Brunch has always been a long standing hobby of mine. I mean, really, what’s better than mid-morning cocktails and over easy eggs? Before I knew the simple joys of motherhood, not a lot was higher on my list of weekly habits.

I finally had my first postpartum brunch experience, and it was quite delightful, as my pre-mommy self would’ve naturally expected. But that’s odd, isn’t it? To have a delightful experience, after my son died. It seems odd to me. Good moments always do. That’s when my little friend guilt comes out to say hello in a very loud and pressing voice. Honestly, how on earth can I have a positive or good moment when my son is still dead? What kind of mother does that make me? It’s all so confusing. Part of me knows that Kam wouldn’t want me to suffer for the rest of my life, and he’s probably happy when I’m able to have a good moment or good day. But the other part of me, my human ego part, feels like I’m doing a disservice to him by being okay, in the middle of my mourning. Because let’s be honest here, even in a good moment or an okay day, I’m still very much mourning. I’m pretty sure it’ll be a lifelong mourning, of everything my son never got to experience, like brunch. I was more than excited to dress him in his little H&M jeans with suspenders and his baby Sperrys, and show him off Sunday morning at the Oxford Exchange, over white tea infusions and kale hashes. But as it stands, that’s something neither one of us will ever to experience.

But, thanks to my lovely best friend for flying in from Chicago Saturday night, I was able to once again experience some form of a much sought after Sunday brunch.

We also made time to take Lola to the dog beach before shuffling back to the airport for his return flight home. Lola was understandably elated, and so was I, for a moment anyways.

The second I unleashed Lola and let her bounce around the beach with the other dogs, my eyes immediately went to the nearest picnic table. An infant carrier positioned in the middle, away from a jumping dogs reach. Luckily the carrier and baby were covered by a draped blanket, so I couldn’t actually see him or her. That obviously didn’t stop be from staring like a crazy person. If anyone really noticed what I was looking at I’m sure they would’ve been afraid I was one of those people just  waiting to snatch someone’s baby. I’m not. One of those people. I promise.

Thankfully that family didn’t stay long after we got there. Part of me wonders why they would even bring an infant to the dog beach, but another part of me doesn’t. After all, I know I would’ve brought Kamren at some point. Probably when he was a little bit older, and I would’ve worn him instead of using his car seat. I mean, who really wants sand in their car seat. But I understand it. Yesterday was a perfect 73 degrees and sunny. It was an ideal day to let your fur babies get their energy out.

Obviously Lola had no concern for me at this point, which was good. She senses when I’m upset and she tenses up and becomes sad in return. I hate that my energy shifts to her. But it does. She loves every second at the dog beach or any dog parks. She’s a dog’s dog. She’s not much for humans, specifically males.

There was a handicapped dog there yesterday, with a little wheel chair carrying it’s back legs. At first I felt an incredible sadness for her. Until I realized that she clearly didn’t feel that for herself. She ran and played and did everything else the other dogs were doing, even going into the bay. She didn’t seem to notice she was handicapped, so why should I? I actually found this little handicapped pug to be inspiring. If she can overcome being paralyzed and still live a full, happy life, then so can I. Our paralizations may be different, and they are, but if she can do it, so can I damnit.

Dogs are truly resilient, and have the best hearts imaginable. Imagine what the world would be like if humans were like dogs. We probably wouldn’t be so fucked. Except if you’re like Lola. She’s an asshole. But she’s the sweetest dog I know, and she’s my asshole. She just doesn’t realize she is one, so she means well. I was so nervous when she discovered this handicapped dog. I just sat there thinking, please don’t be the asshole that knocks over this dog’s wheelchair. Because that’s Lola. All gas, no breaks. But she did really well. And she played with her accordingly. I was a proud Mama in that moment.

  My lovely brunch date and best friend of 15+ years 

  My little asshole Lola, chasing the wheelchair. Smh 

Nope, you’ve read that title correctly, as random as it sounds. But yes, acupuncture and Tracy Chapman are the two things getting me through this week. (I know, I know. I’m not really in the age bracket that should be appreciating Tracy Chapman, but I’m also pretty certain my soul was meant to be born in the late 70’s or early 80’s instead of ’88.)

