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

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!

Drama in the Target parking lot

I have always been a bit of a hot head.  I think it just balances out my better qualities a bit!  But since we lost CJ, my filter seems to be even weaker than before.

Today was a perfect example. After a long day babysitting the cutest one year old on earth, the girls and I decided to head out to Target for things to make a quick, late dinner and a cheap dvd to add to our growing collection.  Seemed simple enough.

The first comical choice I made was to take the conversion van.  Yep. With a lovely sedan in the garage, I grabbed the keys to the Queen Mary for the simple reason that it had a full tank of gas! 

The parking lot was busy, but not crazy. I found a spot just a few spaces from the door and parked it. Yes, it was between the lines. Yes, it's a huge vehicle.  But to put this in perspective, the girls opened both doors on the passenger side and easily got out without touching the mini suv on their side.  Little did we know it's owner, a hot headed momma with a toddler, was waiting impatiently for us to disembark (Queen Mary/disembark. Get it? Lol cracking myself up).

Immediately she started speaking in her outdoor voice to her little one that she had no idea how she was going to get her into their car.  My kids kicked it into high speed and headed towards the store. Annoyed, I lingered.  She continued to speak to the child so I could hear her about how rude I was. 

Yep, I engaged.

I asked her if she would like me to move for her and she snapped "I'm not speaking to YOU!!"

I think you can all picture what happened next.  I said a few words about acting like a grown up and that I'd happily move over for her. Of course adding if she just asked instead her passive aggressive crap... And I walked back to climb back in and scootch it over literally a few inches. 

My engine starting up threw her into a rage! To prove her point she whipped her back door open (just about all of the way I might add) to where if I backed up she would be clocked by my huge mirror and proceeded to lock her toddler into the car seat.  As soon as she shut the door and went to return her cart, I backed up and nudged over literally a few inches.

I jumped out (yep, jumped. It's a big van!) and had perfect timing to watch her ram her cart into the cart return with all of her might.  I had to laugh. It was like watching a child throwing a fit.  As she stormed across my path I added " there you go, princess" to which she retorted my absolute favorite "WHATEVER!" and got into her cute little suv and slammed the door like a maniac. I met up with the girls who looked a bit shocked standing by the front door.

Yes, I did immediately think who knows what she has struggled with today. I don't have a clue of her story or her struggles. But another thought bothered me more.  She was raising a bully!

What I witnessed was a mean girl in training. Her mom was using her as a direction for her passive aggressive behavior, to say things she didn't have the nerve to just say to me, and modeling basic gossip behavior. That woman was laying the  groundwork for that child to be another mean little girl.  That breaks my heart. I never really thought about how this mean girl phenomenon originates in the home.  These girls just seemed to appear around middle school.  And here was a true example of when it starts. With a toddler in a diaper listening to a mean girl with experience.  She calls her mommy.  She is her idol and best friend.

My sweet CJ continues to lead me to new life lessons daily.  I implore all of you raising little girls to contemplate what I witnessed today. What kind of behavior are you modeling for your little girls?  Do you expect better behavior out of her than you do for yourself?  Are you teaching her compassion and patience with your actions? Do you model how to interact with strangers in a loving and pleasant way? Listen to a veteran mom with 3 kind, loving daughters.

I could have skipped calling her a princess, but maybe that was the last turn of the screw that will make her stew long enough to really think.  Doubtful that my interaction with her did little to leave a favorable impression, but maybe by sharing my crazy story I can leave one on all of you.

Just be kind to one another. Practice patience and throw in some humor.  And if you happen to get annoyed with the Queen Mary parked next to you,  take a deep breath and put it into perspective.  You could be parked in a cemetery visiting your child rather than wasting money in Target...

#doitforcj

What's next?

I suppose I've brought this one on myself.   Even in the quietest moments of the day,  my mind is racing to find new ways to keep CJ's memory alive.  Often I am asked  "What's next? ".

My son's first birthday had brought that subject up several times this week. And of course,  I have plans.

The hospital has asked me on teach an inservice to any hospital employee involved on labor and delivery that would like to learn a few basic photography poses and techniques.  As soon as I accepted, a date for next month was scheduled.  I think of those open hearts who have heard our story and have been touched to want to help other families and my heart soars!

Next add on the calender is a Cotillion for our daughters in the spring.  A sort of quince/sweet 16/17 that they have so deserved yet our distracting life had prevented us from scheduling.  They have chosen to have a mascarade ball.   With the help of a local restaurant, thier dream is taking form.  In liu of gifts,  they will be asking thier guests to bring items to be added to comfort bag we are making for grieving families to take home from the hospital.   Candle jars in peaceful scents, a piece of jewelry for a grieving mommy's heart,  a journal to write notes to thier sweet babies...  just a few of the beautiful gifts we received over time that brought me some peace.   Thier brother is always with us.  Honoring him with every family event will be easy with the love these girls have for him.

