Author: loveforlogan

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.

I work for some amazing people. This journey would have been tough without their love and support. I was given the opportunity to go to Key Biscayne, FL for a continuing education course. Something I have wanted to attend for at least 2 years now. I was super grateful for the opportunity and was really looking forward to the trip, the time to myself, the knowledge I would gain, etc.

Two days before my trip I sat down to write a packing list of the things I would need to accommodate the things I would be doing. I looked around and thought of the things I was leaving behind. Logan. I already planned to take Logan Bear with me. That was a given. But to leave my home, the comfort of my home where Logan is in spirit, man that began to weigh on me. I felt my chest tightened and my heart pounding like a hammer. I was panicking. How was I going to leave Logan, and my house. How was I going to leave my husband to take care of Wyatt without me? I felt like there was no way I was going to be able to do this. But in my mind, I knew that I could. I could leave and go on this trip, it was going to be hard and painful, and I might be a wreck. But I could definitely do it.

As my sister drove me to the airport, I was chatty nervous. That type of chatter that just keeps going because you’re anxious and it’s your only outlet to relieve that tension. So you basically just keep sputtering like word vomit. She pulled up to the airport curb, and I started taking deep breaths. My heart literally felt like it was going to burst from the squeeze. I walked inside, went through TSA. All the while playing this scenario in my head, if they tried to take Logan Bear away from me. For some reason, I had this real fear that they would pull him out of my bag, look him over, touch him, ask questions, violate him. And everytime I saw my reaction play out in my head, I would see a complete utter meltdown. Like crazy psycho woman, plow the TSA agent, end up in airport jail meltdown. So I anxiously walked through, waiting. Nothing. They didn’t touch Logan Bear. I made it to my gate, and sat peacefully. I got on the plane, peacefully. 20 minutes into our flight, after taking loads of pictures out of my window, I kept thinking about the little bear stowed away in my duffle bag at my feet. I was sitting in a 3 seat setting. I was by the window. The guy on the aisle was asleep. But the man next to me kept moving about. As I kept thinking about my bear, I would peek over at the guy next to me. What would he think, if I pulled out my little bear? A grown woman, carrying an innocent child’s toy? He would not understand my meaning for my little bear.

As I sat there, I began to juggle fear in one hand and guilt in the other. Fear for what he or others might think of me for pulling out this little bear and taking pictures. Guilt because if Wyatt was there, I wouldn’t hesitate to take pictures with him. Guilt because who gives a shit if I want to take a picture with my little bear. Guilt because my little bear represents Logan in the only physical form I can, and I was embarrassed to take him out. In the end, my guilt won out. I told myself, I didn’t care what anyone thought. I’d never see these people again. They didn’t matter to me, their thoughts and opinions did not matter to me. So I leaned over and pulled Logan Bear out. I snuggled him to my chest. We took selfies snuggling and looking out the window. I felt so comforted and peaceful. And I held him for the remainder of the flight. Rubbing my face periodically on the top of his little head. As we landed, with reserve, I stowed him back in my duffle bag, safe until we could play again.

Once I got to the condo, he perched on my bed.

The remainder of my trip, quite honestly was a struggle. There was good and tough. Mother Nature had decided to pay me a visit the day before my trip, so my hormones were already out of control. Add on top of that my first trip away from the house since Logan’s passing. Then add on top of that the frustration of learning a new technique in my course. I’m a perfectionist to an extent. I pride myself in that I do my job not just well, but to the best of my ability. And I take joy when my boss is proud of the quality of my work. So this trip held so much expectation for me. I wanted to learn why we do splints and how to properly create them, but even further, I wanted to be the best. And I was struggling. It was a different technique than what my Dr had taught me. So many times tears sprang to my eyes, but I damned them from coming out. These girls hadn’t yet found out about Logan. Later in the trip they did. I didn’t want this to be a pity me party. So I cursed those tears back into their homes.

