Keening

Keening: the action of wailing in grief for a dead person.

I didn’t know there was a name for it until this past Wednesday.

But I’ve lived it.

I lived it before we lost him and I lived it after we lost him.

That absolutely deep, guttural, grief-filled wail.

I’ve lived it a few times. It’s awful and cleansing, all at once.

It first happened the Sunday before we lost him. Tommy was headed out of town for work and we had gone shopping for some clothes. When we arrived home, I couldn't get out of the car. It's like my body was frozen. I just started to wail. I couldn't stop. I sometimes wonder if I knew the pain that was coming that Friday evening...

The night we lost Luke, I didn't keen, I wept. I wept as they handed him to me. Our perfect baby boy, gone from this world to paradise. I could barely move. I just wept. It was unreal. It was impossible. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to beat the odds.

In the days that followed, I still didn't keen (at least not that I remember). I was catatonic. I was so sad. The grief was enveloping and it took everything out of me to get out of bed and face each day. My incredible Tommy and loving father went to the funeral home. They chose Luke's casket and his special place (he's buried on top of his Pop Pop - Tommy's dad) because I couldn't face the finality of it all. Thankfully, I was able to pull myself together enough to choose the readings and music for Luke's funeral mass. Amazing Grace and Ave Maria still make me well up with tears.

The next time keening happened was when we arrived at the funeral home. We only had a family visitation and Luke was in one of the small rooms. When we walked into the room, I saw the casket. And our baby boy. The wave of sorrow that washed over me was unbearable. Some people don't agree with open caskets and others have questioned our choice {why would anyone ever question a choice made by grieving parents?}, but seeing Luke lying there peacefully in his Easter outfit wrecked me. He was the most beautiful, most perfect baby. So I keened. I wailed, without realizing the volume of my cries. Without caring what others thought. This was our baby and I was his mother. And I couldn't save him. And I needed him here.

I keened once again the day we moved out of our house in The Woodlands. Luke had been gone for about two months or so when moving day arrived. The last time we stayed in that house was the night before Luke was born. After he was born, I couldn't stay there again. We knew we were moving to Tennessee, so we decided it would be easier with Emily and Matthew for us to stay at my parents' house.

Here I was. All by myself in our first house. It was quiet. It was full of furniture, but felt so empty. The house where Luke didn't come home. So before the movers came, I let out guttural screams. I wept. I sobbed. I keened. I told God that Luke was my baby. That I wanted him back. That it wasn't fair. {Looking back, it hurts my heart that I was so angry, but I remember Monsignor Sheltz telling me and Tommy at the internment that God would understand our anger and that it was ok.} Imagine my surprise when the movers arrived just as my screams were the loudest. I tried to explain, but I don't think they understood, as evidenced by one of them taking their tip money out of my purse (yes, that really happened - they stole from a grieving mother). 

I can't remember if there were any other times when I keened, but these are the times that stand out in my mind. I've grown over the last 18 years. But there will never be a moment when I don't miss that precious boy. When I don't think about the "what-ifs" and the "what he would bes". When I don't wish he could be here with us, cutting up with
his siblings, making fun of Mom and Dad, graduating from high school and going to college.

Luke Thomas Haberman. You are our forever baby boy. And we are so very blessed to be your parents. Please pray for us. And please send us signs that you are near. Our beautiful boy. We love you.

Thank you.

"When a child is born, it is the mother's instinct to protect the baby.  When a child dies, it is the mother's instinct to protect the memory." 

- Unknown 

We've missed 18 years with our boy. 

And I'm not quite sure what to say on his birthday this year. I've started to write some words and then thought to myself, "that's too harsh" or "that doesn't celebrate Luke in a way that honors him". 

So I start over.

I'm not sure what to write.

Each year, I write in this blog, trying to come up with the words to celebrate the life of a boy gone too soon. And as each year passes, it becomes more difficult to come up with the right words to acknowledge the immense hole his loss has left in our hearts.

This year, I just want to say thank you. I want to thank everyone who has stayed with us over the last 18 years. The people who came before Luke, the ones who came during Luke, and the ones who came after Luke.

Because without your support and our faith, we wouldn't have survived. 

That sounds intense, but it's true. Our family has survived the unimaginable because of you.

