Holiday Playlist

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year." At least that’s what I’ve heard. Even before my son’s death I couldn’t get on board with that. This time of year should be peaceful as we reflect on the wonder and majesty of a virgin birth and the salvation that an innocent baby would one day bring to mankind. I’ve always despised the hustle and bustle of the season, the buying of more and more stuff for people who don’t really need for anything, and of course the traditions like straight up lying to kids about creepy elves and a fat man in a red suit. All that aside, the very real heart-being-crushed-inside-my-chest, take-my-breath-away pain of knowing what was and what should have been makes it difficult to have a “holly, jolly Christmas.”

Why I’m no longer upset that I didn’t get a miracle...

This blog is not directly about what it’s like to be a bereaved parent. However, it does provide insight into the type and extent of terms, concepts, and beliefs that have been called into question for me after the death of my son. Whether or not God performs miracles today likely seems a trivial concern to one that has not endured tragedy, but for me it shapes my whole world view.

Let's clear a few things up...

My son’s death put me into a tailspin in many ways.  In those early weeks and months I was mostly shocked and dumbfounded and I clung to my faith. But as time passed and the reality started to sink in, my faith was shaken and I became very angry at God, in many ways deeming Him responsible (no worries...while I can’t speak for you, the God I serve is big enough He can handle my being angry at Him).  After really digging in scripture and reading articles, blogs, sermons, books, and so much more I finally have reached a place of peace with God.

Year One

With the one year anniversary of my son’s death having come and gone I feel a little bit defensive.  I’m afraid that there is an expectation that I should be “getting over it” by now.  I’m sure there will be that expectation at some point, but I haven’t gotten over it and I will never get over it. I’m doing my very best to move forward, but never will I move on.  If this makes you uncomfortable, I do not apologize.  My child’s death makes me uncomfortable (what a polite and politically correct way to say it) every moment of every day.

What knowing means...

I had a mother’s heart long before my son was conceived. I was already looking out for the best interest of my child-to-be prior to his conception when I was wishing, hoping, and praying for him. When I found out this dream was becoming a reality I knew that for the rest of my life my heart would belong to that little person growing inside of me. For the entire 39 weeks and 4 days that I was pregnant with my son I tried to do all the right things, to the extreme. After he was born, for the 18 months and 19 days that I was blessed to have him I tried to do all the right things, to the extreme. I was not a perfect mother, but I was a good and purposeful mother. Being the mother to such a special little boy is the thing I’m most proud of in this life and is my favorite part of who I am. I had big plans for us and I can assure you the plans I had did not stop forever at 18 months.

What the promise of eternity with my son does NOT do...

I spend a lot of time thinking about Heaven these days.  And why shouldn’t I?  It’s only natural that I would want to dwell on and know as much as possible about the place my son now resides.  Since he died lots of people have tried to offer encouraging words by reminding me that he’s in a better place and that I get to see him again one day.  That’s okay because it’s true, but I feel like I’m somehow being dishonest when I just nod and smile.  The promise of eternity with my son is what keeps me slightly closer to sane than off-my-rocker crazy but the not-so-pretty truth is that there are a lot of things the promise of eternity with him do not do...  

A Time to Remember (Battle of Wills)

This is Nana’s favorite memory.  When she and I were engaged in our own battles of wills as I was growing up she always told me she hoped one day my children would be just like me…  

A Time to Remember (A Mama's Love is Forever)

My husband and I planned a “remembrance” party for what would have been our son’s second birthday.  We asked our families to come prepared to share their favorite memories of him.  Over the next several weeks and months I will share some of those stories so that others may join us in remembering the special person that he was.  I have chosen to share my favorite memory first. 

I Will Celebrate

Happy Birthday, firstborn.  

You would be two years old today.  You should be two years old today.  We should be celebrating and I should be marveling over the many milestones you’ve met.  I should be anticipating the person you will be one day in the future.  I should be admiring you and how you are such a cute, sweet little boy with such a big personality.  I should be talking about how hard it is to believe that two whole years have already passed since you were born.  I should be saying how hard it is to remember what life was like before you came along.  This day should hold the tiniest twinge of sadness as I realize that you are growing up way too fast.  

What I Miss the Most...

I miss my little man.  I miss all the things that I will never get to experience with him. I will never see him head off to his first day of school.  I will never see him play ball, or get a driver’s license, or go to prom, or get married, or have children of his own.  I will never get to bake Christmas cookies with him, or dye Easter eggs, or go trick or treating.  I will never see him ride a bike or hear him talk about what he wants to be when he grows up.  I will never know what he would be doing now, at almost 2 years old.  It hurts to miss what I’ll never have.  It hurts just as badly, maybe even more to miss everything I already had.  I miss walking in the nursery to a smiling, happy little boy every morning.  I miss taking him to my bed and us cuddling while I drank coffee and he drank milk.  I miss him being in the kitchen floor stirring imaginary ingredients with a wooden spoon and mixing bowl while I cook dinner.  I miss the days I was brave and he was stirring dry oatmeal with a few raisins.  I miss shaking my head in amusement at his appetite because, of course he was stopping to pick the raisins out and eat them.  I miss seeing him “snap” his fingers and call for “Wilwy” while chasing after her.  I miss laughing at Lilly dodging him as she isn’t a fan of having her eyes poked or tail pulled.  I miss him running to the door and tugging the handle while saying “ouside, ouside”.  I miss him banging his empty sippy cup on the high chair and demanding “more, more” milk.  I miss running my fingers through his crazy, crazy hair and debating about whether or not I should get it cut.  I miss him wrapping his chubby little arms around my neck and running his fingers through my hair.  I miss begging him to sit still long enough for me to read just one full book to him.  I miss counting with him and hearing him always end with “8”.  I miss talking to him about colors and hearing him declare every color “blue”.  I miss the sound of his voice and the sound of his laugh.  I miss the smell of his rancid, fat little feet.  I miss him squealing with delight when I turned the water on in the bath tub.  I miss being called “mama”.  I miss seeing him dance to oldies music while I wondered where in the world he got his moves.  I miss the wet, slobbery, wonderful kisses on my cheek.  I miss the kisses he would blow from across the room.  I miss reading him our Bible verse of the day and him asking me to read it again and again, “’gin, ‘gin”.  I miss seeing him run to the door, bouncing up and down, yelling “Da, Da” when his Daddy came up the driveway from work.  I miss the way he would look me in the eye, shake his head, and say “no, no, no” all the while, inching his hand closer and closer toward an electrical outlet.  I miss how excited he was to see me at the end of the day or after being apart for a while.  I miss telling myself “Yes, being the mom of a toddler is the hardest, most exhausting thing you’ve ever done, but one day you will miss this. Enjoy where you are. Be in the moment!”  I miss being naïve and thinking that something as horrible as child loss happened to other people and even though it was something I worried about, it would never really happen to me.  No doubt, what I miss most is everything I’ll never have and everything I already had.