Christmas

Tomorrow is Christmas.  I didn't get to buy any presents for Lincoln this year and cried my way through wrapping gifts, as there wasn't one there to wrap for my baby boy.  I hate seeing his stocking hanging there, empty, and I HATE that Jezelle is like an only child again.  Getting Santa pictures taken just about killed me.  I literally wanted to throw a temper tantrum right there in the mall.  It broke my heart to see Jezelle sitting up on Santa's lap alone, like she's an only child.  Except she's not, her sibling is just NOT here.  No siblings to take turns with on Christmas morning or to share in the excitement with.  Needless to say this Christmas isn't like others.  We are just getting through it.  I didn't think it would be this hard.  I thought it would be like any other day; hard and we miss him and I think of him at least every minute.  But this is HARD and it physically  hurts so badly.  And yet, at the same time we must make it fun and exciting for our child who is still alive.  But she's feeling the sadness too.  I was reminded of this every time I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and in all seriousness, she would answer, "Lincoln".  Me too sweetheart.  Me too.

Unfortunately I don't have a lot of pictures of Lincoln from last Christmas.  He was still asleep when Jezelle started unwrapping her presents and somehow the moment got away from me and I don't have hardly any pictures of Christmas morning.  It makes me really sad.  What else is new?!

 Here is Linc on Christmas morning last year, with his sissy and cousins.

And this is from the year before.  Sooo cute!

9 months

It's strange how time passes and the grief doesn't lessen.  And yet as you continue to live your life, you realize things that never occurred to you before.  Such as, many of my friend's who had children around the same time that Lincoln was born, will be turning 3 years old this year, and my child won't.  He'll just always be two.  And this holiday season it's easy to still find pictures of all the grandchildren to make gifts with, and yet in the future we won't ever have a picture of all the grandchildren to give to my parents because Lincoln won't be in them.  And how weird would it be to give my parents a picture of Jezelle at the age of 5, when she is now 15.  Maybe that doesn't even make sense.  The whole picture thing really bothers me.  I will eventually run out of pictures to use on this blog.  We only have so many pictures.  Time continues to just be such a strange concept when it comes to grief and the loss of a child.  This picture was taken last Christmas.  He looked so cute in his Christmas outfit.  My heart breaks each time I see clothes that I totally would have bought for him.

But on a lighter note this holiday season, we continue to count our blessings of joy.  Such as this little 6 year old who dances in the Target isles while Christmas shopping because why not?

Thanksgiving

I miss Lincoln every minute of every day and holidays are just as hard, if not harder.  Pictures are taken, traditions are done, and memories are made.  All the while without my son in my arms.  I really missed my little turkey this Thanksgiving.  Cutest darn turkey I've ever seen in my life!!!

And this picture was taken last Thanksgiving.

What I would have said . . .

I feel very lucky that I have no regrets when it comes to Lincoln.  We loved him more then words can describe.  Pretty much every day of his life Shane and I would look at each other and one of us would say, "Isn't he the cutest kid you've ever seen?" or "they don't come any cuter than this" and we really believe that!  I'd come home from work and kiss him until I laid him down in his crib.  I'd tell him "I missed you all day long!!" and I really did when I was away from him.

But, as I look back on his two years on earth I sometimes wish I had handled myself differently at times.  I wish I had not worried so much and just enjoyed the good and the hard times all the same.  I wish I KNEW what I know now, but such is life!  The video below made me cry.  It's a bunch of parents with children who have special needs.  They are sharing messages to themselves on the day they found out their child's diagnosis.

When I saw this video I knew exactly what I would have told myself.  I would have said, 'It's going to be ok!  Don't worry so much.  Enjoy every second with him, because he won't be here long'  And then I remember that a tiny voice inside my head was telling me those things all along.  And that's when I want to scream and beg to bring him back.  I'd trade places right now with any parent who has a child with special needs.  I'd give anything to be part of that amazing community again and hold my head up high when I tell others how proud I am of my son with special needs.

I always have a hard time when I go to special events to support the special needs community that I ironically work in.  I went to one of those today.  It was a luncheon honoring the amazing people in our community who work with children with special needs.  There were a few parents who spoke and although I've sat in those fund raising events for 12 years, I get it now.  I understand the love these parents have for their children and feel sooooo envious that they are still experiencing that life and I am not.  Tomorrow it will be 8 months since Lincoln passed away.  Our life has changed so much in the past 8 months.  And although life seemed stressful and busy when Lincoln was in our lives it's ironically so much more stressful without him here.

His name is finally up at the cemetery.  Every time I drive up to that place I have an out-of-body experience.  I want to pinch myself and wake up for this nightmare.  Who is this driving up to the cemetery to visit their son's grave?  It can't be me!!!

 The pinwheels that were left there at his funeral are still there!

Seeing his name up seems so real.  So permanent.  

My boys!  

(My sister found this cute picture the other day.  It was taken on Christmas last year.  It melts my heart and breaks my heart, all at the same time.)

Halloween

Another holiday, another heart ache.

Holidays are hard without Lincoln.  Yesterday was Halloween.  I missed him.  A lot.  My arms felt so empty as we took our 6 year old daughter out trick-or-treating around our neighborhood.  I kept thinking how I should be carrying him and how much he loved being outside.  It was hard not to think of last Halloween and how cute he was in his octopus costume.

