Asking a grieving mother if she’s going back to work is just a tiny bit insulting. It’s like saying “hmm too bad the stay at home mom thing didn’t work out for you, how else are you going to make your life worth something?” Or flat out saying ” are you over it yet?”
I realize few people can empathize, but I’d rather you not say anything than say something that upsets me more.
The honest answer is I don’t know and while we’ve talked about it I still don’t know. I’m still an emotional train wreck. There are days I don’t want to get out of bed. There are also days I can do normal stuff again, but I still break down at least once day, I wake up crying. I still get PTSD flashbacks every day and every thing I do feels like I’m doing it wrong because my baby isn’t with me.
I don’t even know how to get through a whole day yet, So no.. I don’t know when or if I’ll be ready to go back to work and it’s really none of your business if you have to ask.
I just miss my son so much…
Max. My son. I love you my Squishy bear!!
This was the eulogy I wrote and read for him at his funeral ( My in-laws typed it up) :
Let me start by saying that people shouldn’t feel bad for not knowing what to say. In fact, I hope that many of you don’t and never will know what to say, because if you knew what to say, that means you need the love and support just as much as we do.
I often sat and wondered what kind of person you’d be. Now it’s clear I knew all along. You were strong and brave. You had a genuinely happy smile. You were just as stubborn as I am. You were relaxed and silly. You had such a handsome, charismatic smile; I just knew someday I’d chase girlfriends away with a stick. You made the funniest faces and sounds and now I know you did that to make me smile. I needed you much more than you needed me. I still need you.
Your smile was like rays of sunshine to us. Your cries were like a frantic earthquake but your silence is devastating.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, from the moment we first held you, your father and I had so many plans. I was going to teach you to talk and walk and read. I was teaching you sign language. Your father was going to teach you how to ride a bike. He was going to build rockets with you and teach you how to shave and how to change oil. He was going to teach you how airplanes fly and cars drive. I was going to give you advice on women. Your father was going to teach you college level math. Your father and I were going to embrace each other as you got hooded for your doctorate. I was going to have a mother-son dance with you at your wedding. Your father was going to advise you on being a father. You were supposed to plan my funeral.
There were so many things we were going to do, but God hit the pause button on our lives. Now what was once beautiful music is silence, all that was fast is now still. Everything is now deafeningly quiet.
Your eyes had such a spark in them, a zest for the short life you had. Like a tiny candle, you lit up our world so brightly for such a short time. You completed your daddy and me. I would move the heavens to hold you one last time and pacify your cries. Now you’ll rush to my side to soothe my cries. You’ll always be in our hearts.
I desperately search for answers to “why” and I just can’t find one. I’m sure someday I’ll understand why our perfect baby was taken from us, but for now, I can’t even pretend to understand why you – why us? To quote a show “The only way I can feel this sad is if I felt something good before, so I guess what I’m feeling is beautiful sadness.” Just know that you were the perfect embodiment of our love. You are loved. We wouldn’t do anything different because all was perfect. You were perfect and we’ll be with you again someday. Daddy loves you, mommy loves you. Sleep peacefully, our little squishy bear.