I updated the main blog page today to more accurately reflect what this blog has come to be: my journal of my thoughts and feelings surrounding death and dying. I'm not the chit-chat type and am pretty bad at keeping the g-rents up-to-date on what is happening in our lives. So I thought I would do it here. Turns out, I still don't sit down and write about what E did in school that day or what we did over the weekend. I've always kept a journal of sorts on my computers. It wasn't a daily thing - just when I had a bunch of thoughts in my head that I needed to sort out and I found writing them was the best way. Now, it seems I use the blog to do the same. It's as if I am throwing this out to the universe and maybe I'll get some knowledge back. I know the topics aren't easy and will probably make people sad. I often cry when writing them. But it's the only time I stop and let myself reflect. And that is also why I don't write all that frequently. (A new baby has also shortened my free time.) I don't let myself stop too often because I am afraid to feel the hurt.
So I say all that to acknowledge that yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of Jacob's death. Some people call it an 'angel birthday.' Maybe. Josh & I didn't talk about it much. That's just how we are. There wasn't anything to do to acknowledge it. What would you do? We celebrate his birthday. I don't feel the need to do anything on this day.
What I fear is reliving the day he died. I can play it over and over in my mind. I know the conversations I had telling my parents and my sister. I remember the call from the nurse in the middle of the night telling me Josh says I need to get to the hospital immediately. I remember running as fast as I could out of the Ronald McDonald house, across the parking lot and through the hospital. The feeling that this has to be a scene from a movie and not my reality. Pinch me because I cannot be awake, please, please, please, God. Please, this cannot be happening. No, no, no! That's all I could say when they told me he was arresting and they may not be able to get him back. And do we want the chaplain? They never called her before. No, no, no. I don't know how I will go on without him. Everything is falling apart. How did we get to this point? How did this all go so wrong? The doctors have to be able to figure something out. Any second he will recover. But they bring us in to say goodbye. And the chaplain baptizes him. I ask him to come back to us. Don't go, Jacob. Don't go. Don't leave us. No, no, no.
They all leave and I hold him for the last time. my boy. my baby boy.
I love you, always and forever.
2 comments:
Sarah,
I wish I was there for you. Even to just sit and cry with you. Or go for a walk and remember the sweet times.
I'll never forget being told that Jacob was gone. I fell on the floor of my kitchen sobbing and saying that it must be wrong. No. No. No.
I'll pray that the good memories become stronger and that the hard ones will fade.
Hugs to you, E, Josh, and your newest cutie J.
Sarah, thank you for letting us in on your private thoughts and feelings. It's so easy to think how other people's lives must be so much easier than our own without thinking that sometimes the mental anguish someone is going through is much tougher to deal with than any sort of physical impairment. I think it's great you have this outlet. I pray the same thing as the previous post about the hard memories fading and the good ones become stronger. But maybe those two are connected in more ways than we will ever realized...Lots of love to you and your georgeous family :)
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