the rising stars
I'm not sure how to do this, what to call it or how to get through it. The anniversary of Silas' birth and death is on Friday which means I am a year deep into this nightmare and still mostly lost.
Our plan is to spend time away with my brother's family, up in New Hampshire. Their house is cozy and safe, tucked onto a hillside in the midst of trees and trails, the canopy of stars endless above.
Orion NebulaIt's those fucking stars I'm worried about. It was right around this time when we picked Orion as his middle name. I've always loved constellations and the way that one in particular is special for the winter nights. If you are out in northeast America and can see Orion, it is certainly crisp and cold.
Missing Silas chills my soul. Each of those stars are huge, hot suns, but I cannot feel any of their massive warmth. Very soon now that piercing and familiar constellation will begin to peek over the horizon, and I don't know how I'm going to handle that. They were supposed to be his special connection to the world, and now it is ours to him.
I'm worried about Friday, but not too much. I'm sure it will be painful to recognize that a full year has passed without our son, and I am a little terrified of the fact that this is only the first of many, many years we will not have him. I am certain it will hurt less than what I experienced a year ago but I should know better than to be certain of anything.
I looked for Orion last night, but I didn't see it. Maybe this year it won't appear, and then that will prove I am in a whole other Universe than the one I thought I was inhabiting. That would be proof of the disbelief I still feel for this World around me. It wouldn't even surprise me, really. Just another part of all of this I cannot trust to be correct and true.
Instead of celebrating, we continue to mourn but I'm so good at it now, you can't even tell I'm doing it every day, all the time. So then Friday is just another day without Silas, unless, of course, his rising constellation coincides with our drive north into solitude. How can it not?
Is it faith or belief or religion for me to assume that the Universe will fuck with me any chance it gets? I always thought we were on pretty good terms. Healthy respect for the Vast Ineffability of it all mixed with wonder and love and appreciation for Its endless beauty and mystery, but I guess I missed how dark and deep the Mystery part goes. Because I am very fucking mystified by how much this sucks.
I have to hold back anger when I have to let people know exactly what I am not celebrating, but then I remember there's nothing they can do for me anyway, so why bother? I'm surprised by the number of people that seem to have forgotten. But then I have also been surprised with unexpected cards and gifts and kind words from so many people who do remember him, and do understand how sad we remain.
The people that remember and acknowledge Silas, the people that hold him and us in their hearts, they are carrying us along, and we thank you all for your love and support. We need it so much, especially this week as his stars slip into the night sky and his day passes us by.
~~~~
So then what of it? Please tell me, how did you do this? Where can we find solace? What possible actions or words or thoughts can make Friday bearable? Or is Unbearable the only way through?
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as you know by now, the only way out is through.
the anticipation leading to these anniversaries is so hard. sure the day itself sucks too, but there is a sort of sublimity in the way a sacred day sucks. whether you simply light a candle, gaza at the stars, plant a tree, or go for a walk, I wish you some peace and comfort in your path to healing.
holding you and silas and your family in my heart this week.
For me, the anniversary was just something I had to get through, like so many other things without her. I did discover, though, that the anticipation leading up to the date was worse than the actual day itself.
I found so much solace in the kindness of others. Of friends. Of relative strangers. From unexpected sources. In the in-between days, those 'she was alive this time last year' days, I read a book called 'This Lovely Life' which made a huge impression on me. Written with such honesty and compassion. A story that could have been mine but that the cards fell differently. I marked pieces of writing that I knew I would come back to on that day, to help me through it. All of the people who thought to remember my sweet girl. A poem was read for her. Her name was written on a beach. Flowers were left for her. Beautiful words were written for her. Presents were bought for her. So much kindness.
Although what might have been her first birthday and the day that marks the first anniversary of her death were painful and unbearable, I felt close to her in a way that I had feared was beginning to be lost to me. That I was losing her all over again as time passed.
Like Anna, I also found some comfort in donating blood in her memory. Both my children received multiple blood transfusions. I told everyone on the donation bus my daughters' story just to let them know how important what they were doing was.
I hope you find your way through and some peace on Silas' birthday. I will be thinking of you.
I agree -- I've never liked the term "anniversary" for these things. Anniversaries should be happy occasions, something to celebrate. This is just something to be endured.
Everyone finds their own way to mark these dates. My dh prefers to go to work & keep busy; I try to take the day off if I can. Some years are harder/easier to get through than others -- unfortunately, I never know what the day is going to be like until it unfolds, so I just take the day off if I can. I go through Katie's box of things, catch up on reading my boards & blogs (other babyloss moms & dads). We order in Chinese (that's what we did when we got home from the hospital) & then take pink roses to the cemetery. We send a nice fat cheque to our support group too. For the first 10 years after our loss, I also put an "In Memoriam" in the local paper, but I didn't do that this year.
I know people who have birthday parties, complete with cake & a balloon release, but that's just not us.
I will be thinking of you & Lani on Friday. (((hugs)))
Another part of me questions the significance of anniversaries in general. Should there be special meaning to a day just because the Earth is in the same position in relationship to the sun that it was one year prior? Does it really matter when someone turns exactly 31.0? ...not really, they are just one day older than they were the previous day. We can celebrate someone's life every day. Is there more significance when one's age is evenly divisible by 10? ...only because we have 10 fingers and use a base 10 counting system. So, should a death anniversary be more painful than every other day? I don't think it needs to be. We are living each day without our babies. Hopefully, no one finds this offensive. As I said, I do honor the anniversaries and I do think they're important. I guess I pull out this argument when I start to feel overwhelmed by an upcoming anniversary.
