Courage to Love. Again.

Peanut -

Momma heard this quote today, and immediately connected with it:

"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering." (Ben Okri, Nigerian author, 1959)

I gave myself permission today to miss you, to cry for you, to sob without reserve, and to just plain wallow in despair.  It may sound odd, but allowing myself to revisit that deep sorrow also allowed Momma to reconnect with the love, the buried memories and the joy of you.  

Not finding space - or giving space - for that raw depth of emotion is almost scarier than riding the roller-coaster.  It is a numb, hollow place.  It is robotic.  And, it is not genuine.  As a protective measure, it is a nice, temporary safe zone.  But, it's not a place Momma wants to stay.

Peanut, you gave me the most precious gift in the world.  Momma love.  You opened my heart to a whole new universe of love.  The depth of that love has also created this intense sorrow, but the two coexist.  I grieve because I love.  To not allow my heart to love again would be worse...it would be a jail sentence to live in that numb, robotic place for eternity.

Thank you for teaching me that lesson.  Thank you for showing me that to believe in beauty, necessity, of love is to truly be greater than my suffering.  Thank you for giving me the courage to love again, despite my fears.  Thank you for being Momma's Peanut, the compass of my heart, forever and always...to the moon and back.

- Momma

Active Bean, Active Peanut

Peanut -

Your little sibling, The Bean, is one active baby!  Just like you were...maybe even more.  Are you giving The Bean lessons???  Here we are, at 20 weeks, and this tyke has the kicking strength of a professional athlete!  While it can take my breath away with the force, it is also so reassuring.  Momma has been living in fear throughout this pregnancy...obsessed with the "what ifs."  But feeling the life-force of this baby exert itself through kicks and somersaults is calming.  And it brings back so many wonderful memories.

Peanut, I remember feeling you kick at this stage in the pregnancy, and it was like our little secret.  No one else could feel your kicks, or see the "thump thump thump" of my tummy.  It was just you and me, speaking our private little language.  I loved you, craved you, before I even knew for sure I was pregnant, but once I could actually feel you....whoa.  My love became intense, fierce.  I knew I would fight the world for you.  I would die for you.  I wish I had died instead of you.  Because the world desperately needs a loving, generous spirit like yours.

Sweet boy, I hope you understand my love for The Bean.  I hope when you hear me talking to my tummy, and telling stories about you, singing songs, and making future plans, it in no way replaces you.  Because, you see, you are here in every moment.  You are the catalyst for this journey.  You are my lighthouse, my beacon.  My heart.

I am sending you love, and memories, and lost dreams, and hopes for the moment I get to see you again.  My amazing, wonderful Super Peanut.  To the moon and back...

- Momma

I Miss My Sunshine

Peanut -

Dadda and I spent a very, very hot afternoon at the St. Louis Cardinals game today.  Every piece of the experience brought a bittersweet reminder of you, or, more accurately, the loss of you.  Every place Momma looked, there were little blonde boys who looked so much like you.  At every turn there were nagging, jagged reminders...we never got to build a Fredbird with you.  We never got to buy you a jersey.  You never grew into a toddler sized baseball cap.  You never even got to throw a baseball.

Now, I wonder...will I ever find true joy again?  Will I ever be able to smile or laugh without feeling the pain of your absence?  Is it possible to embrace the thought of life moving forward?  Will this pain be a brand on my forehead forever?  Is it a brand I even want to let go of...or have I embraced it?

Peanut, you brought more joy, more light, to my life than I ever could have hoped to find in the entire span of my lifetime.  I now owe it to you, your memory, our family, and to this little Bean growing stronger day by day, to find joy again.  I have to recognize feeling happiness is not a betrayal of you, your life, your loss...it is a celebration.  That a smile, a laugh, is simply sharing a very special piece of the beauty you opened in my heart.

Tonight, I am balancing the love and the sorrow.  The despair and hope.  But, in my soul I know the hope is stronger.  The love is more powerful - eternal.  Peanut, I'm sending you love and kisses...to the moon and back.

