120 Days

The VERY FIRST thing I have to say is that my niece Mandy is a big sister!  My step-sister Lyndsey had a beautiful baby girl 2 days ago.  Her name is Camille.  We are so very happy for Lyndsey, Vahe and Mandy!  We can't wait to meet the new addition to the family.  I know Maxie has probably already met this little cousin and if he loves her nearly as much as he loved Mandy, she will have a little guardian angel for life.  Congratulations!  We love her already!


Now that I have told you about Baby M, there is so much to catch you up on ... and THANK YOU for all of the beautiful comments, texts and emails congratulating us.  Being pregnant during such a heavy time of grief is so hard.  While there is this really awesome chance at a new beginning...the fear, the guilt, the hormones, the strangers comments (because I show), the genetic testing worries and everything else is just endless.  There are so many stories to tell but I want to start by telling you the story about our "120th day", because it is a good one.


According to Yogi practice (and it is a practice, not a religion), the soul comes into the body on the 120th day after conception.  The reason that my therapist (aka - spiritual counselor) told me to try and be positive these last weeks is because my 120th day was approaching and we wanted a really evolved and lovely soul to enter our baby...not a dark soul.  Listen, do I know what I am talking about?  No.  But, I figured it couldn't hurt to try.  For months, she'd been telling the class about Ted, Maxie and I.  She had told them of our loss and how much we have been hurting.  In the last few weeks, she has been telling them about the fact that I am pregnant again and has been asking them to send us prayers and positive energy for the baby.  On the 120th day, the class gathered together for the purpose of sending prayers and love to Baby M.  It was a hippie's delight, no doubt.  There were probably 60 people there.  At the start of class, people we'd never met approached us and brought us presents (yes, Ted was there too).  They brought us silk scarves and candles and jewelry and fragrant soaps and yogi chanting CDs and crystals....I even got a "Best Mom" Oscar award.  The presents came with cards and hugs and well wishes.  Throughout the class, the teacher asked everyone to focus on bringing light to the baby and the parents (us).  Towards the end of class, everyone did a meditation on Baby M and then afterwards, people came to us with more presents and hugs and kind words.  Make no mistake, we also heard some very weird stuff (as to be expected) but even that stuff put a smile on our faces.  After we left the studio, we gathered in a courtyard and handed out tangerines. Does this sound totally made up?  Because I promise you, it is not. Also, someone in the class baked delicious cookies for everyone in honor of the occasion.  Here are photos from the day.

During a meditation.  Ted and I sat in the back of the room.

From Left to Right: My teacher (therapist/spiritual guide) Tej, Me (in my "Rainbow Baby tank top that my friend Rachel made me!), Ted (sporting his grief beard that he has been growing since Max passed and his Team Maxie T-shirt), and Tracy (our grief counselor, who we love)

Tej and I.  I was telling her that every night before I got to sleep, I pray that Maxie's spirit will come into the new baby's body.  It's true, I do pray for this.  Don't worry, I already love Baby M, no matter whose spirit comes in.

Some of the presents that we received from others in the class.

As I recapped the whole experience from my perspective to Tej last week, she laughed and said that my description made it sound like a New Age sitcom.  It did have a little bit of a "Dharma and Greg" vibe to it for sure.  I also described the scene to my boss, Russell.  For some reason, I get a kick out of trying to convince him that I am a California nut - not that he needs any convincing at all....he told me that he refers to me as "The lIttle Birkenstock".  The truth is that I am probably the least "granola" person in that yoga class (though that ain't saying much).  Ted and I have definitely swung a little crunchier since Max passed.  Speaking for myself, I can say that I find myself (willingly or unwillingly) on some sort of a spiritual search and material stuff seems less and less important to me.  Have I gone off the deep end?  Probably a little....but that should come as no surprise.  I am looking for Max, hoping to find him in some meditation or prayer or dream...hoping he'll come back to me in my new child, or at least in his smile or the shine in his eyes.  I am looking to be embraced and loved, even with my flaws and baggage and sorrow.  I am looking for renewed hope and optimism, even though all I can see most of the time is darkness.  I am counting down the days until Baby M gets here so I can love him with all of my heart, like I loved his big brother.  Until then, I am just killing as much time as possible.


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You KNOW I like to brag about my fundraising friends.  The newest addition is Erika.  Ted met Erika at his old job at Marmol Radziner.  Erika was, in fact, his "work wife".  I have always loved Erika and was glad that Ted had such a Type A woman (like me) looking over him during the work day.  We have had lots of fun times with Erika and her husband Ian.  They were two of our first visitors when we moved into our new house.  They brought us champagne and by the end of the night, Erika and I were country partner dancing at the Mexican restaurant down the street (with 2 drunk type-A women in the mix, it was impossible to figure out who was going to lead).  Erika fell for Max immediately.  She is a natural with babies and showed me a really comfortable way to hold and bounce him.  One of my favorite examples of how easy of a baby Max was is from Erika's birthday dinner at our house, when we put him to sleep and then had a full piñata party in the backyard.  Erika has set up her own fundraising page and will be working registration at our event next Thursday.  If I had to choose my husband's work wife, she is the one I would pick (good going Ted).  Erika's fundraising page is here: 5 K for Maxie's Forest.  
Our event is only 6 days away (lord, have I got a lot to do!).  Don't forget to sign up ahead of time by registering online: Maxie's Benefit.

Maxie's Little Brother

There is one thing in our lives right now that gives us lots of hope.  Hope of future happiness, hope of being a family again, hope of seeing a little bit of Maxie.....in another little boy.  Maxie's little brother is due July 25, 2012.  140 days until we get to see his little face, snuggle with him, sing to him, and kiss him all over.  Mommy and Daddy cannot wait to meet you, Baby M!

Maxie, thank you for making sure that we got another baby boy!  He's exactly what we wanted!

Unknown Brother Lyrics

by

The Black Keys

Though I never met you

And we spoke not a word

Ill never forget you

From the stories that I've heard

For you unknown brother

My baby's mothers pain

Cause your soul is in heaven

But your memory remains

Unknown

Unknown brother

Ill meet you someday

Unknown

Unknown brother

We walk through fields 

Where children play

Your eyes shine bright

When you were a kid

Your sisters loved you

And all that you did

Big brother, big brother

Don't worry a bit

Your flame has not faded

Since the day it was lit

Your life was joy

Your mommas only boy

And when the skies are blue

Big brother

They're blue for you

We will smile like pictures

Of you as a boy

Before you retired

To Heavenly joy

Unknown

Unknown brother

I'll meet you someday

Unknown

Unknown brother

We walk through fields 

Where children play

Our DNA scavenger hunt

A friend of Ted's family is a doctor and was a leading SIDS researcher in the 70s and 80s.  When Ted received a copy of Max's autopsy report from the coroner's office, he sent the report to his mom to give to the friend.  The friend reviewed the report and called to let my in-laws know that he felt one of the findings in the report was something that we should look further into.  This finding was that Max apparently had a fatty liver, not something commonly seen in a nine month old baby.  He believes that this might be suggestive of some kind of metabolic disorder.  Thus began the wild goose chase that we have been on for the last few weeks.

