I was thinking today, once again, about the weight of grief.  It's exhausting with its heaviness.  You don't always realize it is there.  Sometimes you actually feel joyful about something, but maybe it's that guilt then that weighs on you.  How can you feel joy when your son died?

I'm often so tired.  And I'm wondering if this is why.

Details of Your Last Day on Earth

You played airsoft guns with this neighborhood kid named Jacob that I disliked.  (not to be confused with the neighbor friend named Jake whom I do like.)

 I remember yelling at you that you knew I didn't want you playing with him, but you wanted to play airsoft. 

I grounded Liam that day for some reason from playing outside. 

I regret that because that's the last day on earth he and you could have played together like you had for the previous eleven years.

So instead you spent time with that other kid. 

 I felt like crap that day and actually took a really long nap which is unusual.  I NEVER EVER NAP!!!  Ella cooperated and slept with me.  I was in bed for probably four hours that afternoon.

I regret that.

Your last day on earth with me and I slept.  And when I woke, I was grumpy.

 For lunch we had taco bell and you were so grateful.

For dinner, we had leftover potato soup.  Although you often liked potato soup, this wasn't my best.  You weren't thrilled (no one was, not even me). 

You used the restroom around dinner time and it was a number two and was the most foul smelling number two ever.  I remember saying something to you about it.  I remember wondering if that was a sign something was wrong.  (after the fact)  Being that it was your heart, I doubt it, but who knows.

You told me to look at your teeth because they looked whiter.  I paid very little attention.  I hate that.

Your dad worked a long, long day.  He was barely home with you on your last day.  I am sure he regrets that too. 

Ella behaved horribly at mass that day.  Horribly.

We watched the Avengers. 

I was in the middle of reading Lord of the Rings for about the fifth time.  I haven't read it since. 

You prayed with your dad before going to bed. 

Ciara, Liam, and Logan all slept in the living room.

My house was a mess. 

I replay that day often.  My last day with you.  It was actually kind of a crummy day.  I didn't know.  How could I have known?  I often wonder what if you had collapsed that day when we were all awake. 

What if?

Joyous Grief?

How do you put the two together?  Joy and grief?  How? 

Grief often feels like it is swallowing me whole. 

I've talked about the physical feelings of it.  It often feels like I am drowning. 

I miss my son so much.

Yet....

He's not my only child.  I have four other children who do bring me joy. 

I smiled today as I watched the youngest run down the hall nearly naked because she needed to reach the bathroom.    Seeing her chubby little legs moving like that brings me joy. 

My eight year old son is still so young and sweet and innocent.  His voice still has that childish quality that makes me melt inside when he says I Love You.  He brings me joy when he snuggles next to me on the sofa.

Then there's the eleven-year old daughter who loves to be helpful.  And you can tell just how much she still needs her momma and daddy.  Her smile brings me joy.

Of course, there is sometimes discord between the thirteen year old son and myself, but I love him.  He is fun to sit and talk to as he grows up.  He still likes to snuggle in next to me on the couch.  He brings me joy.

But I am sad.  I have a hard time rectifying the two. 

I do put myself in the here and now most of the time.  Then I feel guilty because sometimes I push Nolan's image out of my head.  I am sad when I look at him.  I miss him, I want to look at him. 

It's not easy.

And it's not right.

A mother should not bury her child ever.  The child should bury the mother.  When they are both old!

Thirteen years was not enough time with my son.

Pictures of You

I'm thankful for photographs of your beautiful face.  How I wish I had more.   There are days when I am looking through old pictures and I notice one with you in the background.  I get to see an expression on your face that I haven't seen in nearly two years. 

 Even the blurry photos of you are meaningful to me.  I have on on this post that is blurred, but it is you in the middle of being silly.  I look at it and want to see you act silly again. 

I do not know how anyone could ever think that a mother gets over the loss of her child.  I've heard the words "letting go" and "moving on" too many times from people who have never lost a child. 

