Unraveling

Someone sent me an email not long ago saying that reading my blog was like watching someone unravel.  It stuck with me because it is true.  I am unraveled.  I feel like I have hit rock bottom but I have felt that before and been wrong.  Just when you think you are at the bottom, the ground falls out from under you and you find that you fall even further.  It is hard to imagine it getting any worse than this.  I feel like I have tried my best to do things that I think will make me/us better - acupuncture, grief counseling, writing, reading, getting pregnant (however short-lived that was), walking...  Nothing is working.  I am failing this test.  My brain feels like it is going to explode out of my head and I wish it just would already.  Sometimes I cannot even communicate with my own family.  I get mad when people tell me how to move forward.  I just want to be heard.  I am crumbling.  I am wilting.  There is nothing left of me.  In my worst nightmare, I never imagined my life like this.  I look in the mirror and I don't see me.  Who is this horrible, angry, ugly woman?  It's me.  My aunt sent photos the other day that she took a month or two before Max died.  It is like looking at a completely different family.  We look so happy.  Where do I go from here?

My monkey

From the moment Max was born, he was my monkey.  That was his nickname and that was his mascot.  Whenever someone saw some really good monkey stuff, it was Max's.  He had outfits, and chairs, and stuffed animals.  It flowed off my tongue and I knew that when he was big enough to really notice, he would identify with the little guys who came to visit our deck in Costa Rica every evening.  Sometimes the monkey turned into punky (as in punkin), but mostly he stayed a monkey.  My little monkey. My baby.

Today I am not sure I can get out of bed.  It has been 3 months since Max stopped breathing, 3 months since I did too.  It is still totally unbelievable to me.  Ted says it isn't unbelievable to him.  This is just our life.  This is what happened to us.  This is what happened to our son.  This is what we have to live with.  I guess I am in the bargaining stage.  I cannot accept it to be true.  I would die without Max!  And that is the cruelest part - I didn't die without Max.  I am still here, thinking about my little monkey all day long

What could I have done?

What could I have done differently?  If I was with him that morning, would it have happened?  If I hadn't gone for a bike ride and played with him a little longer, would he still be here?  Was it the greek yogurt and bananas I gave him for breakfast?  When he stopped breathing, he threw up bananas...could it have been them?  Maybe it was because he had started drinking formula?  It had only been a few weeks since I had introduced it and he was still getting breast milk, but could that have been the reason?  Perhaps I should have never sent him to daycare, but I didn't like the idea of him being home all day with a nanny.  I wanted him to be with other kids and he loved it there.  Still, I should have been with him.  Was he not getting enough vitamin C, Iron, what?  I worried about these things constantly, what did I miss?  Was it the vaccinations?  He had a Hepatitis B shot the week before.  I am not sure why an infant needs a Hepatitis B shot anyway.  Was there an abnormality that happened in his brain because of my prenatal care?  I trust my doctor and he told me throughout how great Max was doing.  I know I should have changed my pediatrician.  He was cold and socially inept and very traditional, but he diagnosed Max's jaundice so quick, I thought he was the right choice.  What could I have done differently so that Max would still be here with me?  Did I not police his daycare sleep environment well enough?  All of the other kids there are still alive.  Was his mattress here or there giving off fumes?  Should he have been wearing a monitor at all times?  He was perfectly healthy the morning of July 19th.  There was no indicator that this would happen.  I loved him as much as anyone loves their child.  I was madly in love with him (still am).  If there was nothing that I could have done, how will I make sure this never happens again?  How can I give you advice about how to make sure it doesn't happen to you?  I think about this all day long.  It intermingles with thoughts about where he is now. Does he know how much I love and miss him?  Why my baby?  I can't live without him!  He was so cute.  I loved the way he was in my arms, in his bumbo chair, when he slept, when he was in the bathtub, when he nursed, when he ate, when we danced, when I read to him, when I rubbed his back, when I sang to him.  I think about him all day long and what I could have done differently so that I could still admire all of those things I love about him.

