Peanut's Lawn Care Service

Peanut -

Momma came home from work this evening to find Dadda outside mowing the yard with our hulking, industrial lawn mower.  OK, "yard" probably isn't the right word for what we have...it's more like a 5-acre forest with some grassy areas.  But it was the absolute perfect place for us to play outside with you last spring, summer and fall.

That yard is where we took you to crawl in the fresh spring grass when you were 8-months old.  It's the same place where we took your 9-month photos.  And, where we set-up your Little Tykes swing...in the perfect-for-swinging tree outside your bedroom window.  It's where we sat on blankets last fall and admired the leaves changing colors.  Unfortunately, we never got the chance to take you sledding in that same yard, with its sloping hills.

Dadda reminded me tonight of the one time we put you on the lawnmower.  You were VERY unsure about the whole experience.  Skeptical enough, in fact, that you and Dadda barely made it through one lap around the perimeter before Momma had to rescue you from the giant, noisy, frightening monster.  (The lawnmower, not Dadda!)

If we do ever sell this house and move, it will be these locations, these memories Momma is most afraid to leave.  Will the memories somehow get stuck back here with the house?  Will they not be as sharp, as fresh, if we no longer live here?  Or, have I helped make them more everlasting by retelling and capturing them in writing?  The latter is my hope.

Peanut, Dadda and I enjoyed talking about you over dinner tonight.  I wonder...could you hear us?  I think so.  We are sending you all the love and hugs our empty Momma and Dadda arms crave to give you in person.  To the moon - and back.

- Momma

New "Look" for Peanut's Blog

Peanut -

Momma went a little crazy tonight.  The Blogger service has created a number of new dynamic view options, and I've decided to take them for a test drive.  Let's see how it goes over the next day or so...sound like a plan?  What I like about the new, different views - it makes it easier to see older posts and pictures.  It feels a little more fresh and new.  What I miss about the old format - some of the sidebar features.  Like, how can someone now subscribe to have the blog sent to their e-mail?  Hmmmmm....

I imagine I have my Puzzled Momma expression on my face right now.  It's an expression I often saw on your face as you were figuring something new out...like the afternoon you decided to teach yourself how to climb down from the couch by yourself.  You wanted NO help from Momma.  It was your mission to do it, piece it together all on your own.  Your determination and attention span were remarkable.  And, after 20 minutes, you figured it out.  Smart, stubborn Peanut!

Tonight's picture is a perfect example of that face.  "What are you doing, Momma?" is what that look is saying to me.  I loved your expressive forehead, eyebrows, and eyes.  They told me everything a Momma could ever need to know...from love, to apprehension, to laughter, to sleepiness.  Wishing I could cup that expressive little face in my hands and give you a kiss.  Instead, I'm sending you an air kiss to heaven - MWAH!  I love you, Peanut - to the moon and back.

- Momma

One Fish, Two Fish. All. By. Myself!

Peanut -

Momma realized today there is a lot of joy in remembering the specifics.  The general statements and feelings - I miss coming home to you, I miss dropping you off at school in the morning, I miss listening to you sleep on your monitor - lead to feelings of general, overwhelming sadness.  A sadness I can't pinpoint, target or give a voice or focus to, which gives it a frightening life of its own.

Specific memories, with exact details and moments in time, bring mental pictures to the forefront.  Images from a time in our lives so full of happiness and Peanut joy, that I can't help but smile.  When the general, lingering sadness starts to settle in on my heart like a wet, heavy wool blanket, I re-focus.  I find an exact moment, memory, story, and give it every ounce of my mind and heart.

This evening I heard the general sadness knocking on my door.  Momma let it knock for a moment, but decided to instead think about one of my all-time favorite Peanut memories.  It's actually a memory Dadda and I like to remember and laugh about together.  Several months ago (May) I mentioned how much you loved all the Dr. Seuss books.  In particular, One Fish Two Fish.  We had lots of games we would play together when you let me read you the book - when we got to the red fish we would look for everything red in the room - and you loved to play with all the moving plastic fish attached to the cover of the book.

As you got older, you desperately wanted to read the book all by yourself.  Rather than bring the book to Momma for reading and games, you would grab it from the coffee table and take it into your bedroom.  The message was - "I can do it myself, thank you very much!"  You would get settled in on the floor, on your tummy, legs kicked up, with the book open in front of you.  And then, you would start to "read" it out loud, checking in every few moments to ensure Momma and Dadda were watching and listening.  It sounded something like this:

"Bah Besh, Ou Esh,
Reh Esh, BOU BISH!!!!"

