Winter Clothing and Swings

So here we go again. Enter grieving Mom into normal parenting tasks.

I had to buy warmer clothing for Paiden. I have largely used Perry's clothes as hand me downs, but Paiden's size is different- at least for a few months. I knew it would be.

I used to be the Mom that had entire wardrobes bought at sales a year or two in advance. It wasn't that I didn't have a chance after Paiden was born and all the winter stuff that remained was very cheap, it was just that I couldn't. I felt like I had somehow spit in the face of fate by buying clothing in advance. I was afraid to now.

I both hate and love that I do not take my children for granted. On the one hand it is the horrible knowing that nothing is guaranteed, on the other hand it is notes on school supplies telling Emily I love her, and moments captured that I might have simply let slip by before.... Like swinging.

The everyday details are miraculous when you see them for what they are.



Paiden swinging for the first time. Emily insisted. I was hesitant, in some ways I wanted Dad to be there.

He laughed, She giggled. No apathy here either.

And before we left a butterfly drifted around the play equipment, circled us for a while, and was gone.

Dates

I have started doing something since I lost Perry. I look at every date I see and it becomes classified into my life in one of a few ways.

Before Perry
Pregnant with Perry
Perry's Birthday
The Golden Age of Perry
Perry's Death
After Perry

Even after Paiden, I still do this.

I find receipts in odd places, expiration dates, or pay stubs. My mind looks, does the math. I found a paystub in my pump bag. It was during the golden days, days worked around October. I paused and memories flooded back. If I could go back and relieve those days, I would. Perry in his carrier, baby leggings, silly excitement over new cloth diapers. Fall was wonderful then, pumpkins and candy, costumes and memories of college days and football games with cold nipping at my nose. Sundays with little boy sweaters, and the serious question of daycare that approached. A future that folded out before me, wonderful and bright. I wanted to see Emily and Perry in happy holiday pictures, proudly shared as 'firsts'. They were so close I could feel the anticipation as these moments hung before me like heavy fruit... in a short time, I was sure, they would be here... I had just to reach out and take them.

I paused. I remembered this paystub- I'd placed it in my bag to go home. But when I got home, it was so insignificant compared to what I saw that it stayed there forgotten. It stayed through the worst days of my life, through initial shock, through days so hard to live that it was a victory to get up and go into the bathroom a few short steps from my bed. It stayed through days of trying, frustration and grief at further loss. It stayed as Paiden formed. It just now emerged...

Tears fall as I remember.

These days it is a confusing jumble. Days or hours of joy, then sadness and loss returns all over again. Even that joy still has a weight with it that never lifts.

And I put it back. Do I toss or keep? I defer.

I return to facebook, but find myself looking and dreaming as I see the dates on friend's pictures... and I categorize again, quietly.
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I guess I should tell you, unless you wonder. The joy is still a wonderful surprise, even with the weight. Emily and Paiden have been jewels to me in my darkest days. It is just that you can't undo losing a child or untie the string of longing that binds you still. It isn't depression, it just is.

A Good Mom?

I had a friend tell me today that I was a good Mom, the kind that should have a pascal of kids.

And I admit, I thought "If I am a good Mom, why did Perry die?".  Before I lost him, I thought I was a good Mom. I tried. I still try.

But now I doubt. If you are a good Mom, bad things aren't supposed to happen to your kids right?

At the same time, I don't think my friend is the type to lie.

Before I lost Perry, I accepted that bad things happen to good people and good parents. But when it happened to me, for some reason I can't accept it. Strange, I feel like I am punishing myself in some way or perhaps just in denial over the lack of control past a point.

At times I don't feel like I deserve my children because of the guilt I feel, no matter how misplaced(How could I be blessed with three such wonderful babies? I must be a bad person because my sweet baby isn't here.), and in reality I guess none of us ever do. Children are a blessing, but they do not come as a result of whether you deserve them or not. We see bad 'parents' and wonderful parents who never received a child to match.

I don't understand it. I don't think I ever will.

Hoping one day I will be reunited and the answers won't matter anymore.

