Christmas fail....

Steps to being a heartbroken mom of an angel on Christmas...

Wake up crying in a confused state.  Is it all a bad dream?   Please tell me this is just a bad dream.

Wash face.  Cold washcloth over the eyes and pray you can still fake it through the day.

Go through the motions of starting the day.   Cry in your coffee.  Cry in the shower. Cry in the closet. In between, reapply mascara and keep checking the swelling around you eyes.   Convince yourself you can still fake it through a family dinner.

**speedbump.  Hubby in a miserable mood and leaves for work.  Flying solo with the kids driving themselves to a family gathering**

Tell yourself one last cry and you're done.  Stop at the cemetery.  Cry until you can't catch your breath while standing alone in a cemetery on Christmas day.   Cry until you wish your breath would simply stop.  Feel your cheeks burn in the wind and your nose drip down your face despite the wad of crumpled tissues constantly wiping your face.  Scream at God internally to either calm the pain or just take you to your son already.

Reapply mascara to face your children.  Begin the process of realizing there is no way to hide the pain today.

Cry in the car.

Reapply mascara and fan eyes for the 40 min ride out to a family Christmas dinner while tears slip through every few moments.

One more mascara application.

Face your family.  See the look of sympathy in their eyes as they cautiously say hello. Feel almost relieved when an aunt comments you look tired.  You know she's just being kind.  Escape to bathroom when more tears break through.

Reapply mascara.

Nibble through dinner.  Down 2 glasses of chardonnay in the hopes of numbing the pain.  Realize today is a bust.  Quietly day goodbye to a select few and slip away to your car.

Burst into tears while fumbling with keys in a slight panic of being caught.   Drive home crying.  And more crying.   Your face burns worse than sunburn.  Your nose is now also miserably red.  

Make it home exhausted and look at yourself in the mirror. OMG.  Your image horrifies you.   How is that possible from simply crying???

This is what grief does to you.   This is the face of a mom who attempted to be brave.   Who attempted to pull it together a dozen times.  It isn't pretty, or sweet, or even gentle.   It's harsh,  exhausted, and honest.

Christmas is far from over for a grieving heart. Please reach out to the hurting souls in your life.   Love them through the ugly.   Maybe the next day will be a bit easier...

Acting like a grown up and other nonsense!

"I assumed you moved on"

This was the second line in an email from a distant friend today.   I guess my response to her initial email and mentioning CJ was unsettling for her. 

When my girls were little and over reacting I remember thinking to myself "grow up!  Geez, little drama queen!".  Now I find myself closing in on 42 and often in drama queen status.   Nothing is fair,  just,  understandable,  or even predictable.   Little stumbling blocks in everyday life feel like enormous brick walls at times.   Some days I pout to my friends that being an adult is sooooo unfair!  (Imagine this said through smeared mascara, a runny nose, and gross sniffles). 

Then days like today happen.  I woke up with CJ screaming in my heart.  But my household was silly and happy as kids left for school. Little ones played quietly and my husband let me disappear for a long, hot, shower.  I cried a bit in my safe place and wondered how can anyone ever expect me to get over. Then I dropped the shampoo and smacked my head on the glass door when I went to pick it up.   For a brief moment,  my day teetered between tears and laughter. I chose laughter!

Then the road blocks started popping up.  Seemingly large,  until I realized my arsenal I had to deal with them.  My village is fierce!   And by allowing them in to help when I need it also leaves the door open for me to be of service when they need it.

*I took a 3 day break here.  Some days words get stuck...*

So as I reread those words,  I am taken back by what a whiner I sound like!   Seriously!

Ever met someone so stuck in a horrible moment in their life that they cease to live?  Well, we have a miserable human being like that in our life.  She's single handedly destroyed the ties to an entire family.   Her life is full of proving she mourns the hardest,  her life is the biggest struggle,  and everyone around her is upsetting.  She's a bully.   Full of cruel words but hides when confronted... only to spread more crap behind your back.  It's hard to be sympathetic with her loss when her actions are so hurtful.   She has funneled her pain into a really miserable existence for most people around her.  My moments of self pity remind me how easy it would be to slip into a similar nasty bitch mode.

And this is why I share my tears.   Holding them back would cause them to bubble over.  It's ok to be sad at times that I miss my son.  But life is so full of incredible people whom I love deeply and life yet to be lived. 

So the unfair crap may still bring some self pity, but with Thanksgiving around the corner I'm going to switch perspectives.  I'm going to try to reflect on my blessing more and allow the tears when I need them.   With so much love surrounding me,  I will not allow myself to became that bitter woman. Instead I will continue to fill my home and my life with joy.  

In CJ's beautiful memory,  I will strive to be joyful this season.   I will #doitforcj.

Changing seasons.

An odd memory keeps lingering in my mind today.

It was 2 years ago.  The trees were changing as was I.  Shock had worn off,  everyone had gone back to living, and I was lost.   Sobbing, praying,  arguing with God filled my days.   I felt alone and forgotten by most of the people in my life. The period of shock was much easier than this next stage in my journey.

I became explosive in every way. Some friends slipped away simply being unable to deal with watching me slip into my own hell, while others proved to be my angels.  They loved me through the smeared mascara, uncontrollable crying,  and anger fits. 

One weekend afternoon the normalcy of our household felt overly synthetic.  My life 2 months after losing my son had turned into a charade.  It was all too much and I crumbled.  My husband calmly walked to the backyard,  set up a chair, poured me a hot cup of coffee, and gently walked me outside.  He put a blanket over my legs and kissed my forehead before leaving me alone.   The tears burned and my soul screamed as I cried.  When I calmed down, he joined me. There was no need for words as he was living the same hell, just under different rules.  A grieving dad's emotions aren't cared for by others as a mom's are. After time we chatted.  I don't remember our conversation, but I remember the feeling.  He was the only one in the entire world who knew how it felt to lose OUR son.

I've met many moms who have lost babies these past 2 years, and over heard more heartbreaking stories than I can count.  And in the end,  I realize I am so abundantly blessed.   Even in my moments of deepest despair, my husband was there with me.  We wiped tears, took turns breaking down,  and used our last bit of strength to be kind to each other.  The loss of a child has statistically devastating effects on a marriage, yet somehow we pulled together even closer. 

