The Shoe That Never Fits

Child loss is not an easy title to wear…

Please read and share with others about The Shoe That Never Fits

I want to talk, no maybe scream a bit because I’m having a hard day. A day filled with triggers about next month being September, the month I met and lost my first born son Patryk. Why the Hell must life be so difficult, it’s as if right when you get a hold of the reigns you fall off the damn horse. At least that has been my feeling thus far in this journey of life. Don’t get me wrong I’m thankful for every single day that I breath, but I’m kind of over certain moments that just don’t seem to stop throwing me off. Today I’m off.

Today, I talked about Patryk, that felt nice. Lately, it feels like there are less opportunities to have a natural conversation speaking of him. I pray for more of those moments where I speak of little Patryk and I don’t look into the eyes of the person that I’m talking to while seeing them holding back their anxiety and tears. I want so badly to dry those fears around the back of your eyeballs and tell you, “He is the child who lived!” For every moment we speak he would have made five new friends, for every time you blink he would have not blinked one time before giving you one hundred kissed and hugs in between. I know it’s heart breaking to hear that a child lost their life, but what hurts more is not openly talking about my child and celebrating all that he was.

I want to be one hundred percent transparent about my experience in child loss (because everyone’s loss is very different), but for myself, it sucks. It gut wrenchingly sucks today, and doesn’t feel like it’s going to get any easier (at least that is my current mood). After losing a child I have found a new normal, one that feels separate from everyone else who has not experienced child loss. This almost feels (as I could only imagine) like your being abducted and placed on a foreign planet with people, but only your there with people who don’t speak your language and never will. You don’t want to teach them your language and you don’t want them to ever understand. Your stuck, but still human, still living, and openly loving people at an arms length because you don’t want them to feel your pain. The isolation is absolute and then another parent is beamed down to your planet and speaks your language a bit.

I don’t want to know the friend who lost a child, once I do I will probably love them unconditionally. I just wish no one ever experienced this kind of loss. There are no words to make it better, there is nothing I can do to help that friend even though I have walked in their shoe. Yes shoe, I have not walked in their shoes, but maybe walked around like a toddler unable to get my footing in their one shoe. No matter how much I try I’ll never fully be able to walk the others shoe. That shoe is their print, their size and meant for them to walk in. There is no fully understanding each others child loss. I would just like to take a minute to say, that I get how lonely that walk can be.

No matter who you are, you can’t wear my shoe, you cant speak my language and I’m thankful for that. We may be on the same planet but I do not feel that way, not since my child died. I have to ask you though… Could you let me talk about him, would you let me say his name and smile with me about him. His name was Patryk, I love to say it and I don’t want to say that name as if we’re speaking of the child who died at age five, but rather as the child that lived his short life to the fullest. If I may…

“Patryk Alexander, my choo-choo, I forever love you and am thinking about you every step of the way until holding you in my arms again!”

Thank you to all that read about The Shoe That Never Fits

With love, Trina Marie