“Happy” Birthday

The past 48 hours have been the most difficult since the 48 hours directly following the news of Jerrod's death.  Since August I have been trying to prepare for our birthday, knowing that the first one without him was going to be especially hard.  I asked Bret to take off work to be home with me since it was on a weekday and he readily agreed. I had been contacted randomly on Instagram by a woman who lost her twin brother to suicide last August and had asked her how she handled their birthday. She mainly suggested acknowledging the loss, not expecting it to be a normal celebration and stated that she made a point of talking out loud to her brother that day. Sounds simple enough.

I had gone into our birthday with the intention of visiting the grave alone to have that conversation. I don't think this is the only place this could have happened, but it felt like the most practical given that doing this at home would be challenging with two children and also wanting to be in a place that felt safe and fitting for whatever amount of tears may come. The days leading up to our birthday I didn't feel much as far as additional sadness; it sort of felt like the calm before the storm.  I went to bed Wednesday night somewhat in denial that the next day was our birthday.  I had created a birthday post on Instagram a week or so in advance and posted it during my early morning pumping session and this got the ball rolling on the inevitable heartbreak I was to feel that day.  As texts, Facebook and Instagram messages rolled in, it felt like those first few days after Jerrod had died with everyone checking in and reaching out.  This is both good and really hard, as it brought back the intensity of that early grief, which was also riddled with both tremendous joy (birth of my daughter) and pain (loss of my brother).  As much as I wanted to just ignore my birthday this year and not engage with both emotional extremes, I was encouraged to try to celebrate or at least allow myself to be celebrated.

And so I planned activities for both. I sat and watched the memorial video from the funeral and sobbed.  I smiled and enjoyed hugs, birthday singing from my son and my traditional pumpkin pie with coffee.  I exchanged "I'm so sorry's" and "I love you's" with my mom over the phone before she came down to spend the afternoon with us. I received my favorite flowers from my dear "sisters" along with delicious coffee cake and chocolates.  I did what felt like the impossible: trying to celebrate life and love with a tremendously broken heart.  I allowed myself the freedom to change my mind and plans at any point throughout the day; so instead of visiting the grave by myself, I went with Bret and my dad. Instead of asking all the "why" questions I have for my brother, I just told him I loved him and hoped he was at peace and not feeling the pain of leaving us in pain. When we pulled up to Jerrod's grave site, I spotted purple flowers. I instantly felt like they were for me, as they are my favorite color. It felt like God or someone, likely both, knew I'd need a sign of love and hope being there that day.  I skipped my grief group that I had intended on going to that evening in order to just  be home and loved on by my family. We watched the premiere of the final season of one of our current favorite shows and we enjoyed some more treats.

I ended the day feeling exhausted in every way. I anticipated a day to come with just Avery and hopefully lots of rest and quiet time for reflection. And then Jackson woke up at 1 a.m. burning up, sounding hoarse and asking for water. I rushed back into mommy mode, filling his humidifier, administering Tylenol, rocking and comforting him until he went back to "sleep."  I laid awake as he continued to cough, talk and cry out at multiple other times during the night. My mind raced with worry, which it has done more often since losing Jerrod. I guess that's the thing about an unexpected, terrible loss; you feel exposed and vulnerable to it happening again at any time. This has manifested in occasional thoughts or daydreams of something happening, primarily to Jackson.  I don't know if it's because my dearest memories of Jerrod involve Jackson or simply because he is such a source of joy in our life.

I think we managed another hour of sleep before he woke sobbing around 5 a.m. He was making a horrific noise as he gasped for air in between sobs. We almost rushed to the ER, but his breathing became less labored as he calmed down. Bret took another morning off work to help me monitor Jackson while we waited to get into urgent care or our pediatrician.  He was ultimately diagnosed with croup, given a steroid and instructions for Motrin around the clock and to take him to the ER if his breathing labored while at rest.  It's the most sick I've seen him, as he normally maintains activity and feeding/drinking as usual. We spent the day trying to force the smallest sips of water, milk, juice, etc.  Needless to say, it became anything but the rest I was needing and the fact that this unexpected stressor was so challenging to manage for both of us illuminated the deficiency at which we've been operating. Friends have lovingly stepped in to care for Avery and bring food, but the well is so dry it feels like the tiniest sprinkle. Or as I said to Bret, it feels like we're putting a BandAid on a gushing wound.

This season of life is overwhelming simply to do the daily tasks of living amidst grieving. I desperately want to fast forward. As I contemplate things that would bring reprieve, I'm fighting accusation of what it says about me as a person and a mother. Shouldn't counseling and the daily help of my mother in caring for my children be enough? How can I pay someone to do my "job" when I'm not even working? I feel like I'm failing at so many things. I couldn't maintain breastfeeding and I'm barely holding on to pumping. I haven't managed to get my daughter on a sleep schedule and the progress we had seemed to make with the tongue and lip tie release feels like it's reversing.  This also feels like my failure because I haven't been as diligent with all the stretches and exercises we were to be doing 3 times a day for 6 weeks. I haven't done my own physical therapy for my postpartum body that certainly doesn't heal in the 6-12 weeks our Western culture seems to expect. Everything feels unnecessarily hard and the lie I'm often believing is that it's my fault; that I'm not enough - not doing enough. The evil comparison leaks in and reinforces my feeling of inadequacy.  It all becomes an awful, vicious cycle. And my cycle often becomes: strive, strive, survive... fall apart... contemplate doing something different... maybe start doing something different... return to strive, strive, survive and repeat.  It has "worked," but it's not working.

I share all of this I guess primarily not to feel alone and somewhat for accountability purposes.  I felt alone in motherhood since Bret first returned to work after Jackson was born, and I have felt alone in grief after those first few weeks following Jerrod's death. Those aren't blanket, daily statements, but an overall feeling.  When I dissect either of those statements, I also know they are not true.  But when I'm alone in my house with my children, often struggling to just get by, it's easy to feel forgotten and to feel like I'm the only one who is struggling.  It's part of the reason I blog or I post about Jerrod. In those moments that I'm hurting, I don't want to feel alone and sometimes it's easier and simply more convenient to do that virtually, until I can find the strength to actually say the words out loud.  Bottom line, I need to out the lies that I'm not enough and act in agreement with what I say I believe about asking for help. I need to document the good days as much, if not more than the hard ones.

birthday twins

I think this is the last photo of just the two of us from our birthday, I think, 3 years ago.  That fact makes me really sad. And makes me want to be better about photographing my loved ones. But dang are you hard to get on camera. I think you always reluctantly took a picture with me and that's usually where the silly grin came from; giving you a hard time about shutting up and pretending to like me!

*click the photo for a link to my Instagram birthday post.