Reconnecting Santa Fe Style

Outside of the hospital walls, the largest struggle that we had as a consequence of our stay was our relationship with Ezra. That’s not to say that it suffered, it was just significantly changed for a few months where we became the visitors; and his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins became his immediate family.

Now, this must all be underscored with the fact that Ezra is amazing and extraordinarily resilient. Ahna and I had a lot of reservations about how things were going to go with the both of us at the hospital 24/7, and for the most part they have all been proved unnecessary. Since our return home, there really hasn’t been any outward signs that he is having a difficult time adapting back to being with us (he did struggle pretty hard for the first week of sleeping nights – up five or six times each night for extended stretches – but that was due to a sinus infection that has hopefully met it’s foe in some antibiotics). We know that he is at a perfect age (if there is one) to cope with the massive changes that he has been faced with, but we also know that things could have gone a completely different way had we either had a different family support group or had Ezra had a less amicable personality.

That all said, we agreed that we needed a little family reset time. As impossibly hard as it turned out to be to leave town, we ended up picking a visit to a place that we haven’t visited together (Ahna 11 years ago, Oren never) – which turns out to be a hard thing to find in a six hour drive radius. As we drove across the state line yesterday – under perfectly clear skies and empty roads – we also realized that while Ezra has gone to many states and several countries, all of them had been by plane: it was his first time crossing a state line in a car. The drive was simple and fast, the weather is perfect, the city is waiting to be explored today, and the time is precious.

a downtown church, just after dinner

FAQs: A Final Update

All the hot showers we want.
No more cafeteria food.
Haven’t rode an elevator since we left.
It’s quiet at the house.
No long drives splitting our lives between two children.
A king sized bed and three pillows each.

Yet, give us the option and we would take all the cold showers and live on a twin mattress again in a second.

And The World Spins Madly On

Funk. Slump. Sad. Depressed. Doing the motions. Lost in a moment. Cry. Alone. Together. In Between. Afraid. Missing. Wondering.

All of these, all the time. Yet they are easily and often interrupted by a little boy running around and simply wanting you to play cars with him. We find that there are times when we try to stay busy – probably in some sort of attempt to push aside the thoughts about what happened and just focus on something else for a little while. Then other times we find that it’s ok (if not confusing) to sit inside of those of hardest emotions.

It’s a lot harder of an adjustment than either of us anticipated, going from one world to another so quickly and so thoroughly. There really isn’t any half-way house for these travels. While in the hospital, Ahna and I found a deeper connection to each other than we have ever had prior; and since returning to home/life/Ezra that connection has been a lot harder to come by, and the subsequent feeling of distance has just been something that we have to figure out how to overcome.

The trash gets picked up, the house needs cleaned, the kids play outside, laundry needs done, etc. It seems like everything is supposed to stop and revolve around our grief – but it doesn’t, and sometimes the knowledge that things keep moving along is so in your face that it’s hard to deal with. And that’s when we just step off for a little while.

We have had a bunch of people checking in on us through all sorts of different ways, and we feel so apart of your family that we don’t feel entirely alone on this journey….thank you.

I watch the stars from my window sill
The whole world is moving and I’m standing still – The Weepies

One Week

So hard to believe that an entire week has gone by since we last held Liam. Part of the disbelief is that it has gone by really fast – because we have had family here, because we had a funeral and reception to plan, and because we have had to find our way back into a life that we weren’t expecting again.

There are some things that have been good to return to, like cooking our own meals (with the supplemental help of some pre-prepared meals); but it’s been a lot of moments of serious emotion – mostly at some unexpected times. To say unexpected is a little strange, but when we were surrounded by amazing family and friends on Tuesday night, emotion was on a good upswing. Then the silence of the night settles in, and the unexpected moments loom large.

We have ventured out and about, with trips early in the week turning out to be more difficult than we thought, and we are starting to find a routine again at the house. Yet, it’s one that we know will change sooner than later, as both of us will have to go back to work before too long. We are really cherishing these moments together.

Minute by minute, hour by hour…now week by week.

Bereaved Parents Wish List

This list is adapted from something that the hospital gave us and another parent had put together. It is our hope that you read this and it will hopefully allow you to feel more comfortable around and with us. This is a very difficult time for everyone, and we know that none of us really know what to do or say.

– We wish that Liam hadn’t died. We wish that we had him back.

– We wish that you won’t be afraid to speak Liam’s name. He lived and was very important to us. We need to hear that he was important to you also.

– If we cry and get emotional when you talk about Liam, we wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt us. Liam’s death is the cause of our tears. You have talked about him, and you have allowed us to share in our grief. We thank you for both.

– Being a bereaved parent isn’t contagious, so please don’t shy away from us. We need you now more than ever.

– We need diversions, so we do want to hear about you, your family, and your life. But we also want you to hear about us. We might be sad or cry, but please also let us talk about Liam.

– We know that you think and pray for us often. We also know that Liam’s death pains you, too. We wish you would let us know these things through a phone call, a card, a note, an e-mail, a text, or a real big hug.

– We wish that you won’t expect our grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for us, but we hope that you understand that our grief will never be over. We will suffer the loss of Liam until the day that we die.

– We are working very hard in our recovery, but we wish you could understand that we will never fully recover. We will always miss Liam, and we will always grieve that he is dead.

