Tonight was our first official night at Kidzcope. It is a non-profit organization that is basically a grief support group for children. There are 5 (I think) differently themed rooms. The kids are divided by age into these rooms for an hour and a half. The parents/guardians meet in the “adult” room and have a support group of their own if you will. We have been to the once a month Monday meetings, but this is our official meet once a week for 9 weeks program.
We chose Kidzcope after Logan died as a starting place for Wyatt. He was struggling so much with Logan’s passing and we wanted to be able to help him grieve in a healthy way. If this doesn’t work, then we’ve already got a therapist on board to take him to. We gave Wyatt the option of group support with his peers or one on one therapy, and he chose the group. So we are honoring his wishes to grieve how he wants.
To summarize this night, I am left feeling agitated. Angry. Emotional. Alone. Insignificant. Pissy. Annoyed. Regretful. Anxious. So many emotions for a mere 1.5 hours.
We went around the room introducing ourselves, what our children’s names were, and what brought us to this meeting. I was shocked and overwhelmed by each person’s tale of grief. I was in panic mode as soon as we walked into this “adult” room, but it only grew with each passing minute. And I literally mean minute; I glanced at the clock just about every 2-4 minutes, cursing the little hands for not moving any faster. Initially I felt empathy for the struggles these individuals were going through. But as the questions and sharing came, I began to feel indifferent. We each shared what we needed, aside from our children. I shared that I thought I needed to find a way to not feel guilty about moving on with life without Logan, even though I chose that path. As quickly as it was my turn, it moved to the next person. Kind of like hot potato. It left me feeling, isolated. No pause for my grief or my guilt or pain. As if it was just thrown into this collection box of grief. I began to cry. Thankfully I had enough strength to keep the tears to just a flowing stream and not a raging waterfall. I cried for the next 45 minutes until the session was over.
These people would share more and more about their stories. And I realized, I’m not ready for this. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to listen to their words. I don’t care. I do, but I don’t. Part of me feels empathy, but there is an overwhelming part of me that just says no. No. Your grief cannot reach mine. Your baby died of SIDS. My baby died frail in my arms. You son was murdered, my son died while I stood by helpless, but in a way I let my baby die. Your children are grieving because their grandparent died. My Logan never got to know his grandparents. I cannot handle this. I cannot carry that empathy. I. Don’t. Care.
I don’t think I processed anything but anger, regret and anxiety after a certain point. I began to feel angry because I no longer wanted to be in this room, and I felt trapped. I felt regret for even speaking about Logan and our situation. Who are they to hear my child’s story? They don’t have a right to know Logan. To hear of our decisions and struggles we had to go through. Anxiety because I was suffocating in my chair. The room was shrinking. People were staring. I was hot. Tears wouldn’t stop flowing. My feet were jogging in place. My fingers flicking a pen back and forth like they were on speed. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t breathe. I felt sick to my stomach. All I could think about was how fast could I get out of this room? This place?
I walked out at the end, and waited for Wyatt. Of course his group HAD to be the last group to be released. As we walked out, he showed me his bracelet they made in class. It was simple, but so perfectly beautiful. A string, with Logan’s name written on little block beads. He was so proud. It was such a perfect way for him to honor his little brother. And I have no doubt he’ll wear it until we have to make a new one. This, this is the reason I brought him to Kidzcope.
While driving home, it just all came loose. I have been holding in this boiling volcano since before I left for FL. It hasn’t erupted yet. It slowly bubbles over and a little lava comes out. But it has just not full blown thrown up yet. As I was driving, the tears started coming again. I was consumed with thoughts of Logan. It was a sensation for my son I haven’t experienced in a while. I felt myself holding it in. Telling myself I wasn’t going to let it get the best of me. That now was not the time. But when is the time? Honestly, is there ever really a good time? No, there isn’t. Everytime sucks. But it relieves this pressure, and you can putt putt around life again for awhile. Until that volcano becomes too full. Like a boiling pot of water. You can only handle so much and then you boil over. I said, why not now? Just let it go Brandy. Cue music. Funny how timing works. A song by FGL came on, “God, Your Momma, and me” I’ve listened to it a few times. Thought of Logan. But this time, it really meant something. So I spent the 3-4 minutes, however long the song is, just crying. Blubbering in my head about my love for Logan. My disdain for God taking him away. My guilt for letting him go. Wishing I could do it all over again and keep him here with me.
Wyatt caught sight of me and asked if I was sweating lol When he realized I was crying, he began to rub my forearm and tell me it was okay. He then asked me the same question I ask him everytime he cries about Logan; “Mom, tell me 3 things you love about Logan.” I barely got out “I love his chubby, squishy cheeks.” And I began crying again. He followed with the question once more, “Mom, what are 3 things you love about Logan?” I opened my mouth to say #2, but nothing came out. I could see it clearly in my mind, but I couldn’t make the words form. Again Wyatt says, “Mom, what are 3 things you love about Logan? When I’m crying, I always think about 3 things I love about Logan, and I feel better.” I laughed through my tears, rubbed his head and said, “I love you son.” I never did finish the other 2 things I loved about Logan. But that sweet little 8 year old boy, calmed my soul.
So while I’m hopeful that it appears Kidzcope is helping Wyatt, I will remain out of the “adult” room until further notice.