The Five Year Sting

CSC_0255It’s been more than five years since I delivered our third baby – since he was stillborn.

Generally I do pretty well with his loss. I think of him often and he has a special place in my heart. But for some reason the pain from his death has crept back into my heart and stung me to the core, again.

I read several books that first year he died. Many were given to me by loving friends and family. (I think I got three copies of the bestseller “Gone too Soon.”) I read books on grieving, books where parents told their personal stories and how they overcame their loss, books on how to help children cope with losing a sibling, books on the grief cycle, books on having faith despite tragedy, etc.

Some of them were helpful – some were not. But I just kept reading. Secretly I was hoping that I could find an answer on how to get through my own personal hell.

How to live after burying a piece of my heart.

I shifted through the stages of grief back and forth, back and forth.

Time, support and the love of my close family and friends brought me back. I pieced together my new normal. I wasn’t ever going to be the same, but I could still be me.

Five years later I find myself wanting to start all over again.

I want to read about a secret cure. I want to piece myself back to another new normal – a lasting new normal where I can come to grips with the idea that this is never going away.

But I’m afraid there aren’t any books titled “How to cope five years after your child dies,” or “Everyone thought you were over this but your heart is still aching, now what?”

The honeymoon phase is over and I’ve hit a wall. I feel alienated and worried that people are sick of hearing about little Luca.

People have moved on. Heck I’ve had two rainbow babies, they probably think I have too. But the truth is I will never move on.

I can’t stop thinking about what I have missed. Five trips to visit Santa Claus. Five birthday cakes. Five Halloween costumes.

The past two weeks I have sat in a funk as a cold realization has hit that this is never going away. Five, 10, 20, 40 years may pass by and my heart will still have an ache for my son who died.

Time has dulled the pain, but it can’t erase the past.

And yet I am ashamed to admit that recently I have wished it could. “If only I never had gone through this,” I’ve thought, “If I could black that part of my life out.”

I have cried and prayed that I could forget the pain, the sorrow. I have wanted to escape, to feel “normal.”

But I can never forget my Luca. Deep down I don’t want to. I just don’t want it to hurt this badly.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been really sick and weak lately, maybe it’s because we recently took family pictures without Luca, again. Maybe it’s because it’s pregnancy and infant loss awareness month.

I don’t know what’s brought back the sting but I hope it numbs away again soon.

Until then I’m going to let the tears flow and remember when it rained. I heard this song by Josh Groban last night. It is all too fitting for my life right now and is one of my favorites on grief. I too have tears that will not dry…

Remember When it Rained

Wash away the thoughts inside
That keep my mind away from you
No more love and no more pride.
The thoughts are all I have to do.

Oooo..remember when it rained
Felt the ground and looked up high and called your name
Oooo…remember when it rained
In the darkness I remain

Tears of hope run down my skin
Tears for you that will not dry
They magnify the one within
Let the outside slowly die…

Oooo..remember when it rained
Felt the ground and looked up high and called your name
Oooo..remember when it rained
In the water I remain…running down.

Running down, running down
running down, running down,
running down, running down,

ahhhhhhhh…..running down

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