Maxie's Bris

A year ago today, we came together in Papa Chuck's backyard for Maxie's bris.  I worried so much that Maxie would be hurt.  I wasn't sure I was comfortable with the whole practice but I knew that it would link him to his ancestors for centuries.  Maxie was an amazing baby.  He hardly made a peep.  The Moyel told me that the way a baby reacts to his bris is an indicator of his future disposition.  Further proof that my Max was going to be angelic.  I cried through the whole ceremony.  Not my baby!  I wanted him to feel no pain.  So many people came to the bris to admire him and congratulate us.  I felt so proud to be his mommy.  I felt so proud to be Ted's wife.  I felt so lucky to have my little family.  Max slept the whole night, mostly in Grandma Susanna's arms.  She looked over the moon, as we all did and we were.  I sometimes wonder if the universe or g-d feels any remorse.

We are a family!

Gigi carried out her grandson and handed him to the Moyel

Teddy's Uncle Rich and Aunt Ellen sent these "Max" cupcakes

This boy is so beautiful!

Look behind Ted.  You can see Papa Chuck looking proud in the background.

The photo above was our favorite moment of the evening.  Max's Hebrew name, Yehuda, was declared out loud as he was held up to the sky for everyone to behold!  We loved that moment and talked about it for weeks afterward.

Max sleeping with Grandma Susanna and Teddy's Aunt Jan

No more miscarriage stories, please!

I beg of you.......

Thank you

My whole body is sad

My head feels heavy.  I can barely lift it.  My brain feels like it weighs 1000 pounds.  My face hurts from sagging.  My eyes are dry and bleary.  I cry all day long.  My heart is broken and full of sorrow.  I can feel every beat and that awareness makes me tired.  My lungs strain with each breath.  I can't get a full one.  They just continue on, labored and shallow. Once in a while, I hear myself sigh.  I feel sick to my stomach, like I am always on the verge of throwing up.  My uterus is sad.  There is so much sadness living there now that the baby is gone.  My legs feel like they weren't built to carry me.  My knees might buckle at any minute.  My arms hang down, empty. They have nobody to hold.  Every piece of me feels this sorrow.  Missing Maxie with every piece of my body and soul.

Carried Away

Two nights ago I dreamt about a little baby girl.  I dreamt about holding her in my arms, kissing her face, changing her diaper, dancing with her.  I woke up with a sense of contentment, knowing that I would love the baby that was growing inside of me.  This baby, who was too little still to see on an ultrasound would bring some love and peace back into our home.  About an hour after I woke up, I started to feel a little crampy.  Then I saw some blood.  I got in the car and picked up my mother and we drove to the doctor's office.  Still no egg sac on the ultra sound...a little unusual for being 6 weeks pregnant.  He had my blood drawn to check for hormone levels.  The cramps got worse.  I guess I don't need to tell you that I have lost this pregnancy.  I know you didn't even know I was pregnant.  I was looking forward to sharing my good news in mid-December.  That won't happen.  I hadn't even considered the possibility of a miscarriage to be honest before Maxie died.  Of course, I hadn't considered the possibility of Maxie dying either.  A "cousin" of mine, in an attempt to make me "feel better" at shiva one evening said, "Don't worry.  This will never happen to you again.  It's like a miscarriage.  Every woman has to have one.  So you have one and it's over and then you move on."  I still have no idea what that all meant, since not every woman has a baby die...so I don't understand the comparison but what stuck with me is that I have not had a miscarriage.  Well, I have now.  So, everyone who wrote to me to tell me about their miscarriages can now rest assured that I understand their pain.  This is incredibly painful.  Physically and emotionally.  It is NOWHERE close to the pain I feel in having lost Max.  Doesn't even touch that pain.  But, having this little bit of hope taken away is like one more nail in my coffin.  And, no, I am still not going to kill myself.  And that doesn't make me strong.  Not killing myself is not strong.  Living every day is not strong either.  I have no choice but to keep living.  I know we will try to get pregnant again.  We have to.  But, I am not sure how much more I can handle.

It's true, I am stalking a Medium

Yes, you read that correctly.  I think I am now officially stalking a Medium.  But, "stalking" has such a negative connotation.  It more feels like when you are dating someone you REALLY like and you want to talk and text with them all day long but you know you can't because you will scare them away, so you play hard to get.  Thing is, with the date, playing hard to get works because there is something he wants.  Playing hard to get with a Medium doesn't work because you have nothing they want.  There is no book (ala, "The Rules") about how to play this game.  It's just when you want something so bad, you feel like there is a set of guidelines you should be following in order to get it.  Only in the last 10 weeks have I realized that it doesn't matter how you play the big game of life, you only win if you are lucky.  You can do everything right and you still might lose.  But, I digress.  I was talking about this poor Medium I am stalking.  I wrote about her before.  She gave me a reading a few weekends ago and everything she said was right. DETAILS.  She literally knew details of conversations that I had with Beth and Ted from that same weekend, she knew details about my family, she knew stuff I haven't even told anyone.  When we got off the phone, she told me to keep in touch, and well, I have.  I may not text back my best friends, but I text the Medium all of the time.  Problem is, the Medium has four kids, including a four month old. She also has a job....as a Medium.  So, she can't just sit around texting and chatting with me all day.  But every time we communicate, she has new insight, she reveals new ways for me to connect with Maxie.  And since every day I sink deeper and deeper into this terrible depression, I feel like I need her!  Sometimes she texts back though and sometimes she doesn't (that is why it reminds me of dating.  Ted was and sometimes still is notorious for playing a good game of "hard to get").  I literally spent 20 minutes on the phone with my mom this morning dissecting for her the sequence of our last texts.  It went something like this:
Me: Hi [insert Medium's name], any chance you have heard anything from Maxie?
Me (2 hours later): I am so sorry if I am bothering you but I am so sad and thought maybe you would have heard from Maxie.
Medium (Next morning): Oh!  Sorry.  I left my phone at the office and I didn't see it all weekend.  I am charging it now.
Me (1 second later): No worries!  Have you heard from Maxie?
Me (an hour later): I am sorry.  I am just so desperate.
Medium (2 hours later): Sorry, am working :)
Ay Caramba.   Keep in mind.  She has done all of this for me without a charge.  She is a friend of a friend of a friend and she is just a lovely person and a mom who knows that I am in pain.  So, I am not at all complaining.  I just need to figure out what I might have that she could want so that I can keep her as part of my healing team.  Perhaps I could pay her a monthly retainer to return all texts?
I wish I had been born a Medium.  She actually wrote a book about how to be a Medium and the friend of a friend (who I now consider to be my friend) lent it to me.  I am reading it.  If I become a Medium, I can be a stay at home mom to the children I plan on having some day.  You can call me up and I will charge a reasonable rate to talk to your dearly departed loved ones.  It will feel good because I will be helping people to heal and I'd also be making a difference in the world.  Most importantly though, I would be able to stop stalking the Medium because I would be one!  I would be able to talk to Max on my own and I would get back real answers.  He could tell me what Heaven is like.  I could tell him to wait for me.  I could ask him why he left me and if and when exactly he is coming back.  He could tell me who else is up there, maybe there are people up there that I didn't know that well that are actually really cool. I could tell him how much I love him and miss him.
So, here's the update.  As soon as I started writing this post, my phone started "blowing up".  Her ears must have been burning.  If you don't believe in Mediums, I don't want to hear about it.  If you do and you want me to give you the contact information for "my" Medium, let me know...because I am thinking - perhaps if I start referring lots of business to her, she will be even more likely to text me right back.  You never know (but she probably does).

