♡Held♡

Not my plan, but yours.

I took today off of work well over a month ago. I knew I couldn't pretend on a day like today. Most times when the grief hits me out of nowhere at work, I turn my office chair to face the corner, pretending I'm jotting down notes...but really the corner I face has a picture of 4 babies. 4 alive babies. And I take in quick shallow breaths & I mouth "this is the plan, this IS the plan" and my tears are more of a sun shower now than a full blown torrential downpour. The sunshine is plentiful in my world these days...but every so often, a cloud passes over for just long enough to let me remember the depth of my pain and all of the ways that I would have never seen the rainbow without the rain. I look at the 4 faces of the children piled atop each other in the photo & I promise not to stay in this place.

He's both in my past & in my future, but I don't know that he understands just how much he is in my present.

I spent most of last night crying about the past. The 28th always feels like a time bomb is about to detonate. I look at the time & I think:

"I was making dinner. I didn't know. I didn't know it would be my last time sitting at a table and thanking God for all he's given me without silently pleading for what He allowed to be taken."

"I was reading kids a bedtime story. I was reading them the Bible. I didn't know I would never read those same words without thinking of how Isaiah is being told the same stories by the people themselves."

"I was feeding him before bed. I didn't know. I never imagined that would be the last time he would need to eat. I didn't know that his feeding times would turn into painful reminders both physically and emotionally for weeks to come."

"I got up to shut off the lights. I didn't know that would be the last time I walked through a home at night feeling safe. But deadbolts and block walls don't lock out SIDS. I used to be the one to reassure children they were safe. I didn't know I would spend countless nights needing someone to tell me I was."

"I kissed him & thought it was a matter of a couple hours before he needed me. I didn't know that while I happily walked to an empty bedroom, it would soon be filled with screams...pleas...strangers."

"I laid my head down & all of my worries bubbled to the surface. I went through the mental checklist of potential things I needed to fear. None of them were dead babies. None of then were funeral arrangements. None of them were coaxing siblings into a room as they fought to stay with their Papaw. They knew a missing brother, police, and parents with swollen eyes meant the conversation we were about to have would be something they couldn't come back from. I didn't know that my worries paled in comparison to spending years assuring Ava, Elijah & Jetta that their brother is safe, but he's not coming back."

And just like this day 3 years ago, today I had a plan. And today went nothing like I planned.

But it was still so, so beautiful. A visit from a friend who knew I could use a smile, and ended up giving me so much more insight as to how far I've come. Texts before I even woke up from multiple sweet, dear-to-my-heart people telling me they remember. The most amazing guy by my side to help me navigate through my pain & tears.

So I remind myself of what it's like to have a plan. And I smile thinking of Isaiah sitting on the lap of my Savior as they watch my plan unravel while THE plan unfolds and it shapes me into the woman He intended all along. He's not just holding Isaiah, but his Mama too.

I love you to Heaven & back, Mama's Mans.

The moment I stopped holding you was the moment I found out that this is what it means to be held.

I'm three years closer.

Happy 3rd, Mama's Mans

Mama's Mans,

I think the person who came up with the term "terrible twos" must have been a Mama like me. She must have not been able to rock her growing-more-independent-by-the-day, yet still baby faced boy to sleep. She must have hid in the aisles at Kohls and secretly cried when she witnessed another Mama rushing a potty training toddler to the bathroom and for the first time in her life, she was envious that her shopping trip would be uninterrupted. She must have walked through toy aisles and longed to say "maybe for your birthday" as her toddler excitedly asked her for every single toy on the shelf. She went out to dinner & didn't have a pile of food under the table that she felt obligated to clean up before leaving. She didn't watch the same movie multiple times in a row all year long. No one was found with baby powder or lotion or a sharpie disaster.

She must have felt the sting of two the same way I did. Silence & empty arms...there's nothing that could be more terrible than that.

But without the pain, I couldn't have experienced the love. I hope you have witnessed the amazing people who have been there when your two year old self couldn't be.

I hope you are able to tell God all about the kindness that people have shown your Mama and I pray that if I'm not able to repay them, that God would surely bless them.

Whether they've listened to me cry on a random Tuesday during my lunch, met me at the cemetery just to sit in silence, hugged me on top of a mountain, helped me find the right people to thank for responding to your call, gently carried the totes of your belongings while we moved, sent me an encouraging message to let me know they haven't forgotten you, or have just given me the opportunity to say your name....these people have carried me through. Some family, some friends, and some strangers.

And today, they will help me celebrate you turning three. And while they hold me up on a day that I would have otherwise felt like giving in to the sadness, I pray you are able to feel even the tiniest bit of love that they've filled my heart with when my arms were empty.

Two wasn't so terrible when God has given me so many other people who love me in your absence.

I'm three years closer to celebrating with you. But sweet, sweet boy...I'll never stop celebrating without you.

Happiest 3rd Birthday, Isaiah.

I love you to Heaven & back.

Love, Mama