Ripped up

I've been torn apart, put back together
With a couple of pieces in wrong
I'm holding up now, oh
But I won't be for long

- from "Head Over Heels" by Blue Rodeo (Five Days in July album)

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I heard these lines today as we grooved along to Blue Rodeo on the way to school and thought, oh, that's exactly how I feel. I feel as though I should be back together and on the mend now that it's nearly five months since our baby George was stillborn in May, but somehow things got scrambled and I'm not together. I'm left wondering if I'll ever feel whole and happy again and I'm trying to keep things normal for the children and my husband.

There's no blueprint for bereaved mothers with older children, no road map to show us how to help the children move forward in a healthy way as we ourselves try to grieve. At least not that I've found. My husband and I have tried very hard to be open with the children, agreeing with the older two that our baby dying sucks. It hurts. We will get through this as a family, but it will take time. It's okay to be sad, it's okay to be happy, it's okay to be angry (as long as you don't hurt someone else with your anger that is!).

I find that since we moved at the start of summer and left our support network behind that the Internet is my outlet. The children know mum is sad a lot; I try not to be sad constantly and I try to move to laughter from my tears to let them know I'm still me and we're still going to enjoy life. I don't want to deny my sorrow and they're far to astute and in tune with my feelings to ever be hoodwinked if I did try to lie and say I was fine. Likewise with my husband. I know he worries if I'm feeling down and, I think like most men, he wants to move forward and focus on being busy and doing things with the children. So I suppress my feelings, hold thoughts in my heart and in my mind until I can sit and blog for a few minutes or email friends who live elsewhere or talk with my sister on the phone. I also find myself spilling my story to mothers at the school; I have to say that I have five, not four, children. I can't help but tear up when I see babies around the age my George would be or big pregnant bellies full of promise and hope. Nor can I say that I'm "fine" and let it go. I can't. I cannot deny my child and I cannot deny completely that I am struggling through my grief right now.

Today my second oldest son's teacher asked to speak with me after I dropped them off. This is the child who is quiet and thoughtful and having the most challenge accepting that we've moved away from his old school for good. He's only just in the last few days said that he's had a good day when I've asked how school was; the first few weeks he'd look at me with downcast face and say he wanted to go back to his old school. This boy is a sizer-upper and he needs time to feel settled and to feel part of the group.

The teacher is fine with that, but she worries that he's preoccupied with death. He's spoken of his dead baby brother and selected the photo of all of us with George to take for a textbook he was to glue a family photo into (we actually don't have that many photos of all of us together, too, to be fair - usually it's either me or my husband taking the photo so one of us isn't in the picture). In his journal yesterday he wrote that he's thankful for family and food and death. This disturbed the teacher and I'm a little unsettled, too, to be honest. But at the same time, I had to explain to her what these last few months have been like for the seven-year-old child whose baby brother died.

As much as people don't like to face the sadness of bereaved parents, and often want to make grief go away, it's ten-fold and then some for bereaved children. Adults don't want children to be sad. Over and over and over well-meaning people have told my children, "Oh. Your baby died? You are so lucky to have a baby in heaven." "Aren't you blessed? Your baby was so perfect that God took him home." "He was too perfect to be on earth. He's an angel and you can be so happy to think of him in heaven." "Heaven is so beautiful and he'll be waiting there for you so happy." And so on. Bewildering.

It has been said to the children so many times that our youngest, who is in kindergarten, has said a few times that he wants to die to be in this wonderful heaven with his perfect baby. With our Danno, it's made him smoulder. I've watched him and seen him purse his lips and get very quiet. He is not happy that his baby died. It wouldn't be normal for him to be happy to have a sibling die, though, would it? That's why I like the book "We were going to have a baby but we had an angel instead" because it acknowledges that this death is devastating and it will take time for us to heal from this experience of loss. We commiserate with our older boys that George dying sucks. It really, really sucks. And we don't think that George was more perfect than the rest of them; we tell them that just by being them they are perfect and loveable. No less, no more. They just are, lumps and all, a blessing to us.

I think he, like me, needs an outlet for his grief and much of his grief at this time is anger. He's angry with this God who would "take" his baby (I've tried to respond that I believe God received George, not took him - those are words from Bernadette at Morning Light Ministry who shared that with me - I just can't stand the thought that a loving God would ever take a much-wanted child from us - crap just happens as my husband says). My second son is frustrated (like his father) that I'm sad and quick to tears, and his youngest brother cries easily. He wants what we had before his baby brother died and we moved and he had to change schools. It's too much for him and he's pushing along because he hasn't really got too many other options. And I get that. I don't blame him. Which one of us wouldn't turn back the clocks at a chance to change this outcome?

I think his teacher felt better after we spoke and I've left our copy of the angel book for her to read so she can see how we're trying to cope as a family with our infant's death. Now of course I'm agonizing that my son isn't coping as well as he should, that if I were coping better that he wouldn't be expressing these ideas at school. But then how can I cope better?! I feel proud that I've kept on all these weeks with no help in a new place and can laugh and keep everyone fed and clothed. God knows I'd rather be curled up in bed doing nothing, but I'm keeping the house running and writing again to help out with the family income. I can't pretend I'm not hurting acutely at various times - I don't advertise it to the children and I do try to get through their day and then let out my sorrow privately. Showers are a good place for sad mummas to cry unnoticed I've found. This balancing act is precarious and I just don't know if I'm doing an artful job or mucking it all up. How will I know?

Grief hits different people different ways, even when they're children. I just hope beyond all hope that I'm helping my children and not dragging them down as I struggle to keep on keeping on through this deep sadness.