Anxiety is really small word. Only 7 letters. Seven little letters. But what those seven letters hold can never truly be described. The raw burning of them can never really be given a true and fair ‘about me‘, so to speak. Even if you find 7 million big words to try to do the job.

My personal anxiety has been steadily building this week, as Mother’s Day approaches. My very own literal D-Day. A very large part of me wants to do nothing more than set fire to the earth that my feet are still standing on. Another part just wants to escape this world and free fall for a little while. Anything. Anything to not really acknowledge that it’s already Mother’s Day. My first one as a Mother. Without the person who gave me the privilege to wear that badge.

Because, I still am a mother you know. Just in case you’re one of those people who can’t seem to wrap their head around how I can still call myself that without any living children. And if in fact you are one of those people, feel free to walk directly into that fire I’d like to set to this earth. It’s nothing personal. Honestly. But maybe you should learn the burning anxiety that so many of us Momma’s are feeling. And let me clarify, we feel this everyday, not just on Mother’s Day. It’s just that days like these and other family oriented holidays seem to make that burn a little stronger, and the raw pain a little more fierce.

Sometimes I think even my son’s father doesn’t understand it. And not because he didn’t lose Kam in the same capacity as I have. He did. He lost him every bit as much as me. But he still has another living child. So it’s different for us, in that aspect. When Father’s Day rolls around, he will still have a living, breathing child that calls him Dad. I won’t get that come Sunday. In fact, I never heard my son call me Momma. I never heard him say anything, as not many 2 and half week olds tend to do much talking. And I never will. That’s a really hard pill to swallow.

But I will say, he did give me the best advice of anyone thus far. And not that I recognized it at the time, because I didn’t. I was honestly a little annoyed, and almost angry. But he told me, it’s only gonna be as sad as I make it. In reference to Mother’s Day that is.

And you know what, he’s right. Who says I have to spend all day Sunday hiding in bed, buried beneath my freshly washed duvet? Why should I feel sad all day? Obviously, I am going to have some tough moments. But that’s an every day thing. I’m not going to miss my Kam any more than I do every other waking moment. So I can’t let a Hallmark label make me want to stop the world. I already know that it’s not possible to do that, even if I did want to. Trust me, I’ve tried.

And when I look at it even further, to not acknowledge this day, means that I’m not acknowledging my son. And there will never be a day when I do not acknowledge Kamren. Because without him, I would never have gotten the honor to call myself a mama. Even if I am a bereaved one. And it also means that I wouldn’t be acknowledging my own mother, which is definitely not okay. I wouldn’t be half the woman I am if I didn’t belong to her. So, to now acknowledge what an amazing soul she is, and how desperately I’ve always needed her, would just be down right selfish. And pretty outlandish.

SherBear – you were first my Mama, and now my best friend. I don’t know how I’d survive this life without you. Thank you. For not giving up on me, even when I gave up on myself. For loving me when I was pretty unlovable. And for letting me grow in my own direction, trusting that I’d come back around. Because of you, I did. I will always love you, but probably never as fiercely as you’ve always loved me. And for that, I’m thankful and eternally grateful.

Lastly, and this is the most important, I have to acknowledge this day for my other warrior Mamas navigating this journey that they didn’t chose. You are phenomenal. You are one of the best mothers to ever exist. So this day is for you. To honor you. And recognize your everlasting and eternal love. Who else could mother your child like you? Even in death? That’s right. Absolutely no one. So you, sweet mama, deserve all the acknowledgement and love in the world. And on Sunday, I hope that’s exactly what you get. In whatever form that makes sense to you.

2am; where do I begin,
Crying off my face again.
The silent sound of loneliness
Wants to follow me to bed.

I’m the ghost of a girl that I want to be most.
I’m the shell of a girl that I used to know well.

Dancing slowly in an empty room,
Can the lonely take the place of you?
I sing myself a quiet lullaby.
Let you go and let the lonely in
To take my heart again.

Broken pieces of
A barely breathing story
Where there once was love
Now there’s only me and the lonely.

