Joyful...Challenge

Some days the name of this blog (and my life) feels more like the last half of the word, instead of the first.  Some days, it's hard to be joyful.  Some days, it is all challenge.  Sometimes the day is much more raincloud than sunshine.  And I have to remind myself, it's ok.  Sometimes.

With child loss, the pain is always present - just under the surface.  It can so easily be stirred, like a pebble tossed onto a still pond.  Once evoked, the pain ripples causing a visible upset and change.  There are certain times I know to brace myself for the pain, anniversaries or occasions in which I will be reminded of Austin.  Other times it may be a surprise, like a familiar song on the radio, and instead of providing comfort, it sends me back in a spiral of grief.

As a mom, I do turn off the pain a lot.  Sometimes I just have to.  Though it would be easy to give in and let the sadness take over, I have a life to live and a family that needs me to be present.  It's part of where the idea for this blog came to life.  I knew the pain from his loss would never leave but I needed a way to face each day.  Focusing on the positive and finding the joy in every day is what keeps me moving forward. 

But then there are other times when I feel as if the chair is knocked out from under me.  When the grief comes swelling back and threatens to take hold.  When the pain is so raw it hurts physically.  And often, that pain comes after seeing the grief in someone I love.  If Tim or Noah have had a rough time, for whatever reason, and are especially saddened with missing Austin, it hurts me to the core.  All the feelings I have pushed aside come welling up, battling with the hurt of knowing there's nothing I can do to truly ease their pain.

It's such a harsh reminder of the masks we all wear in child loss.  And what I'm learning is that it is such a cycle.  Just when you think you've reached the top, that you've climbed out of the grief, something small can suck you back in again. 

For us, the rest of this school year will be our struggle.  As so many families celebrate the milestone of their child graduating  - and all that goes with it - this season is just a painful reminder of what we're not experiencing because Austin is no longer with us.  So many dreams and plans of what could've been, ended too soon.  And it is hard...for all of us.

 - - - - - - -

Below, is a portion of The Broken Windshield, I wrote just a few months after losing Austin , that's been three years now.  While I'm grateful to see areas now in which we are better and moving forward, it is still such a good description of what living with a loss is like for a family....

Our family is like a cracked windshield. The initial impact of where it broke is visible but you can still see through to go forward. However, from that blow, tiny cracks and splinters now appear. They are thin lines, some hardly noticeable. I can feel them breaking and splitting our family ....

...It is a nightmare in slow motion. A roller coaster ride that you can't get off of. Most of the time you just try to remain numb and move about your day, robotically, to get through. ....

You never know what might stop you and cause you to cry, to remember. Even you don't know how your body, mind and soul will react.  It is like you are held hostage. The old you is gone locked away somewhere deep inside. This new person has filled the space and is living your life. But this isn't your life at all. This isn't what you dreamed of, what your plans were. There is no happily ever after in this book.

 - - - - - - - - -

Chapters of our book were torn out; against our will the story was rewritten.  While our fairy tale is changed, I'm hopeful because I know future chapters contain happiness.  Even on days it seems painfully sad.  Those days, I just need a little more prayers.  I'll forever treasure the past story of our life and the beautiful character that was Austin.  And I look forward because I do know how our story ends.   Our happily ever after will be at The End, written in majestic script up in heavenly skies.

Play Ball

Blairs and baseball used to go together like peanut butter and jelly. 

Most of our year was spent at the ball field.  Spring meant the beginning of training.  Bats whooshing in the air to loosen young muscles.  The soft thud of a ball hitting glove, silent toss returned, a second thud.  Moments that felt like hours practicing the swing - miss...miss...and an occasional PING when ball met bat.  Summers under the hot sun, no shade on metal bleachers, but no better place to spend an afternoon.  The scent of hot dogs and popcorn mingled with dirt and leather.  The adrenaline of a close game, the way a whack of the bat could bring you to your feet cheering.  A short break before the new school year and then starting all over again with the coming of fall.  Only pretzels and cold RCs were replaced with hot chocolate and extra blankets on chilly evenings. 

But that all changed a few years ago.  After we lost Austin, baseball just wasn't the same.  It was too difficult being on a field, remembering Austin's love of the game.  We waited the next spring, to see how Noah would respond.  Almost to our relief, he let us know he couldn't play.  Baseball and the Blairs would have to take a break.  And even though a part of me knew it would be too hard, I worried we'd never step onto a field again.  I wondered what Austin would think, seeing us unable to do something we'd all loved to share as a family.



Austin & Noah 2007

Then last year, the week of Austin's birthday, Tim won a set of tickets to nearby game.  I held my breath, wondering how we'd do.  Being back on the bleachers, surrounded by so many memories of him, certainly flooded our hearts.  Tears softly fell.  Yet we enjoyed the game.  As he always does, Austin gave us so many signs that night he was there. 

