Capture Your Grief – Day 2. Rise + Shine Mourning Ritual

2. RISE + SHINE MOURNING RITUAL | Create a new mourning ritual. When you rise in the morning spend a few moments in silence and create space for yourself. Wherever you choose to do this, whether it is at the end of your bed as you wake up or out side with a cup of tea, take a few minutes to ground yourself. You can do this by either sitting on the ground or placing both feet flat on the floor. Take a good posture and close your eyes. Take some slow relaxing breaths in and out. Envision your child’s light burning bright like the sun from your heart. Once you feel calm, awake and present, dedicate your day to living for your child and set an intention for how you want your day be. Write it down and share it with us.

I read and re-read this morning’s Capture Your Grief a hand full of times last night before bed.  A morning mourning ritual.  Pondering how I could make special space for Sam when I woke up.  All intentions set on doing so.

I set my alarm for 6:30AM.  Fifteen minutes prior to when I usually awake for my work mornings.  I knew when I woke up that something would be laid on my heart, I’d listen for it and act accordingly.

6:30 AM my cell phone starts singing the tune of the chords of a harp.  Have I mentioned that I really don’t like mornings? Sam, the first thought on my mind.  I roll myself out of bed, brush my teeth and then vomit.

Morning sickness.  Not really in my plan.  I gag and then vomit some more.  I run to the restroom where I blow my nose and am sick a little more.  I sat in my bathroom with my body pressed against the wall, trying to catch my breath.  I’ve experienced these moments a lot more this pregnancy than with Sam.  I’d be lying if I didn’t say they are tiresome.  A full body experience.

I shower, put myself together and head to work.  I ended up leaving at noon.  Too tired to explain.  Feeling too sick to stay.

I came home and crawled into bed where I’ve been since 1 PM.  I slept for five hours this afternoon, uninterrupted.  I’m still a bit queasy but had dedicated myself to write.

Before I began to write, I laid in bed wondering if today I somehow failed Sam.  No rise and shine mourning ritual like the other Mamas I’ve seen share all day.  My heart knows the answer is no.  My morning was just different.  Much like grief.

When I woke up at five this evening, I stared at my bedroom window, hidden behind shades.  I thought back to the early days of living without Sam and remembered how my morning mourning ritual felt much like I did today.  A full body experience, dark, sick, and unable to leave my bed.

The early morning vomiting forced breath, in and out.  Throughout my morning, I caught myself taking deep breaths in hopes to curb the churning in my belly.  I was to dedicate my day to living for Sam.  In my own way, I have.

I learned early on that we loss Mothers can only mother our children the best ways we know how.  By writing.  By sharing.  By spending time at their grave.  Still buying birthday cakes and Christmas presents knowing no one can blow out the candle or unwrap his gift, except for us.  Leaving us.  I learned early on that we loss Mothers must then, mother ourselves.

I’d like to think then that I did dedicate my day to Sam – to me.  I honored my body and how it feels.  I gave myself the opportunity to rest.  I listened to my heart.  It just wasn’t what I expected.

Living without Sam has never been what I expected.  Not from the moment I learned his heart was no longer beating.  Often times life isn’t what we expected or it doesn’t go the way we prefer.  But we keep living.  We honor them by giving it our best shot, making allowances for ourselves and for others.

Robin, a friend of Sam’s reminded me this evening that she’s never forgotten Sam.  She still tells her little man Roark about him.  She thinks of him each time he reads Green Eggs and Ham with her.  Confirmation to my heart that Sam’s light still illuminates lives.

My mourning ritual has always been to keep Sam alive, even in his death.  Even if my morning wouldn’t allow to create something intentional, I’d like to think I’ll always live intentionally for him.