The countless prayers said on our family's behalf. My parents and Nana, who were there through everything. The teachers who watched Emily and Matthew when we were at Luke's bedside. The people who brought us meals when Luke passed. The friends and family who showed up to his funeral--I remember. Our family, who prepared our house to sell and move to Tennessee. Our little Collierville community, who rallied around a mother and father who were expecting another critically ill child. All the people who have donated to Luke's Tree and Luke's Legacy Boxes over the years. The countless friends who visit Luke's grave, because they know how much it means to us. The people who continue to show up and who aren't afraid to say his name. And who understand how important it is to us that Luke is not forgotten. 

We survived because of you.

And for me, I could not have survived without Tommy and our children. I want to thank them for giving me grace when my heart is shattered. For making me smile when I wanted to cry. For always remembering their brother. For just being them. I am so very proud of them and I'm blessed to be surrounded by some pretty incredible humans.

This year would mean so many new experiences for Luke: buying lottery tickets, college decisions, high school graduation, voting. No, he'll never be able to experience these things, but I am confident that his life in paradise is better than anything we could ever experience here on earth.

Happy birthday, Luke. We love you more than you could ever know.

It is a Good Friday

• Our son died, yet I still feel blessed. How can that be?

Luke was here for such a short time, but his life continues to bless others. 

Luke's life wasn't wasted. He mattered. He was important. He made a difference.

For the second time in the 17 years he has been gone, Luke's angel day falls on Good Friday. The magnitude of this is not lost on me.

I've cried a lot during mass since this day in 2008. This past weekend was no exception. It's usually triggered by a song (usually "Amazing Grace") or words in the homily. During this Palm Sunday mass, it was the poignant words of Deacon Mike. He couldn't have known that we were anticipating the anniversary of the profound loss of our Luke Thomas. Deacon Mike's words meant so much to me that I approached him after mass to ask if I could have a copy of the homily. 

I cried again, which made him cry.

I received a copy of Deacon Mike's homily, and I would like to share some of his words, which will explain why they meant so much to me.

"Each of us individually have our plan for life, our orientation, our order of how things should fit in. Just like the disciples in Jesus’ life. Everything seemed to be going so well and then something happens. One event and our lives are turned upside down, disoriented, disordered, chaos enters in, stress, turmoil, despair, and hopelessness. Dreams might be shattered, hope might be lost, but today we also know this is not to be the final outcome in Jesus', or in our life, if we have faith in Him."

April 18th is always more difficult for me than March 12th. 

I spend the day going through the motions, reliving the moments that passed on that awful day.

We knew he was not well. We knew he was having feeding issues. We knew that there was something wrong.

We even had him at the clinic that day for his weekly checkup. I told the cardiologist that something was not right. I told her that his nose was unusually red. I told her that he was vomiting. He vomited in the office.

And she told me it was reflux and gave us a prescription for Zantac.

We lost him later that evening.

April 18th is not a good day. But I remember what happened on this Good Friday. I remember how Jesus died so that we can be together with Luke again one day. 

And this gives me peace.

I remember the grace that we received when Luke died. I remember the mercy that was shown to our baby boy. 

I remember how blessed I am to be his mother.

I cannot discuss Good Friday without pointing to Mary's role in Jesus' life. Mary has always been important to me. I have always admired her strength, especially as they beat and crucified her son. After we lost Luke, I felt a much deeper connection with Mary as a mother. I could empathize with her grief and understand her pain. 

I pray that all mothers can look to Mary as a hero. I pray that I can emulate her strength, her power, and her humility. 

I apologize that this post is really all over the place. I have written about this day for 17 years and I never quite know what to say. Honestly, I hate that I have to write each year on April 18th. 

But if I don't write, I fear that people will forget that he existed and that he was real. And that he was so very loved.

Luke Thomas, I love you and I miss you terribly.

Emily wrote another post and I wanted to share it with everyone. I am so in awe of her and her faith.

I’m back!! I figured that since I wrote a note for Luke’s birthday that I would also write something for his Angel Day. 

Five weeks seems like a decent amount of time until you actually think back to five weeks ago and think, “Wow! That feels like yesterday!”. This is how Luke’s life felt for me. Maybe it was because I was so young or maybe it was because it really was too short of time. I said this in my last post but I don’t remember much of Luke’s daily life. I remember bits and pieces, but I remember specific memories. These memories are what play in my mind whenever I see a cardinal or whenever he pops into my head. 

