20/20

Yesterday I actually woke up and was happy to see the sun rising through the trees.  It looked they were on fire.  It was the first day I didn't have to get ready to go proctor state testing, so I was happy to just get the kids ready and take them to school.  In the visor of my car, I have Dylan's driver's license clipped with my garage door opener.  He is always with me wherever I go.  Because of the sun, I flipped down my visor and there he was.  That's when I remembered.  Today is Wednesday, April 20th.  What is the significance of that date?  It means that it has been exactly 20 months since I last spoke to Dylan.

20/20 is associated with perfect vision.  Now on this 20th day of the 20th month, I can say that my vision and perspective on life have definitely changed, but they are no where near perfect.  Some days, like yesterday, I wake up with a little hope.  Other days, I feel hopeless and lost.  Sometimes, I feel both in the same day.  It is an unending roller coaster that I will never be able to exit.  But like a roller coaster, the hills and valleys of my grief are variable.  Sometimes, it's a moment of happiness followed immediately by a dart of sadness.  "How can I be happy without him here?"  Sometimes I literally lie in bed, unable to move from the crushing weight of his loss.

It has been 20 months since the worst day in my life.  I relive parts of that day almost daily.  Sometimes I'm sitting at a soccer game, driving in my car or laughing with friends, but the thoughts are still constantly running through my mind.

If you ask me how I'm doing, or how we are doing, I'll say "fine".  But what does that mean?  Right now, it means I can get up and get the kids to school.  I force myself to work out, train or exercise in some form every day, because it does help keep me moving.  I make dinner most nights of the week (except Pizza Friday).  We cart the kids to and from their activities.  To the outside world, I'm sure we look "fine".  But we are a shell, or shadow, of what we use to be.  True "fun" and "joy" are fleeting moments that are few and far between.  I try to grab those moments when I can for the kids, they have already given up so much of their childhood, their innocence, that I want them to still have those experiences.

A couple of nights ago, we were all sitting at the table for dinner (I've been trying to make it a point that we do that as often as possible, even with our impossible schedule.).  Somehow, we started to play "Remember when?".  Everyone, even Zach, had a memory to share, and most were funny.  Lukah's were obscure memories that nobody else shared.  Dylan's name came up often.  I'm glad we can remember him in this way.  At the same time we were having a good time, my heart began to hurt, because he was not here with us.  Every time I experience happiness, joy or hopefulness, I am stabbed with an arrow of guilt, sadness and anger.

So if you ask me how I'm doing, and I say "fine", now you know what that means.  It means I got up, stayed out of bed, and put on my mask for the day.  20 months have passed since I saw my son, and I still feel every second of his absence.

On to Louisville...

Tomorrow I'm leaving to drive down to Louisville, KY.  You may wonder why?  I am not competing in a triathlon.  I am not visiting family.  I'm not going on vacation.  About 6 months ago, I decided to volunteer at a full Ironman event, and several of the women on my triathlon team were planning on competing.  Thinking about being at the finish line of Ironman Louisville when one of my Swim Bike Mom sisters crosses the finish line is exhilarating.

Why?  I'm glad you asked...

Most people know that I have been competing in triathlons for 3 years now.  After my first year, I knew I was hooked.  I became involved in a community of moms that found balance in triathlon as I do, thanks to Meredith Atwood (author of "Triathlon for the Every Woman").  At the end of 2014, I was asked to be part of a team of women charged with spreading the word about the group, Swim Bike Mom, and supporting women from all walks of life in their triathlon efforts.  Little did I know that the friendships I formed with this group of 20 or so women from all over North America would have such a profound impact on my life.  They have supported me through the toughest year I have ever endured, and I credit them with a large portion of the reason I am still able to "keep moving forward".

So on Sunday, I will be there as SIX of these women complete their 140.6 mile journey.  I am so thankful that I am able to be there to "catch" them.  It is the least I can do for them after everything they have done for me this year.

To Meredith Atwood - you have no idea how thankful I am that you took the leap - and brought us along for the ride.  There really are no words.

