Gracie. Five years without her. How is that possible?
January is a hard month full of flashbacks. It was 5 years ago that things got really bad. Gracie was very sick and as much as I hate to say it, it was getting scary and a lot for me to handle. I was the parent who pretended everything was ok, but inside I was falling apart. I knew what was coming and I didn’t want to admit it or face it. When Gracie was first diagnosed I spent every minute of the day and night with her. In the hospital, at home, clinic visits… you name it I was there. But her last few months were so scary that I was afraid to be alone with her at night for fear something would happen. So I did day duty and Geoff took night duty every night while I went to the RMH to sleep and be ready for what the next day would bring. I say I went to the RMH to sleep, but that’s not what would actually happen. Each night I would leave the hospital and head to the house and as soon as I would get to the house I would have a panic attack that I left and that something was going to go wrong. I would call Geoff and he would reassure me that everything was OK. I would then walk to the kitchen and try to eat something, but two bites in and that anxiety would hit again. I would head back to our bedroom at the house and call Geoff again. Once I knew everything was ok I’d watch some TV for a while, hoping to fall asleep, but every night my eyes would wander to the same place. The bed post on the corner of the bed. On that bed post hung Gracie’s little pink sweatshirt. She didn’t need it in the hospital and the room was so small we would keep it and lots of other belongings in our room at the RMH until she could leave the hospital. Every night I’d look at that little pink sweatshirt and tear up. What if she dies and there is no one to fill the little pink sweatshirt? What will I do if she’s not here to wear it? The amount of pain and tears looking at that sweatshirt and thinking about the future and her not being here to wear it was unbearable. I would finally calm myself down and convince myself that everything was going to be ok and to not think about it.
This is exactly what happens and what I have to tell myself every time I start thinking about Gracie’s death. Most of the time I force myself to think about the good times, the great memories and the fact that I was lucky enough to be Gracie’s mom and enjoy the little time I had with her. But there are times when her death and some of the hard, terrible memories of suffering and sadness arise. January 17th is one of those days. As much as I want to force myself to be happy and remember all the good times there has to be a time when I let myself think about what happened and be sad. I can’t hold that in forever. I am truly thankful for all the support and love that surrounded my family that day, but the fact that she died that day tends to overshadow that. To this day I am still in shock that my baby died. To this day I still think of that little pink sweatshirt hanging by it’s hood on the bedpost and all those scary thoughts and feelings I was having. I still ask why. I still cry. I still don’t understand how this could happen. I still think of Gracie every minute of every day. And I still have that little pink sweatshirt hanging up on our coat rack at home. Right now it is buried under all of our coats, but every spring when we slowly put our winter coats away it’s still there. I couldn’t bare to put that sweatshirt away in the past 5 years and to be honest it will probably be there for the next 5 years. As much pain looking at that little pink sweatshirt on the bed post at RMH brought me 5 years ago, it now brings me a sense of comfort. A sense that she is still here with us and that she may not be here to fill it with her little body, but it is instead a reminder of her love and spirit that fill us each day and remain in our home.
The saying “time heals all wounds” should never be associated with someone who has lost a child. It has been 5 years without Gracie in my world and there will never be a time that I am still not in disbelief about her death. Five years later and I go numb when I think about what happened. Sometimes it’s the only way I get through it. Five years later and there hasn’t been and will never be a day that I don’t yearn to hold my Gracie again.
Gracie. It’s January 17th again. The day you died. I miss you, I love you and I will always keep your little pink sweatshirt hanging in our home.