From Mom: Two Months Out and Easter

Today is Easter. It’s Ross’s favorite holiday. It’s also two months since we lost Reese, so it’s bittersweet. I’m not what I would consider a religious person, but my faith did grow during the five days we had with Reese and I know how important it is to Ross so I make sure to watch church with him every year online. He spent time in Kansas City after college and attended a church there that streams services online. It’s not my religion but I do enjoy watching it with him.   

This year the Pastor giving the sermon said two things that really stuck out to me. One was a Mark Twain quote, “the two most important days of your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why”. We had watched our friends become parents for years, and we always listened to them say how amazing it was. We never knew that to be true until the day Reese was born. The minute I laid eyes on him, I knew I was born to be his Mom. Truth be told, the minute I saw the positive pregnancy test back in late September, I knew I was born to be my baby’s mom. Bringing him into the world was the single most important thing I would ever do and I wanted to do it well. Even though he was born so early and left us so soon, I knew I was put here on this earth so I would create the most beautiful little boy that would in turn have such a huge impact on so many lives. Reese was my why, and even when little brother or little sister joins the family, he’ll continue to be my why. 

The other thing the Pastor said was “the worst thing is not the last thing”. Some might take that as meaning something religious and from the resurrection, but I view it as something a little different but still meaningful nonetheless. The worst day of my life was when Reese passed away. I honestly don’t know how anything could ever be worse than the feeling of my heart breaking into a million pieces as he left us, and I don’t ever want to revisit that feeling again. But even in all the darkness, I took comfort knowing one of the two things. One, he would not be my last child. I know I will feel the love of a child and have one in my arms again. I will be someone’s Mommy eventually. Two, Ross believes (and I do too to an extent) that we will see Reese again one day. So saying goodbye on Earth, whereas it was the worst thing we’ve ever had to do, was not the last time we will be with him. Sure, it’ll be in spirit, but it will happen. 

For the rest of our days, Easter (and every holiday to be honest) will be a little difficult. We will forever be missing a part of our heart and soul. However, the love we have for one another and the strength of our family bond will get us through and give us the power to smile and be happy. So if you celebrate Easter, or even if you don’t, I hope today is a good day for you filled with love, hope, and lots of candy. 

In this house today, there’s a lot of Reese’s candy to go around (as I mentioned in a previous post-its Ross's favorite candy) So Reese is not only filling our hearts, but also our stomachs in a way. I'll take whatever I can get, as long as it reminds me of him.

Happy Easter! 

 

From Mom: 6:37 P.M.

Reese was born two months today at 6:37 P.M. Everyday since, Ross and I have sang happy birthday to him. I have an alarm set to go off. It doesn't matter what we are doing, we will stop and sing. It is the one tradition we get to keep with our son, and I never want it to stop. This week though, we had to adapt and for the first time since February 12th, we couldn't sing it together. Ross was driving home from Augusta on Monday and didn't make it home in time; we adapted and sang on the phone. On Friday, I was at a bar getting drinks before a concert with a friend when I realized it was almost time. I facetimed Ross in a private area at the bar and we sang. We adapted and it was fine.....we were fine. 

Not missing 6:37 P.M. is important to us. It's another way we can keep our son's memory alive. I didn't want to think about how I would feel if I missed it one day. I imagined I'd feel awful, that I'd cry my eyes out and that the rest of my day would be ruined. In fact, I was so sure that this was what would happen, that I think that's what drove me to do everything in my power to make sure I didn't miss it. Until last Saturday. 

I was exhausted. Work had been crazy all week. Gracie had been her normal puppy self and was doing whatever she could to make sure we didn't get a full nights sleep. I had been cleaning around the house and I just needed a break from everything. I laid down in bed at 5:45 for a nap, absolutely positive that my alarm would wake me up at 6:37. Except it didn't. Ross did, but by then it was 6:38. We had missed 6:37. I felt awful for about 20 seconds and then I went on with my day....eh..nap. The world did not collapse. My son's spirit and memory didn't suddenly disappear from our hearts and minds. 

I had my first breakdown in what seemed like forever that same Saturday. I didn't even realize that I had gone more than a week without bursting into tears. After I was done crying, I thought about that and I thought about how I had actually felt...dare I say...like my old self the whole week before. Almost my old self that is. I'll never feel like who I was before February 12th again, but it was the closest I had since. Realizing that gave me a little tinge of optimism that I hadn't felt in a very long time. It felt pretty good. 

