Reflections on 2011

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. Gosh is it hard to believe that 2011 is almost over. And yet, in some ways, it's like, thank God 2011 is almost over.

Tonight I put our youngest, Ryan, to bed. He got a Mr. Potatoehead and a Buzz Lightyear for Christmas. He insisted on having the two of them as he went to bed. He's gone to bed with Buzz every night since he got him. It's very cute. And I'm glad he likes it so well.

We read some stories and then Ryan, Buzz, Mr. Potatoehead and I did a little jig to some music that played from one of his buttons I pushed. I even had to kiss Mr. Potatoehead.

I wonder if Andrew would have been walking by now. I know he would have been giggling his head off and trying to keep up with his brothers. He always looked at them in awe. I wonder fairly often right now what he would look like and be like if he were still with us.

It's not too hard right now. And again, he wasn't home with us when we rang in 2011. I was at the hospital with him on New Year's last year. I got an extended visit that day thanks to daddy letting me go up there to be with the special bundle.

My family had met him for the first time the day after Christmas or the week after. I don't remember which. So tiny. So precious.

And so tomorrow, will end the year where we brought him home, enjoyed the four and half months we had with him, said good-bye to him, bought my van, celebrated Alex's first day of school, bought our house, got our puppy and have begun walking the path we are supposed to walk.

Such joy and such pain. And God was with us through it all. God loved us through it all. Thank You for being so faithful and strong Lord.

Andrew at 3 weeks of age. He was almost 10 pounds here.

Merry Christmas Andrew!

Merry Christmas Andrew! And Merry Christmas Blank Hospital NICU babies! Above shows the baby items donated by us, some of our family, close friends and some colleagues of mine from work. We collected enough and purchased enough ourselves to give 22 gift bags to the babies in the NICU unit that Andrew was in last Christmas. It felt so good to do this as our way of celebrating Andrew's first birthday and to add some cheer to the families that have babies in the hospital over the holidays. I hope it brightens their Christmas as it did ours last year when we were surprised by the gestures from many other NICU families that had been there before us.

I asked the boys if they wanted to help daddy and I deliver the presents and what they were and each got very sad and said no. My oldest thanked me for asking as he walked away. So the delivery did not include them like I had thought it might.

Overall I have taken the holiday in stride and have not really had any difficulty enjoying the celebration. But for a bit of time today, as our guests left our home, it just overtook me and I didn't want to be near anyone. The delivery of the blessing bags also weighed on my mind. I had collected them all, bought some items to supplement and add our own bags of love and hope but when it came to actually carrying out the delivery, I knew I could not do it alone. And Mark was there for me. Thank God!

In the end, it has been a wonderful weekend and other than that moment, I have been fine. And I think it's because Andrew wasn't physically with us last Christmas. We've done this before. No Andrew at our family gathering. Instead, we had our only Christmas with our son in room 11 at the Stage 2 NICU unit at the hospital. He lay in the iceolete (I have no idea how you spell those special babies preemies are put into to help them stay warm and protect them) as I opened his presents and showed them to him through the glass. We didn't want to expose him to the germs. As is, we had to wash our hands every time we entered the room or did anything that brought germs onto our hands. And he napped off and on as we both held him close.

Not necessarily exciting but we were touched to have blankets and ornaments and all of these little bags waiting for him expressing love, hope and blessings from other preemies that had been in the same situation the Christmas before or many Christmases before. And if only we had known it would be our only Christmas with him.

Oh well, we could "if only" a lot of things with him.

The future is bright. We have 3 beautiful boys that are just precious and are growing so much.

Little boys that gave mommy a heart-shaped locket to have a picture of Andrew in it to symbolize that he is always with us and in all of our hearts. How wonderful is that!

The New Normal is Coming

Last night we went to a prayer meeting. That the origin of where we met, at a ministry called a house of prayer. It is my husband's daddy's night out activity that he gets to do. But this week I sensed I should go too. It was very good. I dressed up in a dance skirt my husband bought me years ago and hadn't worn before. Wore my pearls. Put on one of my favorite white sweaters. (My youngest saw me when I got home to say good-night to him and he said I was a princess. It was so precious how he said it.)

I wanted to dance and I did. Just a simple little dance off to the side. Just between me and the Lord. It was fun to watch my skirt swirl and to just enjoy the movements. Enjoy the presence.

And I prayed on the microphone twice! It was awesome! It felt great!

And I came home to 3 boys that showered me with love, hugs and kisses and went to sleep with a smile. At peace. Gosh did it feel good.

The new normal is coming. And I smile at the future.

So How Did That First Birthday Go?

A year ago I was discharged from the hospital and my husband and I both felt the sadness of having to go home without our little guy. And it felt so weird.

I held him that last morning and told him that I was going home but I would come up and visit as much as I could. And that I would tell his brothers all about him. That they were so anxious to meet him.

----------------
So Andrew's first birthday has come and gone. And the weekend wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It turned out to be okay. The dread of the approaching day was more difficult than the day itself. In fact, I enjoyed the quiet time on Saturday, treated myself to a special meal and woke up Sunday glad to be alive.

It's odd. You want people to remember your child. To express that they remember he was here. That he mattered by their quick comment about him. And at the same time, sometimes you hate when people do it. It's such a paradox. And it's so annoying. Because I can't predict when it will bug me and when it won't. And if someone doesn't mention him, then that can bug me or not bug me.

And Sunday was one of those days that I wanted people to remember that Andrew was born on the 18th of December. And then I didn't want to hear anything else about it.

One lovely woman at church told me that she had just learned that Mark and I were the couple that lost Andrew. She hadn't realized that we were the ones until someone pointed it out to her. So she expressed her condolences. She was very sweet and kind. But it went on too long. "It's his birthday today." I told her and she felt bad again. Then I began thinking, okay, I guess I don't want people to remember today for much longer than a comment. But you can't really tell people that.

And another dear friend gave me a hug and said that she remembered it was his birthday. Another precious friend told me the same. It felt good. But the second just kept going on trying to encourage me that he is in heaven. And we have that hope of seeing him again. That eternity is longer than this life. And I was polite and smiled and nodded my head a lot and prayed she would stop. I thought I was going to lose it. But composed myself again enough to hold another friend's daughter who is 4 months old. And I thought of Andrew while enjoying holding a baby.

That evening we went a neighbor's house for a Christmas party. I didn't feel like being around people by that time of the day. I wanted to isolate myself but I went just in case I got into a chatty mood and forgot about Andrew. I hugged a few friends. Said hello. Met a few new people, got reacquantied with a young couple who had their 1st about 9 months ago and then it happened. A couple came through the door with an infant carrier. Everything stopped for me and my heart gripped trying to prepare for the sight. And there he was - a boy who is 5 months old. Instantly I teared up and looked down at the floor.

"Would you mind if I went home?" I asked my husband.

"No. You not feelin' it?" he asked with concern.

As the sadness began to rise and pour out my eyes I just shook my head and looked into his eyes. I gathered myself and found one of the hostess' to relay my regrets and left. Once outside I breathed a sigh of relief over not having to be around anyone. The stillness around me. The quiet. And cried a bit as I walked home.

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday dear Andrew.
Happy birthday to you.

Andrew at 5 minutes of age. We had one minute together before the nurse took him to NICU to take care of him. He was 5 1/2 pounds and 18 inches long and a good crier. He was beautiful and I was so proud of him for breathing on his own.

Grief and Our Boys

It's interesting what the boys say at times about the grief they feel. At this point, only Samuel and Alexander make any comments. Sadly, Ryan does not remember his brother by name alone. He doesn't seem to recognize his picture any more either. I anticipate him asking about Andrew some day and grieving his own loss at that point. I wonder sometimes when that will be. Not with worry or anxiousness or anything. It just occurs to me at times. And it saddens me he won't know Andrew except by pictures. But I can't change that. And he will grieve that some day.

On the other hand, Samuel, the oldest, has told me that he wishes that he could have been home at the time of the accident. The comment so caught me by surprise that I asked him to repeat it. I think he thought he was in trouble. It was so out of the blue so my tone of voice may not have accurately reflected my true intent to just make sure I heard him right.

All he would say is that he was at school and never got to see Andrew again. He didn't get to protect Andrew. He had expressed this before. So has Alex. Alex even told Mark that he wishes he would have caught his brother. And that always gets me right in the heart. I hate my boys hurting so much. Absolutely hate it.

When they express something about Andrew, I always make an extra effort to affirm what they said so that they know I heard them. I tell them that I am so glad they told me and ask them an applicable question, if it seems to be needed, or if they have more to say. When they seem to be done, which they usually are after only a few minutes or so, I tell them that daddy and I are always there to listen if they want to talk about Andrew again. 

But we are drawing close to each other. We are strengthening each other and loving each other. My boys are so excited to see me when I come home from work. It's so nice. I even get more hugs and
kisses from Alex more frequently than I have in almost 2 years.

