Please stop counting my blessings

Yesterday I was feeling pretty hurt again - angry even.  I feel a little better this morning.  I was angry that some of the people who love me have a hard time letting me feel my feelings.  I am smart enough to know that it is because of their love for me that they say the things that they do.  I know that they want to see me happy again and so they try to convince me that there are so many reasons for me to feel happy.  Still, if losing Max isn't a good enough excuse to feel devastated, I really have no idea what is.

I read somewhere recently (I really can't remember where - Chicken Soup for the Grieving Soul perhaps?) how important it is to validate the feelings that others feel.  The point was specifically made about children who had lost a parent or a sibling.  So many times, those children are discouraged from feeling sad.  They are told to focus on all of the good things that they still have - the remaining parent, the remaining sibling, a puppy, a goldfish.  To keep a child from expressing their feelings of extreme loss has an effect that is detrimental over a lifetime.  It is bad for their health, for their self esteem, for their ability to empathize with other people.  If really big deals are made to feel like "no big deal", children grow up with a very skewed vision of the world around them.  I read another example (maybe in the same book?) of children who had terminal illnesses.  Those whose parents allowed them to express their fears, who validated the sadness that they felt and who encouraged a conversation about what happens after this life felt much more emotionally supported than the children whose parents continued to tell them that "everything would be ok" when they were really terminal.  They didn't feel safe enough to say that they were scared, so they kept it inside, leading to an inability for them to contain their fears at all.  Then, they not only had to contend with their own fears, they had the pressure of putting on a brave face for their parents as well.  No child should have to bear that burden.  The thought of scared terminal children not being able to express how they feel to their own parents breaks my heart.

In one of the workshops we attended last weekend, the facilitator told us that as adults, many of us are too confused to even know what we are feeling.  She says that children are told "You are not really scared" and to go back to bed when they say they are scared in the middle of the night, that "it doesn't hurt.  It's ok", when they scrape their knees....It's confusing to tell a child that they don't really feel what in fact they think they feel.  "I'm not scared?", she joked..."ok, I thought I was scared."  How far are we willing to go to not feel our feelings.  Believe me, I'd rather not feel them, but suppressing them doesn't get me anywhere.  Sometimes it releases a little of the pent up sorrow to actually feel it.  I really believe that it's ok to be sad, scared, fearful and angry.  Life isn't easy.  Terrible things happen to many, if not most of us.  Are we so scared of feeling sad?  Are we so scared of letting others feel sad, that we have to put a happy face on every devastation?

Losing Max is just devastating.  I don't need to put it into a big picture (and even when I do, it is still devastating....sometimes more so).  Yes, I still have blessings in my life but he doesn't and he IS my whole life.  Every blessing we have is a blessing Maxie is missing out on.  I am not sure every parent feels the way I do but I have to believe that most do - I want a better life for my child than I want for myself and if my child dies (which he did....my child died!), he has no life at all....so in many ways it doesn't really matter what MY blessings are.  I stopped being the most important person to me when Max was conceived.  My current life took on new meaning when Baby M was conceived.  This is just how it is.  I am not sure why this is so hard to understand.  Max's happiness is MORE important than mine.  Baby M's happiness is too.  As a parent, I feel that their lives are more important than mine.  Ted feels the same way I do.  Our lives revolve around them and their happiness, and one of them is now gone.  Max was robbed of living his life.  He was robbed of getting to be a big brother.  He was robbed of pressing his little face again my belly and trying to feel kicks.  In fact, he was robbed of every one of MY blessings that the people who love me keep counting.  And guess what?  Baby M was robbed of a really wonderful big brother.  Robbed....both of them.  Baby M is not an afterthought or a replacement baby (not that there is really such a thing)....he was a baby we planned on having all along.  We always planned on giving Maxie a sibling - whether by natural birth or IVF or adoption or whatever it would have taken.  Baby M was supposed to have a big brother.  So, please, please - stop counting my blessings....or, at least, leave me out of it.  If it makes you feel any better - I promise that I KNOW how blessed I am but please try to understand that since Maxie isn't as blessed as me, it feels wasted (and honestly Max was my biggest blessing, the one that counted more than anything.  I would trade every other blessing to bring back Max if that were possible).  We may not see eye to eye, but that's ok.  You know it hurts me.  You know that having this conversation over and over just pushes me away...and not having you in my life when I need you most would be one less blessing for both of us to count.  I love you too much.

A little TMI

There are so many things that will remind me of Maxie when Baby M gets here.  I am scared of all of the emotions that will come up when I do the stuff I did with Max.  There are things that I imagine doing that feel like they could be too hard emotionally.  When I was pregnant with Max, Ted read "Oh, Baby, the Places you will go!" the "in utero" version to my stomach all of the time.  He would put his lips directly on my belly for extra amplification.  He desperately wants to read it to Baby M but I just am not ready.  It makes me too sad to think about.  We need a new "in utero" book I think.  Once Baby M gets here, I wonder what else will be too sad:  Will I read him "Good Night Moon"?  Will I sing "Rad Ha Yom" to him before putting him down to sleep (as if the thought of putting him down to sleep wasn't scary enough)? Will I be able to bathe him in the same tub that I bathed Maxie in?  It's all a little overwhelming.  I am not sure what I should feed him....was the food that I made for Max adequate or did it somehow contribute to his life ending?  The activity that carries the most emotional baggage for me is actually breastfeeding.

I know that for some of you, that is too much information, but it is the truth.  For the first time, my breasts were more than just a tool to get my husband's attention.  My breasts actually kept me physically linked to Max.  They provided the nutrition that exclusively fed my baby for the first six months of his life.  He continued to breastfeed until two weeks before he stopped breathing, even then, he still drank my breastmilk from a bottle.  He had just become impatient with my actual breasts.  I had about three months worth of breastmilk frozen on the day that he stopped breathing (9 months ago today).  At his funeral, my breast were sore, they ached.  In the months following his death, my nipples would turn black - a physical manifestation of the horror of losing my baby.  There are still times now when I look down at them and I start to cry.  Breastfeeding Max was another physical connection to my child, like the connection we had when he was in my womb.  When I would nurse him, we would stare into each others eyes.  It was a time when I felt our love for each other grow deeply.  It was also a time that we were very playful together.  Max would become distracted as he got older, preferring to "pop off" and smile at me, rather than stay latched and nurse.  If I looked at him, he would giggle and pop off again, which would make me laugh and then we'd be there forever.  So, sometimes I would try not to look at him. This would make him suck extra hard (and sometimes even hurt me) to get my attention.  I'd yelp, "ouch", and look down to find him staring at me smiling.  He was a very playful baby.  I have such funny memories of him nursing while giggling to himself.  I miss his little giggle so much.

