I've been here before. I've thought ahead, and planned for September. I did it in 2010 and I did it again this year. I tried not to, I really did, but it happened.
For many people, September is the real start to a new year. The September to June year...school. Not only is my daughter headed into grade 3 this year, but September brings my husband returning to work in the classroom each fall. Most years I actually look forward to this. I like to get back to our regular schedule, with routines and set schedules in place. I find it helps me stay grounded.
As a babyloss mom, I've learned not to plan for many things. I learned that planning ahead doesn't always help. I learned that the hard way.
When pregnant with James, I planned a lot about the first year in my head. We had moved when we were pregnant with him, so our daughter would be starting kindergarten in our new neighbourhood. We would meet new people, as we walked to school. I remember thinking how I would enjoy walking her to school, pushing the stroller with her baby brother inside. I was glad I was going to be on maternity leave for her kindergarten year. It would be a good transition year, for both of us. Sadly, that did not happen. She started kindergarten that year, but there was no baby stroller walking with her to school. Instead, there was a mom who drove her daughter to school as close to the bell as possible so that I could race back home to bed as soon as I dropped her off. That mom tried to avoid eye contact with other moms because she knew how painful those first conversations were going to be. The conversations when you meet other parents: "how many kids do you have?", "what grades are your kids in?", "is she an only child?" ...those questions. I couldn't avoid all contact, no matter how hard I tried. So, over time I met a few other moms, mostly due to their persistance of saying hello, and I'm not one to not say hello if someone says hello to me. At first, I took what I thought was the easy road and just agreed that Marissa was my only child. It tore me apart though, not acknowledging my precious son, who I'd held in my arms just months prior. I felt a lot of guilt, for a long time. Slowly as I got to know a few moms, I shared a little bit more of my story with them, and that I had a son as well who had been stillborn. I am so thankful for those handful of moms who made me feel safe enough to share. These are the same moms I stand with now, a few years later at drop-off and pick-up. I must admit, I still try to avoid too many conversations with moms I don't know, as those new conversations are still tough for me.
That was September 2010. Here we are, three years later, September 2013. My planning in my head earlier this year was that I would begin my maternity leave at the beginning of this month. Marissa and I would have some time transitioning into grade 3, and we anticipated her brother joining us mid-late September (he was due October 11, but 36 weeks had been our goal). I would most likely not be walking her to school this month, but was looking ahead to October. Once baby had arrived, we would do that walk together, that one I dreamed of doing back in 2010, pushing her brother in the stroller, walking her to school. That won't be happening again this September.
September has to be planned differently again this year. I need to re-think the plan, re-word the plan. I myself am not just beginning my maternity leave this month, rather, I soon will be finishing my maternity leave, returning to work mid-October. I look today at the month ahead of me, and I ask myself, what do I do? I have this whole month that is mine and mine alone.
Alone.
That is what scares me. That is what is giving me some anxiety right now.
Zachary was born still on June 15. Chris only worked a few days at the end of June, and has been off all summer. Marissa finished school at the end of June, so has been home all summer. My parents were here for the first few weeks after Zach was born and we have been blessed to spend quite a bit of time with them this summer. Add all this up, and I have not been alone, not one day, since Zach died.
This year, September doesn't bring anticipation as it was planned. It brings "alone".
So, in looking ahead to the month of September, I have made a new plan...yes another plan!
My plan is ME. I am calling it a month for me! I've decided that I will not repeat September 2010. I will not race home to go back to bed after taking my daughter to school. My plan is simple and not at all complete. My plan is to let September flow, take each day, each moment as it comes. I plan on walking to school some days. I plan on getting back to the gym. I plan on getting ready for the gym each morning and going there or to a park for a walk right after school drop-off. This way I am not going home to be alone there quite so early in the day. I plan on having tea or lunch dates with friends when it works in our schedules. I plan on working outside in the yard. And I plan on getting creative, working on some scrapbooking and mixed media art projects that I have been wanting to delve into. I plan on cooking fresh, healthy dinners for my family. I plan on having one goal each morning that I have for the day. I will not plan these ahead of time, but rather decide that day what it looks like. Some days may be bigger or smaller goals than other days. After accomplishing my exercise and my goal for the day, if I feel like having a nap, I will. It won't be an every day thing, or an all day thing, it will be a sometimes I just feel like a nap kind of thing. This is a month that I want to look back on and say, yeah, I had a month all to myself, all for myself, and feel like I used the time on my own to help me move through my grief.