Despite the painful loss we have all suffered with Andrew's death, God is enabling us to draw close as a family and to draw close to Him. It is good. Three years ago, some hardships started that lead to more and more trials and hardships for the next year and a half. When the first few disappointments came, we hardened our hearts against God. Questioned His goodness. Doubted His presence. Stopped trusting Him. It only got darker and darker after that.

And now, we have moved back to the city where we belong, in the initial neighborhood we were supposed to be in. And we have been given a house. Something I thought would not happen for another 10-15 years. And somehow with Andrew's death, we did not harden our hearts again. Purely an act of grace. Many do and I understand why. I know why. I've done it before.

I'm walking through a tough time. But I will make it through. We will make it through together. I will get to the other side of this. I will not be the same. My family will not be the same because we will always  be minus two members of our family. But we will make it. But we will only make it because the Lord is giving us the strength to go on.

Happy Birthday!

Well here we are. The eve of Andrew's first birthday.

Normally I'm excited for the first birthday. I remember the hours that lead up to our first time of meeting that one. Bake a cake. Have a few presents to wrap. I usually marvel that it's their first birthday.

And only after having Ryan, did I get to experience the joy of having a whole year and then the hormones return to normal. The others I had their pregnancies too close together. Andrew will be my second pregnancy where I get to experience the wonderful feeling of my body going back to normal. I felt a huge difference after Ryan's post-partum 1 year anniversary. So when Andrew was born I was looking forward to reaching that milestone. Obviously that was when he was alive.

But now that he's gone, I have been concerned about this day. This anniversary. A few weeks ago I began to feel so heavy, sad, tired, fatigued and struggle with doing almost anything. The first week of the month I was only able to function about half of the week. But it was purely pushing myself through it all. The next week went better. Once I got up, showered and dressed, I felt good. If that didn't do it, I'd force myself to wait until I got to work and then see if that got my mind onto other things.

Then we celebrated Christmas with my family coming to our new house. I loved it! We had a wonderful time together and a few days ago was my mommies' grief support group. We always introduce ourselves and tell about our babies. We all sniffle and cry together and then share thoughts on the topic of the evening that our group leader brings for us.

When I shared that Andrew's birthday was on Sunday, there was a unanimous groan of understanding in the group. I gladly shared that we are going to celebrate his birthday by gathering items to give to the NICU babies that are celebrating their first birthday at the same hospital he spent his first Christmas. Mark and I are still excited about this way to honor him and let those babies and families know that they are not alone. That we understand. We've been there and we are praying for them to go home soon.

We won't let them know that Andrew died. That would scare them. It gave me hope last Christmas to read about babies getting to go home and that they were a certain age.

Funny how Christmas itself is not of huge concern. I'm sure I'll be sad again this year that he's not with us but we've done this before. Our Little Special wasn't with us when we celebrated Christmas with the boys. I grieved that last Christmas and looked forward to going to the hospital to see him. So this isn't the first Christmas without him totally. This is just the first Christmas that he would have been home with us but isn't.

But his birthday. Well, on his birthday I got the joy of meeting him and then worked hard to get to see him again in the NICU 12 hours after his birth at 5 am. Pain and tired and all. And it was so worth it.

Happy birthday Little Special!

6 Month Anniversary - One Year Anniversary

It's been a few weeks since I have written. It's been very tough. Very emotional. Have you ever been so emotional, feeling so much at the same time that you feel nothing. I have gained a bunch of weight. That's  how I know I've been enduring so much pain. At times I am fine. Feel almost normal and have clarity of mind. But mostly I am in a fog. Can't concentrate. Dazed. Confused.

The worse thing is the side affects of not being able to sleep even if I am taking medication to sleep. It's very frustrating. Then when I do it's awful dreams. Horrific even.

Very few probably remember now that Sunday was the 6 month anniversary of Andrew's death.

I remember thinking last summer that I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be 6 months out from his death. Heading towards Christmas. Thinking it would be forever away in time. And now here it is. 6 months later.

And tonight is the 1 year anniversary of my water breaking at around 3 am. The first part of our journey towards his birth. The first memories of anniversaries of his life have now arrived. And I know this is a new phase in our grieving. A part of I have been dreading.

I spent all day in bed today because of it. Unable to focus on anything at all. Sleeping. Falling in and out of awful nightmares and odd dreams.

Feelings are so strong and intense and painful that I can't stand them. I want them to be gone. I am so exhausted and tired. It's difficult to keep going when these moods come. I know they will pass but it's still so intense and deep that it's hard not to despair a bit.

Wanting to hide away. I am thinking having a cozy, safe cave to run into would be quite nice. Hide away.

It's almost too much.

And the beginning of the living memories to grieve have come. And in a few weeks will be his first birthday. The first time I held him. My discharge from the hospital without my son. The visits to NICU. The first time he nursed. Christmas Day opening his gifts.

Then we head towards the anniversary of his death in the same time frame as I just lived through since he died.

Gosh is this hard Is this awful. And I want it to be done. I want the grieving to be over. But I don't get to decide that. At times the pain is so awful I want to die. Not that I'm suicidal, it just hurts that much is all. Mark has felt this much pain as well. A wishing that God had taken me instead as I asked before Andrew died.

Happy Anniversary. Happy feeling of pain and longing of missing and loving.

Andrew's Birthday Blessing Bag

On December 18th, my son Andrew would have turned 1. In honor of his first birthday, we are gathering a birthday blessing bag for the NICU babies to get a Christmas present from Andrew for their first Christmas. Mark and I were very surprised and touched to receive a number of practical items for Andrew’s first Christmas. Generosity shared with us by former NICU babies that definitely made it more cheerful for us when we went up to visit him and to celebrate the holiday with him. If you would like to join us in this effort, I will be collecting items until Tuesday, December 20th and then will deliver them to the hospital. If you would like to send something here, post a comment or get a hold of me and I will forward the shipping address.

The Tears - A Poem

The Tears
by kk

The tears are wandering down my face
Moving slowly then running down.
Each stream moves at its own, individual pace.
Each line speaks it own, unique story.
The tears well up and overflow from a heart that is hurt.
They manifest a pain within so great it must come out.
Some burst forth fast with might and force
Some hold on then drop down.
While others are heavy and are full
And others don't make a sound.
These tears are my dearest friends at times
And sometimes they just interrupt, invade my life perplexed
Some tears hide out and hold on tight
They let me stuff them with fake cheer.
The tears kept flowing down my face
Moving even then rushing down.
Each stream has its own, individual pace.
Each line speaks it own, special story.

I Cry - A Poem

I cry at lot these days. It's annoying at times. But I try to let it come if it occurs after the boys go to bed or some other time where I can be uninterrupted.

I cry.................................. I miss him.............................. And I love him.

I Cry
by kk

I cry because I'm hurting. I cry because I'm sad.
I cry for all the aborted times and for the times we had.
I cry because the missing's so and because the missing's hard.
I cry because the pain within becomes a pain without.
I cry because a one so dear is gone and is away.
I cry because there's no other way to say what's in my soul.

My New Niece

I held my new niece yesterday.

She had a little pink headband with a tiny pink bow on it around her little head. And she has pudgy little cheeks. She's a little chunk of a girl and her mommie thinks she is just so precious. And of course she should. It's her first child.

Mommie is my brother-in-law's girlfriend, thus how she is my niece. Technically half niece but who cares about that.

When I heard they were having her, I remember being glad and then being scared of seeing her.

Andrew would have been 11 months next week. A great age span for the two to play together. But now that won't happen.

I also remember thinking about how Mark and I should go visit her and congratulate them, etc. See their newborn. But quickly was hesitant.

I couldn't help but think, how am I going to react to holding a newborn baby born on the same floor where Andrew was born. The OR is off of the wing she is in. And the gynecologist is my gynecologist. She was trying to find a good one and I just love mine. He's awesome! He delivered both Andrew and Ryan. One naturally and the other by Cesarean. So I've gotten to see his work in two different settings.

Well Dr. Houghton wasn't on duty and he didn't deliver my niece. A doctor that I only met briefly when I was in the hospital on bed rest with Andrew did the honors with her. But she did have a C-section too. So, of course, we traded war stories.

So yeah, I went up to see her. I decided to give it a try and if it was too much I just excuse myself and leave. She was quite surprised but glad I came.

The new one nestled up and fell asleep in my arms. It seems she's kind of fidgety and her mom was amazed that she slept calmly in my arms. I had the magic touch she said.

She was amazing. And, of course, I remembered Andrew. But, to my surprise, I handled it okay. I stayed for twenty minutes holding her. Invited her to come stop on by at Uncle Mark and I's house for mommy and daddy to have a break but not overnight.

I'm glad their daughter is doing well. They should have come home together today. The way it should be. The way I wanted it to be with Andrew and was delayed by 3 weeks that joy. I'm so glad for them.

I hope no one ever has to go through what we went through in losing Andrew. It's just too hard at times.............................. too hard I tell you......................... too hard.

This picture is of Andrew at 8 days old in my arms.

My Beautiful Son

I think a lot about Andrew right now. I suppose that seems odd since I thought of him often before now. I guess it's changed a bit. I think of specific memories now. Especially him as a newborn. Holding him. Snuggling with him. Kangarooing.

