Because writing makes me feel better~ Jennie

My tattoo in my Nana's shorthand...
"Sometimes they fly away too soon."

Dear Jennie,

It feels strange writing this to you like this, but then you know that's my way- writing letters has always helped me process and while I sure did tell you a lot about my inner thoughts (and you told me a lot about yours), I wish we would have had time for more.

I will never forget when we met. We got this new teacher at LLE (shorter than I was! haha). You were setting up your new first grade classroom. I met your husband, son (around my son's age), and little daughter with that cute little pacifier always in her mouth! Even all these years later I feel like I'll flashback to that memory. You were definitely on the quiet side but a nut I wanted to crack. 

I remember thinking- she doesn't like me. Her words are saying one thing but here face and body language are saying another and I did something I had never done before and I have never done since... I kind of called you out on it. The crazy thing was~ as soon as I did that we became fast friends and confidants. I'm still a bit in awe with how that happened.

I honestly don't remember too much of our years teaching together, partly because as you know I have the WORST memory on the planet (unlike you) and I feel like our friendship really grew after you left. When you left, our daily small talks became text messages and check-ins. I loved being the person that you could share what you were really thinking about things and that you could be mine (ok- I admit- the not always nice things and I loved laughing about that stuff with you!). I remember when you texted me that something may be wrong and that there would be testing. That you were worried. That your mom died too young. And I remember when you learned on Valentine's Day 3 years ago that you had pancreatic cancer.

To be honest, I didn't know ANYTHING about that type of cancer- you knew I knew about the cancers Jim and Christie had but I didn't know about yours. But dang- when you told me I didn't quite know what to say- but that if anyone could beat it- it would be you.

My gosh you fought and fought hard. I loved our walk and talks and didn't mind one iota stopping when you needed to. I loved our lunch dates. But most of all I loved our daily text messages. I didn't tell you this, but I had a timer on my phone that went off at 12:55 every day (when my kids finally went to lunch) so I would never forget to check in and get my daily update from you. I'm a bit embarassed about that but hey- I'm the girl that had a reminder on her phone to hug her kids on the daily and the fact is those alarms made me get the job done. 

I remember in recent weeks when you told me that you may just need to give a heart to my messages but that you read every one and loved them and to keep them up. I remember when I shared my "window routine"- (opening my window and talking to God, Andew, and other loved ones in heaven- sharing the things and people that were on my heart- and that YOU were always the first person I talked about). I remember when I told you that the camp idea that you brought to my classroom would FOREVER be named after YOU and how you got a little misty eyed when I told you that. That Camp Ashley would be way better- than "Camp Pickles" that the kids always seemed to want to do because- ok. I like pickles... I told you that as long as I was living (and teaching) my kids would know YOU and your story.

I miss you Jennie. I miss every amazing miracle BIG and small those last years. I miss the hope we had. I miss you.

I remember when you had made peace that it was going to happen and when I shared that my new prayers out the window shifted- to your peace- to your comfort- to your husband and children. I remember when you told me you were were sleeping oh so much and that you couldn't keep your eyes open. I told you that I prayed for you to have happy dreams- with your mom and maybe my Andrew. I told you I bet they were excited to see you but that I sure hope you didn't go just yet- but that I knew you'd know your time- people seem to. 

I remember when you wrote me back:

"And clearly you prayed for dreams because 1. I never dream and 2. I had a crazy but happy dream with so many I love in it, even my Mom which is rarer than rare, like maybe 3x in 20 yrs!"

I remember YOUR concern about my dumb surgery- and your check-ins and I thought (and said) you don't need to worry one bit about me. But you loved me too and that's who YOU were.

I remember when I texted I loved you and that I hoped the day was "decent" (what was good anymore?) and you texted me back, "Today was decent." with that purple heart and I was so so so happy.

I remember how in awe I was that you were making all of your kids' things- taking these amazing bucket list vacations- and recording it all. You were superwoman!

I remember how worried you were about Paige. About Emerson.. And how you loved that every time he even walked by a room you were in he had to come in and give you a squeeze.

And I remember your love for Ryan and how in awe you were of all the things he did for you and my smile and laughter when you told me how he put that bed in the back of the trunk so that you could sleep if you needed to rest on the drives from treatments. How you would both laugh at what passers-by would think as they they saw some big guy helping this tiny, gray-haired lady into the trunk of a car. (By the way- you rocked that gray when your hair came back- seriously- though you knew I was always of fan of that color on anyone- you looked awesome!)

And I remembered texting you and not getting that heart. Again. And again.

I remember seeing Ryan's text.

