The next two weeks will presumably be the most brutal two weeks of my life. The first year was hard, but living those days was all brand new and never touched an unwritten story. January 1st, 2023, starts the recap. Repeating to myself what I was doing one year ago at that very moment—remembering waking up to Archer eyeing me in my sleep and crying because he was scared. We cuddled that morning in our snuggler recliner. He slept; I anxiously counted his heart rate over and over, waiting for any signs of an impending emergency. I can’t sit in that recliner without feeling a hole. That is precisely what this new year brings, a reminder of a deep hole. One year ago, it was a hole with nothing in it. Now a year later, I’ve filled that hole with many painful memories that terrorize the sunny days.
I’ve always been envious of those who see signs from heaven; my mom often has a visiting cardinal. I’ll never look at cardinals the same. Frankly, I never really acknowledged the meaning behind cardinals. I’m always seeking a sign from heaven that Archer isn’t far from me. I long to have him close, run my fingers through his hair, and give him my hair to curl around his finger when he’s upset. Since he was a baby, he always had his hand in my hair. I miss those five little fingers pulling on my hair. When he was admitted to Sanford after he fell out of Avery’s window, he was so upset being forced to lay still on his back, immobilized by a neck brace and belts, until his C spine was clear. I leaned over his bed, put my hair on his chest, and he twirled it to relax. That’s when I came up with the song Archery Archeroo. Little did I know then how particular that song will always be to me.
I changed my background on my laptop a few weeks ago because I recently got another screen, making my grueling grad papers easier to write. I didn’t pick a picture for the wallpaper; I set it to a wilderness theme that changes the view daily. The first randomly assigned wallpaper was a cardinal—looking at me right in the eye. My soul needed that, buddy. I miss you.
God sends us angels in the most unexpected ways. Beings, symbols, heartfelt songs, all different ways. What people always claim is a coincidence is never a coincidence. Our father knows what we need and when we need it. The closest friends came out of nowhere. The family that feels like the sister you never had. The friends that remember to remember, acknowledging the moments that will be hard. My heart is filled with hope knowing these angels are all around us, strategically picked and placed in the moments they are needed most. Thank you, Lord.
I’ve been dreading Christmas. Thankfully it is over now. I didn’t put up a Christmas tree until late in December; when I did, it was out of expectation. I had to push forward and participate in Christmas activities for the rest of our children. I was incredibly sick over Christmas, allowing me to spend the entire holiday at home, on the couch. Exactly where I wanted to be, needed to be. Influenza A and pneumonia had never been such a blessing before. Just as quickly as Christmas came, it left. All signs of Christmas were erased in my house 24 hours after it happened. I’d sit with the Christmas lights on every other year for days following Christmas because the ambiance is relaxing. Not this year. Being I was so sick, Brandt was in charge of setting out the stockings for Santa. I forgot all about Archer’s Christmas stocking. My aunt crafted my family with individualized beautiful Christmas stockings last year. I woke up to Archer’s hanging under our tv. The only hanging stocking. Brandt told the kids he’d leave it up all year round, and now I’m contemplating nailing it to the wall with the rest of our living room décor.
Moving into the new year, I’ll try to gain momentum again to share Archer’s story. My world gets too heavy all at once, and that’s the most straightforward task to put on the back burner because it’s emotional, and the outcome is unknown. It could be all for nothing, or it could change lives. Such is life, always looking for the gain at the end of a difficult road. When we know, all that work was entirely worth it, but that’s not guaranteed here. There are never guarantees but sharing Archer’s story is different. It is risky. What will people think of me? Will it help others? Will other parents feel empowered? Will anyone be held accountable? Will policies and procedures change because of Archer’s story? So many unanswered questions that I’ll never know unless I push forward.
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