I lay on the edge of my bed, staring out my window. For two months, nights have left me staring out that window at Mattias’ car, sitting at the bottom of the hill where he left it the last time he played with it. My older children used to push him in that car and when they tired of dragging it back up the hill, he would just sit in it, so happy to be outside. So happy to be alive.
But someone finally moved the car so I stare at bare ground with patches of snow clinging to the grass. He is gone. His toys have been put away, his clothes packed away. His messes have been cleaned up and he isn’t here to drag it all out again tomorrow.
His car is gone and I can scarcely breathe.
I stare out the window and think of the order form for ducks that lay on my desk for weeks. With Mattias in my lap, I researched breeds and housing and duck care. With Mattias’ joyful exclamations of “Chickie chickie!” I had filled out the order form. With Mattias’ absence heavy on my heart, I had pushed the form aside and left it to sit on the desk for weeks. One day, my husband folded it up, added a check and sent it off.
So I think how much Mattias would have enjoyed ducklings and let my pillow catch the tears.
It is so hard to look to the future and see all the plans we have made begin to unfold. We’ve ordered chicks and ducklings and guinea fowl and fruit trees. We have a shelf full of seedlings waiting for spring. We have remodeling projects and a playground to build.
All of these plans were laid with Mattias in mind. But now the future is clouded by the hole there where he should be, at my side, growing up in this country air and open space we sought to raise our children in.
I stare out the window at the empty space and for a moment, the emptiness seems to stretch on forever. It crosses my mind to just go out and get his car. To put it back where it doesn’t belong so that at the end of the day, when the house is still, I can stare out at it through my tears.
But then I look past the place where the car had been to the space just beyond. A great deal of planning has gone into this stretch of property as well, and all of it with little Mattias in mind. My children have a stack of rolled up drawings depicting their dreams for the future. This is where we’re putting their memorial playground with its sandbox and stage, swings and a slide, sunflower house and talking flowers.
I stare out the window at this space where my children have planned a future of joy and laughter in memory of their little brother and that future doesn’t seem quite so dim.
I homeschool my children on a small hobby farm in rural Nebraska and write about life more abundantly, from the joy of a baby's smile to the almost unbearable grief of losing a son while seeking beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead of the spirit of despair (Isaiah 61:3)
we lost a teenage niece some years ago. and my best dog. nothing like a toddler, but a tiny view of what it might be like. one moment they are so bright and the next… just not in their bodies any more. they go somewhere else and continue to shine. we cannot see the light, but we can certainly feel it.
i only know your son in words, but it does not dim the gift of never having met him. he keeps sharing his joy of life as you write your heart open. he brings the smile that comes from the excitement of every new experience.
i have a friend that lost her baby boy at three weeks – a one chambered heart. that mother is now 75 years old. she showed me his picture one time. he is beautiful.
I have heard that doing constructive things like the playground help heal the wounds.
Phyllis´s last [type] ..Haven- Day Three
Your words about Mattias are always beautiful and hurt my heart. My son is two and I cannot even begin to imagine the pain/grief/hollowness yet your words give glimpses that make me want to run and hug him tight right now.
You will always see Mattias in the ducks, and the sunshine, and the toy cars and when you eat his favorite food. My only hope is that these little glimpses of him never go away and that one day they cause you to raise your face to the sun and smile because that is how he reaches out to hug you now.
Have you thought of making a memorial blanket from some of his old clothes? Even just a small lap sized one that can become a wonderful family keepsake that everyone can hold and hug when they need a moment with Mattias.
tara´s last [type] ..Happy Birthday- Baby Boy
Thank you, all. And yes, a friend is making a blanket for us. I need to hurry up and send everything off. It has been hard making decisions about what to include and what to leave out so I keep stalling.
Dana´s last [type] ..Staring out my window
I’m so sorry for your pain and sorrow. I can’t imagine what you are going through every day. I think about you every day and I am praying for you.
Ruth´s last [type] ..This is not a changing table
“doesn’t seem quite so dim”
A step forward.
Not quite so dim means there’s a little light. Barely perceivable, but light none the less. The beginning of the tunnel, in which there is light at the other end.
Inhale . . . exhale . . .
You are doing so well! I know it doesn’t seem like it but you really are! Hang in there!
I am so blessed to see that through the very real grief and hurt, that you still see the ray of hope. God is a God of Hope. He knows what it means to lose a child. He’s walking through this with you. Hold on to those rays of hope and keep walking towards the light as your walk this journey.
If you need to seek out that hope, take a look at the children the Lord has given you that are still with you. He has a special purpose for each of them just as He has a special purpose for Mattias. They are each a precious ray of hope that the Lord has given to you.
Your words are so poignant and beautiful and I’m sure are a healing balm to others who have lost loved ones. Keep pointing them towards the Light of Hope.
Mommaof10´s last [type] ..And the Winner is…
“So I think how much Mattias would have enjoyed ducklings” – he will still enjoy the ducklings Dana! He’s not gone … just waiting for the rest of you.
I’m so glad you included the photo of the Cozy Coupe. You must know how many of us have that same car for our kids. We have 3 of them. Our kids have so many memories in those orange cars. Now every time I see one out MY window or watch the kids play in them I will be reminded to be grateful and reminded to pray for your family.
