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…honestly, I think I like cleaning up dog poop better than the elmusified food, caked and wedged into the tight and impossible to reach crevices of said highchair. Dog vomit even…at least that is usually out in the open – on our nicest carpet, in fact.
Sorry if I grossed you out.
It’s just one of those mornings. I already spilled an entired large container of vanilla yogurt on the kitchen floor and didn’t catch the dog OR the baby in time before they both were a creamy, sticky mess. But at least they smelled like a glade air freshener.
Speaking of nastiness. Sam and I were playing the ‘name sticky things’ game while he helped me clean up the yogurt debacle. So, imagine how my appetite nose-dived when he shouted to me from the the guest bathroom,
“Mom! I know something else that’s sticky! The toilet!”
Um, yay for me as a Holly Homemaker.
Not.
Anyway.
So, that’s a tame picture of Abby eating, by that way. She’s usually MUCH messier. For months, she refused all finger foods, opting to stick with her little stage 2 jars of purees. And then some sort of ravenous teenage boy emodied my 9 month old around the first of January. She skipped all stage 3 foods and went right to whatever we’re eating – nevermind she does not have a single tooth in her mouth. This child can eat.
So back to my initial point…I can clean up vomit of any kind: my own, my children’s, the dog’s…diapers don’t scare me…I scoff at laundry, toilet and tub stains…but I do not love detailing a highchair three times a day.
I love Abby.
NOT her highchair.
* * * *
Got another grosser than gross?
It snowed a foot last night. I watched it gather all night long in such industrious showers with the tiniest speckle of snowflakes, each piling on one the other in such architectural perfection. A foot is a big deal around here. Something to celebrate.
When I looked upon our new arctic landscape this morning, first thing I searched for was Will’s tree out our kitchen window, as it stands not much more than the snow measures. With the lantern Mark had staked on Will’s angelversary as a beacon, the little tree’s top cropped up through the snow and took my breath. It peeked in the perfect shape of a cross.
Pause.
One of my many awesome commentors, Sophie said: “It’s amazing how you can actually grow to love a tree,” in response to my post about planting Will’s tree last fall. And little did I truly know then what she knew. How much I have grown to love his tree in these past few months – as if it is the container for the deep love that I have to give Will that I cannot give to his body and spirit together.
I love that tree.
And so I freed it from the snow…
…while Abby napped and Sam made snow-angels and ate fistfuls of heavensent snow.
Yes, Sophie, I agree.
It is amazing how one can grow to love a tree.
Ack, things have been a little crazy around here since my last post. Mostly because Mark and I have both been battling with some sort of evil respiratory bug. Of course it would happen that this is also coincides with the first year that we have had a deductible on our insurance. So, I finally cajoled Mark to go to the local clinic this AM for some antibiotics as his manly bod did not seem to be fighting the good fight as well as I was. And for that we hacked a good amount of smackaroos. It is really too bad that we could not have paid in actual phlegm globbers, because we’re, like, loaded, with those.
Anyway, thanks so very much for the kind words and prayers and thoughts that you gave to us last week upon Will’s angelversary. I’ll admit the earlier part of the week was pretty rough. On the actual day, I tried to keep myself in ‘grief lite’ mode. I resisted the temptation to replay the entire day before I learned that Will died. Instead we slept in (well, cuddled in bed as a fam I should say). We spent the morning in our pajamas and ate homemade waffles and made plans to go to the Magic House (a local children’s museum) for the rest of the day. As we crossed the Mississippi river to the city, I dared myself to see it as the vision of the frozen river the day of Will’s death is seared in my memory.
And so I looked.
We were on a different bridge this journey, downriver where its wider, and though there was an island of ice in the middle of the river, the water streamed freely around it. And my breath seemed to free in that movement of water, as if it had been caught for a year and was now undammed with great force.
I did think of Will when we were at the Magic House. We talked about him a few times. When Sam went into the hospital playroom were they had a pretend nursery, we picked out a baby boy and named him William. Sam bathed him, diapered him, fed him, rocked him, changed him, swaddled him and put him to sleep. I cursed myself for forgetting my camera.
But all in all we just had fun. We played with bubbles and static electricity and magnets and water and blocks and musical instruments and shadow walls that remembered your shadow, and danced until we were huffing and puffing (or at least I was – which is not saying much) in front of a camera that projected a colored image of our movement that looked like a dozens of us. There was so much more there…it was actually dizzying.
