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.

Fresh

I've been playing around with the look of my blog, something I wish I had done AGES ago (like, when I still wrote every day).  I created the blog using a basic blogger template.  It was boring and I never liked it.  I wanted my blog to be a place where visitors could really feel Maxie's spirit shining.  I feel like I managed to do that somewhat, even with the boring background.  What I really wanted was a slideshow at the top, so I am excited about that and still working on it.  It is still a little basic, but designing blog sites really isn't my thing.  I hope you like the new look of Missing Maxie.  I feel like it breathes a little bit of fresh air into our account of his life and our lives without him.

The best reaction

Early last week, Ted told me that he had "the best reaction to telling someone about Max" so far.  Ted's been at a new jobsite in Silverlake lately and a neighbor has been coming by daily, while strolling his 18 month old, to check on the progress of the house Ted is working on.  Ted told him that our son, Mo, is just a few months older than the neighbor's baby and the neighbor has asked a few times whether Mo is our only child.  Ted had been doing his best to avoid the question but felt he couldn't really push it off any longer.  He finally told the neighbor about our sweet Max last week.  The man cried.  And these tears made Ted feel really, really good.

Ted is a real "man's man"....whatever that means (even though you know EXACTLY what that means).  I've only seen him cry a few times.  I know he has cried oceans of tears for Maxie, but they have happened in hiding - at the cemetery, in the bathroom or in his car.  He is warm and loving and someone that people like to confide in - but I wouldn't say he is super comfortable with emotion....so I am definitely not suggesting that people start crying their hearts out to Ted from now on to make him feel good.  But, that spontaneous eruption of emotion from a (mostly) stranger upon hearing of our loss was meaningful to him.  It made him feel good to have someone acknowledge the pain and devastation of losing our baby boy.

I am the vocal one.  I am the one who paints the picture of life without our baby.  I am the one who couldn't stop crying for months.  But, Ted's life has been turned upside down too.  He may not cry or beg for acknowledgement or try to explain to anyone what "this" is like - but sometimes, just the look in his eyes says more than any words ever could.

Ted is the most incredible father a child could ask for.  His life revolves around these boys.  His relationships with Max and Mo were/are so special and unique.  I don't need to say it - but Father's Day is bittersweet.  Ted became a father the day our Max was born - and though it may not look like it on the surface, he is a father of TWO.  He carries Maxie in his heart so profoundly - I see it every day.  I hope Max does too.  If he is with us somehow, there is no way he could miss it.

Happy Father's Day to the best father I know.  I know this road is challenging.  I couldn't feel luckier than to be walking it with you.

XOXO - Love you Teddy!

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.

Besheret

My gut was telling me from the very beginning of the failed adoption story that there would be no adoption.  Ted's too.  We had many conversations before my leaving for Georgia about the possibility that this family wasn't actually going to place this child for adoption.  But, having had no experience in this whatsoever, we just trusted the guidance we were given.  Regrettable.

I can't blame it all on bad advice however, there was something else that was telling us that everything would all work out.  Not just someTHING else but a whole slew of someTHINGS.  Like the universe had aligned to send us message after message that this baby would be ours.

About a year ago, I had a reading with Moriah (the medium).  She made some predictions that sounded fairly far-fetched at the time.  She told me that my grandfather predicted that I would be visiting Israel at some point during the year - this seemed highly unlikely to me last May, but my work did end up sending me to Israel in February.  She talked about my being among trees and getting some kind of healing from that experience - and as you know, I visited Maxie's Forest and it was peaceful (as much as it was also awful and painful).  She also predicted that we would adopt a baby about a year later.  We'd never really discussed our adoption plans with anyone other than very close friends and we had signed papers with an agency the day before.  She also then predicted some basic facts about the baby and about the lawyer we would use (someone who we didn't even meet until much later).  If it was a guess - it was a VERY good one. 

