I Thought I Saw You Today - poem

I Thought I Saw You Today

by KK

I thought I saw you today

So subtle from the corner of my eye

A shadow, a mirage of your soul

Is this you? Is this really you?

I thought I heard you today

So slight the peep from your lips

A whisper, a hint of your heart

Is this you? Is this really you?

I thought I felt you today

So strongly, I extended my hand

A desire, a need of your presence

Is this you? Is this really you?

I turned to see you today

So slowly like living a dream

A shadow, a mirage of my heart

It’s not you. This isn’t you.

I turned to hold you today

So empty the very air that I stroked

A shadow, a mirage of your presence

It’s not you. This isn’t you.

I turned to hear you today

So cherished the few laughs that we shared

A whisper, a hint of your soul

It’s not you. This isn’t you.

I thought I saw you today.

The Things that Catch Me Now

Our oldest is enjoying Superhero Camp at grandma's church this week. My husband went to pick him up today and found him reading a book. Now Samuel an is an avid reader so this is a common sight these days. His hunger for reading almost matches his incessant need for talking and humming.

So as I understand, Mark walked up to Samuel and he looked up and said with emotion, "I only got to read Andrew this one book when he was alive. And I'll never get to read him another."

Immediately Mark's heart was gripped with the longing of our son for his deceased brother. As Mark relayed the story to me, it gripped my heart as well.

The Little Things That Catch Me Now
by Kristin Knoke

There are so many things that catch me now that Andrew's gone away.
Things I never thought about and things that rain each day.
They're things of every day in life and things that passed me by.
Some certain things I smiled at and even would reply.

So the oddest things do catch me now that Andrew's gone away.
Things I wouldn't talk about and things that make me stray.
They're things that sometimes hid inside and things that made me win.
Some certain things would shout out hi and draw me to my kin.

So many things do catch me now that Andrew's gone away.
Things that didn't stand out much and now cause me to pray.
They're things that give me pause in life and now point to this hole.
These things once never grabbed my eye but now they grab my soul.

Being Heard

The summer air is thick with moisture and heat. Night has fallen on another day and my body aches with sorrow and longing for Andrew. Last week I did so well. But since Friday, my mood has fallen and collapsed, risen a bit and then gone deep into sorrow again. Such is the nature of life right now for us. For me.

We received the deed for the cemetary plot. That wasn't so bad necessarily. It's more that it came on the same day we received the final findings of the investigation by DHS. Since we live in a world where some adults do awful, unspeakable things to children of all ages, our son's accident triggered certain cultural procedures that just brought additional difficulty to an already stressful and shocking time for us.

My husband, myself and our second oldest were interviewed by the police and DHS. It was awful and just added to the pain of Andrew's accident. Granted, for those that really do not take care of their children or think they have a right to hurt them and rob them of their innocence, I am grateful these services exist and can sometimes catch those people that should not be taking care of children or near them. While we are parents who do take care of our children and love them greatly, and knew that these two entities should not find anything of guilt with us, our concern was that there are times when you hear accounts of them finding guilt where there is none. So we walked through that additional scrutiny while we tried to stay strong for our children and for our precious little special who lay in the hospital and then tragically passed away.

The police closed the case weeks ago finding no crime. But DHS seems to take longer with their investigations. So upon receiving our separate reports, my husband and I both read through the them trying to understand their findings. It was not the most clear document we have ever read. And unfortunately, in some respects anyway, it documented every last little detail of what happened from our last night with Andrew through the exact time on Saturday when the DHS investigator was informed by the police that Andrew died to the medical findings showing it was an accidental death. I began to go numb and tear up as the wound was ripped open again.

At the conclusion of the report, we figured out they had found us innocent even though they couldn't really call it that. It's all strange to me and still unfathomable in some respects.

I turned the last page on my report and sighed that that awful account was over and the case concluded in our favor. And then my eyes fell onto another report adressed to Andrew, the victim. That just hit me between the eyes. My head dropped so that my gaze came down to my lap as my heart grew even heavier. They had sent me Andrew's report since I was his mother. Afresh I was reminded of what I can never forget. Andrew wasn't here anymore.

The rest of the day I was out of sorts. I did play with the boys a bit. But I was very emotional and very distracted. As the sun set, my dear husband sensed I needed some space and was willing to put the boys to bed so that I could go for a long walk. And I called some dear women that I am so grateful to be friends with. 

Both listened.
Both cared.
And I cried. I cried hard.
And both heard me.

In Mommy's Arms

A few days ago, I felt this phantom tug on my left shoulder. A faint clasp. Ever so slight but enough to make my heart begin to beat a little bit faster. Almost like a tiny, little hand was holding on tightly. With a growing feeling of longing, emptiness and sorrow, the memory became so vivid to me as though it were really happening again. And the very veins within my arms began to shoot pain down their inner lines and an ache arose in my hands that was so palpable, I could almost feel it. I thought my heart was going to burst as I let the memory come.

