Isolating

Y'all - it's been a hard couple of weeks. 

I have been anticipating and dreading the start of the school year this fall, but I didn't know it would be as hard as it was.

When we lossed Jonathan, you start to think of the milestones you will will also lose... kindergarten, 16th birthday, high school graduation... Those are some big ones.

Every start of school has been hard since 2014, and even if Jonathan wasn't school age, for some reason August was always a tough time. 

But this was the year. The big one. And I wasn't prepared for how hard it would hit me.

These last couple of weeks, the depression and anger that I have felt has been so much. It hasn't been as strong as when we lossed Jonathan, but it has been the worst I have felt since then.

Because it's been so strong, I've been having a hard time bouncing back from it. 

In a couple of weeks, I plan on getting back into counseling. It's been awhile since I've been, and I think it's a good idea to pick it back up. 

It just sucks. And on top of the pain, it felt so isolating. While all my other mom friends were excited to send their kiddos off to school, I felt like I just wanted to punch everyone in the face. It wasn't anything that they were doing. It was 100% me and where I was (am) at. 

It's so isolating because I don't want to crap on their parade by waving my hand saying, "Remember me?? My son died five years ago, and should have been starting school too..." 

I know my friends are there for me (and I have since talked to them on how I'm doing), but grief can be so isolating. 

In the midst of feeling so low, God reached out and used me. It almost made me laugh because how I was feeling didn't surprise Him, and He wanted me to continue to share my story. I was exactly where He wanted me to be. 

I've said it before and I'll probably say it again, but grief is messy. It's so unpredictable, but it's where I am at. It's part of my story. And God is using my story. 

Missing Piece

There is so much hurt and pain around us.

As I look back on the last couple of weeks, I feel like I've been bombarded with news of loss and grief.

After encountering your own experience if grief, you are awaken to the amount of loss that is truly around us.

I am sitting here with tears in my eyes as I see the hurt around me, as well as feel my own pain.

Sometimes my pain is still debilitating even 5 years later.

I (still) know that God is good. And He is faithful, but pain still hurts.

As summer wraps up, and school starts back into full swing, my heart aches for my firstborn. He too would have been starting Kindergarten this fall. But unlike most around me, I won't be able to post a "First Day of Kindergarten" picture of my boy standing on my porch.

Would he be nervous?

Would he be excited?

Would I have to bribe him to smile?

Would he be a helper in class?

Would he be the class clown?

Just add them to the list of unanswered questions.

I frequently think of - and miss - Jonathan.  I don't even know how many times in a day I think of him because I lose count.

I've noticed that as Zac and Charlotte get older, I wonder more and more about what Jonathan would have been like or what he would be playing with that same moment?

Would he bravely jump off the diving board, as we have a family pool day?

Or would he be the kid that just wants the yummy snacks on the side of the pool?

It's hard for my Mama's heart to have so many unanswerable questions. It just constantly reminds me that a part of my heart is missing.

I Miss Him.

Five years. 

How can it be (almost) five years since I held my precious first-born baby boy in my arms for the first and last time?  

When I actually stop and think about it, the ache is still so deep in my heart.  It's a rare thing for me to actually stop the chaos around me and allow myself to focus on my Jonathan. 

I just miss him. 

I frequently play the "what-if" game of how he could fit into our lives.  Sometimes those questions make me smile.  Sometimes they make me sad. 

I was crying on the eve before my birthday this year because I missed him.  Charlotte and I have the same birthday, and it was not only going to be my day, but her first birthday.  Another milestone that I never got to have with my boy. 

I was irritated because I wasn't suppose to be crying for Jonathan yet. In the previous years, the wave of grief of missing Jonathan usually hits on March 7 up until his birthday. 

I miss him.

I miss him when Zac and Charlotte play together. I miss him with the milestones that happen in Zac and Charlotte's life. 

I miss him.

There's really nothing else to say except: I miss him.

 

Make My Heart Believe

While we were watching "First Man" this weekend -- *spoiler* Neil Armstrong was the first man on the moon -- there was another story-line that unfolded that I wasn't prepared for. 

Armstrong's daughter died at the age of two due to a brain tumor.  

This story-line seemed to intertwine the entire movie.   

It was hard.  Since it stung so much, I quickly made sarcastic and smart-alick comments all throughout the movie to keep the tears from coming...the healthy thing to do, right? 

Well, even though it was a few days ago, I keep lingering on how much heart aches from his loss...and obviously, my loss. 

I don't know what it is, but I've been missing Jonathan a lot these last few weeks. Perhaps it's all of FB posts about Kindergarten registration.  I can't believe he would have been five. Perhaps it's because Zac and Charlotte have been sick these last few weeks, and my root fear of sickness and germs stems from losing Jonathan. Perhaps it's all the new baby announcements of baby number three. 

**Friends who just had baby number three/pregnant with number three, I am beyond happy for you (which is why I stalk your Instagram stories!).  It has nothing to do with you - it's just the messiness of grief.**

Charlotte is my third baby.  But to those that don't know our story don't know that I, too, have three babies.  They see my two sweet babies, and not the hole in my heart from Jonathan. It's just another reminder that Jonathan isn't here. 

The other day I heard one of my new favorite worship songs: "Jesus Is Better" -- During these last few years of healing my relationship with Jesus, learning to trust Him again, this song played a big role in that healing.  

Here's some of the lyrics:

"In all my sorrows, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
In all my victories, Jesus is better
make my heart believe

Than any comfort, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
More than all riches, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
Our souls declaring, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
Our song eternal, Jesus is better - make my heart believe"

What I connected with is the crying out of "make my heart believe" -- Such a wonderful and encouraging line.  While I still have a way to go to completely trust Jesus hasn't/isn't going to let me down, that line encourages me that it's okay to also ask for help in believing who Jesus says He is. 

Man, at the end of the day, grief is so messy and so evident all day long.  As you can see, these are three different situations where I am constantly being bombarded with my loss of Jonathan.  Grief is an exhausting road, but:

 "In all my sorrows, Jesus is better

make my heart believe...
Than any comfort, Jesus is better
make my heart believe"

consuming

For the last few years, my grief has seemed predictable. 

I could start to anticipate the hard days. 
The week before Jonathan's birthday...April 1st...the day he passed...and then every day from Halloween until News Year's day. 

The thickness of the grief during the holidays seems to evaporate every January 1, and I feel like I can breathe again. I was never really a fan of January until Jonathan passed. It's now my favorite month. It is refreshing. It means I'm a survivor. I survived another round of holidays without my boy, and I can finally exhale. 

But just as I think I can predict my grief and anticipate it's arrival, it changes. 

This year, the holidays were a whirlwind. I feel like I blinked, and it's now 2019. Perhaps it's because Miss Charlotte was here and divided my attention this year. Or perhaps it was a combination of that and Charles breaking his collar bone the week before Christmas. For the past four weeks of his recovery, I have been in survival mode.

I feel like I haven't had time to grieve. I've been trying to survive my day to day...week to week. I've been taking care of everyone, I haven't had time to take care of me.

Just as I was looking forward to the freshness of January, I find that I am deeply missing my sweet baby boy. 

Just when I think my grief is predictable, my grief is consuming.