I've also noticed that I'm able to talk about the events of his birthday more freely now.....without stopping to gather my thoughts or without crying. I did so on Friday, when I was with a friend I hadn't seen in months and today, when I went to visit my old coworkers at lunch. I've been able to think about him and talk about him in a manner that doesn't cause everything to turn dark around me. I find it almost healing to talk about him. Someone said I'm starting to sound happier and more present again and that they noticed I'm carrying myself like I used to. It felt good to hear that. 

It's only been two months but I feel like we've made such progress. I worry for late summer/early fall though. We've been told to watch out for a grief regression of sorts that happens around the six month marker; where all the progress you feel like you've made almost washes away for some time. I think knowing that this is a possibility so far in advance is helpful and can help us prepare; we can make the effort to keep ourselves busy, to seek out additional assistance if we need it, and to surround ourselves with those we love. 

It will be impossible not to feel some sadness everyday and to not think about the son that was suppose to be with us, enjoying every holiday and special occasion with us. It will be impossible to go through another pregnancy, without constantly thinking about the one before (and having to deal with all of the anxiety and stress that will come with it). I know it will be impossible to avoid days that are worse than others and it will be impossible to avoid places, people, or things that remind us of him. What will always be possible is at least having one minute a day where we smile when we think of Reese. Maybe that minute will come during a day where we are already in really good moods, and for that minute we just smile a little more. Maybe it'll come during a day where we need it most, because we can't get out of bed. For now, it's at 6:37 P.M because that was the time of day where we became a family of three. Eventually the minute will come at a different time everyday because we've accepted that it's ok to move forward with our lives. It won't mean that we love him any less or that his memory is fading away. It will mean that we are doing what he would have wanted, and living our life. Most importantly though, it'll mean we will have survived and gotten through the darkness together. We aren't quite there yet, but we're getting close. It feels good.

We will love him and think of him every minute for the rest of our lives. For one special minute each day though, we will love him and squeeze his spirit a little tighter, a little harder. And I'll continue to look forward to that minute everyday, whenever it may be. 

From Dad: Seven Weeks Out

Dear Reese,

Seven weeks now since we lost you, little Bub. We still miss you every single day. Good thing for us, your big/little sister Gracie is keeping us busy and on our toes each day. What I wouldn’t give to change a poopie diaper, but instead we’re constantly picking up poop off the floor and cleaning pee despite taking her out every couple of hours. I bet you’re looking down on us having a laugh, and I hope you’ll send us the strength to help her grow into a sweet pup who can hold her bowels and bladder. Your footprint that I got tattooed on my arm is healing nicely and looking good, and I’m glad I will always have it there to remind me of holding you. We still have to go to the funeral home to get your death certificate, and I know that will be brutal having to go back one last time. But at least we know we will have your remains with us forever. I know you’re healed and perfect now, but we miss you so much every day and I hope you could feel how much we loved you. We still do. And we always will. Keep showing us the way Reese, and please help Gracie learn to hold her pee and poop and to stop biting us so much!

Today is such a special day. It’s Thursday at The Masters, and Braves opening day where we get to raise a World Series banner! Under normal circumstances, today would most certainly be one of the best days of the year for me. Heck it still is, but thinking about Reese and counting off another week since we lost him brought me back to reality real fast today. In our relationship, I constantly remind Sudie of the things that we have to look forward to in our lives. We all need that. Opportunities to see friends, trips, a special occasion – today is most certainly one of those days for me. The Masters is one of my absolute favorite things in the world. I look forward to it and count down the days each year until the tournament starts. 

Lucky for me, a close friend had access to an extra ticket for a practice round this year. Despite Gracie being a monster-ahem, I mean puppy- with all her nipping and being a landshark and jumping and 2 second attention span puppy exuberance, Sudie still gave me her blessing and encouraged me to drive over to experience Augusta National. And wouldn’t you know – it just happened to be on Tuesday when they kicked everyone off the course for the day at 11am due to weather. I didn’t even get to go to the store or walk around to see Amen Corner – probably my favorite place on this planet along with Paulson Stadium on game days.

As our friends in central and southeast Georgia were dealing with tornadoes, I got to drive back to Atlanta through terrible storms and then I missed being with Sudie at 6:37pm for the first time since Reese was born. But what a blessing – Augusta National is giving Tuesday ticket holders the opportunity to return next year. And my good friend has already given me the blessing to go again next year and we’ll plan an even bigger day out of it and hope for perfect weather. What do you know? Something to look forward to for the next year. The weather is clear, it’s going to be a great tournament, and the Braves are going to go 162-0 this year!

