Don't you always have to know where you've been before you know where the hell you're going

So maybe this has nothing to do with Brody or perhaps it has everything to with him. I do actually feel like he is my idea guy. I've always thought that him in God serve me ideas. I mean, they aren't always on a silver platter. Heck, I feel like they are grits sometimes in a dirty bowl.  They aren't even ideas that I want or I think I need. Until they almost get right up in my face and say it. "Mom... Do this". "Tia... Do this". 

Then my past weeks. Past months and days seem to be all signs and I agree to take on what should have been obvious. 

" WRITE" they screamed this time. It's what you do. It's how you deal. It's how you help. It's how you heal. 

I was missing something. Not my 4 year normal missing of my son, that piece will never be back. It's empty forever but a new piece of puzzle Tia. 

Something creative. Something deeper and more meaningful than the ordinary. 

I wasn't feeling. I was healing. I wasn't helping like "they" wanted and needed me to. They aren't disappointed. It could be that they got frustrated because I let my self get so distracted from their usual signs. 

"WRITE!!!!"  

Okay. Okay. I get it now. I'm still collecting pieces and I haven't even started to build. I'm gathering and just sifting through but I know how to start these type of puzzles. I've put them together before. ☺️

So I'm starting today reflecting on where I've been. In all aspects of my life. Metaphorically, emotionally, literally, spiritually  you know.... In hopes that revisiting those can send me in the right direction of where I'm going. 

Riding the storm

It's been so long. Right? Or was it just yesterday? So long since I've had the desire to write, the time to write, the feelings to write. 

Has it really been 4 years? Today? 

Today, we visited the cemetery and I watched Isaac put "flowers" on his brother's  headstone. It was beautiful and devastating. 

The absolute hardest part about the last 4 years has been the inability to break down. I cannot. If you have children, you know why. God knew by blessing me with a rainbow baby, that it would consume my time. He needs me. I cannot break down. 

That's the thing with me. Grief has no happy medium. I'm either drowning in my misery or the strongest damn person you've ever met. 

Even though the first year was full of support, I was alone. My husband I grieved. If our situation was a tornado, we were in the dead center. I cried every single day. All day. On and off. It rained or it poured. There was no clearing. The sun never shined. The storm picked me up and threw me around like a rag doll. My world had been shattered and there was no safe area. No shelter.  the next storm was seconds away. I waited for it and sometimes I chased it! 

Today, I have to run from it. I cannot let the wind of that storm pick me up and throw me around. I have to find the shelter and stare at it from a distance. I explain to Isaac the whirlwind and the tragedy of it all but we just watch it. He knows his brother is in heaven with God but he doesn't know that his mother used to ride the storm and let it rip her to shreds. And that's ok. He doesn't need to. 

He doesn't need to know that I would put myself in the most darkest and dangerous spot in the storm and lay there. Calling upon it to "take me away". The stiff drinks at 3 pm. The hours of rocking and listening to sad music. The deep and dark injuries I would just ask for. The way I used to stare at my belly in the mirror and secretly cuss at it for ruining my life but then in the next moment, watch phantom kicks that my mind created. It was the closest thing to full blown insanity I've ever experienced and yet, I dove into it head first knowing that I was letting it consume me.  I needed to be close to my storm. Aka my grief. 

All Isaac needs to know is that he is my rainbow and that I came out alive. 

If you can love TOO much, I've gone and done it.

It's been on mind and I can't make it stop. I can't ask for a do over. I can't go back and erase my mistakes. 

I feel as if I've over loved. I know you think it's not possible and I know you think I'm perhaps even sick in the head to feel as if I could. But if you haven't stood where I stand, well let me say....These are shoes you don't even want to try on, let  alone walk in. 

I fear that in my attempts to prove to myself that I could ,after all, love another child as much as I loved Brody, I over compensated ...greatly. 

Where does the problem lie, you ask?  How do you love too much. It's called guilt and it will eat you alive if you let it. 

I held him longer, I never let him cry. I'm not talking about "cry it out", I'm talking about if he whimpered, I was there. He slept and still sleeps in our bed because there I could and can watch him breathe and I literally watched him take every breath and asked. No begged God to never let that breath cease. 

He depends on me. I understand that. But I feel like in a way, I've let him down. I'm his lifeline but I'm also his deficit. 

In even saying or typing rather these words, I feel as if my "complaints" disappoint God and my son that is with him. How can I even be annoyed that Isaac pulls on my pant legs and refuses to let me sleep through the night without kicking the crap out of me? How can I do this? 

I've gone over the idea in y head that possibly God knew I'd make a poor excuse for a mother. That the sound of my child's cry would literally make me want to pull my hair out. I've gone over the idea that Brody was no accident. He would be better off in Heaven and Isaac was Gods way of saying I told you so. 

