Two

Colby as Fred Flintstone

When Colby was about two he became enamored with Fred Flintstone. He loved watching the cartoon, insisted that I call him Fred, began carrying a stick over his shoulder (better that than Fred's prehistoric club), and whenever he was excited, yelled "Yabba-doo! Yabba-doo!" and ran around in tight circles. This was before Colby got quite so verbal, when he still often missed the middle syllable, or other letters in a word. "Bye, baby" became "By-be," "Spaghetti" became "ghetti bites," and "horses" became "hores" (be sure to say that one out loud).

That spring Colby would have been two-and-a-half, and I had a reporting assignment to cover the Iroquois Steeplechase at Nashville's Percy Warner Park. I was holding Colby in my arms at the edge of the infield, near the finish line facing the box seats, when the winner of the most recent race stopped for a photo. We were immediately surrounded by Nashville's Belle Meade nobility who also showed up for the photo. Imagine my horror when Colby pointed at the horse (and also in the direction of all the nice ladies in their spring hats in the box seats) and shouted, "Hores! Hores! Yabba-doo! Hores!"

But that wasn't my biggest challenge. "Britches" became "bitches" (no need for loud verbalization on that one), "apple juice" became "ap ju," and "McDonald's" became "Donald's House." In fact, Colby became so obsessed with McDonald's (second only to the fabulous Fred) that I had to plan our outings so that we didn't go anywhere near McDonald's. That was no easy feat even twenty-some years ago. It made going to the grocery store or running an errand and adventure in planning and I found some very interesting detours through apartment parking lots and alleys that kept us away from Donald.

The allure of McDonald's was not the food, although he later did actually eat there. No, it was the attached playground that he loved. No other playground would do. Even though each McDonald's playground was different, he knew it was affiliated with his beloved Donald. Once, just once, we went to a McDonald's that didn't have a playground. That was not a fun day.

While I would give both my arms (and more) in a heartbeat to be able to share these memories with Colby, I am grateful that I have any memories at all. Through my support groups I hear of so many parents who have lost, infants, babies, young toddlers. They will never have memories like these with those children. Most, have, or will have, other children, but the parents of these babies who left us early will always wonder what they would have liked, who they would have become enamored with, and what their special joys were. While 23 years was not nearly enough, I am forever and eternally grateful for them.

Absence

I have been absent from this blog for a few days. Thank you to all who have checked in. I have needed your love and support. It has been a very rough week.

Grieving parents who are ahead of me on this journey tell me that at some point around the first anniversary of their child's death, the shock begins to wear off and that's when the grieving process really begins. Even though it has only been a little over seven months, I believe I am at that stage. Colby's loss has been hitting me so much harder than ever before, on a much deeper level. For several days all I could do was sit curled up in a corner and cry. That is not like me. Before, most days I could function on some level. Recently, I have not been able to do that.

But the good news is that today, and for the past few days, the grief has been a little softer, a little easier. And when the harder grief returns hopefully I will be more prepared. I have conquered Round 1, and am ready for Round 2.

To those who have recently asked, "Aren't you over that yet?" I say NO. I do not believe parents "get over" the loss of a child. Nor do any of my counselors or parents in my local or online support group. We learn to live with it. We learn to function with a new normal. Losing a child is completely different than losing a parent or a spouse or a sibling. I do not discount the impact those losses have on people. They are huge. But the parent/child bond is different, and I hope none of you ever have to experience this kind of loss.

So for those who have asked me to events, to lunch, to parties, to receptions. Thank you. I appreciate you thinking about me, for wanting to include me. But I am not yet ready. It is still too much. I have this carefully constructed life that allows me to function (most days) but if I step out of my routine, then my world once again falls apart. Someday I will be ready. I hope that someday is soon. But if it is not, I know that eventually, it will  arrive.

Support

I wake up at four in the morning overcome with grief. It is a physical grief that causes my heart to pound, my hands to shake, my body to sweat, my mind to race. I have been through this before and by now know enough to turn to posts from my online support group of grieving parents. Reading other posts I learn how other parents cope, what to expect. I am just a little more than six weeks into this. My grief, these physical episodes, they say, will happen throughout the entire first year, and for some people, into years two, three, and beyond.

My aunt died in her early fifties, and my grandmother, my aunt's mother, had unexpected spells of crying, sadness, grief until the day she passed away many years later. There is a special bond between parent and child that is different from any other relationship. No one can understand what I am going through unless they have lost a child themselves. Sadly, there are hundreds of parents who belong to the support group and several have lost more than one child. For the few of us who have lost our only child, there is a special sadness.

The support group talks about "soft" days and "hard" days. Soft days are those days where the grief retreats, temporarily. Hard days will hopefully happen less and less frequently as time passes. The one thing that is constant, is the understanding that parents never really get past losing a child. The loss will eventually be absorbed into the parent's life, but life, then, is forever changed. Most parents will adapt, and go on to live full lives. But those lives will be drastically different than planned, for there will always be an empty place at holiday tables, there will always be one person missing in family photos.

I am so greatly saddened that these kind people I have met online have experienced the worst nightmare a parent can face. But I also am so very, very grateful for their guidance, love and unconditional support, for it is through them that I learn to navigate the first tentative steps into the uncharted waters of life without my son.