Friday, August 17, 2018

Feelings Never Change

It has been almost 2 years since we held you last. The reality hit me like a truck this afternoon...

I miss you just as much right now as I did 2 years ago.

My body aches to feel you again. To see your smile. To kiss your fat face. They ache just as strongly now as they did 2 years ago.

The pain hasn't lessened, the longing hasn't passed...and I still think it is not fair that I can't leave work and pick you up for a fun filled weekend. Time hasn't healed any of our wounds. They still seep with longing, pain, and emptiness.

I can still envision the nightmare facing us at the end of the hallway at the hospital. Your tiny frame in a massive bed hooked to so many life saving devices. The incredible high of hearing your heart was beating; they'd revived you. Thinking there was a chance; only to be told that there wasn't. She had hurt you more than they could fix. That incredible low of knowing you wouldn't get to go home with us ever again.

I can still picture, as if it were happening at this very moment, your Mommy holding you so very close completely devastated and saying goodbye. I can hear her sobs, Grammy's, Squishy's...they haunt my memories. The cries from Scarlett when we had to tell her that her baby wasn't going to come home. He was in heaven. The kind of cries from a 5 year old that crush your soul. She still carries your baby with her everywhere. We still hug our John pillow when we need you.

I can see your Mommy hunched over your tiny body, and you seemed so very tiny, wishing more than anything she could take your place.

We all wish we could take your place.

I know what that wish entails, but it doesn't stop us from wishing it had never been you.

We still don't understand why it was you. Why someone would hurt such a sweet happy baby? I don't know that we ever will, and that is what makes not having you so much harder. Why our baby?

I still see your Mommy trying so hard to stand tall when she had to walk away from you, and leave you to strangers and doctors that didn't love you like we did. To know you were going to be carried away to a funeral home. A place no child should ever be, and no parent should ever have to visit.

I can still see us sitting around a table trying to find light in making Ninja Turtle funeral arrangements, and knowing all too well how much we would dread the day when it came. Once again having to leave you all along with strangers.

The hardest part was having to leave you alone.

I still feel the anxiety that rushes to my chest when I think about how badly I just wanted to take you and run. I know that makes zero sense. You weren't with us anymore, but I knew that I could take you home and love it all away. Or I wanted to believe I could.

I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want you to leave us.

I can still see your Mommy's shoulders shudder with tears as the preacher gave one helluva sermon at your services. Remember all the kind gestures, hugs and love we received from our community. The generosity.

I can remember sights, smells, conversations...

I remember you. Everyday. But it will never be enough. Not until we get to hold you again.

I will remember you forever and always, and I promise that I will make sure the world does too.

John William Smith...our forever baby.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Tax (Heart) Break

It's tax season again, and I sat down tonight and began working on my taxes. As I was working through the dependents questions, one hit me right in the heart. The question asks if you had a child die the year before. You don't give that question much thought if you have never been to a child's funeral. That question made me stop and think about how fortunate I am to select no. And how not all of us are quite so lucky. The guilt that ate as me, when I selected no, knowing that a year ago my sister had to select yes.

It has been almost a year since Nora was arrested for the 1st Degree murder of my nephew John. If you know us, you know all too well what happened to our baby. If not, you can scan back through several of my other blogs and get a pretty good representation of the nightmare our family has been living in.

Photo Courtesy -

It's hard to not think about Nora. I have a very vivid imagination, and when I see her face in mugshots I picture all of the horrible things she may have done to John in his final moments on this earth. I hate sharing these things, because I know how they affect Angela, and the rest of my family. I know that those thoughts run through their heads enough that they don't need my constant written reminder. But I share these things so that people can try to imagine the horrors she put our baby through. Why she deserves nothing less than to rot in a jail cell for the rest of her natural life. Why she never deserves the right to get outside of those walls, and possibly hurt another child, or even have children of her own. If a one year old set her off to the point she murdered him with the flick of a wrist, imagine a completely defenseless new born?

