The First Year

Give yourself grace. The first year is numbing - shocking - unbelievable. I remember my mind kept making me believe Bennett was just with my parents. He wasn't really gone. I would wake up every single morning hoping it was a horrible nightmare.

For me, the first year was filled with growth and understanding of my new self. The old me died when Bennett died. Who is this new person? She has so much emotional and physical weight. I was scared. I was confused. I was triggered. Each and every day some new emotion, or some new reason would appear. I just wanted to sleep, cry and sit on my parent's back porch staring blankly into the sky. My therapist gave me the best advice about a week after Bennett died "do what you can do." I will repeat this over and over to this day. It is my mantra during the bad times, the overwhelming times, the soul damaging times. What she meant by this was, if you can only brush your teeth this morning then just do that. Do not feel like you have to be your old self. Ask for help. Let yourself cry. Do not be ashamed. Every time you cry, have a break down, or question this new life you are coping and growing. You are building that tool belt. With every breath you take you are surviving this unbearable pain. Really listen to that. You are surviving. While reading this, you are surviving.

The first six to eight months for me were the worst. I lost my mother-in-law in October of 2018, then the holidays came, Bennett's six-month death anniversary and his birthday. I am not saying they got easier after the holidays. I think the first six months were so miserable because everything was still so raw. I was also unable to think about Bennett without reliving him dying. I wanted so desperately to just remember him. His goofy self and stinky feet. I would try and like whiplash I would spin right back to the emergency room. Holding his lifeless body. It is awful. I would prepare myself for upcoming dates like Thanksgiving and Christmas. I would work myself up thinking of how upset I would be. Then my therapist again stepped in. "Krysten, think of every day as a day. Don't make them special right now. Don't work yourself up. December 25 is December 25. Do not prepare yourself for a bad day when that day is not even here yet." I am so thankful for her. I may say that a million times in this blog. Did I listen that first year, no. I worked myself up. But then I realized the weeks leading up to that day were so much worse than the actual day.

By Mother's Day 2019 I had started to understand my patterns and needs. I knew it was going to be a rough day. I had friends in town to go to a golf tournament and really did not want to bring down everyone with my emotions. I woke up that morning and allowed myself to be mad. I allowed myself to cry. I looked at Taylor and said, "I have to go see Bennett." I got in my car by myself, pajamas still on, hair a mess, no make-up on with a cup of coffee, drove to the cemetery and spent time with him. I think I sat there talking, crying, and just being for over an hour. It was sad but at the same time so soothing. It was what I needed to do to get through the day. Giving myself that hour and a half was the best thing for me. I was learning to navigate my unique grief and allowing myself to give compassion to my feelings. It was a turning point.

Everyone's grief is different and unique. What worked for me may not be the best for you. But I encourage you to give yourself grace. Do not put pressure on your grief, do not put a timeline on your grief, do not let others dictate your grief. Your grief is yours. Your grief is a form of the love you have for your child and are no longer able to physically express to them. We can no longer snuggle or kiss our children. We can no longer push them in a swing, sing their favorite songs, or cut up their food. It's not fair. We can no longer have a bad day that is instantly made better by their warm embrace, so you have to find another way to express that love to them. Writing them a letter, singing their favorite song, taking 10 minutes out of your day to dedicate to thinking of them, sharing stories about them, or just going to sit with them. Let yourself grieve with no hesitations.