11 years later...

Wow, it's been a crazy ride!  This year feels like a really good time to share this crazy journey. 

Last month it's been 11 years.   How is that possible?  11 years living with/without our son. It's still such a crazy juggling act. I have so much i want to share about the journey.  How we ended up in Florida and the life we've recreated.  

But tonight I'll just tell you it's possible! Even when things seem like such a shit show, tackling it together can leave you in stitches.  

I'll explain the picture of tonight's shit show soon.  I hope I still have a few people that want to come along for the ride. I hope I can share a bit of hope. But here we go again,  while I try to #doitforcj.

Love,  jen

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.

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

Tears at a funeral

Hard doesn't even begin to describe today.  There are some things I could very easily avoid or refuse to participate in.  Many moms who have lost babies do.  One thing that I am incredibly blessed with is my faith. A big part of having faith is letting go and being there for other family members in their time of need.

My husband and I laughed on the way to today's funeral for my cousin wondering if it will be said in English or Polish.  The amens and pew aerobics are the same regardless of the language.  I was actually hoping the mass would be said in Polish so that I wouldn't understand the homily.

To my dismay, mass was said in English. We followed my parents into the second pew in the center of the church. I was directly behind his widow.  Not exactly where I could be inconspicuous. But I allowed myself time to let my mind wander to other things while going through the motions of mass.

After communion I thought I was home free. I had managed to make it through my first funeral since losing my son and had not collapsed. Not bad I thought. Then the final rites were said. The priest walk down to Arnold's casket with that smoking lantern that I can never remember the name of. He gave the final prayers while walking around the casket and instantly I was brought back to the moment when I realized mass was over and it was time to put my son in the ground. I tried to hold my breath so that I wouldn't cry. The problem with holding your breath, is eventually you gasp for air. And heaven almighty did I ever gasp!  And not just the typical grasping for air type of gasp, but the type that leaves you in a puddle of tears that you cannot control.

My husband held me up for the final few moments. At that moment I don't think I realized how loud I had been. With the final processional songs playing I realized the 2 pews surrounding us with all of my close family all had eyes on me. These are the people that understood that Gasp had nothing to do with my current happenings. Cousins and aunts kissed me and grabbed my hand in acknowledgement of my pain. I was hurting too much to be embarrassed.

Then as we walked to the back of the church, as if on cue, that wacky Holy Spirit decided to bring a bit of comic relief to my tears. A woman who I have never seen before grabbing my sleeve and started speaking to me in Polish. I very politely told her I did not speak Polish and when to walk away. We were standing in a tight mass of mourners shoulder to shoulder and there was no escaping her as she continued to excitedly speak to me as if we had not seen each other in years. Luckily one of my aunts was standing next to me and I was able to look at her and mouth the word "help".  As she smiled and jumped in trying to explain to the stranger that I was not who she thought I was, the giggles overcame me. 

In this  ridiculously painful moment, once again I was brought to giggles by the antics around me.  CJ was there letting me know it was OK I cry, but also to laugh. 

Later at the luncheon, a bit of humility washed over me as I realized my melt down occurred right behind his sweet widow.  She took a moment to come over and hug me extra tight/long and whispered to me "you are so strong".  I smiled and told her to just take it one day at a time. While I was afraid there would be hard feelings over my focus being on my own pain, there was only love.

In the end, I needed today.  I needed to be reminded off my faith in our eternity.  I was yearning for my hands to be held and extended family to simply let it be ok for me to cry.  I felt validated in my pain and reasonable in my grief.

Why do we wait for these occasions to be comfortable with someone's feelings to surface? Why isn't Christmas dinner a good time to show a few tears and hugs of support? Or any given Wednesday in a grocery store? Why is grief kept tucked away for similar moments to commiserate?  I'm here if you ever need to be miserable on a regular day.  Or a day that should be happy.  Or any time anyone needs an ear.  CJ taught me that.

#doitforcj

Dear young moms...

Dear young mom,

Don't be defensive!  I was a young mom, too.  At 19 I gave birth to my first child.  That beautiful baby turns 22 today.  In those 22 years, 3 more beautiful babies joined our family. So instead of being defensive, just stop and listen to me for a moment.

You don't know it all.  I know you think you do, but you haven't a clue.  If you are blessed with a healthy baby, you don't know the heartache of others not as lucky. You are not a perfect mom because there is simply no such thing. You will learn and grow with your child/children.  Be open to new ideas and suggestions.  Resist the urge to compete with other moms. In the end, you child will thrive with your love. Enjoy the journey.