These are the constant bombardment of thoughts we have been left to cope with as we face a looming trial. There is also that gut wrenching fear of the unknown that will become known to us during the trial. The things we've seen so far...the things we know, but don't know details about...and the things we are most afraid to hear...sitting in a file taunting our heart every single day. Just when it feels like you have started to make some emotional progress, there is a phone call...a picture...some sad song that puts you right back in that hospital room. Or returns.

I keep waiting for the day that I sit down to write one of these blogs and that heavy, racing heart feeling won't fill my chest. The feeling of doom that seems to seep in whenever I think about John won't sit over me like a dark cloud. I wonder if that will go away once everything is over with Nora? Or if there is just so much trauma left behind by what she did to our baby, that it never goes away?

I feel like we are losing our baby to the awfulness of his passing sometimes. I have to fight so hard to get to the good memories. Our thoughts are always preoccupied with justice, and he deserves nothing less. But his smile is fading. His rolls so distant from our finger tips. He soft sweet cheeks have gone so far from our lips. I want to feel his soft plushy warm body in my arms. I crave it in my soul. And it hurts so much to know that his Mommy craves that even more than we do.

When I think about Angela not having her baby to hold every night, I come right back to the person that took that from her. I used to think I was a compassionate person, but then life happened. Life in prison will never bring our baby back, but it will damn sure keep other babies safe. I hope with all my being, she gets nothing less.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

One Year Later- No Less Heartache

Every time I have started working on the one year anniversary blog about John's death I back space it away. I just can't put into words what it is I would like to say. So I've decided to just let it all flow freely, and whatever comes out this time, stays...please forgive my rambling...

I miss him. So much. You know the saying "you miss them so much it hurts". It's true. I miss him so much it hurts. It has hurt since September 5th 2016. It hurts just as much now as it did then. I know people say time heals, and it will get easier, but it doesn't. I move along in my life, yes, but I find myself stuck in a cold PICU room often.

I can literally walk myself down the hall at Monroe Regional in my mind. My dad standing there in the corner of the hospital all alone. My mom puffy eyed from crying, coming out of the double doors. John being pushed through on a gurney to his helicopter flight. So many wires. So many devices being used to keep his frail and broken body alive. The blank distant stare of my sister, completely traumatized look that breaks your soul.

Angela saw and went through things that day that I wish I could take from her memory. Erase all of the awful and painful things she had to witness. Like the sight of her limp baby boy sitting on his killers lap like it was just another day at the sitters. Like not hearing her baby take breaths from the back seat as she sped to the hospital. Like carrying her lifeless baby in her arms to nurses at the hospital. Like witnessing grown adults sitting on her baby performing chest compression.  Hearing that hopeful beat of a little heart...only to have to decide to end its beating because he was just hurt so badly. He was a shell of our beautiful baby.

Thinking about his hurt makes my heart race. Thinking about his last hours on this earth sets panic into my soul. And I hate writing these blogs because I know how much it hurts me to dig it all up..I can only imagine how it affects Angela...but I write them so that the world can understand our grief. So that when children are murdered it isn't surrounded by hush and stigma, but instead replaced with the fight for justice.

Our sweet boy was murdered. No matter how many times I have said that out loud. No matter how many times I write it here, I can't help but cry. She murdered him in cold blood. An 11 month old baby. A week before his first birthday. That had a Mommy that would have traded places with him in an instant, without hesitation. A Mommy that still cries herself to sleep most nights, clinging to a John sized ninja turtle in his jammies. Under a quilt made from his little clothes.

That's what she has to comfort her at night. A stuffed animal and a blanket.

When I think about John, all I can picture in my head are the pictures we have of him. Virginia and I discussed it one day, and it makes it seem so much worse. I've forgot what it felt like to hold his squishy body in my arms. To scoop him out of his crib when I stopped to visit and he was sleeping. The sound of his giggle. Its all gone. We have pictures of pictures in our heads. Memories of memories. Nothing new, just the same ones on repeat. Usually its the bad ones that pop up first.

