The Year of the Firsts

They tell you over and over and over again after the loss of a child not to make big decisions in the first year or two.  You hear it and you know that there is truth in those words. Yet as we were going thru the first year and one big decision after another was made we honestly thought it was being done so with absolute clarity. Looking back now I know this was not true. I am not certain why we thought this did not apply to us. Perhaps it was the fact that we did not give ourselves permission to grieve openly or perhaps it was because individually we all grieve differently. I know now for certain that many decisions were clouded by the typical companions of death: anger, resentment, guilt and lack of trust. Each of these gained momentum in our relationships and life in the year that followed her passing.

The week after the funeral we knew we needed rest and solitude. We retreated to the beach. Just us and our son. I could not handle watching the world around us go back to as it was before. I thought that waking up in unfamiliar surroundings would make my brain quit thinking that I had to get to the hospital to check on Bella. Perhaps we thought the ocean would wash away our sadness. And to be honest I needed a reason to just get out of bed. I remember very little from this trip. Yet the parts I do remember I know were monumental. I remember a day that I went for a run. I remember feeling so numb from a combination of anxiety medicine that was used to get me thru the funeral and the natural numbness your body provides as a survival mechanism. I remember looking at the beach and the sunset and not feeling anything at all. I remember thinking that maybe this is how life would be from now on and it scared me. I ran, I ran until I could barely catch my breath,  threw up and could feel my legs aching and trembling. Upon my return I threw away the medicine and pretended we were on vacation. The next memory is of my husband and I sitting on the deck after a long day at the beach. I remember feeling at peace and feeling alive. I remember feeling hopeful. A glimmer of hope that life could go on without her here. We talked of this and found that we both felt this way. We talked more and an idea developed that we could in fact feel this way every day if we lived here. We talked more and decided we would move to Florida, rent this house by the beach and stay for one year as we "found our way back"And that is what we did. We went home, rented out our house, put things in storage and returned to the beach just one month later. To many our decision made perfect sense and some were alarmed that we were throwing away our careers and future security (all things that seemed of very little importance at the time). The months that followed provided rest, solitude and togetherness as a family. Our son was hungry for attention after nearly a year of me being focused on Bella. This allowed for me to give him just that. I spent every single day for 4 months with that child. It allowed for my husband and I to find peace again in our marriage, for it had suffered greatly over the past year. But it also allowed us to prolong the inevitable - the grief process. I can't speak for my husband but it allowed me to live in denial. It allowed me to pretend that we were on vacation. It allowed me to think that I was dealing with the grief when in fact I was just hiding from it. Even knowing the truth now I have no regrets about this decision. We would not be here today as a family if we had not done this. It gave me the hope that I needed that life could go on.

 Just a few months into our 1 year move we decided to move back home. Another big decision (HUGE decision) in the first year had been made. We had the opportunity to own a concert & event space, a dream that was several years in the making. We jumped in head first, excited that life was moving forward and hopeful that all was well. This is where life as we knew started to come apart....

There is much more to our story of the year of the firsts that I want to share. For now though I must stop. To type these words and recall these memories is to put life into them again. I have learned that revisiting these memories can be therapeutic but that it also has to be balanced with the present. And I must put energy into living in the present for today. Until we meet again may there be beauty in your day, if only for a moment.