In Him,
Jeff
A little bit of light, yes.
Nights are hard because it is quiet. We’re back to a somewhat normal routine during the day which helps, but sometimes it is also nice to just be there by myself and cry and miss him.
And thanks, Jeff. I love all of his little toys and coming across them. I remember cleaning out boxes and coming across a marker he had chewed the tip off of. I couldn’t throw it away and so I put it with the other things we’re keeping. But his toys were all his brother’s and will all be passed down to his baby brother.
It is so sad to not be able to see them play together, but comforting to see that continuity.
Dana´s last [type] ..Staring out my window
This is simply beautiful. I know it must be heart wrenching, so thank you, as always, for sharing yourself…
Karen´s last [type] ..Ideas for Homemade Pizza Dough
Thank you for sharing so honestly. It occurs to me that one reason God allows us to lose loved ones is to share a shadow of the pain He feels every time one of His dearly loved creations rejects Him for the last time. It gives us an urgency in our evangelism.
My heart goes out to you. You are in my thoughts and prayers. xoxox
Susie
Even in silence there is a still small voice, ‘I AM with you, I AM with him, he is with ME, and you will also.’
That dance – leave it as is to remind us, put it away ’cause it hurts too much to remember, or clean it up simply because life goes on.. (How can life just ‘go on’ without our loved ones?!!) It’s so complicated, and so easy to misstep, especially when you are dancing with so many other people as well. His grace is sufficient, even for this, Dana. Praying…
Have you see this…http://www.flameon.net/ You can watch the movie after submitting your email. This may give you some comfort….
We have a molded over, broken wheeled yellow bulldozer sitting in our yard, tucked behind the trees. Reminder of what once was as well as what will be! One day all will be new again but BETTER. We will be reunited and rejoicing! It’s these in between days that are difficult. We must press on.
Praying for you, especially at night when darkness descends and thoughts run wild. Keep holding on to HOPE!
MarshaMarshaMarsha´s last [type] ..calling back and sharing HOPE
It just doesn’t seem fair that everything in the world moves forward when something so impossibly tragic has happened.
Your words are so eloquent, Dana. I think it is such an incredible thing that you’re allowing yourself to sit in your grief. So many people may try to tell you that it’ll get better, and sure, it probably will, but I think you’re doing a wonderful service to yourself to allow yourself to feel, to grieve, and to be broken.
Thank you for sharing your heart with us, for letting us in. I’m saying a prayer that the void of hurt you have might be filled instead with a peace that surpasses all understanding. I pray that when you feel alone, you know instead that you are being enveloped by a blanket of thoughts and prayers from so many of us.
(((hugs)))
Lindsay Maddox´s last [type] ..Changing things up!
Hi Dana: I’ve read a few books about Heaven lately (Heaven is for Real, In Heaven, and The Boy who Went to Heaven and Came Back) and have found them to be a blessing. I have a new understanding about what heaven is like, how much Jesus loves us, and how much children and families mean to the Lord. What a joyous renunion for your family when you are all together with Tiggy in Heaven! I would love to send you the books if you are at all interested – just email me your address. Love and prayers, Harmony (hloube @ gmail.com)
Dear Dana,
I was directed to your blog through another homeschool friend of mine. I have been following you since the tragic days followed your beloved Tiggy’s passing.
I just wanted you to know that you and your family are on my daily prayer list. My heart aches for your loss. I think you very courageous to be sharing your story and I believe God will work through your eloquent words to help many others who are struggling with loss.
There are no words of comfort that I can give, I only pray for the peace that only the Lord can provide.
Much love,
Marisa Schoff, homeschool mom of 4
Dana,
Your darling Tiggy is EVERYWHERE on your farm. In these early months when his loss is all so fresh it is easy to not see that. Your heart is so consumed and full of pain it cannot possibly hold the hope that in some non-tangible way Tiggy could be with you. And smthe packing of his things, the putting away his little life hurts so deeply. I had a mom once describe this pain to me with these words. She told me the “presence of his absence is suffocating”. Because everywhere she looked there was her lost son and it felt like a weight on her lingoes that prevented her from doing anything more than was necessary to meet her families basic needs. It won’t always be like this. One day a shock of a memory will come to you from nowhere and you will be surprised to find how good it makes you feel. Twiggy is with you in the good and in the pain. Twiggy is remembered!
Ohhhhh. This is a hard one to read. These quiet hours we have are what keeps us mommies sane, right? But how do you get through the long nights without him…. So, so hard.
Children are so naive and ridiculously hopeful (how many kids think they’re going to grow to grow wings and fly?
. Thank God for them! Inbetween the talking flowers and the little car left out in the snow, is a real place of joy.
Praying for you always, especially your little people.
Your writing brings me right into your life, seeing what you are seeing. Feeling the great sadness and whole in your heart that aches so for Mattias. Needing so to hear his chatter, see his joyous smile, and hold his little body on your lap while you plan your order. You crave him , but he is so out of reach now.
Lord please help Dana. You understand her loss.Her need as a mother to hold her little one. Bring her comfort and peace, In Jesus name. Amen
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