Aaron’s first birthday came and went. A full year. How could it be a year already?
Over the past year I have gone through many emotions, so many times over: sadness, relief, guilt, regret, thankfulness, doubt, joy, disbelief, anger…repeat, repeat, repeat. All those emotions and the repetitive cycle are a part of the grief. These emotions are to be expected, and I knew going in to this loss that I would be feeling these things, because I have read and have been told that I would be feeling these things.
But one thing that I feel that I was not told about and definitely not expecting to feel is the connection to Aaron. Death has not changed this feeling. I feel just as connected to Aaron now as I did when he was alive and the same as I do with my living children. Here is the best way I can explain it: my daughter Afton (21) has grown up and is no longer living here with me. She’s moved out. Yet, even though she’s living far away, I still feel very much connected to her. I am aware of her. I sense her. The invisible cord to her is still attached. I can feel it. Likewise, Aaron is no longer living here with me. He has moved out (of this earthly life) but yet I still feel him. It feels as if he’s just living somewhere else, in a place where I cannot see him everyday, the same as Afton. But the cord that connects me to him is still very much attached. I am aware of him. I sense him. I feel that connection to him. It’s both comforting and frustrating. The veil is so close, you know? It’s so close. He’s right here. I can feel him. Comforting. But I cannot touch him. Frustrating.
I still can’t believe a child of mine whom I feel so close to is so far out of my reach. It’s not an easy thing to live with. I don’t like it. Sometimes it hurts so badly that I can hardly breathe, and that’s the truth. I literally freeze up for a moment and forget how to take another breath, and then I wonder if that’s how it feels to have a panic attack? I’ve never had one, so I don’t know. But sometimes I really have a quick sense of panic that my baby is no longer here. The reality of it stabs me quick in the heart and pierces my soul, just like that – BAM! – and wow, that pain…there’s really nothing else like it. It passes quickly, thankfully. I’m so thankful not to be stuck in that emotion, and my heart truly goes out to any mama who cannot recover from that feeling. It would be quite debilitating, to feel that way all the time.
Over the past few months I have thought a lot about Aaron’s first birthday, wondering how my heart would handle it and if maybe I’d just want to curl up on my bed and stay in my room all day watching FRIENDS and eating chocolate. It’s very different celebrating a birthday for someone who is no longer here. How do you celebrate when your heart is missing that person and you aren’t “happy” about it at all? Happy Birthday? No. No, it’s not. It’s not a happy birthday.
But, it is a birthday. It is his special day. Aaron’s life had purpose to those who loved him, and especially to his mommy and daddy. His birthday is the first day we held him, the first day we kissed him. It is a special day worth celebrating, and so we did a few things on Aaron’s special day. I made a “first birthday” cake with his name on it, we did a balloon release, Rich delivered a Starbuck’s gift basket to the nurses of the NICU that cared for Aaron….and last but not least, Rich and I got tattoos with Aaron’s name. This was something that we wanted to do ever since the day we lost him, but we wanted to wait a full year to be sure it wasn’t just a grief-thing.
So it’s been a full year, and I can confidently say that it is not just a grief-thing! Over this past year, I kept looking down at my left forearm whenever I held my phone, whenever I drove my car, whenever I cooked a meal, whenever I did the dishes, and just whenever I was sitting doing nothing at all I would glance down at my arm and I saw my tattoo, clear as day.
So, on Aaron’s birthday, I decided to make it so that everyone else could see it, too.
Now, I’m not really a tattoo-type of gal, but I have always had the opinion that if you are going to get a tattoo, something so permanent and right out there for the world to see, then make sure that it’s something true to your heart and holds some sort of sentimental meaning to you that will never change.
So for me, it’s Aaron’s name with his heartbeat (taken from a printout of his NICU monitor)
and for Rich, he wanted Aaron’s name inside of his (actual size) footprint
Our Sweet Boy, forever in our hearts…
and a lifetime on our arms!
We are both very happy with the way they came out! Mine on my left forearm and Rich’s on his right forearm, done purposefully so that when we are holding hands our tattoos will face each other and touch. It’s these little things, you know…that makes the loss almost bearable.
Almost.
Forgot to add #MarvMondays!
