Top Ten Things Henry Taught Me...#6

10. Anything worth having is worth working for.
9.  Enjoy the little things.
8.  Every child I interact with is someone's "Henry."
7.  To be a mother is to watch your heart walk around outside your body.
6.  There truly are angels on earth.

I have always believed there are good people in the world. Yet as soon as Henry got sick, I realized how many good people we have surrounding us. Our angels include our family, friends, coworkers, acquaintances, community members, nurses, doctors, and even complete strangers. 

Our family was there for us from day one...meeting us at the hospital, sitting in on rounds and meetings with the doctors, feeding us, hugging us, helping us make it through the days. Our friends also rallied around us...setting up meal deliveries, setting up donation accounts and fundraisers, and getting a Facebook page going so we could keep everyone updated. Our coworkers and colleagues made sure we didn't have to worry about anything at work. I had teachers offering to make lesson plans for me, putting together care packages, and visiting and checking on us. This alone seems like plenty of support for our little family, but the support certainly didn't end there.

The doctors and nurses we worked with were absolute angels. They not only took care of Henry, making us feel as though he was the only patient in the hospital, but they took time to explain things to us, make us feel comfortable, and make sure we had what we needed. I will never be able to say enough good things about the staff at Children's. 

And then we still have our community and Facebook family. I have felt so much love from people I have never met. Our fundraiser, Henry's visitation and funeral all had amazing turnouts. So many people came together to celebrate the life of one special little boy. We continue to draw strength from all of our Facebook  family. 

I hate that it took such a horrific experience to remind me that there are such angels all around us. I don't think I will ever again doubt that there is good in the world. That was another one of Henry's gentle lessons for which I am grateful.

5.  Everyone is fighting some sort of battle we know nothing about.
4.  Time is a gift.
3.  Death is not the end of a relationship.
2.  You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.
1.  Motherhood is the best job I could ever hope for.

Book Fair

As we near the end of Book Fair week, memories of another Book Fair popped into my head. While Henry was at Children's there was a Book Fair going on in the lobby. At one point when Tim and I needed to get a little air, and while Henry was "stable," we went down to wander. This was definitely more up my alley than Tim's, but he was a good sport about it, letting me page through the books, trying to find the perfect one to read to Henry. I can't even remember which book I picked...I think it might have been one of the How Do Dinosaurs... series. That night, I read Henry his new book as a bedtime story. That was the last time I read to him.

Henry loved books. Even as a teeny baby, he would gaze at the pages...the shapes and colors. As he got a little older, he would smile and wave his hands as I read to him. One of his favorites was Rattletrap Car. I think he liked the noises that the rattletrap car made. I remember reading it to him one time, and he didn't stop smiling and giggling through the entire book. As a book-lover, teacher, and librarian, this made me a happy mama!

Today, as I wandered our Book Fair, I noticed a book called Love Monster. I haven't read the whole book yet, but Tim had the idea that we could read it to Henry on his birthday. And I love that idea. Although he isn't here to listen to the story, he will hear it and enjoy it...smiling and giggling as we read to him.

Timehop

I love the app Timehop. It shows you what you were up to a year, two years, three years ago...from Facebook, photos, and other social media. Although sometimes the app can make me feel a little sad (like when there were photos of painting the nursery), most of the time the memories warm my heart.

Today's Timehop seems so simple...morning coffee with Dad. It's something that has become a tradition when I visit Firth. Mom was never much of an early morning person, so waking up early gave me a chance to get a little time with Dad. We got a chance to talk, hang out, get some quality time before the day got going. I know it's time that both Jamie and I have cherished in recent years.

Many daughters look up to their dads, and I am no exception. My dad is one of my heroes. He taught me the value of family, hard work, and perseverance. He taught me that the right way may not always be the easy way. And throughout my life, he showed me that he would always be there for me, regardless of the ridiculous decisions I may have made for myself. I am so beyond thankful for my dad, for his quiet strength, his values, and most of all for his love and support. And I look forward to our next morning coffee "date"!