And do yourself a favor and befriend a veteran mom.  We have a wealth of experience to share and have raised our kids in a simpler time.  Just 22 years ago we didn't even have a cell phone, let alone iPads!  Our kids were blessed with afternoons of our imaginations.  We were not bombarded with information and guidelines of ways to parent 24/7. Social media was sitting at the park with the neighbors!  Through those interactions, we have learned the joys of not being distracted by a cell phone. Our toddlers learned to self soothe and kept themselves occupied without constant electronic stimulation.

If you just lost your baby, you path ahead of you to healing lasts a lifetime, not just a few months.  I hurt for you. Having lost CJ at 38, I had a lot of parenting experience behind me. My husband and I had been together for many years and our relationship was definitely much deeper than in our 20s. In odd ways, it was a blessing to have lived through such a tragedy a bit later in life.  Give yourself time. Buddy up with those of us who somehow survived.  I had babyloss moms that stepped forward to hold my hand and let me cry. You can't get through it alone, and it doesn't take just a few months to recover.  The path of grief is long and complicated.  One day you will be there for the next mom. For now, be there for yourself. Heal.  Take time to grieve.

If you swallow your pride and allow some simple joy to develop, you will be just fine. Just remember to KISS those babies.

Keep
It
Simple
Stupid

Happy 22nd to my sweet Katie!!  Thank you for teaching me how imperfect I really am. I couldn't love you any more if I tried!!  #doitforcj

Thank God for nosebleeds?

Thank God for nosebleeds!!

OK, that may be a bit of a stretch.  My husband has been logging a ridiculous amount of overtime.  While the extra money is needed, the toll on the family has been palpable. We work hard to stay in touch but inevitably he misses out on the every day drama that occurs with so much female energy under one roof.

I have been fighting my own health issues and am simply still exhausted.  When I got a call from the emergency room yesterday afternoon at my first chance to sit with a hot cup of coffee and a nebulizer treatment, I admit I was ready to collapse into tears. Instead I grabbed a coat and keys, assigned the kids jobs to cover for me, and started driving.

What I found was the sweetest man I know in a hospital bed hunched over a basin with blood pouring out of his nose. The same man who in the past year watched me labor all night to bring CJ into the world, rushed me to the er with kidney stones, and just last week juggled home and work while I was in the hospital with pneumonia for three days.  He is my rock, and it broke my heart to see him this way.  I fought back tears as I washed the blood out of his beard and ran my fingers through his hair.

Today he is still bleeding and hurting.  The ENT will take another stab at cauterizing his nose tomorrow, but today he was home with us. ALLLLL of us! Even the kids were all home by 5. 

And it hit me... He has to work Thanksgiving, and I had a chance unfolding before my eyes!   Chicken breasts and traditional gravy, homemade stuffing from a loaf of Italian bread, butter, stick, and fresh celery/onion/garlic, stock, corn, cranberries....   It was our 1 hour version of a  traditional holiday feast!  A new movie was popped into the DVD player and we piled onto the couches juggling plates and drinks.  For a few hours we ate, laughed, and exhaled.

The day didn't matter. The date didn't matter.  We were together and more thankful than I can put into words!  Everyone has scattered to finish homework, showers, and laundry. Nate is out cold on the couch from muscle relaxers for his back. I'm slowly taking on the kitchen mess.

But for now, as the 60 lb puppy comes running through the room with someone's bra in her mouth, life is good.  Really really good.

Don't wait for a day on the calendar.  Take advantage of every moment you can with the people you love.  CJ was with us for every bite tickling the giggles out of us and feeling our love.  #doitforcj

14 months. Ouch.

There had been a feeling of heaviness all day in my heart. Seeing one of our daughters post about missing her brother sealed my fate.  I'm awake at 2am a mascara streaked mess after finally falling apart for awhile.

What a horrible reality I juggle... Balancing my own grief with helping our daughters and trying to set an example.  Tears are always OK, but we have to keep functioning.  If I allow everyone to fall apart, I may never be able to put the pieces back together.  I fully understand my limits.  Faith and my true beliefs in the joys of life are the glue that hold it all together. Unfortunately days like today that glue has the strength of used chewing gum. Sticky yet pliable. Not strong enough for big jobs.  Tending to teenager/young adult hearts is a BIG job.

