Cleaning, sewing and crying...

     Lukiepie, it was nine years ago today I made you and Jonathan go with your dad.  Nine years ago, you hugged my neck for the last time. I can still see you and Jonny standing by the front door, holding the wraps I made for you to eat on the road.

    I feel like I should "Be Over" losing you by now, it shouldn't hurt this much, but it does baby.  I would do anything to go back in time and keep you here that weekend.  To call into work and stay home with you all.  I have been physically sick since Friday, my stomach turning, rolling, and revolting.  My body hurting with nothing helping.  I don't know why I feel like I should be over it, you weren't a goldfish or a lost item, you are my baby boy.  My last born. The one who broke my sciatic nerve :)  You kept me up at night, long after the baby phase, worrying about you, scared for your future. Praying for you.  Now I cry for you, long for you daily.  Several times a day. I worry about your brother and sister, I wonder how to care for them when I can barely care for myself. I know you are in a better place, you are safe from this world and all its craziness, and I am weirdly grateful for that knowledge, but I would still give anything to hold you one more time and hear you say, "Bye, I love you."

Eight Years

 Hey Bubby, 

It's been almost eight years Lukie. Eight years since I hugged your neck, eight years since you threw yourself in my arms from across the room. Eight years since I kissed your nose and told you how much I love you.

Some days it feels like yesterday, and somedays, it seems like a lifetime ago. I remember how to breathe on most days now, the days I forget are few and far between. I still think of you every day, several times a day. You are still the first thing on my mind when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep. 

There is a family I follow on social media, their three-year-old twins drowned in November.  The sister made a full recovery.  The brother, not so much.  He is alive and breathing on his own, but that's all.  He is stuck in a body that doesn't even function as a newborn.  My heart aches for his mama, with every update she posts, the optimistic and the forlorn ones. She is trying so hard to stay strong for her baby boy, chasing treatments and processes, trying to give her little boy some semblance of his former life back. I can't help but think that could have been us. I could have done the same things to you. Hoping, praying, traveling all over the country trying to find a treatment, a provider, a cure for your body and mind. I wonder if I would have had the strength to work that hard for you. Was it easier to just let you go? The more I think about it, and I think about it a lot, I think I did the right thing by letting you go. I think you fought hard my little man, you fought to come back to me, to us, but your body had had enough. It was tired and shutting down. I don't know if this little boy's mind is the same as it was, but I can't help but think you would have been miserable and wished for release instead of being stuck in a body that didn't work. As energetic and active and full of life as you were, living in a body you couldn't control would have been awful. 

I know, not I just believe, but I KNOW that you are in Heaven with your brothers, your Pappaw, and your Grandpa.  I know you are free to run, climb, chase angels, poor angels. I can't wait to see you again, to hear your squeaky voice say I love you mama.  I can't wait to hold you in my arms again Lukiepie. I miss you THIS much. 

The Void

   The depression settles like a thick fog.  It is stronger than just sadness, sadness over what is lost, stronger than my need to breath.  If I stop concentrating, I forget how to breath.  

  I can still hear your squeaky seven year old voice saying, "I love you mama!"  I can still smell the scent of your hair fresh from a bath with Elmo bath tablets and your favorite blueberry shampoo.  I can still feel you sitting in my lap as you make yourself small and tiny in my arms.  I can still feel how heavy and long you were the last time I held you in my arms.  So different from just a few days before when you were bouncing with life and eager to go on the weekend trip that would cost you your life.

   In six days, we will remember you on your 14th birthday.  Seven years after you turned seven and seven years after you left us.  After you were needlessly taken from us. 

  If I could turn back time, I would keep you home that weekend.  I would have called off work and spent the weekend at the pool, taking you and your brother and sister to the park, to the splash pad, making your spaghetti to eat and giving your Reece cups and pretzel hotdogs from Sonic.

  I can't imagine what my world would be like if you were still here baby boy.  How life would be different for your brother and sister.  How much hurt and pain could have been avoided.  What would you look like?  Would your voice have gotten deeper?  Would you still eat spaghetti out of the colander while I was finishing the sauce?

  There aren't enough words to break through this fog, that has settled down around me, sapping my energy, my will to live. I will keep breathing though. But I don't know why.

Hey Buddy, 

Someone asked me the other day why I quit blogging.  I didn't really have an answer, much less a good one.

I guess because so much has happened the last two years since I posted a blog post.  SO MUCH has happened.

Our living situation changed, my job changed, Kate and Jon are growing up!  Katie is talking about getting married, Jon starts high school next week.  I can't help but wonder life would be like, should be like with you here.  You would be 12 years old!!!  Would you be tall like Jon?  Would your voice have changed yet?  Would you be playing sports?  Running track?  How would you have done in school?  Would you have adjusted easily to middle school?  Would you have been OK in elementary and middle school without Jon and Kate there?