5 Months

Paiden is 5 months. An age his brother almost reached. Bittersweet. Relief at him breathing, hands curled in his own hair. Feeling the wrongness that Perry's little brother is now older than he was.

I spent the days leading up to this milestone barely sleeping. Praying that God would not take this little one too. Laying in bed staring at the motion monitor flashing green with each breath on the wall.

Now I am paranoid, I watch my daughter closely in the pool at a friend's house and interrupt nursing Paiden because I am worried she is not being watched. I have started systematically getting rid of the plastic bags in the house... Paiden is going to crawl soon. Chris fixates on small pieces that belong to Emily's toys. I want the mobile moved up higher. Neither one of us says why, but we know.

We can't loose another. I try not to worry, but I know it can still happen.

I worry about family members, how long will I have them? Mortality is very much on my mind these days.

But sometimes sunshine breaks through the clouds. I've seen a lot of black butterflies lately. Are they signs, do I even believe in signs? Memories of Perry flutter through my mind- his course baby laugh, so like Emily and Paiden's. His wobbling attempt to stay upright as I sat him up. He pushed with his arms in an awkward tripod. The way he nuzzled the spoon looking for ice cream the one time (why didn't I let him taste solids? He should have known what applesauce tasted like, he was about ready. I find it hard to refuse new flavors to Paiden, I want to see the list of things he has done begin to pile up).

I remember Perry jumping in the jumparoo- it was already at the second to last adjustment- I had to lower it to the lowest for Paiden's chubby legs. He smiled in delight. I remember him in the black cow diaper (where is it? I hid it to selfishly keep it from the ground). I remember the way his hair was just long enough to curl slightly below his ears, the little sharp fingernails I could never trim because he would always move his hands. I remember how he was just starting to slobber... He didn't play with toys quite the way Paiden does. He teethed on the blue pacifiers, chewing on the base as he held it in tiny hands and jumped. Blue eyes- ears that had just now uncrinkled. A charming smile. His body was so long, when I hold Paiden my mind jumps back sometimes and Paiden feels too short. So patient and yet a rolling mass of movement that could move across the floor. I remember him frowing one of the last times I left him at the Y nursery. Long lashes, a beautiful little boy stretching quietly towards being a toddler. Mr. Wiggles. Emily's Milk Monkey. Black hair fading to brown.

I want Perry. I want Paiden. I want them all.

The Fourth Month

I got back from a call and this was the message on facebook from my husband:

"I turned around today and Paiden had rolled up in a blanket on the floor, and was shoving it in his mouth. When you get home all of the small blankets will be in a bag in the attic. I did not throw them away. You can take them down in a year. "

This month sucks. His crib is bare and the only time blankets are used is for tummy time. Flashbacks are in full swing. The fourth month is when babies are clumsily reaching new milestones, like laughing or rolling over. It is also the last month we would share with Perry and not even a full month at that.

As I held Paiden on the fourth I remembered a fourth two years ago with a newborn baby. I remember holding him in the scrapbook/ card making room of the house we were visiting. I remember holding him on the back porch in the shade while Emily swam... I remember someone talking about SIDS with fear. I can still remember holding him in my lap, hands over his ears as the men set off fireworks. The grass was itchy and Emily was sitting next to Violet on her blanket.

How was I to know that my sweet baby had already lived almost a fourth of his life? That time was marching on to an unimaginable time of absence. That I would soon feel emotional pain so raw and heavy that before this I never knew I could feel this bad and yet still somehow survive.

I held Paiden today and was afraid it was the last time I'd see him. I hate all the horrible thoughts like wondering if I dress him in an outfit if it is the last he will wear. I just want Perry back and this nightmare to end.

Meanwhile on babycenter all the Moms are pretty much congratulating themselves on being out of the danger zone because their babies can roll over.

I wish that were me...

Before and After

Before/After

Disappointment:
Not getting to continue a path to promotion/ Realizing that the bags you placed over your child's belongings to preserve the smell were deodorant (and this was the last chance you had to smell him).

Poor:
The family that lives in a car/ The parents who are jealous of the family in the car because they have all of their children.

Good Friends:
Go out and share good times with you/ Are the ones at your house before the ambulance leaves and stay through the worst times.

