Since the loss of Brecken,
I’ve been meeting up and chatting up with other mamma’s who
also lost an infant. I’ve joined a mom group on Facebook to socialize and get to know other
mamma’s out there. I need this social interaction. I like being a part of this Facebook group
because it allows me the chance to talk about him more often and actually feel like a mamma. I’ve noticed, with all of
my interactions, a common topic comes up at some point. Not all conversations, but enough to make me think.
One day, While on
the phone with my mom, she wasn’t
sure if I’d answer or if I’d know, but she was talking about how
she had another conversation with a friend and it sparked her to ask me this question.
She asked me if I ever feel Brecken around me, or do I get ‘signs’ that he’s communicating
with me to let me know he’s there. I straight up answered her “No” on both accounts.
Wondering about ‘signs’ has been something on my mind since he died. But, unfortunately,
I’ve never had that “Ah-Ha!” moment of certainty. Not feeling him around me makes me even
more down about his death. I wish I could feel more than just the clothes he wore while
he was alive.
I think, a lot of my lack of noticing
Brecken around me, is my lack in faith. I question
afterlife, heaven, or any place that is said to exist where I’d be able to
see him and hold him in my arms again. I know many, MANY people
mean so well when they try to comfort me by telling me he’s in a better place
and I’ll be with him again one day, but it honestly frustrates me
and does not bring me any sort of comfort. If anything, it brings on anger.
My baby shouldn’t be living a ‘better’ life in the arms of Jesus, he’s SUPPOSED to
be living his happy life in the two people’s arms who created him: his mother and his father. I
want people to stop telling me he’s an angel. I want people to stop telling me he’s happy, comfortable
and being taken care of. These are things I highly recommend you not say to a grieving parent,
especially if you don’t know their religious convictions. Even religious people will most likely have
a struggle as to why their God took their child away.
Ever since I had
the conversation about signs with my mom,
I’ve been more aware. At the time of the question, I absolutely did not
‘feel’ my son around me. I still don’t. I think my lack of religious belief has me
numb to the feeling that he’s a spirit floating around me on a daily basis. One thing I
have noticed since my phone call with my mom is how often I see an elephant.
Every-single-day I realize I come across an elephant I haven’t seen before either on TV,
at the grocery store, on a logo, in someone’s pictures, or in random pictures I come across on
the internet. I don’t purposefully ‘look’ for these elephants. They are mere observations. They all
get me thinking: “Are these my signs? Or is this just like when you get a new car and suddenly you
see your same car model and color out all over the road when you’ve never noticed them before?” I
still have a hard time grasping that this could be Brecken’s way of saying “Hello Mamma!” I think
it still stems back to the spirit thing.
I think the only time I come close to ‘feeling’ Brecken
is when I’m in excruciating pain. My days are more spaced when it comes
to my crying meltdowns, but when they do happen, it feels like my heart is
trying to rip itself out of my body to go find him and be with him. They once beat
their own tunes, but under one body, and I think it’s my hearts way of saying it
wants him back. For some reason these moments happen mostly at night, when I’m trying to
go to sleep. Every night I have the hardest time falling asleep because I begin to think about
so many things. Anything ranging from my pregnancy with him, to his birth, to the trauma,
to his death, to the family we have lost due to their own selfishness. Sometimes it just becomes
too much to handle and I begin to hyperventilate and tears start to stream. I keep it to myself so
I don’t wake Torry. I climb out of bed, walk into Brecken’s nursery, switch on the lamp and hold the
elephant we bought him on our first day at the NICU in Milwaukee and begin to just release the immense
amount of pain. I will usually spend almost an hour in there just crying. The pain is so intense
that I feel like I don’t know how I’m going to get myself out of his room and continue on with
my days. Most of the time I’ll just sit and rock myself in the rocker and clench my eyes shut as I release
the tears, but sometimes, I’ll get up and walk over to the pack & play that holds all of the things
he used and/or wore while he was alive. I’ll look everything over while running my fingers across it
all. I pick up the hat he wore home and wore a lot in his last days to keep him warm from all of the body
heat he was losing, and I put it to my nose and I inhale deeply, taking in every scent I can. It’s the
only thing of his I have that still smells like him. Even the hat, though, is losing that precious scent
and that scares me. I’ve relied on this hat for 6 months and I’m already beginning to lose that
big connection that brings me back to his living days.
I was lying in bed with Torry the other
night and we were talking about Brecken. I was telling Torry that it
just seems so surreal that I gave birth to Brecken 6+ months ago now.
Because his life was so short, and he’s been gone for nearly 6 months, it almost
seems like it was all a dream. Like it never really ever happened. I have all of the evidence
of giving birth, but no physical presence of all the hard work of creating and carrying him. I
have to imagine what he’d look like now. I have to imagine how his face would look when he smiled.
I have to imagine his warmth, his breath, and his giggles. I have to imagine his voice and what he would
have sounded like making all of his baby coo’s. It’s such a terrible pain that will shelve itself
in our hearts forever. Even when we have another baby, our hearts will leap and yet sink at the same
time. I know there will always be some sort of small comparisons to Brecken. We’ll here our new baby’s
cries and probably cry ourselves at that sound, but we’ll also be shedding tears of sadness because
those are sounds we never got to hear from Brecken.
*Sigh*, I miss my peanut.
I miss him more than I can every verbally express.