Feeling "normal"

Last week was a rough week. After a busy weekend and coming into a busier week, I was afraid more rough days were coming. However, yet again, the roller coaster that is grief proves unpredictable. The last couple days I've been feeling more normal. We have the Book Fair at school this week, which keeps me busy and on my toes for sure! And we're less than a week away from closing on our new house. Perhaps these things keep my mind occupied, and keep me from dwelling on the sad but rather looking forward. Perhaps it's the smiles and excitement on the kids' faces as they come into the library, looking around with wonder, deciding what they will buy, or even just looking at all of the books. Perhaps it's my angels watching over me, seeing how tired I was getting, and letting me know it's okay to feel okay. 

Whatever the reason, it's a welcome break. I know that I'm nowhere near done grieving, and I still miss Henry every day. Yet it's nice to get a little break, to be able to genuinely enjoy things. Throughout the grief journey, we never know what's to come...every day is different. I am thankful that the last few days have been good...giving me strength to continue this journey, and giving me the confidence that I will continue to make it through both the good days and the bad.

Bittersweet

This weekend, besides being busy, has been bittersweet. We enjoyed our road trip to Kansas City and IKEA yesterday. Today we got our paint (on sale even!) for the kitchen, guest room, and man/person cave. We also picked up a new-to-us sectional and ottoman for the man cave. We are getting more and more excited to get started settling into our new house and making it our home.

As exciting as it is to think about the new house, it's also bittersweet. We will be leaving the first house we lived in as a married couple. We will be leaving the house we found just after we lost Brady...the house that gave us something to look forward to as we grieved his loss. We will be leaving the house that my mom saw and loved...the last house that she was here to help me decorate and hang pictures...the house where she and I sat in the shade while Dad and Tim put together our porch swing. We will be leaving the house that we brought Henry home to, and where we watched him grow. 

Yet we also leave the house that I came home to after saying good-bye to my mom...the house where I sat in the empty nursery as Henry fought for his life...the house where I couldn't stop crying after leaving Henry for the last time. 

I know we take Henry with us wherever we go, and my mom as well. I miss them both regardless of where we live, and their memory will fill our new home as well. We are looking forward to a fresh start, a new home to fill with love, a place to make our own and to start making new memories.

Lights

Tim and I ventured to IKEA in Kansas City today to get a few things for the new house. We were pretty successful...got a couple dressers, night stands, lamps, a rug, and assorted other odds and ends and impulse items. Although it makes for a bit of a long day, it was a fun little Saturday outing.

As we wandered the showroom for the second time, Tim commented that Henry would've loved it there. And he definitely would have! There were so many lights and colors and sounds that Henry would have been entranced. Wal Mart was always a favorite...he couldn't get enough of the lights. It's strange...IKEA isn't necessarily where one would think to take an infant for fun, but Henry certainly would have enjoyed it. We miss Henry, but it was fun to picture him smiling and staring as we shopped.

Ridiculousness

Tim and I watched some of our DVR'd TV shows tonight, which included a couple episodes of The Big Bang Theory. As we watched, Howard said something to his wife that grabbed my attention..."I married you to support me no matter how ridiculous I'm being!" Although this wasn't exactly the reason I married Tim, I feel like it kind of describes our relationship these days!

I often catch myself being ridiculous...whether it's something I'm expecting or asking of Tim, or emotions I'm experiencing, or my reaction to situations. This morning, for example, I texted Tim (as I was hiding in the bathroom at work crying) that I was panicked and anxious. I'm not sure what I expected him to do, yet he texted me back lovingly and offering his support.  I often vent to Tim and take my frustrations out on him, yet he never complains or gets angry. When I cry out of nowhere he hugs me and tells me he loves me. He's going through his own darkness, yet he manages to still be my light.

I'm not sure how I got so lucky to have someone that puts up with my ridiculousness on a daily basis (and yes, I have had my ridiculous moments for as long as we've been together!) He's been my rock through the good times and the bad, and I can't imagine anyone better to share my life with. 

Top Ten Things Henry Taught Me...#7

10.  Anything worth having is worth working for.
9.  Enjoy the little things.
8.  Every child I interact with is someone's "Henry."
7.  To be a mother is to watch your heart walk around outside your body.
I can't claim credit for this one - it's a quote I've seen around the Internet.  But it definitely is true.  Before I was a mom, I was most worried about myself.  I tried to make sure I was taken care of, happy, fed... And beyond that I wanted my family to be happy, Tim to be happy, friends to be happy.  Once I found out I was pregnant with Brady, that changed.  Although with that first pregnancy I was more focused on myself, I was still worried about the growing baby.  I was cranky that my clothes weren't fitting, or that I couldn't have a beer on St. Patrick's Day, yet every day I worried and wondered about what was going on with Brady.  As we got to each doctor's appointment, I worried that we would find out something was wrong, and I worried that it would be my fault.  And once we lost Brady, I experienced true heartbreak.

