I'm angry, and this is my vent session.

I had guessed that maybe some people say mean things about us. I thought maybe people think I'm a bad mother,  that Will and I are screw-ups for not getting our children swim lessons, etc. Tonight I was informed by a coworker of some things she has heard. She detailed for me an account of a parent complaining that Eli died because the necessary precautions weren't in place. That if we had done a better job as parents, our son would be alive. She explained all this after letting me know her little boy just celebrated his second birthday. And she said, "Wasn't it pretty soon after his birthday...?" Yeah. He died 2 weeks later.

Our lives have always been insanely busy. Maybe its our fault for doing too much.
We closed on our house April 11th and moved in that week. We were both working full time, I on nights and Will 1:30 to midnight. We had a pool gate and doors with deadbolts that locked from either side, with keys. The pool enclosure doors had push handles that were at the top. Everything seemed safe. We didn't account for my human error combined with a clever 2 year old.

Eli died almost exactly two MONTHS later. We moved,  had a party for his birthday...and he died. We didn't have a lot of time to do anything. I spent every moment with the boys that I could. If I wasn't working, we were feeding ducks, or at the park, or at the library reading Mickey Mouse books, doing puzzles and coloring.

I know I failed as mother. I made the hugest mistake of my life. I left the gate open, Will didn't think to check it, Eli got out of bed before us in the early morning, figured out how to turn the key in the lock (which he had never been able to do before that day) and died before we had a chance to rescue him. I begged God to take me instead. I begged God to save him. I would have given ANYTHING to save my little boy.

  Can you point me to ANY parent who has never made a mistake with their children?  Have you ever experienced a close call? You found your child outside, or they fell off a bed as a baby, or something potentially dangerous? Do you use your car seats properly? Are your children rear facing until 2? I failed by not signing my kids up for swim lessons, yep. We were planning on putting it into the budget. Just the DAY BEFORE he died, I was looking into signing them up. I didn't have a chance! I'm glad that people who have had close calls have had only close calls. I'm glad that you haven't experienced this sorrow and grief. But no mother or father is perfect.

I'm deeply saddened by the things I heard tonight. That EMS personnel responding to the scene said Eli had obviously been dead for a while, because he was so filled with fluid. That Will was screaming at me, "How could you leave the gate open?"

Let me clarify something. My husband is a wonderful person, and has never once blamed me for Eli's death. He certainly never yelled at me. He has hugged me, cried with me, rubbed my back while I cried, held my hand...but he has never screamed at me.

I don't honestly know how smart it is to tell a grieving mother that her son was long-dead and filled with fluid. I know these things. I don't need to hear it. These thoughts already torment me relentlessly.

So tonight at work, minutes after this conversation, I had a panic attack. I vomited into a trash can, urinated on myself and spent a large amount of time sobbing and hyperventilating on the bathroom floor. I can honestly say, this is the worst night I have had in a long time.

If you think I'm a screw-up, I'm so sorry that you don't understand. That you are perfect, that you have never made a parenting error. I don't need anyone else punishing me with accusations. I know how to do that to myself just fine!

If you have the opportunity to interact with a parent who has lost a child, please choose your words wisely. There are some things better left unsaid. Perhaps talking about your two year old's birthday to a woman who just lost her two year old...is probably not a good idea.

And please don't make things up for the drama. My life is miserable enough right now without feeling the need to discount rumors.

Rant over.

Questions

I often wonder what it was like for him. Did he struggle? Was he afraid? Did he wonder why mommy wasn't saving him? Did he just pass out or did he have chest pain? I've heard people say they almost drowned and felt like their chest was exploding and they saw stars. Did my baby experience that? If he did, what would be the purpose? Couldn't God have spared him from that miserable experience? Wouldn't He?

I wish, more than anything I've ever wished for in my entire life, that something could have been different. That I would have heard him fall in. That I could have grabbed him out, hugged him, and dried him off. Why did it have to be this way? Why is my little boy dead?

Sleep

I cannot sleep. Memories plague my mind. It's a spiral- thoughts of his infectious giggle, my cheek against his face, his sparking hazel eyes gazing up at me in adoration...these thoughts turn to heartbreaking images of his body floating in the pool, his hair dripping wet, his cheeks pale, lips blue. His tiny white teeth gleaming back at me as I open his mouth to give him breaths. Tiny purple bruises appearing on his cheeks as his tiny belly sloshes while I compress his chest. The happy memories are easily replaced by ones that stab, burn, twist and ache. It is pure misery to remember my beloved son in this way. No amount of prayer or desire has been able to remove these thoughts from my mind. I feel like I am being punished.

If only I could see him again. I would kiss him endlessly. I would tell him how much I've missed him and love him. I would ask him if he loves Heaven.

