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!

Here's What's Funny About Time

Peanut -

For some people - many people - it's been a long time since your death.  Over two years...that's a long time, right?  For others, it seems like yesterday.  And for me, your Momma, it varies.  Some days it feels like decades have passed because this journey is so exhausting.  And some days I wake up and have to remind myself that you are gone.  Most days, actually.

In the year after your death everyone gave us (me) grace.  Lots of breathing room and space to be a jerk.  But now...well...now it's time to re-join the human race.  And WOW it is hard.  Especially since we (Dadda) opened the restaurant.  Momma has lost her safety net, her companion, her confidant.  The only person unfortunate enough to get stuck with Momma on a constant basis is The Pickle.  But our time together is intentionally spent laughing and sharing wonderful stories about you.

It is so hard.  No one wants to talk about you because it makes them sad.  But, now more than ever, I need to talk about you.  I tried to bring you up the other day and was totally shut down.  I feel like I am going to drown, alone in my grief while everyone is watching.  "Oh, isn't she so strong?"  "I wonder how she has survived?"  "I could never have made it through the same loss."

Sheesh.

Truthfully?  I am floundering.

With steel in my spine for my Peanut and Pickle...it is time to be a better, happier Momma.  I owe it to you and The Pickle.  How am I going do this?  Well, I am not totally sure, but we will see and follow through.  I promise.

I love you, sweet boy.  To the moon - and back!

- Momma