Lying on my bed, nursing the baby. Thinking. Drifting in that pleasant half sleep when I hear LE. A rustle then little footsteps then she’s there in my bed asking if she can sleep with me tonight.

“Yes, you can sleep with mommy,” I say as I’ve said so many nights.

She kisses the baby and tucks herself in. For a moment, I see her there as she was that night and there’s Tiggy beside her. Grinning with delight to be tucked into mommy’s big bed.

“Mommy, do you remember that time when it was still dark out? It was morning and it was still dark out? And I asked if daddy was home and you said to go look? And that daddy wouldn’t take my spot?”

I didn’t remember, but I smiled. I fought back tears because I didn’t want to spoil her happy memory of waking early in the morning to find daddy. But I was still remembering Tiggy and those bright, energetic eyes that announced he was nowhere near ready to go to bed. That tucking himself in was all in play.

“I liked that time.”

She smiled, kissed me and asked for my hand. Within moments she was asleep.

And I realized it was the first time since that night that she didn’t ask to pray about Tiggy before going to sleep.

I let my tears fall. And felt alone.

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21 thoughts on “Alone

  1. Children are so much more resiliant. It is a good thing, but I can imagine your feeling alone. We are still with you, praying for you all.

  2. Prayers and hugs for you. Your family is lifted up and loved and supported across this wide digital age. I am so very blessed to have the opportunity to know you via the webbynets and to get to pray for you all.

    It was August 2008 when we lost our sweet little girl and I still cry and I do often feel I am the only one who still thinks about her. The situation was different, but sometimes I have nightmares that I will forget, though I know I never will.

  3. It seemed to me Dana that while I was being the mom and wife doing what we do-actually because of it…….. I felt alone many times in my grief, left behind as if everyone was moving forward and I was just so stuck.

    It is both a blessing and not. It is just impossible not to hold on tight to those memories, since it’s all that’s left and get pleasure from our loved ones memories and remembrances as well.

    The nights were always the hardest, when defenses are down and the mind is free to remember….

  4. There are so many bittersweet moments, jen. This week, the kids got into Tiggy’s old clothes and dressed the baby in clothes several sizes too big. It was sort of hard to see, especially when I picked the baby up in clothes I had held so many times. Then his diaper leaked and the pants Tiggy had soaked so many times needed washed.

    But it was happy, too, because the kids were so delighted. The girls had always enjoyed dressing Tiggy up in all sorts of things and he just went along with it. Now they have a little of that back and those things are just different for a child.

  5. Asking the Lord to comfort you. Praying much for you. God has been given permission to wake me when you need prayer coverage, Dana. How I would love to bring Tiggy back to you. Trusting Him with what I don’t understand. Love in Jesus, L

  6. HUGS. A few weeks after Ian went to Heaven my daughter brought in her babydoll and asked if I had any of Ian’s clothes that her baby could wear. I took a deep breath and said yes. I went to his room and got a diaper, a gown and socks, then grabbed a blanket. I dressed the doll as carefully as I would have Ian, with her watching everything. When I picked the doll up to finish the swaddle, I realized that it was the exact same size as Ian, the same weight… I held it to my chest and closed my eyes, fighting back tears and the urge to take it to bed with me. Instead, I carefully handed it to her and she carried it back to her room. That doll stayed dressed for weeks (a major accomplishment for a 5 year old! LOL). That same night, my nearly 8 year old son came in with his big teddy bear. He wanted some of Ian’s clothes too.

    I’m glad you were able to use Tiggy’s clothes. It is painful, but in a cathartic way. You are not alone, but I do remember that feeling so well!

  7. Grief has a way of overlapping in a family. There have been times that my boys were in the moment of heartbreak and I was not. And there have been times when I was in that overwhelming moment of distress and their youthful joy would remind me that life didn’t begin when Christian was born… and it didn’t end when he died. I do miss the completeness…

    Praying for you tonight and tomorrow and the days after, Dana! You are a fantastic mommy! I pray that your day is filled with JOY tomorrow, even if tears are shed.

    Much love,

  8. Alone. Yes. Remember that feelings are not truth. Inhale, exhale, and know that you are being prayed for. HUGS!

  9. I thought about you this morning…about how today will be bittersweet.
    I will pray…a promise to you.
    It’s such a strange mix when you’re thankful that they’re happy, joyful, able to catch moments of forgetting the sad…but your heart is still hurting so deeply.
    I’m sorry Dana….

  10. 37 years ago, when I was 19, my 12 year old brother, Jeff, left for heaven. I still have his Superman t-shirt in my drawer. It’s tangible when my memories fade. I can hold something that was connected to him.
    So I am not the momma missing her child on Mother’s Day, but I am the big sister still wishing I could ease the hurt for my mom and dad. We share the grief and we share the hope of eternal reunion.
    Praying for you and for hurting mom’s hearts everywhere.
    Let’s try to focus on the 3rd day, after Jesus’ mom watched him being laid in the tomb. Mary really did get to embrace the reality of resurrection after the dark night of death’s horrendous sting. It’s coming. It’s real. It’s forever. Hold on…

  11. That loneliness is indescribable… But you’ve hit it right on the head. You don’t want to yell, ‘Wait a minute! Grieve with me!’ but you’re so very alone.
    Thankful the LE has a sweet memory. Grieving with you over those bright eyes that were not ready for bed.
    I know that there’s no way to SHOW you that you’re not alone. But you are not alone. We are here with you, and God is here with you. A friend told me once that her grief was like going deaf and blind. She couldn’t see or hear anything but the pain, even though she knew joy was out there and God was walking with her.
    praying for you all, always!

  12. Hello, I’ve been lurking on your blog since your son died. I have a heart for mothers who’ve lost young children because I had a baby sister who died (her tenth birthday was last week). I was thirteen when she died and I have nine other younger siblings who were ages 10, 9, 7, 5, 4, and 2 1/2 at the time (three were born later). I’m commenting now to let you know that your children won’t forget–the hurt does fade faster for them, but the sweet memories of their brother will remain. I’ve seen this happen with my sister’s memory–even the little ones who never knew her talk about her sometimes. I know my mother often feels that no one but her remembers Abby, but we all do remember and love her.
    I am 23 now. My two youngest sisters were flower girls in my wedding and I chose to have one of them carry a teddy bear that was in a flower arrangement my parents ordered to represent the siblings at Abby’s funeral (one of very few mementos we have since she died at birth) . My brother and his wife plan to honour our sister by using part of her name in their first daughter’s. My now 19-year-old sister has a sleeper that was supposed to be Abby’s in her hope chest. My newborn daughter (my mother’s first grandchild) looked just like Abby at birth (she was born one month before Abby’s birthday, still a hard month for my mother).
    Just thought our story might bring you some hope that Mattias will stay in his siblings’ hearts.

  13. I recently came across your blog through a link from SimpleMom; I’m praying for you and your family. I have no idea what you’re walking through right now, and I don’t even know for sure what to pray for, but I’m lifting you up to Jesus. Thanks for your honesty. I can tell that you’re blessing many lives, including my own.

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