Just for my other late 80’s & early 90’s babies, let me just explain the Tracy Chapman obsession, since a lot of you guys are probably not too familiar. You’ve actually probably heard her music before, and just not recognized who it is. You may have even heard Sam Smith’s recent cover of her song, Fast Cars, which he killed btw. If you haven’t heard his version, I highly recommend YouTubing it, like right now. No, seriously. Go do this. NOW. His voice is just flawless anyways, but he definitely bleeds new life & new pain into Chapman’s original.

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Anyplace is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe we’ll make something
Me, myself I got nothing to prove

So remember we were driving, driving in your car
Speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped ’round my shoulder
I had a feeling that I belonged
I had a feeling I could be someone

You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so we can fly away
We gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way

So if you actually took the time to read the lyrics above instead of skimming over them, and if you know me, then you’ll get it. I’ll leave it at that, as I don’t feel the need to explain myself anymore. For much of anything. Like Chapman say’s, Me, myself, I’ve got nothing to prove. Or maybe, maybe I’ve just got nothing to lose. I’ve lost everything already. I’ve lost the only thing that’s ever truly mattered to me. As miserable as that sounds, and as it is, there’s also something incredibly freeing in it as well. I’ve already survived the worst loss I can ever suffer, so anything else from here is just semantics. Literally, there is nothing on this earth that can physically break me. At all. Even death. I’ll be ok, no matter what. And I know this. I’ve proven it to myself. Can you imagine how freeing that this feeling is? Probably not, unless you’ve experienced it as well, and my heart goes out to you if you do know. After all, no one truly wants to know this feeling. Because to know this feeling, means you’ve known the most debilitating loss imaginable. But it also means you’ve survived it. And every day is a new battle, each morning a new battle ground. But do you know what I’ve learned these past 80 days? I have a 100% success rate. Even if some days don’t feel like a success, they are. Because I’m still here to feel them. To drag myself through them. And honestly, that feels pretty fucking awesome. #smallvictories

Also, and let me just say that this is by far the most important thing in life to me. The fact that I know this pain, means that I know my Kamren Grey. And how lucky am I for that? How blessed am I to have gotten him? To have loved and continue to love him. To be his Mama. I’d say in that aspect, I’m pretty damn lucky.

Now on to acupuncture. Hands down, simply amazing. And when I say amazing, I mean Ahhhhhhmazing. I cannot thank my new friend Brooke enough for praising it, and giving me the push to try it. Seriously, it’s a game changer. Somehow, having tiny little needles covering your entire body, from the crown of your head to the webbing between your toes, is the most calming and enlightening experience. Your body feels so heavy during the process, but immediately after, you somehow feel lighter. Your soul feels lighter. And your energy. Needless to say, I’ll be back next week. And in the weeks to come. If you haven’t tried this, and can afford to, or better yet, can get it covered by your Health Insurance, I sincerely recommend trying it. If you do, I’d love to hear about your experience. I’m willing to bet you’ll love it.

One last thing, Lokai bracelets. One bead represents your life’s highest moment. Mine was 2014 & my Kam. The other  represents your lowest. 2015. I’d put a more detailed description about these, but you can just check out the link to their website on my homepage. They really have a great story and an even better message. I was blessed to receive one in the mail yesterday from my Bestie. I’m wearing it right this moment & today already feels better.

Sometimes you’re on top of the world. Stay humble. Sometimes you’ve hit a low. Stay Hopeful

Bitterness; it’s a very unpleasant feeling that I’ve come to know pretty well over these last couple of months. I hate that I have. I hate this feeling. It’s pretty damn shitty to say the least. I’ve never been one to envy what someone else had that I didn’t, after all, their life, their story, their struggle, is infinitely different from mine. Even if I knew nothing about theirs, I know enough to know that no one makes it through this life without losing something. Anything. So feeling envious or bitter or any of the above is just not something I’ve ever really been drawn to. Until now. Until someone gets to keep their child when I didn’t. Especially a little boy. And especially when they already have more than one child at home already. I know life isn’t fair, and the universe doesn’t owe me anything. But I’m quite certain that I’ve never done anything horrendous enough to warrant losing my child.

