7 Months and Christmas Lists

It's so easy to do..I close my eyes and he's there...sitting up on a blanket smiling and manipulating his colorful and noisy toys in the middle of the living room floor. His hair is a rich brown, and unruly! His eyes are shaped like mine, and are oh so blue. His feet are almost the size of his big sister's already and his belly is plump and perfect. He looks at me as I call his name and he grins, baring four vibrant teeth in a mouth full of pink gums. I smile back, as my heart fills with the overwhelming sensation of the kind of love that only a mother can know.

And then I open my eyes. He's gone. The floor is bare. The house is quiet. And I'm alone with wet cheeks and an aching chest. All in the blink of an eye.

The past seven months have crept by and it feels like an eternity since I held my boy. But I can still remember every second of the painfully short time we had with him. Most days I only think of him as that newborn, because that's what he will forever be...my newborn baby. However, some days, I catch myself wondering what life would be like with my seven month old son. I long for the chaos and the extra duties. The tears flow when I realize that I should have the fireplace blocked off and the sockets all filled with plastic plugs to keep curious bodies from harm. But, there's no baby in this house.

And of course, it's Christmas time. I wasn't feeling too overly thrilled about decorating this year. I simply didn't have the motivation or want. After expressing my thoughts about minimal decorations to Waylon and picking a very excited Lyla up from school one day I looked to my left and this is what I saw...

 

Okay, baby boy, the Christmas tree WILL go up. :)

 

 

 

Now, what to do about the overwhelming need to buy baby boy gifts this year? I decided that I would go to one of the many department store trees and pluck off a tag to buy presents for a little boy who would be approximately seven months old. It would make me feel better, and would be helping out someone in need as well.

 

Well, Wyatt had another idea...a slightly better one. As Waylon was walking out of the county office building from paying his car taxes yesterday he saw a Christmas tree. The tree had two remaining tags hanging from it's meager branches. Neither were for an infant boy; however, the children represented on this particular tree are those that have been taken from their homes by the state due to abuse or neglect. Waylon signed up to provide Christmas presents to the 11 year old girl and 9 year old boy and walked out of the office building. Upon leaving the building guess what caught his eye? Why that's right...a shiny new penny lay sparkling on the cold, gray ground. Our boy approved of his Daddy's choice.

 

 So in honor of our Wyatt, and with the spirit of Christmas giving, we have bought presents for a special little girl and boy this year. The lists were very humble for young children and called for such things such as pajamas and books. Of course, we bought more than was asked for in hopes to surprise innocent eyes and allow them to know that there IS still some good in this scanty world.  So, although I will not be watching as my infant son opens his first Christmas presents in the glow of the lights on Christmas morning, I know that somewhere a young boy and girl will be smiling from ear to ear as they open theirs. 

The Box

When my brother, sister, and I were younger we had an old wooden toy box in which we kept our most treasured items. Of course, with three rambunctious kids, the box took quite a beating over the years, and was eventually moved to my grandparents' house, where it was then used to store extra quilts. The box has required many extra coats of paint and a few "face lifts" since its beginnings, but it has held sturdy and useful throughout the years.

Upon preparing Wyatt's nursery, we decided to take my grandmother up on her offer to bring the toy box home and put it to work once again being a shelter for a child's most precious belongings. My plan was to re-finish the toy box with a distressed look in order to coordinate with Wyatt's vintage themed nursery. The box that held so many of my special things, would now be his to do the same.

Well, when a baby didn't come home to claim the box as his own, it was placed in the garage...out of sight.

We soon after decided to use the toy box as Wyatt's chest; a place where we would keep everything of our baby's...in one. tiny. chest. Wyatt's Nanny took the toy box home with her and began the long and tedious task of stripping the paint and re-staining the toy box to get it to looking its best once again. Years of wear to the special box had caused the inside and back to need extra work as well. Nanny and Dave took great care to line the inside with cedar pieces, replace the parts that needed it, and to basically beautify the old box. It looks amazing and we are so grateful to them for the time, work, money, and love that was put into making the box like new, because now the most important duty of its time is upon it.

 

Waylon and I carefully placed all of Wyatt's "things" inside the newly made-over box, crying and shaking our heads in pure disbelief as we touched each and every item: the hat with his initials, the guestbook from the funeral, the metal airplane that once hung from the ceiling in his room, the blanket that was layed beneath him as his pictures were taken at the hospital, the hundreds of sympathy cards that were so thoughtfully sent our way, the pacifier that I had carefully packed in his diaper bag, the tiny diapers that never got to do their job, the album full of my pregnancy pictures showing a glowing and excited mommy, and the baby book that was started, but will never be completed, were among the many items.  We plan on hanging his Star certificate above the chest and placing the American flag, that was flown in his honor, in a shadow box to sit on the back of the old toy box.