Lately it’s been a nothing short of a cluster fuck trying to navigate this new life of mine, and this new woman that I’ve subsequently become. It’s hard to know where I fit in with myself. Within my own life.

I’m far from the carefree girl I once was before I found out I was expecting Kamren. I’m not the young lady that I was when I was happily pregnant with him. And I’m certainly not the same woman I was when I gave birth to him and held him close for those 16 days. I’m not quite a shell of any of these people either. I’m an entirely different individual altogether, simply carrying small remnants of each of them within me.

In some aspects this gives me this odd chance to recreate myself, yet again. Or improve upon the old versions of me. That’s probably a better way to word it.

There’s so many options. Choice after choice, of who I can become. Who other people unwittingly suggest I become.

So what happens if I want to become the one who just doesn’t belong here?

And suppose I don’t want to be the girl that hides, from this loss & this life? I see so many women walking this same journey, who do just that. It’s been casually suggested time after time to me. Just move here, come with us. We’ll take care of you. You don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to think, etc.

 But what if I want to go my own way? Figure out this life for myself and navigate my own journey? Become my own Hercules. I think that’s the plan. In this current moment at least. But who knows. It may change 10 more times before the next hour hits.

So tonight is the big Mayweather/Pacquiao fight. It’s literally the ‘fight of the century,’ or so they say. I’m actually pretty excited to watch it with my best girl, over a couple of cold bourbons. But I can’t help but to think with all this build up, what happens next? For either one of them. Win or lose, this fight kind of defines them both. So where is there to go from here? I wonder how each of them feels. This is literally one of Mayweather’s last career fights. So besides the fact that he’s worth a few hundred million, what’s next for him and his life?

Oddly enough, I’m a little jealous of them both. And not for the reasons that you’re probably thinking, ie, money, fame, etc. But I’m so jealous that they can see a finish line. That’s something that I’ll never get to, unless of course you count death.

Because for me, there’s truly no finish line to look forward to. There’s no other side. No mark of a new year, or another birthday changing my life’s circumstances. There’s no test to pass and then I’m done. This journey, one that I never willing signed up for, is lifelong.

Sure, there will be some peaks and many valleys. I’m sure more lows than I can count, and hopefully a few highs along the way. There’s probably even gonna be some dragging lulls as well, although I’m not entirely sure what to do with those yet. But no matter what the view is, or how many times it changes for me, it will never actually be over. I’ll never be finished. No line to cross, no medal to win.

So tonight is the ‘fight of this century,’ and I’ll take the time to soak it in and enjoy it. And when the last round finishes, I’ll go right back to living the constant fight of my life.

I’m not sure who came up with the phrase, it gets easier as time moves on, but it doesn’t. It gets different. You get different. But it doesn’t get easy. That’s probably the most inaccurate adjective to use to describe this lifelong journey that you’re forced to embark on after the death of your child.

I was going through the notes on my iPhone a few minutes ago, looking for one of the hundreds of quick mental notes that I had jot down to myself. I do this a lot. Both write and reread these little notes. I actually stumbled upon one that my dear friend Justin left on my phone that I hadn’t discovered yet. It made me smile.

But I also saw the notes from Semptember when we were finalizing our list of baby names. And ironically, I saw the name Kamren Grey at the very bottom of one. Funny to think now that it was the last name on the list, but clearly the most important. Hindsight is 20/20.

I also saw I note I made a few weeks after we lost Kam. February 1st, at 9:50 PM. I love that my iPhone automatically catalogs them for me. It was just such a raw and gut wrenching note. To me, from me.

I wonder if this pain will ever stop. If I’ll ever be at peace with losing Kamren. I don’t imagine I will. I’m not sure how it will ever be humanly possible to live life, or enjoy life without my little boy. Nothing in life has meaning anymore. Everything is dark. And when I see the sun it’s just a slap in the fucking face. How can the sun shine?! How can the world around me be so alive, when everything inside of me has died. Everything. I’m not sure why God won’t let me just come home to my son. I’m not sure why he insists on me remaining in this living hell. I’m not needed here. I serve no purpose. My entire purpose died when Kam took his last breath. I can’t wait to take mine. I anxiously await death. I anxiously await the time when I can hold my son again. And cover him in kisses. There’s nothing else I want. There is no longer any earthly treasure that could ever mean more to me. I just want to go home. Please God, just let me come home.  