The stuff I miss most

I love everything about him.  I miss it all.  I miss the way he smells.  I miss his drooley lips.  I miss his edible cheeks.  I miss the way his ears stick out a little.  I miss the dimple on his right cheek.  I miss the birthmark (exactly like his father's) on the back of his head (where his head meets his neck).  I miss the way he chews on his hands.  I miss clipping his tiny fingernails while he is in the bath.  I miss his big beautiful eyes (blue with one corner of brown).  I miss his beaming smile all day long.  I miss changing his diapers.  I miss singing to him.  I miss nursing him, both of us quiet, cuddling together and sharing a peaceful moment.  I miss making baby food.  I miss feeding him.  I miss watching him sleep on his monitor.  I miss watching him sleep in his swing.  I miss watching him watch the mobile on his swing.  I miss reading Baby 411.  I miss holding him in my arms.  I miss him sitting in my lap.  I miss reading to him.  I miss dancing with him in our living room.  I miss picking him up at daycare.  I miss hearing about what he did that day.  I miss missing him all day at work.  I miss wondering what kind of a boy he will grow into.  I miss his expressive eyebrows.  I miss trying to make him laugh.  I miss singing, "Maxie Moo Moo!  Maxie Moo!".  I miss being a mommy.  I miss being his mommy.  I miss feeling like the luckiest woman alive.  I miss the part under his chin, where his skin is so soft.  I miss his perfect belly button.  I miss his tiny feet.  I miss watching his face light up when he sees me.  I miss my own face lighting up when I see him.  I miss the way he makes me feel every minute of every day.  I miss being happy.  I miss being me.  I MISS MY MAX.

Memorial

Yesterday we had our family and a few other close friends over to plant Maxie's tree in our front yard.  The Moyel at Maxie's bris told us of a lovely tradition. He suggested that we keep Maxie's foreskin and then on his first birthday we could plant a tree and bury it in the dirt.  The tree would then grow along with Max.  When the time would come, years down the road, we could take a branch of the tree and use it in the huppah that Maxie and his bride would stand under at their wedding.  So you see, we always planned on planting a tree for Maxie's first birthday.  I kept the piece of skin in a little bit of tinfoil in my jewelry box over this past year.  When I took it out yesterday, I realized that inside was a little piece of my baby's flesh.  That and a few wisps of hair are all I have left of his physical body.  I pulled it out of the box and stuck it in my pocket just as people began to arrive.  The weight of that fact felt so heavy in my heart, it was hours before I felt like I could breathe.  Yesterday, like every other day, the horror and sorrow of losing my Max nearly knocked me to my knees.  We gathered everyone in the front yard and Ted explained the history of why we were planting the tree, a beautiful olive tree to memorialize our most loved baby.  The men pulled the tree into the hole that was dug in the ground.  We talked about which way it should face and how it would look best.  We said the Mourner's Kaddish together and then Ted read a poem.  Afterwards, we released some beautiful monarch butterflies that I hope will fly up to the sky to meet my Max.  It wasn't the way we should have celebrated my little one's first birthday.  It wasn't what we planned.  It is what it is though and it was the best we could do.  We love him today and every day.  Happy Birthday Max!  You are in my every breathe, my every thought, my every moment.  I love you more than words.

* You can plant a tree for Max too - support.jnf.org/goto/teammaxie

Yesterday

Nobody could have prepared me for the excruciating pain of yesterday.  My baby's first birthday and he wasn't here to celebrate with.  Just unbearable.  How I wish I had bought him a cake, watched him smash icing into his sweet little face.  I know I am in the bargaining phase of grief because I keep thinking of things I would trade for that experience....like, my own life.  I would give my life for Max to be able to eat birthday cake.  My mom, cousin Sharon (who has been here all week) and I went up to the cemetery.  When we got to Maxie's grave, we could see that others had been there before us.  It was comforting to know that.  I could tell that the yellow balloon, card and little stuffed animal were from my friend Amy S (now Amy M) because her kids names were on the card.  I am not sure if they also brought the pumpkin/balloon or if was from someone else.  The balloon said "Happy 1st Birthday.  We love you Maxie Moo".  I miss and love Maxie Moo too.....SOOOOOOOOOO much!  We sat down and read "Good Night Moon" to Max.  First I read it, exactly how I read it to him every night.  Then Grandma read it to him, probably the same way she read it to him when she babysat.  I always finished reading the book with "and Good Night Maxie".  Then I would very softly pick him up and place him on my shoulder while I gently rubbed his tiny back and sang to him.  Those were the best moments of my life.  Nothing else has ever come close.
Today we are planting an olive tree in our front yard in memory of Max.  This was not the Birthday I had planned for my sweetest boy.  It is what it is I suppose.  No matter how much I beg.  This is it.  This is as good as it gets.  Happy Birthday my Maxie Moo, my little monkey, my little punky.  I love you to the moon and the stars and so much farther than that.  You are my reason for breathing - the baby I always dreamed of.  I hope you are out there somewhere and you know just how much I love you.  With everything that I am, Max.  Daddy and I love you with everything.

10 - 7 -10

Today is the anniversary of the best day of my life.  Happy Birthday little Maxie! 

We love you more each day...

To my friends

Thank you so much for continuing to send emails, for calling me, for texting me for trying arrange for coffee or lunch or a time to hang out.  I can't tell you how much it has meant to me.  I am sorry that I have not emailed, called, or texted most of you back.  Most of the time, I don't want to see other people.  It is exhausting trying to make conversation but I hate sitting in silence with another person.  In some cases, I am avoiding you because you also have small children and I don't want to hurt your feelings by telling you that I don't want to hear about that child, whom I still love and wish the very best for and look forward to seeing again in the future.  Your child makes me sad because you have him/her and I don't have Max.  In some cases I am avoiding you because I know from experience that you won't be able to go down as deep as I need you to with me on this and I am not saying you aren't deep, I am saying what I need is nearly too much to ask from anyone.  I need those people who are willing to put themselves aside to be in a dark pit with me...not exactly something we can do over coffee or a light lunch.  In some cases, I am afraid that you will try to cheer me up or fix me and those things are not possible so, instead of having you over here so you can leave feeling dejected, I am sparing you the disappointment.

