Tuesday, July 29, 2014

I Still Cry

I still cry all the time.  More so than I have ever cried in all my before-Colton life. 



I cried the other day in the shower.  Delaney is sick and I thought, for just a moment, what if it's something horrible.  She's been sick off and on (more on) for six months.  What if it's something more?  And just at the thought, I cried. Big, ugly crocodile tears flowed from my eyes, from deep in my soul, as I worried about what-if.

I cried the other night when Delaney grabbed Colton's heartbeat monkey and squeezed just right.  The sound of his sweet heartbeat penetrated a cold, dark, sad place in my heart - Colton's spot - and I cried. Silent, steady streams of tears just rolling down my cheek.  A smile broke through, though, as Delaney's eyes lit up with delight at the sound and she hugged the monkey tighter and giggled. 

I cried when I got the email that my Molly Bear would be shipped in August.  I cried because this perfect little bear will weigh just what my little Colton weighed and will forever be made just for him, in remembrance and honor of who he was. 

I cried a little silent cry while at the playground with Delaney as I watched a little boy who had to be about Colton's age run around with reckless disregard through the jungle gym and clambered over the steps and bolted down the slide.

I cried when I read the PM reaching out to me about a mother struggling after her baby died of SIDS.  A loss that I cannot even fathom.  A loss that I still fear.  I still check Delaney multiple times through the night to make sure she's breathing and just peacefully sleeping.

I find the more I cry, the more I connect and heal.  Tears do not make me weak, they strengthen me.  They connect me to moments, to others, to life.  When I didn't cry, I was dead. I felt nothing.  Reuniting with our tears, embracing them, allows us to feel.

I still cry. And that's a good thing. 

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

I Cannot Bury Another Baby

A phrase I never thought I would say.  A phrase that sounds so foreign, coming from my mouth. No, scratch that, from my soul. From a deep, dark, terrified place in my soul.

Yet, more often than I like or want to admit, I hear those words in my head. They fly out of my mouth like a whip slapping out and stinging whoever they touch.

I cannot bury another baby.

At one time in life I was carefree.  "Oh don't be such a worrier" ... "They'll only do it once and they'll learn" ... I was a believer that allowing a child some space and freedom to explore and discover was a confidence builder and enabled decision making.

I still believe those things. I really do.  However, I am also more apt to control the environment.  To avoid risk that prior I wouldn't perceive as such a risk.  I doubt myself, I doubt others. 

It's infuriating when people say "Nothing is going to happen!".  Bad things happen every single day.  Colton dying wasn't supposed to happen, either. But it did.  He died.  And there was no reason, no danger, no action and consequence.  His death just happened. Without warning and without forgiveness.

So, why would I be so ignorant - or arrogant - to think it couldn't happen again? Why would I put myself in the position to challenge fate and invite situations that could put my daughter at risk?

I cannot bury another baby.

Am I paranoid? Probably.  Helicopter mom? Maybe a little.  Worst case scenario worrier? Yes, why yes I am.  Because I've already come face to face with the worst case and I cannot do it again.

I cannot bury another baby.

Words I never thought I would say, now a mantra in my day to day life. 

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

A Gift From Colton

There is no doubt that in the last almost four years I have changed a lot.  For a while it was not for the better.  For a while I was lost in the rabbit hole of chaos, disillusion, and grief.

I have come a long way since that period, though.  I have learned a lot about me, others, life, and love.  I have gained control of my emotions, my reactions, and my destination.  Of course, it's all fluid.  Some days are easier than others. Some days I fail.  Some days I feel completely in control and at peace.

Every day I feel is a victory.

Every day I am one step further in life than I thought I could be when he died.  I didn't know how I would survive the next minute, let alone an hour or a day. I felt so weak and lost.  So scared, so vulnerable.

Now I feel strong.  I feel protected and confident.  I feel like I have survived the worst, I can survive anything.  I know that even though I face huge challenges and things aren't certain, I am certain I can make it through.  I have an angel on my side, cheering me on, bringing peace to my heart amidst fear and uncertainty.  When I DO start to panic I breath deep and think "If I survived losing Colton, I can survive anything".

The gifts Colton gave me are many.  While I would trade them all to have him back ... I am glad to have them.  I am appreciative of all I've learned, all I have become.  I know that I am a better person now than quite possibly I have ever been.

And if that's what I gain, then I will appreciate it.  And hope that every day Colton can be proud I am his mom and he has touched my life more than just in a sad way.  His loss will always be my darkest time; his lasting footprints on my life will be the brightest points.

I love you Colton.  Thank you for all you were and all you'll forever be.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Who Would You Be?

I wonder, often, who would you be?

What kind of personality would you have? Would you be introverted or extroverted?

Athletic or intellect or a balance of both?

A lefty? What would your voice sound like?

Would you have dimples? Would you smile bright or smirk a little grin?

What would your favorite breakfast be?  Do you like snacks?

What would be your favorite toy? book? song? color?

I wonder because you would have answers to these things now. You would be four this year and your personality would be well established.  We could have little conversations where I could see the bugs and trees and flowers through YOUR eyes.  Where imagination would lead our lives and wonder would be a marvelous treat. 

The other day I was talking with a friend and her son was wandering and looking around. He's almost your age and while we spoke my eyes wandered to him, my thoughts to you.

I wish I could have known all these things about you, my sweet Colton. I wish I knew your eye color, if your hair stayed curly or straightened, what your smile looked like, and - almost more than anything - what your little giggle and voice sounded like. 

I miss you. Every day.  Even almost four years later I miss you.  There isn't a single day I don't think about you and wish you were part of my day, more than just a thought. 

I wish, so much, I knew who you would be.  Instead I dream and will always wonder.