I just got home from a funeral.

Despite what the first three letters of the word may indicate, funerals are never fun. This one was especially sad and just…WRONG. Going to the funeral for a young, vibrant 20-year-old is something that just shouldn’t happen. It is out of order of how life should be.

I have put off writing about it because ever since I got the news I feel like I have been holding back a huge dam of emotion with a wall made of toothpicks. I don’t mean to take this and turn it into something that is about me, but this has evoked some powerful emotions and very painful memories for me.

I never met the person whose service I attended today. He was the son of my long-time OBGYN, Dr. Mark D. Heiner, who relocated to North Carolina about a year-and-a-half ago. His name was David and he was a Sophomore in college. You should have heard the lovely things that were said about him at his memorial. He just seemed like an amazing young man. Passionate, bright, and above all-very kind and loving. He was visiting his family in North Carolina and was swimming with his brothers at their country club pool and he was found at the bottom of the pool. After several days it was determined that his brain was not functioning, he was removed from life support and passed away on June 18th.

Today would have been his 20th birthday.

I know it may seem a little strange to go the the funeral of the son of your doctor, and to have such sorrow about it, but you don’t know Dr. Heiner. He has been my doctor since 1995. He delivered all three of my boys and brought all of them into the world kindly and safely. When I had a massive blood clot after Christopher was born, he diagnosed it over the phone and told me to get to the emergency room immediately. It saved my life.

I consider him more than a doctor. He is a friend. He is the kindest and most HILARIOUS man. I swear most of the progress made during my labors was because of the hysterical laughter going on in the delivery room. He once told me to schedule my yearly checkup in the winter because they are gray and boring. He is just wonderful.

When my little Matthew was born, Dr. Heiner was one of the first people to see him. That fact ALONE would be more than enough to make him a very special person in my life. He was the one who told me that he had red hair. Being a redhead himself, Dr. Heiner piped up, “You realize this means he is going to be a genius, right?”

When Matthew passed away and I was writing his obituary, I included Dr.Heiner. Matthew’s life was so short that there were not many people who made a significant impact with him outside of family and friends. He came to bug’s funeral and he was very helpful to me when I was dealing with the enormous fallout that happened because of Matthew’s death. He was non-judgmental, loving and wise.

It was very sad to know that he and his beautiful family are going through such a horrible loss, knowing what I know. I waited a very long time in the receiving line to see him and his lovely wife. I recognized the looks on their faces and I just cannot express how my heart hurt for them. For what they have been through and for what is ahead of them.

You would think that someone who has had a son die would know better what to say, but I didn’t.  Even those who have lived through it are at a loss of what to say in the face of such awful tragedy like this.  So? I just went on instinct, and I hugged both of them and told them how very sorry I was and how I had been thinking of them. There were some tears. There was also a good deal of laughter. (I know that also may sound strange, but honestly, it’s how I deal with things like this and besides, Dr. Heiner started it!)

I am very grateful that they had 20 years of memories that they can hold close to them. I envy that. I know that probably sounds petty of me, and some of you may wonder how in the world anyone could envy people who have had such a huge loss, but I would give anything to have had more than 4 months with my little bug, to have seen what kind of man Matthew would have grown into, even if it meant ultimately saying goodbye.

However, Dr.Heiner said something very profound during the eulogy. He said that even if he had known David would pass away at 20, he would have had him again in a heartbeat. I feel the same way about my little bug. Even though my time as his mother was so very, very short, he was absolutely precious. I would do it all again without hesitation.

Above everything, the sentiment that was expressed time and time again during the service is how each person would give anything to have more time with David. Things like this are so difficult but they are also needed to put life into perspective. To value what you have. To hug those you love a little tighter and give thanks that they are still here and safe.

So? What are you waiting for? Go tell someone you love them.

There is a cloud of melancholy surrounding my snug little cottage* tonight.

For the last few weeks it has been quietly seeping in through the cracks in the mortar and inadequately sealed windows till it hangs thick in the air like smoke from cookies burning in the oven.