If you know us, or you've been reading for a while, you know that 27 is our lucky number (well, it's really Ted's lucky number but I've adopted it.  Mine is 7 - so it isn't a complete stretch.).  Ted's birthday is the 27th of December and Maxie was born on 10-7-10 (adding up to 27).  There were so many crazy 27s on this trip.  I wish I had photographed them all.  My mom and I changed hotels nearly every night and for two nights in a row, stayed in 27 rooms - 427 and 227!  We also waited the whole time we were there to eat at the town's "fanciest" restaurant, which also had a 27 in the address.  Small stuff - but signs nonetheless.

When a baby is born that is going to be placed for adoption, the birthmother can choose the name that goes on the birth certificate.  This name can be changed by the adoptive parents (and usually is) later in the process.  Imagine our surprise when we found out that the name given to the baby is also the name of one of our dogs....you may recall that naming babies after pets and pets after people is a favorite activity in our family (even if it isn't ever intentional).  Our dog has a pretty unusual name.  Call me crazy that upon learning that baby was given the same name, I believed it to be a sign.

Though the town we were in in Georgia was fairly diverse, I felt pretty confident that there was no real Jewish community to speak of there.  And diversity certainly does not mean integrated.  One of the nurses in the hospital was telling us that one of the nearby towns had just held it's first integrated prom!  WHAT?  I can't even imagine how a segregated prom has been legal anywhere in the US at all up until this point.  Sometimes I realize that living in Los Angeles is a different kind of sheltered.  There was one nurse who was incredibly helpful through the whole experience.  We really bonded with her (but - ALL of the nurses were wonderful - some of the nicest people I've ever met).  We were talking a little bit about the backwardness of the town we were in and so I asked where she was from.  "Tel Aviv", she answered.  I think my eyes nearly bugged out of my skull.  "Tel Aviv?", I asked.  "Do you speak Hebrew?", I asked - in Hebrew.  Her Hebrew sounded a little rusty (like I should talk) but indeed this woman was Israeli.  She was almost as surprised to meet us as we were to meet her.  It felt like another sign. 

As all of these signs were showing up, I was sending them to Ted.  He was getting excited: "Done deal!", he'd write back.  And it really felt like it was - like, despite all of the drama and nonsense and all of the cues we were given by the family to the contrary - that we'd end up with this little girl.  Our nurse friend seemed to think so too - she kept encouraging us to give this baby all of our love - which we did.  As her shift ended, she gave my mom and I big hugs and said, "Hang in there - this is Besheret (destiny)!"

Conflicted

I've been feeling very conflicting lately about my blog. I fear that by writing about our experience and our profound sense of loss and horror, that I've somehow cheapened the experience or commoditized Maxie's brief life. I worry that I somehow threw Maxie's death into a bucket with all of the other disappointing and upsetting things that happen in life, where I meant to set it apart. What I've meant to say is that Maxie's life was more precious to me than even my own and that any thing that could ever happen to ME would pale in comparison to what happened to HIM.

My life's disappointments before and since losing Maxie don't add up to even a small pile compared to the mountain that is his loss of life. They are the things that happen to us all because sadly, life is messy. What happened to our lives the day that Maxie stopped breathing goes so far beyond "messy".  But, words are inadequate.  Woefully inadequate.

Because there is no explaining & there is no imagining, there is no way to verbally elevate the loss of our son to the degree at which it stands - "outshining" all of the awful and horrific happenings I could have ever imagined happening to me, anyone I love, or to the little boy - the person - who meant more to us than anyone ever had before.  I feel almost embarrassed that I've even tried to explain it and I am not really sure what to do moving forward.

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. 

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.

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.

Max in Mo

I love that I see so much of Max in Mo.

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?

A comforting change of scenery

I went away all weekend with my mom and my Auntie Alison.  Part of me hesitates to tell you where I've been, even though I am not really embarrassed.  In fact, it was a really moving and inspirational weekend.  So much more than I ever thought it would be.  I was at a gathering in Phoenix of several hundred bereaved individuals - many who had lost spouses, parents and mostly children.  People just like me who were searching for answers, looking for comfort and wanting to make a connection - to our loved ones, to other people like ourselves.  I halfway expected a group of really new agey, kind of "out there", flakey space-cadets who I would have nothing in common with.  Instead, I met people from all walks of life.  People who are very intelligent, from varied religious and cultural background, from all over the US and Canada.  I connected to a lot of wonderful people.  We met over meals, in workshops, in between presentations.  Where did we go, you ask?  Well, we went to the International Afterlife Communication Conference and I am so glad we did.