We stopped for Mexican on the way home, practically too exhausted to eat.
And once we were home, we wrapped Abby up in a blanket, put Sam’s hat and gloves back on, and went out to the front yard. We looked to the sky where Will’s star is, near Gemini, and told him how much we missed him. And then we trudged through the snow to the backyard, Mark carrying a shepard’s hook and lantern and pitched the lantern right above Will’s tree. Sam steadied the lantern, and I stayed just long enough to snap a few pictures.
Just a few.
Because it was about five degrees out.
And we were freezing.
I fell asleep much easier than I expected I would, though it might have had to do with the Benadryl I took for this evil illness. Though there was no great levity on Thursday, since Will was still gone and would remain gone, there was just the slightest release in knowing that we had made it past the first ‘big’ anniversary. I’ve come to know, now, that I don’t expect the special times to get easy as if Will never was. How could I unremember my own child? But I am trying my best to embrace this life I have and live it to the fullest.
The day after Will’s angelversary, I brought Abby home still bundled from a car ride to take Sam to pre-school. She was looking so sweet and delicious, I had to snap a few pictures.
So there you are, my muddlement of a post. Here’s a good question for you: what do you do when you’re feeling down? If you have loss issues, have you dealt with your anniversaries or special days?
Will has taught me much.
So much.
And I know that I am better for his teaching.
He taught me to let go of pride, of vanity, and of the need to control the uncontrollable. He taught me to cry with abandon in the witness of others. He taught me to laugh in the midst of great sorrow. He taught me that life is a quilt of happiness stitched together with threads of sadness – that it is not the fun times that bring us together, but the hard times.
He taught me to be softer and less judgemental, to remember that everyone has a story. Not my story…but their own story of love and loss and joy and pain. He taught me to remember that the clutter of stuff we spend so much time acquiring means nothing – or at least very little. He taught me to savor small moments and let go of petty annoyances. He taught me to reach out for help even when my pride shouts at me to stay an island.
He taught me to lean on God above all others. He taught me to keep reaching for my husband’s hand even when we cannot look one another in the eye in our grief. He taught me of God’s goodness in the kindness of others. He taught me that tiny acts of love mean so very, very much in the wake of devastating loss. He taught me of perspective. He taught me of gentleness. He taught me of selflessness.
He taught me that darkness makes the day brighter. He taught me that death is not frightening. He taught me that life goes on with or without my participation.
He taught me to be brave.
He taught me to listen more and talk less. He taught me to want to make a difference in his memory.
I do believe that I am a better mom, a better wife, and a better person because of Will’s death. And yet, I would trade all that I have learned to have Will back but even for the shortest time…because I was made to be his momma. But I’ve come to believe that Will was made to be more than just my son…he was made to teach me and, hopefully, many others about things bigger than our tiny little blanketed worlds.
Today we remember our sweet William and celebrate our son. We see the depth of who he is in the reflection of our growth this past year. We are better for having our sweet little boy, but for the briefest time, on earth within me -
and we look forward, with great anticipation, to the day that we reunite with him among the angels.
Missing you with the depths of our souls, sweet boy,
and loving you more each day we’re apart.
We had our first official PPP party this past Friday. For those of you who did not grow in my family, a PPP party stands for “PJs, pop and popcorn” while watching a movie. Yes, I said “pop” – I grew up in Indiana. No, I did not grow up on a farm. But…yes, there was one across the street from us. Anyway, the PPP parties of old took place before microwave popcorn, or VCRs, or cable…back when we would anticipate the yearly showing of “The Wizard of Oz” or “The Sound of Music” with much joy.
Anyway, for our new PPP party, we decided to make it “PJs, pizza and popcorn” instead…because we embrace most opportunities to sew pizza into family traditions. But we also had pop, er…soda for the grown-ups. So I guess we had a PPPP party. Sam was excited, zipped up his rocket-ship fuzzy-footed PJs. Abby squealed and giggled in communication with Sam, snuggled in her own pink furry PJs. We gobbled down popcorn and pop (soda) and pepperoni pizza (yet another P) on a blanket in front of our kickin’ 27inch telly in the basement. It was a PPPPP party for the ages, I tell you.