But what about today?   The big dates scribbled on a calender are the easy ones.  My focus is directed at memorializing him on those days.  It's the ordinary days that are confusing.   I walk a fine line between living a life reflective of my love for CJ, and getting caught up and missing the life that continues to move on around me.  

Now that a year has passed, several people have expressed to me that it is time to "move on".  I'm going to continue to politely nod and carry on exactly how I am.  One very confusing day at a time.

By the way,  have I mentioned that I have a son?  I would love to tell you more about him....

#doitforcj

Needing prayers for a wounded heart

I was on the phone with a family member yesterday.   She asked me why one of our girls seemed overly quiet at a recent family event.   Annoyed,  I answered that she was sad.   She has every right to be sad and have a crappy day.   We have CJ's 1st birthday looming and we are all hurting.

I thought I was opening up a conversation about my son.   A conversation I so desperately need to have as often as possible. Instead, I was quickly shot down.  "I try not to think about it. I don't want to think about it" she replied and changed the subject.

Today tears keep sneaking up on me,  but harder than anything is not having family I can call crying and simply talk about CJ. As time has ticked by,  I have oddly taken on the job of reassuring everyone around us that we are ok.  Rumors and worries about us are spoken to others,  but rarely said directly to me.  I have such a hard time understanding when I'm told that people talk about us because they love us so much. Grief is the most isolating,  lonely place to dwell.

During his homily at CJ's funeral, Father David spoke about helping us through losing our son.  He spoke about how the typical response is to tell the grieving family "call if you need anything".  He paused for a moment,  then yelled out "they need you! ". 

One year doesn't mean that we are over it.  Our pain is magnified as we relive the last few days before or life was ripped apart.  Do not mistake living, laughing, and loving eachother as a replacement for our missing family member. 

If my sweet boy teaches you anything,  I hope it's to love a grieving family long past the funeral. Gently push past the strong facade and be the shoulder they need.  There is great comfort in remembering even through the tears. Trust me,  "they need you! ".

Humbly asking for your prayers.... jen

set in stone...

Set in stone...

I have a completely different understanding of that phrase tonight.

So here is how this a very odd series of events played out this morning... Nate left to lok at some side work.  Completely annoyed that I really wanted some company with me while I ran a few errands, I went to the cemetery first thinking maybe his stone would be there and I could selfishly have a few moments to absorb the reality.  No stone, but a quick visit left me feeling alone and really wanting some time with my hubby.

So I called him..

And text him...

and got more and more annoyed that he was not responding.  I even began to stew a bit.  Then a text came across that got my attention- he was trying to call but my phone kept hanging up on him.  A few cryptic text msgs later and we managed to meet up in a parking lot. This has been an ongoing issue with my sometimes working phone, so we left his van parked and went over to TMobile.  An hour later, I had a new phone and we were off to finish my to-do list together.

Then a message popped up on my new phone from our girls that they were going to visit CJ.  So we headed that way thinking we could talk to them about grabbing a quick bite.  And of course, we missed them.  Typical to how our day had been playing out!  I decided to go say a quick hello again anyway.  Lingering a bit (not really sure why) I suggested we walk to the other side of the cemetery and visit a cousin's grave.  As we wandered over, a truck from a monument company pulled in.  From far away, I knew the second I saw the base of his stone on the truck with another monument what was unfolding.  I immediately started to cry as I walked to the truck.  In disbelief we saw the parts to his stone.  The kind man told us he had another to set up first, then would drive to the back to do CJ's.  I went back to the van to grab my new phone to call the girls.  20 min later we were all together sitting on a blanket under the trees and quietly watched as CJ's stone was assembled.  We thanked him and he kindly expressed his condolences.  When he drove off, we all just sat there quietly for a few moments.  It was as if the moment was too surreal to wrap our minds around what was in front of us.  It was my son's legacy set in stone. 

We couldn't have planned it better if we wanted to.  We were all together.  The unplanned nature didn't give anyone a chance to get too worked up.  The sun's position behind the black stone was making it near to impossible to get clear pictures with our cell phones. This was causing giggles and acrobatics while we tried every angle we could com up with.  And of course, the photographer of the family had a new phone that I didn't know how to use! 

I wondered how today would feel.  It was sad.  There were tears.  But there as also great peace is seeing that permanent monument.  My son existed on this earth.  His life was finally marked for all to see.  Not in the temporary (yet loving) way we have held vigil over for almost a year.  It was a moment of pure love having us all together. ALLLL of us.  And CJ had to be cracking up watching us decide which decorations to leave and his sisters taking selfies in his reflection.

I have spent so much time and energy on this moment.  It is almost stressful to wonder where to direct all of that energy tomorrow.  I pray it can be channeled into healing. Just a few more weeks until his 1 year angelersary.  1 year... that's is really hard to believe.

#doitforcj

change...

