Dear Jordy-Bug,
Whenever your baby sister Joslyn hurts herself or if someone else in the family says "Ow!," she responds with, "It's okay; it will heal. Kiss it and get a bandage!" Easy as that. A kiss and a bandage. Thankfully, in her short little life she hasn't yet experienced a hurt that can't be fixed so easily.
Unfortunately, Mommy and Daddy have.
On the surface, I look like I've healed quite a bit since your death. I get up, get dressed, get your siblings ready, go to work, interact with colleagues, make dinner, enjoy time with Daddy, clean the house, go to the park, sing and dance with Joss and Tyse, go out on occasion with friends, eat ice cream, smile, laugh, yadda, yadda, yadda. Normal events of a normal life on any given day. But I'm not normal. My life isn't normal. And I'm not healed. I don't cry every day like I did the year you died, but I'm definitely not healed.
Carrying and delivering three babies in my forties has taken a toll on me physically and mentally; your death has magnified every issue a hundredfold. On top of fibromyalgia and migraines, I still have a lot of pain in my hips and back, my plantar fasciitis has gotten worse, and I've developed some cardiac issues related to the stress of pregnancy/childbirth, intense weight gain/loss in a short amount of time, and extreme grief. When I first get up in the morning, I walk like an 80 year old woman; I'm a physical mess. A mix of pregnancy, mom, and grief brain has me in a fog more times than I care to admit. Emotionally, I can't begin to tell you how many times I've overreacted to situations because my resilience just isn't there any more. I am exhausted.
About a month ago, Daddy and I started talking about what next school year would look like for us. There were some major changes on the horizon in both his job and in mine. It was a pretty daunting shift for me. After being out of the classroom as an Instructional Coach for nine years, I was asked to teach two middle school classes along with fulfilling my coaching responsibilities. I've never taught middle school before, but after thorough consideration we decided to accept the challenge and do the best we could while trying to be good parents to three children under four years old. Then the chest pains started. I was having CHEST PAINS just thinking about the new responsibilities before me. I'm 44 years old. Chest pains. I already feel like I'm barely keeping it together some days. Chest. Pains. If I'm going to be a good Mommy to Joslyn and Tysen here on earth, I need to be here on earth. Seriously, chest pains? As much as I long to hold you in my arms in heaven, I'm not ready to let this life go just yet. I still have a lot to take care of here...particularly Daddy, Joss, and Tyse. So, Daddy and I made a bold decision for me to step away from working outside the home for a year, and asked my school district to grant me a one-year sabbatical. They graciously did just that. It's an opportunity for me to spend precious time with your brother and sister and to figure out how to really heal in all aspects of the word: physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I don't expect to be 100% back to my old self in twelve months, but I expect to be healthier and stronger. I need this for my family and my career. I need to refocus and re-energize, so I can return with renewed purpose. I need to work on true healing.
There have only been a couple people who haven't seemed incredibly supportive of our decision and that's unfortunate, but those people aren't the ones I come home to every day and they're not the ones who have to live with my insufferable self. So...for Daddy, for Joslyn, for Tysen, for you, and for me, I'm "just" going to be a Mommy for a while. Throw me a kiss and grab a bandage, because it's about to get real down here.
I love you, sweet girl!
Friday, June 17, 2016
Kisses and Bandages
I'm a wife to an amazing man, a mother to a beautiful baby girl in heaven, and her little sister and baby brother on earth. I'm a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a niece, a cousin, a friend, a Christian, an Instructional Coach, a Packer Fan, a Badger Fan, and a bit of a neat freak.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
The Children of 2012
Dear Jordy-Bug,
It's that time of year again; mid winter. It marks the beginning of the last several weeks that you spent in my belly before the fateful day of your birth in March, 2012. It also marks the beginning of several other 2012 births. These children are growing up with us here on earth, showing me how tall you might be, how well you might communicate, and what other talents you might have developed by now. To be totally honest, it's often very difficult for me to look at those 4-year-olds and soon-to-be 4-year-olds, especially the girls. It's painful to be reminded of what we are missing with you.
Two weeks ago in church, two of those little girls frolicked in the aisles. One proudly wore her princess "4" shirt, because it was her birthday. At first I smiled at their fun-loving exchange. Then it hit me that you should be in the thick of their merriment. That you would be four in a matter of weeks. But you weren't. You aren't. You never will be. I looked away and tried not to cry.
