Anyone who has lost a child will tell you that guilt becomes a huge part of their new life. It’s as prevalent as your five senses. It’s always there. There isn’t one thing I do during the day that I don’t feel guilty about. Breathing, eating, driving, laughing, smiling, watching TV, even listening to the radio. It feels like I’m dishonoring Nash by doing these things. Like I’m moving on without him, like he never existed. I drive in my car everyday and don’t even turn on the radio…Todd says he doesn’t turn it on either. One day I did and cried for hours after. I felt unbelievably guilty for doing it. I used to love music. Now I feel guilty singing. If we watch a funny movie, the moment I laugh, I cry because I laughed. Like, what the hell am I laughing for? My son died. The morning I went back to work, on my drive there, I remember thinking well I guess that’s that, grieving time is up, time to move on with life. Do you know how awful that feels? I feel like I should never have to go back to work. I should get some sort of pass. Hell, I should be able to file for disability or something. It feels as unnatural to keep living as it does to bury your child. It’s been two months since Nash passed, and Todd and I still haven’t gone grocery shopping or even cooked. Our bills are all late, not because we don’t have the money to pay them, but because these everyday details feel like moving on. Within a month of Nash’s death, my memories started fading. This little person who was a part of everything I did all day long for five months. The little person I rarely did anything without holding in my arms.
Every new mom will tell you they don’t know what they did with all of their time before they had a baby. How do you lose those memories?!?! If someone would have told me when he was alive that if he died that day, my memories would start fading in a month, I would have said no way! Well unfortunately they do. That kills me. If I already have a hard time now, how will I feel in ten years? I want him to be as clear in my mind as when he was here. It boggles my mind to this day that I’m having a hard time picturing his lips. Lips I kissed 100 times a day! I go into his nursery often. I smell everything. Touch everything. Trying to hold on to any memory I can. People tell me, “You will get through this, it will get better.” Part of me wants to hear that. You want to know you won’t feel horrible every minute of everyday for the rest if your life. On the other hand I don’t want to feel better. That means I’m moving on, it means my memories are fading, that time has moved on so much since he was alive that it has somehow become more bearable. I don’t want to get over it! I don’t want to get through it! I want his life to always affect me! This is not something I will ever get through nor do I want to. I will learn to live life as half of the person I once was. How happy that half of me can be, I don’t know.