Kangarooing is when you undress your baby down to his diaper and holding him against your bare skin. I learned about it in NICU. The nurses told me it was a bonding technique for mothers and their babies. Very good for them and mommy. It was on the marker board in his room as a note for all the nurses to know that I would breastfeed at 4 pm every day and kangaroo with my little guy. He had lots of nurses. Just like he had lots of doctors. So the marker board was a way to communicate between all of us.

Andrew was so tiny. This little tiny precious bundle. Only 5 pounds at birth. Only 18 inches long. Oh gosh was he so cute. So tiny. His little fingers and hands were so small in mine. He would wrap his little bitty fingers around mine. His skin was so soft. He was so innocent. So precious. And he was so light. I couldn't believe that he was so tiny.

He was so small and precious. I chuckle as I think of this. Even having had 3 others before him, I was afraid I would hurt him. I was no nervous to change his diaper. I was a bit afraid to give him his first bath. It was so odd. I'd done these things so many times before. It even took Mark awhile to do these things because he was daunted by his tiny size too.

We loved him so much. We still love him so much.

He was so small he actually wore the newborn and 0-3 month clothes the others had only worn for a week or two. When we brought him home he drowned in 0-3 month clothes. It was odd but so adorable. We had to buy him small clothes. He even wore size 1 diapers for two months. So tiny.

Within the first 24 hours he peeked his little eyes open a slit to look at me. Mark told me after a week Andrew had not opened his eyes for him or the nurses. I smiled inside feeling a sense of pride and specialness. I tried to hide it since Mark seemed kind of hurt that the little guy peeked at me and not him.

This was my special bond with him. He did many things for me that he didn't show others for awhile or as quickly. And I relished how we communicated with each other just by a look of the eyes. A touch of our hands. It was like I knew what he was thinking. And often what he said to me was that he loved me very much. He loved his daddy and his brothers.

He told me that he was glad I was his mommy.

And my heart was full. I loved him so much. And I was so proud to be his mommy.

I was so proud that he was my son. My beautiful son.

No One Else

It's late.

I have gotten rather down lately. At first I thought it was just being drained for working so many late nights and long days on this project. Stress. Missing my sons. Missing friends and loved ones. Hormones. Or something.

Life has not turned out the way I thought.

I still think of Andrew almost constantly. And others who have meant so much. Well, who still mean so much.

My baby died.

My ................baby...................died.

He's gone.

I dreamt of being a mother from when I was very little. And getting married. Having a house. You know, the typical dream many little girls have.

Somehow losing a child was not part of that dream.

And if anyone would have told me that I would lose a baby I think I would get very upset and tell them they were nuts or something.

The grief group we went to, I have thought of calling one of the other women who lost a child. You know................ I read through the newsletter they send out on a monthly basis. This was the first we received.

I looked at the list of the others who lost their children. I fervently searched and contemplated which woman I would call and saw that two of them had lost a baby. I was excited to find someone that knew the pain I feel. And then my heart fell....................

None of them lost their children to an accidental death. I mean, none of them lost their baby to an accidental death. There was one couple who lost their baby to SIDS at about five months. That's so sad.................. that would be hard. I can't imagine................................

But it seems very few lost their child, their baby, their infant, to an accident. A fluke. ...........................

Actually no one at the parent's grief support group lost their baby to an accident. Lots of congenital diseases, which I know would be awful to go through. SIDS............something else that would hurt. Some miscarriages, which I know that pain.

But Andrew..................... no one lost their baby to an accident.

My little special is gone..............................

Five Months

Five months ago today I was dreading living because of the immense pain and loss I felt over Andrew dying. Five months. My gosh. It's so hard to believe. I couldn't imagine what life would be life. What it would become without my son. And here we are. Today is the five month mark.

And its Mark's birthday. I didn't remind him. It didn't seem right. He may remember. Most likely not. I say it and he usually replies, "oh that's right." I made him a birthday card and took him to dinner and we enjoyed a few hours without kids. Even struck up a conversation with the couple at the table next to us. Tomorrow we'll celebrate as a family. The boys are very excited.

It's strange. We'll celebrate. It's the anniversary of his death and we'll celebrate life.

I guess that's good. We are finding some moments of enjoyment these days. Well, I am at times anyway. I'm not 100% sure about Mark. I think he does too. He's in a lot of pain still. I feel so bad. I think he's dealt with some of it but every so often he opens up and there is such pain in his voice. Such sorrow. Sorrow that is so deep that it catches me off guard. He really doesn't talk much about Andrew and his grief. What he's thinking.

Then again I don't talk to him much about mine. It's very difficult to voice out loud. I can write about it but talking about it is difficult. But I think it's also that it's hard to feel safe with many to share something so intense and personal.

There are few I have felt totally safe with. My dear big brother-friend Terry. He's away for the next year and can only be reached by email or snail mail. Dick, my other big brother-friend. And Dick's wife. Some friends I have lost contact with. And a friendship that I cherish and hold dear in my heart.

I don't know how to talk to them either. Such an enigma. I don't know what to say and I want to say so much.

Wish they would call.

Give me a big hug.

Hold me.

Tell me it's going to be okay.

Listen.

Share.

Just be there.

So alone.

So utterly alone.

The Awakening of the Musician in Me

I've been working all weekend. I have a report that goes to a City Council in a few weeks and it's turned out to be more work assembling all the data from the team than I thought. And I have to put a draft in front of the team this week for their final review before sending it to the Client.

It's a lot of copying and pasting and formatting of the data. It's monotonous but it's a project where I have quite a bit of responsibility. I like a challenge and this project has definitely stretched me and taught me quite a bit. An opportunity that has only come about because of the faith some of my current and past colleagues have placed in me. And although the Project Manager relies on me heavily and admitted in my annual review that I know the project better than he does and have been an integral part of the team, I am away from my boys. And I don't like that.

The weekend before Andrew died I worked most of that weekend on this project. Next Friday is the 5 month anniversary of his death. (It's also Mark's birthday.) He's almost been gone as long as he was with us here in this life. And that makes me sad. I remember kicking myself when he died that I had worked so much that week because . . .

I regret that I didn't get to spend more time with him. If I had known ........... I would have taken the week off from work and held him the whole time. I would have stayed at the hospital every minute. I would have done it differently .............................. I would have taken more pictures. I would have gotten another family picture of us. We only have 1 with the 5 of us.

I wouldn't have let him go..........................................


And suddenly, in the midst of the swirl, I am aware that I miss writing. I miss making music. I miss being able to dance. I miss a lot of things. And I can't help but smile as I think of these things and get a bit sentimental.


I have a dear friend of mine who seems to see such good in me whether I am feeling good about myself or not. Is always very encouraging regardless of my disposition. Optimistic. Positive Always good to talk to. Everyone should have someone like this in their life. This is an individual I think very highly of. Someone who replied to my question, "you know what I thought of that I could do to make a difference in the world?", that I was going to start making music. The statement, probably meant to be a bit sarcastic, caught me off guard but it touched me. I don't think many know or notice that music is so strong in me. Especially not now with what I do.

Why does this person come to mind right now? Well, one way I keep myself on task during such repetitive work is to watch documentaries, movies, TV shows on the Internet or whatever. I've learned about the Kennedy's, earthquakes, WWII, Dolly Madison, the Silver Pharaoh, etc. They mostly go in the background as I work and keep my mind from wandering. (Some may not believe it but it works when I'm doing housework as well.) Otherwise I find that my mind gets too pensive and wanders off on its own rabbit trails and then I don't get much done.

So I have had a movie on about a young man who heard music in nature and everyday life, and where it lived in him and was real. He was a composer and musician. Could read music and play by ear. He played Debussy's "Clair de Lune", which I absolutely love, and I had to stop working for a minute to revel in the tones and picture the water. The calm and beauty of a serene moment on a beautiful day. It is a goal of mine to learn how to play it someday. I love Debussy.

And for the first time in a long time, I longed to make music again as he dreamed of doing for the rest of his life. But he had few opportunities and it drove him nuts. A drive I vaguely remember and have buried within myself because I do not have the means to handle the flood it would unleash within me. I have no way to let it out.

Well, the main character had a friend who came along side him and encouraged him in his gift. Helped him to go after it. So naturally I thought of my friend who I think may understand a little bit of how I love music and its drive within me. .....................................

Then it reminds me of how I miss playing. Miss working at it. Miss being part of the music as it's being formed. Being in the midst of the sound as it bends and moves and goes forth. Feeling the music and its emotions and the story it tells. Oh the excitement and the thrill of performing. Working so hard and then the release in the performance. Sharing it with others. Oh how glorious and fun!

And oh my gosh I have gotten lost. Hold K, now is not the time for that. That is for another season of life.

See how I just shift moods? Directions? Lines of thought? I can meet a friend I cherish for coffee feeling just fine and then can shift to being sad and low ten minutes later. Will not even be thinking about Andrew or the grief and concentrating fine and then move into a period of a few hours where I am fuzzy in the head. Like suddenly arriving into a foggy patch on the ocean of life.

