Preschool Graduation

Graduation. It's usually a time of happiness, excitement. The feeling of completion before you hit your next stage in life. And for some maybe some sadness mixed in but it's still a happy time. You cry, you laugh, you take a deep breath and reflect on your (or your child's accomplishments. It's not just college students and high school students that reach this plateau. Preschoolers (and kindergarteners) get to celebrate. 

Today Liam's preschool class graduated. They all dressed up, wore hair bows and bow ties. They walked across the stage with confidence and pride that rivaled college grads. They smile as they received their personalized metals. They sang their songs, took hundreds of pictures, and ate cake. It was a great day for them. 

As they walked across that stage I started shaking. Then I was hit with emotions. My son wasn't among the 24 boys and girl crossing the stage. He wasn't sitting in his chair singing and smiling. My son didn't get to walk up, shake MRS H's hand and receive his metal. 

My eyes filled up and the tears threatened to escape. For a moment all I could think about was the injustice that my son wasn't here on what should have big a BIG day for him. It wasn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to be. I was supposed to watch along with all the happy parents as their children stepped on stage. In stead in his place was a stuffed minion. 

Then the dreaded moment hit. I didn't know for sure it was going to happen but I had a feeling it would. MRS H made a speech. Saying every morning the kids put their hands over their heart, take a deep breath and think of Liam. I couldn't hold back the tears. Then she called me up and presented me with Liam's certificate, metal and pictures. I couldn't stop. I walked up their crying. 

I imagine it felt similar to when a fallen soldiers family received a metal of honor or the flag. Liam's metal was unlike their other (red, white and blue striped lanyards). I guess in a way he is a fallen soldier. He was a warrior after all in his own right. He spent his entire life fighting. His certificate was special as well. Instead of a graduation certificate they made his an outstanding participation certificate with a seal and everything. Again it makes my heart feel like it's been ripped out because this isn't how it's supposed to be. 

I had several parents walk up and hug me. They thanked me. For what I'm not sure. Maybe for working with their babies. For always being willing to help. I was also presented with a certificate stating that I volunteered approximately 88 hours this year. The most volunteered hours they had. 

After the tears, there were smiles and laughter. And lots of pictures. I watched all these kids excited about graduation and moving onto kindergarten. I watched as they ran around and laughed and posed. I watched their happiness and soaked in as much as I could. I used it to give me strength to get through the next few hours. It was important that they see me happy for them and I didn't want to give them anything less. 

I smiled and took pictures of happy parents with their babies. Memories I'm sure that will last forever. Inside I wished for that. Sad that I couldn't too be truely happy without the tenge of sadness and misery. 

Lanie and her friend Miley joined us and passed out flyers to the parents attending graduation. I was glad to have Lanies support and to have her there to pick up the pieces of receiving Liam's metal when I couldn't. 

When Lanie and I got home, we decided to release a balloon in Liam's honor. Lanie said a few words then set it free. We watched until we couldn't see it anymore. And I cried. 

For you little lamb. I hope this reacted you and you feel my love. I miss you so much. Everyday is a struggle but I keep my promise always to try and be "Liam Strong" 

Today's For Projects

Today as Lanie and I drove hoe from school, I thought "she's only young once". 

I had this thought because I had the pleasure to spend the entire day helping in her classroom. They had a lot of projects they needed help catching up on so I volunteered to stay all day and do whatever I could to catch them up. After all, Lanie won't be "little" forever. Heck she's a little taller that my shoulder already at age 8!! (In my defense, I'm short!! Only 4' 10") 

As I thought this, I got sad. It won't be long before her teachers no longer want nor need parent volunteers. And in just a few short years she will able to stay home by herself for a few hours during the daytime. When did this happen? Can't we stop this? 

Unfortunately this is just how it is. 

I then thought to myself, it's not just "she's only young once". We also never know what tomorrow brings. What the next hour will bring. We never know when our time is up here on earth and we get called to Heaven. 

We thought we had a lifetime with Liam and look what happened. We had a split second in the grand scheme of life. Life is precious and we need to live like today is our last day. 

Easier said than done. 

I want my daughter to be little forever. I dont want things to change. I want me son back. But we don't get to make those choices or call those shots. And yea it scares the crap out of me. 

