Hey, you

 A couple months ago your grandma and I were talking about your passing after receiving some important news. She did her best to remind me the news was good as it makes it possible to close some very painful doors. I'll never forget the way it sounded when she said "he's not coming back, Sara." 

It's one of those things that has remained undeniable the whole time but we kind of let the truth of it float off near by instead of really applying it to everyday life. As soon as she said it we both sobbed. It's not easy to shut doors, even when what's behind them is painful. 

I have sat with your death for 967 days now, and each one of them- no matter how much healing I accomplished- I have remained steadfast in my refusal to use the word acceptance when it comes to you. It just seems so wrong because there are so many layers that go into what it would mean to accept what is; and I don't have the time or the right words to explain that, or to really even make sense of it in my own head. But, my little fatboy, 967 days later, and despite all my efforts to heal in every way except for finding acceptance- I realize why I have to. 

I have spent the last couple years- especially the last year- pretty much re-wiring my brain with healthy thought processes. It has been tedious and time consuming, but in all actuality I feel like I have always been this person and known these things, but bit by bit as I've emerged into this "mindful" lifestyle, the same thing keeps happening and revealing a very unhealed part of me. At work, at home, as a mother, and in general as someone who plans to live a life full of wonderful people and things- I can no longer deny myself the life I've always been meant to live by refusing to accept who I was before what happened, who I became in the aftermath, and who I am now. 

I have so much genuine hope, and so much love to put out into this world, but I can't expect anything or anyone to accept or honor them if I can't first be true to myself and do the same - no matter how low, victimized, or grief filled of a place these parts of me bloomed from- what matters is that they did and I owe it to you, the universe, your grandma, but more than anyone to myself- to allow that to be beautiful and forget the rest. In general I am putting my all into practicing non-attachment, because I truly do believe that what I am meant for and what is meant for me will be for me effortlessly.  

It's hurts to say it because I swore I never would- but it's time for me to start closing that door. A lot of people put their faith in churches and Religion and pray to God for answers- but I have faith in you. You are who I talk to when I'm seeking comfort and strength and guidance because you are the only reason I know what it means to love unconditionally and the only thing I am sure of. I will never stop looking for you in everything that I do, Bosty. Because I love you, I miss you, and because I know you're there. 

All my love, 

Mom

Crisis mode

One of the most prominent things I have learned from losing a child is that I must be patient and graceful with myself, because in all actuality I am never done losing him. 

I was reminded how true that really is a few weeks ago when we thought Q may have broke his arm, so off to the Emergency room we went. I was proud of myself for bringing him there. It was a huge step for me considering that for some time after Boston died I couldn't even drive past it, but as soon as we pulled in the horror of that day started replaying in my mind. Like the panic I felt walking in; the lady at the front desk that to my dismay told me to have a seat after telling her why I was there; the blonde haired EMS guy that emerged from behind the doors and said "come with me"; watching nurses rush someone in on a stretcher; Hearing them ask "is this mom? IS THIS HIS MOM?" 

I'm not sure if I responded. I honestly thought it couldn't be Boston. That was not my baby on a stretcher, my baby must have been in some other room. But then my mom appeared and I remember the look on her face, and I think that is when I almost fell over. Someone tried to lead me into the room, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't look at him like that. It was the most terrifying moment of my life. I recall bits and pieces of what followed after finally joining him in that room where my life changed forever; the shouting; the frantic nurses trying to save him; the woman's face that kneeled beside me to tell me that they couldn't. 

It was such an eerily sad experience being back in that same place. I could see into the room he died in. I remember how it looked sitting from the chair I last held him in. The marker board on the wall with the number 2 on it; the door that led into the nurses station that I was now standing in trying to pay attention to what the doctor was saying about Quinton's X-Ray, but all I could see was that room. I wanted so badly to go in. The lady probably thought I was crazy, but my mind could think of nothing but the detective that I handed my sweet little baby over to that day walking him through the very room I found myself in...I don't even know how to describe what that felt like. Crazy as it sounds, I had the urge to go double check if there was some sign of him in there, because even after 2 years every single part of me wanted to ask if I could have my baby back yet. 

Going to the ER was a very big moment for me. It sucked, it was difficult, and it was draining but it was a milestone in my grief recovery and so I have remained diligent in trying to see the good in that. 

