His heavy load

Last week, Mo and I were sitting at our kitchen table after Ted had brought the babies upstairs to start getting ready for bed. We were doing his homework together (yes, he has homework!) when he put down his pencil and said that he'd had a sad dream the night before. Before I could ask him what it was about, he followed up by asking, "Mommy, sometimes do you feel so sad that you feel like you could start crying and never stop?". "Yes," I said, "I have felt that way before. If you feel like you need to cry, you should, and I promise that you will be able to stop. You won't cry forever." Then, with that, he started bawling. I mean, really, really crying. Tears rolling down his little cheeks, shoulders shaking, little face turning red.

"I can't believe Max died", he said. "I just can't believe it. He was here and now he isn't. He was only a baby. Why did he have to die?". Such sorrow. So deeply felt.

I hugged him tight and he cried and cried. And then, "I miss Layla". Layla - our dog, who we had to say goodbye to a few weeks ago. After Layla died, we struggled with how we would tell the kids. But then they didn't seem to notice. They didn't ask about her or look for her and so we were lazy. We said nothing. On our way to the airport for Christmas break in LA, Mo asked who would be taking care of Layla while we were gone. Ted and I looked at each other. "When was the last time you saw Layla?", I asked. He burst into tears. "She's dead, isn't she?", he asked. He knew. He just didn't want to face it and if we didn't talk about it, he could pretend like everything was fine. Myla added her two cents, "Layla is at the doctors", she said.

Mo often asks me who Max is in heaven with and I tell him - he is there with mommy and daddy's grandparents and all of our pets. I don't really get into too many other people, because I think it is hard enough for him to absorb that grandparents die and that he has a big brother, who is a baby, in heaven. I'm conflicted about whether the concept of heaven is even the one that I should be teaching him - because I struggle myself with believing in and understanding what happens, if anything, after we die. I do think it is about all his tender little heart can handle at this point.

I shared this story with a bereaved parents group that I am part of. Many others in the group had similar stories - of children, who never met their siblings, but grieve nonetheless. We wondered together whether our children are grieving because they know that we are grieving, or because they think that they should be, or because they truly feel a sense of loss around having a sibling that they've never met: a sibling that they could be sharing fun and secrets and love with right now. Probably a combination of all of those things. All I know is that it breaks my heart. My sweet, caring, sensitive, empathetic boy. It's too much for a child to know. How it makes me truly envy those who don't have to think about any of this stuff. It's too heavy for me - imagine the gigantic load that he carries.

Obsessed

I am OBSESSED with Downton Abbey.  And not just because I love the name of the show (insert winky face ;)).  I started watching it on the plane to Israel (I think they had the first three episodes) and then came home desperate to see what was going to happen next.

I couldn't find it on Netflix, even though I know that it was streaming there at one point.  I know this because Ted and I had watched the first episode months before and hadn't been able to get into it (something that sounds completely ludicrous to me now).  I figured out that I could watch really fuzzy episodes on youtube - the pirated kind where I think someone records their tv screen with their phone and then posts it.  Those episodes were impossible to find and almost more impossible to watch.

I was about to give up streaming them until I figured out that I could watch them with my Amazon Prime account!  Praise the lord!  I watched the first three seasons back to back during any free moment I could find, only to get to Season Four and find out that Amazon wasn't streaming that one.  And if you know what happens at the end of Season three - you KNOW why I needed to get my hands on Season four immediately!

So I finally sat down at the computer and reorganized our Netflix DVD queue and threw all of the upcoming episodes, in order, up to the top (something Ted is extremely pleased about, I am sure).

I know you might be wondering why I am telling you all this because why the heck do I think you care about my latest television obsession? (Although, not that having no reason at all to tell you about my tv addiction has ever stopped me before).  But, here is the thing: a lot of people die on Downton Abbey.  In fact, the most important, loved and pivotal characters die - young and tragically.  Two of the main characters on the show are, by Season Four, bereaved mothers (and I think there are enough characters that I am not being a "spoiler" by telling you this).  And, while I think there are imperfections with their depiction of the grieving process - I'd say that it gets much closer than most anything else I've seen.  And the writing!  They way these characters express my thoughts!  It's (dare I say) Magical.  I recognize and relate to the anger, the jealousy, the complete paralysis, and the inability to look past one's own grief.  I am more consumed with those stories than I am with the love stories (and those are pretty good too).  I think about them all of the time - wondering how the writers are going to write the next stage of grief - praying that they won't let any of the grievers move on too quickly - hoping that they will recognize all of the right triggers that would set off someone who was really in grief.  It will never be perfect, because it is still fiction, but they do a pretty good job.

It seems that still, after almost three years without Max, I am searching for connections with the ways other people deal with death and grief - it's even good enough for me when the most authenticity I can find is in fictional characters.  The "problems" of non aggrieved characters fall flat for me.  In fact, it's hard to believe, but I haven't chosen a romantic comedy in ages.  It's not that I won't watch anything else, you know I will....but I definitely prefer content that includes deep grief, post traumatic stress and complete upheaval.

A few brilliant Downton Abbey quotes that really sum it up for me and have left me in puddles of my own tears:

"You see, when your only child dies, then you're not a mother anymore. You're not anything really. And that's what I'm trying to get used to."

"“…but you see I have this feeling that when I laugh or read a book or hum a tune, that it means that I’ve forgotten him, just for a moment and it’s that, that I cannot bear.”

"When one loses a child, is it really ever over?"

"I’m not unhappy. I’m just not quite ready to be happy."

"You are being tested. And you know what they say, my darling -- being tested only makes you stronger."

"This tragedy will either make or break your marriage. Hold each other tight and never take one another for granted."
 

Garbage Day

If you have (or have had) a little boy, you might know where I am going with this.....