I called my mom, who called her friend who is an oncologist at Kaiser who called her friend who...I don't know, led us to a geneticist at UCLA.  I also got to the same geneticist through my mom's other friend, who is a hand specialist at children's hospital, who put me in touch with an endocrinologist, who put me in touch with the UCLA doctor.  My doctor also put me in touch with his colleague who is a geneticist at Cedars, who put me in touch with a metabolic specialist.  Through many discussions and emails (though I am sure it isn't even 1/8th of what is to come), I have learned some potentially scary things....about some very expensive tests that need to be done, about the success rate of these tests and whether we could actually pinpoint the disorder (less than 50%), about the possibility of Ted and I both being carriers of some rare genetic disorder, about the potential for our future children to end up with the same disorder. I haven't had much peace of mind lately (as if I ever do anymore anyway).  We have experienced some real lows and lowers in the last few weeks....with a few momentary highs sprinkled in (when I say "highs"....I mean, getting a phone number, making contact, hearing new theories that are less scary).  One of the worst parts for Ted especially has been trying to get information out of the coroner who performed Max's autopsy. I am sure it won't surprise you to hear that he is a very cold, robotic man.  He answers questions in one word.  He holds on to information like it is gold, he never puts out a real conclusion (assuming he is worried about being held to it).  I can't figure out why the hell we needed to have an autopsy done if the coroner cannot give us any idea as to what he thinks happened.  You, as the parent, need to then take the report and try to find people who can interpret it and believe me when I tell you, no two people come back to you with the same conclusions.  Additionally, he is only holding on to Max's specimens for a year (so, until July), which means we have to have all testing done by then...even though we didn't get his report back until December 31st!!!!  Happy New Year to us!  This is the guy who performs autopsies on most of the children in Los Angeles County.  The thought sends shivers up my spine.  I can't imagine a more vulnerable population to have to work with such an uncaring dude.

Getting to the bottom of what happened to Max is really important for our plans to have more children.  Perhaps we might find that Max had a disorder that can be tested for (though there are hundreds that apparently cannot be tested for).  Perhaps that disorder can be treated (though that isn't a guarantee either).  Then, we could test future babies for that same disorder and hopefully treat it.  I know I speak for Ted and I both by saying that would be the best case scenario and still it would CUT us to the core knowing that Max had a disorder, that if found, could have been treated.  Actually, the BEST case scenario would be that we test future babies and find that they don't have the disorder.  The more likely scenario is that we will spend thousands of dollars on genetic testing and maybe find out a whole bunch of disorders that we are potentially carriers for, become even more scared, and not ever pinpoint what happened to our sweet pea.

You can ask me all the questions you want and I may or may not write back with any detailed descriptions.  It is incredibly overwhelming actually.  Though I will say that I suddenly sound like an expert on fatty acid metabolic disorders, something I hadn't even heard of until now.  All I know for sure is this - becoming a parent, having my life go from really nice to totally awesome and unbelievable and then losing my baby baby and having it turn into misery and horror, has been a complete nightmare.  Once I get to be a parent again, I NEVER want to have to go through this again.  I want to become a parent and then stay one for the REST OF MY LIFE.  (and ya, I know I am a parent to a baby in heaven - but I actually want to do the parenting on earth thing.....believe it or not).  I will do everything in my power to ensure that any future babies stay alive (of COURSE, I did that with Max also).

And, listen, I know I stepped RIGHT into this one - BUT - when Major General Doron Almog, who has lost a brother, two children, and five family members, in addition to the "usual" losses of a father and both in-laws, advises me to concentrate on the living - it is sound advice that sounds cold and very difficult to actually do.  When a girlfriend with two living parents and 2-3 living children gives me the same advice, it makes my face turn red and my insides bust open, and I about turn into the Incredible Hulk...complete with the monster anger and green with envy bit.  But, since I am trying (oh lord it is hard) to stay "positive", I can appreciate that you always mean well.  And, I KNOW you DO mean well.  So, thank you for echoing the sound advice.

Unexpected Support

A few days ago, I was working on gathering information for a Homeland Security Grant for JNF.  I wrote a long email to a security expert and then sent it to, what I thought, was his email address.  In the meantime, outlook had actually pulled up another person with the same first name and inserted his address.  This happens a lot actually.  I sent a long email about Max recently meant for my parents to a graduate school peer who I haven't seen in over ten years.  He never responded but I noticed the mistake.  Doh!  Anyway, the person I sent the Homeland Security email to accidentally is a well known actor/comedian.  I know him because he MC'd our JNF dinner for two years and I often corresponded with him through email.  He is a very good guy.  One of the very few famous people that actually made a donation (and a significant one) to our cause in addition to hosting the evening for us for nothing.  He wrote me back and simply said, "I think this email was meant for some other Jew...Hope you are doing well".  I can't tell you how many donors or talent people I could have accidentally sent this message to and received an angry tirade back from....or maybe I could, because it has happened.  I am not sure why, but I decided to write him back and tell him what happened to Max.  Perhaps because I feel like it is important for me to keep telling Max's story.  He responded immediately with the nicest email telling me how sorry he was and also saying that he had a very close friend who had experienced the same kind of loss (literally: his friend lost his first child, a nine and a half month old boy).  He then offered to put me in touch with this friend.  I accepted because I find it healing to connect to other parents, as I have mentioned.  He immediately got in touch with his friend and then wrote me back minutes later with all of the contact information.  Sometimes comfort and kindness comes from a very chance happening and someone who isn't particularly close.  It is refreshing.  I can't tell you how many people who I was super close to or have known well for years that I wrote to about Max and never heard any response....or maybe I can, because it has happened.
Yesterday I met for coffee with Doron Almog and his wife Didi.  They contacted me yesterday morning saying that they would be in LA for a few days and asked if I had time to meet with them.  I wrote about them before but I can't remember where in the history of this blog I did that.  He is an Israeli general - a hero at Entebbe, and they have been together for almost 40 years.  The last time I saw them, I think I was pregnant with Max.  They have been fundraising for years to continue building a very unique village in Southern Israel for individuals living with the most severe developmental disabilities.  They started building the village - Aleh Negev (click the link for a short film about the village.  Doron is the first speaker) as a place for their son, Eran, to live.  Then, suddenly and without warning, Eran died.  This was I think about 4 years ago and they continue building the village today.  I have loved them since the minute I met them.  They have suffered great losses in their lives - starting with Doron's brother, who was killed in the Yom Kippur War.  Eran was named for him.  They also lost 5 members of their family in a suicide bombing at a restaurant in Haifa in 2003....including an old friend of mine, Moshe Almog.  Moshe and I used to lifeguard together at the WJCC when I was a teenager.  I also learned yesterday that they actually lost a baby girl 13 days after her birth many years ago.  Life has not been easy for them but they are full of love, hope, and happiness.  They invited me to come and meet with them.  I loved having the chance to learn from them but also felt, after leaving them, that they were so much stronger than I can ever be.  Didi told me that after Doron's brother was killed, his mother decided that she didn't want to be the kind of woman that people crossed to the other side of the street to avoid.  She wanted to be the kind of woman that people wanted to greet.  She is still alive and happy today.  I asked Doron how he connects to all of those people that he has lost.  He told me that he concentrates on connecting to the living.  Easier said than done for me but wise advice.  They had a night of fundraising ahead of them but I had SO many more questions for them...as I do for every parent who has lost a child.  I sometimes worry if people don't regret connecting with me by the time I get started.  My questions and tears and fears never end.  I am sure I will be on the other side of the conversation at some point down the road.
I am not completely sure of the connection between these two stories other than to say that I met my actor/comedian friend because of his support for Aleh Negev and his connection to Doron.  In the last two days, all of these people have brought me some sense of comfort and support, during a period of especially high stress, and it was a nice surprise.  As I left Doron and Didi, they each hugged me and kissed me on the cheeks and told me, "Everything will be alright.  You'll see".  I am waiting......

