A Bucket List for Hope
I am angry. Very, very angry.
I don't recall ever being this angry in my life. And for once, this anger is a good thing.
It means that I'm feeling something besides sadness. It means that I am one step closer to acceptance.
I have struggled with accepting my loss.
On the day it happened, I kept yelling, whispering, screaming, shouting "It's not real. It's not. It's not." Later that same day, when I was being told when to expect his body be released so we could begin making final arrangements, I looked the man straight in the eye and said "My baby is not dead." When they arrived with the hearse, I told them they had to leave, that they were confused, that they weren't there for my child.
The last three weeks have been the same. Before he passed, I had only left my child alone, out of my sight, twice. Once with his grandparents and the other with his godparents. Thus, even though it is highly unusual for him to not be by my side or in my arms, I still refuse to believe that this is permanent, that this is my reality every second of every day for the rest of my life.
I have, however, allowed my anger to surface. I'm angry at God, at the universe, at my circumstances, at other women who still have their children. More than anything, I am angry at myself. Words cannot begin to express how much hatred I have for who I am, for the mistakes I made. Though I am constantly reminded, by those around me, that everything happens as it should, that there was nothing I could have done, and that it was "his time to go" because he had "fulfilled his purpose" (whatever that means), I am angry with myself for how things happened. I'm angry that I didn't hold him all through the night, that I didn't wake him from his sleep to give him a bath, that I let him sleep in his onesie and not his jammies because he wasn't feeling well and had fallen asleep early. Mostly, I'm angry that I'm alive and my son is not.
I am so full of anger and animosity that I worry it will consume me. But I am also allowing myself to be angry. I will not make any attempts to control it or hide it. I need to feel it so I can begin this process. This lifelong process.
In my quest for peace, I came across an article entitled "Bucket List for a Life After Baby Loss." It was written by a woman who is a member of the unfortunate community I now call my own -- the "angel moms" club, or the mothers of children gone too soon. At 30, she lost her firstborn, her little girl, and yet, she somehow found the courage to continue living life. I found some of her items quite comforting.
Here's a few I found particularly poignant:
1. Throw caution to the wind.
2. Follow your dreams.
3. Hold onto hope (about future pregnancies) no matter how elusive hope might seem.
4. Become a mom to a living child.
.....
6. Do rewarding work through devoting a career to helping others.
7. Travel.
8. Set goals.
9. Find my voice and be true to it.
10. Relax, life is too short to worry.
11. Imagine your ideal life and live it, if only for moments at a time and even if only in your imagination and dreams
....
14. Do good in her (daughter's) name.
....
20. Become friends with grief. She's going to be around for a while, if not for a lifetime. We might as well be on good terms.
21. Let go and let in.
22. Find acceptance and peace.
23. Find joy in my moments of grief. Learning how to enjoy the smaller things again, for they are the big things.
24. Let her (daughter) rest in peace and release her soul.
25. Dedicate the year to remembering (her daughter) and honoring my grief.
26. Let healing in whenever she whispers my name.
27. Feel, heal, and grow and accept the transformation of whatever might be.
28. Forgive. Forgive myself, others, the universe. Just learn how to forgive.
.....
And so, to honor my beautiful Camden, I am creating my own bucket list of fourteen items -- one for each week of his sweet, short life.
This will be my guide to surviving until his first "angelversary" -- the one year anniversary of his passing. And I will make another list on June 18, 2016.
Here goes:
Life After Loss: Bucket List 1
1. Be gentle with myself in my time of grief. Allow anger, sadness, frustration to flow freely. Do not be ashamed of my emotions.
2. Honor Camden's 99 days. Give smiles whenever I can, laugh out loud, enjoy the little things, cry when I need to, just as he did during his lifetime.
3. Fall in love with life, as deeply as I love him.
4. Continue my travels -- and take Camden with me. I chose to have my son cremated. I will carry him with me wherever I go, and leave a little of him behind.
5. Pursue my passions and continue to be a woman that I would want my son to know. In the weeks since his passing, I've dropped out of graduate school and agonize over the thought of leaving my home. Yet, while he was here, I found a new way to spend every day. We traveled to many new places together in his brief 14 weeks. He was my motivation. I would not be true to who he is if I continue to allow my sadness to consume me.
6. Do not give up on God. Having my son was a spiritual experience, and he brought me closer to God than I had ever been. I realize now that that was all in preparation for this test I'm enduring. Without even recognizing it, Camden was giving me the strength I need.
7. Nourish myself, mind, body, spirit, and soul. Before he passed, I wanted to take Cam to mommy & me yoga and get a jogging stroller. Though I doubt I would have kept up with either, I would now like to pursue a healthier lifestyle in every avenue.
8. Celebrate the little victories. Today, I wore jeans and makeup (even if I did cry it all off). That's progress.
9. Right my wrongs. I am better for having carried, met, and held my sweet boy. I want those I have hurt in the past to see the light of my son through myself and my actions.
10. Do not go numb. I will lean into panic, sorrow, guilt, anger, loneliness, resentment, and anxiety. I will acknowledge these emotions for what they are: normal. This is essential to healing.
11. Keep teaching. This seems simple enough, but I dread heading back to school in less than a month. My classroom is where I spent the majority of my pregnancy, my students are the only people who saw my belly grow every day. I've considered quitting on multiple occasions over the last three weeks, but I made a commitment and I will honor it.
12. Adopt something. A tree. A bench. A highway. A dog. Something. Something to care for and nurture.
13. Volunteer abroad. Carry Camden's legacy beyond the borders of the United States.
14. Survive.
I don't recall ever being this angry in my life. And for once, this anger is a good thing.