I tried to enjoy the time I get to spend in Lanies classroom. I try to enjoy the time I spend in preschool even though my son is no longer there. Because the end of the year is approaching and then that's it. Everything changes once again. No more preschool visit days. No more second grade art and science  projects. 

Once again it'll be just me sitting at home trying to figure out how to handle life, depression, PTSD, fibromyalgia, loosing my son. Trying to find a way to continue living. 

At some point I'll have to go back to work. That time is swiftly approaching. 

But today,

today was for fossil making, science experiments and art projects. 

Pictures from today from left to right:

1) Lanies air dry clay fossil

2) Lanies tissue paper butterfly

3) edible grass the kids are growing in class

The Boy Who Could Fly

Do you remember the 1986 movie "the boy who could fly"? There's this scene where it's pouring down rain and lightning at night. The little boy  freaks out because he left his army men outside and he "has" to save them. He runs out crying and is on his hands and knees in the mud digging for his army men. That scene has stuck with me since I was a kid and saw that movie. Liam had these big army men he played with outside. They stayed outside in a box with his other outside toys. In winter they go untouched because it's too cold to be outside. A few weeks ago Justin cleaned up the front yard and decided that box of toys needed to be put in the backyard because the cardboard box needed to be thrown away. I happened to look out and see that the toys were spread out everywhere and had to rescue Liam army men. Again that scene flashed through me head and I could just imagine my little boy out there crying trying to find all his troops. I brought them inside, washed them as best I could and placed them in my kitchen window where they have and will stay. Because I still need him. #CDHawareness #cdhlife #angel #liammichaelbryant #littlelamb

May 16th 2014

Miss Connection

 

I look for you everywhere.

I miss the connection.

I miss the smiles.

I miss cuddles.

I miss you.

 

Everyday I look for you.

Or memories of you.

Flashbacks of you.

 

Every day Facebook shows me pictures from that day,

in years past.

I stare at them throughout the day.

I remember when I took them.

How I felt.

What we were doing.

 

At first,

after you passed,

I had a hard time eating your favorite foods.

They just made me really sad.

Sometimes so sad I was sick to my stomach.

Things have changed.

You loved Dorritos so much.

You always had a bowl full.

I had gotten to where I couldn't stand to even smell them.

You just wanted them so much.

It had been at least a year since I had eaten them.

All of a sudden,

about a months ago,

I just started eating them.

They weren't gross to me anymore.

If left up to me,

we'd eat spaghetti,

pizza,

and a few other of your favorites all the time.

Because while I'm eating your favorites,

I feel a small connection to you.

And that makes me feel better.

 

 I keep some of your toys on display.

Some cars,

stuffed animals,

and other random things.

I don't play with them,

but sometimes I touch them.

I stare at them and try to remember you playing with them.

How many times per day you filled your bucket up with cars,

carried it to another room just to dump it out.

I think of how many times you were sick,

and all you needed was your patchwork puppy baba to feel better.

How when we lost it and I searched everywhere to find it.

And when I didn't find it,

I secretly went online and purchased another one.

Then found the original a week later.

How I think you suspected the new one was different,

but decided you didn't care.

I had to always keep one hidden so you wouldn't know.

Then one day about a year ago or so,

you walked out of your room carrying both.

You had such a huge smile on your face.

I felt like I failed,

but the smile on your face let me know it was ok.

 

I miss these moments.

I just miss you.

I'm trying everyday to be strong.

I've adopted a new saying:

"Liam strong".

Because you kept going,

you kept smiling,

you ever complained.

Even how sick you were always.

I'll try everyday to be strong like you.

To be "Liam Strong".

Love you sweet boy. 

No one

No one wanted you more than me.

No one loved you more than me.

No one fought for you as much as I did. 

No one misses you as much as I do. 

No one hurts more than I do now that your gone. 

Because I am your mother. 

I'll always be your mother. 

I'll always love you. 

I'll always miss you. 

Graduating To Heartbreak

This week has been such a mix of feelings.

Liam's preschool class spent the week making giant mother's day cards,

as well as preparing for their graduation.

 

These kids have come so far.

