Monthly Archives: September 2009

I was attending a recruiting session for one of my volunteer organizations last night.  We’re hosting several of these meetings over the next couple of weeks.  At the time, there were four women in the room so we’re all part of the same conversation which eventually turned to children.

Since the other two women had spoken of their children, I knew the prospective new member would ask me the unavoidable question: Do you have any children?  While the others were chatting, I was going back and forth in my mind what I would say.  Sensing the unavoidable questions was about to happen, I got up to refill my glass.  Just as I did, she asked.   In the seconds it took me to turn around, I heard the word “no” tumble from my lips.

I felt like I was betraying Alexander by saying no but I just didn’t have the strength for “the look” that would happen if I told her my story.  I know I shouldn’t feel badly.  In my heart, Alexander is and always will be my child.  However, I’m still struggling with my response today.

How can time be moving forward and standing still at the same time? Today, makes 9 months that I’ve had to live without Alexander.

We were at the home of friends last night.  At one point, Dan and I were the only adults in the living room while the other couples were touring the house and their children were running around.  Dan looked at me and said, “Alexander would be talking now”. He’s right.

When I see 2 year olds, I often wonder what milestones Alexander would be achieving now.  How many words would he know?  How would he be doing with potty training?

Dan is playing in a tennis tournament today.  He played in this same tournament last year and Alexander and I were there to cheer him on. Dan’s team didn’t make it to the finals but we went to the finals and family celebration later in the afternoon.

Alexander was fascinated by a golf cart around the corner from our table and would go running to it every time we looked away from him. We were sitting with another couple and their daughter.  She got quite a workout running to get Alexander every time he got away from us.  He really enjoyed the game they were playing.

It was a happy day and it makes me too sad to attend the event without him.  So, I won’t be going this afternoon.

Our house was taped for a show on HGTV 2 years ago and the episode was aired today.  Alexander was part of the taping.  I didn’t have the strength to watch it today.  I did save to the DVR so hopefully, I’ll be able to watch it sometime in the near future.

I’m feeling sad, lost and out of sorts.  I so wish Alexander was here.

Another SUDC mom posted this and I thought it was a good thing to share.

Following are excerpts from an article by Vicki Windham of the North Platte, Nebraska, Chapter of Compassionate Friends.  I changed a few things to reflect my normal.

Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Christmas, Alexander’s birthday, Valentine’s Day, Easter, etc.

Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how I feel with chat buddies who have also lost a child.

Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when I realize Alexander is missing from all the important events in my life.

Normal is not sleeping well because a thousand what if’s and why didn’t I’s go through my head constantly.

Normal is turning the TV on the minute I walk into the house to have noise because the silence is deafening.

Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind because of the hole in my heart.

Normal is telling the story of Alexander’s passing as if it were an everyday common place activity and then gasping in horror at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become part of our normal.

Normal is coming up with how to honor Alexander’s memory and birthday and survive those days.

Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother and crying over our children and our new lives.

Normal is being too tired to care if I paid the bills, cleaned house, did laundry, or if there is any food in the house.

Normal is hiding all the things that have become normal for me to feel, so that everyone around me will think that I am “normal”.