When we became pregnant with Henry, my attitude was completely different.  I was so excited to be pregnant, and scared to death that something might happen!  In that pregnancy, I got cranky when my clothes continued to fit...I wanted that big belly that meant the baby was growing and healthy.  Throughout that whole pregnancy, I was focused on Henry and how he was growing.  Since we were considered a more high-risk pregnancy, we had frequent ultrasounds, which eased my mind considerably.  I didn't miss coffee, soda, or beer.  I was just so happy that Henry continued to grow.

And then Henry was born...all of a sudden, I was no longer important.  It didn't matter that I had to time trips to the store based on sleep schedules and feedings and diapers.  It didn't matter that I was always tired, and that Henry seemed to think daytime was the best time to sleep, while nighttime was party time.  It didn't matter that I had to sneak in a shower while Henry napped in his bouncy seat in the bathroom.  Nothing mattered anymore except this sweet little boy that we had been blessed with.  Keeping him content was my focus in life, and my exhaustion and greasy pony-tailed hair no longer bothered me.

It was when Henry got sick that this became even more apparent.  Even when he "just" had a cold, my heart hurt.  I hated seeing my sweet baby stuffy, sniffling, and cranky.  I wanted nothing more than to make him all better.  So I snuggled him, fed him smaller amounts more often, gave him baths...anything I could do to make him feel a little better.  As he got sicker, my heart hurt more.  Watching him lay in his hospital bed, living on machines, broke my heart.  I wanted nothing more than to switch places with him...to take his pain away.  When he died, my heart shattered.  Yet I was also grateful...grateful that Henry was no longer suffering.  In a way, I was finally able to take away his pain.  I continue to feel blessed that I was chosen to be Henry's mama...that he got to steal my heart.  Although I would give absolutely anything to have him back here in my arms, I comfort myself with memories, mementos, and the knowledge that one day I will hold my baby, both of my babies, again.

6.  There truly are angels on earth.
5.  Everyone is fighting some sort of battle we know nothing about.
4.  Time is a gift.
3.  Death is not the end of a relationship.
2.  You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.
1.  Motherhood is the best job I could ever hope for.

Worthless

A little disclaimer...which really goes for any of my posts...I am not writing this for sympathy or pity...I'm just writing to share my feelings, which are a little sad this morning.  I hope all of my posts are taken at face value - "it is what it is" -

This morning I woke up feeling pretty worthless...in many ways.  My most important job, being a mom, has been yanked away from me.  I am still a mom, of course, but I am not a mom with day-to-day tasks of taking care of a child or children.  My children are happier than they ever would be on earth, but I miss being the one to take care of them, and tend to their needs and their happiness.  This feeling of worthlessness carries over into my job that I actually get paid for.  I feel like I am not even close to fulfilling my duties to the best of my ability.  As with everything, I go through the motions, but I am not fully invested.  I feel as though I'm letting the students and the staff down - making their jobs harder by not being fully invested in mine.  Luckily, this feeling comes from within only.  I work with the most amazing people, and no one has ever made me feel as though my best isn't good enough.  So at least I just have to deal with my own feelings of inadequacy, and not judgment from my coworkers!

I feel like I'm a worthless wife, daughter, friend... I am so absorbed in my own feelings that I have a hard time looking outside of myself to see what's going on with the people I care about.  Most of the people I care about are very understanding, and are not expecting things from me.  My husband is absolutely amazing.  Even in the depths of his own grief, he takes care of me, and wants to make me smile.  Yet he allows me to be sad or down or uninvolved.  He is 110% there for me.  My dad and my sister check in on me, but they don't expect to hear from me on a regular basis.  Yet they are always there when I do reach out.  My friends have also been amazing - continuing to invite me to do things, but never making me feel like I have to do things, or making me feel bad for not getting together.  I, of course, feel bad.  But true to the pattern, that's a feeling of my own making, not anyone else's.

