Taking out the trash...
The color orange...
The movie Frozen and all of its songs...
Powdered donuts...
Pop-Tarts...
Shopping carts with steering wheels...
The yellow curb bumps outside of grocery stores...
Blow drying my hair...
Sand boxes...
The beach...
Blonde hair...
Scooby-Doo...
Little boys...
Driving by his preschool...
Brushing teeth (because he hated it)...
Dandelions...
Every.Single.Night.

All of these everyday things puts his image so strongly in our minds. I didn't cry a lot the first week of the accident, and even the few days after we held him and kissed him goodbye for the last time my eyes were somewhat dry. It's only now, weeks after that I find my emotions hard to control. His face is everywhere and in everything, though it seems like he was never here. We can't remember what it feels like to hold him. We can't hear his voice anymore. We have only memories - I remember the way he had to hold my hand at night at the perfect angle so I could rub my thumb back and forth over his fingers. I remember the way he would grab my face and give me awkwardly long, hard kisses until I laughed so hard he had to back up. I remember the way he would rub his face against Matt's and say "Ooooowwww" whether or not Matt was clean shaven. I remember the way he would fight Logan, but then follow him around and copy everything he said. So many memories, and yet nothing is concrete, tangible, none of it seems real anymore. We have no baby boy to touch, to hold, to swing around. Logan turned six on Friday and we realized just how big he is now. He has changed since Sawyer's death too. He's become more mature somehow and it makes us sad. Logan had an amazing time at his birthday party yesterday, but it was so hard to watch all of the kids running around without Sawyer. He would have loved everything - the face painting, the balloon animals, the cotton candy, popcorn, and snow cones, the bounce house, the kids playing in the sandbox, opening up all the presents. I just wish that if he had to be taken, he could have at least had this last experience. We should have been able to celebrate him yesterday too. His name was so clearly absent from the Happy Birthday song. We took the first family picture without him, and it's so empty, so wrong. We had one orange balloon there for him, and I wore my Remembering Sawyer shirt, but it's clearly not the same. Nothing is the same. We're still expecting it to get easier. One of these days it has to.

Still missing you. Still loving you. Still wanting you back.

July 10, 2014:

My baby should be three today. He should have snuck into our room this morning, stood right next to our bed, breathed his baby boy morning breath on my face for at least a good 30 seconds before he patted my leg, "Mommy. Mommy." Pause as I continue to pretend to still be sleeping, then the patting turns to shaking, "Mommy. Mommy." I should have popped my eyes open and planted a big kiss on him, scaring him enough to make him scream and wake the rest of the house. Should have. Instead we awoke to a quiet house again. Instead we awoke to his pictures on the wall, not to his face next to mine.

Yesterday was the one month marker from the day of the accident. I thought things were supposed to get easier. Time is supposed to heal. These wounds seem as fresh as the dirt on his tiny grave. He lies next to Allyson Grace Franklin, who was only a day old. Sawyer was always so good with babies. He loved nurturing them, which I know, shocks everyone. Bam Bam did actually have a soft side. And it was wonderful. At school he always wanted to help feed the babies their bottles, so I hope that he is helping to take care of little Allyson in Heaven.

Sawyer was definitely independent, but he loved to help. One of his favorite things to do was to help take the trash down to the street. As odd as it seems to think of him while taking out the trash, I don't think a week will go by that trash day doesn't remind us of him. I have mentioned before that our only regret in life will be those few minutes where we didn't realize that Sawyer wasn't with us, but that's not true. So many regrets. I regret not giving him the opportunity to play baseball. He was going to be amazing. We all thought he was going to be a lefty too. He would've given us so much trouble in school with his little rebellious attitude. Though we always used to imagine that sometime during his school days, he would meet a girl who would bring out his loving, sensitive side, and gone would be our Bam Bam. He would simply be our Sawyer, our handsome Sawyer. Gosh he was handsome. I'm sorry that I'll never get to see what a heartbreaker he would have grown up to be. So sorry that I'll never get to meet his first girlfriend, never come to know his best friends, never hug his new wife or have a mother-son dance at his wedding. I'll never even get to teach him to tie his shoelaces. So many regrets, too many nevers. I can already hear my family members saying, "Think of the great things you did do with him. Think of the fun vacations he had, and all of the love that he knew he had." And we try. We really do, but as said before, whenever we try to think of Sawyer before June 9, June 9 forces its way in and takes over.

Our lives exist only of before and after June 9.

Do we have hope that we will heal and only think of wonderful memories of Sawyer someday? Sure. Someday. His third birthday, however, is not that day yet. Thank you Learning Zoo for celebrating him at school today. He would've loved the cupcakes and the party hat. He would have loved the attention. Happy Birthday baby. Mommy, Daddy, and Logan love you so much.

