A Year Gone By….

Right outside the window in my bathroom is a giant bush. Last spring I remember looking out the window at it every time I walked in there to go to the bathroom. Each time I would look at it, there would be new growth. Green buds and leaves sprouting all over. After a long, cold winter, life was coming back in to the plant. I remember each time I walked in and saw this out the window, I would sigh and think to myself the dark and twisted irony of all of it. Outside I was watching everything coming back to life with the spring season…while inside, my son was dying. I would go from seeing new life blooming outside my window, to seeing Cade, just on the other side of that same window, lying sick in my bed. Life slowly draining from his beautiful body day by day. And all I could do was snuggle back in to my bed next to him and be present for whatever time I had left with him. It was so unfair.

But I knew I couldn’t change what was happening. Some things we definitely have the control to change on our path of life. Other things we have none. This was the later. And I didn’t have the slightest. All I could do was pray for a miracle. And when I knew I wasn’t going to get that, all I had left to pray for was strength. Strength not only for myself, but for all of us who were going to be shattered by the loss of this amazing little boy. I think back to last spring so often, and now I find myself right back in that same place today. It’s spring again. Watching everything around me bloom in to new beauty, in total disbelief that this means an entire year has gone by. I have continued to walk this earth without Cade for an entire year already. It just goes to show that the world keeps moving no matter what else is happening on or around it. I will say, I can have days or weeks where I am completely good. Then the simplest of things can throw me back down in to the bottom of a dark well. Like moments when I am reminded of the secondary losses I have to grieve. When I am stuck behind a school bus that stops to pick up kids and take them to school and I am reminded of the fact that Cade never got to ride on a school bus. He never got the chance to go to school. He would have started Kindergarten this year. Rylan realizes this too and sometimes makes comments of how he would have been starting school and how they would have gone to the same school together.

There are so many losses that break my heart and remind me that Cade never got the chance to be a kid. He never got to ride a bike or a skateboard or learn how to rollerblade. I’ll never have pictures of him in the middle of a tree after climbing it for the first time. Or get to clean up scratches from his attempts to teach himself how to do any or all of these things as he falls down and learns from his mistakes until he conquers it. I’ll never get to help him with his homework or praise him for a great test score or accomplishment at school. I’ll never get to see him have his first crush or watch him make his first best friend at school and see them grow up together through the years. I’ll never get to cheer for him as he gets his first great hit in baseball or makes a winning goal in soccer. I won’t get to help him deal with zits or braces. All the rights of passages of being a kid. All the things he deserved to get to experience. And the list of things goes on and on. Never getting to see how tall he would have been or what his hair style would have looked like. Watch him get married and be able to share our special mother son dance at his reception. There are so many losses that extend beyond their loss of life. And I know I’m not the only one who has felt these losses. It is heartbreaking. People often follow up, after they learn of your loss, with the question of whether you have any other children. I’m not sure if it is just because they aren’t sure what else to say and are just trying to make conversation. Or if somehow they feel that if you answer yes and have other children then it makes it less sad that you lost one of them. It is a question that I have never understood the sincerity of. I am grateful that I get to see Rylan experience his childhood and accomplish many of these milestones, and hope with all my heart that I will get to watch him fully grow up in to an adult. But the loss of a child is a harsh reminder that tomorrow is not promised to any of us and that makes it even more important to relish in the moments we are given right now. As a parent that does have other children, I find myself more heartbroken for my surviving son than for myself or my husband (who feels this same way). For us, we are heartbroken that Rylan has to learn to live this life without his brother. That he had just a few short years with him and then his best buddy was taken away from him. He watches other kids interact with their siblings and has to try and understand why they get to do that, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand why. Why should he? How could he? And I know that this understanding and acceptance will change, regress, and reoccur probably with every age milestone as he grows up. Which when I think about it, means he has to re-understand and re-process it all over and over again in different ways, whereas an adult already understands what it all means. It’s not going to mean anything different for me now whether I’m 40, 50, or 60. But for a child who is 5, 10, 14, there is constant change in the understanding of life and what things mean. I pray that he is able to handle it over the years with the same grace and strength that he has shown through his early childhood years.