Tomorrow I plan to approach another milestone, but I am panicking. Tomorrow I am bringing Pax to daycare. I am not leaving him there; I am going to stay with him to get a better feel for it, but even saying those words makes my chest hurt.

 There is a part of me that knows this is a good thing. Lots of babies go to daycare. Plenty of daycare providers are wonderful people. Putting him in daycare means pursuing my dream and going to school. That is a such a good thing. But the me that lost Boston is wreaking havoc on the positive that I know exists in this situation. The me that lost Boston is in full blown crisis mode because logic means nothing to the traumatized parts of my soul. 

Some days I am determined to change the world with what the pain I've endured has taught me. Other days, like today, I am forced to face how vulnerable child loss has made me. 

So, to my darling Bosty,

Please keep us safe while I attempt to be graceful in honoring the still very broken parts of my heart, but also the ones that have healed enough to know there are many things out there waiting for me. 

I love you, and I miss you always. 

Thank you

Bosty, 

It has been some time since I have posted in here, but I believe you know that I think of you always either way. I'm still proud as ever that I am your mom and I am sending all my love and the worlds biggest thank you up to you. 

When I use to speak of your death I would talk about how much it has changed me, but it's not just your death that changed me, it's the fact you lived. No where near long enough, but you did. It's your smile that I know some day I will see again. It's the memories I keep tucked away in the most sacred part of my heart. It's that even though you aren't physically here, to me you still exist which means you still influence my every day life and decisions. 

Sometimes it seems more like a dream and I have to remind myself that your life really did happen. You are not a figment of my imagination, but my beautiful fat cheeked baby boy and it is my duty to honor your life each day that I am still here living. 

I recently got a job unlike anything I have done before. I am a resident assistant in a facility that houses severely mentally ill adults. Since this is uncharted territory for me I was quite nervous at first, but even after only being there a month I couldn't be happier that I took that leap. For the first time ever I look forward to working and learning. Something about it just clicks and it has sparked something in me that I'm not sure I would have ever knew existed if it weren't for the fact that you exist in my life. 

You have taught me profound patience, true kindness, and what it means to be resilient and persevere, and I now know that there are people out there that need the things that I know in my heart. I will always wish I could share those things with you, but since I have to wait my lifetime to do so I will share them with those who need it in your name. 

I owe everything I am becoming to you. Thank you for making me better, chubbles. 

I love and I miss you always. 

2 years

In 8 days it will have been 2 years since you were taken from me. I am in a much different place than I was last year. Last year your death was still like this huge gaping wound I was trying to deal with. This year it's like it's no longer an open wound, but there's still a huge ugly scar and it reminds me everyday how much pain I've endured and marks the spot of a still very injured inside. Like if your death was really a scar that people could see they would know how treacherous the path to healing has been, and that there's no way that a full recovery is possible.

This year I am angry. Truly so very angry. I am angry that you should be two years old but instead that is how long you have been gone. I'm angry because I used to have such a clear picture of your face in my mind, but my memories of you are no longer as vivid and it really hurts to say that. Im angry because your death haunts me and has instilled such a fear in me with your brother that we don't leave the house. I'm angry because I learned that I can live without you and it fills me with guilt.

 I spent the first year waiting for the world to stop, I really did. I held so tight to this notion that somehow one day everyone would just understand how I felt inside so I wouldn't have to fix myself. I was prepared to be miserable forever because a part of me felt like it proved my dedication to you. Kind of like a duty as your mother to let the pain of losing you show through in everything I do.
I'm angry that as your mother my only choices were to let your death consume me and fail your brothers in the process, or to figure out a way to live with out you when all I wanted was to live with you. I'm angry because I ache to show my devotion to you but there's simply just no way to really do that because you're not here. I'm angry because I ache to be your mother here and now and I'm angry that the 2 year anniversary is just another in the many to come and slap me in the face with how much time has gone by since I was robbed of my chance to do that. 

I love you, Boston, and I miss you so very much. 

