The green and brown plaid high chair stood very confidently in our kitchen. One could see it from any direction of the house, and it was usually cluttered with small toys. Then, sadly, the time came when the chair sat empty. The toys remained still.
After several months, this confident high chair found a new home: seated at our dining room table. We thought, “B, you will always have a seat at our table.” T checks the high chair all the time, to make sure that the toys remained. Sometimes, this high chair is difficult to glance at. However, most days, it puts a smile on our faces. Good memories, good times. For now, it will remain there, to be celebrated, not forgotten.
As for celebrations, what would be B’s third birthday is drawing near in the next couple of weeks. Thus, we are planning our weekend getaway. We find that being alone, just the three of us, helps with our sorrow most of all. No phones ringing, no work, no reality television, no video games. Simple bonding, relaxation and reminiscing about B. For his birthday, we will do our usual of visiting him in the early morning as the cemetery opens, just so we can be there “first,” as T puts it. We will do our private traditions, then disappear for three days. We come back refreshed and ready to resume our video games and reality television, or as we say, “Life as we know it!”
Sending birthday hugs and kisses to you, Angel B.
Posted in bereaved parent, bereavement, children, death, death of a child, grief, healing, loss, parenting, Uncategorized
Tagged bereaved parent, Children, death, death of a child, grieving child, loss, memorials, parenting
A peer blog sparked the never-ending question of, “How long is long enough to grieve?” We chuckle when we hear it because we ask ourselves, “Are we on a step system or something? Should we cover our faces with a mask, like a child, and hide from the world?” It brought me back to the days of struggling with returning to work following the death of B. I specifically recall trying to get additional time home, in order to help my eldest child adjust to his first days back at school. I used some days owed to me from work. However, I was then told that any additional time off would have to be prepared through paperwork, specifically the Family Medical and Leave Act. Well, of course, I was shocked to find, from FMLA, that I couldn’t take time off for the death of my child. Really? Really.
So, what does one do? I was told to see a doctor. The doctor then had to “label” me in order to agree with the FMLA terms. Thus, I put my family first, rather than pride. I marched into the doctor’s office and said, “My child died. I don’t know why. Now, work says you need to see me in order for me to stay home. Oh yeah, and you need to sign this paperwork.” I was embarrassed; I didn’t want any more people to know B’s death than necessary at the time. So here I am, telling the doctor that delivered B, that he died. I didn’t have answers. She said in order to get approved for FMLA, I had to claim I was “clinically depressed.” Really? Really. She said, “Here is some medication. Are you extremely depressed?” I took a step back. Was I? No. Did this label bother me? Yes.
It angered me. It embarrassed me. Why? I was not depressed. I was SAD. My child died; I was SAD. Plain and simple. I replied to the doctor, “Wouldn’t you feel sad? Is this something new in the world of medicine? I simply want time to be with my eldest son. I want time to be alone with “me.” What makes me “clinically” depressed?” She didn’t respond. Later that day, I faxed in my paperwork that read, “Cannot function with daily work habits. Must receive further treatment. Suffering from clinical depression…lost her child.” Done.
Granted, I understand some people are clinically depressed. People do need medication and/ or therapy. Many of us have been there. Others do well without anything and God bless. Everyone is different. What bothers me most is that my child died, and the government felt it was not important enough to let me stay home. That I needed a “label” because of what had happened. Yet, if we give birth or adopt, we can stay home. Why not when we bury a child?
There are petitions now in place in which people are trying to make such changes to the FMLA. Thank goodness. I do not think we are sick. We do not need a label for losing a child. No one can tell anyone how long is long enough. What you should, or shouldn’t feel. What you need, or don’t need. Each story is different; each loss is a loss that is unique to the individual. What the government and some others around us may lack is compassion and empathy. Please do not tell us how to feel, act, speak, or move. Let us simply be and give us respect.
Posted in bereaved parent, bereavement, children, death, death of a child, grief, healing, loss, parenting
Tagged bereaved parent, Children, death, death of a child, grief, grieving child, loss, parenting