No school today.  This happens to fall on CJ's 14 month anniversary.  I don't think we will ever be able to get through the 13th the same for as long as we live.  There will be short fuses, unexpected hugs, tears, laughter. We pretty much run through every human emotion every 13th.
So if you wonder if things are "easier" with time, they aren't.  They are simply different. We have become artists with hiding and masking our emotions. Very rarely does anyone outside of our walls reach out to us on the 13th anymore.  That makes our grief terribly isolating.  A visit to the cemetery to clear leaves and wipe off new paw prints from the resident raccoon with leave us emotionally wiped out.  We will pretend with even eachother that we are OK.  It's a farce.  Our hearts are screaming for someone to remember.  To hear his name said, or even see it in print.  Those desires strengthen with time as we desperately hold on to such a sweet memory.  Our sweet boy CJ.

CJ, please be a good boy and send us a sign today. We will be thinking of you every second.

#doitforcj

Very very jealous today

A baby died today, and I am so jealous...

Not that I wish the pain of losing a child on anyone.  But a couple slipped into the news recently for living a bucket list for their unborn child.  They knew he had a terminal condition and may not even survive birth.  They did what I daydream of.  They lived every moment of his time with them in joy.  They knew the inevitable, yet pushed forward with the pregnancy and soaked in every moment.

They preplanned his funeral together.  Instead of how it played out for us with me in the hospital and Nate making sleep deprived decisions the day CJ was born. They were able to calmly decide together how to celebrate their son.

They made arrangement for a photographer and family to be present. 

A community has stepped forward to help them enjoy the time they had, plus say goodbye. They are admired and remembered for loving their child.

And when she went into labor naturally, they got to go through the motions like any other parents to deliver those son.  They listened to his heartbeat knowing it may be the last time as she labored to bring their beautiful boy into the world.  A stark difference from being sent over moments after learning your beautiful, healthy baby is dead to be induced as you listen to your husband on the phone trying to find the words...

What a blessing this family was given!  They baptized a living baby and shared a few sweet memories with him before he became an angel.

He existed.  He has a birth certificate.  His Catholic baptism included chrism and is fully recognized by the church. He qualifies for life insurance. They can claim him on those federal tax return. His existence is legitimate.

My heart breaks for them as they say goodbye, but my soul aches for the tiny bit of time they had to prepare. I agree they are brave, beautiful people.  But don't forget those of us who didn't have time to plan. Our destinies changed in a heartbeat.  There was no time to be attract national attention for how we loved our babies.  We are just left shattered to watch other families like this one with time that we would have laid our own lives down to have.

So today, I'm jealous.

Rest in peace sweet little Shane.  There are so many beautiful angels waiting to play with you!!!

#doitforcj

Letting go... Or trying to!

I've been pretty darn angry if you haven't noticed.  Tonight I had such a relaxed bit of time with my husband.  This is a very rare evening treat due to work schedules.  Having him home with a sore back gave us a chance to crawl into bed before midnight and watch a movie together while I folded laundry.  Such a simple thing, but much needed normalcy.

That's what I miss most.  Simple normalcy.  I have felt like I've been scrutinized every step I've taken this past year.  I don't say enough, say too much, I'm pushy, don't ask for what I want,  expect too much,  don't give people a chance to help, take on too much, need to get back to life...  Just a few of the favorite gossip lines that float around about me.  Everyone has an opinion, yet very few say it directly to me.

So I exploded.  I have spent the past few weeks really ticked off.  Not the healthiest phase of grief. But tonight, I put my guard down. I laughed and enjoyed some crazy simple time.  I allowed myself to fell some guilt free joy.

This isn't how my life is supposed to be.  I don't think I'm going to get one more chance to fulfill our dream of adding to our family.  Time is ticking by and our chances get slimmer with each passing month. But somehow, love is filling the cracks.

I have a sweet little boy CJ's age spending some time with me during the week.  Today was day one of having his sweet energy in the house.  He brought such joy to my heart.

The cracks left by friends that have vanished have been filled by people OK with things being a little messy for me right now.  Old, dear friends and crazy new ones fill my days with encouragement.

My calendar is filling up with appointments as I finally take the plunge to go out on my own.  Contributing to the household brings me joy and pride. 

I'm going to allow myself to let go of some of this anger.  The fear of tears no longer terrifies me.  I have my support system to pick me back up.  God has better plans for me than to leave me wallowing in this ugly place.

Thank you to everyone who continues to pray for us.  Your prayers are moving mountains.  One day at a time, I will #doitforcj

Words and the appropiate use of the F word

I'm frustrated. 