There have been a few instances where my best isn't good enough.  And I am at a point in my life, and in my grief, where I have to allow myself to be selfish...to do what I need to do for myself without worrying about others.  Those that truly care will understand.  This is hard for me.  Although I tend to be a selfish person, I also am a pleaser.  I want those around me to be happy, and I have a hard time when I know I let people down.  But right now, when I struggle to get out of bed, and to even go through the motions, I have to accept that some people will not be okay, and I can't take on that emotion and responsibility.  At this point, I can only be responsible for myself.

As with everything since Henry died, this is a process...a journey.  Thank you to everyone who is standing by us through this journey...all of you who haven't give up on us!  We will make it through, of that I have faith.  I can't predict when we'll get to the other side...when we'll feel more like ourselves, feel like being more social, feel less worthless, but I know that time will come.  In the meantime, we are doing our best, and that's all we can do.

Grief is...

I've been having a rough few days (again), so I've done some reflecting on grief.  I made a list of what, to me, grief is and is not.  This is my list...I am not a professional grief counselor or mental health expert...I am just a grieving mother, grieving daughter, grieving woman.  With that disclaimer, here is my list.

Grief is not...

...simple or easy.

...quick.

...something to "get over."

...the same for any two people...even two people suffering the same grief event.

...a series of steps to get through, so that you can be all better.

...a journey anyone can take for you.

...a disorder or a sign of weakness.

Grief is...

...losing a loved one.
...waking up every morning feeling lost.
...not having interest in doing anything...feeling completely restless and unmotivated.
...never feeling hungry...having to force yourself to eat because it's good for you (or eating all the time, trying to eat away the sorrow).
...sleeping all the time and still feeling exhausted (or not sleeping much at all.)
...trying to be patient with yourself as you slowly heal...all the while just wanting to feel like yourself again.
...seeing the pain in your spouse's/families'/friends' eyes, and knowing there's absolutely nothing you can do to ease the pain.
...exhausting, all-consuming, and relentless.

...unpredictable...a roller coaster...and you never know what bend, drop, or loop will come next.

...having a hard time thinking about the future.

...lonely.

...painful...physically, mentally, and emotionally painful.

...messy.

...hard work.

...learning to live again. 

Heartbreak

I experienced heartbreak when Henry got sick and when Henry died. Today, my heart broke a little more. We were heading out to run errands, and a song by Rodney Atkins came on...the one where the little boy watches his dad...wants to be like his dad. We listened to a verse or so, and then I changed the station. As I did so, I saw tears streaming down Tim's cheeks. It broke my heart...not because my husband should be strong and not crying...but because I could see and feel his pain. And worse, there isn't anything I can do to take away or ease that pain. Henry should have been in the back seat, giggling or talking or crinkling Mickey's ears (or maybe even fussing!) Henry should be growing (he would have been 10 months old yesterday) and learning new things everyday. He should be watching his dad, wanting to grow up to be like him. (I hope any son we raise will be like Tim...loving, caring, kind, hard-working, sensitive, fun...)

It's been a hard day of missing my boy today.  I never know why one day is harder than another.  I just know that I will always miss Henry...our monster.

Thank You!

I have our final stack of thank-you notes ready to get mailed (and my sincere apologies that it has taken this long to get them written!)  As I finish them, I want to take a moment to thank everyone who follows A Monster's Mission.  I know there are people who made donations, attended the pancake feed, or have been thinking of and praying for us.  These are people that I don't have on my list of thank-yous to send, but I want you to know that we appreciate each and every one of you.  And if I inadvertently missed someone, please please please don't be offended, or think that we aren't appreciative!  I've tried hard to keep track of all the cards, donations, and gifts that we've received, but it is absolutely possible that I missed a few.  Although my mother would not approve of this generic, anonymous thank-you message, please know that we have been touched by each and every one of you!  We are so grateful for the following that our little monster has generated, and the love and support from all of you keeps us going each day.  Thank you from Tim and I, and our favorite monster!

How do you do it?

