The Ones that Made the Choice

For the ones that made the choice to let go:

To lose a child is a horrifying experience.  It is something you can never really get over; you will eventually move forward but never past it.  It is something that will walk parallel to you for your entire life.  While, thankfully, many people will never have to walk this awful path, the ones that do could tell you how tough it can be.  But there is a smaller sub-sect of loss parents; the ones that have had to make the earth shattering decision to let their children go.  To have to say that you will allow your child to leave this world, withdraw care?  This is an entirely separate burden that makes the path forward feel, at times, too difficult to travel.

To the ones that had to choose:  I remember barely being able to choke out the consent too.  When Sean and I had to make the impossible decision to go the palliative route for Jack, having the doctors and nurses just keep him comfortable until he passed, I couldn't even believe the words were leaving my mouth.  Every fiber of my mother-being wanted to scream ‘No, save him, do whatever it takes! Just, please, don’t let him die!’ But, rationally, I knew that it was inevitable and we had to let him go, that it was what was best for his little life; that no amount of love could save him and no medical intervention to make up for that.

To the ones that made the choice, I too beat myself up more than anybody could probably even imagine.  Asking myself what kind of mother gives the okay for her child to die?  For a long time, I hated myself.  I sometimes hated Sean for having agreed with the decision and not fighting me to fight for him harder.  I should have believed my sweet boy could have fought.  These are the lies I told myself; the lies I allowed to almost break me.  These are the lies that, more often than I’d like to admit, steep into my subconscious when I think of Jack and sometimes they damn near destroy me.  I have to remind myself that I loved that boy in that moment, that we loved him so deeply in that moment, that we could not allow him to suffer any more; yet it is still a choice that weighs heavy on my heart each day.  

To the ones that had to choose to let go, our road feels longer than the others. Not that either l path is one any of us wanted to take but when choice is taken out of the mix, I wonder if it feels less treacherous?  If the responsibility does not sit on your shoulders, does it make it any easier to breathe? Unfortunately, I suspect not.

To the ones that had to make the choice: I am with you.  I walk this road with you. My shoulders sag with the same weight yours do and I second-guess my decision almost every day.  But we mustn’t lie to ourselves.  We loved those children in a way that most will never have to experience. And because of that love, we had to let them go.

The Things We Hold On To

Over these last two years I have learned there are certain times as a grieving mama that will knock the wind out of me and, regardless of the passage of time, take a good while for me to rebound from.  No matter how hard I try there are days my heart just holds on to.  Mother’s Day is one of those days.  No matter how hard I try to get myself into a good place, a prepared place, it is a day that I just come apart.  This year made it extra complicated and, maybe for that reason, it was extra tough to drag myself out of the funk. 

 

Mother’s day weekend brought us to Long Island for my cousin’s little girl’s First Communion.  So, after crying my way through Kennedy’s fifth birthday, simply unable to fathom how we got this far already, we made our way down.  Communion’s are big on Long Island, little mini weddings for some people, and while my cousin didn’t go quite that far, it was a great time-especially if you are a newly five-year-old, thoroughly impressed by the big fancy dresses, and a party with a DJ, magician, candy-bar, and make your own sundae station.  It was a good break, getting to see my family laughing in a way you can only laugh with people that knew you when you were young.  It always gives me a chuckle to see their faces as they watch Kennedy and then turn to me so say- always the same thing- “I could swear I’m looking at you at that age when I see her.”  

Regardless of the fun we had, I could feel a nervous energy brewing inside of me; unable to sit anywhere too long-just trying to stay busy and keep my mind off of everything.  Wanting so badly to hold my cousin’s baby girl, yet knowing the ache in my heart it would cause.  As I rocked her to sleep and felt her warm little body, there was a different kind of aching though; the kind that reminded me that while I will be there again soon enough with our new little one, there is a still a little baby boy that I would have given my last dying breath to rock to sleep just once-and I will never be able to let go of that.  Just like that, my nerves were unleashed and I felt a tiredness settle on my heart that made itself at home for a few days.

I wanted to get back home.  I wanted to go “see” my boy at his spot.  I wanted to be with my children together.  So after a long ride back home, and unfortunately in the rain, I made my way with Kennedy, and the little boy growing beneath my heart to go visit their brother.  And it struck me as I stood there:  I am a mother in every facet of life you can be one; mother to a little girl, mother to a child that has passed before me, and a mother-to-be.  I was overcome by the emotion that all three of my babies fill me with and by the time I had Kennedy back in the car, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.  I sobbed.  I didn’t want to; I try not to have her see me in that state when I can help it-she’s old enough to remember it all now and I don’t want her to remember me this way.  But as I looked back at her and saw her little, empathetic face, she just said, “I know Mommy, you just want all your babies to be together, right?”  I tried to say yes but nothing came out, so I just nodded my head and made our way home.  