Now, it wasn't always easy.  It took a while for Max and I to figure out what we were doing.  And, as a pretty modest gal, I was shy about breastfeeding in public, which made going anywhere a real chore.  I also wasn't always super keen on having male friends over in the very early days after Max was born because I knew with Max's nursing schedule, we would be forced to go into another room for a while, leaving the friend alone.  But, we went to nursing clinics and practiced a lot and eventually figured it out.  I remember the first EASY nursing session.  It was in April of last year.  Ted, Maxie, Prima Sharon and I went to the Huntington Gardens and I nursed Maxie in a chair outside one of the galleries.  He was all covered up and comfortable, I was easily talking and not feeling self conscious.  I don't even think most people who walked by us noticed that I had a little dude under the blanket draped over my shoulder.  It felt like such an accomplishment.  I was proud of us.

I am not sure why the idea of nursing Baby M feels so overwhelming.  A combination of things I think - I am nervous about having to relearn this skill with a new baby.  I am emotional about feeling that familiar tug that will remind me of Max...and therefore remind me so physically of his absence.  I am afraid of connecting so deeply to another child and risking the possibility of another heartbreak.  I know I won't be able to hold him at an arm's length if I nurse him - not that I would be able to anyway.  Sometimes I wonder if my breasts failed my Max.  I was SURE that breastfeeding him meant that he would be ensured optimal health.  It didn't ensure a thing.  I keep wondering if there is some magic formula that would have had better nutrients for him than the ones I provided.  Would that have kept him alive?

Oh Maxie!  The thought of bonding with your brother makes me feel guilty...like I am moving on without you but I promise I am not!  You are always with me.  I would trade anything to have you back.  I like to think that there are things that can be reserved just for you and me but I know your brother might like "Good Night Moon" or living room dance parties as much as you did.  All I can promise is that you and I did it all first.  All I can promise is that my memories with you are special and I am not replacing you but I am trying to bring some of the joy that you brought to us back into our lives.  I want your brother to feel as much love as possible and to know that he is special in his own right.  But, I am so scared.  So scared of loving him as much as I love you.  I have lots of regrets but I never regret opening my heart to you and loving you with everything that I am.  Never forget that you are special baby.  I love you with my whole heart baby boy and I hope that you know and understand - I already love your brother too.

Baby M's new doctor

I didn't write this morning because I was getting a 3 hour glucose test (more like 4 and a half hours but who is counting?).  I guess my glucose levels came back kind of high when I was checked last week.   So they need to rule out gestational diabetes with today's tests.  I thought being back in the main hospital of Good Samaritan would be a trigger for me, as that is where Max was born, but it was really ok.  The best part of the test is that they give you a little room to nap in in-between blood tests (a total of 4).  As a side note, I used to hate blood tests until Max was born.  In his short life, I saw him get so many blood tests and shots.  He was such a good sport that he really got me over my fear of needles.  Max inspired me in many ways.

Yesterday, Ted and I met with a potential new pediatrician.  She was so nice to take the time to meet with us after hours just so that we could have the opportunity to know her.  We feel like we just got stuck with Max's pediatrician.  The doctor who checked Max after he was born referred us to a colleague of his and that was that.  I never was crazy about him.  He was very cold, but at least I felt like he knew what he was doing.  Then, after Max passed, I spoke to him once and he basically said, "These things sometimes happen", before rushing to get off the phone with me.  The address of his office is still in the "favorites" folder on my car's navigator because I don't know how to get rid of it. My heart stops every time I see it.  The mention of his name makes my throat dry.  I have been so scared thinking about taking Baby M to the pediatrician once he is here.  It was such a terrible experience.

Just being in a pediatric office was a trigger for me.  There are kids around along with kid toys and kid books and most painful, baby scales.  I loved getting Max weighed at his appointments.  I loved seeing him grow and gain more weight.  Proof that my baby was thriving (when I guess he actually wasn't....or maybe he was until that day or that minute, even, that he stopped breathing).  The pediatrician we met with was very sweet.  I know she really extended herself on our behalf.  Like everyone else, she didn't really "get it" - our loss, our pain, our worry, our grief, our fear.  I cried and cried.  She suggested that I see a therapist - a common misunderstanding is that because I am "still" crying that I must not be seeing anyone yet.  But, she did her best.  Nobody understands that the sadness doesn't go away.  She even consulted with the father of a patient of hers who lost a wife a day after she gave birth to their one and only daughter (he writes a blog that I read and just happens to bring his daughter to this pediatric practice) to ask for resources for us.  He gave her the name and email address of his friend who lost her daughter.  I read her blog as well - every day.  I sort of see the pediatrician's connection to them as a sign.  Hopefully, a really good sign because at the end of the day, she can't promise us that she will be able to keep Baby M alive.  In fact, she can't really promise to do anything different than what Max's pediatrician did.  She can only promise to be a different person than him and since his very worst qualities didn't come out until after Max died, I hope I never find out just how different she really is from him.  I have to thank my girlfriend Bianca for recommending her though and basically getting us the appointment.  Seeing a pregnant couple before a baby even arrives is not normal protocol.

Ted never liked Max's pediatrician.  I know that finding someone that he likes is very important to him as well (so it is important to me).  When we left the doctor's office, he said he really liked her.  He thought she was caring and sweet and she did her homework with us.  I agree.  I think it's a done deal.  It's nice to have that out of the way.  Will let you know how the glucose test goes...

Eyes like Eskimo Pies

I woke up this morning having had such a vivid dream of Maxie...or was it Baby M?  In the dream it was Baby M, but the face, the little body, my relationship with this baby: it was just like Maxie.  We were in Costa Rica and I was trying to change his diaper but I only had size 2s (leftover from Maxie) and Baby M needed a size 1.  He was smiling at me and rolling around, just like Max.  The energy I felt with him was Maxie's energy but I was very aware that it was Baby M and not Max.  I worried he would die.  I kept taking blankets out of his crib but somehow he would manage to pull them back in.  I would move stuffed animals and boppies away from him but I would turn away from a second and they would be back.  He kept staring in my eyes and smiling.  I woke up with my heart pounding.  I can't believe this is my life.  My only visits with my son are when I am asleep.  I am devastated that I don't get to watch him grow up.  I can't believe I have to live my life with this broken heart, knowing that the pain will never go away, just become something that I get more used to.  It's terrible.