The second night we had an additional class; we went over personality types if you will. What their strengths were and their weaknesses. And I don’t know if it was the hormones, exhaustion or perhaps the beer, but I was really struggling keeping those tears in check. They would well up and go back down. Repeat and repeat. I don’t feel like any one thing triggered it. I think it’s been building up for the past few days, and I’m just waiting to uncork this volcano that’s trembling to erupt. One good cry to let out all this emotional tension; to set myself right again. I had every intention of going back to my room and watching a movie and going to sleep. But these girls I met on this trip, were so vibrant in their own ways. Each bringing such an interesting aspect to the group, from all over the country, literally. I chose to set this partially erupting volcano to the side, I crazy glued the cork back in and I went out with the girls. It. Was. Fun. I’m so thankful I went. I ventured out, had a great experience. I was childish and goofy. I spent $16 on a damn margarita. But I had fun.

The last day at the Institute was easy and fast. The day went by quickly and now I find myself sitting on the floor at my gate, waiting for my plane, verbally expressing this volcano. Hoping it will lessen the blow that I know will erupt as soon as I get home. I can already feel it rumbling now.

What I have taken away from this trip, is this:

1.) I am so grateful for my boss and his wife. They are more to us than just my boss. They have been an extended arm on my family tree. They treat me and my family very well. I am extremely blessed to have them in my life. I am grateful for the opportunities and understanding they provide. I am grateful for their genuine concern for my well being. For their support to continue my education and advance in my career.

2.) While I am extremely unhappy that Logan could not stay with me, I’m starting to understand that I have to move on with my life. There is nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t mean I love him any less. I can take him anywhere with me. I can’t even do that with Wyatt. I met a nice lady on this trip, that once she found out about Logan, confided in me that she had lost a child at 7 months gestation. She is older now, and I believe her children are grown. But I asked her whether she had another child after. And she said yes. She also told me it was the best decision because now she has this amazing child. And she would’ve missed that joy if she had chosen not to. She encouraged me to not shy away from the idea of another child, out of fear or uncertainty. But to mull it over. Sniff it, swirl it, sip, spit and repeat, like you do a fine wine.

3.) There are so many amazing things I can do in life on my own as an adult. I find myself relying on only enjoying things in life with the company of Josh or Wyatt or both of them. I find myself feeling guilty if I enjoy trips without them. But that’s not particularly fair to myself is it? This was an amazing opportunity to advance my skills in my career. To make myself more valuable as an employee and a person.

4.) This was a huge step in my mind as an adult. I’ve gone on trips before. But you must be a balla for your boss to send just YOU on a trip to freaking FL on HIS dime. Wow. That’s a HUGE compliment.

5.) Finally, I realize just how truly blessed I am. I may not have everything I want in life. But I definitely have everything I need and plenty more.

My husband and I have not been back to our church since before Logan’s passing. We did have a luncheon there after the funeral, but that’s it. The very thought for me is literally terrifying. When I sit and think about church, my heart starts to race, my skin gets clammy and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Before Logan, church was always a ‘reset’ button for me. I would start strong on Monday and by the time Sunday rolled around I was worn down and not at my best.  I would go to church and God would break me. The walls I put up during the week, would crumble down, my soul would peek out and God would speak to my heart. My life would come back into God’s perspective.

After we found out about Logan’s diagnosis, I still went avidly for several weeks. Praying for a miracle and having faith and trust that God would give it to me. Until I slowly quit going. The brokenness that I used to look forward to on Sunday’s began to weigh too heavy on me. Once I let that wall crumble, it wasn’t just Jesus I was letting in. I was letting in the reality and the emotion of what was going to happen to my baby. And I could no longer bear that weight. So I stopped going.

After Logan passed, that weight is still there. I know I will be broken when I go to that Sunday service. I know the walls will crumble. But I’m terrified to see what I find there. I haven’t been that broken since I lost Logan’s videos. The idea of sitting in the middle of our church, broken and weeping makes me feel isolated. I imagine myself, sitting there, feeling like the walls are closing in. Everyone looking at me with sympathy, as if they really knew my deepest sorrows. So I have continued to avoid my church. To be honest, I don’t think I have even driven by our church, whether I subconsciously have avoided that street, I don’t know, but it is curious. Wyatt quit going to Awana after Logan passed. Partly due to the grief in our household, and partly because I couldn’t bear to walk into that church.

