Recently I was told I
needed to schedule my grief. Or, more specifically, I needed to set aside time
everyday to cry for Luke. I wasn't sure
how to take that piece of advice. As I
look over the last 15 months since Luke died, I can see a huge improvement in
how I have handled things. In the
beginning, it took everything I had to get out of bed every day and go to work
or do anything around the house. We ate
a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches and mac and cheese. The kids did the laundry and took out the
garbage. I didn't go back to work until
after the kids went back to school, although school for me started the week
after Luke’s funeral.
The waves of grief were
overwhelming. At any moment, I would not
be able to breath, the weight of the entire world would rest on my chest, the
tears would flow; there was no stopping it.
Anything and nothing would trigger these episodes. It was a horrible way to live. A week before I was scheduled to go back to
work, I got a call on a Sunday morning that the dispatcher scheduled didn't show up, could I come in to work. I went
in, relishing the feeling of the normalcy of work. Nothing at work changed, the techs were the
same, the work was the same, I was alone in the office with the phones and
computers. The day was going fine until
I started missing Luke and picked up the phone to call home and talk to
him. The breathlessness and tears came
in full force.
Since then, the days of
not being able to breathe and the tears have slowly decreased, instead of a few
times a day, to once or twice a month.
There are still times that hit me unexpectedly, seeing little boys that
are Luke’s age or that look like him.
Seeing a picture or status about him on Facebook or Time Hop.
Now I cry on the way to
work, if I get to leave work early, I head to the cemetery before going home
and have long talks and tears with his headstone. I cry before going to bed, silent tears as I
get ready, sometimes on more difficult days, sobbing in the shower.
The last week was bad,
getting ready for Christmas and missing Luke.
The feeling of despair was weighing heavy on my heart. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die most
days. It took everything I had to get
out of bed and function. I have noticed
it is the days leading up to a holiday, anniversary or other special day that
are harder to deal with than the actual day itself. Last week was our Christmas party at
work. Even though Luke wouldn't have
been a part of that in any way, except maybe helping decorate cookies, it was a
hard day. My secret Santa gave me an
ornament for each of my kids, including Luke.
That brought on a fresh wave of tears, not only did she remember him,
she included him.
There are good days, days
when I can laugh, when the kids have fun and are kids again. When the world isn't so dark and dreary, have glimpses of light and air. Days my every thought
is not consumed with the loss of my sweet baby boy.
I started this post a few
days before Christmas. On Christmas day,
I woke up feeling like a weight had been lifted off of me. The craziness of the Christmas season was
over, I was able to sit back and enjoy my family and our day.
I have not had so many bad
days, but I have had some wild dreams.
Some include Luke, some don’t.
The ones that don't leave me shaking my head, sending a tech to Africa
to install cable only to have him get lost while I watched his truck drive
along the ocean border. So I hopped a plane and road a pig to find him…
There are still days when
I can’t catch my breath or thinking about one thing starts a chain reaction of
thoughts and memories that leave me in a puddle.
We are short-staffed at
work right now, so everyone is working more hours and more days, leaving us all
on edge. The lack of sleep and time off isn't helping any. I need to replenish the tissue supply more often than ever
right now.
K stepped on glass the
other night, bleeding all over my house.
It was obvious fairly quickly that she needed to be seen, so off we went
to the nearest hospital instead of Children’s where Luke spent his last
hours. I thought everything was OK until
she started crying, having flashbacks of the PICU with Luke. She spilled her heart as we talked about what
could have been and what we could have done differently. It was a hard lesson in hindsight being
20/20. We had a good talk about God, and
how He knows our entire lives before we are ever born.
The kids and I are
surviving; there are more good days than bad days. But there is still a huge hole in our
lives. That will never change.
So goes the ebb and flow
of my grief…..
