Monday, January 24, 2011
I have been lucky not to suffer from nightmares. In fact,
I've always been blessed with the ability to fall asleep in moments. Since Ty
passed away, with the exception of a couple disturbing dreams and a few nights
of wakeful thinking, I have been able to sleep well. I can't say the same thing
for Dan, unfortunately. But I have struggled with what I call "daymares"
instead. These are times when my mind locks in on that awful morning, and I feel
compelled to walk through the entire event from the moment I peered into the
crib, to the shrieking of my voice and then Dan's . . . every scene and action,
step-by-step until we end up at the hospital. Every image is painfully clear.
Every sound rings in terror. Every emotion raw and torturous all over again. And
I am sickened to the core, gripping my womb and feeling the loss in its
entirety.
The daymare only lasts for minutes at a time--perhaps only moments if I am somehow able to cringe hard enough and chase them away with every ounce of my power. It happened every day, throughout the day, for the first few months, and then they began to taper off. But vacationing in New Zealand, they came back with a vengeance almost daily. Being back in Utah, the daymares have lessened in frequency. But in its place, I have found myself struggling with guilt and fear, once again, and wondering if it will ever go away? I felt the need to see a therapist again and made an appointment with a woman named Mary through LDS Family Services. We talked about many things, all of which ended up tying into one another. I'm going to write most of it down, even if I don't remember the order exactly:
I explained to Melissa that I feel like I've worked through most of the grief and emotions of losing my son, and that spiritually, I have been steadfast and strong. But I don't understand how to get rid of the images, or know why they are coming back. Melissa referenced Hotel Rwanda and explained how the main character, Paul Rusesabagina, saved many lives during the genocide in Rwanda. Years later, he ran a camp for children and adults who had suffered trauma, having seen unspeakable things in their lives. It was a camp of healing, and when asked over and over why this camp seemed to work, the answer continues to be because people talk. They talk and talk about it until they don't feel like they need to talk about the trauma anymore, and they can move on to other things, like gardening or being with other people to learn various skills and past times. In reference to myself, Melissa suggested that the fact that I have sought out help probably means I am still grieving and I still need to talk about it. I think she's right. Seeing all those images over and over is my mind's way of still trying to process the whole event, even though I can see how far I have come and feel pretty "normal" on a daily basis.
We discussed guilt. I told her how most of the time, I feel confident that everything happened as was intended by the Lord, and after talking to friends and family (over and over again!) I feel self-assured and peaceful. But there is still a small piece--a tiny, powerful fragment--that remains. It is the one area where Satan digs his nails into me and causes me to wonder if all this happened because God knew I would fail. I believe I would be completely at peace with Ty's passing, had he died in his sleep without the blanket over him. But what makes it worse is that I had a thought the night before to remove the blanket--to use a smaller one. But I didn't follow what I now wonder was a prompting. That's the part that kills me. Had that been my warning? Why didn't I listen?
First of all, Melissa commented on how as a human, we all have impulses--thoughts, worries, instincts--and its hard to know what comes from the Spirit and what comes from our own natural minds. Melissa asked me what I do when I find myself caught in this web of thinking. I explained that I return to the facts and I rationalize everything my friends and family have repeatedly said to me: Ty's strong body and ability to roll over both ways; his good health; the many spiritual events surrounding his death and how the Lord prepared us; that the light-weight blanket over him might have occurred after he passed away as a natural, physical response to death. But still . . . I can't know for sure. So I have also tried, "Ok, what if I did somehow contribute to his death, as some parents have experienced. What then? The gospel is still true, and I would still need to forgive myself."
Melissa, while reiterating time and again that she did not believe it was my fault, suggested I go down that route of forgiving myself since that may be easier than trying to fully convince myself it was not my fault. She said I have the great ability to rationalize, but it is not working 100%. So instead, she asked, "What if you were to go to the worst case scenario and asked yourself for forgiveness?" I'd been crying off and on through out the session, but started bawling here as I said, "But that means I have to truly accept that I really might have done something!"