When I got home though, Kennedy wanted to give me the presents she had made for me at school so I tried to collect myself and look as excited as I could.  I’ll tell you though the second she handed me the big envelope that she had written on and decorated, and she pulled out, with pride, each of the things I could feel the tears starting up again.  She gave me the silhouette with its bejeweled frame, and the card she had written in.  But it was the last thing that did me in; “I Love My Mom Because….” I held my breath, praying when I found her name it wouldn’t say something like, “I love my mom because even though she is a mess most of the time she feeds me donuts for breakfast!”  As I read through some of the others I knew my fate was sealed; and then I came to her name.  It said: I love my mom because…she sings me a song when she tucks me into bed.  And the tears came; hard.  I thought with relief, maybe she wouldn’t remember the crying, or at least not only that; I was making it count in other places.  When I sing Bob Dylan’s Forever Young to her every night, that’s what is sticking; that's what she is holding on to.  Growing exasperated with my emotional displays she said, “Why are you crying now?”  And when I told her she said, “Ok Daddy, Mommy is having happy tears because she loves my present.”  This girl, I tell you, she soothes my broken heart in ways she might never understand.

I made it through the day but it was long and I was beat and so when Monday rolled around I was dragging.  The week was filled with visiting my friend and her new baby boy, pediatrician appointments where we were told to lay off the donuts for a bit, softball games, ninety-eight degree weather, where I got a glimpse of what this summer would feel like-which is not pretty and to top it all off an emergency OB check-up after a scare I had at work.  Everything is fine, but I realized that I am so bone tired.  Not the “your-six-months-pregnant-what-do-you-expect” kind of tired, but the kind of bone tired you get from being scared all of the time.  I just want to stop feeling like the bad news is coming; stop feeling like being told Carter is healthy, and I am healthy, and everything looks and sounds good is too-good-to-be-true.  But there you have it.  This is what a “rainbow pregnancy” looks and feels like.

And so after a lot of sleepless nights we were brought to our next family function for Sean’s cousin, graduating with her doctorate in Physical Therapy down in Pennsylvania.  And though there was a lot of uncomfortable car time during this quick down and back trip it was broken up with time with his family, a group of people that love hard and laugh hard.

Kennedy slept twelve straight hours last night and I was envious as I tossed and turned, getting just under half of that.  But when I peeked in on her one of four times I was up to go to the bathroom, and saw her little face- the peacefulness of it- I took a breath and tried to exhale some of the chaos my heart seems to hold onto so tightly, and went to sleep knowing that it is okay for things to be okay.

And if things get particularly rough, there's always fairy gardens. 

Another Trip Around the Son

Dear Jack,

You’d be two today.  Two.  How can that be? It doesn’t seem possible.  None of this does.  It still doesn’t seem real that you came and left so quickly.  I remember thinking that I could never move forward after you went to heaven and, yet, here we are two years later; a second trip around the sun.

As usual, your mama was all about the build up.  Getting myself nice and worked up the days leading up to it.  In my mind it softens the blow.  It doesn’t in reality, and so waking up without you today was just as terrible as every other day these last seven hundred and twenty nine days.  As soon as I opened my eyes, there was no disorientation-I knew exactly what day it was and the first of my tears for today slipped out.  But I told myself that I would hold it together enough to go to your sister who was calling for me.

And you know what, Jack?  The second I opened her door, in her sweet muddled accent that I always wonder if you would have had too, she said, “Hey you know what, Mama?  It’s Jack’s birthday today!”  I know you saw her smile and I can guess how it made you feel because I could feel how excited she was to celebrate you.  And in that one tiny gesture she changed my perspective.  Cry?  Yes, I was going to cry there was no getting around that, but we would celebrate you today.  So we read two books to “send up” to you- I hope you liked them as much as she did.

It was Pajama Day at school today and Kennedy had been so excited that it was the same day as your birthday.  She kept telling everyone they were having PJ day for your birthday and a bounce house too.  I laughed to myself wondering if she was going to tell everyone at school that and what type of details she would add too it-she’s great for an awkward moment, that sister of yours.  So Daddy and I dropped her off and made our way to your spot.

