November 9, 2023

How are you doing? People ask me that question more times in a day than I can count. And if I were to give the exact answer, I would create total confusion. Today makes four months since the boys said goodbye, and it isn't any easier today. In fact someone asked me if I thought it will ever get easier. My answer was "no, it will not get easier, but I will get stronger in order to cope better." Am I stronger today than I was July 9, 2023? I really don't know. Maybe. I don't cry as much, but I still cry every single day. I look at their pictures and thank God for the time I had, but I always wish I had more time. I think about all they could have accomplished if their time wasn't cut short. I think about all the things I will never experience again with them and all the things I never got the chance to experience. I look at pictures and videos every day. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I laugh and cry at the same time. The closer it gets to birthdays and holidays, the more I dread experiencing this life without them. I still don't know how to be a mama to boys in heaven. 

So to answer the question, how am I doing? I am homesick. To explain, I have to go off on a rabbit trail and give you some background. Ayden and Keeton are my only two biological children. From conception, it was my job to always do what was best for them. My world revolved around what they needed. One time Keeton asked me, "Mama, how much do you love me?" I responded, "High to the moon," because that's just what we always said to each other. Keeton told me that one night, and it just stuck. My answer wasn't the response he was looking for that day. He said, "no, mama. Really? How much do you love me?" Now, I am pretty sure Keeton had done something he wasn't supposed to and was trying to butter me up because he needed me to fix something. 

I tried to explain to him that there was no way to actually measure my love for him, but he wanted an answer he could understand. I told him, "Bug, you and your brother are my entire heart. You are the only two people on this earth who could ever understand how much I love you because you are the only two people who know what my heart sounds like from the inside. The moment God gave you to me, my heart beat for you. It was the first sound you heard. When you were born, my heartbeat was the sound that calmed you. My heart still beats for you." He simply responded, "Oh. Hmm. Guess that means our hearts talked to each other lots and bu-bumped in time with each other. And that means you love me more than a bunch. Good answer, mama." He took off running through the house, but stopped short, turned around, smiled that Keeton smile, and came running back to wrap his arms around me. He told me he loved me. When I went to respond to him, he said, "Shh. Your heart is telling me what I need to hear." 

I have no idea what Keeton did that he needed to play on mama's love to get out of trouble. I just cannot remember, and in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn't matter what he did. He probably got a toy stuck to the ceiling or knocked something over. Whatever it was, I am sure I told him not to do it multiple times, but he decided to try it one more time. After all, this is Keeton we are talking about. I know it wasn't drastic like breaking a window or putting a hole in the wall because neither boy ever did that. Keeton was just always busy. He NEVER sat still. He struggled to focus. He liked to push the boundaries. And he loved to talk. I asked him one time if he was talking just to hear himself. He thought for a second, and said, "yup!" 

But in this particular moment, he stopped, focused, and he got it. From that day on, he would randomly hug me a little longer than the typical hug would last. If I questioned if he was ok, he would tell me that he was letting our hearts talk to each other. Sometimes he would work his way into my lap at a restaurant or any other place where there wasn't exactly space for Keeton to sit in my lap. And when I questioned, "Keeton, what are you doing?" He would just giggle and say, "I'm moving in the house, so our hearts can talk a minute." And I, of course, would move to give him all the space he needed to move in so our hearts could talk. Even Ayden would tell me that his heart missed my heart from time to time, and his hugs would last a little longer on those days. 

I tell you this memory in hopes of explaining my homesickness since it is not the conventional response. If "home is where the heart is," then it's pretty simple logic. My boys are my heart, and they are in heaven. My heart and my home is in heaven (as it should be for Christians), but this concept is magnified for me. Don't get me wrong. I love my family that I have here. I am so blessed to have five adult children who became mine the day I married their dad. I have an incredible nephew that I get to love on and amazing cousins who let me "mama" them. 

This is different. My heart literally beat for my boys from the moment God gave them to me. It sustained them during pregnancy. My heart had to work differently during pregnancy to make sure they had what they needed. Every choice I made after their births was made with their best interests as the focus. So when I say I don't know how to be a mama to children in heaven, I really don't know because I am here, and my heart is there. 

It's been four months since I heard their voices and their hearts. So how am I really doing? I am homesick, and I long for the day I will be reunited with my heart. While I wait for that day to come, I will continue to function until I figure out how to thrive. I will tell Ayden's and Keeton's stories and do everything I can to continue the legacy they left. My heart will continue to beat for them because that's its job. I will run my race and rejoice every time God shows me the good. And I will wear two little gold hearts next to my heart, until our hearts can have a proper conversation again. 

But right now, I am just homesick.