People have often said how lucky I am to have so many photos of Nolan.  It's true.  I do feel grateful to have so many pictures of his beautiful face.  There are moments that I look at them and suddenly it hits me that the photos are all that I have.  I'll see his sweet smile and suddenly feel sick to my stomach.  I'll remember that he is gone

It's not that I ever forget that he is gone.  However, some moments I am actually in the moment of what is happening in the here and the now.  Then a physical feeling overcomes me.  I am not sure how to describe it, but it is an actual feeling that my body experiences.  It is sort of like a chill that travels through my entire body, often originating in my stomach, and it has a hint of nausea to it.  Then it reaches my throat and sometimes it makes it hard to breathe.  Other times it makes me feel like throwing up.

Two years later and I still experience this often. 

A grieving mother does not get over it. 

She learns to live with it because she has to.

He's Officially Older

Today is a day I have dreaded.  Today Liam is officially older than Nolan ever became.  Nolan died 9 days after his 13th birthday, somewhere in the early morning hours.  We don't know the time.  They never told us.  It could have been 12:30am.  It could have been 7:30am.  We don't know.  Would it help if I knew?

Anyway, today is nine days since Liam turned 13. 

He's already bigger than Nolan ever became.  He already has started puberty and I don't think Nolan had.  He was probably close, but he didn't have any body hair.  Liam is covered in hair and has already shaved his teeny mustache a couple times. 

Nolan is frozen in time as my sweet thirteen year old boy. 

He will never grow older.

He will never kiss a girl.

He will never marry.

He will never fall in love.

He will never become a father.

He will never go to a college party.

He will never learn to drive.

He will never go to high school.

He will never wave goodbye to me as he leaves for college.

He will never get a first job.

He will never hug me again.

I miss him so much.  None of this is fair. 

The Power of Music

Music has always made me cry. 

It always has.

Music has this power to draw out your emotions.  You associate music with happy times, sad times, youth, family, friends, love, hate, romance, and such. 

I cried today listening to music.  It made me think of Nolan.

The Second Thanksgiving, But Another First

Next week will be my second Thanksgiving without my son.  Nolan loved Thanksgiving because he loved to see his family.  He loved to have the big turkey leg.  He loved mashed potatoes and dinner rolls and pumpkin pie.  Grandma always made plenty of pumpkin pie because she knew how much he loved it. 

Most of our Thanksgivings since becoming parents have been at my sister's home.  Last year, for some reason, it was at my mom's house instead.  I'm unsure if it was in attempt to lessen our sorrow or what by making it different. 

This year it returns to my sister's house.  Not only will it be the first Thanksgiving at her house since Nolan's death, it will be my first time PERIOD at her house since his death.  All I will think of is his presence and how it is missing. 

Why does he have to be gone? 

Why?

THANKSGIVING 2012

THANKSGIVING 2011

GRANDMA'S HOUSE

Guilt

Sometimes I feel guilty. 

I find myself smiling, laughing, genuinely enjoying myself.

Or like, just a bit ago, I was singing a Christmas song.  Christmas has always brought so much joy and happiness. 

When I lose myself in a movie, a book, a bottle of wine. 

I feel guilty.

I am aware of the need to keep moving.  I am aware that I have other children.  I am aware that "life goes on."

But there is guilt in that life that still lives.

There is guilt that I missed something and my son died.

There is guilt in good times.

I know that Nolan's wonderful spirit would want us to be happy.  I know that he wouldnt' want me to wallow in my sadness.

I know that. 

It doesn't change how I feel, how empty our world is without him.  It doesn't change that when I laugh, I think to myself that he should be laughing too.

Too Much Information

I'm not sure what this person was thinking.  Well, actually, I guess I sort of do because it is a place to let it all out (our grief, our pain.). 

I have this Facebook group that I joined for people who have either lost someone from Myocarditis or who have suffered it themselves (and survived.)   Mostly it is folks like me who have lost someone.  More often than not, people do not survive because there are such vague, easily missed symptoms.

A couple weeks ago, I posted a question asking other members how many of their loved ones had actually died in their sleep without warning like Nolan.  This post has had an enormous response creating quite the thread.  Most were told, like me, that he most likely simply died in his sleep peacefully. 

You know the fears I have, right?  Fearing that he awoke, scared.  Fearing that he suffered, afraid.  I have imagined that for these 678 days with such agony. 

Yet, everyone says, he was peaceful.  He died in his sleep. 

This woman commented on my thread today.  The spouse of her married adult son was in bed with him when he awoke in the middle of the night.  He bolted upright in bed making gurgling sounds before falling over in a slump. 