A Secret

I want to tell you a secret that you aren't going to want to hear.  I am really nervous and feeling anxious (and a little dread) about the weekend for Maxie, just like I felt about the NY Marathon weekend in November.  You see, of course it is AMAZING to know that so many people support us and are giving charitably to help us memorialize our son.  It is a gift to have a venue to celebrate his life.  But, it isn't actually a happy occasion that brings us together.  The occasion is that my son is dead.  And, for that reason, it is very bittersweet and frightening to me.  It is frightening because there will be comics making jokes and people smiling at me and wanting to joke around and "catch up".  I will probably want to do the same.  You won't see (I hope) that I am dying on the inside...as I do every day.  I am scared about the idea of getting up early on Saturday, strapping on my tennis shoes and going out into a crowd of hundreds of people and merrily walking along as if this is the most normal and obvious thing to do.  That our life now is that we have to organize walkers to meet up and memorialize my son is frankly, somewhat sickening to me.  Under the circumstances, it is the most beautiful thing I can think to do - but the circumstances are in fact, sickening.  Honestly, I am playing it by ear.  The idea that we are having "to do something" to memorialize my sweet baby, because he is dead, is paralyzing to me....not entirely something that makes me feel celebratory.  Now, does this mean that I am not thrilled that you are coming to be there with us? No!  I can't wait to see you. Does it mean that I wish we weren't doing it?  Not at all.  I feel so lucky that we have such great support.  But, it does mean that I wish we didn't have a reason to do it and it does mean that it kills a piece of my soul that this is the only way I get to mother my child.  Like I said yesterday, you might see us smiling but on the inside, we are sick with sadness.  We will be happy to see you, but we wish it were under different circumstances.  We are so blessed to have so many friends and family who have contributed so generously to plant a forest in Maxie's memory, but I would burn every forest in Israel (and anywhere else) down to the ground if I thought it would bring my son back.  I am sure you know this intellectually but I know you probably hadn't really thought of it from this perspective.  It is, like everything, not what it should be.  I am still Maxie's mother and my love and devotion to him will not die just because he did.  The Abby you knew died on the day that Maxie died.  A huge part of me is with him and isn't coming back and it is painful to know that during that weekend, I will be doing my best to pretend like everything is wonderful, instead of totally broken.

My friend Jessica sent this to me yesterday and I wanted to share it here:

“Do not judge the bereaved mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.

She smiles, but her heart sobs.

She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.

She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”

–Author Unknown

Faking it

Trying to find a positive spin when life has handed you a pile of crap is totally exhausting.  Yesterday I just burned out.  Ted and I went to breakfast, where we were greeted with two happy families with little people in the 8-14 months range and, as usual, it broke me.  It always breaks me to see that the rest of the world gets to enjoy what I don't.....their babies.  I don't care how "positive" I spin it, the fact is that what happened to Max and us is f**king horrible.  When we got home from the after breakfast supermarket trip, I just got right back into bed.  I have a new found ability to shut off all of my thoughts when I am in a horizontal position.  It doesn't work all of the time (seems to not work as well in the middle of the night) but often I can lay for hours, awake, and not have a single thought.  It is a little harder when the sounds of construction are happening directly behind my head (Ted worked hard all weekend on our bathroom/closet renovation) and when the little boys next door are running around screaming, riling up Jake and Layla and calling for their Mommy over and over.  It still felt like the better option than getting out of bed and thinking the same thought all day - That this is f**king horrible.  IT JUST IS!  And I miss him SO much.  And, I will miss him for the rest of my life.

A few of you have noticed how much my attitude has changed lately.  I feel obliged to tell you that I am faking it.  I know it may not be obvious to you...because I am doing my best to fake it so well that I actually start to believe it myself.  When you see me at Maxie's Benefit, when you talk to me on the phone about a work issue, when we engage in an email conversation about hair care products or The Real Housewives of Wherever... and when I seem AT ALL like my old self, I am faking it.  You may not want to know it or acknowledge it, but it would feel inauthentic to me to just let you believe that it's all good now.  And, if someday, you have to experience a tragedy that is even 1/10th as difficult as this, you will know what I am talking about.  But, see, that IS the change.  I couldn't fake it for the first 7 months.  Now, I can fake it intermittently.  That is the actual progress.  So, here I am again.  The start of a new week.  I am going to try and fake my way through another week of "positivity".  I know I have asked before but I am going to ask again....because when I asked for this favor last time, you didn't really listen to me.....PLEASE do not write to me half way through this week to tell me how you have noticed the happy change in me.  On the one hand, I appreciate that you are reading my blog and care about my state of mind...but, on the other hand, I am TELLING YOU that this positivity thing is something that I am having to WORK to make happen.  It isn't coming naturally, and it is a big, big lie, capiche?

Killing Time

Yesterday I wrote that Ted and I were just killing time until we can be with Max again.  The thought of just trying to get through this life quickly and moving to the next stage, where we get to all be together again, is a serious comfort.  I even find it somewhat uplifting.  It forces me to think of the fact that I HAVE to be here and so while I am here, I better find things to pass the time or it will just drag on SO slowly.  I am thinking about getting it ("killing time") tattooed on myself somewhere that I can always be reminded that no matter what is going on - good or bad - that it is just time filler until I get to be reunited with my beloved baby.  "Positive week" went by a little quicker than all of the weeks that came before it since Maxie's death and so this is how I am trying to frame my thinking on a "good day".  I have only had a handful of good days since Max died.  "Good days" are about as good as what I used to call "bad days" before Maxie died --- so let's not get carried away.  Good is still bad......... in my "new normal".  On the new bad days, I become convinced that I will never meet up with Max again.  That there is nothing after this life.  That it is all meaningless.  Those bad days are worse than you can ever imagine (unless you've lost a child).  They are so dark and empty.  On those bad days, I often don't get out of bed.  I am trying to refocus my thinking so that I have more and more "good days" (relatively speaking) but it isn't easy.  NONE OF THIS IS EASY.  I am hoping that this dream of mine, where I get to spend eternity with my baby boy, is reality.  It's really all I have.

Planning for Maxie's Benefit has helped to make the days pass a little quicker.  It has given me a reason to hope for more "good days".  By joining us at this benefit, you are helping us to celebrate Maxie's short but very meaningful life.  If you haven't registered yet, please do think about joining us.  To register online now: Click here.  We hope that you will enjoy the evening, as it is sure to be meaningful as well as fun.  If you cannot make it but would like to support Maxie's Forest, please consider supporting a participant in the 5k we are doing on Saturday, March 17th.  The list of walkers/runners is here: http://www.jnf.org/support/tributes/in-memory-of-max-leviss.html.  Pick one you know, or choose the one who looks like they need the most help.  They will appreciate it nearly as much as we do because, as I have mentioned, fundraising ain't easy and these friends and family members have taken on a meaningful but challenging task.

One more 5k fundraiser who just signed up that I want to mention is my Pitzer College pal, Kate Spitser.  Kate's page has not been linked to the main site yet, but you can find it here: Kate Spitser fundraising page.  Katie and I met in French class, which still makes no sense to me since she speaks beautiful French and I can barely piece together a very basic sentence.  She was quickly adopted by my circle of girls and officially made a "Herbetta" (that's what they called us in college.  I never understood nor liked the name that much but it stuck.).  Kate and I share a love for learning foreign languages and traveling abroad by ourselves (not together, but alone).  We both have a thing for Central America and bargain massages as well.  She is a unique soul who I love so much.  If you know her, I know you would agree.