I went to the doctor today. This was a new doctor (since Blue Cross Blue Shield and CHI divorced, I had to find a new doctor) so I was kind of dreading it. I was dreading having to go through the whole history...all the things we've been through. It would have been easier to stick with the doctors who knew what we'd been through, since they went through it with us. But it turned out well...I loved the new doctor! At one point during my appointment (and my story) she asked, "How do you do it?!" And that got me to thinking...

The honest answer is, "I don't know." And this is how I answered. But as I drove away and thought about it, I realized there are some things that I do know. I know that my husband is my rock. He lets me be me...puts no expectations on me whatsoever. He lets me be sad, mad, happy...whatever I feel, and there is no judgment. He hugs me, cries with me, lets me vent, and leaves me flowers "just because." He lets me talk about Henry, and enjoys sharing stories. Tim is a huge way that "I do it."

In addition to Tim, I have my family. My dad and my sister give me my space, but they still let me know that they're thinking of me, and that they care. I know I could call either of them at any time of day or night, and they'd be there. And my extended "family"...my friends who have been beyond understanding...they are another reason I make it through. My friends don't get mad when I don't want to hang out...they understand that each day is different. Yet they keep inviting me, knowing that one of these days I'll accept!

And there are even more people there to support me at work. I have coworkers that I can talk to...that let me talk about Henry, but also understand when I want to talk about other things. I can sit in a classroom, chatting, and that teacher isn't upset that I've used up her plan time. At lunch, we tell crazy stories, laugh, and take a break from the crazy world of teaching. The students and parents are supportive too. I've had many students tell me they're sorry for my loss or that they're praying for me. And their parents do the same. I am blessed to work in such a positive and supportive environment.

Most of all, I believe Henry is "how I do it." He showed me what true strength is. He is with me every second of every day. When I'm having a tough minute or a rough day, I can picture his smile or hear his giggle, and I know I can keep pushing on. This is one of the hardest things I've ever done, but it's nothing compared to what Henry did. And if Henry could do what he did, then I can most definitely "do it."

Feeling crummy...

Tonight I'm feeling a little crummy. Not just emotionally crummy, but physically. My chest feels tight and I'm a bit achy. This could just be stress, exhaustion, or the beginnings of a cold. Yet all I can think about is Henry. Henry was sick, really sick. Yet he hardly complained. He kept smiling, and playing, and making sure mama and daddy were happy. He slept, snuggled, and was his happy Henry self. He acted so "normal" that we and even the doctor were blindsided with Henry's eventual diagnosis. He had us all thinking he had a nasty virus...perhaps pneumonia at the worst. We had no idea what a monster he was actually battling. This picture was taken just a few days before Henry was admitted to the hospital. He doesn't look quite like his happy self, but he certainly doesn't look like a baby who has leukemia clogging up his body. Henry is and always will be my hero...his strength, pure love, and perseverance inspire me daily. I love our little monster, and will never stop sharing Henry's story. ❤️

Top Ten Things Henry Taught Me...#9

10.  Anything worth having is worth working for.
9.  Enjoy the little things.
I feel like this is something I've always been pretty good at, but Henry definitely helped me become better.  I've always enjoyed little things...a really good cup of coffee, sunshine in the morning, a random hug from a child...but so often I'd let the big things, or even other little things, cloud that enjoyment.  Perhaps I had a really good cup of coffee, but I was at work and I didn't want to be.  Or the sun was shining, but it was in my eyes and I didn't have my sunglasses.  Or the random hug came from a child who had just done something naughty.  It's so easy to get caught up in the negative little things that it makes it hard to truly enjoy life.

Once Henry came along, the little things had new meaning.  The first 24 hours or so of his life, I relished every single breath he took.  Even when he was sleeping (which, of course, was most of that time!) I would put my head near his face or his chest, and listen for those breaths.  When Henry was born, he looked like a bigger version of Brady, so I'd catch myself panicking slightly, and that's why I watched him breathe so much in his first day or two.  After that, I relished every snuggle, every gurgle, coo, smile, and giggle.  I even found myself laughing when Henry would throw up on me, or have a diaper blow out.  There were nights Henry, like any infant, would wake me up at 3 in the morning.  (These usually being nights when I was extra tired, or had to get up early in the morning.)  And as I would rock him back to sleep, I honestly felt blessed...blessed that I had the opportunity to wake up with my baby and that I had those quiet moments with him.  For the same reason, weekend mornings were my favorite time with Henry.  He'd wake up, and we'd sneak out to the living room where Henry had his breakfast and then we would play while waiting for Daddy to wake up.  I loved that quiet time, just Henry and me.