Surprise, surprise!

How do I deal with people that should love us through anything that are holding a grudge for things I said a few months after I lost my son?  For standing up for myself and admitting my feelings were trampled by their actions?  For once, standing up and saying ENOUGH?

Why do we continue to apologize for needing to protect our hearts? Why is it my responsibility to mend fences with people who have decided to avoid us during the hardest time of our lives over words?

Words.

Honest, pure, hurt derived, heartbroken, angst riddled, overstressed, sleep deprived, emotionally empty words.  Words that I probably strung together wrong in the eyes of those who are used to me kissing their ass.  Words that have been stifled for many years and many occasions due to an upbringing that urged my to keep the peace, be pleasant, and never make a scene.

Yet words that I have no desire to apologize for.  A discussion would be the reasonable response you would think, but instead we have been comically shunned.  Comically as in who stops speaking to people who you should love unconditionally, especially when they are in a living hell?  The only other place I can think such behavior could originate is cruelty, so I prefer to find it comical.

Sometimes after YEARS of hurt feelings, you explode.  Or even worse, implode.  The end result is a mess either way.  It's just the difference of destroying yourself, or taking down a few bystanders with you.  Evidently I am the explode type. 

All over words.

That brings me back to the purest text message of my life.  I sent a text to the most prayer driven man I know when we got the heartbreaking news that we had lost CJ.  I needed prayers of biblical proportions.  His response was so perfect.

"FUCK"

This man who I knew would drop to his knees in prayer for us summed up that moment so perfectly.  The response was completely shocking, over the top, and perfect.  It showed me in that moment that I didn't need to share another word.  He understood the gravity of the situation.  He asked nothing else and i have no doubt he was with us every step of the way until her got to hug me for the first time in over 20 years at the funeral. That's is a friend.  How crazy blessed am I to be that loved? My gratitude for that text is immeasurable.  We knew we were not alone and he was there for the long haul.  All with one obscene word. I still feel his prayers around me daily.

Loosing your child is an obscene situation.  Having to survive it even more so.  I have imploded to a point where parts of me will never heal.  I have exploded and some have cowered and chosen to leave us.  But many, many more have inched closer to us knowing the danger.  They wear the battle wounds of being on the front line as we fired desperately into the darkness in an attempt to protect ourselves.

Those tattered angels show up with wine and owls when I think I am completely alone and forgotten in my pain.  They quietly helped us pay for our son's headstone when we thought we would have to chose between tuition for one child or a headstone for another.  They realize our need to live life and push us by sending us out to enjoy ourselves with concert tickets and dinner gift cards.  They continue to pray for us and understand too well the pain in our eyes despite our smiles.  That army of love has helped me deal with those who bluntly pout with anger and hurt feeling over words.

Words.

Seriously??

FUCK

I'll be contemplating making peace for the sake of my sweet husband's nerves.  But not apologizing.   I did nothing wrong.  I am giving myself a pass on the typical guilt trip I force upon myself.   Because in the end,  I'm surviving.  In whatever form it may take, I #doitforcj.

*** please be sure to subscribe and follow my blog.  I appreciate the shares and hope to get many more!!   With every share comes the chance for someone who thinks they are alone in this journey to hear another crazy woman digging through the same crap.  Or maybe we can simply learn to be kinder to each other.  All of us.  Heaven knows I can always use the reminder! #doitforcj ***

The chairs of my kitchen...

It has been a long week.  As soon as anyone starts to sniffle or cough, my mind goes to worse case scenario.  A trip to our family doctor with the sickest of the bunch put my heart at ease a bit.  Today I played a lot of catch up and I'm happy to report while my house is a wreck, I just caught up on all of the work for my business and I'm ready to tackle a few appointments this weekend.

So in the midst of tripping over dirty dishes and laundry, I decided to tackle a new kitchen challenge.  Homemade granola bars. Even bigger challenge? Drafting the girls to work together to make it happen!

So the 3 of them measured, melted, combine, poured, and pressed with minimal bickering.  I ignored the "why do WE have to do this?" from one kid and another being a bit bossy. For the most part, they were working together and hopefully learning something along the way.  I stood back and watched and couldn't help but feel CJ's absence so desperately that I needed to walk away to wipe a few tears.  He should have been having chocolate chips snuck to him by his sisters while he played at their feet.  They should have been asking me to grab him because he was underfoot. 

