OK, so I know April has been over for quite some time, but it has been since then that I have been grappling with all kinds of really ugly shit. April is the month when we found out that Boe might be showing signs of a struggle, April is the month that we did everything we could to ensure his survival, April is the month when my 3 precious boys were born, and April is the month I buried one of my sons.
Needless to say, since 2010 April has been a very bittersweet and emotionally tricky month in our home. It seems that since 2010, there has been a shit storm circling our family every April. Sometimes it smells much worse than others, but we are always well aware of its stinky, unwelcome presence in our lives.
Fast forward to 2013. We celebrated my boys' 3rd birthday with a wonderful party. We had a "Stache bash" with all kinds of mustaches and little "man" inspired things; that's what they are, my little men. Friends whom I have not physically seen in quite some time were able to come, and it was a beautiful day. It was the last time I saw my best friend, it was the last time I hugged her, it was the last time I heard her speak in person.
7 days later she was dead. 7 days later my "person", the one who, except for my husband, knew me best was dead. It was sudden, unexpected and horrific. It was the kind of news no one wants to receive, and 3 and a half months later, I still cannot believe she is gone. I still expect a phone call, text or Facebook message chiding me for being so silly, so naïve to believe that she is dead. That message does not come.
She is dead, she is not coming back. As if April was not already a hard enough month to get through, now I have to add the anniversary of her death to the list of turds that fall on my house every April. Her death has left me lost. It has awakened in me feelings and emotions that I thought were long packed away. Her death has not made me stronger, and that breaks my heart, for she always said I was one of the strongest people she knew. She'll never know how much that meant to me, as she was one of the strongest people I knew, and I admired her so.
So, I apologize if this space has been quiet for so long, but, as you can see, I've been dealing with some ugly shit. I am not a better parent, wife or friend for any of it, and I think that is what bothers me the most. I'm not sure what it will take to get myself out of this colossal shit heap in which I find myself, but I shall sure as hell try. I'll try for her, I'll try for Boe, and I'll try for everyone else who loves me and needs me, for they sure as hell deserve better than what I can offer right now. I'll also try because I know that in order to be that girl she knew, that strong girl she made me out to be, I have to be and do better than what I am right now.
And somewhere, I hear her singing, "Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! You got to give what you take!" KGF, March 12, 1974 to April 27, 2013.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
She talks to angels...
I did it. I have been thinking of doing it for a long time. Today, I went to see a medium. I'll admit I was afraid. I wanted to hear from Boe, and I was afraid that he wouldn't come through, or worse, he would say something that I was not prepared to hear.
She was warm and welcoming. Boe showed himself to her as a man. This did not surprise her,
for he is an old soul she said. She told me he was very evolved and comfortable. She told me he was only meant to brush this earth with his toes before he went on to bigger and better things, before he became an angel.
She told me that, even though she knows this is a cop out, he was never meant to be here and he is exactly where he needs to be. She told me he is at peace and happy where he is, and he is always with us.
She told me what Adam and I believed all along, that he held on as long as he could for his brothers to survive. He took the fall for them. He is a hero.
She told me that he whispers to me, which I believe, because I sense him constantly. She told me he is with us always. She told me everything I hoped to hear. She told me my baby is happy, he is where he needs to be; she told me he is an angel.
She was warm and welcoming. Boe showed himself to her as a man. This did not surprise her,
for he is an old soul she said. She told me he was very evolved and comfortable. She told me he was only meant to brush this earth with his toes before he went on to bigger and better things, before he became an angel.
She told me that, even though she knows this is a cop out, he was never meant to be here and he is exactly where he needs to be. She told me he is at peace and happy where he is, and he is always with us.
She told me what Adam and I believed all along, that he held on as long as he could for his brothers to survive. He took the fall for them. He is a hero.
She told me that he whispers to me, which I believe, because I sense him constantly. She told me he is with us always. She told me everything I hoped to hear. She told me my baby is happy, he is where he needs to be; she told me he is an angel.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Full
It is almost Christmas morning, and I am ready to go to bed. After visits from and to family and friends, trips to see Santa, wrapping gifts for all, baking, etc..., I am tired, but not too tired to reflect back on what the last 4 weeks have been like on our home.
