He should be two.....

Trigger warning- Living children mentioned.

He should be two on Earth, not in Heaven.  I find myself saying that over and over again in my head.  He should be two. He should be fighting me over potty training and fighting with Lydon over their trucks.  He should be giving kisses to Sawyer and making silly faces to make him laugh.  He should be running away from his sisters, tired of all the hugs and kisses they would most likely be smothering him with. I am constantly replaying our moments in my head with him in it.  What would life be like with him here?

I have lived in this odd haze for the last 2 years with one foot forward and the other firmly planted in a life before his death...a life without grief.  Grief for a loss parent is very complicated.   It is hard for others to understand unless they are in the trenches with us.  Our grief is our connection to our child.  We don't have a lifetime of memories to soothe our heart when it aches.  We don't have vacation pictures or old letters to touch and look at when we need to feel connected.  We were still getting to know this little person and yet we loved them so deeply.  A stranger we fell in love with before we even knew they existed.  And, as quickly as they came into our lives, they were gone.  We were left with deep, confusing sadness that seemed like a dream.  I have to awaken myself to my reality often because it is easy to let my mind wander and trick me into believing none of this ever happened.  The beautiful wooden box that sits within my home and the ache with every beat of my heart reminds me that it did happen.  He existed.  For a very short time on Earth, he existed.  He was beautiful.   A picture of perfection.  It is so hard to believe that something so incredibly breathtaking is gone.  How could this happen?  Why us?  I often play the last few months of his life through my head struggling to find answers.  Was it something I did?  Did we miss something?  Did he suffer?  Did he know how loved he was and still is?  How do I carry on without him?

This life has made strangers into best friends and best friends, as well as some family, into strangers.  It teaches you the importance of empathy and what it truly means to a grieving heart. It makes you question everything....all your relationships,  career, life in general.   You often wonder if you are on the right path because none of them seem right with a piece of your heart missing.  It is a confusing and emotional journey that requires every ounce of your strength to make it through each day....to get to the next sunrise where you are one day closer to being reunited in Heaven.  You have to put your mask on and power through because your reality is far too heavy for those around you.  You find your secret group, filled with beautiful mothers with heartbreakingly similar stories, where you can unload your fears and sadness before it eats you up.  You say 'I'm okay' more than any person should because it's exhausting being honest. You live a lie everyday because your heart is breaking yet you keep on living.  It's the nature of the beast.  Grief is ugly and ever changing.   Just when you think you have it controlled, it breaks free and attacks your heart.  People call me strong....that's a lie.  I'm just trying to stay afloat.  I do what I have to do for my family but it isn't easy.  I don't have the energy to extend to others after I take care of myself and my family.  I'm still trying to figure this all out.  There is no guide on how to live without your child. 

I thank God everyday for my beautiful Earth children and my husband.  They give me purpose and keep me grounded.  They remind me that I am needed and loved.  In the darkest moments, they show me the beauty I possess in this life.  Even on days when it feels as if we have more than we can handle, I find those moments of peace where I know we are blessed beyond measure.  Such a beautiful, wild, crazy life we have.  I wouldn't trade the joy or sadness for anything.  This is  my life. My beautifully designed life. 

Am I okay?

Somedays, I truly wonder if I will ever really be "okay".  Even in life's happy moments, my mind whispers to my heart and reminds it of the sorrow we have faced.  I am not completely present in these moments for I feel guilty knowing the moment is incomplete without my boys.

I went to see a dear friend's newborn son the other day. I could not even bring myself to touch him.  The last newborn I held and kissed was my own, my sweet Holden.  I almost feel like my arms are sacred space reserved for another of my own if that is where our path leads.  Even when empty, my arms feel heavy with the weight they do not hold. These are struggles I never imagined I would face and only those who have walked this path can truly understand.  

I am not going to lie, the last couple of weeks have been heavy on my heart.  I should be getting ready for Holden's first holiday season.  Instead, I am ordering angel ornaments for Ricky and Holden knowing that Christmas morning will bring a new wave of emotions.  I feel myself slipping into survival mode again and yet I know I must face this new challenge no matter how heart wrenching it may be.  I need to see how beautiful life is again.  I need to see the good that is out there.  I need to trust that God will lead me in the right direction as long as I continue to trust in His ways.  I need to know that we will be "okay". 

