Friday, February 6, 2015

Ambivalence about where I'm at

Good things still hurt. 

Nature's beauty.  C.T.'s birthday.  Delicious food.  Pleasure.  Laughter.  A hug.  Planning ahead for something "fun".  Believing we will effortlessly live to see that moment.  Even looking put together still hurts. 

I acknowledge a bit of good, or someone attempts to call my attention to some good in the world, and immediately, the regret, the anger, the guilt and resentment rains down furiously. 

All of his good things were violently taken away.  Zachary never - not once in his two weeks - felt the sun shine on his skin.  It is mind boggling that I should feel anything good again.  

THEY insist I will see the world's beauty again someday.  None of THEM have lost two children. 

I wonder if its possible to feel more alone in my disillusionment.    


Tomorrow Zachary would be 13 months old.  Would he have taken a couple of unassisted steps yet?  Would he be weaned?  Would he devour cubes of steamed tofu like his brother did at this age?  Would he be as enamored with C.T. as I imagine he would?  How is it possible that I'm pondering these things about a second dead son?  I miss him so much.  Two weeks was not enough.   

I am a broken record.  


I am sometimes frustrated that I can't seem to muster the resilience, now, that I did in the years after B.W. died.  That I'm not finding hope or appreciating good things again.

In multiple losses..., the shock lasts much longer.  The denial is much stronger.  The anger is more intense and the sadness and depression deeper..., In these cases it becomes hard to know whom you are grieving at any given moment...  The losses all naturally meld together on their own..., ...we may wonder who is next. 

~ Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler from their book, On Grief and Grieving

My shoulder relax ever so slightly when I read these simple affirmative words.  I must allow myself to sound like a broken record,... for it is me who must learn to live with this unbelievable loss on top of loss.    


  1. You have every right to repeat yourself. To put the same words again and again on this unbelievable reality you have to live in. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that it is even possible to have two children die, and i can only imagine how unreal it must seem for you.

    I too sound like a broken record but really, I am so so sorry for your losses.

  2. Oh Gretchen. Thinking of you today. It is so heartbreakingly unfair to have to live with loss, let alone compounded loss. Unfathomably hard. Sending you gentle hugs.