If anyone is wondering why I’m feeling such a gutting sense of bitterness and jealousy right now, my coworker/friend just welcomed his fourth child into the world last night, and yep you guessed it, a little boy. Now let me stop to clarify that I am so incredibly happy for him and the safe arrival of his new son, but damn it if I’m not jealous beyond belief. There’s no way to put into words how much I want that. And not that I want that because I’ve never experienced it, but because I have. I want that back. I want to know what it’s like to never have lost it. And not that I ever want anyone to lose their child, because God forbid anyone else have to feel what constantly nags at my very soul, but how unfair it is for someone to get to keep their 4th child, when I didn’t get to keep my first. My one. I wasn’t asking for a house full of little ones. I don’t want a minivan full of car seats. I just want my one. My Kamren. I don’t think I was asking for too much. In fact, I know I wasn’t.

And this is just the first birth of my many coworkers who are currently expecting, most of them with their third or fourth child. Most of them with little boys. It’s more than a slap in the face, although again, I am in fact happy for them. They’re all really good people, and they all celebrated the birth of my boy with me. And came to pay their respects for his death. So how could I not be happy for them?  I guess to put it simply, it feels like God is just laughing at me. The same God I’ve spent my entire life believing in, fearing, worshiping. Yep, HIM. As you’ve probably concluded, my relationship with him is going through it right now, but it is enduring. I suppose that’s the most important part. Endurance. Endurance for this life in general. Maintaining my faith in both Him, and the universe. And hopefully finding the strength to make something out of this life. This new, unfair, unwanted life. I mean, as much as I’d like to give it back to wherever the hell it came from, I can’t. And it is mine. So maintain, endure, & survive is what I’ll do. It’s all I have.

A few weeks ago I received the most lovely box from another Mama who lost her son Leo when he was just a few months old. And in the box were the sweetest little reminders, all yellow, as her boxes are lovingly called Leo’s Box of Sunshine. I actually put the bright yellow pinwheel that came in the box at my Kam’s resting place, with his temporary marker and teddy bears left for both his 2 month birthday and Valentines Day. There was also an amazing book inside of sweet Leo’s box, titled, You Are the Mother of all Mothers. I’m not sure why I put off reading it for so long, but I did. I guess there was just such a finality to the book, and reading it. Funny huh? How I can visit my baby’s grave without a second thought, but the idea of reading this 24 page book had the ability to bring me to my knees.

But I did read it. Finally. And the tears flowed freely. Every single word, every letter, every small punctuation hit me like the bitter smoothness of an ice cold glass of bourbon on the lips of a recovering alcoholic. I suppose I am in a sort of recovery as well. Even as I write this, knowing that today is the day that my son should be 3 months old. But instead he’s forever frozen in time. 16 days old, in a stupid white box. But in this book, this 24 page masterpiece, Angela Miller so eloquently sums up the ultimate mind fuck that it is to lose your child.

It takes invincible strength to mother a child you can no longer hold, see, touch or hear. 

I see you walking this path of life you’ve been given, where every breath and step apart from your child is a physical, emotional, and spiritual battleground. A fight for your own survival. A fight to quiet the insidious lies. 

Besides the ultimate anger that I feel for having my son’s life cut entirely too short, I’m also just down right livid when I think of my own innocence that’s been stolen. The innocence and the excitement that it is to bring a new life into this world. And what it means to take this amazing new soul home from the hospital. While most parents are high on love, and full of new hopes and dreams when this moment happens, all I can feel is impending doom. I cannot express the insane amount of love and excitement I felt to put my Kammy in his car seat for the very first time, and have his Daddy drive us home. After 9 days in the NICU we were finally free! We were finally going home to meet his big sister Lola, and start this new life, as our own new little family. What a perfect moment this was. And now as a living, breathing, albeit against my own wills, survivor of child loss, I know that this is a feeling that I will never get to experience again. And that just pisses me off to no end.

