Monday, April 27, 2009


It's been almost six months since we lost Calvin. Six months already. I can't believe it. Of course I have spent much of the last six months numbing out, distracting myself, doing anything I can not to feel. I can't keep it up much longer. Tomorrow we are going to order Calvin's marker and for the life of me, we can't figure out what we want it to say. If I sit down long enough and think of how I want the world to know about my son I start to cry. Nothing seems adequate. Nothing seems good enough. I have been avoiding thinking about it as much as possible but the guilt has been eating me up bit by bit. I'm scared I think, scared to finish his memorial book, scared to put words to my pain, scared that once I'm done and it's over I have nothing drawing me back to him but my memories. I'm afraid of ordering the marker. What if I order it and then feel like I haven't said enough of my love for him? What if I can't stand to look at it because it makes it too real? There isn't enough food or pills or blogging or shopping that can take away the ache inside and it keeps growing the more I ignore it. I cried today. It was the first time in awhile, I have been avoiding my feelings so much, stuffing them down with anything that fills the void for the time being. The video below is of one of the two songs we had played at Calvin's funeral. The other was Puff the Magic Dragon. I listened to a New Day Has Come about four times in a row, and then I cried. I needed it. I think I still need to cry. I wish I had someone to sit and listen to me rant and moan and cry until I'm all cried out but I've become protective of my grief in a way that doesn't allow me to share very easily anymore. My good friend Lisa was here and I know she would have listened to me as long as I needed her to but something inside me wouldn't let go, couldn't let go enough to get it out, let the tears come. I'm down to six tabs of numb and don't know what I'll do when I'm out. I'm scared to find out just how much this really hurts, because if it hurts this much now, what'll it be like without the numb? I guess I'm about to find out.


  1. I think I know what you mean. I haven't been able to open up to my friends either. I don't know how to get through every day without pretending, without avoiding the feelings that are bubbling close to the surface. Just try to take it easy on yourself. Nothing you could ever get down on paper or squeeze on to a grave marker will ever do justice to what you feel for your son. He was so deeply loved so how could you ever express that with mere words?

  2. If the 'numb' is a pill (if not, please forgive my mis-interpretation), I know where you are at. Zoe's been gone a year and a half and I was down to my last tabs of 'numb' a few times. It is hard and you will have to summon your courage. I am here and will take time out to talk to you if you need it. My e-mail is on my profile page and I check it often.
    You can never finish grieving Calvin. Try to look at it as if finishing his scrapbook and picking a marker are some ways to mother him now. It will help you to remember and to heal. It will get less intense I PROMISE, but it takes time. A lot of time.
    Be patient with yourself, love on yourself a bit. I think you're great and I applaud you for your honesty.
    I'm so sorry you do not have your son in your arms. It's not fair.
    Much love,

  3. Inspired by the Susan Boyle phenomenon, yesterday I dug out my Les Miserables soundtrack. Later in the day, I learned that another baby's broken heart had stopped beating. That night I listened to some of the songs on the soundtrack while dancing Oliver to sleep. I had to take my glasses off as I played "A Little Fall of Rain" and "Bring Him Home" over and over again. I thought of your post about the rain on Calvin's grave. I thought about my fear of Oliver's next surgeries. I thought about the love a parent feels for their child.