Now, I fully understand that the subject is taboo.  I get it that it goes against your religious beliefs (though, those of you with the strongest beliefs DO believe in an afterlife, so I am not quite sure I get it).  But, it doesn't really matter what you believe in and I am certainly not going to try and convert you because I don't know what I believe in.  I am a skeptic, to the core....wish I wasn't actually.  It would probably calm my spirit if I could stop questioning.  In fact, the conference was filled with skeptics.  If we just believed - we wouldn't have been there.  You think I am going to tell you wild stories of messages from beyond but what I am really going to tell you is that when you have lost a child, you have to believe in something.  You have to believe that you will be with that child again.  And, whether it is Buddhism, or Judaism or Christianity that gives you that hope and comfort shouldn't really matter (that is my opinion obviously but I will tell you, there were many religions represented in the room).  What matters to us is that we continue to be parents to the person or people (because there were parents there who lost more than one child) whom we love the most.  Sadly, there were people there who had been ostracized by their religious communities for seeking to connect to their children.  I can tell you that I would sacrifice every friend and family member I have for the opportunity to connect with Max again.  It's simple.  He is my whole heart and soul and I know every other parent there feels exactly as I do.

Hands down, the greatest part of this weekend was meeting other bereaved parents.  It felt different than the grief groups that Ted and I have attended as well.  I think it was because it was a whole weekend.  In a grief group meeting, you generally go around the room with a set agenda.  First each individual or couple introduces themselves and tells the story of their child's death.  Then, if there is time, there is usually a topic of discussion.  I am not saying it isn't helpful.  It is always wonderful to connect with other parents experiencing loss.  But, it takes several months to start making real connections.  At this conference, we shared meals, we sat in on sessions together, we watched people get really accurate affirmations of their loved ones presence in their lives and then we connected.  We connected over coffees in the lobby, over lunches on the back patio, at the vendors tables, during dinner.  We learned the stories about how each of us lost our children, but we also learned about each other and got to know more about the children and who they were before they died.  Our children are not just the stories of their passing - they are the beautiful people who made us smile and filled our hearts and homes with love before they passed.

Now, I am not going to pretend like there weren't some unusual characters there.  When the three of us signed up, we thought - if nothing else, it is sure to be great people watching.  There were some interactions that I will be laughing about for a long time.  When we first arrived and went to register, a wild eyed woman stopped us at the entrance to the conference area and desperately asked us where the popcorn and margaritas were.  She looked frantic.  She as wearing flowing new age gear, her hair was untamed, and she was right in our faces.  "Pardon?", one of us asked.  "I really could go for some popcorn and margaritas", she replied.  "Who couldn't?", we replied and then kept walking, all three of us working hard to suppress the laughter bubbling inside.  I guess this is what I signed up for, I thought.  We then got into an elevator with a group of people wearing tags from the event and asked them how things were going (we skipped the first optional day), "We just came from a session where we were all taken into a past life regression", one man replied.  When we got to our room, I thought, this will be interesting....but I never expected to find so much comfort.  The comfort really came from the attendees, most of whom were not wild eyed, new agey, flowy clothed or unusual at all.  Most attendees were just like me, people whose normal lives had been devastated by loss and who are living in the midst of deep grief.

For the first time in nine months, my story didn't repel people.  It drew them to me and I was drawn to them as well.  I met so many lovely people who felt rejected by their communities because their child was murdered or died by suicide or because they hadn't "gotten over it yet".  When someone spoke about her beautiful daughter who was murdered, I wanted to hold her hand and tell her how unfair it was.  We met the sweetest family who lost their 14 year old son to an impulsive suicide (he got caught doing something "bad" and didn't want to get in trouble).  Their pain was so palpable...I can't get them out of my mind.  The mom shared her son's photos and he was darling.  She described him as such a loving child too.  My heart is so broken for our loss of Maxie but it breaks every time I meet someone else who has to live with this pain.

