Loss of Dreams

I recently read the statement, "When you lose a parent, you lose your past. When you lose a child, you lose your future." I don't know what it's like to lose a parent, but I do know that much of our grieving centers around the loss of dreams for the future. I have realized that grieving is not about feeling sorry for someone else, but about feeling sorry for yourself. These are not just dreams for Sam that we lost, we lost dreams for ourselves as well.

The day that we lost Sam, I couldn't even think about the future because all of my thoughts about the future for the past six months or more had revolved around having a baby in my life. When God took him, any thoughts I had that were beyond that moment made me feel panicked.

We had become settled in the Ronald McDonald house and made friends there, and I couldn't imagine leaving that place. We had made friends with Sam's nurses and doctors and had spent a lot of time with them over those nine days. It felt like a loss in and of itself to leave the NICU and those wonderful, caring people and know we wouldn't be coming in there every few hours anymore.

If I even thought about work, it made me sick to my stomach. I wasn't supposed to have to go back to work! At first, I would have been leaving work in late April to have the baby and then taking more time off after that to stay home with him. Then, my membrane ruptured, and I thought I would be out of work sooner, living in the hospital. Then, Sam came and I thought I would be out of work, being with him at the hospital. Then, suddenly he's gone, and I realized I would have to go back to work. I don't want it to sound like I don't like my job. I do love teaching, although it is very difficult and often stressful, and I am becoming more and more ready to return to it. The thing that was hard was making plans that enveloped my whole future, and especially the next year, only to have those plans dissolve right in front of me. And to be honest, going back to work is a lot less exciting than getting to stay home and take care of a new baby.

I was even sad about putting away a sewing project I had planned to start for Sam. Don't worry though, that project will be brought out again in the future.

In talking to Ryan, I have realized that we have lost different dreams. Most of mine center around having a little baby: holding him, rocking him, nursing him, etc. Many of Ryan's dreams are about raising a son: teaching him to throw a ball, taking him hunting, building fires in the yard (those of you that know Ryan will not be surprised at this one), and wondering what sport he would play. Of course there are many more that we both share.

Right now, this is probably the part of our grieving that hurts the most. It may always be that way, but only time will tell. These dreams are lost for us, but it is comforting to think that they are not lost for Sam. He is in heaven, breathing without a problem and I'm sure playing and running and throwing baseballs and kicking soccer balls and building bonfires. It is so great to have a faithful God who gives us hope in the midst of our pain!