Since this year our daughter chose to be Merida, from the movie Brave, I couldn't help but think how perfect Lincoln would have been as one of Merida's younger triplet brother's.  Oh how cute he would have been and oh how perfect he would have played the part.

.....see the resemblance?

It would have been perfect....

7 months

Tomorrow marks 7 months without our sweet boy. Oh how I miss him. I miss him so much I sometimes think my heart might physically break. Actually I think it already has.

After Lincoln passed away we received an incredibly generous and thoughtful gift certificate in the mail from a bunch of my collage sorority sisters. There was a gift certificate for airline tickets and an incredibly generous Marriott gift card as well. Holy cow!! Shane and I were overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness and generosity. Many people encouraged us to get away, go on a trip and forget about life. But Shane and I both felt that before we did that we first needed to learn how to live our 'normal' life without him in it. We felt like if we were to go on a vacation right away we would just be avoiding our problems rather then facing reality. And so we planned a trip to Maui that we could look forward to! And it came at the perfect time. We just got back from spending 6 amazing and perfect days in paradise. A much needed vacation.

And although the thought crossed my mind more then once that really the reason we were here was because our Lincoln had passed away, I was also able to see how much we had changed since his death and from his death. And although its still very difficult to see that anything good has,
or really ever will come from his death, in the beauty of where we were, I suddenly realized that if nothing else, I have come to see how precious life truly is. We went to Maui, a place I went as a child with my family. I hadn't been back to that island in 10 years and definitely saw it through a different set of eyes. We were in paradise. We were in one of the most beautiful places in the world! And yet all around me I heard people complaining about little things. Silly things that didn't and shouldn't matter anywhere in life, but certainly not while basking in the sun, on the beaches of Hawaii. And I suddenly realized how much I now know just how precious life is. And how much I try so hard to just appreciate each day and the little things. Live in the moment. Spend time with those you love most! And just enjoy life!!!

Our flight home from Hawaii was cancelled this afternoon, which in turn created a hole lot of unhappy people. And though I'll admit I was unhappy as well, I also had to remember that we need to be grateful to be alive and grateful that we are safe. I teach social skill classes to children with special needs and one thing we work hard on, when dealing with problem solving and conflict resolution is small problem versus big problem. If it's a small problem, and one you can solve then its not that big of a deal. People need to just chill out!!!!

While hanging out at the pool we met the sweetest family who had a beautiful little girl who ironically has a chromosome abnormality on chromosome 1. We visited with the family for quite awhile and although I walked away missing my little one with a chromosome abnormality, I found joy in visiting with another family who also enjoys every day. Their daughter wasn't expected to live past the age of 2 and now she's 2 years old and learning to smile and sit up. Her sweet dad said they are just thankful for every day that she's alive. Sometimes little moments like that remind me that Lincoln is very much still in our lives and watching over us. And how grateful I am to be his mom. Below is an amazing talk given by a man who lost his son. It is eye opening to those who are maybe wondering when we will 'get over this' or 'feel better'. The answer is never:
http://www.lds.org/general-conference/watch/2012/10?lang=eng&vid=1882755269001&cid=9

6 months

Tomorrow it will be six terrible months since we lost our sweet baby boy.  And I know you now know exactly what I'm going to say:  it seems like it's already been FOREVER!!!!!  It feels like it's been much longer then six months.  And that seems overwhelming to me.  My heart is full of overwhelming love for this child and I miss him every minute of my day.  I was recently told that we will never get over this, but we will get through it.  I think something I miss most about having Lincoln with us is his angelic personality and his incredible ability to make anyone feel at peace in moments.  I miss slowing down and just enjoying every minute of life as he did and helped us do the same.  The above picture was taken just a month before Lincoln passed away.  He had been hospitalized for a night because he got so sick from a common virus.  This was just before we left the hospital.  He was feeling better and was all smiles, as always.  What a trooper.

I still can't see that anything good can come from this situation, although people insist it will.  But I do try and continue to learn from it.  I try to continue to have faith although it's very difficult sometimes.  I was told just yesterday by a very wise woman that faith is not just a feeling.  It's a decision.  I must decide to continue to have faith in God's plan for me and my family.  I must have faith that He knows what is best.  The past few months have ironically felt harder then the first few months after his passing.  Again, I've been assured that this is 'normal'.  I think I was blessed with peace and amazing comfort and support through the first few months and then I suddenly felt alone and angry.  And when there is anger, it's difficult to feel peace and comfort from the Lord.  So, I continue to try and find acceptance in His plan, and an understanding of it.  I try to still see the blessings that we have been given, and the tender mercies from the Lord.  My sweet dad reminded me recently that the Lord did what was best for Lincoln.  It was his plan.  Not mine.  And although that's difficult to hear, I try and remember the truth in that.  I have no idea what Lincoln's life here on earth would have looked like as he would have gotten older.  I don't know that he would have walked and talked and had friends.  I don't know that he wouldn't have been teased by others or been called names.  And although I truly think he would have walked and talked and lived a very happy life, I still don't know exactly what was best for him.  But my Heavenly Father does.  And I must have faith in that.