What those sweet girls don't really realize is they were contributing to a decision we made for them many years ago.  From the first disgusting jar of baby food I offered to our oldest, I was determined to do better.  We couldn't afford fancy baby food making systems, so I simply cooked for my toddlers and froze portion in ice cube trays to be stacked in baggies in the freezer for when there wasn't something on the table they would enjoy.  When they started school, I was equally disgusted with the school lunches. Our oldest had a fresh lunch packed for her almost every day until she graduated highschool.  And now that she is commuting for a semester, we have added her lunch to the stack we prepare again. 

It's those simple moments that I am so proud of the effort we have put into raising our kids.  It's also when CJ's absence simply kills me.  I constantly think about how if we were old school with his sisters, he was destined to be raised old OLD school.  This would be to the dismay of so many well meaning people who live to constantly remind us how things have changed in parenting. 

CJ would sit at the table with everyone for daily home cooked meals. When older, his lunchbox would have fresh fruit,  homemade granola bars, and preservative free sandwiches on fresh rye bread just like his sisters.  My boy would have been raised on a crazy mix of Polish/Mexican cuisine that we all enjoy. 

You see, my kitchen in the center of our home. It's were there is always plenty for unexpected guests.  Dinner menus are text out to guarantee the kids chill at home with me for a bit on a Friday night.  He would learn that at home the kitchen is a place to explore (like making our own granola bars), spend time together, keep traditions and create new ones,  comfort and nurture, and even work out our differences typically happen around the kitchen table.  Our table that has 6 chairs.  A constant reminder of our missing child.

Tomorrow there will be a crazy big pot of pezole simmering for dinner.  Big bowls of hot food will be ladeled out, kids laughter will fill the house, and I'll sit back and soak it all in.  One sweet missing giggle will hurt and probably bring a few tears.  CJ's one year anniversary didn't lessen my pain.  Instead it only reminds me of milestones he's not here to enjoy with us. I should be spooning my sweet 1 year old homemade soup tomorrow, not visiting his grave. 

For now I have slip the dishes left over to deal with for tonight's granola bar endeavor.  I spent an hour individually wrapping each one just right.  Next is tomorrow's lunches and prep for tomorrow's dinner.

Make dinner as a family.  Be thankful for the souls around your table and mindful of the missing.  But above all,  go old school.  Turn off the electronics, make eye contact, and embrace those sweet moments.  #doitforcj

#doitforcj today and always!

I can't help myself.  I tend to end up in conversations with perfect strangers anytime I am standing in the dreaded eternal Walmart line.

But before I even got that far today, 2 interactions I witnessed had me thinking.  First a mom had a toddler in a car watching a movie on an iPad.  I followed her down a few isles.  The only time she spoke to the child was to warn her if she talked, she would take the iPad away.  My heart broke for the child as well at the mom and the experiences they were missing out on together.

Next in the cosmetics isle, a very excited preteen was shopping for makeup with her dad who was in over his head, but trying.  As she asked him what he thought of the bright blue eye shadow she held up. I resisted the urge to giggle.  God bless him for being present!  I winked at him at I walked by and suggested to her how pretty the pale pink would look instead. She beamed at me as she happily switched to pink and dad mouthed "thank you" as I walked past.   Just taking care of my village I said to myself. Paying it forward.

I finally made it into a line and unloaded my cart. Just as I finished, I was ran into from behind with one of the motorized carts.  I actually lost my balance and fell backwards up against it just as she darted backwards in reverse.  I regained my balance laughing and turned around to find an elderly lady dressed to the nines looking mortified.  I laughed and told her no harm done and offered to empty her basket.  She was so thankful and we chatted while I stacked.  She asked my name, then replied she had a baby she named Jenny and she only lived a few months. I reached over and put my hands on hers and told her I was so sorry and I understand what it feels like to lose a child.  Her eyes filled with tears and she gasped "oh, no! What is your angel's name?".  I told her his full name and added that we call him CJ.  At this point the cashier is waiting for me to pay, but is too caught up in our conversation to complain.  My sweet new friends said to me "I'm going to thank God we meet today".

Me too, Ms. Annie. 

The cashier took my money and I noticed tears in her eyes. While I fumbled for keys, I watched as she loaded my new friend's cart and helped her dial her ride on her huge buttoned cell phone. The next gentleman in line stood smiling patiently. My village was feeling my little boy's love !!

How was your village today?  Did you engage or remain a silent observer?  I'm questioning if I should have engaged the toddler with the  electronic babysitter.  No day is perfect, but I can rest tonight knowing I tried. 