The little boys at Maxie's daycare loved garbage day.  They could hear the truck coming from a block away....the low growl of the machine humming along the road....the day's best entertainment only minutes away.  They would all run to the window anxiously anticipating the excitement about to come.  And THEN - the garbage truck would pull up to the house and they'd all go wild!  They'd wave and cheer, and when they were lucky (otherwise known as almost every trash day), the garbage man would wave back.

I loved watching them on garbage day.  I loved getting a peek into the boyish joy that would one day be my Maxie's too.  He'd definitely get caught up in the excitement of it all. It was impossible not to.  Even this 37 (at the time) year old woman did!

My Mo loves trucks.  He loves tractors and excavators and U-hauls....and he really loves garbage trucks.  There is a familiar and sad feeling that comes over me when we hear that garbage truck grumbling down our street and then the "beep, beep, beep" of it backing into place.  In our house, we have to stop everything to either rush to the window or run outside (which really depends on whether I have put on a bra yet).  Then Mo points and points and babbles like crazy, so full of excitement.  And when the garbage truck finally disappears around the corner, Mo says "Bye, Bye" as loud as he can while waving his little hands in the air.  I love it....and it breaks my heart.

All the reminders - there is really no end - they are everywhere.  I wish I'd seen that little boy of mine run to the window with his daycare buddies.  Even more, I wish I could see him doing it with his little brother today.

Understanding

In the almost three years since we lost Maxie, a lot of people in our lives have lost a lot of people.  People have lost grandparents, parents, siblings, friends, and there have even been a few children lost over these past years.  Loss is something that none of us can escape, even if we believe that bad things only happen to "other people".  The fact is - some day your parents will die.  You may be lucky enough to never suffer a tragic loss, like we have....i.e: maybe you are lucky enough to only lose people who have lived long and full lives.....but it still might feel tragic to you.  Your mother, your father, your grandparent might be the closest person you have on earth.  Even if they die at 100 years old, it might feel tragic.

Over and over again, people reach out to me and say "you are the only one who understands what this feels like".  They are talking about grief - and sadly, I am actually NOT the only one who understands - but grief has a way of making you feel like you are alone, in a world of wildly happy and superficial people who don't have a care in the world.  I know that I often feel like the Abby that my non-grieving friends see is an entirely different person that the grieving ones do.  I have a split personality and each side has only pieces of authenticity.  I am neither entirely one nor the other but I cannot seem to exist as both at the same time.  I am constantly choosing sides.

People tell me,  "I didn't understand what you were talking about until I experienced it myself" - meaning - they didn't understand that the pain is so excruciating that it feels impossible to escape, to distract oneself, to imagine any kind of a future at all without the person you've lost.  And when I hear this, it is almost never in the context of losing a child. Grief is grief  - it is a kind of universal pain.  Still - losing a child?  Take that grief that you finally understand and multiply it by 1000 or 1,000,000.  There can be nothing worse.  I am still convinced.  Not to belittle anyone's grief - just to say that losing a child has to be the most unnatural thing I could ever imagine....and I've imagined a lot of worst case scenarios in my life.  Well before losing Max, losing a child was always the worst one I could think of.

I guess what I am saying is this - before you judge, before you think to yourself "I would do this better than she is doing it", before you nod your head in knowing that you are the lucky one - think about this - one day you might be reaching out to me to say, "I never understood until now".

Portland weekend away

I don't think you'll be surprised when I tell you that I spent the weekend at an Afterlife Conference in Portland.  The organizers of this conference were different that the ones who organized the last one I went to, but the basic premise was the same:  hundreds of grievers gathered together wondering where their loved ones have gone.  My mom and I flew up because we were ready to attend another one of these things, but also because my Auntie Alison and Uncle Danny live in Portland (and we love them and their city) and it was a good excuse to visit.  All I can say is that I feel lighter than I have in years (mostly due to one session in particular - but I will get there in a moment).

If you'll recall (or read, or re-read), the last time I attended one of these things, what was MOST important to me was to figure out how to connect to Maxie.  I suppose that was important to me this time as well, but I felt no anxiety or anticipation about that part.  What I really wanted to do was have a safe space to grieve and connect to other people like me.  So we skipped a lot of the really "Woo woo" stuff (a term that was used by conference organizers as well) and tried to get in as much of the practical stuff as possible (but let's face it - it was all a little "woo woo").

Highlights of the conference included a Peruvian Grieving Ceremony, led by a shaman and attended by a couple hundred people.  It was powerful, sacred, cathartic and incredibly moving - all things that are not easy to accomplish in a hotel special events/conference space (you can go to www.livinganddyingconsciouslyproject.org to download a script and materials list to hold your own grieving ceremony - I am planning on doing another one myself).  Other highlights included getting to hear Dr. Raymond Moody (responsible for coining the term "Near Death Experience") and Dr. Eben Alexander (a neurosurgeon who wrote about his own Near Death Experience in his New York Times bestseller book, Proof of Heaven).  But the most powerful presentation of the weekend, and that I've heard in the last three years, was by Tom Zuba called "A New Way to Do Grief - a New Way to Do Life".   I left this session feeling a tangible change in my soul.

Tom's young daughter died in 1990, his wife died in 1999, and his teenage son died in 2005.  He spoke about the importance of grief and creating an appropriate space to grieve.  He compared the old way to do grief, which included keeping busy, moving on, and not crying, to the NEW way to do grief - which is to allow oneself to feel their feelings. "Feeling feelings isn't the problem.  It is the solution.", he said.  He also suggested being open to signs from our loved ones - to recognize and thank them when they happen, instead of listening to our rational brains, which just explain them away.  I have had many signs.  I always explain them away.