When you love someone with every fiber of your heart,  mind, and soul, it does something to you in your entirety when they die. It tears those three parts to pieces. It is nearly impossible to put them all back together again. Imagine a vase that is worth millions. You drop it. It shatters. How do you go about putting it back together? Could you find every piece? Would it maintain its value?  I lost many pieces of myself when my Elijah left me. I feel as though I lost my value as a wife and a mother...and as a woman. I dropped the vase. I did. That sense of failure returns over and over, and permeates every bit of me that I have managed to sloppily push back together.

Wounds like these are hard to mend. Longing accompanies regret. Physical pain accompanies sorrow. Just when I think it is getting better....I'm sucked back into a pit of despair. I long for relief. Will I ever heal? Will I ever sleep? Will I ever have peace?

I pray, I weep, I pray, and I weep. It is all I know how to do anymore.

The process of grief

Apparently there are 5 stages of grief. I've thought about them a lot since Eli passed, wondering where I'm at, how I measure up. Denial, the first stage, was huge for me. For the first month or more, I woke up each morning and realized he was dead,  and it crushed me like ten tons of rocks piled on my chest. The only way I could function was by going through the motions. Thinking about him or looking at pictures and videos was like allowing my heart to be sawed through slowly. The ripping feeling in my chest was unlike any other I've ever felt in my life.

I also have done a lot of bargaining. I would think this means I asked for God to take me instead of him. I did that too. But the stage of Bargaining includes the "what ifs." What if I hadn't taken them swimming that Friday evening?  What if Will had been off work that night? What if I had been AT work? These thoughts are debilitating, and yet for me,  completely necessary. I have to think through everything. It is like things are in boxes, and I have to go through every single one. If one is unsorted, I won't be able to find closure.

The stage of anger was an interesting one. I never really felt angry with God. I still wonder, "why?"  I truly and totally believe my boy's life was in God's hands, and it was Eli's time and place to go. It wasn't an accident. It was the will of God. Why? Well, I have some ideas but I'm not God so I don't know for sure. So, this stage of anger was comprised of anger toward myself, not God. And it was before I discovered his death was truly part of God's plan. Somehow,  I've forgiven myself. I did my very best as a mother. Eli knew I loved him,  even in our final moments together,  singing and playing before falling asleep. I loved him more than I even imagined was possible,  and my death will be a joyous one, because no matter what suffering I face, I won't be afraid. I'm looking forward to seeing my boy again. And I'm looking forward to meeting my Lord.

I teeter between the stages of depression and acceptance now. Sometimes I have a day where I just sob uncontrollably and talk to him. It hurts to hear Ben squealing outside with his daddy, because he sounds just like Eli,  and for a moment, I forget he's gone.  But most days,  I accept he is not here right now.  He is somewhere else,  somewhere beautiful,  waiting for me. I picture the excitement and joy on his face when he sees me again! Most days, I can function pretty well. I can go to Toys R Us and pick up toys he loved or would love. I can think, "Eli would have a blast with this!" I laugh at memories Will and I share about what a goofball he was. I miss him, but I know I'll see him again. And part of him still lives on in my heart somehow. I can still sense he exists, even if it isn't here.

I know I'm not out of the woods, I know I will have bad days and good days. I know holidays will be tough.  But Eli would want me to live. He would want me to help others, to love his siblings,  to bring others to know the love and salvation of Jesus. So I will do those things to the best of my ability. I will live for them now, God and Eli, and I will see them when this fragile, fleeting life is over. I never knew I could experience such joy after such sorrow!

Opening bills, reopening my wounds.

Medical bills really hurt. Especially when they detail costs of services. $372 for IV therapy. $1,073 for respiratory services. It goes on and on. My son is dead. They tried to start IVs and they intubated him, they did everything they could. In one way, I'm glad they tried and didn't just give up. On the other hand, it makes me so sad to think of my little boy being poked and prodded while he was already long gone.

I have to remind myself of truths during these moments, when I'm writing checks, draining our already-dwindled bank account, paying for care given to my little boy. I have to remind myself that during those moments, Eli was with the Lord. It was a glorious time for him. He wasn't in that body, feeling pain and fear. He was spending time with Jesus, with loved ones that have gone before him. He was already safe in His arms.

Thursday, August 22nd, 2013

Forgiving yourself.

Something I realized tonight:

Forgiveness from God is easy. He gives it to you when you ask for it, when you repent. It is forgiving yourself that's so difficult. Guilt is a burden that can hold you captive if you allow it to. It creeps in and debilitates you, steals joy from you and those around you, and clouds your judgment.