So there it is, my new September 2013 plan. Not how I had imagined or planned for...but a plan nonetheless.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
Finding peace at the lake
Nature has always been peaceful for me. It makes sense to me that in grief, nature has become even more important to me. My dad's family has had property on the lake since he was a little boy. We are so blessed to have this little piece of heaven to go and get away from it all. One of my grandma's favourite places to be was her cabin. Since her death ten years ago, I have appreciated the cabin and the peacefulness of the lake more than ever. I always feel closer to her up there. I always feel peace being there. Being there also makes me feel closer to my boys. Seeing the beauty as I imagine them in every piece of nature. From the dragonflies and water spiders being so active and playful, to the eagles soaring high and the loons calling for each other. I see them in the ripples of the lake water and the swaying of the trees. This month we were able to spend almost a week up at the cabin. No wifi, no tv, no running water or electricity. It was wonderful! I captured some pictures of what brought me peace up at the lake....
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Community
At different times in our lives, we belong to different communities. Our family unit is our first community. School. Post-Secondary. Sports. Work. Social groups. Church. Parent groups. I've belonged to many communities of people. Most very supportive and I've been honoured to be a part of them. For three years now though, I have struggled to belong to a community, one in which I feel normal and safe and understood.
When James was stillborn in March 2010, my daughter was in preschool. I had belonged to that very involved parent participation preschool community for almost two years. It had been a wonderful experience, belonging. We shared many values and experiences and the ups and downs of raising preschoolers and their older or younger siblings. When James was born still, I had a difficult time continuing to feel like I belonged. The parents were very supportive, setting up a "meal angels" delivery, so that for the first few weeks, we had a hot meal delivered each night for dinner. However, after the first few weeks, I didn't feel like I belonged anymore. I felt like I made people feel uncomfortable every time I dropped off or picked up my daughter. Whether this was real or imagined on my part, this is how I felt. There was only three months left of preschool, and I knew that my belonging to this community would be over soon. I no longer had a commonality with these other moms. My other child was not alive. We no longer spoke the same language. We had moved cities in January and eventhough my daughter stayed in her preschool, she would be starting kindergarten in our new city. Today, three and a half years later, one of my best friends, confidant and biggest supporter is another mom from preschool. Other than this amazing woman, I no longer have any connection to that community.
It is just recently that I have found a community that I finally feel like I belong again. It happened by circumstance, not by choice.
While pregnant with Zachary this year, I was having a hard time reconciling his pregnancy and fully connecting with him, while feeling so sad about the fact that James was not here. One night in May, while feeling these extreme feelings of delight of being pregnant again and overwhelming feelings of guilt that I was feeling excitement, I went searching online for support. I could never have known how important it was that I went searching at that time. I discovered a conference that would be held in July in Vancouver. It was a conference about bringing stillbirth out of the shadows, and the tag line really spoke to me: You Are Not Alone. The more I read about the conference, I knew it was right for me. When I shared it with my husband, he knew this was something I had to do for me. There were others I shared it with that wondered why I wanted to attend such an event when I was pregnant and welcoming another baby into our family. I even heard the dreaded words, "just move on" and "you are expecting a new baby, and can't spend time worrying about your past." They clearly did not understand. For me, I needed to go, to do this for James, and remember him and celebrate him and all that he meant to me. I needed him to know that his mommy hasn't forgotten him, and that she never will. I registered for the conference in early June. Little did I know at that time that I would be attending the conference to honour both my beautiful boys. After Zachary was born still, I questioned whether I could attend. Not because I didn't want to, but I didn't know if I could emotionally and mentally handle it. My husband encouraged me to keep my plans and to attend. My mom worried about me, and thought maybe I shouldn't, but encouraged me to do what I thought best for me. I emailed one of the organizers, and briefly shared my story. I asked if there would be a quiet space should it be needed for parents who needed to step away to catch their breath. It was clear to me from the response I received that the conference was exactly where I needed to be. One line in the response said: "Please let her know that we will find a space and we will be there for her 100%." From that warm email response, I could feel that community.
