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.

Oh the Times of Pattycake

Andrew and I had many routines we did together. We snuggled (my personal favorite activity), we giggled together (another top activity), we gave loves, sang together (okay that was just me singing) and played little games.

One of my favorite games was playing patty-cake. Now, I know there is the traditional patty-cake where you hold their hands and clap them together and sing the patty-cake song. We did that and Andrew would giggle his little head off with that infant giggle that only babies have. So cute. So heartwarming. But I took patty-cake to a new level with Andrew.

You see, after doing the usual form of pattycake, I would start to roll his arms around in a circle, out and in, up and down and every which way as he grinned all big. I'd sing silly songs and make silly sound effects and all kinds of things. And pretty soon we'd both be giggling our heads off together.

Of course, I would always end with kissing his hands and forehead and telling him how much I loved him and how cute and adorable he was. He would just glow. Even now I have a huge grin on my face and am chuckling as I remember how silly we were as we played this game together. It was great fun and just plain a good time.

(Below is a picture of my hand holding Andrew's just before he was taken off of life support.)

A Snapshot of Mommy with Andrew

One morning in March or April of this year, Andrew woke up around 4:30 a.m. He was around 3 - 4 months old by this time and had started to sleep for 5 hour stretches in a row. It was glorious! But this particular night had been a night where both Mark and I did not get the best of sleep. So much so, in fact, that Mark had fallen into such a deep sleep that he didn't hear the little special cry out with a tone that said he was very upset about something.

I staggered out of bed and stumbled down the hallway. You would have thought I was drunk but really I was just that tired and out of it. But I did have enough sense to know that my little guy was probably hungry. So I warmed up his bottle and clumsily drug myself back down the hallway into the bedroom.

Upon plugging the bottle into my son's crying mouth, I learn, with dismay, that for some reason, the bottle isn't going to do it rihgt now. So it's time for Plan B. Change the diaper.

I gently pick him up and change his diaper whispering to him that it's all okay. That mommy is here and that I love him. His crying seems to subside and I feel relieved that after the feeding, all will be right with the world and I will be able to resume my regularly scheduling programming of sleep.

However, even with a clean diaper and bottle plugged in yet again, he doesn't seem to be all that happy. Concerned he will wake my husband or the other kids, and knowing that something is up with my little guy, I stand up and decide that perhaps he and I should chat.

"Oh sweetie," I whisper at him, "It's nigh-night time not wakey time. You need to go back to sleep."

He stops crying and gives me a look like I am the most wonderful thing on the planet. Then he pulls out his famous grin like he's so glad I'm holding him and that all is right with the world. Well, my heart melts being totally disarmed by this little charmer. And despite my exhaustion and desire for sleep, I kiss him on his forehead and begin heading over to my bed.

"You need mommy don't you."

He grins his usual, delighted, full grin at me and his eyes sparkle like he just won the lottery.

"Alright. Let's have some snuggle time."

So I drew him really close to me, laid down in bed on my side every so carefully so that I didn't harm him or scare him, and gently laid him down a foot from my chest. Then I laid all the way down and placed my forehead to his. (The usual snuggle position for us.) I put my right finger into the palm of his left hand and immediately he grasped on as I began to run my thumb over his precious fingers. We looked into each other's eyes and I began whispering sweetly to him of my love and affection for him and how special he was. Soon I felt his body relax and he smiled with a look of total enamoration as I begin to plant little kisses on his forehead between sentences. And he just ate it up.

After 5 - 10 minutes or so, we were both so warm and snuggly together, that we both just drifted off into a sound sleep for a few hours. Content and happy to be close to each other. And my heart warmed knowing he just wanted mommy.

The Good-Bye

I remember how when I was in the ER standing over him, touching his little shoulder, calling to him and telling how much I love him. The doctors and nurses were feverishly working on him and I was shocked to be witnessing my son in such a state.And then Jesus came into the room. That sure made me take notice. I immediately wondered if He was going to take my son away. And I wasn’t ready. I almost fell over thinking that it was going to be all over and I wasn’t ready and it wasn’t his time. I knew that with all my heart. IT WAS NOT HIS TIME. It was too soon. He had more life to live.

