Immensely proud to be part of the #oncomingalive project.
“Monroe deserved to be loved. I might not be able to fix his broken heart, I might not ever be able to give him the lifetime of experiences that he should have had, but I could love him. So I did, ferociously.”
Here’s my struggle today. Is it too direct to say, “I wish that I’d heard from you yesterday?” Yesterday was the second anniversary of my son’s passing and I didn’t hear from some of the people that I expected to. I can’t tell if it’s that “I don’t want to bother her” urge or if they forgot.
That’s the thing… the years pass. And they will forget. Or at least, not remember… the dates or anniversaries. It won’t be fresh for everyone. We’ll have more children. More life. People will assume that we’ve healed. Or they won’t want to remind us.
As if we would ever need a reminder. As if you could ever make the worst thing ever somehow worse by acknowledging it.
January is my dark time and while I’m dealing with a lot of sadness right now, the anger is substantially less than it was a year ago. And I feel more confident about coming out the other side of this in a few days or weeks and feeling lighter again.
But it’s never going to entirely go away. Love and loss- they’re so intertwined for me. It’s hard to acknowledge one without the other.
January is the hardest month. It was the hardest month before we lost Monroe. It’s rain and grey and work, work, work. And now, grief hits me like a tidal wave in January. I’m surrounded by new beginnings and people working on the future and all I can think about is the past.
Hope is a wild thing. Rationally, I can tell myself that hope hurts me not at all, but I can’t seem to let myself believe that anything will be okay ever again. Having lost so much and survived, it seems like folly to want to risk anything- even if it’s as intangible as the ability to dream.
We’ve done research, met with a genetic counselor, had all kinds of tests and there are no answers. Everything has been negative.
Not that I want to be a carrier for anything, but when you don’t know why something happened, you can’t really rule out any potential causes. It sounds stupid… But it makes me question everything I did while I was pregnant. There’s no way to know that it really wasn’t somehow my fault- regardless of what anyone says.
And so there’s no way to know that I won’t unintentionally be doing it again.
I didn’t listen to the Beatles at all, for over a year after Monroe passed away. Today, Juan and I are listening to them with the windows open. We’re baking bread.
I wish Monroe was here. That longing never leaves. Never will.
But, there is still joy to be had. I’ve known it all along. But, I didn’t really feel it for a long time.
Today, you are two, Monroe Mirlo.
I wonder so many things about you. Would you be into dinosaurs? Trains? Crayons? Singing? Would you be a picky eater? Would your eyes have finally settled on a shade of green or brown? What would you have been for Halloween? Would you be outgoing or shy?
Who would you be, if you were here today?
I miss you and I love you. Today and every day, I am so thankful that you are mine.
Its always hits me when I’m not expecting it. I don’t even really like Halloween. I was at the library for Halloween last year and it was fine. But, seeing all the kids dressed up, is making me really, really sad today.
Monroe should be here, throwing a fit over his costume and too much sugar. He should be here. He should be here and the wrongness of him not being here is just overwhelming today. It makes me question everything about nature and the universe and it makes me find it hard to trust in anything.
So, i’m crying behind my closed office door. Because I want my son back.
This is grief. Long days of fineness strung together and then, snap.
The truth is that its a lot easier to be so busy I can barely function than it is to be sad. I’m trying to take a really close look at all the things in my life. Is this what I really want? Is this making me happy? Is this neccesary or is it just a habit?
And it’s really hard. Hard to know myself and hard to look at habits and relationships and even items and figure out what I need to keep. And what I don’t. Because I can’t work on it all and give everything 110% all the time.
I’m tapped out and when i’m tapped out, I can’t take care of myself. And grief doesn’t mix well with lack of self care.
I had a cryfest yesterday. My dog, Sam, is the greatest with kids. Super patient and protective, endlessly happy. I hate that Monroe isn’t here to tug on his ears and feed him things he shouldn’t have.
Stupid, I guess, in the face of all the other things he isn’t here to do. But, that’s the thing about losing him. The loss is endless. And it isn’t just mine.
My husband brought me coffee. And listened to me. Then, I went to yoga. Then, I got a call from genetics, saying that we are essentially good to go with trying for another biological baby. Then, I put on red lipstick and went to work.
This is how you get through. One step at a time. Even when you can’t touch the bottom.