They've grown so tall compared to what they started the year at.

They're so smart,

and have learned so much.

 

As I watch them I am both proud and sad.

Proud because of how far they've come.

Sad because my Liam should be right there with them.

 

I won't be getting a giant mothers day card with Liam's handprints.

This year was supposed to be the first year.

The first year my baby boy came home with a mothers day present for me.

These little trinkets and handmade gifts seem just that.

Unless your a mom.

Then these pieces of paper and paint become this heartfelt,

most wonderful gift.

 

I still have all the little thing Lanie made me over the years.

They mean something.

They're not just paper and paint,

popsicle sticks,

glue and glitter.

Our little ones put all their love into making these sweet things.

And when I lost my son,

I also lost these precious moments.

 

He wont wake me up Mothers Day morning,

saying "Happy Modders Day Mommy"

He wont proudly present me with his handmade gifts on Friday.

And that's hard.

 

The preschoolers will be doing a graduation ceremony at the end of this month.

I won't get my son up that morning.

I won't get him showered and dressed nice.

I won't get to take before pictures.

I won't get to drive him to school and proudly hold his hand as we walk to class.

I won't get to see him presented with his "diploma".

I won't be presented with a picture of him wearing a tiny cap and gown.

Because my son is gone.

 

I'll wake up that morning.

Done my minions shirt for their theme.

Drive to the school.

Help the teachers wrangle the kids.

Walk to the cafeteria for their ceremony.

Stare at the seat they're setting a stuffed minion in and Liam's picture.

Politely clap for each child called up to receive their "diploma".

Listen as they most likely mention Liam's name.

Walk with the kid back to class.

And help them with activities.

All while trying not to cry.

All while feeling like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

 

I didn't just loose my son.

I lost the rest of our lives full of memories.

 

My son will forever be 4 years 5 months and 1 day old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May The Fourth Be With You

May 4th 2016

 

We started celebrating May the fourth last year.

The kids' school made a day out of it.

All the kids went to school wearing Star Wars gear.

Posters littered the walls saying,

"May The Fourth Be With You".

"Learn Much Today You Will"

And so forth.

 

Both Liam and Lanie thought it was so awesome.

 

May 4th 2015

 

This year we had to continue doing so.

If not because Star Wars is pretty awesome,

but for Liam because he loved it so.

 

I didn't plan ahead for today.

It hard for me to think ahead for anything.

I normally can't tell you what day it is unless I check my phone.

But still today worked out.

 

Lanie wore a cute Star Wars Bow I made.

 

For purchase info Click Here For my Boutique Cherubim's Facebook Page.

 

There are things we love/like doing.

And sometimes how we feel about them changes.

Then it becomes something we do out of tradition or habit.

Or in memory of someone we love very much but lost.

So as I kept telling myself to get through the day:

"May the fourth be with you"

 

Letting Go Of The Anger

This post warrants a warning.

It starts out angry. There are statistics.

But I promise you it gets better. That you should keep reading.

Because the end if worth reading.

But it doesn't mean the same unless you read from the beginning.

 

Picture taken May 5, 2014

 

The movies lie.

TV lies.

They show scenes where someone needs CPR.

Most of the time they're able to save the patient.

It happens quickly,

and the patient is fine afterwards.

Life doesn't happen that way.

 

CPR isn't a cure all,

medical miracle.

The patient doesn't miraculously recover within seconds.

 

I find myself angry because I wanted TV to be true.

I wanted to wake up,

and these last almost 21 weeks to have been a nightmare.

That none of this ever happened.

Or that we were back in the hospital,

and they were able to save him.

But that can't happen.

Not unless I'm truly delusional.

And as everyone around me tells me,

I'm not imagining it.

 

Did you know:

Only 23.9% of adult who suffer cardiac arrest while in the hospital,

and receive cpr survive.

40% of children who suffer cardiac arrest while in the hospital,

and receive cpr survive.

Wikipedia says only 15-23% overall survive cardia arrest.

 

According to the US National Library of Medicine,

95% of patients who suffer from a pulmonary embolism,

and have cardiac arrest at the hospital do not survive.

 

They say CPR can be go on for 38 minutes,

and still show favorable brain function after being revived.