Thankfully the Lord told me that it wasn’t Andrew’s time but that he had a choice to stay or go home. I immediately thought that it was going to be okay because Andrew wouldn’t choose to go home with Jesus. We loved him and adored him and I cherished him. He wouldn’t have a reason not to stay. Silly me.

On Friday afternoon, the day before he died, I was holding his precious hand in mine, leaning onto his bed, kissing him, loving on him, I was telling him it was time for him to wake up and come back to me. And it was like I was transported to another place.

I saw Andrew sitting on Jesus’ lap watching the sun set. Andrew had this huge smile on his face as he looked up at the Lord. The Lord was looking down at him with a smile and they were talking. Immediately I called out to him.

“Andrew. Sweetie.”

Andrew turned around just beaming with his beautiful, huge smile that always made his face light up and eyes sparkle. I saw the recognition in his eyes that he always gave to me. He was always glad to see me. He was as fond of me as I was of him. Well, almost.

“Come on sweetie.” I said to him with happiness.

And I remember clearly. He looked up at the Lord, Jesus smiled at him and Andrew looked to the sunset again.

At the time I was confused. The vision ended and I remember looking at his frail body lying there in “coma” wondering what had just happened.

And the day after he died I understood. He was saying good-bye to me and letting me know that he was safe and happy.

Such a precious little boy. That’s my boy. That’s my Andrew.

I still love you little special and miss you so much!

It's Been Three Months

Today is the three month anniversary of Andrew’s death. Mark graciously let me sleep in. Then I took the oldest two to get a haircut with me and then we went shopping together. The weather was nice. The air smelled of grass and leaves with a hint of autumn. If the wind weren’t blowing the day would have been absolutely gorgeous. Weatherwise anyway. I enjoyed my boys’ company. They did quite well. We laughed and talked about all kinds of things, they “helped me out” and we learned together more about social etiquette in public. They are growing up so fast.

And the youngest, well, Ryan is Ryan. Full of life enough for two people. Having such vigor and excitement, he’s taking life by the reigns and shaking it to see what will come from it. And he does it all with a huge smile and shining eyes. A look that says, “Aren’t I the cutest thing?” I tucked him into bed with him reciting “I love you, I love you, I love you” numerous times in a row with his sweet little voice.

Alex, my second oldest, has decided that hugs and kisses are beyond him so I have to ask each evening if I may get both from him. His preference lately is a kiss only and then he tells me where to kiss him on his face. He often opts for a kiss on each cheek. Then he proceeds to give me the same affection. It’s very cute. And very boy.

And Samuel, my oldest, well, he is always ready to give hugs and kisses generously.

I shut their doors tonight with tears in my eyes. Our apartment is a bit unkempt with all of the boxes hanging around showing the signs that we are moving. And my thoughts easily turn to Andrew. If he were here we would not be moving. The oldest would not be attending school in a new school district, and Mark would not be looking for a job.

Now I don’t resent where we are at. Or the things that we are doing now. We are in a good place in a lot of regards. We have moved on in some respects. A new season is upon us. And I am excited to walk into it and see what becomes of it. Many good things are about to happen for us. But I would give it all back to have Andrew again.

A normal day? No it’s not. We may “fool” people on the outside but it isn’t true. Life is still not normal. Why do I still see his smiling face so clearly that I feel like I can almost touch it? Why does my heart ache and feel hollowed out at times when I hear a baby cry or see an ambulance drive by? Why is my mind haunted by the image of his little body lying in that hospital bed with tubes coming out of him as his heart beat its last? Why do I still scream inside for my son? That isn’t normal. That is life right now.

The school counselor was apprised of the “situation” and Mark told me that Alex said that if he could do it differently he would . . . . I’ll keep that between us. That was hard to hear. What a burden he carries for being so young. And it pains me and Mark.

This isn’t normal. This is dealing with grief. This is facing the loss of my little special. Ninety days without him. And here come the tears again. The heartache. The remembrance. The reminder. And I would carry him and give birth to him again in a heartbeat.

I love you little special. I always love you! And I miss you and wish you were here in this life.

The names of all of my boys, besides Andrew, have been changed to pseudonyms to protect them.