Two Months Too Long

Yesterday marked two months without our sweet baby. Two whole months since the last time we held him in our arms instead of our memory. Do you know how much time makes up two months? I do. 8 weeks. 60 days. 1,460 hours. 87,600 minutes. It’s too long.

Earlier in the week we had discussed taking Rowan to visit the fire station, they were going to give him a tour and let him see the rigs. But as Sunday drew nearer, I got too anxious, too upset at the idea so I sat down and spoke with Justin about it. The last time we were in the presence of emergency responders, they were in our home trying to resuscitate our baby. I still cannot even hear the sound of sirens without feeling my heart drop and my breath get shallow. Rowan also seemed to be anxious about the idea, when it was suggested it to him he grew extremely quiet and seemed to drift off in thought. He remembers that day, he remembers why they had come to our home. We came to the conclusion that it just wasn’t a place we needed to be on the day that would mark two months since his death. Facing that trigger isn’t something Rowan or myself, seem to be ready to approach.

I spent most of the day in thought, and then felt we did need to be somewhere, doing something. On these days that mark an anniversary of Sloan’s death, it tends to be detrimental to be alone with our memories of his death so we usually try to stay busy or be somewhere. We ended up going out to the waterfront with family and to celebrate both my dad and brother’s birthdays. It was exactly the right medicine for us. We walked along the water, watched the sun set, dug our feet into the sand, and found some shells that Rowan said were for his “Baby Sloan”. Then we sat down to dinner as a family and shared plenty of laughter.

 

 

 

4 thoughts on “Two Months Too Long

  1. There is not a post of yours that I haven’t read. And with every one of them, I’ve cried for you and your family. I remember Sloan’s story coming up in my newsfeed from my cousin sharing it, at two in the morning when I couldn’t sleep. I stayed up the rest of the morning, crying my eyes out for you all, cradling my son who is exactly a month and a half younger than Sloan. There will never be any words I could ever say to you and yours that could make it any better, and I wish so hard that somehow your baby had been spared. 3 babies of my own and this kind of situation never crossed my mind – as I’m sure it never occurred to you either. Because of Sloan, I am so adamant about how my now almost 8-month-old Colton sleeps and what he sleeps with. All 3 have loved their blankies – Colton’s older brother, Xander, the most – but I have had transitioned Colton from sleeping with his favorite blankie unless I am holding him. I now sit up with him until he falls asleep, and I remain next to him, awake, for a few more hours before I’ll go to bed myself. Continue writing – there will never be a post that I don’t read and that I don’t smile and cry at the same time through. I wish you all the strength and comfort in the world, and I know your beautiful boy is always watching over you.

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  2. We lost our 8 month old son to unexplainable SIDS 110 weeks ago today – 2 years and 6 weeks. Time is counted differently for us now. Time is not healing – just reinforces how long since that last cuddle, giggle and kisses.
    Like you I still go tense hearing a siren, and find it difficult to look at them sometimes- other times staring at them wondering is that the ambulance they rushed him off in.
    It is so difficult finding the right way to get through each significant date, milestone. People prefer to hope you are getting “better”. It does become easier to hide the pain, easier to keep distracted. But eventually it hits like a tidal wave again. The visuals of the trauma that day are the hardest to block. I wish they were not the first memories I have each day.
    Our son Riley was a abundantly happy little boy, he gave us so much joy and completion. I do try to live in a way that honours him instead of falling in the big hole that follows me. It is the highest gratitude I can give him.

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  3. Your story has touched my soul, and my heart aches for your family’s loss. I am always torn between wishing you didn’t have to experience this and being forever grateful that you’ve chosen to share Sloan’s story because it is saving thousands of other little lives everyday, including my own little’s. I’m in awe of how graceful and strong you are. We’re all here for you, sending infinite love and light to your family. ❤️🐘

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