After Bennett's funeral my world came crashing down. Harder and more fiercely than I can comprehend. I still do not understand the complexity of that initial grief. I honestly do not know how I stayed afloat. I was never unhealthy in my thoughts. I was just blank. I was a blank soul and an empty heart filled with unimaginable pain. When I look back at my first years of this grief journey this is the period of time I absolutely hate being propelled back too. I still hate it. I was lost while also knowing exactly where I was, I was confused while also knowing this confusion was true, I was in pain both emotionally and physically, I was mad while at the same time begging to love Bennett just one more time, I was shocked, I was lonely, I was jealous, I was mostly ... lost. I was searching for answers. I was hyper focused on the afterlife. Is it real? Is my baby, ok? I need proof. I read stories of near-death experiences, I watched shows, I googled, and I signed up for psychic readings. I just needed one more second with him. I just needed him to let me know he was safe; he was loved and he was happy. I yearned for him to come to me in a dream - it did not happen for a while. I think he knew I wasn't ready yet. As his mother, I just wanted to know.
Throughout these first few weeks I blocked everyone out except people who I connected with and who had also experienced child loss. I did not want to hear anyone else's advice, thoughts, or tender words. They meant nothing at the time to me. How can you even try to help me move forward when you have no clue what I am going through? I did not trust anyone. This was not a break-up, my beloved pet passing away, or even my parents (all still very tragic but more relatable, more people have experienced these type losses). My immediate family, my husband, my therapist and my fellow bereaved parents are the only people I felt like giving the little energy I had left too. Let me clarify that point as well. I was suffering physically. I remember one instance trying to help my mom pot a plant from Bennett's funeral. I could not do it. I could not physically help her put fertilizer in a pot. It took everything out of me. That is when I realized this grief is all encompassing.
I originally connected to a fellow mom from my February 2017 Facebook group. She had lost her daughter five months before. I remember her distinctly throughout my pregnancy, our babies being born, and all the excitement of our first year with our blessings. Her daughter is beautiful. This mom is beautiful. A kind soul who was always encouraging others on the page, always giving helpful advice, and positivity. I remember when her daughter died, I was actually flying to the state she was in. She had posted they were in the hospital. I planned on dropping food off in the lobby as soon as I landed. One February mom to another. I felt gravity pulling me to them. When we landed, I took my phone off airplane mode, started walking off the plane and looked on the Facebook page. She posted her daughter had passed. I broke down. I could not imagine her pain. It felt so close yet at the same time so foggy. My momma heart just throbbed for her. I had seen post from other mothers before speaking of child loss, but this touched me differently. I do not know why. I just wanted to get right back on that airplane and fly home to Bennett. From that point until June, I kept a look out for her on our February page. Always commented when she posted. Sent my love through Facebook. Then, Bennett died.
Bennett died around 4pm. I reached out to this momma the next morning at 6am through Facebook. She immediately responded. She was my anchor, she was support, she helped me think of things I could not imagine. I am so thankful for her. For her strength and perseverance to coach me through such loss while still in the thick fog of her own grief. We would message at all times of the day and night. She was always available. She allowed me to vent, cry, whine, be angry and just figure out who I was. We did not know each other. But we were now connected in a way no parent wants to be - child loss.
In the days after Bennett died my text messages, emails, and social media pages were filled with messages. People reaching out to offer their support, send their condolences, share their shock. No one understood - hell, I still don't understand. I was so appreciative to have so much support from those closest to us and also those we had not spoken to in years. Bennett always had a way of bringing people together. One message from a best friend in high school really stuck out to me. Her son was battling cancer. She feared the pain I was experiencing. She was the closest to child loss without jumping in the ocean yet. Her message read "God did not plan this." I do not know if I ever told her but this message saved me. This message is what I needed. This message bundled with Deacon Vic's homily made me release my anger with God. Not at first. But every time I would get mad I was reminded of this message.
My work family during Bennett's death was nothing short of amazing. Again, I traveled for work and the majority of my travel was in the south but now and again all over the country. When you travel for a living your colleague relationships are different. You see each other face to face rarely but develop a strong bond through customer interactions, phone calls, and commonality. Most of my work family I had only met a few times. But, they showed up. My entire team was at Bennett's funeral. My home was filled with food for over four weeks from colleagues around the country. Food for my entire family. It was such a weight lifted not having to worry about a basic human need. Things were dropped off at my house, care packages, memorials, and donations. My best friend at work would send me a text and allow me to ask work questions without bringing up my loss. I needed that. I needed to pretend to be normal when I could. I needed him to allow me to bring Bennett up because I was unable to charter the water of being asked about him yet. This is where I began to learn how to manage my triggers. I no longer work for this company but they and my work family there will always hold a special place in my heart. They allowed me to come back slowly, and they allowed me to heal. Thank you will never be enough.
In the months following Bennett's death I began to garner the courage to start interacting on loss pages or questions regarding loss. That's how I met my friend in Tennessee. Fast forward another few months and friends of ours (I cheered with and Taylor went to high school with) also lost their son and a mutual friend from college introduced me to her best friend who recently lost her son. I am so terribly grateful for all of these women. Women I would have never connected with without child loss. Women who I have helped guide me, who have picked me up on my down days, and who have been unwavering in their strength and support as we all navigate different paths. We have been with each other through the worst, but we have also been with each other through pregnancy, adoption, and new babies. And let me tell ya, pregnancy is no joke after child loss. Each of us has a unique perspective regarding loss, I love each of them. Each viewpoint has helped bring my own clarity and acceptance. I also hate that we have connected, and I hate that we share this bond but that cannot be changed. So, instead I will be grateful for them and their loving arms.
Loving arms have surrounded me since Bennett's death. They were there when I was to mad to except their embrace, they were there when I was looking for answers that could not be found, they were there through the first steps of my grief journey. They were always there. I am so blessed looking back. In the moment I did not see them. Now, I do. They are the reason I am able to write this blog and hopefully help shed light on child loss and navigating this extremely difficult and unimaginable journey. Loving arms are there waiting. I promise.
Krysten
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