I want to tell you how much all of the cards, flowers, books, and other gifts have meant to Ted and I.  It is amazing how much of an outpouring of support we have received.  I HOPE you know that we have no words to thank you for the donations that you have made towards Maxie's forest.  His trees will live long and healthy lives breathing beautiful air on a majestic mountain in one of our favorite places in the world.  Nothing could be more beautiful.  I am beside myself every time dinner shows up on our doorstep from the "Food Train" participants.  We have had the most delicious meals and so many leftovers and there has been so much love in everything you have sent us.  THANK YOU.  I feel like I need all new recipes when I go back into the kitchen eventually because everything I make reminds me of my old un-broken life. The food train has saved me so many grocery trips as well - a particularly tough place for me since Max has died.  I have felt heard when you have left comments on my blog or sent me emails about what I have written.  I appreciate that so much.  I have never felt so misunderstood in my life and to have some of you be able to respond to me with such warmth and wisdom has been totally affirming.

It is more clear to me every day that I am changed for life.  I will never be the same Abby.  Ted will never be the same Ted.  It will be some time before I am ready to come out of this house and meet you for coffee.  I can't make chit chat and when I do, I feel like the life force has been zapped out of my soul.  Thank you for sticking by my side even though I haven't given you much reason to do so.  So many of Ted and my close friendships go back to our very young years and we have both been so lucky to have made many new friends in the years that have followed.  You have been so wonderful to us and to our families.  We cannot believe how lucky we are to have so many people who love us so much.  Please know that even if you are being ignored, we really do love you.

* By the way, you don't need to wish me an easy fast this weekend.  I have no intention of fasting.  I am still WAY too angry at g-d.  Blasphemous, I know.  But, for those of you who ARE fasting, I do wish you an easy fast.

This broken heart

Is it possible to die of a broken heart?  I feel like I might be doing just that.  My whole body aches.  It is 4 am.  I have been up for hours, thinking about my baby.  It started innocently.  I woke up to go to the bathroom.  I got back into bed and stretched my legs.  Then I thought about Maxie stretching his little chubby legs on the changing table.  Getting a good stretch in!  Oh my lord!  It is too much.  I am so sad.  My heart aches and I can't stop thinking about him.  Was this really my destiny?  Was this his?  Can't be.  I know I am going to wake up from this nightmare soon and find out that my baby didn't really die.  It was a hoax.  Then, when the pranksters bring him back to me, I will be SO grateful and happy for the rest of my life.  But, I was at the funeral.  I spoke at the funeral.  I wore a black dress and hugged hundreds of people after they lowered his tiny coffin into the ground.  I stood in my mom's living room afterwards and stared at the slideshow of photos of his very short life.  I put out cold cuts every night in my own kitchen during shiva.  I tried to make visitors feel welcome in my home and made small talk about things I wasn't really interested in.  Sometimes I wish I could rewind and instead of smiling and making people feel welcome, I wish I had let the mascara run down my face while I screamed "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO US?".  The grief is more than I can bear.  It is all I think about.  Max is all I think about.  So, if it is possible to die of a broken heart, I am surely doing just that.  But, it is a SLOW death.  It is a death that is ripping one more little piece of my soul away every single day until, hopefully, one day I won't have to bear it anymore...because I will be with him.

Read a good post yesterday about grieving from another momma who knows just how totally terrible this all is: http://thespohrsaremultiplying.com/heather/how-to-grieve/

Maxie's Name

Since the early days of my courtship with Ted, we spoke about the potential names we would give our potential children.  He suggested that if we had a girl one day, we could name her Sadie - Ted's grandma's name (Gigi's mother's name).  As you know, Beth beat us to that one.  I think our niece Sadie is the perfect "Sadie"  It was meant to be.  My "pioneering" days in Israel were the backdrop to the names I had picked out: Eitan for a boy, Shachar for a girl.  My girl name got SHUT DOWN.  Shachar had been a boys name meaning darkness or blackness.  I always liked it because it sounded mysterious and all of the best looking people on my kibbutz were named Shachar (well,  2 of the best looking ones).  Contemporary Israelis often take boys names and make them girls names.  I considered myself a contemporary Israeli.  Ted reminded me that I am actually not Israeli at all.  Point well taken.

When we found out that we were pregnant, we knew immediately that we were having a boy.  Until that point, we always imagined that we would have a girl.  Not sure why, but we did.  Ted had a bunch of girl cousins who worshiped him, not to mention our nieces.  It seemed like we spent lots of kid time with little girls.  But, we just KNEW we were having a boy.  The ultrasound just confirmed what we knew to be true.  We easily settled on the perfect name: Judah.  It was wonderful in many ways.  It was a J name and therefore could represent 3 of our collective grandfathers: Jerry, Jules and Jack.  It was a strong Jewish name, clearly helping to instill a strong Jewish identity for life.  It also had a bit of a rastafari flavor, as in Lion of Judah (which is obviously also a Biblical reference too).  The middle name we decided on was Maxwell.  M for Marilyn, my grandmother.  Maxwell, because we loved the name Max and because we fell in love to the music of R&B genius - Maxwell.  Our first dance at our wedding was to his song, "Lifetime".  We held on tight to the name even though our parents begged for the scoop.  Finally one evening I told my mom.   She didn't like it.  She called me a few days later to tell me that "Jackie doesn't like it either".  What?  She told Jackie?  So much for secrets.  I told Ted.  "My parents don't like it either".  Darn!  I told my dad, "I like the idea of a J name.  What about Jehosephat?"  He liked Jehosephat better than Judah?  Unheard of!  My step-mother loved it!  FINALLY!  Also, Beth loved it.  It reminded her of the dead husband on the show "Weeds".  Still, we were uneasy about the idea of our parents not loving our perfect name.  We went back and forth between Judah Maxwell and Maxwell Judah for many months.  I remember sitting around the table one afternoon at Ethan and Bianca's house and going back and forth until we finally looked at each other and said "Maxwell Judah Leviss"....it flows.  We would call him Max or Maxie.  As soon as we made the decision, we knew it was right.  Max came and it was obvious, he was meant to be a Max.

One of the MANY things that was rushing through my head when Max was lying in the hospital bed connected to the many tubes, barely clinging to life was, "He can't die!  He has the most perfect name!"  I recognize that might sound silly but it still haunts me.  There will never be another Maxie in my life that is mine.  My little Maxwell is gone.  He was a one and only.  He was perfect in every way, even by name and he only got to live that perfection for 9 and a half months.  It makes my bones hurt to think it.  It makes my veins hurt.  It makes my heart and my head hurt.  My Maxwell, my Max, my Maxie - I miss you more every second.  I love you with ALL of my heart and soul.  You are forever in my every breath, in every beat of my heart.  You are my everything and my all.  I love you Maxie.  I love you always.

How much further can I fall?

Just when I think I can't get any lower and I start to feel comfort (?) with where I am, I sink another 10 feet.  It is always possible to get EVEN lower.  It astounds me.  I never imagined in my whole life I could feel this unhappy.  I didn't think it was possible for me.  There are no words left to describe the seething pain that is piercing my heart, the emptiness I feel here without my child.  I cannot begin to describe the guilt I feel for having failed my son.  I should have been with him.  I am speechless to explain the fear I feel that it could happen again.  The horror that it happened at all, that it happened to my most favorite person.  It is beyond words.

