Turning 40

Peanut -

Tomorrow is Momma's birthday.  I turn 40, which for most people provokes groans, dread, and denial.  For me it is an altogether different set of emotions, many of which conflict and confuse.  But, after all we've handled these last 16 months, they do make strange sense.

I feel grateful.  For another day.  Another sunrise and sunset.  For The Bean and his already constant smile.  For Dadda and the amazing love, friendship and partnership we enjoy.

I feel sadness.  For the looming absence at my birthday dinner table.  For the little boy who will never get to celebrate his own birthdays.

I feel a sense of injustice.  Why have I been given the gift of 40 years?  Of another birthday?  Why couldn't I pass this gift along to my precious Peanut?  You deserve it so much more than I do.

I feel love.  Love for you that grows every day.  Love for The Bean, that truly has taught me that grief and love are not mutually exclusive and can reside side-by-side, sharing Momma's heart.  The love of friends and family who surround and support us on a daily basis.  Friends and family who remember this time last year, when Momma had no desire to live, smile or celebrate - and who breathe a sigh of relief as my smile returns to an easy, comfortable place.

I feel a sense of purpose.  Purpose to honor you and make you proud.  Purpose to make the most of these 40 years - and for every year beyond.  To show that I deserve to be here, and to share your lessons with the world.

Peanut, these events of personal celebration bring a cloak of sadness to Momma...unanticipated periods of reflection and questioning.  Rather than dwell in the cellar of sadness, I choose to lift up my chin and smile to the heavens - for you.  To you.  My wee Peanut.

I know you will be with us tomorrow as we have dinner and toast to another year.  I will hear your tiny Peanut voice saying, "Happy Birthday, Momma" and I'm pretty sure I'll receive a giant Peanut hug in my dreams.

Loving you, missing you, longing for you.  To the moon - and back.

- Momma

Peanut during our May birthday celebration in 2010.
Check out the cool sock/shirt combo!

A Letter From Em

Peanut - 

I have a letter to share tonight from your sister.  She is Dadda's daughter from his first marriage, but a daughter and sister we have always felt as part of our heart and soul from the start. We love her tremendously and she loves and misses you. As she prepares to leave for college in the fall, life has hit her squarely between the eyes. I post this tonight, for her - for you.  

To the moon and back, sweet 'Nut.

- Momma


Peanut, this morning I woke early to drive down to Columbia, Missouri to register for my classes at Stephens College in the fall. Everyone I met today was great and they wanted to know all about your only sister. I have six brothers! WOWWWW! How in the world did I manage that? What are the names and ages of all of them? I got stuck on your age because do I say, “Oh Connor is two’, or do I tell them, ‘he’s 16 and a half months old.” My brain froze on this question and I stuck with 16.5 months, because that’s what you are in my mind. Forever 16.5 months old. When I told one mother in specific about you, Peanut, she wanted to know what exciting things you were learning to do at your age. This one got me. Why in the world did she ask about you in specific?

I had every urge to excuse myself to the bathroom, to cry in a stall by myself. But what good would that do? So I told her your story. It was strange, she had actually heard about you. In fact, she worked at the hospital where we spent that dreadful morning after your death. I told her all about your fear of walking and how you finally conquered it just weeks before your death. She let the story fall away, and changed the subject. But it stuck with me. I tried changing my mood the rest of the day but I couldn’t get you off my mind.

Just a few hours later, on the rainy drive back home I still had you on my brain. Just when I started thinking of other things, my iPod skipped to “Talking to the Moon” by Bruno Mars. Peanut, I’m sure you have heard me belt this out to you millions of times when I’m missing you. The song starts with,

“I know you're somewhere out there, Somewhere far away, I want you back, I want you back.”

I lost it Connor. I pulled off at the next exit, parked my car at an abandoned gas station and listened to the song four of five times. I replayed it while I was crying, singing the beautiful but mournful lyrics to you. I missed you so much. I wanted so bad to be able to call you and tell you all about my visit, which dorm I picked and which classes I signed up for. I know being almost three you would have listened, not understanding any of it, but giggling at the stories of the crazy people I met today.

After my crying binge, I felt shame for breaking down like I did. I’m the biggest advocate for turning your pain into a positive feeling. For not regretting the things one misses, but reminiscing on the good times they got to share with their loved one.

Peanut, I need you to know that I cherish every moment I got to spend with you and I will NEVER, for as long as a live, forget one second of it. I love you Peanut. I can’t wait to see you again, all grown up. I love you wider than my arms can spread and my legs can stretch. Until we meet again, be listening tonight, when I’m talking to the moon, and you, sweet boy.

Em.

The Worst Phone Calls. Ever.

Peanut -

On the drive home from work this evening I started trying to replay the conversations, the phone calls, Dadda and I had immediately after leaving the hospital on January 26, 2011.  How did we talk to our friends?  Who did we call?