I can't believe it's been five years already since I held you last.  Five years since I heard your squeaky little voice calling me to tattle on your brother and sister.

We have a dog now, and have been through two more cats.  I wish you could have met Koda and Pepsi.  Koda is a big dog, a scaredy cat and very possessive of his people.  Pepsi was the most loving cat I have ever met.  He would crawl up my chest and put his paws over my shoulders and go to sleep. He felt like a newborn baby.  Pepsi died, but I'm sure you know all about that.  So Katie adopted Chloe.  She is a demon cat!  She has all the dogs whooped. 

Jonathan has come so far in the last five years.  I was scared to death for him, everything he went through that day with you.  I wasn't sure how he would recover.  But he seems to be fine.  He joined JrRotc this year, he is in concert band, Quick Recall, volunteers at the library.  He is SOO tall.  I wonder what you would look like.  Would you still be tall and so thin?  Would you have filled out yet, or would you also be so skinny?  Could I borrow your metabolism?

Most days are good days now.  I remember how to breathe.  I even remember how to spell breathe. But there are days, days when I just can't imagine living the rest of my life without you, days I find myself counting down until I can see you again.  Thinking about what I would have to do to hold you again.  Then I think about your brother and sister.  What would they do?  How lost would they feel if I left to be with you.  It breaks my heart thinking about what it would do to them.  Then I forget to breathe again.  Sometimes this whole breathing thing gets on my nerves buddy.  

Katie is engaged Luke!!  Can you believe it?  To a Marine!  I like him.  He has his head on straight and is a good guy.  He is good to Kate.  I pray they have a healthy, happy marriage.  She says NO kids, so it's on your brother to give me 12 grand kids.  He doesn't believe me when I tell him I want 12.  

I've started getting back into crafts again.  I am trying to learn metal stamping.  I would like to make and sell memorial jewelry.  If you could send some inspiration and skill, I would appreciate it!

I miss you so very much Luke.

I make people uncomfortable.

I make people uncomfortable.  I.  Make.  People.  Uncomfortable.  My life or my situation makes people uncomfortable.  I am the mother of a lost child.  I am the mother of a child who died too young.  If it can happen to me, it can happen to other people.

People are scared to talk to me about my child who died.  They are afraid they will make me cry.  They are afraid they will cry.  Maybe my loss reminds them of a loss they have had in their lives, something hidden and buried and tries to break free when reminded of my loss.

Maybe they don’t know what to say, afraid of saying the wrong thing, so they say nothing.  They ignore posts on social media, they pretend nothing has changed.

This past weekend was Luke’s 9^th birthday and Mother’s Day.  It was a rough weekend.  A friend, “C” actually shared a Facebook Post about talking to grieving moms, she said it helped her to see that saying anything is actually comforting and helpful. You can read the article here. This is how to stop the world 

I have an amazing group of online friends I met years ago in a group called Spals.  They have called, send cards and flowers and checked in regularly to make sure the kids and I are OK.  They remember every holiday and anniversary.  They too are mothers of kids in heaven.  After we graduated from Spals, most of us not planning on having any more Spals babies, we kept in touch by a new e-mail group and now by Facebook and texting.  There have even been a few “Surprise” babies.  It is hard to believe I have known some of these women for 15 years!  They even forgive (I hope) my lack of communication when I just can’t talk about things and my rambling, long confusing posts when there is no one else to talk to.

I spent part of the weekend being sad and frustrated more people in my off-line life didn’t recognize Lukie’s b-day.  It seemed besides “C”, everyone who posted or said or did something to remember Luke has lost a child in one manner or the other.

Today it occurred to me that maybe the people whom I was disappointed in were hurting too.  Maybe my loss, maybe Luke’s dying reminded them of something they have buried so deep they don’t even realize it is still hurting.  They deal with my hurt by ignoring it, brushing it under the rug, going on with life as usual because to acknowledge my pain would be the catalyst that brought their own pain rushing back to the surface.

To everyone who acknowledged Luke’s birthday Friday, Thank You!  To the people who find it too hard to think about….. I am truly sorry for your pain.  I pray you find the strength to deal with whatever is hurting you.

Memories and What If's?

Little man,  it is almost your 9th birthday.  Your 9th!!!  Where has time gone?  It feels like yesterday I was waddling pregnant with a butterball turkey, my hips hurt so bad... then you were born and life was never the same!

I came across a Timehop post today about you.  You were terrified of a common housefly, but were still naming the ants on the sidewalk and trying to bring them inside to live because, "They are my friends mama!"

