4 minus 1

#judedays, Child loss, Grief, Healing, Parenting

4 years. It’s been 4 years since we had to say goodbye to you physically, but to us, you’re more alive then ever. You’ve been the first thing I think about and the last thing I think about almost each and every day. You’re in my everyday, so how could I possibly forget you?

The butterfly visits, gentle wind breezes and random song playings on the radio, are all daily signs from you that bring my heart joy. These little secret messages from you are what make your love so vivid and present. Yet, my mind often plants seeds of pressure to move on, to stop honouring you, to forget. And it waters (or drowns sometimes) those seeds with expectation, either self imposed or imposed by others. But the truth is, that my heart, simply cannot comply.

The guilt that comes with the thought of not honouring or holding space for you in our lives is a reminder that my heart is not healed and I don’t think it ever will. The space that we hold in our hearts for you is what enables are hearts to be whole. Without it, they just crumble back to a million pieces. And so far it has taken us four years to glue those pieces back together to resemble our hearts.

You, Jude, have taught me so many things in these short 4 years. You have taught me how to love fiercely and unapologetically. And because of that, my heart cannot simply move forward without you. It can only move forward with you.

I have come to accept that my grief is a reflection of my love for you. I can’t expect it to ever go away, stay the same or even dissipate. That’s just not how true love works. It changes, grows, breaks apart and molds back together – each day feeling different.

My heart too has changed. It has held space for 2, then 3, then molded back to 2, then grew to hold space for 4 and it’s now changed to hold space for 4 minus 1. It’s no wonder grief feels like one step forward, two steps backward at times. It’s love. Changing, longing, growing, missing. That’s what love is.

4 years later, I continue to wonder. Maybe if it all had gone to plan my love, you would be starting school this year. I watch those markers in my life grow up so fast and find a dose of comfort in knowing that I won’t have to watch you trek off to school independently. I relish in the fact that unlike their moms, I get to keep you snuggled up in my heart for yet another year as my baby. These are the bittersweet moments of our love, sweet Jude.

There are many reasons why your birthday feels different to me this year. Amongst the blurred busyness of this year, my heart carries heavy doses of guilt for simply not mindfully being with you. I know that’s all part of the ever changing process of grief, but my mama heart finds that difficult to accept. I hope that despite everything this year, you have continued to feel my love. I know I have felt yours, my sweet boy.

Happy 4th Birthday Jude!

xo mommy

Mother’s Love Day

#judedays, Child loss, Grief, Healing, Parenting

Since loosing our sweet Jude, there are so many mundane conversation starter questions that I simply don’t use anymore, and dread being asked them; including “do you have any children?” or “ how many children do you have?”. These questions for a bereaved mom are dreadful and grief triggering, irrespective of where in her grief journey she is.

During my subsequent pregnancy after loosing Jude, I was introduced to a whole new set of triggering questions such as “is this your first?” or “ are you excited to become a mom?”.

Since having my daughter, a new set of triggering questions have presented themselves, but the one that has been triggering me the most is, “ how are you enjoying motherhood?”.

Like all of the other aforementioned questions, they are often asked innocently and mindlessly which to most moms, is ok. But not for a bereaved mom — and here’s why.

I’m already a mom. I’m already experiencing motherhood.

Before I was a mom to my daughter, I was a mom to my son Jude. He made me a mom.

The question itself implies that I’m new to motherhood which denies the existence of my son. And that is the triggering point. Any bereaved parent will tell you that the only thing that hurts just as much as loosing your child is the thought of your child being forgotten. His memory diminished. His existence erased.

There are multiple forms, sides and dimensions to motherhood.

Motherhood is easy when your child gets to live. It’s when they die that it’s hard.

Now I know that’s a bold statement to make, but as a mom that has the privilege to mother a child amongst the stars and mother a child below the stars, I have become familiar with the multiple dimensions of motherhood and can stand behind the statement. Each dimension has its joys and sorrows. It’s good days and bad days. It’s peaks and valleys. But at the end of the day, I get to hold my daughter and kiss her goodnight everyday — something I cannot physically do with my son. Something so many other moms who hold their babies only in their heart so desperately want, but simply cannot have. And not having that simple ritual is hard. Really hard. Unbelievably hard.

But yet, we manage to move forward every day – one day at a time. Tending to our heart and our child as if they were physically present, because to us, they are so unbelievably present in our hearts, our minds and in our souls. Every. Single. Day. That dimension of motherhood is hard.

So when asked the question of how I’m enjoying motherhood, I often respond with a somewhat mundane response sprinkled with a bit more raw honesty than most new moms would, which catches the inquirer by surprise. Just imagine how surprised they would be if I answered them truthfully and said that Motherhood is easy when your child gets to live. It’s when they die that it’s hard.

So today, on Mother’s Day, look around and acknowledge and honour all moms (and dads) – whether you can physically see their children or not. Afterall, as nurturing human beings, whether we bear our own children, raise someone else’s, have them physically with us or carry them in our hearts, we are all programmed to love, teach and nurture them in our own unique way.