Now I am imagining this for my sweet Nolan.

His bedroom is next to mine.  The night he died, I thought I heard a few noises in our hallway or something, but we have pets.  So I often hear things.  He was found in bed on his stomach. 

I won't ever know, but now I have a new horrible image stuck in my head. 

I wish this other mother would have thought about that before sharing so much information, but I also understand why she did. 

The whole thing sucks, for me and for her.

Another Post Titled Thirteen....

Shortly after the loss of my precious son, I wrote a post on here titled Thirteen. 
http://thesorrowful.blogspot.com/2013/02/thirteen.html

It seems impossible that I wrote that nearly two years ago.  How can it be two years since I lost him?   Two years since I kissed him goodnight and watched him walk down the hallway.  The last time to watch him walk down the hallway.

Tonight I wrote a post on my other website about my twelve-year old turning thirteen next week. 
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9325821-thirteen-isn039t-going-to-be-easy-on-me

And I thought how tough THIRTEEN is for me now. 

And I wonder if it is going through Liam's mind that Nolan died right after he turned 13.  Liam is already a worrier.  Is he worried?  Is he scared?

Why do we have to suffer this nightmare?  I still do not understand.  I don't have the faith to understand. 

Worries for the PTSD Mother

 

I'm tired of worrying so much.  I have always been a worrier.  Before I even had children, I had a friend who called me "The Worrying Walrus" (because she had read a children's book titled that).  Add children to the mix and then, of course, I worry about them.  Add the death of my son to our lives, and worry has become an enormous weight. 

So many fears exist now, fears that, perhaps were there, but were miniscule. 

 

My twelve-year old (who turns thirteen next week) worries me.  First of all, I have this worry that I will lose all my children at age thirteen.  It's an unreasonable fear.  I have no valid reason to feel that way.  I'm just scared. 

 

However, my twelve-year old has been complaining of neck pains for almost a week now.  I seriously think it is probably just a pulled muscle.  He feels fine otherwise.  He even remembers when it started, specifically, like he pulled something.  However, it's just not getting any better.  Again, it is probably just a pulled muscle. 

 

But what if it isn't? 

 

I don't know what else it could be, but I'm still scared. 

 

I hate the fear that is in my life now.  I hate it.

Post Traumatic Stress

I suffer from post-traumatic stress because of the death of my son.  I am certain that my children do as well.  I'm not sure about my husband.  He keeps his grief pretty close to his chest.  He also has a much stronger faith than I which seems to help him.

Finding my son dead without warning is an image that is embedded in my brain.  I still hear the screams of my other children.  I still hear my husband saying, "Nolan, don't be dead!" over and over and over.  It has faded a bit after nearly two years, but it's there.  It:  the memory that I never wanted.

Finding out that Nolan's heart simply stopped because of a condition called Myocarditis which was caused by some random every day virus makes raising my living children filled with this big question mark, this huge stress, this worry.

My twelve-year old often complains of chest pains.  He has been to the doctor, the er, a cardiologist many times since Nolan's death.  Everything appears healthy and normal.  Of course, Nolan's heart probably appeared healthy a month before his death as well.  How can I reconcile this?  How can I try to tell my living son that he has nothing to worry about?  I don't want to turn him into a hypochondriac. 

My eleven year old daughter didn't sleep much for the first year or so after Nolan's death.  At some point, she started asking me at night if her heart was ok.  She said it hurt, it felt funny.  We also took her to the specialist for evaluations.  She seems fine as well. 

My eight-year old doesn't seem to worry at this point.  My three-year old was young enough when it happened that I don't think she was phased by everything.  Oh, she misses Nolan, but she didn't understand what was happening when she saw her mother scream and fall to the snow-covered ground. 

Part of the worry I have gives me this horrible feeling of wishing my children would hurry and grow up and move out of the house.  I will always worry about them, always.  But I get so tired and exhausted from the sight of Liam putting his heart over his chest and Ciara asking if she's going to be ok.  I understand it.  And I love them so much.  And down deep, NO, I am not ready for them to grow up and move out.  It's just the stress on top of the grief. 

