Living in a Changed World
"Demons" by Imagine Dragons
"Look upon each dat that comes as a challenge, as a test of courage. The pain will come in waves, some days worse than others, for no apparent reason. Accept the pain. Do not suppress it. Never attempt to hide grief from yourself. Little by little, just as the deaf, the blind, the handicapped develop with time an extra sense to balance disability, so the bereaved, the widowed, will find new strength, new vision, born of the very pain and loneliness which seem, at first, impossible to master."
- Daphne Du Maurier
It is impossible to explain how burying your children changes you. It doesn't matter how you grieve, it doesn't matter how "well" or "poorly" you handle it. It doesn't matter the time that goes by and it doesn't matter when or if the wounds ever begin to heal.
The fact is you are changed in such a profound way that it terrifies you.
I think this change defines my grief journey. And I think this change is what defines ANYONES grief journey who has suffered this type of horrendous loss.
On March 27, when my wife delivered our twins 5 hours apart, stillborn, I wept. In fact I cried so hard, it rattled every bone in my body. I will never forget that. I will never forget knowing exactly that at that very moment I was experiencing the absolute worst pain I have ever and most likely would ever feel in my life. Tears didn't just roll down my cheek... I yelled. I screamed. I shook. I buried my face close to my wife and just cried and cried while gasping for a breath in between.
Few can fathom this kind of devastation.
Almost two months have passed. I have not cried like that again. I have cried. I have wept. But not like that. My heart still feels broken. I still think about them 24/7. I still carry around what feels like a million pound weight of sorrow that drags me down everywhere I go.
But I have not cried like that.
Because time does soften that pain. It doesn't remove it. It doesn't lessen it. It only softens it. I still feel it every bit as much as I did in that beautiful and horrible moment when I met my children for the first and last time. But now I can begin to assert some level of control over it, something I learn to do a little better each day.
Thats how it works, right? "Time heals all wounds?" I would argue it doesn't heal them... but like I said, merely softens the way you react to them.
For me, thats not the issue. Because the fact is time will pass. Since the beginning that is one of the few things we can be 100% sure of: the sun will rise and the sun will set. Time goes on. Whether you like it or not. And with that passing of time comes this supposed healing of wounds.
But what about the change? What about this new world that bereaved parents are forced to live in? How do we survive in a world where now we no longer believe that good can happen and that tragedy and pain and suffering and disappointment is waiting around every turn? No one has an answer on how we are supposed to live in this new world of ours... where joy seems completely foreign to us. Where we go day to day just trying to survive, hoping and praying there isn't another disastrous calamity waiting for us at the next doctors appointment.
Two months ago we rejoiced with our friends who were expecting babies around the same time as us. Now the thought of it brings us to our knees and breaks our hearts into pieces.
Two months ago we couldn't stay out of our babies nursery. The cribs. The new walls. The paint. The furniture. Now we keep the door shut and act like the room doesn't exist.
Two months ago we made appointments to meet with prospective pediatricians who would care for Graham and Savannah. Now we are meeting with cemetery directors and grave memorial businesses and paying thousands and thousands of dollars for funerals and gravestones with their names on it.
This is our new world. This is what we live in. And no amount of time or therapy can change that.
Yes wounds heal or soften or whatever you want to call it... but we forever live in this new world that just a few months ago would have been completely impossible to even fathom.
Ask me how we are going to do it and my answer to you is I have no idea. I have no idea how.
I just know that we will. I know that while I am not special by ANY means - I have been blessed with an indomitable spirit. One that refuses to lay down and die and give up under any circumstances.
Walking around in this changed, new world is terrifying and daunting but I know I can navigate my way through it... somehow. Each day is a victory, whether its a day full of tears and sorrow or a day with smiles and laughter. Each moment is a blessing, each opportunity to remember, to think about, to dream about, to fantasize about Graham and Savannah is something I am learning to be thankful for not sad about.
No one can tell us how we will survive in this changed world that we were never prepared to live in... but that is ok. My wife, my angel children, they are counting on me and I know that somehow I will figure it out. If not for me, certainly for them.
