There has been so much happening this summer its been hard to find time to focus. We threw a graduation party, bridal shower, and a wedding all within 2 1/2 months and all for the same daughter! These were wonderful celebrations for our family and full of joy. Though even in the most joy filled moments there is a layer of sorrow. Our hearts are heavy with an important piece missing. Our sweet Logie.

We are so happy for the newlyweds and the wedding was an amazing day with two families joining together as one, but a part of me felt lost and sad. Scott and my eyes would meet and we knew what each others heart were feeling. No words needed to be spoken and it was hard work to keep our composer. When wonderful occasions come along it takes much discipline to focus and be present when you feel numb and are just trying to hold it together. It is physically and emotionally exhausting to be in crowds even when it’s with those we love. As I talked with each of my girls it became clear they were feeling the same things. We all were just trying to hold it together. Grief is not something you can just shut off or get over. You can not ignore it or pretend it’s not happening. Something unexpected will happen and trigger emotions that will creep up on you and they can not be controlled.

Whether it is graduations, birthdays, weddings, BBQs, or any celebration this confusion is what grieving people experience. If you know someone enduring this, please be patient with them. Believe me they don’t want to feel this way and want it to go away more than you do. As uncomfortable as it may make you just know that they are experiencing much more discomfort than you. They want to be fully present and feel the happiness that they used to. For a lot of people when they lose someone they loved deeply something is broken inside and it feels as though it can not be fixed. Just love them. Support them. Hug them. Let them be broken. There are no words you can say that will take away their pain, so it is okay to silently come along side them and let them know you are available.

Much love and many hugs, Ann

Dear cancer, you are not my friend.

Tears, sickness, and pain are all you send.

Cancer, I have asked you nicely to go away.

But you are not listening to what I say.

You’re taking him away piece by piece.

Cancer, when will you let his pain cease.

First is the eye that can not see.

Oh, cancer, please will you let him be.

Cancer, you stopped his feet they can not walk.

What’s next the words he’ll try to talk.

You’re affecting his brain he is not the same.

Cancer it is only you that I blame.

He can’t lift his fork to eat his food.

Oh cancer, you are so very rude.

I can’t bear to see his hurt or his pain.

You aren’t picky, you don’t even know his name.

Cancer, you stole his dignity, pleasure and his life.

I am also a casualty because I am his wife.

Cancer, this is now goodbye you are not welcome here.

I will not let you steal my joy, you can not be near.

Dear cancer, you are the despised one.

You’ve stolen your last tear our journey is done.

Journal entry by Ann Rautio — July 13, 2019

Some days I am just grateful to get in bed just so I don’t have to think. Longing to shut off the voices of grief and dull my hearts ache. Finally, getting to shut down my brain for the day is a welcomed thought. But what greets me is a restless night with constant tossing and turning. Too many strange dreams to rest well. My mind won’t shut down no matter how much I will it to silence.

I wonder if it’s normal for grief to taint everything… it is ALL consuming. It takes over every day, conversations, and every joyous events. It is a battle to focus and concentrate on the daily routines of life.

Each day is unpredictable. There are surprises around each corner with many unwanted triggers intruding into my mind quickly pushing my brain to its full capacity.

In reading grief materials and talking to others who have suffered a great loss, I have realized all this is “normal” though it is not the normal I wanted to live.

When this kind of trauma is forced upon you, you have no choice but to walk through it. Though how others treat you and respond to your grief makes a huge difference in the healing process.

Please be kind and show love to each other. Everyone is hurting in some capacity. Please don’t tell them “life goes on” yes, they are right is does go on but every piece of you is affected and different and some things are frozen in time. I now know I will never be the same Ann that I used to be. Accepting this is an enormous battle.

It doesn’t matter if it’s been one year or twenty that person who was intertwined in all the moments of your life is gone and you never stop missing them. This kind of pain is life long.

Remember your words can hurt even when a person has good intentions. Be patient, show compassion, and try to support others in their pain. Love others like Christ loves you.