Tonight, Harper came to me with a simple note.   It read " Dear Mom, I love you" with a heart on it.  The look of pure love and joy on her face as she handed it to me took my breath away.  How could I not see how beautifully perfect our life is.  Even with all the pain, we are so blessed. My boys have given me some of the greatest gifts.  They have opened our hearts to a love not known by many and awakened an awareness inside me that was dormant for too long.  I am not saying our life is all "rainbows and sunshine" but there is a definite shift in the way life is played out among these walls.  As I looked at this beautiful five year old creature for which I helped create, I felt my heart swoon knowing she was mine.  She was a gift given to me when I wasn't aware I needed it.  She is beautifully imperfect and quirky, sensitive and clumsy, mischevious and wild.  Her baby pictures look the most like Holden.  I see Holden in her face and I tell her that all the time.  It makes her so happy  and I imagine they would have been close.  I wish I could have seen that.

I know we will never be "okay" like we were before but it will all work out in the end.  It might just be a bumpy ride getting there.  Even once there, I know new paths will arise but as long as we have each other, we will be alright.   I feel richer in life having been blessed with my boys even though they were not meant to be here with us.  It is a bittersweet life we must live but our blessings are many.  We will just be our own version of "okay" and that is okay with me.

The Saddest Person in the House

A couple weeks after Holden was born into Heaven, my seven year old came to me with a profound observation.  Her statement took my breath away and pushed my already broken heart down deeper than it had ever been before.  She looked at me with her big, brown eyes and said,"Mommy, you're the saddest person in the house."  Those words held so much power.  In those eight words, she expressed her concern, her sadness and her plea to get her old Mommy back.  How did I get to this point?  I was trying so hard to be strong in front of the kids but that's the problem; we never give them enough credit.  Children see more than we think.  Their minds are not bogged down with schedules and tasks that need to get done.  They live in the moment and, therefore, see life in real time.  They are in tune to the emotions that surround them.  They feed off the environment they are in.  With my uninhibited sadness out in the open, I saw this beautiful little version of me become more sullen and death obsessed.   It was my wake up call.  How could I grieve my son's death and still be present for my earthly trio?  Part of me just wanted to go hide and hope it was all fixed by the time I emerged.  I didn't like myself.  I was weak and useless.   On top of the physical pain I was dealing with, the emotions I felt were so overwhelmingly achy.  I was exhausted.  I relied on others immensely those first weeks and it bothered me that I was so helpless.  I hated who I was and how horrible of a mother I was being.  I was walking a thin line trying to parent my earthly trio while still parenting my angels.  It is a conflict no parent should face and yet here I was right in the middle, an emotional shell of who I once was. 
 

I took a hard look at myself to make the changes I needed to.  I had to expose my weakness and accept it.  However, I did not want to overshadow my grief.  I wanted my children to see that it is okay to be sad at times; that it is okay to cry and talk about their brothers.  I had so many people tell that I am strong which is hard to accept when you feel so weak.  I am not strong, I would say.  I am just surviving the only way I know how.  In the first weeks, it is easy to focus only on your pain but then life creeps right back in and you have no choice but to move forward.  Moving forward for us meant accepting this new life.  My children no longer have the innocence they possessed before.  They have an intimate relationship with death now and their already strong faith has blossomed.  All our lives have changed.  We have all taken turns being the saddest person in the house.  I asked Brynly if she thought I was still sad.  She told me "sometimes but not all the time."  I asked if she knew it was okay to be sad.  She said yes but she knows that her brothers will always be in her heart.   She said this with love in her eyes and a smile upon her face.  I guess out of the darkness we have discovered the true power of our love and how it possesses no boundaries.  Granted, we are not perfect and this will be a lifelong experience but I can't help but feel richer having seen what our love is capable of.  Ricky and Holden have given us that and continue to do so with every tear we shed and every kiss we send.