Every Time a Bell Rings

Every time I hear about another child gaining their angel wings, my heart stops. 

I imagine these small, innocent, beautiful human beings who never even got a chance to fully experience life.

I think of how their parent's lives are forever changed. I think about how the parents will be in a complete fog for the next days, weeks, or even months to come. How you can't wrap your head around the fact that your child is no longer here on Earth with you. Even if you knew your child was battling such a big fight, it does seem like they will ever leave you. How can a child's life be taken from you? Everything must get better.

I think about how I was torn at Arianna's wake. I remember crying very minimally. I remember looking at my husband and smiling. It felt like we were being torn. It took everything we had to even be there, standing. But at the same time, we got to remember Arianna's legacy and celebrate her life. We felt the support from so many people and we knew we weren't alone.

A few weeks go by and everyone else returns to their normal routine (which they should). You're left trying to figure out the new normal, when all you want is the old normal back. You randomly fall to your knees. There's times when you need to cry so bad that your head is in constant pain, but the tears just won't come out. Then the tears start and they don't stop. You punch things. You punch walls and pillows and you fall apart. You cry when you're in the car because you're trapped with only your thoughts. Images pop into your head, some good-some horrible and it's those horrible ones you try so hard to escape. 

I think about how hard to is to reintegrate with society. The norm isn't to speak about death and loved ones who have passed. When it's your child though, you want to scream their name from the rooftop all day long. People look at you when you cry. People look at you when you laugh. You feel the judgement nonstop. People think you should be able to just snap out of it and move on with your life. That will never happen for a grieving parent. You will think about your child until the day you die. Everything you do will be for them. I am still alive, but my child is not--therefore I need to live for them and make sure that they are remembered. People don't know what to say, so they say nothing. People think they know what to say, and it's the most hurtful things. You can only take those hits for so long though. Then you realize it's easier to surround yourself with those that get it. You no longer have the strength to be able to just brush things off the way you once did. And you're so emotionally vulnerable that everything stings.

But you will continue to live. There will be hard days and even harder days. You need to find a healthy outlet. You need to go through the darkness, and not run from it. Embrace it. Nine months later I still can't wrap my head around what has happened. I'm starting to think I never will. There all still days where the wind is knocked out of me and I land flat on my face. I'm able to stand back up with the support of those that do love me and understand that I will never be the person that I was before.

Losing your child is said to be the greatest loss one can experience. It amazes me every single day that my husband and I are able to function. We are surviving with broken hearts.