Tag Archives: school

Scrapbooking Through Grief

Five years ago last night God brought me to the brink of urgency and fear. He then showered me with his mercy. As I watched my home go up in flames, my emotions flickered between disbelief, fear and sadness. My family had moved into our home a mere eight months prior to the fire that was ignited by a strike of lightening. We were still putting our own personal touches on it.

It was not just a home. It symbolized a life that we looked forward to continue cultivating with our three boys. Many of the key reasons we moved to this home revolved around our children. We imagined all of the beautiful holidays and get togethers to be hosted. We pictured our boys splashing in the pool and playing baseball and kickball games in our large yard. We had space to entertain indoors and ou. We loved our home and all the opportunities it afforded us to spend time with family and friends.

As I watched the fire licking the roof many emotions surfaced. The fire trucks screamed down our street, a small neighborhood of only eight houses. The lights were blinding. The image of the firefighters battling the flames is forever ingrained in my mind. Nonetheless we were extremely cognizant that it was just a home. We were all safe and had the summer to look forward to.

On the morning of July 4th 2014. I woke up dazed and shocked in my parents home. Immediately I said a quick prayer to God, thanking him for my family’s safety. We went about the day in a bit of a fog but managed to enjoy many patriotic activities. We watched the fireworks that night and the explosion of colors reflected on my boys’ faces. My heart swelled with love for them and my husband.

Five years have passed since our home was struck by lightening. It is the turning point in our lives that set everything into motion. Christian’s final summer with us was filled with many smiles, hugs and laughs. I regret that I did not capture more of them.

Two years ago I decided I would create a summer scrapbook. It was such a cathartic activity for me. Summer is when I get to spend the most intensive time with my boys. The project spurred me to capture all of the fun we have together, as a family and with friends. It offered me a daily activity to focus on. During the day I was on constant watch for photo worthy moments. At night I creatively designed the pages for the scrapbook. We often look at it and relive the memories.

(From Summer 2017 scrapbook)

I’m not sure why, but last summer I did not make a scrapbook. It seemed like more work than pleasure. This summer, however, I knew I wanted to take up this project again. Summer was the last season we spent with Christian. It is extremely bittersweet. The scrapbook allows me to enjoy making new memories. There are also many photos of the signs he sends us. So, while photos of his face do not appear, photos of his love do. Love to Heaven…

Use The Same Ruler For Blessings and Tragedy

Sometimes the ruler we use to measure just how bad things are is the same one we need to use to measure just how good things are. Let me explain. A friend of mine likes to tease me about something I said after losing Christian. In effect, it was this, “You know things are bad when (insert any number of people’s names who I hadn’t spoken to in about 20 years) is sending me food, a donation and/or condolence cards.

After losing our firstborn, Christian, my husband and I received many a card, gift and/or meal from people who we had not be in touch with for many years or never even met. That is the mark of an extreme tragedy.

As I have said many times before, we all go through our own trials and tribulations. The sign of extreme trials and tribulations is when you begin to receive support from people you have not been in touch with recently and/or people you never met. In effect, they are saying no amount of time would come in between my support of someone who has been devastated to this measure. The hardship is so severe that it is hard to avert.

My husband and I are high school sweethearts. Our high school years were filled with mutual friends. We attended a small school in upstate New York, with a graduating class of 200 students. We all knew each other. My husband and I chose to live in the same town because we appreciated that sense of community. Never did we imagine just how much we would need to rely on it. Our community has gone above and beyond. Last year I published a thank you to all who continue to support us.

We have an amazing, tight knit group of friends who, like us, decided to raise their families here because at least one of them grew up in our town. They, too, appreciated the sense of community. There were plenty of people from our town, however, who decided that kind of environment was not fitting for them. After losing Christian, one of the most astounding aspects of the tragedy was just how many of them reached out to us, providing their support in so many ways. It was a true testament to the way we all grew up together.

Many years had passed since we had seen some of our classmates, yet they went so far as to write us and let us know the ways in which our tragedy affected their own lives. It was, and still is, quite touching. Even today when we are in contact with many of our classmates on social media, they let us know that they are always thinking of us.

The depth of our tragedy is so deep and dark that those who didn’t know us or never knew us as parents, provided support. Almost five years later I have come to realize that the depth of darkness is equal to our height of blessings. These people can never take the pain away. They know that. We know that. Their support, love and generosity stays with us today. It helps to lift us.

There is no recollection of the exact support we received from who. There is a strong recollection of who showed their support in any way. Big, small, grand, minute – it truly doesn’t matter how you showed you were there for us. It matters that you did.

