After every challenging day, there is a little peace. Wednesday’s have been my little peace for me the past few weeks. From now on, I’m going to dedicate the calmness of each Wednesday as Wordless Wednesday.
Wordless Wednesdays.
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Three Months.
Today my son turns three months old.
I’ve been dreading this day. This whole holiday weekend has been so exhausting and has led up to this Tuesday. It seems unreal that I’m here right now. Somehow my body is still walking, breathing, and functioning. Most times it feels like my soul is going to lift right up from my body and just go. I’m not sure where my soul would go, I’d just want to be right there with Jensen’s.
This Tuesday is unlike all the other milestone Tuesdays and changing of the months. Today is just like the day Jensen was born: Tuesday, April 5. The combination of the days together hurts so much more. Not to mention we changed the calendar page, again. It all has flooded me this weekend. I was with family on Saturday, just like I was three months ago. Sunday was a lazy day with Anthony. Then Monday was full of pain and loathing for the next day to come. July is mirroring April. Heck, the weather is just like April.
Then I’m here, barely. My body is a zombie and my mind is just everywhere all at once; replaying three months ago and since then all at once. It hits me how much time has passed.
The Nevers.
Unexpected triggers are the worst. Sometimes the most innocent moments that I’ve encountered since Jensen’s birth have been the worst. Then others are literally so obvious, I don’t know how I get into the situation. No matter how innocent or obvious they are, each result in the same thought process. I like to refer to them as the Nevers.
Why the Nevers? Well, usually an obvious trigger involves a baby or child, but the innocent ones result in the Nevers. Never will I hear Jensen tell me he loves me. Never will I know the color of Jensen’s eyes. Never will I know his laugh. Never will I bake him a cake that he can smash into. Never will we have sleepovers for him. Never will I take pictures of his first day of school. Never will I know his favorite pie. Never, never, never, the list goes on and on.
And trust me, I’d never wish the Nevers on anyone.
Most of the time, I don’t try to dwell on the Nevers, but of course, there’s the triggers. My first ever trigger was leaving the hospital without Jensen. All of that. I could never leave the hospital with him. In the passing weeks, I found there were more triggers that stared the process. I avoid Lowe’s and Walmart. Pretty much everywhere there are newborns and kids. Not that I don’t love them and am so happy for their innocence and happiness they bring to this earth, but all of that was taken away the second his heart stopped beating. My first long time Never was setting up for my cousin’s graduation party. It really put everything in perspective. Yeah, I didn’t have Jensen here as a baby, but I’ll never get him as a child, teenager, and adult. I would never be able to plan any of his birthdays or school parties. I would never set up for his graduation and celebrate his accomplishments that will lead him into adulthood. Those Nevers sting and are hardest to break the cycle.
Of course I do whatever to avoid these triggers at all cost, most of the time it hurts others around me. I’m just trying to protect myself. Last night I was caught off guard. Anthony and I were in our safe place and enjoying a treat: Oreos and milk. I dropped my Oreo into my mug, looked down, and it hit.
Dear Jensen;
I love you.
I miss you.
It’s been twelve weeks today. I can remember having you in my belly for twelve whole weeks and thinking we were safe. All I want is you here with that safe feeling back. Here in my arms, growing out of your shoes and onesies. At twelve weeks old, you would have changed so much. I think you probably would have already needed a hair cut. I’m constantly imagining you and what we would be doing if you were here. Our lives would be so full and happy. I’m trying to get back to that now; it’s just hard to do without you here.
Jensen Grey, you’re the only thing that brings me my glimpse of happiness.
Eighty-four days full of love and loss, battling each other. Love usually wins out, but there’s days like today where all I can feel is that hole in my heart. I always feel myself longing for you, wishing I could go back in time when I know you were warm and hearing my voice. If it was four months ago, I would have just seen you dancing around in my belly the day before. Monday and Thursdays were my days to see you there. They were and will always be my favorite days. Just seeing you be the silly little boy you are. I loved how I could see your cute little nose and your face shape. They never could have shown me how cute and squeezable your chubby cheeks were though.
That’s my favorite ultrasound picture of you; there’s that button nose. Here you can see your chubby cheeks, they make me smile. You are so adorable, sweet love. All your life and even to know, love has surrounded you. I know for a fact you still feel that love. You show me it every day, Jensen. The red and blue birds follow me wherever I go.
I could look at you all day and if you were here in my arms, that’s probably all I would get done doing. No one can explain what this feels like. I’m not talking about grief, Jensen, no one can explain what it’s like to see something they so beautifully creative. Never could I have ever imagined you would be as beautiful as you are. One day I’ll show you off to the world, but I like keeping your pictures to just me right now.