I've been away from home a lot in the past two weeks, but always thinking about Max.  He is never off my mind.  The medium I sat with on Sunday commented on Maxie's beautiful big eyes.  My dad said his "eyes were as big as eskimo pies".  They were lovely.  They were blue.  We checked every day to see if they had changed colors but they hadn't.  He would have grown up with beautiful big blue eyes, with one little corner of brown.  He had long eyelashes and perfect eyebrows.  While he laid in the hospital, I ran my fingers over his smooth eyebrows over and over while singing, "I love...everything about you.   I love everything about you."  My beautiful baby.  My wonderful little boy.  I still love everything about you.  I ALWAYS will.

A comforting change of scenery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Connected in Nature

Ted's cousins came back from Israel and shared with us the video of their tree planting for Max.  A JNF forest ranger arranged for them to plant a sapling in their daughter's forest in Max's memory.  This video illustrates what I love about Israelis that other people find rude or prickly.  They just tell it like they see it....the intention is always loving but they won't feed you a bunch of false hope.  Listen to what the ranger says to Miriam and Jay at the beginning of the video.  It made me laugh out loud.  Most importantly though - it was such a beautiful thing for them to do for us and in memory of our Max.  I cry every time I watch it.  Also, I just love how planting a tree in Israel is an experience, a right of passage, a spiritual thing to do.  That is how it should be.  In our lives, we don't connect enough to nature, in my opinion.  We just pick out trees and pay someone else to plant them. How beautiful that Max and his cousin are connected in Israel forever (no matter how long their trees survive)?

My back hurts...and other pregnant complaints

I have some stress in my life right now that just comes from being pregnant. You know- I'm hormonal and huge and have to be careful about everything I eat (and boy, would I like a big beer, some sushi and a Xanax). Most of all- my back hurts. When your stomach sticks out two feet in front of your size F (that's right people, read it and weep) boobs, it starts to take a toll on the old back. Plus, under normal circumstances my back always aches. Whenever I get a non-pregnant massage I always hear, "Why are your shoulders so tight?". My shoulders are extra tight these days from holding up the boulders on my chest with never thick enough bra straps and from shoulder shaking bouts of crying each and every day. Obviously, I was thrilled to see that the Spa at our Cancun resort offered a pregnancy massage. They advertised a soothing pregnancy massage with a body pillow to support a growing mother's body. Perfect, yes? So, I planned to get on on the Monday before leaving so I would have something to look forward to for the whole trip. On Saturday however, I was lured poolside by the promise of FREE fifteen minutes shoulder and back massages. I cannot resist. It is not in my DNA. Cheap and free massage is in my DNA, however, I learned from watching my mother. I have subjected myself to many unusual massage locales to get the best deal (ask about the massage I got after hiking the Inca trail in Peru for four days...not a pretty scene). After my blissful and free poolside rub down, the spa manager offered me a "can't be refused deal": get the pregnancy massage today for almost 50% off AND they'll throw in a regular Swedish massage for Ted at 30% off as well. I should have been suspect but I am a desperate sucker and have I mentioned how much my back hurts? It all started off well enough- they showed us to our separate locker rooms, we got plush towel robes and slippers (Except Ted got a little girls size four that he tried to squeeze his feet into because he is a good sport), they sat us on plushy couches and then were showed to our couples massage room. Then our masseuses arrived. Mine a male, Teds a female. He laid me on my back and was about to get to work when I suggested that perhaps I should lay on my side (at a large 24 weeks pregnant, back sleeping is no longer recommended). So, I flipped on my side ( more like struggled to turn over) and he started to get to work again). It was at that point that I asked if they had a pillow for me ( you know? The BODY pillow from the brochure?!!!). He looks around the room, grabs a pleather 5 x 5 pillow from a couch in the corner and hands it to me. I try to protest but see that I am getting nowhere and hug the thing to my chest. Did I mention that the room is hot as blazers? ("Hot as blazers" is an old favorite saying of my grandma Marilyn that probably started when she hit menopause. Even with an ocean breeze constantly drifting through her living room, she was always "hot as blazers"). So I've got my gigantic chest sweating all over the pleather couch throw pillow and my legs are sticking together as well. Relaxing! I take this for about fifteen minutes because I hate to complain in a lovely spa while my husband is trying to enjoy his rub down BUT - Holy Moses, this was torture! Finally Ted's masseuse comes to the rescue and grabs a thick synthetic blanket from somewhere, folds it up and sticks in between my legs. Immediate increased inner thigh sweat production. This is exactly the point where I am asked to flip back over. So I have to unstick the pleather pillow from my chest and get the enormous blanket out from between my legs and manage to flip my beached whale self over without the sheet falling off of my naked body. Easy! The other half of this massage includes one foot getting rubbed. No arms. Other foot wasn't massaged on the other side. No way in hell this guy has ever given a pregnancy massage before. Still, I debate saying anything to management because I don't want to get him in trouble. I am relieved when the massage ends and decided that, yes, it is time to start standing up for myself and I complain. It's the woman from the pool who sold me the massage at the front desk. "How was it?" she asks with a gigantic smile. "Not so good", I reply. "He was a very nice man, but I think this was his first pregnancy massage, no?" "No. Alejandro has been doing professional massage for over ten years" (I doubt that). "I'm sure of that but this is probably one of the first pregnancy massages, right?" "No", she insists. She offers me a feedback form, but explains to me that since this was a special deal, there is not much she can do for me (I am such a sucker). I fill it out, we leave. Next day, I get a call from the spa saying that they are sorry about my massage. I am waiting to hear what they are offering me in return but it turns out they are only offering an apology. Foiled! I make my peace with this and Ted and I head out for our day. Several hours later, we decide to brave the main pool - where all of the ridiculous action is. Ted wanted to get a drink from the swim up bar. We swim up, take our seats and the bartender comes over to take our order, " Que quieres?" he asks. He takes Ted's order and moves to the other side of the bar. "Did you see who that was?", Ted exclaims. OMG- it was my masseuse. He comes back and tries to convince me to get a drink with alcohol...he can't see that I am pregnant and he doesn't recognize us...even with Ted's "grief beard". I smile at him and ask, "trabajes en el spa?" (Do you work in the spa?) "Sometimes," he replies with an equally large smile. Then he goes through a back door and disappears. Ted turns around and sees the spa pimp poolside luring in customers again. We decide that I should confront her - over ten years of massage experience my tush!!! I swim across the pool, lug myself out, march up to her and smile. She smiles sarcastically back at me and simultaneously pretends she doesn't know me. I am one of three pregnant people in the whole resort...maybe not the first one to complain, I think. "I am the pregnant lady from the spa yesterday." "I know," she says with the fake smile . Then a long pause. "Well, I just wanted to say that my masseuse is tending bar in the middle of the pool "No," she laughs "Alejandro only works in the spa". " Well, I just asked him and he said that, indeed, he also works in the bar." "Today is Alejandro's day off." she laughs and assures me. "No, he is right over there.", I explain, but of course, he has disappeared. I look like a liar! Then, adding insult to injury she says, "I know, we Mexicans all look alike.". Oh no she didn't! ...but,oh yes she did! She has the upper hand...they do not all look alike. Alejandro looks like Alejandro - the bartender/masseuse (could he be another doppleganger?)!!! At this point, my stress is now through the roof! My spa lady gives me a fake empathy look, hands me a bottle of anti-stress lotion and we part ways.  No relief had....not even the satisfaction of the upper hand.  After that, I need a massage....does anyone  know of a good deal?