Grasping at forgiveness feels like sand slipping through your fingertips. You know it is out there, but you can't keep it.  Each day it changes...maybe you feel a little less guilty one day, like you've really started to cut yourself some slack, but then there it is, your old familiar friend. When you've truly forgiven yourself,  and you've been set free from this prison called guilt, it feels solid, like instead of sand, you're holding bricks. And you're building with them. Rebuilding your life maybe. Or perhaps building a room in your mind where you can tuck away the sweet memories to be retrieved at a moment's notice. Maybe its a jail cell where you banish guilt itself. Regardless of what you do with it, it is solid,  and you can feel it.

Thursday, August 22nd, 2013

Normal?

It is 4 am. I spent the last 4 hours in a fitful sleep, dreaming about someone dropping Ben, resulting in his death. I got up to use the bathroom and heard him fussing, so I went in to give him his pacifier. It took everything in me to not take him out, snuggle him, nurse him, rock him....

I cry every day. Is that normal? It has been two months. Should it have stopped by now? I cry from regret, guilt, fear,  and shame...but mostly just because of memories and the "what if"s. What if we had different door knobs? What if we had bought the house I liked with no pool? What if Bailey had been inside-would she have rescued him? What if Will worked an 8-5 job, or didn't work that night?

I smell his hair, I feel his soft skin when I close my eyes. It is a blessing and a curse. I can hang my arm over the bed and pretend his pudgy little hand is in mine. I try to remember how beautiful his hazel eyes were, so big and round,  with specks of gold to make them sparkle a little extra. I hear his baby brother laugh, and I can pretend it is my Eli,  normal, breathing,  ALIVE.

But then I remember he is not. He is dead. I picked out his pure white casket. I picked out flowers and clothes. I placed the pacifier he drowned with in his right hand, cold, and pale and stiff. I tucked Mickey Mouse under his left arm. He slept with him every night. I touched his cold, hard forehead, his still-soft hair, his rigid, puffed-up chest. His calves still felt somewhat normal, soft...his skin looked the same in some places. His chin looked droopy and his eyes were flat and sad, like he had no eyes under the lids at all. He didn't look like my beautiful boy.

I know the truth about him. He has a new body in Heaven. He is perfect now. No fear, no sadness, no pain. I'm sure he's having a wonderful time. So why doesn't that bring me more comfort? Why am I so sad? Why does it feel like my cheeks are going to split right off of my face, like I'm made of porcelain?  Why is there still a deep aching in my chest? 

I birthed him. I nursed him. I carried him. For 2 years,  I was his food source,  his guide in life, his best friend and playmate, his other half. I held his hand. I rubbed his back. I bathed his body. I brushed his teeth. I caressed his face and hair while he fell asleep. I dressed him and put on his shoes. I changed hundreds of diapers. I cheered for him. I worried about him. I researched how to best care for him. I TRIED for him.

I did my best. I couldn't keep him. I miss him every moment of every day. It never abates, never ceases. I'll never be normal again.

Friday, August 16th, 2013

Everything hurts.

It has been almost 2 months since my sweet Eli passed away.

He turned 2 on May 28th. He had a Mickey Mouse pool party and we invited all of his friends and family. He opened tons of presents and had a blast playing with them. And on June 15th, he died.

As a mother, how can I ever NOT feel like a failure? I was exhausted, and I was lugging around a 9 month old and 2 year old, both crying and wanting to stay in the pool. I closed and locked the door, but forgot to go back out and close the pool gate. You know what's worse? I accidentally left the key in the deadbolt. Eli had never been able to turn the key before, but he figured it out at the worst time.

We woke up around 8:30 on Saturday morning. I felt Will get out of bed to get Ben, who had been yelling for a while. Not a true cry, just a "hey, someone get me out of here" yell. A couple seconds after I felt Will's body ease off of the bed, I heard his agonizing cries. I jumped up to find my husband on the patio, holding a soaking wet little boy. He handed him to me and I put him on the ground. Did CPR for 20 minutes until EMS arrived. Watched water and white foam pour out of his mouth and nose while the breath I breathed into his lungs came back out. They cut off his red Elmo shirt and hooked him up to monitors...but he never had a heart beat. The police wouldn't let us follow to the hospital. They insisted we had to stay home to answer questions. That was 8:50am. They interrogated us until 2:30pm.

I live in a fog. I now function, 2 months later, but just barely. I don't have the motivation I once had. I miss my little boy so severely, and I feel completely responsible for his death. I truly believe he is in Heaven, and I know that Heaven is better than anything good he could experience on earth, but I still wish he could be here with me.

Sometimes I close my eyes and put my cheek against Benjamin's hair...and for a moment, I can pretend it is my sweet Eli I am holding.

I wish I could write more...but I'm getting upset just after writing this small amount. More later, maybe.

Monday, August 12th, 2013