This time of year is a reminder of change.  A time in my life I will never be able to restore in many ways.  But this year I'm trying to focus on the love and support we all shared over CJ.  My little boy brought us together in ways I never knew possible.  Hopefully he's watching me now proud of his mommy.  Hopefully the seasons continue to bring comfort and memories of love.   That's a legacy I'm proud to build for CJ....

Love.

Love and blessing to you all.  Happy belated All Souls Day 2015.

#doitforcj

2015 wave of light

Another year.   This is my third wave of light.  How has my sweet little boy been gone over 2 years?   It just doesn't make sense.  

Time is a blessing.   Bad days are still excruciating,  but they tend to sneak up less often.   Not a single day goes by that CJ isn't on my mind from the moment I wake up until I cry myself to sleep.   Can you imagine?   My heart never gets to take a break.   But my soul is learning to love him in ways that are less painful. 

This wave of light is such a comfort.   It remind me that I'm not alone along with an opportunity to selfishly focus on CJ outloud for a change.  a few years have sneaked out as I read my newsfeed full of memorials to friends' babies.  So many beautiful, warrior moms who I have met on this journey.  Our angels are our common link, and I'm blessed to know every one of them.

Can you simply light a candle tonight in support of so many hurting souls tonight?   If you are personally struggling through your own loss,  know that you are not alone.   My prayers will included all those struggling silently as well as us loud mouths.  Tonight is simply about the babies...

Love to each and every one of you!
-Jen

Missing him...

I haven't been there in awhile.  Weeks honestly.  My son's 2nd birthday knocked the wind out of me.   A date on the calendar ripped at the scabs on my soul in ways I can't explain.   Every since my few visits around his birthday,  the pain had just been too horrific to visit the cemetery.

It's almost 2am and with all my might I'm resisting the urge to grab car keys and go.   I need to be close to him.  The feel of the grass on my cheek seems to be a distant memory.   Collapsing on the very earth he is buried beneath is the only action I experience that quantifies the sorrow my heart carries every single day.   It's my equivalent of checking on a sleeping child.  the difference being for 20 years every time I checked,  they were still alive.  I've lost that blind faith for the rest of my life.

I went to say to a friend that it's so nice to have everyone home tonight,  but the reality is that will never happen.   I will never have all of my kids home together.  It's a twisted road of words I'm  attempting to navigate.   How do I respect my son if I don't acknowledge his absence?

So tonight I'll stare at the ceiling for a little bit longer.   Tears burn my face in a way only endless tears do.  I miss him.   Yet somehow my heart will keep beating until morning.  Then I can honor him by loving his sisters and working my hardest to be an example of how we want the world to #doitforcj.

But tonight,   I miss him.

Just like CJ...

Another dead baby in the news.   That's how WGN headlined the end of a short life.   "Another dead baby...".  These headlines hurt me beyond understanding. The one found in Chicago today was 2 months young. 

Like so many other people in this world,  I would step forward in a heartbeat to hold that baby and raise him/her as my own. But maybe my vision is a bit different.  Of course I would welcome him into our lives as a beautiful,  living child.   But with that window passed,  my heart screams for something more.

That baby has a name.   God brought that child to this earth with purpose.   That lifeless, still child rests in a morgue or medical examiner's office.  At this moment,  he/she is just like CJ.

I pray that angel slipped out of this world peacefully.  And equally,  I wish I could swaddle the earthly remains.   That angel deserves his final moments to be held in loving arms,  surrounded in a soft blanket, and honored.  Just like CJ.

I'M BLESSED.   SO ABUNDANTLY BLESSED.

Although our story has broken my soul in ways that can never be repaired,   I had my moment with him.   I can relive the heartbreak of time taken from us,  or focus on the sweet moments we had.  CJ came into our world in a calm and quiet room.  He was swaddled, kissed, adored, and honored.  He was loved and cradled by family. His sweet body was there to remind us that his soul would live forever. 

When I hear of "another dead baby", I pray someone picked them up in loving arms as simply a baby, swaddled them in comfort,  marveled at their sweet face,  and honored the existence of such an amazing being.

Because they are just like CJ.

Missing some amazing things...

Holy heavens.  I am heavy hearted these past few weeks.   Must be the toddler birthday party I didn't get to celebrate.  A birthday cake never ordered.   Birthday kisses never delivered....

Often my best way to break my funk is to simply spill my guts.  So I've decided to simply list it all. All the crap that in missing out on that feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I miss:

Thinking I knew what my future held for the next 18 years.

Sleep.

Having blind confidence in my body.

Being asked why I'm crying.

Exhaling.

Not knowing that an infant's casket resembles those white styrofoam coolers.

Thinking it would never happen to me.

Sleep.

Being confident that all was safe if you just make it to 26 weeks.

Not worrying about medication refills so that I can simply breathe every day.

A carefree look that I used to see in our daughters' eyes.

Being uncomfortable in a cemetery.

Anonymity in our church.

Sleep.

Simply answering the damn "how many kids to you have" question without stumbling.

Planning.

Loving my son in earthly form.

Being known for who I am,  not what I lost.

Talking to extended family without the awkward avoidance in their eyes.

Baby shopping.

Sitting in his perfectly simply nursery.

Sleep.

Washing tiny onsies.

Sewing nursing pads, burp rags,  and blankets until 3am.

Talking to my belly.

Allowing my husband to touch my belly.

Paying attention to signals like swollen ankles and treating my body with respect.

Feeling like I deserved respect.

Sleep.

Excitement.

People being happy for us.

Being happy for myself.

Guilt free chunks of time.

Daydreaming.

Praying with hope.

Sleep.

Sleep without screaming nightmares and phantom kicks. 

Sleep that leaves you refreshed,  comforted,  and ready to function.

I really miss sleep.

Yep, I'm back.

CJ,

Mom just can't seem to stay away from you today. Something was just screaming for me to come back.

So here I am. Laying in the grass right next to you sweet boy. And for the first time today, I am almost exhaling.

I wish I could explain to the rest of the world how insanely irrelevant my daily life really feels.  Some days your absence is like a screaming buzzer in my ear all day long.  I can't exhale until I stop and just miss you.   

So I'm exhaling.   

And I'm crying. 

I can't believe you would have been 2 on earth this month.   You should be driving me nuts. I shouldn't be crying alone in a cemetery...

I love you.   Help me #doitforcj.

As long as it's healthy...

A friend recently posted an ultra sound picture of a sweet little 8 week blob.   Her comment?  The typical.