There is something about Christmas that makes you yearn for loved ones. Even though the holidays can try the patience of a saint, if you have those you truly love with you the moments of joy can be so very sweet. When you are separated from those you love it is like there is a missing chunk in those moments of joy where that person is supposed to be. You always wish that they were there with you, celebrating and sharing the joy.

When death is the thing that separates you the pain can be acute.

Christmas is always difficult when you have lost a loved one. Getting through the season is hard enough when you don’t do anything to make it worse on yourself or your family. I did that very thing. In a pretty big way.

I forgot about him.

Forgot about Matthew, my sweet Little Bug.

For the very first time in four years, I didn’t go to the cemetery on a holiday.

While I cannot bring myself to visit his grave site very often, I always take something to him and visit on every holiday. It is my way of loving on him and feeling like my little family is still together in some way. Sometimes family is with me, sometimes they are not; I don’t require anyone else to go with me to the cemetery. Every year, I traipse through the snow and ice and unearth his headstone, lay a wreath or a tree down, sing to him and tell him that I miss him.

OH, how I miss him.

It didn’t happen this year.

What makes me feel worse is that very late on Christmas Eve night I remembered and I thought to myself, “We’ll stop with the family on our way over to Brigitte’s for dinner and games.”

It didn’t happen because I forgot.

I FORGOT.

I forgot because I was happy.

The last two Christmases were spectacularly hard. I was basically numb for the first two years but it caught up to me and struck with a vengeance. One day I will write about them, but today is not that day. Let’s just say that I looked into the face of hell and I am not entirely sure why or how I am still here.

This year was better.

On Christmas Day I was enjoying myself, my family and friends.

It came and went and there he lay, all alone.

Totally forgotten by his momma.

I am six hundred different kinds of suck.

Now that the holiday is over, I can feel the full weight of it and feel terrible. I’m sitting here creating my own little thunderstorm with big, fat tears spattering all over my keyboard and sniffing and honking into a wad of tissues. At times like this, it is like a war in my head and my heart. There is the side that has so much self-hatred and guilt for “Letting this happen” and the side that knows that I loved my son and would give anything to have prevented his death if I could. I would lay down my life for his without even batting an eye.

It’s an exhausting struggle at times. Sometimes the self-loathing wins, sometimes not. More and more over the years the self-loathing gets beaten up and put away. The last four Christmas’s have been hell on earth and I know in my head that I shouldn’t beat myself up for being happy enough to let the pain go for the holiday’s. That Bug wouldn’t want that for anything.

My head knows it.

Try telling that to my heart, somebody.

I feel things deeply. I also hold onto painful things much longer than I should. I know it sounds odd, but it is like letting go of that horrible pain is letting go of HIM. The loss of my Little Bug was so awful, so traumatic, so final. It feels like it SHOULD hurt forever. That each and every day SHOULD SUCK FOREVER AND EVER, AMEN.

It’s been 1,558 days since the worst moment of my life.

I’m tired, people. Tired of the hurt, bitterness and anger.

Worn out from wishing that my life were different.

I feel very alone right now.

Except…I know in my heart I’m not.

I have family that LOVED my little one almost as much as I did. I have the most awesome friends in.the.whole.freaking.world. It takes extraordinary people to hold and cling onto me in the flames of the craziest, most destructive hell imaginable. They are all still here. Unbelievable. My gratitude to everyone in this paragraph is unending and indescribable.

And then there are you lovely people. My bloggity family and friends. The most helpful thing for me is that you are here 24-7 for me to pour out my heart to. I need that. Oh, how I need that. Things like this build and build inside me and having the ability to write my thoughts out here have helped me more than you know.

I have snotted in person to a few kind people who are very understanding. I have poured out my heart on the phone to a wise soul and my sister in name and spirit.

