Once again, it's been a very long time. Maybe I'm busy. Maybe I'm healing. Maybe the blog thing is no longer for me.
Whatever the reason, I haven't been blogging. If you are friends with me on Facebook, you can be pretty sure that you know what's going on in my vida: we moved from Tennessee to Georgia in the fall, the kids are getting big, we are all making new friends while missing our old friends, and Mommy is training for a half marathon to be held on the anniversary of the day that we buried Luke.
I felt the need to blog tonight, though. To remind people that tomorrow is our baby boy's fourth birthday. To remind everyone that he is a part of our family. To remind them that he lived.
WOW, did he live.
At first, I thought about writing Luke a letter. To let him know how much we miss him. To let him know how much we wish he was here. To let him know how much he means to us. To ask him about heaven. To ask him if he misses us. To ask him what it's like to live in paradise.
But these are things that I wonder all of the time. I believe that Luke hears me when I cry. That Luke knows when I miss him. That he understands the void that is in our lives without him here. I don't need to write him a letter in order for him to know my heart. He knows his Mommy. That's for sure. He applauds me when I am up and he helps me when I am down. No, I don't need to write him a letter.
But I do need to write you all a letter, to let everyone know what things are in my heart. Here goes nothin':
Dear (insert name here), :)
Four years ago tonight, I fell asleep, anxious to welcome our newest addition: a sweet baby boy filled with surprises. I loved him as soon as I knew that he was in my womb. As soon as I knew I was a mommy for the third time.
That morning, Tommy and I woke up, full of anticipation and joy. I laughed through my contractions and I remember vividly the nurses telling me how funny it was that I laughed. When Luke was born, the first thing I noticed was his nose and then his ears as they laid him in the warmer beside me. I didn't notice his hair at first, but I noticed it quickly after. Luke was my only child who was born with a lot of hair.
Then things started to change. I started to notice things that weren't quite right: his blue hands, falling asleep while trying to nurse, general lethargy. The nurse must have noticed, too, because she checked his heart again and heard a "loud" murmur. Later, we heard the news: Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome.
Luke lived through the Norwood Procedure (open heart surgery), a vent, numerous blood transfusions, countless meds, ng tubes, and many other procedures. He came home eating from a bottle and gaining weight. The first week and a half were good. Tiring, but good. He ate, he gained weight, he slept. The week before he died, Luke had some issues: he was vomiting a lot and his sweet little nose was turning pink while he would sleep. Doesn't sound like a lot, but it wasn't Luke. That was new for him and new to us. When we alerted the cardiologist on April 18th about these things, she dismissed them and prescribed some new meds for Luke to begin that night.
He never got to take those meds. Luke died that night. Luke died a scary and distressing death. I don't talk much about how Luke died. But it is ingrained in my head and sometimes I can't even believe that I was able to live through it: through the initial comprehension of what was happening, through the realization that he was dying, through the ambulance ride, through the time in the ER, through the prayer that Tommy and I said, telling God that we would be ok if He took our baby. How did we live through that? Did it really happen?
The feelings that I felt the day of Luke's birth as well as the day of his passing have changed. The feelings I have now are different. I still miss him more than anything. I still cry sometimes when I think of him. I still "introduce" him to strangers.
But my feelings have changed. In some ways, this fourth year of his everlasting life in heaven has been more difficult than previous years.
It has become increasingly clear that people are forgetting about Luke. I have to be ok with that. He wasn't their child. He didn't grow in their womb. Why should I be so selfish as to think that everyone would remember him? But still. I want people to remember him. I need people to remember him. Especially family. I don't expect anyone to understand this and many people may think that I am being unfair or that I am expecting too much. Maybe I am. But I have to be honest.
But I have to let you know that I'm okay. Really, I am. I don't need a counselor, or meds, or anything. I need my family, my friends, my support system.
I need to grieve.
I am Bernie. I grieve the way that I grieve. I never took a class on how to deal after your baby dies. I never learned the right or wrong things to say or do after burying my son. I can't grieve the way that another angel mom grieves and she cannot grieve like I grieve. I am not able to turn off my sadness because it has been four years. I am not trying to make anyone uncomfortable by talking about him. He is my child, just as Em, Matt, and James are my children. Just because I talk about him doesn't mean that I love them any less. I love them more than anything and am so blessed that they are mine. But I am missing one of my babies. I don't have him here. I am begging everyone to understand that and to be respectful of that. Please. There is not a time limit on grief. It is what it is.
Tomorrow we are celebrating Luke's birthday with the kids. We will celebrate, as always. Tommy and I want them to remember that we always celebrated Luke's life and never forgot him. When they grow up, we want them to look back fondly on March 12th as a day of joy and thanksgiving for a special soul who we lost way too soon. Tomorrow, we are checking Emily and Matthew out of school early (James doesn't have school on Mondays) and the five of us are headed up to Dave and Buster's for some family fun. We'll come home and celebrate with cake and a balloon release up to the heavens. They have no idea where we are going and keep asking us what we are doing. They seem really excited, which is all that we want. Gramma, Grampa, and Nana will visit Luke at his site tomorrow, something that we haven't been able to do for two years. Something that pains me each and every time I think of that sweet boy.
I'm sure that this letter rambles (of course, if you have ever had a conversation with me, it's not surprising), but I wanted to talk about our brave boy. Our boy who did so much in such a short amount of time. A boy who was so much stronger than I could ever hope to be.
If you are reading this, I know that you remember him. You may even love him. Either way, I am truly honored that you have read this note. Thank you.
Happy happy birthday to our Wittle Bubba. We miss you. We love you. We are so glad that you are our always baby boy.
