The Gift of Appreciation

Peanut -

As we prepare to turn the page on another year, Momma can't help but be reflective.  To think back on this same time in 2010 and early 2011.  The memories of that holiday season are warm and beautiful.  You were growing into this funny, musical, spirited little man and had finally mastered the art of walking - yay!

Momma thought we were on top of the world.  Invincible.  In a bout of optimism I even sent out New Year's cards with a picture of you and your big, toothy smile.  How could I have ever guessed we were going to be contacting the recipients of those cards, our friends and family, just three weeks later to inform them of your sudden, unexplained death?  That the next cards Momma would send out with your picture would be our grief stricken thank you notes for all the flowers, letters and cards we received in the wake of your passing.

Yes, in late 2010 the first weeks of 2011 Momma was riding high.  A little too high.  Because I can remember well how terribly unappreciative I was for all our blessings.  How even as I looked around and marveled at our good fortune, I still wanted more.  Rather than bask in the small moments - you enjoying my turkey meatballs and caramelized french toast sticks, patting Zeke the cat on his head and exclaiming, "Hiiiiii kitten-kah!"when he entered the room, or sitting on the couch next to me and leaning in to give butterfly kisses - I was busy working too much, giving Dadda a hard time about stupid, trivial things, going out with friends, and simply not being present.  In the moment.

In these almost three years we've been without you physically on earth, Momma's scarred heart has embraced the gift we suffered so terribly to realize - the gift of appreciation.  While at times it can be hard to live in the moment, to keep the small stuff in perspective, whenever I catch my brain going down a negative path I feel a little tug at my heart.  I feel you.  While it's getting harder and harder to remember your scent, the feel of your tight Peanut hugs, the softness of your blonde curls, it is still so easy to tap into the love you brought to my heart.  Because, it's still there and growing each and every day.

Peanut, as we enter 2014 Momma resolves to continue to appreciate the small moments.  And to hopefully give and share the gift of appreciation with others.  Because that is how we honor you and make you proud.

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

- Momma

The picture of Peanut we used on the New Year's cards.
I took this the day we went to visit Santa.  Look at all those teeth!

This year's Peanut Tree - we almost need a bigger tree!

Sock Monkey Pajamas

Peanut -

In the past Momma has written about the sock monkey footie pajamas that got labeled as "the saddest happy-jammies ever" after you passed away.  These were the pajamas Momma put on after your Memorial Service and lived in off-and-on for days during the subsequent snow/ice storm that hit St. Louis.  These sweet, bright red pajamas almost found their way into your memory trunk but at the last minute I said, "No."

Momma has been working to break her belief in curses and an imagined connection between the unrelated events that occurred around the day of your death.  These ridiculous pajamas have become quite symbolic in this effort.  Somehow they have taken the blame for for the grief and heartbreak - for the days when survival just didn't seem to be an option.  Momma buried them in her closet, under a pile of clothes.  But due to their color and sheer size - these are adult footie pajamas, after all - the sock monkey jammies were impossible to fully ignore.

And then the day came last week.  A frigid day filled with snow, rain and ice.  Despite bundling up throughout the afternoon, Momma was still chilled to the bone.  That evening, Momma made a decision.  Time to pull them out.  Hold them against my frame, shoulder to shoulder and challenge my beliefs.  To finally open my heart and remember why the grief was so raw when I last wore them.  To feel the Peanut love and still very fresh loss, even after three years.

At first it felt like a betrayal, to be wearing the pajamas that bring warmth and comfort, when you are no longer here.  But then I realized - the warmth and comfort are not only from their fleecy fabric but from the wonderful memories of you and your musical laughter when you saw sock monkeys.  That's why Momma bought these silly things, after all.

In some ways these pajamas are a bridge in time.  Not a bridge back to a time of intense grief, but more a bridge between my boys.  Pickle also loves sock monkeys, and now I can't wait to see his reaction when Momma shows up in this ridiculous outfit.  The anticipated giggles and need to touch the monkey faces on my feet - so similar to you, but different.

Peanut, Momma has been thinking about you a lot in the last few days.  It's almost Christmas.  This would be your 5th Christmas…Santa and his elves would be the only thing on your mind, and the anticipation of Christmas eve and Santa's eight tiny reindeer.  This season is terribly bittersweet since I can't help but wonder what it would be like with you here - which brings pangs of sadness - but I am also so thankful to have your little brother with his spunky personality and wonder over the Christmas tree.

We also have your 3rd Angel Day looming before us.  Honestly, Momma just wants to get through the next month.  Just make it to February.  It's strange how this year seems harder than previous years.  Is it the passing of time?  The fact that you should be getting so much older but never will?  I'm not sure.

What Momma knows is this.  As I type this letter I am wearing your red sock monkey jammies and I am smiling.  And crying.  Tears of love and appreciation.  A smile that is tinged with grief.  But all of it is rooted in deep, fierce Momma love.  A love I never would have known if it hadn't been for you, my precious Peanut.  I love you sweet boy, to the moon - and back.

- Momma

A soulful, serious Peanut with Santa in 2010.

Love of the Ordinary

Peanut -

Last night Momma got exactly ZERO hours of sleep.  I watched the clock tick, tick, tick - 11pm, midnight, 1 am, 2 am, <groan> oh 4:00 am please bring some hope of rest.  Nope!

Why the insomnia?  Because The Pickle hasn't reached that magical age when sleep feels safe for Momma.  And St. Louis is back in a freezing cold snap that feels a bit too familiar.  A bit too much like January of 2011.  So Momma's brain stayed up all night, waiting.  Watching.  Staying vigilant.  For what?  Death to arrive at our doorstep again.  He found us once...