I have had so many email exchanges that have truly warmed my heart and even made me chuckle in sincere appreciation when you said that you hurt so much for me after reading my archives that you had to watch “SuperBad” at 1 am so that you could recover and sleep. (Humor is sometimes the only thing that makes me feel better. She gets that.)

These hugs of comfort in my inbox are so appreciated.**

I have also taken some comfort knowing that there are other people out there like me. Even if I just lurk on their blogs it is a comfort to know that there are people that “Get it”. That seem to mourn in similar ways. One that is particularly wrenching is another blogger who lost her “Little Bug”, too. These people don’t just kindly sympathize. They empathize. They know exactly what it is like to have that kind of fear and loss. To be in this horrible, exclusive club that nobody ever, ever wants to be a member of.

No matter my raging anger and bitterness that I have (OH, how I have it), I am eternally thankful that I have all this love and caring around me. Many days is the only armor that I have against the never ending hurt that seems to go on and on. I am doing so much better than I was and hopefully, more love and happiness will seep in and replace so many of the ugly wounds that I have on my heart.

I know that my son forgives me for forgetting him.

I will have to find some way of forgiving myself for this lapse in memory.

On a bigger scale, I know that one day, one day that is NOT today, I will work on forgiving myself for failing to protect him from things I had no control over.

One day at a time.

*If you can equate a 1918 bungalow built by cowhands in their spare time as a snug little ANYTHING.

**I know there are so many more of you. PLEASE forgive me for not putting everyone on here. My husband is starting to bitch at me to help him clean the house.

I visited my son’s grave today.

There was no special reason. No holiday or anniversary. No family or friends that live far away who wanted to pay their respects. I was just driving and saw the snow on the ground and wanted to check on my son, clean up his grave, and remove the decorations that I put up for Autumn.

Matthew is buried in a beautiful spot. We put him next to family, a cousin of Jonathan’s that was killed in a car crash with his grandmother when she was only 19. It makes me feel better that his cousin is close by. I will be buried near him, but not next to him because that space was occupied, which makes me very sad.

It used to make me angry.

The grave right next to my son is occupied by what they call a “Pauper grave”. Meaning, that the plot was donated and the family doesn’t have the resources for a headstone. There is a metal marker that has an index card with typing on it. The womans name has been obliterated. All I know is that death occurred in July of 1998 and that she was only 41 at the time of passing.

In the four years since my Little Bug has passed, my feelings about “Her” have changed. It’s still hard to know that this stranger gets a place that I yearn to have, but instead of being angry, I began to be curious about this neighbor of my son. Who was she? What was she like? Did she have any family?

It’s hard not to think about “Her” when I visit the cemetery. She makes her presence known. That marker is quite close to Bug’s headstone and has very sharp corners. I don’t think that there has been a gathering there where someone’s pants, legs or coat don’t get ripped on the edges of that sharp, cold metal.

I also notice her because she has never, ever had one flower or sign of visitation in all the years I’ve been going to see my boy. It made me feel so bad for this woman.

For “Her”.

My family felt bad as well. So now, whenever we decorate or bring things to Bug, we put a little something on her grave, too. It’s the least I can do for someone who will lay next to my little one for all time.

It has come to give me a little comfort in a place and situation that is terrible.

Going to the cemetery to see my son is very difficult for me. I don’t go there often. I know that many people take comfort in visiting the graves of their loved ones, it brings them peace. It is not that I don’t WANT to go. I do. Because I miss my son. There are times where my desire to go and be in the same proximity of where my baby boy is is so overwhelming that I’ve gone up in the middle of the night in my pajamas, just to lay down on the grass and cry.

Still…Being there is very hard on me.

I am a highly tangible person. When Matthew died, I ran around like a crazy person buying duplicates of every toy, blanket and special outfit I could find. Because I wanted him to be buried with the things that he loved in life, but I could.not.part.with.them. I needed those things to hold, cuddle, smell and cherish.

It’s hard for me to visit the place where he is buried because it is horrible for me to picture what has become of the little body that I loved and watched over. It’s hard to be there freezing and shivering and not freak out because I can’t do anything to make him warm. I know it makes no sense. I know that he can’t feel anything, but BABIES ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE COLD.

