Fifteen years gone

“A mother’s joy begins when new life is stirring inside… when a tiny heartbeat is heard for the very first time, and a playful kick reminds her that she is never alone.”

– Author Unknown

This picture was taken the night before we lost Luke. I am so thankful that my father insisted on taking lots of photos of Luke while he was here with us. We didn't realize how short his time with us would be, so these pictures mean everything to me and Tommy.

Fifteen years have gone by since Luke passed. Some days, it seems like yesterday and others, it feels like forever. The grief is odd. There is never a perfect way to grieve, but I often question my grief: is my grief too strong? Too weak? Am I grieving the wrong way? How can I grieve better?

Tommy has been my rock since the day Luke was born. We left the hospital after Luke was life flighted, and we met with the cardiologist that evening. When we arrived at the hotel, Tommy held up his grieving wife. His wife who had given birth only hours before. His wife who should have been lying in a hospital bed, recovering from giving birth. He was my rock.

When Luke died, Tommy continued to be my rock. I was virtually catatonic. I stayed in the bedroom most days. I was numb. I didn't want to eat and I wouldn't go outside. But Tommy was so strong. He and my father went to the funeral home to discuss arrangements. He and my father went to the church to discuss the funeral mass. He made sure that I was ok. He didn't try to fix me. He was there through it all.

So you're probably wondering why I am jumping around in this post. Bear with me...because there is a point. A point between my grief journey and Tommy's unwavering support.

I remember one day when I was melting down. It was shortly after we lost Luke. I was explaining how I was having these horrible thoughts. Thoughts about what was happening to Luke's perfect body. Thoughts about him hearing gunshots from Greenspoint Mall (my Houston friends know what I'm talking about). Just very awful thoughts that were racing through my head.

And then I asked him. I asked him the question that had been bothering me so much, but the question that I was so fearful to ask. Maybe I was embarrassed. Maybe I was ashamed. Maybe I was just so deep in my grief that I didn't want to know the answer.

I asked him why I was crying so much more than him. Why my grief seemed so much more intense. Why he didn't seem as sad as me.

And his answer has stuck with me. I will never forget his words and how much they meant to me. How much I needed to hear them. Because with Tommy's answer, I was given a huge sense of peace about my grief. I knew that what I was feeling was perfectly ok.

He said that I was the one who knew Luke the best. I was the one who knew Luke the longest. And because of that, I was the one who would grieve him more deeply.

Tommy's words were the words that I needed to hear. They were what got me through the next few deeply sorrowful weeks. Tommy's words allowed me to fully feel my grief and to "dive in", which helped my own heart heal.

Because you know what? I was the one who knew Luke best. He lived inside of me. His broken heart formed in my womb. He grew inside of me. I felt him move and I cherished each kick.

And I knew him.

I knew that boy so well. 

And I am so thankful to have a husband {and a best friend} who helped me when I needed it the most. And who has been my rock ever since. I love him a lot.

If you know someone who is grieving, please just support that person. Don't try to fix it. Just be there, and let them know that they are loved.

“Before you were conceived I wanted you. Before you were born I loved you. Before you were here an hour I would die for you. This is the miracle of Mother’s Love.”

– Maureen Hawkins

Our baby boy is 15!

At sunset the little soul that had come with the dawning went away, leaving heartbreak behind it.” –  L.M. Montgomery

I read this quote today, and it really struck me. It also made me think more about the brief time that Luke spent here on earth. And the grief that followed.

Fifteen years seems like a long time, but it truly feels like yesterday. I remember seeing Luke for the first time. I remember looking at his little hands as he nursed right after birth. I remember noticing that they were still blue. When I asked the nurse about his hands, she reassured me that it takes a while for blood to circulate through a newborn's body. She heard a murmur a few moments later...

I would by lying if I said that I have never asked God "why Luke"? Why did our baby have to die? Why wasn't our baby one of the ones who made it? Why did we have to bury him? This boy was so wanted, he was so loved. 

One day, I will know the answer to these questions, but not until I enter eternity with Luke.

I'm not going to lie. This post has been weighing heavily on my heart over the past few weeks. I have been writing on this blog for almost fifteen years. At the beginning, I wrote one or two times a week, just to share our triumphs and our setbacks. To share the happy and the sad. 

It's not an exaggeration to say that this blog is one of the things that has helped me in my grief journey. Openly sharing my feelings has been a way for me to deal with my own grief, while hopefully showing others that it is ok to be sad, to encourage, to remember.

But this year, it has been really difficult to post. 

I just can't think of anything that will be encouraging or uplifting. 

Fifteen years of writing in the blog, and I'm lost.

I just don't know what to write, but I feel an obligation to write.

Because, in my mind, if I don't write then I fear that people will forget about him. And I have always said that Luke can't make his legacy, so it is our responsibility to make one for him.

I am well aware that {some} people have grown tired of me talking about Luke. I'm not blind to the fact that some of our closest friends have stopped reaching out. And that is heartbreaking.

But we will not ever stop talking about Luke. Because that is our responsibility as his parents. So I really want to apologize to those who I make uncomfortable. It is not my intention to upset others, it is just my intention to allow people know Luke. I look at it as a privilege to know and love our precious son.

When I say that this post is probably the most difficult one I have written, it is probably because I have been writing on it for such a long time. Fifteen years. 

It's a difficult concept to think of all that he has missed: high school, driving permit, dating...but then I realize that those things don't matter to him, because Luke is in heaven. He finished the good race, just a little earlier than most. 

I read a comment on social media the other day, it was on a video that a mother posted about the loss of her child. The poster said that to us, we grieve the life that the child didn't have. But to the child, he knew love his entire life, so he lived a full life {I summarized}. 

I pray that Luke felt how much he was loved. I pray that although his life was short in our eyes, in his eyes his life was full.

I feel the need to apologize for this post. It isn't the kind of post I am used to writing. But it is my heart and it is truth. Fifteen years is a long time to write about your child's death.

But if it helps one person know and remember our Luke, then I have done my job as his mother.

God bless our little Saint Luke, and may he intercede in all of our prayers.