Creativity kits for kids!

The Price of Love

It’s 11:30am here. We’re all on the couch, Jynx curled up on Bella’s lap as she plays with her animals. Sam is playing SkyRim. On Saturdays I usually get up before him to tidy up the house, so now it’s rather clean and I’m pleased.

We had a very, very hard therapy session yesterday. Sam goes with me each Friday and we have art therapy together. At first I thought it was going to be pretty dumb – would I be drawing pictures of sad faces and having them interpret colors? But the more we get into this, the more challenging it is. It’s not about the process so much as it makes us use an entirely different part of our brain. I usually end up crying about things that I thought I was pretty much over, or remembering parts of the past two years I haven’t thought of in forever.

It’s not magic or anything. In fact it’s pretty incredible how our brains are designed. I’m even more awed by our perfect creation through this.

So yesterday we had to create our family out of clay. As we made them, I began to get more and more irritated by it all. I thought it was stupid, that of course it was sad only 1/2 of our family is alive. 1/4 of our children. Yes. We get it.

Then our therapist started to ask us questions. “What would it look like if just the twins were here? Where would they be in a picture? What would they be doing? How would you feel right now?”

Somehow seeing those two little boys in our family just did me in. I don’t know what it was, but the impact of seeing what it could have looked like for us just totally tipped me over. I was so angry, seething with rage. I wanted to smash them all, but then the guilt of wanting to do that to those little happy-faced clay figures overwhelmed me. I wanted to let them dry and then grind them into dust – just like they are now. Little bits of dust in a box on our mantle. There. That was realistic and that was our normal and this whole “let’s pretend what it would have looked like” was bullshit.

So then I just started to bawl. And cry and cry about a life we probably would never get anyway, sons we’d never have to raise. Kaden’s autopsy that said his eyes were turning brown and his hair had a “whorl” in it – just like Bella’s does.

I missed it all.

Seeing those happy little faces on there, next to us, I have no idea why it hit me so hard. They’d be around 20 months now if they’d been born when we’d have thought. Walking and talking.

And we wouldn’t have Kaden.

But if we had Kaden – then they still wouldn’t be here.

It’s all so complicated and to grieve them all is just so much. So much.

Then after the session (and my wonderful therapist also crying with me) Sam and I went to lunch. My head hurt and my heart hurt but I knew that session was powerful for helping us heal. I went home, Sam went back to work for a few hours. I spent the afternoon snuggled up with Bella and playing.

Those sessions allow me to have that time to really not be ok. Because for the most part – our days are pretty normal. We laugh and talk, sometimes we cry, but really I’ve learned to accept and at times even love our new normal. Not the loss, but the parts we still have. The life we have is a very blessed one outside of losing the boys.

I still get to not be whole during these sessions, to remember my little boys and the dreams I had for them and for us. It makes me feel closer to them, connected in a way as their mama. It brings Sam and I together in a way that mends what loss tends to put a wedge between. It challenges my faith in ways that make my soul ache for God.

Grief feels so much like love.

Grief


Comments

  1. Achingly beautiful. <3

  2. Anne Marie McKinnon Jackson says:

    Beautifully written.

  3. Beautiful

  4. There is so much awful beautiful truth here.

  5. Maria Keil says:

    I love the quote. I had never thought about it like that but now that I think about it it is true!Very well written article.

  6. I am always in awe of your ability to verbalize your raw emotions. That quote is so profound…and perfect.

    New normals suck, and yet they comfort. And no matter what we say or do it’s all we can count on to help us keep on living.

  7. Ramona Dee says:

    I love how honest you are Diana….Im so thankful for you xoxo

  8. My favorite part is “Those sessions allow me to have that time to really not be ok. Because for the most part – our days are pretty normal. We laugh and talk, sometimes we cry, but really I’ve learned to accept and at times even love our new normal. Not the loss, but the parts we still have. The life we have is a very blessed one outside of losing the boys.”

    I think it’s really great that you have aside time that you can “not be okay.” I get that you’ve learned to “accept and at times even love our new normal. Not the loss, but the parts we still have.” So well put, and I can relate so much to this. Thank you for saying, in other words, that grief easily accompanies gratitude. Many people don’t understand that grief does not equate with ingratitude.

    It’s a blessing to me to read through feelings similar to mine, but expressed with fresh and unique insight. Reading your blog helps me to see my own grief in new ways and helps me to continue to process all that’s happened in my own life. Thank you for sharing and being so vulnerable in doing so.

  9. Rebecca Taylor Miller says:

    I stumbled upon your post as I lay here in my darkened room while my son sleeps and allow myself to feel my own grief of losing three babies in the last three months. Your story wrenches my heart. It brought me to tears. I cried for you. I cried for me. Because my last pregnancy was a partial molar pregnancy, I may never be pregnant again. My son will meet his siblings in heaven, but he is an only child here. I tried and failed. Like you, I have little time to process my feelings. Tears often fall silently when I think about the moments that will never happen. I am grateful for my son. Thank you for reminding me that it is normal to have a heart that swells with happiness and is broken at the same time. We carry our babies with us. I am a mother of four. Thank you for giving me this moment to feel my grief.

  10. I just found your blog through camppatton…I am so relieved to read your writing. My husband and I do not have any living children, but one miscarriage. I am in counseling now too because the process has really put us through the wringer. Thank you for your words and faith.

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