I miss my Nico so badly today. I dreamed about him all morning so I started my day off feeling that horrible void.
I had been having quite a few good days, feeling like my old self, feeling goofy. It was nice, but I had to fight with myself not to feel guilty about it. He knew/knows I love him and enjoying my life or not enjoying my life will not change that.
But how can you love someone so much that you barely knew? I had no idea this depth of love was possible, and it hurts so badly to not be able to properly express that love. I wish more than anything that I still had him. I wish I could have been like the women who get pregnant and just know that everything is going to be okay, that actually get to bring their babies home. I wish I could have that kind of innocence. I didn't even get to have a few months of that with Nico since his older brother died before he did. Losing one baby was horrible. Losing them both is unforgivable. People tell me that God loves me and that they are praying, but it doesn't help me feel any better. It just makes me angry. He didn't keep Nico healthy and safe, despite me begging and praying every day for months. Why would he do anything to help me now? I wouldn't even want his comfort when he could have stepped in and saved Nico and chose not to.
I get so upset when I see people who have babies, and then they're having a second and third etc. It isn't fair. And they have no idea how lucky they are. They never worried while they were pregnant, they just knew they were having a baby and their expectations were met.
Why would God create me to have this burning need to be a mother and then continue to deny me it? It would be different if I just wasn't able to have babies...but he keeps giving me a taste of motherhood and then taking it back. Anyone who told me, trying to give me comfort, that God just needed my baby in Heaven wasn't really thinking about what they were saying. If that is true, then he is a selfish jerk. He already had one of my babies, why did he need them both?
I'm sorry if this offends you, but at the same time, sorry but I'm not sorry. You can't imagine this kind of pain, so you don't get to judge me and how I grieve. And if you can because you've been through it, then I just want to hug you and cry with you. And also meet you to know there are others out there and that I'm not alone. And tell you how sorry I am that you have to feel this way. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Rules for surviving grief

I am going to start my own personal set of rules for surviving grief. This will give me something to remember and reflect on when I am struggling, and maybe, hopefully I can help someone else who is in pain.

Rule Number One: It's okay.
Of course I don't mean that it's okay that my son died. That is the farthest thing from okay in the world. What I mean is, it is okay to not be okay. It is acceptable, normal and expected to have a day, or several days or even weeks where the world seems like a gray, empty, and crappy place. I have days where I don't want to do anything but lay in bed and look at pictures of Nico. I know that it's not necessarily the healthiest plan for a day, but neither is bottling up that pain. Since I can't hold him and tell  him how much I love him, sometimes I have to just let my grief pin me down, even for just a few moments, because it is the only way I can have a time of feeling close to him.
The second part of this rule that is equally important, is that it is okay to be okay.  Having a day that I feel good, and don't think of him as often or am not completely broken when I do think of him does not make me a bad mother. It doesn't mean that I don't love him or miss him as much. Having a day where I feel okay means that the hole in my heart is not bleeding as profusely. It means that the stitches to that wound are holding for the time being, allowing me to be a fully functioning person. Granted, those stitches might burst and I might break down again, but I need to accept and embrace the good days and not feel guilt for them. Feeling guilty will not bring my baby back to me, it will  not solve anything. Blaming myself will only push me further down into the dirt making it harder to claw my way out to the sun and actually living. I can't bury myself in grief, no matter how tempting it may seem. I need to live, and I need to know that it is okay to live, and to live as fully as I am able, given how incomplete I feel.