Funeral Pants

Peanut -

Your Dadda might be the bravest man I know.  Yep.  He is.

Tonight he had a special event to attend.  He was pulling together his outfit - shirt, tie, dress pants, jacket - and sat down on the bench in our bedroom with a heavy sigh.

"Oh wow...what's that?" I asked.

He looked up at me, and sighed again, "I'm wearing The Pants.  The Funeral Pants."  <sigh>

I looked over at them, laid out on our bed.  They are beautiful, lightweight wool.  A deep black with nice lines.  In a normal world they would be well-worn by now.

But, these are Funeral Pants.

Much like the dress I bought for your service, Dadda put his entire outfit into the back of his closet after it was returned from the dry-cleaner.  He looked wonderful the day of your service, in these perfect pants.  These innocent pants, purchased after you died.  These pants that had no part in your death.  They did nothing wrong.  But, somehow they have acquired this curse.  This mystique.

Tonight, Dadda broke the spell.  And, I think it might have been one of the hardest things he's ever done. And, trust me, your Dadda has been through a lot of tough stuff.

The last few days have been rough, Peanut.  We've been hanging family photos around the house, with the vast majority being of you.  But...your photos end in January 2011.  And now, we have your little brother who is creating his own wall of memories.  Someday, he will surpass you.  How do I explain that to him?  How to explain that to my heart?

I miss your smile.  Your hugs.  Your, "Momma..."  Those deep, clear, blue eyes.  And, the mess of blonde curls.  The way you made my heart sing with just a glance.  And how you could make me forget my entire work day in less than 5 seconds.

I miss the promise of your future.  The hopes and dreams.  The funny voices your Dadda and I projected onto you.  The foods I thought you might grow to love.  The books I knew you would pour over.

Will I be brave enough to someday wear my Funeral Dress?  And the sparkly sweater I wore with it?  The sweater I purchased for the holidays, but wound up wearing for the worst event of my life?  Or, will they go into the special Peanut Trunk?

I don't know.

What I do know is each day is still its own journey through grief.  It is so individual.  So mercurial.  There is no guessing or predicting what is waiting around the corner.  No guarantee that tomorrow, next month or next year will be easier.  And, do I want it to be easier?  No.

Dadda looked snappy tonight.  The Funeral Pants might now just become Special Event Pants.  And, I would applaud Dadda for that.

Peanut, I did "Itsy Bitsy Spider" today with The Bean just for you.  And, later, I will read "Guess How Much I Love You."  To you.   I love you, sweetie.  To the moooooooooon and back.

- Momma

No One Will Notice That Torn Seam, Right?

Peanut -

In my old life, the life before we lost you, buying a new shirt, sweater, or pair of jeans was no big deal.  I was actually a little obsessive about keeping items pressed, pristine.  Shoes and handbags were replaced as soon as they looked worn, and clothes weren't allowed to look faded, threadbare or unkempt.

Since your death, I've had a very hard time buying anything new.  Granted, our pregnancy with The Bean forced Momma to invest in maternity clothes...since I gave all my old ones away.  But, maternity clothes have never felt permanent since they are truly items of necessity, meant to get someone through a few months.

But, the thought of buying new "normal" clothes has been unpalatable.  How dare a new pair of jeans try to come in and replace any of my old clothes...the clothes I wore with you?  The clothes that knew my Peanut, played in the yard with you, took pictures of you smiling, romped on the floor while you danced to The Backyardigans?  Never.

That is, until two weeks ago.  I was running errands in my favorite pair of yoga pants.  Pants I wore pretty much every weekend while we lounged around the house with you, reading board books, cooking your favorite little turkey meatballs.  In the CVS parking lot, in the full light of day, I noticed...oh dear...what is that?  A rip in the seam?  Huh.  And...wow.  These used to be black, right?  Why do they look sort of...green?  Ugh.

So, each day this week Momma has taken a hard look at her closet.  Gosh, what has happened in here?  Oh, I know.  Grief.

Tonight Momma took a brave step forward.  I decided it was time to purge a few items, replace them.  So, my shelves got a minor clean out, and I made a quick online purchase.  Granted, nothing has actually been thrown away.  These items will be placed in a bag for a few weeks...then I'll check in with them.  Maybe then it will be time to bid them farewell.  We'll see.  Baby steps.

Peanut, I promise I will keep the owl pajama pants that made you laugh on Saturday mornings.  And the bright, spring green sweater that matched your Ireland jacket, and made your blue eyes glow.  But, maybe it's time to let go of the threadbare, torn, greenish black yoga pants.  OK?  I promise to always hold you, our memories, our joy and laughter, in my heart and soul.  But, maybe wearing a new pair of yoga pants.

Loving you more every day, and sending you all my love to the moon - and back - along with a giant Momma kiss.  MMWAHHHH!

- Momma

Peanut's green "Ireland" jacket.  And his amazing blue eyes.

