My first Mother's Day without him

Holidays have been hard for some time now. We have spent a good majority of these celebratory occasions in the hospital, fighting for life. But this day; Mother's Day; it is specific to me. And this was my first mother's day without him. What a roller-coaster of emotion. I never know what to expect going into days like these; what emotion will occupy most of my time or what thoughts will pass through my mind. I usually just take it as it comes because trying to control it would be unrealistic and silly. Honestly, I was terrified of what the day would bring. I have done a pretty good job of taking time out of each day, or each week, to grieve his loss so it does not become overwhelming. Sometimes that means a few minutes and sometimes that means hours at a time.

Our Mother's Day started like any other family. My two-year-old ran into our room to wake me up and wish me a happy Mother's Day, which was obviously prompted by daddy. Funny thing is that it actually came out as "Happy Birthday, Mommy," instead of "Happy Mother's Day, Mommy." What a great way to start the day. I needed a laugh like that as as soon as I woke up, and how cute he looked trying to say the correct words. Then came the coffee and breakfast made, followed by texting and calling family members to wish them the same. I remember feeling grateful as I looked across the table to Jonathan, and then to Choice, as we all ate our eggs and waffles. I was grateful that I was able to spend this time with the family. This was new to us. Sitting down together as a family to eat. We had been split for so long, and moments like these made me feel like a normal family, and appreciate the time we all spend together. All things that seem simple to me now that we only have one child.  I also remember telling myself to bask in this grateful feeling, because I knew at some point, today would be painful. So, I sat there just a little bit longer, smiling at the silliness of our conversation. We spent most of the morning playing, laughing, and just being spontaneous. Doing what I wanted; what we wanted. Just spending time together. Going outside, reading books, watching TV.  And then came nap time. Daddy took Choice up to his room to get ready for his nap as a way to give me some free time alone, which in hindsight, is actually what I thought I wanted. I had planned to nap myself. But that is when it hit me.

I laid down in bed, tablet in hand, ready to watch my favorite shows. But my mind quickly turned to Conley. The distraction was gone and the laughter was on pause. It was quiet and I was alone. Usually, this is something I enjoy, and typically what I envision this day to be like. But, things obviously have changed. I quickly thought back to our breakfast in the morning so I could remember the feeling of happiness and joy before the obsession began. At this point, I know my grief cycle well enough that I have started welcoming it. When it hits me, it hits hard. I usually just dive into the grief so I can get through it; otherwise, I am not sure if I will make it past the heartache. And I don't want to get stuck in the grief or the heartache, because I have another child who deserves a mother who is present; especially since I was absent for long taking care of his brother. Sometimes looking at pictures and videos of Conley helps me get through the sadness, but sometimes it only makes it worse. Today was not a day that it helped to look at pictures, but I could not stop. Push through, right? I kept looking at pictures, remembering him and thinking about how much I missed him today. Remembering how much he taught me about life, about myself and especially about how to be a mother. I spent a good part of nap time crying for him. Desperately wishing I could have one more day with him or one more smile. My heart broke all over again when I looked at the picture of our final night at home, never knowing that he wouldn't return with us. I not only cried for him out of sadness, but I cried out of relief. I felt so thankful that I was not spending Mother's Day in the hospital; staring at my son on life support or watching him cry out in pain, like we had spent so many holidays. My heart also ached for the mothers who had children in the hospital on this very day; how it is so unfair that any mother should have to watch her child fight for their life. Somehow I ended up in Conley's room. I guess I wanted to feel closer to him; to let him know that I still miss him. It was in that moment that I found some comfort. There is no doubt in my heart that he is okay, and that he is happy now; that he is no longer suffering. It still does not make the sacrifice of giving my child back any easier. I finally closed my eyes and fell asleep, only to wake up to the laughter and the sweet voice of my two-year-old calling out for me. And, in that moment, I was thankful again. I made it through the grief. Coming out on the other side is always something to celebrate. It is easy to get stuck, but walking through and finding a reason to keep going - that is what makes it hard.

How is it that you can feel such extreme heartache at the same time you are feeling so overwhelmingly grateful?

Big Brother

Big brother. 

He'll always be the best big brother I know. A big brother who really never got to see his little brother, but still loved him to the moon and back. A big brother who shared his mommy endlessly, more than most siblings, even to the point of not seeing her for days. The big brother who always made sure his little brother knew how much he loved him by hugging, kissing, laying next to him, and laughing with him, even though their minutes together were numbered. The big brother who would run in the door from school and ask where his little brother was, and would be excited to wake up in the morning only so he could kiss his little brother goodbye. And, now, the big brother that no longer has a little brother; the big brother that is still trying to understand what all that means.

Many times I have thought about whether it is "better" that this situation happened now at a young age, or whether it would be easier if Choice was older. Usually, I fall on the side of being grateful that Choice maybe does not fully understand the reality of the situation. And then, day after day, I realize that he does understand; he just cannot express it like we adults do. And during these times, I wish he was older and was able to tell me what he is feeling. But, since he cannot, he shows it in his behavior and play- favorable and some not so favorable. Let's start with the favorable.

