Eleven Months

He's almost been gone longer than he was here.

My Grace Is Gone.

Breathing Easier

I seem to be breathing a little easier tonight. Our Halloween ornaments are lit in their last hoorah before they come down for another year. The tint of the orange lights and the smell of harvest candles seem to be soothing us.

As I gladly put our first Halloween without Grey behind us, I am pleased to find that I am excited for the Christmas season to approach. As I rushed to take the Christmas ornaments down last year, only seeing Grey in them, I feel rushed this year to put them up for the exact same reason. I'm ready to sit on our couch in the hues of the blinking lights and remember our time together.

I find myself looking for singing hippos, caramel apple cider, and new ornaments to adorn our tree in his memory. We'll hang his stocking, stuffed with his Oatmeal (his favorite stuffed animal not the cereal), and make him as big a part of our Christmas as we can.

I guess I just find it surprising, although I miss him terribly, that I would be OK with enjoying Christmas because, especially in his last days, he enjoyed it so much. When we first brought him home to a Christmas filled house, he spent hours staring at the tree, laying in his bassinet or swinging in his swing. A year later, we would spend hours swaying him in front of that same tree to soothe him. Ry had picked out this goofy Hallmark ornament for him, Santa trying to stuff a hippo down the chimney. You'd push it's button and it would sing the 50's Christmas tune "I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas". Grey LOVED that ornament! When we first got it for him in November, he would demand that the song play over and over with an excited screech. During his last few days his loud demands were replaced by a subtle stroke of his fingers on my shoulder. Even then, his spirit was amazing!

And once again, I'm reminded how lucky I am to have been his mom. To think that maybe a little bit of that spirit came from me, from the love that I gave him, is, for this moment, enough. He was a happy baby. He was a strong baby. It was like he took every breathe knowing they were numbered, yet he smiled anyways.

I can do that. I can do that, because he did.

Little Red Bird

I have to remember that only I am responsible for my mood. It doesn't do me any good to let other's moods turn my bright spirit dark. The fact that I haven't figured out how to do this yet is frustrating. It was one of my goals when I started out in my bereavement counseling months ago. Now nine months into it, I feel that I'm further behind than when I started. And it's irritating, because I know better. Sometimes, it's just easier to give in. I'm so tired.

Twice this week I've found myself outside in the middle of the night, longing to feel closer to Grey. I find myself begging him to remind me how strong I can be when I need to be. I try to remind myself of all the things he's taught me; unconditional love, patience, compassion, hope. But in the coolness of Fall's midnight hours, tears run down my face and I wonder how I'll get through the night, much less this season, this lifetime.

I long to be the family we once were, before we knew what true loss was. By no means were we the perfect family, but we were not broken. Maybe it's just me that's broken.

As I walked out the door this morning, angered by it's start, I again found myself reaching out to Grey, talking in my head as to not be heard by little ears ahead of me. Then out from our shrub flew my little red bird. I thought he had long since headed south. Instead it looks as though he has made a home.

I see you. Please don't go.

Trick-Or-Treat

The anticipation of our first Halloween without Grey was much worse than the actual event. As I watched the clock, I went through last Halloween hour by hour; talking with the doctor, visitors, the spinal tap, discharging him without much hope, one dear friend waiting for me in the school parking lot wearing his Ray-Bans to hide his eyes, another dear friend holding a huge lion to welcome Grey home. All these things I will never forget.

As the witching hour approached, the boys got on their costumes and we headed out to our friend's family's Halloween party. She had asked us weeks in advance, knowing what the day could bring. We had such a great time! We also had the usual Morris drama. Ry got hit in the eye with a Velcro Nerf dart. It had to have hurt! He didn't even want to go Trick-or-Treating. But Bill, being the super dad that he is, picked him up and lugged him through the neighborhood.

I did find myself watching all the little ones that passed by, wondering what Grey would have been or how he would have enjoyed the night. I found myself looking for signs from him, and as always, he followed through. Lagging a bit behind the group, I passed a dad holding his little Yoda. I saw him staring at me from a distance, probably at my pumpkin t-shirt. As they walked past me I smiled. Then little Yoda threw me a really loud kiss. It was awesome!

As much as I enjoyed the party, emotionally what happened next made my evening. My best friend has recently become an aunt. It's been wonderful watching her grow. Not having kids of her own, it was hard for her to really know the bond that a mom feels for her baby. But now that she has Thomas, she gets it. Grey has made her appreciate Thomas more, and Thomas, in turn, has made her appreciate Grey and my other boys more. Anyways . . . I get a call from her that evening. I asked her what she was doing, expecting the usual answer of the yearly Halloween party in which she has spent too much to be dressed as Jesus. Instead, she told me she was spending Halloween taking Thomas Trick-or-Treating. My heart melted. She had called me to check in, tell me she loved me, and tell me how much she was missing Grey. It was all I could do to not cry. I told her I'd see her soon and we said our good-byes.