Now you know

If you wondered why I ever left early or didn't come at all, it's because I wanted to be with Max instead.  If you thought it was rude that I left your wedding shower, baby shower, engagement party or wedding early, it's because I wanted to go home and play with my baby.  If you thought I was being selfish about not wanting to put on an event for work that I didn't think had much potential - you were right, I was.  I wanted to be with Max.  If you wondered why I didn't have a good excuse about why I couldn't make your Christmas party, your Halloween party, your Fourth of July party...now you know.  Were you curious why I left book club, or your dinner party before the fun really started?  Now you know.  Remember when you suggested that I bring Max along to go out to eat, get away for the weekend, or meet up at the park?  I was thinking about his naps and his bedtime and that is why I said no.  Maybe you already knew this.  Maybe you didn't understand.  In retrospect, I am more sorry for the time I missed with Max than for the times I said no.  I wish I could turn back the clock and say no to everyone I ever said yes to.  I don't regret doing stuff but I am glad I mostly declined the invitations.  I would give anything for one more hour, one more minute, one more second.  I spend every hour, every minute, every second, wishing I was sitting here watching him sleep or with him in my lap.  Anyway, I've been wanting to explain, so now you know.

World keeps spinning

I can't believe that the world keeps spinning without my Max.  I know that sounds cliche but it astounds me that life goes on for everyone I know (and don't know).  People are still going on vacations, going to parties, having meetings, figuring out their Halloween costumes, dropping their children off at daycare, having dinner parties, getting married, having babies.  I just can't believe it.  My world has been at a standstill for 88 days.  It has been 88 days since I last saw Maxie, last held him, last kissed him, last sung to him, last smelled him (unless you count this morning when I laid down in his room with his dirty laundry and smelled him all over it).  88 days feels like 88 years.  Some days it feels like anything bad that could happen to me, will, and it scares the hell out of me.  Other days, I am just so sad about the void of not having Maxie that anything else that could happen seems like nothing anyway.  I had some hope for a few weeks there about another baby.  I was scared that people would think that I was fixed once they knew I was pregnant, like one baby could ever replace another.  I was and am more scared that this could happen again.  I am reminded constantly that this will never happen again.  I try my best to believe that.  I guess if you believe that it will never happen to you, if you are so confident that you continue to book vacations, figure out Halloween costumes, have dinner parties, drop your kids off at daycare, have meetings, get married and get pregnant, I should believe that my chances for evil are the same as yours, which you believe don't exist.  So, I should try to believe, as you do, that nothing bad will happen (again).  Some days I am better at that than others.  I have more bad days than "good" and good days aren't really all that good to be honest.  As it turns out, October is "Pregnancy and Infant loss month" - that shouldn't be too hard for me to remember, right?  Another mommy who experienced a loss sent me this article yesterday.  I think it pretty much speaks for itself: The Heartache of Infant Loss.

Our Spot

If Max were still alive, he and I would be in Costa Rica this week with Prima Sharon, Grandma Susanna, and our friend Rob.  It was a trip that we were SO looking forward to!  It was going to be a trip to celebrate Max's first birthday and a trip for me to have lots of mommy and baby time before I planned to leave for Israel (in case I didn't make it obvious, I am not going to Israel either).  I was really excited to sit on the beach, in our spot, for a week, snuggling, playing, and reading.

The last time Max and I were in Costa Rica with Teddy, Auntie Beth and Sadie, we went down to the beach on our first day there and set up camp right in the spot where Ted and I got married.  I loved the fact that I was relaxing in that exact spot a year and a half later with Maxie.  Everyone did a lot of swimming and playing in the sand.  Max and I mostly sat on the reclining chair, him leaned up against my bent knees and stared at each other, relaxing and making silly faces.

Look at this boy.  He is an angel.  He is in my soul day and night.  I am supposed to be THERE with HIM right now.  NOT sitting here wondering how my beautiful life fell apart.  Will I ever see him again?  Will we meet in heaven?  I am having a hard time with the unknown, but I NEED to kiss this face again.  Until then, I will spend every minute wishing that he and I were sitting together in our spot.

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.