Living Through Grief

I know what it is like to go to bed night after night wanting to die and not wake up.  I know the yearning for my ashes to sit next to my son’s ashes under the same stone.  I know anticipating the roll of the dice to see if there is an afterlife and do I get to hug Finn when I die.  

It is a blessing that I don’t know what it is like to plan or even desire to take my own life.  Yes, I have thought many times about the best way to die.  Yes I have hoped that I would die soon.  But never have I taken action or planned this out.  

For me choosing not to live is an addictive destructive cycle of abusing myself.  It is staying up too late, eating too much, drinking too much, lustfully dreaming, eroding relationships.  It is running away from the things that bring me joy.  It is the disgusting habit of telling myself I have no worth and scraping away my own dignity.  Really it is not any different from the bad habits and activities that I have always carried with me, but grief takes it to a whole ‘nother level.  One that takes me to very dark and scary places.  Not the more normal “that was dumb and I will never do that again” or “tomorrow I’ll start take care of myself.”  

Not living is not the same as dying.  Not living is running away from the things that make life beautiful and worth living.   

Too many times, I watched my son fight to live.  Parents shouldn't have to watch their kids grasping to breath and fighting to keep their hearts pumping.  Several times, I watched Finn show herculean strength to keep life.  Each and every time, with the help of teams of doctors and nurses, he won and kept living.  His death was not his choice and it was peaceful.  My son inspires me to fight to live.

Choosing to live with the weight of grief and inspiration of my son is beautiful.  Living after these dark journeys is thrilling.  I have never noticed sunsets like I do now or big bright moons.  My living son is so much fun.  My wife’s smell and touch and smile melt my heart like never before.  There is no question about what is important.  Living through grief has brought me to journaling, meditating, flossing, loving with my whole heart, new levels of yoga, writing, and the same light that I felt when holding Finn.  These tasks and blessings and many more have started and become habit AFTER Finn died. This is a personal sign that I can live and thrive through grief. In fact, my health 2 years and 6 weeks after Finn died is better than it was before he was born.

I have tasted food with each and every bite and been inspired by the miracle of a seed growing into a plant and being cooked into food that makes my taste buds dance and felt the energy that brings to my body.  Yes living through grief can be beautiful.

There is no escaping the Shadows of Grief.  Living through grief is still a very difficult choice with huge barriers.  But grief does bring the inspiration and purpose to chose life and to strive to live life to the fullest.  Since my son’s death, I have felt, heard, seen, and tasted gifts that are unimaginable.  Living through grief is beautiful.

Ocean Phase

I don’t believe grief is experienced in a predetermined set of stages like a lot of people write about.  But I found that I have lived through many phases of grief.  This is my first post about a phase I lived through.

My feet were stuck in the sand.  Buried over my ankles.  I could barely wiggle my toes.  The ocean ebbed and flowed from below my knees to above my waist.  Most of the time was spent underwater in a fetal position.  Grasping for breath.  Eyes stung from the saltwater tears.  The ocean floor slicing my skin and the wounds burned from the cold salt water. Then briefly, the tides would shift and I stood up and saw the most beautiful view of the sun setting over the ocean.  The pure white sands unfolding endlessly in both directions.  Life could be beautiful and I saw it and I appreciated it.  Slam, I was knocked down again with my head beating against the ocean floor gasping for breath with the sting of tears flooding my eyes.  Then I stood again soaking in the beauty of the ocean.

This was my first phase of grieving. This is what I felt the hours, days, and weeks after coming home from the hospital after Finn’s death.  I had no control.  I was scared and hurting deeply.  But, I also could see and feel extreme beauty.  The memories of my beautiful son were fresh.  I could still see his smile and feel him resting in my arms.  Finn’s light shined as brightly as ever.

This phase was defined by the extreme contrast between the beauty of fresh memory and the pain of a parents worst nightmare.  Extreme pain but also profound beauty.

It is interesting in looking back, my senses were fully engaged.  I’m not sure how much my brain was engaged.  I’m not sure my brain could have handled the full implication of the loss.  This was a time of feeling and not thinking.

During this time, I was also wrapped in the arms of community and family.  I later came to realize that there is a lot of numbness during this period.  Numbness from both my brain being shut off but also from the care of family and community.

I felt so much during these few weeks after Finn died.  I so wish I would have written or somehow captured these memories and feelings.  I wish I would have spent more time feeling what is was like to know and then lose such an amazing son as Finn.  I call this my Ocean Phase.