Today is Good Friday and today we ache. We ache for the suffering He endured for us. He loves us beyond comprehension and his crucifixion is one of the greatest examples of that. We are promised eternal life in the presence of our Father. Today, my hope is that Luke is held tightly by those who have come before us, the angels and saints, and our Lord. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about Luke and his time on Earth. I miss him immensely.

17 years old.

Seventeen years.

Who would you be?

Would you have been driven and empathetic like Emily? Would you have been loyal and funny like Matthew? Would you have been kind and forgiving like James? 

No, you would be Luke. Just like your siblings, you would be your own person. But what would you be like? I think about your eyes. Your beautiful, deep blue eyes. People always comment about your eyes. About how wise they were. How you somehow knew that your time on earth was short. I think you would have been very wise. Very pensive. Contemplative. I don't think you would have been reckless. You would have been cautious. I think that you would have been easy going and compassionate. I think that your experiences would have helped you to be able to support others and to be a rock when they needed strength. Speaking of strength, I think you would have been so very strong. So, so strong. Nothing would be able to match your courage. I think you would have been quiet, yet still be able to command a room, just by being present. I think you would have been everyone's favorite person.

Luke, you would have been the good that is needed so badly in this world.

There is one way in which I think you would have been a lot like your brothers and sister. I do think that you would have followed a similar path in your faith. I am in awe of the way that Em, Matt, and JB are embracing their faith. I like to think that the gift of your life had a lot to do with their faith and why they believe. They know that one day we will all be together again and they recognize that God showed you mercy when you left this earth to live in paradise.

Luke Thomas, you are our forever baby. Our Wittle Bubba. Our precious child. We only wish that you would have been able to grow up so that we could have known who you would be. 

Until we meet again, we will believe in who we think you would have been. And I will continue to pray, to ask God for a little glimpse of who you are.

Happy birthday, Luke. Thank you for blessing us with your life.

***********************************************************************************

Emily messaged me today, asking if she could add something to the blog. Of course, my heart melted a little and then I teared up. 

I think that sometimes people forget that Emily and Matthew, although only five and three at the time, were profoundly affected by Luke's life and his passing. He was their brother and they lost a lot of innocence when he passed. They went to bed one night and he was here. The next morning, he was gone. There's not a way to explain that to little ones. Death is a very grown-up concept, and asking our children to understand and accept it seemed (and still seems) crazy to me. Even though James was born after Luke, even a part of his innocence was taken away, as he has always known that he has a brother who we lost, but who he never knew. It's just unfair. 

So when Emily asked if she could write something for Luke's 17th birthday, I was so grateful. I was thankful that she doesn't look at the sadness, but she looks at the joy of Luke's life. She knows it was a privilege to have him with us, if only for a short time. As she told me one day about a year ago, she only remembers the happy parts about Luke's life, and none of the sad parts. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Thank you Emily, for being a part of Luke's birthday blog post. I love you and our family more than anyone could imagine.

From Emily:

I asked my mom earlier today if I could write a little note for Luke’s blog this year. I am nowhere near as equipped as her, as she is always successful in relaying her emotions in writing and really leaving an impact on everyone who reads the blog year after year. With that being said, I wanted to share a few short words about Luke and what his life means to me and I hope it has half the impact hers always does.

I was five years old when Luke was born. For those who knew me at that age, I definitely had a teenage attitude. Funny aside, five years old is young. Even if I thought I was thirteen, I was far from it, especially emotionally.

I don’t remember much of Luke’s life. I don’t remember the day he was born, I don’t even remember his funeral. I remember me and Matthew running to his bassinet and seeing that Luke wasn’t there. I do remember the day my dad told me Luke went to heaven and that “mommy was very sad”. I’m not sure what five year old Emily thought at this moment, but boy would I love to know. I remember his strawberry blonde hair. I remember how fragile he was. I remember Matthew and I having to wash our hands after school before touching him and we could only kiss his feet so as to not risk him getting sick. I remember his adorable smile and some of his cutest outfits. I remember his wake and seeing him in his light blue Easter outfit, an image forever engraved in my brain. I remember how amazing those five and a half weeks were.

I am about to graduate from the University of Georgia with a degree in Human Development and Family Science. With this degree, my coursework is heavily focused on development across the lifespan. Last semester, I took a course called Death, Loss, and Bereavement. I had this class at 8AM Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. What a doozy of a class for 8 AM, right? Believe it or not, this is one of my favorite classes I’ve taken my entire college career. In short, this class discussed the impact of death across the lifespan. This class allowed me to think back on the memories I have of Luke’s life. A few months ago, my mom and I were at dinner and I was explaining to her how much I loved this class and how it’s teaching me a lot about myself and how Luke’s death impacted my life. I told her, “The memories I have of Luke’s life are all positive and happy”. She started tearing up and said that made her so happy.