Hugs And love, Ann

There are many things that I remember from that week. The amount of people who came, their generosity, and soooo many hugs. I am grateful for every love and kindness that was poured upon us.

Though I also remember the look on all those faces. The helpless ache in their eyes. The disbelief and sympathy that they couldn’t hide.

I remember the weight of my heart as I looked on my husband and daughters’ faces And wishing for it to not be real. Wishing I could absorb their pain with a enormous hug.

The sickening sterile smell of the hospital. An Odor that pretends it’s clean when we truly know the amount of germs present. The bed where my son lay lifeless. And how his body filled that bed like a grown man. The continuous sound of the machine breathing for my boy that I still can’t get out of my head. That sound can still break me down in just seconds.

I will always remember the entire staff. They were overflowing with kindness and care. Their smiles trying desperately to soothe our devastation.

The comfort of being at the hospital on that floor just cause I was near Logan. Sitting in his room glad to be near him, but also wanting to get out with the deep longing for it to be a bad dream.

Today any smells, sounds, or glimpses of those things that I experienced bring me right back to those days in the hospital. My reaction is uncontrolled and sudden. A panic runs through my body and my heart is grieved with an indescribable pain. Things I thought I had dealt with rush back and flood into every ounce of my being.

I think the years to come will be harder than the months after the accident. Those were days of numb thinking. It took many months for the depth of it all to sink in. Now the memories charge me with surprise attacks. My emotions are fierce and sudden. Some days I am present and others I am just going through the motions. Some days I have no tears, but most days I am fighting them off. A battle a rarely win.

Please continue to pray we are still in this. It is not over. We are not through it. We are still trying to learn to live without Logan. And we are greatly missing him daily.

Love and hugs, Ann

Grief is a strange thing. The presence fades, but the absence remains. The pressure to move on is heavy. Though the pressure from ones self that is the most difficult. I think it’s the weight of wanting it to be over, to not feel the pain, and the deep longing for it not to be true. The pressure from others is just disappointing and insensitive

It takes a lifetime to even begin to heal from a traumatic childhood so why is there so much pressure to heal and move on from a traumatic loss.

I think it must be because no one knows how to deal with you when your experiencing this kind of loss. And if they just move on then it’s over. So what do people do? They say insensitive things, won’t talk about it, pretend it didn’t happen, and avoid you all together. That one is the most painful to the one in grief. We have an unwritten list of those who fall in this category. I guess they weren’t our friends to start with. Then there are those that have dove in completely. People we thought that we weren’t super close to, that have inserted themselves into our lives and continue to be all in. A deep appreciation for them touches my heart.

Don’t be the one that pressures, be the one that encourages. Love those that are hurting and lift up those that are low.

Life is hard and each day is a gift. Let others know how you feel about them and how much they mean to you. Brighten someone’s day with your encouraging words.

Love and hugs, Ann

The fog that engulfed me in the days, weeks, and months after the accident has left  carved out tiny places where my head may have cleared. Though it is still hard to connect, focus, and fit in the fog has lifted just a bit. Now lingers a cloud hanging over my head where I am left with a deep sadness that seeps into my broken heart.

The ache is not gone. The sorrow has not passed. The triggers have not faded. The deep pain the saturates every ounce of my body has not left me. The longing is still there. The tears still flow. The fear of losing more of my family has not subsided. The ambush of grief still happens. The disbelief still clings to corners of my mind. The mental exhaustion lingers daily. The motivation that lacks getting things done wears on me. Fatigue hangs over me like a wisp of air that can’t be blown away. Sleep is always hard to come by. The flashbacks to that week haunt my mind. The feelings of just going through the motions and hating it. The heart break that leaves me feeling empty. Tired of stuffing down emotion and pretending I’m okay when I’m not. The frustration in not enjoying the things that I used to. This list could go on and on. Those who have had a great loss know this all to well and long for it to be different also.

There has to more to it than this. The purpose of my pain has to be greater than where I’m at. People keep telling me, “God is going to use you” or “God is using you in this” BUT I don’t see it or feel it. I feel stuck, frozen in my grief. I know He has a plan for all of us and that every single thing we experience has a purpose. What’s my purpose?!?! Maybe I am just too blinded by my pain to see it clearly. I am impatient with this process and want to feel relief from this all consuming pain and sorrow. God has me here so what am I supposed to do with it? I know these are all questions that only He can answer.

