Everett sized void

Coffee or no coffee, sleep is still hard. Except after a week of not really sleeping. Then it's classified as passing out. Especially when it's 8:30 on the toddler mattress on the floor next to Kipton.

So much of life is back to normal. Which, let's face it, means busy in America. Back in the office. Doing everything that is required to make an office work well. At least most of the time. Mondays and Fridays I get to be a full time Mommy, which I love more than I did. We have much more fun as I have tried to stop accomplishing my "to do's" and just enjoy my boys.

Aiden has decided to love movies. The heat wave here this week (106 degrees on Saturday) has made it Mommy and Movie Monday. We (somehow-- usually in the car) get Kipton to sleep, put him in his bed, and Aiden and I snuggle up to watch a movie together. He hardly ever snuggles me. And soon enough he won't snuggle me anymore. So we pick our movies wisely and spend the afternoon loving on each other. And he's never been better behaved than as of late. As we've changed the way we discipline and implemented more love and affection and less harshness and rigidity. He's never been so...compliant. He (mostly) listens really well. He laughs more. Whines less. The Time Out Pad and Star Charts are such great motivators for him. He's so proud of his tattoos or "special special" treat at the end of the week. Bedtime is less traumatic. Fewer poopie accidents. He's been so much fun. We just hang out. We do a little art. Sing a few songs. Talk about a few things. Have a little circle time. And being a Mommy has never been so... enjoyable.

Kipton. Lawd help us all. Kipton is a mess made in heaven. Exuberant or exasperated. There is no inbetween. He has learned through our direction to take his excitement and/or boiling over energy and use it for zerberting or laughing or kissing or hugging. Which is really cute. Until you realize he has over boiling energy all day. All. Day. But hugs, zerberts, kisses, and impromptu dances are so much better than throwing, biting, and hitting. And he went from this pent-up aggression-filled little bulldog brute to a gentle, sweet, sharing, caring zeberting fool. Like tonight, while I was laying down with him for bedtime, he took his chubby little hands and rubbed my face and oh-so-quietly whispered "my mommy. sweet mommy. my mommy." No amount of TV, work, or Facebook would've been worth missing that. And I've never loved him so much as I do now.

So life is back to normal. Except normal now means I really ENJOY my kids. Perhaps I'm the only mom who felt more stressed out and pressure to be a maid and chef than to let go and enjoy her children. Enjoy teaching them. Having conversations about monsters. Or motorcycles. Or going on pretend train rides. Or redneck pools in the front yard. Or chase at the park. Normal now means I'd rather just play with my boys than make sure they're learning everything a 7 yr old should know (at the age of almost 4) in a school-type setting. Normal means they may not be able to read 500 words by kindergarten, but it means they know Mommy loves being with them. Mommy enjoys playing with them. Mommy wants to hang out with them. Mommy also means what she says and stars and treats can be taken away if you don't make the right choices. And you'd be REALLY surprised what a 2 year old can understand. We were. Or maybe we're just really inexerpeinced parents who don't expect enough from our boys.... No matter what, normal now means happier, less uptight parents which means happier, more loving kids.

And I've never been happier to be a Mommy.

And what makes it hard is that I wouldn't be this way if it weren't for Everett. If I didn't have to evaluate my entire life-- from my grudges to my parenting style-- I would not be who I am today. So sleep is always hard. Coffee or not. Because I look back on every day with a smile. Knowing. Living. The change my little one has made in our family. And I miss him. Everyday. I miss him. And the only time I have to see him is at night. When Keith is snoring. The boys are tossing and flopping in their beds. When the dishes are put away. The floors are swept (who am I kidding?!?!) When the makeup is gone. The TV is off. And Facebook has been put to sleep. I miss him. And I want to hold him again so much it hurts. So much it makes me sick some nights. Some nights I hold my iPad with his picture and just... cry. Silently. The tears fall. Because I miss him so much. The sweet moments we would be having with our almost 5 week old. I have fallen asleep with my phone in my hand, the last picture ever taken of him clutched tighly in my hands.

So much I can't think. Or sleep. Not even with Ambien. Because Keith is a deep sleeper and Kipton is not. And sleep brings nightmares (always has for me) of losing my boys. Like the family who lost theirs two weeks ago because of a drunk boater. I have nightmares of ceiling fans crashing down on them, killing them instantly. I have nightmares of car wrecks, taking everyone but me-- to live in my own little hell for the rest of my life. I have nightmares of terrible things happening to my little ones. Things I can't protect them from. Things I pray against all the time. Things I beg will never touch them. Things out of my control.

And it all seems so pointless. Because all things are out of my control. Except how to conduct myself. How to share life with everyone. How to treat my husband at the end of a not so great day. How to change my rigidity to softness to be a better parent. How to be teachable. How to listen more than I talk. (ok, sometimes I listen more than I talk, but I'm REALLY good talker). And I know some of these realizations would not be true for me right now if I hadn't lost my baby. If he wasn't dead. If I hadn't held him and then watched him be taken away, never to come back. If I didn't miss him so much my bones hurt. If there wasn't this...Everett sized void in my arms. And I get so irritated by the churchy comebacks and the Bible verse comforts because I'm not looking for anyone to try to make me feel better. I'm not looking for anything from anyone at all. But in the same breath, I believe them. Their comforts. Their offerings of inspiration. Because I know that all things work together for my good because I love God and am called to His purpose. I know that He knit Everett together in my womb. I know that His ways are higher than my ways. His thoughts, higher than my thoughts. I get it. Really, I do. And there is peace, really, there is.

But there, too, is this... Everett sized void. A life missing years of memories. And I've come to undertand that no one, even in their most sincere attempts, can understand-- can fathom-- the loss of a baby...until you've lost one. Until the realization that there will be no memories made of giggles. Of boo-boos. Of Halloweens. Or Christmases. Or a first loose tooth. Or messy high chairs. Middle school dances. Graduations. Weddings. It's a life that's... missing.

Gone.

And promises of heaven's reuniting should bring me peace. But there's not enough detail for me to know if I'll really see my Everett again. If I'll hold him. Or if he'll be all grown up. Or if any of it will really matter in the presence of God. I don't know.

I don't know.

And perhaps that is where my Everett sized void comes from. Me missing him so much. Because I'm not sure I'll hold him, and see him, and be his mommy in heaven. And that's what so many seek to comfort with. Heaven. And I...I just don't know. Because I think heaven is beyond our capabilities. Because if John really did see into heaven and all he could get out was the jumbled mess of descriptions we have in the Bible, it must be beyond our ability to comprehend. And, if you think about it, will anything about life as we know it matter in the presence of God?

I don't know.

I don't know.

And I have no control over any of it.

And so sleep comes ellusively. Fitfully.

Because of the Everett sized void in my arms.

And yet, because of it, my life will be better. Tears may be frequent. Questions may abound.

But life will be better.