I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

Bosty,

I want so badly to see you and know that you're okay. It's kind of ironic when you think about it, you're gone so hoping you're okay might not make sense to some, but I know you're out there somewhere and I want to know how you're doing wherever that place is. I've been thinking about this a lot lately and have decided I think it's time for me to sort through my beliefs as far as where you are. I believe in angels and when I refer to where you are I call it Heaven. I 100% believe there is some type of spiritual abyss that souls wander when they pass and I know that I will see you there when my time on earth is done, but as far as actual religion goes I have to be honest and say I am very perplexed by it. It's not that I don't want to believe that there is a higher power, but I'm not sure where to start as far as understanding how to do so.

When I think about when we finally get to be together I imagine it being in the presence of the most beautiful of sun rises and sun sets. I imagine the feeling of freedom, serenity, and absolute calm. I imagine that pain does not exist there nor any earthly worries, I say this because I believe that you can see me but that you do not know the pain of us being separated or the weight of the time we are forced to be apart because your soul is at peace. As "silly" as it may sound I imagine our souls roaming together through sunshine and blue skies in a place where time does not exist, a place where you and me will get our forever and I will forget that I ever had to be without you. I like to think of this place. It is so much different than the reality I live in now. 

My chapter here on earth is one I am trying to learn to navigate with a positive mind and hopeful heart, but this is easier said than done. It's so hard to explain because your baby brother has brought me brighter days and the will to smile and believe the future is a happy one, but at the very core of me is your death and when the pain of losing you forced itself into my being it left no room for the simple parts of life or myself. Every decision I make, every thought I have, everything that I do is now some sort of aftermath reaction to your death. It is impossible to ignore how much your death still affects me now that your brother is here. I constantly repeat positive affirmations in my head over and over and over again because over and over and over again this sick part of my mind thinks about all of the awful things that could happen. For example, your grandma took Paxton on a walk in a wearable baby carrier the other day. The whole time all I could think was what if she forgets to make sure his head is facing to the side so he can breathe? What if someone isn't paying attention while driving and hops the curb and runs them over? What if they come across an aggressive dog and it attacks them? I wish so much I could say my mind only waged these wars on me sometimes, but it is all day every day no matter what we are doing. When we are driving what if someone hits us? When we go anywhere what if he catches germs and gets sick and ends up in the hospital? What if I trip walking down the stairs and squish him? What if someone drops him? What if I buckle him in his car seat too tight and he stops breathing? What if someone accidentally falls asleep with him? What if he chokes? What if he has an allergy and we don't know until he has some horrible reaction? What if I lay him down for a nap and he doesn't wake up? 

Sleep is quite scarce for me, not because your brother is fussy or won't sleep well, but because I feel compelled to stare at him into the wee hours of the morning to make sure that he is breathing. I can't even leave him upstairs long enough to wash his bottles without checking on him numerous times. I am so thankful for him as he has brought me happiness I never thought I would have again, but it comes with a price. I think I have been especially on edge lately because he is nearing the exact same age you were. Sometimes it feels like I'm having some weird form of deja vu. This Thursday he has his two month shots. I am having a very hard time with this because that is what you were supposed to be doing when you died. It's such a uniquely sad thought to know that he is already going to be doing something you didn't live long enough to do and is a painful reminder of how irreversibly short my time with you got cut. 

I feel like your baby brother already knows you. I see pieces of you in him and sometimes when I'm holding him and my mind drifts off to thoughts of you, he gives me this look like he just knows. 

I choose to take certain things as a sign from you, like this morning as I was playing him lullabies on YouTube and the song "See you again" came on. I adore the moments I feel you and I really cannot wait until I can tell you all about it.

You will always be a part of our lives, angel boy. I promise. 

To my almost 2 year old

My darling Boston,

You are officially a big brother! Your baby brother Paxton arrived on December 23rd at 11:51 PM, but I have a feeling you already know this. It was a very special day for me. He arrived just in time for Christmas! I don't even know the right way to word it, there's not really a right way, but I was very worried that I would see him and want him to be you. Thankfully that hasn't turned out to be true. He is his own tiny perfect person that I love just as much as you, but in his own special way. He brought with him memories of you that I haven't thought of in quite some time. I have spent almost 2 years thinking about you being gone, I think I had forgotten to think about the fact that there was a time when I had you here with me too. I am thankful of the reminder that I have memories of you that are not painful, but it has me missing you in a very overwhelming way. 

Thinking of the happy times also reminds me of just how much I lost when I lost you, and there's not really words to describe how much your death still hurts. 

