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. 

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. 

Haven't you moved on yet?

It has been 15 months since Luke died.  15 months since I hugged and kissed my baby boy.  To say a lot has happened in the time would be a gross understatement.  To say life has been hard would be like trying to fill a bucket with an eye dropper.  We have all changed.  J, K, and I are different than we were 14 months ago.  We still get up every morning; we still go to school and work.  The kids play, bills are paid and the cats are fed.  Sometimes, everything is done all on the same day. 

I have started to hear, it’s been a year already, aren’t you over it yet?  You can’t use Luke as an excuse the rest of your life, you need to get over it and move on.  You have to start living again.  Life goes on… the kids need…. (Whatever the person decides the kids need.)

So here is my reply to “Aren’t you over it yet?”  No, I am not over losing Luke.  No, my kids aren’t over losing their baby brother.  We will never “Get Over It.”   If you lost your arm in an accident tomorrow, would you ever “Get Over It?”  I don’t know, but I do know you will have a part of you missing for the rest of your life.  You will learn to do things with your other arm, you will probably become very efficient at living life with just one arm, but there will always be a part of you missing.  There will be times when you forget about that missing arm and try to use it. Then the pain and knowledge of the missing limb will hit you life a punch in the gut.   There will be times you would give anything to have that arm back, even if just for a few minutes.

I didn’t lose my arm, I lost my child.  The child I carried inside of me for 9 months, the child I rocked to sleep, the child I caught when he would hold his breath until he passed out.  The little boy who would hide in cabinets, text me while standing in front of me, launch himself into my arms from across the room, the snuggle bunny who wanted to hear Jack and the Beanstalk before bed, and then tell me he was too scared to sleep alone.

This amazing little boy was ripped from our lives.  There was no long lingering illness; there wasn’t knowledge that he would be living this world after a just seven short years.  I talked to him on the phone, told him I loved him and would see him the next day. 30 minutes later, he was gone.

So as hard as I try to keep life going for my two living kids and myself, as hard as I try not to use Luke as an excuse for a bad day, for the kids misbehavior, for the constant stomach ache and short temper, it is because my baby died. 

I know teachers are tired of hearing me explain what my kids have been through in the last 15 months, and I don’t want the kids to use Luke as an excuse for poor school performance and bed behavior.  I don’t want to use Luke as an excuse for missing work and trouble concentrating.  But sometimes, that is what it is.  Sometimes, like now, there is no amount of deep breathing, going to a happy place or breathing in a bag that can stop the tears and not being able to catch our breath. 

I still haven’t figured out how to live life without Luke.

PTSD

I haven't really talked about how J and K are doing since Luke’s accident.  I try to respect their privacy, especially since I am always telling them once you put it on the internet, it is out there Forever.  But I feel like I should talk about J for this post.  He was diagnosed with PTSD a little over a year ago.  He saw Luke drown in front of him, he tried to save his baby brother and failed.  He saw them sticking Luke with needles and putting tubes all over his little body. He saw them shocking him, he saw the CPR and the doctor’s and nurse’s faces while they worked.  He stood next to me while Luke took his final breathes.  That is a lot for an adult, I can’t imagine what it was like for a 9 year old boy.  From the time Luke was born, he was J’s best friend.  There was NEVER any jealousy on J’s part.  He took his role as big brother seriously.  He was Luke’s best friend, protector, cheerleader and co-conspirator.

After Luke died, I immediately put all three of us in therapy.  Due to insurance constraints, we have had a few therapists…. The most recent is Thelma.  She specializes in childhood trauma and is working on her Doctorate degree in Psychology.  She is the most patient, caring person I have ever met.  She has been good for J and me. 

That said, J and Thelma are doing hard work, talking about the day Luke drowned.  They have been working on that day for the last 2 months.  J finally had a breakthrough Friday and was able to name a feeling, an emotion about that day.  He has struggled with that for the last 15 months.  We are both SO proud of him!  On the dark side though….. This has been very, very hard on him.  He is not handling things well.  My once sweet, huggy, wouldn't hurt a fly child is struggling with anger towards himself, his dad, his sister and me about that day.

