Hard Talks

Last night, P told me Korbin was downstairs.
While this happens on occasion, it never ceases to make my heart skip a beat. Because oh, how I truly do so wish that Korbin were just downstairs. Instead, I have to take a deep breath, think like the three year old that he is, and then explain again that Korbin is dead and is in Heaven.
Ya, it sucks. It's super rough. But it's necessary. Research in psychology of children's understanding of death shows that a child doesn't really get it till they're around 8 years old. We have a few more years of this.
In Parker's mind, Korbin bear is downstairs, which is all he knows of Korbin's physical presence. We've shown him Korbin's urn, explained that he was cremated after he died. But still, in Parker's mind, Korbin bear is here, therefore Korbin is here. In these moments we have to be matter of fact in the explanation of death. For instance, when Mama died, after the wake and watching her casket get lowered in to her grave and be covered by earth, Parker talked about how she was sleeping. We have been VERY careful to not go along with this as this can confuse a child and build a fear of falling asleep and never waking up. Explaining death to a child can be tricky, and then you wonder how much detail to include or leave out.
Being open and honest works best for us, sticking to basic facts and what we believe. We now talk more about Korbin's soul and Heaven, and say he's with Mama watching over all of us. Some may question these "facts", but they are what we believe to be true. (Believing this can be explained in a whole other lengthy post, we'll save that for another time. I've probably actually gone in to this subject in an earlier post....)
Lately, this conversation feels more and more devoid of emotion. And I'm actually unsure whether that's good or bad. I mean, will it help Parker to understand the gravity of Korbin's physical absence from our lives if I allow myself to break down and cry when talking about his death? Or could that potentially scar Parker emotionally and keep him from wanting to talk about Korbin again in the future? Or are we setting him up to not have any emotion surrounding death? Is that okay? And why or how could it not be okay? Not only is losing a child something any parent should NEVER have to ever go through, but the cyclical talks about death and the absence of this child with other children can be emotionally taxing at times as I wonder how much I'm screwing up this perfect little child who is here right in front of me.
Like I said, this is super rough.
It's seriously hard being a loss parent for so many reasons beyond just the fact of the loss of your child. Navigating these emotions as well as a questioning child through the lack of understanding is so difficult. The explaining and re-explaining can really bring you down when you thought all was okay with the world. And it comes at you from left field most of the time, too.
And last night, I found myself uttering the words "there would be two of you running about this house" as Parker and I were having this conversation again. He got a confused look in his eyes and across his face. Like, wait, there should be two of me? Of us? Two kids here? I don't know how much that actually helped him. It definitely brought me down in that moment. I felt like I failed that conversation, both for Parker's sake and for my heart. The mental image flashed so vividly through my mind in that moment, and my heart just ached.
There really should be two of them, and this makes me see how little I let myself imagine that. What I feel more is how big, and even empty, our wonderful home is. Don't get me wrong, I am so happy with the house we moved in to recently. Everything has a space, every room a purpose. We run around it and up and down the stairs and just love living in it. We've filled it, and are continuing to fill it, with furniture and fun finds from the adventures we enjoy taking as a family. Sometimes it seems in desperation to fill the void. As we came home from Fiji last month, I felt this emptiness like a heavy and overpowering presence that swallowed me as we walked through the house again. The walls suddenly felt too bare, the rooms too open and hollow. There was an echo. And yet, no matter how much we fill it up the nooks and crannies with stuff, the emptiness from Korbin's absence will always be there.
As a loss parent figuring out my own emotional state on a daily basis, I really hope I'm not screwing up the wonderfully perfect child who actually is here with us. He needs our help figuring out his own thoughts and feelings on death, as well as simply learning about his brother's short visit with us here on Earth. Maybe these moments aren't as devoid of emotion as I perceive them to be. Maybe, just maybe, they're really full of love. From Korbin? Coming through Parker as he asks about Korbin again as if Korbin is speaking through Parker to say, "hey mom, I'm still looking down on all of you." Or through me as I tell Parker the same?
Either way, despite the emptiness and seeming lack of emotion, we got a lotta love to give.

Merry Christmas Korbin

Five years. Five Christmases. So loved and always so very missed. It fills my heart with so much joy to be able to spoil this child this year, as it does each year. I wish we could see his face as he opens each gift, hoping he loves it and his little face lights up at all the things he asked for. But I guess it's better this way. That there is still a line of separation so that we remember Korbin's gone. There's no replacement for how much we'd love to see his little face light up each Christmas. I imagine it'd be more painful to actually see this little boy open and enjoy his gifts.

Hope this little five year old boy, who's brother is in hospice at Providence, feels loved and cherished this Christmas. He deserves it, as do all children, especially at Christmas time.

Here's to spoiling others in need.

Because we got a lotta love to give.

It's been a while

A long while. I thought about just not writing any more, but so many things happen that maybe someone out there is also dealing with and they just need validation. Or just to yell out, yeah! Me too! So here it is.
I had lost focus for a while wondering if others really want to continually go down the dark avenues of my mind. Things were getting darker than I could even handle, until I finally sought therapy. The therapist was a great match and helped me break through the surface back in to the light. She gave me tools for dealing with the horrible thoughts that were spiraling out of control, and though things aren't perfect in my heart and mind, I can better get through these dark moments. And they stay just as that, dark moments.
Not everything is darkness, thankfully. But life still has its bumps and reminders of not having Korbin here with us. We're finding joy in daily life with P; thank God he's here with us. I just hope he stays for a very long time.
Because we got a lotta love to give.