There were profound statements from the audience in attendance that really touched me as well.  One woman stood up to talk about how nobody cried when her son died, not even his grandparents.  They explained that they didn't want to cry in front of her and her husband because they worried that they would make them more sad....."as if that was possible", she said.  She quoted a book she had read called "Lament for a son", which said "Your tears are a salve to my wound.  Your silence is the salt."  That quote struck me deeply - how I wish that the people who loved Maxie most would have felt comfortable enough to express their own broken hearts to me.  When people cried with her, she knew that they cared.  Another woman said that when her child died, she asked herself over and over and over again the same question - would she be "better or bitter?".  I have asked myself the same question a million times.  I think there is no way to escape a certain period of bitterness.  Mine lasted almost two years and still pops up from time to time.....but I choose now to be better.  I hope Maxie's death makes me a better person - it is the only way I can imagine that his death could bring any positivity in my world.  I can't change that he died - I can only change who I am because of it.  Tom believes that we need to teach people about grief because it affects everyone in one way or another at some point.  I also can't remember how he said it, but for the first time, even though a million other people have said it before him, it sunk in: We cannot change the outcome of any situation in our lives - we can hope and pray and work for certain outcomes - but that won't guarantee a thing.  The best we can do is to accept that each piece of our story is meant to teach us something and add some value to our lives.  Of course, we'd all trade the lessons to have our children back - but that isn't an option.  The very best we can hope for is to grow from their loss.  We have to learn to love the life we have now.  Ted is going to kill me - because he says this to me all of the time - but sometimes it takes the right setting for something to sink in.

Like the last conference we attended - there were a LOT of bereaved parents.  Being responsible for the happiness and well-being of the person you love the most and then losing that child - it kind of makes sense that we'd be the most desperate to know where our loved ones have gone.  The fact that our lives had revolved around these people and then they died - far before their time - it is just impossible to wrap our brains around.  I guess when you have something so impossible happen in your life, it feels like every other impossible thing is a little more possible......like all of the "woo woo" stuff.

Visiting Portland is always a treat.  What a cool city!  It was especially beautiful this past weekend.  Everything was in bloom, the grass and trees were green, the sky was clear and the temperature was just perfect.  We skipped a few sessions to go shopping and explore the neighborhoods close to my aunt and uncle's house.  Especially exciting was getting stuck in traffic late on Saturday night as we were driving home from the conference because thousands of naked people on Bicycles were clogging up all of the roads!  Oh so very Portland!  My aunt sent me this link about the ride this morning: Crazy Naked Portlanders.  So very awesome.  It was dark out by the time we ran into them so all we really saw were flashes of white thighs and side boobs - it wasn't all that shocking!

I continue to work hard diving into my grief - exploring the unconventional and looking for ways to move forward.  I owe it to myself and to the ones I love that are still here on earth.  I think it has been my willingness to feel my feelings and to keep on seeking that has brought me to a happier and more content phase of my journey.  If there was the smallest chance on earth that I could feel my baby again for even a second, I would take that chance.  Nothing - not even death - can keep us apart.

I love you Maxie XOXOXO  Forever and ever and ever.

Makeover

I just spent my lunch break trying on clothes at Nordstrom Rack and Target.  I was highly unsuccessful and came away only with two new sports bras - a pretty safe buy when everything else you try on looks completely wrong on you (I couldn't leave completely empty handed could I?)  I think I've finally realized that the reason my dressing room adventures are always so unproductive is because they are terribly misguided.  I am still dressing for my pre-baby body, and even if I am buying clothes in a different size, they aren't quite looking right.

What I need is a make-over.  Seriously.  I think this could help get me out of my slump.  Only, I am not sure where to begin.  I vaguely remember reading somewhere that I should be wearing empire waist clothing and wrap around shirts and dresses....but whenever I try on those styles, I look really really mom-ish.  If only Stacy and Clinton could show up (without a television crew) and help me figure it out (and give me some shopping spree cash to match).  I also really don't know where to shop.  I only ever go to the two stores mentioned above.  There has gotta be something else!

Look - I see women of all different sizes who look terrific and always (always) much more put together than me.  Where on earth are they all shopping? Today I am wearing a gap mini skirt with a women's Giants t-shirt - and I'm not just wearing that because I can be casual.   I am wearing that because I honestly think it is the cutest summer outfit I own.  I need some help.  Please - dear reader friends - where does a mom who doesn't want to look so "momish" go to shop these days?  I definitely need some help.

Unpacking

I finally just unpacked my bag from Georgia yesterday. It was a really big bag. I had already unpacked most of my own stuff when I got home but was happy yesterday to uncover some clothes that I had forgotten about (and had been looking for these past weeks - like a moron!) Most of the suitcase was filled with stuff for the baby - cute little pink and purple onesies, a frilly little baby dress, tons of soft swaddle blankets, cloth diapers and teeny tiny socks. I unpacked slowly, and over time, not wanting to feel the full weight of the disappointment all at once. 

Emotionally unpacking this experience is something I really didn't want to have to do. It's something that I still don't really want to do.  I want to bundle it all up in a bag and forget about it.  I want to leave it on the bedroom floor, like I left my suitcase, and just pile other stuff on top of it.  I want to forget what is in the bag and maybe even pretend it didn't happen - because there is just too much to unpack and it is too intertwined with the much more crushing loss of Maxie. If he hadn't died, I really don't think this experience would have happened at all.  And packing up baby stuff - looking for places to put it all - and wondering, with a heavy heart, whether it will ever be used, is all too familiar.  Much different - but still familiar.

When I got home, several people offered to put me in touch with their friends who could talk to me about their failed adoption experiences. A few people told me that they knew it was "like a death" - words that stung to hear.  Not bringing home this baby was not like a death.  The death of a child doesn't only mean an end to the fantasies that the parents had for their child but it also (and much more horrifically) means the end of that child's life. The little girl I fell in love with in Georgia still lives - she has people who love her, an older sibling, a bunch of experiences waiting for her in the future. Do I wish she was mine?  Yes!  Totally.  Am I completely turned upside down by having to leave her there?  For sure.  But, all this really is is the end of a certain dream of mine. It doesn't even compare to having to know that Max will never have dreams of his own - but I'm still sad.