I remember my phone ringing during our Class Valentine Party.

I remember thinking- you left. You picked a good day- Valentine's was already shitty since it was the day you got your diagnosis- it was the perfect day to go tell your mom all the wonderful things about the last 21 years! 

I remember thinking of that hug. The Reunion.

You died that afternoon.

And I remembered you writing once how you never liked to sleep in the afternoon because you read somewhere that most people die in the afternoon. I thought- you changed your mind. You were ready. You fought so hard and lived so much longer than anyone thought. I was not surprised.

I will remember how this week when asked to do a livestream of your funeral I was secretly panicked but would 100% do it because you would do it for me! And how I spent HOURS figuring it out and swearing and sweating and talking to you that you better help me not blow this!!!

I will remember secretly thinking that I was glad I was a little sick (ok- maybe not a little) and that I had to wear a mask and sit quiet and alone in a corner which was pretty sweet because no one really saw my ugly cry.

I will remember seeing you in that casket with your Dr. Pepper (not diet like me) and talking to you in my head like I do our that window. With tears streaming down my face like they sometimes do and how thankful I was that everyone in the room was behind us and that it was a moment just for us. 

I will remember thanking you for being my friend. For confiding in me. For loving me. For saying all those years ago, "No no Laura! I'm totally down- I'm just sometimes quiet." A great friendship was born-We weren't quiet anymore, were we.

I will miss texting you and my alarm going off. I know if I see 12:55, or a Dr. Pepper, Jimmy Johns, someone with jet-black hair and the deepest blue eyes, or (of course) the color purple, I'll think of you.

I'll think of you.

I love you, Jennie.

I miss you.

Say hi to Andrew for me and I'll see you later.

All my love,

Laura

Ps. Your mom went to heaven exactly one week before my Andrew- how did we not make that connection! And I love that you, my Grandpa Jonasen, and son Sean all had the same birthday. 

Twenty-One

 

Twenty-one.

That hardly seems possible. I was just talking to my brother and saying how I remember every detail from this day twenty one years ago. I remember getting the call to be induced (in my room on my land-line of course). I remember what I was wearing (khahi shorts and the ONLY shirt that could stretch over my huge belly- it was white). I remember what was on TV when she called (Judge Judy).

I had to wait forever it felt until we went to the hospital. It felt so slow and then it was so fast.

And that's kind of how I feel now.

The years were so slow- so many ups and downs.

So many heartaches.

So many tears.

So many what-ifs.

But now I'm here.

He would be an adult.

What would it have been like to be celebrating BOTH our boys!? 

How would we have done it? 

Would they have been at the same university like Jonasen and his sister? 

Where? What? How?

So many questions.

Today we celebrated Andrew's brother. We drove over two hours so we could all be together. So we could have that first legal drink (a PBR in honor of my great Uncle Zig). It was a wonderful day. A perfect day.

I had decided that my Andrew Day would wait- it would have to be tomorrow. 

Today was too full and it needed to be about Joe.

But when I got home, my dad sent me a picture. A picture with no words.

He had gone to Andrew's brick.

Had opened that same beer.

The beer we could have, should have, would have enjoyed

together.

Gosh I miss him. I've missed him for 21 years and I know I'll miss him for 21 more and then some.

Until then Andrew, I'll keep talking to you out our window, and blowing you those kisses. 

I'll keep wondering, I'll keep remembering, I'll keep loving.

Always.

Happy birthday to you my sweet boy.

To you and your brother.

Graduation

I made it through the last football game.

The last cross country meet.

The Senior Honors Night.

The last time he raced on a track.

Prom.

Sure, I've thought about you and the what-ifs as I always do. 

They flutter in and fly away but today they stayed. 

They lingered. 

And they were crushing.

We had a busy day. Housework, grad party, soccer game.

And yet you fluttered in but did not leave.

I tried to do other things to keep my mind occupied but I looked out the window and I wondered.

I sat down and finally just gave in.

I just cried and cried and cried.

I miss you.

Tomorrow you would be graduating.

How in the world is that even possible?

There were days I wondered if I would make it though a day and here I am. 

Here we are.

Oh my Andrew. 

I miss you so. 

I love you and I miss you and I wonder what it would be like in that parallel universe where you stayed. You could have all stayed and we'd be getting ready to cheer on two graduates

~ instead of one.

I've felt you so much this year. 

From your birthday run~

To your brother's college decision~

You've been right there in the shadows.

But today you were right there in the light and you weren't leaving.

I think I needed a good, long, hard, cry and you gave that to me.

So today can be about you.

About all the dreams we had for you.