This is the first time I have come across your blog. I’ve just been over and read Aaron’s birth story too. I think you are incredibly strong (although you may not feel it at times). Aaron is clearly living on as a very much loved part of your family. I think the tattoos are a fab idea. In my job as a midwife I come across pregnant families going through what you have but rarely get to hear about what happens after. Thank you so much for sharing your story x
Absolutely AMAZING tattoos !!!!!
This was so heartbreakingly and beautifully put. I admire the way you can put your feelings into words here. I love the analogy of your daughter away at college. Except it’s us away at school right now, and when your school day ends you know that Aaron will be waiting to welcome you home.
I love that you did that. What a lovely way to keep that special spirit alive in your family.
I’m so grateful that I’ve never experienced the loss of a child. My heart truly goes out to you. Over this last year I have seen blog updates come into my inbox, and I always check them to see how you and the family are doing. You have all handled this so well. I know that this is a very challenging thing to experience, and so I admire the grace you have carried through it. So many would be lost in grief. And as understandable as that is, it’s also incredibly destructive. I also thinks it misses the point of the whole experience.
You see, everything I’ve experienced in life has shown me that I’m constantly receiving lessons that push me to grow. Intellectually, spiritually, emotionally, psychologically. It all pushes me to grow. Every experience has a lesson in it. Whether I can see it or not, the lesson is there and it’s one I need. It’s entirely possible that I’m delusional and I only see lessons because I’m looking for them…. But is that a bad thing? It gives my life meaning and purpose. And nothing I experience in life is “bad” because it has some invaluable insight to offer me. How can I be bitter about that?
Maybe it sounds like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo, but I nearly died last year after an ectopic pregnancy. I also spent my adolescence getting tossed around in group homes and foster homes after I ran away from home at 13 (long story short, things weren’t good). I know hard times. I’ve struggled my way through them and nearly gave up crawling through life’s muck so that I could just lay there and die in hope of finally having a little peace. I know pain, and I know how it threatens the heart and soul. I’ve written about it quite a bit too….
https://www.soberidentity.com/suffering-secret-greatest-happiness/
http://www.purposefairy.com/81503/why-everything-i-thought-i-knew-about-gratitude-is-wrong/
I’ve gone through hardships, and I’ve learned so much. I’m quite certain that you have too, because I can sense a wisdom and warmth in everything you write. As one who yearns to grow in pursuit of being better today than I was yesterday, I have ideas to share with you. I don’t know what they mean to you and your own experience, but I’m going to share them in case they can ease the pain that lingers in your heart.
Here in America, we grieve when one dies. My husband is from Central Africa. There, funerals are CELEBRATED. A funeral is the biggest party you’ll ever go to, and it’s days or even weeks of food, music, dancing, and good times. These funeral celebrations are even open to the public. Anyone off the street can walk in to eat and drink and dance! Why? To celebrate life. And because they know that DEATH IS NOT AN END. Death is a new chapter!
People who have died and come back report going to a world full of light, colors, and heavenly music that’s absolutely divine. There are even people who have mastered the art of Out Of Body Experiences (check out the Monroe Institute for more info). They too have been able to visit this heavenly realm. I can’t even imagine the wonderful life your son must be living now that he’s back to spirit. America grieves over the deaths of loved ones, but should we not be rejoicing that they’re back to living a divine existence? Is grieving selfish? Could we be causing them trouble and be keeping them back by holding onto our grief over their passing? Is this why many cultures believe that grieving must be done within the first 40 days, and not after?
I hope these ideas give you something to chew on. Please now that I’m not trying to tell you what you are or aren’t doing (grieving too much or not celebrating enough). Nor am I telling you what you should or shouldn’t be doing. Nor am I saying what you should or shouldn’t believe. As a mother, these are things I would want to consider if I lost a child. Whether they help you process this incredible challenge, I don’t know. But I felt compelled to share, and so I blabbered. 😉
You have a beautiful, wonderful family, and you are clearly a beautiful and wonderful mother. I wish you and yours all the best. <3
Thank you so much. I love all that you say. All of it.
Your tattoos are wonderful. Beautiful post.
Thank you, Rachel! We are so happy with the way they came out!
Love the tattoos!
Donna NY
Thank you!
Your tattoos are beautiful. Happy 1st Birthday to your sweet boy!
Thanks, Tamara