There are many other people supporting us by literally walking beside us in the 5k.  I know that I don't know everyone who has signed up but thank you to Prima Sharon, Stefanie Elkins, Liesel Reinisch, Tamar Tamler, Carmen Abramian, Suzy Koudsi, Gigi and Papa L and anyone else who is planning to walk with us that day.  We look forward to having support while we continue to put one foot in front of the other.  If you would like to register for the 5k, click here: Link to 5k registration.  Then let me know if you will be there that day.  Our team captain, Auntie Beth, is contacting folks to let them know where we plan to meet up that morning.  I think online registration closes this week.

Something tells me that the Benefit weekend will be a good one (actually good, not just "good) and that it will pass by quickly!  I am mostly just hoping not to have a repeat of my NY marathon panic attack.  If I can keep it together for all of the days ahead, that will be a good first step.

Forever Missing

Just imagine how awesome it would have been to watch this baby grow up.  I ache for this boy!

Hey Baby - We are just killing time here until we get to be with you again.  Please wait for us.  We love you.

Date night

Last night Ted and I went "out on the town".  We met up for a nice dinner after work and then went to our first grief group meeting.  Though I am glad we went, I am so glad that I never attempted to get to a meeting like this before last night.  Honestly, I don't even think I would have been ready for it last week.  My big conflict when thinking about attending a group has been that the groups that we are meant to go to are for parents who have experienced miscarriage, stillbirth and infant loss.  The vast majority of attendees are in the first two categories, the groups I connected with usually only had one other parent of a baby between 1 day and 1 year old who had passed.  One of the group leaders told me that parents who have lost children over 1 years old aren't comfortable with parents who have lost babies and so that is why they group it the way they do.  Before I go any further, let me say again, my heart bleeds for women who have experienced miscarriage and stillbirth and I have met so many of these women over the past seven and a half months.  There is SO much that we relate about - the isolation, the knowledge that nobody gets it, the taboo nature of discussing our loss....but I really have felt like in order for a group to really be helpful to me at this stage, I need to connect with people who have had the experience of losing a child that had been born and lived a while and been integrated into their parent's lives after their birth.  I'm not sure I can accurately articulate it but that is how I have felt.  I know Ted has felt the same.  Afterall, the father bonds with the baby much more after the baby is born.  While Ted did read to Max while I was pregnant with him and was so excited for his arrival, they really fell in love after Max was born.  Ted didn't feel kicks or hiccups or feet pressed up against his ribs before Max came out either.  Also - I am sure part of my not wanting to go to the first group also has to do with my desire to have more children.  Having to go through pregnancy, delivery and the first year of life with another child is so daunting and scary to me.  I need to try, as best as I can, to keep the worst case scenarios out of my head for now (just as some friends who are pregnant now have told me that keeping the idea of what happened to us out of their realm of possibilities is important for them at this stage).  Enough excuses - Ted and I went to a meeting for people who had lost children of all ages and it was HEAVY, as expected.  The room was filled with mostly parents but also a few siblings.  A lot of the stories were violent - quite a few murders.  There were a few parents of children who died of diseases, a couple of car accidents, drunk driving, and drug overdoses.  Each story so heartbreaking, so unnecessary, and so hurtful.  The stories were all so disconnected in one sense, and in other ways, it was so clear how connected we all really were.  At one point Ted said to me, "these are our people".  I guess they are now.  There were a lot of people who were out for justice, others who had given up that battle, others with nobody to blame.  Everyone spoke about how in the period after the loss, their circle of support dwindled to one or two people.  They spoke about the hostility that colleagues and former friends expressed for them, the constant insensitive things that people said to them "He is in a better place", "At least you had her for 17 years", "What did you DO for THAT to have happened to you?", "At least you have another child".  I could go on and on actually.  Many spoke about the desire of other people to see them get "better".  There were people in the room who had lost children 20 years ago - they confirmed that you don't get better, it just gets different.  Ted and I didn't do any talking after introducing ourselves.  We just listened.  After the meeting, we were getting ready to bolt, when the nicest woman came over to introduce herself to us.  She had lost an eight year old daughter 18 years ago.  The pain in her eyes revealed a grief that was so fresh, it could have happened a month ago.  Within two sentences she said, "Tell me about your son.  Tell me about Max".  I couldn't control my tears at that point.  All of my emotions came flooding out.  "Thank you so much for asking about him", I said.  I felt grateful to talk about him - how cute he was, how he was just about to start crawling (she remembered that phase well), how he was such a good baby, such a good boy.  We asked about her daughter - I think I need to respect her privacy here but the story makes me want to leap out of my skin, fly to the heavens, and ask god why life can be so cruel.  Ted and I loved this woman.  She made the whole meeting worth it to me.  An incredible and lovely soul.  Why?!!!!!  Why did she have to lose her precious little girl?  It makes me so angry.  But, she acted like a role model for us...for me, at least (can't speak for Ted).  I hope in 18 years (or less), I can approach the newcomer parents who are newly fresh with grief and just listen while they tell me about their beloved child.  It was such a gift.

Acceptance

I have a whole leg in the acceptance phase of grief now.  Before it was only a toe.  I am still not jumping in with my whole body.  And while I sort of hate the acceptance phase, there are many positive things about it (This is positive week, people, remember?).  I have spent most of the last seven months battling the idea that my beautiful life is gone.  I have been trying to imagine a scenario where I will ever be as happy as I was before Max died.  When I couldn't imagine it (because it is not imaginable), I would start to panic.  Acceptance means knowing that I may never be as happy again as I was before Max died, and that is ok.  It just is what it is.  Our grief counselor says to be open to all of my greatest desires.  I always have to remind her that my GREATEST desire is to be with Max again.  The rest of the greatest desires go like this - Ted and I "win the lottery" (become wealthy somehow), we have 3-4 more kids (they don't all need to be birthed by me), we have a full time high-risk pediatrician as our live-in nanny (she got tired of the hospital life.  She also cooks because I do most of the child care myself.  She is just there to constantly monitor heart rate and look for shallow breathing and stuff). I develop my mediumship skills so that I can EASILY communicate with Maxie whenever I want.  We take awesome family vacations, lots of trips to the park, everyone is healthy, no more tragedies, the whole family gets along great and really makes an effort to understand and love one another.  It's a good list - probably not incredibly realistic, but good.  Here is the thing though, even if this dream came true, my heart would still be broken forever.  Yes, even if I could psychically speak to Max all day long, it wouldn't be the same as having him here, on my lap, for me to put my arms around and hug and kiss.  I've tried so many times to imagine the scenarios that could bring back pure happiness and joy and they just don't exist.  It's ok though.  That is acceptance.

Acceptance is also lowering my expectations.  As I have mentioned, I have fought and fought to deeply connect to people in my grief....sometimes that means my friends, sometimes it means my own parents.  It hasn't really worked out and it hasn't done much but pull us apart.  I have to accept that people don't want to meet me "in the pit" and they will need to accept that I may not come out of the pit as soon as they would like.  We grieve differently and guess what?  If you end up having a tragedy, check your expectations at the door.  The only one you can depend on is yourself.  The hardest part about that is that you will be a fraction of the person you once were and you won't think that you can depend on yourself.  You will be constantly looking for someone to save you and they won't.  That is a hard lesson but I have accepted it.  It is up to you to save your own life so you better decide that you want to do that.  I didn't.  For the LONGEST time.  Not only did I not want to save my own life, I prayed for some new tragedy to take me out.  I have accepted finally that my life is worth saving.

By the way, I really believe I am probably one of the luckiest ones because my husband has saved my life many times since our son died.  I just didn't always recognize that he was doing it.  I can now look back and see that he has had his own life to save.  That he has had the strength to give me even an ounce of effort says so much about him.  He is more of a knight in shining armor than I could have ever imagined.

