One year unexpected, the next - in the forecast

It is Mother's Day Eve.  As I type this blog entry, the snow is steadily falling to the ground and has already formed a thin blanket on the ground.  It has been snowing for hours now.  I am feeling something I don't often feel - true happy.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that my life is brimming with sadness.  I have a great husband, a wonderful home, a job I enjoy, a loving family, fantastic friends and am blessed with so many things I am grateful for.  Unfortunately, every day is a reminder that someone is missing from my life.  This cheerful, always smiling little soul.  This giggling and wiggling little boy.  That notion that weighs on my heart, day in and day out, takes it's toll on my happiness.

I know it's ironic that I feel this way, when the goal of my blog is to spread happiness in the name of my son.  And I truly try every day to be happy.  I find ways to smile and have a good time most days.  I don't want anyone to think that I'm living in a dark, hopeless place filled with sadness.  I very easily could go to that place, but I choose not to.  Unfortunately, that doesn't mean that happiness comes easy.

Every day, I try to remind myself that my son would want me to continue living my life, a good life, a happy life.  It's hard, and I truly aspire to find that happiness every day.  I have joyful moments every week for sure.

This feeling I'm feeling right now though... pure happiness.  Last year, the thought of Mother's Day was tough.  I'd just lost my baby boy 2 months earlier and I was still struggling through the fog of those first months of grief.  It didn't feel right or fair.  It still doesn't and it isn't.  I had a hard time wanting to celebrate anyone, including my own mother and mother-in-law.  I just wanted to stay home and be with my thoughts.  I just wanted to be able to think of my son and remember him.  I kind of wanted to be alone, or at the very least, just with my husband.  I wanted to be in the home that Preston knew.  Where he was loved and happy.  It's where I feel closest to him.

We were supposed to go visit my in-laws but unexpectedly, a snow storm blew through and it was safer for us not to travel to the mountains.  I got my "wish".  I was able to stay home, and think of my son on my own timeless and not feel pressured into celebrations I wasn't ready for.  I believed wholeheartedly that it was a snowstorm from Preston.  He knew what I needed, and he gave it to me.  After all, my baby only really knew winter... seemed fitting that this blizzard was a sign from him.

It was probably just a month or month and a half after the "flash" snowstorm that had moved me so on a Sunday afternoon.  That storm that came out of nowhere and was over just as quickly revealing the sun in all its beauty.  That storm that gave me hope and felt like a message from Preston saying "Don't worry, as the storms come and go, so will your emotions, but they will pass, and the sun will always come back out".  Those storms have made me associate a lot of snowstorms with Preston.

As you may recall from one of my last posts, I've hoped for snow again this Mother's Day.  Not necessarily because I don't want to celebrate anyone else, but mostly just because I miss Preston and it would remove all doubts for me that last year's blizzard was just that a storm, and not a sign from my son.  It may not be Mother's Day quite yet, but consider my doubts gone.

You may say, well last year the storm was unexpected and this year, it's been in the forecast for days.  My friend and co-worker Lisa put it beautifully - "he had time to plan it this year".  Thank you for that Lisa.  You are right.  He certainly did.

Wishing a Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms out there; my Mom who instilled perseverance in my, my Mother-in-Law who's welcome me into her family as one of her own, my Aunts who have shown me that family supports each other through thick and thin.  My friends who have little ones of their own, you do a wonderful job raising those beautiful children.  My sister-in-law who's provided a loving home and continues to raise my smart and gorgeous niece and nephews.  My husband's sister who's currently expecting her first, and is filled with excitement.  My cousins who like my aunts, have shown me that family supports each other through it all, and who themselves have beautiful children who I one day hope to meet.

Wishing a gentle Mother's Day to the Mamas out there who have lost.  Whether you have living children or not, I know that it is a difficult day nonetheless.  Remember that you are a survivor.  Remember that your child matters, even though no one can see him, her or them.  You are a warrior, and a superhero Mama.  Don't ever forget it. <3

And to those who have lost their Mom, I know that this marks a difficult day for you too.  Cherish the memories of your Mom.  Remember the happy times, hold on to your favorite memories.  Share them.  If you feel you have no place to share them, I invite you to share them here.

Much love to everyone <3
xxxxxx

Snowmageddon

With the news all about a massive storm hitting the East Coast today, it feels like a great time to share one of my most memorable winter moments. It was 1980 something and we had snow... a lot of it.  Back then, the cold didn't phase me.  Perhaps it was the 3 or 4 layers of clothes I had on, the mittens and hats.  Or maybe it was just the pure innocence of childhood.  I must say I miss those days as I can't stand the cold as an adult.  Makes for interesting conversations about the thermostat in the house as my husband, doesn't like to be too warm.

Back to the memory - 1980 something with mountains of snow.  Growing up, my house was on a street corner which meant 2 driveways.  That snow-blower was a great investment, right Dad?  The snow would be dumped from the driveways to the sides of the driveway and made for great fort building.  This particular year, I remember we made a wonderful fort.  Ted and I, well probably mostly Ted, made nooks and room divisions.  We even had a fridge with a door that opened and a TV.  You can see it in the pictures below.  It's the square with sticks in it, because TVs had antennas back then.

It was great fun.  The building, and then playing in the fort for days.  I often wonder what type of winter sports and winter activities I would have done with Preston.  The snow doesn't stay on the ground for very long here in Colorado.  Perhaps it does in the mountains, but here in the foothills, a couple days and it's gone.  Where does this leave the building of a snowman?

I know we would have gone sliding on the little hill behind our house.  Maybe we would have gone to the mountains and hung out in the lodge as his dad snowboards the day away.  We could have taught him to snowboard or ski out back, start small you know?  Snow angels in the snow?  Skating.. maybe? Though I'd have a hard time teaching him seeing as I can only turn one way, lol.

Maybe my favorite, would have been cuddling by the fire on a cold day, where it snows non-stop.  Watch movies and read books together.  Yeah, I think, that would have been perfection.  What a wonderful image to go to sleep on :)

PS. The biggest irony of this post - it was 70 degrees today :)

Hope glistens in the snow

We spent a quiet New Year's day.  Brett's parents were over.  We had a nice lunch and they left in the early of the afternoon as a snow storm rolled in.  I knew there was a chance for snow, but I had no idea that we'd get close to 6 inches.  As I was feeding the cats their dinner, the snow just called out to me.  Heavy snow flakes were falling and the snow on the back porch just glistened.  Stars in the snow.  Tiny globes of hope in the purity of fresh snowfall.

It made me hopeful that 2015 may become a good year.  Living without Preston is still very difficult.  Still isn't a good word.  This grief, this emptiness will follow me forever.  You learn to cope.  You find ways to live, laugh.  You become more accepting of what you can't change.  You don't forget.  You don't get over it.  You don't move on.  There's no still when it comes to grieving someone you love so deeply.  There's only living without part of yourself for the rest of your life.  I'm not still sad that my son's gone.  I will always be sad that he's no longer with us.  I'm not still grieving.  Grief is a never-ending companion.

All that being said though, I was overcome with serenity again today as I watched large flakes flow in the wind.  That same feeling of peace I felt on Mother's Day when Preston sent a storm.  Perhaps he sent this one too... Just to say, 2015 will be better.  After all, it can only go up from 2014...

Warmth of the fire

I stayed in bed for quite a while yesterday morning, watching large snowflakes through the slats of the window shades in our room.  It was peaceful and quiet.  The large snow crystals that swayed in the wind transported me back to May, when it snowed on Mother's day as I worked at the kitchen table.  Yesterday morning, I thought of my sweet little boy, and missed him so.

I spent the day in the house, with the storm raging and no car, where was a girl to go anyway?  As I sat on the couch playing World of Warcraft on my laptop, my cats lay by the fireplace, napping by the warmth that emanated from the fire.  How many hours I spent on this same couch last winter watching my baby boy sleep?  How many hours did I rock him to sleep? How many hours did I spend playing with him, making him smile and giggle?

The answer is simple.  Not enough.  I wish I had spent more hours just watching him sleep.  He'd often smile as he slept.  What was he dreaming of? Bunnies jumping from cloud to cloud?  Rainbows over waterfalls?  Fields of endless flowers, filled with vivid colors?  Whatever it was, I'm glad he had such dreams, and I'm ever so grateful that they made him smile, if only for fleeting seconds.  I wish I spent more time holding him.  Rocking him, and bouncing with him in my arms, ever so slightly to help him fall asleep.  I wish I read him more stories, told him more about his family, taught him more about all the wonderful things that exist in our world.

With futility, I wish for many things I can never have.  Never say never? I beg to differ.  Never exists and it is part of my reality every day.  Never is an ugly word, but it follows me wherever I go.  Sometimes it hides in the shadows for weeks, but like a vile monster, it always reappears.  To ward it off, I hold on to the wonderful days I had with Preston.  The precious time I spent with him that will stay with me forever.  I hang on to ever single second of his life that I can remember.

As winter solstice approaches, I hope that Preston has a warm spot in Heaven, should they experience seasons.  I hope that his cloud blankets keep him warm at night.  I hope that he spots by to say hello, as he sees us light that familiar fire all winter long, as we did last year to keep him warm.  May that simple thought, keep us warm inside all winter.

Dust

A storm rolled in this afternoon.  At least, it appeared like a really big snow storm.  Big snow flakes blowing to the south.  When all was said and done though, all that had fallen was a dust of snow as you can attest from the picture above.  As the snow was blowing by our living room window, I was reminded of the storm we got on Mother's Day.  It looked exactly like it did on that day.  It felt exactly the same too, peaceful.

Since Preston's passing, I've often found myself having conflicting thoughts about certain things.  Dust, is one of them.  A dusting of snow to me equates to serenity.  It is pure.  Seeing the snow fall, and letting out a big sigh can be so releasing.  However, when I think of dust, I also am reminded of the dust that is collecting in my sweet P's nursery.  On some of his things that are still in the kitchen, or our bedroom.  Dust shouldn't be collecting on his crib and mattress.  It should be being used every day.  Dust shouldn't be settling on his swing, rocking chair and bouncer.  I don't have to step into his room to know that it is.  I should probably go in there and do a good dusting.  One day, I'm sure.  All I know is that it won't be today, or tomorrow.  Probably not this year.  I've been told by other parents that there is no set time to do anything when you are grieving.  There's no schedule that says "it's been 6 months, you need to pack up the nursery".  Some parents were able to do it a year later.  Some almost 2 years later.  I don't know when that day will be for me.  Or for Brett.  Time will tell, and I try not to dwell on it.

I try, but sometimes I can't help but think about his nursery.  This room where he slept.  Where I rocked him, fed him his bottle and read to him.  This room that was supposed to one day be filled with little race cars, baseball mitts and legos.  It's very difficult to get passed the fact that he'll never know what those things are.  I think that actually, it's not something you really get passed.  It's just something you get used to and most days, you are at peace with it.  Other days, you struggle with that thought, or similar thoughts.  Some days you cry, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.  Dust can be a thought that brings me peace, but it can also cause a lot of anguish.  This happens with a lot of different things.

Do you think angels come visit at night? Perhaps they sprinkle happy dream dust on our sleepy heads?  Probably not, but I like that thought, and maybe I will think of that as I try to fall asleep tonight.  Sprinkle me with happy dreams, ones that I'd be elated to remember tomorrow morning.

From sunbathing to sledding

Friday afternoon, I was sunbathing by the pool in Las Vegas.  Today, I am home to a beautiful blanket of snow.  Don't we live in a wonderful and beautiful world where the weather can be so different less than 800 miles apart?  I have much to discuss in regards to the road trip we just took, and the road trip we took in October, and the one we took last year in May for that matter, when I was pregnant with Preston.  I promise to get to it one of these days.

But today, I want to concentrate on the blanket of pure white snow.  My emotions toward snow could easily be swayed.  Just earlier, I was watching a couple kids sliding down the greenbelt which we can clearly see from our backyard deck.  I remember watching this very same thing last December, with Preston in my arms, telling him how one day, we'd go sliding down that little hill.  It would be effortless to cry thinking about this.  And it would be understandable - another dreamed slashed.  But, I feel peaceful today.  It may be due to the fact that we are back home.  It could be the result of being on vacation, even if it is the last day.  It's possible that it just hasn't hit me yet.  Deep down though, I know it's because of the snow.

The drive wasn't without any stress.  There was a lot of ice on the highway, on the passes, in the mountains.  Snow and ice and frigid temperatures.  But as you can attest from the picture above, the scenery was filled with serenity and peacefulness.  Smooth white layers of snow on the ground.  Powdery flakes on the evergreens.  Virtually transparent clouds floated in a bright blue sky.  Occasionally a gust of wind would hit the fir trees, and a mist of snow would dance amongst the trees.  It was beautiful, and reminded me of all the times I watched the snow fall as I swayed my baby boy to sleep.  All the times, I showed him the snow, and explained to him what it felt like.  The brisk air made the tip of my nose cold.  It's the first thing that gets cold when I am feeling chilly.  The same was true for Preston, not that I let his nose stay cold for very long.  It was an easy indicator that he just might need another layer.  My nose getting cold, is an instant reminder of how connected my son and I were.  How close we were.  He was my son after all.  No denying it.

His birthday nears, now 3 days away.  Oh the plans I had.  I do hope that the #SpreadHappinessForPreston movement is successful.  On Friday, I had played my last spin of a slot machine and a mere $0.30 remained.  I decided to leave this $0.30 on a random slot machine, with one of Preston's cards, hoping that this made someone smile, or maybe brought someone luck and gave them a big jackpot, or even, enough money to last a while for someone to have fun with.  Who knows if it did or not.  I will imagine that it did.  No one is there to tell me otherwise, so why not?  I also left a nice tip for housekeeping with a Preston card.  If nothing else, perhaps they will also share happiness with someone else, or maybe his picture made someone smile.  Whatever the case may be, any smile that is brought on thanks to my son, is well worth it to me.

Snow capped

I was doing an online puzzle during my lunch hour today.  It was a winter scene, where the roof of this house was snow capped, with Christmas decorations all around it.  Oddly, this feeling came over me, like a feeling that Christmas would be okay after all.  It made my day.  

And then we went to Target after work.  Christmas decorations are already everywhere you look.  Christmas music is playing.  Christmas is being shoved down our throats, and it's just November 5th!  I've always loved Christmas, the decorations, the lights, the music, but every year, it seems like it is being commercialized even more.  Somehow, because every year, I think that there's no way it can become more commercial than it already is.  The earlier that it can be advertised, the better, stores seem to be saying.  I was actually buying candy on Halloween at the grocery store and most of it was cleared off the shelves, with pallets of Christmas decorations just waiting to be stocked to re-fill the barren shelves.

This year, the thought of Christmas is difficult.  It wasn't going to be Preston's first Christmas, but he was just a peanut last Christmas.  I think he would have enjoyed the lights, the family time, and new toys.  It's also a reminder that he'll never get to believe in Santa Claus.  He'll never get to leave him milk and cookies.  He'll never open a present, has a Christmas Eve feast.  We'll never get to make our own family traditions with him.

Those thoughts make me sad.  It makes me sad that I have friends in the same boat.  However, if I just for a second think about that snow capped roof puzzle I completed earlier today, that feeling of peace returns.  I haven't said this in a long long time, but I am longing for a good snow storm.  The pure white color of the snow.  The silence that seems to come with it in the early morning.  The reminder that Preston lived through snow storms.  We cuddled by the fire.  And he sent me that storm on Mother's Day.  Maybe that first storm will make me cry.  Or maybe it'll make me smile.  Maybe a little of both.  Regardless though, I know I will get through these next couple months.  One day at a time. 

We may not get to make Christmas traditions with Preston present in our lives, but maybe we can still buy him an ornament every year.  Or maybe we can light a candle that will stay lit all day long on Christmas.  We can still create something meaningful to us as a family, which will honor Preston, which will help us include him despite his absence.  It could be a special family time, if we are up for it.  And only time will tell.  What are your favorite holiday traditions?

Was that you?

Preston, was that you, my sweet little boy, when I looked down to write something at work a few weeks ago when I saw a bright light for a second by my fingers?  It was only for a moment but my first instinct was to think of you.

Was that you, my sweet P, this morning, when I was backing out of the drive-way and saw a bunny standing vigil on the right side of the house, and as I turned to the other side to ensure the coast was clear, there was another bunny standing vigil on the left side of the house?

Was that you, my ray of sunshine, when I caught a glimpse of a really bright light through the patio door, just a few hours ago, as the storm was moving away from our house?

Was that you, my little boy, on Mother's Day, when we got one of the biggest snow storms of the year?  I really wanted to stay home that day and didn't want to go anywhere.  Home is where I feel closest to you.

Was that you, my sweetie pie, who offered me rainbows on days when I seemed to need it most?

Was that you, my lovey dovey, who sent me a meaningful song on Pandora, right before Mother's Day (Song For Mama).  And other days, was that you, when several songs in a row played one after the other, reminding me of you?  Whether because I sang them to you, or because when I would hear them they would make me think of you?

Was that you, my happy baby, who sent my aunt a dream telling her my grand-mere was watching over you?   And was that you, who was in my friend's dream, when she never got the pleasure of meeting you?

Was that you, when we received a gift from our insurance company for referring someone else to them, who sent a dime on the back of their business card?  Finding dimes are supposed to be a sign from a passed loved one.

Is it you, Preston, who somehow lifts me up enough to keep going, even when it feels like part of me is forever gone?  Is it you, who gives me a reason to smile every day, when it would be totally understandable if I never wanted to smile again?  Is it you, who gives me this inspiration to want to help others, by sharing my true feelings, thoughts, emotions?  Is it you, who gives me motivation to be a better person, work hard and live life to the fullest?  Is it you, who has brought a lot of people closer to me, and made me feel really loved and cared about?

I wish I truly knew the answer to all those questions.  I wish I could ask you, ask God, and have you or Him answer me back.  But, that's not how faith works and that makes it incredibly difficult.

Since I did instantly think of you when all those things happened, deep inside, I do believe it was you.  Maybe I only think that way because it gives me a reason to continue to feel close to you.  Maybe I believe it because it gives me a reason to want to see tomorrow and hope that I get a sign from you.  Maybe, even if I'm not entirely sure of my faith, I have more faith than I realize.

Whatever the truth is, my exceptionally special little one, you changed my life forever.  When you entered it and when you left it.  You made me a better person.  You made me more caring, more understanding, and somehow more patient.  You made me more brave and strong.  You made me understand empathy to a whole new level.  You made me appreciate everything around me so much more.  You made me a mama, something no one will ever be able to take that away from me.