...and then I turned 40

A few months after we lost little CJ, I turned 40.  Ouch.  What did that involve?  Cards from my kids and husband and a nice lunch date.  But the rest of the world? Nothing.

My parents sent me a text message.  Seriously.  And that was that.  In what I am assuming was an attempt to avoid upsetting me, the people closest to me pretended the day simply didn't happen.

When you loose a baby in your 20s or even 30s, the assumption that you can have more babies floats in the air.  40 is another story.  The condolences and messages of love are laced with a feeling of finality.  A complete chapter has been written and concluded.  Nobody gives you hope for another chance.

I'm 40, and honestly I'm ok with that!  I have a wonderful husband, and 4 beautiful children who I am so very proud of. That doesn't mean that I'm ready to be still, and it definitely doesn't mean my story is over.

A counselor described the grief of losing a child as the equivalent of recovering from chemo.  You have been bombarded with toxins to the point of near death. At the end you are left feeling empty and beaten and forced to somehow build yourself back up.  The alternative is to wallow in that horrible toxic existence.

For now I need to spend 40 taking better care of myself.  Mind, body, soul.  All are still coated in toxins that are preventing me from the next steps in life.

Writing here is a big part of collecting my thoughts/clearing my mind.  By putting it all down, my mind is less burdened.  Even if it's to an audience of 2,  I've shared my thoughts with someone.  That is a sense of accomplishment. 

What will my rainbow be at the end of this storm?  Heaven only knows. Our home will hear the sounds of a baby again. It may be our child, grandchild, niece/nephew... I don't know from who, but I have no doubt our days of cuddling babies is far from over. It's only 40 people-chill!  Hopefully an angel will whisper clues in my ear as I sleep. 

My little owl

CJ is burried in our church cemetery.  It is pretty much what you picture when you hear those words- just a few acres of land on the edge of town.  We choose it because... Well, it's home.  It has a small prayer grotto in the back corner by CJ where prayer services are held, and a big wooden cross in the middle.  Huge old trees line the perimeter as well as the circle drive through the property.  It's very quiet there.  Only a few times have I seen another visitor while I am there.  Wandering through we have found several graves from the early 1900s too weather to even read.  There's history, and the love of our church community there.  No sprinkler system (old water pumps for hauling buckets for your flowers.) No big monuments or mausoleums. There is beauty in it's simplicity.

When the weather was warmer, I used to come sit at his grave in the grass shaded by a big oak tree.  Trying to find the right words with a broken heart is never easy.  So I would simply plead.  I would beg with all my soul to God for a sign that my little boy was ok. I would tell CJ that I know he's ok, but mommy needs a sign. And I would sit and wait. 

While waiting and frustrated one day, I noticed a small little owl in that oak tree. That just infuriated me!   That damn owl better not be eating CJ's flowers or pooping on him!  I wanted that scrappy bird GONE!  We are talking crazy bereaved mom willing to buy a gun GONE!

Then to my dismay, he was there the next time I came.  This time I noticed him watching me as intently as I was watching him. Why the hell was this owl bothering me? "Not funny,God" was constantly going through my mind.

As time passed, I started to look for scrappy little bird on my visits.  I was beginning to become disappointed if he wasn't there.

Around Halloween there was a chilly day I remember very clearly.  The grass was wet, but my heart was heavy so I grabbed a chair from my trunk.  I sat the quietly wishing I had answers.  My little owl appeared above me. I remember looking at him and wondering if I looked as worn as he did.  He looked weathered, like life had taken a toll.  He was rumpled and tattered. Yet his demeanor was calm.  As if the hardest winds could blow, and he would stand firm.  This scrappy little owl was determined to keep me company.

In an instant I saw him through new eyes.  The eyes of a mother who held her lifeless child, seeing beauty in his tattered appearance.  Feeling appreciation for his company and wonder in his reappearance each time I visited.

And so my collection began.  Placing owls quietly around the house to remind me of CJ.  Ever present, always watching over us.  What a beautiful image. 

The reality of our situation is too painful to explain.  Having an object of symbolism gives us a bit of strength in keep CJ alive in our home.  His pictures are right next to his sisters and always will be.  But those extra little owls make us smile around every corner.

#doitforcj

Blessings along our broken road

Tonight's dialog:

Him "hi"
Me "hi"
Him "what's up?"
Me "washing dishes/watching a cooking show. You?"
Him "not much"
Me "k. See ya tonight"
Him "ooooooooook. Love u"
Me "love u too"

Boring?  Monotonous? Predictable?  Nope.  A comforting 20 seconds phone call we try to sneak in several times every evening my husband is working.  We just need to hear eachother's voice.  Sometimes there's more, but often not.  It's just our way of saying "are you ok?".

It's a private language where so much more is really being said.   He's making sure his wife hasn't fallen to pieces, and I'm making sure the stress of picking up the pieces hasn't destroyed him. It would be very easy for us to disconnect.  He works crazy hours, I'm flying solo with a household of teenage drama.  Yet somehow we have made a decision to put just as much energy into loving eachother as we do missing CJ.

A few years ago I was working the night shift at the hospital and one of the chaplains stopped by for group conversation and prayer.  He started the conversation by asking us who we would put first in our lives after God.  The answer he was prodding for was our children.  He was startled when I said my husband.  He practically argued with me that my children where a part of me, my husband was by choice.  I explained to him that as a Catholic, my marriage is sacrament.  A gift blessed by God.  It's not an option I can walk away from. I adore my children, but if we do our job correctly, one day they will leave us to live their own lives.  My husband will be next to me every day until we are separated by death.  Loving your kids is easy.  He was right-they are part of me.  We all know not every day of a marriage is easy, and we have been through hell.  But the choice to walk away is off the table.  We meant our vows and trust God to get us through.

Think about the peace of mind that brings.  Even at our darkest moments, I knew in my heart my husband will always be at my side.  Just like loving our children-unconditional acceptance.  I am flawed.  I stumbled.  I am loved.

So when you read the stats of how many marriages crumble after the loss of a child, know my heart breaks for those couples.  Those stats just solidify in my heart how blessed I am to have my crazy life. Tomorrow we may argue about disciplining kids, bills, driving skills, loose socks in bed, dirty laundry on the floor, missing remotes, unfinished house projects, scattered abandoned coffee cups,  and how unfunny farting really is, but at the end of the day we will follow our #1 rule and crawl into bed together. He may only get a few inches of blankets if I'm annoyed, but we will be together.

I asked him tonight if he ever wonders how we manage to keep laughing together. His teasing response was that murder is illegal.  Then after a few moments he added "we should write a book about all the crap we've survived".  He's probably right, but who would ever believe it?? Atleast it gives me material to blog about at 1am with his arm protectively around me as he snores.   #doitforcj

(picture from 1995. Dating 2 months, we were engaged 2 months later)

Be gentle with yourself

Words I have heard over and over. "Be gentle with yourself" has been the advice of so many parents who have been through this nightmare.  I honestly don't think I understood those words until very recently.

Right after we lost CJ, NOTHING WAS GENTLE.  Every aspect of life was like salt into a wound.  Life dared to expect me to live again. Every step, every breath, every thought...  Every moment took every ounce of courage I had. Over and over I heard "be gentle with yourself".  My life became long days in front of the TV.  Not really watching anything, but staring at the screen while my mind ran crazy.  I didn't do anything all day. How much more gentle could I possibly be with myself?