I was at home standing up with Andrew in my arms in the dining room. I smiled as the memory played on. His little hands were grasping onto my shirt. One clung to my left shoulder area and the other grabbed onto the area just below my collarbone. My weight was shifted so that my left hip stuck out a bit to offset a bit of his weight from my arms to the rest of my frame. His little head was actively looking all around at what was going on. His big brothers were doing something at the table like coloring or water colors. And he would constantly move his head to take in every little thing that was going on in the room.

As I shifted my weight to walk to set him down, I could feel his grip tighten to hold on better. I loved the feeling of that tug. After taking a few steps, I shifted my hold on him to gently set him in his bouncy seat my shirt would pull out from me in the two spots where his little fists were closed in an attempt to avoid being let go of. And he would look into my eyes with his pleading with me not to let go.

Sometimes I would tell him that I loved him so much but that I had to go do something for just a minute and then I could pick him up again. (I really spoiled him by holding him a lot. I was so crazy about him.) Then I would pry his fingers loose hand by hand while he kept giving me those big, blue, pouty eyes of his.

And sometimes, I would look at him and have to pick him up right away, rub my nose against his temple, give him a kiss and take him with me. Looking back at him after he was nestled back into my arms, he always seemed to be so happy that he was back where he had wanted to be - in mommy's arms.

That Funny Thing Called Grief

I am amazed. Other than being unable to concentrate very well yesterday and today, I have felt pretty good all week. I have gotten to do some walking. I have had a few opportunities to have some time to cultivate being me. Silly me. I was a little proud of myself and feeling good. I actually thought I might be done with grieving. Gosh is that funny. I'm chuckling now as I think of how ridiculous that thought is.

And then it happened.

I was speaking with a consultant I haven't seen in awhile and we were having some small talk when he asked me if I have been able to enjoy the summer. I was thinking of giving a pat answer but then I realized as I opened my mouth to reply that the answer to that question is not simple. While it hasn't been an awful summer or the worse summer, it's definitely different. So I responded, "Well, I lost my son last month. The baby I just had. So it's been an odd summer."

Of course this caught him off guard. He expressed his sympathies and seemed almost speechless. I'm not surprised. It's not like you hear this news and start rejoicing.

I continued, "There was an accident and he didn't pull through." And my voice weakened and cracked. A ball of emotion caught in my throat and I wanted to walk away and cry. "So it's been an odd summer."

In disbelief he asked, "This was the one you just had?"

I thought tears were bound to start coming and I didn't want them to in front of a consultant I have worked with. I clasped my lips shut and nodded my head.

"Yes, the one I had in December." I struggled to say, "He was five and a half months old." His jaw dropped in shock and I felt all the sorrow and pain of his loss rise up again as though new.

Grief is a Funny Thing
by Kristin Knoke

Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you can sing all things
and then you can't do anything.
One minute you are flying high
and then you find there's no reply.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel like a ton
and then you're light just like a bun.
One minute you can eat a cow
and then you find that's not so now.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel calm and tame
and then you swear you are insane.
One minute you can solve world peace
and then you slip and lose that lease.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel all the bumps
and then you try and do some jumps.
One minute you just feel alone
and then you see God on His throne.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel great resolve
and then become a fetal ball.
One minute you can see the Light
and then you run right out of sight.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel anger strong
and then you tell it go, so long.
One minute you ache along your veins
and then the Lord relieves the pain.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you will ask "oh why"
but God is always standing by.
One minute you may want to die
but God will heal and let this lie.
Then, grief was a funny thing, my friend.
Then, grief was a funny thing.

We Have Love - A Poem for Andrew

We Have Love

By Kristin Knoke

My forehead to yours,

My lips to your temple,

My head to you peeking, we feel love.

My body to yours,

My finger to your hand,

My voice to you cooing, we speak love.

My eyes to yours,

My hand to your belly,

My cheek to you smiling, we give love.

My brow to yours,

My kiss to your fingers,

My tears to you dying, we send love.

My mind to yours,

My heart to your heart,

My longing to you living, we have love.

We always have love.

A Time of Enlightenment

I used to think that it was pointless to visit graves or go to cemetaries since the person is not there. It's only what remains of them. I would roll my eyes every time we went out to the cemetary to put flowers on my grandfather's grave. Would feign interest as my grandmother walked around and looked at other headstones with great interest. I would stand there as my family paid respect to the loved one they missed and wonder why we were there. I observed the tears and the expressions of sorrow without understanding why there was such an emotional response. Now I don't say this to be offensive. I write this becuase I think I get it now and I didn't get it then.

Granted, some may think the person is actually there in the ground. Some may not. I am one who knows that my son is not in the small space that his little body now lies in at Lincoln Cemetary. But knowing this, and knowing that he is safe, completed loved and happier than he has ever been with the Lord, I still found myself having great difficulty leaving that very personal link that is his precious body that I carried for seven and a half months in my womb. The body that housed his very nature and essence. The body that gained around 15 pounds in his brief time with us and grew by 6 whole inches.

