Positivity

Sunday was really awesome.  It really was.  I loved seeing SO many friends and their families.  I loved getting to catch up (albeit quickly) with people, running around like a mad woman (because, strangely, I actually like that), and then finally getting to hang out with a little group after most people went home.  I loved that Maxie's photo was everywhere and that he was remembered on that day.  I had fun.  Lots of fun.

But, there were a few moments that kicked my ass.

Early on in the event, when things were just getting rolling, I was fast walking from the registration table, down the lawn, to the staircase leading into the restaurant and I caught a glimpse of all of the kids sitting at the arts & crafts/face painting table, and for whatever reason, I felt the air leave my lungs.  All of this is for Max - I thought - because he died.  It was as if I'd been punched in the chest and I felt the tears well into my eyes, and my throat close and my heart start pounding.....and there was nothing to do but muster up every bit of strength I had and just keep fast walking towards my destination to do whatever it was that needed to be done. 

All of our hard work putting the benefit together was done out of love.  I am still madly in love with a boy who is no longer here.  I still can't believe my lucky stars that he is mine and I am still getting used to the idea that I am a parent and that my heart could feel this much adoration for another human being.  And it's like it still hasn't registered in some ways that he was snatched away from me over two years ago and that the life I had is gone - the person I was is gone - my child is just gone - no longer here - in some ways, as if he never existed.

So, I am happy - yes - that everyone came, that they had fun, that we had fun, that the benefit was a success.  And, at the same time, it is UNREAL that we are putting together benefits in our baby's memory.  I just makes no sense to me at all.

The lovely photographer who donated her time to our event also brought along these rubber bracelets that we put out on the kids table.  They say, "Life Happens - Choose 2 B Positive".  She had them leftover from a past event.  I thought they were kind of funny - because there was an assumption that was going to be made that somehow Ted and I have chosen positivity (and Ted, in most ways, has).  But I would say that, for the most part, I have not.  I don't think there is anything positive about any of this at all.  Not at all.  It's pretty much the least positive thing I could ever imagine happening.  Babies should not die.  PERIOD.  And if you think I am being dramatic, think for two seconds about the baby in your life and picture them dead.  You are probably appalled that I would even suggest such a thing - because it is so dark and negative.  There is no silver lining.  There is nothing positive.  There just isn't.

I have not chosen positivity - I have given into it.  I have battled with it and wrestled it and told it to "EFF OFF!".  I've also told everyone who has casually recommended positivity to me to stick it where the sun doesn't shine. But, at a certain point, the weariness sets in and you become too tired to keep fighting off the positivity.  And, I'm certainly not saying that I am a "positive person" - never have been - why would I suddenly become one now?  What I am saying is that the path of least resistance tends to be the easiest way, and in my case that path leads me to look for bits of light here and there and try to enjoy any parts possible of the remainder of this life that I have.  It's just easier than being angry all of the time.

Anyway, all this to say - it's hard.  I know you know it is hard - but I just wanted to say it...because my heart feels the strangest combination of heavy and light and my whole chest seems to be stuck in my throat.  And, even when we work hard to focus on the positive, the reality (which isn't positive AT ALL) is just sitting there, staring at us, wondering how we are doing such a good job ignoring it.  And, I just wanted to acknowledge that I often wonder myself.