Change is terrifying.  It used to thrill me.  Anyone who has known us through the years has seen us move at the drop of a hat.  I can pack a 4 bedroom home in the matter of days, and unpack it even quicker.   I love to explore a new home.  Finding the perfect place for a family picture, wondering where a nick in a door frame came from, and eventually putting the finishing touch on a room to make it look as if we had been there for years.  It comes easily to me- adapting to new color schemes or architectural styles.  I soak up decorating sights.  Repurposing furniture brings me a sense of satisfaction.  I love the puzzled look as someone notices a dresser that was once in a bedroom placed in an entryway with new knobs.  Or an afternoon spray painting my newest roadside/garage sale find.  For me, a house is a home when people walk in the front door and feel at peace.  Surrounded by our favorite reminders of adventures and times together.  The address means very little to me.

So it should be no great surprise that we are ready to redefine home once again.  Our current home was chosen particularly for a life we daydreamed for, but was swept out from under us.  We moved in just in time to decorate a nursery and begin to baby proof.  A baby shower was thrown in the back yard overlooking the pond.  Yet eventually the house was filled with flowers and sympathy notes.  The nursery and abundance of items gleefully placed in every nook a reminder of a plan.  A plan that we thought we were promised by a positive pregnancy test, making it to the half way mark, and joyously celebrating just 2 more weeks until CJ joined us.  At home.  This house to be specific.

Change is in the air my friends.  And with the decision to make a change has come a bit of peace for all the sweet inhabitants within these walls.  CJ will be with us wherever we are.  For now, I'm tackling a stack of cardboard with a hopeful heart.  Our adventures are far from over....

#doitforcj

when you let dad dress a kid on fieldtrip day...

I am going to admit to you right now I am cracking myself up just thinking about this.  Years ago, I was working nights so my darling husband was in charge of packing lunches and getting everyone off to school in the morning (a schedule I am happy to report he has kept up with  several years past my night shift days).  Then the ultimate embarrassment happen.  Well, for a mom this may be the one thing many of us have nightmares about.  He allowed our youngest daughter to dress herself on fieldtrip day.

So to give this child some credit for being an absolute rule follower, she was told by the teacher to dress up and wear comfortable walking shoes.  These instructions were taken very seriously by my 9 year old.  It was a beautiful spring day.  I remember sitting on the front steps with a cup of coffee waiting for the afternoon bus as I tried to wake up.  Then to my absolute horror, I spotted her.

brace yourselves...

My beautiful child came bouncing up the driveway wearing...

her black and metallic silver Christmas dress

baby blue soccer socks pulled to her knees

hot pink gym shoes

I almost fell over.  I didn't know if I should call my husband first or the teacher!  I gave her a big hug through my hysterical laughter, snapped a quick picture, and sent her to change while I made call #1.   Dad.  I simply asked him what he sent Skye to school wearing on this beautiful spring day.  He had absolutely no clue.  My giggles are now causing tears.

Call #2 was to her teacher who I had a really good relationship with.  I barely said hello through my giggles when she burst out laughing and asked if I had worked last night!  We then shared a hysterical laugh over the fact dad didn't even remember what the kid was wearing as she happily left that morning.  I felt mildly vindicated that she knew enough to assume I had worked the night before and dad must have been in charge.

I admit it.  When it comes to the girls, there are just things I am in charge of.  When they were tiny I used to hang their clothes as outfits.  To my absolute annoyance my husband would grab the pants off of one outfit and top off of another to creative some interesting looks.  I had guidelines for what to wear for church and family gathering and took pride in how well kept they always looked.  To this day, leggings are NOT pants and bra straps better not be showing. 

So how does this all tie in to my journey with CJ.  Well- I was thinking about how often I sometimes find myself at the cemetery.  What pushes me to go? At first my greif was so desperate that I'm surprised I didn't dig back into the earth for my baby.  I would sob to a point near fainting.  With a little time, tears still fall but my conversations with him have evolved to less begging for answers, and more aimed at letting him get to know what is in my heart.  To be honest, often it's the weather. The thought of a storm making a mess of his wreath or anything else we have out there drives me nuts.  I don't want my son's grave to look like the kid that nobody is taking care of.  Because he doesn't have his stone yet, it bothers me that everything out there is very temporary and can be blown away with one storm.  The only permanent memorial CJ has is created with the best of intentions, but the moment I stop showing up it could very easily disappear.

Interesting the parallels.  I may not be able to dress CJ in the stacks of adorable khakis and baseball hats waiting for him in his room, but I have control over the little bunnies and fake flowers we left out there for spring today.  And if  I return to find his space disheveled, I am back to that mom watching her happy child  bounding up the driveway oblivious that her very appearance is a reflection of a mom who adores her so desperately.  He is just another one of my kids being over-mommed in the wardrobe department!

Packing up for a roadtrip tonight.  My heart keeps drifting back to his spot.  Hoping the storm predicted next week doesn't destroy the pretty arrangements his sister and I left today.  Or at the least, that someone shares a smile with my little boy and straightens them up until his mommy is back.

rest in sweet peace CJ.  I know you are with us as we travel this week.  Keep us safe.  Teach us how to #doitforcj