The Beautiful, Little House

It has been so long. There has been so much life that has been happening around here that if we haven’t been on the go, it would first off- be a miracle, and second probably only mean that we have fallen asleep.  

Once spring rolled in it has been nonstop, starting with an amazing trip to Disney World with my cousin and his family.  It was a rare, unicorn-like Disney trip where, honest-to-God, every single kid was happy each day, an the adults didn’t need a massive drink by ten in the morning. It was really wonderful; it has also been all systems go from the moment we returned. Miss Kennedy’s life has all but taken over, with the constant shuffle to and from the various fields she is playing on, pushing gymnastics to the back burner for the spring; but she is happy and immersed in the little life she is making for herself.  My baby no long resembles anything close to a baby, with the exception of his delicious chubby cheeks that are accentuated by his nearly ever-present smile.  He is all too happy to tag along on a jam-packed days and would literally follow is big sister to the end of the earth.  

And then the real reason it’s been so long:  We are moving.  We are doing what I swore up and down we’d never do; we are leaving our home and moving to a new one.  It’s exciting, it really, truly is.  We are moving to the kind of house I never imagined I’d live in at (almost) thirty-four. It’s gorgeous and will be an amazing house for my babies to grow up in and for Sean and I to grow old in.  So, yes, I am so excited.  But, as with everything else in my life the last four and a half years, my excitement and joy is very tightly intertwined with so many other feelings.  

Seven and a half years ago as we sat in a room, signed our names what seemed to be a billion times, and ended with keys in our hands, I really did think they were the keys to our forever home. 

 I was pregnant with Kennedy and couldn’t wrap my head around all that came with that, let alone think there would be more kids.  Our beautiful little house was perfect for a little family of three. 

We spread out, laughing as our girl’s stuff started to take over.  It was the three of us-we had plenty of room-even a guest room!  We loved it; we’d cram people in the backyard for parties and inside when we were feeling bold, shifting all of furniture around to make it work.  And then we decided to expand our family.  We dragged our feet getting the house in order to shift Kennedy over to he extra bedroom and change her, pretty, tiny nursery into a room fit for a little boy.  But we never got a round to it.  Our sweet Jack came too early, and he left too soon and so the door was shut and left untouched for two more years.

In a desperate attempt to change a home that had seemed to me then to be so damaged by the hurt and loss I covered up all of the beautiful warm, dark paint that had drawn us in in the first place.  I painted all of the walls a light gray, I covered the red bricks of the fireplace white; literally trying to cover the darkness that had settled within the walls of the home I had loved for almost three years. And it worked, my little house adapted and felt like home again.  It graciously accepted the roots of the little tree we planted in our boy’s name, nourishing it and allowing it to take hold and grow.  I swore we would never leave it.  

And then a new light came to our little home.  A little boy we needed and wanted so badly came home to our house and the rooms were now as full as our hearts.  And it was perfect.  

But the difference between beautiful little houses and beautiful little children is the beautiful little children grow.  They grow and they grow and they grow.  They run through the halls of a home no matter how small they are.  They fill the rooms with their things, no matter how small the rooms are or how small their things seem.  

And so Sean and I talked about it.  We talked, we argued, we agreed and disagreed.  We looked into making our little house bigger; trying to change it to be what we needed it to be.  It just wouldn’t work.  It just wouldn’t make sense to try and make our beautiful little home anything more than what it was always meant to be for us, even if I would never allow myself to call it such: a starter home.  A home to start our life in.  And we did just that.  

There has been so much life in this house.  There has been so much love, and so much loss that happened within the walls of this home.  

This is the home that my sweet baby was supposed to come home with us to; this is the only house he was ever supposed to be in and my broken heart can’t help but ache knowing we are moving to a place he was never meant to go to.  This home will be the home Sean’s dad visited us, staying in our little makeshift bedroom under the basement stairs, buying Sean the silly little push mower it took hours to mow the lawn with because that was good enough to get the job done; it hearts my heart to leave here.  

And then there is the tree. How am I supposed to leave the tree? I have been asked so many times, by so many people that love us and know how much we love the tree, “You can’t leave the tree!”  As with most things in my life, I have had to stop and have conversations with myself about guilt and not allowing it to consume me.  I will miss my gorgeous little tree; the beautiful little tree that grows in place of and in honor of my son.  The tree that seems to, appropriately, bloom a little later than the others like it around the neighborhood.  The tree that love grew.  But I can not allow myself to forget that the tree is not my son.  Jack is gone, even if I dug the tree up, and it by chance survived the transplanting and took root in a new spot, he is not here. But he lives in my heart, he goes where I go.  And so we will leave the tree here to continue to bloom and grow.

