My Light In The Darkness

Happy heavenly birthday to my sweet love, Declan. My beautiful boy. My North Star. My light in the darkness.

Today marks twelve years since losing Declan yet I can put myself back in that day as if it were right now. The lead up to his angelversary is always emotionally and mentally exhausting. As the calendar starts to near the end of November, memories of certain dates smack me right in the face and the helplessness of those weeks in December 2012 are relived. There is the date we were told there were markers in the testing results, the date I was put on bed rest, the date we learned his kidneys were failing him, the date they said to expect a grave outcome (those words still haunt me) and of course, the date I no longer felt him moving.

I learned within the first few years after Declan died to take a little time off work in December because I just do not function well. Regardless of how prepared I think I am for this heavy storm of grief, each year I still feel as scattered, unsettled and as upset as the last. I experienced stillbirth in the absolute darkest days, just prior to Winter Solstice. I use the stillness of this time to go inward and reflect, allowing myself to think about what life was going to look like with him in it, in physical form.

When we lose a baby, we lose the vision of the life we had planned with them.

All of the “what could have beens” surface and flood me like a tsunami. Who would he be today? What would he look like? Where would his interests be? Would he play hockey like my living boys did? I know where I am without him, but where would I be with him? Would I still be married? I feel all the feels that arise from these questions and my energy becomes depleted. It is draining but a necessary and organic part of my grieving process.

I used to plan for various forms of self-care to ease some of the heartache that December brings. I’d get out my calendar to try to guess which days I might be at my saddest and planned to escape. Nowadays however, instead of managing my time by booking getaways to spas and yoga retreats, I manage my energy and do what feels right in the moment. I feel more present toward my needs than at any other time of the year - which is probably why I feel so scattered elsewhere in my life. I give up catering to everyone else for this short while. Being in tune with myself lets me lean into my heart and show up for myself in whatever way feels right. Sometimes this means not even stepping foot out of my apartment and getting cozy on the couch with snacks and holiday movies all day. It is also saying ‘no’ a lot and declining the many social events that happen in December. For these care practises I’ve acquired over the years, I am grateful.

Gratitude. That word amidst grief really pisses some people off and I get it.

They hear it as toxic positivity but that is not what it is for me. I’ve learned that gratitude is my light in the darkness. While I grieve the life that I had imagined with Declan, I am grateful for the one I am living. There is unhappiness around me in his absence, yet I have the ability to feel joy from within because of his existence. Although I have a longing for all that could have been, I can also be completely present and show up to my reality with these learnings in the now. There is no “gift of gratitude” that comes with grief; it needs to be self-cultivated and then nurtured. Not everyone has this capacity after loss while in deep grief, and it takes work. Hard grief work.

I believe gratitude is the guiding light which shows us the path of healing.

While I welcome the wave of emotions that wash over me in these dark days I do not wallow. I have no desire to stay here and with the awareness I have now, I couldn’t even if I tried. On occasion, well at least once a year anyways, I may wander off the trail for a few days but my North Star Declan is always there to guide me back to the bright spots on the path of healing.

Happy heavenly birthday my sweet love. My beautiful boy. My North Star. My light in the darkness.