But I do allow myself to wonder how it must feel to never have lost a child. I bet that’s the most amazing feeling there is. And that’s a feeling that I’ll never know. That’s been forever stolen from me. Stolen from me with my first child. My first and only pregnancy. And I’m only 26. That leaves a whole helluva lot more years for me to have to suffer through what’s become this miserable existence. And oh how I long for the days of my own naïveté, and thinking that something this heavy could never touch me or my family. But touched us it has. HARD. There are days when it’s all I can do to drag my lifeless self out of bed in the morning. And days when simply making it to the Kuerig for another cup of coffee is a true and legitimate victory.

I suppose right now that’s what I have to look forward to. These small victories. Like knowing I’m so exhausted from an unusually eventful weekend, that I’ll pass out at soon as I press post.

Brave. It’s a word I’ve been hearing a lot of lately, although I’m not quite sure why. I get it, I do. I get what you’re tying to do when you tell me, “OMG, you’re so brave!” So on some level I appreciate what you’re saying. But on another level I’m quite sure that the term ‘brave’ does not reflect on any level what I am or what I’m going through.

I didn’t choose this. This life. I didn’t choose to give my son back to God so I could show people how ‘brave’ I am. I don’t want this, or that title. I don’t want to be a role model or a spokesperson. I want to be a mother. A mother to my living, breathing, cooing, pooping, fussing, baby boy. That’s what I chose. Those were my plans. I didn’t want my son’s face to become the face of what SIDS or infant loss is. For his Dad to be the reflection of a perfectly paired partner to walk this journey with. Albeit, he is in fact my perfectly paired partner who finds the strength to carry us both when I’ve given up my will to walk. Even on the days when I’m anything but decent to him, HIS heart allows him to swallow MY pride, anger, and sadness. So for him maybe, he’s BRAVE. And for that, I’m grateful.

Full Definition of BRAVE

Kamren Grey Smith came crashing into this life December 22, 2014. I guess I should rephrase that since he actually came into this life rather quietly. A little too quietly. After being pulled out of me via c-section, he didn’t make a sound for three minutes. Three minutes that felt like three days. All I knew was my baby was out, but my baby was not crying. I was crying. This wasn’t how it was supposed to sound. Then after what I thought would be the longest three minutes of my life, I heard the most beautiful sound in the whole entire world. I heard my son’s cry. And it was the most amazing cry in life.

When they finally held him up for me to see, after he spent a good minute peeing on everything in sight, the first thing I saw was this head full of beautiful jet black hair. I’d like to point out how important this was to me in that moment, because during my entire pregnancy I was certain I was going to be giving birth to a very bald baby. And compounding on that, he was a very big, albeit expected, baby. So my fear of bringing life to a giant potato vanished. He was perfect in every way. 10.10 lbs and 22.9 inches long. I couldn’t believe that I was carrying every ounce of this magnificent little boy within me. I grew that. I grey him. And he was mine. Mine and his Dad’s.

Fast forward 16 days later, and we’re back in the hospital.Except this time, there’s no sound coming from out beautiful little boy. You see, his Daddy found him not breathing in his bassinet, less than 10 minutes after putting him down for his nap. After CPR attempts by us, the paramedics, and resuscitation in the hospital, our little boy left this life physically. He went back home to the place where one day we all hope to end up. It’s now the place I crave to be, if only even for a moment in my dreams. Because my perfect lil Kammy bear now lives in a stupid white box, buried in a baby garden underneath the warm Florida sun.

So now here I am. A childless mother. My entire life, world, and existence turned upside down. I guess you could say I’m trying to find a way to survive. To rebuild myself. To move forward with the loss of my absolutely perfect son, since there’s no way that you just “move on.” This has now become about finding where I fit into my own life. This physical life that I still have, even on days when I want nothing to do with it. This is now my journey back to life.