gratitude

During this season of Thanksgiving, I find it difficult to cultivate a heart of gratitude. This is not surprising as I continue to struggle with my feelings of bitterness. I don't want to be bitter. I don't. I just find it easy to wallow in my sadness. To wallow in my feelings of unfairness. And unjustness. And anger.

I'd like to work my way up through the depths of this despair.

So. With that in mind, I will write out one thing that I am grateful for each day. No matter how small. (And some days it may be very small.) One thing that I am thankful for. I won't usually devote an entire post to it - I'll just make a note at the end.

I'll start with the most obvious. I am thankful for the joy of my 9 3/4 years with Michael. I am thankful to know the joy that he brought me. The joy of being a mother. His mother. The joy of his hand in mine. The joy of his delightful wit and humor. The joy of his funky dance moves. The joy of his curiosity. The joy of his sound effects. The joy of his love of plastic army men. And Star Wars. The joy of doing homework. And signing his Friday folders.

The joy of our time together. Short as it was.
I am thankful for Michael.

the self portrait

My cousin, Melissa and I were into self portraits long before they were a MySpace/Facebook/Teen Queen fad. We have many, many pictures of our cheeks pressed against one another. Every holiday, every family gathering, every time we are together ... we take our traditional picture.

I continued this tradition with Michael. We also took family portraits this way. Photo Booth, on my Mac, was Michael and I's favorite. We put together some videos. Took some pictures. Our faces together. Being silly. These are some of my favorite photos now.

The photo above is the screen saver on my phone. Love that sweet Mama's boy!

One of our first Photo Booth sessions...
Before the Christmas chorus concert that FSU performs every year. This was an advent activity at Christmas.
My favorite family photo. Taken during our first trip to Disney World. For Michael's 8th birthday.

five things about my grief

I thought I would share five things that I experience in grief. These are not my top five things. They are just the five that come to my fingertips the quickest. And I am a list person.

I share these because ... well I know it is difficult to imagine. It is difficult to imagine if you haven't experienced a devastating loss. And in my efforts to be transparent in this time of life, I share my grief with you.

1. Nothing that anyone says will make things better. Or easier. In fact, I probably don't remember much of what people have told me these past [almost] 7 months. But I remember the kindness of my family and friends and strangers. I know that it is hard to know what to say. What does matter is that you say something. Anything.

2. I want to talk about Michael. I might cry. It is a strong possibility that I will. But I love to share stories about him. I love to hear your stories about him. I love to hear that his life made an impact on those around him.

3. There is no time table for grief. I cannot snap out of it or give you a mythical deadline for when I will be all better. This grief. Will last forever.

4. Grief feels like I am treading water. And I sometimes dip below the surface. Unable to breathe. The slightest push sends me below.

5. I, at the tender age of 33, have lost my innocence. I have lost the carefree-ness of being able to think about the future. To think about what a year from now will be like. I knew that loss was a possibility. I understood that death happened. I understood that tomorrow was not promised. Or so I thought. In my mind, death is what comes to those that have lived long lives. It does not happen to those in their 40s, or their 30s, or just before their 10th birthday. Because that would be unfair. And life, as I have learned, is anything but fair.

the question.

I was asked again tonight if I have kids.
I'm not sure that I have a great answer to that yet.
I decided to manage expectations by answering in this way:

"Oh, [tennis opponent], this is an awkward question for me. And I don't have a good answer for it. So I'll just tell you... I have a son. Who died in April. He was 9."

[insert uncomfortable silence]

And she said she was sorry and that she was sorry that she asked the question. I told her I was sorry too and no need to apologize for asking. It is a common question.

I just don't quite know how to answer it so that I don't make the other person feel bad and so that I don't cry, awkwardly, in front of a stranger in between sets of a tennis match. The tears tend to blur my vision when I am serving.

I need to practice a better response. I'm just not certain, yet, what a better response would be.

words

Because today I am struggling for the words.

I chose another Brian Andreas to share.

They left me
with your shadow,
saying things like
Life is not fair

& I believed them
for a long time.