He's a bit obsessed with every baby he sees. At school, music, gymnastics, the store; literally everywhere. "Look mommy, it's a baby." "Baby, mommy. Right there." He ALWAYS wants to hug, kiss, or gently touch the baby's head, or cheeks, and of course, he does not quite understand fully what it means to ask for permission to touch other people. He just does. He pays all of his attention to the baby; sharing toys, helping the baby move or tickling the baby. That's his favorite. Tickling. He thinks it is hilarious; because his little brother always liked being tickled, so of course, every baby will like that, right? He may even push the "real" sibling aside as a way of protecting the baby, because to him, that is his baby; his little brother; his best friend. He is probably obsessed because he has not been able to do any of these things for a few months since his little brother passed away, and because he does not fully understand that he will never be able to kiss, hug or tickle his own little brother again. Yes, to you, the other mother, this might be weird and you might even be protective of your baby, looking at me with big, what the heck eyes. I get it. It's weird, and he does not ask permission, so some parents freak out about that. Germs, too. Germs and weirdness. But it's also love. And sometimes; well, let's face it, most of the time, I get caught up in the love and forget it's weird. 

Not only does he love babies, but he loves people. Old, young, black, white, blue, etc. You name it; he loves it. He may hug you or even overly attach to you. Stranger danger - what's that? Maybe he does this because he has experienced that his days with people are numbered. He has had many people come and go in his life already. Nurses, doctors, friends...all the people who used to visit and take care of his little brother religiously. He watched and took note. Don't forget about all the relatives and family friends who visited for a few weeks and spent many days celebrating his little brother. He loved all of the attention and visitors, because he genuinely loves people. But, now, everyone is gone, and no one visits his little brother anymore, and he does not fully understand what that means. All he knows is that the people are gone. So, sometimes, he clings. A lot. And fears you will be gone too, even though he just met you. He will probably take advantage of the times he sees you because history tells him time is limited. And that is also how he learned to survive when mommy was gone at the hospital with his little brother. He would find a stable attachment; someone who he knew would always be there; and cling. Until they were not there anymore. But he has seemed to expect that recently, and that is where the not so favorable comes in.

Being the mother of a son who lost his life is hard; without a doubt. There are no words. But, being a mother of a son who lost his baby brother, I am realizing that is hard too. (And then add being a mother of a special needs child who lost his special needs baby brother.) He knows, and he gets it; kind of. His behaviors are different, and the way he acts around mommy is different. During the daytime, he deliberately excludes mommy, because mommy was not there most of the days. She was taking care of little brother. So, big brother learned to adapt and play with others even better than he did before. He learned that he can be okay without mommy during the day because there are always other people there to be with him; teachers, friends, other parents. He adores his friends' parents at school, and can name every single one of them, because they brought stability to his somewhat chaotic life. He learned that he is okay without mommy during the day. And then night comes. At night, it is a different story. It is all about mommy. He screams out for mommy every night and will not let mommy leave until he is fully asleep. He literally feels the air as mommy moves away from him in bed and he shoots up begging her not to leave. He keeps one hand or foot on mommy at all times so he can tell if she tries to get out of bed. And he won't let daddy put him to sleep. Daddy cuddle, yeah right! And once mommy leaves the bed, he cries out "mommy, mommy, mommy" over and over. Heartbreaking.

And then I remember he is only two years old. Remember I mentioned that I have thought about whether it is better that this situation happened now at a young age, or whether it would be easier if Choice was older. During this time, I wish he was older, so he could tell me why he is calling out for me. Is he scared that I will leave him, like I used to in the middle of the night, to go be with his little brother in the hospital? Literally, if I was home, I used to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night to go to the hospital. Talk about splitting time between to two children - sleep and school were the only "safe" times to leave. Is he having nightmares about someone leaving him? Is he grieving the loss of his little brother? Is he confused where everyone went? Is this the product of his new medication, or a change in medication brands? (can't forget to rule that out!) Or is he just being two years old and having a sleep regression, or showing his will and control? As a mother, boundaries, routine and structure are important, but when you do not know exactly why your son is screaming out for you in the middle of the night, you question every decision. If he is grieving and fears that you will leave him, or that he will lose you too, and you belittle this emotion, then he will not see you as safe or protective? But if he is attempting to be in control, i.e. be a toddler, which could likely be the case, and you go in there to comfort him, he will learn to associate screaming and crying at the top of his lungs means mommy will come in. Who knows, right?!...the reality continues.

But what I do know is that big brother has always adjusted and transitioned well, with the help of his mommy and daddy. He is smart, independent, and strong willed. He will guide us just as he has always done, and we will listen. We will do what we need to do in order to understand what he is going through. Simple as that. The only simple thing about this complicated situation.