Tomorrow is another day to #doitforcj !!

Another baby in a dumpster...

Some days hearing news of another baby found in a dumpster or abandoned is enough to make me hide crying at home.  It shakes me to my core.  I find my soul screaming WHY??? And in the next breathe I hurt so desperately for them I wish I could simply hug them.

So tonight you are going to learn part of my shocking truth.  While my political stance may differ, my personal beliefs for myself are prochoice.

Let's go back 22 years.  I was a freshman away at college at age 18 and pregnant by a boy I barely knew.  Terrified doesn't describe the fear I had. 

How many young women out there have had it drilled into their minds and hearts that if the were to get pregnant, their parents will "kill them"?  Or be disowned and left homeless/broke/alone?  How many have found themselves alone and terrified when parents follow through on these disgusting threats?

I'm going to challenge your hearts for a moment.  How is raising our girls terrified of becoming pregnant prolife?  How is bullying a young mother into hiding or aborting prochoice? 

We have created this disgusting trend of dead babies.  We as a society can battle until we are blue in the face our political stance on the topic.  We protest both sides of the discussion with gruesome signs or catchy slogans.  But when an 18 year old girl gets pregnant from a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, what do we really do as a society? A community? As human beings?

I am one of the lucky ones, but my parents were crushed and very embarrassed.  I thought I was making things right by agreeing to marry the baby's dad.  I went through the steps of a crazy fast wedding (didn't want that baby bump showing at the alter!) and once my name was changed, my parents allowed themselves to fall in love with their grandchild when she arrived, but not a moment sooner.

I was in a very violent situation with a new baby when I made the scariest decision of my life. I packed up a backpack and a diaper bag and left.  I had nowhere to go but back home.  They allowed us to live there while I divorced the monster and went back to college, but every moment I lived there I felt like their dirty little secret.  My daughter was the most loved little girl on earth, yet my own family couldn't get past how she came into this world. I felt the disapproval every moment of every day.  Our relationship was tarnished.

I could have easily been one of those girls giving birth in a bathroom.  Panicking and placing my baby in a ridiculous place.  I acknowledge that not to shock, but to put a face to the stories.  I am one of the lucky ones who somehow found the strength to face a family who felt humiliated and betrayed by my actions.  A baby was brought into this world to be absolutely the best thing I have ever done in my life. She changed everything.  My world as well as everyone around me.

I was the best story many had to gossip about.  I had broke up with the  stereotypical high school boyfriend for this guy?  My "friends" as well as their parents found plenty to chastise me for.  One parent even said to me if it had only been the old boyfriend, things wouldn't look so bad.

Bitch.

And I was one of the lucky ones.  My baby was loved.  Everyone fought over time with this precious child. I was part of the package that was tolerated.  Nobody encouraged me in a loving way. Instead I felt like a walking billboard for birth control.  I felt my entire village waiting for me to fail so they could swoop in and fix my mess again. To this day I over apologize for the most ridiculous things. From school, to work, to parenting, my every step was constantly scrutinized.  My right to privacy was somehow ripped out from under me because I was a young, single parent.

A few years of night school, working full-time, daycare/preschool, and I began to like myself and the life I was building for us. Around that time I began looking at apartments for us and making plans to finally stand on my own 2 feet.  That year I met my husband.  When I found my own spark again, was building towards a future, and liking getting up every morning, I was able to share my life with the man I never knew I was dreaming of.

But I will always be that 18 year old girl who was terrified.  My subsequent pregnancies never felt quite right.  I was always a bit embarrassed by my swelling belly.  The physical reminder of that horrible year brought great anxiety.  I would not allow anyone  to take pictures of me or touch my belly.  I felt such joy to have my children, yet embarrassment. 

With CJ, my age and maturity finally allowed me the ability to enjoy the little moments.  I let go of so many old feelings of inadequacy and marveled at the changes happening to my body.  That embarrassed 18 year old still lingered in the shadows, but I had better control over my emotions.

So why do these women make these incredibly horrendous decisions with their newborns?  I don't know.  But if I am one of the incredibly lucky ones, they must feel completely without options.  I hope to break this trend with my daughters. I pray I am succeeding in being an example of how to stand up for your beliefs. But most of all, they need to know that I will love and support them through every moment of life.  My heart is always open to them as well as my arms.  We will get through anything together.