Make the Fire Big...So I Can Find You

Peanut -

This afternoon The Bean and I had the opportunity to relax on the couch and watch a movie from start to finish.  He was mostly asleep on my chest in his little tree frog position, while I was lounging in my yoga pants.  The cherry on top of this peaceful ice cream sundae?  Out of Africa is currently looping on HBO, so that was our afternoon film feature. It was a moment that was almost perfect except for your looming absence.  However, we had a special Peanut moment towards the end of the movie.  

I'll elaborate.

At the end of Out of Africa, the Baroness Karen von Blixen is preparing to leave Kenya, never to return.  Her faithful servant - and friend -  Farah, while assisting her in getting the house and land in order, is saddened and perplexed by the Baroness' imminent departure. To explain, she uses a familiar analogy to help him understand.

Karen: Farah, do you remember when we were on safari, and during the day you would go ahead and find a camp, and build a fire?

Farah: Yes. And you would see the fire and come to this place.

Karen: Well, it will be like that. Only this time I will go ahead and build a fire.

Farah: And this place you are going...it is very far away?

Karen: Yes.

Farah: (after a pause) Then, you must make this fire very big, Sabu, so that I can find you.

That dialogue brought your Momma to tears and made me hug The Bean a little tighter.  He stirred, gazed up at me, and smiled.  

Peanut, while I have visions, dreams, of us running towards each other and hugging the moment I find you in heaven, I can't help but get hung up on the logistics.  I mean, all those other people, all that space.  Heaven is probably a pretty big place.  

So, just to make sure.  Just to get our family reunited as quickly as possible, let's make a plan.  OK?  I'll look for your fire.  And, if it's big enough, I'll bet I can see it all the way from earth.  Actually, I think I already can.  At least, I know I feel it in my heart.

Peanut, I wish I was the one who went ahead to find our camp.  Build our fire.  But, I can't wait to spend eternity there with you.  

With loads of love and tears.  To the moon - and back.

- Momma

Falling In Love With My Boys

Peanut -

I fell in love with you before you were even conceived.  And, my love for you has grown stronger every single day.  Even in loss, I fall in love with you more and more and more with each day that passes.  It is profound.  It is amazing.  It is Momma Love.

The same has happened with your little brother.  Loving him has saved Momma's heart.  And brain.  And soul.  It's not that he's made me "all better."  He has given me the hope and inspiration I needed to create a new me.  A new future.  To WANT to create something new.

Peanut, I watch The Bean sleep as I write this, hear him sigh, and I think of these same nights with you.  Back then I didn't have any idea how much my love could grow.  I had no clue, no hint, of the loss in front of us.  As I gaze at your brother I love without fear.  I love knowing how much my love will grow.  I love knowing it could all be ripped away in the blink of an eye.

That is your gift.  That is part of the Peanut Effect.  Unflinching, unconditional love.

Physical absence doesn't change the way I love you.  It just means I can't hug you, kiss you, watch you grow older and become the man I imagine you would - you should - be in the future.

Tonight I share a picture of you from your first months, side-by-side with a picture of your brother.  You are kindred spirits, forever linked.

I give him a kiss, smell his sweet breath, touch his soft skin, and know I am touching an angel.  And his brother.

To the moon and back, my Peanut.  That is just the beginning of how much I love you.

- Momma

The Bean

Peanut

Momma Version 2.0

Peanut -

I feel guilty.  Your little brother is getting a new, better version of me.  Momma 2.0.  And it's all thanks to you.

Back when I was a brand new, first time Momma I was petrified.  I was worried about holding, feeding, loving you the wrong way. Not being focused enough on everything from work to family to friends to the future to blah blah blah.  To not being the best.

This time around I am all about enjoying the experience.  Dadda has noticed the same thing.  But, it's more than just being comfortable with a baby and comfortable in our own skin.  It's about our new priorities.  It's about how we view life.  It's about what's important...and what isn't at this point.

I feel guilty that The Bean is getting so much of my new sense of calm.  My undivided love.  My complete focus.  Unlike my maternity leave with you, I have totally checked out this time around.  Unapologetically.  I only get the chance to do this right once...and it might slip away before I know it.

With you, I started joining meetings and conference calls just 4 weeks into my leave.  I went back to a team offsite meeting several weeks early.  And, once I went back to work, I missed your bedtime at least once a week.

After you died, I was denied the request to take extended time off.  I was told to check in.  To work from home.  That it would be helpful for me to have the routine.

What terrible advice.

Now, I am getting ready to go back to work before I'm ready. I love my job, but I love my family more.  <sigh>  I'm watching The Bean sleep, with his little grunts and sighs.  His arms thrown over his head.  I think about the smiles and laughs he has discovered this week.  Oh...what will I miss?

Peanut, I will go back to work with an eye on balance. An eye on being present at home.  And I will hold firm.  I owe that to your brother.  And, I feel guilty.  Because, I didn't do that for you.

I hope you know that every night I worked late, every morning I got up early to get into the office, you were in my heart.  I didn't mean to short change you.

You have made me so aware.  So present.  A better Momma.  Version 2.0.  The version you deserved.

Oh, Peanut.  I miss you so very much.  To the moon - and back.

- Momma