Not MY babies.

Not on MY watch.

I am very forgiving of people who “Say the wrong thing” to me. Really, I am. I know that you just don’t know what to say. Who would? Even I get tongue tied around grief and loss like mine and have difficulty knowing the right words to utter, so how on earth could I get upset with someone who is just trying to give me comfort?

Still…There are things that hurt. That frustrate and anger. Every person who has a loss like this has a “Trigger phrase” that is intolerable to them. The worst one for me is when someone that is well meaning tells me not to worry about the physical body of my son and that he is buried.

“You need to know he isn’t THERE anymore.”

Oh, YEA?

I beg to differ.

To me, he IS there!

What I loved, bathed, snuggled, lotioned, sang to and kissed IS BURIED RIGHT THERE UNDER SIX FEET OF EARTH AND HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE THINGS ARE HAPPENING TO HIS SWEET LITTLE BODY. And there is not one damn thing that I can do about it. Me, his mother. His protector. The person who is supposed to stop any and all bad things from touching his sweet toes is completely powerless to do or change anything about it.

I try very, very hard to not go there in my head, but some days it is just takes over and I’m sent to this special kind of hell. It’s more than I can bear.

So, going to see him at this place, this tangible reminder of the worst day of my life, is hard to do. To get through it I take comfort in whatever I can, whenever I can.

And today?

I got a little bit.

I parked my car, walked to Bug’s grave and saw that someone brought flowers to “Her”.

Someone remembered she was there.

Finally.

Even better? There was a card. Maybe I shouldn’t have read it, but after so many years and so much wondering, I had to know something about her. It was a simple statement written on the back of a Winnie the Pooh florist card:

“Mom, We love you and miss you dearly- The 4 of us are all here together for the first time at your grave since July 9, 1998. Love, Michael, Angie, Tony (Dad), Brandy”.

It made me ridiculously happy. While there is still no first or last name that I can give to “Her”, I know that she had the best name ever: MOM.

She had a family. Loved ones. People that loved her and cared about her and missed her. People that I could see, for whatever reason, were not able to watch over her final resting place and tend to her as they would like to.

I also felt grateful. Grateful that as long as I draw breath and have family, my child’s resting place will not be forgotten, but cared for and loved and watched over.

So will “Hers”.

I’ll make sure of it.

“Serving the Queens” is a blog I have been reading for a little while. Jen recently lost a family member (Sgt. Matthew Blaskowski) who was serving in the middle east when he was killed. Her posts about this just rip my heart out. Those who know me know that even though there are some things regarding the war that I am increasingly torn and confused about, I am extremely supportive and proud of our troops, their loved ones and what they have been going through.

In the end, though? This is not about the way and the circumstances that he died. It is about parents and loved ones that that lost their son, friend, uncle, cousin, nephew, sibling. I know what that is like. Maybe the fact that both of us lost sons named “Matthew” makes me more sentimental, I don’t know. I just know that I grieve for them.

Jen wrote and asked for some help from the blogosphere in support of Matt’s parents to try and give them some comfort during this horrible time.

Even though you don’t know them, I can say this from experience. EVERY word of support, love and comfort is treasured and cherished by grieving families. It doesn’t matter that they have never met you, and never will, it will help. Parents who have lost a child need all the help they can get.

They need comfort.

If you have even a moment today, I would appreciate you dropping a word. Jen is making it a card for Matt’s parents and would like to have it for the funeral, which is on Thursday. This is her email. It’s pretty straight forward.

Thank you.

I’ve never asked for site visits before, but I’d like your help with this. I’d like to make this link a card for Matt’s parents. I’d like to get as many comments as possible for them over the next couple of days and then give it to them. The funeral is Thursday; would like to have it finalized at that point.

Can you please post this link to your blog and direct commenter’s to it?

