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.        

        

Capture Your Grief- 2012

October is pregnancy/infant loss awareness month.

I have chosen to take part in a photography project throughout the month of October. My goal will be to follow a list of subjects provided on the following link and to capture my grief through photographs using the guidleines on the website.  http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/2012/09/capture-your-grief-this-october-2012-for-pregnancy-infant-loss-awareness-month.html

I hope to be able to update for each day of October and fill in this post as I go, however, if I fall a few days behind, no worries, I will catch up. :)

I am praying that this project will be another healing outlet for me as it provides another glimpse for all of my readers into my heartbreak. This is for you, my sweet Wyatt.

Day 1: Sunrise

This beautiful photo was captured outside of my brother and sister-in-law's house in Jackson, TN.

I will forever treasure every single sunrise that I am able to witness because my baby boy never had the chance to see the sun come up with it's brilliant shades of color or to feel the warmth on his precious skin.

 

Day 2: Before Loss Self Portrait

This photo represents innocence to me. I was 36 weeks pregnant with our baby boy. We were fully expecting to have our perfect little family in less than 1 month from when this was taken. When I look at this picture I see a naive woman whose biggest concern at the time were her swollen feet and face. This photo projects happiness...happiness before there was any knowledge of the severe grief that would soon enter our lives. If I could go back in time....

 

Day 3: After Loss Self Portrait

 

Taken just over two weeks after our son grew his angel wings, and only five months ago from today, this picture was just the beginning of my life after loss. It was Mother's Day, and as you can see I was celebrating with my little girl. But a few things were missing: my genuine smile, true joy in my eyes, happiness in my heart, and a baby boy in my arms.



 

 

Day 4: Most Treasured Item

This particular day was a difficult one for me...I found it hard to choose 1 most treasured item, and the one thing I treasure the most is not tangible. The nine months that I spent as a happy expectant mother with her growing and active baby boy inside her womb is my biggest treasure. He was alive. He was well. Now, onto the reality of it all...the nurses at the hospital were kind enough to make me a very sweet memory book which contained numerous pictures, his foot prints, and my favorite, a lock of his sweet hair. THAT is my most treasured touchable thing.

 

Day 5: Memorial

After our loss many things were done in memory of our sweet boy. A friend bought and named a star for our little man, my aunt requested that a US flag be flown over the capital in honor of Wyatt, pinwheels were proudly displayed at the homes of friends and family members to symbolize their thoughts of our son, a tattoo with his name and the plane that was on his one and only piece of clothing was placed on my ankle, trees and plants were planted, shadow boxes were made, and then, of course, we had a stone set at the place of his forever bed. Wyatt receives many visitors at his memorial place and I'm so glad that he is where he is, although I would love so much to be closer to him.

 

 Day 6: What NOT to say

This response irks me to the bone. I can't fully explain it, and no, I have never been a believer in this statement. I feel as though it places some sort of blame on the people involved..like "oh, sorry, but you must've done something wrong, because there's a reason for everything." Um, no. Even if there is indeed a reason for the way that everything happens, the statement itself is not in the least bit comforting, neither are the following statements: "God needed another angel," "He was too perfect for this earth," " You are young, you can have more children," or " I can't even imagine if that happened to MY baby." Let's flip this around and pretend those things were said to you after you had just given birth to a lifeless baby and buried him before his first breathe. Would they help you to heal? Or simply make you mad? I think that that is a rhetorical question.

Day 7: What TO say

I realize that the above picture may a bit difficult to read, so I shall decipher it for you. Be real. Don't try to sugar coat or come up with the "right" words for the situation...there are none. Raw emotions mean more than cliche and forced responses. Tell me that you are sorry. Tell me that you miss him too. Tell me that I should be proud of BOTH of my children. Say his name...we didn't give him a name never to hear it spoken again. Lastly, don't be afraid to talk about him. You will not make me uncomfortable or any more sad than I already am. My responses might make you uncomfortable, but that is not my intention. I want to be honest and honor my baby in all of my words and actions...so if you aren't ready for the truth just offer a hug.

 

Day 8: Jewelry

Those who bought the above jewelry (and some that are not pictured) know me all to well. It was the perfect gesture to help me in my efforts to keep my son close and honor his life. I LOVE when people ask me about my jewelry, because it gives me a chance to talk about my boy.

