Author: PaytonPiesMommy

He got the “good me”. The me before cancer was a caring, loving, nurturing person and a good mom. She loved everyone unconditionally and would do anything for even a stranger. She had a clear mind and made decisions easily. Cancer changed everything. Life showed me how cruel it could really be, and I turned into someone I’m trying to figure out still. My mind was so messed up and my judgement was clouded by grief and alcohol. I’m realizing now that in those first couple of years after he died I made some really horrible decisions. I owe my daughter a great deal of apologies which I plan to render after graduation is over. I still love, but not as deeply. My heart doesn’t allow anyone in too far. It’s like I can only allow most people to sit on the surface of my heart, but I can’t allow them to infiltrate because I know my heart can’t take the pain of being hurt. Over the past few years, I’ve began relinquishing anyone who has hurt me or isn’t good for my soul. I just can’t deal with the stress of betrayal anymore. Payton got the good me though. He only knew the me that had a wide open heart that poured love into everything and everyone. He never had to know this person that has a million walls up. He never had to see me hurting like I do now. When I say he took a piece of my heart with him, this is what I mean. I do believe after he ripped that piece off, it calloused over and hardened to create a tough wall. I’m not sure why grief and reflection is hitting me so hard over 7 years later, but I guess that’s why they say it comes in waves. I’m going through a bit of a tsunami right now, to the point I’m thinking counseling may be in my near future. Maybe someday I’ll get back to the “good me”.

I laid I’m bed last night,  right next to my husband, crying my eyes out. Silent tears slipped out of my eyes, and down the bridge of my nose, falling onto my pillow, I realized I could not remember any good times with Payton in that very moment. I laid there praying, asking God to let me remember the good times. I prayed hard until memories came in. The first was a memory of my silly boy asking for some oreos before bed. I had told him be could have “a couple” of orders. He came out with a stack that reached from his bellybutton to his face. I suddenly could feel his hug, a specific hug that occurred just days before he died. We were in the kitchen and he just came up and hugged me, so hard, no reason other than because he loved his mom.

I grieve alone. I know my husband does also. We talk about Payton together. We do things in his memory together.  We buy things that remind us of him together.  But we grieve alone. Neither of us want to bring it up to the other- our pain that is.  We don’t want to cause that kind of hurt to one another if the other just happens to be doing okay that day. 4 years later, we’ve learned to live with the loss of our son. It is a huge part of us, just as Payton was when he was living.  He will always be our son, and we will always long for him.

Payton taught me many life lessons without even knowing he was doing so. He taught me not to take ANYTHING for granted. He also taught me to enjoy life’s little moments. I think the biggest lesson in life that he taught me is “perspective is everything”.
At times, people tend to “walk on eggshells” around me, or feel guilty for something they said in front of me or to me. Sometimes I hate it when people say “you’re so strong”, but I realize that I really am strong in some ways because I can handle it. I can handle people saying things that others in my position might be offended by.
Maybe losing your dog was indeed the “worst thing ever”, to YOU. Maybe “everything happens for a reason” still applies to your life. It’s possible that you are “grieving” when your child goes off to college. When you say “I wish my baby would stop growing up”, I realize it’s because your perspective hasn’t seen the alternative and you really just want to soak up them being little (which you should!). Perhaps losing your 98 year old grandparent was the worst day of your life. I remember when I was 12 and my great grandma died. It was (to that date) the worst thing that had ever happened in my life- that was my perspective then. It’s okay to complain that your son or daughter is driving you insane, I was once there too. It’s okay to say “life is what you make it”. That actually used to be my favorite quote (and still is in some situations), but it doesn’t apply to everything and I know this now. It’s okay to say “Payton died”, because he did! You don’t have to beat around the bush and say “he passed” or “you lost him”. It’s okay to say the real words. I won’t be offended. It’s okay to tell me your child is dealing with something difficult. I get it, and your “difficult” may not be the same “difficult” as we have been dealt, but it is YOUR perspective and nobody else’s. If 2020 was the worst year of your life, I will probably consider you blessed, but I won’t be offended.
I guess my point is, please don’t censor yourself to me. I AM strong enough to realize we may not have the same perspectives on life, and I wouldn’t want anyone to ever need to know this perspective. It’s taken me a bit to fully get to this point, but I just want REAL, that is all.

My baby came to see me in my dreams last night. When I first saw him it startled me so much I woke up. I was so sad that I only got to see him for a second but when I went back to sleep he was there again. I was getting him ready for school. I wish I could remember more of it, but when I dropped him off I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him again for a long time. I love and hate dreams like this but mostly love them because I get to see him again.

As a mother, we always worry about our children. We are (the majority of us) naturally programmed to care about them, to nurture them, to teach them, help them grow, and to love them. When they are sick or hurting, we give them medication and ice packs, plenty of water, and tell them to rest.

I’ve always nurtured my kids, but nurturing after childloss becomes something very different. The moment your child says they have a headache, your mind goes straight to “possible brain tumor”. If they’re constipated, you think “perforated bowel”. If your kids have a fever you assume it’s the flu.

Last year, Jordan got sick with the flu. He went to the doctor and got medicine to help him. He seemed to feel pretty good for someone who in my mind had the worst sickness in existence. I was so scared and worried about him. He was 16 years old, but still one of my babies and I just wanted him better. I asked him every few hours how he was feeling and if he had taken his medicine.