Less than a month after the stillbirth of my second son Zachary, I attended Still Life Canada's conference. In one word: AMAZING! It was two full days of sharing by bereaved parents and a truly inspiring keynote and sessions leader, Dr. Joanne Cacciatore. In those two days, I felt normal. I felt accepted. I felt safe. I felt my sons mattered, and people wanted to know about them, and hear their stories. I made new friendships. I joined a new community, a community in which I will always belong.
In the 6 weeks since the conference, I have had some coffee dates, a park playdate with my daughter and another bereaved mom and her daughter and just this past weekend, Still Life Canada put on their 1st Anniversary BBQ that our family attended. I was able to introduce my husband and daughter to many of the people I have met, as well as talk to new people that I hadn't had the opportunity to meet at the conference. What a supportive, understanding community that exists. None of us chose to belong to this community, but we do belong. As we left the BBQ the other day, and I asked my husband how he felt, he responded something like this: "It's not a group anyone wants to, or should have to join, but it's great to know that there are others who understand and know. I can see why you have felt such support, its definitely a special community of people."
For over three years, I have felt alone much of that time. I haven't felt I belonged. I could not describe it, but I knew there was something missing. Now I know. I hadn't really felt I belonged in a community. I finally do again. Thank you Still Life Canada, Andrea, Lynn, Alena and your husbands, and babies and families for creating this community. Thank you James and Zachary, mommy knows you are helping guide me on this crazy path called life.
When James was stillborn in March 2010, my daughter was in preschool. I had belonged to that very involved parent participation preschool community for almost two years. It had been a wonderful experience, belonging. We shared many values and experiences and the ups and downs of raising preschoolers and their older or younger siblings. When James was born still, I had a difficult time continuing to feel like I belonged. The parents were very supportive, setting up a "meal angels" delivery, so that for the first few weeks, we had a hot meal delivered each night for dinner. However, after the first few weeks, I didn't feel like I belonged anymore. I felt like I made people feel uncomfortable every time I dropped off or picked up my daughter. Whether this was real or imagined on my part, this is how I felt. There was only three months left of preschool, and I knew that my belonging to this community would be over soon. I no longer had a commonality with these other moms. My other child was not alive. We no longer spoke the same language. We had moved cities in January and eventhough my daughter stayed in her preschool, she would be starting kindergarten in our new city. Today, three and a half years later, one of my best friends, confidant and biggest supporter is another mom from preschool. Other than this amazing woman, I no longer have any connection to that community.
It is just recently that I have found a community that I finally feel like I belong again. It happened by circumstance, not by choice.
While pregnant with Zachary this year, I was having a hard time reconciling his pregnancy and fully connecting with him, while feeling so sad about the fact that James was not here. One night in May, while feeling these extreme feelings of delight of being pregnant again and overwhelming feelings of guilt that I was feeling excitement, I went searching online for support. I could never have known how important it was that I went searching at that time. I discovered a conference that would be held in July in Vancouver. It was a conference about bringing stillbirth out of the shadows, and the tag line really spoke to me: You Are Not Alone. The more I read about the conference, I knew it was right for me. When I shared it with my husband, he knew this was something I had to do for me. There were others I shared it with that wondered why I wanted to attend such an event when I was pregnant and welcoming another baby into our family. I even heard the dreaded words, "just move on" and "you are expecting a new baby, and can't spend time worrying about your past." They clearly did not understand. For me, I needed to go, to do this for James, and remember him and celebrate him and all that he meant to me. I needed him to know that his mommy hasn't forgotten him, and that she never will. I registered for the conference in early June. Little did I know at that time that I would be attending the conference to honour both my beautiful boys. After Zachary was born still, I questioned whether I could attend. Not because I didn't want to, but I didn't know if I could emotionally and mentally handle it. My husband encouraged me to keep my plans and to attend. My mom worried about me, and thought maybe I shouldn't, but encouraged me to do what I thought best for me. I emailed one of the organizers, and briefly shared my story. I asked if there would be a quiet space should it be needed for parents who needed to step away to catch their breath. It was clear to me from the response I received that the conference was exactly where I needed to be. One line in the response said: "Please let her know that we will find a space and we will be there for her 100%." From that warm email response, I could feel that community.
