Hart Days

When my children were younger and I was feeling especially fragile and sad, I would tell them I was having a "Hart day" and they knew that meant I needed them to surround me and give me lots of extra hugs or I needed them to give me a wide berth and not touch me (because that's the beauty of me-it's all or nothing-I have no dimmer switch). This actually went on for years, because like grief, coping with grief never ends. And when my children were younger, it was the quickest, easiest way to convey my needs to them. I've always tried (and continue to try) to find the best way to deal with hard days while not alienating everyone I know, or worse, going down the grief rabbit hole.

My grief rabbit hole foundationally consists of lying on the sofa in the fetal position, staring into space, not moving, not showering, not eating, not answering texts, calls, or emails, and not leaving my house-because no one wants to carry me and the sofa to the car.

From there the spiraling can branch off into a myriad of tangents. Sometimes I look up trisomy 18 facts and advancements or I look at pictures of other children with trisomy 18. Sometimes I think of things I should have done while Hart was alive-like not sleep-because then I wouldn't have missed out on any of his time with us. Sometimes I think of all the mistakes I've made with my other children. Sometimes I get angry at people who don't extend grace to others and think of all the times I've wanted to yell, "I lost a child, why can't you just be kind-you have no idea what people are dealing with!"

Sometimes I get worked up about people complaining or being precious about little things and fantasize about how the next time I witness it, I'm going to yell, "There are people who have had their children die, can you get some frickin' perspective, please?" I think about a woman I read about whose son came out and she said that it would be easier for her if he had died. And I think how dare she say that when there are so many parents who would give anything to have their child alive?

Obviously, this is NOT a healthy way to deal with grief (or life), but sometimes I just can't reach my toolbox before grief envelopes me and takes me prisoner. Fortunately, that doesn't happen often.

I've been having more "Hart days" than usual recently. I'm not sure why this year's grief season is hitting me so hard, but my tears seem to come more easily, my emotions feel like they're resting vulnerably outside of my body, and my heart feels like it is in a vise.

Thankfully I have only been down the grief rabbit hole once this year, but once is more than enough. It was actually a culmination of several things-but my susceptibility to disappointment, disagreement, disparagement, and general asshat-ery is very high this time of year. I wouldn't wish losing a child (or anyone for that matter) on anyone, but I wish the empathy and perspective on everyone. But, really, is it too much to ask that people just not be jerks?