It’s a sloppy snow here and so our footprints tracked mud in front of you.  I hated that we ruined it-everyone else had a fresh coat of snow but it was clear people had been there to see you so I was fine with that too.  It was freezing cold and while I don’t remember much of that day the weather reminded me of the morning we brought you there two years ago and if made me crumble.  I’m sorry-I try not to cry so hard when I’m there but today I couldn’t help it and it was a loud, ugly cry but I had to let it out before Kennedy came back later with us because I hate to make her nervous.  I hope the flowers last more than a night in the cold but it’s January and so I’m not too hopeful.  Flowers seem ridiculous to bring a baby boy on his birthday but we couldn’t go empty-handed.

Your dad was wonderful today.  I know when you look down you can see what a good man he is.  He hates to see me sad but, though it goes against everything he is as a person, he lets me cry when I need too, he doesn’t try to fix it anymore.  There is no fixing this: you are gone from me and that is never going to be something my heart can get right with.  So he hugged me a lot today and he squeezed my hands.  When he said, “Happy birthday, buddy,” I could remember him holding you so clearly and recall how much he loved you already.  He may not talk about it all the time, but he misses you, Jackie.

When we picked up Kennedy from Baba’s house she told us all about her day and how much fun she’d had but when I told her my idea for the night she lit up like the sun and the PJ party was old news.  We made our way to the store to the dessert counter and she walked around and around, carefully deciding what she was going to pick.  I talked her out of the fourteen inch chocolate cake that no one but Daddy would have eaten (we have to help the guy out where be can, Jack) and instead she settled on a big buttercream frosted cupcake.  When I asked the girl behind the counter for one Kennedy quickly and loudly interrupted me and said, “No, two!” and as I started to disagree she said, “Mommy, its my brudda’s birthday, we have to get two.”  And so we did.  On the way out of the store she asked for a balloon and picked out a pink one for herself.  Then she told the lady helping us, “It’s by brother’s birthday today! He’s two!” to which the woman said we had to send one home for him too.  Your sister began to share that you’d died but thank the Lord for the loud helium tank and we avoided the sad, awkward-stranger encounter.

The whole way to the cemetery she talked about she couldn’t wait to send your balloon up to heaven and hoped your friends wouldn’t steal it from you.  I assured her it wouldn’t happen as I smiled to myself at the idea that you have a little squad up there with you.  When we pulled up she was out of the car in record time and could barely wait for me to get my phone out to capture a few moments of it.  Watching her let it go and look towards the sky to you and jump up and down telling you to have fun- my God, Jack, it’s those kinds of things that let me draw my next breath that keep me going.  She loves you so much and so deeply.  And she misses you- I know this in the way she talks about you unprompted, and out of nowhere sometimes; or when she talks about how she would have helped you reach the counter to get you snacks you wanted, and that’s love, little man.  We watched your balloon disappear (I apologize to any animal that this balloon affects or the environment in advance) and we made our way home to finish celebrating.

When we got home, some of our friends, people that love you and your family so much, had sent some things to cheer us up and show how much they care.  Your herd is growing so big, Jack.  So many of them were incredibly generous today in honor of your memory and we are able to help so many people because of gestures like that made all of the time.  We sent you a wish lantern again this year.  I always have to be careful when it comes to wishes because I have to remind my heart that it can’t wish for you to be here but I can wish for you to feel our love for you and for our family to feel peace even in your absence and for you to watch over your sister and guide and protect her like she would have done for you.  As we watched it sail away I sent all of those thoughts out into the universe and prayed nothing caught fire nearby (so far no fire alarms).

We ate dinner as quick as we could because a certain little lady was rushing the dessert portion of the celebration.  And so we placed the number two candle that we still had in the junk drawer from Kennedy’s second birthday (and I silently thanked Nana for once for passing on her pack rat tendencies to me). And we sang to you.  Loudly and with hearts filled with love (our voices are just angelic- I know) and your big sister took care of the candle, just like I’m sure she would have if you had been here.

I got through today as best I could with a piece of my heart missing.  Like I said, I feel the loss of you in an enormous way every day but, if at all possible, more acutely today.  I told your dad today that it makes me sad to remember how heavy my heart was all that time ago, and almost sadder still to know that there is a bit of lightness to it now.  It's not that I’m less sad, by any means, I think it’s just that my heart figured out how to re-distribute the sadness so I could carry it a little easier.  I miss you terribly, my sweet boy.  Today my heart literally aches for you.  I held your bear today and willed myself back there, not that it’s hard to do, and I breathed you in again.

I’m doing my best to live a life that can make you proud; one that doesn’t cause you to have to watch over me too closely so that you can have fun with those friends and play with your new puppy, Honey (no she’s never going to stop licking your feet-it’s her thing).  You are never far from my heart and like the book we read this morning said, “I wanted you more than you ever will know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go…”

Happy birthday, Jack Holden.  You are so loved.

Love, 

Mommy