Christmas Service

[weeblemom]

We went to a Christmas service at the funeral home. We put an ornament on the tree for Weeble. Before we went, we each wrote him a note and put it inside the ornament. It was a nice service, and although it was very hard to go to, it was nice to feel a public connection to him at Christmas. Almost like attending an activity for one of the other children, but simultaneously a reminder of all the activities that we will never attend for Weeble (soccer games, Christmas plays, etc.). It was precious to see his name in print and hear it called out loud. I don't know if we'll go next year, but I'm glad we went this year.

We also chose a child from the Angel Tree at the Salvation Army and bought him presents, since we can't buy them for Weeble. It was heartbreaking. I cried all through the store and all the way home and I couldn't wait to get the presents to the office and turn them in. Weeble never learned to ride a bike. He never got big enough to play with Transformers or the other toys he would have been getting big enough to play with now.

Today we went to the cemetery and took down the fall decorations and put up Christmas decorations and took him a piece of gingerbread. My sister-in-law says she doesn't want to visit the cemetery until Weeble has a headstone. I understand what she means, but I don't know how long it will take us to pick one out. It's too hard. How do I put everything I want to say about my little boy on a rock that size?

This time last year, we had no idea it was his last Christmas. The last time we would make a gingerbread house with him. The last time he would make cookies with Granny while we shopped for his presents. His last Christmas parties. The first present I bought for anyone last year was his little ride-on motorcycle. I pictured him riding it all around the yard for months and months, but he only had two months left to live after Christmas. I'm glad I didn't know. Obviously, I wish I could change what happened, but since I can't, I'm glad I got to enjoy his last days without the foreshadowing of the loss that was to come.

Some days, it just feels like too much to bear. Some days, I feel like God gives us a measure of peace. I used to sing, "This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it, " to the baby in the morning. The best I can muster up these days is, "This is the day that the Lord has made, and we just have to deal with it, whatever it is." I am okay going to church, but I cannot sing the hymns. Every time I try, I feel dizzy, like I am going to pass out and I just sit down and cry while everyone else sings.

I knew Christmas would be hard. Some things just crash in on me in a horrible way, but other things don't seem to bother me.

I hope you are all feeling peace through the holidays, and I am sending hugs to each of you as you experience the season without your precious children.

[missingisaiah]

Until this year the organ donor association would have a memorial service in Sept. We would receive a personalized Christmas ornament and hear Isaiah's name read. This year they skipped it and it won't be until April. I doubt we'll be getting a Christmas ornament. I will miss that.
Like you, I found it a comfort to feel a public connection to my little boy.
This year I've been thinking a lot about the activities we will never attend for Isaiah. I've especially been thinking about the Christmas programs he'll never be in. I'm probably thinking so much about it this year because he would have been 5, old enough to participate in the church Christmas program. I'll never get to see him dressed up in an old robe pretending to be a shepherd or wise man.
I understand what your sister means about the headstone. I hated visiting Isaiah's grave until we got his placed. The outlines of where the sod had been dug up and replaced were too noticeable. Isaiah's stone has a picture of Jesus holding children, has his name, birth and death dates, and the saying "Our cherished baby." It's not much, not much fits, but I think "our cherished baby" says it all. He is so cherished, so loved. In time you too will find the right words for Weeble's stone.

[jaredsmommyforever]

You always write so beautifully-- though it makes me so sad to hear your heartache. None of this will ever be okay- and our beloved children will always be missed, and events will keep happening where they should be. It is like slow and steady torture that never ends, though somehow we manage to make it through each day and live with it. But the firsts are especially hard, as are the seconds. And then time just goes and we hold on for dear life to sustain the ride.

I wish you strength to get through these firsts, though I wish you didn't have to.

Denise

[marianne]

You are so strong to be able to do all these things.
Re head stone, i always think a few words is all you need to get the feeling, you'll never be able to put it all down. i'm sure whatever you say will be perfect.
PS we have ordered the new pool fence as I am not happy with the old one ( the gate looks closed even if its not) Even here in australia weeble is breaking hearts.

