I'd Give It All Back to Have My Son

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sharing Special Memories as a Family

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I could feel him tense up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Andrew is gone.

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

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

The Heartfelt Prayer of a Mommy

Tough few weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he still died anyway.

The Other Grieving Couple

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

The First Evening Without Andrew Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi mommy."

"Hello Lexi."

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

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

I just smiled and couldn't speak.

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

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

"I know sweetheart." I replied.

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

"We love you mom!" Lexi exclaimed.

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

The First Evening Without Andrew Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


 

A Realization With All of the Wrappings

It is Wednesday night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gosh. Andrew is gone.