The Day I Begged for Help

Well, today is the day I begged for help.  Not help to cope only with the loss of my son, but help to be able to pick myself up and start to 'live', help to be able to go to bed and not have nightmares, help to be able to wake up in the morning and be thankful that I survived another night, help to deal with the journey that Haydon had, and help to bring my soul some peace.

The doctor was lovely, very understanding.  She asked me to take my time, and that helped.  How can you describe this feeling, this loss, this daily agony, in just a few short sentences.  I was in her room for 45 minutes, but there was no rush to get me out.  She was kind, she was understanding, and she said she herself could never cope with what I am living with, but she will do everything she can to help me.
The doctor acknowledged that happy memories are difficult to find in the 3 1/2 months we had Haydon, she wants me to find some happiness in those memories, she will strive to help me to find them.  She told me that those painful memories will never go, that I will live with them and replay them forever.  But she will help me to find a way through and to learn to live with them.

The doctor wants me to get proper support for the horrors we saw, the painful memories that you can't put into clear words, she wants me to get help for the helpless feeling I had and have, she wants to help me rebuild my life.  She wants to help me to create a new 'me'. 
I am grateful for that.

I want to feel happiness again.
I want to live again.
I want to feel joy again.
I want this desperation to pass.
I want to be happy in the mornings and appreciate what I have, and not only focus on what I have lost.

But I have lost a lot.  I have lost my son, my beating heart and soul.  I have lost my passion for life, for music, for the outdoors, for me.  I have lost close friends that I placed so much hope and reliance on, and if I haven't lost them, our relationships are forever changed.

I need life to be gentle, I need friends to be understanding, I need my social environment to protect me.  I no longer have the strength to protect myself.

I have lost my ability to be a professional, I can no longer stand in a room and represent children, actively voice their needs, I can no longer hear about parents who take their gift for granted, I can no longer read stories about children suffering, and not be deeply affected.
I barely cope with children in my day to day existence.

I hope the doctor can help me with that, and all the other things.  Some changes may be temporary while I go through this loss and discover who I am now.  Some will be irreversible though.  I miss the life I had.

One of my baby lost friends wrote to me yesterday.  She wrote that - Her son is her past, her present and her future.  She doesn't have her son in her arms either, he lives on in her heart and in heaven.  But I understand what she means.  I acknowledge that I too have a son who is now my past, in my present, and will always be in my future.  I will always have my son in my mind, in my heart, and throughout my life and it's experiences.  I just need to learn to cope, I just need to learn to manage 'missing him'.

So, I am being referred, for professional support.  I am to be offered specific Post Trauma support, through the psychiatric services.  I have been prescribed pills in their lowest dose, and I have to decide if I want to take them or not. They won't numb my emotions she says, they will only lift me a little and prevent me from wishing to sleep away at night time. I am still thinking about these.
I am to contact Cruise.  They will already be aware of me.  I will be at another appointment with the doctor next week.

I returned home to a text message from a friend, an old friend, she wants to help me too.  This was the 3rd message from her since I lost my son.  The 3rd message in 13 weeks and 3 days.  Is this an empty offer? Is she one of those spot checkers? I don't know.  But I will open my door if she comes.

So I begged for help today, and I found a doctor that wants to help me.
I feel relief, mixed with anxiety, mixed with reassurance, mixed with some form of happiness, and with some sadness mixed in.  I cry tears of grief but I also cry tears of hope, that she will help me.

I am forever changed.  I have lost my son, my world.  How could I not be.  She told me this.  I thank her already.  She wants to help.