What's up with Ted's beard?

When Maxie was in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit last July, Ted and I were there with him.  Ted stopped shaving then.  When we left the PICU, it was because we lost Maxie - we had to leave the hospital without our little boy.  We haven't felt the same since.  When you don't feel like yourself, you don't recognize yourself in the mirror, you don't even want to be the same person.  You want to wear your grief.  Ted doesn't always express his grief.  He doesn't walk around talking about his grief like I do, but he got Maxie's name tattooed on his arm and he keeps growing his beard.  In Jewish tradition, men don't shave for the first thirty days of mourning (or at least the first week of shiva....I think.  I am not the Jewish expert that you think I am).  We are also encouraged to cover our mirrors.  This tradition stems from a disposition of avoiding vanity during times of deep grief.  We are discouraged from caring our about outward appearance, though I can't imagine anyone in this kind of deep grief caring what they look like at all.  It has been the last thing on both of our minds.  Ted knew that his grieving would not be up in thirty days - not even close.  He decided to shave on Maxie's birthday, October 7th, but when that date came around, he realized that the grieving had really only just begun.  To be clear, he has trimmed the sides, but the front has been left to grow.  Ted plans on growing his beard until the year anniversary of our most terrible day - July 21st.  After he shaves it, he will either keep it shaved or, if he feels like it is still something that is bringing him comfort, he will grow it again.  I think it will be nice for him to be able to go cheek to cheek with Baby M when he is born (due on the 25th of July).

People ask me all of the time what I think of Ted's beard.  His beard means as much to me as it does to him in many ways.  Men and women grieve differently.  You hear it all of the time, but it is really true.  This is the honest truth - I cry and talk and write and grieve in a very public way all of the time.  When a colleague writes me with a request that pertains to a former job responsibility, I tell them that since my son died, I no longer handle that.  When friends visit, I don't make small talk off the bat, I talk about Max.  If I could, I would talk to Ted about Max during all of our time together.  Sadly, that would probably ruin our marriage.  I never wonder if Ted is grieving as much as me though, like many women do when their husbands keep quiet, remain strong or act like nothing is wrong.  Ted wears his grief.  While I wanted to avoid all new people in Mexico, I think Ted actually hoped people would ask about his tattoo and beard.  When people do ask him about either, he tells them about Max.  It doesn't matter if they are strangers or contractors working on his job site.  He tells them that our son died last summer.  He doesn't care if it makes them uncomfortable.  He loves Max.  That Ted wears his grief the way he does has a deep impact on my heart.  It is further proof that he is the man that I fell in love with, the father that Max adored, and a person who feels DEEPLY - whether he is telling you about it all of the time or not. 

When we came in through customs, Ted showed the agent his passport.  The agent looked at his photo and said, "This was taken before you got tough", and then gave a little laugh.  It was taken when Ted and I were softer people, before we had to become hardened to life.  I have always found Ted to be incredibly handsome - when I first met him in Israel in 1996 with his long ponytail and hippier ways, when I re-met him in 2006 with his short hair and preppier style, and since the passing of our dear sweet boy with his sad eyes and grief beard (not to mention the fact that I actually like a "tough guy" look).  I am proud of the way he wears his grief - it is honest.  The people who act like nothing is wrong whether talking about their own loss or ours don't resonate with me at all. To lose someone you love should shake the earth.  To lose your child should change your life forever. He is honest when so many people would be more comfortable with us putting up a false front.  Most everyone we know would be so much happier with us both if only we could suck it up and present a happier (but incredibly dishonest) version of our grief. 

Ted is the love of my life.  He is beautiful inside and out.  I love him anyway he is and I cherish every day that I have left with him. 

Then

Now

Cyber friends

I get very emotionally involved in the lives of the people who I learn about through blogging.  They feel like close friends and kindred spirits to me even though most of them have no idea who I am.  There are a few I have reached out to and a portion of those who have actually written me back.  Some of them I have developed friendships with, others are like blogging superstars and have more mail than they keep up with.  I try not to take it personally, I am glad for them that they have lots of positive emails coming their way, keeping them busy, and reminding them that their child's life (and their lives as well) was (are) significant.

I also get put in touch with other parents who have lost children from time to time - they are friends of friends or even more removed at times.  I have relationships with some of those people, most however, I reach out to and never hear back from. Sometimes people offer to put me in touch with someone they know who has been where I am but then they never follow up once I say, "Yes, I would like to be in touch with your friend".  I think they think the offer was the end goal.  Their intentions were probably good, they just didn't think I would take them up on the offer.  Of those parents who I do actually make contact with, most mean well, I am sure of it - they write back and say things like "I know what you are going through and I am here to support you".  So, I write them back and that is the end of the relationship.  I then wonder then if I should write back again and remind them or just leave them alone.  I always choose the latter.  Turns out that the real world is the same as the cyberworld.  People are too busy to be bothered.  I have learned this lesson well over the last almost nine months.  Even though these new people have been (or still are) in the hell where I currently live, they have other things to do rather than write me.  In some cases, maybe it is too painful.   Maybe they are protecting themselves by shutting me out.  I wonder if there will be a time when I will be too busy to write back to another grieving parent.  I wonder if perhaps communicating with another bereaved parent will bring up too many emotions.  I like to think that I will always prioritize helping another bereaved parent but as soon as I start to make the commitment, I recognize that I have no idea whether I will be able to fulfill it.  My intention is to "never leave a wounded soldier alone". 