CLICK HERE TO LEAVE A COMMENT

It is for Terry & Cheryl Blaskowski, parents of Sgt. Matthew Blaskowski.

Comments will be moderated; no anti-war messages will be posted.

Please, please, do your magic friends, and pass this link along to your friends, who can pass it along to their friends…..

Jenn

(COMMENTS OFF)

It has been a long and varied couple of days.

Sadly, I found out my aunt Regina finally passed away last night.

The news came toward the end a really busy and fun couple of days. I met with three awesome Bloggity Friends in Salt Lake and had a GREAT time that included finally going to IKEA. (Mmmm. Meatballs. MMM…) and ending up on the news. (Don’t worry it was good. You’re not going to find out I am really a man or anything.)

I will write about it all a little later, because JAMES HAS SUPER GLUED CHRISTOPHER’S FREAKING ARMPITS TOGETHER! Apparently, I now have to figure out how to unstick them without ripping off his entire epidermal layer. Yay.

SuckasuckaSUCK

*************************

Update to the Update

The acetone worked. Christopher (And his armpits) are recovering with IKEA Sweet Oat cookie crisps and Cartoon Network. I’m still pretty much numb about my aunt. I know I’ll deal with it later, but for now I’m just going to move on and talk about happier things.

Mandi (Center), Jen (Left) and I met in Salt Lake and had a ‘Girly Slumber Party’ at a hotel. I kept calling Mandi, “Erika” all night because way back in the day when I first started reading her I got her and another fabulous blogger mixed up. It is rather embarassing. Sigh.

We ate food at restaurant called, “The Dodo”. It was a decent place to eat despite having a huge mural of Dodo’s wearing huge diamond rings covering one wall.

After dinner and searching for an hour for our lost, parked car in the gateway parking complex, we headed back to the hotel to have hours of laughing, pedicures, “Midnight Margaritas”. They were virgin of course. They’re active LDS and I think alcohol tastes like ass.

As for the news and our “Three Seconds of Fame”:

After acquiring about 3 refreshing hours of sleep, Jen (Who I only got 2 photos of on my camera. We mainly shot with Mandi’s. EEK!)went to work and Mandi and I headed up to foothill village to watch my fabulous celebrity chef friend, Bryan do a cooking segment on the news. It was awesome. The cameraman, Kevin, was hilarious and let us feel special by wearing his press credentials and suggesting “Action Shot” poses. He’s a camera man. He knows the value of a great pose!

Bryan being Bryan he managed to work a shot of us into the broadcast. Apparently, Mandi and I are the sort of people that infiltrate newscasts because we smell good pot roast on the street. Bryan is such a loveable dork sometimes. I heart him. You can see our 3 seconds of fame here .We’re around the two minute mark. Don’t blink. You’ll miss it.

After chatting at Starbucks with everyone, Jen met us and we went to IKEA. It was a really overwhelming experience. Fabulous and amazing but it is so huge and there are so many great things at such great prices that it sort of fried my brain with over stimulation. By the end of it we were totally worn out.

BUT.

Not worn out enough for Mandi and I to go clothes shopping after saying farewell to Jen. Here are some of the spoils.

Teals and blues seem to be the color of the season for both of us.

I bought both of us these fantabulous matching earrings as a gift to Mandi and she bought me a stuffed DODO bird from IKEA in homage of the restaurant we ate at. We noticed the mural with the dodo’s wearing bling in the first place when she turned to me and said, “I am not saying that you remind me of a turkey or anything, but you and the turkey on the wall are wearing the same ring”

I know I’ll see these two again. Mandi may come up to Logan before she leaves and as for Jen I FINALLY HAVE SOMEONE WHO WILL GO SEE NEIL DIAMOND WITH ME!!!! Woot.

I had a total blast.

Mwah!

I’m still in Mesa.

I made it to the funeral. It was a beautiful service and I managed to look quite presentable and I even smelled very nice and non-offensive. I had a great visit with all my family.  I even got to see a blogging friend, Heather. She provided a much needed evening of relief from all the grief and sadness.  I will post about our night when I am able to upload my photos.