But today,
I remembered
the way you laughed
& the heat
of your hand
in mine

& I knew that
life is more fair
than we can
ever imagine
if
we are there to live it

by hand

I had great plans for this halloween costume. I sewed it by hand. And when I say by hand, I mean it. No sewing machine. Just needle and thread. And many a pricked finger. I used stuffing. I used elastic. I used a whip stitch. I used my fingertips.

I was a Martha. A total Martha. But without all that perfect nonsense. My stitches were gloriously imperfect. My panels were cut crooked. But with much love.

For this GHOST costume.

Not a white pumpkin. Not Humpty Dumpty.

A full on Ghost.

It was Michael's request. He wanted to be a ghost. I had visions of The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown show ... with the sheet and all the eye holes cut out. This wasn't the ghost costume for my 4 year old. He needed cute.

Ok. His mama wanted cute. He just wanted a costume. To get the candy.

So I sewed it by hand. The armholes didn't line up. The elastic was not so elastic-y. But I felt proud of my accomplishment. This sewing of the Halloween costume.

And bought every other costume for Halloween after that.

bitter. better.

Here's the truth: I am having a difficult time coming up with a first post for November. Or for the past few weeks. I think I am worried about all of you. What you might think. What you might infer. So. I have decided to get over myself and just write what I know. What I feel. What my days are like.

So here goes.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the concept that grief will make you bitter or better. I have jumped into the bitter with both feet. Landing squarely in the middle. And wallowing in it. I've made a home for myself there.

I don't quite understand the better part. How am I to be better when Michael's absence is so profound? How am I to be better when the best part of me is gone? I find the concept that I could be better almost offensive.

I'm looking for something in the middle.

I am not there.

I sometimes feel like I have a handle on things.

But I am wrong.

halloween

Oh, Halloween. One of Michael's favorite days. Any excuse to dress up, he was in. And to get candy for it? Pure bliss. I thought I would share some of Michael's costumes from years past...

Missing my boy. Happy Halloween.

--------------------

I have decided to blog every day during the month of November. I have found this blog to be helpful to me as I write out my thoughts. I haven't made the time to do it and have challenged myself to find time to write. everyday.

It has been 6 months. Half a year.

We are entering into the Holiday season.

I went to Kohl's last week. Hoping to find some shoes. I didn't find any.

But as I turned the corner to head back to the down escalator. I heard it. The first Christmas song. Deck the Halls, I think. And I saw it. Christmas decorations. Trees and ornaments. Tears sprang to my eyes and I quickly found my way back to the downstairs. To the safety that is still October.

I had the same reaction to Halloween decorations at Target. Michael loved to dress up. And to get candy for it? He was a fan. It was a favorite day to be sure.

I considered turning off our lights this Halloween. Let the trick-or-treaters go else where. We are closed. But that seems false too. And not in the spirit of my son. So we will hand out sweet treats to princesses and super heroes. This first Halloween. Without my son turned Star Wars bounty hunter.

ugly

I find it difficult to blog right now.

I am a mix of ugly emotions. Bitter. Angry. Lonely. Sad. Jealous.

I find it difficult to pray.

I am awkward in groups. And in singles.

I'm working through it. Thank you for bearing with me.

final

It still shocks me. The finality of it all.

I will never see my son again. Except in my mind. In my memories. In videos. In pictures.

Like right now. I can't sleep. Because it hit me once again.

This finality.

I have this typical Michael phrase that I play in my head. Daily. I have this fear that one day I won't remember the way he said it. Or the way he put emphasis on certain syllables.

I fear the not remembering.

I am afraid.

I am awkward amongst people. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. I can say that I am OK. I'm not. I can laugh. But it is not sincere. It is not filled with joy.

I am afraid of not experiencing joy again.

My family was happy. We were loving. We were close.

And now, we just exist. As if waiting for something. Anything.

Days are meant to be gotten through. Not lived.

My days are just hallways to my nights. My nights are the passageways to a new day.

Just when I think that I have hit the depths of despair.

I find a new level.

Elf

Today I decided to do a work out video in my bedroom. Don't laugh. It is just that ... I had walked my 3 miles at the gym. But I am embarrassed to use the weights. I know. It's ridiculous. So I decided to do my Hi-Def Firm video. In the privacy of my own home. Where no one can see me struggle. Or grunt. Or sweat.

