to make that decision without any way of knowing – then or now – whether we were right.

As I recently heard – even if I was made of Saran wrap and glass – you couldn’t see this part of me. You can’t see the heart of grief until you become the heart of grief. Losing your child turns you into one slowly hemorrhaging heart. I am bleeding. There is so much blood.


One thought on “Internal bleeding

  1. I know your pain. My daughter only lived 22 days. She would have been 16 last month. It never goes away completely, or ever gets easy. But it does get easier. You’ll find you think of him more with smiles than tears. But every now and then, even after so long, something will catch you by surprise – a silly commercial, watching a child that would have been his/her age, or hearing another parent’s own grief, and you’ll find yourself with tears streaming down your face. But those times do get further apart. It never gets easy, but it does get easier. At least I keep telling myself that. :-/


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s