Tomorrow's Kisses

Am I not grieving?  I don’t walk with my head down or refuse to drag myself from my bed; but yet I grieve.  I robotically go about my daily ‘sort’ of life searching for the path to a new normal; but yet I grieve.  I make it to the end of the day by reminding myself to take each and every breath.  I breathe;  but yet I grieve. I continue to smile at the simple precious moments of every day, for fear of forgetting how; but yet I grieve.

Do not have concern for my mental health.  No, I am not in denial. I can not wake every day to an empty bed where a precious curly haired bundle of energy slept, and NOT know that he is gone.  I can not experience the empty silence of wooden floors that once roared with the sound of plastic wheeled toys and chubby bare feet, and NOT know that he is gone.  I see his little clothes hanging, waiting to hold him close and keep him warm.  I see his little shoes waiting to run one thousand miles and climb the highest tree.  I see his tractors yearning to pull a load of ping pong balls, or cereal, or blocks. I see the height marks on the kitchen door and know that only Callum’s will continue to ascend.  I imagine constantly what he would be doing ‘right now’ and what conversations he and Callum would be having.  I smell his blankets and his clothes and know too well that these are as close as I will get to him.

You see; I see these things every day.  I feel these things every moment of every day.  Yes, even in my sleep.

Rest assured; I grieve.  Worry no more; for I mourn.  My heart and soul are being twisted and tortured.  I have a weight on my chest that will not let my rib cage rise to full capacity.  I have a gnawing in my stomach that aches through to my back.  I have no restful nights, and so I am covered in bruises from sleep walking through my days.  The lines on my face have gotten deeper.  I am numb.  I am exploding.  I am numb.  I scream when I am alone.  It comes with such force from deep within and slams the walls of my home.  I wish so badly that it would resound to the heavens and shake God off of his golden couch.

We may not grieve the same, you and I; but yet I grieve.

I am a high wire act.  Keep your head up.  Don’t look down.  Focus.  Balance.  Survive.

“As you danced in the light with joy, love lifted you.  As you brushed against this world so gently, you lifted us.”      ~ T.C. Ring

So many lives touched in such a brief time.   A Life to Celebrate.

Please join us in Celebration of Lachlan Underwood.

~Saturday, November 12th, 2011 at 1:00 pm.

• Roswell United Methodist Church, Chapel  .  814 Mimosa Boulevard,  Roswell, Ga. 30075
• Directions can be found at:  rumc.com

 ~Reception immediately following.

• Primrose Cottage  .  674 Mimosa Boulevard, Roswell, Ga. 30075
• Directions can be found at:  primrose cottage.com, under ‘Contact Us’

Weather permitting, we will have a walking ‘procession’  to Primrose Cottage.  You may join us as we walk (just under 1,000 feet) south on Mimosa Boulevard to Primrose Cottage, or, you can drive down and park at First Baptist Church of Roswell.  There is a drive-through driveway in front of Primrose Cottage for drop-off before parking.

*** We would truly love to see all the loving faces of those who have prayed for and been touched by our Lachlan.  Please do make time to come by the reception so that we can see you, thank you, and celebrate him.

Any questions can be sent through the ‘Comment’ section of this post.  Thank You.

In lieu of flowers, we are requesting donations be made to either The Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation, or Aflac Cancer Center at Scottish Rite.  You may make them anonymously or in honor of Lachlan Underwood.  Thank you so much.

• Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation:  pbtfus.org
• Aflac Cancer Center at Scottish Rite:  choa.org  (You must designate the donation be directed to the Aflac center through Children’s Healthcare website.) You can also call them at  (404)785-GIVE.
• If you wish to have a notification card sent to us, you will need our email address or our street address.  Please ask for these through the ‘Comment’ section of this post.

We love you all, and Thank You so much for your love and support.

Two blue measuring cups with handles.  Floating among the bubbles in the bath.  Only one there to play with them.  Only one there to use the coveted pink rubber cup.  No argument over its ownership.  One free to roam all sectors of the tub without bumping bubbly white bottoms.   No round bellied fountain cherubs squirting water from their mouths, aiming at each other and the floating Captain Elmo.  Two towels.  One embroidered with a C.   One embroidered with an L.  The C envelops one.  The L hangs on the wall alone.  One “Ne-ked Baby!” runs screaming through the house leaving a trail of wet footprints.  No second set of tiny prints follow.  One face emerging from the neck of warm pajamas.  Memories of giant blue eyes and wet curls squirming through another…

Two becomes One.

Sleeping Angel October 17, 2011

Our precious Lachlan passed Friday, October 21, 2011 at 3:55 pm.  He was at home, in my arms,  and was surrounded by his Daddy, Brother and two Grandmothers.

We are currently planning a service to honor Lachlan.  The date will most likely be November 12th, and we will post all information as soon as the details are finalized.