A year ago I was at the point where I had almost let it destroy me. When you died absolutely everything I thought I knew and understood was destroyed too. It is particularly brutal to lose yourself entirely in one moment. I really no longer knew myself. All of the sudden I was this traumatized shell of a human being and everything was scary and so so hard. 

My news years resolution is to be more fun for your brothers. To some this might sound silly, but your death has left me permanently scared. My brain is stuck in a terrible cycle of constantly imagining the worst, it has turned me into a irritable, no fun mom that says "be careful" about 500 times a day. What most people don't understand is that having the worst happen isn't just a figment of my imagination, the worst really did happened to us and there is no being care free once you've learned what it feels like to say goodbye to your child. 

In 4 days it will be your 2nd birthday which leaves me sitting here so angry that I was forced to plan your funeral before I ever got the chance to plan you a birthday party, but the more time that goes by the more I realize that in your passing, you gave me many gifts. You inspire me, and inspiration in any form is a gift. 

Because of you I know how precious life really is. Because of you I know that I am capable of keeping on even when I was positive there was just no way I was going to make it through. Because of you I'm proud of myself for the first time in my life. Because of you I have learned what it means to be appreciative and patient. Because of you I am better. 

I'd give all that up in a second if it meant I could have you back, but me and you both know the patience your death has taught me is the only thing that will get me to you in time. So until then, in a thousands ways every single day, I'll be missing you. 

I love you, Boston.

All my love,

Mommy

My little fatboy, 

I am missing you like always of course. My heart has been an overwhelming combination of pure joy and lingering pain lately. I've read more than once that when you lose a child you feel everything from a deeper place, and it couldn't be more true. 

There are no words accurate enough to describe how happy, blessed, and all around thankful I am that in 19 days or less your baby brother will be making his way into this world. He is truly the rainbow after the storm, but there are also no words accurate enough to describe the ache I feel in my heart for you, or how different having lost you has made this pregnancy for me. In all the joy, there is a shadow that never leaves. 

Every time I am asked if I have any other children I say "Yes, two boys."

I am then usually asked what your brother is going to be and reply "Another boy."

Which usually receives a response of "Oh my! 3 boys at home, you're going to be busy!" 

I smile and nod while crossing my fingers that I won't be asked how old, because that question means having to explain that I won't  actually know what it's like to have 3 boys at home, because my 2nd son is in heaven. 

It's a simple question but every time I walk away after answering it I'm either teary eyed or at the least trapped in thoughts about just how different life would be if you were just here.

Sometimes it's hard to escape the anger that shadow makes me feel because it's a constant reminder that even though when I feel joy now it's much more profound, I am never able to experience it without fear of the true raw pain that your death made me realize exists in this life. 

Living with that fear has been one of the most difficult things for me. I despise the feeling. I have come a long way when it comes to my anxiety, but it's still an every day thing for me. I spend an unfortunate amount of time trying to get my feelings to correlate with what I know in my head. Anxiety is a certain type of torture not easily explained or dealt with. I have been pretty on edge lately and I'm praying I find effective ways to cope when your brother arrives so that I don't let my worries over shadow the precious moments of watching him grow. 

I have also been struggling with the fact that with weather and him arriving soon it's not likely I will make it to the cemetery every day.  There has been two times since you were buried that I didn't make it to see you. The first was because I did not realize they had switched to winter hours and close at 4:30 instead of 8. The other was the first day it snowed and the parking lot at my work was getting plowed and I wasn't able to leave on my break like I always do. 

They were awful days filled with a lot of tears. It was very hard to adjust to you being at the cemetery in general, but I was not at all prepared for how it would feel to drive up to closed gates. It was honestly one of the worst feelings ever having to turn around realizing that I am not even granted the small solace of being able to go to tell you I love you whenever I want. It's such an important part of my day and I'm not sure what I'm going to do when that routine changes. I think it is such a huge thing for me because for so long I kept your ashes with me and found comfort in feeing like I was protecting you. You were still right there with me. Since having you buried I eventually found comfort in having a little part of my day dedicated just to you. Going to tell you I love you every day is the one thing I have left that I can do that feels like actively being your mom. It is going to break my heart not being able to do so and I pray you know that it does not mean that you aren't on my mind. 

I pray that you are close by watching over us. It doesn't matter how long you've been gone, I will always need you Bosty.