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