Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick.

Peanut -

We are marching towards a milestone Momma never thought would arrive.  One she is dreading but also welcoming for the sheer relief and sense of accomplishment.  500 Days of Pickle.  And almost 2.5 years without my Peanut.

Blah.

Recently, every day with Pickle is a happy/harsh reminder of what was ripped away the day you died.  I now remember exactly what your laughter, smiles, hugs and kisses felt like and I am angry all over again.  But, also thankful.

Why?

Because these last few weeks have allowed me to truly remember.  To remember what grief thankfully blocked when it was too painful to remember.  Now, I am ready and open to receiving those memories, those sensory pangs, senses, touches and smells.

For the first time I remember us holding hands on the couch, you threading your fingers through mine.  Then, pulling my arm close around you as you sat in my lap and whispered, "Momma" in my ear through my hair.

I now remember reading you your bedtime story of "Guess How Much I Love You" and getting to the end to be greeted by your outstretched face, just waiting for a good-night kiss.  Just like your brother does when I read him "The Runaway Bunny."

Peanut, I am so afraid to say "hello" to day 501 with Pickle.  The guilt and relief.  The disbelief that you aren't here.  The fear that it could happen all over again.

Tonight we are surrounded by storms in St. Louis.  Once again, the weather seems to match Momma's mood.  Add to the storms the turbulence in her days with Dadda recently and it all seems too familiar.  Haven't we learned our lessons?  <sigh>  Did we lose so much only to return to the way things were?

Momma has no answers, just reflection tonight.  And, a bit of melancholy.

Peanut, I wish I could hold your little hand and hear you breathe into my ear, once again.  I miss you.  I love you.  To the moon - and back!

- Momma

Peanut, surrounded by his - and now his brother's - favorite toys just 2 weeks before he passed away.

Two Years Ago

Peanut -

Two years ago Momma was steeling herself for her first Mother's Day without you on earth.  It's hard to remember and describe how empty my arms felt that first year...arms that longed to hug, hold and carry her little boy.  A little boy who will forever be frozen in time at 16.5 months old.  A little boy who will always be my first son, the child who taught me to be a Momma.

It is because of you and the love you opened in our hearts that Momma and Dadda were trying desperately to conceive a child through every trick of science, every miracle of love, faith and hope.  Two years ago we feared that even if we were fortunate enough to successfully conceive, was Momma's body - a body so immersed in sorrow and grief that it permeated every fiber, every molecule of my heart and soul - strong enough to develop and grow a baby?

Two years ago Momma also discovered an interesting side effect of her personal grief process: intense, situational claustrophobia.  It reared its ugly head as we attempted to board a flight to Florida to escape St. Louis for the Mother's Day holiday.  To take the trip to Sanibel Island that we never got to take with you.  As Momma stepped onto the plane a panic attack set in and we immediately had to exit the flight. A second attempt, later in the day, was equally unsuccessful which Momma took as a signal - we need to be home, surrounded by reminders of you, for this holiday.

Two years ago, throughout Mother's Day weekend, I was visited by butterflies, tiny frogs, and a flutter in my tummy that eventually grew into The Pickle.  Your little brother, who is now almost 16 months old.  Peanut, he will reach 16.5 months at the end of this month...and he will be with us for 501 days on June 1.  Momma isn't sure how she feels about that - or how that first day of June is going to feel.  Will I be relieved?  Feel a sense of accomplishment?  Or, will it pass without notice or event?

As we prepare for Mother's Day, this Momma is celebrating her children on earth and in heaven.  We will look to the sky, maybe even release two balloons in remembrance of you, Peanut, and also the little sister who would have been Pickle's twin.  We will listen for your laughter on the wind, and will feel your warmth in the sunshine.  More than anything, we will embrace and cherish our family, our angels, and our love.

Peanut, thank you for the wisdom, joy and love you shared during your all-too-short time on earth with us.  Momma misses you every day, but my heart feels your presence in everything we experience.  And I know I will see you again.  Until then, I am sending you love, smiles, butterfly kisses, and Peanut hugs to the moon - and back!

- Momma

My favorite picture of me and Peanut, taken during his 1-year photos.

Hope. Smile. Laughter.

Peanut -

Today is Momma's birthday.  Oh, how I wish you were here.  As I drove home this afternoon the blue, sunny sky was filled with sunshine and white, cottony clouds.  I declared in my car, "Peanut, I wish you were here." and a direct ray of light hit me along with a sense of warmth...of you.  It helped me reflect on our journey these last few years...

HOPE
Two years ago I was wading through deep grief but also feeling a sense of hope.  We had decided to try and have another baby.  Science and miracles were supporting us and, well, hope had sprouted in Momma's heart.  The hope of finding purpose.  A sense of something bigger and more important than just our time on this planet.  And, more than anything, I longed to hold a child who was my own...my son...my legacy.  You taught me that.

