being a grieving mother

Becoming a mother changes a person. I think everyone knows that. I don't believe you have to be a parent to pick up the knowledge that life after kids will never be the same. Our parents remind us all the time how their lives changed after our birth. Tv and books, often portray a transition between not having kids and having kids in their characters. We see our friends become parents and how it alters them. Changing after becoming a mother is expected. We all know that. It doesn't matter if we have kids ourselves or not.

Becoming a grieving mother changes us, too, but unlike the latter there aren't books and tv shows or friends and family to explain that to us. We don't get a handbook as we leave the funeral home on what to expect. There isn't a Monday television show on our local channel that addresses the death of child head on. Most of the time, we don't have friends or family who have experienced what we are embarking. Becoming a parent changes a person, we all know that, but losing a child changes us too.

It's been 9 months, 1 week, 2 days, 3 hours, and 25 minutes since my son's heart stopped beating. I didn't have to check my calendar or my clock to know that, because I count the minutes since I last held my son. At the end of every day, I silently add another tally to the invisible calendar in my head marking the days that have come and gone without my baby boy. But that's all it is... invisible marks, because everyday I wake up expecting to hear his hoarse cries coming from his crib and everyday I have to come to the realization that my toddler died. The pain is just as real today as it was yesterday.

People constantly tell me, time will heal all wounds. They tell me with time, I'll move on and I'll find myself again. But that's not true.

 I don't just have to deal with the pain of loss. I have to deal with the pain of the guilt. Being a parent and knowing I couldn't save my son kills me every second of everyday. I wonder, while I'm cooking breakfast, while I'm bathing my other kids, what could I have done differently to save Nathan.

I deal with an internal conflict. I wasn't just his mother, I was his nurse. I grieve my son in two different ways. I grieve him half the day as his exhausted nurse who knew that he was miserable and in pain and it was time to just let him go. I grieve him as the caregiver who understood his diagnosis and understood that medicine could do no more for him. But as his mother, the other half of the day I am angry and hateful. I scream alone in my head at the thought of the doctors who gave up on him. I scream at myself for not pushing for more answers and I just simply miss him and don't understand why this happened to my perfect little boy.

The post traumatic stress... the questioning of faith... the sigh of relief and the guilt that follows...

My family... Watching my three year old as he tries to understand why his baby brother was put in a box and dumped in the ground or my six year old struggling with guilt because she was too scared of all the medical equipment to get close to Nathan...

When I was pregnant, doctors, nurses, friends, relatives, books, magazines... they all prepared me for becoming a mother, but no one... nothing prepared me for losing that child. Things that use to be funny aren't funny anymore. Things I use to believe in, I don't believe in anymore. I feel like the person I was 9 months, 1 week, 2 days 3 hours, and 45 minutes ago is a stranger and she always will be. I don't know her anymore. She died with her son.

6 months

It's been six months since my baby boy was called home. He passed away early one Sunday afternoon and my husband and I slept in the living room that night, not ready to face the room we shared with him. I screamed and cried all night, with gut wrenching pain. Since then I try very hard to keep composure. I have four other kids who need me to stay strong. I have a life that I must keep living, even though everyday since he left all I've wanted to is join him. 

"It'll get better with time." Everyone likes to remind me. But as the eleventh day of the month comes and goes for the sixth time, I wonder when... when will it get better? When I celebrate Mother's Day tomorrow, knowing one of my children will never get to make me hand print cards? Or my birthday, that's approaching, where I won't get to hear his toddler voice wish me a good day? 

Some wounds time can't heal. Some pain you never recover from. You just push on, because you have no choice. 

charity walk thank you

In February, to celebrate Handsome's birthday, we did a charity walk and donated the money to Vanderbilt Children's Hospital.  I know I have thanked everyone many times for their contributions, but I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you all again. It's so important to me that Handsome's life be remembered. I just don't want him to ever be forgotten and seeing all you come together to celebrate his life and help keep his memory alive meant the world to me! 

Walk 4 Nate

I've been struggling a lot. I lack motivation and energy. Most days, I don't even get dressed, so I apologize for the lack of blogs. I keep telling myself, "tomorrow things will be different." Things aren't different yet and I don't know when they will be. It hurts. It hurts more and more everyday that I have to wake up without my baby boy here. I know everything I feel is normal and that someday I'll be "okay." But for now, I am just doing my best. I hope I can find the words to start blogging again, like I use to. I pray for the motivation to clean and organize my house and share my tips with you all like before. And I hope that sometime soon I can start doing the fun, crafty things, I've always enjoyed doing. Please just bare with me as I try to find myself again and as I try to find joy in a world that lacks a piece of sunshine. 

I've been meaning to share with you the success of Handsome's walk! We hosted the first annual Walk 4 Nate on February 9th, 2013, days after Handsome's second birthday. It was such an amazing feeling to see all these people come out and walk for him, knowing that they cared or that Handsome touched their lives. It was beyond overwhelming, but the best part of it all was being able to donate to The Children's Hospital that took care of Handsome. 

After we walked the trail around the park, we celebrated Handsome's life. We ate blew out candles, ate birthday cake and wrote messages to Handsome on balloons that we released, sending them to Heaven. At the party, we also had an art therapist present. She had art supplies set up at a table for Handsome's party guests to draw pictures for him. It was an absolutely beautiful event. I wish I had the words to explain how much it meant to me. I love each and everyone of you supported us through this. 

Handsome's walk brought in over $2,000 in donations for Vanderbilt's Children's Hospital. Almost doubling the amount we expected to raise. What a perfect birthday present for Handsome! A $2000 donation to the hospital that he called home. 