I am breaking the cycle by talking not only about sex, but self esteem. We discuss the reasons girls find themselves in the arms of boys and how there are consequences for every action.  I concern them with honoring themselves and feeling good about the decisions they make instead of threatening them with isolating them from my love. Mix in a healthy dose of my faith and experience.  Watching your mom loose a baby in your teen years is an eye opening sneak peak into heartbreak. Reality is something we have been forced to deal with in our home in multitudes.

But what about those dumpster babies? We have created this mess.  We need to fix it.  Or we have to accept dead babies in dumpsters.

Food for thought from a teenage mom...

#doitforcj

Tiny fingerprints

My TV doesn't have finger prints
Breakables sit on end tables,
And outlets are uncovered.

The staircase is unblocked
Jewelry is out loose on my nightstand
And a laptop is charging on the couch.

Our home is completely unbabyproofed.
There is no need.
Yet we have a 1 year old.

Do not tell me how you envy my life.
My quiet,  clean,  decorated  home
Missing the distinct messes of a toddler.

I would trade it all for tiny fingerprints.

Get out of the damn house!!!

I have my days.  Those days when it's all just too much.  I cry and feel sorry for myself.  I've admitted to losing it in the cemetery and found myself on the ground next to my son singing to him through my tears.  Everyone knows about my sunglasses always propped on my head just in case. 

But one rule I follow is my 24 hour rule.  I must shower and leave the house once every 24 hours. 

This may seem like overkill, but I understand my limits have changed.  If I didn't put in this effort,  I could very easily turn into the crying lump on the couch. 

At first this wasn't easy.  My husband shared something with me weeks later that showed me how well he knows me.  When my doctor agreed to a c-section when I asked,  he gently nudged me towards laboring.   I will never regret going through the process and getting to push CJ'S beautiful body out of mine.  But what I didn't realize at the time was that Nate knew I would need to get out of the house.   Surgery would clip my wings for far longer than I have ever stood still.  That sweet man knew my survival depended on my independence.

Some days I just drive through for coffee or visit CJ. But more often now I'm enjoying my bit of time out of the house.  I still envy every stroller I see and need my emergency shades more than I care to admit.  With every outing I feel stronger to deal with difficult situations.  Nate and our kids are fantastic buffers when my anxiety gets the best of me.

Today my big adventure was driving Nate to work and stopping for dog food. Exciting, I know.   But hang on,  it does get amusing...

Walmart was my big destination. 99 cent DD iced coffee,  grabbed the cattlechow,  and I was ready for some serious isle cruising.  And of course,  my phone rings with a call I need to take.  

I wandered out to the garden center hoping for some privacy.  Bingo! It was empty.   I chatted at first as I pushed my cart in circles.  As the conversation lingered on,  I put my iced coffee down on a sample patio set to adjust the volume on my phone.  Then without thinking I sat down to continue my call.  20 minutes later my feet were up on another chair, tears were streaming down my face,  and I had left a big old water ring from my drink on the table.  As I hung up, I realized I had made myself at home and had to laugh.   As I was getting myself together to go back into the store a woman came around the corner pushing a cart. I smiled and went to walk by her.  She mumbled under her breathe "were you waiting for a refill? ".  She was obviously annoyed.

For once I was struck speachless.  As I went back to isle cruising,  it hit me.   I had gotten my refill. That call was a chance to talk about CJ.  The voice on the other end of the phone was asking me sincere questions about my son and my journey.   My soul was refilled.

Having a crappy day? Get out of the house.  Don't forget your shades.
#doitforcj

A house full of family

What a great day!  A great friend came over with her kiddos (plus a few extra teens were here celebrating Skye's birthday). Hubby working,  9 females,  1 beautiful baby boy,  1 angel boy smiling over all of us, fried pickles, a huge pot of spaghetti and awesome dessert fruit pizza.   Serious giggles and insanity. 

Family

Just a bit before they came over I was on the phone with a very special cousin.  My heart was heavy over some really ridiculous inlaw drama.   She reassured me that it's ok to not to always like everyone you are related to and brought my attention back to how blessed we are with "family".  Blood lines do not define "family". Love does. And we are seriously blessed with an abundance of family related to us and adopted.

So today I looked around at my crowded kitchen full of happy faces and truly felt loved.   Teenagers yelling over eachother,  a baby to pass around, and a sweetheart of a friend agreeing with my behavior even if I could do better.  With her, there is no pressure to be anything less what I am.  