Even looking at it here, copied from my note pad brings me to tears. And not because I can’t believe that I felt like that. But because most of the time I still do. I think it’s softened a little. Or maybe I’ve softened a little. But this is exactly what my life is. I still anxiously await the moment I’ll be reunited with my son, whenever that time is. I wish I could know an exact date, but it’s probably be better that I don’t. 60+ years is a lot of marking off to do on a calendar.

But no, it hasn’t gotten any easier since that Wednesday evening. Yes, it has gotten different. And no, I’m not sure how I honestly feel about the different. In no uncertain terms do I like it. Although I have come to accept it. My different. My life. My excruciating soul journey. At the end of it all, I just hope my Kam is up there proud to call me his Momma. Because I’m overwhelming proud to exclaim my undying love for him and call him my son.

That’s how old you should be today my sweet, sweet boy. 122 days. Or 2,928 hours. Yes, I’ve counted.

I’ve also counted every hour since you had to leave. 2,505 to be exact. Maddening to think that I know that so easily. But that’s the exact number of hours I’ve had to live through. The number of moments I’ve had to drag myself to watch the next minute pass by on the over sized digital wall clock by my desk. That’s 150,300 minutes so far, and only a million more to go.

I love you Bubbie. Now & always.

It literally takes nothing for my emotions to go from a one year old getting their first birthday cake, to Carrie at the senior prom.

Seriously.

Sometimes I have to stop and really try to remember how I went from feeling okay, and even borderline happy in one moment. To being curled up in the fetal position in the very next, mascara staining my cheeks. But it doesn’t even matter what the trigger was. It always come back to the same thing. His stupid white box.

I’m almost positive that if I had any new people that were coming into my life who weren’t already familiar with my son’s story, that they’d think I was bat shit crazy. Truly, BAT SHIT.

Even yesterday, when I was talking to my mortgage loan office, getting everything in line for an offer I made on this house I fell in love with (some asshole outbid me, so it’s not gonna be my house. This made me a little more emotionally heightened yesterday.) But while I was talking to him he was running over my loan application and making sure everything was correct.

Single, not married. Yep. Living in Florida. Yep. Not paying child support or getting child suppor. Yep, that’s correct. No kids. NO. Hell NO!

And I had to stop myself. This poor guy. He had no idea what was coming.

Yes, I have a child. I have a son. Not had a son. Have a son. He is still my son. He will always be my son. MY SON. And neither you nor your stupid little loan application are gonna take that away from me!

Obviously he wasn’t trying to do anything like that. He just assumed since I was not paying or receiving child support, and being only 26 and unmarried, that naturally I probably wouldn’t have any kids. But I do, I do! And he’s my whole entire world.

He just no longer lives in the same one that I do, for the time being.

I’ve realized that sometimes it’s easier to not acknowledge my Kam when dealing with strangers for business purposes. After all, do I want to get into the deepest parts of my soul when talking to an absolute stranger about how much the houses in the neighborhood are typically selling for? But then again, how can I not acknowledge my child and not feel guilty? It’s such a double edged sword. It’s gotten to the point where I simply don’t bring it up, or even get close to questions that might lead to someone asking me if I have any children.

It just seems easier that way.

However, there is always someone that manages to ask that damned question. Typically just to create some meaningless small talk. So, whenever I am asked, I always tell them that yes, I am in fact a momma to a perfect little boy. And I leave it at that. Most people don’t actually want details about your kids anyway. Especially if you’re a perfect stranger to them. This does makes it easier for me.