Today, we had a meeting with one of the ladies that works at the church. Our church has a Bereavement Grant opportunity, and we had applied. Our interview was today. I do not like asking for help, in any shape or form. Those close to me know, that I will suffer through whatever if I know I can manage alone before I would ever ask for help. Our financial situation with medical bills has been extremely humbling. The bring me to my knees, weeping, overwhelming, in awe humbling. I already had so much anxiety about this meeting. I didn’t want to ask for help. It’s honestly embarrassing. I fell onto this verse the other day, but let’s be honest, did I really fall onto it, or perhaps was it DROPPED in my lap.

“And my God will supply every need of yours according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”- Philippians 4:19

I read this verse, and I tell myself, that what God has meant to be, will be. We can ask for help, and Jesus will provide if it’s what is according to His plan. So when others help us, I need to not be embarrassed, but honored that God has chosen them to be apart of our lives. I believe God has continued to bless us and supply our every need. Through this journey, aside from worrying about Logan’s illness, I worry heavily about financials. When Logan started living longer than anyone predicted, I had no clue how we were both going to be able to afford to stay home. The idea of leaving him and going back to work because we financially had to, and possibly miss the only precious time we had with Logan was devastating. I had tried to save as much as possible through the pregnancy. But with all the medical trips to Kansas City, we weren’t getting very far. My stress level was soaring past pulling my hair out. BUT. By the grace of God, he supplied our needs through His people. Amazing people, from across the world, that we’d never met, but had started to follow our journey, were blessing us with financial gifts. And we were able to stay home with Logan until he died. My husband and I were able to ‘run away’ as I like to call it, and grieve without the distractions of everyday life. We were able to be intimate in our grief together as a couple. To build a foundation before coming home to Wyatt.

Today, as the time ticked by, it seemed like a countdown to a big red panic button. I was getting more anxious by the minute. I pulled into the parking lot of my church and literally felt my face flush and my heart pick up its pace. I sat in my car, waiting for my husband to arrive. Literally on the verge of tears when he pulled up. As I got out of the car, the tears starting spilling over slowly. I looked at my husband and told him I didn’t want to go in. But of course we had to. I started walking towards the church, it’s size seemed overwhelmingly huge and bearing down on me like a ton of bricks. I stopped and turned toward my car, having only gone maybe 2-3 steps and began crying. Trying my hardest to take deep breaths, but it just wasn’t helping. I probably never would have made it in the doors had it not been for Josh guiding me. I couldn’t stop crying. I looked around this church, and all I could think was, Logan used to be here. In my belly. But he was here. He should be here. I kept trying to leave, I was uneasy and slightly suffocated. Once out the door, I couldn’t get away fast enough. I drove out of the parking lot and didn’t look back.

I found a quote, while reading one of my grief books, by Andree Seu. I resonated with it so much, I wrote it down, and read it from time to time. How perfectly it describes how I feel about my relationship with God. While we are stumbling, or rather, I am stumbling with our relationship, for what I have endured, I am a warrior of God. I have survived.

“To believe in Christ, in this moment, in this perplexity, in this frustration, in these setbacks, in this present agony, is victory of the highest order.”

I will enter the house of God again. And when I’m ready, I know He will be waiting.

The first mother’s day. I was told this one would be hard. Emotions would run high. To watch out for sinking rabbit holes hidden amongst the day.

Rewind to Saturday. I knew Mother’s Day was coming, and I really hadn’t felt any pressure to do something so spectacularly special. We never really do anything over the top for Mother’s Day. Usually we grill and spend the day as a family. Not unlike many of the other days we share on weekends. Moms vary on what they like for Mother’s Day, and there is no wrong answer. I prefer to just spend time with my husband and my sons.

The only thing I asked for this year was a Cherry Blossom. Either in the form of a tree or a bush. I didn’t care which. The Cherry Blossom has brought significance to my life in regards to Logan. The Cherry Blossom blooms for 2 weeks once a year. The reach the peak of their beautiful in those 2 weeks. Then their blossoms fall and it’s just a tree for the other 50 weeks of the year. Logan reached his peak of life in those 2 weeks he was home with us. He lived for 2 beautiful weeks full of emotional waves. It was the peak of emotions. They couldn’t go any higher nor lower. 2 weeks holds so much meaning to our family. This blossom resonated with my heart and the life of Logan.