Anyway, my new (not so new anymore because I met her RIGHT after Max died) friend down the street who lost her daughter to SIDS sent me this poem (not really a poem but I am calling it that for lack of something else to call it) shortly after we met.  I liked it then and it made sense but it makes more sense as the months go on.  It's possible I shared it here before and don't remember (that is my new biggest PTSD problem - I can't remember anything.  And, if you know me, you KNOW that remembering things has never been my strongest skill).  If I've posted it before I apologize.  Regardless, it is new in the context of my new state of being.  I kept her intro here:

Hey Abby, 

I found this online a few months after our daughter died and really could identify with it.  I have saved it in my email for over 3 years because I can still read it now and still relate to it.  Thought you could definitely relate too...

The Pit 
The day my child died, I fell into the pit of grief. My friends watched me struggle through daily life, waiting for the person I once was to arise from the pit, not realizing "she" is gone forever.  The pit is full of darkness, heartache and despair, it paralyzes your thoughts, movements and ability to ration. The pit leaves you forever changed, unable to surface the person you once were. 

Some of my pre-grief friends gather around the top of the pit, waiting for the old me to appear before their eyes, not understanding what’s taking me so long to emerge. After all, in their eyes, I've been in the pit for quite some time. Yet in my eyes, it seems as if I fell in only yesterday.  Not all of my pre-grief friends are gathered around the top of the pit. Some are helping me with the climb out of the darkness. They climb side by side with me from time to time, but mostly they climb ahead of me, waiting patiently at each plateau. Even with these friends I sometimes wonder if they are also waiting for the pre-grief me to magically appear before their eyes.  Then there are the casual acquaintances, you know the ones who say, "Hi, how are you?" when they really don't care or really want to know. These are the people who sigh in relief, that it is my child who died and not theirs. You know...the "better them, than me" attitude. 

My post-grief friends (and a rare pre-grief friend) are the ones who climb with me, side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit with me. They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance, rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move forward when I don't have the strength. They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to smile more often and find joy in life, but they also accepted the person I've become. The "person" who is emerging from the pit. 

*Author Unknown

Bravery

An open letter to anyone who I have hurt or has hurt me over the last seven months:

Dear Friends, Family, Colleagues, and Acquaintances,

I am sorry for any hurt I have caused you.  Losing Maxie, my son, has brought out the very worst in me at times and for that, I am not proud.  Sometimes in life there are instances that bring you to your knees and you forget that most of the people around you are still bouncing along.  That you are not in the pit with me is something I forget and when I remember it, I just feel envy.  I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  At the same time, I forgive you for not being brave all of the time, because I think that is what it comes down to: Not being brave enough to say, "I'm so sorry that Max is gone"; not being brave enough to acknowledge our loss; not being brave enough to acknowledge that there is no "bright side" to our losing our child.  I am sorry that I have not been brave enough to put on a happy face and just ignore the elephant in the room.  I am sorry for reminding you of my loss and pushing Max down your throat when you just wanted to check in on something much more benign or enjoy a casual lunch.  I forgive you for having not been very brave and only asking about the "easy stuff" - like - how my job is going...how the renovations are coming along.  I hope you will forgive me for not being brave enough to really answer.  Sorry that I put superhuman expectations on you when you are just a normal person.  That wasn't fair.  I am sorry that I haven't been brave enough to face friends, go to my office, care about how uncomfortable my situation makes you, or find the silver lining.  I am sorry that I have been searching for answers and have become frustrated and angry with those people who haven't had or haven't been willing to give me the answers that I need.  I am sorry that I have become angry with those of you who have given me answers that I don't want to hear.  You have meant well when you have tried to talk sense into me (that I can still have other children and things can only get better).  You just had no idea that you were trying to reason with someone for whom logic went out the door when the baby died.  I forgive you for putting on your biggest grin to greet us at our lowest point, when I felt you should have been holding your arms open to embrace us in our pain.  I understand now that you just weren't brave enough.  It was enough that you were willing to be near us.  I know it was something that probably scared you.  You were brave to just keep talking to us.  Some weren't as brave...and I forgive them too.  I am sorry that I wasn't brave enough to return your gigantic grin and play along.  I just didn't have it in me.  I have known all along that it is my job to be the braver one.  To brave through this heartache and to make you feel ok about your lack of bravery.  Again, I haven't been courageous enough as of yet to take on this role, which is why you haven't seen much of me.  I haven't been ready to live up to my end of the bargain - where you get to smile and gossip or tell me about your troubles (which sometimes seem blown out of proportion to me) and I act like everything is right in the world or where I act as compassionate as I keep hoping you will be.  I am sorry that I have been judgmental about what you are going through - I am sure that I was more sympathetic before my son died.  I wish I could be fun and smiley or a good shoulder to cry on.  I am working my way towards finding the strength for that much bravery...but it is hard.  I have been depressed, angry, sarcastic, and argumentative.  I am sorry.  I'm still not sure it warrants having the cops called on me, but I still apologize.  I'll take responsibility for making you so upset that you felt threatening me was your best move.  I have wanted to wipe the grin off your face - hoping to bring you to the pain that I feel.  That isn't fair.  This isn't your burden to carry - even if you are related to Maxie.  You weren't his parent.  I understand that.  I also recognize some of you might actually not really care that my son died.  You didn't know him.  Maybe you hardly know me.  I have wished you to be more empathetic and human, by my definition, not yours.  I can't control how you feel, even though I have tried.  I have wanted you to know how perfect he was and to feel closer to him so that you would feel his loss more painfully.  I have wanted you to feel as much pain as I do - ALL OF YOU - our parents, our friends, our colleagues, our siblings, our doctors, our everyone...  I acknowledge that nobody will feel the pain like we feel it.  It was unreasonable to think that anyone else could even come close.  Some of you have pulled away and made it clear you don't want to know how wonderful he was or how painful this is.  That's ok too.  Like I said, I am not proud.  I haven't cared what you have wanted.  I have been singularly focused on Max and MY pain.  I hope to one day soon pull out of that place.  I think that at some point, I may actually come around to the point of smiling with sincerity.  I hope one day that it will be organic and not something that I have to force.  I hope that I am coming to the point of recognizing that the world continues to spin on happily without my most precious love monkey.  I hope that someday I will be the person you once knew - sort of funny, adventurous, outgoing, and somewhat loving.  If you know me, you know I had a dark side before Maxie died too, so I don't think it is going away entirely.  I just hope that one day the light inside me shines brighter than the dark now weighs me down.  I know it will be some time still.  I hope that as I find the bravery inside myself, that you too, will look for the bravery that I know is inside of you.  Let's both be brave....and if you really cannot, I will do my best to hold up my end of the bargain and be the brave one for both of us.

* As with ALL of my posts, this is not directed at only one person or one encounter - but rather to a body of people and encounters.  Perhaps if I include this disclaimer on more of my posts, I can save myself and you a lot of heartache.

Loads of support for Maxie

Please, please, please - don't forget to register for Maxie's Forest Benefit on March 15th.  (Click here to register online).  This is such an important night for Ted and I and our families.  I know many of you have already made a gift to Maxie's Forest but I want to stress that this night is more than just a fundraiser to us.  It isn't just a night to make another donation in memory of Maxie.  It is a night to show support for us and our families.  It is basically the first night that Ted and I have even been out in months and we are looking forward to seeing all of you and being able to celebrate Max's life together.  I know that $40 plus two drinks might sound like a lot of money, but you would probably spend that much for a night out anyway (if not more).  Perhaps knowing that this is for such a good cause will help ease your worries about your finances.  There will also be opportunities to score great vacations, dinners, outings and other stuff at the silent auction.  Also remember that your $40 entrance is tax deductible.  I promise you will feel good about coming.