"Look upon each dat that comes as a challenge, as a test of courage. The pain will come in waves, some days worse than others, for no apparent reason. Accept the pain. Do not suppress it. Never attempt to hide grief from yourself. Little by little, just as the deaf, the blind, the handicapped develop with time an extra sense to balance disability, so the bereaved, the widowed, will find new strength, new vision, born of the very pain and loneliness which seem, at first, impossible to master."
- Daphne Du Maurier
It is impossible to explain how burying your children changes you. It doesn't matter how you grieve, it doesn't matter how "well" or "poorly" you handle it. It doesn't matter the time that goes by and it doesn't matter when or if the wounds ever begin to heal.
The fact is you are changed in such a profound way that it terrifies you.
I think this change defines my grief journey. And I think this change is what defines ANYONES grief journey who has suffered this type of horrendous loss.
On March 27, when my wife delivered our twins 5 hours apart, stillborn, I wept. In fact I cried so hard, it rattled every bone in my body. I will never forget that. I will never forget knowing exactly that at that very moment I was experiencing the absolute worst pain I have ever and most likely would ever feel in my life. Tears didn't just roll down my cheek... I yelled. I screamed. I shook. I buried my face close to my wife and just cried and cried while gasping for a breath in between.
Few can fathom this kind of devastation.
Almost two months have passed. I have not cried like that again. I have cried. I have wept. But not like that. My heart still feels broken. I still think about them 24/7. I still carry around what feels like a million pound weight of sorrow that drags me down everywhere I go.
But I have not cried like that.
Because time does soften that pain. It doesn't remove it. It doesn't lessen it. It only softens it. I still feel it every bit as much as I did in that beautiful and horrible moment when I met my children for the first and last time. But now I can begin to assert some level of control over it, something I learn to do a little better each day.
Thats how it works, right? "Time heals all wounds?" I would argue it doesn't heal them... but like I said, merely softens the way you react to them.
For me, thats not the issue. Because the fact is time will pass. Since the beginning that is one of the few things we can be 100% sure of: the sun will rise and the sun will set. Time goes on. Whether you like it or not. And with that passing of time comes this supposed healing of wounds.
But what about the change? What about this new world that bereaved parents are forced to live in? How do we survive in a world where now we no longer believe that good can happen and that tragedy and pain and suffering and disappointment is waiting around every turn? No one has an answer on how we are supposed to live in this new world of ours... where joy seems completely foreign to us. Where we go day to day just trying to survive, hoping and praying there isn't another disastrous calamity waiting for us at the next doctors appointment.
Two months ago we rejoiced with our friends who were expecting babies around the same time as us. Now the thought of it brings us to our knees and breaks our hearts into pieces.
Two months ago we couldn't stay out of our babies nursery. The cribs. The new walls. The paint. The furniture. Now we keep the door shut and act like the room doesn't exist.
Two months ago we made appointments to meet with prospective pediatricians who would care for Graham and Savannah. Now we are meeting with cemetery directors and grave memorial businesses and paying thousands and thousands of dollars for funerals and gravestones with their names on it.
This is our new world. This is what we live in. And no amount of time or therapy can change that.
Yes wounds heal or soften or whatever you want to call it... but we forever live in this new world that just a few months ago would have been completely impossible to even fathom.
Ask me how we are going to do it and my answer to you is I have no idea. I have no idea how.
I just know that we will. I know that while I am not special by ANY means - I have been blessed with an indomitable spirit. One that refuses to lay down and die and give up under any circumstances.
Walking around in this changed, new world is terrifying and daunting but I know I can navigate my way through it... somehow. Each day is a victory, whether its a day full of tears and sorrow or a day with smiles and laughter. Each moment is a blessing, each opportunity to remember, to think about, to dream about, to fantasize about Graham and Savannah is something I am learning to be thankful for not sad about.
No one can tell us how we will survive in this changed world that we were never prepared to live in... but that is ok. My wife, my angel children, they are counting on me and I know that somehow I will figure it out. If not for me, certainly for them.
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