I have finally unpacked the contents of that suitcase but I need to leave almost all of the emotional stuff packed up.  There are so many layers of hurt and I just haven't gotten to the point yet where I can look at it at all without becoming completely unglued....and unglued was exactly how I felt on my last day there. It was awful and I am scared to let myself go there again. I've definitely learned by now that all wounds, great and small, take time to heal.  I guess I will have to postpone the healing with this one (and so many others that have come over the last few years) because I am still working on trying to heal (as much as possible) the heartbreak of Max dying.  I do know that leaving Georgia without that baby girl opened up the Maxie wound.  When I have allowed it to surface, even momentarily, it hasn't been pretty.

I have no reason to be posting the photo below except that my grandma used to always tell us grandkids that we were her best medicine.  I never really thought about the meaning.  I just thought it was one of those grandmotherly things to say.  But, just look at this kid!  It pretty hard to stay sad with this guy around. 

Mosie - he really IS my best medicine.

The Evolution of Me

I am not an evolved person.  I am SUPER regular (and unevolved).  I always have been.  I gossip and talk smack and like to tease the people I love (they don't always love it).  I am far, far, far, far, far from perfect.....like most people.

When Maxie died (and still today) there was (and is) a pressure to be suddenly evolved.  I felt that people looked at me, hoping that I  would be more understanding of the difficulty they had in dealing with the death of my son - afterall, it was too hard (for them).  I was expected to easily forgive people for saying words that hurt me, to understand that this death was random and that we just happened to be the unlucky ones.  I was expected to be suddenly evolved.  Our role (and perhaps this was completely imagined), was to make sure that nobody would feel bogged down by our loss, to put on a brave face, to be a perfect grieving couple - loving and supportive of each other at all times, to make something good out of Maxie's death.  This was and is a LOT of pressure.  It is not something that I have been able to live up to.  Ted does a better job than me...but it is hard for him too.

Sometimes the responses that I have to the things that happen around me are not what I want them to be and I am actually ashamed of my reactions.  I get jealous, I feel raw, I cannot handle things that I want to be able handle.  I want to be there for friends who are going through hard times - I do - and I try so hard - I promise, but then every once in a while I get jealous that my hard time is SO MUCH harder (and maybe it just FEELS so much harder because it is happening to me).  When that happens, I hate myself for feeling that way and I try to remember what our grief counselor always said, "To compare is to despair".  It is something that I will likely be repeating to myself for life.  I also want to be there for friends going through wonderful things - and then every once in a while I feel jealous of all of their hope and happiness - I remember what it was like to be embarking on a new stage of life and never thinking that it would all come crashing down.  I envy that feeling - that there would be a "happily ever after" for me.  My biggest challenge in life these days is realizing that there won't be.  

What I mean to say here is that however flawed I started - I am just as flawed (or more) today. Sure, there are pieces of me that I like better today...but not many.  I am working on transcending these feelings but I am also working on keeping my grief in check, getting through each day, being a good mother, having another child, keeping my job, losing this baby weight already!  Sometimes it all just feels like too much.  I guess what I am asking is for you to keep your expectations in check.  I cannot be the person who models  getting through personal tragedy because I am not through it.  I am still very much in it and it is hard.  Still.

At Once

There is a theme of questioning that keeps coming back, which almost sounds like an accusation, even though I don't think it is meant to be.  It's "Have you allowed yourself to really love and attach to Mo?"  It seems like a crazy question to me but I get asked this all of the time - almost always by people who've never really seen me with Mo.   I guess when people hear me crying and feeling so helpless and destroyed by Maxie's death, they assume that means I must not have enough love leftover for Mo.  I'm pretty sure that if Max were alive, nobody would ask me that question. 

I know plenty of people with more than one child, and somehow, they manage to love them all.  They can actually go through periods of being a little more worried about one child, or attending to the health of another - but nobody ever bothers to wonder whether they have enough space for all of the children.  There is no question because we know that it is biological and completely normal for a parent to love each of their children with equal passion and enthusiasm.  There is no question because we can see them loving their children equally.  If you saw me with Mo, I don't think there would be a question.  I love him completely - with my entire soul - with every cell in my body.  He acts like a child who is given boatloads of love too.  I never worry that he doesn't feel our love.

What is funny is when I really button up, when I focus all of my attention on Mo and put thoughts of Max out of my mind, I get, "Have you allowed yourself to grieve?".  As if I am somehow emotionless because I am not crying right then.  It's actually a somewhat hilarious conundrum.  If I am not sharing and crying all of the time - I am cold.....if I am sharing and crying - I am stuck. 

I know, better than most, how possible it is to be fully sad and disappointed by life and at the very same time - in the exact same moment, in fact - feel completely filled with joy.  It is hard to imagine.  I know.  I hope you never ever feel it.  But, when I cry about Max...  When I talk about how much I miss him...  When I sob over my broken heart and his beautiful life that ended much too quickly - it doesn't mean that I've forgotten the perfect, hilarious, smart, interested, lovely little boy that is his little brother.  He is the light of my life - the one I am able to give my whole heart to - the most special person in my world. 

Don't worry - Mo is loved.  Completely and thoroughly. As is Maxie.  Forever and ongoing.  To the Moon and back....and back...and back. 

Superstorm

I was watching Anderson Cooper earlier this week talking about how inappropriate he felt it was for celebrities to be throwing extravagant Halloween parties in the wake of Superstorm Sandy.  "Don't they know that the entire East Coast is without electricity?", he said...as if to say: How dare they celebrate while we are sitting here in the dark!  I am sure LOTS of people could identify with this feeling of "How can the world keep on spinning?".... and "Don't they know we are suffering?".