The house has been full... of laughter and singing. The children are more aware this year, than last, of the joy and wonder of Christmas. They are learning Christmas carols, developing favorite Christmas movies, and becoming increasingly more aware that it means presents.
The house is full... of the patter of little feet and the cries of joy as they discover our Elf, Diamond's, resting place for the day.
The house is full... of little hands reaching for bright lights and soft ornaments, even trying to pull needles off the tree.
The house is full... of little voices asking when we can go see Boe and bring him flowers.
The mantle, is full... of stockings waiting to be filled with Santa's goodies. We now have Brody's stocking, so it is complete.
In spite of this fullness, I cannot help but feel a nagging sense of emptiness. Yes, the stocking all hang on our mantle; but, as all have been taken down, bulging with Santa's treats, one remains hanging, filled only with notes and a mommy's hopes and dreams that will never come true.
Yes, the little hands reach for lights and ornaments on the tree, but mommy's eyes always float to the booties which will never hold precious little feet. They hang front and center to remind us of his presence.
Yes, the carols are being sung, but certain songs cannot be heard without mommy getting tears in her eyes, for they speak of angels and peace, and she wonders, is he an angel? Is he at peace?
Yes, they run through the house squealing with delight and excitement, but he will never join them.
Even though there is a void which can never be filled, I also feel so filled with his presence. I know he is here with us, watching and enjoying from afar. I know there is a part of him that lives in his surviving brothers and his younger brother, as well. It is a gentle sweetness, an innocence that makes me squeeze them that much harder or hold them that much closer. I am full of love for him that cannot and will not ever be edged out by his siblings. I am full of memories of the days that I did have with him. I am full of gratitude that he is mine, and I am full of grace knowing that God trusted me with one of his precious souls.
Merry Christmas, sweet Boe. I love you and miss you so very much
Christmas 2012
The house has been full... of laughter and singing. The children are more aware this year, than last, of the joy and wonder of Christmas. They are learning Christmas carols, developing favorite Christmas movies, and becoming increasingly more aware that it means presents.
The house is full... of the patter of little feet and the cries of joy as they discover our Elf, Diamond's, resting place for the day.
The house is full... of little hands reaching for bright lights and soft ornaments, even trying to pull needles off the tree.
The house is full... of little voices asking when we can go see Boe and bring him flowers.
The mantle, is full... of stockings waiting to be filled with Santa's goodies. We now have Brody's stocking, so it is complete.
In spite of this fullness, I cannot help but feel a nagging sense of emptiness. Yes, the stocking all hang on our mantle; but, as all have been taken down, bulging with Santa's treats, one remains hanging, filled only with notes and a mommy's hopes and dreams that will never come true.
Yes, the little hands reach for lights and ornaments on the tree, but mommy's eyes always float to the booties which will never hold precious little feet. They hang front and center to remind us of his presence.
Yes, the carols are being sung, but certain songs cannot be heard without mommy getting tears in her eyes, for they speak of angels and peace, and she wonders, is he an angel? Is he at peace?
Yes, they run through the house squealing with delight and excitement, but he will never join them.
Even though there is a void which can never be filled, I also feel so filled with his presence. I know he is here with us, watching and enjoying from afar. I know there is a part of him that lives in his surviving brothers and his younger brother, as well. It is a gentle sweetness, an innocence that makes me squeeze them that much harder or hold them that much closer. I am full of love for him that cannot and will not ever be edged out by his siblings. I am full of memories of the days that I did have with him. I am full of gratitude that he is mine, and I am full of grace knowing that God trusted me with one of his precious souls.
Merry Christmas, sweet Boe. I love you and miss you so very much
Christmas 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Emotional Amputation
You see them out and about; living, laughing, going through life as if everything is fine, normal even. Upon closer examination, however, you realize everything is not fine; it is not normal. There is a piece of them missing. I am speaking, of course, of an amputee. Perhaps at some point in their life they were in an accident and received an irreparable crush injury, perhaps they contracted some sort of infection or had cancer. In any case, it is clear that they are without one or more of their extremities.
