I have starting reading this book, Bearing the Unbearable by Joanne Cacciatore. Today a poem I read in the book captured my attention. This poem embodies literally everything I feel currently and probably for the rest of my life. I would like to share it, maybe other bereaved parents can relate or will find comfort in this poem.
"Recipe for Raw Grief
From the Kitchen of Theresa's Heart
Serves: One
INGREDIENTS:
1 heaping cup of disbelief
1 tablespoon of reluctance to say goodbye
16 ounces excruciating pain
3 cups brutal sadness
2 tablespoons confusion (substitute questioning)
1/2 cup constant obsessing
8 ounces anger (substitute feeling misunderstood)
2 teaspoons agonizing guilt
3/4 embarrassment
1 quart loneliness
dash of untimely and needless
DIRECTIONS: Preheat oven to 1123 degrees. In small bowl, mix disbelief with reluctance to say goodbye. Next, trim platitudes from excruciating pain and discard. Use mixture to coat pain. Cook in scalding cast-iron skillet until blackened. Set aside. Fill large pot with tears and bring to a boil. Lower heat; pour brutal sadness into pot and cover. Allow to simmer for weeks. When sadness is numb, remove from heat and drain tears from pot. Stir confusion and constant obsessing into sadness and set aside. Use mallet to pound anger until tender. Cut into bit size pieces. Fry pan over high heat with agonizing guilt and embarrassment. When anger turns red, remove pan from heat. To assemble, spread pain into bottom of baking dish. Layer on the sadness mixture, then cover with anger, guilt, and shame. Top with loneliness. Season with untimely and needless. Place in over and bake until loneliness turns to intense longing. Let sit for a lifetime.
NOTES: Pairs well with absolute fear. Best served smothered in love and compassion (may need assistance). Garnish with a sense of peace." (Cacciatore pages 18-19)
In my son's short 3 and a half years here on earth, I was preparing him for everything. My son was born in Panama. His father was Costa Rican and so my son was a Panamanian Costa Rican American. I wanted him to have options for his future. My son could speak English, Patois, and Spanish. Interestingly enough, Yoa had more of a Caribbean accent than American and it was adorable. He was incredibly smart. His favorite shows were Dino Dan and Dino Dana, where he learned about dinosaurs and could pronounce words like Tyrannosaurs and Triceratops. He corrected me whenever I said the incorrect scientific names of Dinosaurs. His guilty pleasure was Paw Patrol. Always on repeat, watching and laughing as though he was watching it for the first time. He had ALL THE TOYS, he had dinosaurs, cars, trucks, PAW patrol toys, Peppa pig toys, Legos, Puzzles, we made moon sand together out of baby oil and flour once and he loved it. He has skateboards, scooters, a toy motorcycle and a balancing bike. He had his own little personal pool, all the cozy blankets, stuffed animals, ALL the clothes--he wanted for nothing. He was spoiled by me, my mother, his titi, his aunts, father, godmother, community members-everyone! And he was grateful. He was sincere and sweet. He was kind and loved his cousins, like they were his siblings. Even his 2 year old cousin called him "baby" because Yoá was such a sweet little boy. He was always smiling, happy. Sometimes he would get a little attitude, and occasionally he would have a breakdown, tantrum, or be annoyed with me. And when I look back, sometimes his distress would cause me distress and I would just want to comfort him and I did. I would be lying if i didn't say I even cried a few times because I found motherhood challenging.
But motherhood was my thing. It was what came naturally to me. It was the best decision i ever made. Yoá was wanted. Yoá was loved. Yoá is loved. He's so loved, that I suffer. The day I lost my son, I lost my life. I lost my LIFE! I am still his mother. And its my strongest desire to keep my son relevant and apart of my life until my last breath. Yoá and I are a package deal and as I learn to carry this grief, I need people to know that I will always cry when speaking about my son. It doesn't necessarily mean I don't want to speak about it. But more so the infinite love that I hold for my baby. Those tears are love. I miss my kid. Its been a month without his little butt asleep on my chest.
I've tried to be "positive" and in my mind, there are so many things that I want to do. But I've just been in bed, crying, watching Modern Family and playing the sims. And I write about my baby and post pictures, stare at pictures, reminisce, and occasionally speak with therapists. I will be starting with a new grief therapy on Monday and I'm looking forward to it.
For now, I am signing off.