What I Know

Maybe this should be titled, ‘what I’ve learned’.

I’ve learned that until you really experience grief it’s hard to know how it feels.  I’ve also learned that everyone experiences grief differently.  And that there aren’t any right or wrong ways.

I also have come to cherish the scripture at Psalms 34:18, ‘Jehovah is near to those that are broken at heart; And those who are crushed in spirit he saves’.

Broken and crushed is how I feel.  And that scripture is so comforting to me.

I’ve also learned what it means to lean on your family, on your friends, on your congregation.  It’s so easy to want to drown in your sorrow, in all your pain.  To let it simply consume you.  To not allow yourself to think of what tomorrow is or brings.

But leaning on others relieves you of that somewhat.  It gives you a shoulder to cry on and share.  It gives you comfort that there is a tomorrow.  Somewhere anyways.  And that somewhere out there are beautiful days. 

You don’t want to see those days as you think that as soon as you do, you’re forgetting your son.  Rationally, you know that’s not possible, but what is rational about grief.  You think that if you smile or laugh, or feel normal for a moment that you’ve wronged him in some way. 

I want everyone to know that there are times when I sit at my computer and wait for someone to leave us a comment and then I lean on that.  Then I reread them all, and all the cards and lean on them again.

Every phone call and visit have helped as well.  I’ve leaned on all of you and will need to keep doing that. 

Thankyou for letting me lean.

Corey.

Crest

My sister had always planned on designing a crest for Axel.  She was going to place this on the backside of a birth announcement.

She gave us the birth announcement and crest last night.  It is simply amazing and something that I will always cherish.

Untitled – No Words

This past weekend, my wife & I have endured an event so tragic, we are still having difficulty coming to grasps with the reality of it.  I don’t ever expect the pain we now feel to disappear.

On Saturday, our midwife came by for a visit to check on Darcy who was having extremely itchy feet.  As part of a normal visit, they also listen to the baby’s heartbeat.  I’ve found that mothers to be always enjoy that interaction.  They find it so comforting.

But Sara couldn’t find it. 

We made our way over to St. Paul’s and where we proceeded to search for his heartbeat.  It wasn’t there.  Neither the fetal heart monitor, nor an ultrasound could find it.

Darcy knew before I did.  Maybe I just wanted to ignore what was so clearly in front of me.  The horror of knowing your son is dead before you’ve even had an opportunity to meet him is …

…no word can explain that feeling.

The pain you feel is at times overwhelming… the days ahead seem to have no purpose.  Logic and reason mean nothing.

The gross horror of the moment, coupled with the horrific decisions you now need to face are simply inconceivable.  When only shortly before, we were talking about him and guessing at what his personality was, and who he took after… what colour his hair would be. 

No, no, no, no… is all you’re saying or thinking.  You don’t want to accept it as truth.  You don’t want to believe. You want to wake up it all be a bad dream

I had a nightmare a few weeks ago that my son fell off a boat while we were on a lake.  I was already in the water and dove down to get him.  He was out of my reach, but I wouldn’t give up.. I couldn’t…  I loved him so much, I had to save him.  I had no air, but I wouldn’t stop… and I got him.  I saved him.  He was going to be okay.

I couldn’t save him from this.  There was nothing that I could do.  Nothing and it’s horrible to know that you couln’t protect him.  And I didn’t even get the opportunity to do it.

I am very proud of my wife.  She is so beautiful and strong.  I cannot imagine the feelings you’d have and the strength you’d need to give birth to your son who you know is not breathing.  Who you had felt kicking you less that a day before.  Who you’ve already grown such a beautiful connection with through the eight months he’s been with you.

Axel Corey Reid Carriveau was born Sunday morning at 7:00am.  He was 3lbs 1oz and 43 centimeters long, with thick brown hair.  He was so beautiful.  So perfect.  We love him so much.

He looked just like his 3D photos.  Exactly like them.

Darcy & I got to spend some time with him.  At first you think that seeing him would be so horrible, knowing that he’s not alive.  But you have to, I couldn’t imagine leaving him there and not even saying hello.  I will always cherish that time the three of us spent together.  My beautiful son, my beautiful wife.

They gave us some keepsakes from the hospital for us to remember him.  His birth card, imprints of his hands and feet, and a few locks of his hair.

He was such a pretty, beautiful baby.  So perfect, and so perfect for us.

me and my beautiful wife

Getting Close

I have been so busy.  I knew this would be an insanely busy year for me, but this is beating even my expectations.

But enough of me, D is doing great.  She still walks to work, although it slowly turning into a waddle.  She’s definitely slowed down lately too.  And not just because the midwife told her to.  She simply can move as fast as before.