I daydream about our time together.  I try to remember his weight in my arms.  My arms wrapped around his tiny body.  In my mind, I visualize his smile, his look of surprise, the look of love in his eyes.  I try to hear the sound of his voice babbling to himself in his crib in the morning, his laughter, the sound of his cry.  I try to feel the softness of his skin, the small wisps of hair on his perfectly round head, the smoothness of his little eyebrows on his beautiful face.  My senses fail me.  I wish I were with him.

Heavenly Photos

We are so lucky to have so many photos of Maxie.  We took a lot of them and Tisha did too.  Several times a week I would receive photos of Max from daycare.  They brightened up my day and I immediately sent them to Teddy, G-Ma (Grandma Susanna), Papa Chuck, Grandma L, Prima Sharon, Auntie Beth, Uncle Paul, Gigi and Papa.  I remember a particularly LONG work day about 2 weeks after my maternity leave ended. I missed Max so much, I thought I was going to explode all day long.  I picked some visiting speakers up at the airport early in the morning, we had meetings throughout the day, I took them to the Santa Monica Pier and then we ended the evening in a donor's home.  I started to make my way home around 10pm.  I was pumping every three hours throughout the whole day.  I was actually beside myself with exhaustion, I was missing Max SO much, I was wondering HOW on earth I was going to do this.  Thank goodness, the speakers asked to go back to their hotel to freshen up before our donor reception in the evening.  I took the opportunity to decompress at a local Starbucks.  I had my laptop and opened it up to check email and found a photo of Max, sent from daycare.  It made my WHOLE day.  I started crying in the Starbucks.  Probably a mix a hormones, feelings of inadequacy, and a genuine longing for my child.  I wish g-d would send some photos from heaven.  Unlikely.

* -By the way, if you have already donated on Max's tribute site, I am not suggesting that you donate again.  My "ask" is only for those people who haven't made a contribution.  Eowyn and Greg Gardner have donated like 3 times.  (I love you Buh-ddies!)
* Also, yes, I posted twice yesterday.  Sometimes I have a lot to say.

Maxie's Jaundice

Maxie was born on a Thursday - October 7, 2010.  We stayed in the hospital with him until Saturday.  We went to our first doctor's appointment on Monday. Max looked too yellow to the pediatrician (even though he looked perfect to me).  Our pediatrician told us to go immediately to Verdugo Hills Hospital to get his blood drawn to confirm that his bilirubin was high.  We waited in a dark and dingy waiting room with an old coughing man and several other diseased looking patients.  I worried Maxie would catch something.  They brought him into a room to draw his blood.  To do this on an infant, they take a razor blade to the baby's foot, cut it, and then use a little dropper to collect the blood.  The woman who was doing this to Max, must have cut his foot 5 times before she got enough blood.  I was just sitting there watching her cut up my baby's feet.  It felt like she was cutting my heart with a razor blade.  They told us that it would take an hour for the results so we decided to sit in the car, away from the sick people, a place where I could nurse Max more easily.  As we sat in the car, Max got really lethargic and I started to panic.  He was just a sleepy baby but he was a little sweaty and his eyes kept rolling backwards and I was crying and saying "Maxie, please wake up baby!".  Finally, the call from the hospital with the test results.  We needed to take Max immediately to the Pediatric Unit at Huntington Hospital in Pasadena.  So, we drove there and rushed up to the Pediatric floor.  The doctors there brought Max into an examining room and checked his eyes and his heart rate and who knows what else.  They also drew more blood.  I was stunned.  More blood?  They decided to keep Max overnight and brought us into a storage room for hospital chairs and furniture and said to us that they would just keep us here until they could get us a regular room (I walked down the hall, there were plenty of empty rooms).  A nurse wheeled in an incubator, they put little goggles on Max and then they put him inside.  After about an hour of them coming in, looking at him and then walking out, I peered in and saw that Maxie was shaking.  Looked like he was shivering.  I called a nurse to come in and told her that Max looked cold.  "No", she said, "the incubator keeps him warm."  I put my hands inside and felt his little arm and it was ice cold.  I turned around and glared at her and said, "my baby is freezing".  "Impossible", she said.  I said "Well, something isn't right!" The nurse called one of the doctors into the storage room and he started to explain to me how the incubator works and then I saw the nurse go around the back and PLUG THE INCUBATOR INTO THE WALL!  It wasn't even plugged in.  So, I called her out on it and she said, "Oh, that isn't the main plug, that is just one of the plugs".  That was the moment that I realized that even though I am not a doctor, my son's medical safety was in my hands.  As the evening wore on and I saw that there were PLENTY of empty rooms still, I approached a nurse and asked if there was any possibility to get a private room.  She said it would be fine as long as we would be ready to move at a moment's notice if someone with a more dire condition came in.  Of course that would be fine.  I did not sleep more than five minutes in a row that night.  I kept checking on Max to make sure he was still breathing and not shivering.  The nurses came in every couple of hours and re cut his foot and check on the blood.  The lights in the room didn't shut off either and there we were, under the bright fluorescents all night.  They were worried that he wasn't getting enough milk so I also was pumping as much as I could every couple of hours, which wasn't much because my milk had only come in a day or two before.  During one of the middle of the night visits, 2 nurses worked on getting a blood sample from Max.  They must have cut him 10 times.  Ted's teeth were clenched and his eyes were narrow and he finally said LOUDLY, "PLEASE stop.  I mean, what is going on?  Why is this so hard?  Do you really need to cut him so many times?"  The next day, a new crew came in, Max's bilirubin number started dropping and by 5 pm, we were cleared to go.  By the time we left, I had my first taste of Post-traumatic stress disorder.  I was frazzled and anxious about the whole experience for months afterwards. A few days before Max died, I was giving him a bath.  I remember thinking to myself how finally that horror had dissipated in my mind.  Then, I actually thought to myself how lucky we were that Max was so healthy and had been SO healthy ever since that experience.  I was sure that we wouldn't have to sleep in another hospital until the next time we were there to deliver Max's brother or sister.  I had NO idea how bad a hospital experience could really be.  I had NO concept of PTSD.  I had no indication that in just a few days Max's life would be over and that I would be missing him for all of the rest of my days.

Use this blog as your guide

If Maxie was still alive, today would have been his first birthday party.  We knew we wanted to have his part on a Saturday (so we wouldn't have to worry SO much about clean up) and the Saturday after his birthday is Yom Kippur (as I have already mentioned).  Today I am extra sad.  It doesn't help that I had a terrible nightmare last night.  I had a dream that I couldn't find Max anywhere.  I was asking everyone I knew and everyone kept saying they didn't know where he was but "he is fine.." and then adding, "you know that he is fine right?".  So, I went to my mother's house and said, "Listen, I cannot find Max anywhere and I am SURE I am just being an overprotective first time mom.  OBVIOUSLY he will be fine, but, humor me.  I am getting worried and I miss him so so much."  So, she went through a list of possible places he could be and while she was doing that, she was taking blankets out of an armoire and folding them and then, behind one of the blankets, was Max.  He was dead and sitting in his car seat and he had been in there for a long time and had been suffocated by the blankets.  He looked like he did lying in his hospital bed.  I woke up shaking.  Waking up again to the realization that my nightmares are just as bad as my reality.