To my SMBAT - I am honored to stand alongside you this weekend.  Each one of you shared a part of your strength with me, and I am eternally grateful.

To my husband, kids and MIL - thank you for making it possible for me to go support my girls this weekend!  I could not do what I do without your support.

To all my friends and family - I know you may think I'm crazy for this triathlon thing.  I mean, I am pushing 40, and my body is not getting any younger.  But I'm telling you what - it is what keeps me going.  I hope that you have that, too!

On This Day

I have a confession to make.  I am seriously addicted to the "On this day" app on Facebook.

Until August 20, 2015, I could look back on last year's post and remember what that day was like.  When Dylan was still here.

Now, when I look at the "On This Day" from 2014, I remember the turmoil that I was going through.  I think, "was that a good day or a bad day?"  Then I scroll down and look at 2013 and then I my anxiety calms as I think back to that day, when Dylan was here.

I've come a long way since "On This Day" last year.  I have had several people start conversations with me about my loss, or suicide.  A year ago, I couldn't have had those conversations without becoming undone.  Now, I can stand outside the door of a training for work and talk to a coworker about doing a training for my company about grieving families. 

I can almost guarantee I will become emotional.  I will not promise it won't be uncomfortable.  But I promise I will be honest in the hopes of helping another person or family.

This week is "National Suicide Prevention Week" and tomorrow is "International Suicide Prevention Day".  Please consider using #stopsuicide Thursday with your posts.  Take a minute to read the warning signs.  Reach out if you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide.  #noregrets

Traveling Pants

Have you ever seen the movie "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants", or even read the book?  (By the way, this is a case in which I prefer the movie.)  Essentially, four girls have been best friends since birth, because their mothers met in Lamaze class and they were all born within a day of each other.  The four girls are very different from each other, and represent the archetypal teenager: 1) Latino girl who's parents got divorced and dad left and started a new family in another state, 2) beautiful blonde athlete who's mom took her own life and she is left with a disconnected dad, 3) the intelligent artist that doesn't know how beautiful she is, 4) the gloomy, anti-social girl with an in-tact family, but mom and dad had "late in life" kids.  While looking for some clothes for one of the girls to take on a trip to Greece in a thrift store, the girls stumble on a pair of jeans that fits every one of them perfectly, even though they have very different body styles (tall and thin, short and curvy, athletic).  They decide to send these pants to each other over the summer, since it is the first summer they will be spending apart, with a letter of the adventures of the "traveling pants".

Why am I telling you this?  I had a similar experience this week.  I was going through a trunk of Dylan's things, getting rid of some of the empty boxes and condensing some others, so I could add other things to the trunk.  There were some shorts that Zach could use, and some other things that Seth could use.  I wanted to save these things until they were ready for this step, and it seems they had reached this point.  I pulled out a pair of Dylan's jeans and Zach said that there was no way they could fit him.  I held them up and decided to put them on, but at the same time saying to Seth "there is no way these will fit me, because boys' jeans don't allow for my girly thighs."  As I pulled them up, they went easily over my thighs and I laughed, then they went over my hips and I was shocked, I buttoned and zipped them and I cried.  They fit! Perfectly! WHAT?!?  I can't tell you how comforting it was to wear those jeans.  I put my hands in the pockets and found a big hole in the right one, and usually, this would bother me and I'd sew it up as soon as possible; however, now it is a reminder of his presence.  I've worn the pants every day since.

This month has been terribly difficult.  August 20th is the last day I saw Dylan alive, the last day I spoke to him.  It is also my oldest's birthday, and then Seth's is the 21st.  In the midst of enduring the day, we also wanted to celebrate our other children.  Every year for the last 12 years we have had a birthday party for all 4 of our boys, because they all had summer birthdays, except last year.  This year we had a small celebration, but we kept the tradition that each boy got his own special cake, and Grandma Susie wanted to make Dylan's favorite Reece Cup cake.  But we couldn't have his cake and not blow out a candle for him!  So we had Dylan's best friend stand in for him in our tradition, making him part of our day - and it felt a little more complete. 