About our heartache

About missing and wondering and wishing.

And tomorrow I know you will slide back into the shadows 

so we can watch your brother shine.

How incredibly proud we are of him.

I said it before and I'll say it again.

Thank you.

There's no doubt you have been here with him. With me. With us.

See you tomorrow and we celebrate with happy tears your little (by a minute) brother!

(And how perfect that a dear friend sent me that picture above. Today.)

Dear Andrew

Dear Andrew,

It's a snow day today. Our second in a row and for the first time (in the longest time), I haven't worked which is something I didn't realize I needed~ but when I have that moment to pause, I am usually gifted what I need. It's always been like that. Losing you hasn't been "easier" as time has gone by, rather time has gifted me ways to cope and learn to do life without someone who has shaped me so very much.

I was on the treadmill (I run for my headspace) and I was walking a bit after when a song that reminds me of you came on. I looked to the shelf and there was your baby book and a flood of memories just came pouring back. Seeing the words I had written days after losing you, the clothes that you had worn, the cards and words people had sent us (I have a box somewhere else but a select few got into your baby book, I don't know why those were there)... I had forgotten some things- speaking at conferences about your loss, the newspaper article, the words a friend who hadn't spoken to me in years sent (and I haven't heard from her since). It all just made me pause.

You have had such an impact on others- in the beginning I think it was you- just hearing your story but in the years since I have seen you living on in many of the things that we do and even if it's something small I do and I see someone smile I think, "that was because of Andrew" and they are none the wiser. 

But I know.

Sean just came in and asked me what I was writing and I told him a letter to you.

He said to me, "Mom, what do you think it would be like if Andrew hadn't died and was still here?"

I told him the truth. 

I honestly don't know... But I do know life would be very different.

Sean said, "I bet I wouldn't be here." I told him that I was certain one of you wouldn't be but I wasn't convinced it would have been Sean- everything would have been different. Everything.

The thing is, I can't imagine my life with you in it.

And I can't imagine my life without you in it (the way you are now).

I am who I am now, because of you.

Joe goes off to college next fall. Keep an eye out for him, will you son? I always pictured you both going through this together (maybe not the same direction but the same new chapter- a turning page if you will). This year has brought so much emotion rushing back. You are never forgotten.

I love you. Thanks for the visit.

It felt good to cry for you today.

It felt good to pause.

Love you.

Always,

Mom

HERE is a video I made as I was leafing through your things to that song I told you about.

Here. Because of you.

Dear Andrew~

It's your birthday.

I'm at your garden.

I have your journals where I have been reading of years without you. The ups, and downs, the sideways.

There are days where I can see the remnants of my tears as I poured my heart to you.

I'm at your garden.

Here.

I just lit your candles and sang to you.

I blew them out for you and made a wish that you're happy. 

That you feel my love.

That you know that I will always remember.

That I'll never forget.

Here.

17 years. 

I had probably gotten the call by now that this was to be the night when I finally got to meet you and Joe. I know what I was wearing- I know where I was sitting-  I know it all~

(and that's saying something for your forgetful mama)

17 years.

Here.

Here I am...

Tears streaming down my face.

Wondering what you might have been.

Wondering what you are.

But I can tell you~ to me you are my son.

You are big brother to all of your brothers and sisters.

Twin to Jonasen.

Difference maker.

One thing you are not, is forgotten and it is my goal to make sure you never are forgotten.

I left flowers on someone's car, Because of you!

We did do something different this year.

We are actually having a 5k in your memory!

There are many out there Andrew who are wearing a shirt today with YOUR name on it!

How I love when people say your name.

When they remember you.

I can tell you that Because of YOU families who will feel our sorrow will be comforted by a foundation here to help, aide, provide. Families will know that they too aren't alone. Because of you!

I am so incredibly proud of you. 

For sending this idea~ 

For floating it in my thoughts~

For cheering me on when it became a reality.

Happiest of birthdays to you sweet boy~ I look to the heavens and I feel you. 

I feel you here and I know you're here.

Here.

And I'm here.

Because of you.

Love Always,

Mom

https://runsignup.com/Race/MI/AnyCity/BecauseOfAndrew

I am not OK.

I am not OK.
Warning- this is not a blog about loss~ it actually may mention my living kids and I don't want that to be a trigger for some, but my writing is my therapy. I come here to "throw up" if you will what is making me sick. It began in diaries when I was younger, then letters to my Grandpa Jonasen, my journals of letters to Andrew, and now (sometimes) on this blog.