I think of you every time I come home from work, Snowball comes running out to the van and lays down and rolls around trying to get a belly scratch.  You would always come running outside to get a hug and ask if I brought you food.

I wonder what you would be like if you were still here.  Would you still have your squeaky baby voice?  Would you still be tall and scrawny?  How would you have done in second and third grade?  Would you have made Mr. Mike crazy in Stacking club? 

I wonder what life is like in Heaven.  Have you talked any angels out of their swords yet?  Is there a fishing pond?  What are your brothers like?  Did they meet you in the water with Jesus or were they waiting in Heaven for you?  I can't wait to get there to see you again baby.  Will you still be seven years old when I see you again or are you aging in heaven?  I want so much to hold you again, to feel you run across the room and jump in my arms again.  To wake up and find you snuggled next to me, to kiss the bridge of your nose and play with your hair.  I miss you so much Stinky man.

We don't have counselors anymore Lukie, insurance and the Thelma decided we were "cured."  I don't think we will ever be cured.  We are all still struggling with the daily things....... things sneak up on us and we are blindsided by the emotions.  A tech's wife is having baby boy after three or four girls, that left me in a puddle.  I keep telling him Luke is a good name, but I think they already have a name picked up.  I tried Bubby!!

We haven't gone a day when someone doesn't say, "Luke would have loved that", or "Luke would have said that", or something to that effect.  You are still in our hearts and thoughts every day baby boy. 

Ebb and Flow of Grief

Recently I was told I needed to schedule my grief. Or, more specifically, I needed to set aside time everyday to cry for Luke.  I wasn't sure how to take that piece of advice.  As I look over the last 15 months since Luke died, I can see a huge improvement in how I have handled things.  In the beginning, it took everything I had to get out of bed every day and go to work or do anything around the house.  We ate a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches and mac and cheese.  The kids did the laundry and took out the garbage.  I didn't go back to work until after the kids went back to school, although school for me started the week after Luke’s funeral.

The waves of grief were overwhelming.  At any moment, I would not be able to breath, the weight of the entire world would rest on my chest, the tears would flow; there was no stopping it.  Anything and nothing would trigger these episodes.  It was a horrible way to live.  A week before I was scheduled to go back to work, I got a call on a Sunday morning that the dispatcher scheduled didn't show up, could I come in to work.  I went in, relishing the feeling of the normalcy of work.  Nothing at work changed, the techs were the same, the work was the same, I was alone in the office with the phones and computers.  The day was going fine until I started missing Luke and picked up the phone to call home and talk to him.  The breathlessness and tears came in full force.

Since then, the days of not being able to breathe and the tears have slowly decreased, instead of a few times a day, to once or twice a month.  There are still times that hit me unexpectedly, seeing little boys that are Luke’s age or that look like him.  Seeing a picture or status about him on Facebook or Time Hop.

Now I cry on the way to work, if I get to leave work early, I head to the cemetery before going home and have long talks and tears with his headstone.   I cry before going to bed, silent tears as I get ready, sometimes on more difficult days, sobbing in the shower.

The last week was bad, getting ready for Christmas and missing Luke.  The feeling of despair was weighing heavy on my heart.  I wanted to crawl in a hole and die most days.  It took everything I had to get out of bed and function.  I have noticed it is the days leading up to a holiday, anniversary or other special day that are harder to deal with than the actual day itself.  Last week was our Christmas party at work.  Even though Luke wouldn't have been a part of that in any way, except maybe helping decorate cookies, it was a hard day.  My secret Santa gave me an ornament for each of my kids, including Luke.  That brought on a fresh wave of tears, not only did she remember him, she included him.

There are good days, days when I can laugh, when the kids have fun and are kids again. When the world isn't so dark and dreary, have glimpses of light and air. Days my every thought is not consumed with the loss of my sweet baby boy.

I started this post a few days before Christmas.  On Christmas day, I woke up feeling like a weight had been lifted off of me.  The craziness of the Christmas season was over, I was able to sit back and enjoy my family and our day. 

I have not had so many bad days, but I have had some wild dreams.  Some include Luke, some don’t.  The ones that don't leave me shaking my head, sending a tech to Africa to install cable only to have him get lost while I watched his truck drive along the ocean border. So I hopped a plane and road a pig to find him…

There are still days when I can’t catch my breath or thinking about one thing starts a chain reaction of thoughts and memories that leave me in a puddle. 

We are short-staffed at work right now, so everyone is working more hours and more days, leaving us all on edge.  The lack of sleep and time off isn't helping any. I need to replenish the tissue supply more often than ever right now.