Some words about the 5k on Saturday, March 17th -
My friend Stacy just signed up to participate in the 5k and raise funds for Maxie's Forest!  Yay Stacy!  Thank you!  Stacy has been my friend for years, since she went to graduate school with my friend Joslyn in like 1999 or something.  They are the ones that convinced me that being in graduate school was WAY better than being employed.  Seemed like they were always going rollerblading or something while I was sitting in front of a stupid computer in a boring office.  A couple of years later, I ended up in the same program that they did.  It was more work than I imagined but I still found time for so much fun!  She has been incredibly supportive over these past months (and frankly, over the many years that we have known each other).  She has always been up for doing stupid stuff with me - like going Israeli folk dancing at the 92nd street YMCA in NY and then practicing our moves in her apartment like big nerds.  We also took an alumni trip to Germany with our graduate program a few years ago.  When everyone else went to sleep after our long days of programming, Stacy and I hit the Berlin nightlife with our guide Cornelius (aka - Corny).  I love her loads and lots.

And, honestly, I can't recall if I ever wrote about my old roommate and one of my BFFs - Jess, who is also fundraising for Maxie's Forest by participating in the 5k.  Jess was a roommate in college and afterwards.  She lived with me on Rexford Dr., in the building that my family owns, upstairs from Shawn Pelofsky, my comedian friend who organized the whole line up of laughs for Maxie's Benefit.  Jess and I share some of the craziest memories of my lifetime - like the time she fell of a 50 ft cliff in Mexico in the pitch dark on a camping trip and luckily landed on a little foot path on the side of the cliff like 10 ft down.  She only cut her little pinky (but it was bleeding like a mutha) when her hand, that was holding her beer, hit the side of the cliff.  Or when a lunatic, who will remain unmentioned, tried to break our door down in the middle of the night and we had to take him to court.  Or our trip to Amsterdam with our other college pals Robyn and Eowyn SO many years ago to visit my French/Dutch friend Daphna.  Holy cow, did we eat a lot of french fries and cheese on that trip! Honestly, I could go on and on but you get the picture.  Her son, Everett, was born only a couple of months after my Maxie and was supposed to be Maxie's best friend --- wait!  I HAVE mentioned her here before.  She is a love and I am so grateful to her for doing this on our behalf.

If you can't make it to the benefit and want to make a donation to one of our fundraisers pages, here are the listings.  If you don't know any of them, maybe choose one to whom you might feel a particular affinity or that looks like they could use some help.  I'm thinking my mom and Paul.  Their only contributors so far are Paul himself and Auntie Beth, but I leave the choice to you.  Perhaps you have an affinity towards folk dancing - in which case, donate to Stacy.  If you like Cliff diving, go with Jess.  If hot tubbing is your thing, may I suggest Ann?  If you like supporting the person on top - go to Auntie Beth's page.  She has become a fundraising wizard.  Click on her page to be impressed (and keep in mind - most of the money she raised was for the NY Marathon that she ran in November).

Stacy Katz: Running a 5k for Maxie's Forest
Jessica Clements: Running for Maxie's Forest
Ann Frederick: Maxie's Forest
Susan Chadney and Paul Fleishman (Maxie's Grandma and Uncle): Maxie Leviss
Beth Gardner (Maxie's Auntie Beth): Team Maxie: Running to Remember

The sites are also all compiled on one page: Check it out, if for nothing else than for the cute picture of Maxie.

I know fundraising can be daunting (afterall, I do it for a living).  I promise that even if your friends don't give you a dime, they won't think any less of you for sending them an email that tells them that you are supporting your friends who have been through a terrible tragedy.  Knowing that it is scary, it means SO much to us that these friends and family members are willing to put themselves out there to support us and our baby boy.  "THANK YOU" will never express how much it means to us.  Frankly, it isn't even so much the money that you raise but the message that you send us of support and love that you are willing to put yourself out there on our behalf.  We love you.

Maxie's day at the park

Max only swung in a swing once....and I missed it because I was napping.  We had just flown across the country for a long weekend in CT for a wedding and to visit Ted's family.  We got in at 6 am and I was sleeping off my jet lag in the guest room Beth's house.  Ted and Gigi took Maxie to a little park near Beth's house.  I am so sad to have missed it, even though from what I understand, he didn't really like the swing.  Ted took lots of photos though.  I loved thinking about the future trips we would take to the park near our house.  It's walking distance.  I knew that when Max was old enough, that would be our perfect go-to weekend activity.  No swings, no parks, no more memories.  Does this really get easier?  Can't be.  I'm looking for the positive twist.  It was a lovely trip.  I loved having Maxie on my lap on the airplane out there.  He was such a good boy.  Being with him in CT is a nice memory.

I'm really trying to keep the icky out of my brain but it is so much easier said than done.  I had a melt down last night while watching the Oscars....brought on by a two second clip of James Earl Jones doing the voice for The Lion King.  We used to dance around the living room to hakuna matata.  It is crazy that my sole (soul) purpose in life right now is distraction.  That's it.  And, if anything at all creeps into my "distracted space" (because I am never really distracted), I lose it.  Ted was working on the renovation this weekend (I'll save that for another post) and had Pandora Radio playing and one of the songs from the Jack Johnson, Curious George CD, that we listened to every morning with Max, came on - I lost it.  I can't live like this.  But I have to.  This isn't living.  A mommy can't be without her baby.  But I have to be.  It's like I am living in the world's longest nightmare (forever).  I am not sure I'll be able to focus ONLY on good like I see some of the other bloggers who have lost children do.  I read their blogs and think, "Am I crazy for missing my baby so much?"  I don't want anyone who has lost their baby and feels like me to think they are crazy.  I'll still do my best to have as much positivity in here as possible over the next few weeks but I am trying to keep an accurate account of this "journey" (to hell - and hopefully back someday).

My wonderful friends

Oh!  I am such a lucky girl to have the most amazing friends.  I mentioned a couple of times about my friend Ann and her workout studio Pure Barre doing two donation classes for Maxie's Forest this past weekend.  This is part of the email that I received from her afterwards:

My sweet friend, 

Today we honored your baby boy at Pure Barre. I was there to personally thank everyone and Matt made cookies for all that donated. It was a pay what you can donation class and I have an envelope filled with $400.00 in cash. I will add it to my fundraising page on Monday. I am almost to $1,000.00. I saw Amy M and Courtney at the 3pm class, I imagine them being very sore tomorrow! (lol!)  

I am proud of the money made today for the forest and I hope I have much, much more in the next few weeks. I love you so much. 

Ann is married to my high school friend Matt.  As soon as I met her (in a hot tub), we were instantly bonded.  She is crazy silly funny and so smart and a wonderful and caring person.  As I have mentioned, she set up a fundraising page for Maxie's Forest that has already raised over $500.   She also JUST had her second baby only a couple of months ago. The other two girls that she mentions in her email are friends from high school.  Amy left presents for Maxie at the cemetery on his birthday.  She was pregnant with her second boy when I was pregnant with Maxie.  Courtney has been bringing us delicious meals ongoing - even after the end of the food train.  She is Ted's favorite friend "chef".  Her cooking is so delicious that Ted even got excited for the leftovers from Thursday night on Friday night.  I love leftovers, Ted thinks life is too short for leftovers usually.  The leftovers got a little cold while I talked it out with the police - but they were still so good!