I'm writting this from a bubble bath on my phone.  Candles are lit, and the bubbles are nice and warm.  I can see out a window as snow clouds are drifting in (again).  The wind is picking up and sounds are getting louder.  But I'm allowing myself time to regenerate.  Sitting quietly in the warmth and enjoying myself.

I get it now.  The pain is there, but i'm allowing myself to let it go a bit.  Even if it's just for the duration of the bubbles. Taking these few selfish moments in the middle of the day reminds me that  it's ok to put the burden down.  To be gentle with myself.

I'm off to soak and watch out my window for a bit.  I hope you all can take a few moments to be gentle with yourself and put your burdens down for a few moments. #doitforcj

tears and laughter...

We laughed last night.  We do this often despite what many might think.  Not just a giggle, but laughed until our eyes teared.  It was over something stupid at 2am, so chances are it was out of pure exhaustion.  But those little moments remind me of us.

Grief sucks.  It is a temperamental rain cloud that hovers. People who bump into us must see it from a mile away because their discomfort is palpable.  I'm ok with that for now.  Some days I get annoyed when people seem to handle me extra carefully, but the truth is I still need it.  Talk about frustrating... To NEED the world to gently walk around you.

Yesterday we went to make some final decisions on CJ's headstone.  That hurt.  My hubby and I had made the majority of the decisions, but I took our youngest 2 daughters to finalize and make a few simple changes.  My mindframe: In and out.  15 min max. I charged in there like a bulldog.

Instead our salesman Jason was a welcomed blessing.  For over 2 hours he tweaked our plans on the computer to show the girls every option imaginable.  He flipped images backwards, played with scripts until I couldn't see straight, and made sure every tiny detail was exactly what we wanted.  While he spent so much time with us, he teased and joked around with the girls, politely ignored my tears, and never became impatient.  We left smiling.  Imagine that...we left smiling and joking with eachother after all that time picking out CJ's headstone.

Jason was my angel yesterday.  I was at a low point and hurting.  He was sent into my path to remind me that we will be ok.  Laughter in the most sorrowful times can be healing, even if tears are falling through the giggles. 

Today was difficult.  The day after dealing with anything CJ related usually is.  Tears fell several times and I felt like I had been hit by a truck.  Then it hit me. We need to do more.

So I made contact with a local group that holds social events for mentally challenged kids and adults.  The wonderful director cried when I told her our story and asked if she had any use for volunteers.  I'm excited to get involved and honor my little boy.  I'm sure there will be moments of tears, but also laughter.
Thank you to everyone who has been my angel.  Everyone who has understood how to tiptoe around me, but still yank me back into living.  I love you!  Please don't give up on me!  I was warned today that my kidnaping involving drinks and laughter is eminent. Thank God! ;)
#doitforcj

Fairytails...

Even knowing our sweet CJ had Down Syndrome, my daydreams of what life would be like with him here on earth are purely fairytale.

I picture a cherub faced toddler with his sisters'dark curls, daddy's big dark eyes, and my fair skin (compared to the rest of my household!) wearing denim overalls and a baseball hat happily playing in our backyard in the perfect sandbox my husband would build.  His cheerful demeanor and sweet disposition would have him occasionally smiling over at me as he drove his trucks through the sand.  I can clearly pictures him at his highchair with the family at mealtime.  Jabbering away as toddlers do.  Grinning at his family as we interact with him.  My days would be filled with long stroller walks, quiet snuggles in his rocking chair, and moments of simple wonder.

The reality is while CJ would have filled our lives with incredible joy, he had Downs.  I was about to embark on a journey of raising a child with special needs.  A journey that would have probably included doctors, therapists, and countless battles by his over zealous mom in an educational system still experimenting with these special children.  There would have been disappointment and heartache watching my son struggle to teach milestones so far behind when his sister's did. 

But in all these struggles would have been so much joy.  Raising CJ would teach us patience. Lessons of acceptance, perseverance, simplicity, and tolerance.  And of course we would have been tested as a family in our faith.

You see, I didn't just have a son.  Christian is an extraordinary angel.  All children come with lessons to learn.  Our little boy came with blessings to teach.

I will never understand why God choose us to parent such a special child.  And I definitely will never understand why we only get to as angel parents.  It's on my list of questions to ask God when I join CJ  in heaven.  Then again, with an eternity to spend with him finally materializing, I doubt it will matter.

I think I'll try to focus on the struggles a bit more instead of the fairytail.  Life is messy! Living those messy bits brings the real joy.  Maybe daydreaming about frustrating moments trying to communicate with my child, heartbreak watching him try to assimilate to a world that struggles with differences, and a lifetime of sleepless nights as I worried about his future will help me get to know CJ better.  Including all of the love and happiness he would have brought us along with struggles.

As for the image of my beautiful boy in overalls, baseball hat and cherub smile?  I'm holding onto that!  I hope heaven has plenty of toy trucks!  #doitforcj

Guilt sucks

So many days begin with "I was having a perfectly fine day, then...". Once again it would suit today's story perfectly.

Kids are home today for extreme weather. So in other words, when you are having anxiety issues this amounts to a day when you can breathe a bit easier.  Since we lost CJ, I worry quite a bit that we will loose one of our girls.  So a quiet morning at home with 2 of them here is perfectly fine with me.

Listening to the wind kept making me think of CJ's grave.  I was sure his wreath and decorations must be all over the cemetery.  This afternoon I decided to make a quick trip to check things out.

I was shocked when I got there to see the grave next to him had his stone set.  They were buried the same week.  And not just a modest stone, but an beautifully engraved bench with inscription space for 2.

I said a quick prayer, cleaned up his fallen decorations, and hurried back to my warm van. Then it hit me.  I sat there sobbing for almost an hour.  There was my son's grave unmarked.  His flower pot led me to the location in the snow.  It absolutely broke my heart, like I had once again failed him.

You see, nomatter why you lose a baby, I imagine you spend the rest of your life holding on to a tremendous amount of guilt.  I was the only one who felt his movements less frequently. I was the one who didn't argue with the doctors who said he was fine. I was his only voice on this earth, and I failed him.

This all came rushing back.  You can tell me it wasn't my fault.  My doctors have countless times.  But in the end, my son died on my watch.  That's how it feels.

His stone will get ordered soon.  We almost have the deposit thanks to so many incredible people who have donated to our gofundme page or sent donations to help.  How do we ever thank you all for being our angels?  I wonder if seeing it completed will bring me some peace or if the reality of seeing his death "set in stone"will just tear me apart again.  Probably a bit of each.

I guess I was due for a down day.  Luckily tomorrow starts another chance to feel some of that psychedelic hope that somehow usually bubbles up through the cracks.  Speaking of bubbles... Time to slip into my tub and soak away some stress.  I'll keep my eye open for that bit of hope :) I bet an angel may send me some! #doitforcj

(i've included the mock up of CJ's future headstone.  Please keep us in prayer that we can finish funding it! http://www.gofundme.com/667hjs

the vet sent a card?

I needed to hold something tangible today to remember my son.  I slipped into his room for a few quiet moments to organizer a few momentoes.  I started to read through some of the beautiful cards and notes we received. One made me laugh.

In the stack of cards was one signed by the entire staff... at our vet's office!  Our old lab died a few days after the funeral.  we took her to our vet wrapped in a quilt.  We must have looked like maniacs.  I had been crying for days.  I had no eyelashes, my cheeks were burnt raw, and I still looked pregnant.  Nate looked like he hadn't slept in a year.  Neither one of us could put together a coherent sentence.  We just watched as they took her away and handed over a creditcard in silence. 

