Keeping the Memories Alive

I've been struggling lately with a number of different emotions.  Guilt, anger, and doubt to name a few.  I've gotten so caught up in some, they've really gotten to me in the last several weeks.  But when I really think about how I'm feeling, I've decided it all comes back to my longing for Drew.  That I really just simply miss him.  And as time passes, it seems to be getting harder.  It feels like it has been SO long since he was here. 

You know what it feels like on that last day of a vacation without kids?  You really miss them.  Other kids remind you of yours.  You wonder what they are doing.  You try to recall their phrases, their unique mannerisms and smile, and it hurts a little missing them.  You can't wait to get home to them, you almost feel sick.  And when you are almost there, on the way down your street, you're nervous, anxious, to see them.  And then there they are!  It all comes flooding back and you feel complete again.  

Now picture that reunion never coming, or at least that you have to wait a lifetime for it.  Stretch that homesick, missing-them feeling out for over 9 months, with no joyful conclusion.  That's kind of how I feel.

I try to not be dramatic about what we face, to go on and on about how hard it is, how much it hurts, because I think it's a dangerous hole that would suck me in.  I don't want to give in to self-pity or feeding off other's sympathies.  I know that's not what God wants me to do, or Drew for that matter.  And overall, I want to be relatable, approachable, because I know that I am just like anyone else, I just got dealt a tough hand. If I'm at all special, it's because of God's work through me, not anything that I am on my own.

But I think sometimes in trying to avoid taking on a victim role, I swing the other way too far.  I don't allow myself enough time to just be sad or I am mad at myself if I do.  But when I remember how big of a deal this really is, I seem to be able to give myself permission to be a mess every once in a while.  To not apologize for not having the answers, or not even wanting to ask them, just wanting to cry.  Because I miss my baby.

I've said all the good feelings in the world--all the love, the compassion, the joy--are a taste of Heaven.  That that comfort and love you feel through good, genuine, acts of kindness from others is what I imagine the essence of Eternity will be because God IS that feeling, that love.  I've also decided however that the opposite is true.  This pain that I have lived with everyday since January 19th, 2017, which some days feels like it'll never end, is a taste of hell.  Its a cliché I know, "this is hell on earth", but I really think it is.  It is a taste of the despair and the anguish of pain that will never go away, that will never end.

Some days that's how I feel right now.  It seems this pain will never end, even the 60 years or whatever I have to wait to be with him again feels like it might as well be an eternity.  But then I remember the Hope we have.  It WILL end.  It will be over, and only the good will be left, because of Jesus.  How awful if we didn't have that hope!  It's what keeps me going.  What keeps me motivated to get through this taste of Hell, because there is a light at the end of the tunnel.



But in this tunnel, it can be really dark, and scary.  I miss him so, so much.  And as I miss him and try to remember,  I'm getting so scared that I'm forgetting him.  I can feel the memories starting to fade.  I'm aware of how much harder it is each day to recall what he smells like, how his voice sounds first thing in the morning, the way his eyes twinkle with joy like he can't contain himself.  I look at pictures and wonder if I remember him, or just the pictures.  I watch the videos and hate that its starting to feel like I'm just watching some character on TV I don't know personally, but recognize from the show.  As we move forward with our story, my heart is desperate to remember him, to hold on to the memories.

But I don't think all the details have to be forgotten, that memories have to fade beyond recognition.  Like remembering the alphabet or multiplication tables in school, you need to practice them to keep them fresh in your mind.  I need to practice remembering, work at keeping them alive.  So I've been trying to actively remember him.  To look at the pictures, and try to remember that specific day, what we were doing, how the scene smelled, felt, sounded.  And I can do it.  I can picture it, him, again.  And so I'll share a few memories, a few things about Drew, with you now. For you, but just as much for me....

This was one of our last trips to our park.  It was an unusually warm late fall day.

There was a chill in the breeze, but the energy and joy from the kids kept me warm.  We knew that Drew probably wasn't going to make it at this point, and there was an awful since of awe in knowing that this was probably our last trip to the park together.  The weather was going to change, we wouldn't come, and he would die before it got warm again.  I tried to soak in every part of the experience, but not make it weird for them.  It was one of the first times I handed Molly my phone and had her take the pictures.  Of Drew and I going down the slide.  It was too scary for him to go down on his own, but with me, he would do it.