They were not always fine. They were angry and in pain, they might still be. They had to fight to learn how to live without what is no longer there. In some cases, they wear a prosthesis, but it is not the same. It can never be the same. The day their limb was removed from their body is the day their life changed forever. It is not just a physical loss, but a loss of one's self, too.
Can't the same be said of the loss of a child? What once was there is no longer. The day our child died is the day our life, who we are was forever changed. Now, we may seem fine, normal. We live, we laugh, we do the same things as everyone else, but that piece of us is missing.
It has been reported that, years later, amputees say they can still feel their missing limb. It hurts, it itches, it tingles. I know that I can't speak for other Loss Mommas, but I know I can feel Boe. I can feel him turning in my belly, I feel the weight of him in my arms, I feel the softness of his delicate skin.
It will never be easy. Some days may be harder than others. I have lost something, and I shall never be the same. I have had to learn to live with what is no longer here.
They were not always fine. They were angry and in pain, they might still be. They had to fight to learn how to live without what is no longer there. In some cases, they wear a prosthesis, but it is not the same. It can never be the same. The day their limb was removed from their body is the day their life changed forever. It is not just a physical loss, but a loss of one's self, too.
Can't the same be said of the loss of a child? What once was there is no longer. The day our child died is the day our life, who we are was forever changed. Now, we may seem fine, normal. We live, we laugh, we do the same things as everyone else, but that piece of us is missing.
It has been reported that, years later, amputees say they can still feel their missing limb. It hurts, it itches, it tingles. I know that I can't speak for other Loss Mommas, but I know I can feel Boe. I can feel him turning in my belly, I feel the weight of him in my arms, I feel the softness of his delicate skin.
It will never be easy. Some days may be harder than others. I have lost something, and I shall never be the same. I have had to learn to live with what is no longer here.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Doing Math
I do not like math, I never have. In spite of the fact that I am incredibly linear and logical, geometry, algebra, etc..., it's all Greek to me. I always had to work hard at math in school which only made me further dislike it. I did not care why a+b+c=z or why the slope of a line could be determined by using the formula y=mx+b. Who cares? As long as I can figure what 40% off of those smokin' Christian Louboutins is, who cares what a quadratic equation is. I'm just sayin'.
Here is a very simple equation that any first or second grader could solve: 3 - 1 = 2
Alas, it does not. At least not in my world. I live in a world where this simplest of equations will never appear just as it seems: concrete, clear, irrefutable. When I was teaching first grade, we would define subtraction as taking something away so that it is no longer there. This is where I start to struggle. You see, my -1, Boe, is HERE. He is in Adler's little face everytime he smiles, he is on my children's minds when, out of nowhere, they say, "Boe is night night" or "Boe, away, yeah". He is in our home depicted in artwork and family photos. Most importantly, he is in our hearts every single second of every single day.
Though he may not be readily visible, though he may not be tangible, he is here. He has not been taken away so that he is no longer here, he is simply here in a different way. So, mathematicians, scientists, those who thrive on proof, evidence, and cold hard facts, for now we must agree to disagree. I shall never again agree that 3 - 1 = 2. To me, 3 - 1 is still 3, 1 is just somewhere else. He is everywhere and nowhere all at once. He is my little boy, he is a brother, a son, the playmate and best friend who is missed always, thought of constantly and loved forever. -1 is Boe.
Here is a very simple equation that any first or second grader could solve: 3 - 1 = 2
Alas, it does not. At least not in my world. I live in a world where this simplest of equations will never appear just as it seems: concrete, clear, irrefutable. When I was teaching first grade, we would define subtraction as taking something away so that it is no longer there. This is where I start to struggle. You see, my -1, Boe, is HERE. He is in Adler's little face everytime he smiles, he is on my children's minds when, out of nowhere, they say, "Boe is night night" or "Boe, away, yeah". He is in our home depicted in artwork and family photos. Most importantly, he is in our hearts every single second of every single day.