It means that I'm feeling something besides sadness. It means that I am one step closer to acceptance.
I have struggled with accepting my loss.
On the day it happened, I kept yelling, whispering, screaming, shouting "It's not real. It's not. It's not." Later that same day, when I was being told when to expect his body be released so we could begin making final arrangements, I looked the man straight in the eye and said "My baby is not dead." When they arrived with the hearse, I told them they had to leave, that they were confused, that they weren't there for my child.
The last three weeks have been the same. Before he passed, I had only left my child alone, out of my sight, twice. Once with his grandparents and the other with his godparents. Thus, even though it is highly unusual for him to not be by my side or in my arms, I still refuse to believe that this is permanent, that this is my reality every second of every day for the rest of my life.
I have, however, allowed my anger to surface. I'm angry at God, at the universe, at my circumstances, at other women who still have their children. More than anything, I am angry at myself. Words cannot begin to express how much hatred I have for who I am, for the mistakes I made. Though I am constantly reminded, by those around me, that everything happens as it should, that there was nothing I could have done, and that it was "his time to go" because he had "fulfilled his purpose" (whatever that means), I am angry with myself for how things happened. I'm angry that I didn't hold him all through the night, that I didn't wake him from his sleep to give him a bath, that I let him sleep in his onesie and not his jammies because he wasn't feeling well and had fallen asleep early. Mostly, I'm angry that I'm alive and my son is not.
I am so full of anger and animosity that I worry it will consume me. But I am also allowing myself to be angry. I will not make any attempts to control it or hide it. I need to feel it so I can begin this process. This lifelong process.
In my quest for peace, I came across an article entitled "Bucket List for a Life After Baby Loss." It was written by a woman who is a member of the unfortunate community I now call my own -- the "angel moms" club, or the mothers of children gone too soon. At 30, she lost her firstborn, her little girl, and yet, she somehow found the courage to continue living life. I found some of her items quite comforting.
Here's a few I found particularly poignant:
1. Throw caution to the wind.
2. Follow your dreams.
3. Hold onto hope (about future pregnancies) no matter how elusive hope might seem.
4. Become a mom to a living child.
.....
6. Do rewarding work through devoting a career to helping others.
7. Travel.
8. Set goals.
9. Find my voice and be true to it.
10. Relax, life is too short to worry.
11. Imagine your ideal life and live it, if only for moments at a time and even if only in your imagination and dreams
....
14. Do good in her (daughter's) name.
....
20. Become friends with grief. She's going to be around for a while, if not for a lifetime. We might as well be on good terms.
21. Let go and let in.
22. Find acceptance and peace.
23. Find joy in my moments of grief. Learning how to enjoy the smaller things again, for they are the big things.
24. Let her (daughter) rest in peace and release her soul.
25. Dedicate the year to remembering (her daughter) and honoring my grief.
26. Let healing in whenever she whispers my name.
27. Feel, heal, and grow and accept the transformation of whatever might be.
28. Forgive. Forgive myself, others, the universe. Just learn how to forgive.
.....
And so, to honor my beautiful Camden, I am creating my own bucket list of fourteen items -- one for each week of his sweet, short life.
This will be my guide to surviving until his first "angelversary" -- the one year anniversary of his passing. And I will make another list on June 18, 2016.
Here goes:
Life After Loss: Bucket List 1
1. Be gentle with myself in my time of grief. Allow anger, sadness, frustration to flow freely. Do not be ashamed of my emotions.
2. Honor Camden's 99 days. Give smiles whenever I can, laugh out loud, enjoy the little things, cry when I need to, just as he did during his lifetime.
3. Fall in love with life, as deeply as I love him.
4. Continue my travels -- and take Camden with me. I chose to have my son cremated. I will carry him with me wherever I go, and leave a little of him behind.
5. Pursue my passions and continue to be a woman that I would want my son to know. In the weeks since his passing, I've dropped out of graduate school and agonize over the thought of leaving my home. Yet, while he was here, I found a new way to spend every day. We traveled to many new places together in his brief 14 weeks. He was my motivation. I would not be true to who he is if I continue to allow my sadness to consume me.
6. Do not give up on God. Having my son was a spiritual experience, and he brought me closer to God than I had ever been. I realize now that that was all in preparation for this test I'm enduring. Without even recognizing it, Camden was giving me the strength I need.
7. Nourish myself, mind, body, spirit, and soul. Before he passed, I wanted to take Cam to mommy & me yoga and get a jogging stroller. Though I doubt I would have kept up with either, I would now like to pursue a healthier lifestyle in every avenue.
8. Celebrate the little victories. Today, I wore jeans and makeup (even if I did cry it all off). That's progress.
9. Right my wrongs. I am better for having carried, met, and held my sweet boy. I want those I have hurt in the past to see the light of my son through myself and my actions.
10. Do not go numb. I will lean into panic, sorrow, guilt, anger, loneliness, resentment, and anxiety. I will acknowledge these emotions for what they are: normal. This is essential to healing.
11. Keep teaching. This seems simple enough, but I dread heading back to school in less than a month. My classroom is where I spent the majority of my pregnancy, my students are the only people who saw my belly grow every day. I've considered quitting on multiple occasions over the last three weeks, but I made a commitment and I will honor it.
12. Adopt something. A tree. A bench. A highway. A dog. Something. Something to care for and nurture.
13. Volunteer abroad. Carry Camden's legacy beyond the borders of the United States.
14. Survive.
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