That sweet office had no idea what was really going on.  Yet they treated us with so much love. I remember them telling us what a wonderful life we gave her to have lived 15 yrs.  I remember sobbing on the way home thinking sure, I can keep a DOG alive... That card seemed ridiculous when it arrived a few days later. I tossed it in the stack and haven't thought of it since.

Now it strikes me as ridiculous that we received a card from the vet for our sweet old dog,  but I never heard another word from the callous high risk doctor that never had the compassion to say the words that CJ had died.  The people that were there at the darkest moment of my life.  Does that tech and doctor even remember us? My first instinct is that it is fear of a malpractice suit. How sad that kindness is mistaken for weakness or fault. Then I had to wonder if they have been desensitized to the loss of a child.  Every women seen in that office is high risk. Does that make our babies simply just a fetus so they can stay disconnected? How sad.  My ob is a wonderful woman who had cried and prayed with me.  I wish she had given us the news.

I hope by sharing this, I can let it go.  Holding on to it isn't helping me heal. I want my memories of my beautiful boy to be of that moment of awe when I held my son.  Kissing his sweet little face. Touching his tiny perfect toes.  Hopefully with time the rest of the memories will fade.

Cabin fever is setting in here in "Chiberia".  Lots of time to think.  Praying that I can focus more on the blessings and find some hope in the future.  huh-  again with the "hope".  guess i better keep working on it! #doitforcj

Shhhhhhhhhhh!

The quiet takes a toll.  The quieter the house is, the louder my soul screams.  One moment I was contently sewing away, the next I was sobbing in the powder room. There is no warning.  It sneaks up on me like the biggest sucker punch.

So then I have to make some choice.  Am I headed towards a panic attack?  There a script that helps me with that. Did I take my daily antidepressant? Can I pour 1 glass of wine and walk away from the bottle? But shhhhhhhhhh. You see in proper societal circle, we don't dare speak of such things. People don't mind hearing about your tears, but they don't want to hear the dirty details. 

Faithful Catholic daughters don't need medication, they need faith. Wives with loving husbands need to have a quick cry and move on.  Moms of beautiful daughters just need hug and everything will be ok. And a good friend needs a second glass of wine and an evening of bitching/laughing.  But what none of those roles want to recognize is depression and anxiety are physical as well as emotional.  They are terrifying waves that hit out of nowhere. It's not just feeling sad.  Some moments I pray for the next breath, then I am astounded that I am able to take that breath despite the pain.

Grief is ugly.  I will not live up to your expectations, but I'm ok with that. As long as I keep drawing my next breath, that's good enough some days.  If you need me, I'll be in my nest on the couch with a dog and a coffee spiked with Bailey's.  Tomorrow I'll crawl back out all for the love of one sweet little angel. #doitforcj

To be 17 again

My daughter had a game at my old highschool tonight.  It's been many years since I've been inside of the building.

Sitting in the stands always gives me too much time to think.  At half time, my mind composed a letter to my 17 year old self...

Jen,

17 will be the easiest your life will ever be.  There will be some heartbreak in the future, but there will also be joy that you can't even begin to imagine.

I won't tell you anything that will change your path or scare you.  Just remember that you are so much stronger than you can even imagine right now.  You will be tested, but you will find your strength.  Every decision you make will build to a really beautiful future.  You'll learn these lessons (some the hard way, some easier)

Love with all your heart,
Sing on the top of your lungs often,
Never pass up a chance to laugh, Take pictures every chance you get,
Pray even when you don't want to,
Stand up for others,
When it's time to let go, let go,
Stop apologizing for others,
Get the 2nd dog,
Stop worrying about what others think,
You are so much more than what you think,
Nobody worth knowing  gives a crap who you were in highschool,
Open your heart to possibilities,

But most of all...

Be happy!!!
The years will bring tears and laughter.  Embrace it all.  You will surprise yourself with your own strength one day.  But most importantly, you will be so abundantly blessed with love that you will #doitforcj

WANTED: NONCRAZY SUPPORT GROUP

It's happened.  Despited my greatest efforts, I am proving to be uncool {sigh}

In a desperate attempt to find a decent support group, I am realizing I am the minority. 

Catholic, happily married, I know who CJ's daddy is, I'm not living in my car/an addict/being abused.

My son has been laid to rest.  His soul is with our Savior and I will spend eternity with him. I believe that without question.

I get out of bed every day.  Some days I crawl back in, but I get out.
I cry.  I have bad days. But everyone gets dinner,  laundry gets done, some days beds even get made.  I cheer my kids on at sporting events, attend school meetings, and run errands like every other mom, just quietly without need or desire for idle chatting.  We celebrate Christmas.  There were tears but we managed to through it.

I visit my son's grave once, twice, maybe 3 times a week depending on how I'm doing.  Sometimes I sit next to him and talk outloud. Some days are too painful and my tears say it all.

I've seen mourners lying on their loved ones graves screaming in pain. I've heard of too many moms that fall so deep into depression that they stop functioning for years. Posts of people taking their child's ashes on vacation break my heart.  Or a frantic mom who lost her necklace that had her baby's remains... I've heard of a woman who painted her front door black while sobbing in front of the neighborhood.

So when I first started looking at support groups, my church didn't offer one specifically for parents. Our hospital did and the group had a Facebook page. I excitedly joined it.  The stories broke my heart.  Lost babies, broken marriages, and too many women paralyzed by grief for years.  I vowed that would not be me!

So I formed my own pseudo support group.  A woman from church, 2 from the hospital support group, aunts who I never knew had lost babies, my baby loss buddy who was introduced to me from a mutual friend.  I aligned myself with strong, Christian women who thrived.  Who THRIVE. They have survived the ultimate heartbreak in different degrees.  It's a very uncool group of the best kickass women I could ever hope to meet!

I'll cry today.  But I'll also laugh.  When things very hard, I'll reach out to the women who get it.  My village will get me through, and hopefully one day I'll be strong enough to do the same for others.

How do I keep going?  I simply #doitforcj

Puppy poop

We left the house for a few hours and our 6 month old shepherd mix puppy was safely secured in her cage (to the relief of my furniture!).  We had a fun evening and returned laughing and in wonderful moods.

Then we walked in the door.

Brace yourself.

This is gross.

Our sweet little puppy had a poop accident.  We smelled it the second we opened the door.  But the horror was what we found.

Evidently after having this accident, she panicked.  I mean REALLY panicked.  She was covered in poop, the cage was covered in poop, her blanket was covered in poop.  This small pup had managed to cause enough chaos in the cage to turn our entire evening upside down! I still can't believe how far one poop accident can be spread out... Ughh...

So an hour later, the pup had a warm bath, the cage scrubbed, and blanket is soaking.  Dinner was a quick pasta, but it was hot and everyone is full.

Why am I telling this disgusting story? Because it just hit me that it is the answer to the "I don't know how you survived"comment.  Or "I would never survive" (which I hate because I always want to reply why? Do you love your kids more than I do??)

This is what losing a baby is like.  You are happily anticipating a baby. Then that horrible moment when you smell something funny. For me it was the look on the ultra sound tech's face.  Then the absolute DREAD of seeing that cage is the doctor's confirmation. At first you are all in shock, but then as family you spring into action.  Someone washes the dog, someone tackles the cage, and dinner was made and ready for everyone.  In our case,  family takes turns with me at the hospital, funeral arrangement are made, and we all seemed to stop and breathe at the luncheon.