I couldn't help but think of the millions of people worldwide who live without electricity every single day and those who suffered MUCH MUCH greater things than a loss of power in the aftermath of Sandy.  I was feeling a little incensed myself watching a segment on the Today show (or the like) about how to entertain your family while the power is down -  examples included: play boardgames, make conversation about important issues - like the environment.  Barf.  Do people really need a superstorm to figure out how to talk to each other?  And, in my estimation - not being able to plug in your ipad is far less worrisome than having ones house under water.

There has also been this sensationalized report about the mother whose two children drowned because a neighbor wouldn't let them inside his house.  Oh my god!  It is too effing much to bear.  I feel my heart in my throat.  It's so unbelievable.  She's been too upset to comment so far.  Um, you think?  She's probably wondering how she will go on living.  I am sure she can't even imagine a reason at this stage.  I keep wondering how long it will be before someone tells her it's ok because she can have more children or that they are in a better place.  Surely, friends have already told her that they will go home and hug their own kids tighter after hearing her story (then, presumably, they will play parcheesi and talk about deforestation).

The fact is - the world DOES keep spinning even though the worst you can imagine has happened.  People will keep throwing parties and celebrating.  Pretty soon, people will probably start making the sick humored jokes about the storm and throwing "The storm is over" parties.  They will even try to convince you to join in the party, wondering out loud why you wouldn't want to raise a glass to toast the event.  The fact is that in every story, there are real live people who are suffering, who have lost unfathomably, who don't want to join the celebration..... because they just need to try and figure out how to get through the next minute of their life.

Signs

I am ALWAYS looking for signs that Maxie is with me.  Why?  Because I cannot let go of him.  Because he came into my life and left it all so quickly.  Because I love him so much more than life itself and my heart is dying without him.

I spend so much time every day begging him for signs that he is with me.  I know our light bulbs have been burning out like crazy since he left.  I have noticed the lights in the bathroom and kitchen surging whenever I am thinking of him (of course, I think about him all of the time, so what does that mean?).  Ted sees the number 27 everywhere.  Was it there before?  Are we just noticing these things now?  We want to see signs.  Even if we knew for sure that they were signs from Max, they aren't the same as having him here.  I want him back so badly, I don't understand how I am expected to keep moving.  How can I keep going without him here?  It just leaves me breathless whenever I think about it (always).

My friend Rachel said that she thinks I was drawn into the baby boutique over the weekend by Max.  That "Goodnight Moon" being on the bookshelf was a sign from him.  That my buying it was something I wouldn't have been able to do without the strength of Max behind me that day.  I hadn't thought of it that way, but I like the idea.  Is "Goodnight Moon" on every baby store bookshelf (probably).  Is it every baby's favorite book? (I think so).

I am looking for signs and I swear that even if they smacked me in the face, I wouldn't believe them.
Another bereaved parent told me recently to think of it this way: If indeed Max IS trying to send me signs and I am questioning them all of the time and ignoring them, I am probably frustrating the hell out of him.  That is the very last thing I want to do.  I love him so much.  I wish I could know whether he is sending me signs but I am trying my hardest to just accept them, just in case they are being sent to me by my little boy.  Oh my god - I cannot believe how hard this all is.....

Mother of two

I am a mother of two, only mothering one here on earth.
I am a mother of two and everything in me is split:
While I feel happy in many moments these days, the big picture is devastating, unfathomable and so so sad.
In every happy moment is deep, raw, painful, gut wrenching angst.
My heart is in two pieces - it is broken in two.   It is broken.
Part of me is working hard to be present HERE, with the living.
The other part of me cannot wait for it to be over, so I can go be with him.  I am so looking forward to it.  I cannot wait to see him again.
My laughter releases the pent energy of sorrow and pain not of joy.
How strange.
My heart is full of Mo.  I am so in love.
My heart is empty and totally dead without Maxie.  I want to die.
I can't make sense of any of it, I am just trying to get through it.
We are really down to one day at a time.
I couldn't do that before.
Now it is my only choice.
Please don't ever forget that though you only see one, I am a mother of TWO.

Life changing boy

Continuing on the theme of yesterday's post, Mo has changed my life in so many ways.  He has made it possible for me to go to the supermarket, go to the Farmer's Market, go to the mall.  My mom and I even took Mo to the "Mommy Movie" (Pacific Theaters has a showing of new releases once a week.  They dim the lights, and set up tables for changing babies, and moms come and breastfeed during the movie).  These are things I could not have done last year.  My heart hurt too much.  And, don't get me wrong, my heart still hurts BADLY.  I miss Max with every second of every minute of every hour of every day.  But, I can separate that longing for MY baby from the feelings of jealousy and pain that were brought on by seeing OTHER PEOPLE'S babies.  It has changed my life.

So, while I am focusing on this little miracle baby, Mo, I wanted to share another quick video of my special, special boy.  It's embarrassing that you will hear how much baby talk I do with my boys, but that's what makes them smile (Mo and Max, that is...not Ted) and I am ALL about making my boys smile (Ted too)!

What a difference a Mo makes!

I recognize yesterday's post was super random.  I guess my point, without saying it was that I had been mindlessly rapping along with this incredibly violent and dark song for all of these years.  Ted and I even get excited when it comes on the radio because it reminds us of the early nineties and because we know all of the words.  But, I have never even fully listened to what I've been saying.  It's weird how mindless we can be as we go through life.  When I really listened to what the song was saying, what I was saying, I finally understood what the song was about.  It was a really weird and mindful moment.

And speaking of mindful...... I went to this conference with my Auntie Alison on Saturday.  The weekend was full of all sorts of interesting authors and speakers, but I was really only interested in two: John Holland and Dr. Brian Weiss so I just joined her on Saturday.  These are two of the guys that I have been reading and following - two who have helped me believe (sort of) that there might be more than this life and that Maxie might be waiting for me when mine is over.  You know it is just too hard for me to believe that Max is just buried in a box on the side of a hill near my house (I just got the chills when I wrote that...the thought shakes me to my core).