How did I make it through the day?  With support from countless friends and family.  You see, Dylan was a troubled soul from the day he was born. Life was very hard for him.  On August 20th, 2014, his struggle for existence and his lifelong journey of pain ended - and he was released and able to be happy for the first time.  While I ache for him, I believe he is truly in a better place now.  After all, I made it through 365 days, I could make it through one more.

Now we are on to year two.  As Zach said, we can no longer say, "a year ago, I remember doing (this) with him".  It is a sad realization.  Grief never ends, it just changes color.

Thank you to everyone that sent notes, texts or messages of encouragement in the last week.  Your thoughts have truly been a source of strength and encouragement.

I'm exhausted...

Sometimes the words aren't there.  Or I'm afraid to say them.  Either way, it contributes to my silence. 

You see this picture?  I look happy, don't I?  I mean, I just got 2nd in a triathlon (in my age group), wouldn't anybody be happy?  And I was for a moment.  Then I thought, "Wow, how can I be happy about a stupid triathlon?  I'm missing a child, how can I ever be happy again?" 

I know Dylan would not want me to never be happy again.  I really do know that, but how do you tell your heart that?  I've read all about survivor's guilt, but it doesn't make it any easier, or less.  It's always there.

So I fill my days so full that I don't have time to feel these feelings.  But guess what, they are still there.  And as soon as I am weak, they come crashing over me, trying to pull me under.

You've probably seen this quote in various forms on Pinterest or Facebook.  Every time I see it, it resonates with me.  Finishing a triathlon takes strength and endurance.  This picture of me smiling does not show the faces of frustration and exhaustion just minutes before as I tried to make it through the run with the winds in my face and the sun beating down on me.  You don't see pictures of the ugly, which makes it look like I'm much stronger than I really am.

Our posts on Facebook may make it seem like we are all doing well, but we are exhausted.  I am exhausted.  However I have crossed the line of every race I've ever started, and I don't plan on quitting now.  You may not see our ugly, but I can assure you, it is there.

Please continue to pray for our strength, because it needs to be renewed every day to even get out of bed.

A bad day

I had a rough one this week.  I started the day by getting a flat on my bike after running over a rock near a construction site.  Luckily I had my phone and Scott could come get me - otherwise I'd be walking 5 miles home (at the time I didn't know how to change a flat).

Then I took Alayna and her friend shopping while the guys went to see a movie.  A little Hobby Lobby - ok, you can never stop with a "little" at Hobby Lobby!  I had to run into Ulta Beauty to refresh some of my makeup supply (getting old is rough, and expensive!).  While in the store, I knocked over not one but THREE displays.  I gave up and went home.

While making an impromptu dinner for the kids before VBS, I tried to cut  my finger off while chopping up a green pepper.  Thank got for fingernails and bandaids!

With my finger taped up, I dropped the kids off and took my tire in to my favorite local bike shop, Bikesmith, where Allen gave me a lesson on how to repair a flat tire. On my way out of the store, with my tire in my hand, I managed to clip the end bicycle in a display and knocked down a hole row.  Of brand new bicycles.  I left with black hands and my tail between my legs.

I continued to my next stop, Walmart, and directly to the washroom to clean up.  Well, after having 5 kids, my full bladder couldn't wait until I had finished washing my hands.  You know the running water and all.  Yes, I was THAT woman.

I made it home after getting the kids, added a little Blue Chair Bay to my Coke and tucked myself into bed, before I could cause any more problems.

Did I mention that Scott installed our bedroom TV on a wall mount while I was out?  This means the bedroom furniture needed to be rearranged.  I had no more energy that evening, and decided to wait until the morning.  Big mistake.  Scott was gone, and I couldn't wait - so I moved things by myself.  Until I moved an antique wooden sewing table over my foot.  Yes, dad, I was not wearing shoes.  So now I have a purple, possibly broken toe to add to my "bad day".