Anyway.

I was supposed to be on my way home today, and indeed, I was packed, said goodbye to family, and my sister and I were just going to stop by to see my aunt, Regina in the ICU to say goodbye and be on our way.

Nope.

I need to rewind slightly.  For those that are confused: I have an aunt who is in ICU. Her name is Regina and she is the eldest sister of my mother.  I have another aunt (Pauline, who is the middle sister to my mother) who just passed away from pancreatic cancer and her funeral was held on Monday morning.  They both live here in Mesa, Arizona.

We thought my aunt Regina was actually doing very well. Despite having had a massive transfusion a few days ago, she was taken off her ventilator and was talking to everyone. She told them that she never wanted a tube stuck down her throat again.  They were getting ready to discharge her to more of a hospice care setting as of Monday morning at the funeral.

When we went to the graveside we found out that the siblings of my aunt Regina had been called to the hospital. The minute the last “Amen” was said we took off to the hospital to see what was happening. It was all very dramatic, even for me.

Because the hospital couldn’t get a hold of anyone  (Cell phones off during the service) they re-intebated my aunt despite this being against her and the family’s wishes.  When everyone arrived, they called a meeting and decided to take her off the ventilator.  Then, at the last minute, another doctor came in and said that he strongly felt that this was just a hiccup in her progression and that if they gave it 72 hours to work, she could get a lot better. As they already lost their dad, Regina’s kids consulted with all the aunts and uncles and everyone felt good about keeping her on the respirator given the information that they had.

The aunts and uncles who came down from Utah (Including my parents) all said their goodbye’s and most went home yesterday.

Back to this morning.  It seems that there was a lot of misrepresentation about her prognosis. That she is too sick to ever leave the hospital and that keeping her on the ventilator was prolonging pain and could be creating a much worse situation in the end.

It took most of the day and much of the night, but finally everyone got on the same page and they extebated her.  So, now?  We wait. They will make her comfortable and she will pass away.

I don’t want to talk about what the last 16 hours have been like.  For one, you can’t really ever describe just how hard it hits you to see someone you love so sick and in that kind of state. It seems unreal and you just can’t know the extreme nature of it until you go in and see it.  For another, it has all been too painful, spiritual, and emotionally exhausting to try and relay right now. 

This day brought me back to the worst day of my life and I hate revisiting it in such an extreme way.

BUT. 

I will say that however much hell I’ve re-lived by being in this kind of setting has been worth it because I have been ABLE to go through it and still be able to give comfort to my grieving family.  I wouldn’t have been able to set foot across the door a year ago. I would have run away from it. I just couldn’t have done it.

So.  Here I sit. I don’t know when I will be home except that I know we have to get my sister home by Saturday for her daughter’s wedding reception.

I’ll try to keep in touch. Thanks for all the kind words. It helps more than I can say.

P.S. My cell phone reception sucks a duck out here. For everyone who has called, I just want you to know I see your missed calls and love you for them.  I promise to try and get all of this out and delt with while I’m here so I am not a perpetual sad sack of crap for you all.

My aunt died tonight.

It hurts.

**Edit. This post is about my son that died. I realize that this is regurgetation of facts/feelings for a lot of you. Many of you have offered condolences repeatedly. They are ALWAYS welcome, but please, do not feel like you have to keep repeating yourself if you feel like a broken record. I know that you love and care for me and my family but I realize that sometimes all that needs to be said has already. THANK YOU!**

Four years ago, right around this time of the morning, I was at the hospital, completely sick of being in labor and wondering many things.

“I wonder how big he’ll be?”

“I wonder if he’ll be as cute as my other boys?”

“I wonder what he’ll look like?”

“I wonder WHEN THE FREAK THIS WILL BE OVER ALREADY!!!!”

(FYI-When you are in hard labor, the last question usually trumps all the previous ones.)