I am a busy person. I am blessed to have four healthy, beautiful, amazing children at home. I have a husband who recently got a new job and is back in school to help children with visual impairments. I have A LOT of animals (dog, tortoise, bearded dragon, birds, fish). I run 100 miles a month. I teach second graders (27 of them this year). I regularly have a book (two) that I'm reading on my kindle (or listening to as I walk my dog). I don't want to sound ungrateful or that I don't appreciate what I have. I absolutely do and I thank God for it regularly.

I feel though like I am in a constant state of motion- I'm on a hamster wheel and I can't get off. Not only can I not get off, parts of me are flying off that wheel and I can't get them back.

I am not OK.

Today it fell apart- I fell apart. Quite literally. I fell into the arms of my dad (there to get my youngest son on the bus before work) and I started to cry.

There was a catalyst to all of this, so let me back-track. Managing where everyone has to be and who has to get them there is tough. I literally have alarms on my phone to pick people up because I HAVE forgotten. My job yesterday was to drive 40 minutes after work to see my oldest son run a XC meet- then take him home immediately so he could take a five minute shower, change into a tux and get back up to school for a band concert.
My husband's job was to pick up our middle son from his musical rehearsal at school and take him right to soccer practice.
We had someone to take our daughter to practice (and told her to work out a ride home) and someone to bring home our middle son (so we could both attend the concert). We had our youngest son miss his practice because... well... no carpool.
(This is the START of my "not OK" typical life.)

But then it gets worse. I had a missed call from my friend who was bringing my middle son home. I called her back but it went to voicemail and there was no message so I decided it may have been a "butt dial" (that happens to me all the time).

Plans changed and my daughter (who I'm convinced must like some boy in the band) REALLY wanted to go to the concert so my husband ended up picking her up and was going to come to the concert, sneak in the balcony and catch most of the show.

While walking into the school (where I get horrible reception anyway), a call from an unknown number came in. I didn't answer it (because I figured they would leave a message). They didn't. But I also get AWFUL reception in the high school.

Now is where I'm going to try to make that catalyst go a little faster.

My middle son's practice was cancelled- but we didn't know.
There were some high schoolers there (freshman probably- no drivers) who sometimes practice with my 12 year old's team and so one loaned him a phone to call me (missed call I didn't recognize). The boys ended up practicing themselves and when the older boys got picked up, my son ran (down a main road at dusk) to where our daughter was practicing. My husband and daughter were walking to the car as he ran up. They almost missed him.

And when that settled in.
What could have happened.
I. Was. Not. OK.

I blame no one in this- accidents happen. I didn't get the message and the coach felt awful (there was a problem with one of those awful new sports apps- where it wasn't sent to me), my friend assumed I would have gotten the message (why wouldn't I), and I assumed that missed call was a wrong number (why not?).

But when I saw and digested that, the "what 'could' have happened"- my little not yet 80 lbs 12 year old who probably looks 8 running down the road of a busy street- I felt (and still feel) sick.

He was sleeping soundly in his bed as I laced up my shoes to hit the treadmill this morning. I ran one mile and just stopped (this by the way is my ONLY me time of the day- my therapy) and I couldn't do it. I couldn't run. I was NOT OK.

I think that there is this version of me out there that people have painted and I feel badly that it's happened. I am someone who does a lot. I feel badly if I don't volunteer because I work in a job where volunteers save ME. I feel badly when I have to ask others for help. I feel bad when I'm not invited because I'm busy. I feel bad when I say no~ so I often say yes when what I need is to just SIT and breathe.

So while people think that I have got my shit together, I'm here to shout from the rooftops that I do not!! This incident with my middle son was at the top of the mountain and as it started rolling down it picked up all that other stuff that needs to be done that I am not doing... my microwave is broken, my freezer is broken, my under-mounted sink is starting to drop, there's settling nail pops in my house that are driving me nuts, I need to paint my front hallway, I need to call the stupid company where I ordered a front door in MAY who JUST installed it last week (after countless calls from me) and I was told I would get some compensation from. And I'm just remembering that I haven't yet picked up meds for my son (I called them in... but nope, I forgot to get them too). I need to take my dog to the vet and if my stupid bearded dragon doesn't poop soon I'm going to LOSE MY MIND!! And don't get me started with school- I'm behind. I'm always feeling like I need more time but I know play is soooo important so I give my kids a break because- well everyone needs a break- even me!!

Ah. The big vomit.
So no. I am not a super-mom-teacher-wife-friend-human.
I am a brilliant actress.
The cat is out of the bag.

I am not OK.

And oh- my house is a mess!
And no... someone asked I don't do it all. I am a TERRIBLE cook and gardener (though I've tried).
Ah- the big vomit.
Time to go brush my teeth.