Here is what I want to say today and I feel like I haven't even been subtle about it.  When I write here and tell you what I want to hear and don't want to hear, when I write what I am ready to hear and not ready to hear: I am hoping that you *might* use this as a guide.  That you *might* know that I am not ready to listen to the stories of miscarriage and other birth horrors because, even though I want to be compassionate, I am scared and vulnerable and still in the heavy stages of post-traumatic stress disorder.  You know I want to have more children so maybe just hold onto the story for now until I am better able to cope.  When I tell you exactly what you can say to me to make me feel understood, aka "It is so unfair that Maxie died and that you have to live in this world without him", I am hoping that you will understand that THAT is what I need to hear.  Not, "Shana Tova!  This is going to be an awesome year!"  When I tell you that right now I am not as compassionate and empathetic as I would like to be.....BELIEVE ME.  I don't want to hear about how miserable your life is.  From where I stand, it looks AMAZING.  When I tell that that if you plant a tree, we notice and it is important to us...I am not just giving you a fundraising pitch.  I am really telling you something you can do that will make us feel better.  It is NOT fair of me.  I recognize that it is not fair.  AND, especially after I just wrote about wanting to be more compassionate.  BUT, I am hoping that you might want to be more compassionate as well.  Is that fair?  It isn't right that I can sit here day after day and tell you my horror and sadness and not listen to what you believe is your horror and sadness.  What I guess I am saying is that 1) Don't read my blog if it is too much for you.  I am not going to read the blog of someone that I has had something happen in their life that I am scared of (my blog is not required reading). 2) If you cannot come here or email me or call me without complaining about your life, talking about the awesome things your kids are doing or telling me about your dead pets...that is ok. Let's just make a mental note that we can spend time together again later in life.  It doesn't need to be the end of our friendship, it is just some space that we are giving each other and that is perfectly ok.  3) BELIEVE ME when I tell you that I am sadder every day and that I don't want to hear your pontifications on how this will all get better eventually.  Every day I wake up is a day further away from the last day I was with my baby and it hurts MORE everyday.  You may not want to believe these things or accept them but I am begging you to use my words as your guide.  PLEASE.  I do not mean to keep pushing the point but I cannot understand how much clearer I could possibly spell this out for you.  PLEASE.  I am in the lowest point in my life and I don't need anymore pushing.  I don't want you to disappoint me so I am trying to make it easy on you and if this is too much for you, if you don't want a friendship with rules, then just count me out for a while.  I think we would both be happier.

I stare at Max's photos all day long and wonder if it was all a dream.  Was he ever here?  Was he ever really my baby?  Did I really carry him inside me and give birth to him and fall madly in love with him and nurse him and cuddle him and bathe him?  Was I ever really a mommy?  It feels like it was a dream and it gets further away from me every single day.  There are little details that are fading and it makes me sick to my stomach.  I am not getting better every day, I am sadder ever day.  On this day, that I should be celebrating his life with all of our friends and family, I am sitting in the same sweatpants that I have been wearing for 3 months, crying, staring at his photos and missing him like crazy.  Nothing has changed except that I am one more day away from the last time I smelled the top of his head and kissed his cheek and sung him to sleep.  One more day without my Maxie.

Compassion

To show you how little I actually know about Judaism, I really thought that on Rosh Hashana the Torah gets scrolled back and we start reading from the beginning.  I figured the portion yesterday would be, "And G-d created light" or something.  Instead, it seems (unless our rabbi had it all wrong) that the portion was the one in which Abraham is asked to sacrifice Isaac, his son.  Most people know that at the end of that story, G-d shows "compassion" and saves Isaac at the last minute and then Abraham instead sacrifices a ram (if you ask me, the most compassionate move would have been to never ask him to do it in the first place.  What kind of a crazy test is that?)  Anyway, SUPER HEAVY.  It must be nice to be as worthy as Abraham.  Our rabbi gave a lovely sermon about compassion and how important it is for all of us in the new year.  He stressed that we never know what someone else is going through when we encounter them and that we need to show compassion for whatever it is that they might have happening.  He gave an example of the car that is speeding through the streets and cuts you off while driving.  Maybe it is a father who is rushing to get medicine for his sick child.  I was thinking about all of the speeding and rushing and careless driving my whole family was doing on July 19th, trying to get to Maxie at the Emergency Room and then following the ambulance from St. Joseph's in Burbank to Tarzana.  I thought about how much I HATE when people I don't know tell me to smile.  I've been getting that a little more than usual lately.  It is SO irksome.  They think that they are making a connection or maybe even flirting but, frankly, it isn't compassionate.  You don't know what is happening with me!  You don't know why it is nearly impossible for me to smile!  When Ted was in the hospital the week after Max's funeral, his attending doctor seems more consumed with getting me to smile (knowing that I had just lost my child) than in making Ted better.  It was INFURIATING.  Weeks later I told the therapist (the one I am no longer seeing) how much it bothered me and she asked me if I knew whether he (the doctor) had lost a child or a sibling.  In fact, he DID tell me that his brother had died and how sad his mother had been.  The therapist said that he probably spent his whole life after that trying to make his mother smile, to distract her from her pain.  This was a continuation of his life long practice.  It DID make sense.  Maybe I needed to be more compassionate.  It was really too much to expect of me at that time.

There were lots of children in services yesterday.  Right after the Mourners Kaddish, they brought all of the children in from the children's service so that they could hear the shofar being blown.  They came flooding into the chapel, one after the other.  Whenever I see little kids (especially little boys) all I can think is about how Max will never be a child.  I will never take him to see The Lion King, we will never ride on "It's a Small World", I will never see him off to his first day of school, I will never hear his sweet voice saying any words. I want to be more compassionate but I am finding it hard to muster up compassion like I used to (not that anyone would ever had said it was my strongest quality, but certainly I would empathize with your boyfriend troubles, your work troubles, how sad you were after your cat died).  I probably won't show you the compassion now you are longing for when you come to me with things that I once would have agreed were very, very sad.  My idea of what counts as very, very sad has changed in the last few months.  Still, I know it is all relative.  Your child probably didn't die so what you think is really sad might be different than what I think is really sad.  Perhaps knowing what I think is really sad will give you a moment of pause before you tell me about the things in your life that you think are sad.  Maybe you will remember, "Oh ya, my children and family are alive and healthy and well.  I will email Sally instead of Abby to express sorrow about my dead turtle".  I will try and do my part too.  I am not going to let myself off the hook entirely.  I will try to remember that your child didn't die and so you can't possibly know how sad I am and that maybe the saddest thing that ever happened to you was that your pet turtle died.  I will try not to envy you about that either. At some level, I recognize that we are not in a tragedy contest.  I will remember that we are all just human beings, doing our best and that there are lots of struggles that we will all encounter, big and small, and that showing compassion is better than getting frustrated.  Rabbi Marx stressed that the world would be a better place if we all showed a little more compassion.  I have a whole year to work on this.  Or maybe even a whole lifetime - how ever long that may last.  Be compassionate with me and I will do my best to be compassionate with you.

Shana Tova?