Right now I’m wondering what you’re doing, besides listening to me type this out loud. Are you playing with other babies? Are you being help by everyone that loves you so very much in heaven? Do you feel all my love going to you? Do you celebrate your weeks in heaven like I do here? Do you grow or will you wait for me to see you grow in heaven? Do you miss me? Am I being a good enough mother to you? I wonder all these things all the time.
Jensen, all I ever wanted was to be your mommy. You were my sweetest hello and the hardest goodbye. I’ll never let you go and I won’t let you be forgotten. I’ll drink chocolate milk every morning to remind me of you. Daddy will keep avoided going to Arby’s because we know you disliked it. We read to you each night, Goodnight Moon and Go Dog Go, both your favorites. My music is always on loud and I try to sing when I can, all because I knew it made you happy. I lay on my left side, your favorite. It’s all for you, Jensen. You are my little boy, my sweet love.
I miss you.
I love you, always remember.
Inked.
Being a mother is forever and mothering Jensen while he’s in heaven is no different. We are connected till the end of time. He is made of me and I forever have him in my heart.
When I was pregnant, I knew I wanted to do a motherhood tattoo honoring Jensen and our journey together. I had ones with dates picked out and initials. After he was born, I knew my tattoos for him would be a little different. I want to get his footprint on my foot; so he’s always walking with me. It’s such a lovely idea and I have to walk to the steps he’s never going to take. On the day we went to the tattoo parlor, I knew I couldn’t get a foot tattoo. I like the water and we were going on the lake for Father’s Day. I did not want to get an infection or the tattoo to get gross. So I decided to get something else that meant so much to me.
The Celtic knot for motherhood with baby Jensen’s birthdate. It represents the unbreakable bond that a mother and child will always have. There’s no separation between the two. For me, I loved how it looks like the child is in the mom, just like Jensen will always be with me. Then his birthdate; the most complicated day. A day so full of love and heartbreak. It signifies how my little love came so silently in this world, the end of his BIG, short life.
My perfect tattoo for my perfect little boy.
Move-In.
Almost one year ago, I bought my very first house. The three bedroom house needed a lot of work, but I was more than excited to do the complete tear down. I pictured where everything would go and what room would be what the very first second I walked in. It was going to be my very first house and all my own. This little three bedroom home would be the start of my future.
Three months after buying and tearing it mostly down, I found out Jensen was growing in my belly. My very first house all on my own became a house all about the baby. Every room I was imagining a lifetime of memories: first bath, first steps, first day of school. It was all unfolding. The back left bedroom would be the perfect nursery. It had a beautiful window that outlooked the backyard. It was nice, big, and full of personality. That would be my little baby’s room.
All during my pregnancy, we worked on the house. In my head it was closer and closer to the perfect family house. Our little guy loved to come work on the house. The sounds never made him upset. It was like he wanted the house to get done and he loved the work. I can remember being eight months pregnant working, not too hard, but trying to get everything perfect for him. Everyone was helping me out, not letting me lift things too heavy. I would tire easy, then his little kick would get me through the tiredness. He was just as excited to be in here. When Jensen was Jensen and not a little girl, the planning really started. We painted his room blue and orange on one wall and put wallpaper with squares up on the rest. I painted the closet grey. The curtains navy blue with orange accents everywhere. The grey crib with the bright orange and dark blue would welcome his sleep every night. It was unraveling so perfectly. Our little family home would soon have baby Jensen to house.
Then came the smack.
We didn’t get to bring Jensen home. His crib wouldn’t be welcoming his sleep every night. We wouldn’t be able to give him his first bath. His first steps wouldn’t happen here. The floor wouldn’t have little footprint smudges everywhere. All the hopes and dreams for the future ended all in that one second. My little, perfect family home of three became Anthony and I’s home filled with dreams of Jensen that would never happen.
Our first night, officially staying in the house was Tuesday night; Jensen’s eighth week in heaven. I was so excited to finally stay in this house that I’ve practically tore down and rebuilt. It was so relieving to see all the hard pay off. For it to finally mean something. For our future to be starting. I’d like to say blood, sweat, and tears built this house, which it did, but it was built on the foundation of love and dreams.
The house is filling up with furniture, wall decorations, and kitties. It’s still filled with love, hope, and dreams. Every wall is the color I wanted it to be. The floors are exactly what I pictured and the kitchen came out way better than I expected. All the decorations look exactly how I wanted to when they go up. Anthony and I smile at each other while the cats are running around. We’re trying to play ‘normal.’ An outsider looking in would believe this is the perfect little starter home for a young couple.
