The tree

Decorating the Christmas tree should be joyful, right?  I wish I could tap into some of that joy and Christmas spirit because right now my heart is breaking.

The tree is up and the lights are all twinkling.  Now, we wait for the boys to wake up and help put the ornaments on.

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Every year, as we decorate the tree, we pull out our box of special ornaments.  I love sitting down with Gavin and Gabe and showing them all of these and explaining why they are special.  There are some from when Tom and I were kids, there are ones that we've collected over the years of being a family and there are special ones that we've made for Aiden.  This box of ornaments, I cherish.  These ornaments embrace our family and the love that we have for each other.

I only could muster taking a peek into this little box of ornaments.  Quickly, tears filled my eyes. 

Not only Aiden, but now Jeremiah, will never get to help us decorate the tree.  Jeremiah will never help set cookies out for Santa and his reindeer.  He will never excitedly wake up on Christmas morning to open presents.

I am left with a HUGE whole in my heart and I know that no amount of special ornaments honoring and celebrating Jeremiah's brief life will fill that whole.  This year, I feel the ache of all that could have been.  Jeremiah has a special place in our family- not only on our Christmas tree, but our family tree.

My heart breaks at the thought of making special ornaments for Jeremiah.

But, I will do it.  Because there are so few things that I get to do for Jeremiah.

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There are absolutely no words to describe the black abyss you fall into when your child dies. This hole has no bottom; the descent has no final destination.  Life has gone from busy and noisy with the demands of a family, to the silence of a world entrenched in death. 

I want to rise back up to the light, past the whispered condolences, the endless “I’m sorry’s”—back to “normal.”

The only problem is that life has no “normal” after you lose a child.

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I have finally got through the shock stage and ventured back out in our everyday world. A world, a family, that feels so incomplete. 

I never got to know Aiden or Jeremiah.  Instead I get to honor them and their life by creating special ties and connections to them.  Be it tattoos, pictures, poems, Christmas ornaments.

Whatever I can do, I do. 

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My hope is that each turn I make, each encounter I have with these memories and symbols that I have created, they will be little "hellos" from our boys.  I do these things in order to stay connected to the little boys that I don't get to raise, but that I have loved so deeply from the moment I knew they were growing within my womb. 

The more I create and look for signs and symbols of our boy’s lives, the more they come my way. Instead of spending my days in bed under the covers, I find myself out looking for hope and a continued connection to my little boys.

Some may think that it would be easier to say good-bye and let go of their place in our lives. But instead, I work hard to find healthy, well-adjusted ways to keep them close.

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Christmas ornaments on a tree.  Tattoos on my body.  Pictures hanging in our home.  These are the signs and symbols that I have in order to remember and honor our little boys.

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I like to think of these things as, “moving forward but hanging on.” Going on without my little boys cheats me and our family. Moving forward with them still spiritually and symbolically close is the best answer for me and our family.

This is my journey after living through the darkest days I have ever known. 

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So, with tears in my eyes, I will make Christmas ornaments for Jeremiah. 

This is what I can do, when I love someone so much, that I just can't say good-bye.