Friday, August 16, 2013

A Decade of Discovery

Ten years ago today, my life long dream came true when my baby boy was born. He was 5 weeks early and had the most amazing eyes. I was in love. No better feeling in the world. I was finally a Mom. Such a crazy notion to wrap my head around. It didn't matter, I was all in.

When we first learned that something was "wrong" with our beautiful, blue eyed boy our little family utopia began to unravel. This was not what I thought parenting was while I was playing Barbie as a child! How could this be? I would just hold Eric and sing to him. He couldn't hear but he'd face me and stare at my mouth with those piercing blue eyes. Then he would slowly put his head on my chest to feel the vibrations of my voice. When I stopped, he would pick his head up and look at me like -umm where's the song? Naturally, I'd continue.

Just after three months old we learned that Eric was not "just" deaf. Things happened so fast from there and on December 16, 2003 Eric died, in our arms.

I remember leaving the hospital, shell shocked, exhausted and lost. Allan sat beside me and I have no idea what he was thinking- I couldn't even comprehend my own thoughts let alone reflect on his grief.

The next morning I wondered- "Am I a Mom?" and "What do I do now?"

Being Eric's mom was the most amazing feeling. He was who I was waiting for to enter my life. It's so hard to remember that feeling without him here. But he is the only one who gets to hold the title of "making" me a Mom.

This birthday is just so tough. They all are in some ways- watching the days slip away and the distance between then in now is just so vast. But 10. That's a big one. I remember when I couldn't WAIT to be two full hands old! I see Eric's contemporaries playing sports and celebrating the big 1-0. I can't believe that he is not here and that in 4 too short months this grief, while it waxes and wanes, can be so heavy still.

Mothering a child who has died is tricky business. He's no longer with us, but our love for him is just as poignant as if I were scrambling to make a special breakfast, and buy  birthday balloons today.

I've been a mom for 10 years. A decade, one 1/4 of my life. This milestone is squelched by the need to speak about it in hushed tones for fear that someone will become uncomfortable with the unfortunate stories of my life. Even though he is not here and I am not after him for picking up his shoes, toys and not putting his dirty clothes in the laundry I am still Eric's Mom. I am proud of that fact, because frankly, he was one heck of an awesome kid. He had an old soul and an easy going nature. He was bubbling over with personality so much that it makes me wonder what a handful he would have been if he could actually produce energy.

I wish like you would not believe that I was too busy with birthday prep and lots of crazy kids running around this morning. But that was not the plan for my sweet boy's big ten-oh day.  I know that God is keeping us together as we walk though these milestones empty handed. At the same time I know that I would want no other plan for Eric's life (he wouldn't have been him if the plan were different).

These ten years have been tough. I suppose that would be quite the understatement, actually. I remember seeing a patient soon after Eric died. She was telling me about her children. As she was telling me about them, she paused and went for it. She has a son who was a "blue baby in those days" and just like that she was right there with him, her eyes brimming with love and sadness 53 years later. It gave me permission to feel "that sad" missing my boy.

I am not talking about the "stay in bed, don't move past it" grief. I am talking about "that sad because I love" grief. The "God will carry us but it still hurts grief". The "sometimes I don't want to be brave" grief. Grief will always be a part of my  life. When Eric died I never ever wanted that event to define me. But over the past decade it has. The experiences in your life morph into how you view the world, how you shape your actions.

What a sticky situation. You are hurt, because living just hurts sometimes. You expect that God will provide all the answers and you will ride off into the sunset. You think "those things just don happen to ME". I know you do. I did too. Sometimes I revert back to the idea that it shouldn't have happened to me. So now in the crisis- what is left? A life changing event, grief and a God who knows best.


God knows best? He has MY best interest at heart? (Helloooooo? Where the heck are my babies???) YUP. It's true. I have these awful gut wrenching events that occurred in the last 10 years. I can EASILY decide that I am going to take the reigns of my ship and glibly move forward feeling wronged and entitled, letting those feelings as a result of our tragedy reign supreme and define me.

That's not what God wanted for us or for Eric and Ava. They were not mistakes. They were gifts. Yes, it's absolutely stinky and crappy that they are gone. Some may even think that it's unfair. (Although I try not to focus on that, it does crop up during some world class pity parties I admit.) But I stand before you today, 10 years later, saying that it was God's plan. Our family would not be who we are today if we didn't step out onto the plank of grief and jump- trusting that God would catch us and move us to safety.

That is Eric's story. He made me a Mom. I learned to love in a whole new way. I learned to hurt at a whole new depth. I am learning that God, even when you don't love the choices He's made, molds me and is the one who defines me. Not through my sorrow and despair (and oh yes those feeling still are present) but through Joy and Hope.

Join me through tear filled eyes as I wish my sweet sweet boy a "Happy Birthday." Oh my goodness, how I miss him.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013



I love ava .


Ava's Birthday








                                            I LOVE HER.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Just keep Swiming?

 In my daily wanderings if am told  "I don't know how you do it"- in reference to working, homeschooling, Mommying, wifeing and running Joy-Hope Foundation. Well, here's the tip. I don't, remotely "do it" all. No way, no how. Not a chance. You should see my house, but I won't let you because it's THAT disgusting. Seriously, I wish I was blessed with the ability to not see the grime. Alas, that would be too easy. I see it. It torments me. It eats me and makes it hard to focus on the stuff I have to do.