Flawed,  short tempered,  open hearted, miserably optimistic, and often a hot mess! 

But loved.  Very very loved.

Happy birthday to our Skyelar Elizabeth!   Our youngest daughter,  Skye blesses us every day with her huge heart, hysterical sense of humor, and compassion beyond anything I have ever witnessed. 

#doitforcj

Cleaning out closets

I know I'm not alone.   I've held on to bins of clothes that I have come close to on several occasions,  but never fit back into.   Our master closet had become our current clothes hanging,  and 3 times as much in bins. Not anymore.

Contemplating an across county move we hope to make in a few years had me looking around at the amount of stuff stored around the house.  Unless you saw the half of the garage stacked with bins or peeked around in closets, you would never guess. I am the master of making our home always look roomy, and uncluttered to guests. The reality is that there are plastic bins neatly stashed everywhere.  

My closet seemed like a good place to start. NINE large plastic bins were dragged out.  One item at a time, I emptied every one.  It occurred to me that many items are no longer "trendy" enough to even sell.  So I started stacking up donations.

When I was done, there were 3 bins of winter clothes to return to the closet. Everything else was stacked into the van to donate.   6 bins of clothes.  The physical weight was startling. 

Letting it all go has inspired me.   One closet at a time will be weeded out,  except one.   All of CJ'S things are stored in a basement closet.  I'm giving myself permission to skip that one.   You see while some memories are enough to fill the gap of letting go of a dress I wore to a wedding 5 years ago, CJ's things were never touched.
 
No memories were made swaddling him into his blankets.  I never got to hear him have fits while pulling a onsie over his head.   His stacks of overly preppy polos and jeans are completely stain free.  I never changed his footie pjs in the middle of the night.  Without those memories,  I'm not ready to let them go.   They represent every hope, plan, and dream we had for him.  

I'm often asked what I have done with his things.  Well intentioned people have even sent me nudges with suggestions on where to donate those items.   I have calmly ignored comments that "other babies who actually need" these items would be thankful. Our that I wasted energy moving them with us.

So to answer any lingering doubts ...

NOPE.  You do not need to suggest charities that will pick up his things.

Yep.  I'm keeping them.

They aren't being wasted.  They aren't a burden.  They are a very very small tangible reminder we have of our son.

Next time you suggest or volunteer to remove a family's belongings after losing a child,  I want you to think of this- if your house burnt down today,  what would be all that mattered?   That your family got out safely,  right?  Stuff can be replaced, right?   We walked out of the hospital without our child.   We walked out of the fire leaving him behind.   Cut me some slack on the few bins stashed under the basement stairs.

#doitforcj

Angels everywhere

I had an encounter while visiting CJ the other day.  I didn't think much of it then. Last night I had a dream about it.

I was standing quietly feeling pretty hallow.  Usually I sit down if I'm alone,  but this day I was feeling very detached.   After just a few moments I heard a man's voice call out "you must be his momma. I'm so sorry".  On the other side of the fence stood an elderly man.  His eyes were so caring I tried to stifle tears.  

"yes, I am" I managed to say.   The man's gaze moved to CJ's stone.   "My wife and I cried from our porch watching your beautiful family the day the headstone was delivered.   We don't know your story, but think of you often".

I thanked him awkwardly,  not quite knowing if I should explain further or even leave.

He then told me they say hello to him every time they pull into thier driveway.  His wife insists on calling him baby Christian, but he prefers Chris.  I smiled and told him that we nicknamed CJ. He smiled back at me and replied "then CJ it is! " and turned to walk back to the shed where he had been working.

Such a simple interaction.   He wasn't pushing for an explanation like most do.  Our story of how we ended up with our son a few yards from his property didn't matter.  He was simply giving a grieving mom's heart the acknowledgment it needed.  My son exists.  He is part of our family.  He had not been forgotten.

Last night I had a dream about CJ's neighbors.   We were all sitting in the grass watching his stone being delivered.   Above us were angels watching over us.  Atleast a dozen beautiful angels who's faces I can't remember.  One of them said"let's call him Chris!" and another answered in a familiar voice "his momma calls him CJ".  Overlapping voices called out "hi CJ".  And then those angels flew behind us. I turned around to watch them disappear into the elderly man's home.

There are angels everywhere.   They have protected us, prompted me to keep breathing,  tickled us back into laughing,  wrapped thier wings around us when we are hurting,  and lead us to places of hope and healing.   When you meet one,  you are blessed.

I am very blessed.

#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)

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