This myocarditis stuff isn't as rare as you would think.  I am currently a part of a group of people who have been affected by the condition.  This group has over 800 members.  There are many times this is misdiagnosed.   The numbers are much higher than that.  I hear story after story that is like mine where someone went to check on their loved one and he/she was simply dead in bed with no warning. 

It's not fair.  It's not right.

I forgot

I had completely forgotten that I started another blog on here that is to be stories of my sweet boy, Nolan.  my brain is just not the same.  losing a child is so tiring, draining, horrible.  I don't remember stuff often.  I should make a point of writing on there daily.  I miss Nolan so much.

Oh, I had a connection on another site tell me they hope that I just "get over what happened" to my son....  seriously? 

Here's the post I wrote in response.
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8998804-it-actually-happened

I'm not writing as much about sorrow

It's not that I'm not feeling the sorrow.  I'm just not writing about it as much.  To those who see it on my blogs occasionally, they probably still think "wow, is that all she talks about?"  To me, sometimes I feel like I still have much to say.  Here's a few links to recent things I have written on my other blog.

http://www.bubblews.com/news/8913214-a-mother039s-anxiety
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8821103-praying-when-you-aren039t-sure-what-you-believe
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8631594-visiting-my-son039s-grave
http://www.bubblews.com/news/7835438-i-don039t-know-how-to-be-a-good-mother-anymore
http://www.bubblews.com/news/7823797-before-or-after
http://www.bubblews.com/news/7953982-the-overprotective-mother
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8007979-yoga-tears-and-my-son
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8076169-playlist-for-the-grieving-mother
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8287900-fifteen
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8240402-nolan039s-wish
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8350081-sentimental-for-the-old-days

Songs and sadness

I heard this great song today that made me think of Nolan.  Be Still by The Fray.  I put a link of it in this post. 
http://www.bubblews.com/news/8007979-yoga-tears-and-my-son

I'm sad, as always.  I just look at his picture and cannot help but feel I failed him.  How did I not know that something was wrong?  How?  How can God create a disease like Myocarditis and not give us a fighting chance?  It's not fair. 

I cannot believe it has been almost two years. 

How is that possible?  I miss Nolan so much.

You are beautiful

I was looking at some old photos today from one of our trips to Florida.  You always had such a beautiful smile.  You always had such enthusiasm for life!I wonder if I will ever not hate God for taking you.  It's a really sorrowful and dark feeling to have. 

 

 I will never understand this.  Never.

I miss you so much Nolan. And this is not fair.  It sucks and makes me want to use some really foul language right now.

Another MOthers' Day without You

http://www.bubblews.com/news/3317255-mothers039-day-random-thoughts

Repetitive

Will I be writing the same grieving, sorrowful stuff in ten years?

How will I ever wrap my head around the fact that I found my thirteen year old son dead in bed after going to bed healthy?  How will I ever remove that image from my mind?  There are some days that it plays over and over again in my head.  Other times I will go a month without thinking of that horrific day. 

Today was a sorrowful day.  I cried the most tears that I have cried in months.  Tomorrow is Easter.  I don't know if it just suddenly hit me or what.  I also stopped the anti-depressant pills.  So it's good to cry again.  Yet, it felt so painful and powerful.  I felt such immense anger towards God today.  I said that I hated Him. 

I know many of my friends who have a strong faith will be shocked to hear that. 

Try to live with the knowledge that God let your son die for no good reason.

sorrow

sometimes it just hits me when I look at your picture how GONE you are.... I start to feel more empty.  there is a constant emptiness since you left us.  but occasionally, I just feel more empty.  does that make sense?

today I was looking at your picture from a saint Patrick's day, probably about 5 years ago or so.  you are so little.  you look so happy.  I look at pictures and suddenly realize the truth in never seeing you again, the truth in never hearing your voice.

my faith is so shattered.  I don't know if I will ever see you again.  I dont' know if there is a heaven.  I just don't. 

then there are those who believe in heaven we will not even remember our earthly life. 

if that's true, then I still won't see you.

my heart is broken.

nolan's videos

i was browsing through the photos and videos taken with his camera.  i was NOT surprised to see so many pictures of our pets and ella.  that's what he wanted to take pictures of.  he loved all of his pets.  he loved his baby sister.  anyway... i can't play all the videos on the laptop.  going to try to upload.