Looking Back-2012

To 2012-

Oh, 2012...I would like to simply say farewell and "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" but you not only brought me sorrow and pain, you somehow also managed to bring me great joys and priceless memories.

I will admit, that it is more than difficult to pick out the good in the sea of bad (and just plain awful) that you have provided me with this past year, but I will do my best to point those out.

In January I was able to celebrate my 26th birthday on this earth with my sweet husband, darling little girl, and precious little boy kicking away in my belly. I also began, what I thought would be a short stint, as a SAHM in order to spend quality time with our Lyla before she was no longer an only child and before we would send her off to school in the fall.

February brought Valentine's day...my 10th Valentine's day with my love. I remember trying to find something "cute" to wear to dinner. Hah...I was approximately 7 months pregnant...there was nothing that would look cute at that point. It was an enjoyable night, never mind the severe heartburn that accompanied the delicious dinner we shared. Waylon was promoted to Tech Sergeant in the Guard and was hopefully soon to be transferred to a base a little closer to TN.

A baby sprinkle was thrown in honor of our newest addition in March and it was nothing short of wonderful. My sister, sis-in-law, and aunts did an amazing job of helping us to prepare for what we thought was soon coming...a little boy to cuddle and take care of. I was overwhelmed with love and gifts...and so was big sister Lyla!

April, oh April, not only filled my heart with so much love that I thought it could burst, but  actually made it feel as if it did burst, and crumble into a million and one pieces. We celebrated our Easter weekend the first weekend of April in SC with friends and participated in a beautiful wedding along the way. I was far from the most elegant bridesmaid you had ever seen, seeing as to though I was 9 months pregnant, but Lyla was a perfect little flower girl. I was able to announce to the world that my little brother was going to be a daddy and was excited that our Wyatt would have someone so close to his age to play with as they grew up. Our weekly doctor's visits had commenced and our anxiety levels were rising....we would soon meet our prince; and we did. On April 24th our lives changed forever, as silence enclosed around us. We met the most perfect little boy on April 25th, and after hours of snuggling and sharing him with others, we were forced to say our goodbyes. It's like someone gave a child a bright yellow balloon and then popped it before he had time to enjoy it. April 28th marked the day that we layed our son to rest in his eternal crib. April will always be a tricky month for me....full of an array of emotions, but it will always be Wyatt's month.

In May, I celebrated (if you can call it that) my first Mother's Day as a mother of 2, only problem being there was only one in my arms that day. I quickly realized I was becoming a different person than I was just one month before. I was forced to smile as others around me brought living babies into this world and into their lives as I was left with empty arms. I searched for ways to remember and help others to remember that Wyatt's life was significant.  Lyla's smile began to be my light through the dark tunnels and Waylon celebrated his 27th birthday. Wyatt had been in Heaven for one month.

Eight years of marriage to my high school sweetheart was celebrated in June; I am so thankful for him and his beautiful heart. He carries me when I cannot seem to walk. We also came upon another difficult holiday in June: Father's Day. Oh how I wished there had been a baby boy in my husband's arms that day. In June we began to find a little sunshine in each day, as a family. We attended weddings, family gatherings, and took spontaneous family outings. All of those things may seem simple, but to someone who was just learning to live again, they were large feats. I was becoming proud of our fighting family. We were fighting off grief while still honoring our son's short life. Our angel had grown his wings 2 months prior.

July brought about more holiday celebrations, visits with family, and days full of tears. It was storming on the 4th, so our little family of three went to dinner and a movie...what a wonderful night, although the pain of the missing piece was very adamant. Lyla and I spent a lot of time in Ky with family and friends during our summer vacation. We swam, shopped, played, visited little brother, and basically relaxed, all while surrounded by an abundance of love and support. Our sweet boy celebrated his third month with Jesus.