He was kind of a pansy about cold weather too--not built for Minnesota we always joked.  On the way in to Walmart, with all his winter gear on, he'd get a face full of cold wind and you could see it literally take his breath away.  He wasn't a fan of playing in the snow either.  Molly would want to go out, but Drew would say, "No!  Nooooo...."  So when he would agree to go outside in the snow, I'd have to take any pictures fast before he'd be whining to go back inside.

He was happy 97% of the time, completely easy going.  I've shared before how in his early, early years my biggest complaint was that he smiled too much.  When he would be nursing, and come off and look up at me and just smile, I would try to get him back to business--I didn't have all day here!  But bless his heart, I'll always remember and smile at how he could get distracted from eating by smiling at me...

I remember the nights late last year, I'd have sets of sheets, towels, and PJs laid out at bedtime in case he'd get sick overnight.  I'd hear his cry, run in and get him cleaned up, change everything out, and sit with him for a moment or two, lay him back down and go back to bed myself.  I'd lay there and couldn't help but smile through my irritation that he wouldn't always go right back to sleep, but lay in there and sing Jingle Bells to himself.  What a clown. After just throwing up and having a total bed change, how is he in there just singing Jingle Bells to himself??  Gosh, I'd do anything to hear him sing Jingle Bells in the middle of the night again...

He really didn't require too strong an arm of discipline.  All you had to do was raise your voice and give him a stern look and he'd cry and immediately want a hug.  But Molly and I still talk about the time in Walmart when they were both in the "crazy cart" (that giant 2 seater attached to a regular cart) and he got down as I was self checking out and took off.  I chased him down and brought him back to Molly and he cried the whole way home because he got in trouble, and I was mad at him.  (I think Molly loves to remember when Drew as naughty too!)

When he did get mad, he was ticked.  I think I'm the one he usually yelled at the most.  Not really Josh, but always mom.  He wasn't physical, but loud and red in the face mad.  Daniel Tiger's "Mad Mad Mad" song was one that he really remembered and would sing, I think because he identified with it.  And he'd sing the last part, "take a deep breath, and count to four.  One, two, three, four!".  I'd use his line on him when he was the "Mad Mad Mad" one, those few times he lost his stuff.

Dad really was his favorite it seemed some days.  At the hospital, he'd apparently be perfectly "fine" until I walked in, and then he'd get really whiny, clingy and grouchy.  I think a lot of kids save the cranks for mom, thanks!  But it's nice that him and Josh had this laid back feel at the hospital and at home, even if I felt like I paid for it later.

But overall, he was so consistent.  So obedient and trusting.  I always had complete confidence in how still he would be going into that big CT scanner. 

How cooperative he would be with the nurses for site care in the hospital.  How compliant he was at home even for the hard stuff--the shots, the feeding tube replacements.  He obviously didn't enjoy this stuff, but he submitted, he allowed it.  The one day I had to put the tube back down by myself, and I was so thankful he didn't fight me on it, and we got it back down on the first try.

I know we don't even realize how much of a gift from him that was to us.  How unbelievable this two year old boy was in that respect.



And now, as I write about him, and the tears are flowing because I just want so badly to hold him again, to hear his voice, to see that twinkle in his eyes. The deep, deep ache in my chest is flaring up.  That longing just like the last day of a vacation, accept times a million, washes over me, and it hurts.  So much.   But I don't want to stop remembering him, even if it hurts.  So I will cry as I consciously recall these memories.  Because even as the tears fall, I usually have a smile on my face too. Comforted by the memories, thankful for the time I had with him.  How lucky I was to get to be this boy's mom!

So if I talk about him to you, say his name or tell a story that maybe you weren't expecting or ready to hear, don't be uncomfortable.  Don't wonder what you should say.  Just listen to me, let me talk about my son.  Because as I talk about him, he's back with me for a moment, and that is all I really want right now...