K stepped on glass the other night, bleeding all over my house.  It was obvious fairly quickly that she needed to be seen, so off we went to the nearest hospital instead of Children’s where Luke spent his last hours.  I thought everything was OK until she started crying, having flashbacks of the PICU with Luke.  She spilled her heart as we talked about what could have been and what we could have done differently.  It was a hard lesson in hindsight being 20/20.  We had a good talk about God, and how He knows our entire lives before we are ever born.

The kids and I are surviving; there are more good days than bad days.  But there is still a huge hole in our lives.  That will never change.

So goes the ebb and flow of my grief…..

Christmas Grief

Luke’s last Christmas was in 2012, he was six years old.  I don't remember a lot about Christmas, except that he got a scooter.  He was super excited about that scooter.  My kids are funny, they don’t wake up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, and I usually have to wake them up. They would rather sleep!

Last year, we packed up and left town.  I couldn't bear the thought of staying here for Christmas.  There was no tree, there were no cookies, only two gifts for J and K, and a LONG road trip.  We ate Christmas dinner at a Denny’s.  It was a relaxing trip, minus the 14 hour drive and the broken van key.  There was no hustle and bustle of trying to decorate, wrap and bake.  It was easy to forget it was Christmas

I can't do that this year, as much as every fiber of my being wants to go back to Destin, it isn't going to happen. So here we sit, half a bag of pretzels dipped, our Christmas tree up, Luke’s tree in the corner and J’s light tree on the wall.  I have bought each kid 5 gifts, and plan on having our traditional Christmas supper.

However, as it gets closer and closer to Christmas, the more deflated I feel.  The depression is setting in hard, I have gone from wanting to sleep all the time to not being able to sleep at all.  I don't feel like eating.  The only thing I want for Christmas is to hold my baby boy again.

The grief that was getting easier to carry is once again weighing me down.  Luke was such a bright light.

Christmas

Two thousand years ago, God sent his only Son to save a sinful world.  Mary gave birth to a baby boy who would one day save her soul.  God knew on the cold, lonely night that one day, His baby boy would die with the sins of the world on his shoulders. But he still allowed Mary and Joseph to raise that little boy, to love and care for him with all they had.

Eight years ago, I had a baby boy whom I love with all my heart.  I cared for him, kept him safe and healthy.  I kissed his boo-boo’s and brushed his hair, just a Mary did for Jesus.  Mary had Jesus for 33 years, before watching him take his last breath.  I had Luke for 7 years, before cradling him while he took his last breaths.

I firmly believe Jesus met Luke in the water.  He held my baby boy and kept him from being afraid.  I KNOW  Luke is with Jesus now, planning a huge birthday party for the King of Kings.  I am pretty sure Luke is trying to convince Christ to have spaghetti and chocolate cake for his birthday party, maybe even spaghetti taco’s.

Merry Christmas baby boy, give Jesus a birthday hug for me and please don’t try to give him birthday spankings!  I know you can count that high, that’s not the point.

Thanksgiving

I tried posting this last week, but Blogger and I weren't getting along.  So I am trying again.

Thanksgiving.  We made it through our second Thanksgiving without you here begging for the Witch bone.  This year wasn't nearly as hard as last year… the girls at work have been super excited about the holiday, spending time with family and of course the food.  It was easier to get excited about being off work and spending the day at home with J and K and your grandma.  We all ate dinner together, and of course ate way too much turkey.  I have been thinking about how 

Thankful I am for the seven years I got to be your mama.  You were my surprise baby, and you kept me on my toes.

I am thankful for the nights you slept in my bed, snuggling your hard head in my ribs or smacking me in the face.  I miss your bed head in the morning and your squeaky voice saying in a sing song way, “Good morning Mama.” 

I am thankful that you still wrote on the walls, the doors, the furniture and the scarecrow.  I still have all that “artwork” to remind me of you.

I am thankful for the dirty corner wall where you spent your time-outs, the nose and forward prints are your growth chart.

I am thankful for all your footie jammies, especially the ones I had to cut the feet out of so you didn't break your collarbone trying to wear them.

I am thankful for Austin and Mario, I snuggle them every night.

I am thankful for my last conversation with Thelma about your last days. Her theory is you came back that Saturday night, Jesus met you in the water and took you to heaven, but then He sent you back for the next day and a half.  You were here with me, you heard me say, “I love you baby.” You felt me kissing your hands and rubbing your arms and face.  You felt me brushing your hair and kissing your head and nose.  You heard your brother and sister at your bedside telling you they love you and encouraging you to wake up.

I am thankful that all of us know Jesus and have accepted him into our lives.  I am thankful that you are with Him and that one day we will all be together again. (The sooner the better.)

I love you bubberbutt!  I can’t wait until I can kiss your face again.