It’s now 7 months since our lovely baby Jason went to be with the Lord. Some things have changed, such as the daily routines and schedules, and some are generally constant. Now I cry more freely and openly if the topic about my son comes up, and I don’t apologize for it, because my tears and pain are the only tangible thing I have of him, my precious, handsome baby, Jason.
Wednesdays happen to be the days when there’s devotion at my current and previous places of work. This makes Wednesdays particularly hard, because that’s when all those deep songs about God are sung, and sermons are given, sometimes about the life after this one. Those are hard mornings to handle, especially because there’s only so much time and then work has to go on. Sundays would be easier, because then I can go home afterwards and sort myself out without being in a hurry. So on Wednesdays I allow myself to just be, and do just what I must. I try to plan Wednesday’s work around Tuesday and Thursday, so that I can still meet my targets. But I’m ever so grateful for the midweek service that happens that evening, in which people share testimonies of what God has done for them, and once again, I am established and uplifted. True, the one who broke still heals.
Hard Things To Do
It is still however hard to talk about the events of that day and period, and so I have been directing people to my website, where I have put the full information. I’m glad to see some people go and visit the site – it shows that there’s concern not just curiosity about this matter.
The daily routines have changed, and some practices are becoming more habitual and voluntary, and it’s not such a drag to do them. Sometimes, however, the pendulum swings the other way and everything takes effort.
I am also more drawn towards things of comfort such as company that makes me feel safe, friends filled with laughter, movies/series/songs that are soothing…yes. And if something is a bit rough or harsh, I’m avoiding it or its atmosphere, like the plague. Yes yes yes, I’m reading the Bible too, even in the midst of doubts and questions, although most of my biblical encouragement might come to me through email, accidental internet searches or friends. Yes, sometimes I want to not think about God allowing such a terrible thing to happen, so I’m having an on-and-off scenario here. But bottomline, I still know that He is good and loving, as paradoxical as that sounds (to me too, sometimes).
What I Won’t Do
There are some things I will not do at this time because I simply cannot. I have tried and I’m not able to do them, so just excuse me for now.
- I will not visit your new-born baby. I tried this one, and I spiraled back into the black hole of pain and anguish. I am happy for you, but I’ll celebrate with you from afar. I don’t want you to try and hide your excitement about your baby when I visit, or try to wonder how you’ll accommodate me knowing that I don’t have my little baby. Thanks for the concern, but please accept my distant congratulations.
- I will not rush to pick your babies when I meet them, especially for the first time, and especially so if they are boys. Noooo, I don’t want you sympathizing with me or thinking I’m having a ‘replacing’ moment. Nooo, I’ll wait for the child himself to be drawn to me, then we’ll bond. Yes, I’ve seen those looks that say, ‘oh dear, she’s gonna lose it’ and no, I won’t. I might excuse myself and cry for a while and then come back, but no, I won’t jump at it like I would before. And yes, honestly speaking, I don’t want to entertain that excitement in my heart – it’ll be painfully short-lived, and I’ll have to deal with the consequences for much longer than it’ll take to wait for a gradual approach.
- I will not want to talk about new-borns, not now, please not now. I might listen politely, but that’s about all I can muster the strength for.
What I Will Do
Some things I will do, however, will include the following.
- I will keep journaling (albeit monthly; more often if I am able to) about my journey of grief. I have come to learn that many people are encouraged when they read what I’m writing, and even if for just one person, I will keep journaling – because I am one person, and I know that this period can feel like eternity. So if I can ease that eternity, and ruffle that stillness for just one person, I will. So that they know that they are not alone, there is still some life around – and some life similar to theirs, and that it’s possible to move on, albeit slowly.
- I will keep responding to the inbox messages on email, comments or facebook, I will. I will not ignore any responses, and if you want to talk some more about some of the things going on in your own journey, my eyes, ears and heart are open. Let’s walk together, let’s hold hands and draw strength together from God.
- I will keep talking to God and to my support system about what’s going on, and I’ll keep thanking God for them. Knowing that I can lean on each one of them at any one time keeps me grounded. I know I won’t fall from the weight (or lightheadedness) of it all, and that gives me hope for one more day. Thank you friends and family, I love each one of you.
So much for now. Thanks for reading to the end. Your messages are welcome, and as always, I will respond to each one of you.