Because no one else is doing that in the gym. Uh. Huh.

I don't often use the DVD player in our bedroom. I'm not much of a home movie watcher. Unless it is a made for TV movie. Or a TBS Sunday afternoon special. Then I am all in.

When I opened the DVD player this afternoon, out popped ELF. Michael and I's favorite Christmas movie. We watched it all the time during the Christmas season. We love it. And I think that the last time we watched it was just before the Christmas holidays. It was part of our Advent activity for the day. Popped popcorn. Hot Cocoa. And Elf. In my room with our pajamas.

We had our favorite parts. And would sing while at Target ... I'm in a Store and I'm singing ... every time we went together over the season.

This DVD ... just reminded me of the precious moments that I am missing. It was a surprise reminder of the precious moments that I took for granted. Over the holiday season. I just assumed that I would have another Christmas. And another. And another. I just assumed that I would have years with my son.

I assumed that I would see him graduate fifth grade. And then high school. And then college. I assumed that I would see Michael grown up and perhaps have children of his own.

I assumed that I would get to watch Elf again. With him. In our pajamas.

I don't know that I will ever be that carefree again. To take for granted the many days I might have with someone. To be able to plan for the future without fear that the main person in that far off thought will not be there.

I made assumptions. I thought we had more memories to make.

And this Elf DVD ... it reminded me once again. That I don't.

The 3 Day Walk

I thought I would share the below on my blog as well...

Hi Friends and Family:

Last year, I walked every step of the 3 Day Walk for Breast Cancer. I did that with the support of my family and friends. My supporters who donated, and gave me words of encouragement and came out to the Cheering Stations to root me on. All of you. Thank you. For supporting me in my crazy adventure. For asking about it when I got back. For cheering me from afar. For making posters and leaving them on my front step. My family. My friends.

I came home with 6 blisters on my left foot. But also with a feeling that I could accomplish anything. I loved every moment of the walk. It was hard. It was long. It was rainy. But I made a great new friend along the way. I heard amazing stories of survival. And amazing stories of loss. I manicured my nails in my Gram’s signature red. I wore her jewelry. I carried her photo. I shared her story with my new friends.

I wanted to be a part of that experience again. I promptly signed up for the walk again. Visions of more training walks and fundraising events danced in my head. The training schedule called for starting in May. No problem … I signed up for the walk in November. I had plenty of time.

And then in April, my world came crashing down when my sweet Michael passed away. Suddenly. On a Thursday.

This walk was the last thing on my mind. I didn’t want to do anything. Let alone walk or fundraise or even get out of bed.

I have had 5 months to consider this decision. I made a decision to do the walk a few months ago. But I waffled again. Michael was such a part of the walk last year. He brought me band-aids. And Icy Hot. And gave me the best hugs at the Cheering Stations. He was so proud of me. He told his friends at school about it. He wanted to walk with me when he was old enough. He had plans to make posters this year.
How could I complete this without him?

How could I not do it? I made a commitment. I will stick to it. Michael will be with me every step of the way. Of this I am sure.

So. I have started my training in earnest. Am I ready for the walk? Nope. But I have a good start. I will be completing my long walks this weekend. To get a feel for where I am. I have 6 weeks to get ready. A condensed training schedule, to be sure. But I’ll make it work.

I have angels on my side. Michael and my Grams.
I’ll walk. Because they can’t.

I am once again coming to you to ask that you consider donating to this cause. To this walk. To stop Breast Cancer. I have the daunting task of raising $2300.00 in 6 weeks. I should probably be worried. But I’m not.

Have I mentioned that I have angels on my side? Michael and my Grams. And all of YOU.

Here is the link to my personal donation page. You will be able to add your donation on-line here or print out the donation form to mail in your donation.
www.the3day.org/goto/jenndooley

If you are so inclined, please send my e-mail to your family and friends as well. And finally, please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I'm going to need them.

staying home

I just don't know what to do with myself.

I quit my job just a week ago. A full week of my part time position. Mixed in with some trips to the gym. And more than a little sadness.