I will however go into detail about him if the person continues to ask questions. I feel like they walked into to, and I let their body language determine how much I tell them. It’s really easy to read people and tell when they’re done. That’s the nice thing. People are truly so simple. So I let them know what they can handle, and give them the obligatory smile. Typically words of condolences are said, none of which mean much of anything anymore.

But it is nice to see that people try. Even though they typically fail. It’s not their fault. There really isn’t anything that can be said to help. But the sentiment is nice. I guess it’s just a small piece of humanity I’m glad to see is still around.

It’s incredible how the loss of a child, of your child, can open up your entire world. It opens it up, starting with you. This can be either a gift or a curse, depending on how you choose to look at it.

I’ve made the conscious decision to let the loss of my Kam open me up in a positive way. I’ve allowed it to let me accept the real love and light that is constantly surrounding me. The energy I was never aware of before, but has always been there. I’ve made a promise to both myself and to him, to make sure to drown out the negative energy, and feed into the positive. It’s not always easy. I’ve definitely got the battle scars to prove it, though they may not be physically visible. They’re definitely there. Constant little reminders of my loss, but also that I’ve got so much hope flowing all around me.

I say this to say that the other day I had the most enlightening realization in my personal journey thus far. And it came from within me, without the push from anything this physical world has to offer. And that’s my life. My real, and good, and honest life.

Isn’t that remarkable? To be able to really think and be sure that despite losing what I loved most, I still have a profoundly good life. I think it is. And I won’t let other people’s judgement of how I should feel or what I should be doing, change that.

People don’t realize that their unintended judgement does in fact keep a grieving person in a very dark space. I don’t want that space. I won’t accept that space. It’s hard enough being in the incredibly sad space that I am most of the day. I can’t allow that darkness to make it even worse.

I’ve come to hate hearing people tell me, ‘a parent should never have to bury their child.’

Who says? It happens. It happens a lot actually. Just because it’s too uncomfortable for you to mention or acknowledge, doesn’t mean that it isn’t happening. Daily. Kam has a brand new little neighbor next to him. Griffin Maxwell. He was just laid to rest a couple of days actually. And I just found out today that one of my dearest friend’s sister in law, who was newly pregnant when I was about 20 weeks, who I met and celebrated being a first time mom with while getting mani/pedis, will be laying her sweet daughter Finley to rest this upcoming Sunday. She was barely a month old.

So who ever thought it would be a good idea to say that to a parent? Are you trying to point out how unfair it seems to be? If so, then please, just say that. Say that it sucks that this amazing parent is having to return their child back to the universe. Because it does in fact suck, for lack of a better word. Or maybe not a better word. Maybe that truly is just the best way to describe it. Sucky.

Okay, okay. Rant over.

But please lovely people, keep that in mind. I know you’re just trying to help, but to a newly bereaved parent, you’re pouring vinegar into an open wound. Albeit, we try to remember your intentions are good, it’s hard to not feel the shame take over in those moments. And the very last thing any of us on this journey deserve to feel, is shame,

I finally got around to finishing my taxes today. I know, I know. Procrastinate much?

Really though, I wasn’t able to finish them because I’ve been waiting to receive Kam’s SSN card in the mail. Which has yet to come BTW, even though it was issued in January. Florida, I swear. Either way, after 3 attempts between me and Kam’s dad, I was finally able to get his SSN from the (not so) local office.

I felt odd walking out after having the lady write down his 9 digit SSN on a little yellow Post-It note. They wouldn’t actually give me a card since he’s deceased. Lovely, right. Like he wasn’t worth their shitty little card. But that’s neither here nor there. Just politics. But leaving with that Post-It tucked safely into my wallet left me feeling heavy. And confused. How was I leaving with my son’s SSN, but I didn’t have him tucked away in my backseat, safely strapped in his comfy grey carrier. Part of me felt worse after having it. Just another one of those little slaps in the face I suppose. You’d think it would get easier, or that I’d know to expect it, but nope. Not the case. Not even a little.

