Last night, something happened. It was unexpected, unplanned, and nothing I could have prepared for. We were all getting ready for a family dinner. My husband had been working on his famous homemade meatball surprise spaghetti ALL day. Everyone was seated at the table with full plates except for Wyatt. Wyatt is my 5-year-old son, who NEVER can be more than a few feet away from another pulse. My little guy is afraid to be alone. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of pretty much everything. But at this moment, he was nowhere to be found. I told everyone to get started with dinner, and I went upstairs to look for him.
When I went into his room, Wyatt was sobbing and piled underneath a mountain of stuffed animals on his top bunk. The only thing I could see were toes poking out from a mound of fluff. I gently spoke to him and said, “Wyatt, honey, what is wrong? Why are you crying?” He was hesitant to answer and just shook his head, digging deeper into the pile. I reached out to grab him and bring him into my arms, and I finally heard the words that completely took me off guard. “All I want is my baby brother back. I am never going to see him again.”
I was completely shocked. Wyatt had not mentioned Weston in a while. It has been 22 months since our loss, and I have really been working hard on finding a balance between honoring him and making him an active member of our family while allowing his little heart (and my own) to heal. As a mom, you aim to take away your child’s pain whenever possible. If they have a cut, you clean it and put a band-aid on it. If they are sick, you bring them medicine. If they are hungry, you feed them. We always seek to “fix” whatever we can for our babies, but how on EARTH could I fix this? I couldn’t. I can’t. And in that moment, I didn’t know what I could say to comfort him. So, I decided to do the only thing that came to my mind at that point. I acknowledged his pain and met him on his level. I told Wyatt, “I am SO sorry, baby. I want him here too.”
I decided to take him to his brother’s former nursery turned Gloves 4 Grief home office. In this office, I have many things that remind me of Weston. It used to be really hard to be in there, but now I have grown to love it. It makes me feel close to him. It makes me remember what we have created together. In this room, there is a memory box with photos of his footprints, angel figurines, and a white stuffed teddy bear that I never take out. This white teddy bear is incredibly soft, curly, and VERY triggering for me. It was a tradition of mine to get these heartbeat bears during our 3D ultrasounds. I still have Wyatt’s although the heartbeat has stopped working. Weston’s bear remains in the box because it’s hard for me to hear it. It’s a reminder for me of “That DAY”. The day that changed everything for me and in me. The day that I would have given anything to hear that sound. But Wyatt couldn’t help it, and he squeezed that bear as soon as I told him it was his baby brother’s heart.
When you lose someone you love, objects and items can be all we have left. We keep things close to us because it reminds us of a memory, a time we shared, and what it was like to have their physical presence with us. I wanted Wyatt to understand that although his little brother never lived outside my body, he LIVED.
As I wrap up this post, you may be asking, “What does this blog post have to do with SOUL in healing.” Well, here it is. Because of my faith, I have HOPE. I can rest and sit in the comfort that there will be a time where there will be no more distance between us and Weston. That Wyatt will one day be able to play and run with his little brother. Faith is the only HOPE we have. It’s the only light we have when you are in the darkness of Grief.
Faith is something that has always been a part of my life, but now it is something I cling to. It’s like a life raft we see when we are floating in the uncharted, never-ending, unpredictable waters of grief.
So, I speak to you right now. The person on the other end of this screen that may be sitting in the darkness of your own grief. We are here to help you. Let Gloves for Grief and this community be a candle flickering ahead of you, and be living proof that you are NOT alone. Even though you may not be able to see where you are going, follow the light and HOPE from your soul.
Remember: Take it one day, one hour, one minute, one second at a time.
Terra Co-Founder and fellow HOPE seeker
January 25, 2024
We organize fitness and wellness-inspired events to build a strong community and offer an outlet for physical release.
We are creating a network of mental health professionals and need-based financial assistance to support grieving families beyond our events.
We offer opportunities for post-event connection through referrals to local faith-based support groups, which is what brought our co-founders together.