Wishing you a gentle happy Mother’s Love Day today.

Parenting between heaven and earth

#judedays, Child loss, Healing, Parenting

These days I find myself giving myself permission to do or not do a lot of things as it relates to my relationship with Jude and my grief. Allowing yourself permission is not an easy task. It often involves several hours (maybe days) of battles in your mind leading to countless sleepless hours before a final winner is declared. Sometimes I win, sometimes I loose.

I’m giving myself permission to temporarily excuse myself from certain elements of parenting a child you physically don’t have in order to parent the basics to a child I physically do have.

I see this as a way of making room in my heart for both of my children, which is proving to be a difficult task. Up until this point, I have only known one way of parenting – parenting with grief. I have had to find creative ways to honour and parent Jude in my heart in ways that are completely different then parenting a physical child. I have had to parent from the inside out – from deep within my heart in a way that ensures my love for Jude is somehow made visible. Grief woven parenting takes resources, physical energy and copious amounts of emotional energy.

Parenting a physical child takes mainly physical energy – except when you’re a bereaved parent. As a bereaved parent, parenting a physical child not only drains you physically, it also drains you emotionally. Largely because parenting your physical child(ren) is a constant reminder to your heart of all of the physical moments you are missing out on with the child you lost. Every milestone, every baby step, every everyday normal minute is a reminder to your heart of what should have been, what could have been, what you’ve missed. All of these trigger reminders are mentally and emotionally draining, leaving you spent, and if you’re like me, guilt ridden.

The guilt is triggered by so many elements. Guilt from not being able to physically carry out the small rituals to honour the child you loss. Guilt from not physically visiting their resting place as often as you did before. Guilt from realizing the child you lost is not occupying all of your mindfulness space. Guilt from feeling the love your physical child is bringing to you. Guilt from enjoying the tiny moments of joy with your physical child. Guilt from not being in the deepest depths of grief.

Balancing the guilt is what has made parenting between heaven and earth so challenging for me. The challenge is a result of all of these emotions, thoughts and feelings colliding at the centre of my heart and dispersing throughout, leaving me simply emotionally spent. Ironically, that same collision at the centre of my heart is what fuels the parenting I’m seeing to here on earth. It provides a source of nourishment for all of the characteristics that I know I didn’t embody before having Jude but am embodying now. My invisible parenting to Jude, has enabled me to now parent his younger sibling who is physically with me.

Jude taught me patience. He showed me how to be humble and appreciate the tiniest of moments and things. Jude taught me how to love unconditionally. He taught me kindness. All characteristics that I’m drawing on day in and day out as I parent his younger sibling.

Parenting between heaven and earth is complex, emotionally charged and beautiful. It forces emotions together in a perfectly balanced dance showing up in the most unconventional moments. Joy and sorrow, happiness and sadness, excitement and despair, all intertwined together twirling and shuffling within the borders of your heart. It does so, so swiftly that it makes you feel like you’re no longer parenting between heaven and earth – but simply parenting.

The centre of it all

#judedays, Child loss, Grief, Healing

The weeks leading up to today tend to be the same with each year that passes. They are filled with anxiety and fear. Fear that with the passing of yet one more year, my memory of you will fade. Anxiety simply because the perfectionist in me wants to ensure that every detail of your celebration is covered off and perfect. So in the middle of the night, when I am restless and my brain races through every milestone and every event that lead me to you, I realize that even then – even in the darkness you are in the centre of it all.

But in the darkness, it’s where I see your light the brightest. It’s in the darkness that I reflect on the thoughts that filled my foggy grief mind in the early days of how I could possibly endure such sorrow. How I could possibly continue on with the heaviness that filled my heart on this day. Today, in the darkness, I relish in your brightness and think, how could I possibly not carry on bearing witness to the joy that you have brought to my life.

In the movie, Collateral Beauty, the character that portrays, ‘Love’ challenges the main character on his refusal to accept Love into his life after experiencing the loss of his child. ‘Love’ declares it’s presence by insisting that you simply cannot turn your back on love – that even in the darkness, there is a place for love. That love – your love, is what leads me through the darkness and into the morning light.

Today, as we celebrate your 3rd birthday, your love shines brighter then ever. It’s the guiding light through it all. It guides me through the fear, the anxiety, the sorrow and allows me to embrace the joy. The collateral beauty that your light shines upon leaves me in awe every single day. It’s in those tiny moments of awe that you remind me that there’s nothing to fear. That the memory of you will never fade. That you are my constant. In the light and in the dark. Much like the “Love” character in the movie, you declare your presence time and time again and assure me that you are indeed at the centre of it all. And there in the centre of my heart, is where I will forever carry you my sweet Jude.

Happy 3rd Birthday!

Xo mommy

Tonka Truck Day

#judedays, Child loss, Grief, Healing

Two years ago today I woke up to the the familiar sound of my phone notifying me that the outside world was connecting with me.  I glanced over at the phone laying on my night table and read the brightly lit message, ” thinking of you today”.  A few minutes after that, it notified me again that the outside world was reaching out once more.  And again and again until I returned it to its restful state for recharge at the end of the day.  Today; two years later, my phone lays in its restful charging state – silent.  No outside world reaching out – only my four month old puppy checking in to make sure I’m still here.  