But you know what?  I just laughed.  Mostly because it was all so stupid it was funny.  But, this minor stuff is just that.  It's minor.  I have a very different definition of a "bad day" now.  Most of the time I have to shove the memories of that day out of my head.  That day that my world changed.  Because that was only ONE day - yes it was the worst day a mother could have, but I have to force myself to focus on ALL of the OTHER days.  The ones before, and the ones since.  Because even when the fates pile up a load of crap in 24 hours, it still can't compare.

Laugh at yourself.  Laugh at your mistakes.  Life is too short to focus on the bad days.

Happy Birthday, Dylan.

Well, we made it back from SC with our sanity.  Or what's left of it.

I was going to try to write on July 7 - but I just could not.  I couldn't reply to texts and messages from friends offering support.  It was just too hard.

For the first few seconds after waking up on July 7, I actually forgot.  This was the day I have been dreading for a while.  Then I looked at my phone and I remembered.  And then I felt horrible for forgetting at first.

You see, July 7th at 5:57am I held my silvery haired baby boy for the first time.  He was so warm, and LOUD.  But he was here.  And all I could remember, no matter how hard I tried, was his warmth - and that would bring the memories of the last time I touched him and how cold he was.

We were staying at a house on the beach for my sister's wedding held 2 days before.  It was just gorgeous.  We arrived on July 4th and it was beautiful.  My dad and his wife, my sister and her family were all there.  But between it being Dylan's favorite holiday - and we were all here - except HIM, I felt his absence more than ever.  My chest ached.  My eyes strained to keep the tears back - after all we were there to celebrate.  Celebrate the 4th.  Celebrate my sister's marriage on the 5th.  And celebrate Dylan on the 7th.  I just didn't feel like celebrating even with all of the beauty around me.


After waking, I went downstairs and tried to hold it in.  Do you know what it's like when you have to go to the bathroom REALLY REALLY badly?  And you are holding it in because you just can't get there, but you know it's coming?  That's how I felt.  I decided I needed a walk to be alone.  I had known I wanted to be on the beach alone with him that day, so I decided it was time.

The beach access was right across from the house.  The tears started before I hit the sand.  I was wearing sunglasses.  The tide was out, but coming back in.  I only walked about 200 yards before I had to stop because I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe.  I decided to sit where I stopped and wait for the tide to come to me.  That is the time I gave myself to be sad.  Then the water would wash my tears from the sand and I would have the courage to face the day without him.

While sitting there I cried.  Like the waves coming in and out, they would come and go.  I watched a small rock being battered by the waves - its journey up the beach wasn't easy.  It would climb a few feet only to be knocked back down by the next wave.  I won't belabor the analogous imagery.  I'm guessing you get what I'm trying to say.

After walking back, I was able to hold the tears in and enjoy time with the family at the pool, at the beach and on the golf cart. All things Dylan loved.  I hired a photographer and we went to Huntington Beach (highly recommend it for a day trip) and we took some family photos.  This is not something Dylan would have liked!  I couldn't watch pictures of the kids being taken, because I knew I would start to cry.  Then we went for a birthday dinner, a tradition in our family.  See, we have the majority of birthdays between May and August every year, so we always get together at some point to celebrate all the birthdays.  This happened to fall on Dylan's birthday this year.  I had done well, but being with everyone - without him was becoming harder and harder.  And the table they gave us was for 14 people, not 13, so there was an empty chair - highlighting his absence.

Then the newborn baby started crying.

And I couldn't hold it in anymore.

All the images of Dylan as a baby came flooding back - and then of course - the images of the last time I saw him.  

I tried to sit there and let the tears slide down my face quietly, but it didn't work for long and I had to leave.  I had another good cry there in the parking lot while the new dad tried to console his baby screaming.

When everyone came out after finishing their meals, we loaded up and headed back to the house.  By the time we got back (after an ice cream stop), I was able to pull myself together again and enjoy the evening.

I do not have the words to express the pain I felt that day.  I would not wish it on my worst enemy.  Even with the pain, I choose to celebrate his life.  It is not always easy.  And some days I don't do a very good job of it.  But I keep moving forward.

Happy Birthday, Dylan.  I love you and miss you so much.  I hope you had a wonderful celebration and you could truly enjoy your day without pain.