So, yes, the depth of our tragedy is deep, dark and awful. The height of blessings and support we receive from others truly help buoy us out of the dark. Do we still fall in to that deep darkness of grief? Yes, we do, but the height of everyone’s support and blessings still helps to lift us out when we do. Love to Heaven….    

 

The Truth About Inevitable Days of Grief

There are some days that you know will inevitably arrive. We all know that the day will come when someone we love will leave this Earth physically. When that person is a child, you may become obsessed with other days you know are in your future. The path of dreams you set out on when your child was born becomes decimated, and you are now forced onto a different path.

There are the major days we know will be hard – birthdays, graduations, marriages and births. These are days that bereaved parents dread. The thought of them evokes a stifling pain that takes one’s breath away.

Then there are less significant days as a whole, but more impactful in some ways. Most recently the shock of physical transformation has been thrust upon me. My angel, Christian, will forever be six years old. Not nearly old enough to say he lived a full life. Many coming of age experiences and milestones fell away in an instant when he was called to Heaven. Each one dropped into the sand, forever buried. So many major mountains never climbed.

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Photo by Trace Hudson on Pexels.com

This thought often plagues me. He was my oldest child of three so it is only in the past two years that his brothers have begun reaching milestones that he never did. His classmates, however, have been reaching them, changing and growing since the day he died.

As his classmates and friends age it has been difficult to hear of them celebrating birthdays that he may have been included in. It was difficult to watch them grow into the oldest class in the elementary school, have their special musical concerts, special field day events and finally move on to a whole new era in their life; middle school.

Yet, they still resembled their little Kindergarten selves. Recently, though, their faces have changed. The baby fat that once puffed out their cheeks has been chiseled. The hair, that mom was once responsible for keeping clean and neat, now sports gel and hip styles. Clothing choices have shifted and lets not get into the height changes! More than once upon seeing one of Christian’s friends I’ve gasped, shocked at their appearance. It stays with me and burrows into my heart.

This is the year. The year he would have made those stark transformations. Friends and relatives who don’t see him all that often would have been the ones to gasp. As his mother I would have had the privilege not to notice. It wouldn’t have taken me by surprise because the drastic nature of the change would be less visible to the eyes that saw him every day.

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It’s the question that haunts all grieving parents. Who would you be now? I want to know 11 year old Christian!! I want to see him, hug him, know his interests. I even want to be able to argue with him. How would his mischief be impacting my life now?

Facing such vast physical changes in his classmates makes it harder to see the commonalities between them and Christian. It tricks my mind into believing he never was a part of that group. They have left him behind physically. Never in their hearts, but they have surpassed him in age, education and now physical appearance. Each change breaks my heart a little more.

This is a day that I knew would inevitably arrive. It’s just so painful. The reminder of how definitive death is and all that it takes with it is biting. My heart cries out again that this can’t be true. I am supposed to be the mother of a middle schooler! I am supposed to be juggling the schedules of elementary and middle schools. I am supposed to be attending another child’s sporting events, musical performances and anything else he is interested in. But I’m not. I’m mourning him.

Yes, there is so much beauty in the pain. It’s been found unexpectedly, but it doesn’t numb the other side. The depth of the pain where no beauty can ever be found. Love to Heaven…

Broken Hearted But Not Broken

This afternoon as I glanced down at my phone for a quick reprieve I was deeply saddened to discover the news about Notre Dame. I inhaled a sharp breath causing my mother to ask anxiously, “What happened?” When I told her the news she was heartbroken but relieved. Bad news has known to be the worst news in our family.

She and I began to commiserate about the news of the fire, consider what might have been the cause and thank God that at least no one was hurt. Our conversation was cut short as we were snapped back to reality. “They’re back”, she said. The “they” meant my dad, my boys and my niece.

“They” had returned home from picking up my niece at school. I opened the car door and inquired about how her day had been. As though in tune with the world, she lamented over a troubling encounter with one of her friends in Kindergarten. We discussed it for a moment. At the age of six, injustices are easily washed away by the promise of sugar. My mother and I had hidden one hundred fifty Easter eggs for the children to find. When I explained that the “Easter bunny” left a note for them and hid eggs while we were all out, the excitement registered on their faces and in their voices.

The screeches were surely heard around the block. As they sprinted to the front door, I was nearly knocked over. Immediately the exclamations of discoveries could be heard. I brushed past my mom, anxious to see them on the hunt. She held my youngest niece in her arms and said, “I want to hear more of that report when they are done”. Confusion clouded my brain. It took me a minute to realize she meant the fire that had encapsulated Notre Dame.

Just a few moments prior I had been immersed in world history in the making. Today will be noted in History books for years to come. And still life carries on even when history is in the making. It brought me back to the days that will forever be in my own personal history book.

