Shark Boy!

Peanut -

Your final Christmas with us - which was only your second Christmas - was filled with "big boy" gifts and monogrammed, personalized items.  Gifts that expected and spoke to a fun-filled future.  Gifts that were given with images of lazy weekend afternoons, and giggly post-work evenings.  Gifts that still evoke images of Peanut at ages 3, 4, 5...years you will never experience.

The wooden step stool with your name carved in bright, wood-block puzzle letters.  The step stool you would have used to reach the bathroom sink to brush all those teeth of yours!

The keyboard with the giant keys and little horns that connects to our television and still begs for a little boy to stand in front of the TV, banging out tunes that trigger various games.  Every time I hit the horn noise by accident, I see your face light up and hear your hilarious cackle.  When you would hit that button, you would quickly turn around to make sure Momma and Dadda were dancing to the music.

The soft bowling pin and ball set that never got set-up or used...it still sits, packed away in its carrying case.  Waiting for you to haul it to grandma and grandpa's house so they could play with you all afternoon, tournament after tournament.

The toddler Lego set that you and I played with during your last two weekends on earth.  Momma still has your final "creation" saved because it was made by YOU.  Your hands.  Your brain.  Your creativity.  It reminds me how much fun you had with that set, and makes me wonder...what wonderful towers and Lego cities would Peanut have created by now?  I imagine a trip to LegoLand would have been in our future...

The soft, butter colored Wells Fargo pony Momma bought at the office, meant to be the first in an annual collection...it now has a mate.  The brilliant white pony issued for 2011 with her red saddle.  This will forever be a collection shared by you and Pickle.

The oversized Pottery Barn futon chair with its navy blue, monogrammed slip-cover proudly announcing your name with a little football stitched below...dreams of you playing pee wee football, into high school and maybe even beyond.

The hooded bath towels with your name embroidered across the back of one, and your large initials - CPM - blazing across the other.  I still picture what you should look like, as an almost 3 year old, running around the house with your blue shark towel - teeth and all - propped on your head, arms outstretched like and airplane, chasing the dog and cat.  Bright blonde curls peaking out from under the towel.  I imagine you would be suntanned after a summer spent learning to swim, and swinging on The Perfect Swinging Tree.

Do I call upon these images, these remembered and created stories to torture myself?  No.  Not one bit.  They bring me smiles.  They remind me that we lived to the fullest with you, each and every day.  Every day was packed with joy and laughter.  And love.  So much love.

The time has now come to purchase some toddler towels for your little brother.  I think I'll pick out his very own hooded towel, with his special initials.  Or, maybe his nickname - Pickle.  And someday he will run around the house, towel flying behind him, the dog on his heels.  And, in that moment I will get a piece of you back.

I love you, my little Nutbrown Hare.  Missing you terribly.  To the moon - and back!

- Momma

Olympics and Sand Dollars

Peanut -

The 2012 Summer Olympics ended this evening.  After two weeks of sports, celebrations, world records and mindless banter on NBC we bid "farewell" tonight to the summer games for another four years.  Four years.  It seems like such a small window of time.  But, to our family it is more than a lifetime.

You never got to see or experience the summer Olympics.  Happily, we did get to enjoy the 2010 winter games with you, but there is something different and special about the summer events.  Maybe it's because Momma remembers watching those summer games during childhood summer vacations, and thought we would do the same with you.  Maybe it's because Momma was a swimmer and always pictured you following in her footsteps and cheering on the USA swimmers with passion.

Watching the closing ceremonies was bittersweet.  Pickle dozed on my lap, half watching the bright lights and fanfare.  Back to school ads popped in and out during the commercial breaks, reminding Momma that, once again, we face a new school year that won't include you.  And all I could think was, "Gosh, Peanut would have loved this."  At close to three years old, these events would have been exciting, captivating, thrilling for you.

In the midst of this looming sadness, Momma is trying to focus on the joy you brought to our lives.  The blessing of your little brother.  As I write this, I am gazing at a bright white sand dollar I received on Thursday.  Dadda and I drove for two hours to pick up your older brothers and sister from Camp Erin, a grief camp for teenagers sponsored by Annie's Hope (based in St. Louis).  The camp always closes with a lunch, awards and a ceremony filled with meaning for the campers and their families...we are all linked at the heart by our shared grief.  It is powerful, touching, special.

This year we all received sand dollars and were told a story about the magic and symbolism of their design.  Many people of faith know about the "legend of the sand dollar" but what we heard on Thursday was not anchored in one religion.  It was anchored in faith, hope and love.  In grief.  In the power of sharing and community.  As the ceremony ended, we were all asked to focus silently on our one wish for everyone else in the room.