Less than a month after the stillbirth of my second son Zachary, I attended Still Life Canada's conference. In one word: AMAZING! It was two full days of sharing by bereaved parents and a truly inspiring keynote and sessions leader, Dr. Joanne Cacciatore. In those two days, I felt normal. I felt accepted. I felt safe. I felt my sons mattered, and people wanted to know about them, and hear their stories. I made new friendships. I joined a new community, a community in which I will always belong.
In the 6 weeks since the conference, I have had some coffee dates, a park playdate with my daughter and another bereaved mom and her daughter and just this past weekend, Still Life Canada put on their 1st Anniversary BBQ that our family attended. I was able to introduce my husband and daughter to many of the people I have met, as well as talk to new people that I hadn't had the opportunity to meet at the conference. What a supportive, understanding community that exists. None of us chose to belong to this community, but we do belong. As we left the BBQ the other day, and I asked my husband how he felt, he responded something like this: "It's not a group anyone wants to, or should have to join, but it's great to know that there are others who understand and know. I can see why you have felt such support, its definitely a special community of people."
For over three years, I have felt alone much of that time. I haven't felt I belonged. I could not describe it, but I knew there was something missing. Now I know. I hadn't really felt I belonged in a community. I finally do again. Thank you Still Life Canada, Andrea, Lynn, Alena and your husbands, and babies and families for creating this community. Thank you James and Zachary, mommy knows you are helping guide me on this crazy path called life.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Our family's trips to the Zoo...
The Zoo is not somewhere we visit often. I am not really a fan to be honest. I much prefer animals live where they are supposed to, in the wild, in the country and region where they are native to. Before becoming a mother, I struggled with the decision of whether I would ever take my children to the zoo because I feel so strongly about natural habitats and the humane treatment of animals. However eventually I did decide that we would make a few trips to the zoo over the years. My reasoning for this is that I wanted my children to discover and love nature and natural things just as I do. I want them to respect the environment and all that lives and breathes in it. I want them to discover the vast world we live in and the diversity of it and all that this world offers. I decided that in my lifetime I would not be able to take them to all the places I wanted them to see and discover the truly incredible biodiversity that exists: Africa, Asia, the Rainforests of South America, the Galapagos, Australia, Antarctica and so many more. The Zoo was going to help take them there and give them a glimpse to what exists out there. I believe if we don't get to see and experience these creatures that roam our earth and oceans, we won't learn about them as we should. A book can only take us so far. We need to see and smell the animals of the wild to truly appreciate their awesomeness.
We are in Seattle for a few days. Yesterday we decided to go to the Woodland Park Zoo. We had never been there before.
As a family we have been to the Portland Zoo back in 2009, when Marissa was our only child. I can remember it being a fantastic day, full of fun and laughter and discovery.
In 2010 we went to the San Diego Zoo on our first vacation after James' stillbirth. It was a difficult day as I remember thinking that I should be one of those moms pushing a stroller with my son in it. I know I put on a brave face that day for my daughter, my husband, my family. But I can't remember thinking at any point that it was a fun day.
That brings us to yesterday. Yesterday the zoo was a bittersweet day for me. We did have a good day together, discovering and learning. There was even some laughter. But it was hard too. I had tears on numerous occasions. It seemed as though it was pregnancy day at the zoo. It didn't matter where we were, there was one, two or more mom's who were expecting. There were even more mom's pushing strollers. Then there were the families...the ones I really noticed were the ones with an older daughter and two younger sons, or an older daughter, a younger son and a pregnant mom. I wasn't bitter or angry at seeing these people or families. I was saddened. I was saddened because of the other family that should have been there, our family. At one point I sat on a bench and as Marissa was running around discovering things, Chris came and sat beside me. He said I looked sad. I was sad. I was watching Marissa, and thinking that she should be holding her brother's hand, or chasing after him, or telling him that the animals can't hurt us at the zoo, so not to be afraid. I was really missing James. I would look for little boys that I thought were around 3, and watch in awe of their discovery of things. Then, I would touch my belly, longing for the kicks that should be there with Zachary. I missed him too, very much. I should be that mom, with her daughter and son in tow, and another on the way. Sadly, I'm not.
