I'm Mad

If you are my friend on Facebook, you may have read a rant about a {horrible} woman at a family restaurant who made me mad.  I took the kids into the restaurant while Tommy parked the car.  From the time we walked in, this woman was giving us looks.  She was whispering to her friend.  She was judgmental and rude.  James was excited.  We were meeting a few friends and he was happy to see them.  James is five.  He has a loud voice.  He was definitely using that loud voice.  But I was trying.  I was trying to keep him quiet.  I was acknowledging his noise level while trying to correct the behavior.  I wasn't ignoring him.  I wasn't walking away.

But I could still sense her dirty looks.  Hear her whispers.  

When Tommy came in, I took James to wash his hands (and to remind him of the behavior that we expect from him).  It just so happened, that she was sitting at a table near the restrooms.  As she rolled her eyes and mouthed "I can't believe this..." to her friend, I apologized.  OK, it wasn't a real apology.  It was a backhanded, passive-aggressive "apology".  

This is how the "conversation" went:

Me:  "I am so sorry that he is misbehaving."

Wretched Woman:  "He really is."

Me:  "I'm so sorry {not really}, but I am trying.  I'm doing my best."

I know that I said something else, but I cannot remember exactly what was said.

She thought James was being loud?  You should have heard me.  But my blood was boiling and my heart was palpitating.  I took James to wash his hands and I sent many glares to her as I ate and enjoyed bonding time with our friends.  

She left without further incident.

You know what?  My heart is still palpitating and my blood is still boiling.  I am literally shaking while I type. 

I'm not upset because she was a rude, wretched, and sad person.  

I'm upset because I'm mad.  Not just at her, but at a lot of things.  And a lot of people.

I wish that this woman had taken the time to understand.  To understand that maybe James needed this time with friends.  To understand that maybe his mommy had a rough day at work and was trying so hard to keep him quiet. 

Maybe she would have been a bit more kind if she knew what that five year old has gone through in his little life:  four surgeries (two of which were major), blood draws every six weeks until he was four years old, ultrasounds looking for tumors every three months, the fact that he talks about a brother who he never met.

Maybe she would have been a bit more kind to his momma if she knew what she had faced:  nightly P/T with her four year old daughter, saying "goodbye" to her newborn as he was flown to a different hospital the night he was born, seeing her week-old son's chest open after surgery, watching as her son passed from this world into heaven, being offered termination for her fourth child, watching that same child go through four surgeries, and holding him down while he had blood draws and ultrasounds.  

Maybe, just maybe.  Maybe if she had known what this boy and his mother have been through.  Maybe she would have shown grace.  Maybe she would have been kind.

But she chose judgment.  She chose to jump to conclusions.  To believe that this kid was a brat who was misbehaving.  She didn't think about that fact that he is phenomenal.  That he is more creative than anyone I have ever met.  That his imagination is out of this world.  That he is so full of love and is so very smart.  

I feel sorry for her.

But that doesn't make me feel any better.  I'm still mad.  

I'm mad that today while cleaning, I had to pick up one of the {very few} pictures we have of Luke, and dust it.  I'm mad that Luke died.  I'm mad that James was born critical.  I'm mad that my father-in-law passed before he was able to meet our babies.  I'm mad that we just lost my brother-in-law, a man who was so good and so very kind.  I'm mad that my sister had to watch as her son battled (and beat the hell out of) cancer.  I'm mad that so many friendships have been lost over the past almost 7 years.  It all adds to the grieving process.

I'm mad that I just can't ever seem to be enough.  I fail so often.  At being a mother.  A wife.  A daughter.  A daughter-in-law.  A sister.  A friend.    

And I'm also mad that this post will probably make other people mad.  But you know what?  Honesty sometimes sucks.  And hurts.  Believe me, I have been hurt by honesty a lot over the years.  

As mad as I am and as much as that {wretched} woman's judgment hurt me the other night, I know that there are people who will forgive me.  I know that my husband will hold me and will tell me that all will be ok.  I know that he will support me whenever I fail and will pick me up when I fall.  I know that my children will always love me.  As much as I think I fail, they will love me unconditionally.  They will always forgive my shortcomings, because sometimes I do succeed.  And sometimes, I can even be their hero.  

And I know that God will forgive me.  I ask forgiveness of Him all the time.  When I am mad, when I am frustrated, when I question Him.  He forgives me.  And He gives me so many blessings:  my husband, my children. my family, and my friends.

To this woman, whoever you are and wherever you are:  I pray that you will leave your judgment at home.  I pray that you will be accepting of children and will remember that we all have good days and bad.  And I also pray that if I ever see you again, that I am granted grace and can offer that grace to you.  

To everyone else, please remember to be kind.  It does no good to take your frustrations out on anyone else.  You never know what crosses other people have to bear.  A kind gesture or word can make a big difference in that person's day.  

