Monthly Archives: February 2017

Footsteps

I came home last night from a support group meeting. It is always a difficult experience but a blessed one. We share our stories and thoughts as we face today. 

We were joined by newly bereaved parents of a little boy. Listening to their story brought up so many memories of the days in the beginning. The waves of grief so high and fast they keep you down feeling like you would drown. There is no light. No air. Just darkness and grief. The questions that they asked I can remember asking. How does this work? What support is there for families? What do you do?

In listening to the story, the mom said her house was just too quiet. This struck me. The silence is deafening. The early morning hours, you wake and forget this nightmare that you are living. Laying in bed, barely awake, listening for those footsteps, the “good morning mama”….. it never comes from him. My eyes welled with tears. The feeling is so 

My Zachary was a lot like like a college student although he was only six when he passed away. He would never go to bed. There was always one more something…. book, glass of water, hug, kiss and “I love you”. Seven or eight times out of bed and back to bed later he would pass out. Sleeping in any position he landed and nothing would disturb him. 

On work day mornings, I would wake up a few times and he would finally stir. I could literally dress him fully while he was still asleep. When he finally woke up, he would stumble down the hallway, hitting the walls, eyes at half mast, and start the day. He looked like a college student waking after a night of partying. Always made me laugh. 

On the weekends, he would always wake before me, at some ungodly hour, and come into my bed. I could hear his scurried footsteps then his little voice, “Mama, can we snuggle and watch a show”, as he crawled into my bed. I miss those mornings watching silly cartoons or Toy Story for the millionth time. He would snuggle in to me and just be there. I could smell his hair, listen to his heartbeat, and feel my arms around him.

It’s the little things you miss the most. The deafening silence of no scurried footsteps or early morning snuggles. I have my Grace who will often, like her brother, do the same routine. I cherish those moments and breath them in. Knowing they are fleeting as she won’t do that forever and missing the little blue eyed boy who would have done the same. 

Snow Days


After the crazy snowy week we had, all I could think about was, “Zachary would have loved all this snow!”. Western Washington does not get snow often but when we do we make the best of it. Boots, hats, gloves, winter coats and even a dust pan. Whatever we had we use it to make memories.  Snow is double edged both a blessing and a curse. For those who have to drive in it (like when you drive an hour to work) it causes anxiety and stress that you may not make it safely. When you can stay home, it can be magical covering the world in a blanket of sparkly, white beauty. Kids just see the beauty. He loved the snow. How I wish he could be here to see this storm and play for days in it. He would have made the best of it.

Triggers in my grief are everywhere. Even the simplest thing that seems so unrelated can cause an avalanche of emotions. It’s snow. How does that trigger grief? I grieve the loss of my son. My sidekick. My little mayor. I grieve the past and more than that I grieve the future. What could’ve been. What would my nine year old be doing now? How would he look now? What would he love now? Would He have outgrown Toy Story and Spider-Man? What would he be interested in? What would he be when he grows? A politician I was sure of it but I’ll never know. 

As parents we grieve as our kids grow. Grieve the loss of when they were babies, toddlers, kindergarteners and so on but we can look to what’s happening in the present and find joy as they grow into adults and make more and more milestones. As a bereaved mom, I dont have the present or future only the past. Frozen in time. My beautiful blue eyed kindergartener who was a friend to everyone he ever met. 

I miss him today and everyday. The memories hold me up but they are precious because their can be no more snow days to remember with him. Though I think he would think his sister was pretty cool on this snow mound and I can almost see him standing right next to her. 

She loves snow just as he did. I will cherish each moment because it’s fleeting and I wish for just one more snow day with my two kids. 

Xoxo