In order to continue this lesson of Henry's, I've started a gratitude journal.  Each day, I find something that I'm thankful for.  This can be something as seemingly insignificant as the calm, crisp cold of a winter's night.  Instead of complaining that it was cold when I took the dogs out, I took in the peaceful night air.  Or it can be something silly, like The Bachelor...which makes me feel like I'm not so crazy after all.  This journal helps me to continue to look for the little things, to enjoy the little things, and to not let life just slip by.  Although I tend to think of myself as a bit of a negative person, Henry taught me to find the positive in life, and that is another one of his lessons that I am grateful for.

8.  Every child I interact with is someone's "Henry."
7.  To be a mother is to watch your heart walk around outside your body.
6.  There truly are angels on earth.
5.  Everyone is fighting some sort of battle we know nothing about.
4.  Time is a gift.
3.  Death is not the end of a relationship.
2.  You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.
1.  Motherhood is the best job I could ever hope for.

Emotions

Today has been a bit of an emotional day. Murphy woke me up around 4:00...something exciting was outside (probably a leaf blew by...) so he was barking in the living room. I ignored him until he stood at the end of the bed whining to get up. Then once he got settled I couldn't go back to sleep for awhile. And once I did, I had a dream that really disturbed me. Henry was in it, alive and at the hospital, but not hooked up to any machines. I got to hold him and snuggle him, but then while the doctors were tending to another baby who had died, Henry died in my arms. And on top of that, Tim wasn't talking to me for some reason. The dream shook me up...I knew it was just a dream, but the range of emotions had me on edge by the time I woke up.

The rest of the day was better, but I still felt pretty emotional. I did some retail therapy, and had success finding a couple pairs of pants that fit. However, the shopping experience wasn't quite the same as usual...more going through the motions. Tim and I met the sweet new baby boy of a coworker, and I enjoyed some newborn snuggles (how quickly I forget how tiny newborns are!) Yet throughout the day, I continued to feel drained and emotionally on edge. I'm hoping that a good night's sleep (I'm already in bed as I write this) will help...that I'll wake up at least a bit refreshed...not quite as on edge. 

My mama

I visited with a therapist through our employee assistance program the other night. It was helpful, and counseling is something I plan to continue for awhile, at least. I may seek someone more specialized in grief counseling (any recommendations??) but I do feel that talking with a professional will be beneficial for me.

One thing this therapist asked me, when I said that I miss my mom especially lately, is, "What would your mom be saying to you now?" At the moment, I wasn't sure I could answer, but that question has been rumbling around my mind the last couple days.

I think most importantly, my mom would want to make sure I'm taking care of myself physically...eating (I'm trying), sleeping (I do plenty, though I'm not sure of the quality), and maybe even exercising (which I'm not doing, but think it would be helpful). But in addition to that, Mom would want me taking care of myself mentally and emotionally. She would make sure that I was taking my antidepressant (which I am), and would probably advise that I find a therapist (and knowing her, she would've done the legwork to help me find one!) She would ask if I'm doing what I need to do for me...trying to make sure I was focused on what I need, rather than what I perceive others need or expect of me. She would have kept an eye on me from afar...not wanting to intrude, but wanting me to know she was there whenever I needed her or wanted her to be.

Although she's not here physically, I think she is keeping an eye on me. I "hear" her voice and advice, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job of listening. Sometimes I think my mom knew me better than I know myself...we are very much alike in many ways. Thankfully, she taught me a lot about taking care of myself, and not being ashamed to seek help when I need it (whether through therapy, medication, or a combination of the two.) It took me awhile, but she taught me that depression is a "physical" ailment just like so many others, and that there is no shame in treating it. If I had diabetes and needed insulin, I wouldn't feel bad about that, so why feel bad about needing medication to even out chemical imbalances? I am grateful to my mom for this, and so much more. Thanks to her guidance and lessons, I know that grieving (and depression) affects my whole self, and that I need to take care of my whole self, especially now.