A simple post tonight...

Matt and I are struggling with the "If there is a God up there, how could he not answer the thousands of prayers sent to him? How could he take such an amazing baby boy away from this family who is not supposed to be a family of three? How? Why? Who would be so cruel?"

Then my sister Heidi, who is not religious at all, said to me, "I know this is testing your faith, but I think that if something like this were to happen to me, it would make me more faithful. I would want nothing more than the hope of being able to see my child again one day."

She makes a good point...

This was taken less than 24 hours before the accident. God he loved water.

Link: A Moment in Time with My Baby

July 5th....
Almost an entire month since the accident...
The day after one of my baby's favorite holidays...
Just 5 days until he would be three years old...
Two weeks until the circus birthday party that he will not be apart of...


This is what days are now. Every day, every date, every hour are compared to that day. Our lives have become a before June 9 and an after June 9. We get up, we get ready, we get out of the house. These walls are too quiet. We are waking up to the sun, not to my son. We awake and are immediately aware of the silence. Sometimes we just lie there and stare at the pictures of him that hang on our walls. Sometimes we silently cry so as not to awake one another. Other times we roll over and immediately wake Logan up (yes he's now in our bed every night and we don't mind) just to hear noise.

I've decided that I need to write on this blog again, because it's less painful than thinking. Of all the memories that I have of Sawyer, I can only think of one: Me saying, "Where's Sawyer?" just before I looked in the pool. I remember him...like that. I remember yelling "No! No! Help me! Help me!" because I couldn't reach him over the side. I remember Matt hopping up and over the side to grab him. I remember him lying in the grass, so blue, with Matt trying to revive him. I remember running barefoot down the dirt road trying to catch the fire truck as they passed by our mislabeled street. I remember the paramedic running back down the driveway with Sawyer in his arms, his poor little limp arms flailing behind. And that's where it ends. That's where my memories end and where the loop starts over and over again. The only other thoughts that enter my brain are nightmares. How long did he struggle? How long did he look up, waiting for Mommy and Daddy to come save him? Was he scared? Was he trying to scream? Was he afraid that we would be mad that he went in without his floaties like he knew he wasn't allowed to? God I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry baby. You should have never been scared like that. We should have been there.

We're still receiving cards and flowers. We're being asked daily, "How are you doing?" We can go places, we can smile, we can laugh, we can function. But it's so empty. I realized yesterday that going to the store is so easy now. I'm not constantly trying to keep sticky little fingers from grabbing things, from opening the food in the cart, from running amuck. Easy is not better. I would give anything to feel that frustration again, to feel that anger again, to feel that muffled laughter as he gave me his "you can't be mad at me too long" smile, to feel him. God I want to hold him. I want to run my fingers through his hair again. I want him back. more. than. anything.

We have spent these last weeks either working on the backyard or going anywhere and everywhere, just to stay out of this silent home. Logan has been spoiled rotten lately. I thought that I would have complete and utter patience with him, after all, he is grieving in his own way as well. I'm finding, however, that my patience is short. He is in constant need of attention, and the second that I find myself wanting to tell him to hush, I feel the guilt. Of course he needs Mom and Dad to give him attention - his little buddy is gone. He has no one to play with but us. Thank God for Logan and his need. Without him I really don't know where we'd be. Matt and I are stronger than ever though. We're able to talk about things together, we're able to cry about things together, we're able to hope for things together. We are together and even though a huge piece of us is missing, we still love. We are angry, but we still love.

What has made these last few weeks the hardest is planning the birthday party. Sawyer is July 10, Logan is July 18, and Sawyer's cousin Abby is July 21. We are having a circus themed birthday party. We ordered a popcorn maker and my eyes welled up watching the popcorn burst out of the kettle - Sawyer would have loved it. He would have taken that big, surprised intake of breath, mouth wide open, blue eyes as big as can be, head looking from us to the popcorn and back. How can we plan this birthday party without him? I had to delete his name from the invitation. I had to delete him.

Sawyer, baby, I miss you so much. You are in our thoughts at every turn. Every song, every movie, every toy, every room, everywhere reminds me of you. Mommy and Daddy have been strong enough to hold it together for most of the day, but mornings and nights are still rough. We have huge pictures of you in the house now - beautiful pictures from your beautiful service. We give you a kiss every morning and night and hope that you can feel them where you are. We're still so sorry baby. We always will be. We will never regret anything more than not thinking of you for those five minutes. It's too late now, but not a minute goes by that you aren't in our minds. We miss you. We love you. We love you to the moon and back, to infinity and beyond, forever and always. I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be. Love, Mommy <3