Wedontcarewhatitisaslongasitshealthy....

Ignorance is truly bliss.

I would give my own life for CJ to have taken a breath.  My daydreams now involve having the chance to raise my downs syndrome baby.   I wish his little heart could have kept beating for 2 more weeks and given us the chance to get him help.   If I had only known...

I fantasize about what it would feel like to kiss his warm forehead as he is wheeled into surgery, or to have the opprotunity to make choices for him that would effect his life.  Any physical scars would have been proof he lived.   Instead,  I'm left with a wounded soul.

His life may have been riddled with medical and social obstacles, but all I wanted was the chance the spend time loving him through it and showing him how much I loved him.

I just want my sick baby better on earth with me.   Even if it was to be a short time.   No time at all is purely torture.  He didn't need to simply be healthy.   He just needed to be alive.

I wish I was still blissfully ignorant....

I opened the damn envelope....

Most angel parents have one.  It's the envelope that has the hardest things to look at.

For me,  it's from the funeral home.   A picture of my sweet little boy dressed in a beautiful ivory knit outfit with a matching bonnet.  His little feet tucked into teddy bear slippers his grandma picked out from his nursery while I laid in a hospital bed in exhausted hysterics.  My sweet little boy is in his casket.

We don't care for this picture.   His lips are forced shut and his face puffy and starting to discolor.  But it's the only picture I have that his hands are showing.   Beneath his sweet outfit,  I can imagine his perfect little baby shape.  A tiny bit of his hairline can be seen reminding me of the brief moment I pulled back his hospital hat to catch a glimpse of his dark hair.    It's painfully blunt.   The blanket overhanging the box edges that I pray were snugly tucked around him.

What a gift.   Our funeral director snapped the picture with his cell phone at the last moment knowing I would not be released from the hospital to see him in his last little bed.  He dressed,  cleaned,  and tucked my son in for me. That stranger got to spend more time with my son than the few brief minutes that the nurses allowed me.  I could be jealous,  but in reality I'm so very thankful.  I'm thankful such a caring individual was brought to us when we needed to be taken care of.

The funeral home also provided a baby book for us to fill out specifically for an angel.  Again,  a crazy blessing no average person would think of.  

I don't know why I dug that up today.  The toddler I adore who I babysit was being a horrific monster,  I found fleas on the kitten, my wallet is empty from one domestic disaster after another lately, and I had been battling a headache for a solid 10 hours. It was an absolutely crappy day. 

Yet I needed to see him.  That pain brought a bit of comfort.   He was here.   It wasn't just a dream. 

Tonight's sad ramblings have left me wiped out.   Maybe in a few hours when I get up,  my headache will have faded and my puffy eyes calmed down.   A girl can hope,  right?   Tonight it hurts to #doitforcj

I screwed up...

Every little things that was in his nursery was packed when we moved last year.  We were in no way ready to thin things out,  so I simply packed it.   Every little things was placed in a box or bin by me.   Help was offered, but at the time I was completely in momma bear mode and nobody (including my husband) could make me feel at ease and get me to accept help.

Fast forward a year.  A mountain of boxes and bins sat ominously stacked in the corner of the basement.   This may be the saddest way too memorialize our sweet boy.   Almost 2 years since we said goodbye to CJ,  a few medical hurdles and attempts,  and still no "rainbow" baby.   That stack doesn't just represent past loss,  but broken dreams for the future. 

3 nights ago I decided enough was enough.   I can't explain why,  but it was time to sort through,  condense, donate, and repack.  My first action was to donate the 3 cases of diapers collecting dust. 

I found a young mom in my community struggling and pregnant.   She showed up walking the 3 blocks with her small children and a stroller,  refusing to allow me to drive the 3 large boxes over for her.  We emptied the boxes and stacked as many packs as we could into the stroller, then bagged up the rest for them to carry.  I watched them walk away and I felt one burden lifted from her shoulders.  But my pain over letting go of a stack of diapers was shattering.

Night #2 tackling the stack was spent opening everything to see what I had. I could remember where every single item had been in the nursery.  It was like ripping the stitches out of a wound before it was healed.  The stack was left as an even bigger mess.

Night #3 I decided to finish what I started.   Last night I touched every single item.   Some hand me downs were pulled aside to be donated.  Everything was sorted,  cried over,  and repacked.   For the first time it not only felt like CJ's things,  but that of any other baby we have not been blessed to conceive.   It was a horribly painful reality.

My husband walked in exhausted from work just past midnight to find me finishing up and a mascara smeared mess.   And that's when I realize it...

I screwed up.

He hugged me.   That hug that only he can give me while holding me up as I crumble into his arms.   He didn't let go when I started to resist and pull away.  He just let me lose it.

Then he told me he never expected me to do it alone. He thought we would go through it all together.  The look on his face told me he was disappointed.  It never occurred to me that refolding onsies was just as important to him.

My head was pounding from all the crying.  My exhausted husband didn't hesitate to run back out for a soda for me.   Then we stayed up until after 2 watching watching meaningless reality tv and mindless chatter.  When my headaches had eased off, we crawled into bed.  His arms protectively around me as he spooned his traumatized wife. 

Why do I insist on doing it all myself?  I think I'm trying to protect everyone around me from experiencing the debilitating pain I attempt to function with every single day.

Every.  single. day.

It's not working.  They are already right there with me sorting through feelings none of us will ever be able to pack away.  While most days are better, many are still spent attempting to internally sort and reposition the enormous emotions of losing a child.  Every action is an attempt to lesson the pain.   But in reality,  it's just moving it around.   And often,  I screw it up.  

Today I'm exhausted.   It's like having an emotional hangover.  So now that my little buddy is softly snoring on the couch next to me, I'm going to let go and join him.   We can deal with life on a toddler's schedule today.  No big life changing epiphanies today.  Just a crap full of reality.

#doitforcj

#doitforcj

I wonder...

I wonder if they had just brought my son back to me after I was cleaned up and stable if the time I could have had would have left a less traumatic wound on my heart.

I wonder how it would have felt to hold his sweet body against mine.  To unwrap him and feel him skin to skin against my chest.

I wonder if my heart would be more at peace of I had been given the chance to bath him and dress him.   Let's face it... he was already dead. What harm could it have done?