I have never seen Dr. Brian Weiss before but I read his book, "Many Lives, Many Masters", right after Max died.  A friend's mother brought it for me to Maxie's shiva.  It helped her greatly after her daughter died three years ago.  I REALLY liked Dr. Weiss, a psychiatrist and past life regressionist, and I will tell you that it had less to do with the subject matter that he was speaking about and much more to do with his dry sense of humor and his gentle demeanor.  He reminded me of my grandpa Jack.  Dr. Weiss also lost a baby boy many, many years ago.  He says that his son's death set him on the path that he is on.  He wants to help others with healing because he knows how awful deep grief is.

I have seen John Holland, a world famous medium, before (at the afterlife conference in Phoenix, AZ in March).  He was AMAZING then.  He was AMAZING Saturday too.  Though I love him, and I really do...I don't think I can see him live again for a while.  It is too stressful.  I want him to pick me so bad.  The only thing that was less inspiring about Saturday's session than the ones we saw in AZ were the people that were picked.  In Phoenix, he picked mostly bereaved parents and spouses - the stories were all tragic.  You could see the MAJOR healing that the messages gave the people who were picked.  On Saturday, there were a lot of grandparents and older parents that "came through".  So, while the messages touched the souls of the people being read in a big way, I didn't get the feeling that they completely altered lives in quite the same way.  Tragedy is just different than an older person reaching the end of their life to me for some reason.  This is just a personal opinion.

What I really wanted to write about today though, was about a woman who was sitting in the front row, dead center, in John Holland's presentation.  She was two rows in front of us.  I could tell with one look that she was a bereaved parent.  She looked desperate for a reading.  She was surrounded on either side by women who were rubbing her back and speaking to her with sympathetic eyes and loving tones.  She was gripping her tissue and shaking slightly.  There was a DARK cloud hanging over her.  I just KNEW she had lost a child.  Side note: recall when Inigo Montoya KNOWS that he hears the "Man in Black's" scream in the Princess Bride?  He says he knows that it is his scream because his true love is marrying another that day.  He knows about the Man in Black's scream the way I knew that this woman was a bereaved parent.  It was pretty much confirmed for me when John Holland said, "If you are hoping to get a message today, send up the love to your loved ones who have crossed over".  I saw her open a photo on her iphone of a young woman's California ID and stare at it while mouthing a prayer to herself.  Oh lord!  I know that desperation well!  TOO well!  He didn't read her.  At the end of the session he asked if anyone had questions for him (presumably we didn't have enough time for one last reading) and she stretched up in her chair so high.  The women next to her were pointing at her as if to say, "Pick this woman, she NEEDS to talk to you".  He didn't pick her.  After his session was over, she tried to chase him out the side door as he was being whisked away.  Early grief is so dark.  I can see why people believe that too much dependence on mediums can be dangerous for a grieving person.  It was as if her whole life depended on getting his attention.  Ugh.  Seeing her desperation, I remembered my own anguish on a cellular level.  All I could think was to tell her what parents who have had to go through this before me have been telling me - "It DOES get easier".  And really, "easier" is not the right word - more accurate words might be "different" or "more bearable". I didn't approach her though.  I just needed to take care of myself and I was having a good day.  Selfish but true.  I don't think she would have cared what I had to say anyway.  She had a one track mind.

When I came back to the conference after lunch time, I got there a little early and decided to kill some time in the stores in the area (Colorado Blvd in Pasadena is filled with the cutest shops and restaurants).  I found the CUTEST baby store called "Buttercup" with the most expensive fancy strollers that I think I have ever seen.  They have a bunch of other really cute baby stuff too.  I was browsing the store for a present for Mo when it hit me that I could not have stepped foot into this store in the year after Max died and before Mo was born.  If I had seen the front of it, it would have felt like someone had thrown acid in my eyes.  But, there I was, browsing around, picking up board books and touching cute little outfits.   Whoa!  What a difference a Mo makes!  And, there it was...."Goodnight Moon".  Maxie's favorite book.  We have three copies: one is at my mom's house, one is too big to read to Mo yet, and the third was buried with Max.  I decided it was a good time to buy another copy for our house to read to Mozie.  Sounds like nothing, but it was a big, monumental move for me.  Maxie would be proud.

Advice from a friend

I have been wanting to talk to my new friend Molly (who lost her beautiful daughter Lucy 4 1/2 years ago) for months now.  I keep texting her and calling her - like a complete stalker.  I finally got her on the phone yesterday and had no idea what I even wanted to say to her.  I think I just wanted to be reminded that someone who I really like, who is funny and fun and wonderful, has gone through....is going through what we are going through - pain, loss, heartbreak, devastation.  Or, like I told her, maybe I just have a "girl crush" on her.

We talked for a while, while both of our new babies napped (her Zoe is 4 1/2 months old).  She gave me some good advice that she has learned through trial and error.  My BIGGEST question for all bereaved parents is what they say to people who ask how many kids they have.  I know that I will never ever deny Max, but how exactly do I say it?  I have asked practically every bereaved parent I know.  They tell me "Oh, I tell everyone who asks" and then I say, "What are the exact words you use?" because it is all too terrible to even say out loud.  I have heard all sorts of answers.  People always tell me to just say that Max is dead - "Screw people if they can't handle it," they tell me, "you have to handle it every minute of every day".  Agreed.  On the one hand.  On the other hand, even I would like benign conversation once in a while.  When people ask me, they don't really care....and I also don't really care to share Max, my love, with someone who is just asking to ask. I end up sharing my deepest pain with a complete stranger, which is just too ironic since I am hardly ever asked to share it with people who I have known most of my life.  Lately I have just been saying, "We just celebrated my oldest son's second birthday", because we did.  I am not not disclosing the whole story to be kind to the person I am talking to (by not ruining their day and telling them about Max)...I am being kind to me.  If they say, "Does he like being a big brother?", I can say, "I think he really does."...because I think he really does.  