So I over loved and now I can't go back and if given the chance, I wouldn't do it differently. I'd over love again and again and again. 

Is that you pulling on my heart strings?

Its been too long. So long that it hurts. I stay busy. Being a mommy to a 14 month old leaves little time left to blog...or shower. 

I was recently diagnosed with a rare tick born illness so that put me down for a while too. Mentally as well as physically. 

Excuses excuses. I know. I promised him I'd share his story. I promised him I'd blog for him because it would show everyone that we will NEVER forget. 

I literally fight with the thought that I'm letting him down or letting him go. 

Sometimes I think that nobody even cares anymore. Brody would be 3 this August. I know they remember. It's often just too sad for others to think about on a day to day basis. I get that. 

I can feel him pulling on my heart strings. For whatever reasons he may have. He does this from time to time. He has something for me. He and God sit there and rub their hands back and forth with little light bulbs above their heads, I swear. Can't you picture it? 

He knows when it's time for a project and he bugs me till I get it. 

He would have been persistant. He would have been creative and serious. Curious but cautious. Characteristics that I see forming in his brother and the strings get tighter. 

When I'm really really full of joy. I mean when it's literally streaming out of my pores and I'm so happy.... I think of him. 

And ironically enough, when I'm so deeply sad and hurt, he is there in my heart to show me what really matters. 

He pulls and that's how I know he remains there in my heart. Forever and ever. 

Needless to say. Something will be in the works soon. Blame it on the heart strings. 

Borderline insane

I don't have time to blog. I don't have time to eat sometimes. 

I haven't wore makeup in so long, the junk sitting on my vanity is probably expired not to mention the fact that my eyeliner doesn't go on quite as stemless and perfect as it used to. 

Last week my anxiety took on a life of its own when my baby became ill for the very first time. 

My legs aren't shaved, my hair has been in a bun so long it hurts, and my wardrobe consists of yoga pants and a v neck shirt for easy nursing access. Some days Isaac stays in his night time white onsie all day with sweet potato stains. 

My laundry sits in a basket till it gets put on, my dishes get done when we run out of forks or when my husband ever so bravely does them. He also makes dinner most of the time if I didn't have a second to throw something in the crock pot while I was chugging coffee and switching the baby from one hip to another. 

I don't have time to take the 8 month picture. I don't have time to blog. I love my baby. I let him nap in my arms. I cry because I can't put him down but the next second I refuse to. 

Life is crazy. It's borderline insane. 

I am a mommy. 

Life is exactly what I've always dreamed it to be. 

My rainbow

I haven't got to posting a 7 month update yet but I have discovered the blogger app on my phone. Woohoo. Which means I can get a post in during bad morning nap time. Aka baby is in my arms after an early morning bellyache and blowout and I'm blogging away with my thumb. :). 

Whatever works. 

I can't believe my sweet rainbow baby is THIS big. He is such a little man. I often look at him and already see a toddler forming. 

It used to be somewhat annoying hearing "enjoy it, it goes so fast" but, oh my word...it's true! 

August came and went. It was very crappy. Different but crappy. It made me miss the days I had the time to drown myself in my own tears and lay down with grief and snuggle up. 

I was snuggling up with something and someone different this time. It felt good but it pierced my heart in a way that made me feel like I was betraying my grief. I had an ongoing relationship going with it. I still do. But it's long distant now. We aren't face to face. We don't snuggle up. We don't embrace. We are distant but I still know its there waiting. 

I have moments. I hear a song. I have days that the sun shines and I miss the freedom of only having the grief to cuddle. Brody felt close. Heaven felt close. 

But... I think it goes without saying. I live for this face...this smile. I go on because of him. I wake every morning for him. My little rainbow. He truly does make the sun shine brighter. 

It's happening.

I remember thinking that Isaac would be 7 months on Brody's second birthday. 

I remember thinking it would be hard but I didn't know how to prepare. I didn't know what to expect. Old grief? New grief? Grief that was odd and unrecognized?

I could avoid a calendar and all existence and still know that August 21st is approaching. The sky gets clearer, the wind dusts my hair away in a ghost town sort of way. Tears that seemed distant sit at the edge of my eye lids. 

It's happening. 

Only THIS year I can't consume myself. I can't dive into grief and swim in a pool of tears. I have Isaac to care for. 

So I'm now faced with the tug of war that I knew would be my inevitable fate when I became pregnant with Isaac. 

Isaac know I'm off. He can feel the irritability of me wanting to cry, wanting to lay on the floor and scream for my baby. 

This is where it gets sticky for outsiders. " Tia, you have a baby...why are you sad?"

I'm sure to everyone around me Isaac was to be my magic pill for grief. It simply doesn't work like that. He is my second son. I will forever grieve for his brother. If Brody hadn't died, Isaac wouldn't be here. And that is a hard pill to swallow.