Now, another step forward.  Noah's decided to play again.  Three years later and he's ready to take to the field.  This morning he and his dad went through our supply, Noah wanting to use Austin's bat and bag.  We went shopping for a new helmet and cleats.  He was excited and even though it still tugs at our hearts, and probably always will, we all are. 

Thankful Thursday

November is days away. Because it holds the anniversary of our son's death, it is a difficult month. Each day on the calendar, as well as the holiday, is a constant reminder of our loss. It's a bittersweet time, as we waiver between favorite memories with Austin, and the horror of those last moments. While a month that is full of sadness for us, it is also a time of Thanksgiving.

One of my favorite traditions from my Grandma Coons was to gather as a family on that holiday and share at least one thing for which we were thankful. Last year, focusing on "Thanksgiving" is how I chose to face each day. Knowing the day would be brimmed in tears, I needed to start my mornings reflecting on what I still had to be thankful for. No matter the heartache, there are still so many blessings in our lives.

Each morning, I began with an affirmation, a statement of what I was thankful for. It carried me through my day, reminding me of a positive during such a negative time. This year, I plan to take it a step further. For the month of November, my blog (and life) will be focused on "Thankfulness" and I'm challenging myself to write a post every day.

Since losing Austin, we've also started the tradition of "Random Acts of Kindness" on his angel-versary. You see, that's what Austin was all about. I have so many cards and letters from those who knew and loved him, sharing small and simple, but powerful, moments they remember and treasure him for. Austin's legacy will always be his warm smile, loving hugs, and helping hands. Because November 29th is such a tragic reminder for us, it is how we've chosen to get through it. Helping strangers has lifted our broken spirits.

Last year, I asked others to join in his memory and I plan to do the same closer to the date. So many messages of support and sharing their acts came through via email and on his Facebook page, Remembering Austin. Each time a wave of grief would overcome me, a message of hope would arrive and hold me. It was such a wonderful way to remember such a beautiful soul.

With each random act, it was as if Austin's spirit carried on and it blessed our family. Because of that, I've decided to dedicate this entire month to my precious boy and will be striving to perform random acts of kindness every single day. It's the only way I know to get through a seemingly impossible time. Each day, each thankful moment, every act of kindness, will be a tribute to Austin, the life he led, and the inspiration of hoping to be a fraction of who he was. I hope you'll join me...

"Never let loyalty and kindness leave you! Tie them around your neck as a reminder.

Write them deep within your heart." - Proverbs 3:3

Beautiful Distraction

This is a difficult school year for us.  It would have been Austin's Senior year and he would've graduated next May.  For parents who've lost a child, life is full of "what could've beens" and missed memories.  Milestone moments are the toughest though.  Throughout the school season, each special occassion we see others and Austin's friends celebrating, is a reminder of our loss.  The pain from losing him is magnified and our hearts are torn apart yet again. 

However, even though the pain can sometimes seem unbearable, God always has a way of pulling us through.  Just as in those first few weeks of our loss, He washes peace over us when we need it most.  At times, I feel He even sends other trials and troubles, or allows them to come at least, to take our mind off the heartache awhile. 

For the past couple years, I've seen it mostly in the form of physical ailments.  And while in the moment of suffering from a shingles outbreak, bronchitis, or a random new allergy to poison sumac, it's not something I'd request; looking back I see how it helped distract my focus.  Or, perhaps it's the chaotic burden of multiple appliances breaking down at once or other household emergencies.  The past month the health of others, including Tim, has certainly required the majority of my attention. 

In the midst of the troubles though has been one very beautiful distraction.  Since the first of August, we have had my niece, Tina, in our home.  It was sudden and unexpected, certainly not something we were emotionally prepared for but somehow it's fallen together quite well.  She's a special child, full of curiousity and wit, and has added extra doses of laughter and love to our family.

Though I've gradually changed around Austin's room the past year or so, it has been a slow process and something that has been difficult for us to complete.  Tina coming to us, and the knowledge she may be with us for quite some time, has pushed us at completing this...with a purpose.  While there have been many tears packing our beloved son's things away, I have done it with the gentle whisper of him in my ear.  Austin has loving prodded me through all of this, urging me to help her because he knows we can.  And even on days when I doubt my abilities, it just takes a hug from Tina, or her soft smile, to remind me again.

In a year that we could so easily have spiraled back down into the fog of depression, letting each milestone and special day missed pull us deeper, we have been given the gift of purpose.  We have been blessed with the opportunity to help care for another child in need, who gives us new focus, strength, and love.  She's helping heal our family without even knowing it.  And I couldn't be more grateful.