– We wish that you wouldn’t expect us not to think about it or to be happy. Neither will happen for a very long time, so don’t frustrate yourself.

– We don’t want to have a pity party, but we do wish you would let us grieve. We must hurt before we can heal.

– We wish you understood how our lives have shattered. We know it is miserable for you to be around us when we’re feeling miserable. Please be as patient with us as we are with you.

– When we say we are doing okay, we wish you could understand that we don’t feel okay and that we struggle daily.

– We wish you knew that all of the grief reactions we are having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse us when we are quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.

– Your advice to ‘take one day at a time’ is excellent advice. However, sometimes a day is too much and too fast for us right now. We wish that you could understand that sometimes the best way is a minute or an hour at a time.

– We hope that if you see us out and about that you say hi. We might be smiling or laughing, joking or having a good time – that’s okay to do. Please don’t think that it’s because we are not appropriately grieving.

– Please excuse us if we are rude, it is certainly not our intent. Sometimes the world around us goes by too fast, and we need to get off. When we walk away, please let us find a quiet place to spend some time alone.

– We wish you understood that grief changes people. When Liam died, a big part of us died with him. We are not the same people that we were before Liam died, and we will never be those people again.

– We wish very much that you could understand – understand our loss and our grief, our silence and our tears, our void and our pain. But we pray daily that you will never, ever understand.

Tuesday

I’ve debated for a while as to how much to say and how much to reveal about how Tuesday went, and I think that this is one of those days in life where it’s going to be okay not to share everything. I can tell you that for the entire day, it felt like walking through life in somebody else’s body.

The funeral and burial services were what they were. Well, I mean that they were perfect, beautiful, and emotional. The end. Liam is buried at Cedar Hill Cemetery in Castle Rock, and he is in Section 1…if you are ever in the area and would like to stop by for a visit – I’m sure that he would like it.

Just like the morning, in the evening we found ourselves overwhelmed by love and support. Hundreds of friends and family came down to greet us and to show us how much we are cared for. It was probably one of the most humbling experiences of our lives, and one that we will not soon forget. We know that a lot of schedules had to change, a lot of babysitters hired, and a lot of gas tanks filled – but please know that we are so grateful that you made the effort and came down…it means so much to the both of us.

As the immediacy of loosing Liam dissolves in the next few weeks, the new reality will harshly set in. We have needed you all up until now, and we will need you all in new ways in the future. Please check in on us, send us e-mails and texts, stop over, and encourage us to visit you. Thank you for everything you have done, and for everything that you are going to do.

The Future Of The Blog

As this part of the journey now takes a different turn, we want you to know that we’ll still be here. We have been thrilled to be able to share parts of our lives with you through this medium, and we have no plans to stop doing that now. It’s been therapeutic for us to write and through that to have you all as supports; and we hope that you’ll stick with us as these minutes, hours, days, and months come and go.

We started this blog three years ago as we prepared to have Ezra enter our lives, and now that life has presented some unimaginable challenges, we will rely on it in the same ways that we have until this point. There will be times that we share and times that we don’t, but we will bring aspects of our lives (some better than others) to this place to involve you all.

There are some big mountains to yet to climb. Join us on some of those journeys.

The Eve Of…

The hardest thing we will ever have to do. We hate what is going to happen tomorrow – and there is simply no way around it. It will be a service filled with love, and an evening filled with support; but it just sucks that we even have to face this day.

Won’t be any postings tomorrow, but perhaps we will return on Wednesday.

Peace to you all.

 

The Wristband

The last couple of days have forced Ahna and I into making decisions and talking about things that we never, in a million years, would have anticipated needing discussed. We have an amazing support system of family and friends, and feel very much held up by everyone’s love.

Despite all of those hard topics and hard decisions, there is one that neither of us seems to be able to make: removing the wrist band from the hospital. We both know that it’s just a flimsy, disposable band that is supposed to be trashed as soon as possible (and probably should have been replaced a few times during our stay at the hospital)…but…they also are the only things that outwardly say “Here is Liam’s Mom” and “Here is Liam’s Dad.” Most people wouldn’t even notice them, but they are still there – visual reminders of who we are.

Sometime soon we are bound to take them off, and as they are removed, so will the last physical reminders of the hospital stay. It’s surprising that something that is so trivial is also so hard, but there are lots of memories that live within the wristbands.

Funeral Arrangements

All services will be on Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Funeral: The service is a private service for family only.

Reception: The reception will be held at Pegasus Restaurant located in Castle Rock, Colorado. This is open to anyone to stop in and visit and will run from 5 pm through 8 pm. Come and stay for as long as you like. Click here for directions.

In Lieu Of Flowers: Please make a donation to the Liam Bersagel-Briese Benefit Fund. Money from the fund will go back to The Children’s Hospital in Liam’s name. At some point in the future, we hope to plant a tree or garden for Liam as well. Information on the benefit fund is below.

Donations can be made at any 1st Bank location, or by sending them to: 1st Bank in Castle Rock: 2 Plum Creek Parkway, Castle Rock, CO 80104. Phone: 303-688-5000

Web site listing 1st Bank locations: https://www.efirstbank.com/customer-service/find-location-list.htm