"You are my sunshine my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are grey You'll never know dear how much I love you So please don't take my sunshine away." If you have a baby, or know a baby, you've probably heard or sung this song more than a thousand times. This song happens to be one of my son's favorite songs, especially the Johnny Cash version from Youtube when he's starting to get fussy in his carseat during long trips. It's also one of my husband's favorite songs to sing while putting Nick to bed.
Me, I've tried to sing it a few times but always seem to mess up the end. At first it was mindless, and then I started noticing my words. "So please don't take my sun away." That's how I would end it. Maybe that's how the song actually goes I don't even know? But: Sunshine Sonshine Sun Son. "So please don't take my son away." That's where my head goes, every time. Becoming a parent has amplified my parent's loss. I lost a brother and it has been terrible, but I absolutely can't wrap my head around losing a child. We "only" have one year of memories. They (we) had thirteen. Thirteen years of being dad and mom, so many memories and milestones, so many proud moments, a huge gaping smile, roaring laughter, husky jeans, a no hitter, a heart to heart about salvation, an accidental release of a stink bomb on spring break, a 13th birthday BMX bike surprise... He had a December birthday. I'm not sure he ever got to ride the bike outside. It still sits in my parent's garage. Becoming a parent has amplified my parent's loss. It has also really impacted my parenting. I love my son, Nicholas Henry, more than I ever thought possible but I've had to work really hard at the attachment piece. Super hard when you're praying every day that whatever happens, anything else, but please don't take my son away. I've been sitting across different therapists for a l o n g time. My sister and I will often joke about how we got PTSD from therapy when a therapist asked if ambulances remind us of our loss. Nope, but they will now. About a month ago I was sitting in therapy talking about how I just couldn't juggle everything anymore. Work, motherhood, wifehood, maintaining a household...I felt like I was on complete E. EEE. The plan moving forward was to start letting things go and to start sleeping as frequently as possible. Ask my husband, I slept, and slept, and slept. Laundry waited, dinners were simple, work phone was left at work, and eventually I actually got tired of sleeping all the time and was feeling somewhat refreshed. This week, I was sitting back in therapy telling my therapist how doing nothing for about two weeks straight left me with lots of time and space to start "dealing with everything" (I was referring to lots of unresolved grief). About ten minutes later she stopped me and said, "So you've been circling around and around how you've been dealing with grief, but you haven't actually talked about it. Do you want to?" Instant tears. Ugly crying, trying to stay composed because it's 1 and I have a court hearing at 3, but absolutely can't get it together, until I'm able to mutter, "I actually don't know what to say about any of this." I thought I had done a really good job of processing throughout the past 2 weeks and quickly realized whatever I was doing wasn't actually what I thought it was. Like I've said before, I can talk about the facts of how my brother died, how Mr. T left, how Courtney died etc. all day long, but to starting verbalizing all of the ways I miss these people and how hard it actually has made motherhood for me, hurts. I don't think I'll ever stop praying that my son isn't taken away from me. I think I'll always have to work hard at feeling attached to my kids in a permanent, it's highly unlikely they are going to be taken away, type of way. Trauma and parenting is hard work. Being present when there is so much "insta" distraction available is hard work. I'm thankful for the people that have patiently walked alongside me as I continue to learn to love my family and try to leave behind fear. I'm thankful for a husband who knows that when Nick falls or gets hurt, my gasps are a natural reaction. He's stopped brushing off these accidents and saying, "Babe he's fine, he's tough," (which is always true, Nick is rarely phased) and started to nurture. He's validated my story and the ridiculous yet real ways it has impacted my parenting. Ironically, the people in my life who have lost a child, have also been huge supporters. They welcome Nick and I to their house whenever I have him by myself for long periods of time. They take him overnight and offer encouragement. They love him so well. So does my sister. It's a team gig. This is hard work, but we're going to get through. I'm grateful for the gift of Nicholas Scott and Nicholas Henry, whether for 13 years or 1. What a legacy of life and love. What a blessing and instrument of redemption, while at the same time opening up past loss and grief. Maybe that in itself is part of the redemptive story? Please don't take him away. Please help me be an attached and present mom who gives her worry of loss to the One who is in control.
3 Comments
Sarah Crachy
2/5/2017 09:09:45 pm
This really touched me. I appreciate your raw honesty and vulnerability. I sing that song to my son every night and have the same thoughts, especially after Courtney's death. It's a comfort to see my thoughts in your writing.
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sally nulph
2/6/2017 07:10:57 am
WE are the best healers when we are focused on healing ourselves. This is a wonderful article
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Brooke
2/6/2017 10:57:03 am
That song is the only song that puts my one year old to sleep as i rock him. I now sing it to my newborn daughter who falls asleep so fast to it. This is such an honest and touching post. Love reading your blog. Throughout both my pregnancies I prayed nothing would happen as my husband and I had a miscarriage with our first pregnancy. That alone was so hard. I still to this day check on both my kids at least 3 times every night just to make sure everything is alright (more of a reassurance for me). Makes me hold on and rock them a little longer at night before putting them down.
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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