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#5 I use your words, too.

Updated: May 26




When you were little, your tantrums were unmatched: The screaming, kicking and flailing. I’ve not seen anything quite like them.

I’m not sure “passionate” is the word I would use to describe these sessions of yours, but- sort of.


Your two-year-old tantrums were so intense, that there was really nothing to be done but wait for them to end (and to take at least a few steps back, for my own safety 😉). Intervening was a no-no.. So sit quietly.. and wait.. That was the only strategy that worked- or at least the one that didn’t escalate the situation into more.


Guess what? I have had your tantrums myself, since you’ve been gone. One day, I just gave it a shot.


They have all been mostly and completely intentional on my part. I think about you throwing yourself down in a toddler-fit-of-despair; pulling your own hair, kicking the wall…and one day after you died I thought:

“Let me give ‘Quincy’s way’ a go?”


So I tried it.

By myself.

Then I tried it again. On my living room floor. In my car. In the shower, on your grave. Even in a Walmart aisle once.


Every dang time, in the middle of one of your Quincy Tantrums- that reel starts playing there in my head… and I always ended up seeing you as a tiny, but mighty babe. A wrecking ball and Tasmanian Devil in one…

And in the end…every time… my tears always turn into eruptions of laughter. Partly because I am a grown woman screaming and kicking- but mostly because I remember I’m doing YOU.. and your tantrums were frickin’ hilarious.

I miss you so much.


I think everyone should try having one of your tantrums. If folks haven’t had a fit as an adult before, guess what-they sure can :)


(Maybe I should tell people to steer clear of the grocery store aisle, to prevent any concerns for their welfare from others-or potential arrests 😂).


I’m not doing the tantrums as often, kiddo. That tells me something. But I will always give myself permission to throw myself down if I want to :)


I get mad. Sad and scared. I still have wishes and hopes that won’t ever come true for you. Sometimes my heart sinks out of no where. Even though I know for sure that perseverance and positivity will prevail, it’s very clear that this grief roller coaster will be a part of me forever.


I’m taking some other plunges too, kiddo!


This month- just a few weeks ago, I participated in a “Grieving Mothers Day event” in Cedar Falls…(Insert panic attack the morning of- in the 11th hour, I did NOT to want to go).


No one wants to be in the club you and I are in. I didn’t want to be invited to an event like this, and didn’t even know that celebrations like this one existed… I was happy when someone sent me the information, and mad all at the same time. There aren’t supposed to be events like these for me and you, at all.


My therapist had encouraged me a while back to meet other people who have lost children. (Me at that time: “What a terrible suggestion. Yuk”)…

I have completely steered clear of support groups; interestingly you wouldn’t believe the number of people I have accidentally run into or met, who have lost children. And you know what? I always walk away from those encounters feeling lighter, not heavier. Not so alone. But this whole time until now- no way; I wasn’t getting you and me into that group.


I went to the event with gritted teeth (the first annual Bereaved Mother’s Day; hosted by ‘Loving Tanner’-A mom who lost her baby at birth). Guess what- she started a Cuddle Cot hospital mission, in Tanner’s honor. Shockingly, most of the women I met are all full force into a beautiful project or mission… I guess it’s a thing. Makes sense to me!


I tell you what.. It was incredible.

The care and kindness for you and me! And everyone there! Gifts with your name personalized on them, a beautiful meal, and a line up of guest speakers that took my breath away. But the best part?….When there was extra time in between speakers, they opened the floor up to any mom who wanted to come up to the mic and tell her story. And one after the other, beautiful mamas ran to the front of the room to tell every tiny detail of the events surrounding the death of their child. Tragic, horrifying, moving, beautiful stories of love and loss.

I sat quietly. Stunned. Silent tears streaming down my face.

I felt connected with these women instantly. I felt heartbroken with them. I wished I could take their pain away or turn back time for them. We all looked at each other this same way. I felt you there too, Quincy. Right next to me.


I didn’t tell your story (What!? I didn’t talk for once! 😂😘). Nope. That day I was an observer. I think had there been time, every single woman in that place would have told their child’s death story. I loved how eager these community of hurting mamas jumped at the chance to talk about it. It meant a lot to me, because I tell your stories just about every chance I get.  I found some camaraderie in those ladies that day. The tragic, unbelievable loss stories.


So I learned some more things that day, Quincy. First-that it’s ok to be in this club. I’m here. I’m not alone. That what I’m feeling is all ok. I’m not weird in how I want to do things for you or with you. I very much learned that there are more beautiful people in this world that I want to stand tall beside. I made new friends that day, and maybe hit some more acceptance.. and I took maybe the deepest breath I’ve taken in the last 15 months. Woah-air..


That venue launched me into attempting to reach out to some people- People I don’t know well, and people I don’t know at all. People who have lost children. The connections have been for real. Most were eager to meet me, or meet up with me, or we have set something upcoming :)

I was so scared to ask.

It’s all so bizarre sometimes.

People have called me courageous after your death. I certainly haven’t felt that way. It took every ounce of courage I could muster to spit out some invites to talk to people about death.

Its good. It makes me feel closer to you.


I miss your tantrums. I miss your belly laughs. I miss your stink and your single socks. And talking about you with other people? And hearing them talk; well, it’s holding you right here and I’m grabbing on tight.

Thanks for showing up with me the other day at the event, to celebrate you.

I love you.

Mom


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