I guess our reality is hard for other’s to see. It’s hard to see a baby that isn’t here physically. They don’t see the little, blue urn with two silver birds on it and the candle that’s usually is burning. Our decorations with J’s, his name, and the ultrasound pictures would have people believe the baby is on the way. The boxes in the basement full of Jensen’s would let them wonder why we didn’t have them back in his nursery. No one wants to think of the bad.
In all honesty, I wish I could tell you my first night here at the house was great. I wish I could tell you it’s all that I imagine and that everything feels perfect. It’d all be a lie. That first night was so hard. I saw where Jensen should be every time I turned my head. This house has an emptiness that cannot be filled, not that I’d even want it to be filled by anything else. I couldn’t fall asleep, it felt like the first night after he’d been born. It was quiet even with the tick of the fan and the television on. I guess the first night here in the new house was a way I stepped into my new reality that I’ve been trying to fight back.
Move-in day is the next step in this horrible grief process. It’s apart of the acceptance step in the rational part of my brain. I see his nursery, still blue and orange with the playful wallpaper. The backyard that the window frames begs to be looked at by anyone that walks in the room. My memories from when Jensen was here floods me every time I walk in there. It’s the stillness of the room with the flood of internal emotions that takes me by surprise every time. Jensen’s room will always be that.
I was afraid I would resent this house and his room because he wasn’t here. It’s hard because he’s not here, but so is every single day. I pray every day for strength and courage to go on. This first night I prayed I would make it through even though it hurt so much to be here without him. I dreamed that night of Jensen and being in his room together. Jensen knew how much I loved this house. We built it together. In the midst of his absence, love is still shining through.
Love will keep me in this house. Love will keep me on my feet.
Forty-Seven Days.
The day Jensen was born was beautiful. Our window revealed a cloudless sky with the sun shining bright. It was so bright and happy outside, I think God made the whole day beautiful because he was welcoming this pure soul. I remember just wanting to paint it black because it was so bright out. It would have been a day where Jensen and I would be sitting outside, watching everything go on around us. I’d probably would have been reading to him and telling him about all the things we were going to do when he got here.
That wasn’t the beautiful day I had though. I sat in the hospital, crying; trying to make sense of everything. I didn’t understand how the world could still be spinning when mine had just violently stopped. How couldn’t everyone feel my pain, it was radiating off of me. My baby was gone and he took a huge part of me with him. I was just a shell full of anger and sadness. How could the earth be so beautiful THAT day, when the most beautiful thing had left? Honestly, I was so angry it was nice outside. It was storming inside my hospital room. That window taunted me.
Today is one of those beautiful days. It reminds me of the day Jensen was born, but a little warmer outside. I keep taking in all the sounds: the birds are chirping, kids are playing, and my family is talking. I’m making no sounds. Here I am sitting outside, thinking about my Jensen. My thoughts always go to what we would be doing. I’d probably be doing what I wanted to the day he was born. Just sitting outside and reading to him. Taking all of his features in. A perfect day.
I know he’s here with me, I just wish it could be in my arms. Sundays are family days and I’m missing the most important part of my family. I’m stuck here in the after, wishing I could be in the before with him. It makes me feel better to look at the clouds. I know Jensen is dancing with them. He sends me the birds and I swear he runs around with Finnick. Jensen’s spirit is always playful and peaceful at the same time. He makes himself known.
I’ve been reading You Are Not Alone: Love Letters From Loss Mom to Loss Mom by Emily Long, a lot lately. The book is a huge group of letters from mothers that are on this journey of grief with me. I read them when I need support. Which is like more times than I can count on my fingers each day. It just allows me to feel everything. Cry with other moms, think about Jensen, and just feel. This book has been such a blessing to me.
Although each letter is different, they all have some of the same themes. Three of them have been able to keep me from breaking down every second of the day.
- Love.
- It’s not my fault.
- It’s okay to feel however I need to feel.
Today I’ve needed all three of these themes. It’s a day that reminds me so much of April 5, 2016, the day my baby became an angel. Beautiful days like today we’re supposed to be happy and I feel about a thousand different emotions. I keep telling myself and reading that it’s okay not to feel just happy.
It’s been forty-seven days since this journey has started and it’s okay I still am the girl that wants to paint all the windows black. It’s okay to be content sitting outside, listening to the birds chirp. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be happy the sun is providing me warmth.It’s okay to laugh at the dog running on the pool. It’s okay to feel all this love between Jensen and I.
It’s okay to just be.
In my forty-seven days, I’ve learned to just take everything as it comes.
Grandma’s Belated Birthday.
For as long as I can remember, I have loved birthdays.
My favorite birthday in the whole entire world was when I turned twenty-two and the day I found out I was going to have my little Jensen. We went to the Steelers game and talked about our new secret. Anthony and I laughed and smiled, came up with Jensen’s name, and fully jumped into the idea of our new life. All I wished for was a happy little baby and for our little family to have a bright and happy future.