[myangelamanda]

((((((((hugs)))))))))))

This is possibly the most difficult time of the year for anyone who has lost a child as it is the season of children really. Everywhere you go ... everything on tv ... everything on the radio ... it's all just a constant reminder of what is "normal" for the world and then ... well ... then there's "our world". I came back to add that I admire you and Brenda for attending the funeral home service. We've been invited to not only the funeral home, but also to the hospital where Amanda died for a similar type of ornament service and I have not once had the courage to go so knowing that it brings you each a sense of a connection really warmed my heart, though I still don't know if I have the courage to go. Don't really know why either. I guess I wish I had just a small bit of it to share with others in a public type of connection like you both have done. I really do admire you both for going.

Years ago I came up with the analogy that those of us who have lost children are like the toys on the Island of Misfit Toys in Rudolph. We exist because we just keep waking up every day, but we really don't fit in anywhere in the "normal" old world we used to live in ... we're broken. We need each other in these times because we're truly the only ones who really understand just how much a small piece of gingerbread means or how difficult it is to buy toys for another child when we should be buying for our own as well as another. We understand "This is the day the Lord has made and we must deal with it".

For me, I honestly do find comfort year-round with others who just know this pain and heartache, but this time of the year really does escalate the need for complete understanding. I blew off a girls night out on Saturday night. I did not want to go so I made something up and I don't care. I made up something because no one would understand how much I just don't want to go out and eat and drink and be happy ... It's this awful time of the year and it's also Amanda's 16th birthday on the 21st. Sorry if I don't feel like socializing, but I don't ... not with those who don't get it.

(((((((Jennifer)))))))) sometimes the days really are too much to bear. I can relate to your dizzy feeling. It doesn't happen anymore with me, but the first year or two it did. It would happen at church or the supermarket or even at school ~ just that rush of a remembrance followed by the reality of it being a memory happening all at once ... I've cried at church, like you, and in supermarket aisles ... I even once left an almost full cart because it was too much to bear ... just seeing Poptarts put me literally over the edge. My point is that it's normal what you're feeling and it also will slowly dissipate in time so that one day you will be able to sing a song without being dizzy and having to cry ... it all takes a lot of time and effort and it's exhausting getting to that point.

I want to 2nd what Denise wrote as well ~ you do write so beautifully and she's right ... time just goes and we hold on for the ride as tight as we can.

xox
~michele

[jaredsmommyforever]

Michele,

Thanks for improving what I said-- we don't sustain the ride, but we endure it or survive it or, as you said, just hold on. What a way to live, huh? But yes, we are in this sorry club together, and we need each other for that support and a reality check because of this bizarre world we inhabit-- the reality of having to live without our children. For me, I call it this feeling of shock, when I remember, suddenly like a ton of bricks falling on me, that this is real and it is my life. It shocks me less and less as time goes by, because living like this day in and day out wears on me, but it still happens. It's a wave of horror and disbelief and FEAR- that this h*ll can really be real and my precious Jared isn't here alive. Sorry, Jennifer, maybe I'm not helping you, but do know that we do keep going, even when we don't want to, and the pain is gentler- even if only because life has worn us down into some kind of acquiescence.

Anyway, this place is a life-saver. I hope you feel our care and support.

Denise

[missingisaiah]

Yes, Michele, that's it: we're all like the toys on Misfit Island. When I read that, I remembered you sharing that before. One of these days I might quote you to a few "friends" and family that need to be reminded that I will never be who I was before Isaiah died-how can I be, my son is D-E-A-D!

[weeblemom]

Thank you, ladies. It is truly a blessing to know that there are others who really understand this pain that I never could have imagined before, but now am engulfed by every day. I am sorry that any of us know it, but I am so thankful for the support of this community. This site is really a lifeline for me, too. I like the Misfit Toys analogy. I definitely feel that way. I will never be the same person again, but I guess we do just go on anyway and hold on the best we can. I appreciate each of you more than I could ever tell you!