Molly told me that when she is meeting a new person, she doesn't tell them right away.  She gets to know them first and lets them get to know her.  She finds that when she does that, and they later find out what happened to Lucy, they are softer with her...because they already love her.  I don't want to be defined as "that woman whose baby died".  I don't want to be scary.  Sheesh, if I have friends and family that are scared of me because Max died, just imagine what it is going to be like for me when I start meeting new people.  I don't want Max or me to be defined by his death (though I know and want it to be part of our definition).  I would rather be (mostly) defined by his life, which was amazing and beautiful and the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me.  I want HIM to be defined by his life - which should still be happening now...because he was only a baby.

I cried and told her how mad I am, how sad I am, how deep this hole is.  She agreed....it is deep.  "I promise it gets easier", she said.  I've heard it before.  I know it is true.  It feels so shitty to know it gets easier.  Of COURSE I want it to get easier...but, on the other hand, do I really want the death of my child to get easier?  Ugh.  Again - Ugh. Double UGH!  

I got off the phone with her with Mo woke up from his nap and I then sent her an email thanking for the chat..  I checked my email a little while later and received the most beautiful return email from her:


It does help to talk to someone in our same club. There is no substitute for that--that's for sure. And I didn't feel one bit that you had vague questions or what have you. I hope I helped in some way. 

I wanted to send an email anyway to recap some of what we talked about and give you some assignments. :)

Ok--

1. Listen to Eckhart Tolle (A New Earth and The Power of Now). His voice takes a bit to get used to but his teachings REALLY resonate with me and have helped me greatly. 

2. Give people the benefit of the doubt. They are learning about grief and honesty and pain and communication and human interaction and love like we are. Our words are woefully inadequate to express the deepest feelings of our souls. Luckily, we'll communicate spirit to spirit in the next life. 

3. Breathe. Be easy on yourself, like you said. Treasure your little Mo and honor your little Max through enjoying the moment. 

4. Let yourself be angry. Let yourself feel whatever you are feeling. There is no "should". All things will pass and cycle through. 

5. Pray. Just talk outloud to God and tell him whatever you are feeling. Ask him for strength or whatever it is you need. Clarity, patience, your mind and heart to be opened to learned and personal revelation for you and your life. 

I don't know. After Lucy died I needed people to tell me what to do. My frontal cortex, where we make our decisions, was shot to hell with the trauma. So now I'm telling you a few things to do...because I love you and want you to find peace. 

I asked her if it was ok to share her email with you all because 1) I think it is helpful for other bereaved parents and because 2) I want you to know how wonderful Molly is.

Before Lucy died, Molly was starring in the lead role of a local theater production of Peter Pan.  Lucy went to see it many times and loved seeing her momma flying around the room.  She carried around a Peter Pan doll.  When I picture Lucy, I picture her hugging that little doll as I have seen her do in so many pictures.  Her mommy was her hero.  Her mommy is mine too.

My Pictures and Videos

When Maxie was alive, we took lots of photos of him.  I wanted to remember all of his moments and looks as he grew.  I wanted to share him as much as possible with his Gigi and Papa, his Auntie Beth and Cousin Sadie on the east coast.  I wanted to have lots of memories to show him when he got older.  Thank god for all of the photos we took, they are all I have left of our baby boy.  I kick myself every day for not taking more videos.  I can't figure out why we didn't...I mean, our phones have video cameras on them these days!  What the hell were we thinking?  Certainly not that our baby would die....

I am taking lots of photos and videos of Mo.  I want to remember every minute, I want to share him with his East Coast family, I want to show him when he grows up how cute he was when he was little.  I also want to make sure I capture every smile, every funny face, every playful interaction, every snuggle, every THING so that if I lost him (god forbid) I would remember all of these things.  I know you don't approve and you don't want to hear it.  But, every time I take a photo or a video of Mo, I think, "I will want to remember this in case we lose him too".  My phone and camera are quickly filling up.  I feel like I can't delete any of his pictures...if I do and I lose him, I won't be able to get the pictures back.  It is one of the many neuroses brought on by losing my son.  I worry that I don't have enough images of other people in my life too - Ted, my mom, my dad, my brother.  If they die, will I forget how they held their glass or how they couldn't carry a tune?  Will I forget their laugh?  Will I forget their voice?  There isn't a hard drive big enough for all that I need to document.

Ted and I have always sort of made fun of the people that video everything.  You know...those people in line at Disneyland who have their camera and are videoing the line, the ride, their snacks.  They are all over Costa Rica and other vacation spots, videoing the van ride to the zip line place, videoing the zip line, videoing lunch afterwards.  I get it now....even though I don't think they are making "in case someone in this video dies" videos.  I get it, even though those "in case someone in this video dies" are the kind of videos and picture I take.

Celebrating Maxie

I am struggling with something that I can hardly explain.  My heart and my mind are pulling me in two different directions and from what I can tell, it is only going to get worse with time.

I am working so hard to act normal.  To get together with friends and family, to laugh at people's jokes and make them myself, to enjoy this life as much as possible...because I have to be here.  At the same time, when I act normal, people treat me like nothing has happened and that makes me sad.  Not for me, but for Maxie.  I am afraid that people will forget him.  He was only here for nine and half months.  My biggest fear is that he won't be remembered.  I have to remind myself that Ted and I will never ever forget him even for one minute.  It is up to us to keep his memory alive.  Maybe eventually, we just do that with each other because sooner or later, people will stop caring.

A friend came to visit us last weekend and as he left, he said that he was impressed with how we are dealing with our grief.  That is what impressed him - because we shared stories, and laughed and joked, and drank beers and watched a movie together.  We probably seem like we are moving right along.  It's true that we are doing our best.  It isn't true that we are moving right along.  And, I really don't ever want to because I am afraid that I will leave Maxie behind.  Not in my heart (NEVER in my heart) but in my effort to keep his spirit alive.  People will eventually (are already....were already at five weeks after his death) get sick of hearing me talking about him.  People will eventually get sick of smiling politely at me while I talk about my dead son.  Ugh.  I hate this!!!!