I am the mother watching her daughter, in awe of her energy, her desire to learn, and her uncanny ability to give me a hug exactly when I need it. I am the mother who grieves that her two boys are not there. I carry them with me in my heart, and let them know how much they would have liked the family trip to the zoo. I am the mother who sits on the bench, taking a break, reading a grief book when walking to each exhibit was too much for me because it meant either seeing the new cubs who had recently been born or hearing about the giraffe who is due any day now. I am the mother who smiles and laughs at the same time as my heart aches and tears fall.
Our family trips to the Zoo...3 trips...one kid, two kids, three kids. Its interesting to me, this whole parenting after loss world, and parenting our children who are no longer here. Yesterday I did take my three kids to the zoo. They each got a piece of me, just as they should. The trips to the zoo have definitely been full of discovery, and certainly most of which has nothing to do with the animals.
We are in Seattle for a few days. Yesterday we decided to go to the Woodland Park Zoo. We had never been there before.
As a family we have been to the Portland Zoo back in 2009, when Marissa was our only child. I can remember it being a fantastic day, full of fun and laughter and discovery.
In 2010 we went to the San Diego Zoo on our first vacation after James' stillbirth. It was a difficult day as I remember thinking that I should be one of those moms pushing a stroller with my son in it. I know I put on a brave face that day for my daughter, my husband, my family. But I can't remember thinking at any point that it was a fun day.
That brings us to yesterday. Yesterday the zoo was a bittersweet day for me. We did have a good day together, discovering and learning. There was even some laughter. But it was hard too. I had tears on numerous occasions. It seemed as though it was pregnancy day at the zoo. It didn't matter where we were, there was one, two or more mom's who were expecting. There were even more mom's pushing strollers. Then there were the families...the ones I really noticed were the ones with an older daughter and two younger sons, or an older daughter, a younger son and a pregnant mom. I wasn't bitter or angry at seeing these people or families. I was saddened. I was saddened because of the other family that should have been there, our family. At one point I sat on a bench and as Marissa was running around discovering things, Chris came and sat beside me. He said I looked sad. I was sad. I was watching Marissa, and thinking that she should be holding her brother's hand, or chasing after him, or telling him that the animals can't hurt us at the zoo, so not to be afraid. I was really missing James. I would look for little boys that I thought were around 3, and watch in awe of their discovery of things. Then, I would touch my belly, longing for the kicks that should be there with Zachary. I missed him too, very much. I should be that mom, with her daughter and son in tow, and another on the way. Sadly, I'm not.
I am the mother watching her daughter, in awe of her energy, her desire to learn, and her uncanny ability to give me a hug exactly when I need it. I am the mother who grieves that her two boys are not there. I carry them with me in my heart, and let them know how much they would have liked the family trip to the zoo. I am the mother who sits on the bench, taking a break, reading a grief book when walking to each exhibit was too much for me because it meant either seeing the new cubs who had recently been born or hearing about the giraffe who is due any day now. I am the mother who smiles and laughs at the same time as my heart aches and tears fall.
Our family trips to the Zoo...3 trips...one kid, two kids, three kids. Its interesting to me, this whole parenting after loss world, and parenting our children who are no longer here. Yesterday I did take my three kids to the zoo. They each got a piece of me, just as they should. The trips to the zoo have definitely been full of discovery, and certainly most of which has nothing to do with the animals.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Anger
Powerful anger. Anger that comes from deep within. I hadn't experienced this type of anger, until yesterday. It was so intense and so real. It appeared and I let it stay. I let it move through me. I let it run its course. I am trying to live in the moment these days, allowing my feelings to guide me through my days.
This was a tough one to allow to stick around. I wanted to shove Mrs. Anger away and tell her there was no place for her here. But that's not true. She has a place, and she is real and intense. Mrs. Anger is as much a part of grief as any other participant.
I allowed Mrs. Anger to appear. I allowed her to enter my thoughts and curse all that I needed her to. I embraced her for the moments she was here. We went on not one, but two walks together, we went for tea with a friend and we wrote a poem together. We even let my husband in on our day and embraced Mrs. Anger for who she was. We youtubed "Anger Rooms" to see others destruction in controlled environments. It was my wish to take all our dishes and smash them on the ground, or throw them against the wall. I wanted to, but I didn't. I just wanted to see them shatter to pieces, like my heart has been shattered.
In the past, I've tried to supress Mrs. Anger. I've tried to push her away. This has only resulted in turning her anger on others, specifically my family. In the past, I would have found some reason to lash out at my husband or daughter. It only made it worse, as then Mr. Guilt would join in and we'd have quite the angry, guilty pity party together. She wanted to stay for days back then.
