Thank You, Isaiah ♡

I'm thankful for my son dying. There, I said it. I know you won't understand. You can't.

But before you go thinking I'm a delusional mother, hear me out. 

I used to be thankful for a lot of things. Good things, too. Like my family, friends, health, etc...you know, the things that we all rattle off, not knowing what it's like to go without them, and not wanting to imagine a world where we'd have to. To be thankful for something, to truly, deeply know that emotion, you have to know what it's like to go without. How can I realllyy be thankful for a meal when I've never felt hunger pains? How can I be thankful for a roof over my head when I've never felt the sting of homelessness? How easy it was for me to sit around a table and express my gratitude while healthy loved ones laughed and ate until their stomachs hurt.

But then something beautiful happened. This boy changed my world. A messy, painful, tear filled two and a half years have followed his death, and I feel honored to have been chosen to walk this road less traveled. That doesn't mean I don't miss him with every molecule of my being, or that I don't still lay awake some nights until 4 in the morning trying to grasp how he was breathing one minute and gone the next. That doesn't mean that I don't sit in the cemetery and envy all of those people whose names are etched into pieces of concrete, knowing they are closer to him than I.

I love my son. I love him enough to embrace his absence, sometimes with a smile, and sometimes with tears, but always, allll.ways, with a grateful heart. Because in lieu of what was sure to have been an adventurous past couple of years, I've been gifted with a lifetime of changed perspective.

I found a girl who pays for groceries for a young couple with the last few dollars I have. I found conversations with my children as opportunities to never pass up. I found extending grace to those who make mistakes. I found people asking me for advice because they knew I couldn't and wouldn't cast the first stone. I found out what it's like to greet strangers with a smile. I found out what happens when I take a moment to go above the surface level hellos and engage in conversations. I found love where I wanted to hate, and forgiveness when I wanted to be angry. I found boldness where I would have been meek and compassion when I would have walked on past. I found me. I found the person God created long before the world got a hold of me.

I missed out on so much good in the world when my world was good.

Happy Thanksgiving, Mama's Mans.

●Empty Boxes, Leprechauns, and 90's Hair●

Packing is the worst. The.worst. I've had to do this far too many times in my life, and if it wasn't for the fact that I was such a sentimental person, I'd gladly walk out and hand over the key, leaving everything I own. Only this time, it's different. You know those "3 things that you'd grab if your house was on fire"? Well mine were stolen a couple months ago, along with a hundred other items I was most attached to. I had more like 300 things. Mostly heirlooms that were passed on, which I'd hoped to be able to continue to pass on to many more generations of women who would follow after my grandma and mom and myself and my daughters, giving them a piece of these courageous women who had stared adversity in the face and kicked back.

So I was looking around thinking about "the important stuff", maybe it's just me, but I feel like I need all of that in one place during a move, for fear of it being lost. That box is riding shotgun with me during the move kind of important. I don't care about the price tags, most of these things are actually worthless to anyone else, but to me, they're irreplaceable. 

It's funny how a little 8 pound person can change my entire outlook on what I carefully wrap in newspaper and place in a box labeled "IMPORTANT, DO NOT BREAK, DO NOT TOUCH WITHOUT PERMISSION UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO CRY AND BREAK YOUR ARM."

Maybe that's an exaggeration, I'd probably just end up giving you an Indian burn. 

What can't I live without? I'll tell you about 3.

The empty blue box covered in fingerprint dust, the one that used to hold a necklace I was given for Mother's Day, from my own mom, just a week after Isaiah died. The teardrop shaped diamond was worn for a year straight, reminding me that God has counted every tear I've cried grieving the loss of my tiniest boy. The stolen necklace doesn't change my attachment to that time in my life, and the empty box will forever remind me of all of the ways I overcame empty arms. 

A list scribbled in blue marker, on the back of an essay about a leprechaun. The last list I made before I understood the value of life. Nowhere on that list was "Pick out flowers for Isaiah's funeral, pick out pictures to showcase his short existence, have your cousin shove a breast pump on your boobs before they explode because your son CANNOT be dead, he's going to come back at any time and need to eat." It reminds me that what I have planned isn't THE plan. Embrace each day. 

A picture of my family in an ugly gold frame that was probably purchased in 1992. My sister and I were in matching Christmas dresses, my brother had buck teeth, and my parents both used copious amounts of hairspray. I was around 4. My parents are divorced, and most people probably think it's weird to showcase that, but not me. That's my family. Regardless of where everyone is in life, those are the people who were there and helped shape who I am. Sometimes, walking alongside me while I figure it out on my own, and other times coming to my rescue when I've made a mess of life. 

I'm so thankful for these completely invaluable reminders of who I am. I have walked out countless instances that should have made me wave a white flag of surrender. But I smile. I don't have a new home yet. I have close to nothing of value. And yet, I can smile. I know who I am, and I know a God that has graciously provided me with much more than I deserve. And I know a family who stands by me. And I know that I don't need to worry about a tomorrow that isn't promised.

So I pack, and I smile, and I sing Taylor Swift like it's nobody's business.

Happy Saturday.

Love you Mama's Mans.