- Momma

Change Begins...One Letter At A Time

Peanut -

The Peanut Effect is in full impact mode.  You are making a difference.  You, your beautiful smile, your tragic death, your very persistent Momma, a cadre of phenomenal letter-writing supporters, and a fantastic State Representative named Tim Jones have all come together to create the beginning of meaningful change in the state of Missouri in relation to the recognition of SUDC, education of medical examiners, coroners and child death pathologists, and overall communication standards in cases of unexplained child deaths.

Despite a disappointing, unsatisfactory, defensive response from the local St. Louis County government, Momma has persevered.  Continually reaching out to other resources, pushing for answers, responses, anything.  And, in the background, our local representative in the Missouri House - who is also the Speaker of the House - received the initial letter we sent out to County Executive Dooley.  And, it impacted him.  So, he sent his own letter to the Director of the Missouri Department of Health and Senior Services, Margaret Donnelly.  Then, weeks later, she received another letter and an e-mail from your Momma.  This amazingly busy woman connected the dots and took personal action, which resulted in a letter we received in today's mail.

Under Ms. Donnelly's direction, her team has contacted the Missouri State Fatality Review Panel.  This Panel works with the child death pathologists across the state to develop education and protocols for pediatric autopsy.  More importantly, they also spearhead all education and training for these pathologists.  And, once a year they bring all the child death pathologists together for an annual meeting - in November.  Thanks to Ms. Donnelly, SUDC training, education and information has been added to the November 2011 agenda.  And, in the most gracious, unexpected acknowledgement, Ms. Donnelly thanks YOU - that your tragic loss is going "to help improve Missouri's system of dealing with childhood deaths."

Peanut, this is just the beginning.  There is so much more left to accomplish.  To honor you.  To grow and ensure your lasting legacy.  But, this is a beginning.  And a beginning means hope.  Like that wonderful little caterpillar in one of your favorite books, this seed of progress is going to be fed and will grow and bloom into...a beautiful butterfly!!!

Sending you love, hope, kisses...to the moon and back!  I love you, Peanut.

- Momma

Click. Thud. Slam.

Peanut -

Over the last several months, Momma has had to walk through many different types of emotionally significant doors.  Some have closed gently, with a mere "click."  Others have been solidly heavy, as if made of pure mahogany, inches thick, and have closed with a weighty "thud."  And then there are the doors that slam closed with such ferociousness, they take Momma's breath away.  Today was a slamming door day.

This week's vacation was cathartic.  Healing.  A much needed break from the painful reality of what has become our day-to-day life.  It was a time to share stories about you, reconnect with memories, and feel your presence in the beauty of nature.  I had anticipated sadness - had actually prepared myself for a week of crying and sorrow.  Instead, I was greeted by love, light and joy.

But then, today arrived.  It was time to say "farewell" to vacation, to Big Cedar Lodge, and to head home.    As we drove up the steep exit hill, with the full property reflected in our rearview mirror, Momma burst into tears.  Deep, buried tears that stole my voice for minutes on end.  I looked over to see Dadda struggling with his own emotions.  He shared he was recalling this same drive from last summer, with you in the backseat jabbering away and all of us turning around to call out, "See you next year, Big Cedar!"

I had actually forgotten that moment.  Hearing Dadda recall it actually helped calm my sobs, and brought additional memories to mind.  How we discussed what fun things you would get to do at Big Cedar when we returned next summer.  What cool plans we had in store for your 1st birthday party, which was just days away.  It was a 4-hour drive full of laughter, excitement, future plans.

The door that slammed shut for Momma today, the door that literally shut your Momma down, was the realization that we'd had a vacation - beginning, middle and end - without you.  That this was the last vacation we would ever take that was fully intended to include you.  This whole vacation was planned while you were alive...so you were still very present in every detail of the trip.  But...what now?  How do we ever plan another vacation without feeling like we're missing a huge element of our family?  How do we move forward with "joyful, relaxing" vacation plans when you aren't here anymore?

Peanut, I know life can't stand still.  I know we need to create a "new normal."  But, right now, in this moment, tonight, I can't.  I don't want to.  I just want you.  So, there it is.  I just want you back.  Since I know that can't happen, won't happen, I am instead going to head to bed to see what tomorrow brings.  Peanut, I'm sorry for the tears and sadness...just know Momma's sadness is only a reflection of how much I love you.  To the moon and back - a gazillion times.

- Momma