TAUMAFAI: To Perservere.: A Year's Worth of Reflection

Thursday, March 10, 2011

A year ago Dan and I suffered the most heart-wrenching day of our lives. I still often cringe and feel sick to my stomach when I vividly remember that morning. So much horror and fear . . . so much sorrow and disbelief . . . Sometimes I sit quietly and think, "I still can't believe this happened to us. Is this really our life? Did we really lose our son?" I try not to tap into that day too often if I can help it. But some days I do for a few moments, and then I am astonished that we have survived that amount of immense pain. Dan and I watched Ty's video again last night, and I listened to Dan cry, "I never want to hurt that bad again!" We can only pray our fear away and hope that would never be asked of us.

We really missed our boy last night -- all his smiles, his laughter, the way he stared into my eyes when he nursed and even when he bottle-fed. We miss those fun times together as a family when it was just the three of us. How could a baby be so much fun and the center of our lives? The missing link that made us feel so complete, creating an awareness in us that we didn't know existed until Ty joined us. How have I been able to feel normalcy without him?

I've had some good hard cries a few times this week, trying to process all the emotions I've experienced this past year. They were the kind of gut-wrenching cries that made me simultaneously worry about the baby girl in my womb and what she might be feeling through me. The physical pain is reminiscent of when I followed in Dan's footsteps as he carried Ty's casket down the aisle in the chapel with so much courage. I remember how I doubled-over with a loud sob, clutching my womb and feeling an intense tightening. My grief has often centered itself in that part of my body, though less often since I have become pregnant.

I've never hurt so much but I've also never felt closer to the Spirit, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I've also never been so grateful for Dan. I let out such a sigh of relief when I think about how he is here with me at my side, hurting and healing in his own way, but we're still fighting through together. And life is still good.

I went through some of the funeral pictures yesterday. I doubt I'll ever go out of my way to print these, but they're still important to have, so I figured I'll put some of them on my blog even though they're not my favorite to look at. But while the pictures make me sad, the more overwhelming feeling is how intensely peaceful that day was for Dan and me, overall. I wish so badly that the audio had recorded from Ty's funeral service. All I can do is cling to that memory of spiritual comfort that engulfed the room. From the moment the service concluded, Dan and I knew that ultimately, pain aside, everything would be all right and as it should be. How else were we able to laugh and joke around with both of our families at Olive Garden that night, with the waiter mistakenly believing we were out "celebrating". But perhaps we were. Celebrating the truthfulness of the gospel with gratitude that we believe it. We understand it. We cherish the hope it brings of Eternal Families and a Plan of Happiness that keeps us working hard to return Home and be with our son someday.

I still can't believe it's been a year. When I don't stop and think about everything that has happened in these twelve months, it feels like it's only been a short while, maybe a couple months. But that's not the case. The weather feels familiar: chilly and then teasingly warm before the cool weather returns, cycling through this crazy Spring. But even with its ups and downs, Spring is still a time of growth.

Remember this Willow Tree that was planted in its infancy at the RTC I worked at? (The Peace Garden)

My family and the RTC students and staff helped plant it on their property to symbolize a place for grief and healing last March, about ten days after Ty passed away.

Here's how much the tree had grown by September. It started sprouting before I left for Vegas for the summer. I remember having a conversation with the groundskeeper, who said, "I was worried it wouldn't survive the cold Spring." I remember thinking to myself with a little laugh, "I know exactly what you mean." I was really happy to see how much the tree had progressed by the end of the summer. Now that I'm working at Telos again, I've found myself glancing at the Willow Tree every time I pass by. It looks sad and bare, just like it did last year. But I'm hopeful its persistence will allow that little willow to keep on growing, showing us just how tough it really is.

I just came back from visiting Ty at the cemetery and taking him some vases of flowers. It is such a gorgeous day, invitingly warm and sunny, and reminding me why I visited the cemetery so much last spring. It's so beautiful and peaceful out there.

Peace. That's what I feel today, especially sitting beside Ty's headstone. Last night Dan and I felt the hurt all over again. I've been anticipating that this morning would also be difficult. But when I woke up today . . . all I feel is peace and calm. At the cemetery, my thoughts skimmed along the memories of finding Ty in his crib. For the first time ever, I did not feel the horror that accompanies such memories. I found myself almost able to believe myself 100% when I said out loud, "I did nothing wrong." I'm so close. And even if I'm not entirely there yet, I am proud of how far I have come -- how far Dan and I have come and what we have accomplished together.

A few friends and family members have commented about the True Blue interview and the short clip where it shows me smiling and laughing. I love that part, too, because the expression is so genuine. When I saw it, I nodded my head in satisfaction, thinking, "Yeah. I do smile and laugh still." I am grateful for that.

Some friends of ours told us yesterday that a couple in their ward lost their 4 1/2-month-old son to SIDS yesterday, simply while he was napping. Dan and I are so sad for them and hope they receive the incredible love and support that was shown to us throughout this year. I'm sorry for the pain they will have to experience in order to heal, but I'm hopeful they will, given enough time.

Thank you for all your prayers. I know so many of you have prayed for us throughout this year, at every heart-ache and milestone of this grief and healing process. I know many of you are praying for us today. I attribute the peace I feel to you. I believe in the power of prayer, that God hears His children when they spiritually reach out to one another. Thank you so much.

Dan is all ready on his way to Vegas with two of his friends. I will be on my way within the hour. It's going to be a good weekend.