Though he may not be readily visible, though he may not be tangible, he is here. He has not been taken away so that he is no longer here, he is simply here in a different way. So, mathematicians, scientists, those who thrive on proof, evidence, and cold hard facts, for now we must agree to disagree. I shall never again agree that 3 - 1 = 2. To me, 3 - 1 is still 3, 1 is just somewhere else. He is everywhere and nowhere all at once. He is my little boy, he is a brother, a son, the playmate and best friend who is missed always, thought of constantly and loved forever. -1 is Boe.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
How can I explain?
Yesterday, we took the kids to see Boe. Brody had never been, and we decided it was high time that he meet his big brother. All the "big" kids wanted to give Boe high fives and knuckles, which we gladly indulged. After the novelty of that wore off, Adler and Cameron decided it would be fun to play hide and seek; Libby, on the other hand, had something else in mind.
Libby wanted to know all about Baby Boe. Why was he here? Since he was sleeping, could we wake him up? Why can't he come home with us? How is he in heaven and the "itch" at the same time? Why did God want him?
Her curiosity and genuine interest were dear and so very heartbreaking all at once. I intensely dislike the fact that this is the reality that has been thrust upon my surviving children. I am a big girl, I can take this. I can deal with it and make peace with it. I can live my life as completely and joyfully as possible. My children? That is a different story.
They should not have to learn what words like cemetery, pass away, niche, pay our respects, and the like mean. Not now, not until they are much much older. They should not associate the purchase of flowers with a trip to visit their brother. When they give their brother high fives and knuckles it should be as they cavort and play, not to some cold slab of marble in the silence of a mausoleum. The only little blue box my daughter should ever have to hear about is one from Tiffany and Co., wherein lies some beautiful precious trinket, not the little blue box in which her brother's remains rest.
Unfortunately, this is the hand which we have been dealt. How can I possibly explain all of this to them when it is something which I do not fully understand myself?
Friday, August 24, 2012
People will know he's there
Boe resides in a mausoleum niche with my Opa (grandfather). He is surrounded by people who, for all intents and purposes, appear to have lived long full lives. Small brass plates display the names and life spans of those who occupy them, informing passersby that someone who was loved rests here. In that 4x4 square lies someone's mother, sister, wife, friend, etc... No one knows that Boe is there.
He lies in the niche protected by his Opa, but no one who happens by knows that Albert W. Muller AND Boe Holland Kinowski share that space. Over the last several months, this has been becoming increasingly more difficult for me to handle. I want people who pass by to know that he is there. I want them to know that life is not all about living a long full life and then passing peacefully in your sleep. Sometimes, those who we love the most are taken from us unexpectedly, without warning; and it is heartbreaking.
Since Boe died, there have been a few times when people have done unexpectedly touching things. Acts that reaffirm that he exists, he is remembered and he is loved. Recently, one of those things was done for us. My stepmother, who has never had any children of her own, bought a new plaque for the niche. The plaque will have my Opa's name on it and Boe's name on it.
I am so incredibly touched that she did this. It means people will know about a little boy named Boe. They may not know about his life or his death, but they will know he "is".
He lies in the niche protected by his Opa, but no one who happens by knows that Albert W. Muller AND Boe Holland Kinowski share that space. Over the last several months, this has been becoming increasingly more difficult for me to handle. I want people who pass by to know that he is there. I want them to know that life is not all about living a long full life and then passing peacefully in your sleep. Sometimes, those who we love the most are taken from us unexpectedly, without warning; and it is heartbreaking.
Since Boe died, there have been a few times when people have done unexpectedly touching things. Acts that reaffirm that he exists, he is remembered and he is loved. Recently, one of those things was done for us. My stepmother, who has never had any children of her own, bought a new plaque for the niche. The plaque will have my Opa's name on it and Boe's name on it.
I am so incredibly touched that she did this. It means people will know about a little boy named Boe. They may not know about his life or his death, but they will know he "is".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)