Still Here

I'm still here, struggling less, detoxing less, doing more. It's been awhile since I blogged and it's been eating at me. There is so much, yet so little happening in my life right now that I don't seem to have the time to sit down, take a breath and have some me time. I'm still missing Calvin horribly and have had a few good cries over him as of late, moreso at remembering...those memories that sneak up on you and take your breath away with their vividness. Some of those memories come from reading other blogs and having another mother talk about a certain situation that reminds me so much of what we went through that it takes me back in time to that moment. Stephanie talked about such a thing on her blog, about how when she went back to see Amelia in the funeral home, she knew her girl was gone. It reminded me so much of holding Calvin in the hospital morgue, feeling his spirit there with us strong and steady as I cuddled our son for the last time. The peacefulness about it was almost surreal, everything was so quiet and still and yet he lingered and I could feel him there with me. I didn't want to give him back. I didn't want to think about his body being put back in one of those stainless steel drawers, alone in the dark. All I could think about was seeing him again, possibly holding him before the funeral and willing myself to make it just one more day until I could be with my son again. The night of the viewing Shane and I went early. I wanted to make sure my son looked okay and that we were doing the right thing by giving the family a chance to come and say good-bye to him. I was eager to see him and was bewildered when the funeral director warned me that he wouldn't look the same as when I had held him in the morgue, that there had been changes. Sure enough as I gazed down into Calvin's casket and looked at my son there WERE changes, the biggest one being that my son was no longer there. His spirit had flown away and I couldn't feel him anymore. That was one of the hardest things, to realize that he was now gone for good and wouldn't be lingering around to give me comfort. I cried and gasped to Shane that it wasn't him, that it didn't even look like him but was forced to accept that while it was my son's body, his spirit had moved on. The memories have evoked a strong emotional response. I feel tired, and physically exhausted. I've been forcing myself outside to do yard work, to get some fresh air and sunshine in these past beautiful days. It's been good for me yet I've been so wiped out I've had little energy for anything else lately.

Even in my current state of exhaustion and with a spring cold coming on, I feel guilt for not posting and for leaving on such a "I don't care about anything" note. I'm still here. I'm still reading along with many of you even if I don't comment. I'm still fighting this addiction and hoping to feel better soon. I'm still hoping for joy in my life again. It's coming back, slowly, but it is coming back. I can only hope tomorrow will be better than today and that the day after tomorrow will be better than it's yesterday until all is well in my world as much as it can be without Calvin in it. I miss my son. His death still makes me cry and even if people think that there must be "a reason" for it, it doesn't make me get over him or the void left behind when he died. If the people in my life could just recognize this and realize that I will never be the same again and accept it for what it is, I think my life could be easier. Not necessarily better, but easier. Until such a thing happens, I vomit all the unhappiness here where I can simply be bereaved and not expected to be "getting over it" by now. How can I? How can any of us? The answer is that we can't and that there will always be a story, a movie, a remark made that throws us back to the days when our children died and it will always hurt. Sometimes the hurt will make us cry and not feel like living, other times it won't. I accept this. I don't like it but I accept it and there is nothing ANY platitude will do to make this better for me or any one of us. I'm still here, even though there are days I wish I wasn't.