As usual, my thoughts turn another direction. A place they frequently go - to Andrew.

Andrew never heard me play.

He heard me sing.

He saw me being silly and goofy.
He even saw me dance.
We shared so much together he and I in his short little life. Because I could read it in his little eyes. A language we spoke only to each other it seems.
But he never heard me play.

There were so many things I told him about or sang to him or read to him but I never played for him. I talked to him about my music. My dreams that seem to have come from a past life now. But I never really got my flute out and played for him.

I am saddened as I think ahead in life on the things that I will miss out on because he is not a part of our family in this life any longer. And milestones I'll miss about his life. But to think about not sharing something that is so intense for me and so personal and something that is so important to me ...............

He never heard me play.

He never heard me play.


Someday, I'll have to play for him.


So Many Things
by kk
I shared so many things with you
My loves, my hopes, my joys.
I told so many things to you
My faith, my life, my loves.
I gave so many things to you
My strength, my love, my all.
And now you're gone, apart from me
My flesh, my blood, my child.
I'll carry so many things of you
My boy, my joy, my son.



 

The ER

For some reason that I don't recall now, Mark and I got to talking about what happened in the ER. Maybe Andrew was more on my mind because I saw an ambulance today with its lights flashing. No sirens though. Whenever I see ambulances with their lights on I usually have to swallow hard because I immediately think of Andrew. How he rode to the hospital that Thursday afternoon all by himself,  surrounded by strangers, as he struggled to stay alive. All because the police had to question Mark about the incidents surrounding the accident. Th inhumanity. The insensitivity.

My little special rode in an ambulance that had its lights and sirens going.

It was a life and death matter.

I cried as I told Mark that they worked on Andrew for 40 minutes non-stop. That it didn't occur to me at the time that his heart had stopped. They had no pulse when I first arrived in the ER.

I remember asking them, "what do you mean he doesn't have a pulse?" It was like I couldn't think. That usually meant that a person was dead. But that couldn't be happening with my little special. No. My mind was racing so fast I honestly couldn't tell you what I was thinking.

Mark started crying too. I cried more as I finally felt the sorrow and fear and pain I felt at that time that I suppressed at the moment to be strong for Andrew.

I was afraid. Afraid that my son was dead. Afraid that my son would die. Afraid of the pain I would feel over such a loss. Afraid of how to face life without my son. Afraid of how hard life could possibly be. Afraid he was  hurting.

And I hurt for him.

They were poking him with needles left and right once they got the vent back in and found his pulse. And I wanted to cry because I imagined that he might be feeling the pain. He might be aware that he was lying there all vulnerable and they were sticking him in his arms and legs and chest and neck trying to find a line. And then they couldn't get the lines to stay. And they just kept poking him. And I couldn't tell t hem to stop. I knew it was needed. But I didn't want him to hurt. I was so afraid he was hurting. In pain and I couldn't hold him to comfort him. I was only allowed to touch his shoulder.

Well, except for a few minutes where they were focusing on his legs and other things. I looked at his arm and longed with everything in me to hold him. To hold his little hand like I always did. So purposefully I gently stroked his arm and put my finger in his hand. And I knelt down to whisper in his ear how much I loved him and that he was doing so good.

I tried not to think too much as the doctor drilled into Andrew's leg. The nurse assigned to me explained that this was a technique used on babies to get IV fluids or medicines into their bodies. Their bones are so spongy that they are able to be punctured by a needle.

My lips quivered and tears welled up in my eyes as I saw the needle pop back out of the wound and saw its size.

"It really doesn't hurt as much as you think. It's just like a needle prick to us." The nurse told me reading my mind.

Somehow I struggled with believing that. And wanted to take away his pain. Take his place. Have him wake up and be all better.

"There were so many people, Mark. So much going on. And everyone is talking about all this technical medical language." I paused to wipe my nose and look at the dining room table. Then I continued. "So many people were pulling for him. The people at the desk, nurses, doctors, everyone was looking in the room with the same look. They were all concerned for him. Praying he would be okay. From what I heard even the president of the hospital heard about him and was concerned."

Oh gosh does my heart hurt right now. Oh.........................I hope he didn't feel much pain.

Gosh do I hate this pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gosh do I miss my son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To My Little Special

Little special, this is our first harvest without you. We are learning to find ways to celebrate you and talk with the boys about you. It hurts at times but the boys seem to like this and want this. It almost doens't phase them at all when we talk about you. Almost like they don't feel anything. I know that's not true but it's just how it looks to us.

Regardless, it seems that they need that. To talk about you. Remember you. Have things around that are yours. So we're doing it. The pictures are the hardest. But since the boys were so glad to see pictures of you, I guess we'll push ourselves to get a collage printed up and framed of pictures they chose and that we chose.

We sure do love you and miss you so much. It's kind of nice though to think of traditions we can start that can include you since we know you are still with us.

It's not as difficult as I thought it was. Maybe that's becuase at Alex's grief class, we had to say your name, who you were to us and that actual word, "died". They said Alex needed to hear us say the proper term and not sugar coat it and he needed to say it too. So we did even though it kind of was something I had to almost force out of my mouth.

It's been so hard. I honestly thought you'd wake up and we'd take you home in a few days and then the doctor ................................................

Andrew........................................ I don't know what to say..................................... I love you so much. And miss you so much. Sure you were unexpected surprise but boy were you such a delight. Such a joy to me. You added so much to my life in your short little life.

To you, I could do no wrong. I was mommy. Someone you looked at all big eyed and lovingly like I was the most wonderful person in all the world.......................................... because in your little eyes, at your little age, that is what a mommy is for a baby. And it was so wonderful.......................

I was your mommy.

I still am your mommy.

I am your mommy that misses you.

And I often wonder what that would have looked like as you got older.

Oh Andrew..................................................... oh Andrew .  .    .    .      .       .               .

Andrew's Pumpkin

This weekend we had such beautiful weather. The boys played outside with the puppy, running all around, giggling and enjoying the outdoors. And knowing that the oldest two were having a pumpkin decorating contest today at school, I loaded up the van with the 3 musketeers and we headed out.

In my usual fashion, I didn't tell the boys what we were doing until we were in the van and on our way. So I was beaming with excitement to share the good news that we would be shopping for pumpkins to decorate. Upon learning this, each let out an exclamation of joy and the anticipation could be felt as the kids bounced around as I drove to the store.

Each boy excitedly picked out his own pumpkin with each struggling to lift theirs. I enjoyed quite a few laughs and chuckles as they were doing this and expressing their joy. And suddenly I thought of getting an extra one. A small one for us to do for Andrew. To honor him. Granted, I am sure that not many people do a pumpkin for their child who is passed away but I thought the boys would find this to be a fun thing to do and let them know that he is still with us. So one of the boys excitedly picked out a cute little pumpkin for Andrew.

Then we headed inside to get markers and a few other items. The boys were bouncing off the cart as we went around the store and kept talking about how much fun it was going to be when we decorate the pumpkins. I am pretty sure that anyone walking by us knew what we were going to be doing since the boys were being so vocal.

-----------------

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon and the boys were about to lose it since they were still having to wait to decorate pumpkins. And finally the moment arrived. I got out the cardboard mat we put down to protect the dining room table, broke open the markers and each boy had to pile out the front door to bring in their pumpkin. I'm sure we looked rather clumsy and disorganized and perhaps could have qualified as a comedy clip it was so hap-hazard.

So me and the boys gathered around the table, chose a marker and began to create masterpieces that I'm sure would shame VanGogh and other impressionist and modern painters.

Ryan shaded in parts of his pumpkin in red and then in green. Very modern. Very abstract in look and feel. He was quite proud and jabbered with excitement as he showed it off to me. Then he was done and moved onto playing with the puppy.

Alex made a face with red eyes and an open mouth with, I think, black pointy teeth. Imagine the famous "The Scream" painting without the background, a rounder face and no shading on a pumpkin. ....... Okay, maybe forget the reference to "The Scream".

And Samuel had to do a running commentary on everyone else's piece as he said he was waiting for the black and the red. So I began to work on Andrew's pumpkin because the boys told me that was mine to do. I started by drawing his name and then colored in the block letters I drew and then just started writing loving thoughts to Andrew.

Samuel finally decided to start drawing on his. He drew a huge smiley face. It was the kindest pumpkin you'd ever meet.

But wanting Andrew's pumpkin to be something we all shared in as a family, I invited each boy to draw something to either say to Andrew or to remember him by or to honor him. Whatever they wanted to do in honor of his life. I was glad to see how much they wanted to participate in decorating his pumpkin. How anxious they were to draw something for him. And they didn't hardly bat an eyelash. No tears or sad looks. Just big smiles and excited chatter as they drew their creations.

Alex drew the lion that he shared at his kids' grief class he attended a few weeks ago. So I noted that under the lion. And Samuel drew Andrew's face. I labeled that as well. Matthew was too busy chasing the puppy to notice we were doing the pumpkin and I asked Mark if he wanted to do something as well. He wrote a special message on it to join my "We love you" and "We miss you" messages. I also documented the year and that he would be 10 months old now if he were with us.