My sweet sister-in-law wrote a sweet poem I wanted to share on here:

God sent you a child
A child who never grew old
With ears that made us laugh
And a heat as pure as gold

And our crazy family
More closer knit we grew
When we found out he was different
Different from me and you

We fasted and prayed
That his struggles would come to naught
Little did we know
It was us who would be taught

We called each other more
To see how he was doing,
And celebrated as a family
With the progress he was making

We got swept up in the journey
Of everything you went through
And learned the lessons you learned
Of love, patience, and virtue

We mourned as family
On that heartbreaking night
When Lincoln went back home
And prayed that you'd be alright

Not one of us slept that night
No not a wink
Our thoughts were with you
And that sweet little Linc

As far apart as we were
We yearned for one another
And we quickly made arrangements
To soon be together

There was not much we could do
But a thing here or there
Still we came just the same
To show you that we care

For that sweet little boy
Who blessed our family
Who taught us so much
And left us so suddenly

And as I sat with our family
As we laughed and cried and loved
I thought that this was Lincoln's last gift
A last lesson from above

That the things that matter most
Are God, friends, and family
And trivial things fall away
For what makes us truly happy

Goodbye Lincoln
It hurts so much to say
But we take comfort in knowing
We will meet again someday

We won't forget your silly smile
Or the curl of your strawberry hair
But mostly we won't forget
The lessons you were born to share
----Aunt Brittney

What a gift Lincoln is in our lives.  I'm so honored to be his mother and have learned so much from him.  I love you little Linc Linc.  I miss you so so much.

My scar

According to definition a scar is an "area of fibrous tissue that replace normal skin after injury. A scar results from the biological process of wound repair in the skin and other tissues of the body. Thus, scarring is a natural part of the healing process. With the exception of very minor lesions, every wound results in some degree of scarring."

I've been told that scars are something to be proud of; that they tell a story, mark a significant event in your journey through life, show that you've learned something, and most importantly, that you've healed.  I had major knee surgery 3 months ago, on May 3rd, almost exactly 2 months after Lincoln's passing.  I'll spare you the nasty picture of what my knee looked like immediately following surgery but here is what my scar looks like now, 3 months later.  If you compare the 'before' picture to the 'after' picture, this scar doesn't look too bad!  In fact, it's healed quite nicely.  

But in my eyes this scar doesn't just represent the fact that my knee has now healed.  It represents so much more.  A friend of mine teased me that I should get a tattoo to represent Lincoln.  I told her I would never get a tattoo, but that the scar on my knee would always be a remembrance of this period in my life.  If only the scar of loosing my son would heal as easy as my knee.  People were so worried about my mental well-being following surgery because I was already in such a fragile state, and yet I quickly reminded them that this knee surgery and the pain that I was feeling was nothing compared to the physical pain I was feeling inside from loosing my child.  And as I've watched the scar on my knee "heal", I can't help but wish my broken heart would heal a tiny bit too.  I've come to realize that there truly is no "scar" when grieving the loss of a child.  There is no "healing"of the wound or experience that 'replaces the normal life' as a scar replaces the normal skin.  The wound is open and you just learn to deal with it.  And as the definition reads, scarring is part of the natural healing process, there is no real natural healing process with grieving.  You don't heal.  And unfortunately the scar, if there is such a thing, is not something to be proud of, or to learn from, although it does change you forever.  And like the scar on my knee that will never go away, I will never be the same.  There will always be a mark on my heart that will be there forever.  A very wise person told me last week that I will NEVER get over loosing my son, but I will get through it.  Just as I got through this terrible knee surgery.

We had the opportunity to engrave a brick, with Lincoln's name on it, in front of the Kindering Center, where he received all of his special education therapy services.  We drove over to see it a few weeks after it had been completed.  I hadn't been back to the Kindering Center since Lincoln passed away so it was an emotional experience.  I miss everything about that place, especially his therapist.  I'm glad they put his brick front and center, just where he deserves to be!

 Jezelle sitting next to the brick

 My sweet dad surprised us with this beautiful rock in his yard a few weeks ago.  My parents have an incredibly beautiful yard and garden.  What a neat gift and such a great way to honor him.

I am continually amazed by the thoughtful things that people do for us, to help us know that Lincoln has not been forgotten.  The flowers that are left on my door step weekly, the cards and notes in the mail and even the simple text messages that are sent truly mean so much to us.

  
Yesterday marked the 5th month since Lincoln's passing.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again . . . it seems like it's been FOREVER!!!!  But, I hope like the scar on my knee, my 'wound' will heal, at least enough so that I don't hurt so badly every day.  And through all my hurt and pain, I have to remember how blessed we are to be Lincoln's parents.  I'm so honored to be his mommy and to have him in my life.  And although I am changed because of this loss, and I see the world much differently now; through very different eyes, I am also changed for good.  And that is because of my sweet Lincoln.  We love you Lincoln.  We love you so so much.

Blogs

When we first discovered that Lincoln had special needs I scoured the internet, finding any and every blog I could find, written by a mother of a child with special needs.  I related to their perspective, their heart ache, and most of all their joy.  I often knew exactly how they were feeling and what they were going through.