I know what my wish is...

Peanut, I miss you so very much.  I love, love, love you.  How much?  To the moon - and back!

- Momma

Fingerprints and Gates

Peanut -

Earlier this week your little brother started crawling.  REALLY crawling.  The delightful kind of movement that requires baby-proofing and gates and extra caution.  The milestone that has begged Momma and Dadda to bring out your "gates."

Right after you passed away Dadda and his friends dismantled and stored your gate system while Momma was away from the house.  It was a protective measure, since the gate system was brightly colored,  FUN and such a symbol of you.  And, Momma never tried to look at, or touch, that system over the last 19 months.

Until today.

Today, Dadda brought the gates out of retirement. He set them up, anchored them to the walls, and reconfigured them based on past lessons learned.

It was a good moment, in theory.  We are now ready for a mobile Pickle, right?

And then I saw the gate system.  Oh. Holy. Cow.

The past and present met in a head-on collision.  I saw the bright, primary colored gates and imagined you.  I played the musical buttons and saw you crawling and hitting those buttons with your hands.  I remember you chewing on the toy telephone and kissing the mirror.

Oh!

You must still be here.

Your fingerprints.  Your saliva.  Your DNA.  It MUST still be here.

I am a crazy Momma.  Peanut, I searched those gates for you tonight.  I looked for lick marks.  Fingerprints.  Anything I could touch, smell, feel.    

In the end I realized, the power is in my head.  In the memories.  Still, I hugged the gates that seemed to carry some of you via schmeered handprints.  I kissed the prominent one and, I swear, I felt you touch the small of my back.  "It's all good Momma.  I'm watching over you and Dadda.  And Pickle."

Oh....my sweet Peanut, I love you.  How much?  To the MOOOOOOOOON and BACK!

- Momma

Check out the cool "gate" system.

 

The Music of Your Name

Peanut -

Were your ears burning up in heaven today?  I'll bet they were!  Momma and Dadda spent this afternoon telling The Pickle stories about you, sharing wonderful memories, and laughing, laughing, laughing.  Because, that is what your brought to our life.  Joy, love and laughter.

The story session started when we found ourselves at J.J. Twiggs Pizza, the site of one of your famous diaper blowouts.  As we recalled that incident, Dadda and I naturally started remembering and sharing our stories from your other hilarious blowouts, which led to stories about other Peanut antics.  At one point we were both doubled over with laughter, and it hit me - just how far we've come.

This time last year Momma could hardly make it through a Peanut story without breaking down into a puddle of tears.  Locating and holding onto the joy in the midst of that deep fog of grief was simply impossible.

But now I find unspeakable happiness in telling your stories, saying your name, sharing your pictures.  It is one of the great myths that you should avoid asking or talking about someone's child after they have died.  Bereaved parents long to talk about their child.  It shows that people remember.  It helps keep our child alive in the eyes of the world.  It reflects the impact they had on this world.

Peanut, I speak your name and a smile passes across my lips.  I hear music and laughter in your name.  Connor.  Peanut.  My son.

I love you, sweet Connor Peanut.  To the mooooooon and back!

- Momma

Emergency sink bath - post blowout!

Exhaustion

Peanut -

Tonight's letter is a rant.  Not to you, but to a part of life that is wearing Momma down.  It has been a long week...

Momma is tired.  Exhausted.  Beyond exhausted, to be precise.  And no one seems to remember - or care - about our path.  Our journey.

I actually had someone complain to me today at work, "I'm tired of all this change.  It's all we've done for the last 9 months.  It just isn't fair."  Really????  REALLY?!  <sigh>

Come see me when you lose your child.  Your son.  The light of your life.

Come see me when everything that meant anything to you was found dead in a crib.  In your nursery.  In what should have been a "safe place."

Come see me when you have to give your own child CPR and the 911 operators are advising you to break his jaw.

Come see me when you have to spend 45 minutes on the phone with the organ donation group for Missouri only to find out your child isn't eligible to donate.

Come see me when you are forced to write your child's obituary.

Come see me when you have to choose - burial or cremation?

Come see me when you have to pick an urn and the inscription.

Come see me when you have to pick up the pieces and create a life.  To move forward.

Come see me when you have found a way to live and dig into the zest of life while still mourning your son.

Then, I will listen to you.  Then we can have a discussion about what's fair in life.

Until that time, I will simply nod my head and grit my teeth.  I will keep in the front of my mind the fact that I love my family...I love and desperately miss my Peanut.

My amazing son...I love you.  To the moon - and back.

- Momma