Nostalgia

January 8th marked six months since Cooper has been gone. In my nostalgia I started flipping through pictures and was honestly shocked at how fast everything changed. Some days it feels as if 10 years have passed me by and I'm still trying to figure out what happened during all that time. This picture of our happy little boy was taken January 2009, just one year ago. He was 18 months old; eating gourmet purees by mouth, smiling, laughing, and cooing. He was so expressive and still had the ability to wave his arms and kick his feet when he was excited. His eyes were so bright. He could still see and turn his head toward things of interest. If someone would have asked at the time this picture was taken ... I never would have guessed that within a month Cooper would have lost the ability to swallow; that the NG tube feedings, respiratory issues, and seizures would follow so closely or he would be gone 6 months later.  Looking at these pictures from one year ago, I am reminded of all the little things, laying outside under the trees, dancing to silly music, splashing in the bath, bouncing and marching around the house, the hours spent rocking in the rocking chair. He loved to be snuggled up close to me in the sling/carrier while I vacuumed the house and I think about that every time I pull out the vacuum. I could go on and on, but my ultimate thought is that the good memories outweigh the bad ones by a mile and short of a cure, I wouldn't change a minute of it for anything.

Over the weekend we went to visit Cooper's spot, as we so often do. It always feels good to just go and sit for a little while and listen to the creek. I have been trying to sort through the "storage room" where we have all of Cooper's therapeutic equipment along with the baby gear, car seats, strollers, etc. Last week we emptied Cooper's drawers and put all of his clothes in storage bins. I though it would be a lot harder than it was, so I guess that means it was time. I kind of rationalized with myself (big surprise!) that he would have outgrown them by now anyway. Only now the drawers will stay empty instead of being replenished with the next size up.

Puzzled

A Christmas wish for peace, for the pain to lessen, and be filled with happy memories. We have opted out of a celebration this year, no decorations, no family gatherings, no gifts. Just the two of us, David and I, working a puzzle in unison, neither feeling the need to talk, appreciating the silent reprieve which allows us to grieve together. I wish there was such as thing as true bereavement leave. I'm not talking about taking a day or week off work to plan a service. I'm thinking more like the three months or more someone can take off work after having a baby. I would love nothing more than to hide out in a remote cabin in the mountains somewhere far away, to escape the forward movement of time for awhile, returning when I'm ready not when someone says my time has run out.



Ninety to Nothin'

It feels like forever and yesterday all at the same time. In our house time stands still... we still have poster size cut outs of Cooper lining the walls of our living room from Cooper's service, his bathroom and bedroom remain unchanged, and his car seat is still visible in my rear view mirror. Outside our walls it feels like everyone is moving forward, ready or not. Everything still feels upside-down most of the time. Old routines just don't feel right without Cooper and it hurts to create new ones without him.

He has been gone a month.