That last paragraph was really a tangent, even though it is something I think about and grapple with all of the time and is probably worth its own blog post.  The reason I really started to write this post is connected to my first thought - that I get very emotionally involved in the lives of the bereaved bloggers.  I don't only read about people who have lost children, I also find myself reading about people who have lost spouses too young.  I read the blog of a guy about my age (probably younger) who lost his wife the day after she gave birth to their one and only daughter.  After several months of reading his blog, I noticed a picture of  him and his daughter on the blog of two bereaved parents that I read. With more research I found out that the bereaved husband has become friends with the bereaved parents through the blogging world.  I'm jealous (weird, right?).  Anyway, THAT really isn't my point either.  Here is my point - recently I have been reading the blog of a young woman who lost her husband and only child a few weeks ago in a canoeing accident.  She lost both of these people - her two most important people.  The thought stuns me.  She is in the shock stage - I can tell by reading her words - because I have been there.  She knows that they are gone but she is moving almost ghost like through funerals and memorials.  She is trying to put on a happy face of sorts because she is in too much shock to think about the implications of what has happened.  For now, she is surrounded by people - she won't be for long.  She is trying to get down as many memories as possible, trying to keep herself together.  She will go in one of two directions now (on her blog - I have no idea what she will be like in real life).  She will either get really real and share with her readers her innermost pain from this loss or she will continue to try and keep it light - for her parents, for her readers, for the members of her church and/or community, for herself.  I can tell that the only ones commenting on her blog are people who have no idea what she is going through.  And this is where my point comes in (sorry it sometimes takes me so long to get there people).  How can you be real with people who don't accept it?  How can you be real with people who are looking for you to be strong?  You can't.

She writes about losing her husband and son (they died on her birthday) and her posts are poignant and meaningful and so full of love and the comments that she gets are so well-meaning but they make my heart break even more for her.  I can't count the number of times I have read these (kinds of) words on her blog in the last two weeks - "They are in a better place now."; "You are so strong - I could never handle this loss"; "I read your words and I hug my children a little tighter, I appreciate my husband a little more".  The words STAB me.  These comments make no sense to me.  I don't think I have ever said them to someone who has lost someone so close or at least, I pray to god that I have not.  Whether you believe in Heaven or not, nobody wants their husband and child to be there without them.  Nobody thinks that it is all for the best, unless perhaps they are of the most evolved kind of spiritual being alive (Mother Theresa, Mahatma Gandhi, the Dalai Lama....*maybe?*).  None of us signed up for this - we are no more stronger than you.  We have the choice to keep living or to kill ourselves - most of us have considered the latter and continue each day to instead choose the former.  It isn't an easy choice but just because we are still living doesn't mean we are strong or stronger than you.  It doesn't feel like a compliment as much as it feels like a cross to bear for life.  I am glad that you are hugging your kids tighter when you read about my child dying but maybe keep it to yourself.  It feels like bragging.  And, yes, I really don't want you to sweat the small stuff and I really do want you to appreciate all that you have but again - it pours salt on my wounds.  Actions speak louder than words - hug them and love them but leave me out of it for now.  The truth is that most of these comments I let slide off my shoulders these days because I have accepted that people don't know any better, but in the earliest days - each one of them stung so badly.  Thank god I have not yet read someone saying to her "You are still young.  You can get remarried and have more children".  Ick.  Plus, their only son was adopted so she likely cannot easily have more children.  By the way, I will never forget a colleague who told me on three different occasions right after Max passed about how much tighter he hugged his two boys.  I wanted to scream (and finally did- in an email) "I GET IT!  YOUR KIDS ARE ALIVE AND MINE IS DEAD AND IT HAS TAKEN THIS FOR YOU TO APPRECIATE HOW GREAT THEY ARE!"  My blood boils thinking about it.  This same colleague wondered why I wasn't back in the office a week after Max's funeral.  I won't digress again (I won't, I won't).

In my earliest days of grief and grief blogging I got so many mean spirited comments and so many meaningless platitudes.  I rarely get either anymore but when I do, it still stings.  It has turned me off from so many people in my real life.  On the other hand, I have found so much warmth and solace in people that I never would have guessed would know what to say.  I have found comfort in the emails of friends of mine or Ted's and even complete strangers who have basically repeated things I have told people to say. While I truly don't believe that you need to have walked in my shoes to imagine how devastating losing a child would be, I still seek the support and friendship of other parents who have lost (while I am on the subject, may I suggest that you say "I can only imagine" rather than "I can't even imagine" when referring to someone's tragic loss?  You CAN imagine, afterall, that is what imagination is, right?  You just don't want to imagine.  So don't say you can't.).  Reading the blog of this young woman illustrates to me exactly why I am constantly seeking out relationships with others like me.  I believe that she needs someone who actually can relate to what she is going through.  It must feel like she is talking to the walls.  I intend to reach out to her, knowing that I may never hear back from her.  Still, I intend to stick to my commitment to myself and if she does write me back, I will be here for her, because as far as I can tell she needs someone to tell her - "This is unbelievably terrible and it is SO SO SO unfair that you have to live the rest of your life without your beautiful family."

A few things I learned on vacation

What I learned on vacation:

1. That I am lucky to have a husband who is attentive, emotional, intelligent, funny and loving.  The question about where I would be right now if I had a different husband to have to go through this with has crossed my mind.  I would not be as healthy as I am today.  As agonizing as it is, Ted gives me strength to get through another day.

2. That it is possible to pretend for moments, even hours at a time.  We pretended to be a version of our old selves while on this vacation.  The old Ted and Abby would have made friends, participated in activities, and made sure that we soaked up as much of the action as possible.  The new Ted and Abby avoided conversation with others (well, at least the new Abby did), didn't participate in anything, stuck to ourselves.  We managed to hang around the periphery though and have a nice time watching other people do the things that we used to enjoy.

3. That there is still some joy to be found in this life.  It looks much different than it did before and it is a poor substitute, quite frankly, but, when you least expect it you may find yourself laughing hard.

