146 days
It has been 146 days without him. 20 weeks and 6 days since his last breath. 3,504 hours since I touched his face or held his hand.
I am in a new phase of my grief I think. Swinging back around to the shock of it all, but becoming increasingly aware that I have not given Jay the right outlet for his grief and I am mad at myself for taking so long to help him. This is a discovery that is coming out in my weekly counseling sessions. I am realizing how much Jay must be hurting. I think my own hurt and sadness has kept me from seeing that. The more aware I am of it, the more I see how he yearns for his dad. He misses him so much. For a while my flashbacks have been of Jerry, and his sickness, and the hospital and seeing him die. But lately it is the fact that my children where there. They saw all of this too.
I am in the process of getting him with new counseling. He was receiving some free counseling at a grief center but only went a few times. I also ordered this book a while back for him. From Amazon -
I saw it in the library of the grief center and I think it would be great for him. The problem is, that I am scared to do it with him. I want a licensed professional to go through it with him. I think it would be too hard for me.
I want to help my children cope with this the way they need to and Jay handles it different than Ty. Jay is 9 and Ty is 17 and they have completely different personalities. I don't have anyone telling me how this needs to be done, and the weight of handling this myself is overwhelming but I am the only parent left, and they need me. That is what I tell myself when I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep.
Jay asked me one time - "Mom? When we were in the hospital, and you were screaming. Was that right when daddy died?"
Jay was in the room with all of us for a while. He cried, and held Jerry, and broke down really bad. He told me that he was too sad and needed to leave the room. This was the plan anyway. I wanted him to be able to say goodbye, but didn't want him to be in the room as Jerry passed. (Tyler was) So the Nurses said they would leave the blood pressure meds on because they were the last thing they would stop before the end and when I was ready, to let them know. When Jay left the room, we stopped those meds, I got into bed with him and he died. They turned the monitors off so that I wouldn't hear the beeping and monitored him from outside of the room. When he died, the nurse walked in to confirm that his heart had stopped. This I remember. I remember the nurses face, I remember yelling, and crying and the most intense pain I ever felt. I remember seeing other people in the room crying, even the medical student that had been with us from day one in the hospital was standing there. But I don't remember what my kids were doing. My family was there and I know that they made sure they were held. I don't remember what Tyler did, and I don't remember what I said to them. This hurts me so bad. My poor children. What where they feeling in this moment. Who held them? Who told Jay that dad was gone? I think back and I remember blurry moments after. I remember being sat on a chair outside of his room, signed papers, went back in and said goodbye one more time then was whisked away home. I think back and I wonder why i didn't stay longer. I remember saying that I couldn't see him that way. Although his death was so peaceful, he did not look like the Jerry I knew and it was the hardest thing to see.
There seem to be new emotions that come up as time goes by. New things that I have not faced or thought about. Things that I need to talk about and understand.
How can I help my children in their grief? This is a question I ask daily. The caretaker and mother in me knows that deep down they are getting the love that they need from me first and foremost and that is a start. I cant help but feel guilty, and inadequate in my job as a mother. It is so hard to help them, when I am still trying so hard to help myself. I never know if the right thing to do is to bring up the sadness to them. I don't want to make them more sad, but I know that I need to talk about it so I would think that they want to talk too. They don't ask many questions, they have just gone along with whatever was decided and have not questioned anything that happened to dad. That makes me wonder if their minds are full of questions but they are afraid to ask. I am afraid too.
146 days without him here. Without his laughter, his smile, his wisdom and strength.
I am in a new phase of my grief I think. Swinging back around to the shock of it all, but becoming increasingly aware that I have not given Jay the right outlet for his grief and I am mad at myself for taking so long to help him. This is a discovery that is coming out in my weekly counseling sessions. I am realizing how much Jay must be hurting. I think my own hurt and sadness has kept me from seeing that. The more aware I am of it, the more I see how he yearns for his dad. He misses him so much. For a while my flashbacks have been of Jerry, and his sickness, and the hospital and seeing him die. But lately it is the fact that my children where there. They saw all of this too.
I am in the process of getting him with new counseling. He was receiving some free counseling at a grief center but only went a few times. I also ordered this book a while back for him. From Amazon -
you can get it here
I saw it in the library of the grief center and I think it would be great for him. The problem is, that I am scared to do it with him. I want a licensed professional to go through it with him. I think it would be too hard for me.
I want to help my children cope with this the way they need to and Jay handles it different than Ty. Jay is 9 and Ty is 17 and they have completely different personalities. I don't have anyone telling me how this needs to be done, and the weight of handling this myself is overwhelming but I am the only parent left, and they need me. That is what I tell myself when I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep.
Jay asked me one time - "Mom? When we were in the hospital, and you were screaming. Was that right when daddy died?"
Jay was in the room with all of us for a while. He cried, and held Jerry, and broke down really bad. He told me that he was too sad and needed to leave the room. This was the plan anyway. I wanted him to be able to say goodbye, but didn't want him to be in the room as Jerry passed. (Tyler was) So the Nurses said they would leave the blood pressure meds on because they were the last thing they would stop before the end and when I was ready, to let them know. When Jay left the room, we stopped those meds, I got into bed with him and he died. They turned the monitors off so that I wouldn't hear the beeping and monitored him from outside of the room. When he died, the nurse walked in to confirm that his heart had stopped. This I remember. I remember the nurses face, I remember yelling, and crying and the most intense pain I ever felt. I remember seeing other people in the room crying, even the medical student that had been with us from day one in the hospital was standing there. But I don't remember what my kids were doing. My family was there and I know that they made sure they were held. I don't remember what Tyler did, and I don't remember what I said to them. This hurts me so bad. My poor children. What where they feeling in this moment. Who held them? Who told Jay that dad was gone? I think back and I remember blurry moments after. I remember being sat on a chair outside of his room, signed papers, went back in and said goodbye one more time then was whisked away home. I think back and I wonder why i didn't stay longer. I remember saying that I couldn't see him that way. Although his death was so peaceful, he did not look like the Jerry I knew and it was the hardest thing to see.
There seem to be new emotions that come up as time goes by. New things that I have not faced or thought about. Things that I need to talk about and understand.
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| Bonded forever by love |
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| Christmas Eve 2016. Last one together. |
How can I help my children in their grief? This is a question I ask daily. The caretaker and mother in me knows that deep down they are getting the love that they need from me first and foremost and that is a start. I cant help but feel guilty, and inadequate in my job as a mother. It is so hard to help them, when I am still trying so hard to help myself. I never know if the right thing to do is to bring up the sadness to them. I don't want to make them more sad, but I know that I need to talk about it so I would think that they want to talk too. They don't ask many questions, they have just gone along with whatever was decided and have not questioned anything that happened to dad. That makes me wonder if their minds are full of questions but they are afraid to ask. I am afraid too.
146 days without him here. Without his laughter, his smile, his wisdom and strength.
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