Day 9: Special Place

I chose to list my "special place" as not an actual place, put a thing. My journal. When I write in my journal (and this is my Wyatt journal...Lyla has her own journal that I write in frequently) I am indeed in my very own special place...a place where no one can judge me for the thoughts and feelings that I may be having on that particular day....a place where I can imagine and dream of what life would be like if Wyatt were still here...and a place where I can look back on pasts entries to see how far I have come in six months. My journal is my own private, special place where I often find refuge in my own pen strokes.

 

Day 10: Symbol

 

Video of Wyatt singing along with Mommy through the pinwheel

 

Airplanes, butterflies, rainbows, pennies, and the wind (often felt and seen through pinwheels) are all symbols that remind me of our son. Singing or talking to the pinwheels allow me to feel as though I am communicating with my baby. It makes my heart feel like one giant ball of happiness and heartache when I see the pinwheel moving in response to my presence or voice.

 

Day 11: Supportive Family/Friends

To say we've been overwhelmed with supportive friends, family, and even strangers since our loss would be an understatement. Above is a picture of SOME of the cards we've received, along with a list of people who brought food to the funeral dinner, and the "guest book" from Wyatt's service. So much support. So much love.

 

Day 12: Scents

The blankie that is visible in all of Wyatt's pictures stays on my nightstand. I held it and rubbed it during his funeral because it reminded me of his soft hair. It also smelled like him. The scent is slowly fading, but I must make myself remember because I can still smell that sweet smell when I bury my face into the blankie.

 

Day 13: Signs

Rainbows have been painted in the sky on days that I've most needed to feel relief from grief( like Mother's Day). Butterflies have landed, and stayed for quite a while, on me which have often left me with a feeling of calmness and happiness. But the sign I'll use for this day is blunt and can't be ignored. My cousin captured this picture on the day of my daughter's birthday a we were driving around relentlessly trying to find helium for her balloons. Wyatt always knows when momma needs him the most.

 

Day 14: Community

I have received nothing but caring responses from those in the child loss community. I am in the process of creating an event to honor our Wyatt, but he was honored recently at an event for a sweet little angel baby girl named Ava. Ava's mommy was kind enough to include Wyatt in her event. What a sweet gesture.

 

Day 15: Wave of Light

 

The candle that we chose to light was given to us at Wyatt's funeral. On my husband's night stand sits a picture of our angel baby and one of his baby sister, Jennifer, whom he never got to meet. Our daughter actually lit our candle and we had quite the emotional night as people from all around lit candles in remembrance of our little guy. Our hearts were filled with sadness at all of the little ones taken all too soon from this world. We were also filled with pride when we think of the amount of lives that our little guy is affecting...and he's doing it all from Heaven.

Day 16: Release

The day of our son's funeral our daughter sent him a balloon to heaven. She also decided he need one on the day of her birthday. My sweet girl loves her brother.

Day 17: Anniversary/birthday/due date

Wyatt was born on April 25, 2012. His due date was May 9, 2012. We have yet to reach a yearly anniversary, but plan on a cemetery celebration on the spring for our boy.

Day 18: Family Portrait

Sadly, I will never have a picture of our whole family together. The top picture is at our daughters' fifth birthday party, and the bottom is the day we said hello and goodbye to our son.

Day 19: Project

My project is more of a challenge. I started a penny jar challenge on my blog that many family, friends, and even strangers have taken on. Read more about it here...http://kdforgey.blogspot.com/2012/07/penny-jar.html?m=0

Day 20: Charity/Organization

While, I was not fortunate enough to take advantage of this organization myself, I give realized that the pictures the hospital took are most most prized possessions. I support this organization and hope to donate to its wonderful, though saddening cause.

Day 21: Altar/Shrine/Sacred Place

Our memorial garden houses stones, plants, etc that were given to us after the loss of our son. We made the garden in the shape of a butterfly and it is visible from any of the front rooms of our house. A place all his own.

Day 22: Place of Care/Birth

Gateway in Clarksville, tn was the one and only place that I held my son. I had two of the best nurses imaginable, and the entire hospital was pretty accommodating to our family.

Day 23: Their Name/Their Photo

Wyatt Michael
Born sleeping at 38 weeks
7 lbs 6ounces, 21&3/4 inches
Love you to heaven and back

Day 24: Siblings