I wonder if my sweet husband would have been given some privacy from the staff while he held his son for only those few minutes if he would have allowed himself to grieve.  If we could have had a few moments the 3 of us to cuddle and be his parents together. His wife sobbing in a hospital bed while he sat in a chair helplessly holding his dead son must haunt him. Physically,  we were seperated.  Those few inches felt like a brick wall.

I wonder if anyone would have suggested we take or own pictures if I could let the lazy photographer who didn't even make an attempt off the hook. 

I wonder why any of the staff could not recognize the horror of that silent room.  The comfort of some soft music could have changed our memories forever.

But most of all,  I wonder what his beautiful eyes must have looked like. I dream of his gaze meeting mine.   I pray that is the first thing I see when I join him in heaven.

But for now, I'm left to wonder...

Strawberry milk...

Summer break is in full swing at our house!  Kids come and go at all hours of the day. Some we get to claim on our taxes, others are sweet little extras to fill our days.

Quiet moments with just one daughter are rare. I hope one day when they look back, they remember that I really tried when an impromptu moment arose. Today it came in the form of strawberry milk.

I had been outside weeding after dinner until the bugs were attacking. I came inside frustrated that my time has been cut short in the garden. at the same time, our youngest daughter had just come out of the shower and joined me in the family room for some mindless TV. I honestly am not sure which one of us thought of it, but instantly we both had to have strawberry milk. This is quite the random idea if you know me and how hard I try to keep something so full of sugar out of my pantry.

We jumped up together and comically hurried into the kitchen. She managed to find some strawberry milk mix in the pantry and we begin to jokingly argue over shaker bottles. I don't know if she realized how hard I had been struggling all day. I don't know if she saw the pain in my eyes, or the tears I snuck off to wipe a few times. Maybe she caught me looking at his picture for a few extra seconds. Or maybe he was weighing heavy on her own heart. But for that few silly moments in the kitchen, I was able to put down some of the burden. To simply allow myself the few moments of laughter and let the pain rest.

We took our strawberry milk back into the family room. I sat on the couch with my sweet kid watching a reality show about a tattoo shop, and bouncing ideas off of her of what I would like to get in memory of her brother.

Most days my life is busy, chaotic, comical, overwhelming, blessed, painful, loud, and completely unpredictable. But today over a shaker bottle of strawberry milk on ice,  everything just felt calm.

Wishing you all a beautiful calm moment every single day.  For those of you hurting for whatever reason, allow yourself that moment of indulgence.   Put down your burdens long enough to exhale.  #doitforcj with me!

Emotional hail damage...

Sitting in my car in a parking lot as hail pounded the roof was enough to push me over the edge today.

These moment come less frequently now.   They start as a situation completely rational for some anxiety,  and blossom into me in hysterics in what feels like a millisecond.  

I was soaked and freezing from unloading my grocery cart.  Soaked to the point of shivering and trying to focus through burning contacts.   I thought I just needed to get home.   But as soon as I pulled out the hail sounded like gunshots.  I actually screamed as if  someone had jumped out and scared me.

I found refuge parked against a large brick building to block the majority of the hail. Once the car was in park, I collapsed into sobs.

My sweet CJ.....

He was alone.

Was the ground flooding?  Were the trees over him protecting him or falling on top of him?    My thought got much darker.   I'll spare myself the heartache of repeating them.  And I cried with tears that felt like acid.  (That new mascara will be tossed immediately!  Ouch!!) 

I eventually made it home and my sweet daughter came out with an umbrella to unload groceries.  I laughed watching her juggle in the downpour.  I laughed harder as I realized she stacked groceries safely under the covered porch, but blocking her own access to the door.  Just moments after feeling pain no mother should ever feel,  I was laughing.

Tomorrow I'll swing by the cemetery.  Branches with probably need to be cleared and my horrific day terror thoughts will be put to rest seeing his ground intact.   And somehow,  I pray that will bring me some peace.

Sipping my coffee to warm up,  watching our Blackhawks dominate Tampa,  and praying for God's grace to help me keep on with the quest to #doitforcj.

What I would do differently as a 40 something mom. ..

Let's face it, I became a mother very young.  19 to be exact.   For whatever reason, becoming a parent was very easy for me.   I was always the teenager babysitting every week for families that paid me well to keep me.  Infants to school age,  I loved them all.   My sweet first baby was light of my life. 

Her sisters that followed in my mid twenties are no different.  Blessings that so abundantly filled our lives.  Of course I have my fair share of mommy tantrum stories from days when I felt overwhelmed.  But for the most part, we parented with old school values and common sense. 

Our kids had plenty of clothes, toys, and of course our love and attention.  Even on a tight budget,  while the newest trends may not have been possible,  but they always had plenty.  The first time I really remember putting my foot down and taking a stand was over video games. They were pretty much banned from my home except the first electronic reading books that came out. We were in agreement that our children would not be glued to the TV for their childhood.  Back then the first portable gameboys were coming out and our kids  simply went without. 

Yet I admit too often feeling inadequate.  I wanted my beautifully dressed kids (thanks to clearance and resale shopping) to have even better.  I envied other parents minivans that were a bit nicer,  or strollers that are a model newer.  I wanted our kids to not feel behind in any way.   Many of their friends' parents were many years older than us.  They are simply more established and in a different phase of life.  I laugh now at how young we really were.

I'm pondering all of this as I think about what type of parent would I be for a newborn today?

Calm.   One thing we really bring to the table with a house full of young women is a pretty calm environment.  Now I have my bad days,  but typically or home is drama free.   We are not yellers.  My kids each muttered they hated us once and never again.   They were taught to respect us and each other.   Hate is the f word of ugly words and absolutely not allowed in our home. 

Loving.   I didn't grow up on a home were we said "I love you" and very rarely hugged.  It left me screaming for physical attention as a teenager.   Our kids are snuggled and told they are loved and are amazing every chance I get (to the point of eye rolls).  Living these lessons modeled to them exactly the support we needed after CJ.  They would sit on the couch with my for hours while I cried holding my hand. Almost 2 years later,  they know exactly how powerful a hug is when they catch me crying.  There's a love and bond between us that would only be strengthened  with another sibling. I've always felt there is an over flow screaming for more babies.   My body simply hasn't cooperated.

Patient.  This comes with simply being a bit more mature.  CJ had really taught me not to sweat the small stuff.  Laundry can stack up if I means my kids get my attention.  I have no desire to miss out on time with them to be stressing over cleaning.   We tackle it as team, then relax together.  I'm sure juggling supervising a toddler would be the same. It's easier to be patient when everyone works together.

