Grief

I physically cannot cry. I cried for about 5 minutes today, but that was all. And it does not make sense to me at all. How can I not cry? My baby is gone. How am I not sobbing?

I have a masters degree. I first learned about the 5 stages of grief in my high school sociology class with our basketball coach, coach Padek. We read Tuesdays with Morrie. I don't really remember discussing the book in class, but I do remember that grief has stages. (It was also in that class that we learned about the terrorist attacks on 9-11. I was a senior in high school. You can do the math). I then went to Baylor and learned more about the 5 stages of grief. And then I went to grad school at Baylor and learned that Kubler-Ross coined this model while working with terminally-ill patients in the late 1960's. The stages are fluid, and not every person experiences every stage. And just because you move from one stage, like denial, does not mean that you won't circle back to it again.

So yesterday I was in denial. Like Matthew said, we spent the whole day looking at cemeteries. Every time I looked in the back seat, I pretended like the car seat was still there. I rationalized it to myself that maybe James was with a relative and they needed the carseat. Why else would it not be in my car anymore? Which that doesn't even make sense. The only nights I ever spent away from James were the two nights that I was forced to go home when he was in the hospital. I had back surgery when James was 6 weeks old. I was supposed to spend the night in the hospital that night, but I just couldn't bring myself to be gone from him that long. I thought about it, and the largest chunk of time I ever spent away from him was 10 hours. And that was torture.

So now I have spent 55 hours away from my dear boy. (Edited: I lost an entire day when I first posted this. I seriously forgot it was Monday.) Nothing makes sense anymore. It doesn't make sense that he would be spending time with anyone else- I would have never let him! Those of you that know me in real life know how desperately I love James. He was my everything. Wherever I went, James went. If James couldn't go, I didn't go. Which is probably so incredibly unhealthy.

Then it hit me. The anger. It rushed in, all at once last night. And man, was I angry. I'm still angry tonight. How utterly unfair it all is. Why my sweet James? Out of all the babies in the world, why him? I'm angry he didn't have a chance to fight. I'm angry that the chemo wouldn't have worked. I'm angry that we only got 2 days at home. I'm angry that there is really only one place doing research on his type of tumor. I'm angry I have a hand mold kit sitting on my dining room table that I didn't even have a chance to do. I'm angry that the funeral home asked me his educational level today. I'm angry that he will never say "Momma". I'm angry he will never walk, talk, sing.

But the truth is, I'm angry because of all the things that I wanted to experience with him. It's so incredibly selfish. Because Jamesie didn't need any of those things. James only needed my love. He needed to feel safe and secure, which he did. The anger is from a selfish place. And not that I'm not justified in being angry- I think any good counselor will tell me that it's ok to be angry. And I own my anger.

And the Guilt sets in. I feel so guilty for being angry. I grieve for James. But I also grieve for those of you who have emailed me that have lost your sweet children. For those of you who lost babies in the middle of the night, without a chance to say one last "I love you". I grieve for those of you who lost children after long, hard battles with terrible diseases. I grieve for you who lost children who never took a breathe in this world. I grieve for those of you who desperately want your child and are unable to have them. Those of you with empty arms and no baby to hold.

So I feel guilty that I am complaining that I only had 8 beautiful months with James, when I know full well that there are so many of you who feel like 8 months is double, triple a lifetime.

Thank you all for your comments. I read them all. One of you sent me (emailed me? I can't remember) a quote that you had heard. It has meant so much to me today.

"Dear Lord, I would have loved to have held my baby on my lap and tell him about You,
but since I didn't get the chance,
would You please hold Him on your lap and tell him about me."

And I am so lucky that I got to hold James in my lap for 8 months. I always thought that at some point, I would be like that mother who made tapes for her daughter when she was dying. I would record every piece of advice, every subject, that I wanted James to know if I were to go before him. I never thought that he would go first. I wish I could have gone first. It must have been so scary for him to go first. And although I know he was not alone, I so very much wish he didn't have to go.

So we will celebrate James on Wednesday. We will celebrate his life, his legacy. We will celebrate the person that he was. I'm planning on wearing a giraffe print dress. I don't want people to wear black- I never dressed James in black one day in his life!

We are working on a charity to donate to in honor of James. I know we are so behind on this. In lieu of flowers, we would really prefer that people donate to a charity to honor James. (Which if you feel led to donate in honor of James somewhere, please do! I really feel like James' legacy is one of love. And if you feel like to honor James means volunteering your time or money at your local children's hospital, we would love for you to do that.)

Thank you all for letting this blog be an outlet for me. I hope that by being honest about my feelings, it will let someone else who is going through this that it's ok to feel all sorts of emotions. There is no one "right" way to grieve. And even though we take comfort that James is with Jesus, we still miss him so and grieve our loss. We miss him so very much.