Crying Babies:
Emotions between tired and frustrated/ Relief and thankfulness.

Heaven:
A floaty place with clouds, streets of gold, and a vague benevolent God/ An acceptance of God as being complex beyond our comprehension and the only possibility of reunion. The gold is the presence of the body of Christ- those that we love. The décor really doesn't matter.

These are a few of my definitions that have changed. I realize life looks different. It is not all bad, but not all the deep meaningful warm fuzzies that you get from some loss blogs that avoid the ugly. I find myself captivated at times by the smallest things- the pollen on a bees legs or the fuzz behind a newborn's ears. I appreciate time in moments but realize the sum of our life is brief; We are vapor. I feel intense pain never imagined but recognize that loss is only possible because of being given great blessings. Before I wanted a sense of belonging- I worked to help them by volunteering (but that didn't seem enough) and now I find myself tied to a community because a part of me is buried there. The old families in our area accept us now because we are rooted to their church/ area in a way that most newcomers are not. Our son rests next to their parents and grandparents, he lies close to their brothers, sisters, and grandsons that never got to grow up. While I may have put out the fire in their field before, I only became tied to a name after they delivered a casserole to me. I have witnessed both intense unintentional cruelty and the beauty of empathy, from close family and strangers. Instead of being asked "Who is your Daddy?", I have become Perry's (the little baby's) Mom. To some who know only the tragedy that is a sad title, to me it is something beautiful because he is a sweet soul. Treasure lies in people now. I'd give it all up if God would let me trade years of my life for his.

I guess if I had to sum it up I would say that you do not fully appreciate life or other people until you realize we all die. You lose the safety of the naïve, life becomes scary but more beautiful. Great pain is like great fortune- you will either learn from it or squander life further. It will magnify what was there before. You see the cracks and beauty in yourself and others. You will grow closer or further from God as you question him, his existence, and his nature. It is the fire in the kiln, the reason why it is better to be in a house of mourning than of rejoicing. But it is never easy.

Perry's second birthday

I guess what has surprised me most about this second year was that I expected it to be easier in many ways. Sometimes it is, but in many ways it all still comes crashing down. I have this desperate need to get away again after Perry's birthday, but am still here. The second year is sort of more of the first with the exception that you know what to expect and more of your triggers, so you can avoid them or know how to handle things a bit better. You don't expect as much out of yourself, although perhaps others do.

So this year after Perry's birthday passed again, I was thinking about birthday gifts for him. We went to target for something else and ran across this again:






This time I bought it. Many Moms will buy gifts for other babies in memory of their little one.(I decided it was fine to be less noble and buy it for my own son since I'd already spent a lot of effort donating sleep sacks again this year- its ok to do things just for my family as well. I wanted to see it used in our house). It occurred to me that if Perry were here he and Emily would have loved this one by now. I decided I could buy it for Paiden's Christmas, but as I write Emily is desperately bartering to get me to let her play with it... "I would really like it- to have one of those...". So we'll see what happens. But I still wish Perry were here to play with it.

One new trigger we've found is that Paiden is beginning to roll over. Chris hates and fears it- I try to remember that as much as we'd like him to skip this milestone it is just that- a milestone that all babies have to go through to progress. The bad thing for me is that he knocks off his blinky (snuza motion detector), and so my crutch is not working at night.

Last night he rolled over for the first time in the crib. Chris put him on his back and I heard him pleading with Paiden to stay put. But he continued rolling over and knocking off his snuza at least 6 times until it was finally taken off of him. Then I stayed awake listening for every breath until Chris and Paiden woke up.

During the day it is so so now. I put it on for a trip to the YMCA nursery and it went off before we left the house. I knew he was ok as he was giving me a big gummy grin- but I suspect he has figured out how to make it go off by holding his breath. He seemed especially pleased. I've heard of babies learning to pull sensors off the corded ones, so perhaps this is not as far fetched as it sounds.

I've ordered an angelcare under the mattress sensor for night, hoping it comes in soon. We'll see if he figures this one out as well, but I'm hoping it will work for his bedtime anyway.