Happy 6th Birthday Atticus

I have wanted nothing more in life than to be a wife and a mother. Six years ago today, December 17, 2007, at 1:11 pm, I became a mom. Atticus Eric Hansen entered the world. Tangled in the umbilical cord a broken clavicle and the cutest furriest little thing you ever saw! He was a perfect 7 lbs 8 oz and 20.5 inches.

I remember bursting with love and happiness as I watched my husband stand right beside our baby boy as he was being bathed. I remember the pure joy in Eric's eyes as he held Atticus' tiny hand.

I remember him being a tiny one week old, he was wearing a navy blue and white striped jump suit from baby Gap, rocking him, with silent tears, telling my mom that I had never been so happy. I don't think there is a love stronger than a parents love for their child. 

And according to me, no pain is worse than the loss of one. I know I'm in a bit of shock and denial as this, his 6th birthday has come. I have kept myself very busy to distract me from the pain that keeps trying to creep it's way in. I don't want to face reality so I ignore it. And yes, Dr. Asay, I know, it's not the healthiest! But that's why I see you right?!

I know that in time it's going to hit me because I am very detached from my "Atticus" emotions (been there done that and the results are no good). If the pain does hit me even the tiniest bit, I get incredibly depressed, eat, and think of something to keep me busy. I guess that's a benefit of having his birthday and Christmas close together, there's plenty to keep busy with. And if I ignore that fact that our reality is our reality, than I can keep my "happy" face on.

It's hard to fine a balance. You want to decorate the Christmas tree and get excited about it then reality hits and you want to through up. So you hurry and distract yourself. You want to hang the stockings, then reality hits… distract yourself. You want to make reindeer cupcakes, but then you think of the picture of Atticus' with his preschools reindeer cupcakes… distract yourself… blah blah blah blah blah.

I think back at the last two years and I can't believe it. I can't believe that we witnessed our son take on one heck of a battle and that we are still here. Alive. It's seriously like another life. I often think to myself, there is NO WAY I could have done that.

"Getting better" or "Grieving" or "Moving Forward," whatever you choose to call it is a bitter sweet. Do I like that I am not suicidal anymore? Yes. Do I like that I don't wake up each day with a very heavy rain cloud hovering over me? Yes. Do I like the fact that I am able to function (and yes that's debatable!)? Yes. I'll be the first to admit that I have made HUGE progress. I have been able to let go of some of the guilt. Process some of the heartache and let go of some of the anger. I was in such a dark place. I'm quite amazed I'm still here really. When I really think about where I was. So hooray for progress.

The down side of progress is this, he's not constantly in the forefront of my mind which brings  a new type of guilt. The down side, is that you start to forget (which I think is pretty crappy). You forget what his voice sounds like. But watching a video stings and reminds you of what your missing. You forget what it was like to take care of him, not just cancer but pre cancer too. You come to a point where not having him around isn't as paralyzing. And THAT is paralyzing. It makes me so sad. I wish there was a way that you could constantly think of him. Talk of him. Look at pictures of him, but NOT feel the unbearable pain. I seems so unfair that getting "healthy" causes you to forget whether consciously or unconsciously. Eric and I have had many discussions over this and it just plain sucks. 

What scares me the most is the closer Isaac gets to Atticus' age, the more I almost feel like he is replacing him. He is looking more like him. He talks like him. He is stubborn and funny just like him. I mentally catch myself blurring the two together because I want both of them together. It kind of freaks me out. I'm trying to find a substitute for something that can't be substituted. 

It's interesting what triggers me. Friday night was our ward/church Christmas party. There is family in our ward whose daughter has Cerebral Palsy and is in a wheel chair. The primary kids (age 4-12) went up to sing, and her sweet mommy wheeled her up there. I looked at that sweet girl and was overcome with so many different emotions. I have such a tender spot in my heart for children in wheel chairs now. Even though Atticus was only in his for a short time, It was long enough to know the challenges both for them and for the parents. My heart broke because I looked at that sweet little girl and so wished my sweet little boy was still here. I watched the kids his age, dressed as shepherds, sing a Christmas carol, and it was too much, I burst in to tears and we went home.

Part of me is so excited for Christmas. I love the holiday's and all the hoopla that goes with it. But there is a part of me inside that is so heavy and tired and too sad. Part of me that thinks, it's too hard to do it without him. Part of me that gets angry that others can enjoy the season without pretending. It is amazing to me how many times I have to push thoughts away. How many little reminders come up, both good and bad. And sometimes I just want to scream at people because they have no idea. I am grateful for Eric and Isaac and Isabel. They are huge or humungo-bungo as Atticus would say, helps in keeping me on the right track, whether I want to or not!

I have had a few people ask me about what "plans" we have for the day, and to be honest, none. It's so weird. It's one of those times where I feel like the world is buzzing all around me going a mile a minute while I'm in slow motion. Eric and I have talked about doing this or that but nothing comes of it. Either I'm not ok with something or he's not okay with something so then we just give up and talk about something else. At some point we will be delivering the toys to Dr. Lenarsky's office. Another bitter sweet. Part of me hopes the office is empty of any cancer fighting kiddo's and part of me hopes there is a chubby cheeked little boy who is just biting at the bit to smothered with kisses, cause I'll totally volunteer. And the thought of that has brought me to tears. I miss him. I miss my chubby cheeked boy. I miss the way his chubby little body shook when he laughed. I miss his killer double chin. How soft his skin was. I miss his sweet smile. I miss holding him. What I wouldn't give to hold him. I can't believe it happened. It is just so so surreal.

The phrase "hold your kids tighter" or "give them extra loves" is at times too "cheesy" for me but all I can say, through these typing tears is this, Please hug and kiss your kids, what I wouldn't give to kiss my Atticus. What I wouldn't give to read him one more story, find one more treasure, hit one more ball. 

I love you Atticus. It's times like this that I have to force my faith to come through. Times like this when I feel weak that I need to put my faith in the Lord and remember that when we are reunited, sweet boy, it will all be forgotten. That once I have you in my arms again, the hurt will be gone. But if you could visit me in one of my dreams, I would really appreciate it. I hate that your gone.

A few of my favorite pictures….

Isaac looks JUST like him…

He was watching golf!! By choice!

He always kept us laughing!

 Such a good big brother...

Happy 6th birthday sweet boy. I love and miss you so so much.