I want him in my arms, and I really want him in my sister's arms. That is where he belongs. That is one of the last images I have in my mind of him. Her holding his little body so tight against her heart, tears and sobs coming from her core. I have never felt so helpless in my life, probably never will again as I did in those final moments. I couldn't make him better. I couldn't take his place. I couldn't comfort her. I couldn't do anything but watch as he slipped away from us forever.

I think about what he would look like now. He would be walking, talking and giving his momma a run for her money. Thinking about what he'd be today makes yesterday even harder to let go of. He should be toddling around the yard picking up gross bugs and putting things in his mouth he shouldn't be. I try so hard to think about what he would look like, yet all I can picture are his pictures.

I have worked on this blog since a week before his one year anniversary. I just can't seem to perfect what I want to convey here. I want the world to remember our baby but I also want to world to know what this living hell has been like for our family. On my bed there is a throw pillow about 22 inches long and 8 inches wide. Similar size as John, and on it is one of his onsies. It is a hot little fireman outfit I got him. I would go to the store just about every Friday after I got paid just to buy one or two outfits for John. I was so excited about him coming along! I put it on the pillow so I can "Cuddle" him when I feel furthest away from him. The day of his birthday, I walked inside and saw it there on the bed and came apart. I sat on the bed just holding him and crying. Trying so hard to grasp some semblance of a memory of what it felt like to hold him.

There are no more ways in which I can adequately describe this nightmare. The trial will start soon, and we will be forced to relive those days yet again. We will be forced to hear and see things we don't know, and probably will wish we never know about that day. My stomach churns in knots just thinking about it.

I just want our baby back. I dream of the day I get to see him again. And I hope like hell it is a long time from now, but a dark little part of me would go out today if I could just hold him one more time. Kiss that sweet little fat face. Trace the rolls of his fat little hands. Get a good sniff of his hair. Anything...any little piece of him. It would never satisfy the longing to have him back, but it sure would help put a piece back into my broken heart.

I think about all the things I wish I could have done while he was here. All the moments I let slip by me. All the weekends I could have taken him home with me, and didn't because I was too "busy". Those moments stolen from us forever. Regrets that will haunt me the rest of my days. All the backwoods riding we could have done with the windows down jamming out to Mr. Luke Bryan...especially Kick The Dust Up. I can see him smiling from the seat beside me thinking I must be some kind of crazy the way I would sing and make faces at him.

This world truly is a worse off place without John. He was our light, our smile...our heart. We will never be able to replace what has been taken from us. After reading this I still don't feel like I have done this unforgivable year any justice. I feel like this blog doesn't cover what I need it to, but the things I want to share...would devastate your heart too.

Friday, July 14, 2017

Little Heart Broke Apart

I broke my bracelet tonight, and sat in my front yard and cried as I looked relentlessly for all the little, tiny pieces.

That little blue beaded bracelet broke my heart when it broke and flew
across the yard.

That little blue bracelet brought on a wave of heartache that I have buttoned up for the past couple of months.

We continue to put on our brave faces. Tell everyone that we are doing okay, that we are getting by. And in all reality we are.  The world continues to spin.  Life continues to move us right along. After what seemed to be an unusually rough week, this just defeated me emotionally. When that bracelet broke I was painfully reminded of why I wear it everyday.

Angela made that little blue bracelet for me shortly after John was killed. She made each of us one. It's made of beads that are layered to resemble angels. For our little angel.

This happened at ten in the evening in the darkest part of the yard. As I was frantically searching the grass with my cell phone light (which is due to be cut by the way) for beads that scattered everywhere my mind began to race. I thought about why it meant so much to explain my sudden panic and fear. And that lead me to think that I wasn't afraid because I broke a bracelet I was afraid of the thoughts of John that followed behind.. things I don't want to think about.. realities we will have to face soon enough. The most terrifying thought that hit me was what if John's last moments were in fear? My fear set my mind into hyper drive. Like my chest heaved it hit me so suddenly. This isn't the first time I've had these thoughts...but it's the first time in a while.