Our very best session had nothing to do with the afterlife at all....it was a session on surviving grief.  The facilitator, Glenda Pearson, has lost a son herself and though she has a lot of work left to do (because all bereaved parents do), she has come up with useful tools to cope.  The environment was safe and loving.  She started off by having us make a list of hurtful things people say to us.  Do you know how many of the things I have shared were on the list?  All of them: -You can always have more children (or the spousal loss equivalent - you are young, you can always remarry).
- Aren't you over this yet?
- He is in a better place
Etc...  Our facilitator had come up with some good "come backs" over time.  I need to get more from her but the one she mentioned was her come back for "Aren't you over this yet?"....her response is, "I would be if it was your child."  Ouch.  I wonder if I would be strong enough to hurt someone so deliberately with that one (it did make me laugh).  It wouldn't hurt them any less than their comment hurts me - they just refuse to acknowledge that their comment is hurtful.

I know that there are some of you who are actually interested in the afterlife stuff that impressed us.  It WAS impressive.  There were mediums and psychics and grief counselors, people who have had Near Death Experiences and have received afterlife communications. There were also many doctors neurosurgeons and cardiologists - individuals whose science backgrounds kept them skeptical but whose real-life experiences with patients wouldn't allow them to ignore the possibilities.  Hands down the most amazing person at the whole conference was a well-known medium named John Holland.  Have you ever watched a famous medium on television pick out random people from the audience and then wondered if they were planted?  I have.  Holland read in front of the group of about 300 people twice over the weekend.  He knew details that he didn't glean from conversations.  In fact, he was very shy and hardly interacted with anyone other than the organizers while he was there.  But, he would start talking to someone and know everything about their lives.  He knew about a woman's husband who had lost half of each of his feet to diabetes - that this man drove a Lincoln, smoked a cigar, had given her a ridiculously large diamond, had special swimming flippers made for him.  There is no way he "cold read" her.  She looked like a normal middle class older woman.  She was sitting at the back corner of the ballroom.  He picked out a couple who had lost an eight year old boy - he knew that the boy had been cremated, that he died at the same time as his grandpa (in a car accident), that the urn was in his room and surrounded by toy soldiers and that he had drawn pictures all over the bottom part of the walls that were still there.  He knew that the father had torn a rotator cuff.  This was not a visible injury and it was one that had mostly healed.  They were so obviously astounded by what they heard and confirmed it all to be accurate. I could actually go on and on.  He just knew.  I sat with some of the folks who were read by him and they couldn't believe what they had heard.  They were people like me, who wanted information and affirmation.  They didn't plant themselves.  They hoped to be picked during the presentations and they were the lucky ones who were. There was a breakout session with one of the conference organizers, Mark Ireland, and a well known medium, Tina Powers.  I learned about the conference when I happened upon Mark's website months ago.  After his son, Brandon, passed some years ago, he went on a personal quest to find answers and visited many mediums.  His best reading had come from Tina.  She walked around a smaller room to give messages to folks.  She stopped by our seats to let us know that Marilyn (my grandma) says hello, that she knows we have her rings and then validated that it was her by telling us how much she loved Musicals.....which she did.  There were many, many stories like this from throughout the conference and even though Max came through several times, I am still a skeptic.  I hope to get over that soon but I know that I will always be a searcher.  I think that I hope to be the first mom to go over to "the other side" and bring my kid back.  In the meantime, I met a wonderful woman who, along with Mark Ireland and others is starting a new grief group for seekers like me: www.helpingparentsheal.info.  There is no group yet in LA, but as soon as there is, I will be there.
Oh ya, and I should mention that the three of us met with a medium on our own.  I went first and then my mom and aunt went after me.  He didn't know we were together.  Maxie was the first person to show up for both readings.  He came through as his sweet and adorable self.  My heart was pumping.  If you are curious and want to know more, I am happy to tell you. I've got nothing to hide really.  If you believe me, great.  If you don't, try not to judge me.  I am just a broken mommy, looking for her baby, and doing the very best I can with each day I have to get through before I get to be with him again.