SMILE
Last year I learned to smile again.  The Pickle was here and with him came sunshine, light, grins, happy moments.  But, also some guilt.  I mean, how could we possibly be happy again - ever?  Yet, we found ourselves laughing, playful and sometimes completely blissful.

LAUGHTER
And now, here we are...the Pickle will surpass your time on earth in just over 1 month.  Another Momma birthday has passed with a Pickle doing things you never learned to do - he can run, throw a ball, say "no, no, no, no" and give me a high-five without missing a beat.  More than anything, I have learned to laugh again.  Momma has one of those laughs no one can ignore, unfortunately.  Many of my birthday wishes today included references to my laugh, how it was good to hear to again, and to keep it up.  Statements that in years past would have embarrassed Momma.

So, now what?  I have no idea.  Into the great unknown we venture with you on my shoulder as a guardian angel.  Where will that take us?  I don't know....to the moon - and back!

- Momma

Connor's last photos with Momma and Dadda two weeks before he passed away...

Moving. Not "Moving On."

Peanut -

These last few weeks Momma has been concerned that you are viewing from heaven that our upcoming house move is a step away from you.  As an attempt to forget or mask the pain.  As...well...moving on.

Oh Peanut, it is not.

Earlier this week a well-intentioned (I think) co-worker talked to Momma about how EVERYONE has agreed this is something our family has needed to do.  You know.  To move on.  How another executive with my firm also lost a child and couldn't move on until he and his family packed up and moved across the country.  This person actually had the gall to congratulate Momma for making this decision and for moving on.  And expressed the expectation that the bad days would now disappear.  And the old Momma would magically emerge.  That EVERYONE was hoping for that.

What Momma knows is this - we are moving with you.  Your spirit and memories are not anchored to this house, they are with us.

The last two years Momma has found comfort and safety in the cocoon of a workplace that knows the story and magnitude of our loss.  But, in recent months that coin has turned to the tarnished side.  Comments focused on "move on"and "get over it" have begun to permeate the atmosphere.  So...now what?

Peanut, I know your spirit and love will be my Northern Star as I navigate this sticky situation.

I am remembering you in ways I forgot thanks to Pickle's burst of walking, talking, laughing.  I am remembering the giant personality we lost in you.  I am...remembering.  And, it is painful, joyful, scary, happy, sad.  And more.

Sweet Peanut, who taught me to love without expectation - I love you.  To the moon - and back.

- Momma

The House of Shadows

Peanut -

It is no secret to anyone who knows Momma well that our house, and its location, have never been ideal (for Momma).  This house - with its 4500 square feet, 5 acres of land and abundance of nature - has never fit Momma's mold.  But, it is what Dadda owned and needed for his kids when we were dating.  This house now holds little but sadness and horror for Momma.  Some of the other reasons this house isn't a fit for our family today -

- On a year round basis we have 3 people living here but 6 bedrooms?!

- The house and commute are over an hour away from Momma's office and almost 30 minutes from the restaurant that Dadda owns.

- The roads out here are one lane, narrow and fast.  There is no way to take a run or a stroller out for a walk without fear of a collision with a car or pack of cyclists.

- No County water.  Why that is good - "free" well water.  Why that is bad - septic system.  Yuck.

The list could go on and on.  But, the main reason Momma needs to get out of this house?  I believe it is cursed.  A house of pain, sadness and sorrow.  A house of shadows.  A house that death visited, once upon a time, and discovered it enjoyed.

This house stole you from us in the dark of night, when you should have been safe, sleeping in your crib at 16.5 months of age.  I will not let that happen again.  Not to The Pickle.

We are moving in 2 weeks.  A new house, a fresh start, a different beginning.  So many bereaved parents talk about never wanting to leave the home that "knew" their deceased children.  I couldn't disagree more.  Because, you will be moving with us.  What we are leaving behind are the sad, painful memories.  The horrific visions of Dadda standing outside the shower holding your lifeless body, performing CPR on the bedroom floor, and coming home to a silent tomb filled with remnants of you.

I will not miss this house.

Peanut, you are on this journey with us.  I can feel it.  It is so odd, how spring has become the season of positive change in the wake of your death.  Two years ago this week we began the conversation that resulted in The Pickle.  Now, 2 years later, we are moving to a new home and neighborhood.

Spring.  The season of hope.

As I watched your brother play in the yard today, trying his hardest to run under the bright April sun, I realized...we have ventured into uncharted waters.  But, it was in the warmth of that yellow sun and southern breeze that I felt you most.  My Peanut.

Yes, with your watchful eye it will be good.  Safe.  Happy.

Oh Peanut, how I miss you.  How my heart longs for you and your beautiful smile.  Your long eyelashes and dexterous fingers.  Your hugs, kisses and gentle way.

<Big sigh>  I love you.  To the moon - and back.

- Momma

Our side yard.  See?  Way too much space!