I don't read those blogs very often anymore.  I feel sad that I don't have a child with special needs here on earth with me anymore.  I miss feeling what they feel, and doing what they get to do with their children.  I'm envious of all those mothers who get to raise their children with special needs.  I sounds crazy, but it's true.  What an incredible blessing and honor it is to be Lincoln's mother.  And oh how I miss taking him to therapy and doctor appointments.  


Though I often wonder what those families are up to, I can hardly bring myself to reading about their lives now, because they aren't like mine anymore.  I now have found an entire new set of blogs to read, written by mothers who have lost children around the same age as Lincoln.  Again, I take great comfort in knowing I'm not alone.  I'm not going crazy.  And although I never feel like I'm going to make it through another day, I somehow do.


And I relate.  I now unfortunately know exactly what it feels like to loose a child.  The following quote is taking from a blog I often read called A Daily Scoop:


"This pain now is like a headache. Sometimes it is in the background, dull and distracting. Other times it is throbbing and demands solitude. Then there are times it overcomes me like a migraine, making me physically ill and spontaneously producing tears and pleas for it to go away.  And yet, in the painful silence there still is a peace. In the sorrow there is a pervasive peace. How these two coexist, the peace and the pain, defies logic. They partner to dance gracefully across the stage of my life in this unwritten act. In the end, their dance will be the one I remember. I watch daily as this dance transforms me into a new being."


I read that one time recently and knew exactly how she felt.  She put into words just perfectly what I often feel on a daily basis.

The 4th of July

Every day is hard without Lincoln but on holidays, when we are all gathered together as family and spending time enjoying one another it's a continual reminder that we are missing someone.  We are missing our sweet Lincoln.  Yesterday was no exception.  And I find myself wondering if it will always be that way.  

And though we try our best to enjoy a fun day with family I am continually asking myself what would Lincoln be doing during each moment of the day.  During the parade I wondered whether Lincoln would have liked it or if he would have been scared of the loud noises.  Would he have laughed or cried when he saw the clown?  Who would be holding him?  Where would he be sitting?  During our family BBQ I thought a lot about what Lincoln would be doing at that very moment.  Would I be holding him or would Shane be?  When would we have fit in a nap that day?  What would he have eaten?  Would he have liked the watermelon?  Or the cake?  Would we have taken him to watch the fireworks at 10:00 pm?  No, definitely not.

Last year we were actually in Mexico on the 4th of July, so we didn't celebrate the 4th.  Or I guess we did- by eating delicious Mexican food!!!  I was looking forward to doing our normal family traditions this year with Lincoln.  Shane and I both agreed that he would have loved the parade.  And although I love the 4th of July and enjoy each little tradition we have, I'd trade all of it for one more day in Mexico with Lincoln.  One more hour.  One more minute.

I'm reading a book right now called Heaven is Here by Stephanie Nielson.  She has an incredible story of surviving a plane crash where 80% of her body was severely burned.  In one part of her book, as she's struggling to survive, she talks about how much she missed running and hiking.  She says she was struck by just how much she had taken for granted in her everyday life.  She says, "Was I grateful enough to have a body that could run before I lost it?  Did these hikers even comprehend the incredible freedom they enjoyed, how lucky they were to put one foot in front of the other?  . . . I'd been so innocently living my life, and though I'd made every effort to appreciate my many blessings, it struck me now just how much I had taken for granted."  I get that.  I relate.

Every time a mother complains on Facebook or in person about their child making a mess, waking up in the night, or throwing a temper tantrum I want to scream at them, "at least you have your children with you on earth!!!!"  It's unfortunate that we can't experience things in this life before we actually experience them.  It seems so unfortunate to me that we never know how much work it is to be a parent, until we are a parent.  We would appreciate and show so much more love and respect toward our parents, while growing up, if we even had one inkling of what it felt like to be a mother or a father.  We would appreciate our health and our bodies if we knew what it was like to be terminally ill or missing a limb; therefore not ever able to run or hike again.  We would complain less about our children waking up in the night, or burdening us with their simple requests all day long, if only we knew how much we would miss every single thing about them, before their died.  And now that I do know that I try very hard to not take my everyday life for grated.  I try to not be burdened or offended by silly things.  And I continue to try to find the blessings in my life, and see the tender mercies the Lord gives me each day.

Questions

When people say, "they don't know what to say" I always tell them it's better to say SOMETHING (even if it's "I don't know what to say") then to say NOTHING at all.  I also have found that since there really isn't anything anyone can say to help us feel better, I enjoy when people ask questions.  It shows they care without stumbling on words of advice or suggestions that really are not helpful at all.  So, I thought I'd answer some of the great questions that I've been asked lately, incase anyone is wondering....

*Lincoln's name is not up on his plaque at the cemetery yet.  It could take up to 6 months!!  It's ridiculous really.

*Of course anyone is more then welcome to go and visit his grave at the cemetery.  I'm always more then happy to describe how to find it, although it may be easier to find when his name is there.  However, in the mean time, just follow the pinwheels!  You'll know where he is.