Dear Doctor,

“Science may provide the most useful way to organize empirical, reproducible data, but its power to do so is predicated on its inability to grasp the most central aspects of human life: hope, fear, love, hate, beauty, envy, honor, weakness, striving, suffering, virtue.” 

― Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air

Dear Doctor,

I am certain that you don't remember me. I know you have delivered hundreds of babies (maybe thousands?). I wasn't even one of your patients~ not really. I'm not even a blip in the story of your life but for 16 years now, you've been a bigger part of mine than you realize.

Sixteen years ago on September 15th, I was a week overdue with twins. I went to the hospital to finally get induced and you were the doctor on call that night. The nurses were having difficulty finding heart tones so you stepped in. You ordered an ultrasound and and the familiar pictures of my children appeared on the screen but one thing was different. That beautiful spark we mothers see that stops our heart- that beat of our children- was gone. I knew what it meant. You moved your wand to the other side of my stomach and the same picture came up. You looked to me and said,

"I'm sorry but your fetuses are dead." 

Yes~ I can put it in quotes because though we've only spoken two times in my life, I will never forget your voice. I will never forget those seven words that you spoke. I remember being a bit more alarmed by the word "fetuses" than by the message you were trying to communicate to me.

I looked to my husband and mother (my labor coaches) and back to you and I said, "But I feel movement." You put your hand on my left forearm, gently shook it and said, "I'm sorry, that's you breathing." I took your hand from my arm, guided it to the side of my stomach and you felt it too. You ordered the ultrasound tech to my side where he moved his wand and said, "I'm sorry. It appears that one of your babies has died but the other is right here."

That second fetus you thought was dead is now 16 years old. His brother is not. Yet, there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of that precious boy. For years, I said your name at support group meetings and to all my friends. Angry. Angry that for even a moment you let my family think that BOTH of my sons had died. That you made them think that I was the crazy one.

I went on to have more children and I WAS the crazy one. My wonderful doctor took my worries seriously. She understood what the loss of my son did to me and she treated my head as much as she treated my body. When it came time to do NSTs (for my head), I would first call the hospital. If you were on-call, I would change my appointment. I knew that seeing you again would break me. I was careful but healing.

Nearly 6 years later I was pregnant for the last time and while you would think that as I neared my due date I would be a little less scared, my doctor knew better. She knew me. I was as heart sick as I was for my daughter who came just 15 months after my heart broke. However, I thought I was better and for the first time in three subsequent pregnancies, I didn't make the call before my NST to see if you were working.

After finishing up that NST, the nurse told me that the doctor would be in in a moment to sign off on it. When I asked her which doctor was on call, she said your name. I almost lost my breath but I was stronger. I could do this.

You walked in, glanced at me for a less than a moment and said hello while looking at my charts. I kept thinking. You don't know me. You have no idea who I am. You asked me why I was getting NSTs and I told you that my first son, was stillborn due to a cord accident. You said, "Well, this one looks fine, there's no need to be here," wished me well quickly and left.

It happened again. I was dismissed. I was wrong. I SHOULD be there. I was there for a reason and part of that reason was you.

I walked out of that hospital faster than any pregnant woman probably had and when I hit the door I RAN to my car,  shut the door, and cried.

Again~ I felt dismissed. I had let you do that to me. Again. Why was I so weak?

I have written to you for years in my head- and sometimes in my journals. At support group meetings, I have heard your name come out of lips that AREN'T mine and I know you have not really changed. You just don't get it~ so maybe it's time I shared this story so that perhaps you will. Perhaps you will pause the next time there is a CHILD who has died. Perhaps you will pause and think of your words knowing that what you speak and the way in which you speak it will be on the hardest day of your patient's life and that they will never be forgotten. Words are powerful~ But so is forgiveness.

I have read some reviews on you that said you were perfectly lovely and I always thought~ I'm sure he is. If your baby doesn't die.

I have forgiven you in my head for years now but still it lingers. I thought of you when I recently read this book that I am gifting you. I thought you should read it and then maybe you'd understand, I am not sure, but perhaps this gift can be a gift to your future patients who will share their worst days with you and you can be a source of comfort instead of pain.

I forgive you.

That fetus you thought was dead is 16 now. He's absolutely amazing! He's smart, musical, artistic, athletic, funny and kind. I look at him and I imagine his brother. I wonder.  I look at him and sometimes think~ Thank you for kicking on that night when I needed you too. Thank you for that gift. Thank you for being my SON just like your BROTHER was.

Words matter.

I forgive you.

Laura