The boys were very proud of their pumpkins. I took pictures and we set them on the front porch. Of course, the boys had to bring Andrew's pumpkin out and determine where it would go. Then I asked Alex if we should put it out by his grave after the end of the month. He shook his head big at me. He wanted to come with. Just amazing. "Yeah mom, let's go visit my dead brother's grave," was like his thinking.

I paused as I thought of taking it out to his grave and leaving it there. If others would see it and say something like, "oh, they decorated a pumpkin for him." Or something like that. And here Alex seemed to be happy that we were doing something to remember him and then went on with life like I had just told him I was going to take him to visit a friend.

Lord, show us ways to honor Andrew that will include our boys so that they learn how to love someone even when they're gone.

Our First Grief Support Group

I was hoping to go to a mommy's grief support group that meets here in town monthly. After the parent's meeting at the beginning of the month, I looked forward to meeting some moms and learn how they're coping and be able to process more of the grief. But I wasn't able to make it even though I lined up a babysitter. Our pictures at church took longer than we thought, and there was a mix-up with the babysitter and I had a great evening with my boys playing silly games as I put them to bed.

The parent's group was good and hard and disappointing.

There was a decent turn out. I took a few things to snack on but found that I had no appetite once I sat down and couldn't seem to taste anything anyway. So there was no pleasure found in trying to munch on anything. Even chocolate didn't taste appealing. That really surprised me but I guess that's how it goes when you're in a room with strangers that you know have exerienced the exact same loss as you in some form.

With each introduction we learned of people who miscarried, had stillbirths, lost teenagers, adult children and for different causes. One was SIDS, one was some heart condition, another couple had struggled for years and years and finally had a child. I practically lost it as they said their only child died at age 7. Here we have 3 others and they have struggled so to have that one that they then lost.

Tears came to both of our eyes as one couple lost their 5 1/2 month old son in April. I immediately looked down at the table thinking that I couldn't hear much more of this. This was too close to home.

Many others were crying as we all introduced ourselves and we shared about precious Andrew of course. And I added that we had lost Lexi since Mark doesn't really remember her. Even though that saddens me I guess it's to be expected. I was early on in the pregnancy and Mark didn't get to see her on ultrasound or feel her. She was too young. So it seems I'm the only one that remembers her besides the boys' godmother. She mentioned Alexa the last time we visited them during the summer. It amazed me that anyone else remembered I had carried her and lost her. It was good to know someone remembered her besides me.

So.................after introductions anyone who's child was celebrating a birthday, the anniversary of their death, was new or just wanted to, could light a candle in honor of their child. Suddenly I became so tense and so emotional that I just stared at the table. Mark whispered to me if I wanted to do it, I stared at him with big eyes and shook my head while mouthing no. Then I looked down at the table and Mark stood up to go to the table to light a candle for Andrew. Everyone was sniffling by this time right along with me and Mark lit the candle speaking Andrew's name. I couldn't move as tears streamed down my face.

"My baby." I thought to myself.

They shared about their group and then a lady who lost a niece or nephew, shared about a book. One that told the story of a little boy who died years ago at age 13 or 14 and how he had made such a strong impact before he died on many lives. While some of it was rather intriguing and encouraging, one father, the one who had suffered multiple miscarriages with his wife, asked how you were supposed to deal with the loves ones that tell you to just get over it and move on.

Many spoke up expressing their apologies for this insensitivity. Others gave them advice that I thought was a bit insensitive. I kept thinking that he more needs to hear that we understand and have experienced this too and that he was heard more than any advice. Because there really isn't much you can do for people that either have not experienced this loss giving them no right to say anything or people who don't know how to handle what you're going through. While spoken with good intentions in mind.............................

I kept wanting to say that I was so sad that others were so insensitive. But then others were sharing about the circumstances surrounding their child's death and relatives and friends and all that. Many of us were crying. My nose was running like a constantly dripping sink. The stories were just so . ............. heartfelt....................

It seemed like we were all opening up. And even though some stories hurt to hear and some had very encouraging things to say or were very touching, it was still good becuase it was just like they had read my mind. It was good to know that others were hurting the same way. Asking the same questions. Wondering the same things. And some were saying how they couldn't believe in God now or didn't know how to relate to God. I could understand that even though I'm not struggling with that at the moment. I have struggled with that.

People were being very real. Very transparent. It was really good. And then one woman made a comment that shut it all down. Then the lady began to share more about this little boy.

One woman stood up in tears and said she didn't want to hear about this little boy, she wanted to hear about all of our children. Our memories. Get to know our kids. Not someone that is far away. So she left the room saying she was done with the group.

I felt so bad for her that she felt so hurt by the group. She said that no one ever got to share. We all didn't know each other.

After what I had witnessed that sure made me wonder. We left shortly after the book discussion was done.

I'd Give It All Back to Have My Son

We have been in our new home over a month now. And boy do we all love it. It's so homey. So cute. So peaceful. And enough room for all of us to enjoy. It's great! Other little celebrations have occurred in the last month as well. 

• Mark was able to find a lawn mower at a great price since it's the end of the mowing season. 
• Leaves are falling everywhere and the boys have already made a pile, with my fancy raking moves, to jump in.
• The boys have ridden their bikes almost daily giving them the most workout they have seen in the last year that they've had them.
• We have started hanging pictures.
• We've had our housewarming party and regularly entertain since it's been 3 years since that has happened.
• And we finally have a dog again. Well, she's actually a puppy. But we saw her picture on Craig's list and just couldn't resist. The boys couldn't be happier unless they got to eat candy at every meal.
• My new appreciation to make more of life and relationships.

All of these things, things I have dreamt of since we lost our house over 3 years ago and now, we are settled. Thank God we are settled. And there are many more wonderful things yet to come. I smile as I look to the future.

And it's hard not to think that it was because our son died. We added Andrew to the life insurance policy through my work and never dreamt we would cash one in ever. I even had to produce a copy of the death certificate in order to close on the house. Can you believe that?

Despite the hardships we have experienced so many blessings. And despite the thankfulness in my heart, the joys and the good things God has given us since June 4th came and went, I'd give it all back in a moment to have my son.

I'd give it all back to have my little special.

Sharing Special Memories as a Family

Thursday night, I got home from work dreading the evening ahead. I wasn't dreading seeing my boys. I was dreading the homework assigned Alex had for his grief class. His assignment was to bring an item to share with everyone at the conclusion of the last session that reminded them of their special loved one that died. And I knew since I had worked late the prior 2 nights that my husband would want to get out of the house to recharge.

That left with the challenging task of digging out the box with Andrew's things that I had not been able or willing to look at since July when they were packed away. A box I thought I wouldn't open for years. It held almost everything connected to Andrew including all the clothes he wore, the pacifiers, the blankies and so forth.

I called a few friends to see if they could come over to help me do this. One already had a prior commitment and the other I couldn't reach. Probably a busy night at her home with her kids. So with trepidation and reluctance, I pulled up my internal bootstraps and went to find Alex.

"Alex, do you want to find a special memory item of Andrew to share at grief class tomorrow? I have a whole box downstairs of Andrew's things if you would like to go through it with me."

He got all excited. At least someone was excited about this. And he hopped down the stairs and I forced my feet to move one after the other to follow after him. When I got into the basement, I approached the door to our storage closet and breathed in deeply. And letting out a huge sigh, I opened the door and flicked on the light. \

Internally I prayed for strength as I walked down the closet to the back corner and flicked on that light. Alex shortly peeked in and tip toed into the space behind me. We moved the boxes from on top of the bin and I turned around and got down to Alex's level.

"Now Alex, I want to tell you that mommy may cry when she opens this box."

I could feel him tense up.

"But it's okay. Alright? I miss Andrew a lot so it's very normal for me to cry when I see his things. And it's okay because I won't keep on crying. After a little bit I'll stop and it will be fine. Okay?"

His eyes were a bit big and showed me his uncertainty. I just looked into them with understanding and smiled. Then I turned around and pulled the top off of the bin seeing all kinds of clothes my little one had worn. Things that no one else would probably wear. I dropped my eyes followed by my head and moved out of the way.

"Go ahead sweetheart. See if there is something special in there that reminds you of Andrew."

I found it interesting how easily he looked through the things. Moving onesies and pajamas out of the way to find toys, stuffed animals and so forth that were Andrew's alone. Then he pulled something out and I was fascinated at his choice. Although I couldn't understand it. But then again I'd bring one of his pee caps and others would think that was pretty darn strange as a special memory item. How can a mom think the memory of her son peeing on her is so special? But is.

And I remember putting up an internal wall so as not to get too lost in the very personal items I had once put on Andrew. I buffered myself from the memories attached to certain special items like his little winter suit we brought him home in from the hospital.

He laid on the hospital bed so bundled up he looked up at me with this look like, "mom . . . help, I'm trapped." He looked so adorable I had to chuckle and rush over to him, pick him up and lavish him with kisses as I told him how cute he looked. And then commented to myself that I might have overdone it a bit. It was winter. An extremely cold January night. He was a preemie and even more prone to difficulties in regulating his temperature. I wanted to make sure he didn't freeze.