Although the box will never hold my Wyatt's toys and treasures, it still holds mine...after all these years, the box still contains my most precious items...

Holiday-Phobia

It's fast and approaching. It's full of joy, family, love, lights, food, and laughter. It's busy and hectic, but always worth the stress. It's stocked full of dinners and parties and many family traditions. The music is uplifting and the waist lines are prepared to be stretched. What is it, you ask? Why, it's the most wonderful time of the year...

The few months out of the year that most look forward to (and some even prepare for) since the ending of the last holiday season. Thanksgiving and Christmas, and all of their glory, are in full view and coming in strong. Most people are welcoming their advance by Christmas shopping, preparing a menu for Thanksgiving dinner, making travel arrangements, and decorating.

Not this girl. I'm searching for all necessary and available protective gear in order to make it through the holidays without my baby boy. I'll need goggles to shield my eyes from the constant reminders that my Wyatt was suppose to be here with us this year: the posts and emails referring to things to be thankful for this year (granted, I'm aware that I have plenty to be thankful for, but my soul is still too wounded to pick out the roses and not be scratched by the thorns), the children unwrapping presents at family gatherings, the baby toys in the aisles screaming, "You should be buying me for your son!" as I hang my head and walk past, the sibling portraits with Santa that are likely to be displayed all over FaceBook and the mall and anywhere else I dare to venture, the references to "baby's first Christmas" on everything from ornaments to clothing to Christmas cards, the hurt and pain in my daughter's eyes as she visits brother's grave to give him her presents. They'd better be some damn good goggles.

  I'll be in search of earplugs to shelter my ears from the over played Christmas music in public as well as the overjoyed, annoying, yet well- meaning words of holiday well-wishers that will be hiding in every nook and cranny of the world (both real and cyber) until January 1st. I understand that people are ecstatic and feel the need to spread the joy throughout the holidays, however, I feel a tinge of guilt for not being as eager about the impending celebrations as in previous years when I hear and see other people's statements about this "most wonderful time of the year." I wonder how many are entering this delightful season with a broken heart and wounded character such as myself?

Lastly, I'll be looking for some really sticky, really good, really powerful tape. I'll need it for my heart. I want to wrap it up, and cover all the visible cracks and holes, so that it doesn't simply fall into a million pieces when I wake up on Christmas morning and realize that my baby boy should be 8 months old that very day. Instead of picking him up out of his crib and watching him and Sissy open presents from Santa with smiles and laughter abounding, I'll plant a smile on my face and continue on everyday, like I had for the past 8 months, for my precious baby girl and my savior of a husband. I'll even muster up the courage to visit Wyatt's grave and sing to him...maybe I'll even sing a Christmas song or two.

Many of you reading this want to say, "But, he will be celebrating our Lord's birthday in Heaven, with the one and only!" and I have thought about that and have tried to let it calm my anxiety, but here is what I have to say, "Would that statement make you feel okay if it were your son or daughter missing from your earthly life this holiday season?" Rest assured, these are not the angry words of falling christian, but the true feelings of a grieving mother.

This year there will be four stockings hanging from our mantle. One that will never be filled with goodies and never be touched by the soft and eager hands of it's person, but it will be there, bold and beautiful against the polished wood grain of the mantle, reminding us that our family will one day be whole again.

Lost?

One in four women lose a child to miscarriage, pregnancy, or infant LOSS.

But what many don't realize is that we have lost so much more than just our babies; I didn't just lose a newborn six months ago...

I lost an infant. I lost a toddler. I lost a child. I lost a teenager. I lost a young man.

I lost dreams.

I lost his holidays and his birthdays.

I lost chances to watch him grow and to parent him.

I lost the opportunities for late night feedings and early morning smiles.

I lost my naiveness and much of my hope for good things.

I lost my optimistic and "life is great" outlook on things.

I lost confidence.

I lost tears...many, many tears.

Wait a minute. I'm not sure "lost" is ever the right word to use here. I didn't "lose" anything.  It was taken from me.

Death TOOK my baby.

My joys of being his mother were all stolen as well and I will never, in this life, get any of that back.

My rose colored glasses were stripped off my face and I have been forced to view this terrifying place in all its realness. Be thankful if you are someone who gets to skip through this life wearing those tinted shades while so many others suffer with the reality of pain and loss. I don't mean that in a "I wish everyone had to suffer" sort of way, but really, be thankful.


My baby should be a giggling, sitting up, cooing 6th month old getting ready for his first Halloween with his big sister. However, he's not...but he was NOT lost. As long as I live, he will never be just another lost baby. He is my son, and I will spend all of my days making sure that his memory is kept alive.


*This was written on October 31st, 2012, but somehow did not post on that day*