Having a child die is something that not even the worlds scariest horror film could depict. There are no words for it, no image for it, no description. It's really just that awful.
The 4 month mark of Boston's death is right around the corner. Tomorrow to be exact. That terrifies me, saddens me, and breaks my heart in ways that are not fixable. My mind has not been at ease since that horrible day and in many ways it never will be. The reality that I now live in is one that makes it impossible to ever look at things the same way.
Almost as breathtakingly difficult as watching my own precious son be pronounced dead is the pain that comes after realizing no one can comprehend it, let alone that the ones I'd lay down and die for can't go more than an hour without letting their own concerns make the clouds that darken my life almost impossible to escape. Concern is easily understandable when I am going through one of life's worst tragedies. I'm not saying I expect people not to worry about me or show concern, in fact I'd probably be insulted if you didn't, but there's no excuse for judgement and assumptions being the main road traveled down by the ones I thought would help me through this.
So please, to the people this applies to, read with care.
I am not okay. You're right, I'm really not. Who possibly could be 4 short but also terribly long months after watching their child die? I planned for him for 9 months. I carried him for 9 months. He was literally a part of ME for 9 months. I was the one with my face in the toilet each morning, and all other hours throughout the day vomiting for the majority of my pregnancy. I was the one with the giant basketball belly counting down the days until I got to meet his perfect self. I was the one who found the determination and love to be the best mom I could be for him when I knew it would be hard to be a single mom with a newborn and a toddler and other people advised me not to do it. I was the one having contractions. I was the one who's water broke. I was the one who gave birth to him. I was the one who got up whatever hours of the night to feed his always hungry little self. I was the one who still got up each morning no matter how late I was up with him. I was the one who fell asleep next to him each night. I was the one who held his hand while doctors tried to save him. He was my baby. MY baby. I will honor whatever roll you had in my darling fatboy's life, but do not ever expect me to do so if you cannot do the same for me.
Do not expect me to appreciate your concern when you don't ever call, text, message, or any form of contacting me to ask me how my day is going. Please, if you're going to actively assume you have reason to be concerned the least you could do is sit down with me and let me talk. The few people that have done so with open ears and open hearts walk away knowing my true, brutally honest opinion on how I'm doing. It's been one of the most ironic realizations I've ever had to come to that the people that assume they know how I'm doing are the ones that never simply just ask.
You're hurting my feelings. You know that giant hole I'm already in? The one I have to claw and scratch and scream my way out of because one day out of the blue my life turned into an absolute nightmare? Yep, that one. You're throwing rocks in it but yet acting like you're trying to make it easier for me to get out of. It is the saddest thing I have ever experienced besides Boston dying.
I am concerned about you too, because it should be blatantly obvious that I do need help. I need help remembering my Bosty. I need help finding ways to forgive whatever higher power there is for letting me know this pain. I need help calming the bitter parts of myself that are surfacing. Please don't be one more thing that I have to find forgiveness for. I don't want this. I didn't ask for this to happen. I did not throw myself into this deep dark hole, tragedy did. That's what every single part of this is; a tragedy. There comes a point where it's just not possible to forgive the people making more of a mess out of that than is already present, and I will not apologize for refusing to be stuck in it.
Sincerely,
The already heartbroken mother of an angel
"It's agony having to hold a baby in your heart rather than your arms"
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