Happy.   Our kids have brought us incredible joy from the moment we knew they were conceived.  Every single day they make me laugh.  I hurt to my soul knowing a time is coming when they are beginning to leave.   I never choose to have an empty nest already.   There should be little souls and toy boxes filling the nooks of my home.  Don't envy my ability to have glass shelving or fingerprintless furniture.   It's  all screaming for sticky hands and miscellaneous plastic toys.

I will never look at a pregnant woman in her 40s and assume her belly was a "oops" or mistake.   I see a woman with a beautiful opportunity to be the mom only maturity can help you be.   I wish others would stop asking or assuming my son was unplanned.   A surprised blessing after so many years of trying?  Yes.   But always part of God's plan for my life.   I'm hoping the rest of his plan had yet to be fulfilled. There's still lots of love,  patience, and happiness in my heart to share.

While my path unfolds,  I'll keep trying to stay positive.  That's how I #doitforcj!

Another transforming moment....

I am simply a work in progress.  I've learned that I am not trying to get back to the "old" me,  but working on a new existence for myself in this world.

Mothers Day has absolutely been an eye opening lesson this year.  I have dreaded and made big plans for avoidance of the entire date.  But no amount of planning fills a broken heart.

My family did exactly as I asked.   Kept it simple.  Funny cards with thoughtful messages and a morning run for my favorite bagels.   I could feel the heaviness in the air as we all avoided the elephant in the room.   One of us will forever be painfully missing.  

Looking back at this week,  I'm realizing a shift.  While these past 20 months have been a struggle to just live,  I've retreated into a life often self isolating.   Online support groups have been my lifeline.  And unfortunately,  a couple who I trusted have taken advantage of me in the most unthinkable way.  They have stolen from CJ's legacy,  or attempted to.  A real friend swooped in the defend and protect us.   Someone tangible that has held me through my tears,  laughed at my insanity, and truly become a much loved friend.

Some strangers who have met me online with the common link of losing a child may wonder where I've gone this week.  I've simply outgrown a stage of grief.   Some true friendships will never, never be let go of.   But some while I wish them all well, it's time to say goodbye. I can't stay where people are stuck in grief.

Ok, sweet cj.  I get it!  In order to enjoy being your mom,  I have to allow myself to enjoy life.   I'm working on it.   Like I've said, I'm a often a hot mess, but atleast I'm progressing towards more happiness every day.   In your honor I've deleted a few groups that bring drama into my life.  I'm saving that energy for the real people that hold me up and push me closer to you every single day.  Because kiddo,  I will spend the rest of my life with only one goal...

                                #doitforcj

"Mothers Day" bullshit and a soaking wet dog...

Sometimes a stressful week bubbles over to a moment of such insanity that it becomes hilarious.  That has been me this week!

I have been trying to avoid all things relating to the upcoming Hallmark holiday with every inch of my being!  I am so blessed and thankful to be a mom.  What I don't need is a day of counting my blessings and being reminded of our missing son.   Even my morning tv is swamped with sweet little stories of moms who reign in the quest for the motherhood crown.  Yep, I'm calling bullshit on the entire "holiday"!

In my quest to block out the bullshit, a few days ago we went to the local hardware store for mulch dirt, a half dozen big planters, and several flats of flowers. I spent 8 hours cleaning, planting, and blowing off steam in our backyard.

Not everyone appreciated my hard work.

Bonnie...

Our ridiculously spoiled 1 year old shepherd/boxer/pitbull mix maniac. Life with Bonnie is like living with the 3 stooges all wrapped up n a nonverbal nut job! Her energy is never ending, she is smarter than any animal I have ever known, and she is trained to do very little except cuddle and make us laugh.

Yesterday, like any other day, she spent most of the afternoon in the fenced yard having a marvelous time.  What I didn't realize until my oldest daughter walked in the house laughing was that sweet Bonnie was digging up all of my beautiful planters.

I hit my boiling point!  After screaming at her in the backyard like a maniac, she peed all over herself in fear and probably confusion.  As she ran off to hide, I prepared for battle.  My daughter, still laughing hysterically, watched me turn the hose on and hide around the corner.  My heart was pounding out of my chest and the pup should be thankful the hose was the onlv weapon I could find at the moment! I took a deep breath and starting cheerfully calling Bonnie to me.  Yes,  the daughter is still laughing hysterically watching this all unfold.  Don't worry- It's all about to blow up in her face!

Bonnie comes happily trotting over and into my trap.  As soon as she turns the corner and is trapped between me and the fence I open fire!  I sprayed that damn dog down with every bit of frustration I had been brewing this week!  I sprayed her until she backed herself right into the corner.  And I kept spraying.  I may have even had a menacing laugh at this point.  And eventually I stop seeing red and notice the daughter the dog has hidden behind who is drenched, arms raised like she's under arrest, and howling in laughter at her insane mother!  I lowered my weapon and paused for a moment with the realization of what I had just done. More laughter as we both lost it!

Now for all of you worried about Bonnie, she shook off and trotted away oblivious.

This story was retold to the rest of the family over burgers in a restaurant later that night.  We all howled in laughter as Kate recounted being hose down by a crazy woman.  I sat thankfully with tears in my eyes for our rowdy table of the people who love me even when I'm acting like a maniac. 

That's what I want my Mother's Day to be.  Not fancy brunches, cards, or cheesy tv specials.  I want to acknowledge how hard the entire gig really is!  It's pictures of a mascara streaked woman holding her dead baby. It's moms NOT having stellar moments and feeding their kids popcorn for dinner.  And it's hosing your 22 year old down on accident when you finally over boil.  And most importantly it's saying you are still doing stellar job even on those years that you wonder how you will take the next breath, let alone care for others.  Screw that Hallmark image of the sweet mom sharing a yard swing with her adorable toddler in matching sundresses!  Put a woman lying on her son's grave crying and I can finally relate.

Give your moms a real gift this week.  Be the kid laughing hysterically while her mom hoses her down accidently.  Forgive a woman's flaws and rejoice her ability to persevere.  No journey is perfect, but you can get through it with some laughter and a lot of love.  #doitforcj

Dying from a broken heart?

Several months after losing our sweet boy, caring family members starting warning us that if we weren't careful we could actually die from a broken heart. At the time that didn't seem like such a horrible thing. but as the months half past and we've been able to heal, you begin to look at yourself from the outside and understand exactly what everyone's worried was and probably still is.