And then we watched our movie. Well, as much as one can watch a movie despite Abby’s constant wedging into unreachable crevices and Sam’s ad nauseam chatter about every minute detail of the movie. Mid-movie, we took a break to put Abby to bed and settle our stomachs with a hearty serving of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream…you know, because we are either the worst parents or the best parents that ever were (depending on your perspective). And when the movie was over, we left the dirty dishes in the sink and fell into bed, our stomachs heavy with P-named junk-f0od.
Mark sunk into a quick snoring-sleep due to his recent cold, and I watched the dark change into different shapes and colors. And tears trickled down my face straight into my ear canals and neck as I thought about our PPP night and Sam and Abby and Will.
And I thought about our first PPP movie. I had picked it on purpose, knowing the bittersweet theme of it. Bittersweet is a theme we know well anyway. Many days lately, I’ve come to think that the bitterness of losing Will has made the sweet taste that much sweeter by contrast -where I can almost see a mended scar nearly smoothed and melon-colored in the place where Will was cut from us. And I ride this updraft lie as if there is no dark underside to losing Will, no keloid welt where my skin has joined in opposition to itself.
And then there are down days, dark days, heavy-hearted days, bitter days.
We watched “Up”.
Pixar is always making me cry. As I walked, shamefully sniveling, out of the Toy Story 3 movie theater, Mark said to me, “It’s not about toys, you know…it’s about loss.” Mark says that I always make him sound wiser than he really is in my blogs. I think he just doesn’t know the depth of his wisdom.
‘Up’ is the delicately-woven tale of life after loss. It so strikingly captures the bittersweet nature of longing for the one who has burrowed into your heart and the trial to continue to live and love. I very much recommend this movie to everyone, and of course to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one. Just watch it with the knowledge that it will touch your tender wounds.
I thought of Will so often during our PPP party. Good thoughts mostly, thoughts that we are hiking through as a family despite our missing little boy. Thoughts that Sam has become an even more tender-hearted soul through this experiences. Thoughts that Abby has blessed us doubly with her bigger-than-life smiles and determined little personality. Thoughts that we are trying to make a difference in the wake of Will’s life, and trying to keep ourselves open to more ups and downs that are sure to come.
My heart is aloft this week as we near Will’s angelversary on Wednesday. It is on a course of ups and downs as it rides the unpredictable jetstream. It feels light with new opportunities to do good in Will’s memories, and lighter still with healing and joy of Abby and Sam’s triumphs, and then plummets down with the heaviness of Will’s absence, of the memory of last year and the icy day we saw our son’s lifeless little body where it should’ve been twisting and turning alongside Abby.
We are up. We are down.
And, often, somewhere in-between.
But Sam has already requested another PPP party. So, we’ve got that to look forward to anyway.
I have yet to completely unpack from our travels. It is a trial to reach my kitchen sink save for the clutter of gifts and luggage residing in the kitchen. It is astonishing the amount of gear that children acquire in such a short time.
It was a long two weeks on the road…but good. We got to see most of our family and were nicely distracted from the approaching anniversary of Will’s loss next week. Sam and Abby were entertained thoroughly with lots of hugs, kisses, tickles, presents, and special treats.
They are disappointed, I’m sure, to return to the realm of an inpatient mother and father who do not always marvel at every minor whim and wonder they concoct.
Because I do need to reach my kitchen sink today…I will forgo a detailed post and instead give you a few pictures I took of the kiddos and hubs at the zoo, back family property, and beach.
I sincerely hope that everyone here had some love and levity over the holidays (even if in very small sips). We continue to machete through the jungle of grief and laughter that this last year brought to us as Will’s angelversary approaches for us next week.
In lighter news, Abby finally succeeded in getting her first fistful and, thus, mouthful of dog food today…because that’s just the kind of mom I am.
Merely 11 years late. I joined the 21st century and got a smart phone. Not that one could get a smart phone 11 years ago…but that’s not the point.
I happen to be on i-75 somewhere in Georgia right now. Mark and I are hanging onto the thinnest strand of sanity after 2 weeks on the road. Could go on but typing is not so good.
However I am coping by obsessively reviewing and commenting on every app ever made.
Still looking for one to transport us immediately home.
More soon and happy millennium.