*Lincoln's final death report was recently issued by the medical examiner.  They never found any cause of his death, and therefore on that report it states, "unknown cause of death to an infant."  SIDS is only given for those children younger then one year of age.  So, Linc was too old for that diagnosis.

*We haven't touched Lincoln's room.  It's the exact same way it was when he left us.  For now we like it that way.  We all spend a lot of time in his room and feel at peace when we are in there.  He has a great rocking chair in his room where I will often sit and snuggle with Jezelle, or just sit by myself and rock, holding his little giraffe lovey while praying that I can feel him close by.  I think it's a place where we all feel close to him and at peace.  I sometimes walk by Lincoln's room and Jezelle is just sitting there rocking in the chair, looking out the window and holding his lovey.  Ohhh how she misses him.

*I was recently asked (by my sweet sister-in-law who is always so thoughtful) what I miss most, aside from the obvious of missing Lincoln himself.  And as strange as it sounds, I miss being a mom to a child with special needs.  I miss the special needs community we were part of and the incredible families and teachers we were blessed to have known.  I miss Lincoln's therapists, I miss watching Lincoln at therapy, and taking him to therapy.  I miss our drives to therapy, which at least once a week were about 30-40 min. away.  I miss seeing him in my rear view mirror.  I miss Jezelle having a sibling.  And I miss who we were before he died.  Because regardless of how we look at it we are changed.  We are all different.

3 months

Today marks another month we've lived without Lincoln with us.  It's been 3 months.  It feels like so long ago now that it almost seems like it was a different life.  And I guess in many ways it was.  Everyone who knew him has now been changed because of this experience.  We are all different.  We are all changed.

I've had quite a few people tell me that grief is like a series of waves.  Though they are always there, sometimes they come crashing down harder and more unexpectedly then others.  Either way, they come, so we just have to learn to face them head on and ride them out entirely.  It's no use fighting them.  And they aren't going to just stop, or go away.

And so we pray to get through another month.  Another day.  Another hour.  And at the end of each day we thank God that we've made it through another day.

Cousins

My sweet 3-year-old nephew, Eli is a fire ball!  He's full of energy and is non-stop all day long.  He's actually a very sensitive kid though and always had a very tender place in his heart for Lincoln.  My sister says he still sometimes asks if Lincoln is coming over, or where Lincoln is.  My sister and I always thought it was fun to buy these two matching outfits so they had a few of the same shirts.  Lately Eli has been asking to wear a specific shirt again and again.  He calls it his 'Lincoln shirt' and wants to "wear the same shirt as Lincoln".  Though he's not able to express it like we can, in his own special way we know that Eli misses our little Linc just as much as we do!

Memorial Day

The day before Memorial Day we went back to the cemetery for the first time since the day of Lincoln's funeral.  It was just as hard and emotional as we imagined it to be.  Although we took new pinwheels to put in the flower holder, the pinwheels from the service that day were still there.  That made me cry even harder.  Not that the emotions have lessened any, but for those few minutes it seemed we were living that day of the funeral all over again.  I could feel and remember every little detail from that day.  His name is still not up.  It can take up to 6 months, which is ridiculous.  A friend of mine wanted to visit the cemetery and I told her to just look for the pinwheels!

It seems so surreal that we now take family trips to the cemetery to visit our son's grave.  It just doesn't seem right that we now will have this "tradition" and our children will be raised doing this.  It's just not fair and seems so wrong.

The sun came out just as we got there, so that was nice.

I'm not sure I have explained that Lincoln is actually in a mausoleum at the cemetery and is not buried in the ground.  A mausoleum is a free-standing building, which holds caskets and can also be considered to be a type of a tomb (according to Wikipedia).  His casket is in with my grandpa's (my mom's Dad).  I wasn't so sure how I felt about this but when we went to look at different plots this just felt right to both Shane and I.

Below is a better picture of the mausoleum where Lincoln is.  These were taken on the day of the funeral.

His presence

pictures taken by Photography by Blush

I love the picture above (although Lincoln is making kind of a goofy face) because it's perfectly symbolic of how much we absolutely adore our Lincoln boy, and how our lives revolved around him.  He had such an incredibly strong presence in our home, and continues to do so, which we feel very blessed for.  Although as I reflect back on the past two years I feel that we very much lived in the moment with Lincoln and enjoyed each and every little thing he did, I'm not sure even then that we truly realized what an incredible influence he has made on our lives.  And as time goes by it becomes more and more apparent what an incredible honor and blessing it was to have him in our home, to take care of him, to sit with him through hours of therapy, to feel of his sweet little spirit, and to be in his presence.  And oh how honored and blessed we continue to feel to be Lincoln's parents!

But oh how we also feel of his absence and miss him every second of every minute of our day.

It has been 10 weeks since his passing and this past week or so has been an emotional one for both myself and our sweet 5 year old.  Though we felt it at the time, we understand even more now what an incredible presence Lincoln had, and still has on our home and I think there are times where Jezelle feels lost and lonely without him here.  They were truly best friends.  It's amazing how strong Lincoln's spirit was, how he calmed our nerves and stress with ease and how protected and safe we felt with him here.  What a spiritual experience each day was for us.  And although we always thought we were taking care of Lincoln, I now see that in actuality, he was taking care of us, and will continue to do so.  And I think Jezelle feels of this very strongly as well, though it's more difficult for her to put it into words.