So, Saturday morning there was some miscommunication between my husband and I. He called while I was in the middle of trying to put groceries up. We had planned this day out. But when he called, there was a hiccup with the Cherry Blossom. They didn’t have a bush, they had trees. As he rattled off the information about the 3 different trees, I felt my insides snap. I felt thrown into chaos, and I felt pressured to make a decision right then. The plans I’d made for this bush, were slipping. I just knew it wasn’t going to happen. I got angry, and hung up on him. I finished the busy work I had laid out in front of me and started cleaning the house by the time he came home. He tried to talk to me about what was going on, but my capabilities of understanding anything at that particular moment was gone. I was elevated too high. I felt as if my world was crashing down around me. Everything was going wrong.

I’m thankful to have an uncle, who despite his certain circumstances he’s going through, loves me and husband enough to help support us. Basically being kidnapped, it gave me an opportunity to step back from the situation, and focus on what the real issue at hand was. I was hurt. I didn’t realize how much value I had put into this bush. I was already on emotional alert this day, without me even knowing it. And when things didn’t go smoothly at the nursery, things began to crumble around me. Out of my hands. I felt out of control. Things have not been in my control for some time. I’m constantly standing on the inside trying to grab a hold of things. But its like everything slips through my fingers. I can’t pin anything down. It’s utter chaos.

As Josh and I discussed what had possessed me, I began to realize, he was struggling too. This was just as an important day for him as it was for me. The significance of this bush brought about such excitement for him. His disappointment by the nursery setback only plummeted even further by my reaction to this incident. Funny, how such a little plant can cause so much trouble. But it isn’t just a little plant is it?

Fast forward to today: Sunday. We went together, as a family to the nursery. We listened to the gentleman, who seemed a little gruff to me at first. He wasn’t understanding what I wanted. Instead he kept talking about plants and I was no longer listening. He kept walking further and further away from the plants I wanted. I finally told him, why we wanted a Cherry Blossom. That it didn’t have to be the Cherry Blossom itself, but that it was the bloom phase that was important to us. We finally decided on a Lilac Bush. It blooms once a year and remains green the rest of the time. It’s mature size would fit perfectly where we wanted it. So we let Wyatt choose which Lilac Bush to take home.

We each took turns digging the hole underneath Wyatt’s window. We chose this spot because Logan’s window is on the front porch. But their rooms are right next to each other. We sprinkled some of Logan’s ashes along the roots. And as my husband was pushing soil over the roots, I noticed him begin to silently weep. Such a simple plant, to bring such significance. A symbol, of burying my child, to watch him grow each and everyday. Buried and renewed. Dead and healed. Earth and Heaven.

We will need to water and prune this Lilac Bush. It will need our love. This Lilac Bush represents our love.

I am thankful for the two children God blessed me with. Even though Logan is not here, he is still my blessing. He taught me what true unconditional love is. He loved me. His love was not influenced by the worldly desires. His love was pure untainted love. Wyatt has such a beautiful heart. He adores me. He shows sincere concern for my well-being. He’s always lifting me up as his mother; “You’re the best mom ever” and “I love you more” battles. He is a reflection of the love I shower on him. I am proud to be their mother. They both show such bravery in the face of a cold selfish world. My desire is that both their lives continue to be a light in this cloudy world.

My son cries every night for his baby brother. Not a whisper of tears, but a weeping. If you’ve never seen a child weep, you won’t understand the multitude of emotions that surge through your body.

At times I feel at a loss on how to help him with his grief. He’s 8, and I can barely process his brain on a normal day. How do I even begin to understand what his young mind is thinking? Other times I feel agitated by his sobs. (It’s embarrassing to admit that) I’m in a place now, where I don’t want to deal with the tears. Not just his, but Josh’s too. Maybe because I don’t cry very much anymore. It takes just the right ingredient at the right moment to flip that switch. I’m usually on autopilot.

I often feel their tears, interfere with my everyday life. It’s hard to explain, I love them and I hurt for their pain. It’s like an old record, that keeps skipping and playing the same tune over and over until your hitting your head against the wall. This cycle of grief keeps spinning and spinning on the same tune. I’m tired of listening to this song. I’m ready for a new one.