Let's face it, taking care of myself for the past almost 2 years has almost become non-existent. For a long time I considered getting up and getting dressed the biggest triumph of my day.  What the hell did the world want from me? Trendy hair and cute clothes? Who really gave a crap.

This past weekend we hosted a beautiful event for our two youngest daughters. it was time to celebrate quinceaneras,  sweet sixteens and too many things that have gone without a party recently. New dresses for me and my girls, a new suit for Dad, and tons of pictures with so many people that we love and cherish. I've spent the week sorting through hundreds of pictures and a few things have become blaringly obvious to me.

I've been dying of a broken heart.

So without getting into the specific details of my weight , my health   the stack of prescriptions by my bedside   or even my basic style I have been bitch slapped with reality. An enormous piece of me has been lost and tucked away, hidden really, as I've been learning that it's okay to live with a broken heart.

I'm feeling overwhelmed with the desire to live. Not just in a way that gets me from sunup to sundown, but in a way that allows me to feel and share more joy then I did before CJ came into our lives. What better legacy could I leave for my son?

So I am admitting so many people were right. You can die from a broken heart. I admit that much of me did. But maybe there is an even bigger part of me left to put out there in the world. maybe my story is just beginning. maybe.....

#doitforcj

Happy Easter!

CJ Bear

We have a new resident in our home.   A very sweet gift named "CJ Bear".

Our little bear has been stuffed to weigh CJ's exact birth weight.   It was made for us by another mom who lost a baby.  Her ministry for healing are these sweet little bears, dressed in onsies and included with a letter explaining her story.

I've avoided this.   Just a few days into our journey,  this was suggested to me and I honestly thought the idea was crazy.  Why would I want to put myself through feeling what I'm missing?  Would I be able to put it down,  or would I become the crazy woman stroller walking a stuffed bear around the neighborhood? But with time (well over a year ) the opprotunity presented itself again and I bit.

Thinking it would be weeks,  I emailed his weight. To my astonishment,  I received an email back thatmy bear was being made just a few blocks from CJ's cemetery!  I agreed to pick it up a few days later.

What a sweet woman.  I pictured a perfectly staged home with a lady who had plenty of time on her hands to sew these bears.  What I met was a sweet woman with one baby in a highchair,  another trying desperately to get both of our attention to share a favorite toy, and dogs wrangled through a scratched basement door to protect me from the excited behavior.  Her home was very lived in and her hands are very full.  Yet there sat my bear. She handed him to me, and I instinctively held it to my chest.  The weight was surprisingly heavier than I imagined.  It was quite comforting.

When I shared the bear with my family,  my husband and 2 kids shared my surprise at how heavy it felt, while my oldest nuzzled it and with a smile said "yep, that about right".  I was very surprised to see each open to holding and immediately snuggling our new friend.

He found a home on my bed for now.  And he definitely found a new home in our hearts.  I will remember that sweet gal who made it every time I look at it.   Tonight I'm giving in and sneaking some snuggles.  I'm sure CJ is watching and knows he's not replaced.  I'm just a hurting mom simply trying to make it through the day and #doitforcj.

Hurting moments. ..

The sun is setting. Despite the clear blue sky,  the chill in the air has me sitting in my car.   In the cemetery.  

I wanted to tell him I love him.   That yesterday I risked opening up fresh wounds to share his story.  I planned on singing him a lullaby and telling him sweet dreams.  Instead I sobbed.   I sobbed tears that have been kept hidden for a few weeks.  Tears screaming to be released in acknowledgment of so much pain.  Too much pain for anyone to survive, let alone smile after experiencing.
I don't understand this journey.   I simply don't understand why I'm sitting in a cemetery alone as the sun goes down and the world keeps turning. Doesn't everyone know CJ DIED?   His little body is buried a few yards away with the majority of who I used to be. 

This is my reality.  For everyone who thinks I'm so strong,  you are wrong.  I am broken in ways that you can't begin to understand.  After this meltdown,  I'll clean up the mascara smudges and drive thru for a diet coke fix and pick up a kid at church.   Eventually I'll go home to do the normal things we all tackle- laundry, dishes,  email...  Tomorrow I'll get up and do it all over again.  Maybe the day will be easier,  but possibly not.

But for tonight,  my tears hurt...

The waiting room...

A big part of my healing is speaking out.   I have told or story a few times in the medical community not out of malice for the beautiful souls that cared for us, but out of love for the next families to walk this unexpected journey.

Today I was invited to speak at a 2 day conference being hosted at our hospital.  When I realized the organizer was a nurse I have worked very close with to make a few changes happen. I eagerly volunteered my time to help out with  anything they needed.   I was here promptly at 2 as scheduled, and as quickly as I could take off my coat, I was lovingly escorted out.   It seems as soon as I quietly sat in back the radar of 2 nurses went off.   I was a potential emotional wreck in the making I guess.  I hadn't even had a chance to focus on the current presentation let alone get upset.

So I'm sitting in a waiting room in the hospital out of earshot.   Waiting until my time to share my story and knowing whatever presentation that is happening in there may be planting preconceived impressions of who I am and what I have to share.   Then again,  it may have also effected my words if I had listened in.  

I guess my rawest thought right now is so what if I got emotional?   So what if the information hurt to hear? Isn't it SUPPOSED to?   We are talking about the death of my child.   Talk to any loss mom and I promise you pure astonishment in the medical terminology she has acquired in her journey. Most of us can not only follow, but contribute to the most medically driven conversation on the topic.  Most of us are better informed than the very medical community charged with caring for us.

In a few minutes I'll head back towards the floor.   Let them see me pacing eagerly to share my son.   I'm ok with that.   If I cry,  that ok.  There were tissue boxes everywhere in that room of about 50 healthcare professions.  We may even laugh.   All that matters is that I'm heard.   Get ready folks...  I'm about to#doitforcj !

Living with loss...

I'm feeling a bit side swept by an overwhelming feeling of loss tonight.   Of course for my son,  but for so many other things also.

Dreams that turned into reality mostly.  How often do we dream so lofty and be blessed with it's fruition?  13 years of waiting and praying to add to our family materialized for no rhyme or reason.   I had not taken fertility treatments. My faith had been steady.  Why at that time? One of those questions I'll never really understand.