For the 2 weeks following his death I felt so many emotions but one of the biggest ones I felt was unsafe and scared.  I described it to Shane one night as feeling the same way I do when Shane is out of town and traveling on business.  I didn't feel safe in my own home and yearned for Lincoln to be there.  I have been in awe of what a strong presence a tiny child can have over an entire home and family.  And I know Jezelle feels this too.

Jezelle asks the same questions most every night about Lincoln, which are 'Why did he have to die', 'What's he doing in heaven' and most of all 'Is Lincoln going to be ok in heaven'.  We go over the answers again and again and assure her that he's happy and being watched over and protected in heaven.  And then she says, "I wish he didn't have to go because I NEED him here.  I really need him mom."  I assure her that I feel the same way and that I understand how she feels.  And again am reminded of what a powerful presence and influence he has had on our family, and will continue to have.

Last weekend was Mother's Day and though it was hard, I felt like many of my friends and family went above and beyond to try and make it a very special day for me.  A dear friend of mine gave me a necklace  that says, "Mother to an Angel" on it, and that meant so much to me.  When Jezelle asked what the necklace said I described it to her.  And then it occurred to me that I'd never helped her to realize that she was still Lincoln's big sister, and that she always would be no matter what.  We talked about that for awhile and then I said, "See? You have an angel for a brother.  Isn't that cool?  How lucky that we have an angel in our family.  Not many people can say that!" And though I'd rather not have Lincoln as an angel in our family, and just have him as my son here on earth WITH me, I am so grateful that I still do very much feel of his presence here with us.  I know he is watching over us, keeping us safe and protected, and helping us to feel peace and comfort.  And I especially felt him with me on Mother's Day and knew he was close by.

I came across an incredible talk that was given by Caleb's dad (his website mentioned in the below post) It hit close to home and is so tender and heart felt.  You can listen to it here .

Time

Have you ever seen a cuter kid in your entire life?

love and time

those are the only two things in all the world and all of life 

that cannot be bought, but only spent.

Today was a really hard day.  There's no way of knowing which days are going to be hard and which days are going to be REALLY hard, and nothing seems to necessarily set off a really hard day.  They just come.  And they hurt.  And they are hard.  And I cry, a lot.

Today I've been dwelling a lot on the concept of "time".  Why oh why were we not given more time with this precious angel.  Why?  And these are the day that I honestly cannot cognitively comprehend that he is gone.  I just want a little more time.  And yet, really if I were given more time would this be any easier?  I think not.  I would only want more time.  And sometimes I wonder if really we were actually given more time and we don't even know it.  What if he could have been taken from us at 3 months, and we bargained for 2 years.  Lucky us.

After Lincoln got his feeding tube put in I prayed that time would speed up.  I remember thinking, "please let this time go by quickly, please help Lincoln to learn to eat so that we can put this behind us."  I read a post that I wrote when he was 2 months old and I said, 'well, the past two months have definitely not gone by quickly, but we sure do love this boy!'  And those are the moments I must remember.  That really, maybe time did slow down so that I could cherish every moment I had with him.

And then when we discovered that Lincoln had developmental delays I wanted time to stop.  He needed time to catch up, to reach his developmental milestones.  I needed more time to figure out how to best help him, research what therapies he needed most, and have the time to take him to all the therapies that he did need.  And many days I would fall to my knees and my only prayer to God was, "Please help me.  I'm drowning and I need time to slow down, just for a little bit.  Help me find the time in my day to do all that is being asked of me right now"  Little did I know what I was praying for.  I wasn't only praying for time to slow so that I could catch up on my house work, drive Lincoln to a million therapy appointments and schedule zillions of doctor appointments; I was praying for time to slow so that I could spend what little time I had left with my precious sweet boy.  And although it sometimes seemed that Lincoln had been a part of our lives and a part of our family forever, as it was difficult to remember what life was like without him in it, it now seems like a fleeting moment in time.  Too short.  Not enough time.  Not enough kisses, hugs and snuggles.  

Please give me one more day.  Give me one more hour.  Turn back time!

On the days that I worked and I was away from Lincoln for 8 hours straight I would come home and snuggle him and whisper in his ear, " Oh sweet boy, what would I do without you in my life?"  I honestly said that to him most every day I was away from him for a long period of time.  I missed him and ached for him so badly.  And on days like today, I now wonder the exact same thing.  What on earth will I do without my son in my life?

I came across a blog the other day of a sweet little boy named Caleb, who passed away exactly 1 month before Lincoln: winkfromheaven and though their situations were very different, his family was given 7 years more time with him then they thought.  And yet, as I read the tender words of his mother on that blog, I realized that more time wouldn't make any of this any easier.  

And so on these hard hard days I pray for strength, peace, comfort and especially to feel of his presence and watchful eye over us throughout our lives.  And there's a tiny part of me that prays for time to speed up and pass by quickly.

8 weeks

It's been 8 weeks today since I last held my little baby boy in my arms and kissed him goodbye.

Have I mentioned yet that it seems like it's been FOREVER?!! . . .