Time stopped today as flames licked a historic cathedral that will now forever be changed. The world carried on around it. Time stopped the day Christian gained his wings, forever changing our lives. The world carried on around us. The concept never ceases to amaze me. Things happen all day, every day, everywhere that are major monumental, events. Sometimes they affect a family and community. Sometimes they affect the world. Either way, the world carries on around it.

Photo Credit: Thibault Camus/AP

This is one of the most shocking aspects of child loss. It boggled my mind that the sun was still rising and setting, kids were starting a new school year, the leaves were changing. All of the things and events that had been natural occurrences at one time in my life were still going on around me, but my life had turned so unnatural.

The strangest realizations had me questioning my sanity. One day I realized I would never again take care of Christian when he was sick. He would never need to be nursed back to health with a proper dose of ginger ale after the stomach bug. No longer would I wait with baited breath as the thermometer read the temperature of his body. Obviously these are more menial tasks of motherhood but if he was able to be sick it meant his body was alive. It meant I could help “make things better”. My chance at that was through.

It was the daily routines that were most unnatural. Bath time with only 2 boys. The world carried on. Only 2 boys to coerce into brushing their teeth. Only 2 boys to corral into bed. Only 2 boys to kiss goodnight. Only 2 boys to imagine growing older. Only 2 boys to imagine carrying out all the hopes and dreams I had for them. And the world carried on. So unnatural, so changed.

Hopes and dreams were lost today, just as they were when Christian became an angel. Yet, children went to school and egg hunts were had. A historical structure survived a trauma but will forever be changed. It will be rebuilt, undoubtedly, but never the same. The rich historical background to include the fire that damaged it but did not decimate it. The world will carry on, just as it always does. Tomorrow the sun will come up. History will be changed and time will go on. Just as we are forever changed. We are not broken, just broken hearted. Love to heaven…

Quick Thought: Humor Is A Lifesaver

We just got the call here in New York that today is a snow day. I couldn’t resist writing a little something to go with this humorous meme. Give me an hour or two after my kids are awake and my disposition might not be as light! For now though everyone is still sleeping in their own beds. That means no one is smushed so close up against me that I have to get out and walk to the other side of the bed so I don’t fall out! That means no one is rubbing my earlobe. That means creepy baby’s shell of a leg is not sprawled across my face – don’t ask. That means no one has peed on me overnight. That means I have glorious time to myself! Sure it’s way earlier than I want it to be but these may be the only moments I get to myself!

These moments, these times when they cuddle with me in bed, and use me as their body pillow, will be something I miss. I know I will. It’s just hard to miss something when it is part of a regular routine. I can remember with Christian being so paranoid when I got frustrated with him because I wasn’t enjoying him enough. How many times do people say,

“You will miss these days.”

Each and every time I heard that or thought that, I became stressed. That stress caused me to be even more short tempered. In the end that reminder may not be the best. Keeping the idea that I will miss this someday in the back of my head seems a much better option for me than dwelling on it.

  • It’s easy to think about how much I will miss this time when my kids are grown. For the most part I am successful at staying present and enjoying my children. Even before losing Christian I feel that this was my approach to parenting. However, after hearing the “poopy song” 56 times in an hour my excitement about being present dims. Then comes the nerf to the butt. Throw in a little fighting and I am looking to lock myself in the bathroom!
  • It goes without saying that every parent has been there. It also goes without saying that we all love these little antagonizers more than anything. It took me a long time after losing Christian to be okay with these feelings. My heart was plagued with such pain. I would give anything to get him back, even at his toughest moments. A friend of mine taught me the power of the word “and”. This changed a lot for me.

  • I can be a grieving mother who would do anything to get her son back AND still be a person who gets frustrated with her living children. In no way does this mean I don’t love them more than anything. It just means I am a human.

  • The love I have for my children is unmeasurable. I will miss when my boys don’t cuddle with me. Hearing “mommy” in their little voices melts me every time, unless they are whining or screaming. There is so much to be missed but it makes it so hard to enjoy if we think that way.
  • Parenting is hard. Sometimes it makes your heart swell a hundred times. Other times it makes you feel like sticking a fork in your eye. Such is life. Humor will get us through those moments that make us want to pick up the fork. One thing I have learned is that humor heals. If it weren’t for the nerf to the butt what would we miss in twenty years?
  • Today parents of children waking up to find out that school is closed, find humor. When you have refereed the 73rd fight and can’t take it anymore, find something humorous. When you have dressed and undressed them for snow for the tenth time, when you have cleaned pee off the floor for the thousandth time, find humor. If you can’t find that, find wine! Both will get us through. Sending good vibes and hopes for humor to all of you today! Love to heaven…

    • A Picture Of Hope

    Anyone who has witnessed a family losing a child has seen hopelessness with their own eyes. When a child prematurely passes way, everything is questioned. The tunnel of life appears permanently dark with no light to be found.