These friends are just three of the amazing, supportive, loving, wonderful people that are in my life.  Even if I haven't seen them in months, I know that they are still there - quietly and sometimes not so quietly supporting us and honoring Maxie's memory. 

Forgiveness

I have had all day to think about this.  Really, I have had more like seven months to think about it.  The death of Max has brought up a lot of anger...not just in me, in other people who loved Max as well.  The truth is that the anger doesn't really get us anywhere.  It really doesn't.  I can't help but be questioning.  I am his mother.  I wonder constantly what I could have done differently, what anyone could have done differently.  I cannot apologize for this.  It is human nature.  I can't help but feel protective.  I am extra fragile and probably way too vulnerable to able to hear what people are saying without feeling hurt.  I don't think that most of the comments people make are to hurt me.  I think they are made because people don't know what to say.  And, truthfully, there are people who have said and done things expressly for the purpose of hurting me, and even being mad at them doesn't help bring back Max.  All it does is sink me to a lower level of humanity than the plane the I operated on before losing my precious boy.  I can explain until I am blue in the face that my grief about Max is greater than the hurt anyone else has felt about my blogging or questions or feelings since then.  Again, there are people who just won't understand and it shouldn't matter either.  The most important thing here is that the world has lost a beautiful soul and that this soul has lost the opportunity to live what would have been a wonderful life.  Anger "does not serve me" (and I am actually using a phrase here that is a favorite of someone who really hurt me).  It is true though, it does not serve me.  Bad behaviour and mean comments and angry feelings just wash the beauty out of the memory of Max - who was none of these things.  He was beautiful and pure and trusting and loving.  I need to move forward and forgive.  I still have questions.....but, I forgive.  I have to or I will be stuck here forever. 

Enough

Last night Ted and I had just sat down for dinner and a movie when we received some surprise visitors.  The Burbank Cops.  Three of them.  I guess someone really took my Princess Bride fantasy seriously.  They came over to make sure that I am not a danger to anyone.  They had been told that I had made some threats in my blog.  Really?  I asked the cop if she had looked at the blog.  She said she had.  I asked if she felt that I had made any threats.  She said that she did not believe that I had but that since they had been called, it was their duty to check it out.  Let me say this - I have had enough.  My husband has had enough.  If my asking questions and expressing my despair is too much for you to handle - STOP READING MY BLOG!!!!!!  I will likely be asking questions and feeling despair on some level for the rest of my life.  Telling the cops that you think I am a danger to anyone is nothing but malicious and frankly, a very self centered and terrible thing to do to grieving parents. You and I both know that I am not a dangerous person.  More than that, it is dishonor to my son's memory and I will not have it.  I am done.  Enough!

Last week was FILLED with so much negativity for me.  It compounds my grief when I feel so much anger and regret on top of the already debilitating grief.  Make no mistake about it though, anger is a very normal and common part of grieving.  I am just not afraid to talk about my anger.  My therapist (also known as my "spiritual advisor") thinks that it is very important that I have a few positive weeks.  Obviously by "positive", she means relatively speaking.  So, I am going to work very hard for the next few weeks to focus on those things that I can affect: keeping myself busy with work and healing activities, focusing on the Maxie Benefit coming up in only 22 days, relishing the support and love from all of you who are coming to the event and who have supported us in SO many other countless ways, reading good books, letting go of the things I cannot change and cherishing the time I had with Max.  I need to give my anger and frustration to god (I've never really known what that means but somehow I still like the idea of it).  What will be, will be.  Wish me luck.  This is going to take a lot of effort but I feel like I should be able to do anything for a couple of weeks, right?

The most important reason to find some positivity is for Max.  This song is a beautiful summation of how I feel about Max.  Have I mentioned that Stevie Wonder is my ABSOLUTE favorite?  I don't think I could love him more if he sang en Español.

Another icky week

It was another hard week.  On Monday I spoke with my doctor, who had very generously offered months ago to go over all of Maxie's records (from the pediatrician, from the ER, from the PICU, from the Coroner's Office) and give me his professional opinion as to whether anyone had missed anything. I had begun to close that chapter of this story only a few weeks ago but speaking with him just re-opened the very newly scarring wounds.  The thought that anything at all could have been done differently for Max so that he would be here with me right now makes me want to die.  I mean, it is the one thing that literally makes me want to leave this life.  I won't get into all that he said, but it started off a very dark week for me.  I have had some terrible thoughts this week.  I am not sure how to move forward, accept what cannot be changed, and find some healing.  It is a complete nightmare.  The looming jury duty didn't help.

I DID get out of jury duty though.  My mom and I went down there (downtown) and then had to meet with a jury excuse interviewer.  Actually, they wouldn't let my mom in with me and the man bossing everyone around in mean "DMV style" made it clear to her that I am a big girl and can handle it on my own.  Little does he know that I can barely handle anything on my own anymore.  I sat down with the interviewer who looked over my excuse sheet where I had written, "My nine and a half month old son died seven months ago.  I am suffering from clinical depression and PTSD".  He read it over and then looked at me and said accusingly, "You know you need a doctor's note for this, right?".  The tears came pouring out as I explained that I had my doctor fill out a form already and we sent it in.  Then I gave him the notice I had received saying that my excuse had been rejected.  So, he sighed heavily and told me he'd go look for my original.  He was extremely put out by having to get out of his chair.  When he came back, he showed me, like the dummy I am, that I had not signed the form.  Indeed, somehow I had missed that.  There was a place for my signature at the bottom that I had missed.  "If you had signed that, you wouldn't have had to come down here", he said, annoyed.  So, then he started walking me through the whole form like I was a numbskull and explaining each section (even though I had filled the rest of it out properly).  "Well, what are you going to do with me?", I asked.  "I am not done explaining to you how this works", he said.  He really taught me a lesson.  After his explanation, he looked at me, crumpled in my chair, in a pool of my own tears and said "EXCUSED - you can leave!"  I am recognizing that it is a very important part of this process that I am DEGRADED every so often.  Losing my child never seems to be enough punishment in this lifetime.  My mom was so nice to take the whole morning off work, ride the subway to the courthouse with me and then go through the whole process with me while I literally barely held myself together.

This week also reinforced how much I HATE how angry I have become since Maxie's death.  I have some really icky thoughts - going back to my Inigo Montoya (Princess Bride) musings and wanting to get revenge on people who have caused me more pain during the last seven months.  I actually wrote a really long post about exactly the kinds of suffering I'd like to see those people go through but my grief counselor talked me out of posting it, for now.  This is about as close as I'll come to telling you what it entails but I DO have fantasies about pulling up a seat and some popcorn and watching the people who have hurt me suffer the way I have had to suffer.  The thought actually tickles me pink.  It makes me feel a little bit better to have even said that.  The original post made me feel REALLY good.  My type of revenge would be of the Inigo Montoya/Wesley ilk in that I would revenge "to the pain".  If you recall, Wesley threatens to fight the 6 fingered man "to the pain" - cutting off his nose and lips and limbs but leaving perfectly good ears so that the 6 fingered man would always hear the horrific screams of young children at his approach.  Unfortunately, I actually feel like I am the one who has been punished to the pain.  My most important pieces have been cut away forever and I am moving through this life hearing the sounds of happy parents and small children, causing me nothing but horror and pain.  I recognize it is a little different but, trust me - it's not THAT different.  When did god become Wesley and I become the 6 fingered man?