We talked about forgiveness, and how Heavenly Father and Ty would be the first to plead that I forgive myself. No one in the world or in Heaven is judging me but myself. Like any mantra, I need to say it over and over again, "I forgive myself", and take it to God and to Ty. Melissa suggested putting my energy towards this because if I could indeed forgive myself, then I would be at peace with the situation. It makes sense to me. I know no one believes I need to forgive myself, and in my heart of hearts, even as I write this, I know I don't need to forgive myself for something I didn't do. But I suppose to cover all my bases for times when I'm feeling weak (which I'm obviously still struggling with from time to time) I need to accept Ty's death from every angle. So that's this week's goal. (When I shared my session with Dan, with tears in his eyes, he said he felt that shiver of the Spirit confirming how important it is that I do forgive myself---that it's what needs to be done for me to move on.)
I learned some other things about myself in this session. We talked about my belief system and how sometimes I have this "impending doom" belief in the future. I didn't realize it until Melissa asked about it, but the pessimist in me that something bad is going to happen tends to occur with things that are most important to me: marriage, Ty's safety, our baby girl's birth . . . Dan cured me of my fear of divorce with his patience and ability to help me feel secure. But then I moved on to fearing motherhood, then fearing for Ty's life, and now fearing our baby girl's life. Melissa asked if I believed something really will happen to this baby.
The daymare only lasts for minutes at a time--perhaps only moments if I am somehow able to cringe hard enough and chase them away with every ounce of my power. It happened every day, throughout the day, for the first few months, and then they began to taper off. But vacationing in New Zealand, they came back with a vengeance almost daily. Being back in Utah, the daymares have lessened in frequency. But in its place, I have found myself struggling with guilt and fear, once again, and wondering if it will ever go away? I felt the need to see a therapist again and made an appointment with a woman named Mary through LDS Family Services. We talked about many things, all of which ended up tying into one another. I'm going to write most of it down, even if I don't remember the order exactly:
I explained to Melissa that I feel like I've worked through most of the grief and emotions of losing my son, and that spiritually, I have been steadfast and strong. But I don't understand how to get rid of the images, or know why they are coming back. Melissa referenced Hotel Rwanda and explained how the main character, Paul Rusesabagina, saved many lives during the genocide in Rwanda. Years later, he ran a camp for children and adults who had suffered trauma, having seen unspeakable things in their lives. It was a camp of healing, and when asked over and over why this camp seemed to work, the answer continues to be because people talk. They talk and talk about it until they don't feel like they need to talk about the trauma anymore, and they can move on to other things, like gardening or being with other people to learn various skills and past times. In reference to myself, Melissa suggested that the fact that I have sought out help probably means I am still grieving and I still need to talk about it. I think she's right. Seeing all those images over and over is my mind's way of still trying to process the whole event, even though I can see how far I have come and feel pretty "normal" on a daily basis.
We discussed guilt. I told her how most of the time, I feel confident that everything happened as was intended by the Lord, and after talking to friends and family (over and over again!) I feel self-assured and peaceful. But there is still a small piece--a tiny, powerful fragment--that remains. It is the one area where Satan digs his nails into me and causes me to wonder if all this happened because God knew I would fail. I believe I would be completely at peace with Ty's passing, had he died in his sleep without the blanket over him. But what makes it worse is that I had a thought the night before to remove the blanket--to use a smaller one. But I didn't follow what I now wonder was a prompting. That's the part that kills me. Had that been my warning? Why didn't I listen?
First of all, Melissa commented on how as a human, we all have impulses--thoughts, worries, instincts--and its hard to know what comes from the Spirit and what comes from our own natural minds. Melissa asked me what I do when I find myself caught in this web of thinking. I explained that I return to the facts and I rationalize everything my friends and family have repeatedly said to me: Ty's strong body and ability to roll over both ways; his good health; the many spiritual events surrounding his death and how the Lord prepared us; that the light-weight blanket over him might have occurred after he passed away as a natural, physical response to death. But still . . . I can't know for sure. So I have also tried, "Ok, what if I did somehow contribute to his death, as some parents have experienced. What then? The gospel is still true, and I would still need to forgive myself."