It's what families do.  Nobody wants to.  You can't avoid it. There's no stalling.  Everyone works together and eventually rests together.  It sucks, but you do what you have to do.

CJ brought out the best in us.  He continues to every day.  We sprang into action and took care of eachother. Now our goal is to share his love with the world.  We will #doitforcj !

So the next time you hear someone's story and are tempted to say that you would never survive, YES you would.  Raise your gorgeous kids to understand that family comes first.  That at the drop of a hat everything can change.  Teach them that they have value and are needed in the family unit. Mom and Dad can not do it all themselves.  If my teenagers can help hold mom together after loosing a baby, think about all those minor dramas in life your kids CAN handle. 

Puppy poop?? Piece of cake!
#doitforcj

Bedtime

Bedtime with little kids in the house is so different from the life I live with teenagers now.

Memories of assembly line bubble bathes and fresh little girls and clean PJs with the damp curly hair. When they were really little, running naked through the house giggling as we chased them.  By the time I was done, I was as wet as they were!  Soggy towels and carpet anywhere within 10 feet of the bathroom.  Those are precious memories.

Lately around 8 o'clock everyone vanishes. Each girl takes a ridiculous long hot shower, and still leaves a trail of wet towels and carpet. I no longer have to share a bathroom with them, so that mess is their problem. 

I still sneak into the rooms late at night.  Their pillows are still protected by a towel from wet hair. I love pushing the damp hair off of their forehead.  Taking that one quiet moment of the day to listen to them breath.

I pass the nursery on my way to our room. Sometimes I stop in to sit on the rocking chair.  I talk to CJ and tell him how much I miss him. I sing him the same song I sang his sisters while holding his blanket. There in the dark with the girls asleep, the world just seems to stand still.

I wonder if I will ever recover from this loss.  Parenting an angel is so incredibly painful. 

I held a baby boy today.  Just a few weeks older than CJ.  It wasn't emotional.  It was comforting and so familiar. 

If you have ever seen Under the Tuscan Sun, the last scene is the main character learning she had everything she wished for, just not in the form she thought it would come.  I hope that is my future. A house full of love... Or even fuller should I really say! 

#doitforcj

Dear God,

Dear God,

You owe me.  And we are not talking green traffic lights or even a winning lottery ticket.  You owe me my son.

I'm not asking you to replace him. We both know that is impossible.  Every one of our children are such unique, beautiful gifts.  None could ever be replaced.  You could never bless me with anything that could replace the love I have in my heart for CJ.  Any child we are entrusted with can never be forgotten. 

So when I say you owe me, those words are purely a plea, not a demand as they may seem.  It's easier to be mad at you right now. the alternative of being submissive is terrifying. I'm not ready to put my guard down yet.

Someone recently said to me " God didn't kill your son."  I almost replied that you didn't save him either. But mid sentence I realized that is exactly what you did.  He is saved.

So maybe we are even.  I don't think my heart will come to terms with that until I get to hold my son again.  But just knowing I am promised an eternity with CJ keeps my heart from blocking you out.  I hope some day soon I can pray to you openhearted instead of growling at you in anguish. 

Until then, you owe me!

CJ's mom

Thankful?

The hardest thing to be when it all comes crashing down is thankful.  But I truly am.

I can't thank everyone who had been there for us these past 5 months. So many have held us up in prayer alone. Then there are the countless meals, cards, flowers... The list goes on and on.  I hope everyone knows how very thankful we are.

A gift from the funeral home really touched my heart.  The days after the funeral, I had stacks of cards and momentoes covering the kitchen table.  In a bag from the funeral home, I found a pretty box that contained a baby book.  Ouch.  But after further inspection, this sweet baby book was specifically designed for an angel baby.  I spent hours filling in information about the hospital, service/church luncheon.  There were places for how we prepared for him, so I added the invite from CJ's shower and details from that beautiful day. There were places for flower cards, church programs, funeral home info... It gave me a chance to be CJ's mom.  To have the simple pleasure of filling in my son's baby book. It wasn't morbid.  It was the honest, beautiful story of Christian Jonathan Cruz Aguilar. 

Today was a difficult day for no specific reason.  The stress of being unemployed, wondering about the future, and a fb news feed full of chunky adorable babies was just too much for me today.  I'm ok with that.  My husband gives me my space when I need it and some days you just need to lock yourself in a hot shower and cry.  I'm thankful for that time.  It shows I'm only human. 

I'm even more thankful that tomorrow is a new day.  Maybe it will suck, but maybe it will be a day of creativity, silliness, or even joy.  You never know.  All I can do is let myself cry when I need to, then give hope a chance to wiggle it's way back through.  Huh... There's that hope word again!

I hope I can inspire one person a day into a random act of kindness.  Just think-that woman behind you in line for coffee may have lost a child. That neighbor who hasn't shoveled may be hurting physically or mentally.  If I can be thankful for the opportunity to be CJ's mom, you can #doitforcj !!

Please don't point it out...

I thought I was handling a difficult day quite well.  I was out of the house, dressed, and not crying.  Then it was pointed out...

A simple comment actually. That I looked sad in the only 2 current pictures of me.  I know.  You don't have to point it out.

For future reference, when talking to a grieving mom there are a few other things you should not bother mentioning.

If she is in her home and out of bed, that may have been a victory for her that day.  Her pjs are not an issue to her even at 2pm. Don't point them out.

If her hair had grown 6 inches, don't point it out.  Idle chit chat with a hair stylist may be terrifying for her.  She may not be ready for the "how many kids do you have" question.

If she made it out of the house, but never brushed her hair or washed the smudged mascara from last night's tears, don't point them out. She may be enjoying a few moments of fresh air for the first time in days. This also goes for mismatched shoes, ill fitting maternity clothing and the ponytail.

For the first time in her life, she doesn't want to hear that she lost weight.  Feeling prying eyes on your figure is heartwrenching after a loss.  Do not point it out.

When she forgets to return you call, returns the wrong casserole dish to you, or simply doesn't say hello at the mailbox, let it go.  You don't ever want to understand the turmoil that is taking over her mind.  She feels  overwhelmed. Don't point it out.

If she seemed so much better last week , don't point it out.  She knows.  Grief is a frustrating, curvy road.

If you are keeping track, are tallying up favors, or feel taken advantage of for helping a greiving family, Stop immediately.  They do not need that kind of help. They need to be loved.  They can't remember a few hours ago, let alone a few weeks.  And for the love of God, don't point it out.

Know that your love can make such a huge difference.  Don't wait for the call.  If one more insincere person says to me "call if you need anything...".  Send a card, drop off a hot cup of coffee, leave a surprise anonymous gift at the front door. SAY HER CHILD'S NAME.  But most of all, pray.  Pray for the absent minded mom driving around in slippers wondering which kid she is supposed to pick up where.  I have personally pulled over twice just to think for a moment "where the hell am I going??".  Do trust me, you don't have to point it out!

Tomorrow I'll get out of bed again, hopefully remember to wash away the tear marks, and send some love out into the world. I have to #doitforcj

Letting go

This morning we put our oldest daughter on a plane.  She will be gone for 5 mo on an internship with THE mouse.  How exciting, right? Keep reminding me of that...

I'm sure the world is expecting me to loose it at any moment.  I had my few tears on the way home.  But at 21, she just amazes me.  She had been here to take care of mom all winter break.  It's my turn to love her enough to let her go.

Letting go... That's a hard one when it's forced upon you.  I never asked to let go of my son.  I was forced. I had plans.  Beautiful, dreamy plans for a life with our first son.  Then without warning, I was forced to let go. 