Tonight Maddi came down with a fever and cough. So here I am waiting until 1am to wake her up to give her some ibuprofen…I would have never done this 3 years ago. Back then I would have let her sleep through until morning.

Administrating medication is a whole different thing that goes along with this fear. You read the pill bottle 7 times to make sure you’re giving the proper does. You look it up online to make sure it won’t interact with other medicines you gave them. You read the pill bottle again. You debate whether it’s bern long enough between doses or not. It’s an agonizing process.

After you’ve lost a child, nurturing turns into somewhat of a “survival mode” nurturing. It is not a negative mind or negative thinking that causes you to feel this way. It’s just grief and fear.

First you count the seconds. You’re actually counting so you can try to calm yourself. You have to literally remember to breathe.

Then you count the minutes. Each minute hurts more, and you’re crumbling apart. Breathing hurts. You’d rather be with your child and not have to breathe at all without them.

You start counting the hours. You can’t believe it’s true. They are gone. It can’t be real. You keep breathing, but now take huge gasps when you forget to breathe.

You’re now counting days. You’re wondering how many more days you have to live this way. The gasps of air still creep in and out…a lot. Breathing is hard work and consists of almost every other breath being a huge sigh.

Then you count the weeks. You can’t believe how fast the weeks go by. Reality sets in. You must learn to live without a piece of your heart, but how? You want to stop breathing.

Counting months is exhausting. The more months that go by, the further away from them you feel. It’s been too long since you kissed their forehead or heard their voice. Breathing is becoming part of your involuntary body mechanics, until you cry. When you cry breathing becomes impossible until you let out a loud belt of heartwrenching pain from your lungs, which are connected to your heart. You begin to realize how these body parts truly work together.

Years. Years. You have to say it twice, because it’s nearly unbelievable. It still feels like seconds at times. You aren’t sure whether you are closer to your child, or further away. You hope you are closer. You don’t have to think about breathing, but sometimes, out of the blue, something hits you and the gasp of air comes back. You try to avoid these moments. You try to avoid thinking of the worst moments, but your mind doesn’t always cooperate. You become afraid you’ll forget things about them, such as their voice or their favorite food, or special moments. Anger comes in strong. Yearning for your child for years is draining, but you must go on.

I tell myself I will be with him again, and that every second, minute, hour, month, and year has been worth being able to have him for 7 years, rather than never at all

He should be turning 10 today, double digits. I vaguely remember turning 10 myself, and the excitement behind those 2 digits in my age instead of 1. I remember feeling older and cooler in a sense. I wonder if Payton would have felt that way too. In fact, I am left to wonder a lot of things about Payton. I wonder how tall he would be now. Based on the average growth of children, he would be 50 inches tall now, and weigh around 60lbs (measuring from pre-DIPG body). I don’t know though, maybe his appetite would have gotten bigger and maybe he would be bigger. It still angers me that I have to guess what he would look like now, what kinds of foods would be his favorites now, if he would be excited for school to start back, if he would be playing football this year, if he would still like snuggling with me, and if he would still like any of the toys that sit in his room barely touched now unless we have kids over. I don’t often allow myself to really think deeply about all of this, because it just makes me cry uncontrollably and makes me feel physically sick. I am already forced to relive his death in my mind every single day due to PTSD, so when I choose to actually think deeply about him, I try to only think about the positive moments. It really does me no good to wonder, but I still do at times, especially on a day like today- his birthday. Another birthday passing by without him. I’m taking the day off to prepare for a party at our house, being surrounded by our favorite people to celebrate Payton and have 1 last summer party before the leaves change colors. Happy heavenly birthday my sweet boy. I miss you every second and I love you so much.

It is often said that time heals. Over 2 years later, I am still waiting to be healed. The only thing that brings me peace is knowing that my baby is healed, and no longer in pain. The pain we have been left with is excruciating though. As parents, we would do absolutely anything for our children, so I try to tell myself “We are living with this pain so he doesn’t have to”. We have learned to live without a piece of our hearts intact. We have taught ourselves to block it out. We try to keep busy to suffocate the pain, yet it remains. I’ve realized that no matter how many bandaids you put on a deep infected wound, it will not heal. You’ll need an antibiotic. In our situation, I believe the only antibiotic available is God. When we meet him, we will be healed from this pain. I honestly hope we get to meet Payton first. That would be healing enough for me.

We are coming up on another new school year next month, and it is really difficult to think about. Our 2 middle kids and I ran into Wal Mart tonight and I told them to grab a few of the school supplies they may need for the new school year. It felt like the colored pencils, glue, and cartoon folders were taunting me. It crossed my mind to just buy a bunch of the shit anyways, even though I don’t have any kids who would use them. Maybe my nephews and niece could use them if I bought them, but I didn’t. I should have a 4th grader this year, but I don’t.

I wish Payton was here. I’d trade him a foot rub for a back scratching. We would have had so much fun together this summer. Sometimes I feel like he’s missing out on all of the good stuff; going on the boat, camping, and swimming in our new pool, but in reality we are missing out on doing these things with him present. Time does not heal, you only learn how to survive the pain that you once thought would kill you.