Despite the hole in our hearts, I’m going to enjoy the heck out of the next few days. Sudie is going to the John Mayer concert tomorrow night with a friend, so I’m thankful she also has something she is very much looking forward to experiencing. And most importantly, Easter is in 10 days. It’s my favorite holiday of the year, and my faith gives me a peace and a belief beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will see Reese again and get to hold his hand walking streets of gold. I hope it’s not for a long time, but it’s a belief I need to help me get through another day and another week – since the Masters is only one week each year. The conditions at Augusta National are perfect, the sky is a perfect blue, and hope springs eternal. And I know I will always have something to look forward to for the rest of my days. Thank you for that, Reese. We love you.

From Mom: Avoiding the Candy Aisle

Grief is a funny thing. One minute, you're actively avoiding the candy aisle at the grocery store because it's Easter season and your son shares a name with a very popular candy brand. The next minute, you notice an empty Reese's cup wrapper on the kitchen counter and you smile, because this means one of you has made it past one Reese sized hurdle and is moving forward. 

Ross's favorite candy is Reese's in any form. Every holiday for as long as I can remember, I've always picked up themed Reese's for him. When we decided we were going to name our son Reese, I had visions of a Reese's Pieces/candy themed baby shower. We called Bub our little Reese's Pieces Peanut Butter Cup, and when he was in NICU, he was a Reese's Miniature Peanut Butter Cup. Once our Reese died, I didn't even think about the candy to be honest. It wasn't until we were in a Kroger a week later and I almost had a panic attack when I saw the massive Reese's display for Easter that I realized how hard going to the store was going to be for the foreseeable future. It also doesn't help that in our Kroger, the candy aisle and special event section is right next to the baby goods aisle. It also dawned on me at that moment that Ross might not be able to enjoy his candy pleasure anymore. That was confirmed one day when I asked him if he wanted any candy and he replied "No. I'm not ready". 

I feel like this year more than ever, Reese's has gone HARD with their advertising. The "Reese's University" ads are all over March Madness games, which Ross watches religiously. The displays are bigger than ever at grocery stores, reminding me that I would have not been able to use the old "if it doesn't have your name on it, it's not yours" rule that my parents always used with me growing up; Reese's name would have been everywhere, so I would have had to think of something else. The constant reminder of our son's name is all over the place, just like it would have been even if I were still pregnant. Except if I were still pregnant, and I saw a Reese's advertisement, I'd smile because I'd think of the little peanut butter cup inside of me. Instead I think about what was suppose to have been and then I think about how much Ross loved that candy, and I'm sad for him. 

The other day, when we were back in the grocery store and once again not able to avoid the display because it's right next to the self check out, I noticed that my favorite candy Sweettarts were right next to the display. I had a SERIOUS craving for them while pregnant and probably ate two rolls a week but hadn't had any since; I simply couldn't bring myself to eat any. However on this particular day, my craving for something that was both sweet and tart tasting overtook any sadness I had, and I bought a roll. Without even thinking twice. In fact, I didn't even think about how it was my only candy of choice for 23 amazing weeks until I had finished the last piece. Instead of being sad, I was happy. Happy that I made it past this one small hurdle. Happy that I was able to possibly enjoy something once again without a feeling of regret or despair. I immediately wondered when or if Ross would ever let himself enjoy a Reese's Pieces again. 

Fast forward to yesterday. I was in the kitchen and I saw something orange in the corner of my eye. A shade of orange that's exclusive to one thing and one thing only. It was a Reese's Easter Egg Cup wrapper. There's only one person in this house that eats chocolate, which meant one thing and one thing only. Ross was able to indulge the same way I was able to the week before, except this just felt so much more meaningful. Now I'm not saying he's going to be able to eat his favorite candy everyday from here on out without getting sad. What I am saying is that he was able to move past the grief and the sadness for a few minutes, and buy his favorite candy that undoubtedly reminded him of his son, and enjoy that candy. That's progress.

What I'm realizing throughout the healing and grief process is that we need to take the small victories in any form we can have them, whether it's being able to eat your favorite candy that shares a name with your late son or have a coke float again even though the last time you had one was the night before you gave birth. It could be finally being able to wear the same polo you wore the night you had to say goodbye to your son and not be overcome with emotions or being happy you fit into your pre-pregnancy jeans without feeling sad that you should still be pregnant. Any victory is a victory no matter the size. Once we learn to accept them and meet them in whatever way they come, we can move forward an inch or two more. 

I'm happy Ross is able to enjoy his favorite candy. It means once again, I can spoil him with little delicious treats every once in awhile. And everyone deserves a quick smile now and then. That being said, Gracie will be able to jump up to countertops fairly soon so if we could keep the Reese's chocolate out of her reach, that would be great.