He is my God. He is my source of strength. He is my comforter. He is my Heavenly Father. He is the Creator of all. He is love. He is capable to deal with me in all my mess. He is trustworthy. I will wait and trust He has in mind what’s best for me.

Pray for these doors to easily open.

Love and hugs, Ann

Journal entry by Ann— Feb 26, 2019
No, you are not going crazy, this is a real thing and it’s not just an excuse to be sad, unfocused, or unavailable. Being with others or in a large group, but being mentally unavailable is completely normal. I’ll let you know when that ceases to exist.
My daughter described it best when she said, “Half of my brain is consumed by grief and the other half doesn’t have full functioning capabilities.” Truer words could not be spoken.
As soon as she said it I thought yes, that describes it perfectly. And the part that might function is cloudy and distracted. There are still moments it takes all the focus I can muster to just pay attention. It isn’t a fun way to live. It seems like a person should just be able to snap out of it, but it doesn’t work that way. You have to walk through it, feel everything, and deal with the devastating parts of this grief process for it to get any better or change. Every piece of me wants to battle what grief needs to move forward. Your brain feeds you lies and that is a fight in itself. No part of me wants to really feel and experience any of this pain. It seems the brain and heart are at war. They are not in agreement on how to fight on this broken battlefield.

There are also times when I am UNABLE to focus. I have found my ability to multitask has diminished. I used to be a very organized and an overly prepared person. So the state of mind that I deal with now is frustrating and can leave me feeling defeated. I can get overwhelmed so easy. It is so annoying. When dealing with grief everything feels weighted down and hindered. This can lead to me feeling angry. But sometimes anger is easier to deal with. I know this sounds strange but, in my anger I can pause and take a time out maybe stop feeling even if for just a bit.

I don’t expect this focus and multitasking skill to return any time soon or if it ever will. For me accepting that is the difficult part. In a movie a grieving mom said when you lose a child it’s like two losses; first the loss of your precious child and second the loss of who you used to be. That really hit home. No matter how hard I try to pretend that I am the same, I know that I am not and those who really know me see through my painted veil. I don’t like the new me. When that changes I’ll be sure to let you know.

I don’t like the triggers that are everywhere, the heightened compassion that is always on overdrive, and seeing my family’s faces when they are struggling with dusty eyes. I don’t like the emotions that I can not keep in check, the cloud of grief constantly hanging over my head, and how people seem to move on when you are still in pain. I don’t like the new fears that I am continuously battling, always trying to hold it together, or how people look at you when you uncontrollably cry.
Most of all I don’t like that my boy is not here, that I don’t get to talk to him, snuggle him, and watch him grow into the man of God he was born to be.

Love and hugs, Ann

Journal entry by Ann — Feb 20, 2019
February 27, 2003, began with a drive up north, checking into the hospital, and preparing to meet my baby boy. With this being my third child my heart filled with anxious thoughts, nervous tummy, and excitement. Mostly cause you know what to expect and how hard the labor can be. As the day goes on the exhaustion sets in. After 8 hours I’m ready for this to be done.

Logan’s journey into this world was almost just as difficult as his going out. The stress of the room was high. People bustling about in preparation for him to be born. I could tell something was wrong, but not aware of what it was. Of the many voices spoken in the room I only heard my doctor commanding that I push right now and a foolish family member say, “I hope he makes it.” Though there was chaos in the room it fell silent. I looked to see my baby’s limp, lifeless body handed across my leg to the nurse. My head fell heavy back to my pillow, I prayed, and wept. My doctor kicked the family member out of the room and sternly told me to pay attention to her voice. Though her words faded into the background noise as my thoughts drifted to them working on my baby to breath life back into his lungs. I wasn’t aware of what they did. I didn’t see the process. All I know is my heart was heavy with the thoughts that I could go home with no baby in my arms.