Little Emily had to grow up very quickly in a lot of ways. I think she would be so proud of present Emily and her journey to becoming a nurse. I know Luke would also be incredibly proud. I truly believe my calling in life is to serve children and families in this way and I have Luke to thank for this calling. His life taught me to be empathetic, to be kind, and to be loving. I could not be more thankful for him.

 

My mom sent me this photo tonight. The way I am looking at Luke in this photo brings me to tears. He was my baby brother. Little Emily had no idea what his sickness meant. She had no idea how sick he truly was. I wonder what he would be like today and I just know we would be the best of friends. He will always hold the most special place in my heart and I will always think of him every time I see a cardinal. Happy 17th birthday baby Luke, I love you!

In the weeds...

I'm not a big fan of weeds. Weeds are full of ticks, snakes, and other creepy crawlies. Weeds grow uncontrollably. They overtake other plants. And when I walk among the weeds, I feel gross.

Which is why it has meant so much to me when people have walked in the weeds with us over the past sixteen years.

I took Luke's box out a few days before his birthday, but my emotions finally allowed me to look through it tonight. It's the box that contains many important things from his life: the stuffed animals he never got to snuggle, the blankets that no longer keep him warm, the booties that he never got to wear.

But Luke's box also contains some very cherished things. Things that helped us get through the terrible weeds in the days, weeks, and months after we lost him.

His box contains notes, mass cards, donation cards, and so much more.

Luke's box contains a copy of the homily that Father George shared at his funeral mass. This story still makes me tear up:

Luke's box contains notes, cards, mass intentions, and books. It contains the sleep 'n play he wore a few times and also the holy water that we kept from his baptism. It contains the program from his mass and the guest book from the funeral. It contains the most sacred words of love from friends and even strangers and the most precious pictures from children who were praying for our family.

Luke's box contains all of the cards from the hundreds of donations that were made in his memory. My mother and Nana took the time to collect all of the donation cards and tied them nicely together. There was so much kindness shown to our family and we are so thankful for the generosity that was shown in his memory.

I want to share these things with you because I want to show how many people were in the weeds with us sixteen years ago. How many people held us up while we trudged through the thick brush. Who walked with us as we faced the impossible. To those of you who took the journey with us sixteen years ago, I pray that you can look at these pictures and know that your love and support got us through the unimaginable. I hope that you can see how much even the smallest gesture meant to us. We saved these things for a reason: because they showed empathy, kindness, and love to a grieving family. 

And there are people who are still in the weeds with us. The people who visit his sacred place, because we do not live near. The people who donate to NICU families through Luke's Legacy Boxes. The people who pray for our family. The people who remember him. The people who say his name.

Our family is blessed.

Today, sixteen years from the day we last heard his voice, we are so very thankful for the people who we are blessed to call friends and family. We are thankful for those who walk in the weeds with us.

Walk through the weeds. Don't fear what you may face in the weeds. Walk through them. Because even in the weeds, there is beauty. 

And that beauty is love.

Happy angel day, precious Luke Thomas. 

I am honored to walk through the weeds to celebrate the miracle of your life.

I had to share the picture above, because he is wearing the he sleep 'n play that is in his box.

Sixteen years old.

 

Do not complain about growing old. It is a privilege denied to many.

-Mark Twain

Sixteen years have gone by since we first saw his beautiful face and heard his tiny cry. 

So many things have happened since Luke was born. And there are so many things that he has missed since we lost him.

The Haberkids have reached some important milestones this year. Emily turned 21, and enjoys being legal. Matthew started school at the University of Georgia and is thriving. James started high school and is now almost as tall as Matthew.

But Luke.

Luke is forever 5 and a half weeks old. He will never reach these milestones.

I think about all of the experiences that Em, Matt, and James have had thus far in their lives, and all of the things that Luke will never have the opportunity to experience,

Luke never laughed. He never learned how to walk or how to talk. Luke didn't learn how to swim or ride a bike. He will never graduate high school. He will never go to college.

And this year. His sixteenth year. 

