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