One month

Tomorrow will be an entire month without Archer. This past month has been filled with extremely slow days that are riddled with unreasonable skepticism and responsibilities that lack importance. Our home is filled with individuals who are all in different stages of grief. I tend to seclude my own feelings because the potential is present for a family member to be experiencing a good day. I don’t want to expand my dark cloud over their sunny skies. I can’t help but fill my head with the thought that our pulmonary hypertension struggle is not over. It didn’t end with the death of Archer. Avery will always suffer from this diagnosis and will eventually need a procedure or surgical intervention. Otto is not in the clear either. He hasn’t shown symptoms yet. His recent echo showed a normal heart and no increase in pulmonary pressures, but he is only 3. He does have a murmur that the cardiologist said was “very common.” Fool me once sir, but they all started with a “common murmur.” Neither Avery nor Archer were diagnosed before 4 years old. The fear is strong for all our children. We can’t bear to go through this again.

Brandt is the stoic one. He was described as stoic by one of Archer’s nurses. I had never paired that term with him, but it sure feels appropriate. His grief tends to stay inside his head. His actions are like his actions before he lost a son. His daily routine has resumed with him being back at work. Routine and busy tasks are positive for him. While he was off work, he started building our new dining room table. This table symbolizes more than a structure to eat at. With the construction of it, our thoughts wandered to the missing chair. We will no longer need to be the home of a table that seats seven. Six is our new number. We both came to this concept and Brandt’s conclusion is to permanently fix Archer’s name to a spot at the table. Melt my heart babe, best idea ever. Archer will always have a seat at our dining room table, regardless of his physical presence. Brandt’s stoic composure makes me question his level of grief. I’ve asked him many times how he is doing; the same response is “fine.” Like the response when I ask him how work was today, “peachy.” Those one-word answers irritate me because I am a converser. I ask a question to initiate a conversation. He is the opposite. His level of conversing is drastically less than mine. This assures his characteristic of being stoic. A person who can suffer extreme hardship while concealing feelings of hurt and sorrow. He expanded his level of conversing to me the other day, although, he only let seven words out. Those seven words meant a lot to me. I feel those seven words too. He hasn’t read these blog posts yet, but maybe in time, he will be able to work up to it. Please continue to pray for him. My strong, stoic, and hurting husband.

Riley, bless her heart, is a teenager. It is becoming more obvious how easily she and I will butt heads as she stumbles through her teenage years. When we first got home after Archer passed, she described her feelings as “hurt, nightmare, and unfairness.” Those are all words every one of us has used. I told her; she is experiencing something most people will never have to experience until well into adulthood. The loss of a sibling is such a terrible and painful event. We never once anticipated losing Archer. He made it through so many trials. That boy was our miracle. His unexpected death catapulted Riley into a stage of life that we never asked for. As the big sister, she was the babysitter, the entertainer, and the encourager. He idolized his sisters! Riley, you are a source of comfort to everyone around you. Your understanding shoulders will be leaned on by so many in your coming years. Together we will stumble through the next years together sweetie, please continue to pray for Riley’s understanding, growing faith, and self-esteem as she walks this path of confusion and hurt.

Avery, is starting to resemble her own stoic characteristics just like her dad. It has always been a struggle to get Avery to talk about her feelings to us. We had a turning point a few weeks ago when she forgot to bring her homework home. This created the opportunity to discuss the precious gift of life. Avery too suffers from pulmonary hypertension. I pray she never asks herself, “why Archer and not me?” That question will never bring answers to light, it will only make her heart suffer longer. We discussed treating life as a gift rather than not appreciating it. To an eleven-year-old, this pertains to trying your best in school, being a positive role model to those around you, and doing the best to care for her delicate, chronically impacted body. She heard us; I could see it in her eyes as she cried about missing Archer. Sweet Avery, you are here on this earth to show us all the strength it takes to endure every day. Please continue to pray for Avery as she develops her own understanding of how important life is.

Raelynn, from the beginning, I have never seen her angry about Archer’s passing. I just recently learned she threw her phone case after being told her brother wasn’t coming home. I wish I could have been there to hug her in person when she learned this devastating news. Fortunately, she was surrounded by family to comfort her. Raelynn has had strong faith for as long as I can remember. She truly is incredibly happy for Archer to be among the angels in heaven. This inspires me. Her deep-rooted faith has helped her cope and I am so thankful for that. I cannot take credit for her faith. We have always done our bedtime prayers, had poor attendance at church, but discussed the importance of prayer when you are feeling sad and lonely among many other feelings. She heard me during these times and started developing her own comfort in Jesus Christ our savior. Powerful child, your inspiration will have bigger impacts than you can even imagine. Continue to pray for Raelynn’s developing sense of spiritual comfort and her ability to share her love for Jesus.

Otto is missing his best friend. He often talks about Archer being with the fairies. This caught me off guard. We have never been a “fairy” family, meaning we’ve never played with fairies or watched movies about fairies. Our girls weren’t into fairy dolls. His vision of Archer is surrounded by fairies. He developed this on his own. I can’t help but think Archer visited him in his dreams surrounded by angels, or fairies, in Otto’s words. That is the only explanation that makes any sense to me considering he has never been exposed to fairies. He is reluctant to sit in Archer’s car seat. That empty seat is intimidating to him. We still have two car seats in my van. I’m not quite ready to remove Archer’s seat, or transition Otto to Archer’s seat, until Otto tells me to. I think it drives the girls a bit nuts because they continue to sit together in the back and argue about who sang it or said it. The time will come when only one car seat is needed. Otto you are placed in my arms to remind me of how Archer wrapped his arms around my neck. Life has been unfair to you; you were born with a big brother and had a secured best friend for all your years to come. He was your protector, and he was so proud to be a big brother. I am so sorry Otto. Please pray for Otto as he maneuvers every day without his best friend by his side. Without his best friend to find trouble, unscrew doorknobs, and take apart tables.

Tomorrow is painfully never guaranteed. Tomorrow is officially one month without Archer. Tomorrow is often dreaded and the minutes turn into hours. Why do the days seem so long without Archer? The different stages of grief in our household are so difficult to walk with. Someone’s silence might be pain and someone’s laughter might be fake. A genuine day filled with hope and prosperity will eventually come. Until then, I try to find things to do, but as I said above, the tasks just don’t seem important anymore. They are more like automatic actions performed when habits are in place. One day at a time, one hour at a time, I will move forward and hopefully show my family that grief is not a cemented block on your shoulders. It is a way of life, a way of thinking, and a way of your own actions. It feels heavy and daunting with an impossible result, but along the way, we have all started to walk a little closer in our faith because there is nothing else but faith to rely on. Nothing else is guaranteed. Our faith is what we have, among the other properties life gifts us, our faith is the only thing that will reside in us and form our resilience.