And the fog is lifting.........again.........

Here I have been, minding my own business for the last several months, wondering how I could be functioning so well after burying my second child.  Well here is the answer......the fog was still thick.  I couldn't see what was coming.  I couldn't feel the emptiness around me and in my heart.........Yet.

In my experience as an "angel mom" (what an awful thing to be experienced in), I figured that the last couple of weeks being rough were because of Bridger's angel day coming up.  I have always had a hard time in the days leading up to his Angel day and birthday.  But now we are past his Angel Day, and though we are only 3 weeks from his birthday, something is off.

I feel so heavy.  It is exhausting holding my head up (and not just because it is big :)).  Carrying my body around feels like such an effort.  Trying to hold my concentration on different tasks is difficult.  Even as I post this, I can't help but zone out until I only see the white on the computer screen.  I feel like I have to shake my head to get the sand out.

This is real.  My babies are gone.  My faith is not lost.  I know they are safe.  I know they are not suffering.  I know I will see them again.  But that does not protect me from the pain.  Today, it is not a sharp, shooting pain, but a pull and push.  I feel like I am being pulled apart from the outside, my ligaments and muscles stretching to the point of aching.  At the same time, I feel a pressure all around me as if I am being vacuum sealed inside of something I cannot see.  It is suffocating, this feeling.  At times it is difficult to catch my breath.

Breathe, I have to breathe.  Keep my eyes open, I will try not to fall back into the darkness of the last 4 years.  Their deaths must not be in vain.  I am still here because there is some important work I have to do.  I don't know what it is, but I know it is something that I must complete before I can return to my babies.

I thought that I would know what to expect having already lost one child.  I thought I knew the process, the time frames.  But this is different.  It's not just losing another child.  Now I have lost both of my children.  By my own choice, I will not be able to give birth to any more of my own children.  Even if I could, I don't know that my heart could take losing anymore.

We are "empty nesters" at 31 years old.  I feel empty.  We feel empty.  It is a strange feeling, wondering what you will do for the rest of your life at 31 years old.  The right answer here is NOT "have you thought about adoption?".  We know we could adopt, but adopted children can die too and as I stated above, I don't think my heart can take burying another child.  I will never say "never", but thinking about having more children just makes me feel more isolated.  It does not give me hope.  It sends me into a tailspin of what might happen.  All that I can handle right now is going to work each day and coming home.

One of my patient's children asked me today about my babies.  She asked how long it has been since Finleigh died and I told her April 2.  Innocently, she said "so you are still grieving".  I know what she meant, but this is not how I took it.  Of course I am still grieving, she has only been gone for 4 months.  My son has been gone for 4 years and I am still grieving.  And so far, it hasn't gotten better.  I have just gotten better at handling it.  I have gotten better at smiling for people.  I have gotten better and keeping it together.  I have gotten better at these things for others, not for me.  It doesn't make me uncomfortable when I cry, it makes you uncomfortable.  I am okay feeling sad and lost at times, others want to fix me or "take it away".  I don't need it taken away, I want to feel it.  I want all of the reminders of my children, painful or not.  I want every part of it.

Today is not a good day.  It's not a bad day, but not a good one.

Happy Angel Day my sweet boy!

Today is Bridger's 4th Angel Day.  I cannot believe it has been 4 years.  As I brush my teeth tonight, I cannot help but remember 4 years ago this morning when I was brushing my teeth as I watched my sweet boy give his best attempt at taking his pulse oximeter off of his foot.  Moments later, my world spiraled out of control.  His breathing changed.  He began to desaturate.  His face turned purple.  I tried to get his CPAP on while our pulmonologist called the Cardiac ICU team for assistance.  I was pushed out of the room where I watched from a window as they tried to save my baby.

They did not have the correct size of tube to intubate him.  The nurse struggled to get fluid pushed into his line.  I went back in.  All of the sudden, I knew he was gone.  By now, I was on the phone with Danny.  The medical team wanted to start CPR.  I said "no".  I asked Danny, he said "yes".  He wanted to say goodbye to his son.  I knew he was gone.  I let them try, but I knew it would be of no use.  After a few minutes, I told them to stop.  I always knew that if his heart stopped, that was him telling me that it was time for him to go.

And so he was gone.......

The nurse had me leave the room while she cleaned him up and removed the oxygen and IV tubing.  I held him for hours as we waited for Danny to fly in from Utah.  Bridger and I were in the Texas Children's Hospital, applying for a heart and lung transplant.  Bridger died around 10:30 that morning.  Danny got to us around 5:00 that evening.  He had not seen his son in person for 9 days.  When he arrived, I was lying with Bridger in my bed.  The blood had settled to the back of his head and body.  He was cold and lifeless.

These moments are burned in my brain.  Often, I still have nightmares.  I imagine that Danny does as well.  These are not images that easily disappear.  The next few days were a blur.  Dave, a dear friend, who lives in Texas drove Danny, myself and my parents around as we made arrangements with the mortuary.  We had to get permits to fly his body home as well as an airline who would take him with us.  We did not want to leave Texas without him, so we waited as these arrangements were made.

We all came home.....

I titled this post "Happy Angel Day" because in so many ways, it is a blessing.  On this day, 4 years ago, Bridger was freed from his struggling body.  He no longer had to live with a broken heart.  His life was no longer contingent on multiple medications and oxygen.  He did not have to suffer anymore.  The reasons that make this a sad day are selfish.  I don't get to hold him in my arms.  I don't get to hear him laugh.  I don't get to pour every ounce of my life into caring for him.  Being a mommy and taking care of my babies was such an amazing gift that I will never be able to repay.  I have never known a greater purpose for my life that I have when my children were alive.

One day, I will have a Happy Angel Day too.  On that happiest of days, I will return to my sweet babies.  I will hold them in my arms, never wanting to let go.  I will feel the softness of their skin, smell their sweet scents and hear their mischevious giggles.

One day....

To my sweet Bridger James, I love you sooo much.  Happy Angel Day!