Thomas James

Now that I am in a much better frame of mind than I was on Sunday night and I am not as emotional as I have been, I will give you guys more of a back ground so that maybe the last post makes more sense.

When I was about 7 years old, I started begging my parents for a brother or sister. I was so tired of being the only child...in the WHOLE family. Sure I was spoiled, but I wanted someone to play with, someone to share things with. Then my aunt had a little boy. I was thrilled. I loved that there was a little baby and that is how each family function was spent - me obsessing over the baby.

Then it happened. My mom was pregnant. Oh the joy I felt. I was so ecstatic. Now, I was 8 and my wish was being fulfilled. What wasn't apparent to my little 8 year old self that I now understand is that my family life wasn't the best. I am not going to go into details, but I will say that my parents are truly amazing and have worked very hard to be where they are now. Anyhow, not only was the family life not the greatest, my mom had one of the most stressful jobs ever. She put in the most crazy hours and her job just exhausted her. Even with her being pregnant, her job still worked her crazy long hours and then made her help MOVE their office (including lifting and what not). Complications started. She had no amniotic fluid. And eventually, I think it was around five months, she was put on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. There was no coming off of it. It was very weird going from having a mom that was always working, cooking, running around doing everything, to her doing...nothing. Thinking about it as I write this, I don't really remember all that much other than spending a lot of time in the living room by myself. I was alright with this because soon, my baby brother would be here and things would go back to normal.

One day I was taken over to one of their friends houses. Mom was only seven months at this time and I was told she was in labor. I was told that he was here. He made it in the world, but was very weak and his lungs weren't developed all the way. I stayed at the friends house and the next morning on my way out to the bus stop I was told that my baby brother had died. He had lived a short 8 hours. Being 8, you don't really understand what is going on. So I did the only thing I knew, I walked to the bus stop and was on my way to school. Second grade. I wasn't there too long before my mom's friend came and picked me up and took me back to the house.

I was sad. But the sadness really hit until I saw my mom and I saw my dad. Their lives were shattered. There was so much blame, there was so much guilt. There was so much sadness, so many questions unanswered and a huge void left in their hearts, in my heart, in the family's hearts. I was out of school for at least a week. I know that my second grade class sent us flowers and we had numerous loved ones and friends bring us food and just try to comfort us and support us. The funeral was a blur. The main thing I remember is my mom sobbing and one of my great aunts bringing me, the big sister, a pretty pink tea cup with a cat on it and matching saucer. He was initially buried at Mountain View Cemetery.

As time went on, the tears wouldn't be constant, but the hurting never went away. We were left and are still left thinking of the baby brother that didn't get the chance to live at every holiday and every year for his birthday. There are still days that we have melt downs. A year after my brother passed away, my sister was born. What a blessing she is. I was very happy to have a little sister, but in no way did she fill the void of the loss we felt with TJ didn't live.

A few months back, my grandpa asked my parents if they would be interested in moving my brother from Mountain View to our family cemetery that is about a mile from where my family lives up Mt. Rose Highway. Again, being 8 and not understanding everything, I didn't realize that when my brother passed, my grandpa and grammie were not in town. They weren't here and they missed the funeral. My parents did what anyone grieving would do. They just went ahead with arrangements and tried to do right by Thomas James. There was a lot of thinking and soul searching involved in the decision. Mountain View was a place that he had been for nearly 18 years when it was mentioned to move him. But in our hearts, we knew he belonged home, at the family cemetery. Having to go through all the health codes and everything else involved was really tough on my mom and dad. It took a few months before it was able to be done.

Sunday, April 27th, was his day of graduation. It was his day to finally be home. It was by far the most beautiful day. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze flowing through the trees. I remember walking into the cemetery. I was scared. I didn't know what to think and I didn't know what to feel. I was consumed with grief. For days previous I had been debating whether or not I was going to say something and with the help of Shannon, found exactly what fit and exactly what I needed to say. Although, I didn't think I would have the strength to say it. When I walked up, the first thing I saw was the beautiful little white casket in the top corner and the perfect stream of sunlight shining down on the most wonderful little boy that wasn't able to live in this world. The ceremony we had was just right and fit the family and what we needed perfectly.