Anxiety

I've always been a bit of a worrier...worrying about anything uncertain. I worry about big things, like moving, and smaller things, like calling to make an appointment (I hate doing things over the phone!) But I've never really considered myself an anxious person. My worries typically were just that...worries. They didn't get my heart rate up, or make my blood pressure rise, or make me slightly nauseous.

Like so many things, this has changed. Things that I would have worried about before (like the Book Fair that's coming up in just a few weeks, or packing and moving our house full of "stuff") really aren't bothering me. I've even called and made a couple of my own appointments, which typically I'd make Tim do. Yet other things have been causing me anxiety...things that not only never bothered me, but I also used to look forward to. The things that give me anxiety these days are social gatherings. Friends, family, coworkers, acquaintances, big or small...it doesn't matter. The thought of going out into public and interacting socially makes me incredibly anxious.

It's hard to pinpoint why this bothers me so much. Once I get out and meet up with people, I'm fine, and I usually even enjoy myself. I think it's the anticipation...the worry about having to be "normal." The worry about what to say and what not to say. Is it weird if I talk about Henry? Or is it weird if I don't? The worry about being present and participating in conversation about anything besides Henry, which is just about all that's ever on my mind. The worry about trying to be even a shadow of my old self...all of it is absolutely exhausting.

No one has put any expectations on me, and most people understand if I'm not as talkative, energetic, or smiley as I once was. I understand, too, and know that it takes time. But that knowledge and understanding is in my head, while the anxiety resides in my heart. And the disconnection...worry...anxiety...it's all exhausting. So thank you to everyone who has been and continues to be patient with me...as I continue to try to be patient with myself.

Are you going to get another baby?

Today while I was in the lunchroom, one of the students asked me, "Are you going to get another baby?"  Usually, when the kids ask questions or make comments about Henry, it really doesn't bother me.  But this one, for some reason, caught me off guard.  I'm not sure why.  It might have been the "day after a snow day" crankiness...the crazy morning I had...the fact that it's just plain cold outside...who knows.  Regardless of the reason, this particular question on this particular day felt kind of like a punch in the stomach.

Perhaps it was the answer to the question that bothered me.  I told the student, "Hopefully one day we'll have another baby."  That was an honest answer.  But I didn't add, "But I wish we still had Henry and Brady, too."  I think that's the part that got me today.  Yes, God willing, we will have more children one day (18 according to an off-hand comment Tim made one day...or perhaps a slightly lower number...)  But we will never have another Henry or another Brady.  We could have 18 children, and still miss Henry and Brady.  Our earthly family will never feel quite complete.  We will fill it with love, and joy, but our two oldest boys will always be in our hearts, if not in our arms.  Henry and Brady will always be part of our family, our stories, our history...but we most definitely miss them in our present.

Happy

Once upon a time, I was happy.  Actually, once upon many times I was happy.  I was happy when I graduated college, and got a job.  I was happy when I traveled to warm places with friends, and with family.  I was happy when I met Tim, and realized I found a man that I could spend my life with.  I was happy when we got married, and started our life together.  I was happy when we moved into our first house together (even if it was a rental.)  I was happy when we traveled together, and when we did things around town together.  I was happy when we found out we were pregnant again.

Once upon a time, I was also sad.  I was sad when I broke up with boyfriends.  I was sad when I moved away from home.  I was sad when I lost family members...my uncle, my grandma.  I was sad when my sister moved away (even if it gave me someplace lovely to visit!)  I was sad when I went through a rough patch at work, and dreaded going to work every day.

And, once upon a time, I was devastated.  I was devastated when we lost Brady.  I was devastated when we lost my mom.  And I'm devastated from losing Henry.  I think it's even more devastating that all of this has happened in less than two years.

I miss being happy.  In fact, I miss just being "okay."  I miss the days when having a rough day at work or running out of money before the end of the month was the worst I had to deal with.  I'm working on it...I blog...I get up and go to work every day...I've made an appointment to see a counselor...I keep taking my little blue "happy" pill daily...I've been keeping a gratitude journal, forcing myself to find the good things in life...and it's exhausting!  I know it takes time, and work and energy, and I know that I'm doing what I need to do to get through each day.  And one day, I'll look back, and see that all of that time, work and energy was worth it...that I'm back to being "okay."

Superbowl Sunday!

Our favorite little football fan says "Go Patriots!"