When I saw his soaked hair when I undid his suit after getting home, I knew that I had been overly concerned about him staying warm. Oh well. He lived. And still looked so adorable. Better than him freezing to death.

A shake of the head. Back to reality, k. And the rest of the evening I ran around doing household chores to keep from feeling anything. I didn't want to dwell on the darling items that were his. The memories of his smile and the loving looks he gave me..........................................and........................

So Friday, I pick up the 2 boys that weren't attending class to join in on the special sharing time the kids were having. Alex did so well. His special memory of Andrew that he shared with everyone was that he died. That caught in my throat. But the facilitator and leader of the program quickly asked him if he remembered anything from before Andrew dying. And Alex shared that he slept a lot.That got chuckles all the way around. But it was accurate. He did sleep a lot. Then the class ended with each child showing an item that represented something that reminded them of their lost loved one. And Alex brought what he had found in the Andrew bin. A little stuffed lion Andrew was given when he was in NICU. One of many donations we received to make his first Christmas special by other families who had had little ones in the same NICU over Christmas. Their thoughtful way to brighten a less than ideal situation and make it a bit special.

Then we went outside and each child had a balloon to release in memory of their special loved one. We all counted down from 10 and the kids let their balloons go. One for each color in the rainbow. Then we all said, "I love you" and the name of our loved one. Alex jumped in excitement as he released his balloon and yelled his sentiment to Andrew. There was the sound of other voices saying the same thing with a jumble at the end due to all the different names of the ones that had gone on before us.

"I love you Andrew." I said with a faltering voice that evoked a pang in my heart and a reaction of tears in my eyes. It felt like I was letting go of him all over again. It was odd.

Andrew is gone.

The balloon flew higher in the sky, getting smaller and smaller and it was like Andrew. Flying away on the wings of the wind being carried to places far away.

And then we drove home.................................
...................................................................................................with a detour through McDonald's.

The Heartfelt Prayer of a Mommy

Tough few weeks.

Last week Mark and I attended a monthly grief support groups especially for parents who have lost children. That was tough. Emotional. Hard. Disappointing in some ways.

Then this week our middle son, Alex, attended a 6 hour course in grief with a few other children his age. The program is designed specifically for his age group to teach kids his age about death, grief and the many emotions you go through. It's meant to show them that they are not alone and that what they are thinking or going through is normal and part of it all. It's also supposed to show them how to honor the one that passed on. So we've had to face Andrew's death head on this week for Alex. And that has been almost unbearable for both of us. But we think it's helped our son so that is good and worth it.

An odd memory returned to me tonight shortly after I got home with the boys. When I was with Andrew the last 24 hours of his life, I remember beginning to wonder if he would ever wake up again and look at me as he always did, with such love and then it would all be over. I really thought he was going to wake up and be normal. I suppose all parents do in those kind of situations.

Anyway, I remember at one point asking God to take me instead of Andrew. It didn't matter to me if I lived. I wanted him to live so much, that I remember clearly asking God that if someone had to die, to take me instead of Andrew. I remember crying I was so saddened that he was in such a state. He deserved a chance to live. He had hardly had the chance. And we had fought so hard for him. But in the end . . .

The memory came with such intensity that it really caught me off guard. I wasn't suicidal at the time or since then. But I had forgotten how I had cried out to God to save his little life. To spare him. How it didn't matter to me if I lived or not becuase his life was so valuable to me. He meant so much that I would lay mine down to save his. Something I would do for any of my children.

It was strange remembering that moment. How strongly I wanted to fight for his life and what I was willing to do to preserve it. I would have done almost anything to see him open his eyes, turn his head to me and look into mine as he had done thousands of times before. "Please God . . . Take my life and let him live."

But he still died anyway.

The Other Grieving Couple

Four months ago right now we were saying our good-byes to Andrew. The hospital we were at has a woman who donates her services as a photographer to capture mementos of last moments with loved ones. She offered to photograph our little one with his hands in ours and other meaningful things like that. The picture above is one of those. Mark with his hand on his Bible and Andrew's hand laid on his. I like to pretend he reached up and took daddy's hand for one last time. That's what it looks like happened. But Mark placed it there as he sobbed and doubled over. So precious. So painful.

And last night I held in my arms a baby girl that is 5 months old. Alive. Full of life. Drooling like crazy and wanting to practice standing on your lap. I had dropped off some dishes that they had brought a meal over to us in and me and the boys walk/biked to their home last night. We enjoyed the beautiful evening, the fresh air and the beautiful colors of the leaves.

This family was a huge blessing to us when we lost Andrew. Some of a handful that really just came along side us and asked how they could help. We were only acquaintances at that point. And their baby was only a month old. And they blessed us richly with food, babysitting, strength and prayer while we walked dazed through that first week forcing ourselves to live for the sake of our other children.

So I often their infant daughter and marvel at her growth. And I can never not think of Andrew. Where he was in development. She is about ready to pass his age and developmental level and it hit me in an odd way as I held her last night. Meanwhile, the mom and I enjoyed a few moments of grown-up adult, women talk as our kids played together outside.

She asked how I was doing with, you know. And I told her that since the move, the grief is more present. I don't have a million things to do all at once anymore or a goal of this huge life event called buying a home and moving to look to. So naturally, I am struggling a bit and am finding it hard at times. She was not surprised and just spoke kind words to me about it.

Her husband was nearby and mentioned the couple that lost their son around the same time we lost Andrew. You see, their son was 21 and died by jumping into the river. And, by their own admission, they did not have a faith in God. I imagine in this situation they were probably really questioning God, His Plan and His goodness. So they did not have that faith to draw upon for strength and hope during this time like Mark and I did. I can't imagine. It was so awful losing Andrew. So painful. And you wonder why but my goodness, losing your child who is a young adult who decides to end their own life, that is a whole different matter altogether. Regardless of whether you believe in God or not that's a tough pill to swallow. And make it a bit harder to deal with.

He mentioned them because I was talking about our struggle with dealing with the grief and the loss and all the pain. And he shared that the husband of the couple, who is his friend and coworker, just returned to work. It's been about 4 months for them too and he just returned to work. That amazed me. Wow. This was hitting them REALLY hard. I felt such sympathy for them.

He described that his friend shared that they pretty much didn't get out of bed that first month. They're on medication so that they can deal with the depression. But it's a huge struggle for them. Very difficult. Very painful. Devastating. This saddened me greatly.

I hesitated and then thought about that mother. How much she hurt that her son was gone now. And how much she needs someone to talk to. Although she didn't necessarily want to talk but she was hurting and might like to know that someone else knows the path she's walking. So I told him that he could feel free to pass on my contact information in case the wife would want to call me to talk since we both lost sons. Different circumstances completely but still a child. Still a son. I don't know if I can handle that but I felt so bad for them that I wanted to make sure that they knew that I would talk to them if it would help. Well, I anticipate I'll more listen than talk. They don't need to hear any insight I may think I have on the situation. It's not like I've figured this all out or am the model griever. The listening thing is needed and great right now. No commentary necessary. Just someone to listen is good. Say they care. Remind you they are there no matter what you're thinking and feeling without saying if they are thinking of feeling wrong. Because that's the last thing she needs or that anyone needs when they're grieving. I can at least understand a bit of the grief they are experiencing. And tell her that. Maybe she's even felt and thought some similar things and I can say that too.



And then I hear about how this couple is coping. Their struggle and pain. And I feel so sad for them. A part of me wishes I could take away at least part of their pain. But I am powerless to do that. But I know One who is not powerless to comfort and bring peace. So Lord, You know better than anyone what they need. Comfort them as only You can and give them the strength to keep going. Heal in the way that only You can.

The First Evening Without Andrew Part 2

After the boys came home and we told them what had happened, I began to feel congested. Crowded. Stifled. Anxious. Restless. I told Mark I had to go for a walk. Quinby and Sandra were still there to help him get the boys to bed and I headed out. Grandma Jean was there too to assist.

I couldn't get down those stairs fast enough and get away. It was too much.

Quickly I walked out of our complex and down the road. I walked for a good hour solid around the nearby high school. Going in circles around the building. Talking to God. Trying to sort it out. Crying. Sobbing. Dying inside. Wanting to escape the pain. Not believing that he was gone.

At one point I stopped and seemed to be in another place. I knew the place. It was a hallway and I saw a little girl holding a baby in her arms. I knew immediately who it was and the tears began to flow as my heart lifted a little. There he was. There was Andrew. It seems the little girl was talking to him and explaining things. He was content and at rest. She was beaming with pride to be with him. I was seeing my daughter, Lexi.

"And in there is the great hall. You'll love that place. You can dance there with me. And next I'll take you to . . . " She was just far enough away that I couldn't hear her anymore. And my mouth dropped open in wonder. There they were. The two children I have lost that were now together.

For some reason, I was filled with pride that Lexi was taking care of him and showing him around his new neighborhood. His new home. And I slight smile crossed my face before the frown and pain returned. My head fell again as the tears returned generously and the pain pulsed in my chest. Slowly I began to move my lead feet and returned to my walk.

