Relearning To Breathe

A lady had told me at the end of Nash’s funeral, now you can go home and begin to heal. Well let me tell you, it doesn’t feel like healing. When we were finally alone in our home, the true pain started. I didn’t realize it could get any worse than what we had already been through, but I was wrong. His toys were everywhere. Every corner I turned there was something. I would be having an OK moment, and then I would walk into the living room and I would see his empty saucer and just breakdown. I started putting all his toys in his room so they wouldn’t hurt me anymore. Todd hated how cluttered the nursery was. He had said that he wanted it to look like it did before; he wanted to go in there and be able to walk around…so I brought his saucer back downstairs. This led to me bringing everything back downstairs one by one. I would open the silverware drawer and Nash’s spoons would be there. I would get into the kitchen cabinets and his bottles would be there. I would be folding laundry and his onesies would be there. There was so much of him in our home. It was all proof that he was here and I loved that. At the same time, it was so incredibly hard. I would be in the kitchen and my dog would run into his toy car and it would start playing music. I ran Into the room thinking maybe he would be there, and all I saw was his car…empty.

Every night when I would go to bed, I would pass his nursery. It still smelled like him. I would go in and look at everything. I looked at the rocker and remembered rocking him in it and reading him books. I remembered his first couple months when I was in that room every two hours feeding him. The changing table where I always made silly faces and sang to him while putting his clothes on and he would look up at me and flash me that Nash smile. When I was all done changing him, I would always look in the mirror while holding him to show him his reflection. He loved that. His crib had a small music player that lit up. He loved staring at it. I still go in his room sometimes and turn it on and the pain becomes overwhelming. I sit down in the rocker where I spent so much time with him and stare at his empty crib. Todd would walk in and sit with me a while. Then he would grab my hand and take me to bed. I would still wake up at 4:30 am like I did when he was here. He would be awake and I would put him in bed with me. I walk into the room now to get him and my dog Mokey will follow. I put my hand in his empty crib and burst into tears. Mokey will jump up to see if Nash is in there and then look at me and tilt his head to the side. I would go back to bed and sob. To say I missed him was an understatement. As a mother, you feel this insanely strong connection to your baby. When I would lay him in bed with me, no matter how awake he was the moment I snuggled up to him he would fall asleep in seconds. I would wake up to his little face and stare at him as he slept. I would feel his little breath on my cheek, kiss him, smile and go back to sleep. Now I laid in bed with empty arms and his face imprinted in my brain. I would hold his blanket tight and think of what he may have gone through the day he died. Did he wish I was laying next to him in one of those moments only we shared? My chest hurt. It was all to much. I needed him! I couldn’t deal with the fact that I would never see him again! I would cry myself back to sleep. One morning, my father-in-law had stopped by. I heard him say, “Anyone here?” I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. I thought maybe this was all a cruel joke and he had Nash. When I saw him standing there alone, I started to cry and went back upstairs.

Every morning I would wake up with the realization that it wasn’t a dream. Nash was gone. It was to much to bear. I rarely got out of bed. I didn’t know how I was going to survive this. Would I ever know true happiness again? I scoured the internet looking for stories. I wanted to read something from someone ten years down the road after losing a child. I wanted to hear that they remembered them vividly but still managed to have happy and fulfilled lives. I couldn’t find much. I found a lot of stories about how hard it is to live after the death of a child, divorce statistics, one article I found said it’s taboo to talk about babies dying. People don’t want to hear that stuff, it’s too sad. I needed to hear it though! I needed to know what my life would be now. Todd’s cousin Jacob had written a blog about us after Nash died. I thought, I could do that. I only had one problem…what is a blog? How do you start one? I called my sister Melissa and she showed me how. I thought this is perfect only strangers will see it and it will give me an outlet for all that I was feeling. So I started writing everything down. I wanted to be able to read it years down the road and remember Nash and things we did together. I wanted to explain every emotion I was going through. No matter how painful it was, I wanted to remember everything. I had no idea what it would turn into.20140727-213818-77898670.jpg

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2 thoughts on “Relearning To Breathe

  1. I pray for you and Todd and for Nash, I think of you daily and what a sweet joy Nash is. What a perfect little boy, he makes my heart warm when seeing his beautiful pictures.

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  2. I have a friend who lost her baby 4yrs ago. I know that she still talks about him and celebrates his birthday. They know one day they will see him again in heaven:-) don’t let anyone tell you to stop thinking of him and loving him!!

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