Two days ago, one of those same little girls stood with Joslyn during the worship songs. She put her arm around her in a sweet, comforting way that made me smile...until it occurred to me that that's her big sister's job. Joss won't ever feel your protective arms around her like that. Not physically anyway. I teared up again.
Yesterday, a little boy who isn't usually with Joslyn at the sitter's house came for a visit. She followed him around like a puppy dog, copying everything he did, and showing off for him. It didn't take me but half a second to focus my attention on what she is missing by not having you around to serve in that role. I choked back tears yet again.
I used to grieve for me and for Daddy. Now I have two other earthly blessings for whom I weep as well. I weep because Joss and Tyse never laid eyes on your perfect little self. I weep because they never hugged or kissed you. I weep because they'll grow up knowing they have a sister in heaven, but never fully realizing what that means in terms of the bond that could have been.
You are the one they should play with. You are the one they should look up to. You are the one who should give reassuring hugs. You are the one they should be learning from and copying. You are their big sister. They'll never know you like they know each other, or even like they'll know the other kiddos who come in and out of their lives at church, at the sitter's house, at school, at relatives' houses, or even at the grocery store. That crushes me. Sometimes swallowing me whole.
I have to remember to be grateful for these other little humans in our babies' lives. They are doing things for them that only children can do, by interacting with them on a level that no adult can replicate. Their genuine love and innocence is priceless. I just wish you were one of the "Children of 2012" with whom Joslyn and Tysen could share their time, love, and innocence as well.
I love and miss you more and more every day, baby girl. Your sister and brother may not realize it yet, but they do too.
Love,
It's that time of year again; mid winter. It marks the beginning of the last several weeks that you spent in my belly before the fateful day of your birth in March, 2012. It also marks the beginning of several other 2012 births. These children are growing up with us here on earth, showing me how tall you might be, how well you might communicate, and what other talents you might have developed by now. To be totally honest, it's often very difficult for me to look at those 4-year-olds and soon-to-be 4-year-olds, especially the girls. It's painful to be reminded of what we are missing with you.
Two weeks ago in church, two of those little girls frolicked in the aisles. One proudly wore her princess "4" shirt, because it was her birthday. At first I smiled at their fun-loving exchange. Then it hit me that you should be in the thick of their merriment. That you would be four in a matter of weeks. But you weren't. You aren't. You never will be. I looked away and tried not to cry.
Two days ago, one of those same little girls stood with Joslyn during the worship songs. She put her arm around her in a sweet, comforting way that made me smile...until it occurred to me that that's her big sister's job. Joss won't ever feel your protective arms around her like that. Not physically anyway. I teared up again.
Yesterday, a little boy who isn't usually with Joslyn at the sitter's house came for a visit. She followed him around like a puppy dog, copying everything he did, and showing off for him. It didn't take me but half a second to focus my attention on what she is missing by not having you around to serve in that role. I choked back tears yet again.
I used to grieve for me and for Daddy. Now I have two other earthly blessings for whom I weep as well. I weep because Joss and Tyse never laid eyes on your perfect little self. I weep because they never hugged or kissed you. I weep because they'll grow up knowing they have a sister in heaven, but never fully realizing what that means in terms of the bond that could have been.
You are the one they should play with. You are the one they should look up to. You are the one who should give reassuring hugs. You are the one they should be learning from and copying. You are their big sister. They'll never know you like they know each other, or even like they'll know the other kiddos who come in and out of their lives at church, at the sitter's house, at school, at relatives' houses, or even at the grocery store. That crushes me. Sometimes swallowing me whole.
I have to remember to be grateful for these other little humans in our babies' lives. They are doing things for them that only children can do, by interacting with them on a level that no adult can replicate. Their genuine love and innocence is priceless. I just wish you were one of the "Children of 2012" with whom Joslyn and Tysen could share their time, love, and innocence as well.
I love and miss you more and more every day, baby girl. Your sister and brother may not realize it yet, but they do too.
Love,
I'm a wife to an amazing man, a mother to a beautiful baby girl in heaven, and her little sister and baby brother on earth. I'm a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a niece, a cousin, a friend, a Christian, an Instructional Coach, a Packer Fan, a Badger Fan, and a bit of a neat freak.
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