4. That "all-inclusive" only looks totally awesome for the first couple of days.  I retract my statement from the first day....Ted and I will not only be taking all-inclusive vacations from now on, though we might do it again here and there.  There was a retired Canadian couple we met at dinner one night who were down there for two weeks.  We didn't envy them. 

5. That whatever goes up must come down...or that coming back to reality isn't easy.  Yesterday was SO challenging, I won't even be able to do it justice.  I spent most of the flight home in such a shoulder-shaking bout of hysterics, I feel hungover from the pain of it this morning.  The flight home was FILLED with babies under 2.  A mommy walked her sweet baby up and down the aisle to soothe him and I wanted to die.  My cry of anguish returned with force - Why Max?  Of all people on this earth to be taken from me...why my Maxie?  What did I do wrong?  How could I have prevented this?  Why I am being punished in this way?  How did I make god so angry? 

6. That when there is a resort photographer - take advantage of it.  We got very few good ones.  Mostly we looked at the photos and wondered who these two old people were, but we managed to pick a few for Baby M's album.  Here's the cover.  If you didn't know us, you may not even know how deep our suffering runs.

Time apart

When Maxie was five months old, we left him for four days with my mother so we could attend a wedding in Northen California. This is a decision that still haunts me today. Those are four days of his short life that I missed! The only solace I can find is that it gave Maxie important bonding time with his grandma. I miss him like crazy. I texted home all day long, checking in on my little pumpkin. When we woke up on our last day, my heart was full of excitement. I couldn't wait to get back to hug and kiss him. We stopped at the home of one of Ted's high school friends before getting on the road. I watched their little girl, who was t more than a year old, climb in and out of a chair that was built for her and my stomach turned into knots. I didn't know how I would last the whole way home. THE SIX HOUR DRIVE was too long for me to have to be away from him !! Must I even say what I am thinking right now? Today we go home to our empty house. No babies to kiss and hug. More loneliness, emptiness, and sorrow- FOR LIFE. And I am SO effing angry! I am so angry that I wasn't with Max when he stopped breathing. The last person he saw was not Ted or me. It makes me sick. And I have no answers to ANY of my questions. Did he stop breathing because of a disease? Was there something wrong with his environment? Is there anything that can be done? Do I need to prepare for this again? Not ONE answer! Just platitudes and misery and a bunch of people who can't say anything because they are so worried about protecting themselves. The coroner couldn't even make a hypothesis because he can't be held to it. Sickening! And I don't know if Max was his usual happy self that day. I don't know who played with him. I don't know if he was not feeling good. I don't know how long it took him to die. 3 minutes or 3 days? I want to warn you about this now so there are no surprises later. I have no plans of leaving Baby M - not for a shower, a wedding, a book club, a dinner party. Not for a year at least. Ted worried that it is because I don't trust his care. I do. Of course. But I am not leaving him because I am not missing a thing. Good or bad. I have more regrets, pain, sorrow and agony than I could have ever imagined was possible for one lifetime. whatever joy is left in this life of mine, I intend to be there for and being with Little M is more important to me than being at anything I ever left him for. Period. Forgive me. This post was written on my iPhone.

Dopplegangers, Nicknames and Mash-ups

Ted and I are both very skilled at spotting dopplegangers and making up nicknames for strangers.  It's something we realized that we had in common very early in our relationship.  It is an activity that has helped to keep things relatively light and to occupy us our brains on this vacation. 

There are certain people that we have been finding for years everywhere we go.  For example, Ted has a good friend from graduate school named Randy, who is Indonesian.  We find Randy of all races nearly everywhere  - White Randy, Black Randy, Mexican Randy - the kid is everywhere.  In fact, this vacation is one of the very few places that we haven't seen a Randy in our whole five and a half year relationship.  My friend Greg gets seen a lot - but mostly in Latin American countries.  I've always been able to spot a Greg. The most incredible one I ever found was in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, while vacationing with my friend Rachel.  The only difference between real Greg and Tamarindo Greg was the accent and the fact that Tamarindo Greg made a living by selling pirated CDs on the beach.  Other common dopplegangers that Ted and I find often are - Fake Pauls (my brother), Fake my dads, Fake Perrys (Sadie's dad......Long Island Medium's husband anyone?), Fake Josh Lauranos (Mexican Josh Laurano is, in fact, tending bar here at the Silversands Resort in Cancun).  We found a Fake KLKer ("clicker" - Ted's old girlfriend).  And Fake Ted's dad is also staying at the Silversands resort!  Dead ringer!  We've never seen him before as far as I can remember.  We keep commenting how rude it is that he parades around with a woman that isn't even a Fake Ted's mom (Real Ted's dad did WAY better in the finding of a partner than Fake Ted's dad.  Real Ted's mom is WAY prettier).  Her nickname is, "your dad's mistress" or "my dad's mistress" - depending on who is pointing her out.

Ted brings a new talent to our relationship - he is really good at spotting people mash-ups.  Yesterday he found another Greg on the beach...but it wasn't an ordinary Greg.  It was a mash up of Greg and the waiter from breakfast.  Also, it was a girl.  She was sort of masculine.  I helped Ted with a mash up yesterday when he spotted another girl on the beach who he said looked like my friend Eowyn.  "Mashed up with Deja!", I said.  She has become "Dejwyn".  

We also like nicknames (because who doesn't?).  Dejwyn has a crew here.  She hangs out with a gal we call "Peacock" because she likes to show off on the beach, dancing and parading about.  They are with two dudes who we call "Right said Fred" and "skull cap".  Skull cap is also a doppleganger for Ted's San Diego football watching buddy, Mike C.  Other nicknamed friends include - "Face time" (a French Canadian who pushed my buttons at our shared hibachi dinner table one night by "face timing" with her daughter at home through the whole "show"  Her daughter squealed in delight, making "Face time" a very good mommy but my resort sworn enemy), "Out going girl" and her boyfriend "wet towel boyfriend", "The mean sisters" (who gave us dirty looks when we put our towels next to them at the pool, "Beard guy" (who drunkenly went on and on about how bad ass Ted's beard is), "Loud chick" (this woman on staff who I LOVE because she is so enthusiastic and loud, and others)....  

