Missing him...

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

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

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

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

But tonight,   I miss him.

Just like CJ...

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

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

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

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

I'M BLESSED.   SO ABUNDANTLY BLESSED.

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

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

Because they are just like CJ.

Missing some amazing things...

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

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

I miss:

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

Sleep.

Having blind confidence in my body.

Being asked why I'm crying.

Exhaling.

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

Thinking it would never happen to me.

Sleep.

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

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

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

Being uncomfortable in a cemetery.

Anonymity in our church.

Sleep.

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

Planning.

Loving my son in earthly form.

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

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

Baby shopping.

Sitting in his perfectly simply nursery.

Sleep.

Washing tiny onsies.

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

Talking to my belly.

Allowing my husband to touch my belly.

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

Feeling like I deserved respect.

Sleep.

Excitement.

People being happy for us.

Being happy for myself.

Guilt free chunks of time.

Daydreaming.

Praying with hope.

Sleep.

Sleep without screaming nightmares and phantom kicks. 

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

I really miss sleep.

Yep, I'm back.

CJ,

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

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

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

So I'm exhaling.   

And I'm crying. 

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

I love you.   Help me #doitforcj.

As long as it's healthy...

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

Wedontcarewhatitisaslongasitshealthy....

Ignorance is truly bliss.

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

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

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

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

I wish I was still blissfully ignorant....

I opened the damn envelope....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I screwed up...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I screwed up.

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

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

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

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

Every.  single. day.

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

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

#doitforcj

#doitforcj