Sure he was small for his age but he was our Andrew. His little eyes peeked out at me from small openings the very first day after he was born. I cuddled him with his super soft baby skin next to mine to give him some extra close bonding while he was in the NICU those first few weeks of his life. He fell asleep in my arms many times contented by my presence. He enjoyed his times of laying on his daddy's belly as we had movie night and snuggle time with me as we laid next to each other about 8 inches apart with our foreheads touching slightly. He giggled when his feet were tickled and laughed at me as I sang him my silly little songs that I made up for him and his brothers as I changed his diaper.

I could go on and on of course. The point is - I get it. I didn't understand becuase I had never lost anyone so very close and dear to me as I have now. His body, though temporary, was still important. And is strongly tied to the memories I cherish of him.

So I kissed his little forehead right after he had died and spoke to him as though he were alive. I still had my right index finger in his little hand like I often did during his life as his spirit and soul departed. I even lovingly stroked his hardened, cold belly at our private visitation and before the service where we celebrated his short life. I lingered not wanting to go when the graveside prayer was done caressing the side of his casket. Dragged myself away to the car to return to the church for the luncheon with my family. And sobbed as I felt myself losing him even more as we drove away.

Why? Because his body was a direct link to him. And I hated letting him go and the thought of not seeing his face physically present and alive and smiling in front of me with love beaming from his big, blue eyes. And it made a statement that this was more final than I wanted it to be. I wanted him in my arms full of life growing bigger and bigger with each day. Not gone from this life.

So on Sunday, I did what I thought I never would. I longed to go to the cemetary to honor his memory. And I was the one who tearing up at the glimpse of the cemetary. And this time it was me with the quivering lip as I parked the van and looked at the new earth where his body had been laid. And it was me who had tears streaming down my face as I sank down next to his grave and said with a cracked voice, "Oh Andrew. I miss you so much." And I wept.

And I know that Andrew heard me.

Independence Day and Jordan's Plans for the Family

Today is July 5th. It is early morning and I have awakened early to the new day ahead with my mind filled with thoughts of Andrew.

Yesterday was the one month anniversary of his passing. The last time I felt any kind of life in his body. When I felt his life slip away.

Oddly, the day wasn't so bad. Perhaps it was because I was focused on enjoying the extra day I got to have with my three oldest who are still with us. Perhaps it was because Matthew, now the youngest again, kept wanting to sit next to me, snuggle with me and/or sit on my lap and walk holding onto my right leg whenever I got up to do anything. Or perhaps it was us having plans to join some friends at a country home where there were lots of kids for them to play with. The boys got to go on their first hay rides and see horses in person. That was so exciting for them. It brought joy to our hearts and smiles to our faces that were even felt on the inside. Perhaps it was just God being gracious and giving me a peace for the day since I was able to take some time to put on some good worship music and just go after Him in the late morning hours. It was great to feel His presence.

Kids are very interesting. Since a week after Andrew died, Jordan has been asking us when we are having another baby. When he first asked that at the day 7 mark, my lips began to tremble and quickly begin to quiver as I teared up, started shaking and looked down at my plate. We had just sat down to dinner. With his innocent comment, his way of saying he misses Andrew, my heart bottomed out with great pain, sorrow and sadness.  My entire body shook as I began to sob. I couldn't think about another baby right now. That's the last thing I wanted. I wanted Andrew back. Not another baby.

Of course, Jordan wasn't trying to be mean or hurt me. It was where I was at at that time and Mark just reached over, rubbed my upper arm as he told the boys that mommy was just a little upset and was crying right now. That I was very sad about Andrew being gone and I just needed to cry. But that it was alright that I was crying and feeling sad and that I would feel better. They were not to worry.

So it's not uncommon that he asks if there's a baby in my womb. Or when are we having another baby. And so, yesterday as we drove to the picnic he was talking about how we were going to have another baby and it would be a boy and we would name it "Speedracer". Mark and I chuckled at that. Speedracer. That's a good one.

The other interesting thing about children and loss is that they are so frank about it.

When we arrived at the picnic, a good friend of ours opened the side door of the van to let the boys and tell us all hello. Jordan was right there, popped his head out and said, "This is our number now. We had one more but he's dead. So now it's just this number."

"Okay," said our friend. It seemed he was taken aback a bit. And Mark and I just sighed and nodded. Jordan does this on occasion without batting an eyelash.

So yesterday was the one month milestone since Andrew left.

I still miss you little special. We may be kind of moving along a bit in some ways still in a bit of disbelief that this is how it is now. But we still miss you terribly. There is still a hole in our hearts. You may have been this little tiny precious one but you occupied a bit space in our family and lives.

It was the 4th of July. The anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. This is another family milestone that your smiling face did not share with us in this life. I would have snuggled you close to me as we watched the fireworks. I thought of that on Sunday night as we enjoyed watching the boys being amazed by them. Well, as Jonathan provided commentary on each moment of the fireworks while Matthew exploded with enthusiasm with a "look at that!" or a "wow!" as he jumped and pointed at each one. He got a good workout. All the while, Jordan would hide between my legs or by Mark when they got to be too loud while telling us that it was a little bit loud.

We love you Andrew! We will always love you! And we will always miss you! And I can't wait to see you again little special!