We took a short trip to SC in August in which we visited good friends and places. We indulged in a mini vacation in the mountains on our way home to TN. I sent my baby girl off to kindergarten with a heavy heart. Waylon and I became the proud GOD parents to a sweet little girl, a little girl, who has played a big part in many of my true smiles...you know, the smiles that can be seen in the eyes? I didn't know there was a difference in types of smiles until I looked back at photos of myself taken over the previous months. Wyatt had been an angel for 4 months.

September was a busy month, to say the least. Waylon was finally transferred to a guard base (a little) closer to home. Our lovely little princess celebrated her 5th birthday  and it was a wonderful day spent with family and friends.  Sweet friends drove from SC in order to be here for Lyla's big day and she was more than happy to have them here. Wyatt made his appearance in the form of a butterfly in one of big sister's gift bags; he must've known that I needed him at that moment...you see, for over a year I had pictured a baby in all of Lyla's next birthday pictures...our baby. Lyla's little cousin Lucian now also shares her special day, as my sister-in-law and brother welcomed their first child on that September day. Lyla decided to release a balloon after her party in hopes that it would reach her brother in Heaven. A sliver of happy news also made its way into our lives in this month.
 We were 5 months closer to seeing our son again.

Our annual vacation occurred at the beginning of October, in which we flew to California to spend time with great friends. It was a much enjoyed, much needed vacation. We traveled to Lake Tahoe and Calaveras State Park among other adventures. We enjoyed everything down to the plane rides.
Lyla had her first fall break from school, and was more than ready to return before it was even over. I somehow managed to pass two of my four needed tests that are needed in order to gain a teaching certification for the state of TN and even put myself on the substitute list for Lyla's school...oh my, I was stepping out.  Lyla decided to be a blue butterfly ballerina for Halloween and I reluctantly thought back to the cute puppy dog costume that had been waiting for our boy. Wyatt should have been celebrating his half birthday.

November brought about a big lump in my throat. How was I suppose to handle the holidays without my boy? He was suppose to have been here...maybe even trying a little bite of that delicious turkey! We spent Thanksgiving in Ky with family eating meal, after meal, after meal. I often pictured Wyatt at the family gatherings, and forced myself to hold back the rushing waters. All in all, November was an okay month. I began to sub more and met some very kind people along the way. I took Lyla to her first birthday party for a friend from school; she was ecstatic. Waylon plucked two angel tree tags from a lowly tree and we purchased Christmas presents for a boy and girl who otherwise wouldn't have had a gift to open. Our boy had been gone for 7 months.

In December, I passed my remaining two certification tests, and gained my license to teach in TN (finally).  I created a Christmas card to send out to the masses with the fear of leaving out our boy, so I included a picture of big sister and the pinwheel. That'll have to do. I reluctantly put up Christmas decorations and began to buy gifts in preparation for the soon approaching holiday. My hand wanted ever so badly to write "To: Wyatt" on a gift, just one gift. I forced myself to get into the holiday spirit, and Lyla helped me with that; she requested an Elf on the Shelf. To see her pure excitement each morning in December was enough to keep my smile plastered on my face for hours. We traveled to Ky for the holiday and spent it with family and friends. I was amazed by how much Wyatt was remembered throughout the festivities. My heart hurt, but felt pride all at the same time...I'm getting quite use to this feeling. We were greeted with a little snow the day after Christmas and had a fun time sledding on the farm. Our five year old princess lost her first tooth and seems all to eager to grow up. Wyatt should have woken up on Christmas day as a vivacious 8 month old.

As at least one tear has leaked from my eye everyday for the passed 251 days.

With that said, I can't count the number of smiles that have spread across my face this year.

It would feel wrong to say that 2012 was the worst year ever...I had a beautiful baby boy, spent another year married to my love, watched my baby girl grow into a little lady, and made lots of GOOD memories along with the bad.

I have been wounded and pushed down, but I have also gained strength and knowledge.

I have been shown love and compassion throughout this year in many expected and unexpected forms. So, it seems only right that my new year's resolution should be a simple one: pay it forward. I will strive to be kind to all and to spread hope, even when my hope is dimmed. I have learned that you simply never know what another person is going through and a kind gesture may change their entire day...if not life.