When we first discovered Lincoln had special needs I was obsessed with reading other people's blogs who had children with special needs.  I related to them, felt for what they were going through in their lives  and understood them.  Since Lincoln passed away I haven't read those blogs as much.  It's ironic to say that I'm a bit jealous of them, because they still have their child with special needs with them; to laugh with, hold and snuggle and feel their incredible light and joy radiate through their lives.  In the past two months I've found new blogs to read.  Many of these blogs are written by mothers who have had young children die, much like mine did.  And although I can hardly believe I'm writing these words, I relate better to them now.  I understand their pain, I feel their sorrow and relate to their grieving, day in and day out.  One in particular that I came across the other day had some good advice for friends who are helping a loved one grieve through a loss in their life.  Her name is Michelle and you can read her story here on her blog: daysofmichelleslife

Here is what she wrote, which is more eloquently written then I could have said in my own words:
     (*note: I didn't take every item she listed, just some of the ones that I relate to the most right now)

WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE Who is GRIEVING: 

I know a lot of people just "don't know what to say/do" so they don't do anything. Not doing anything is the wrong answer. Hopefully this list can help you help the ones you love in their journey of Grief.

1. First and foremost TALK about the loved one who's passed. Even if it uncomfortable at first, it will become easier.

2. If you didn't know the person at all or very well, ask to hear about them and learn of them through stories.

3. Don't ever put a time line on someone's grief.

4. Saying things like, "They are in a better place" really isn't comforting. It makes the bereaved feel like the place they had with them wasn't good.

5. If you don't know what to say, just say, "I'm So sorry you have to go through this."

6. Don't assume they are ever "better." It never gets better and will be a part of them for the rest of their lives.

7. Don't underestimate how frazzled, abscent minded & spacey grief can make you.

8. Love notes. Emails. Thinking of You cards. Thinking of the bereaved person cards.

9. Do not, I stress Do not get offended if your loved one doesn't answer his/her phone or return your calls. Don't assume that they don't appreciate your effort. It's just that someone bereaved doesn't want to put on a "happy voice." and burden everyone with their grief.

10. Most bereaved people will not offer information on how they are doing unless they truly feel like you want to know.

11. Validate.Validate.Validate. Please whatever you do, don't compare your loved ones loss to someone elses' "harder loss". Every loss is hard. Comparing makes the person feel like they shouldn't struggle because it could be worse.

12. The comment "but aren't you grateful you know you see them again" isn't comforting. It is not a fix all. It is comforting, but it doesn't take the pain out of not having them now.

13. Just make sure they know you love them. Be a shoulder to cry on.

And I've posted this before on my blog but here it is again, with a whole new meaning to me of course (taken from bentownefoundation )

"When you have the urge to speak, listen. When you feel like your job is to point out the good news, wait. When you have the need to wrap up our experience, please don’t. For real, loving care is the willingness to sit with someone and remain with them in their pain. To hear their fears and sorrow. To say with your actions, “I don’t have all the answers, but I’m sorry. And I am here.” '

How are you?

My sweet sister had someone make this silhouette of Lincoln.  I love it.  

I also love that when she asked my 5 year old who it was the response was immediate.

"It's Lincoln".

"How are you doing?"

. . . I get asked this at least 50 times a day.  We all do, it's a habit; a social greeting that comes along with 'hello'.  I'm just now much more aware of the question, because my answer has so much emotional baggage that goes along with it.

Sometimes it's a very genuine question, asked by a friend or family member who really wants to know how I am feeling/doing today. 

Other times it's by an acquaintance or co-worker who greets me and says, "Hey!  How's it going" and hardly realizes they've even asked.  And yet sometimes they do realize because they stop quickly and say, "Oh sorry- I guess I shouldn't have asked that".  But I think what they really mean is: "Sorry I just said that phrase out of habit and I know you're not "doing" ok so I just shouldn't have even asked that; and quite frankly I won't know what to say when you answer honestly so let's just move along because now I feel dumb".

And lastly, I get asked that same question by very innocent grocery store clerks or random people on the phone who have no idea what happened in my life 7 weeks ago, for me to not be doing OK!  (and sometimes quite honestly I really want to respond by saying, "I'm terrible.  And you?" just to see what they say.)

And yet, no matter who is asking this question I cringe when I'm asked, just a little bit, because I go through the same dilemma each time.  If I don't answer honestly, people will think I really am doing ok and this answer, in my mind, would mean that I'm ok with what happened 7 weeks ago.  And I'm obviously not.  And I don't want to lie, because I'd just rather be honest.  And yet if I'm honest and really say what's going through my mind that day or how I'm feeling then the person asking a simple question is stuck scrambling, trying to come up with something more to comfort me or something to say in response.  And really nothing anyone says will make any of this ok.

So . . . to those store clerks who ask, I just don't answer at all.  They say, "Hi, how's it going today" and I say, "hi".

And to those who are acquaintances, I say I'm fine.

