A Journal of Sorts

Wednesday, 21 April 1999

Life goes on

But they don't. When my first son died, I felt the pain in my soul. It was a physical thing, a constant pressure. The pain in my chest and the burning behind my eyes became just another thing to be endured and I just wanted to be left alone so I could muster up a face to present to the world. I felt I couldn't break down; I had too many other responsibilities, other children to raise.

The next year, I lost another son. Even now, I can't describe the anguish or the self hatred I experienced. There are so many if onlys. If only I had done this instead of that, if only, if only. . . It doesn't matter what the doctors said, there are still the questions and never any answers. I felt awkward when friends would come to offer sympathy. I felt their misery and discomfort, knowing, each and every one of them knew there was really nothing they could do or say to help ease my pain.

When my third son was born prematurely, I had no hope. I felt when he was in trouble and knew the moment he died. I withdrew so far into myself, it is a wonder I ever came out. When the doctors came to give me the news, I told them I already knew. When my mother stood over me and proclaimed in all her righteousness that this was the Lord's way of punishing me, I couldn't even feel the anger I wanted to feel. I felt as if I was living my life inside some sort of barrier, separate from the rest of the world and its petty concerns.

That's all more than twenty years past now. I still can't bear to visit my son's graves; I cry when I drive anywhere near that cemetery. None of the graves have markers, the photos are long gone, the birth records are put away, and I still hurt.

I am one who knows life is so very fragile, that senseless and violent death can and does strike even the most innocent. Those who are left behind suffer more than they feel they can endure. These recent events are tearing at my very core, the deaths in Colorado, the deaths in Dallas, even the death of Mary's baby robins threaten to shatter the glass house where my emotions live.. I find my sorrow on these occasions almost too much to bear.

And life goes on. My youngest son just came in the door with a report card showing grades so much improved that it will set me back seven bucks. When I step outside, the birds are singing and the flowers are blooming and when my husband comes home from work, his face will light up with a smile, he will take me in his arms and he will tell me I am precious.