One year. It's coming so quickly. We can't stop time. And it feels like he gets further away from us.

Soon there may be a trial. And details that we have kept locked up for a while, things that we aren't ready to know.. see and hear.. relive. Dark places that we shouldn't have to visit. Thinking about that little blue bracelet sent me into a dark and heartbroken place. I almost forgot what that lump in my throat felt like every time I think about the people that spent those last few hours with our baby. What those hours were like. That anger that makes me shake to the core to know that they stole so much.

I was so excited to meet him.
I'm so frightened, not only for myself, by my sister. His Mommy. I know that the waves of grief we suffer are incomparable to hers. Yet when I texted my Mom and sisters that I was heartbroken and my bracelet was broke. Angela replied "That's okay I can get more to fix it." And she is right..about the bracelet.

I have a broken bracelet, and that will be repaired.

My broken heart...I've lost too many pieces I fear.

Monday, June 26, 2017

You Don't Know What Loss Is

***Disclaimer- There is some not so friendly language and thoughts here. FYI.

I have one to share today that has been rattling around in my over productive brain for a few weeks now, basically since we attended Nora's bond hearing back in March.

We thought we were prepared for that day, and once again, we were proven wrong. I keep waiting for this to get easier, as people love to remind us. I keep waiting for time to heal us, when time just keeps passing us by...

I thought that the hardest thing about that day was having to look at the woman that is accused of murdering my nephew. To see the actual hands that threw his little body across the room moments before his life ended. To see the hands of the monster that could have sat him in a play pen, and dialed any one of our telephone numbers, but instead tossed John to his death. But those hands were cuffed, and as much comfort as I could get from that, I was disgusted by another sight.

The sight of the woman sitting behind her daughter, willing to lie to protect a killer. A different kind of monster... now let me dive into that...

I have debated naming Nora's mother. Debated what legal repercussions there may be, but I don't see how anything I post here, hasn't already been shared with the media, and I am entitled to feel as I do...So Deborah Boles I have a thing or two to tell the world about you.

First I will start with this, you will NEVER KNOW THE LOSS WE HAVE ENDURED. Losing your murderous daughter to jail will NEVER. EVER. be even remotely similar to what your family has done to ours. NEVER. Someday you will get to hold your child again. You can call and talk to her everyday. Go see her when you have time. Do you know what we have? We have a headstone that we decorate for the holidays. We have a second birthday to celebrate in a few short months, and no baby to blow out the candles. We have empty arms, and even more empty hearts. When I saw your face on the news, talking about "your loss"...I damn near puked. Your LOSS? You don't know what loss is.

This is how we visit John. You don't know what loss is.
Second, while we attended your daughter's bond hearing, you claimed that you checked on John after he sustained his injuries, and so did your huband...and he seemed okay. Just shortly before that you admitted to having owned a licensed daycare, and being certified, and when you checked on John...he seemed...fine?



So you were once a licensed daycare owner, which I assume means you took a CPR class at one point or another. And you realize that when a child isn't breathing properly and they have sustained a head injury...they're probably not fine...right?

Okay, so maybe you overlooked multiple severe head injuries, and a blue non responsive baby...okay...but here is where I am about to unload a shit ton of hate on you. Even if you thought he was're lying. Either you never checked on him at all, or you checked on him and you are a complete and utter fucking idiot. I know, that you knew, that baby was hurt. And you are trying to cover for a killer. But's your conscience not mine.

What perturbs me the most is that you admitted to knowing a baby sustained a head injury, was having breathing problems, and sleeping all day...but you couldn't even be bothered to dial 911?Notify his mother. Nothing. I will NEVER forgive you for that. You could have done something so small. A simple call. Instead you lied. And lied, and continue to lie for your child THAT IS ACCUSED OF FIRST DEGREE MURDER OF AN ELEVEN MONTH OLD CHILD!