We will leave the little tree with the beautiful house that grew a beautiful family.  We will leave the beautiful little house to a new little family to grow into and likely grow out of down the road as well.  And if that is meant to be the legacy of this little home, to grow families and send them out into the world bigger and stronger and full of love, than I am so honored to have been a part of its story. 

Until next time, which is hopefully sooner rather than later and from within the walls of the new home that the Doyles will fill with memories and love...

The Happiest Place on Earth

The holidays are a magical time in general.  Add Disney World to it and there are just no words.  Disney, as a kid, seems amazing; like all of your dreams are coming true in front of your little eyes.  But as a parent?  My God, it’s like a religious experience to give your children those moments.  Watching them smile the most genuine smiles to have ever crossed their mouths and the light that dances in their eyes watching the fireworks and meeting the characters that have filled their TV screens? It’s absolutely epic. 

Christmas (all three installments of it) was a whirlwind.  For the most part it was really great.  Christmas Eve at Sean’s mom’s house was great, though when we sat the kids down for their yearly jammie photo it just about killed me to see them so grown up, and made my heart simultaneously swell and break to see my baby boy in there with them but his big brother still missing.  The big reveal of our trip Christmas morning was absolutely amazing especially since Kennedy was more thrilled by the fact that Carter would go to Disney for his first time (mind you, this would be her first trip too!).  We caught it on camera and it was seriously the stuff Disney World commercials are made of.  The rest of the day went by alright except that I didn’t get to go visit Jack’s grave that day and the guilt took me under by the end of the day.  I felt like a terrible mother.  It was Christmas.  His brother and sister were given tons of gifts and smothered in love and kisses yet I couldn’t even get to him for a quick visit.  I was angry-at myself, Sean, the universe-whatever and whoever I could rage at; and so I cried myself to sleep. 

I woke up dead set that I would be there first thing.  We were. It was a frigid cold that went right through you and with the snow covering everything it reminded me of the day we had picked out his spot almost three years before.  Kennedy excitedly told her brother we were going to Disney World and he can come with us to watch.  My tears froze to my jacket.  The tiny Christmas tree I left and the five minutes I could bear the cold just didn’t feel like enough but it was all I could manage that day.

Her count down had begun and she was so excited it made me wish that we had told her sooner and at the same time thankful that we hadn’t since I threatened (empty-I know) that we wouldn’t go at least twelve times in six days; any longer between the telling and the going could have been disastrous.   We packed and prepped and hoped for good weather. 

We flew down early and made our way to the hotel to get checked in and to the park as quickly as we could.  The second we stepped off of the bus I thought we would all burst.  The magic in that place just spills itself all over you and you have no choice but to let it.  You are walking around suddenly feeling with all of your being that you too need a hat with ears on it; it’s that intoxicating. 

I was watching my little girl for those four days walk around with a smile on her face that left me with a very sobering realization: there has been a lot of life weighing heavy on her heart. She is so sensitive to emotion-especially mine-that it has obviously taken its toll on her.  She will hear me talking in another room and if she hears any change in my voice, come running and ask, “Mama, why does your voice sound sad?” It’s not fair, I know this.  I will spend my life trying to make up for inadvertently putting too much on her little shoulders when I was grieving.  She may not even know that it happened-but I do and looking at her smiling face broke my heart as it occurred to me: she hasn’t really smiled like that in a very long time. And my God, did she ever smile. 

The kid lives for a thrill.  She was all about roller coasters and I felt amazed by the daringness she showed, never hesitating to get on line for another and never showing any anxiety about the unknown.  She humored us and rode the “little kid rides” too with her brother and I but was clearly unimpressed. 

Each time she hugged a character or got their autograph she would shriek, “Best Christmas present ever!” And it really was, for her to go, and for us to watch it all unfold. 

And just as Kennedy had told him he could, Jack followed us to The Happiest Place on Earth.  It was as if he made his presence know to us over and over: from the elephants that popped up all over (I just about lost my mind when I saw the baby elephant surrounded by the herd), to the grown girl with Down syndrome that sat down to talk with my girl-who conversed with her like they were old friends-he was letting us know he was there too.  We were a family of five on vacation at The Happiest Place on Earth.  Even in the pouring rain you couldn’t deny the beauty of it (what a metaphor for us). 

And so as the pixie dust wears off and we settle back into the mortal world these photos and those moments will give me life. They will help carry me through the rough days ahead.  My little boy would have turned three this month.  Three.  How can that be?  My heart aches at that thought. And his baby brother, I suspect, knows this somehow; knows I need to hug him a little tighter, breathe his scent a little deeper and take in all of his baby goodness. 

This year will be all about deep breaths of chaos- magical, magical chaos.

Happy New Year!