What is that magical safe age for Momma when sleep will no longer be terrifying?  Maybe three.  Four?    I don't know.  The data surrounding SUDC is so limited it's hard to say - when are we safe?  Are we ever safe?  We thought we were safe with you when you reached one year of age.

In the midst of this fear, I am trying to soak in the ordinary moments as I contemplate these questions - these horrible questions.  Savor the love of everything "normal" with The Pickle.  His love of trucks, stomping to music with a strong beat, chicken and steak but NOT bread or rice, and his very Peanut-like desire to give big hugs and kisses.

The ordinary is today, tomorrow and the next day - whatever they may bring.  When and if they arrive.

The normal is what makes our memories with you so amazingly wonderful.   Like reading your favorite bedtime story every night.  Momma loves you to the moon - and back!

- Momma

Practicing Gratitude

Peanut -

As I write this letter to you, we are wrapping up Thanksgiving Day in the United States.  A day devoted to breaking bread with family and reflecting on all we give thanks for in our lives.  This is a day when it would seemingly be so easy to be anything but thankful - to instead be bitter about what we lost when you died.  But, no.  That wasn't the case, thanks to your Peanut Effect.

Today Momma and Dadda shared memories of you, your strong independent streak and your love of hugs.  We cuddled your little brother as he danced, stomped through the house, and dissolved into a puddle of toddler tears over absolutely nothing.  We observed that both of our little boys have voracious appetites but are both little string beans thanks to their boundless energy.

In short - today we reflected on our love of our two boys.  One here on earth.  One watching over us.

Today, Momma is practicing gratitude.  Gratitude that is found in the simple moments, the small things. Because those are the moments I miss the most with you.

I miss bath time with your froggy bath mats and fishing pole.  I miss the scent of your lavender bedtime lotion.  I miss giving you butterfly kisses and nose nuggles.  I miss making you caramelized fresh toast sticks.  I miss sitting on the floor with you between my legs while we practiced our Saturday nail-cutting routine.  I miss reading "Guess How Much I Love You" right before bedtime, and your signature Peanut neck-hug.  I miss watching you mimic my one-eyebrow gaze.

Conversely, these are all the things I am thankful for.  Because, I have these moments.  These memories.  And, I am fortunate enough to be building new, different ones with your little brother.

Momma's Thanksgiving Day message to herself and others is this - be thankful for the small gestures.  The tiny seconds that someday will mean so much.  Bask in them.  Soak them in.  Because those are the times you will miss the most, and will desperately want to relive over and over again.  It's not the "big" trip or the giant birthday party.  It's the constantly mispronounced word, the happily mis-matched outfits or the out-of-tune but enthusiastic singing voice that will haunt the void in your heart.

Love these moments and let them be your guideposts in life.  Remember what's important…and shed the rest of the baggage.  As I learned the hard way - life really is too short.

Happy Thanksgiving, Peanut.  Gosh…I miss you.  <sigh>  Sending you my love and my heart.  To the moon - and back!

- Momma

A musician in the making...

Blue Dog Journal

Peanut -

For years, Momma has used journals to keep notes and records at work.  Before your death these were never plain old journals, they were always works of creativity and art.  Usually plastered with drawings inspired by favorite artists, songs, etc. and often with wide open pages, free of lines and boundaries.  In the years before you died my preferred journals were inspired by George Rodrigue, and came to be an inside joke with Momma's team.  Lately - meaning, since January 26, 2011 - Momma's journals have been plain black with lined paper.  Not out of thoughtful intention…maybe.

Earlier today Momma started cleaning out her bookshelf at the office.  Too many books + too much stuff escalated the need to purge.  As I came to my journal storage shelf there was a moment of unexpected joy - what is this?!  An empty journal?  And a Rodrigue Blue Dog journal, no less???

Then I turned to the first few pages.  While 98% of the journal was indeed empty, it turns out this was the one Momma purchased for 2011.  A forgotten journal, thanks to a stark, black journal labeled "2011" that sits on Momma's shelf.  But, that one wasn't started until April of 2011.  This sad, almost empty Blue Dog was started in the first weeks of January and is full of notes and plans for the year ahead.  The first six pages are jam-packed with ideas and enthusiasm.  Momma turned to page 6, and caught her breath.  There it was.  January 25, 2011.  Team meeting notes.  A to-do list for the next day.   For January 26.  A to-do list that never got done.

Every page after that is blank.  Somehow, so completely appropriate.  Life Before Connor.  Life After Connor.  A reminder that just like that, poof! in a moment, everything you know to be true in this world changes.

After a brief panic attack, followed by a brisk cross-campus walk, Momma made a decision.  End the day early.  Make no big decisions today.  And be unapologetic about it.  Go to the bookstore and surround yourself with the joys of reading.  And so I did.  The moment Momma walked into the bookstore what did I see?  A Rodrigue 2014 calendar.  It is now sitting in a bag on the kitchen table, patiently waiting for 2014 to arrive.

Today was a wake-up call.  A reminder the grief, like life, is a journey - not a destination.  It is neither long nor short.  It simply is what it is.

Today I chose joy in the midst of this wave of grief.  Somedays I choose joy thanks to the sun.  Somedays I choose joy because the alternative is just too painful.  Today is one of those days.

The almost empty Blue Dog journal came home with Momma today.  It will be placed in your special Peanut storage trunk - the place where all the happy reminders of you are stored.

Peanut, please know I think of you every moment of every day.  And I love you.  To the moon - and back!

Love,
Momma

Taken on January 20, 2011.