But, alas...let me get to my most final point in typing this blog...clearly you can tell that I lack any humanity when it comes to the Boles family. They destroyed my sister's heart, took life from an innocent and purely loving child...and I have no qualm with telling the world that it is very clear that the apple did not fall from the tree when it comes to Nora and her mother, Deborah. But this is how I feel. These are my thoughts, emotions...hatred. Not my family's, not Angela' own. I pray to whatever is out there, Deborah, that your daughter NEVER sees the outside of a jail cell again. I wish much worse for her if I'm going to be honest. And you should be sitting right there beside her, first class seats to hell.

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Polka Dot Grins

I have a little white polka dot keepsake box. I found it at Beall's Outlet, and it only cost $3.99. It was a great bargain, and it is absolutely adorable.

Yet, it is a confusing little polka dot box. Full of some of the most cherished, loved, prized memories...and full of some of the most indescribably painful, horrible, unforgettable pain. It's a cute white box with gold polka dots on the outside, and a light pink interior. It has a gold bow on the front. It makes a beautiful dust collector that now resides on top of my dresser, taking precedence over makeup and hair accessories.

It sat there empty for a few days before I decided to use it for the purpose in which I bought it; to store some of my most precious keepsakes. Inside are the few items that I get to hold in place of my nephew. The few physical possessions that remind me that he really did exist. That he was more than just a victim. That he was a little pain in the rear while incubating. That he spent the first night of his life just checking out the hospital room with me while Mommy slept. That Aunt Squishy gave the best snuggles. That he was this fat little wiggle puff that was full of grins and laughs. That he was this gentle sweet soul, that loved nothing more than to cuddle. That he was the true love of his Momma's life, and she was his.And that all we have are little memories in the shape of a pajamas that he wore at your house the only time he spent the night. Little socks to match.

And we each have our piece of John. Somewhere in each of our homes my family has their things they just could not part with, even though we never should have had to part with our baby. Little sweet, painful reminders of the short but truly amazing time we spent with John. They will never be enough, but it is all we have. We also have a throw pillow that wears John's fireman onsie we heisted from his Mommy. It's a battle around here trying to find who stole my John pillow.

I had to open it today to place a piece of paper inside that was handed to us at the Victims Remembrance Ceremony that was hosted in remembrance of victims in our home county. It was a quiet and solemn ceremony. And it was kind of consoling in a way to know that we are not alone. There are other families suffering the same terrible pain. It also broke my heart knowing that they know our pain..they understand that sadness of never knowing why.

When I opened the box to place the paper inside, there he was. This big beautiful grin coming at me. Two little teeth that had just broke through. Hair in his face. Fat little cheeks split in a gummy grin. My sweet fat baby. And then this kind of came pouring out. I had to share the power of this box with others I guess. I love looking at pictures of John, by my word they hurt. They make your heart seize, and give you that terrible "I'm not going to cry" lump in your throat.

I just want to hold him one more time. Even though it would never be enough.

Monday, February 27, 2017

A Pure Soul For Eternity

So much can be seen in those little eyes.
I want to start this with a small disclaimer. I do not share this to open up a debate about religion or anyone else's beliefs. This is my personal opinion, and my personal experience. I don't need anyone trying to convince me of anything different, or what is right or wrong. I'm also not trying to disprove or prove anything...just know to keep an open mind as you read.

One thing we've heard over and over and over since John passed, is that "God has a plan."

Okay. If you are religious, or believe in God, I'm genuinely happy for you. But if you don't, hearing that over and over is like being told that in a world full of awful evil people, He wanted an innocent child. That is how that sounds to people like myself. Like God is a murderer. He predestined John to be killed by his babysitter.

I used to believe in God when I was child. But as I grew up, I learned that science has disproved many things concerning the Bible and religion. So I put my faith in the idea that this universe is too vast for there not to be something, but not necessarily "God". That is my personal belief. I would NEVER ask anyone to change theirs, for mine. John's death kind of compounded my loss in faith.