Tomorrow we go home (and I think my internet connection also runs out).  Yes, we have managed to enjoy this vacation.  We have also done a lot of reconnecting to each other, talking about our growing family and what is important to us in this life we've been handed.  I have cried through dinners, on the beach, next to the lobby bar, and by and in most of the pools.  I can only imagine the nicknames that I have been given by other vacationers - "Crying pregnant chick", "Sad mom" or "cries on vacation" perhaps.  I have been calling myself "Gigantinator" because girlfriend is LARGE.  Ted's probably got some good nicknames as well...maybe centered around his beard or the fact that he is with the "Gigantic sad mom".  We are sad to leave this place.  It has been nice to be in this fake reality for a while...with all of our fake friends and family, mash ups of the people from our real life, and whole new cast of strange characters.  Like I said, going back home will be like a smack in the face.  Today I am hoping to get the resort photographer to take some professional photographs of us, while Ted and I are still on a vacation high.  I want to make sure that Baby M knows that my pregnancy with him wasn't all grief and despair.  I want him to have a little album, like Maxie has, with photos of his parents happy and anxiously awaiting his arrival.  I want him to know that HE is our reality.  He is what we are holding onto and his arrival is what is keeping us going.  His nickname is "Baby M" and he is our hope....and he will be perfect to us no matter what....even if we are sort of hoping for a Maxie doppleganger or a baby Mash-up.

Thoughts from other grieving parents

I feel like I haven't been doing a very good job articulating my own thoughts lately and thought that I would steal some other people's thoughts that have touched me lately.  Many times, other bereaved parents do a much better job at describing how I feel or giving me hope than I can do for myself.  WARNING - LOTS OF READING AHEAD.


Since Ted is reading a book about Abraham Lincoln killing vampires on this vacation ("Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter".  The title makes me laugh), I will start with a quote I found in Chicken Soup for the Grieving Soul from Lincoln.  Ted and I both separately have affinities towards Abraham Lincoln that go way back.  Now that we are grieving parents, they go much deeper.  This quote gives me hope:

"In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all, 

and it often comes with bitter agony.

Perfect relief is not possible, 

except with time.

You cannot now believe that you will ever feel better.

But this is not true.

You are sure to be happy again.

Knowing this, 

truly believing it, 

will make you less miserable now.

I have had enough experience to make this statement." - Abraham Lincoln

I found this blog yesterday.  It belongs to a grieving mother.  Her son, Jack, died tragically at twelve years old.  She put together a long list of things that friends and family can do to "help" the bereaved parents.  I picked out the ones that meant the most to me:


- Mention the deceased person's name when you see the family. It's hard. Do it anyway. The family will cry. Do it anyway.
- Write the person's birthday and death day on your calendar. Send a note or an email on those days.  (As a side note, I have NEVER been one of those people that makes a big deal about my own birthday.  I don't even like them doing the cake/singing thing for me at work.  But, Maxie's birthday (October 7) is THE MOST IMPORTANT date to me - the day I became a mommy - and if you were to remember us on the day he passed (July 21), it would mean so much to us - because it is sure to be a very difficult one).
- Even if you didn't know the deceased, consider sharing what the deceased means to you NOW. Eternal life is, well, ETERNAL. Jack's life is affecting people in ways we could never imagined, and we are blessed that so many people are making the effort to let us know, through emails, blog comments, letters, or person. This helps ease the sting. Have you had a dream about the person who passed away? Tell the family.
- Do not feel offended if your phone calls go unreturned. Just leave a loving message. I have found returning phone calls, or even picking up the phone, to be daunting and difficult, but I still appreciate hearing messages. (Another side note - I get emails and comments from complete strangers, that directly mention Max or let us know that they are thinking about us, that give me a boost.  It doesn't matter that they may just say, "I'm still reading.  I'm still thinking about you".  A text, an email, a voicemail....it goes a long way.  Even if you don't hear back from me, you can know that you have given me a bright moment).
- Send photos or videos of the deceased. Even if you think family members might already have photos from an event, send whatever you have. A new facial expression or a different angle provides them with another glimpse of the one who is gone (I would give anything for more photos or a forgotten video of Max.  What I have is not enough).


Another piece from the Chicken Soup book.  I bolded the stuff that stood out:
"I won't say 'I know how you feel' - because I don't.  I've lost parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends, but I've never lost a child.  So how can I say I know how you feel?
I won't say 'You'll get over it'- because you won't.  Life will have to go on.  The washing, cooking, cleaning, the common routine.  These chores will take your mind off of your loved one, but the hurt will still be there.
I won't say 'Your other children will be a comfort to you' - because they may not be.  Many mothers I've talked to say that after they have lost a child, they easily lose their temper with their remaining children.  Some even feel resentful that they're alive and healthy when the other child is not.
I won't say, 'Never mind, you're young enough to have another child'  - because that won't help.  A new baby will fill your hours, keep you busy and give you sleepless nights.  But it will not replace the one you've lost.
You may hear all of these platitudes from your friends and relatives.  They may think that they are helping.  They don't know what else to say.  Many will avoid you because they can't face you.  Others will talk about the weather, the holidays and the school concert but never about how you are coping.  
So what will I say?
I will say, 'I'm here.  I care.  Anytime.  Anywhere.'  I will talk about your loved one.  We'll laugh about the good memories.  I won't mind how long you grieve.  I won't tell you to pull yourself together.
No, I don't know how you feel - but with sharing, perhaps I will learn a little of what you are going through.  And perhaps you will feel comfortable with me and find your burden has eased.  Try me."
- Written by a Pediatric Nurse to Ann Landers.


Here are a couple of posts from the Spohrs, my friends who don't know me.  Yesterday was the third anniversary of the loss of their sweet Maddie.  I wore purple to commemorate her life, just as many of their readers did, I am sure.  Three years is just unfathomable to me.  She was such a beautiful girl.  I love looking at her pictures and hearing stories about the light that she shined on their lives for the short time she was here.  This is a post that touched me and had me wanting to yell, "I hear ya!".  It was hard for Heather to write, I am sure.  Even harder for her to post.  No doubt in my mind - http://thespohrsaremultiplying.com/heather/try-harder/
Maddie's father, Mike, writes posts less often but he is a wonderful writer and his posts about his beloved girls go straight to my heart.  He was a stay at home dad with Maddie for the first year or so of her life.  This post comes like a breath of fresh air from a guy who has lost a child.  It cuts deep.
http://thespohrsaremultiplying.com/mike/my-life-with-maddie/


Also, remember my friend that I now know, Molly?  The charity she started, in memory of her beautiful Lucy - A Good Grief - had their annual concert last week and Maxie was part of the slideshow that they projected at the event.  He is towards the end - Tribute for our Angels.  I love to know that his smiling face beams down from many places.  It means so much for me to be able to bring him back into this world for even moments at a time.


