Youngblood thinks there's always tomorrow.
Never in a million years did I think I would lose my child. My baby. My son. My pride and joy. That could not happen to me. That could not happen to my family. That just could not happen. Period.
Then, it did. In the snap of a finger. Like a lightning bolt striking quickly and fiercely with no warning. Bennett's death was very unexpected and sudden. He was having a wonderful day. We laughed that morning and played. My mom came over for some "Lolly time." I had a couple work calls and Bennett was getting into things while I was packing for a work trip that I was supposed to leave for that night. I laughed on one of my calls because he tipped over the dog water bowl. My coworkers laughed with me. It was a fun and normal morning. It was normal. Then, at 4:30pm my life was turned upside down. I thought I had tomorrow. I thought I had 5:00pm that night. I thought I had one more kiss. I thought I had ... more. More time, more memories, more pictures, more tantrums, more break downs, more smiles, more hugs ... a lifetime of MORE. Unfortunately, I don't. I can never get Bennett back in my earthly life.
I think this last statement was the hardest one for me to accept initially, for my present self. I felt like Bennett was just on a trip. He went with my mom and dad to visit family - he will be back. He never came back. This is actually still a reality that is hard for my mind to grasp and my heart to accept. I have gotten used to my new normal of him not being here in my present. In my day-to-day life. In my daily routine. This is my new normal. I have three children but only two in my present. What is still so very difficult is when I think of my future. When I start thinking of vacations, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, our family's future and Bennett is not there. He is not a part of the decision making. He is not there for his first day of school. He is not there on a t-ball team or a soccer team. He is not there when I think of our upcoming summer and swimming in our pool. He is not there for Brynn or Beckett's birthdays or events. He won't be there for Brynn's wedding or Beckett's first high school game. It is heartbreaking. He is not there. He is not here.
When Bennett first passed away, like I have said before, I had no motivation for my life. I was just a shell of a person that woke up each morning, got ready, went to work, came home, ate, and went to sleep just to restart again the next day. There was no joy. There was no fire within my soul to ignite my individual passion for this life we are lucky enough to have. I would think "if I died today, that would be ok with me." I didn't want to inflict pain on myself, but I did not care if it happened. Car accident. Sickness. Whatever. None of it scared me anymore. I was not scared of dying. Let me be very transparent, this is a very scary place to be. To not fear anything. To not care about anything. To not have passion. To not want more for yourself and your life. It's a form of depression that cannot be fixed quickly. The only way to fix this is to drag yourself through it, with help of course. If you are currently here, reach out. Ask for help. See a therapist. Find another bereaved family that can relate to your feelings and help you crawl through this dark space. It's a slow crawl, but it's movement towards seeing beauty in this life again. I promise, it's there.
I got pregnant with Brynn about six months after Bennett died. It was the first time I felt a little hopeful. This hope didn't last all day. It wasn't an immediate fix. But, I could look into my future and see ... something. My entire pregnancy was different with Brynn. I was fearful. I was panicked. I knew something would happen to her. I didn't believe in happy endings anymore. I believed in the shoe dropping. Right on top of me. Crushing me to the point that I was still alive but unable to fully expand my lungs with air. Trapped. I was trapped with a little glimmer of light sneaking through the shoelaces of that shoe smothering me.
When Brynn was born, I really cannot put my feelings into words. I was hysterical. Sad but also relieved. Happy but also scared. She filled my heart back with color. Before her it was dark and empty. She changed my perspective. I am so glad I somewhat listened to my doctors in waiting to get pregnant. I needed a full year of just being me in this new life without Bennett. I needed to feel all of those emotions that first year without topping it with the guilt of not being more present for Brynn.
I remember a conversation I had with one of my very best friends. I met her through the horrible, shared experience of child loss - she lost her son about a month after Brynn was born. She had my same feelings, thoughts and questions. We are actually very similar in so many ways. I would walk her through my journey and the lessons I had learned to that point along the way while also listening to her own journey, feelings and thoughts. One of the biggest being having another child. I think one of the greatest fears of a loss parent is having another. Will we love the next baby? Will we live in a lifetime of fear for them? Is it fair to this child to be raised by a parent whose heart died before they were even here? The list goes on and on. Today, with Brynn and Beckett here in my arms, I am scared of death again. I am caught between two worlds. I am living and breathing in one of those worlds while my heart yearns to be in the other. I have to embrace that. I have to love the things in both of my worlds with as much as I can. I cannot take for granted the world with Brynn and Beckett. I do not want to leave my children here on this earth without a mother. No matter how much I want Bennett back and no matter how much I would love to hold him again in my arms I cannot exchange that for Brynn and Beckett. I cannot pick a child. That is not fair to any of them.
What I can do is continue to try to keep both worlds as tight to each other as possible. We talk about Bennett every single day in our home. His pictures hang throughout the hallways. We buy him gifts for his birthday and holidays, we visit him often, we read books about him, we talk about Heaven, and we make sure they grow up always knowing who Bennett is. I hate that they will know about death at such a young age, but this is their story. This is their brother's story. This is their parent's story. We cannot change what happened to Bennett in June 2018. What we can do is remember his love. His past love, present love and future love. Bennett deserves to be talked about. If he can't be here with us, we will settle for his ghost. He is still very present in our lives. It may be an unconventional presence but, he is here. That is one thing that will never change.
Krysten
*This song by Justin Bieber (Ghost) speaks deeply to my soul - never thought that would be a possibility. It really summarizes my grief and the balancing act I conquer with every breath that I take.
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