Treading.

Screen Shot 2016-05-07 at 11.51.46 PM.png

The waves of grief have been so hard ride.

There are no words to describe Jensen’s absence. It’s everywhere, at all times. Life without Jensen is painful and full of longing. The very air that used to bring me life, suffocates me. All my joys have become burdens. The burdens have become even worse. My thoughts are consumed by him and how he’s not here. Babies should never be taken from their mothers. A mother should never have to live without her child.

Yet, here I am. I’m in the after. I’m drowning in the waves of grief. Tears constantly fill my eyes and it’s hard to take breaths. I feel as if I’m spiraling down and down and down. When everyone is around, it feels like their words are in hyper speed flying right past me. It’s hard to look at those I love; I’ve changed. It reflects sorrowfully in their eyes.

I wish I could scream out to them, but I can’t. My words would break them. They can’t understand the words that I constantly keep pushing down more and more and more. Those words, their eyes would reflect something worse than sorrow. They wouldn’t know me, the words would show them how much I’ve really changed inside. All those thoughts and words are true. I am at battle with myself to show them how much I’ve changed or continue trying to imitate my ‘before’ self.

Oh my before self. The self I’ll never get back, not that I even want her back. Danielle before Jensen is different from the during Jensen and the after Jensen. I could go into an in depth self analysis of my three different selves for all of you, maybe I will in the future. Maybe when I can forgive this self or completely damage it. Whatever happens first. As for now Danielle after Jensen, well, I’m just trying to make it through each day.

I try to see all the good in life. I smile when I think and talk about Jensen, until I look and feel. Then it all hits again. He’s gone. What did I do wrong? Everyone tells me I didn’t cause this, but then what did? I’m struggling to fall asleep. I can’t wake up. I’m not hungry and drinking water feels strange. My body is going through the motions, but my brain is refusing to sense them. I snap at the ones around me. My head is constantly hurting. Wait, how am I still awake? I just want my baby. The reality I’m stuck with me right now is hard. Grief wrestles me down and I spend all my energy trying to face it. This can’t be me right now. I’m trying to have the mentality of Danielle during Jensen. I like her the best.

When Jensen was here, I felt pure joy. My days were full of hopes, dreams, and baby kicks. I planned Jensen whole entire future from the second he was born to the day I died. I’m sure he would have rebelled and wanted to change it a smudge, but I know what’s best for him. All the bad ‘what ifs’ or ‘what could be’s’ didn’t even phase me. I would have Jensen, what more could I ever want? Danielle during Jensen was the highest, high in my whole entire life. Nothing could ever have brought me down.

Babies don’t die, until he did.

Then I fell and fell and fell from the greatest, tallest high in my life. I don’t remember the fall, just the smack. Reality hit. My baby, my Jensen died. All the nice phrases that I usually use to comfort myself seem silly at this moment. Well this week actually. Yes, I believe wholeheartedly Jensen is an angel in heaven. I know all he ever felt was love and warmth. He knew peace. He knows me. He is beautiful. He has this HUGE personality. He  is my everything. All those wonderful facts about my baby does not take away the moment his heart stopped beating. Nothing can take away that one single moment.

People always say to me, “I can never imagine what you’re going through.” and I believe them. I never want them to know this; no one should be without their child. People should not feel like they’re drowning in grief, this shouldn’t be the price of love. Love should always result in hugs and happiness. In this seven weeks and two days, I have said the one sentence no one imagines they could say. My child is dead.

Pause. Let that set in.

My child is dead.

Imagine saying that and it being the truth. Saying it out loud is even worse. It’s the worst sentence in the world. It’s the worst fact in my world. Thinking of that one phrase has allowed me to say that sentence. I can’t imagine going through this, but I am. I couldn’t imagine saying that sentence out loud. Even though it’s true. If you want to try to imagine what I’m going through, not that I want you to, try saying that sentence and feeling it. Imagine your whole world crashing around you. Imagine all your hopes and dreams gone, in an instant. I know you can’t. I wouldn’t have been either if you would have asked me seven weeks and four days ago. I feel almost cruel putting these words together. Then I remember these words that are just words for others, are my reality.

On goes this vicious cycle.

Jensen. Love. Happy. Smile. Smack. Pain. Anger. Sadness. Tears. Breathe. Say his name. Jensen. Love. Happy. Smile. Smack. Pain. Anger. Tears. Breathe. Say his name.

I’ll keep reading his name, telling his story, and talking about him. Please keep asking all about him. Ask about me, don’t be afraid of my process. One day the smack will ease. The pain will stay. The anger will lessen. The sadness won’t be as overwhelming. Tears will always come. This is the result of love. Jensen will always bring love, happiness, and smiles. My love is endless. My happiness will stay. Smiles will be longer. This process begins and ends with Jensen. He’s my whole world.

I’ll choose to tread. I won’t let these waves of grief drown me; no matter how hard they try to pull me down.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s