I couldn't stop crying. My mom had a crazy break down about the whole thing on Friday, so she was the more calm one on Sunday. Her going into to pre-mature labor and my brother not living really caused my mom a lot of guilt. She has been able to express herself and her sadness and grief through the years. You can always tell when it hits her, she gets very quiet and withdrawn. Then you talk to her and that is when she breaks and cries and then we cry together. My dad, he just keeps everything to himself. I don't know that I really remember him showing his grief when it happened 18 years ago. Sunday was different though. I actually saw my dad cry. It was one of the saddest and hardest things I had to see because I think my dad is the greatest, strongest thing ever. It it hurt me even more to see how much he was hurting and how much he always holds in. My little sister was a wreck. Although she wasn't here when it happened, she has still felt the affects and lived with it. Poor little sissy.

When it was time for people to speak, the floor was opened up to me, the big sister. Oh how little I felt, how weak, how broken. I held the paper in my hand of the poem Shannon helped me find and I just was shaking. I had no voice. My sister was clutching to me and soon my dad was there with his arm around me. I still couldn't speak. Everyone was just staring at me and I knew that I had to do it. I had to be the one to say the words that express exactly how my heart feels and has felt for 18 years and not someone say them for me. Somehow I did it. Although my voice was broken and shaky, it was there and the words flowed out. I cracked, I had to stop and cry, but I went on and I read the whole thing. The poem was this:

My Little Brother

For the little brother I'll never know,
Born too soon before he could grow,
There's nothing in this world I wouldn't give,
If only my little brother could somehow live,
But you were too precious for this world,
From Earth to Heaven, your place was filled,
I felt so warm, content inside,
My smile for you was hard to hide,
But now you're gone I sit and cry,
Why did my little brother have to die,
One day I know we'll meet again,
My heart will then be freed from pain,
But until that day does arrive,
In my heart you'll stay alive

I can't read that and not cry. It is all so true. And I really have to thank Shannon, yet again, for being so amazing and wonderful and being there when I needed her and helping me the way that she did. Thank you, I appreciate you.

My sister read her poem that she wrote herself. She is so amazing. Her words were so cute. I wish I had a copy that I could post. And then my dad talked. His words weren't pre-written. They came from his heart and were exactly what he had been feeling. And he cried. The pain he felt from not having his son grow up with him was apparent. He also talked about when we look at my cousin (the only boy in the family since my brother didn't live), who would be just a year older than my brother. When we look at him, we see an image of my brother. We think about if he was here how close they would be, that he would be playing sports too and getting ready to graduate. We see so much in Paul and are so proud of Paul.

Ugh...I feel like none of this is making any sense...

Anyway, after we talked a couple of my family members said something short and sweet and then we finished up the ceremony. My mom had bought a bouquet that sat on the casket that was made up of white carnations with blue tips and white roses and a beautiful banner that said Thomas James. The casket was gorgeous. A stark white that was velvet and had a gorgeous design. At the end, we all placed individual white roses and carnations that matched the bouquet. It was all so emotional, so wonderful, and so hard at the same time. I waited til I hugged all my family and finally got a chance to get up to the casket alone and talk to my baby brother. I feel at peace with where he is at now. I am thankful that he is finally home and closer to us. I love knowing that he is finally where he belongs.

I think it needed to be done, for closure and for his spirit to finally truly be free. The rest of the day was spent with family and it was just what was needed. I still can't get over how gorgeous and perfect the day was. Even with him being home, I will still miss him every day. I will never forget the little baby that didn't get to live with us and that I didn't get to watch grow up. I do hope that my parents no longer carry the guilt that they did. I just want peace.