Other than all that, I have spent a lot of time this week just missing Maxie.  I loved his little fists and how he was always trying to get them fully into his mouth.  I miss his little drooley bibs and his baby breath.  I miss having my baby to love and to dote on.  I miss planning around his schedule and packing up bags for visits to Grandma's house.  I miss watching his eyes adjust to the light in the morning in his crib and his sweet smile.  I am nothing without him.  Not sure if or where I will ever find myself again.  Hoping that at least I will be found again with him, when this whole thing is all over, and we are together again in some other place.  That makes me smile.
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Sometimes I get so consumed with all of the bad in my life, I forget to mention the good. So, I need to mention my friends Ann and Jessica, who are both not only walking the 5k with our group but are also fundraising for Maxie's Forest. My mom and brother are also raising money through their participation in the 5k.  THANK YOU to all of them, and of course, my awesome sister in law, who is always fundraising for Maxie!  Ann started a few weeks ago and has already raised almost $500.  She also is the one who told the folks at Pure Barre in Brentwood about Maxie and his Forest.  Their donation classes tomorrow (one at 1:35 and one at 3) already have 28 people signed up.  It's so amazing!  I wish only the very best fairy tale Princess Bride parts on all of the people who have made us feel so loved and supported - even complete strangers.  A lot of friends have also already signed up for the Benefit.  Thank you for signing up early.  If you have not yet signed up and you plan on coming Click Here.  Our show line up is complete and our silent auction is filled with SO much awesome stuff.....I can't believe the generosity of our auction donors.
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Jury Duty

I was assigned jury duty a few weeks after Max died.  Somehow my brother got me out of it.  Still not sure how he did it, but I am grateful  Of course, a few months later, I got another summons.  So, my therapist and my regular doctor filled out and signed the request for an excuse - based on my horrific grief and post traumatic stress.  I think anyone who has been up close and personal with me over the last seven months knows that I am not up for jury duty.  I received another summons in the mail indicating that they received my request to be dismissed but that my request was not granted.

Now, I am not just trying to get out my duty.  Last time I was on jury duty, I was really into it.  I was on my A game.  I served for three weeks.  I was the jury foreman even.  I play by the rules.  I don't ignore my summons, pretend I never got it, or throw it in the trash.  I call in and see if I need to report for duty.  Last night I called in and today I am reporting to jury duty at 7:30 am.  Honestly, if having your baby die and suffering from PTSD is not a good enough excuse, I think you need to die yourself to get out of it.  I think it is an important duty to serve the justice system and to take part in the judicial process but I just can't imagine that I am the type of person that they are looking for to make well thought out decisions that will affect another person's life (because I actually care about how my actions affect other people's lives).  Anyway, I am lucky, my mom is coming with me for moral support. Wish us luck.

Addict

I CANNOT BELIEVE I AM STILL DOING THIS.  I feel like an addict - just one more day without him.  Max was and is my addiction.  It started when he was born.  I was addicted to his smell, his smile, his personality.  Oh my lord!  I loved everything about him.  I RUSHED home to be next to him.  I couldn't get enough.  Now, I just need to make it through this one more day without him.  But, then there is another and another and another.  Seven months "sober".  I was living in a dream before losing Max.  I am seeing life differently than I ever did before....and it isn't nearly as pretty as I remember.  Where is the beauty and hilariousness that used to make me laugh?  Is grief clouding my vision or was I in fantasy land before this loss?  Sober living is forcing me to see things that I don't want to see.  I miss my Max so much.  Every day without my monkey is another kick to the gut.  My soul is melting away.  I'm scared to see who is going to be left standing in this body.

Grief is exhausting and all-consuming.  Knowing this is a lifelong journey makes the whole thing so much more overwhelming.  This isn't something I am going to get over.  It doesn't matter how much time I take.  This is something that I will carry with me forever.  I am just praying that every day brings me one step closer to Max.  Ted always says that the thing I need to work on most is my patience.  Max taught me a lot about patience.  Losing Max has been another kind of test in patience.  I have to be patient and somehow KNOW that Max and I will be together again and not rush to the finish line of life (but it is tempting sometimes).  I have to learn to live each day in pain and sorrow and incorporate those feelings into who I am instead of letting them consume my identity.  For now, and for the last seven months, I have been the grieving mother.  There are no other parts to my identity right now.  The days pass SO SLOWLY.  It doesn't matter if I am on the couch watching television the whole day or if I am busy with work and activities.  Just beneath the surface, my brain is singularly focused on Max and obsessing about his not being here.  The waves of grief hit me so hard, they literally rock my entire being.  There is no escape. There is no moving on.  I miss him so much.  I am an addict and I am going through a life-long withdrawal.

Someone to relate to

I don't think I really need to spell out that I have been in a DEEP depression for months.  I hardly leave my house.  I wear the same clothes over and over.  I don't really see friends and family very much.  I watch a lot of television.  So, when I see depressed people on TV, I become curious.  The "Jersey Shore" actually became interesting to me for a few weeks when poor Vinnie went through a mild depression.  His friends didn't know what to do with him.  They kept trying to get him out to the clubs to "party".  They didn't understand why the usual getting drunk and picking up chicks didn't pull him out of his anxiety and sorrow.  He tried over and over to explain that he just needed to go home and then they would surprise attack him for a night of boozing - only making the situation (no pun intended) worse.  I could relate.....TO VINNIE.  (Dear Lord, what has become of me?)  So, yesterday, I turned on the tv in the middle of a "Khloe and Lamar" episode.  I do not watch this show.  I promise.  And, you KNOW I would admit it if I did.  But, anyway, Lamar was visiting a friend who was in a deep depression.  He was laying around in a messy apartment, looked like he hadn't showered in a while, he hadn't been seen by friends in a while....so I kept watching.  What does HE have to be so depressed about?  Instead of learning about this mystery man, I got stuck on Lamar's pep talk, in which he started talking about when HE went through something.  He kept saying, "When the baby died...".  "When the baby died, I didn't think I'd ever play basketball again." or "When the baby died, I didn't want to see anyone".  WTF?!  What baby?  I went searching online to see what the hell he was talking about and I found this:

It turns out his baby died...of SIDS....at 61/2 months old.  It sounds like he went into a deep depression, lasting months.  He hid out from family, from friends, didn't know if he would play basketball again.  Oh man, I could totally relate to everything he was saying.  Finally he chose life...I am hoping I might get there someday too.  You know who else has lost babies from SIDS?  Robert Redford and Lloyd Bridges.  Why do I know this?  Because I spent HOURS on the internet in the early months of this loss looking for anyone who had been through what I have been through and had ANY words of wisdom to share.  All I have really learned is that everything I have gone through losing Max is what everyone goes through when they lose their babies.  We just handle it differently.  Somehow that's comforting to me.  

I showed this clip to Ted last night, thinking that maybe it would be comforting to him too.  I don't think it was.  His eyes got so sad.  He face hung for a little while.  He got really quiet as he just stared at Maxie's photos on the walls.  I keep relearning the lesson that Ted and I are handling this loss differently.  He is much better at being out in public, making small talk, listening to friends talk about their worries, going through the motions.  Whereas I am holed up in the house, searching for answers, reading 1000 books, visiting therapists, mediums, spiritual guides, and talking to other parents who have lost children.  We are both trying to navigate this road together but we are doing it so differently.  I am looking for people to relate to.  He doesn't bother because he doesn't think anyone can really understand.  We can relate to each other though.  The loss of Maxie is SO present for both of us all of the time. We miss him so much and nobody can better understand our loss than we can.  We are the only parents who lost OUR Maxie.  Part of this journey for us has just been trying to figure out what the other one needs.  We don't always get it right but we keep trying.  After all, there really is nobody better to relate to what I am going through than my husband.  For that, I am grateful.