Today is an ordinary day to the outside world, but to me it’s meaningful.  Today is the day that I hold as Jude’s true honorary birthday.  Today, if all had gone according to plan, he could have been turning 2.  Today was my official due date from my pregnancy with Jude.  

For the last two years, I have observed the day in a way as one that is special and not ordinary.  It’s a day that I honour Jude in a simple way as well as also honour myself, as a means to mark the survival of our journey together, so that it too, does not go unnoticed.  I know that the odds of a person actually delivering their baby on their due date are rare,  but that doesn’t stop me from often wondering if on this day I would be celebrating a birthday with my little boy.  Whether the odds were in my favour or not for a successful delivery on my planned due date, it doesn’t change the fact that I would have likely been celebrating a birthday in January with Jude.  And for that reason alone, I choose to continue to honour this day –– if even just with a simple balloon.  

Timeless love 

#judedays, Child loss, Healing, Self Growth, Uncategorized

They say time heals.  I say time teaches.  

Two years, 24 months,  730 days,  eight seasons – irrespective of how you measure it – it’s still time. 

Time that we would have spent together learning to speak your first words. Learning to master a good run.  Learning to play.  

Instead, time has taught me to breathe again.  Feel again.  Love again.  Just be again. 

It has taught me that the distance between the time you once were and the time now, is non existent.  Your love remains deeply rooted in my soul and therefore there is no time in between. It’s always present. 

I can validate every thought of you on each one of the 730 days that has passed, because time has taught me that although you are not physically present, you will always find a way to make your presence known.  Each butterfly, each song, each gentle breeze of the wind assures me that you are near.  Even a silly painting on a store window delivers your message of love. 

That is what time has taught me.   It has not however, healed me and I am confident that no amount of time ever will.  

As we celebrate your 2nd birthday,  I am reminded that I have a lifetime of learning ahead of me.  That with every passing of a season, time, will certainly teach me something about you, about me, about our love.  I don’t like the idea of letting time pass, but I do like the idea of what new learnings it brings. Time has taught me how to live and love in two different worlds.  Time has taught me how to adapt and change on this love journey of ours.  Time has taught me how to share your love.  

In hindsight, I only wish you and I had had more time together.  But overtime, I have learned that, our love is not bound by time. It’s not even bound by physical presence. It is the only single thing in this universe that is independently bound – bound by love. 

Happy 2nd Birthday Jude!

XO mommy 

The healing protocol 

#judedays, Child loss, Grief, Healing, Parenting

Our dear friend and neighbour asked me the other day if they could use last year’s #judedays post card this year since they didn’t travel last year.  

(The #judedays postcard is just one of the many ways that we have found to help mend our hearts in our healing journey after loosing our son Jude. If you search the hashtag #judedays, you’ll find countless pics of travel destinations that our little boy has been remembered at through the support of family and friends.)

“Of course” I answered.  He looked at me, smiled uncomfortably and said ” I wasn’t sure what the protocol was”. 

“There’s no protocol” I answered.  

I later pondered on the question and realized that what most people around you don’t realize is that much like a new parent who doesn’t receive a manual with their newborn; bereaved parents also don’t receive a manual on how to mend their hearts and their lives back together.  There’s no protocol on how to heal your heart after you loose your child.  As a bereaved parent (like most parents with living children I suppose); we just make it up as we go along. 

Along the journey, we find ways to tend to the holes and tears in our hearts.   We find healing ways to bring comfort to and make our hearts happy again.   In our journey, we’ve been fortunate to have the unconditional love and support of family, friends and neighbours that allow us the space to indulge in the ways that enable our healing journey.  I specifically use the word indulge, because I have come to learn that  in this community of bereaved parents, we are a few of the lucky ones that have a strong network of support.  

By having the space to indulge in what heals our hearts, we are able to puzzle back together the pieces of our old selves and discover how the pieces of our new selves all fit together.  

The protocol is this – do what makes your heart happy.  

If speaking your child(ren)’s name(s) freely and frequently with anyone who will listen makes your heart happy – do. 

If visiting the resting place of your child(ren) everyday or not at all makes your heart happy – do. 

If honouring your child(ren) through the permanent marking of a tattoo on your body so that you can physically see your child(ren) everyday makes your heart happy – do. 

If dressing, cuddling or carrying a bear brings comfort to your empty arms and keeps you sane while making your heart happy – do.

If pouring your heart out through writing on paper privately or digitally shared makes your heart happy -do. 

If tending to your child(ren)’s garden or hand cutting the grass at their resting place makes your heart happy – do.

Do it all.

In this healing journey there are no rules, there are no guidelines, there are no rights or  wrongs.  There is no protocol.  There is only you, your child(ren) and the void in your heart.  So go for it!  Tend to the void in any and which way makes sense to you.  Trust me – there’s nothing worse than what you’ve already endured that can happen.