I have told him so many times it wasn't his fault, it should be ingrained in his head.  I have told him the same amount of times that his dad did not mean for Luke to get hurt and die, that he made a very bad decision.  J is mad at his sister for not going that weekend, not being there to save Luke.  He is mad at me for making them go with their dad that weekend.  He hasn't said he was mad at Luke, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was, that is a normal part of grief.  Luke left him here and is in Heaven with grandpa and papaw.  Crap, I am kinda jealous about that!

This weekend has been horrible.  There are so many triggers for his PTSD, it is like living in a minefield.  It has been one outburst after another.  He has spent more time in his room calming down than he has in the 3 years we have lived here.

I would appreciate any and all prayers for my kids…..  we have a long road ahead of us.

Grief and Life after Loss

Earlier today, I shared a post on Facebook about grief and losing friends after a loss.  It could describe my life to a tee.  Some people used Luke's accident and death to make themselves look good, while they were there for the kids and me in the hospital, then quickly disappeared again, and others have just stopped talking to me, and others have tried to get closer so they can be in the know, or to make themselves look good or feel better about themselves.  There has been a small, core group of people who have truly been there for me.  They have dealt with my tears, my mood swings and my crazy ramblings.  I am incredibly grateful for them.

However, I am getting the feeling that they think I should be "Over it" by now.  After all, Luke has been gone for over a year now.  We have been through all is first milestone's.  There should not be any more bad days.  Or they should be few and far between.  When I am having a bad time, it is an excuse to get out of something.

Here's the thing. I am NOT over losing my baby boy.  I will NEVER get over it.  I know from experience, the pain will lessen, it will become more bearable and I will be able to breathe on a regular basis.  But that will take years.  Even then, there will still be days that take my breath away.  The day his class graduates high school, when Jon and Katie get married, have babies, other life events where there is a hole where Luke should be.  

There are still days when it is like a sucker punch to the gut.  Days when the grief becomes too much to bear, when I can barely pull myself from the bed, much less walk to the living room or beyond.  I don’t know what else to say except until you have walked a day in my “Ugly Shoes”, don’t judge my grief.

366 Days

That is how many days have passed since I buried my youngest son.  366 days ago, I stood at my dad's grave and watched Luke's body be lowered into the ground.  It is 370 days since Luke took a breath. I can no longer say, "This time last year, Luke..."  This time last year I was still in shock that I had buried my baby.  This time last year, I called the kids in from playing and hollered, "Katie, Johnny, Luke... time to come in."  As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized what I said.  That has happened a few times since.

My plan was to take the first 10 days of August off and focus on Jon and Katie and grieve Luke. Unfortunately, life got in the way of that, and we were busier than we were the entire summer.

I sense Luke often, silly things happen, doors won't shut, volume goes up and down.  The kids are convinced Luke is still here causing mischief.  But I know he is in heaven with Jesus and his grandpa and papaw.  But it is nice to think he comes and visits sometimes.

School starts in 3 days for the kids.  I am not looking forward to the first day.  This was Jon and Luke's last year together at Okolona.  Next year, I was supposed to have a child in elementary, middle and high school.  This new normal really stinks.

Life with Lukie

This is the letter I wrote for Pastor Scott to read at Luke's Memorial Service.  It started off as a letter to Luke and ended up being a letter to Scott.

Luke, from the day you were finally born I think you have been holding on to this world by a thread.  Life was certainly never boring after you came along.  Between the passing out from holding your breath, to the getting stuck in anything and everything you could put all or some of your tiny body into, you kept me on my toes.  There is so much I want to say, but I can’t find the words.

Living with Luke was trying to contain a tornado.  He didn't do anything in slow motion.  He was smart, he could do brain teasers that exhausted me, he has the memory of a steel trap, the determination of Luke.  He was going to get what he wanted and he would wheel and deal and bargain until you gave up out of frustration or confusion.  He was full of life and love.  So much love that last year he was naming the ants on the sidewalk and bringing them in because they were his friends.  He wanted everyone and everything to like him.  After a week at VBS where the theme was New York, New York, the Big Apple, he was going to live there when he grew up.  He was also going to build a great big house for him and me, but Jonathan and Katie had to live in the backyard because they were too messy.