Later that night, as I sat down on my bed to lay down, I just kept laying there. This was the room where he slept with us. Tonight there was no need for shifts. It seemed weird. "Oh I should make . . ." I started to say to myself turning my body. Then I stopped myself hanging my head low. "I don't need to make bottles tonight." And my voice cracked as began to tremble. "Andrew doesn't need bottles anymore." I said with a sad voice and I hunched over on my side until my head laid at the foot of the bed.

I refused to look at Andrew's pack and play or the changing table next to it. It just stung.

I sat up again and was trying to get myself to go to sleep. But I couldn't bring myself to get under the covers even though I was exhausted. I looked out the window at the view I had seen for the past 2 years as I went to bed and felt a tug.
When I looked I was in that place again and just stopped breathing. ............................. Before me stood Lexi holding Andrew in her arms balancing him on her right hip. She was smiling. She was so beautiful and looked so cute. She was about the age of 5 and was wearing a very darling dress, tights and dress shoes to match. And Andrew was in his little pajamas smiling all big at me. My little special.

"Hi mommy."

"Hello Lexi."

"I'm so glad that Andrew is here with me."

Tears stained my eyes yet again. This was becoming too common. I was tired of crying and yet couldn't do anything else.

I just smiled and couldn't speak.

"I have shown him all around mommy and am taking good care of him."

Andrew just kept beaming and starting wiggling up and down with excitement. He looked wonderful.

"I know sweetheart." I replied.

It was odd. I could feel their excitement to be together. The peace. The love. The rest. The stillness and calm. And even though I knew that Lexi had not lacked at all for these last 4 years or been alone it was still nice to see that she was being the big sister. Taking care of my little squirt. I was proud of her for what she was doing with Andrew. And Andrew.............well, even though I also knew that he lacked nothing now, was still glad to see he was with his sister. I couldn't help but feel a bit of happiness that they had each other. But the pain followed closely behind because I couldn't touch him or hold him. She was doing what I longed to do the most. Hold him and take care of him.

"We love you mom!" Lexi exclaimed.

"I love you too." I blurted out as the moment faded away. I stared blankly at the wall as I felt myself just sitting on the edge of the bed still seeing them in my mind's eye.

The First Evening Without Andrew Part 1

One of the emptiest, most painful times of my life was the initial 24 hours after Andrew died.

We walked out of the hospital, in shock. We had left a hospital before without our son. But we had never left a hospital and known that we would not return to visit or get our son. The day was beautiful. It was around supper time. I remember breathing in the fresh air, looking up at the overhang and feeling so dead inside that I felt hollow.

Mark got the van. A good friend of ours, Trish, who had stood by us at the hospital for most of Andrew's last days, got my car. The pastor and his wife, who were at the hospital shortly after we left Andrew's hospital room for the last time, went to get their van to follow us home. We had asked them to come since we didn't know if we could handle going home to the apartment where our little special died. Or how we would tell our children or handle them coming home.

I remember repeating to myself that this couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. I didn't want to have to deal with losing my precious boy. And yet here was that dreaded moment. "How am I going to do this now?" I said to myself.

For some reason, when Trish showed up, I got into the car and asked her to drive me home. Mark gave me a quizzical look. And I just hung my head down. It was too hard to walk to the car and get in. Trish told me it was just fine and she'd drive. She was great. Knew just what to say. Let us feel the non feeling, overwhelming pain that numbs you. So Mark headed out and Trish and the pastor followed him as I sat almost catatonic in the car.

I didn't want the boys to come home that night. I barely seemed to know how to walk. Forget about taking care of 3 boys.

We arrived at home. Trish was taken back to her car. She went to church to inform them of what had happened so that the congregation could pray for us and our boys. And Mark and I made our way up the 3 flights to our apartment with Sandra, the pastor's wife.

The apartment seemed so quiet. So still. So empty. It felt abandoned even though our belongings filled the place where they had been while Andrew was with us. It was eerie. Odd. Foreign. Uncomfortable.

As we walked down the hallway towards the dining room, I happened to look into the living room. I felt drugged up, heavy and had no joy in me. And then I caught a glimpse of Andrew's Pooh swing. It wasn't even a second and I immediately felt like I had been shot in the heart. Big, strong, solid tears dropped from my eyes and a cry began to rise from my stomach, through my heart and up my throat to my mouth. My lips trembled violently as my frown drew deeper lines down my chin. The room became blurred through the tears and I kept on walking even though I felt like I was now fifty pounds heavier.

I tried to gather myself and then got into the dining room where I saw his bouncy seat. And then I lost it and almost fell over. That was Andrew's. Only Andrew had used that seat. Grandma Jean had found it at a Good Will and washed it just for him. It sat there empty. A clear reminder that his little form would not rest in it again.

Gosh I can't do this. I can't remember this right now.


 

A Realization With All of the Wrappings

It is Wednesday night.

Oh my gosh it's only Wednesday night. I could almost swear this week has worn on like I'm dragging heavy weights in my shoes.

And despite enjoying a short visit with a good friend and having random moments of joking around at short times throughout the day, I am very much struggling today. Scattered. Unfocused. Down in heart. Fallen in face. Eyes trying not to connect with anyone for too long for fear I will be discovered. Feeling extreme depths of sorrow and aching in my heart. And there it is again - the grief.

Some moments I could converse with people fine. Get diffeerent things done. Interact as though it was a normal day. Well, it was a normal day in most senses. It's just that . . . . . . . I miss Andrew. And I can't seem to ignore it very easily today.

In fact, the pain swelled up so much that it eventually pours out of my eyes. Heavy tears that start out slow and then gain momentum as they drop onto my arm. Emotions that sting within my head. Feelings that make me want to hide and press the pause button of life. Thoughts that turn often to my son who has gone before us.

I think I am really realizing that Andrew is gone and will not come back.

That may seem odd to some or not make any sense at all to others. But it's kind of how it is. You can't believe it. I can't believe it. One moment he was with us and the next, I'm panicking over his unconscious body wondering if he's going to live or not. And then thinking that he can't die. He's too young. It's not his time. And then a streak of terror as I think that he may die . . . . . . and oh my gosh . . . . . . how do I deal with that? . . . . . .How do I live with that? . . . . . . Life will seem so empty without his little life shining in ours. . . . . Such a huge hole will be created. . . . . . . My little special. My one son that I really seemed to connect to and bond with so strongly.

And then I realize another thing. I'm starting to not remember him as clearly. At times, his face looks fuzzy in my mind's eye. His darling giggle isn't as clear. His touch. That seems to be slipping away too. And the look of affection in his eyes that just got my heart every time is beginning to fade. Gosh do I wish we had gotten him on video. But we didn't and it makes me cry. We also only have 1 family picture with him. A picture I will frame and hang on our wall when we're able to hang pictures of him.

It took me 3 hours to clean up the kitchen tonight becuase I was so paralyzed by what I felt. This frustrated my husband. I didn't tell him until the kids were down what was going on. I was trying to hold it together for the boys so that I didn't just start wailing. I really just wanted to go anywhere but home and be a wife and mother tonight and take care of housekeeping things needed on a daily basis.

Silly me. Grieving me. But I came home as I was supposed to. When my husband took our oldest to get groceries, I had a movie on for the youngest two and stepped outside onto my deck. I sat down and tried to lose myself in the chirping of the crickets.The smell of the freshly cut grass in our yard. The still of the evening and the slight touch of cooling and night slowing descending on my shaded backyard. I pretended I was out in the country. And let the hurt manifest itself. And I cried and to lift my spirits, imagined that a dear friend had stopped by to say hello and see the new place and saw my tears before I could hide them. So they sat down near me to listen and offer encouragement and a hug.

After a few minutes I shook my head, collected myself, wiped away the tears and went back in the house.

Andrew may be gone but life still goes on. And no one knows that I am screaming inside my head and soul, "Andrew!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" right now. And few seem to even see the tears I quickly brush away as I notice them approaching at work and do my best to put on a face of a professional. And life goes on and will keep moving on even though very few people will remember that next Tuesday marks the 4 month anniversary of his death. But then again, I don't know the anniversary date of many of the losses of my loved ones that I hold dear.

Funny how your perspective changes when you walk through something, isn't it.

Gosh. Andrew is gone.

Processing the Grief and a Poem

It will be 4 months next week.

In some ways it seems like it was just yesterday. In other ways it seems like it was ages ago.

I’m reading a book called Heaven is For Real. It’s about a 4 year old boy that was in the hospital, fighting for his life and what happened to him during that time. Years later, he began to tell his father about the angels that sang to him so that he wouldn’t be so afraid. How he was sitting on Jesus’ lap and other things about heaven.

Naturally, it brings back the memories of Andrew in the ER and in Intensive Care. The emotions. The thoughts. The fears. The anger. The pain. The hope you hope against all hope. The terror that your child is going to die. The thoughts of how are you going to deal with the death of your child. The refusal to give in to those thoughts. And then the roller coaster taking you back down to the deep places of uncertainty and raw pain over the possibility of losing your child.