All who would like to attend are most welcome.  In fact, we would be honored by the presence of those who were touched by his bright and shining soul.

Please know that I have much to say.  Much to write.  I could write for days and not say it all.  I will continue to write about my Lachlan.  Now I may actually have some time to do so.  He deserves to have his story told.  He is a shining light in a dull world; who now shines above us to light our way.

I haven’t spoken to God in days.  I don’t know what to say anymore.  I don’t know what to say to anyone.  There is a constant flurry of thoughts in my head, but when I try to put them together they don’t make sense.  Not much makes sense to me anymore.  This time last year I was preparing for a family adventure to Disney World,  looking forward to Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and I was searching for the ‘perfect leaf’ with my boys.  I remember it vividly.  Callum found bright yellow,  vibrant orange, and deep crimson leaves.  Treasure.  He brought them to me for safe keeping.  Lachlan found brown leaves; some green and brown, some yellow and brown, but mostly brown, dried, cracked leaves.  He brought them to me with a smile of pride on his face.  Such a bountiful treasure.  How honored I felt to be the treasure keeper.

October 2010

When I think of these things I look up to the heavens and all I can do is shrug.  I want to say “Thank You” for the privilege of having these moments in my life, but at the same time I want to scream a great big “Bite Me!” for giving me these moments and then taking them away.  Every day I struggle with what to say to God.  Imagine you are at work and your supervisor comes in and says, “Hey, Guess what? You’re getting promoted to that position you’ve dreamed about, and getting a raise, a company car, and full benefits.” Whoo Hoo!  And then she says “But you only get the position for two, maybe three, years and after that you have to go look for a job somewhere else.”   Do you say thanks to this person?  Or do you give the proverbial ‘gift horse’ a thorough dental exam?  I feel like God is looking directly at me, hands on his hips,  tapping his foot,  and asking me, “Do you have anything to say to me young lady?”  And the answer is no.  Maybe I’ll think of something.  Until then I’m going to sit next to Lachlan, hold his hand, and enjoy my treasure.

Ah, Kiawah Island.  I could not wait to get there.  Huge shade trees.  Quiet.  The house we rented looked wonderful on the computer.  It was great.  A little bit eighties, but perfect for our bunch.  Large kitchen with island and ocean view.  Game room where all the young’uns could be as loud as they wanted.  Hot tub (where they swam with goggles on.)  Bed rooms set up so everyone -fourteen of us- was happy; especially Callum who got to room with his cool cousin Aiden.  Cullen, Lachlan, and I had a large bedroom that was far enough away from everyone so that we could have quiet.  It had a nice balcony where you could watch the waves through a massive sprawling tree that grew up through the large deck below and dipped its gnarled fingers down low enough to swing from.  Beautiful.  My boys are here.  My loved ones are here, including seven more beloved in-laws in a house six doors down.  We made it.  Now I could relax.  I walked out onto the deck and looked down and low-and-behold —CONSTRUCTION, right next door.  I wish I was kidding.  Our lovely ‘morning coffee on the deck with the sounds of the ocean’ moments were oh-so-charmingly mingled with the serenade of hammers and the occasional blurt of the workers poor choice in vocabulary.  It was a really special treat the day they brought out the tile saw.  We were all yelling at each other over breakfast on the deck.  Some gave up and went inside.  It brought back memories of the past; trying to have conversations over the music in dance clubs.  My sister and my niece tried to talk with them, tell them we needed some peace, and ask if they could just move their trailer and saws to another part of the property.  It was a huge property.  The workers seemed conducive, but the foreman, (foreWOMAN) in this case,  said she ‘didn’t care what was going on next door…she wasn’t moving.’  Nice.  It made me sad.  But, hey, she didn’t understand the situation.  That means she has not had to deal with these feelings.  I wouldn’t wish it on her.  I hope if she is ever in a similar situation, she is shown more kindness than she afforded us.  After several days it was actually a source of laughter… every time the port-o-potty door slammed.

The situation next door was a very tangible reminder that life goes on.  The world won’t stop for me, for my son.  It can’t.  Life is constant motion.  Just like the waves I stared through for hours.  To me they said, ‘We come.  We go.  We roar.  We are silent.  We crash.  We caress.  We are angry.  We are loving.  We take life.  We give life.  We are wicked.  We are beauty.  We come.  We go.  We come.  We go.’

Life.  We come.  We go.

Apologies, apologies, apologies, to everyone following my posts.  Friday, the 16th, was unbelievably hectic.  I had dared not get all of the little things you have to get before a beach vacation because I was worried we would not be making the trip;  therefore, I had to make a mad dash for the usual sunscreen, snacks, and last minute beach cover-up (to hide the months of sitting next to a hospital bed with a vending machine diet.)  Then packing, preparing the house for a week of hibernation, and taking care of little ones… well, I didn’t get in a post that day.  No problem, I thought.  I’ll have lots of time to write at the beach.  And then, true to form, life said, ‘uh, nope.’  We had only one corner of the living room/kitchen – the busiest room in a house of fourteen people – where we could get wi-fi.  My days were mostly spent watching over Lachlan so writing while everyone was at the beach was not happening.  And my other choice, writing after everyone went to bed, which was usually around two a.m., wasn’t happening either.  I tried.  The brain said no.