I know Wyatt is confused and sad. He loves Logan so much. It’s not fair that he doesn’t get to grow up and teach Logan about life. I’m hiding in my bathroom, because I’m honestly scared to walk out. I can hear him crying in bed with his dad. I feel complacent. I want to console him, but at the same time I don’t. Perhaps I’m avoiding it. Grief. My grief. Their grief. I think of Logan often. But I don’t get sad, unless it’s a particular song from his funeral. I’m simply complacent. It’s like I know what happened, but I don’t feel. Like a veil, it filters, I know what’s happened by the emotions don’t penetrate the veil.

It’s odd that he cries at night. He’s okay during the day, normal even. Logan is always apart of everyday conversation in our house. Then again, perhaps it’s not odd. Bedtime is when you wind down from your day. Your brain takes the time to intricately process the happenings of your day. Usually to over analyze if your me lol

Sometimes I wish we could fast forward through the next couple of years. Be at a point in life where we cry very little. The pain not so strong. To get past this awkward phase in our lives. It truly is an awkward phase. Nothing truly feels like normalcy. It’s all a new reality, a new wave of life.

**I wrote the above blog a few days ago**

Have you ever heard the phrase, “just going through the motions”?

On the nights I happen to visit the gym, I listen to my playlist named ‘Logan’ on my way home. It’s filled with songs that are sad, slow and melodic. Most of them are from his funeral. As I drive in the dark, windows down and his music blaring as loud as a raging storm, I find myself focusing on the details of Logan’s life. Zooming in and mentally logging the features of his face. A movie reel with a bad wifi connection; his final moments of life- buffering….. the bath I gave him after he died- buffering…. the weight of his body in my arms at his funeral-buffering… conversations while I was pregnant, wondering how we were going to be able to hold our baby.

I love these moments. They are bitter, for they remind me of my loss and pain. But they are so sweet because I get to sit peacefully and remember him and how much I love him. It allows me uninterrupted time to focus on my mentality and emotional state. Most days I think, ‘did this really happen to me?’ It seems like a dream. Life has moved forward, it keeps moving forward. All around me life keeps going. It never stopped. I find it hard to believe that I actually lost a child, when life doesn’t show me that I have.

When I was home after Logan passed, I had time to focus on my loss. It felt so real. But the outside world had not penetrated my inner circle. I had made a safe haven in my home. Nothing could hurt me there. Once I stepped out, who knew what was waiting to swallow me up.

Now I find myself, going through the emotions. I had thought, that I was really enjoying life. But tonight, I’m left wondering. I think about the things I did and the friends I saw before Logan died. I was very active in life. And now, I have to force myself to fall into those same shoes. It’s like I woke up one day, and my favorite pair of pairs were holy and I had a new pair awaiting me. Try as I may, I can’t seem to find my rhythm back into my life. Rather, I find myself just going through the motions of this former life of mine. I go to work, because it’s what I know. But even there, I find my mind roaming. My brain literally goes blank in the middle of a task. I’ve tried for 3 weeks to get back into a workout routine, to just find that my strength I had is gone. My understanding for the condition of my body is gone. I know I just had a baby and major surgery. But it falls short on my understanding. I go to the gym, I might giggle here or there through a workout routine, but I’m left wanting. I’m left empty. I’m left feeling unaccomplished.

On my days off from work, all I want to do is hide. Someone once described grief as ‘coming in waves.’ It’s the best description I’ve heard that I can relate to. Some days I feel the strength of David. Then the water pulls back, and wave after wave comes crashing into shore. Smacking me, pushing me down, swallowing me, suffocating me. What is life supposed to look like? I feel empty, all the time.

I try to remember what it was like to love Wyatt like I did before Logan was born. I can see it, but I can’t feel like. I love him, there is no doubt about that. But I can’t feel it. Its like looking at a picture of someone, but not being able to feel them. I have to make myself spend time with him. It doesn’t come naturally anymore. I remember at some point in my Logan journey, in my devastation, I looked at Wyatt and thought, ‘why do you get to live, but Logan didn’t?’ Gosh, just even writing that makes me feel so horrible as his mother. Neither child is more special than the other. I love them both. Perhaps grief is to blame.

Will I ever be okay? Or will I spend the rest of my life ‘going through the motions’? Doing what I know is right, but not having the capacity to put my heart into it.