So then we are faced with this dilemma.  I can refuse to let my expectations of how I will parent CJ go, or except this crappy hand we were dealt and figure out a new way to be his mom.   I'm choosing to be the mom of an angel. 

It's ok to let go.  It hurts. It leaves you riddled with guilt and questions.  Luckily God had pretty broad shoulders to take that burden on for us.

People love to remind me that God gave up his only son.  Like I am in any way to equivalent of our savior?  It almost feels like a way to guilt me into letting go.  There's a topic for a day when I haven't sent my kid across the country... Tonight I'll cuddle up with my husband and wait for text updates from our sweet explorer.  I'll even smile because I'll #doitforcj

Finding hope through the pain

I wish I was making this next story up.  I still haven't decided if it was God's way of comforting me, or the devil rubbing my nose into his hate. I'll let you decide...

I had a room full of love and support when it was time to be discharged from the hospital.  My parents, sister, Nate, and the kids were all there trying to keep my spirits up as the time loomed closer and I became anxious to go home. 

Finally my discharge was complete.  My support group of 7 people walked protectively with my wheelchair to the lobby.  I kept my eyes down in an attempt to not make eye contact with any of the hospital employees who knew us too well. My husband ran for the car while everyone kept me company by the front door. 

I glanced a bit to the right and sitting on the floor next to my chair was CJ's carseat.  Well, an identicle one.  And strapped inside that seat was a tiny newborn baby boy wearing an outfit I had at home waiting for CJ.  This beautiful hispanic newborn baby boy was like looking at a ghost. 

The tears came too quickly as my family caught what I was looking at and took me out of the building.

How could my God be so cruel?  My sobs on the ride home were haunted.  I was realizing that I would spend the rest of my life looking for my son in every infant seat I saw.  How was I every going to live through this nightmare?

Since that day I've thought of that baby often.  If my daughter didn't confirm it had happen, I would swear I was hallucinating. But why?

I still don't have the answer. Dreams of twin girl babies have been a comfort (accept the odd part where my husband is walking around the house trying to find the one he put down somewhere!)  Christmas brought the suckerpunch of baby news cruely shared on my first holiday without my son.  I have watched 2 other sweet women rejoice in pregnancy announcements to be heartbroken soon after by loss.  Was that infant a way of preparing me for all of these experiences?  I will never know.

So I'm going to try to accept that baby as my first sign of hope.  I have heard from many women who can not be around a baby for years after a loss. Others who become obsessed with conceiving as if it will be their only chance of healing their broken heart.  Both I can relate to and fear my own life can easily mirror if I allow it. While the tears still fall and my heart still aches, I'll leave my hope in a God who will heal us.  His path for me is unknown, but if He can allow this hope to fill my heart, who am I not to accept it?

Tomorrow I see my obgyn.  She is a kind women who had cried and prayed with me through this entire story.  That office is never easy to visit for me. I always manage to be in a waiting room packed with very pregnant women.  I have a lot of questions for her, many which feel like I am sneaking behind God's back to get a sneak peak at our future.  Please send me prayers for strength and acceptance of a future full of unknown possibilities.  One day at a time I'll #doitforcj !

Chachachachange

Grief physically hurts.  It manifests itself in a way so traumatic, that the emotional response we are all so familiar with can not possibly be big enough to convey the intensity.  The overflow spills into every inch of your body.

At first, my body reacted with ridiculously high fevers.  I was cultured and tested for everything from a uterine infection to lupus.   Everything negative.  So they smacked a "fever of unknown origin" label on me, medicated me until my stomach could take no more, and waited.  I lied in a near death emotional state for days. 

I bring this up not to go back to those early dark days, but as a reminder to myself on why I get out of bed every day.

This week I had another quick bout of 104 fevers and body aches so bad I couldn't roll over in bed, let alone get out of bed.  Coincidentally, our oldest leaves for an out of state internship for 5 months this weekend.  Nervous to put my first born on a plane alone? Ummm, yes!!  But it's more than that.  I'm terrified the grief that paralyzed me will return.  Not just for our sweet little CJ, but for our family.

Life is changing.  That is EXACTLY God's plan for us.  But with change comes reminders of who is missing.  I could easy crawl back into my hole and refuse to let me kids explore, contemplate, and experience life.  They love me so much that they would stay still until I was ready to move forward.  But that's not God's plan.  He wouldn't send us so many exciting opportunities if he didn't want us to take chances.

So this weekend i'm using the love of our gorgeous kids as a bandaide on my heart.  My body aches with pain with this new chapter starting, but I know it will subside.  I will put her on that plane with a smile and a tear (or two).  I will #doitforcj

Nope...this isn't ALL of us!

Tonight we went to a basketball game at a prominently black school.  My husband was able to duck out of work to join me, 2 of our girls, and a friend aka adopted kiddo. We had a poster and a couple dozen cupcakes in tow, and the typical laughter that tends to ensue with everyone packed into the van for any length of time.  One of the girl's bf meet us there.  We were sitting dead center of the stands. This crazy cheering group of very white Mexicans in a sea of home team annoyed highschool students.  We were completely unwelcomed and comments were flying all around us.  I'll leave it to your imagination what suburban school we were at...  This may have been the most racially charged atmosphere I've ever been in, and the behavior of several adults was making me very nervous.  The girls never flinched.  They cheered their sister on holding up their poster and screaming birthday wishes the entire game. The broke into what they called the"white girl bop"with the half time rap music.  This INFURIATED many around us.  They were just having fun, oblivious that we were literally sitting in a school that had a gang shooting a week ago.  I pleaded to God to get us off of the property without conflict as DOZENS of angry eyes followed us out of the gym.

A very sweet security guard working the door noticed my discomfort.  She winked at me and said "are they ALL yours??"  Yep.  And damn proud of it!!  Tonight those kids did EXACTLY what i've taught them to do-  #doitforcj

Update: holycrapontoast.   This was a few hours before we were there a few blocks away...
http://www.mysuburbanlife.com/mobile/article.xml/articles/2014/01/16/29522850/index.xml

Sweet 16

What does Tori Turning 16 have to do with CJ?  EVERYTHING!  Who she is turning into as a young woman is greatly influenced by her love for her brother. So please join me in wishing my sweet, vivacious, comic, loving, protective Tori Paige a very happy sweet 16th/golden birthday!

If I could give you advice -save your eye roll for later ;)

Love with all your heart. 

Live a life you are proud of.

Don't let others be your mouth piece.

Stand up for those weaker than you.

Never be embarrassed to have faith, morals, and values.

Know that with every step into adulthood, we are here for you.  While we tell you to spread  your wings, we will be holding our breath and at the ready to catch you if you fall.  We are proud of you, T-bird!!!

Love, mom

The bewitching hour...

There is this time at night, usually between 2-3am, that is all comes crashing down.  I can tell tonight will be one of those nights.

I usually wait up to see my husband who gets in around midnight. We chat about the day and spend some time together before he goes to bed.  Then the quiet creeps up on me.

Usually just the change in my breathing patterns and the beginning of the crying prompts him to hold me. Even in his deepest sleep he goes into autopilot and holds his grieving wife.  There is no need for words.  When your child dies, you never have to ask- I'm guessing ever again.  This is our nightly ritual.  Then the next day neither of us mentions it. It's our new norm.  His tear stained tshirts, my red puffy eyes.