    Oxford Living Dictionary defines hope as, “Grounds for believing that something good may happen.” Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines hope as, “to expect with confidence”. Child loss leaves us devoid of any of these feelings. It’s heart breaking, life altering and devastating.

    I am a grieving mother who has been living for four years, 1 month and 19 days without my oldest son. My life consisted of months when I couldn’t feel hope for more than a moment at a time. It doesn’t take much to remember that level of hopelessness. Personal journal entries clearly outline this.

    Eight weeks ago you were physically still here. My heart physically hurts that I won’t see you again. I truly don’t know how I will go on.

    These words still ring true. My heart physically hurts. Sometimes I question how I will go on. This question comes up very rarely anymore because I know how I will go on. I will go on living with your spirit next to me and with me. Still these raw emotions are under the scab that covers them. They are not as fresh or vulnerable as they once were but they are still there.

    The thing is you’re in every living memory from the past six years. Making new memories means making them without you. I don’t want to. Then the finality of your life is real because you are not making memories. You are just a part of some, just there in spirit. That’s not enough for me.

    It is still not enough for me, you just being here in spirit. We haven’t made new memories with you physically for over four years. I will never be okay with what happened but I have learned to continue on. There are many new, happy memories that have been created. You are in some of those new memories even. Yes, it’s only in spirit but you are not totally absent from our lives as I feared when we first lost you.

    It is my hope that any family who is new to child loss or in a dark place will receive my message loud and clear. There is hope. You can’t feel it now. You can’t imagine it now. You may not even want to know about it now. It’s there. It’s waiting in the wings for when you least expect it.

    Hope starts to slip into your day with a smile. It’s so quick at first your don’t even notice it. Then it lingers for slightly longer. Each time hope presents itself it buoys your soul a little at a time. One day you feel joy. Again, it’s so quick that you don’t even realize it. It’s gone as quickly as it comes. Each time you see positivity, you find people who have been in difficult situations and are thriving. Each time someone honors your loved one, you get a surefire sign from your beloved. Each time hope grows. It grows until you start to see glimmers of light. The light gets brighter and brighter.

    It dims sometimes and sometimes it stays dim for a few days but it continues to burn. That’s hope. As long as you continue living, hope will be there. I didn’t believe it when we first lost Christian. Slowly I had to see for myself. I promise it will not be this way forever. The stabbing pains will lessen. You will be able to breathe again. Nothing will be the same but there is hope. You will feel joy. You will smile. You will even receive messages from your child. It is in your future. There is hope. Love to heaven…

    Hold The Tears, Mom

    My boys are off to school. Even Nicky, my Kindergartner, went off willingly. Not before telling me, “Mom, don’t cry. If you cry, you will make me cry”. His perception and true understanding of the situation was more progressive than I knew. Nothing but a smile was plastered to my face all morning. I held my tears. I did. I gave him a giant hug and kiss. Then he got on the bus, holding his big brother’s hand. He hesitated just the slightest bit, only enough for a mother to notice. Off the bus went and my tears started flowing.

    I decided a few weeks ago that I would send Nicky on the bus with Anthony, his older brother. I contemplated meeting the bus at school but decided against it. Mother’s intuition told me that this would make for the best transition. Well, emotion took over and I hopped in the car to spy on him. Knowing that the Kindergarten classes line up outside before going into the building, allowed me to steal a glimpse of him. Luckily he didn’t see me. It was hard to tell the exact emotion on his face but I could see that he wasn’t crying. That was all I needed to know.

    My anxiety has eased slightly but I will feel much better once he is home. My tears have stopped but his words resound in my head. You see, Christian said those same words to me just a few days before he was taken. The scene has remained one of my sharpest memories of his last days. It was a steamy August night and I was completely overwhelmed. While unsuccessfully attempting to get my three young children to go to bed, my middle son had an accident and my youngest son was crying and carrying on about something else. My emotions got the best of me and I burst into tears. Christian responded by speaking the same words Nicky spoke. In hindsight it feels as though he was foreshadowing the future. Hearing Nicky tell me not to cry today snapped me right back to the moment when Christian said those words. There have been many times I’ve heard Christian’s voice in my head when crying over missing him.

    Obviously today’s situation differs from the one with Christian, but the heartfelt words spoken by both of my boys have been carved into my soul. Today my youngest child is spreading his wings. My middle child continues to successfully fly. My oldest child continues to spread his light. All three of my boys make me proud each day. I am no longer a mother to babies, toddlers or preschoolers but I am a mother to three children who are out in the world, leaving legacies. How can I cry about that? Love to heaven…