And these sudden grief attacks just come on out of no where. There really is no way to prepare for it. You can be going about your day, living in your new ‘normal,’ feeling okay, and then boom. You’re hit like a freakin’ Mack truck. And before you know it, you’re trying to piece your very life back together in an instant. You talk yourself out of that damn rabbit hole, again, and remind yourself that it is okay to keep living. It’s okay to want to be okay. Or at least pretend to be. Fake it till you make it, ya know. That oddly does help. Faking it. Strange huh? The things we do to keep ourselves moving.

But anyhow, back to my lovely taxes. They were pretty quick and easy thanks to TurboTax. I really didn’t get anything back, which I feel is a mockery since I was finally able to claim a child. But apparently you really only get good money back for them if you get that earned income credit, which I didn’t. I don’t qualify. I suppose that’s actually a good thing overall. But getting a few thousand extra for it would have been nice.

I didn’t have to pay though, so that’s good. It’s literally only because I was able to ‘write’ Kamren off. I hate that term now. Writing him off. Or claiming him as a deduction. What the hell does that even mean? He didn’t deduct anything from my life. It was exactly the opposite. He contributed to it so much. I literally owe him my life in this very moment.

I think in that way I’m lucky. To know how much he has impacted my life in a purely positive way. How many people can really say that? Even parents, who claim their kids changed them. Did they really though? Because 8 out of 10 times, you’re still the same exact person. Now you just have a little miniature version of yourself running behind you.

But losing Kamren has actually changed me, in a positive way. I’m not inspired by his death, mind you. Not at all. I resent that moment to my very core. But I am inspired by his life. And everything he was able to accomplish in the 284 days  that he was alive (38 weeks, 2 days in my womb. 16 days on this earth.)

He reminds me of the bigger picture. It’s amazing how much differently you begin to look at life, and how everyone is really interconnected. He teaches me to be a better human; a more gentle individual. He inspires my soul to love. And love fiercely.

How many of us parents can say that our children did that for us? That they made us better, and not bitter?

I can. And I do it proudly. My big little man is such an amazing soul. I got to know that like no one else ever will. And I still get to experience it and his love everyday. I know his soul will never give up on me. Just like I’ll never write him off. Ever.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbirds are the most precious thing in the world to me as of late. Random huh? Seeing as I’ve really never actually liked birds. My aunt Terri had birds when I was little, and they were true assholes. I remember being like 7 and just knowing I did not like them. But these blackbirds now. There’s just something special about them.

They’re my sign from my Kam, and he picked them out just for me. Just like he picked out this song just for me. He really know’s his mama, to know I’d connect so deeply with it. Especially since it’s a Beatles song. He’s a clever little one, my son. I’m so proud of that, and of him.

Also, I swear with the music that I do connect so deeply to, that I was certainly born in the wrong Era. Way to go Mom & Dad. I should probably be your oldest, and not your baby.

If you have a true spiritual side like myself, then you’ll understand what it means to get these signs. And more than that, you’ll understand the significance of being able to so clearly recognize and connect to them. It really is a saving grace for me. And a reminder that I’m still living for my son. Mostly, just to make sure he is proud of me. And also to make sure he’ll never be forgotten. I’ll be damned if I allow that to happen. Not to my boy.

It’s nice to have this connection to him when the holidays hit. Sunday and Easter was the first real holiday since he’s been gone. I think the days leading up to it were worse than the actual day itself. Especially the day before when I was in Wal-Mart and everyone was just rushing the Easter aisles for things to stuff their children’s baskets with. It just made me sad that I didn’t have a reason to be going down those aisles. Except I still did. Go down the aisles. Maybe because I’m a masochist. Who really knows at this point. I just so strongly feel the need to engulf myself in all of it, including the pain. I’m a firm believer that if I don’t allow myself to really feel it, then I’ll never get through it.

Also, I think that the Wal-Mart that I was at, was by far the most Wal-Marty, Wal-Mart that you can get. If that makes sense. Think Wal-Mart in the early 2000’s, filled with nothing but people you see online at the People of Wal-Mart.com. It was that serious, I swear. #NeverAgain

I did end up making some purchases from those aisles though, to make Kam’s dad an Easter Basket. I just had to make one for somebody. My soul needed too. It turned out pretty good if you ask me. And well, since this is my blog, essentially you are asking me.