I keep a stack of DVDs in our bedroom in an attempt to keep me distracted and books/Nook at my bedside.  Trying to concentrate on anything when your heart is so heavy is futile.  Everything I read or watch somehow reminds me of CJ. Reminds me of what is missing.

My sleepless night were to be much different.  I had prepared for midnight diaper changes and nursing my son in the middle of the night.  There is a beautiful nursery just across the hall from me now sitting empty.  Even the hospital bag I packed is tucked into the closet.  The rocking chair has a blanket made for one of my girls spread across the back.  It's all there.

So as the tears start falling a bit early tonight, I will begin by praying for all the other mommies out there joining me in painful silence tonight.  May the morning bring peace and the hope of a new day. I'll survive.... I have to #doitforcj

Teenage love

Remember when saying I love you was so easy?  When we gave out hugs daily without reservation?

When we were teens, love for our friends was so tangible. 

I have a houseful of that young love. All 3 daughters have "boyfriends" and numerous friends that seem to move in for days on end (a few I could probably legally claim as dependents they are here so often!) That leaves us with a home brimming with overemotional love.

They don't hesitate to hug me. They don't think twice if I'm in my pjs in the middle of the afternoon.  They don't pretend not to see CJ's pictures hanging.  These kids just want to be around.  While adult curiosity leads to whispers and stares, these kids GET that I need that silly hug.  They have been my lifeline.  All those long lonely evenings with my husband work-  they get me through.  They break the silence. 

Knowing CJ had Downs, I think about how he would have been as a teenager.  How he would fit into this insane household.  And every time I smile knowing how loved and cherished his presence would be.  How accepting and beautiful this clan of oddballs has somehow turned into this beautiful accepting extended family.

We could all use a houseful of teenage style love to remind us of how important it is to be unguarded.  They helped us bring hope and life back into our home.  They keep CJ's memory vibrant and alive.  They remind me daily how to #doitforcj

What happened?

I've been at home the past 2 days with a fever.  Sitting still is not easy for me. Depression usually rears it's ugly head as I have time to just think.

While I was at 104 last night, I had conversations with Nate that I don't remember. I wish I could say the same about my dreams.  I very clearly remember thinking  it was those first days home from the hospital when the fevers had me miserable for weeks. 

So I guess today is a good time to answer "what happened?".

We don't know completely.  I was being followed by high risk because of medical issues with me.  Every ultrasound came back that he was fine. The last one (before the horrific one) we actually have a pictures of him giving us a thumbs up.  He was fine.  All the attention was on my health.  He was fine...

We refused an autopsy.  I think every parent can understand why.  They were able to get a decent DNA sample from the placenta.  We know from the final ultrasound that he had fluid around his heart.  The DNA told us our angel had Down Syndrome.

I have been assured over and over that my treatment plan would not have changed if they knew. That I was already having biweekly ultrasounds and weekly appointments.  That is hard on a grieving mom's heart to accept.

So antidepressants are still my daily ritual.  They don't take the pain away, but they let me cope. And prayer. Sometimes angry whythehellwouldyoudothistome prayer, other days pleasesaveme.  I can't completely wrap my mind around it all yet.  Maybe I don't need to??  But what I do need to do is keep moving forward. And I will #doitforcj

Insult to injury

A few days after the funeral, I sat down to go through all the paperwork from the funeral home.  Some realities set in that I still have so much anger over.

To begin with, CJ doesn't have a birth certificate.  Any other baby born after 20 weeks gestation that takes 1 simple breath, is acknowledged with a birth certificate.  An almost full term angel does not exist.  The only reason there is even a death certificate is we had a funeral home involved to bury him.

This drove me nuts.  Luckily I had a solution.  I was able to call our church and get a beautiful baptism certificate. Seeing his name in print was such a comfort.  But it still breaks my heart to think of all those moms that have nothing. 

So in Illinois, CJ could not be covered on Nate's company dependent life insurance plan. Insult to injury. My son doesn't exist once again.

Some states issue a modified birth certificate so you can collect on insurance and1 year tax credit.  I get to answer no when asked if I had a baby this year. Thank you Turbo Tax...

We didn't publish an obituary in the paper for the simple reason I stated in a past blog.  We just didn't get it.

Giving a mom a blank hospital certificate she can fill out is not good enough.  We need to acknowledge these angels.  That's an issue that keeps swirling around in my mind.  My place to make a difference will come to me.  This is just one of many.

CJ, mommy will find a way to help other angel mommies.  I'm getting stronger every day. Your memory will be honored.  I will always #doitforcj

Triggers and other goofy lingo

"Triggers"... A word that is now part of my daily vocabulary.  On bereaved parent circles, "trigger warning"  typically means a "rainbow baby" is mentioned.  A rainbow baby is the child you have after a loss.  Congrats-you have now learned your first 2 words of the bereaved parent lingo.

Triggers suck.  They can take a perfectly calm day and throw you into the deepest sorrow. It can be anything- a pregnancy announcement, a piece of junk mail from a formula company, or your child's name being called out in a grocery store. I have walked into many without warning that have left me searching for some privacy to break down.

One hit me so hard and felt so cruel that I actually crawled into bed and came out 2 days later over the holidays.  Those damn holidays...

The problem lies in expectations.  Although it is impossible for someone who has not lived this hell to guess what I need, I continuously expect others to do the"right" thing.  I expected my son to be acknowledged with 1st Christmas ornaments or momentoes. I expected news of new babies to not be announced in my own home at Christmas (yep, I hosted. Stupid. Lesson learned). I expected to be treated gently.  I even handmade ornaments and momentoes for everyone to remember my son.  Evidently what I forget to do was place a billboard in my front yard stating my expectations. 

There is nothing more infuriating than to feel like you are comforting everyone around you while also being the only one keeping your child's memory alive. 

With all of that being said, now imagine how it felt to have a friend from over 20 years ago send you a beautiful gift.  The picture is the only one we have of CJ's hands.  The funeral director took it after he dressed him.  I sent the file to a dear old friend knowing he would treat it with discretion and compassion to edit it for me.  His face was purposely removed (we want to remember that sweet little face the way it looked in the delivery room).  I was expecting an emailed photo back, and instead we received this beautiful poster.  We keep it in the familyroom. Every time I look at it I smile.  His sweet little fingers... But even more the act of love for Jay to put his time and talent into such a beautiful gift. Having a young son himself, I know this must have been a difficult project for him. Through these holidays, I thought about that gift often.  I vow to never foget how being on the receiving end of such thoughtfulness made me feel. 

Even through those crappy triggers, hope snuck through.  I am learning to let go of expectations, hold on to the moments of love shared with us, and hopefully learn to say what I need.  There's that damn hope word again!  I may be an emotionally explosive work in progress, but I will keep trying. I will #doitforcj !

5 months...

Anniversary dates are hard.  At first I counted days. Eventually the days turned into weeks.  At 2 wks the day he was to be induced. 4 more wks and his 40wk due date. Then months start to pass.  months...

Today I had to literally count it out on my fingers. 5 months?  That's an entire hand full of fingers.  How can so much time have passed that I have to count it out and double check?

I am so thankful for the time.  At first, those days were horrific. They represented time lost to me.  Every day that passed was another day without CJ in my arms. 

But as time has passed, I've become grateful for the lessening of the dagger like pain that followered me every second of every day in the beginning.  Time does heal.  I didn't want to hear that a few months ago, but it has proven to be a gift. 