Maxie's birthday this year was very hard.  We know it will be hard every year.  We have decided that we want to celebrate his birthday with our annual benefit.  The 2012 Benefit for Maxie's Forest was such a terrific success.  We hope that the 2013 Benefit will be just as successful, even though it will be in October and will likely benefit Maxie's First Candle Fund.  We have a whole year to plan but I'd like to put it out there now.  If you have any great ideas for a fundraiser, have any great items for a silent auction (hotel stays, vacation homes, restaurants, jewelry, gifts.....), know of any terrific venues that would be willing to lend us space... we would be so appreciative.

I am trying to find my new normal but it has to include Max.  This will be one of the few times per year that I will get to feel comfortable just being out there celebrating my baby and the HUGE impact he has had on my life.

I miss him every minute of every day.  He is more special to me than he was yesterday and more yesterday than the day before.  His heart is my heart.  I am missing my Maxie....like crazy.

Thank you SO much to everyone who contributed to Maxie's Fund for his second birthday.  We received notice of all of your donations from First Candle.  They meant so much to us!

Back to work

Going back to work doesn't sound like a big transition, I know.  Afterall, I will be working from home and my house is pretty small.  But, it FEELS like a big transition.  I won't be the one playing with Mo all day.  I won't be the one to put him down for all of his naps or the one to decipher all of his moods.  Sure, I can pop my head in any time I want.  I can even take long breaks and take over...but, it won't be the same.  And, since the only thing in the world that has brought me any peace since Max died is Mo, I am scared and sad.  I feel like I miss him when he is just in the next room.  I missed Max the same way....I missed him when he slept at night.

I love Mo so much it scares me.  He is my most important living person.  I don't want to miss out on anything.

Decoding

When people say:
"Mazel Tov" or "Congratulations" upon seeing Mo
or
"You seem to be doing so well"
or
"I'm so glad to see you" when they haven't seen me since Max died
or
"How is work?" or similarly, "What's new?"

I think that what they really mean to say, but can't bring themselves to is,
"I am SO sorry that Max died.  This couldn't have happened to more undeserving people.  I hope that you never know pain like this again".

Right?

In response to your comment

When I post about being angry and full of rage, I am being honest.  I think it is an emotion that most people feel at one point or another.  I am in a period of my life when I am feeling it a lot.  I suppose that is something that I should feel ashamed about, as an anonymous commenter posted (twice?) on my blog.  I just found the comments now.  I guess he/she must have written them earlier.  Sometimes I don't see your comments to publish them for up to a few days, I am not being "cowardly", I am being busy....with a newborn!  Be patient...I'll post your comment.  But, speaking of cowardly, how come all of the really insulting comments are posted by "anonymous"?  I am me, telling you how I feel.  If you want to comment, I encourage you to be yourself.  Anyway, anonymous, I totally agree with you.  Anger and rage is holding me back.  It is one of the reasons that I am talking about it in therapy.  It is one of the reasons I decided to post honestly about it on my blog.  Turns out it is a very common part of grief, one of the 5-7 stages of grief in fact.  It is also a very common part of PTSD.  Yesterday, (before I read your comment this morning), I was talking to my sister in law, Beth, about how sad it makes me that Ted and I are so angry.  This isn't who we are.  This isn't who we used to be.  She told me that in this second year of grief, she feels more angry as well.  The anger isn't always directed at specific people either....but even when it is....at the heart of it is anger that Max isn't here - that our son died.  I DO think twice before I post something that will rub readers the wrong way.  I am just like you in that I would rather be liked than not liked by others (if you didn't care, you wouldn't have posted anonymously).  But, I set out to write a blog about what losing a child honestly feels like...and sometimes it is really ugly.  Anonymous, I am fairly certain that you are not a bereaved parent.  If you were, you would know the rage that I am talking about.  I am certain that you would have felt it at some point.  But, something else that I am willing to bet on, is that you are a person who has felt rage...most humans have.  Your comment to me is full of rage and hate.  My post about rage seems to have enraged you.  I'm sorry for that.  I guess I hope that you never have to experience trauma, deep pain, heartbreak and loss.  After the greatest loss imaginable, people said terrible, evil, hurtful things and I have not been able to wrap my brain around why they have done that.  Maybe you can explain it to me?  I wish I could tell you that I just let it roll off my back because "sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me".  Unfortunately, words have hurt me.  Words have been used to intentionally hurt me....like your words were used in the comment you wrote about my post.  Congrats!  Job accomplished.

Anonymous, if you would like to continue posting on my blog, I encourage you to use your name the way you use your words.  To say how you honestly feel but hide behind the name "Anonymous" is pretty cowardly (to use your words, not mine).  I actually think that to write how I really feel on a blog that has my name all over it is pretty brave.

*It has come to my attention that the anonymous comment is only visible in the mobile version of my blog, not the web version.  Also, it was in my spam comment folder, which is why I didn't see it until this morning.  Since Anonymous wanted to be posted so badly, here is what they wrote:

- To be vengeful & hateful serves no purpose. In order to move forward you have to forgive those that have caused you harm, then and only then will you make true progress in your grief. All your doing is hurting yourself in your attempt to hurt others. 

-Vengeance & hatefulness is a horrible quality. In order to progress in your grief you first have to forgive those that have hurt you (whether they meant to or not). You will NEVER move forward if you continue to blame others. I see that you post some comments but omit others, how cowardly.You use this blog as a forum to cast judgement on others but I guess its not ok for an outsider to express/cast their judgement on you or the things you blog about. I'm sure my comment isn't the first that you decided you didn't like