We lost CJ.  A week later we lost or 15 yr old dog.  2 weeks later we got a puppy,  who passed away as soon as we all became attached.   It was a never ended onslaught of loss.   We were like refugees,  stumbling through life.  The kids were in a new school district.   We were in a new community where nobody knew us.  We were lost.

The funny thing is,  being lost doesn't always mean you need to return to the same starting place.  We tried that and what was waiting there had lost it's luster.  What we realized wad while we had such a beautiful community of supporters living us through our hell,  a few people that we had banked too much of our lives on completely flaked.

With love,  we survived.  We recognized those who stepped forward to be there on the ugly nights.  Extended family that started dropping in to check on us and listened when we didn't have a clue how to put to words our pain.  Relationships were strengthened, renewed, and even forged.   A few we let go of.  A few let go of us.  We have changed our physical surroundings as well as emotional.  And slowly,  we have redefined home.

This feeling of loss tonight is hopefully short lived.  New pets have helped us direct a bit of our broken hearts to something to nurture.  Future plans to get out of Chicago winters for good have us excited for the future.  Something is missing.  Something will ALWAYS be missing.   But even with loss, there's life.

#doitforcj

Enjoying the sarcasm...

For me,  the death of my child stripped me of so many personality characteristics while I emotionally shut down for awhile.   My heart was so shattered, that the pain really overshadowed any other piece of me for quite some time.

I've watched friend after friend conceive thier "rainbow baby" (the cliche name for a live baby born after a loss. The beauty after the storm...) and feel conflicted with the new joy of expecting while still grieving.  I'm choking back a bit of sarcasm as I write this. It's hard to feel sorry for those that are gifted with the only thing your heart screams for. 

But that sarcasm resurfacing is my lifeline. As more and more of my spirit returns to me,  everyone around me seems to have a comment.  Some notice spunk, while others see it as bitchiness.  Or I've heard my crazy is showing again, as well as I've become jaded or pessimistic. 

But for those who take the time to ask me vs telling me how I'm feeling,  they learn that I'm learning to cope with my new reality.   If they listen long enough for me to finish a sentence, they hear in my voice the joy that still exists and the pain I will always carry.

But back to that sarcasm.   In our household we juggle 3 adults and 2 cars.  This leave me playing taxi service very, very often.  If it's my husband who is being dropped off at work,  almost everytime one of us will say "I'll buy you coffee" as we walk out the door.  It's a crazy ritual that turns our commute into a coffee date.

Those rides are never silent.  We talk the entire ride- often over each other. Sparing teasingly back and forth with a sarcasm that could easily be misread.

It wasn't always like that.  For many months the ride went silent.  I would be lost in thought,  usually crying.  It was often my first chance to put down the mask I wore at home. We held hands in silence,  spoke just enough to acknowledge the other's existence, and struggled to hold it together.  I would talk about CJ and he would listen. 

Eventually some giggles started to return through the tears.  We started daydreaming and even planning for the future again.  And eventually,  the sarcasm returned.  Him commenting on my driving or me on his vocabulary.   Silly little things that have become private jokes between us over the past 18 years. There's an intimacy in that dialog.  It rolls of off our tongues as if we had our own language. There's a rhythm. 
Comment, comment, giggle. 
Comment,  eyeroll, comment, comment
Comment,  giggle comment. ..

It bounces quicker between us as my heart allows my brain to function more and more each day.  That 22 min ride often does more for my soul that an hour in therapy.

I'm not the same.  I never will be.  And that is completely ok with me.   I wish I had never been forced to survived losing a child,  but CJ is completely worth the scar.   I hope he giggles along as he sees his parents laughing over his mom retelling the story of being trapped in a thigh high snow drift at the cemetery because her stubborn heart needed to walk back to his stone,  not see it from afar.  Or dad describing a project at work that has him frustrated with coworkers. 

In the end, all that matters is that the hearts that share my home recognize the return of the sarcasm, the laughter,  and a desire to enjoy life.   Everyone else making observations without listening,  you are missing out. 

Take some time for a coffee date with someone you care about this week.  Let them finish a sentence.  You may be the step in thier day that helps them find a bit of themselves deep down.  #doitforcj

2 years since the joyful realization...

The Chicago blizzard of 2015 has been a big old pain in the butt. 

We lightheartedly listened to the warnings, stocked up on a few extra groceries, and watched the storm roll in.  18 inches later, we have a few more stacking up this week and dangerously dropping temperatures.

My biggest obstacle is cabin fever.  I admit I escape often just to breathe.  I'm not a good mom because I stay at home.  I'm at my best when I find time to get out, blow off steam, and recharge.

Today was my breaking point.  Luckily I was able to sneak in an hour for a mindless (but solo) grocery run.  Sunglasses were propped in thier usual place just in case another round of tears that have been plaguing me all day snuck up again.  And as another pregnant friend sent a complaint about morning sickness,  I lost it standing in front of the gnocchi.

By the way,  when you bury your child,  it seems like the entire world around you is fertile.   Except me of course.  I just get to listen to all the complaints and be supportive.

My thoughts and tears were redirected at the calender.  2 years ago we were celebrating the news this week.  We were going to wait and tell the girls at a special Valentines dinner,  but they figured it out.  Joy.  Pure and simple joy filled or home.  You can not imagine the love and excitement that had us all so thankful for this blessing.

That joy seems another lifetime away right now.   Nobody wants to remind me of those times.  When your baby dies,  it's all grief.   All sadness.   All darkness.

I need to feel that joy again.   I want with all of my heart to think of CJ with such excitement and anticipation that I can barely keep from smiling and giving away my secret!  Because you see,  one day I will have my son back in my arms.  And until that promised day,  I am still CJ's mom.

This week hurts.   It hurts maybe more than his death anniversary because today was the promise of a first life with us here on earth.   The world is just going to have to excuse my crappy attitude and tears for a few days.   Please don't tell me you are sorry and send your condolences.  Please do not speak of my son in the past tense.   Just love him as if he were here to spoil. Acknowledge that I HAVE a son. Love us both for trying to muddle through this crap.

And good grief.... give me a few days to support myself on this journey.   I share in every one of your joys.  I can't wait to snuggle every little bundle.  But my heart needs a break. Just ask me about me,  and really listen.

Love to you all.  #doitforcj

feeling loved by strangers...