Walk 4 Nate

We have some good things coming up in memory of Handsome! Two of my amazing friends, put together a charity walk in Handsome's name to raise funds for the hospital that treated him. We are so excited to see this walk come together. It means so much to my family to see that people aren't forgetting about him and more importantly that people are interested in helping other children like him. 

We plan on having a birthday party at the event for Handsome. We see no reason not to continue celebrating his birthday. There will be a bouncy house for the kids. Cake! Beverages! Balloons! I know Handsome would be proud of our efforts to keep his legacy alive and to help others. I know he's smiling down on us, grateful we are doing this for him! 

If you are interested in helping us out with the walk and giving back to the hospital that gave us so much, you can register to walk at active.com. All proceeds from the event are going to Monroe Carell Jr. Children's Hospital to help them to purchase state-of-the-art medical equipment, recruit the top pediatric specialist, and conduct research for finding cures for childhood diseases. Please join us! 

And invite your friends! If you aren't local and would like to get a group of people together to walk around your neighborhood, you can create a team upon registration and ask your friends and family to join your team. The team leader of the team with the most walkers will receive a free Team Nathan t-shirt! 

the new year

2012 was a hard year for me. The hardest. But I'm not happy to see it end. In fact, I haven't posted this blog sooner, because I've been trying to ignore the "new year" as much as possible. My son died in 2012. I spent the year watching my son become more sick, receive a prognosis I wasn't ready to hear, and I lost parts of my identity. One might think I'd be happy to be starting over, to have a fresh start, but I'm far from that. 

Every time I hear "2013" pain strikes my heart and my stomach twists in knots. It's painful being in a year that my baby doesn't exist in. In 2012, I had Handsome. It may have been hard, but I could hold him. I got to see him smile. I could hear his voice, touch him, feed him, smell him... in 2012, he was here. But he's just a memory in 2013. 

I feel like I'm leaving him behind, like I'm moving on without him. 

By now, each year, I've come up with many resolutions, with excitement. I'm going to get organized. I'm going to pursue my photography career. I'm going to lose weight. I'm going to go vegan.... I make A LOT of resolutions, but with the lack of anticipation for the new year, I've also lacked motivation to make changes. 

I think about who he was last year at this time, what he looked like, how he laughed and he used to say "hey" in his hoarse little voice. I remember how good it was for us, last year. Doctor's were confident that we had conquered his epilepsy and the seizures were under control. Everyone had so much hope for my Handsome last January. They told us it was all an up hill climb from here. He'd have bad days, but he was getting better....

It's been 12 months, though, and instead of getting better, he's no longer here. 2012 was the last time I got to hold my baby. 2012 was the last time I had hope.

I miss 2012. 

The Headstone.

I've been in bed sick the last two days. I think I've caught a sinus infection or the flu. I hate going to the doctor, so I'm trying to postpone it as long as I can. Around 11am, I found the strength to get out of bed long enough to make myself a glass of water and while I stood in my kitchen drinking it, I noticed we had mail. So I stepped out into the cold rainy/snowy weather and got it from our mail box. A small card fell to the ground, with a simple note typed on the front, addressed to my husband. The few sentences read that our son's headstone had been placed at the cemetery and we were free to visit it. 

Although two minutes ago I was too sick to even make myself something for breakfast, I was suddenly running around the house like a mad woman trying to get everyone dressed. No matter how poorly I was feeling, my family was going to see that headstone. 

The pride I feel knowing my son has been buried in a veteran's cemetery is indescribable. He was a soldier who fought his own war. He won many battles and fought with the kind of strength that you only see once in a lifetime. He was the bravest of warriors. 

You can rest now my little soldier. Rest in the arms of our savior. 

Dear Handsome,

My Dearest Handsome,

      Today your daddy went back to work and earlier in the week your mamaw went home. Chase and Jaime have gone to school and Jake and Lukas are watching Handy Manny. The mail has come. The house has been cleaned. We've slipped back into our old routines. The world continues to go on, but it's 10:35am and I'm 35 minutes late with your toprimate and banzel. You were suppose to get a feed at 9 and I'm sure you need a diaper change. Everyone seems to have gone back to normal, but me.
 
My normal is you. My normal revolves around your care. How do I go back to normal without you? How do I get through my mornings when my mornings were yours? How do I survive your ten o'clock meds? The knots in my chest, the shortness of breath, the pain in my stomach... how do I get through that every morning at ten o'clock?

It's not fair! I fought for you. I did everything to make sure you were okay. I never missed a medicine dose. I was always on time with your treatments. I did my research. I asked questions. I made sure you were getting the best care. I did everything right. I went above and beyond to save you. Why aren't you here? Why are you gone?

All these other people who don't even take care of their kids, who leave them every weekend with grandparents or babysitters, the ones who smoked while they were pregnant, drank and did drugs, the ones who don't even want their kids... Why couldn't it have been them and not us? It's not fair! I wanted you in my life, even with all the stress and sleep deprivation. I wanted you!

I miss you. I miss the way your hair felt and your face. I miss the sounds you made and hearing you squirm in your crib. I miss you.

Halloween Help Costume Contest

I need some help with Handsome's Halloween costume. He has to be something EPIC this year. Something that symbolizes his strength and courage. Something that's him! I had originally settled on a knight costume, but they don't have it in his size, so I'm back to the drawing board. 

And that's where I'm asking for your help. With all the kids, cooking and cleaning and medicines and treatments, finding time to search the internet for Handsome's perfect Halloween costume is just not practical, so I'm reaching out to my friends, family and readers and asking for your help in finding this perfect costume. All you have to do is find a costume that you think fits everything I'm looking for strength, courage... a perfect representation of Handsome! It has to be his size (24 months/ 2t) and obtainable. Post a link to the costume over on my facebook fan page by Thursday noon central time and if I pick your costume, you will win a $20 gift certificate to my crochet shop!