I stopped by the cemetery today.  I stood at his grave.  While other angel moms use words like resting place, eternal nursery, or heavenly bed, I prefer to call it what it is.  His grave. It's harsh and unfair.  Some days his presence fills me with such overwhelming emotion. Today was a quick visit full of that "what the hell am I doing here" feeling.  Time doesn't bring understand. It doesn't make any of this fair.

Happy 5 month angelversary sweet CJ.  Soar with the angels.  Tomorrow I'll try again to have a more hopeful heart.  Today is difficult, so mommy is cutting herself some slack. But tomorrow, I'll #doitforcj

now what?

Eventually the reality that I was missing out on life starting to set in. My son died.  It was so incredibly unfair.  God and I had some serious issues, yet I was nowhere near ready to deal with that.  Actually my soul was already in God's hands- I didn't have the strength to fight.  It was the reason I was still breathing.  But I was hell bent on not giving Him any credit.

I'm not going to drag everyone through the stages of grief. We all know them.  They are crap.  I read everything I could trying to chart my progress. It turns out it doesn't work that way. Those f@€?ing steps come at you randomly and change without warning. 

So my reading and another session of yelling at a priest led me to examine the 7 virtues- specifically the 3 theological virtues.  Faith, Hope, and Charity.

Stay with me- I promise this is not turning into a Catholicism lesson!

Hope in particular.  I started to look at hope as something in abundance. Hope is everywhere in everything. I was looking for something that I am completely surrounded by.  I stopped searching, and started accepting. 

The tears still come out of nowhere.  Those crappy stages of grief still sneak up on me, but the intensity has dwindled.  Some days breathing hurts more than I can describe. Other days triggers can sideswipe me back to those first horrible days.

This journey is far from over.  One beautiful little boy had changed me in ways yet to be seen. For now I'm going to keep working on accepting hope.  And in the mean time I'll continue to share this journey. My #1 priority is to LIVE my life.  I WILL #doitforcj

hope

30 days of complete hell.  I won't even try to sugar coat it.  For around 30 days I prayed for death to take me.  In my mind, there was no hope.  I would never live a life with joy ever again.  My amazing husband is such a fantastic dad. It made perfect sense to me that I could go be with CJ, and he would be here with our girls.  Then eventually we would all be together. The absence of hope had me googling the stack of prescriptions I was on to figure out the best lethal dose.  I was popping pain killers on top of antidepressants on top of anxiety meds.  Fevers persisted for a few weeks. I remember reading the pamphlet to an antibiotic I was on and seeing it was used for chlamydia and cancer patients.  That convinced me I was dying anyway.

Without hope, life stopped.  The woman/mom/wife/sister/daughter/friend I once was disappeared. Family awkwardly watched me struggle, not understanding the changes happening to me. Some friends decided to give me "space".  Very few had the courage to show up at the house and let me cry and share pictures. Those few were my angels. They started to reintroduce hope back into my life.

A new circle of friends began to emerge.  Friends on fb who would let me ramble online at 2am,  a woman from our church who had a similar loss 30 yrs ago,  and my mentor/babyloss buddy Kayleen who often read multiple long rambling emails from me full of despair and anger. This became my support system.  And I slowly began to let hope wiggle its way back into my heart.

One day I collapsed in Nate's arm sobbing for the life we once had.  I told him how desperately I feared the laughter would never return to our home. That all hope for us was gone.  The next day, we brought home a puppy. The girls were giggling and making silly videos of the ball of fur running all over the house. I heard myself laugh, and as tears ran down my cheeks full of confused emotion, Nate hugged me and whispered through his own tears "see... the laughter is back. don't give up hope".

I didn't. I won't.  I will continue to fight for every glimmer of hope. I will #doitforcj

He was simply beautiful

Simply beautiful.  Look at that angel in Katie's arms!  To watch our daughters hold their brother was simply beautiful. 

I have been told that it is a delicate question to ask. Yet for me it is the most heartbreaking question not to hear. What did CJ look like?  He looked like a baby.  He was pink with a cute button nose.  He had a bit of dark hair like his sisters.  All his fingers and toes perfectly formed.  I expected to see something scarey, but he was simply beautiful.  It was such a special moment to have him in my arms.  To unwrap his little body to touch his hands and feet.  In that moment of complete sorrow, there was such awe at this miracle.

Like most moms, I'm rarely caught in a photo because I'm usually the one taking the picture. The panic and guilt I felt of only having a few pictures a nurse took was overwhelming the days following. I believe in angels. I held one in my arms. The grace and beauty of that moment will live in my heart forever. Until I am reunited with my son, I will share his story. I will #doitforcj

those crazy Catholic roots...

Our pastor is the type of man you can easily call Uncle Dave.  Married with 2 children who are beginning the college years (yes, a Catholic priest-that's a story for another time).  His calm demeanor and open heart made him an easy target for a grieving mom.

He was there for us as I yelled at him in the delivery room on how unjust God was.  My rant went on to educate him on how CJ was being singled out by a God who obviously didn't know us, because how on earth would HE hurt us in such a way? So many angry, painful words.  He stood there with his hand on my shoulder and let me beg.  My angry words were actually a plea for mercy.

Understand that I have grown up in the Catholic church, attended Catholic elementary school, taught religious education for several years, been a sponsor through RCIA and a highschool youth group, and even worked for another church in the area.  Church is home for me.  Nowadays the church trend that is popular are  "nondenominationals". Yet I find extreme comfort in the traditions, sacraments, and familiarity of our faith. 

So when faced with CJ's death some decisions were very easy for us.  He was to be burried in a Catholic cemetery with full rites.  There was no discussion- he deserved nothing less.

This may answer a lot of questions for people who wondered why everything happened so quickly that week.  I was initially asked while in labor what arrangement I wanted.  I thought my parents/sister, and my immediate inlaws with our pastor would quietly bury our son.  Who else would want to come to a funeral for a baby they never met?  I didn't get it...

My parents gently brought to my attention a few hours later that family was asking about arrangements.  We agreed to a full funeral with luncheon as soon as possible.  No wake because I pictured being the only ones there with a tiny casket all evening.  I didn't get it...

When the church filled up that day, and a long line of cars filled the tiny cemetery, and then 75 people showed up for the luncheon, I started to get it. 

CJ is so loved by so many.  His life matters.  He brought joy by just being our hope for the future.  He brought out the best in us.  And by us, I'm including everyone who waited in joyful anticipation for his arrival. 

It's hard not to notice how anticipation and hope tend to stroll hand in hand.  Once again, my peanut is reminding me that hope didn't end with his death.  His physical death on earth was just a stepping stone to his glory in heaven.  Hopeful anticipation... I like the sound of that. I will live in hopeful anticipation of an eternity with my son.  #doitforcj

P.T.S.D.

Put your tissues away-  let's get the logistics of a timeline out of the way.  By understanding the the crapstorm that we were about to endure, our refugee appearance those first few weeks will make more sense.

Monday: The horrible day we learned CJ's heart was no longer beating.  I was admitted and induced that evening.

Tuesday: CJ was delivered in the morning. That afternoon, Nate and the girls will leave me at the hospital heavily sedated to make arrangements at the funeral home, cemetery, and church. CJ is picked up by the funeral home.

Wednesday: I am released late afternoon. The kids should have begun their first day at a new highschool. At home, I develop a fever.

Thursday:  CJ's funeral mass, burial, and luncheon.  I am in a wheelchair with 103 fever all day.

Friday: our oldest was supposed to report in to her college team and move back on campus.  Instead we are all at home in a state of shock.  My high fevers continue.