It's been a few weeks.  Hard to believe I have been able to stay away from the cemetery that long.  In all honesty, I have a hard time finding peace standing there in freezing weather.   I feel rushed and unable to really focus my thoughts into prayer.  My last visit was Christmas Eve to show the kids the sweet little tree my husband and I had decorated for him a few days prior.  After mentioning it out loud this week, I was running out of excuses not to go.

I thought I knew what I would find.  Knocked over, frozen decorations all over a grave that was proven unvisited by the lack of footprints.  As I pulled in, my heart raced and for the first time since I was brand new to this, I was a bit scared to be there. 

Was I ever surprised!!  Only about half of the grass was still covered in snow.  Comically, CJ is always covered by a drift and the overhead towering trees toss down baseball sized snowballs constantly. But then I noticed all of the footprints.  It was so clear who had been visiting my little boy.  First, his buddy the raccoon is definitely still a regular! Little footprints all over the stone made me laugh. But the drift was what really surprised me.  MANY sets of footprints. I added mine and was prepared to survery his eclectic Christmas display dismantled by the winter weather.  Instead, what I found was a completely rearranged display.  His little tree had been moved  few feet.  Everything was there, but in a very different arrangement. There were little shoe marks by the tree.  All of the other things were similar- nothing where we had left it, but lovingly and respectfully standing. Another red rose had been left on top of his stone.

The footprints were what finally made me cry.  Mr. Coco to his right obviously shared the visitor who left the rose. 11 were placed at Mr. Coco's stone, and very distinct women's heel footprints left a path to where she had left one for CJ.  This sweet action has happened before.  I think CJ will be bringing his neighbor a new plant in the spring. 

There were little footprints around the redecorated tree.  I followed this over to the left 4 graves to little Jasmine who died at age 6.  I've seen her large Mexican family visiting her before, and felt so much thanks for the little hands that walked over to straighten up CJ's tree.  I hope his little tree lit up with solar lights brought those little hands a smile. 

I ended up standing at a newly dug grave for a man just a few years younger than myself when I followed another set of adult prints. The frozen ground mounded up and funeral flowers half covered in snow on top of the mound. A temporary sign left by the funeral home told me his name and age. I pictured his wife or mother doing what I have done so many times while I visit... needing to redirect my attention before I completely collapse by wandering around in curiosity.  I hope whoever it was felt comfort or at least giggled at the over the top display at CJ's little speck of earth.

It takes a village.  No truer words have ever been penned.  I never understood how intricately we are all woven together until I lost my son.  I have been saved by a Starbucks barista who have pulled up a chair to chat when I tried to hide in the corner behind my shades and laptop.  A hairdresser who placed a cool towel over my swollen red eyes and let me cry, a lady in Hobby Lobby who offered me tissue and helped me pick out flowers for his grave... my list goes on and on.  Yet I'm still surprise to see a rose left by a stranger, or little prints of a child who straightened up his tree. 

We spend a lot of time sharing the beautiful little signs of love shared with us.  I am very proud to say we dish it out there pretty well, too.  CJ taught us that.  Seventeen months after sitting in our church next to his little coffin, and I am finally starting to feel some peace.  It still hurts like nothing I can ever describe, but there is such a crazy amount of peace that comes at me from all of these little signs of a community that may never really know us, but continues to carry us through those snow drifts. 

I like to leave you with a challenge often, so why should today be any different? hahaha!  Look around your community for a tiny place to be of service. You never know when picking up a fallen Christmas decoration can be the simple act of love that gets a broken heart through the day.

One quick shout out....


Happy Birthday to the most selfless man I have ever met!  Nate, when we married all those years ago I knew I never had to worry about you loving me. I can not count the amount of times I have watched you pull over to help push a car out of the snow, headed over to help a neighbor with a home repair,  spent your only day off working on a project with one of our kids, held open endless doors, carried mounds of packages and shopping bags, and simply loved us with all you have.  I love you. I love who I am when I'm with you. I love knowing that you understand what is behind my eyes. Your quirky sense of humor and enormous heart are the core of our family.  I thank God every day for you and pray that the next year is full of blessings.  Happy 44th Birthday my love!!!

It caught up with me...

I've been in avoidance mode.  Taking ques from those around me uncomfortable with the conversation on a child in heaven, I've put a lot of effort into living quietly.  Grieving quietly. Trying to simply pull myself together. It's been over a year and it is clearly what many friends and family expect from me.

We can be intensely private people.  While I share daily on several social media sites, like the majority I filter what I post.  I try to give a honest glimpse into our journey living without our son, but many big details of our life are kept private.  Locations and specifics are often purposely deceiving for the safety of our family.  But much is bluntly put out there for the world to see.

So why an I struggling so hard to live my journey honestly? Exhaustion from being judged. Plain and simple. It is very common for me to receive private messages expressing how some think I a faithful woman would behave better than I often do.

Well, I'm once again calling bullshit on this journey.  My son died.  I delivered a beautiful, perfect looking baby who never took a breath. I watched as my husband briefly held him and cried. I watched his sisters snuggle him and kiss him goodbye. I laid there in a hospital bed wondering if I was killing the souls of our daughters by including them. I looked into my parents eyes as they cradled their only grandson in their arms.  I died a bit that day in ways that will never be fixed.

So for whatever reason, I'm struggling. Rx bottles I haven't touched in months will need to be refilled soon.  Sleep escapes me even with that help.  Nightmares are back and amplified.  The vivid memories in the morning leave me confused and panicked.

I'm still functioning through the days.  Things are a bit easier with a recent change we made that has lessened some  financial burdens for us.  Once again, a decision that we have hidden to avoid  judgment.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day I find my backbone again!  We stepped out of our comfort zone and have had a very social weekend. Dinner at a busy casino with friends, joining our adult child and her bf to hang out at a neighborhood bar late one night, and accepting an invite from our teenagers to join them and friends for bowling.  That is an incredible amount of social pressure for one weekend for us!

And with the realization of some life progress, I'll leave you with this thought...

Try not to push someone through a hard journey. Forcing them to fake happiness is not how they actually achieve it.  Even after our crazy, busy, happy few days, I need a few to cry.  I need to be encouraged to acknowledge EVERYTHING I'm really dealing with. Not just the feelings that make those around me comfortable.

Thank you to all of you beautiful angels that follow along and send your love and prayers.  Keep them coming and know that I am praying for all of you.  It's just one way I try to #doitforcj.