Please don’t give up on me!  I am trying the best I can to keep up.  Some days are just harder than others.  Such is life.

Lachlan slept through the night.  He didn’t peep until around 8:30 this morning, saying he was cold.  I covered him with ‘penguin blanket,’ and he went back to sleep. Surprisingly, I slept too.  Of course I woke a few times and, upon realizing he had not stirred, leapt from the bed to stare at him and make sure he was okay.  Each time I was treated to one of the most beautiful visions a Mommy could ever see; her child sleeping peacefully.  In my book, it’s right next to seeing their smile or hearing their laugh; and it’s the closest you can get to an earthly angel.

While I was having the luxury of sleep, I actually drifted into dreams.  So rare for me.  For most Mommies probably.  I dreamt of Callum’s, and one day Lachlan’s, school.  There was an activity taking place.  Lots of people around.  A group of boys maybe twelve years old was huddled on the sidewalk.  A few had their shirts off.  All looked sweaty.  Some drinking from water bottles.  One shirtless boy was down on one knee amongst the group.  He was resting his elbow on the other knee and drinking from his bottle.  He looked towards me, but not directly at me.  I knew that he was mine.  I watched him. Confident.  Comfortable with the group.  Dang good-looking.  (!)  Beautiful eyes.  My mind was thinking I was watching Callum.  Then the boy turned just a tiny bit to look at someone to his right.  I saw markings on his back.  Radiation markings.  I was watching Lachlan.  I woke immediately, against my own will.  I wanted to stay and watch him.  I wished so badly that I could go back to the dream and speak with him.  Hear his voice.  Tell him that I will be back in ten years to share this moment with him again on a terrestrial plane.

Why did I dream this?  Is it merely a dream?  I’ve had premonitions before.  Another prayer goes up.  And another.  When you dream of being a rock star it is pretty clear what path you have to take.  When you dream of owning your own home or business it is pretty clear what path you have to take.  When you dream of seeing your two year old laugh with friends when he’s twelve…..it should only be a matter of waiting ten years.  How do I make this dream come true?  We have been down all the paths already.   Something is telling me to get out a machete and make a new one.  Actually, a machete takes too long.  I need a bush hog.  Dear Lord, Please send me a bush hog!

‘Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue.  And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.’    ~E.Y. Harburg

Tonight my beautiful son Lachlan ran through the kitchen,  ate some of everything in site (and kept it down), cracked jokes, played with his toys, and threw his hands in the air while rocking out dancing.  Then he got into bed, told me his tummy felt good, and nuzzled down into his velvety-soft blanket to drift into dreamland.  Thank you universe. Thank you moon.  Thank you stars.   Thank you God.

We started Lachlan back on steroids today.  He was on them for the majority of the month of July, during radiation, and it was obvious with just a glance.  By the time we discontinued them he looked like a Cabbage Patch doll.  Remember those?  Big eyes.  Tiny nose.  HUGE cheeks. The cheeks were actually kind of cute on him. When he would get real excited about something they would shake.  It takes quite a while for steroids to leave the body, and so he was just recently looking like himself again.   I was thinking that while watching him sleep this morning.  The past several days he has been increasingly lethargic, complaining of headaches more, and showing very little appetite.  In talking with his doctor, it was decided that steroids should help his symptoms.  I pray.

We are leaving Saturday for a family vacation.  Much needed.  One month ago it did not seem the least bit questionable to take him as far as Kiawah Island, South Carolina.  Today we are feeling slight hesitation.  What if his symptoms worsen?  What if he needs medical care?  What if he needs urgent medical care?  We have an emergency syringe of seizure medicine kept in a bag that looks like a frog.  It goes everywhere with us.  Now when we say ‘Let’s go!’,  Lachlan walks over, puts the frog bag over his shoulder,  and says “Oooo-Kay!”  I don’t know that I have ever in my life been witness to anything so precious and gut-wrenching at the same time.

He loves the beach.  Digging in the sand.  Laying in the waves.  Being pulled around the island in his ‘chariot’ behind Daddy’s bike.  The paths are beautiful…winding through shade trees that appear to have been standing for hundreds of years, past green golf

Kiawah Island, September 2010

courses, and onto the beach.  There is a peace that blankets you upon entering the island.  It cannot be described, only felt.  I pray that peace will again envelop us this year.  A blanket of peace… of amazing grace.  I pray this for my son.  Please God.  For my son.