This weekend was the first weekend we had "off" in months. By "off" I mean we had nothing on the calendar, at least for Saturday.So here we are, a free Saturday. Guess what kids? Want a fun family weekend??? Let's clean! (Oh they were just SO excited!) Clean we did, and I don't mean the cursory "someone is coming over in 20 minutes clean sweep" clean. I mean, let's start under the kitchen sink- (oh look at the science project.) We should  investigate said project. We are now proud owners of a new garbage disposal. (Not a leaky connection. A HOLE in the wall of the dispenser.)

Here's the kicker. When you deep clean, and you are one who tends to be ultra hard on herself, and you find one of Ava's old wipe dispensers (with wipes) behind the front load washing machine- cleaning becomes way more than making the house gleam. Just when you think all they lurking Eric Ava memories are in their proper places, bam! There is a baby hat that you gave to the girls for their dolls.

It's depressing and frustrating. Makes you want to scream, "Hey God, I'm trying to CLEAN here. You know, so I don't hate my house and myself. You know, so I can step into the shoes YOU asked me to wear. Thanks for the breakdown in front of my 8 year old. Thanks a ton."

Instead,  I composed myself, tried not to let it beat me and kept up the cleaning. It's hard to continue and fight through the grime and the emotions without feeling emotionally spent. (I'm totally beginning to understand why people become hoarders.) Of course becoming emotionally spent then leads to frustration that you can't get anything you start finished. Which leads to "why are we doing what we do?" and "How can we trim the fat, so to speak."

All of this is such a negative cycle. It serves nothing and leads to nowhere. It's not how God wants us to look at ourselves. It certainly is not how HE looks at us. To break up the self loathing, it was off to the store to get a new disposal and a new vacuum cleaner, why wouldn't that be broken, too?

Monday I found myself, still on the fritz. I found out that after 15 months battling with planter's fasciitis and a Hail Mary pass of my PT trying to strengthen and loosen my hip (that's hurt for at least 15 years) we decided it was time to take the plunge and try an expensive treatment on both my feet. Non invasive, same technology as what they use to break up kidney stones. A "you can be on your feet the same day treatment". A "94% are cured" treatment. So off I go today, ready to come home and bake the cookies I promised my Dad for installing the disposal. I'd be more optimistic about it's restorative/curative capabilities, but since when do I get the medical "miracle"? It always gives me pause to see that those experiences with Eric and Ava have trained me to stop and think that it is never "just" (insert run of the mill diagnosis).

This treatment will keep me from running for about 12 weeks. I KNOW how fast 12 weeks can fly (ahem, where the heck did our summer go?), especially with our two biggest fundraisers on the horizon and 6 families that need to get out of dodge in queue.  12 weeks of not being able to pound out the crap in my head, to put distance on my grief and clear the grime in my mind seems like a life sentence. These 12 weeks are a big issue. These 12 weeks are during the bulk of anniversary time that  Eric and Ava were on earth. I guess I can't run away from the smell and reminders this season, no more than I can run from lurking wipes and baby hats.

Yet, I treasure the smells and the lurking momento.  I sometimes relish the sucker punch, the excuse to cry. I desire the physical reminders that they were HERE. In my arms, keeping me up at night doing what babies do best, here. But, I hate them all the same. For the same reasons, actually.

So today, my Dad takes me to my appointment- which is in the same building that my OB used to be in. I come home, sore, numb and tired. Can't walk around, cause I can't feel my feet. So I spend the day on the couch wishing I could be in the kitchen, making cookies for my Dad. (Which I did make the batter, since I felt I had SOMETHING to prove. What that something is remains to be seen).

Like a flood- the frustration of C-section recovery- sitting on the couch, wanting to care for my family came billowing back. In 1 week Ava and Eric's birthday's will pass. Sitting on the couch today just made me wistful for the frustrated, stuck on the couch feeling- but with a baby- whom you love more than you could ever express.

I've played more Candy Crush then I care to today. I can't make my left foot function right yet and I am praying for bedtime to descend upon us. That's when Elaina, who loves animals more than life, comes flying down the stairs. 2 of our 3 fish have succumbed for Ich.

The tears, the sobbing from three kids all at once. Those pitiful puffy eyes, the vacant looks of dread. All back, over fish. They were able to tell us that this reminds the of Ava dying. Emily was sweet and said that maybe Ava died so that they wouldn't be so upset about their fish. So we talked about perspective and how God sometimes uses events in your life to give you a different vantage point on a situation.

We (by we I mean Allan)cleaned the tank, (which if you know us is just a miracle), medicated the water and are hoping that Rebekah the lone fish does not fall to the fate that Ich holds for a fishy. Well, if I be honest I kinda wish we didn't have any fish left- we've had them for about 4 1/2 years and they are a pain. But for my broken hearted girls who are learning a hard perspective tonight, for their sake, I will rally around Rebekah the fish.

Who would have thought that fish would live longer than your baby? You would think that the death of a pet would prepare you for loss you are sure to face. I can tell you nothing can prepare you, on either side of the coin. Nor can you be prepared for the intrusive reminders, smells and thoughts whether you clean or not. They will still come. Why? Because God is giving you perspective.

I need to remember that I am His not mine. I need to see myself and this world through His eyes, not mine. I am reminded that this week, in particular, we Benton's apparently need to grieve a bit more and gain some perspective.