Shana Tova!  (Happy New Year).  Today is Rosh Hashana - the Jewish New Year, symbolized by the sweetness of apples dipped in honey.  Wishes for a beautiful and sweet new year.  All week, friends and colleagues have been sending out mass emails wishing me (and everyone) a SHANA TOVA!  Every time I open one of those emails, my skin crawls.  A colleague of mine told me a few months before Max died that the year between Max's first birthday and his second would be the best year of our lives, at least that had been his experience with his two boys.  It was just a wonderful time of watching your baby turn into a child.  He said it was awesome.  Oh, I KNEW it was going to be awesome.  I couldn't wait.  Could anything really be better than what I had already experienced?  Instead of this being the best year of my life, this is the worst...and so MUCH worse than I could have ever imagined.  In a million years, I could have never imagined that life could be this cruel to me....and I knew that eventually my parents would die and that I would be unimaginably sad, I knew that I would lose friends - that some would die before me (I already have lost friends), I knew that I could lose Ted or that it was possible that I could get sick and even die before "my time".  Everyone of these things would rip me to shreds.  Please!  I can't live with any more tragedy....it would be the end of me.  But, this?  This is SO MUCH worse than I could EVER have imagined.  This year I will not be dipping any apples into honey.  I feel like dipping cardboard into cigarette ashes and taking a big bite....that would better capture my mood.

We are going to synagogue today.  I have to say there is something completely repelling about going to a house of worship to praise g-d and ring in the new year!  ICK.  I thought about boycotting.  Thing is, I get to say the Mourner's Kaddish (a prayer of mourning) for Maxie.  That does resonate with me.  Somehow I think that is what services will be for me going forward....a long ICK full of old prayers that used to melodically roll off my tongue, but which I will now just sit through so that I can say the Mourners Kaddish for my son.  The whole ritual reduced to one prayer of remembrance and love for my beloved.  Look, I know it is too late.  You've probably already put your cards in the mail, I am likely on some list you have of "Jews" who should hear "Shana Tova" from you.  But, I want to be clear - this Shana (year) is not looking so Tova (good).  For the most part, it is a nightmare.  I'm thinking that perhaps there will be moments of "so-so" or even hours of "not horrific".  One friend actually wrote to me and said, "I know it would be obscene to wish you a Happy New Year".  Instead, she wished me a year of maybe better sleep.  True - to wish us a "Shana Tova" is somewhat obscene.

Look, a lot can happen in a year - in this past year, Max was born and died.  I won't rule out something good, or even joyful.  I know that even my prayers can't help us to avoid potential tragedy but THERE JUST CANNOT BE ANYTHING MORE.....THERE JUST CANNOT BE.  Maybe a new baby will be born this year.  Maybe we can start to remember how to be happy again.  But, our backdrop is NOT "Tova"...not to get all Obama on your ass, but I think "Hope" is the better adjective.  Fact is that it is the first year without Maxie, our first year of grieving, starting with his upcoming birthday which so conveniently falls on Erev Yom Kippur.  It is just too soon to think about a Shana Tova.  Much too soon for all that.  This Rosh Hashana doesn't mark the beginning of a new year for us.  It marks the beginning of our very deeply felt grief.  Grief that in one shape or another will last for the rest of our lives.

Time

Before you have a baby, you don't really realize the impact that the change will have on your life.  Intellectually, you know that you will not have much free time after the baby comes but it is hard to make sense of what that actually means.  When I was about 7 months pregnant, I remember going to have my make up done at Sephora because I knew that it would probably be my last personal indulgence, at least for a while.  I remember walking through the mall and thinking to myself, "I should take my time because I probably won't have the opportunity to just dawdle around in a shopping mall for years."  My last month or so of pregnancy, I had those kinds of thoughts a lot.  I knew it was coming but I had no idea really what it would mean.  As I have explained, I didn't mind giving up social engagements.  Mostly, I just wanted to make sure my friendships stayed intact, so I would make plans every so often just so people didn't think I had disappeared entirely.  But I felt no pressing need to have a girls getaway weekend or get out to concerts or restaurants.  Until about 5 years ago, my favorite restaurant was Islands so it isn't like I am some wild foodie or anything.  I did have trouble figuring out how to exercise and do other personal things, like get a manicure.

In April or May, I convinced my work to let me participate in the "Israel Ride" (www.israelride.org).  This is something that I have wanted to do since I started working for JNF almost 5 years ago.  It is a bike ride from Jerusalem to Eilat for which participants raise money to support one of our very important partners, The Arava Institute - a graduate program in environmental studies where Israelis, Palestinians, Jordanians, and others from around the world study together with the understanding that the environment knows no borders.  The program focuses on the environment but also helps in creating a common language and dialogue between Arabs and Israelis.  Super cool.  I knew that by sending me, my organization would benefit as I would be connecting with so many people on the ride who probably didn't know much about our work outside of this one program.  I also knew that this would be an exciting challenge for me - to get in shape, to see Israel in a whole new way (from my bicycle seat), to meet new people, and to have a weeklong glimpse at independence.  The idea of leaving Max for a week was heartbreaking.  I knew it would take enormous strength and faith to go away and just trust that he would be fine.  Everyone who I expressed concerns to said the same thing, "You know he will be ok, right?  You will be a wreck, but he will be fine."  I really believed that to be true.  Part of what made me want to do this was just the challenge of working through my own separation anxiety.  Of course, the challenge of finding the time to train was toughest of all.  A colleague of mine signed up to do the ride.  He called me to tell me he was up to (who remembers?) how many miles a day and had lost 15 pounds.  How far was I riding?, he wanted to know.  Well, I was getting up in the morning and nursing Max and then getting him ready for daycare and then taking him there and then rushing off to work and then getting off work just in time to pick him up and then bringing him home and going through our evening routine and by the time Ted got home, I was HUNGRY and then I would get tired and we'd go to sleep. So, I was up to 0 miles.  Pretty awesome, right?  In the 5 weeks or so before Max died, I had actually figured out how to get an hour or so in about 3-4 days a week.  The morning of Max's "incident", I started answering emails and doing some work early while Ted was taking care of the morning routine.  I got Max to daycare at 8 am and then was on my bike by about 8:10 and rode for about an hour, I came home and showered quickly and sat down to work, I had a meeting scheduled in Beverly Hills at 11:30. My cell phone was in my purse on vibrate.  I almost missed the call.  I happened to glance at my purse and saw the phone lighting up on top.  My advice is that if you are a parent and your phone is on vibrate, put your phone in your pocket, put it on the table in front of you or put it in your lap.  You don't ever want to miss an emergency phone call - I'm sure this will never happen to you but emergencies happen and you don't want to miss it.  When I would ride, the phone was in a little pouch under my seat.  I would have never known it was ringing if I had been on the ride when the call came in.  All of the scenarios make me sick and yet, none of it really matters, since he is gone.  At least I was with him as long as was humanly possible.  Still, he is gone.