I won't take pictures of Luke sitting in a car. I won't feel my eyes well up with tears as I watch my baby boy drive away toward a new independence.

These are all things we take for granted. Natural milestones in our lives.

But there are other things that happen as we get older. Things that aren't milestones as much as they are life experiences.

Luke will never feel the sand between his toes, nor the feeling of waves in the ocean. He won't feel the nerves that come with final exams, or the fear that comes with forgetting to do homework.

Luke won't know the butterflies that come with falling in love. And he won't experience the pain of heartbreak.

Luke won't have the opportunity to get on one knee and ask for forever.

He won't ever be a father.

He won't give us grandchildren.

No, none of these things will happen for Luke. 

And we won't be able to experience life with him. We will always be missing an important piece of the Haberman puzzle.

As much as our hearts break for what Luke is missing, we find peace in what he has in heaven. He is surrounded by loved ones. He is in the arms of Jesus and Mary.

Luke is whole. He is not hurting. He is happy. I believe this with all of my heart.

And that is what I need to remember in the midst of my grief: that no matter what sadness I have for what Luke has missed, he is fortunate in that he has only ever known love.

Grieving the loss of a child is a process, it begins on the day your child passes and ends the day the parent joins them.

-BJ Karrer

Fifteen years gone

“A mother’s joy begins when new life is stirring inside… when a tiny heartbeat is heard for the very first time, and a playful kick reminds her that she is never alone.”

– Author Unknown

This picture was taken the night before we lost Luke. I am so thankful that my father insisted on taking lots of photos of Luke while he was here with us. We didn't realize how short his time with us would be, so these pictures mean everything to me and Tommy.

Fifteen years have gone by since Luke passed. Some days, it seems like yesterday and others, it feels like forever. The grief is odd. There is never a perfect way to grieve, but I often question my grief: is my grief too strong? Too weak? Am I grieving the wrong way? How can I grieve better?

Tommy has been my rock since the day Luke was born. We left the hospital after Luke was life flighted, and we met with the cardiologist that evening. When we arrived at the hotel, Tommy held up his grieving wife. His wife who had given birth only hours before. His wife who should have been lying in a hospital bed, recovering from giving birth. He was my rock.

When Luke died, Tommy continued to be my rock. I was virtually catatonic. I stayed in the bedroom most days. I was numb. I didn't want to eat and I wouldn't go outside. But Tommy was so strong. He and my father went to the funeral home to discuss arrangements. He and my father went to the church to discuss the funeral mass. He made sure that I was ok. He didn't try to fix me. He was there through it all.

So you're probably wondering why I am jumping around in this post. Bear with me...because there is a point. A point between my grief journey and Tommy's unwavering support.

I remember one day when I was melting down. It was shortly after we lost Luke. I was explaining how I was having these horrible thoughts. Thoughts about what was happening to Luke's perfect body. Thoughts about him hearing gunshots from Greenspoint Mall (my Houston friends know what I'm talking about). Just very awful thoughts that were racing through my head.

And then I asked him. I asked him the question that had been bothering me so much, but the question that I was so fearful to ask. Maybe I was embarrassed. Maybe I was ashamed. Maybe I was just so deep in my grief that I didn't want to know the answer.

I asked him why I was crying so much more than him. Why my grief seemed so much more intense. Why he didn't seem as sad as me.

And his answer has stuck with me. I will never forget his words and how much they meant to me. How much I needed to hear them. Because with Tommy's answer, I was given a huge sense of peace about my grief. I knew that what I was feeling was perfectly ok.

He said that I was the one who knew Luke the best. I was the one who knew Luke the longest. And because of that, I was the one who would grieve him more deeply.

Tommy's words were the words that I needed to hear. They were what got me through the next few deeply sorrowful weeks. Tommy's words allowed me to fully feel my grief and to "dive in", which helped my own heart heal.

Because you know what? I was the one who knew Luke best. He lived inside of me. His broken heart formed in my womb. He grew inside of me. I felt him move and I cherished each kick.

And I knew him.

I knew that boy so well. 

And I am so thankful to have a husband {and a best friend} who helped me when I needed it the most. And who has been my rock ever since. I love him a lot.

If you know someone who is grieving, please just support that person. Don't try to fix it. Just be there, and let them know that they are loved.

“Before you were conceived I wanted you. Before you were born I loved you. Before you were here an hour I would die for you. This is the miracle of Mother’s Love.”

– Maureen Hawkins