So I will leave my last blog post of this year with this: 2012, you were definitely not MY year,but you were another year in which my story has continued to be written, and for that, I am thankful.  I am excited (and nervous) to see what 2013 will have to add to that story.

P.S. please tell 2013 to be kind

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*

Day 15

I woke up in the middle of last night after an extremely weird dream. Bare with me now, because I'm going to try to explain it.

Picture a heart..a real heart, with the chambers, arteries, valves, and blood pumping through it. It was HUGE, and of course, bright red. It was all alone in total darkness.  It was MY heart. There were interesting things that I noticed about the heart in my dream. There were tiny scratches all over it, huge gaping wounds on the top, and parts that had appeared to be "patched up."

Okay, onto the weird (er) part...there were at least twenty people on scaffolding working on the giant heart. They were taping, gluing, hammering, sewing, and painting my heart. I could not see or recognize any of the workers faces, but I could FEEL various emotions as each injury was being worked on. I remember noticing that other defects were forming just as one would become "healed."

That was it. I woke up. I was unsure of how to feel about the dream, so I lay awake trying to contemplate the meaning behind it.

I'm sure some of you all have already formed your own opinions about my bizarre reverie. But here's mine:

The tiny scratches represent small events in my life that have left a mark on my heart, like moving and leaving friends and family behind, being set back involving self goals, or having my feelings hurt by someone I care about. The gaping wounds, to me, represent the damage that has been done to my heart since loosing my precious Wyatt. The patched up areas made me believe that those are the things in which I have forgicen others for causing. And, of course, the constantly occuring marks are everyday battles in which I face in this confusing world.

As you can guess, I believe that the "workers" in my dream were friends and family members who love me and are constantly trying to help me to heal. I noticed that no one was working on the big gaping wounds, however, and I'm not sure why. Maybe they will always be there? Maybe no one knows exactly where to start? Maybe the workers are afraid to "make matters worse" by touching the big sores?

I don't have all of the answers, but I do know this: those who have shown genuine compassion and love to me over the course of the past 6 months (and before) are definitely helping my heart to continue to pump adequately, allowing me to continue to live. I have been shown that many times, and I was shown it in its full glory last night. Last night was day 15 of a photography/grief project that I am taking part in. Across the globe, friends and family lit candles in remembrance of Wyatt and other angel babies that have left us all too soon. I was expecting a few family members to join me and possibly close friends. The response was overwhelming, and most didn't even have a prompt. Now, I am sure that some just "jumped on the bandwagon," but I'll give all the benefit of the doubt on this one.  Selfless and caring acts such as those are what bring smiles to my face and place a bandage on my ever-bleeding heart.

So, I say, thank you. Thank you for Day 15.

The Club

There is this exclusive club. Not just anyone is a member. The membership fees are extremely high and it's a lifetime commitment. Most people will never even know about this club... and members wish they were never considered a part of it.

 

The club consists of people of every race, gender, religious group, and culture. This club doesn't believe in discrimination. This club welcomes new members daily with open arms.

 

I am a member of this club. Some of you reading this are also members. Others may be thinking, " Why wasn't I invited? I want to be a part of the secret society!" I promise that you don't.

 

In order to gain admittance into the club you must pay a hefty price...the life of your child.

 

Once you become a member you are given a very distinct pair of shoes to wear. You can never take them off...it's not a choice. They are ugly shoes. Everyone either stares at the shoes or makes an effort never to look at the shoes. I found a poem that describes the shoes you get upon entering the elite group...I couldn't have said it better myself.


THESE SHOES

I wear a pair of shoes
They are ugly shoes
Uncomfortable shoes
I hate my shoes
Each day I wear them and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step
Yet, I continue to wear them
I get funny looks wearing these shoes
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs
They never talk about my shoes
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don't hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt
No woman deserves to wear these shoes
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.