I truly believe that what we put into this world comes back to us in the end, and that we are more attuned with nature than religion, if we would only take time to see it.

When I try to discuss these feeling with other people, they will automatically shut me down. They tell me that "God" didn't kill John, only planned his time of death, not the how. But no matter how you word it, you are still implying that God planned on a child being dead before his first birthday. Think about that. He still organized it.

And then people follow that up with "...we will never know why, you just have to trust Him..."

Yes. That instantly takes away my heart ache. I'm just supposed to be okay with my nephews untimely death because God says so. Which would be great, if I were faithful, but I'm not. So all you are doing is rubbing salt in very raw wound. Please forgive what seem like sarcasm. I have openly admitted to my bitterness lately. Don't take it as a personal attack on your beliefs, that is not my intention.

I'm not saying God isn't real. Don't mistake my anger and hurt as saying you are wrong in your beliefs. I'm not. I just don't feel the same. I don't think the same.

Angela has put her heart in God's hands, and I am so happy she has. She needs someone to turn to when it gets really hard. She needs that comfort in knowing that her baby is in a much better place. And I genuinely believe he is in a much better place too. She finds solace in church and prayer, and I would never ask her not to. She is right to believe for herself and for her fat man.

John was as pure as a first winter's snow. He radiated a exuberant beauty from his soul that shined through his smile. We all knew from the first minute that he would be a good baby, and some day a good and kind man. We just sensed that he was good. I was so excited to see how amazing he would be.

When I dream about him as a grown man, I can sense his presence. A grown man John, with the purity of his clean child's soul. That is how I know it is him. The smile, and the soul. That feeling in my own soul...

I was recently discussing this religious conundrum with someone when he stopped me. This man is religious, well not religious, but faithful as he put it to me. After he stopped me he told me a story he heard once. I knew I had to share it with Angela, and the world. I may not have faith in God, but I do believe in the power of our souls.

I share this because I will never understand how Nora couldn't walk away from him that day. I will never understand what compelled that monster to pick him up and do what she did...but this is as good an explanation as I could hope for...

He explained it as follows:
     There are seven pure souls on Earth at all times. These souls take many forms from young to old. The soul passes to a new person when one of them passes. These souls are shrouded and protected by Guardian Angels from the evils of this world. Even though they are there to protect the soul, they can't always see the evil, and can't protect the physical being that contains the soul. Sometimes there is evil seeded in a person, invisible to the Angels, and doesn't grow until it gets near one of the pure souls.
     He explained that from what he has heard about John, and seen through pictures, he honestly believed John was a pure soul. He believes that his babysitter had an evil seed in her heart, and the more she was exposed to John's purity, the more her evil grew and manifested, until she killed him. He didn't say this to excuse her actions, as they are inexcusable, but to give an answer for the why?...

This story resonated with me, and I knew the power it could hold for Angela's broken heart. During John's services, the Pastor made a point to direct everything at Angela, and I'm glad. She needed to hear him. One thing the Pastor said over and over, and I think that is why this story resonated so deeply, was that John was a pure soul, and guaranteed a spot with God.

John and Mommy.
There are a couple of things I truly hope you take away from this today...

The first is that while your beliefs are beautiful, not everyone shares them and what you think may be words of wisdom actually cause more grief. Think before you speak to someone that has just suffered a loss. Offer prayers, not God's 'plan'. Leave that between them and God.

The second is that while you can clearly see I do not share in Angela's beliefs, I can keep an open mind towards them. I want her to cling to her faith, keep God on speed dial, because she needs Him and she is so right in needing Him. And while she may believe differently, she has never once condemned me for not agreeing. We discuss it. She prays for me, and I think of her always.

There is so much more pain to grief than just the loss itself. There are emotions and questions, most of which we will never have answers to; some that are too hard to handle. Some people turn to their faith, others to their family.

But mostly please continue to keep her in your thoughts, prayers or however you wish well for others.