Daily Struggle

For the most part, I manage to get through most days just fine. At least that's what it looks like on the outside. Most days, I'm able to mask the pain that I'm feeling on the inside and I'm able to smile, hug, laugh, and be strong for other people in order to help them through whatever it is that they're going through. In a way, you might say that I find healing and solace in using my energy to help others in need. I'm not sure if I'm stronger than other people or if I just look as though I am, but yesterday I struggled. I struggled hard. Maybe something was telling me that I needed to relieve some pressure that was steadily building up or maybe it was me telling myself that it was time to focus that energy inward and to dedicate some healing time for myself. I went to bed last night super tired (ran a 5k before work) and walked over 2 miles at work during my breaks in 85 degree weather, so, physically, I was tired. However, in order for me to get a good night's sleep, my mind must be aligned with my body and I can tell you with absolute certainty that they were not aligned. I didn't sleep well. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't slept really well in a while. This morning, I woke up and I could still feel that same "cloud" hovering over me that followed me around all day yesterday. So, I decided to be proactive instead of reactive. I was going to take the reigns and control and dictate the outcome of my day. I put on my Altra trail-running shoes and I hit the short little trail that snakes between the two neighboring housing developments and ran three loops (just over 2 miles) on the trails while listening to one of the best "free" stories that Audible releases each month called, "The 3-Day Effect: How Nature Calms Your Brain". I haven't quite finished it, but it has three separate groups of people encountering three consecutive days in nature to see how it affects them mentally and physiologically. The first group were a group of military and war veterans that went on a river rafting trip down the Green River in Colorado. It discussed how a former Army veteran gained their trust and helped them accept the trek down the river. This particular story was really good and it demonstrated how being outside in nature was very therapeutic for them. The second story that it covered was a group of women that have a personal history of drug use, sexual abuse, prostitution, homelessness, etc. They were taken into the Indian Peaks Wilderness in Colorado. Their story was a lot more emotional and eye-opening. They weren't able to fully take on the same adventure as the military vets in the first story, but it explained how women, in their particular situation, disassociate themselves from their physical body in order to survive, so asking them to "survive" two nights and three days in the freezing cold wilderness would yield very little results. They explained that you cannot take women that have constantly been in "survival mode" and try to teach them a life lesson while keeping them in the same mental state that they live in each and every day. The adjustment that was made was to have them experience nature in a state of comfort and complete relaxation. This appeared to have a profound effect on them and I believe it was the right call to make. While listening to this and hearing about them performing a practice called "metaphorical dissociation" by finding a rock, placing some sort of painful situation onto the rock, and throwing it into the pond. This act is a way to take something that has been causing us pain and tossing it away and getting it far away from us as possible. At this point, I just broke down on the trail and cried hard for our son, Kasen. I cried, I pleaded, and I apologized to him over and over. I have never gotten over the fact that maybe there was something that I did that caused everything or that I was in another state on a trip the days before he was born. There's a lot of guilt there. A lot of pain and guilt that I tuck away and that pops up when I least expect it. I understand and accept that this is a burden that I and my family will have to live with for the rest of our lives. We cannot change it and we cannot alter it, but we can use it as a "force" that gets us to treasure our daughter, take nothing in life for granted, and be thankful that we got 10 whole days with our son. 10 days more than some parents that have lost a child that never got the opportunity to experience. I got to hold him, feed him, kiss him, watch him kick his feet like crazy when he heard my voice, and he got to hold my finger. I'm so eternally thankful for that. Nothing that happens from here on out can take that away from me. My son knew me. He knew my voice, recognized my touch, felt my kisses, and he got a story from Daddy each night. Despite how traumatic and hectic October 23rd, 2018 was, I still managed to get him the "baby boy" version of teddy bear from the gift shop that I got for his big sister. That bear was with him each hour, minute, and second of his life. His bear will always be here and serve as a constant reminder for us for what it signified. I still have the teddy bear that my father got me while I was in the hospital after I was born, our daughter still has hers, and we will always have his. Each time I wrap my arms around that bear, all of the memories, feelings, and emotions come rushing back to me. I miss my son so much. The fact that he would be 4 months old right now and remembering how wonderful my daughter was at that age hurts. I wish that I was losing hours of sleep and running on fumes. I wish that I was struggling with finances and having to pay another weekly payment for daycare. I wish that I had to open up and make weekly deposits into another kid's college fund. I wish that my car was dirtier and fuller of toys, snacks, and crumbs. I just miss my son dearly. Despite how horrible and miserable losing him was, I will forever be thankful and blessed for the 10 days that we got to spend together. That is something that nobody could ever take away and I will cherish for the rest of my life.