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.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
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 . . . . . . .
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.
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.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, October 21, 2011
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.
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.
- 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.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, October 14, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
The Other Grieving Couple
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.
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