Followed by a giggle, glance over to Momma and Dadda, and a brilliant grin.

I love, cherish, that memory.  In that moment, I was given a gift.  A flash of what you might've been like at age 6 or 10 while studying for school, or reading another favorite book.  It was one of those moments when I realized my baby was growing into a little boy.

Oh, how I wish there were more of those moments in our future with you, Peanut.  But, at least we have the gift of those special moments.  I am missing you more than I can possibly express in words.  But, I think you know...I've felt you here all day.  So, sending you a big kiss!  To the moon and back...

- Momma

Facebook Timeline Panic

Peanut -

Momma got her geek on tonight and started reading articles about all the planned changes coming soon to Facebook profile pages.  They are implementing a new format titled Facebook Timeline and it has Momma spun into a bit of a panic.

You see, Peanut, over the last 8 months I've been able to control (to some degree) when I'm faced with pictures and timeline reminders of you.  I consciously open memory books, peruse iPhoto, smell your clothes, look back at old e-mails about you, on my terms, my timeline.  On the occasions when those reminders pop up out of nowhere, it has felt like a giant kick in the gut.

And now...argh...Facebook is stripping me of that power.  That false sense of control.  Now they are going to force me to be faced with a lifelong scrapbook of events, focusing on those their algorithm  determines to be the most impactful, important.  The highs, the lows, the loves and the losses.  The losses. Or, in my case, The Loss.

I like the immediacy of the current Facebook format.  Seeing what is happening in the here and now of people's lives - my life - is comforting.  To have to face that timeline every day, that reminder of all we've lost in the last year, is so hurtful.  So harsh.  So unnecessary.

It seems the new format is going to roll out over the next several week.  And, it is not optional.  What is optional, however, is Momma's participation in Facebook.  More to come...

Sweet Peanut, I love you, your pictures, memories and stories of you.  But, I want, I need, the ability to control the flood of emotions that come with all those memories when I'm awake.  Sleep is a different story.  Right now, I'm getting ready for bed and praying for Peanut Dreams.  I hope to feel your hugs and little monkey toes in my dreams, and to imagine a world where you are still here.  Missing you so very much.  I love you - to the moon and back.

- Momma

Tear Soup

Peanut -

In the weeks after you passed away, Momma searched for answers, support, refuge in books.  My logic was that surely someone wouldn't even attempt to write a book about surviving grief without having experienced it themselves.  Right?  Wrong.  But, there were the rare gems - many of them recommended by other SUDC families - that touched my heart, resonated with my pain, and helped speak to Momma's grief.

It's been a terribly difficult few days for Momma.  As time marches on, and life begins to expect more and more from Momma, the network of understanding support has slowly faded away.  I knew it would.  I was warned to expect it.  But, it has opened up a whole new valley of pain.  So many people want the "old" version of me back.  They think it's time to move on.  What a cruel joke.

There have also been the people who think The Bean will make everything better.  Almost as if The Bean will be a replacement or a stand in for you.  My Peanut.

And still there are others who don't want to talk about your death, but also don't want to celebrate The Bean.  Denial is a dark, dangerous, scary way of coping.  It hurts so many others along the path.

Peanut.  Momma is tired.  Tired of making everyone else feel better.  Tired of having to soothe feelings and reassure people I'm OK, we're OK, things are OK.  Because, things aren't OK.  I'm not OK.  Surviving?  Yes.  With some good moments and days?  Yes.  But, OK?  I don't think so.

All these emotions, this pressure, built up today and felt truly overwhelming.  In a desperate moment, Momma pulled one of the grief and healing books off the bookshelf.  Tear Soup.  It's been months since I read it...long enough the message had faded a bit in my mind.  The book is large and illustrated, intended for all age groups.  The message is simple.  But, reading it today was a whole new experience.  It read like a different book from the one I read back in March.  I read it with my wounded but open heart.  And I cried a whole batch of raw and ragged tears...Momma's own, special recipe for her personal Tear Soup.  And, for the first time in days, I didn't feel quite so alone on this journey.

Peanut, I know I'm not alone.  I know you are on my shoulder every moment of every day.  Missing you desperately, and sending you love, love and more love.  To the moon and back.

- Momma