Don't get me wrong. I am very grateful for this time. This time to heal. And grieve. And stay in my bed if I need to. I am grateful that I have some work to keep my mind working. I am grateful to belong to a gym where I can sweat and see the Fabio look-a-like sweating alongside me.

But the house is quiet. I turn the TV on just to provide some background noise. For as long as I have had a child, I wanted to be a stay at home mom. I wanted to be home with Michael. I was able to work it out with my ex-job to work different hours so that I could be home on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. So I got to be a part-time stay at home mom with full time job responsibilities. I loved those days. Before fourth grade, my favorite place to be was the car pick-up line. I got there early, armed with my Diet Coke and my lastest read. When the bell rang, I would search the crowd of elementary school students for my Michael. I could pick out his face pretty quickly. Like I was drawn to him. Then with fourth grade, Michael walked home from school. I would wait on the front steps. I could hear him before I saw him usually. He liked to talk to himself. Make up stories. Sound effects.

I loved our afternoons together. Tuesdays for the library; Thursdays for Young Actors and the Atlanta Bread Company. And Fridays were my favorites. No rush to finish homework. No going anywhere. Sometimes we'd put on our pajamas and watch cartoons. And perhaps nap. Or we would watch YouTube. Or have a Friday night dance party. We usually ordered pizza. It was good.

And now I feel guilty. That I wasn't able to stay home when Michael was living. That I wasn't able to spend the other two afternoons with him. That I am able to stay home now to grieve and to mourn. To figure out what I am to do next.

And I just don't know where to begin...

dreams

I had a dream over the weekend and woke up smiling. I dreamt that I knew it was Michael's last day. And we had a pool. And we stayed outside swimming until the wee hours of the morning. Because we could. We had so much fun. And our neighbors were mad.

But we didn't care. Because we were together and laughing. In those last few moments together.

It was one of those dreams that felt real. That I wished was real. And despite my disappointment that it wasn't real, I could hear the echo of Michael's laugh in my mind.

My favorite sound in all the world.

notice.

I haven't written in the blog for a while. I took a little hiatus. With the emotion that comes with the start of school and my work at the university starting to ramp up, I just didn't have the stamina to write anything. I was tired.

I do have news. I have given my notice at work. My last day will be the Tuesday after Labor Day. I just need time to mourn. To grieve. To miss Michael. It is difficult to do while working full time, for me. Grief is different for everyone. For me, I am unable to focus. I am unable to stop feeling guilty about that fact. I am not able to meet my own standards with work. And so it was time to give my notice. It was time for me to take time for me.

I wonder what this time will bring for me. I wonder what I will do with it. I have ideas. I have thoughts. My grief counselor cautions me not to put too much pressure on myself to be productive. Do what I want. When I want to. I'll need to remind myself of this. Often.

I'm nervous about this time. This season.

Thanks for continuing to check in with us.

would haves..

Today, we would have found out Michael's fifth grade teacher. Friday, we would have found Michael's fifth grade classroom. Saturday, we would have laid out Michael's fifth grade first day of school outfit. Sunday, we would have packed a lunch. Where I put in my first day of school mommy note. Monday, Michael would have been a fifth grader.

I know that today would have been filled with excitement. Michael would have been so excited to see who was in his class. Who his teacher was.

I would have lamented that I couldn't believe that I had a fifth grader. Aren't I too young for that, I would have said. Or time goes by so fast when you have kids. Or look at how big my sweet boy is now. Or any of those other things that moms will say on the first day of school.

But I won't get to say them. I'll remember first days gone by. And carry my sorrow of these first days ahead.

I am just so sad.

four months

Today is my birthday. It is also four months since that terrible day in April.

This is the month that Michael would have started 5th grade. He had wanted to start walking to school. By himself. I told him that we would wait until 5th grade to make that decision. Another decision that I won't make. Because it has already been decided for me.

I am jealous of all of the parent's that are picking out first day outfits. And new backpacks. And fresh supplies. I am jealous of the jubilation of moms that are sending their children back to school. That doesn't mean that I don't want to hear about it. I just wish I was experiencing the same emotions. The same routines that are supposed to come every year. But they don't. Not for Michael. Not for me.