My least favorite birthday I’ve celebrated was my dad’s last birthday. I know that sounds horrible; it was nine days after Jensen was born so silently into this world. How could I be happy for a birthday? Someone else being able to be another year older, when I was angry Jensen couldn’t be another second older. It was a hard day, but my dad is such a trooper to understand my sadness on his day.
Then yesterday came, May Nineteenth. It’s one of my favorite person’s birthday: my beautiful mother’s. I woke up crying, it was going to be a bad day. A day where I know Jensen would have brought so many smiles to his family, especially his grandma. It hurt all throughout the day. Her smile brightened up the room when I walked in with her big gift bag. She showed me her roses my dad bought her. When she opened her present and read her card signed from Jensen and I, I knew she sensed my sadness. Her smile faded to a frown as she looked to my face. As she came over for what I thought was a thank you hug, became a comforting one. She’s such a strong mom and grandma.
That moment made me remember the day I told my mom she was going to be a grandma. I was so afraid to tell her. She was asking me every single day if I was going to have a baby, but I just kept telling her not to worry about me and that I would tell her. I finally broke down on September 17 and sent her the ultrasound picture via text. Yes I know, how silly to tell someone they are going to be a grandma.
Then she said the best thing: “This baby is such a happy surprise. You will be a great mother.”
This is my mom’s favorite picture of our family. She has it on her phone and I gifted it to her in a frame for Christmas from Jensen and I. We have it up in our bookcase. Our happiness from the before shines down on us everyday. I love the before, I loved the during, and I love how strong we are growing.
Although a day late (online), Happy Birthday to my beautiful mother. I know how vibrant I usually am on days like yesterday, I just wish my little love was here to celebrate with us. He always loved hearing your voice.
I know Jensen smiles down on you every single day.
Motherhood Reimagined.
When I found out Jensen was a boy, I was overjoyed. I imagined him playing football, getting dirty, and playing rough outside. At my house, I planned on getting a big window in the back door so I could look outback to watch him play in the mud. I pictured us sitting outside together looking at the stars. When he was older, running in and out of the back door and eventually sneaking in and out. Those are just some of the dreams I had for him, with just the backyard. I would be his number one cheerleader, nurse, and above all his mother.
With all my dreams for him, I imagined me being the best momma for him. Whatever he needed me to be, I would. Of course, he would be made to listen and respect his parents and everyone else. Imagining his journey through infancy to adulthood, I also imagined myself as a mother growing with his needs. When I lost Jensen, I lost all my dreams for him and the biggest part of myself. I lost him, made of me, and I lost a certain identity I had for myself for the past ten months.
Which brings me to Day Two of this ten-day journey…
In what ways are you still the mother you thought you’d be?
In what ways does she still live on?
Today marks 27 days since Jensen was born and 27 days since he’s been gone. I never imagined losing him or imagined this is the journey my motherhood with lead me to. Four weeks with a baby means sleepless nights, countless diapers, and endless love. Motherhood with a newborn baby is messy. I imagined myself with the messiness right now and knowing the messiness would lead to a dramatic toddler and then a curious child and then a know-it-all teenager to adulthood. Instead, motherhood after a baby born asleep includes sleepless nights, countless tissues, and endless love; some the same, mostly different. My sleepless nights include countless tissues. I’m up wondering why, crying, and just remembering my Jensen. Some nights are harder than others and I know there will be good nights and horrible nights in my future. I’ve went through so many boxes of tissues. There are times when there are constant flows of tears and there’s other where I have to share tissues with those around me when I’m talking about Jensen. But there is never a lack of love I have for him. It is an endless love as I know all mothers have for their child. It’s the love my mother had for me growing up till now.
As I ponder on today’s questions I have to remember what I imagined before the unthinkable and compare them with my thoughts now. The reoccurring theme in both is love.
When I wake up each morning and am talking to Jensen, I could easily just stay in bed each day. I don’t. I think and often say out loud, Jensen wouldn’t me like this. He wouldn’t want me to give up on all my dreams and hopes. He wouldn’t want me to be laying in bed all day. He wants me to have that big, windowed backdoor. He wants me to grow as a mother for him. He doesn’t need me to care for him as a mom would care for a newborn. He still needs the love, but he needs to see me growing. All of these dreams, all of this grief, all of Jensen was made from love. Him and it is my motivation to get out of bed every morning. To go get that big, windowed back door. To grow and explore in this new type of motherhood. Most importantly, to keep loving him and letting everyone know how loved my Jensen is.
It’s our love for each other that makes me the mother I’d always had imagined myself being.
Grey Skies & Rainbow Highs 