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.