Selfish times....

Well,  hello!   I received a message today asking me where the hell I've been.   The answer is fairly simple.

We are in a blissfully selfish period of this crazy, never ending cycle of grief.   After 2 years of crying,  desperately fighting for change, and screaming our story to secure CJ's legacy, we have run out of steam.  So we paused.

What came out of a few weeks of breathing was unexpected.   As a family, we desperately needed time away from hospital drama,  self centered individuals attempting to use our son's name for personal gain, and even complete stranger representing themselves as having an emotionally intimate relationship with our family.  We walked away from the politics and red tape standing in the way of truly making a difference.  January-February is OUR time to do whatever makes us happy.

So what have we done with this new found freedom?  First i cut off my hair drastically.   Making a big physical changed seemed to open me up for bigger things.  I searched out an antique piano to adopt and talked my teens into helping me drag it home in the back of our conversion van.  I hand painted arrows and covered my living room wall as inspiration to just keep moving forward.  My family has followed my crazy path by stretching their wings into new ventures and bringing back old passions.   My sweet husband has a new turn table at up on a newly created table in the basement for his racks of records. The kids are preparing for track season,  applying to colleges,  applying for job promotions... Sunday night dinner was spent at a local hibachi place and I'm learning to stress less over producing the perception of a perfect home.

So for now,  my basement had the faint sound of bass and house music.  My living room has become a place where kids laugh and hysterically poorly plunk out melodies on a 60 year old upright,  there is laundry stacked in every room,  and a never ending revolving group of friends coming and going.

Tears still sneak up on me often.   I'm ok with that.  CJ is worth every single one.   And in the process we are reinventing our family dynamic.   In a few weeks,  with lent we will return to our projects and work to secure change and better education for the staff that works with bereaved families.  In a few weeks.   But for now,  we are enjoying being a bit mess of a family!   Just our way to #doitforcj!

Changing seasons.

An odd memory keeps lingering in my mind today.

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

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

#doitforcj

2015 wave of light

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

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

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

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

Love to each and every one of you!
-Jen

Missing some amazing things...

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

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

I miss:

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

Sleep.

Having blind confidence in my body.

Being asked why I'm crying.

Exhaling.

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

Thinking it would never happen to me.

Sleep.

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

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

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

Being uncomfortable in a cemetery.

Anonymity in our church.

Sleep.

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

Planning.

Loving my son in earthly form.

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

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

Baby shopping.

Sitting in his perfectly simply nursery.

Sleep.

Washing tiny onsies.

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

Talking to my belly.

Allowing my husband to touch my belly.

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

Feeling like I deserved respect.

Sleep.

Excitement.

People being happy for us.

Being happy for myself.

Guilt free chunks of time.

Daydreaming.

Praying with hope.

Sleep.

Sleep without screaming nightmares and phantom kicks. 

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

I really miss sleep.

As long as it's healthy...

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

Wedontcarewhatitisaslongasitshealthy....

Ignorance is truly bliss.

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

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

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

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

I wish I was still blissfully ignorant....

I opened the damn envelope....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I screwed up...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I screwed up.

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

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

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

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

Every.  single. day.

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

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

#doitforcj

#doitforcj

I wonder...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strawberry milk...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emotional hail damage...

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

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

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

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

My sweet CJ.....

He was alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Surviving holidays...

I made it. Another holiday where my sweet boy should be physically with us.

Short and sweet... It hurts.  Hurts to the point of dissolving into painful sobs in my husband's arms as soon as we were home and the kids went to bed. 

But one moment was so incredibly special to me.  My family wasn't saying CJ's name.  It was beginning to really hurt until a simple comment helped me realize we were ALL missing him.  The exact comment doesn't matter, but how it made me feel changed me perception. I was able to understand this house full of people was missing CJ and protecting me.  I felt admired for my honesty and strength, validated in my pain, and truly loved.