Finally Logan was laid in my arms. I just stared at him. His eyes were puffy and his face was a strange shade of blue from lack of oxygen. He didn’t cry when he was born, thoughout his days, or really even vocally make you aware of his needs. I thought that was so strange all babies cry, but I came to realize that was just him. As he grew it still took him a lot to cry. Though when it came to matters of the heart he could shed a tear much easier. I think God had given him a high pain tolerance in preparation for his birth, life, the many medical procedures, and in his death.

Oh, how I dislike writing the words “his death.” The other day I was looking through his papers and saw his birth certificate and death certificate in the same folder. Every emotion you can imagine erupted and spilled out in a matter of seconds. I surprised myself at the reaction I had. It can feel as though we are wronged when a child dies young, but also before us.

Logan brought so much joy, snuggles, and laughter to our house. He could be so silly and he had the best laugh. Though he was very serious when it came to doing right or wrong. If it didn’t follow the Bible he wasn’t doing it and he would quickly give you the same advice. We were blessed to have him even for a short time.

Another difficult day will be his 16th birthday. It’s coming and my mind can’t help but wander to all the new things he would be doing. He would be in 10th grade, wow! He would have already gotten his permit and getting ready to get his drivers license. He’d be venturing out with his buddies and gaining a new sense of independence. His voice would be deepening with manhood fast approaching. There is so much more that I will never get to know.

In losing a child their is grieving the loss of what you had. The new things that could have and should have been. And a sadness over the future and what would have been. And the always unanswered questions. What would he have looked like as a adult? How tall would he have really gotten? Would there be a wife? Children? Or would he be a hermit making weapons in the woods to sell? The open ended questions stir my heart with a deep longing to know those answers and for him to be here.
Though I imagine God gently reminding me, “Ann, I cherish him and I am lovingly watching over him. Thank you, Ann, for taking care of my son, investing in him, and preparing him so I could take him home.”
Love and hugs, Ann

Journal entry by Ann — Feb 16, 2019
I finally got the blog up and running. It’s not perfect, but it’s a work in progress. Here’s the link below.
Until I can move all the posts over and get more acquainted with the word press blog site I will have this caring bridge open and still write on here.
As of now the blog is open just not with new writings until I transfer all this.
Thank you for your support I hope you check it out and share it with others if you think it will encourage them.

Love and hugs, Ann

https://childlossandmyjourney.travel.blog/

Journal entry by Ann — Feb 13, 2019
I used to always say my childhood was play and I had to learn to become a good actress to survive it. I had to pretend that it was all okay and that there were no secrets and nothing to hide. I can say I had a lot of training. I designed a shell of protection around myself that no one could crack. If you got to know anything about me it was because I let you in there were no fractures in my armor. The dysfunction in my house was far from okay, but it became my normal. As a child I had perfected those protections and was forced to bare those qualities. But now as an adult I have now come to resent them.

I was always worried if the wall was broken down the flood would come and how would I ever build it back up in time to keep it all from flooding out. I had to guard my heart and keep others out. My thoughts were I can’t get hurt if I don’t let anyone in. Could I pick up all the pieces and put them back together? I know after trauma the pieces never quite fit right and things are forever changed. I guess that’s what is supposed to be and that with the changes I would glorify God in turn making me a better person prepared to serve Him.

So many people say to me don’t put on that mask or don’t pretend that your okay when your not. I’m not sure you are all ready for that kind of full openness. If I am overwhelmed by my own thoughts, feelings and pain then how could others handle it? I am an open book kind of person and would pretty much tell you what ever you wanted to know about me and my life, but the thought of others in the deepest part of my heart feels far too heavy. Though on the other side of it I would sacrifice myself if it would help you. I know, I’m far too complicated! But life is complicated when we think we have it all figured out it changes.
Which sets in my mind even deeper the need for our Creator. How can we navigate this world? How can we make wise choices? Who will be our knowledgeable guide? Who knows us inside and out? Who cares for us with an unwavering love? The only one answer is Jesus. I can do nothing with out Him.
Love and hugs, Ann