While I was on Molly's blog, she also gave me a good laugh.  Her post about wanting to be the "Weird Al" of Mormon music is SO exactly why I wanted to be her friend.  If you are already one of my friends, you know that this is just the kind of nerd thing I do (or at least, used to do, and hope to someday do again).

Trying

Yesterday I wrote about how wonderful this vacation is....and it is.  We needed it.  But, I messed up again.  When I have a "good day", I worry that you think I am happy now.  I promised Ted that I would enjoy this vacation, because we have the rest of our lives to continue grieving.  I can't believe that it is possible, but I actually am enjoying it.  But "enjoying" isn't easy, like it once was.  It is taking all of my strength to just relax and relish the time I have here with my beloved husband.  I am pushing down so many feelings.  I feel like a boiling pot with a pressure cooker lid and I worry that the second we get home, I am going to explode.  I am trying so hard to tell you how AWFUL this all is, but to let you know that I am TRYING.  I am trying so hard to be patient. Trying so hard to believe that he is in the next world, waiting for me, and that we will be together again.  Trying to believe that every day I am one day closer to him, but it isn't enough.  I remember sharing a room with a colleague on a trip to Israel several years ago.  She was having a hard time enjoying the experience of being away because she missed her children so much.  That was a 6 day trip.  This is a lifetime.  A LIFETIME.  It is so unreal...and yet, this is my reality.  It's never been MORE real than this before.  And, as if the waiting wasn't enough (and it IS!), I have no idea if I will ever really see and be with him again.  I have no idea where he went and if I will be sent to the same place.  I am desperate for answers and faith just isn't good enough, because, you see, he is my baby.  He is my most precious person and having faith that you will be with your child again one day just doesn't cut it.  I know that in some way, I will get through this life without him even though it is next to impossible, but more than half of the tears I cry each day are for the life he won't have here.  I worry about him so much.  If he isn't where I am going, how will I check up on him?

I am searching high and low.  I find myself looking up at the stars and the clouds for answers.  They just mock me - sparkling, floating.  They don't even notice I am here.  I am a speck of dust to them.  I have been to therapists and grief counselors, and mediums and psychics and spiritual gurus and reiki masters and healers and everyone tells me to hang on, he is waiting for me.  But nobody really knows.  Everyone's just guessing.  And it isn't good enough.  For weeks, he visited me in my dreams, and then he stopped.  I don't know why.  He stopped visiting me when I fell back into the pit.  Just like his presence disappeared after I lost control of my own body in NY on the day of Beth's Marathon.  I beg him to come to me every night before I go to sleep.  Beg for him to visit me in my dreams, beg for him to come back to me in the form of his little brother.  But, two nights ago, I dreamt someone told me I had a bad haircut and something about making a sandwich.  Having a meaningless dream feels like an enormous waste of time to me!  I NEED him back at night.  It's my only hope.  Last night I dreamt about other tragedies and losing other babies.  Oh please god - what are you trying to tell me?  Sometimes I wake up and I feel like god has been whispering the secrets of the universe into my ears while I slept, but I can't remember one word he said and I am crushed.  Please come back and tell me again tonight!  I promise that I will listen.  I won't dream about sandwiches and haircuts - you will have my undivided attention!  I need a message - a sign.  Even though I receive signs all of time, somehow they aren't enough...because we are talking about my child here.  Unless I can put my lips on his cheeks and smell the warmth of his neck, I won't believe.  So, I wake up, day after day with this longing in my heart and all of these questions still unanswered.  The pain is so large, I have no idea how I am able to contain it.  You wouldn't be able to contain it, I promise.

On our first night here Ted wanted to swim in the ocean.  "Please don't go!", I begged him.  The waters looked rough and he had been drinking.  I probably sounded a little too desperate.  But, I know if I lost him also, I'd be lost forever.  Just an hour before, I'd been thinking of swimming in the ocean too.  Swimming out and out and out and just continuing to swim until my body gave up and I was gone.  I worried he'd had the same thought as me.  I couldn't let him go where I wanted to go.  I couldn't let him meet Max without me.  We've both got to stick around to meet Baby M.  He is counting on us.  I keep thinking that when he gets here, he might have some answers for me.  Like, how his big brother is doing.  Does he love me nearly as much as I love him?  Sometimes I worry that Max didn't feel the love that we felt and that's why he left us.  Maybe he didn't know that he was our whole world.  Anyway, it wasn't his job to love.  He was just a baby.  It was his job to be loved and he was.  He was loved.  He was loved with all of our hearts.  He was loved strongly and deeply.  He is still loved.  He will always be loved.  You're never more than one thought away, Maxie.  Please visit me in my dreams again, my monkey.  I am breaking.

Wish you were here

Holy Moses!  The WiFi here is SO slow.  But, oh my lord - this place is the bomb!  We are at the Secrets Silversands Resort in Cancun.  It is seriously beautiful.  There are at least 5 pool areas, a white sand beach, ongoing activities and shows, and all you can drink (totally lost on me this trip) and eat (with a bunch of nice restaurants on the property).  Ted cannot believe that you just sit at the bar, drink all night and then stand up and walk away.  We only want to take all-inclusive vacations from now on.  We'll have to find a family version for when Baby M gets here.  For now, it is beyond awesome that there are NO children anywhere.  Our flight down was like being on a baby field trip - it was really hard and challenging.  But, I won't dwell on that because it's done.  I am so happy we decided to come here and the time is already slipping away too quick.  We have a swim out room so we can lounge on our deck and then jump in the pool.  I want to spend time every day on the beach.  The last medium I saw (more info on that sometime in the future - because it was beyond unreal) said that we could find Max on the beach.  We both felt his presence last night on the beach, in what would have otherwise been a fairy cheesy moment.  After a big "dance show" in the resort's theater, there was a bonfire on the beach with an acoustic duo.  We got down there in time to hear Pink Floyd's ""Wish you were here".  Music I loved as a teenager...even though the lyrics were completely lost on me then.  In a pronounced Mexican accent, the Shakira like female singer belted out -"How I wish....how I wish you were here.  We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl....year after year".  I got pretty weepy.  As much as I search for Max all day and night, he is never further than one thought away from me at all times.  And I miss him SO much.  I can't even imagine how my life is continuing without him.  And, as beautiful and perfect as this vacation is, I'd rather be sitting on the stinky Ikea couch in our living room, covered in spit up, nuzzling into my Maxie's neck.