Melissa, while reiterating time and again that she did not believe it was my fault, suggested I go down that route of forgiving myself since that may be easier than trying to fully convince myself it was not my fault. She said I have the great ability to rationalize, but it is not working 100%. So instead, she asked, "What if you were to go to the worst case scenario and asked yourself for forgiveness?" I'd been crying off and on through out the session, but started bawling here as I said, "But that means I have to truly accept that I really might have done something!"
We talked about forgiveness, and how Heavenly Father and Ty would be the first to plead that I forgive myself. No one in the world or in Heaven is judging me but myself. Like any mantra, I need to say it over and over again, "I forgive myself", and take it to God and to Ty. Melissa suggested putting my energy towards this because if I could indeed forgive myself, then I would be at peace with the situation. It makes sense to me. I know no one believes I need to forgive myself, and in my heart of hearts, even as I write this, I know I don't need to forgive myself for something I didn't do. But I suppose to cover all my bases for times when I'm feeling weak (which I'm obviously still struggling with from time to time) I need to accept Ty's death from every angle. So that's this week's goal. (When I shared my session with Dan, with tears in his eyes, he said he felt that shiver of the Spirit confirming how important it is that I do forgive myself---that it's what needs to be done for me to move on.)
I learned some other things about myself in this session. We talked about my belief system and how sometimes I have this "impending doom" belief in the future. I didn't realize it until Melissa asked about it, but the pessimist in me that something bad is going to happen tends to occur with things that are most important to me: marriage, Ty's safety, our baby girl's birth . . . Dan cured me of my fear of divorce with his patience and ability to help me feel secure. But then I moved on to fearing motherhood, then fearing for Ty's life, and now fearing our baby girl's life. Melissa asked if I believed something really will happen to this baby.
"No," I said, "I don't
really believe that SIDS would happen again. But I can't trust that it
won't." I guess since I was a child, I developed the idea that no matter what I
do, bad things can happen, even if I do everything I can to prevent it. And it's
safer to prepare for the worst than be hit unexpectedly. Rather than believe
that losing a child is the exception to the rule, in my mind, it has become the
rule. It happened and it could happen again. I still have to work on this one, I
guess.
One last thing Melissa reminded me was that the Lord plays a much huger role in life and death than people give Him credit for. If He had a purpose for Ty, it wouldn't matter what I tried to do to prevent his death. Ty was the Lord's to take Home when it was right.
I truly believe in therapy. I think everyone should get therapy, traumatic events aside. Therapy helps you figure out why you think the way you do, and it's validating to hear yourself (and someone else) say out loud how you feel. Somehow, talking really does help. I know I've talked about it A LOT already, and so many family members and friends have told me all the right things a hundred times over! I'm even a little embarrassed to admit all of this again, that yes, I've been struggling with the guilt piece. I'm sure people might feel like, "Seriously? You're still stuck on that?" I don't know . . . But it felt so good talking to Melissa. I would love to see her again. There was a very good spirit in her room and she was very intuitive and sensitive and seemed to understand me with minimal background information given. I guess I'm a pretty honest person though, too, so I'm sure that helps.
Whew, what a day! What a very good day.
One last thing Melissa reminded me was that the Lord plays a much huger role in life and death than people give Him credit for. If He had a purpose for Ty, it wouldn't matter what I tried to do to prevent his death. Ty was the Lord's to take Home when it was right.
I truly believe in therapy. I think everyone should get therapy, traumatic events aside. Therapy helps you figure out why you think the way you do, and it's validating to hear yourself (and someone else) say out loud how you feel. Somehow, talking really does help. I know I've talked about it A LOT already, and so many family members and friends have told me all the right things a hundred times over! I'm even a little embarrassed to admit all of this again, that yes, I've been struggling with the guilt piece. I'm sure people might feel like, "Seriously? You're still stuck on that?" I don't know . . . But it felt so good talking to Melissa. I would love to see her again. There was a very good spirit in her room and she was very intuitive and sensitive and seemed to understand me with minimal background information given. I guess I'm a pretty honest person though, too, so I'm sure that helps.
Whew, what a day! What a very good day.
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