Matthew was born three weeks early. He was due on June 26th and was born on June 7th. This was done deliberately because I was having a difficult time carrying him and been hospitalized a number of times because of it. All of my children came early, but not by three weeks. I worried about his size. James and Christopher were both in the 6 pound range when they were born, and in all the photos their hospital “Going home” outfits were drowning them. I knew Matthew would be smaller. So, I went out and got a tiny preemie outfit that was adorable and packed it in my bag.

Everyone was placing bets on how bit he would be. I guessed five lbs, but Jonathan had more conviction about his manly genetics and so he guessed 7 lbs.

Matthew weighed 8 lbs. 3 oz and was 20 inches long at three weeks early!!! He would have been 12 lbs if he had been on time!!!!

No wonder I was having such a hard time carrying him! He had red hair and was just huge. I called him my little highland warrior. I loved and adored him immediately. Jonathan was so proud. It was a very happy day for everyone. The following months were happy, productive and some of the best times my family experienced.

I don’t mean to be biased, but he was just the cutest baby. SEE?

I have about a million photos of him munching on his “Sucky thing” because I loved it. I could hang out all day and watch him. I was so happy the 3 months and 16 days that he was here. I cannot believe that he would have been four years old today. Where has the time gone?

I have a lot of people ask me if it has gotten easier as the years go by without my little bug. My answer is a resounding “Yes and No”.

I am still full of wondering questions, many like the ones I pondered on the day he was born.

“I wonder what he would look like now?”

“I wonder if his hair would still be red?”

“I wonder if he is ever here with me?”

“I wonder why this had to happen to him and our family? WHY?”

I have had some really meaningful and deep email exchanges about a mother who lost her baby a few months ago. They have made me reflect on the past a lot this week. I remember what those first months were like- I wanted more than anything to have a remote control to fast forward through all the horrible pain and get to the point where it was bearable. At the same time I didn’t want that pain to die down or go away because that is how you SHOULD feel when your baby dies. It should never abate, never subside because he was that important to me. His loss was that devastating and if the pain went away, somehow it seemed like it would be a slap in the face to how important he was to my life.

Now that some time has passed, I can see the flaws in that argument a little better, but I still hold on to a lot of things regarding Matthew and I still feel scared to let them go. I’m stubborn like that. I hate that so many of my acute memories of him are fading, I have trouble remembering a lot and there are many sleepless nights that I lay in bed desperately trying to recall everything I can. “What time did he used to go down for a nap?” “How often was he eating at the end” “Which outfits were my favorite?” “Did he ever get to see a thunderstorm? I can’t remember!”.

Thankfully, there are some moments that will NEVER go away. How I used to kiss the bridge of his nose, the way he sat in his bouncer on the day he noticed his hands for the first time. How he looked sucking happily on his pacifier and the little noises that come with frustrated pacifier munching and the time he was so desperate to eat when I was out of the shower he latched on to my upper arm and gave me an arm hickey. His brothers holding him, him sleeping on Jon’s chest.

Those memories are mine. Hopefully forever. They are the things that I think about more and more instead of the day that he died. They are the things that I want to remember and focus on and that is getting easier to do.

I am doing better. There is so much more light and hope in my life than there has been in a long time. I am trying. I am looking (Even if it is so cautiously, one tiny millemeter at a time) at ways to be better, happy and to keep moving forward. I get stalled a lot but I am trying. As I said, this is still so hard. It created this HUGE ripple effect that touched, invaded and destroyed and damaged many, many parts of my life in ways I would never have imagined and I have so MUCH fallout that I am still dealing with. There are so many days I just feel overwhelmed, bitter, angry and lost.

BUT.

I think it helps to just be thankful. I don’t do this very well because of my inherent pessimistic attitude, but I’m trying and it happens more and more often .Thankful that he was here at all. Thankful that I got to be his mom. Thankful for all the good things I have left.

I think he’d want it that way.

Happy Birthday, Little Bug. I miss you. I think about you. I love you. Always.

Love,

Momma.