I love you.  I love you for reading this.  For saying Luke's name.  For not trying to "fix" me.  For understanding when I just want to complain.  For knowing that I will never, ever be the person I was on March 11th, 2008, the day before that beautiful boy came into this world.  I love you.  Thank you for loving me.  

The Power of Words

April 18th, 2008.  The worst day of our lives.  We had to give our baby boy back to God.  As they were feverishly trying to save him in the (St. Luke's) ER, Tommy and I stood outside praying.  We told God that, if he took Luke, we would be ok.  It's not that He needed permission, as Luke was and is His child.  But I think that He needed to hear it from us.  He needed to know that we were ready to say our "goodbyes". 

And so we did.

After we lost him, we were numb.  Aside from the wake and funeral, I didn't leave the house for over a week.  I wouldn't even go outside.  How could the world go on when my heart was torn apart?  When I was still producing milk, with no baby to eat it?  When I still had the scars of pregnancy? 

But it did.

And it was hard.

Even more difficult were the words that were not spoken, the notes that were not sent, the calls that were not made. 

And it was lonely.

Even as we were showered with meals, phone calls, and visits from so many people, we felt the absence of others.

I felt hurt. 

For 6 years. 

Until about two weeks ago.

A few weeks ago, I received a handwritten note in the mail.  I obviously don't want to go into too much detail, but I can say that this note lifted a huge weight from my shoulders.  While reading it, the sender had asked for forgiveness in not acknowledging Luke's life and death.  I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been to write this note, but what this person did for me was immeasurable.  Six years of bitterness and anger.  Six years of sadness. 

Gone in the few minutes that it took to read the note. 

I had been holding on to these feelings for so long that they had become a part of me.  How wonderful to know that, after all these years, the feelings could become a thing of the past? 

It is no surprise that God chose this time of year to tap this person on the shoulder, encouraging the sender to write words.  Words that made me cry, and made me smile.  I needed this note and He knew it (as did Luke). 

Words can heal.  These words healed that part of my heart that held so much resentment.  And I am so thankful for them.

This year, Luke's angel day occurs on Good Friday.  Could it be any more perfect?  On the day that we recognize the death of Jesus, we will also recall the death of our own son.  As a mother, I cannot fathom what Mary felt as she watched her son beaten and sentenced to death for the sins of others.  But I can empathize with her heavy heart and I can't think of a better mother to emulate. 

Tomorrow on Good Friday, our family will remember that Christ's crucifixion and resurrection on Easter Sunday will bring the promise of new life. 

It is in that new life that we will see our son again.

May God bless you all on this Easter Weekend.

Six.Years.Old

So I had this entire post written about acute emotional pain and how it never goes away.  About how the pain can hit me like a ton of bricks.  About how I thought that when I wrote this post, maybe the pain would go away.   

But it was deleted. 

I think it's a sign.

A sign that I need to focus on our sweet baby boy.  Our bringer of light.  Our own little saint. 

I need to focus on him, not the pain of his absence.

So that is what I will do. 

Focus on him.

Focus on his handsome face.  His awesome hair.  His soulful eyes.

Focus on the joy that he brought in his 5 1/2 weeks.  The happiness that came with each battle he overcame.

Focus on the miracle that he was.  The miracle that he is.

Last night, I asked my father to send me a few pictures of Luke that he has on his computer.  Little did I know that some of these pictures would be new to me.  How could I have missed these pictures when I have so few of them to begin with?  Tommy and I looked over the pictures and my eyes filled up with tears.  What a wonderful surprise.  Thank you, Dad, for sending the pictures.  I know it wasn't easy for you.

So here they are...some of them may be new to you as well.  Enjoy the pictures of our beautiful baby boy.

 

 

Baptism Day * March 17th, 2008

 

They were so proud of him.

 

 

Wittle Bubba with his big siblings.

 

 

Momma and Baby.

 

 

Taking a bottle like a champ.

 

 

Sweet boy.

 

 

Proud Daddy.

 

 

One I had never seen.  First pic with no tubes!

 

 

He looks like James in this picture.

 

This was right before we left the hospital.  In the going home outfit we bought before he was born.

 

Welcome home, Wittle Bubba!

 

I think he is reading the word on the side of the Pack 'N Play.  ;)

 

Not ready...

 

Still not ready...

 

Here you go!

 

Eating with Mommy.  So tiny.

 

Our last family picture.  If we had only known...

 

Thank you, as always, for your thoughts and prayers.  This year has been tougher than I had hoped it would be.  It is unnatural to lose a child.  Plain and simple.

 

On a side note, I have met many of you since Luke.  If you would like to read his story from the beginning, check out his CaringBridge site.  I hope it will give you a good idea of who I used to be.  :)

 

God bless and please pray for peace for us all tomorrow and over the next 5 1/2 weeks.