Coming down the home stretch, we hit the last few houses on the block.

"Trick-or-Treat!," I heard the boys yell. A familiar figure with devil horns on her head stood in the doorway of her brother's house. Ry was ecstatic!

"Mom, it's Titi (his name for Ceci)!"

And it was, with her little man Thomas. I walked in the house, warmed by the familiar blanket that is my best friend, always there when I need her most. I watched the joy in her eyes as she introduced me to Thomas. I saw the love in his as he followed her every step as I held him. It was a perfect end to a perfect evening.

Ceci has always told me that she sees so much of Grey in Thomas. Later that evening, Ceci text me, "Did you see Grey in Thomas?"

"I felt him as he kicked his legs while I was holding him," I text back.

Thank you Dunlaps & Hayworths. Thank you Ceci & Thomas. Thank you Grey.

Pumpkins In Pictures

Seth & his scary pumpkin.

Riley & his ninja vampire pumpkin.

The pumpkin we carved for Grey. It's an owl. Ry picked it out.
He said he thought Grey would like it. I love owls!



The boys' pumpkins.

Luke says he too old to carve a pumpkin.

However, he did grace us with his presence in this picture.

Worse For The Wear

I know that my posts are becoming less frequent, but it remains important to me to be positive while posting, and at times, especially lately, I'm just not there.

Sometimes the frustration of being stuck in Grey's loss overwhelms me. Grey's memory seems to be consuming me lately. It's hard to even describe how he's so present in my mind, and the memories that come to me, come to me at the least expected times. Like today, I decided to run out for lunch. I walked outside into the school parking lot, but I was immediately transported to the parking lot at Grey's memorial. I guess it was the smell of the cool weather, along with the cloudy day. School ended and I again headed for the door, bracing myself. As I opened the door and walked out, a person behind me commented disgustedly on the humidity and warmth that had moved in. And although the air was thick, I was able to breath a little easier. I worry that cloudy, cool days will always take me back to that day.

I think of Grey every time I make pumpkin pie, every time I smell a Glade vanilla plug-in, every time I see jungle animals. I think of him at every bath time, every dinner time, every bedtime. I think of him every time someone mentions snow, as we were lucky enough to take him out in it one midnight just two days before he died. I think of him when I smell syrup and oatmeal.

I could go on and on. I just hope that after December 12th, I won't compare everything that is today with everything that was a year ago. I read a quote that an incredible sister affected by her brother's loss to Krabbe posted. It said, 'There are moments that mark your life, moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same. And it is divided into two parts, before this and after this." The fact that my life, my family's life, has been marked by such an event saddens me.

At times, I wish I could fold up the aftermath of Grey's loss and stick it in my back pocket. Maybe then I could forget about it for awhile, maybe wash it. But inevitably, I would find it in the dryer, worse for the wear.

Perspective

I guess it's all perspective . . .

There are so many miserable people in this world. Maybe there are no more than usual. Maybe I just notice them more. I notice them in their nice cars, yelling at the speaker at McDonald's. I notice them, pulling their hair out as their children act like children in Target. I notice them in meetings, focusing on things that will soon pass.

Grief is a crazy thing. It has changed my perspective drastically. We all have choices to make, no matter the situation we're in. We can choose to be miserable, or we can choose to not. At times, I wonder where in the world I get the strength to not be miserable. I know I appreciate life more, love more, and my family and friends more. I know that if I were miserable, it would make everyone around me miserable too.

When I found out that Grey was terminal, I swore that I would not be "that mother who lost her baby". And if you know me, personally know me, you know that I fight that title every day. Because no matter how hard I try, I will always be that mother to somebody. Every day, I have to prove to that I am not bitter, destroyed, miserable.

Don't get me wrong, there are days that I am all those things at one time. But unless you really know me, unless you're one of those few people who really know where to look, you'd never see it.

I think of the gifts that Grey has given me often. So badly, I want to scream that they are just not enough. But I have to remember that there is always someone out there worse off than me. Somewhere, there is a mom who didn't get to say goodbye to her child before he died. Somewhere, there is a mom who doesn't know where her child is. Somewhere, there is a mom who watches her child suffer with a disease just like Grey's every day, begging God to ease his pain and take him Home. Somewhere, there is woman never even given the chance to be a mom. And somewhere, there is a mom about to lose her child and she will always wonder if she showed him enough love.

So I have to choose, every day, that I won't be miserable. I have to remember that if I had it all to do over again, I would do it exactly the same way just to spend 11 months with Grey. I'd do it all over, just so I could say that he was my son.

Grey was the best gift of all.

It's all perspective . . .

My perspective.