When we were on vacation lounging by the pool, I could hear the cries of "Mom" from some kids on the beach. It struck me that I may never have someone call me that again. That I may never know that joy again. I read a quote by someone (I am too lazy to look up the exact quote or who said it): To be a mom is to wear your heart on your sleeve. I get it. I might change it up a bit ... To be a mom of a child that is no longer with you is to have your heart ripped off your sleeve, stomped on and given back to you. To hot glue back together.

A friend asked if my wounds were starting to heal. I told him not really. My wounds just scab over. And I pick it off. again. and again. and again.

I am in a very low place. I think this place is reserved for those days that are supposed to be special. But won't have the same significance ever again. Because how could they? When I am not complete.

It has been 4 months. And I miss my Michael more with each passing day.

Not a minute goes by that he is not in my thoughts.

Love you, boopy.

it is the little things.

I have a constant stream of Michael thoughts throughout the day. I am constantly thinking of him. Or reminded of him. It doesn't stop. I'm glad. I don't want to forget.

Today I am reminded of the little things. I thought I would list five here, because these are the ones I was thinking about this morning. This hour. I could list five hundred. And probably will. But not at the same time.

1. I am reminded of how when I would hear a crash from his room, he would shout "I'm OK". Before I even had a chance to ask. Or see what was up. He just wanted me to know that I didn't have to worry about him. He was OK.

2. I am reminded that when he was really upset about something, he wouldn't want to talk about it. He would bury his head in my chest and cry. And then start to tell me about it, in between sobs. He wasn't upset often. But when he was, he let loose.

3. I am reminded how my favorite place to be was in the car pick-up line at school. With my McDonald's diet coke. And how when I would see him waiting with the other kids, my heart skipped a beat. Because I got to see my buddy. Fresh from school. With an afternoon to enjoy together. When he started walking home from school this past year, my favorite place to be was waiting on the front porch for him. With my can of diet coke. I could usually hear him before he got to the driveway. He liked to talk to himself, out loud. Complete with sound effects.

4. When Michael was little, he wore a hat constantly. The only place the hat was not worn was in the bathtub. But as soon as he was dried off and dressed in pajamas, he would put that hat back on. He slept in it. He went through surgeries and procedures in it. He didn't use a pacifier or have a blanket or suck on his thumb. He had a hat. I worried that when the time for kindergarten came, that he would not want to part with his hat. I shouldn't have ... in his typical laid back style, he stopped wearing the hat during the day for school and would put it back when he got home. Then he stopped wearing one all together. He had outgrown it, I suppose.

5. I am reminded of Michael's love of costumes. How he would go back to his room and come out as Spiderman or Batman or a Storm Trooper. He had a Spiderman costume that he got from my mom and dad when he was around 4. He would still put it on, even recently. Sure the pants were hitched around his knees, and there were holes in the seams, and it was threadbare. Didn't matter to him. He would still put it on. We laughed at our little super hero.

A hundred million little things that all add up to a life that was cut too short. I will keep sharing. To keep his memory going. Mostly for myself. But I appreciate that people read. And know what a special, special boy my son is. was.

thirty eight dollars

I got the bill for Michael's last day on Sunday. Technically, I received it sometime between Thursday and Saturday. But I was just home from vacation. And it was in the mail box.

$38.23

This is how much I owe the hospital where Michael was taken. This is the amount after our health insurance has paid their portion. It doesn't seem enough. I would pay 1000 times that amount. If only they would have revived him. If only their efforts could have brought him back. From the beat that couldn't fall in line. From a heart that was tired.

$38.23

I would gladly pay that amount. If Michael was still here with me.

But I don't want to pay them.

The amount that I am to pay for their efforts.

$38.23

I'm going to let it sit. And not pay it yet. It seems like yet another step towards closing out the events of the day. To pay for the work the hospital did to keep Michael alive. They didn't. And here we are. I'm not ready to close out that day. I'm not ready to pay a small amount for the failed attempt at keeping Michael's heart beating. I'm not ready.

And so they can bill me again.

Until I am ready.