Saturday: ??  High fevers and very little memory of the day

Sunday:  Nate leaves for the day to move our oldest back to college. That night he and I take turns sitting up with our sweet old lab who is ready to cross the rainbow bridge.

Monday: Our other 2 daughters are finally starting school.  20 min after they leave, our sweet old dog dies in Nate's arms.  We wrap her in a quilt and take her to the vet. We get to break the news to the girls when they get home and call our oldest after her 1st day at team camp. Somehow Nate and I still attend high school curriculum night.

At this point, I am still running fevers.  Nate is home with me for the week, but deals with the stress by gutting and remodeling the powder room on the first floor (leaving me to walk up a flight up stairs to bathroom. Probably not our smartest idea! But it kept him within eyesight of me on the couch)

So I will leave my story here for now.  As you can imagine, we were the poster family for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But don't give up on us yet!  Love will prevail!  We will make decisions as a family to not only survive, but thrive.

we WILL #doitforcj

Angels among us

The night we checked into the hospital, we had an encounter that I will never forget.  Even under the veil of shock.

An elderly nun came into our room soon after we arrived.  She acted as if she had been specifically sent to us, yet didn't know what was happening until we told her.  She prayed with us and hugged me while I sobbed.  She assured us she was just a quick call away if we couldn't reach our pastor, and that she had other visits to make but would try to check in on me later.

I didn't see her again that night. Fr. David came to baptize CJ in the morning and we were too caught up in grief to question or ponder who she was. 

The next night, I was sedated on a lovely mixture of Ambien, Xanax, Zoloft and Dilaudid after a few hysterical hours.  Family had left and Nate was sleeping on the pullout in my room.  I remember very clearly feeling my hair brushed out of my face, a soft female voice telling me it was all going to be ok, and feeling a warm kiss on my forehead.  I watched the blurred figure do the same to Nate.  I assumed our visitor had returned.

The next morning the social worker came in to visit me and I questioned who the elderly woman was. She had no answer for me.  The hospital is Adventist, as are the ministry staff.  A Catholic nun would be noticed. 

I don't know who my sweet visitor was, but I know who sent her. Angels walk among us every day.  I held one in my arms, and another tucked us in when we were at our weakest moment.  In that loving memory, we will #doitforcj

CJ's story

What could possibly be more surprising then a positive pregnancy test when you have 3 daughters who were at the time 20, 15 &13?  After so many years of wishing for more children, God decided to have a good laugh and answer our prayers at what would seem the most ridiculous time.  We had put the majority of our life into storage, moved into a 2 bedroom rental (3kids, 2 adults, 2 dogs...) and prepared to build what we thought was our dream house. The reasonable thing to do? Scrap every plan, look for a bigger house in a better community for a small child, and prepare for a whole new life! HA!!  Maybe not reasonable, but the path we were about to take.

We nervously announced our newest addition.  Not nervous that we could possibly loose him.  While you THINK you have that worry, you have no clue of the reality.  We were more nervous on the reaction we would get to adding to our family after all of those years.  Our girls?  Well, while we fielded comment after comment on how upset they must have been, they were elated.  From the moment they guessed before we could even tell them, CJ was celebrated with screams, hugs, and tears.  

A history of preclampsia and 3 induced labors had everyone nervous.  Then a small arrhythmia.   A few days of bedrest, several medication changes, and everything seemed to be looking up.  I was being closely followed by my ob as well as high risk fetalmaternal medicine.  Biweekly ultrasounds, weekly doctor appointments.  Eventually I had to leave my ridiculously stressful job.  I was labeled "disabled, high risk, ama " That last one- Advanced Maternal Age- annoyed me to death!  But we were so happy.  Barely getting by as we waited for my disability to be approved, settling into a new house in a new school district, and counting the days until CJ would join us!

2 weeks left.  I was exhausted, but doing well.  That morning we went to the new high schools to find the kids' classrooms/lockers... I remember taking a seat in the lunchroom and leaving the insanity to my husband.  I felt ok, just tired.  We left straight from there for an ultrasound appointment at the high risk office.  At the last minute, I told me husband to take the girls next door for lunch.  I would be fine alone. The ONLY ultrasound I went to alone.  Within moments, I knew,  The screen showed no heartbeat.

I never heard the words "I'm sorry. There's no heartbeat".  The tech didn't have the compassion to just say the words.  She left me without a word to find a doctor.  He also never said the words.  He just continued the ultrasound while babbling about fluid around CJ's heart, what my options for delivery were, asking me ridiculous questions like if I had a rash... all things that just didn't matter.  My son was dead and nobody was saying the words. 

I'm sharing this because without knowing where we have been, how can you possibly understand where we are going?  Pausing here while I refill my coffee cup and compose myself.  Telling this story for the first time in print is exhausting as well as healing.

Some moments we will keep to ourselves.   Nate joining me in the ultrasound room, telling our girls, preparing for the hospital.  That afternoon is just too much to relive.

I was admitted to the hospital Nate works to be induced.  Let THAT sink in.  I also used to work there.  It was incredibly comforting to recognize almost every employee we came into contact with, yet horrifying to see the look of pain in their eyes.  Our girls, my parents and sister arrived soon after we did and were in the room, and eventually my mother in law, sis in law and niece would also arrive and remain in the waiting room.  I made the decision to labor and deliver.  My doctor was willing to do a c-section, but Nate gently led me away from it.  He knew I wanted to hold him and spend the bit of time I could with my son.  Besides- he was still my son, not something to be cut out of me.  I owed him as well as myself the chance to deliver him.

The next morning, August 13, 2013, I finally delivered CJ in an eerily quiet room.  Just Nate, a nurse, and my doctor.  No machines beeping,  no excited/anxious tones.  Just the 4 of us, lots of tears, and a true labor of love while I delivered my sweet little boy butt first.  3 lbs 10 oz.  My heart was screaming to God for a miracle.  He was so beautiful.  

The girls were all able to hold their brother, whisper secrets, and give him kisses.  So did his grandparents.  Our priest arrived right after his birth and baptized him wrapped in the same gown all of his sisters wore at their baptisms.  There are a few pictures taken by a nurse, footprints on cardstock and a footprint in clay.  That is all we left the hospital with.  After our brief few moments with him, CJ was gone. 

CJ was laid to rest 2 days later in our church cemetery.   You would think that is where my story ends, but the reality is that it has just begun.  From that point forward, we would #doitforcj

-Jen

where to begin...

Typically when you are introducing yourself you spill the stats. You know- married/kids/where you live.  Since we are starting from scratch my story doesn't quite flow so easily yet.  Bear with me.

I have FOUR children.  3 daughters here on earth, and a son waiting for me in heaven.  Is that how I'm supposed to say that?  You see, we just lost our son in August of 2013.  Nobody gives you the rules on how to explain this.  Do I just say 4 and wait to be questioned to elaborate?  Or do I immediately explain he was stillborn? 

He- Christian Jonathan Cruz Aguilar.   aka CJ.   Our first son.  Our only son.  His name was kept a secret for months as we all only referred to him as "CJ".  I never imagined the first time I would hear anyone say his full name would be our priest baptizing CJ in my arms in the delivery room. Baptizing my dead baby. We will get to all of that later...

For now all you need to know is I am over caffeinated, sleep deprived,  emotionally explosive, abundantly blessed, and grasping at how to keep my sweet little boy alive in our life.  If you choose to take this journey with me, be prepared to witness my watered down cradle Catholic views on life.  Wine will be poured, tears will be shed, and laughter will follow.  

But in the end, all that really matters is that I #doitforcj

Jen