And yet I read on because . . . another little boy said he sat in Jesus’ lap when he was in a similar situation. And I think . . . “How about that. Jesus REALLY was holding my boy. He REALLY was comforting him as he was probably terrified at all that was going on that he didn’t understand.”

Then I feel a bit of comfort knowing that he REALLY was being cared for through it all. And that he was seeing us through it all. Hearing what we said. Seeing  our tireless vigil by his side. Knowing our tears and listening to how we spoke lovingly and hopefully to him. How we struggled. How we ached. How we longed. He knew it all.

We have been fortunate that many people have not spoken to us about how we should feel, react or anything like that. But a few have shared with us things that they thought were encouraging or kind and compassionate when they did not come across that way. And on these few occasions, I sit there and look away. My face falls. I tear up and feel like I could be blown away like a leaf as I say, “Will you stop already. Do you really think that you are comforting me with these things?”

I know he’s okay. I know he’s in a wonderful place. I know I will see him again one day. And I know that God will work this out for good and that He is a God of purpose.

It angers me when people try to say things like this. Drains me. Hurts me. Even with these things being true and good and even providing hope, it doesn’t mean I hurt any less. Don’t you get it? I don’t get to hear him say, “ma ma” for the first time. Be amazed that he rolled over. I’ll never know if he would have crawled backwards like crazy and wondered if he was going to figure out he should go forwards or not. Burst with joy as he pulls himself up the first time. Know that he prefers carrots over lima beans. I don’t get to see him take his first step. I don’t get to experience a first day of school with him. Learn of his first kiss. Attend his graduation from high school and college. Cry with joy on his wedding day or hold his first child. I don’t get to have these things!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Don’t you get it!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don’t get to share in his life anymore! I had 5 ½ months. The most wonderful 5 ½ months and then he was stolen from me. That’s it in this life. AND IT HURTS!!!!!!!!!! And it should hurt because

he

was

my

son.

I carried him in my womb. I felt his first movements. I knew he was afraid when my water broke early since he stopped moving for 24 hours afterwards. I bear the scar of where he was taken out of me. I nursed him and nurtured him when he was like a tiny doll. SO DON’T TELL ME RIGHT NOW THAT GOD IS GOOD, HAS A PLAN AND I WILL BE REUNITED WITH ANDREW AGAIN AS THOUGH I DON’T KNOW THESE THINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I do. I am VERY aware of these things.

And the truths about God’s character, which is unchanging, constant and eternally good, and the fact that heaven is the most wonderful place that I will get to enjoy one day with him, doesn’t change the fact that I miss him terribly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT MY HEART ACHES FOR HIM AND LONGS TO HOLD HIM CLOSE AND KISS HIM AND BE WITH HIM.

It won’t give me back the ability to share in the things you should share with your child. And that is what hurts the most next to just plain missing him.

 

It won’t stop the tears I shed.

 

It won’t make the loss or hole in my life fade.

 

For now, I have to walk through this. I have to acknowledge all these different waves of emotions and work through them. I have to be allowed to grieve. Cry. Shed tears. And feel raw at times. And I have to be allowed to grieve as his various milestones come and go. And to grieve with my children. This is healthy. This is normal. And it’s not necessarily very fun. But it is what it is.

Oh Jesus, I miss my boy so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And it hurts. I need for you to carry me because I can’t do this without you.

One More Time

By kk
 

To see you one more time,

My wish to the Divine.
To hold you near
To nestle you so close.

To kiss you one more time,

To touch you one more time,
To stroke your cheek
To look into your eyes.

To hear your little voice,

To see your loving gaze,
To share with you
To tell you things so true.

To see you one more time,

A longing that is mine.
I'll hold you near
I wait to draw you close.

The New House and Andrew is Still With Us

We moved. We finally moved. I can hardly believe it. After a most stressful wait, we finally closed at the end of the day on Friday. The seller got us the keys the following morning with enough time for us to get our movers back and alert our moving team (which included my family) that we were on.

I threw stuff in boxes as the movers moved stuff out. And oddly, moving and unpacking has not been as stressful as our delay was in closing. We closed 5 days late because underwriting couldn't seem to get things done and kept asking for this and that. Crazy.

And I loved moving this time! I had a smile on my face and a calm in my spirit. I felt such joy in my heart having a house again. A cute, little ranch with a view out the back to green space and mature trees shading the backyard.

The first evening, after the frenzy of people moving stuff in, after the initial unpacking to make the house operational for children as quickly as possible, after the boys were tucked into bed in their new bedrooms, after I had finished up cleaning up dishes and wiping down the counters in our new kitchen, I turned around and leaned against the counter by the kitchen sink. It was home. We finally had a house again.

I smiled and surveyed the site of our dining room, the stairs, the back door, the hallways and the edge of the living room.

"Andrew." I said. "This is our new house and I know you are here with us."

Reaching Out Despite the Pain

Today is Saturday. I still don’t like Saturdays very well. Some have brought some happy moments and times of feeling kind of normal. Most are exhausting. And today is so overwhelming it is hard to be awake. Gosh do I hate these days and moments when they come.

Now, I don’t want you to think that I walk around every day in a dismal state of depression, despair, pain, agony and other similar pangs of grieving. I honestly don’t. I actually have days and times that I do not think of Andrew and how my little special is gone. Times where I genuinely feel some joy and peace and look to the future with great anticipation and excitement.

And sometimes the hard moments are only moments. A few minutes or an hour where I tear up or feel the strong ache in my heart. Remembrance of his soft skin, the sound of his giggle becomes real and the torture of almost feeling him in the room becomes unbearable.

I have had awful dreams and nightmares of late. One night it was a disturbing dream where I was holding the dead body of my son. Another where boxes were being washed away and inside I horrifically saw the remains of thousands of babies. Another time it was like I was reliving the last moments of his life in the hospital. So vivid and so real that it was like I was actually there.

I suppose today is one of the harder days because of a few different factors. It’s Saturday, the day of the week that we lost our little special. But there’s more. I have 3 proposals to complete by Wednesday and a client presentation Thursday morning. Additionally my boss and I will move up a floor Thursday afternoon. On top of that, our closing on our home is delayed a week. So we don’t feel very settled and the boys can tell we are in a state of flux and transition. And on top of that, Mark is ill today.

If that wasn’t enough, my mother-in-law reminded us today that Mark’s cousin and husband have been driving up here from their home daily to visit their newborn who lies in the NICU at the hospital where Andrew died. The baby was born 10 weeks early and is struggling a bit. Evidently, today there was a turn that was not good.

This situation brings about great emotions that really collide and conflict. We want to be there but the raw pain of thinking of a newborn in NICU and the struggle that this little one is having brings up our struggle for Andrew’s life at the beginning of his life and at the end. It’s so soon. And my lips begin to quake as the emotions of pain and grief well up and overflow into my eyes and down my face. It makes me want to scream in agony and run away. If I was a drinker, I’d be pulling out the wine to numb it. But I never have been and don’t want to start now. And yet, at the same time, I feel such compassion and sorrow at the hardship and stress they are going through. The preciousness of this new, tiny life. How dear and fragile. They need for us to reach out.

Then suddenly the fear arises, what if this baby does not make it and dies? What if our family experiences the loss of yet another baby? How can we handle that? And oh does that give rise to panicky thoughts of an added trial that we would prefer not to endure on top of what we already have.

But despite my struggle today, I did give my husband’s aunt, the mother of my cousin who is walking this difficult road, to check in. My mind was saying no, my heart was saying they need us right now. No matter how difficult this is for us and how freshly it opens the wound of our loss and darling son, it is something we should do. Love them. Reach out to them. Stand with them. They need support and strength right now even if our strength is not as great as we would prefer to give to someone else in need.

With tears in my eyes and pain in my heart and a mind saying I shouldn’t do this, I called my aunt. I cried a bit. Felt heartache and longing again. Remembered the first days with Andrew that were so precious and hope-filled. Where we thought we had a long life ahead of us with Andrew. But I told her of our love for her and her family, our prayers were with them and that if they needed anything or wanted a place to stay, that our home was open to them. We would help as we are able to. We know it’s difficult and are also willing to be a person to talk to who’s been there.

And when I thought I couldn’t take it I felt Andrew’s presence. “Mom,” he said. “I’ve been visiting him.” My strong son. “I have been praying over him and encouraging him. He is struggling but is doing alright right now.” That touches me. I think he can do what we can’t. And I find myself comforted.

Andrew’s name, Andrew Michael, means “Man Warrior, One who is Like God”. He lived up to his name in birth, he lived up to his name in death and he lives up to his name now. He is still a warrior just in a different way. And he definitely has many traits that are like God.

May God strengthen this family, this newborn and our family. I thank you God that because of our darling Andrew, we have the opportunity to provide understanding and comfort to our cousins based on our similar journey. Strengthen their inner man, shower them with your peace that passes all understanding and give them hope.

So I go to sleep glad that I reached beyond my pain and struggles to another who is struggling.