I hope you find some peace.
Chris, do whatever you need to get you through. Like others have mentioned above, for me, it was somewhat of a relief to have behind me.
I will be thinking of you, your sweet wife, and your much-loved son.
As others have said, all the days without them are hard. And yes we are champion grievers these days - we're doing it all day every day and most would never notice. That's our new found super power in this awful mess that is babyloss.
You know Simon and I will be thinking of you and Lani and your beautiful boy Silas Orion all day on Friday. And the rest of the days that follow.
With love.
I cannot tell you how to get through Friday. I wish I could. I cannot give you a check list, tell you what steps to follow. I can tell you that you do what you can, and what you have. We buy presents for Gabe and give them away to a child that would not have them. We make a donation, we get a cake and we sing happy birthday. We light his candle, and we remember.
I will look up on Friday, and I will remember with you. And if I cannot see Orion from San Fran, I will ask Mr. Spit to look up from our deck, and speak Silas's name. That much I can do.
We were so busy with moving on Teddy's anniversary days that a lot of the sadness hit us hardest in the following week. There's something big and looming about a year. But I kept wanting it to be magic, somehow (a *whole* year, after all) and it wasn't, isn't. What really looms now is knowing how many more years there are likely to be. So, in that week after August 15 and 16, we clung to each other for dear life and allowed ourselves to be weighed down by sadness, to be heavy with it until some of the heaviness lifted on its own. It felt more like a surrender than a celebration or meaningful ritual, but I think it was what we needed.
It will get easier - truly. It changes, the pain lessens, but the pain is always there. The dread of a lifetime of anniversaries, of him not being here - that's hard.After the first year there comes the sense of a new 'normal" - not what you had hoped or planned, simply a life of what is, rather than what should have been. The anniversary becomes less important, less the focus of your life. I think that, after the first year is over, you begin to see what life will be like, for the rest of your life. And you move into it slowly and carefully, willing or not.
I hope I can get through Gabriel's due date so well. The idea of doing something appeals to me, like giving blood (though I can't do that).
Orion has always been a constellation that has held special meaning for me, one I've been able to see even in the smog and light choked city I live in. I will think of you and your wife, and of Silas, when next I see it. I hope for some measure of peace for you the remainder of this week and on Friday. I am sorry.
I found some peace last year in doing random acts of kindness in Liam's memory. I am doing the same this year. I was glowing last year while delivering the gifts, knowing my boy was sending his live to me, giving me the glow that I felt so fully. I have always found some peace and connection to my son if I honor his memory by living the moment fully. I feel him shining brightly through me when I push myself to find beauty in each day.
This Friday will be Liam's second birthday/ anniversary and I am feeling more peace and love than anxiety. I miss him but the cutting edge that sliced me last year seems gone. I am planning the acts of kindness again, and this year I will have dinner with friends to honor my baby boy on his birthday. I've asked friends and family to gather together at their homes and cook a meal and raise a glass in memory of LIam. I have found a way to celebrate Liam's memory rather than just mourn his loss. This takes time and may not be right for you or anyone else. This is where the journey has taken me.
I can not guide you through this painful time of year. I can only share with you what I've found to give me peace. I hope you can find some peaceful moments on Friday as you think of Silas. I hope nature grants you beauty in which Silas speaks to you.
I hold you in my heart as the days creep toward September 25. I hold Silas in my heart as his first birthday approaches.
We didn't plan anything specific, but there was kind of a sacred atmosphere and intentionality around everything we did and everything we said. It just kind of happened of its own accord. I don't know that you need to plan anything - except whatever space you and Lani need - and see what you feel moved to say or do when the time comes. I hope that you are able to feel Silas's presence with you.
And hold onto the messages and thoughts of those who remember with you; try not to be too bitter toward those who do not. I remember when my mother and sister gave me a bracelet to commemorate the third anniversary of Gabriel's loss, I was so very touched that they still acknowledged not only his birth and death, but my grief.
You and your wife and your son will be in my thoughts the next time I see Orion.
ciao,
rpm
we had a lot of ideas that we tossed around. in the end here are the things we did that made the day more of a celebration of their tiny existances: we both took the day off work. we took a nice, long walk and talked about all the things we remembered from the twins' pregnancy and birth. the good and the bad but mostly the happy memories. we decorated their grave with balloons and flowers. we went out to dinner at the restaurant we went to the night we found out i was pregnant with them.
it was all simple things but it was a peaceful day overall. so wishing things were different and that your baby boy silas was here with you, about to turn 1 year old on earth instead of somewhere out there.
Yesterday was the one month mark of losing Gabriel. We made it through ok, though not without some tears and some pain (much like any day now, I guess). I hope the same for you today.
Love to you both!
Orion has always been special to me, too - as Eliza says, it was a constellation I could pick out of the smog and light pollution of Los Angeles as a child, and also, I learned the names of several of its stars during a celestial navigation course in college. Orion is rising around midnight in New England right now. If you can't sleep tonight and you go outside to look at the stars, I hope it will appear for you and bring you some comfort.
xoxo