Last night was bad.  I hardly slept.  I tossed and turned all night, waking up every hour on the hour.  I also have a conference call this morning at 8 am.  It was originally scheduled for 7 am but another West Coast colleague and I said, "no way".  It takes most of the night for me to fall asleep.  Sometimes (rarely) I am actually able to sleep in.  I've got to take the sleep where I can get it these days because it is HARD for me to come by.  Anyway, I was up all night thinking about Max.  I was thinking about the fact that I am not a mommy anymore.  I can sit in the Sephora store all weekend long if I want.  I can go out to concerts, meet my friends for drinks and long dinners, Ted and I could plan a last minute weekend getaway and not have to think twice about it.  BUT - I don't want to do ANY of those things.  I don't DO any of those things.  I don't want my time back.  Time is my enemy.  I want my MAX back.  I miss HIM....and I was thinking about this - I miss my nose against his cheek and my cheek against the top of his head.  I miss the physical body of Max that Ted and I MADE.  When my grandpa died, I missed him SO much.  I thought about him all day long and I missed being with him and laughing with him and all of his stories and the love for me that he had that I could feel in my soul. I missed hugs from him I guess but I didn't feel the urge to cuddle him or squish my face against his....I mean, that would be weird.   As hard as that was, this is 100 times worse.  It just is.  So, with endless time on my hands, and a feeling all day long that I just want the day to end, I sit up all night long making my days even longer, creating even more time.  I went from not being able to imagine giving up my time, to looking for teeny tiny windows of time, to having way more time than I want.  It has only been a little over 2 months.  The LONGEST 2 months of my life.

Uncle Paul

My brother Paul is about five and a half years younger than me.  I remember him as a baby and he was just about the cutest thing you ever saw.  He grew into such a curious little boy.  My girlfriends remember him coming to our soccer games and searching for bugs on the sidelines.  He loved bugs.  Once, when he was about 5 or 6 and I was 10 or 11 he found a CRAZY bug in my mom's old boyfriend's apartment garage..  It looked like this:

He lovingly named it "Abby Bug" and fed it daily "Gaines Burgers".  Paul also loved frogs.  My grandmother used to tell a story of strolling Paul through the condominium complex next to her building that had little pools with lily pads and fish and tadpoles and frogs.  She said, on this particular day, Paul leaped out of his stroller and ran off someplace, she couldn't even see him.  Then he came back to the stroller with a gigantic toad in his hands.  He still has an eye for frogs.  He denies this next story, but I promise you it happened - One night in Costa Rica, we were out at the old beach disco (Mar Y Sombre - recuerdes?).  Entonces, the road home is windy and straight uphill.  As we are climbing the hill in our cab, it is pouring rain and out of nowhere Paul yells, "STOP!"  The taxi driver screeches to a halt, my friend and I who were with him in the cab and the driver all look at Paul and Paul looks at us and says, "I thought I saw a frog". It's possible I have embellished the story somewhat but it is pretty close to the truth.  He knows lots about animals and bugs and is ridiculously smart.  Kid seriously got like a 1460 or something on his SATs.  When I was living in NY, I went to see the Darwin exhibit at the Natural History Museum and all I could think the whole time was, "Paul's brain works like this."  Paul loves kids.  He was also on the family bandwagon in worshipping our cousin Nathan.  He always was looking for the perfect presents for Nate and the two of them used to crack each other up.  As I recall, Paul bought Nathan his first drum set and now Natie is a drummer in his own band.  Well, Paul was PSYCHED to be an uncle.  He had BIG PLANS for what he and Max would do together in all of the years that were supposed to come.  Paul wanted to buy Max a microscope and teach him about science.  He wanted to get him science kits and play all sorts of games with him.  He was going to babysit and take care of him.  I actually lied when I said that only grandmothers had ever babysat for Max.  I forgot that one time my mom had to run out and left Max with her best friend Jackie and Uncle Paul.  It was during the reflux period and Max was super fussy.  I guess it was nearly impossible to get him down for his nap.  It breaks my heart that Paul didn't get a chance to babysit the easy Max, that he never got to teach him about frogs and pollywogs, that they never had the chance to sit and look through a microscope together.  I actually only have one photo of Max and Paul - a group photo from Passover of Paul, me, Max, Ted and Mandy.  It is framed on our bookshelf but I don't have the electronic version.  Breaks my heart that I don't have lots and lots of pictures of Max with his Uncle Paul.  And here is the understatement of the year -  Life just isn't fair.

Stronger than me

In the last two months, I have "met" so many amazing women who have lost children.  I have actually spoken to men and women who have lost children of all ages, but I have spent the most time trying to connect to and size up the women who have lost babies. What I can say about every single one of the women that I have spoken to are that they are stronger than me.  Many of them went back to work full time almost immediately because they were looking for a distraction (I don't want to be distracted from my grieving).  Many of them got pregnant right away (I am incredibly jealous...if you can even be jealous of someone who has been through what we have been through).  All of them have accepted that their child is gone and never coming back (while I am FIGHTING this every step of the way).

I am reading about life after death and near death experiences and reincarnation.  The other morning I was in the living room real early on the internet when Ted called to me, "What are you doing?", he asked.  "I am on the Dianetics website!", I called back to him.  "Get off the computer and come back into bed", he said.  I came into the room and he gave me a look and I said, "Listen, don't worry, I am not going to become a Scientologist.  I wouldn't want to humiliate you like that BUT - they DO believe in reincarnation...so, there's that."  OK, I have now come to understand that MANY world religions believe in reincarnation, like the Buddhists.  They are a respectable group, right?  I mean, half the Jews I know strive to be more Bu than Jew.  I also found out that the Kabbalists believe in reincarnation.  Dr Dwight, my OBGYN delivered Madonna's first baby Lourdes, and I went to elementary school with Guy Oseary, so here is something else we could have in common (She and I....best friends forever?)  Of course, becoming a Kabbalist might make my dad cringe a little, but I think even he could admit that at least we'd still be on the same holiday schedule.  I spoke to a psychic over the weekend and I am not going to tell you what she said here.  I don't want ANYONE to spoil the comfort that she gave me with her reading.  All I can say is HOLY SHIT!  This woman knew details of recent conversations that I have had with my family and friends and even details of stuff that has been happening in my head.  It was REAL specific too....not just like, "You are so incredibly sad and your baby loves you".  No.  (If you are skeptical, do me a favor - KEEP IT TO YOURSELF!)  If everything she said is true, I might as well stop mourning because Maxie is near me and he is well and we will be reunited again.  Of course, I cannot stop mourning.  I feel like it's my job.  I feel like a slacker when I do my actual job.  I am doing my best to create balance but I am aware that I am in the very early stages of this process.