And for those who are my friends and family, and genuinely want to know, I will tell you that I'm here.  I'm present.  I'm breathing.  I'm living.  And I'm getting up each day.  My actions are often on autopilot and I sometimes get from point A to point B and don't remember anything in between, but I'm here.  And for now I just try to live hour by hour, not thinking too far ahead, because that is just way too overwhelming.  (Another favorite blog of mine said this very same thing recently.  nieniedialogues)

Grieving

This picture was taken last fall, right before Lincoln went in for a scheduled MRI.  I LOVE this picture.  I love that he's such a happy kid and could truly light up a room with that smile.  I also love that he's holding his lovey 'Raffie', as we named him.  This giraffe still smells like him and helps me remember what it felt like to rock Lincoln to sleep each night.

Grief.  Oh what a tricky word.  What a complicated meaning.  And really it's all such a mystery since all I hear lately is that grief looks different for everyone, and everybody deals with grief differently.  Someone asked me the other day if I was on medication.  I replied with, "NO!  I don't know, should I be?!!  Maybe.  Probably!  I don't know!" And that's the thing, no one can tell me if I'm doing this grieving thing right or wrong because no one knows.  And I guess there isn't a right or wrong "way" at all.  It seems the blind is leading the blind.


In the recent, I have conversed with many who start telling me a story about what's going on in their life and then they stop quickly and say, "Well, it's nothing compared to what you're dealing with right now . . . " and I have to stop them right there, because nothing can ever compare to what we're going through, and so we don't compare.  We just don't.  And no one, except for Shane knows exactly what I'm going through so I would never expect anyone else to understand.


One of the first few years I was a special education teacher I had a student that I fell in love with and who has an incredible family, whom I'm still in contact with.  He has had four brain surgeries and his medical history is about a trillion pages long.  His mom is and always has been an inspiration to me and one thing in particular that she told me when Lincoln was first born has stuck with me ever since.  After Lincoln had his NG tube put in and had been in the hospital for a total of maybe 48 hours I was about going completely crazy sitting in that hospital room.  As we left the hospital I thought of that sweet student of mine and how he had been in the hospital for months at a time throughout his few short years of life.  And then the thought came to me, 'what right did I have to complain about my son being there for 48 hours when that student had spent months in the hospital'?  I wrote his mom an email soon after that, explaining my thoughts and telling her how amazing and strong I thought she was and didn't know how she did it!  Her response was simple.  She wrote, "We don't compare things around here to brain surgery, or else nothing else would seem significant."  (you can read more of his story here)


I have not only thought of her wisdom many times throughout Lincoln's few short years of life, but especially since his passing.  And the reason is because everyone has trials, big and small, we just must not compare them; we have to just learn as we are suppose to learn.  Neal A. Maxwell said, "Performance is what matters, not the size of the stage."  (you can read his amazing talk here )


9 days before Lincoln passed away the most perfect post was added to one of my very most favorite blogs, thislittlemiggy .  I loved every bit of what she said and related to every single word.  After I read it I wanted to share her thoughts on this blog, yet obviously never got around to it.  And now more then ever, I must remind myself of what she said:


She describes sitting in the waiting room of her daughter's therapist and overhearing a woman talk about her child.  She then writes: 

You wanna talk about problems?  I thought to myself, I'll show you problems... 
And that's where I have to stop myself.  I can't play that game.  Even if the playing field is only in my head. 
It's the game where no one else's kids have problems as hard as my kids' problems.  Or the game that no one ever says the right thing and no one really knows how to relate to our family.  It's a mindset that is within reach if I want it.  A sword to draw at any time to cut someone else to the quick and remind them that Hey, I've got the right to complain.  But I don't.   At least not more than anyone else. 

I allow for feelings of genuine discouragement and heartache.  I have the right to grieve from time to time and even worry about unknown scenarios in unknown futures.  My biggest worries stem from the social aspect of my daughter growing up, and how others will treat her.  Regardless of my belief in a Savior and eventual eternal joy, I have always felt that there is a time for sorrow and tears.  So I don't feel guilty about true feelings of sorrow and grief. 

What I sometimes must guard myself against is the prideful side of comparing and self-pity.  It's a poison I don't want to get caught up in and least of all something I don't want to pass onto my daughters.  From the outside it could be hard to tell the difference between genuine sorrow and prideful sorrow, but on the inside I know which is which.  If I could sum it up I would say genuine sorrow is a part of grief that when addressed may help in the healing process and compel you to keep moving forward.  Prideful sorrow if given root would only continue to fester and boil, stunting growth and progression altogether. 

It's not always easy seeing the cup half full and counting our many blessings.  I am only human afterall.  But I'll keep fighting the good fight of resisting prideful comparisons, and the ease of excuses and pity. 

(You can read Miggy's entire post here:  A Good Fight)

My point of all of this rambling is that we all have our trials and challenges in life.  No one's struggles are any better or worse than anyone else's.  We are all here to learn what we are suppose to learn and of course we all learn things differently.  I believe the Lord knows each of us and understands how we all learn best.  And let me just say for the record: I am no where NEAR perfect.  And yes, there are times when I definitely feel like I for sure have a harder life than anyone else and my trials are far worse than every other person, and for sure I'd win the game of 'whose life is worse'?  But I continue to try and remind myself to grieve with genuine sorrow and resist feeling prideful sorrow and making comparisons about who has a worse life.  And most importantly, remembering that we can't compare everything in life to brain surgery, or nothing would seem of any significance.