I was watching old videos for a while this morning. Videos from a year before Cade was ever diagnosed all the way through his years of treatment. One thing I realized was that Rylans childhood was taken from him as well. He was only 4 when Cade was diagnosed and his life got turned upside down also, just in a different manner. He had to spend much of his time in the car, at dr appointments, visiting the hospital, staying at grandmas houses, etc. Watching the videos I am reminded that I missed those years of Rylans life. I missed the opportunity to fully relish in his sweet munchkin voice and innocence. His exploration and discovery of the world through the eyes of a 4 and 5 year old. I was thrown in to momma/nurse mode on top of my parent survival mode and my focus was Cade. It sadly wan’t my other son. It wasn’t even my marriage or my health. It was Cade. While I hope and pray that Rylan felt like he was in my spotlight often, I know that I didn’t put him there as often as I should have or as often as he needed to be. I have forgiven myself for this because I know we did the best that we could with what we were given and I know that we did our best with trying to have them have the best childhood they could under the circumstances. To still have fun and do stuff as much as the circumstances would allow us to. But the regret is still there. The losses and things you missed that you can’t re-do. I find myself starring and watching little boys that are around that 2-5year age range. Especially when I hear their little voice and notice they have blonde hair. I watch them and I space out thinking back about Cade at that age, wishing he was still here, and missing him like crazy. Meanwhile the parent probably thinks I’m a total creep wondering why I’m staring at their child. We were out to dinner earlier this month and I was sitting by the bathroom waiting for Rylan. A family walked in with 2 boys, somewhere around the ages or 7-10, one with blonde hair, the other brown. I watched them interact as brothers and I’ll be honest. I had to get up and go in to the bathroom because I just felt tears overcome me and I knew I was going to start balling. Sometimes when I watch moms interact with their sons, I’ll overhear them complain about their younger son to their friend or significant other. How he’s driving her crazy, going on and on about how he’s been doing it. I just listen and think how she has no idea what I would give to be in her shoes. What I would give to have my little boy here to complain about. To have him home through e-learning driving me nutty. To have his high energy, bouncing off the walls, daredevil character exhausting me to my core. I want to say something. To tell her to be grateful. But I don’t. I don’t say anything because it’s not my place. I’m not perfect. We all do that at one time or another as a mother. I still do it today with Rylan. We are quick to complain and turn to the negative of every situation instead of finding the silver lining. Never realizing that what we are taking for granted could be something someone else’s heart is longing for.

It is hard to believe how fast time still goes by. We haven’t changed much of anything around the house. Cade’s coats still hang in the closet. His shoes are still in their bin next to Rylans shoe bin. His plethora of paw patrol toys remain in the toy room. The ice cream machine that he just loved, is played with often. His room is just as it was. We have all taken turns sleeping in his bed at one time or another. Rylan has snuggled in there to read or do school. I have sat in there to write. There was a fort that Ry built in there not to long ago that we left up for quite a few weeks. The door to his room has always stayed open. This is his home and we can look around and feel him. We have openly talked about things with and around Rylan from the start, wanting him to know that it is always ok to talk about Cade, or even cry about him, any time he wants to. We talk about feelings, what they mean, and why we act like we do sometimes when we are feeling certain things. I want to give him as many tools as possible to help him understand and cope. He openly talks about Cade and will randomly share stories and thoughts about him. And he seems to share the same faith and love in God as I do and the belief that Cade is often near and sometimes sending us signs or kisses from above. It warms my heart and makes me so proud of the person he is.

We have survived one year. God has given me the strength to do this, that is one thing for certain. It doesn’t mean I don’t have hard days, because I do. I doesn’t mean I don’t cry, because I definitely do. A lot! That is because I love Cade beyond measure. The pain is immense because the love is. Pain and heartache make that really hard to remember, but it is true. When we love that deeply and unconditionally, it makes the loss unbearable for that same reason. I wouldn’t trade it for a second though. I don’t wish I would have loved him less so that I would hurt less and be able to get over it. I’ll never get over it, and that’s ok. I’ll learn to live through it because my love for him is worth this journey. I know many other parents who would say the same. It’s a journey that one can not do alone, that I know without a doubt. My faith has helped me survive and God has helped my family continue to put one foot in front of the other by surrounding us with more love and support than I could have ever imagined. Over the year I have been fortunate enough to continue working at my same, amazing company who has shown me so much grace from the day Cade got sick. We are still part of our same daycare who became our family. We still have our same pediatrician who is one of the most compassionate and caring humans I have ever known. I have lost friendships, but also gained some pretty incredible ones. We have received so many different gifts, messages, and notions of love and thoughtfulness from so many people throughout this journey, and since Cade died. Gifts that, despite our heartache, have been able to fill our souls and comfort our hearts (and often bring tears to our eyes). Whether you were or still are a stranger, or you are a friend, you have been the reason why we have made it this far. You are the how and why we have survived our first entire year without Cade. God sent all of these places and people in to our lives, whatever your role has been, to help lift us up off of the ground and carry us. You have been a big part of our journey. Of our strength and ability to keep putting one foot in front of the other. And for that, I thank you! The impression that Cade has left on so many people is unbelievable. I am still reminded of this almost every single day. And that is what keeps me going. Knowing that although his life was short, he did great things and touched many hearts while he was here on this earth.