It is strange to say that I am proud of myself for letting Mrs. Anger visit, but I am. I am proud that she stayed for the day, wreaked havoc with my sleep last night, but then moved on. When I awoke this morning, she wasn't here. She only wanted to visit for the day yesterday, and I let her, so she moved on.
I know this wasn't Mrs. Anger's only visit. She'll be back. At least now I know I don't have to hide from her, because I know she'll leave.
This was a tough one to allow to stick around. I wanted to shove Mrs. Anger away and tell her there was no place for her here. But that's not true. She has a place, and she is real and intense. Mrs. Anger is as much a part of grief as any other participant.
I allowed Mrs. Anger to appear. I allowed her to enter my thoughts and curse all that I needed her to. I embraced her for the moments she was here. We went on not one, but two walks together, we went for tea with a friend and we wrote a poem together. We even let my husband in on our day and embraced Mrs. Anger for who she was. We youtubed "Anger Rooms" to see others destruction in controlled environments. It was my wish to take all our dishes and smash them on the ground, or throw them against the wall. I wanted to, but I didn't. I just wanted to see them shatter to pieces, like my heart has been shattered.
In the past, I've tried to supress Mrs. Anger. I've tried to push her away. This has only resulted in turning her anger on others, specifically my family. In the past, I would have found some reason to lash out at my husband or daughter. It only made it worse, as then Mr. Guilt would join in and we'd have quite the angry, guilty pity party together. She wanted to stay for days back then.
It is strange to say that I am proud of myself for letting Mrs. Anger visit, but I am. I am proud that she stayed for the day, wreaked havoc with my sleep last night, but then moved on. When I awoke this morning, she wasn't here. She only wanted to visit for the day yesterday, and I let her, so she moved on.
I know this wasn't Mrs. Anger's only visit. She'll be back. At least now I know I don't have to hide from her, because I know she'll leave.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
My Side of the Rainbow - a poem
At the end of a rainbow there is a pot of gold, an unknown magical something.
My baby boy died in my womb. He was a bright lively light in my life.
He left too soon. My world went silent.
Three years later, my rainbow baby was conceived.
They said:
He will bring you joy.
He will help you heal.
He is what you need.
I said:
Do not put all these pressures on my rainbow.
That is far too much to place on my little boy.
He will be himself.
He will just be.
I will be.
He was a gentle soul. Kind to his mama.
Calm.
Determined.
My beautiful baby boy, full of hope and promise and a little something on the other side of the rainbow.
One month, two, three, four and five, then came six.
Healthy, strong, perfect.
In an instant, dead.
My rainbow baby didn't come home with me.
He went to be with his brother.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My side of the rainbow looks a little different.
I bring home grief.
I bring home memory boxes.
I bring home footprints, handprints, hats and blankets.
I bring home ashes.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home a lifetime in a moment.
I bring home anger.
I bring home emptiness.
I bring home sadness.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home silence.
I bring home a broken heart.
I bring home shattered dreams.
I bring home empty arms.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My rainbow went to heaven too.
My side of the rainbow?
Darkness.
My baby boy died in my womb. He was a bright lively light in my life.
He left too soon. My world went silent.
Three years later, my rainbow baby was conceived.
They said:
He will bring you joy.
He will help you heal.
He is what you need.
I said:
Do not put all these pressures on my rainbow.
That is far too much to place on my little boy.
He will be himself.
He will just be.
I will be.
He was a gentle soul. Kind to his mama.
Calm.
Determined.
My beautiful baby boy, full of hope and promise and a little something on the other side of the rainbow.
One month, two, three, four and five, then came six.
Healthy, strong, perfect.
In an instant, dead.
My rainbow baby didn't come home with me.
He went to be with his brother.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My side of the rainbow looks a little different.
I bring home grief.
I bring home memory boxes.
I bring home footprints, handprints, hats and blankets.
I bring home ashes.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home a lifetime in a moment.
I bring home anger.
I bring home emptiness.
I bring home sadness.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home silence.
I bring home a broken heart.
I bring home shattered dreams.
I bring home empty arms.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My rainbow went to heaven too.
My side of the rainbow?
Darkness.
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