But once home, his absence was simply vicious on my heart.  I broke down.  And after leaving a nice tear puddle on my sweet man's shirt, a nice dose of Xanax and my PJs was all I wanted.  Calm is simply washing over me.  Almost a fog.  Tonight I'm thankful for the help catching my breath.  I've learned there is no badge of honor rewarded for not excepting the help when I need it. I really don't give a crap about the sigma of pharmaceutical help.

Soon Nate will join me in bed.  As usual, his arms will become my refuge. He's hurting too.  I feel it in his hugs and see it in his eyes.  We miss our son.

Sweet dreams to all of you.  I hope today was filled with family and love. For those feeling sad or alone, I understand.  It's OK.  I promise to always listen if you need an ear.  I promise because I have a son I'm missing with a broken heart.  #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

Thankful heart...

Babies...

Everywhere...

I have been inundated with them today.  Every tv commercial and program was brimming with them today.  My news feed was an odd balance of bereaved moms from my support groups sharing pictures of their angels and new moms holding beautiful pink babies born this week.

Plus we have my buddy who is here being cute during the day.  It's not a sad reminder, but definitely a strong one to have him here.  And while noticing the universe seemingly rubbing it in my face today, I also recognized my blessings.

Bonnie.  My insane shepherd/boxer/pit mix joined us as we began to process our grief last year.  Her crazy antics and hyperactive personality has made her a Facebook favorite. Bonnie is a blessing that would have never happened.  Thank you, CJ.  THANK YOU for sending this insane ball of love into our lives.

***  I began writing this prior to finding myself in the hospital for 3 days with pneumonia in both lungs. Home for a few days today and feeling so thankful and ready to finish this***

Friendships have been brought into my life that I would never have without my sweet boy.  Other moms who have survived the unimaginable swooped me up in there big, protective arms when I needed to feel safe.  We have cried, yelled, and even laughed together at all hours of the day and night.  I have been the comforted and eventually the comforter.  My sense of empathy and compassion has forever been changed by this experience.  Thank you CJ for bringing mommy the support she needed to get through the hardest days.

Old friends jumped to help me recover this week while I simply couldn't take care of myself.  Familiar faces nursed me back to health, took the time to ask about our CJ, and simply sit and hold my hand.  Companionship is easily avoided when you have been through such a traumatic time.  I'm thankful for these dear people stepping a bit closer than I usually allow towards my guarded heart.

Tomorrow I'm going to attempt to get life back on track.  My little buddy will be here causing havoc, kids will be shipped off to school, and hubby to work.  And nomatter how disastrous tomorrow goes, at the end of the day God willing I will kiss our daughters goodnight and snuggle back into bed with the man who somehow makes me laugh through it all.

Because let's face it,  even when missing CJ to the point of tears, I am very blessed.  And today I'm thankful for a lighter heart to see those blessings. 

Another day without my sweet CJ  on earth, but another day closer to holding him in heaven... #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

Hard day...

It's been a few days.  Some days my highs and lows exhaust me to where I can't seen to pull my thoughts together.  The changing seasons are bringing back a lot of memories of last year.

I remember the trees losing leaves annoying me.  Without a headstone, if a few days went between visits the only way to find CJ was by the crazy about of decorations we had out there for him. 

This year I can't even get my thoughts together to change his flowers out to fall colors.  I stopped by only once this week and ended up on the ground crying into the grass until I was  exhausted.  There was very little comfort to being close to him.

Time hurts.  I can't remember him as clearly.  I know the few pictures I have of him are not quite what he looked like, but I can't see him in my mind like I could just a few months ago.  The feeling of his tiny weight in my arms is gone.  My arms simply ache from the emptiness.

Halloween decorations simply disgust me.  Every RIP fake headstone makes me want to vomit.  Why is that funny? Why have we turned death into something to mock? Cemeteries into places of gore and horror?

So today my reality hurts.  It just really really hurts. Hopefully a house full of homecoming excitement will be distracting tomorrow.  Either way, my only choice is to keep trying to #doitforcj

Just my newest household reminder of his sweet presence with us :)