Wednesday, May 27, 2009

"Moving On"

Over the last several months, many well intentioned people in my life have told me that it is time to move on. I always wonder when people say this to me what reaction they’re anticipating, usually imagining that they expect it to be something along the lines of:
“Hmmmm… you’re right, move on huh?
I never even thought of that.
 Gee thanks! I’ll give that a try!”
Okay, so that was sarcastic and uncalled for, I know. The fact of the matter is that those who are grieving don’t choose how quickly they heal. Actually, there is no part of grief that is by choice. 


I didn’t choose to have a child born terminally ill. 
I didn’t choose to fall in love with her, to let her huge spirit envelop me and to believe in her ability to beat this. 
I didn’t choose to be put into the impossible role of decision maker when it came to treatment plans. 
I didn’t choose to feel a part of me die right along with her. 
I didn’t choose any of these things anymore than I can choose how long it takes my heart, mind and soul to mend. 


I, like any other sane human being, would like nothing more than to be surrounded by joy. To see my dreams realized and feel the warmth of happiness. To have children and watch them grow. Believe me when I say that I wanted those things yesterday, and the week before that, and the months before that - it is getting my soul to sync up with my desires that is proving to be such difficult and taxing work.


One of the things that most people don’t realize about grief is how incredibly exhausting of a process it is. I have been in this fight, for lack of a better word, for over seven months, on the heels of forty two weeks of pregnancy, an emergency c-section with no time allowed for healing, and twenty eight days of round the clock panic and life and death decision making. It takes time to recover from this. How long? That is for God to decide, even I don’t know. What I do know is that each morning I wake up and offer whatever my best is for that day. Some days I even surprise myself. On others I come up short. 


Each day I try to honor my child, my husband, my family and myself while looking towards the future, but sometimes, in trying to accomplish even a fraction of what I set out to do, my energy is sucked dry. Missing someone is tiresome. There is no rhyme or reason to the ebb and flow of emotions that the bereaved feel: sadness, anger, hopefulness followed closely thereafter by hopelessness, guilt, dismay; but one constant in the process is just how endless the cycle can seem.

For months I have been hearing about this magic pill, this “cure” called moving on. I have been trying to figure out exactly what moving on means, how to utilize moving on, and where I should be moving on to? To me, moving on implies leaving something behind, and leaving any of Peyton behind, even the painful parts, is not an option. I am sure it seems simple enough to those who say it - those who don’t know the feeling of tumbling unexpectedly from the top of the world - don’t know what it is to look in the mirror and no longer recognize yourself - don’t know what it is to try to rub away the lasting empty pain that only a bereaved parent can feel in their arms, but for me, there is no moving on. 


There will never be a day when this loss is not ingrained in me, never be a time when Peyton is not my first born child, or when her absence from our everyday lives isn't felt. I cannot move on, as so many have suggested, I can only move with. And for now, that is what I am exhaustingly working towards - trying to find a way to live this life, to find joy in it once again and to see our dreams fulfilled with Peyton. 
With the memory of her.
With that little spirit.
With her unguarded love.
And even with the unrelenting pain of her loss. 

11 comments:

  1. So many prayers and tears for your family. I too have a little girl in heaven, Emma Catherine . She left the earth four years ago. I also have a son named Peyton. I am so, so, so very sorry you are on this journey of grief. Moving on is a ridiculous thing to say to a grieving mother. Though there is a deep peace that lives within me know, and the pain is not as sharp I still have sadness and often feel disconnected from other people who haven't experienced the same pain. Your Peyton will never be forgotten, you will keep her memory alive. Blessings....

    ReplyDelete
  2. I usually reserve "move on" (occasionally "get over it, will ya'?") for those of us who become embittered by the most trivial of matters. Not getting that dress, that salary, that job, that guy/gal-- that thing we want-- is a part of life. And no one is entitled to anything. We're here to work, contribute of ourselves, love, share, smile, weep, laugh, win, lose, grow and partake in experiences that mean way more than those trivial concerns.

    But moving on from the loss of a loved one is not possible. Not when there's real, unconditional love involved in the situation, for it is the kind of love that doesn't dissolve in our tears like a packet of Splenda.

    What I hope for anyone who's lost a loved one is that he/she moves on from the anger and the despair; it is sheer agony. That he/she becomes more aware of the love in the worst of moments. And that the strength and peace of overcoming the worst heals his/her soul.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I usually reserve "move on" for those of us who become embittered by the most trivial of matters. Not getting that dress, that salary, that job, that guy/gal-- that thing we want-- is a part of life. And no one is entitled to anything. We're here to work, contribute of ourselves, love, share, smile, weep, laugh, win, lose, grow and partake in experiences that mean way more than those trivial concerns.

    But moving on from the loss of a loved one is not possible. Not when there's real, unconditional love involved in the situation, for it is the kind of love that doesn't dissolve in our tears like a packet of Splenda.

    What I hope for anyone who's lost a loved one is that he/she moves on from the anger and the despair; it is sheer agony. That he/she becomes more aware of the love in the worst of moments. And that the strength and peace of overcoming the worst heals his/her soul.

    ReplyDelete
  4. thirtysomething, thank you for your kind words; I draw strength from them.

    ReplyDelete
  5. as always Deb, you know just what to say to me. Thank you

    ReplyDelete
  6. Krissy, You have such a beautiful way of expressing yourself through words. There will be parts of you that will never "Move on". Peyton was and always will be a part of you. She grew inside of you and thrived from you for those 42 weeks. We, as mothers have such a powerful bond with our child that some people can not relate with. It is probably very hard for others to see you go through so much pain. Maybe they want you to "move on" because they don't like seeing you so sad but they don't have the words to express that to you. Thank you for sharing your journey with us and keeping Peytons spirit alive. It's nice to see a new picture of her.

    ReplyDelete
  7. You dont move on when your child dies... You learn to live another life eventually, but you dont move on. I still dont think I'm living the life I have... In many ways, we just pretend. People who say things like that have no idea... They cant possibly know what it is like to be an orphaned parent unless they are in the same boat. And I cant imagine anyone who has lost a child saying "move on."

    Sending you prayers...

    ReplyDelete
  8. Clicking over to your heartbreaking story is something I wish I didn't have to do. Your daughter is gorgeous. Your words are too. She is part of you forever, so moving on - they way 'they' mean, just isn't possible.

    Thinking of you as you get through this first year without her.

    ReplyDelete
  9. I would only say "move on" to someone who just told me to "move on" except I would be meaning it literally and not figuratively. (sleepy smile)

    One of your readers nominated you for a Glow in the Woods award, and so you're among the group acknowledged for this spring. http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2009/6/24/glow-in-the-woods-awards-spring-2009.html

    I wanted to let you know, and thank you directly, too. What a lovely voice you have.

    ReplyDelete
  10. I can only imagine that people say that because they don't know what it feels like. I don't know of another baby loss mom that would say that to another b/c they know how it hurts. I agree that moving on feels like forgetting and I never want to move on if that's the case.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Thank you so much for writing this. I've been dealing with lots of "move on" comments lately and this was so much what I needed to hear. My husband and I lost our little Samuel just over seven months ago to a fluke and fatal condition called PUV. Our stories have some similar elements so I really appreciate reading your blog. Thank you for sharing your story and your beautiful little girl. <3

    ReplyDelete