This line of thought opened up a whole stream of memories I had pushed aside.  I forgot about calling my boss in the moments after they pronounced you dead.  When I walked out to the ambulance bay, across the driveway in the frigid January air.  The exhaust and diesel fumes were overwhelming.  But, there I stood, sobbing into my cell phone at 7:00 am.  He wasn't at the office yet and I clearly caught him off guard.  Our jovial work relationship prompted him to answer with a sarcastic remark, until he heard me choke out, "Connor died this morning."

That phrase is one that came out of my mouth repeatedly that day. As we called friends we had just seen days earlier.  Family several states away.  All of them picking up their phones with a smile when they saw our number, only to be greeted with that awful, blunt statement.

And then...they cried.  And supported us.  And came to St. Louis to bid you farewell, hug Momma and Dadda, and try to somehow understand what happened.  They hugged their own children a little harder.  Watched their children sleep.  Checked on them throughout the night.  Because, if it can happen to Peanut it can happen to any of us.

Those initial phone calls are nothing you ever prepare for, or even think about, in the grand plan of life.  Maybe a phone call about an aging parent or ill relative, but never ever ever your 16.5 month old, healthy little boy.  I wish now I had known a better, more gentle way to place those calls.  But, then again, nothing about your loss has been soft or kind.

Peanut, I miss you so much.  This has been a tough week...maybe due to the summer-like weather?  Or the approach of Mother's Day?  I keep picturing you as you should be today.  Marching towards age 3, talking and running and full of personality.  A little boy.  My little boy.

I love you.  Bunches and bunches of noodles.  To the moon - and back!

- Momma

Christmas 2009

Shine On

Peanut -

An unavoidable milestone is looming ahead of Momma.  It's one that will symbolize, for Momma, the slamming of a door.  A chapter ending.

June 9, 2012.  500 Days Without Peanut.

When June 10 dawns, we will officially be living in a world where we've been without you longer than we were blessed to be with you, holding and hugging you every day.

This date frightens me.  What it represents is something I can't quite wrap my brain around.  We should have had you with us forever.  You should have outlived us.  Instead, we continue to have birthdays.  Go to work.  Have dinner with friends.  And, we are reminded just how short 16.5 months, 500 days, truly is.  How precious and fleeting life can be.  How it is brutal, raw and without reason - but also beautiful and to be cherished and appreciated.

A few months ago, a dear friend of ours gave Momma and Dadda a candle to light next to your picture on the fireplace mantle.  I glanced at it yesterday, and it spoke to my heart:

There are some who bring a light so great to the world that even after they have gone, the light remains.

Peanut, your light was so brilliant, so gorgeous, yet so brief.  However...it continues to shine.  Your light remains and seems to grow brighter.  Your Peanut Effect is the light you have left this world, and all who love you.  And, as I've grown to realize, people didn't have to know you to love you, to partake in your Peanut Effect, to pass it along.

Many friends, family and readers have asked, "What is the future of the blog?  Will it end after 500 days?"  I don't think so.  As long as there are letters to write, memories, lessons to learn, stories to share, and ripples of your Peanut Effect across the world, I will probably continue to write.  Because, Peanut, this is how I talk to you and also plan to share you with The Bean.  Even if no one reads these pages in the future, I have them to share with you and your little brother.

Shine on, Peanut.  Shine on.

With loads of love - to the moon and back!
- Momma

Peanut pic that sits on our mantle.

Rumor Has It...

Peanut -

In recent weeks a new breed of question has emerged from acquaintances, co-workers, distant friends.  It seems to be a line of questioning no one felt comfortable approaching in those early, raw months.  But, now that we've given birth to The Bean, and we've passed the One Year mark, this particular type of questioning must feel more comfortable.  Easier.  Less intrusive.

The question is essentially the same, although it takes on many forms - some softer, more gentle, more subtle than others.  Regardless, I'm struggling with the appropriate answer.  In general, the dialogue goes something like this:

"So...what happened?  How did Peanut REALLY die?"

Sometimes it's followed with, "I heard it was <fill in the blank>."

The blank has ranged from SIDS to meningitis to influenza to suffocation to the one answer that seems unbelievable, unthinkable, to anyone and everyone - including me.

"Is it true you really have no idea HOW or WHY he died????"

  Yes.  Yes, that is essentially true.

Last Friday - the 13th - we received a draft of your final study results from the SUDC Research Project.  They confirmed what we suspected all along.  SUDC.  Yes, they confirmed you had a trace of bronchitis, which could have been a contributing factor.  But, as we have suspected from the beginning, bronchitis doesn't kill otherwise healthy children.

So, now what?  Peanut, with these study results in hand I will fight for you.  For SUDC.  For recognition of this unrecognized, unknown, terrifying killer of toddlers.  I will fight for all the other mommas out there who struggle to answer the horrifying, dreaded questions, "So....what happened?  How did your child REALLY die?"  In the future, when those mommas answer, "SUDC" there will be awareness.  Acknowledgment.  And someday there will be more known about how to prevent it.

Until that day, I will fight.

Charlie Dooley, Dr. Mary Case, Dr. Dolores Gunn.  I am putting you on notice.  Look out.  Peanut's Momma is back in business.

Peanut, I am forever fueled by my love for you.  Fierce Peanut Love.  To the moon and back!

- Momma