Ok, but back to these women!  Were they on the search like I am?  Did they feel the desperate need to dig up all of the information that the world has to offer?  There were a couple who had more tragedy after this.  MORE TRAGEDY AFTER SIDS?  The thought is completely paralyzing.  Yet, they are still standing...everyone of them with new children and gigantic hearts.  I have a friend who recently asked me how I keep going.  Huh?  I am not sure what the choice is.  Like, why haven't I killed myself yet?  Believe me, there are many nights that I go to sleep and hope that I stop breathing but I don't see killing myself as an option.  Was she trying to say that if she was me, she would kill herself?  I am probably reading too much into it...as I OFTEN do these days.  I am not going to kill myself for the same reason I am not going to become a Scientologist.  It isn't really the answer.  How do I keep going?  I am not sure how one would define that.  I wake up in the morning because I have no choice.  I try to keep sleeping but I am not programmed for a fall hibernation.  I sit down and write this blog because it is what I have to do to keep myself sane and to honor Maxie's memory.  I eat because I get hungry.  I answer work emails and work on cleaning up files in our database because it distracts me and because again, I don't really think I have a choice.  Sometimes I go for  a walk because I think that eventually I want to have a healthy pregnancy.  Then, my husband comes home and we sit together until it is time to go to sleep and do it all over again.  Not really living...more like surviving.  Sometimes I have visions of doing so much more!   I imagine changing the world in Max's memory!  Growing from this experience and treating every second on earth like it is my very last, thereby ensuring myself the sweetest existence that ever was...filled with only things that make my heart pound with delight!  Pouring myself into my job and staying late at organizational functions just so I can be sure that no stone is left unturned...opening my heart with empathy to mean donors who yell at me, knowing that their lives are empty and that they take it out on me because they can!  Calling every person who ever touched my life to let them know what they have given me.  Yet, I ignore most phone calls from most people, I wear the same sweatpants every day, and I hardly leave my house.  I would love to be that person that I just described.  I think I ALWAYS wanted to be her.  But, now more than ever, it is clear to me that even SHE is stronger than ME.

Maxie's Cousins

This little boy of mine. He is in every thought I have.  He in every breath that I take.  I am consumed with the essence of who he was all day long.  Tiny little tush.  Sweet pursed lips.  Perfect smiling dimple on the right cheek.  Ears that stuck out a little, in the most adorable way.  The most expressive face.  My soulmate.  This boy loved his Mommy and his Daddy.  He loved his grandmas and grandpas.  And he LOVED his cousins, Mandy and Sadie.  It probably helped that they were both obsessed with him. So here are a few stories about cousins Mandy and Sadie - important cheerleaders in Maxie's fan club!  They were the BEST big cousins a little boy could ask for.

When I first found out that I was pregnant, I did not want anyone but family to know.  I knew that someone told Mandy, who I think was 4 at the time, and I was worried that she might let the cat out of the bag at my dad and stepmother's Passover Seder, where several couples that are their friends join each year.  I was not ready to share the news with my parents friends, or my friends for that matter.  As soon as I walked in the door, Mandy came over to me, grabbed my hand and said, "You have to sit next to me."  Then, she looked right at my stomach.  All through dinner, she would smile at me and then look at my stomach and then back at my face and then smile again.  It must have been the HARDEST secret to keep.  During a break in the seder, she said that there was something she needed to show me in her room.  She grabbed my hand and pulled me into her room and then told me to sit on her bed while she went in closed the door.  Then, she confronted me, "There is a baby in there!" she said while pointing at my belly and I said "Yes, there is, but it is a secret".  "Is it a boy or a girl?", she asked.  I said "We don't know yet but we think it might be a boy".  "I want a girl" she said.  "How big is the baby?", she asked.  "It is very very small", I said, "but he or she will grow a little bigger every week until eventually he or she will be as big as a basketball."  "WHY would you DO that to yourself?", she asked with a look of shock on her face.  I laughed and then so did she.  I said, "Uncle Teddy and I really want a baby and we really want to be parents."  Before going back to the table, I reminded her that this was our secret and not to let anyone know.  She stared at my stomach through the rest of the evening, as if she was waiting to see the basketball growing right there in front of her eyes.  She was GOOD at keeping a secret.  I was surely impressed!!  She was like that through the whole pregnancy - asking questions, shadowing me whenever I was around, talking about her cousin, hoping for a girl.  When Max finally came, she was thrilled to have a little boy cousin and was singularly focused on his every move (even when he wasn't moving, she wanted to watch him sleep).  I remember the evening of Max's bris, Mandy wanted to be in the room and watch me get him ready.  She was fascinated with watching me nurse him but panicked when I told her I was getting ready to change a diaper.  The adoration stopped there!  She was not interested in dirty diapers.  She continued to be a wonderful big cousin to Max, loving him unconditionally and hanging on his every squeak.

Cousin Sadie lives in Connecticut and she is younger.  She just turned 3.  Her first visit with Max was in Costa Rica.  She was immediately smitten with him.  We rented a car and the way the car seats were set up in the back, I was in the middle, squished between Sadie and Max.  Sadie wanted a clear line of vision to her "Cuzzin".  "Where's Maxie?  I can't see Maxie.  Where's my Cuzzin?"  I was either leaning forward or trying to sit as far back into the seat as possible so she could see him.  Sadie and Beth stayed in the downstairs part of our house and Teddy, Maxie and I stayed upstairs.  Sadie would come darting in our front door every morning, after naps and other reconvening times with only one thought "Where's Maxie?"  If he was napping, she'd say, "Oh, Maxie sleepin?".  If he was in his bouncy seat, she'd say "Maxie in his bouncy seat?"  Maxie had a little monkey (well, he actually had 4 of them) "angel dear" brand "loveys" - they are little soft blankets with stuffed animal heads.  Sadie had a friend at her daycare with a doggie version who called it his "woof woof".  Sadie always made sure that Maxie had his woof woof.  If Maxie cried, she would try to console him by patting his arm and saying, "Don't cry Maxie.  Iss okay Maxie".  Sadie LOVES her cousin Maxie and doesn't know that he is gone.  The thought of us visiting without Maxie is too much.

How can these little girls make sense of this unfairness?  How can it be that they will never see their favorite cousin again?  Just two more innocent victims of this terrible crime that nature committed against my little boy.  They too will miss his sweet little face, his long beautiful eyelashes, his cute little tummy.  They will never get to play with him or dress him up or read to him or show him off.  My heart is so broken for them and for all of us.  Of course, it's most broken for Maxie.  The little boy with the two most adoring cousins in the world.  I am so sad that he will never have the chance to love them back with as much passion as they loved him.

Papa's photo shoot

My dad, Papa Chuck, has always been really into photography.  I seem to remember him even having a darkroom in our home when we were little (or at least converting the bathroom into one from time to time). He takes great photos of landscapes, nature and people but he has always had an especially great eye for taking photos of children.  In his office, he has classic photos of my brother, Mandy (my niece) and I as babies.  Big closeups of our faces.  He really captured our expressions and the essence of our personalities.  I used to try and get Maxie over to see his grandparents as often as I could.  Timing out visits to my dad's house were tough because of naps.  I would try to put Max in the car just as a nap was starting and then drive slower than usual to get to his house (from Burbank to Woodland Hills).  Ted came sometimes but not all of the time.  The visit that produced Papa's photo shoot was really special.  When we first got to my dad's, the sun was not out at all, so we just hung out in the living room and watched the Justin Beiber movie with Mandy.  Awesome!  Then, the sun came out.  Ted and Mandy decided to swim with Maxie.  They had a great time.  I won't lie, you've seen some of these before: