The light above the sink

There's a light right above our sink.  For 14-15 weeks, it was on 24/7, except for that one time when it burnt out.  I left it on one night because I didn't want to have the light on in the hallway.  That light would have woken up my hubby, or my baby.  It probably would have kept me up too, even if I was only sleeping no more than two hours at a time.  I needed this light, so that I could go down the stairs without tripping, especially while holding Preston.  Perhaps I was paranoid to drop him not that I can ever see myself letting that happen.  I'm notoriously klutzy though, so I didn't want to risk it.  We did everything right, everything by the book, even when that meant taking precautions.

The light above the sink helped me get Preston's bottle ready - whether that meant heating up pumped breastmilk, or preparing formula.  It allowed me to see as I washed his bottles, pacifiers and pumping supplies, all the while he slept in the living room, a few steps away.  It gave me just enough light, to do what I needed, while providing a quiet, calm environment for my son.

This light has been off for months, and months.  I've had to turn it on a couple times, like today and it triggers so many memories.  My husband can't stand to see this light on.  I wouldn't be surprised if he's thought about taking this light out altogether.

It's tough, to have this light on, and not see the drying bottle rack on to the right of the sink.  It's difficult to not have bottles to wash, to not have that little grey tub we brought back from the hospital, filled with bottles and boiling hot water.  It's challenging to be at the sink, under this bright light without lullabies playing in the background from Preston's swing as it sways him to sleep.

Those things aren't far away.  Bottles in Preston's closet and a few in the garage, in a bag in the baby carrier.  I'm so thankful that Barry went to pick that up from the nanny's.  I couldn't deal with it.  Not now, not 10 months ago.  The drying rack may be Preston's closet, or perhaps in a cupboard with the baby bullet & supplies - which I never got to use.  The swing is in the nursery, along with the bouncer, and the bassinet, and the mini bassinet.  Out of sight, out of mind? If only it were so easy.

It's more like out of sight, less on my mind.  Less in my face.  Less of a reminder of what's missing, even if I'm ever so aware of my baby not being here.  There are just certain things, certain smells, certain sounds, certain situations that trigger certain memories which are more difficult to live with.

For today though, turning on that light to do dishes, wasn't as painful as in the past.  It made me smile to remember all those evenings I spent with Preston.  All those dishes I did.  My hands got so dry. While I can not bring back the past, I cannot relive all those precious moments - I have the memories.  I hope to never lose my mind so that I can remember until my time comes.

Triggers can be painful.  But every now and then, the pain is worth the reminder.  I hadn't thought about those evenings in this way in a long time.  Much like I hadn't seen a beautiful sunset in months.  It was a purple haze of a sunset, and it totally made me think of Preston.  And it made me smile.

Hues of orange

Today, I'm reminded of a poem my aunt sent me about the colors that exist all around us, and how they are constant reminders of my rainbow, my angel, Preston.  I take the time to remind myself to ask my aunt if I can share this poem on my blog.  Mental note, check!

Orange isn't the most predominant color in my life, nor is it my favorite color, or a color I often associate with Preston.  I do however, am able to find him, and think of him, when I see the hues of orange whether they be as saturated as a pumpkin, or as soft as an peach, pun intended.

Whenever the sun comes up, or goes down, and the sky is filled with bright shades of orange.  There is just something about it that brings a smile to my face, and smiling always reminds me of Preston.  Sunrises and sunsets are just so peaceful if you take the time to admire them.  Of course, it becomes increasingly difficult to appreciate the shifting of the sun as Fall comes to a close.  I am always happy when I can catch a glimpse lately.  I've certainly learned to have a new appreciation for this majestic star that is our sun.

Illogically, the bright construction signs close to our house remind me of my son.  Before he passed away, I seem to recall that there was a huge orange crane just a few blocks down from our house, as construction was starting on the new highway exit which will connect just down the street from our home.  I was looking forward to it, as I knew it would shave a good 10 minutes each way on y commute to work, and 20 extra minutes with Preston made me incredibly joyful.  I still look forward to it, but for different reasons.  I look forward to the day that I don't have to drive by the hospital which is where I found out I was miscarrying baby H and where I found out Preston was gone, even if in my heart, I knew he was gone the second I received the phone call at work telling me that he wasn't breathing.  One day, I won't have to drive by that place without being forced to because there's no other way.

Preston had a mirror for tummy time, and the rim was orange, somewhat like a sunflower.  His mat for tummy time was a little pond with frogs and butterflies.  He didn't love tummy time, but when you caught him in the right moment, he did really good, lifting his head up, trying to roll over and drooling all over the mat and half moon pillow that would help with getting him to lift his head.  If he wasn't in the right mood, well he's just lay his head on the pillow, and eventually would start crying.

Lastly, the orange in the two onesies pictured below remind me of Preston.  The smaller one, preemie size, is the onesie my sweet P had on when he came home from the hospital, underneath his fleece pyjamas.  The bigger one, size 3 months, was probably one of the last things he wore.  Ironically, they both say "Pinch me, I'm cute", which he truly was.  When Preston didn't fit into preemie clothes anymore, I donated them all to the NICU where he spent his first week or so of his life.  They had been good to him and it felt like the right thing to do.  Selfishly, part of me regrets it, because it's one more thing of Preston's that I don't have, and I've lost so much already.  But, I kept the one onesie he came home with.  It's so tiny, as you can tell.  And it reminds me of how good it felt to donate those clothes for babies who needed it.  No one wishes that their child will be born early and need to stay in the NICU.  I would assume that there are rare occasions where you know that it will happen, but in the majority of cases, my guess is that it is unexpected and not something you can prepare for.  We didn't have any preemie clothes.  We borrowed a lot from the NICU and by the time it was time to go home, we'd bought and been gifted several onesies and pyjamas.  I've always enjoyed giving more than receiving, and I think it's still true because, when asked "what do you want for your birthday or Christmas, I never have an answer".  So, I did the right thing, even if I miss being able to look at the onesies, and I rarely look at the ones I do have.  Little ones are using them every day, and I hope that they all live a long, healthy life.  Maybe, just maybe, a little angel is watching over the wee ones that wear his clothes as they fight to grow bigger and stronger whispering gently to them "you can do it".

#CaptureYourGrief - Day 31 - Sunset

Day 31 - Sunset

I really like that this project started with a sunrise, and ends on a sunset.  I really love watching both as much as possible every day.  I find it interesting that when this project began, I'd be getting to the train station as the sun was rising.  Now it is rising as I get into the office, a good hour later.  We will however be "falling back" this weekend, which will give me another month to admire the sunrises.

This has been a good experience, and interesting journey, both for my mind and soul.  It's been interesting to read the different takes people have on these subjects - how it makes them feel, what it makes them think about.  Today, around the world, people are sharing the sunset they saw today, or on another special day and I feel connected to this community of parents who have loved and lost like me.  I feel so much empathy for their losses, story after story.  As this project has helped me, I hope that it has helped others as well.  Not only the people who participated in the project, but the ones that read along as their friends, family members, or pure strangers posted their pictures, and captions.

This project has inspired me to try to find another healing project to focus on.  One that can be shared with other grieving individuals.  I did the 30 days of gratitude project, and that was really special for me.  I just did the #CaptureYourGrief project, which was another helpful healing journey.  I will brainstorm, and find something.

As the sun set today, as we awaited children to come trick-or-treating, I am thankful that we decided to hand out candy.  It was a last minute decision as I didn't really think I'd feel like celebrating, or seeing all the kids, when mine should also be dressed up.  I really could have been deterred earlier today when I saw a little boy dressed like a lion, Preston's costume which remains hanging in his closet.  We gave out candy today for under-privileged kids as we do every year for the Hope Center in Denver.  It made me feel good to hear the children laughing, and having a good time.  Especially these kids that struggle in some aspect of their life, for no fault of their own.  And it made me thankful that yesterday, my hubby asked me to go buy candy on my way home from work.  It hasn't been the busiest Halloween since we've moved in, but I'd say a good 50 kids must have come by so far.  

Halloween is a day for children.  Originally though, it was a day dedicated to remembering those who have passed.  The day to ward off death, mock it.  Be whimsy.  Be playful and witty.  Death can be so devastating, and it is nice to see that while this day is so highly commercialized like most holidays nowadays, the essence of this day is still there.  Don't let death take over your life.  Laugh at it.  Have fun at it expense.  I'm not saying that death is a laughing matter, but today has made me realize that there's no use in letting death win.  Life doesn't stop, even if you want it to.  Live your life to the best of your ability.  Make the most of it.  Smile, make others smile.  And sometimes, it can be as easy as giving a piece of candy to a little girl or boy.