The odds of surviving severe brain damage drop 5% per minute.

Death can occur within 4-6 minutes.

 

When Liam was in the ER,

they did CPR for over an hour before stopping.

An hour.

When most doctors call it after 38 to maybe 45 minutes at the longest.

An hour.

Even though Liam would have suffered severe brain damage if he had come back.

They still tried.

Because he was a little boy.

Only 4 years old,

who had an entire life ahead of him to live.

So they tried even when logic told them to stop.

And after they realized he wasn't coming back,

they cried.

They mourned the little boy they couldn't save.

Their hearts broke for the parents whose lives turned upside down.

For the mother whose heart was shattered into a million pieces.

And for that,

there are no words to accurately describe how it felt,

to have a room and hallway full of strangers,

instantly bonded to you.

 

There are a few things I remember from that day.

 

One being that in the midst of all the chaos,

my brain picked out specific noises.

One specific one was when they called a code blue on another patient nearby.

I remember looking around and seeing 30 or more people who didn't move.

I looked at the case manager who was sitting beside me.

He told be there was an adult who coded but that no one wanted to leave.

No one could leave.

No one could stop watching and praying for my son.

It hadn't hit me until that moment how very serious the situation was.

I was being delusionally optimistic.

I thought in my heart and soul that my son would come out of this.

That he would be saved.

I was in shock.

That's when I started making phone calls and texting everyone.

Asking for prayers.

Selfishly asking some to come be by my side,

because I just couldn't go through this alone.

 

The doctor sticks out in my memory as well.

He had been racking his brain on what could possibly be causing this.

He took the time to try to explain to us as he went.

I remember how he looked at me with hope in his eyes,

and he explained how he was sure Liam had a blot clot.

He felt it was the only thing that could of acted as fast as it did.

The problem had been that Liam's veins were so "calcified",

so scarred up from years of IV's and blood draws,

that they weren't able to get an IV into him.

Therefore they couldn't administer they meds he needed to break up the clot.

My husband had been there at this time,

and without looking at each other,

we both told the doctor to do whatever he had to do to save him.

So they put in a bone IV.

They had never heard of a child receiving this adult medication they were going to try.

And they had never heard of it being administered through a bone IV,

but it was our last shot.

Liam's last chance at survival.

It was mere moments later when the doctor was forced to call it.

They had lost the pale weak heartbeat they had gotten.

Before the doctor called it,

he looked me in the eyes.

I could see he'd lost all hope that was there before.

He looked up at the clock and he called time.

He looked at me with a stricken

heartbroken look.

Told me he was sorry and walked closer to the door and stood there.

I was just repeating "no no no".

I watched at those who were working on him,

slowly back away.

How the lady who was doing CPR at that point,

climbed off the gurney,

eyes starring at the ground.

I remember hitting the wall and screaming.

Then running to his side.

I was crying telling him how sorry I was.

At one point I started to become numb.

I looked up and saw the doctor standing outside the room.

I slowly approached him.

I could tell he wasn't sure what to expect from me,

so he was expecting the worst.

I looked at him with tears in my eyes,

and a tear streaked face.

I thanked him for trying everything he could to save my son.

I hugged him.

Then I away,

back to my son.

 

I was told later on that the doctor had to leave the ER floor for a break.

I was told that the loss of Liam was too much for him.

He wasn't a doctor that cries.

ER doctors don't cry.

But he cried.

Several nurses needed breaks as well.

 

I started writing this to vent out all my anger.

To try and work through my pain.

As I wrote this I was able to connect with a greater feeling than angry.

I started feeling thankful.

Blessed even.

When most people would have given up,

this group of amazing people kept trying.

And when they didn't succeed,

they were heartbroken.

They felt the loss of Liam.

It was significant in their hearts.

So even as my son laid there dying,

he changed the world in many strangers eyes.

 

I know that doctor and those nurses will never forget my son.

And that is a gift.

One day I hope that I can share his life with them,

so that they can know his love and his smile,

and remember that more than his passing.

That he was a strong little boy who spent his life fighting,

and by the time he got to them,

he was just too tired to fight anymore.

And that has to be ok.

One day.

 

Picture taken May 2, 2014