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. 

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

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. 

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.

God Winks/Lukie Smiles

I went to Starbucks Thursday after work, something I rarely do.  I usually go on the weekend, whatever morning I open.  Sitting in the drive-thru, I had the overwhelming urge to pay for the car behind me.  I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw a very expensive car, with a very nicely dressed woman on her cell phone.  I thought, surely, this woman can afford to pay for her order, she has a nicer car than me, is dressed nicer than me and I only have so much on my Starbucks card.

The more I argued with myself, the more I felt like I was Supposed to pay for this woman’s order.  I argued until I got the window.  While I was waiting for the person to open the window, a large brown wrapper from a Reese cup flew by my windshield and landed on the window ledge.  That has never happened, but I took at as a sign from God and Luke (Reese’s were his favorite candy) that I was going to buy this woman’s order whether I wanted to or not.  I asked the person at the window how much the lady’s order was, and it ended up being less than $3.00.  I had enough money on my card to pay for it.  So I paid.  The person in the window smiled and said she loved it when people did pay for the next person.

There were no bells and whistles, I didn’t win the lottery the next night, (darn!) but I felt like Luke was smiling down on me.  I will never know why I had to pay for that person, but I hope it brought a little bit of happiness to her day.

Sharing the loot (Picture heavy)

My current goal in life is to make Thelma cry, and type 65 words a minute.  Making Thelma cry seems to be easier. So, here goes nothing. J

Friday night, J went Trick or Treating by himself.  This was probably his last year to go, so we hit every house we could for 90 minutes.  He got quite a load of candy, Thank you neighbors!

But he also got quite a few Reese Cups.  Since they were Luke's all-time favorite candy (man, were is hard to write), we took them to the cemetery yesterday so he could share with Luke.  (I think that is the most unnatural sentence I have ever written.)

Here are a few pics from the visit.

Trick or Treat

Today J woke up sick, and I was happy.  A sick kid meant I didn't have to deal with Halloween.  But by the afternoon, he was better and thinking about his costume.  He finally decided to be a Zombie Soccer Goalie with an Easter bag from Kroger to use to carry his loot.  I did a pretty good job on his make up if I do say so myself!

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But then we started trick or treating.  It was a cold, windy, and overcast night and there weren't many kids out.  K is staying with Grandma for the weekend, so J just had me.  It hit me, watching him walk up and down driveways that Luke should be walking with him, they should be giggling and making monster noises as they beg strangers for candy.

It wasn't long after that J asked if I wanted his Reese Cups.  I said, “No thank you.”  He asked a few more times and finally asked why.  I explained that was Luke’s favorite candy, and I couldn't eat them because of that.  I asked if he wanted me to take them to work for the techs.  He thought for a few minutes and asked if we could take them to Luke’s grave, tomorrow because it would be too creepy to go on Halloween night.  “Of course.” I told him, we will go tomorrow afternoon.  As I was going through his candy after we came home, I decided Reese Cups were on clearance…… he had about 20 full size Reece Cup singles.

I hate seeing J do things alone he should be doing with his little brother.  This new normal really sucks.

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.

Friday Night

Tom came.  On Friday night, after K asked to see her dad, he came.  My mom was here, Thelma (one of our new therapists, she picked Thelma from Thelma and Louise.) J was here.  It was awkward, tense and stressful.

He sat in the corner of the living room, I sat in my chair, K, grandma and Thelma sitting on the couch.  K tried and tried pushing his buttons, trying to get some kind of reaction.  Telling him of the last year, how hard things have been, how much she has struggled.  He sat, nodded and smiled.  There was no reaction.

J talked, played on his dad's phone and told him about his last year.  He skirted over the hard stuff.

The tension kept getting thicker.  The kids were sent outside to play.  Grandma went first.  18 years of words bottled up for so long were finally let loose.  Lines were drawn, the gauntlet thrown down.  When the steam ran out, I started.  While you have destroyed our family twice now, you go about your business, living your life like nothing has happened.  I am left to pick up the pieces, to put our kids back together again.  I blame myself for Luke's accident, J blames himself, K blames herself.  What responsibility do you take?  Excuses, might as well be crickets.  More excuses, no responsibility.  I am not surprised.  K appears indifferent, but I know her heart is breaking.  She wants to be a daddy's girl, and I have failed her in that.  I gave her a dad who has no idea what a precious gift she truly is.  J only knows how to relate to him with sports, but J is not a sports person.  Remind Tom of that.... anger seethes, face turns red, hands yank on fingers and pants.  Nothing has changed.  Nothing will ever change.

Have you been to Luke's grave?  Have you seen his stone?  If you are going to see it before it gets dark, you should leave now.

Kids in hives, stress of the weekend finally coming out.  Not able to say what needed to be said, manifests itself in their little bodies.

I can tell my kids all day and night dad is not going to change, he will always be like that.  But they will have to learn it for themselves.  I won't keep them from a relationship, but the rules have changed.

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.