I didn’t make Kam an Easter Basket like I would have wanted too, but only because there are rules as to what can be left at his site. But I did get two new solar lights for him, that have my blackbirds on them. They seemed like the most fitting to me. I took those to him, along with an Easter plant and some other little decorations. It makes me feel good to keep his area cleaned up and decorated. It’s seriously the very least I can do for my boy. Plus I made a vow to celebrate every holiday with him, the same way I would have if he were still living. And that’s a vow I don’t intend to break. Ever.

  Kam’s Daddy’s Easter Basket 🐰🐥🐣

  My Kam’s resting pace

I’ve always been a big fan of the saying, ‘pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.’

It’s true, you know. Everyone is going to experience some form of pain throughout their life. Whether it be physical, mental, emotional, etc. Sometimes it’s all the above. I like to think my current journey is encompassing all of the above. And not because I want to make my journey bigger than it is. But because that’s what it IS.

 It’s amazing how real the physical pain has manifested. I’ve you’ve ever lost a baby or an infant, I’m sure you’ll know what I mean when I refer to the term aching arms. And it is oh so real. More real than I’d like it to be. I have however, thanks to my oldest sister, discovered an incredible organization called Molly Bears.

Molly Bears was founded by a mother who lost her infant daughter Molly, and experienced the aching arms syndrome. She creates teddy bears, that the parents of an angel baby can customize, weighted to their child’s exact weight. Some bears are so incredibly tiny, due to losing during the course of the pregnancy. And others, like my Kammy Bear that I’m anxiously awaiting, are quite heavy. I can’t wait for this 10.10 lb bear to arrive in my mail. Even though it’s obviously not my son that I will be holding, it will be nice to hold something close that was his exact birth weight. Even as I type this, and think about it, my arms physically ache to hold both him and my bear. I have a link to their website on my home page, so if you know anyone who’s going through this loss, it might be a good page for them to checkout. The bears only cost $20, and I really can’t think of a better $20 spent.

But back to the suffering, my suffering.

I started hypnotherapy yesterday, after my acupuncture session. Yeah, I know. I’m literally doing like 12 million forms of therapy. But guess what? I need it. I more than need it. If I wasn’t doing everything I possibly could, and every form of therapy out there, I’m quite certain I’d still be stuck in that damn rabbit hole. And guess what, I don’t want to be there. I’m not Alice, and this is certainly anything but Wonderland. And guess what else? I’m not ashamed or embarrassed, or anything else. Not even a little. Yep, I take antidepressants like my life depends on it. Because right now, it does. It depends of every form of personal and group therapy I’ve engulfed myself in. Because this is MY suffering.

But the woman who was working with me, on a myriad of issues, was absolutely fantastic. She lost her 20 year old son back in 2012 so she gets it, which is helpful. I hate that I can’t remember her name, but I’ll make sure to get it today, and commit to remembering it. Plus, I think she’ll probably be pretty significant in my life moving forward. But what she told me yesterday, regarding this suffering, really resonated with me.

Suffering is Resisting What Is. And what you resist, persists.

I felt like that statement just slapped me in the face, but in a good way. It just brings everything to the surface. Everything that no one else has had the courage to say to me. Because what is, is my son’s death. And that’s irreversible, no matter how much I want to will him back to this life. He is forever gone, from this life in the physical sense. And I know this. I just haven’t wanted to accept this. And I still haven’t. But I guess now, almost three months into it, I’m trying to move in that general direction.

I don’t want to continue to feed this monster that suffering is. And yes, for me, grief has become a monster. I will always be affected by the loss of Kamren, always. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life suffering. I don’t think he would want me to either.

So today is day one. Day one of choosing to no longer suffer. And today, if you ask me how I am, I will simply say, I am, because that’s my truth. That’s where I’m at on my journey. And in my grief. And I don’t need to be anywhere other than exactly where I am.