He always had a hug, usually preferring to run across the room and jump into my arms before giving me my hug, and then repeating several times.  Bath time was pretty fun, Elmo tablets and whatever toys or cats he could sneak into the tub.  Reminding me to pat his butt if I forgot. .  He loved to snuggle up next to me in the chair or in the bed and beg for a bedtime story, to have his head rubbed or both.  He always wanted to hear Jack and the Beanstalk, then tell me he was too scared to go sleep in his bed.  And I fell for it every time.  After we were in bed, I had to sing to him, but not all the words. I could sing, “I love you Lukiepie, I love you my…” and he would have to say the next words.  It was like that for every SINGLE verse.  Then he would hug my neck, say, “I love you Mama.” and snuggle down deep.

When he turned six last year, I made a big deal about how he was such a big boy now.  He said, “Mama,” in that exasperated high pitch six year old voice, “I will always be your baby bubberbutt.” 

Last year, he has his first trip to Build A Bear where he made his dog Austin.  Austin was then a mainstay in our home, replacing all the Webkinz that were carried around, operated on and given baths.  He loved that dog, making sure to put a seatbelt on him every time we were in the van and sneaking him to school in his backpack.

Luke was my baby, my light and breath, but he is Jonathan’s best friend.  Jonathan takes his role as big brother very seriously.  He protected Luke on the first days of school in kindergarten and first grade, he made sure he had breakfast at school and didn’t leave his backpack in the van.  He was there when Luke went to Chess Club the first time and practiced with him at home so he played better.  They were looking forward to both being on the stacking team at school this year.  Nobody could make Jonathan as crazy as Luke would, but in the next breath, they would be hugging snuggled together reading a book or playing a game.  To Luke, Jonathan was more important than peanut butter and bacon!  And those were pretty important to Luke.

Occasionally we would buy lottery tickets if the jackpot was big enough.  That meant we had tickets to check the next time we went to Kroger.  One day we had the Powerball number.  Only the Powerball number and won a few dollars.  That didn’t keep Luke and Jonathan from screaming, “We WON the Power Ball!!” in the middle of Kroger’s, garnering several interested looks from strangers.  I thought we might get mugged for $7.00.

Katie would babysit while I was at work.  I would get phone calls from Luke hiding in the bathroom to “Tell on” Katie.  He was very matter of fact on the phone and would call several times a shift, “Just to see when you are coming home.  And can I play on the computer? And can you bring me some food?  Katie won’t feed me.”  It was always fun to let my co-workers hear those messages.

We had several conversations about God, and Jesus and Heaven.  Luke knew he had two brothers that went to heaven before they were born and his grandpa in the ground went to heaven when Mama was a little girl.  Last summer, Luke prayed for Jesus to be his savior and prayed the sinner’s prayer.  So I know he is there with family gone before waiting for us to meet him there.  I can only pray it is sooner rather than later.

Luke loved when all of his family was around, he was always asking to go see Aunt Mary and Uncle John, to go see Grandma and the dogs.  Can they come over here?  Why do they have to work?  They don’t need money, they can live with us!

He had an answer for everything.  Except where his shoes where, why there was a peanut butter jar under the bed or milk in the closet.  He didn’t know who wrote Luke on the bathroom door or colored the white cat pink.  Heavy Sigh, “Ok mama, it was me…  But I can give him a bath!!”

Luke loved to clean, especially dust.  And if he couldn’t find the Pledge, he would use the butter flavored Pam.  On the TV.  And the wooden TV cabinet. But give him a Magic Eraser and the walls would shine.  So would the mirrors, windows, and cat.

There is so much more to Luke, his smile and laughter that lite up a room.  His strange sense of humor and dry humor.  He was too old for his age.

As Luke crossed over into the arms of Jesus, he was surrounded by the love and support of family.  They stood guard, surrounding us like an army of angels protecting us and giving us their strength.  I was able to hold Bub on my lap, snuggled in my arms while he took his last breaths and let go of the cord holding him to earth and me.  Several years ago, I was in a worship service and saw God’s angels kneeling in the aisles, wings folded, and swords in their sheaths.  Monday morning, I saw angels in GiGi, Sammy, Timmy, Uncle Sherry and Aunt Lee, Jenn, Grandma, Jonathan and Katie.  It could not have been more peaceful or beautiful.  Luke Christopher Bernard Zimmerman was born into this world on Monday May 8, 2006.  He left this world and went to heaven on Monday August 5, 2013.

Give your grandpa and papaw and brothers a hug for me and say hi to all the Spals and PALC kids for me.  I miss you baby boy.