Died
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Died. It is so hard for me to say that word in reference to my child. He died. I HATE saying that. I say "We lost our baby" or "He passed" because I need to take the sting out of it for myself. I hate that it softens the blow for whoever I am talking to - why should everything be softer for them? But, the words hurt too much coming out of my mouth. They hurt no matter what I say but the word "died", it is just too too much. Another mother I have gotten to know since she lost one of her children stopped talking to a friend who described her daughter as "dead". Of course the friend meant no harm, she was simply stating the situation as it is. The child died. But the bereaved mother's ears hurt, her heart hurt, her whole body shook at hearing the word. It feels too unreal. It hurts too much. It is too effing awful to be real. But, it is true. I did not "lose" my baby. He did not "pass". What happened is too awful to say. It's too awful to think. And, yet, it is the truth. My child died. And, it's just eating me alive to think about. This pain is unsustainable....and still, we go on.
Curious
Monday, December 16, 2013
RIP Paul Walker
We've lost a legend: Lou Reed
Your thoughts are with the family of Nelson Mandela
Your heart is broken for the family that lost their child whose story went viral.
These are the posts I see on your Facebook page....and yet, I've never once heard from you since my son died. And, you know me.
I just find it curious is all.
We've lost a legend: Lou Reed
Your thoughts are with the family of Nelson Mandela
Your heart is broken for the family that lost their child whose story went viral.
These are the posts I see on your Facebook page....and yet, I've never once heard from you since my son died. And, you know me.
I just find it curious is all.
Mos last haircut
Saturday, December 14, 2013
My mom fancies herself quite the haircutter. She regularly cuts my brother, her boyfriend Ken and some of the neighbors' hair. I must admit she's pretty good. She is my go-to gal for trims and the only one who cut my hair for two years after losing Maxie (and until I was in my mid-twenties). She's been itching to cut Mosie's hair, even though I keep warning her, it won't be easy. It became clear that she wasn't backing down, so I brought him to her for his last cut.
As you can imagine, this method took a while. Surprisingly, his haircut actually turned out pretty good, especially considering she took one snip at a time over the period of about an hour. Still, I think we are going to wait until he can sit still more more than a few minutes before we bring him back for his next grandma haircut.
Mo's visit with Santa
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Mo's nanny took him to the library yesterday, where they bumped into Santa, who was reading stories to the kids. I guess Mo was acting pretty interested in Santa and so they got closer.
It looks like Mo wasn't a fan. This Santa would scare anyone I think. By the way, check out Santa's sandals. So bohemian!
My role
Ted and I watched the 60 Minutes piece about Nelson Mandela on Monday night. I remember when Mandela's great granddaughter died at the start of the World Cup but I honestly had
no idea that he had lost two adult sons - one in a car accident and one
to AIDS. "Mandela compared his grief [when his son Thembi died in the
car accident] to that suffered by a tribal chief savaged by
a lion, whose wounds had to be cauterized with a red hot spear." I
found this quote this morning in this article,
where I also learned that Mandela had lost a nine month old daughter 21
years before the loss of his first son. Three children! I am just
overwhelmed at the thought. The 60 Minutes piece focused on Mandela's strength and how he never stopped smiling through all of the oppression. I can understand his strategy in smiling at his oppressors - it was his way of making sure that they didn't win. But, I couldn't help but wonder why he felt that he needed to smile through such gigantic personal losses. It probably has something to do with the public's expectation of someone so larger than life.
Is it weird that I feel comforted when I hear of other people who've lost children? It isn't that I am "glad" that they've lost. It's that I think, "If they've done it, I can do it!"
Even as a regular person, I feel that there is an expectation of a role I am supposed to play. People want to see that this woman made it through the awful loss of her son and is now living a happy and beautiful life. I sometimes feel like my role, among the people who know me (but don't really know me), is to demonstrate the strength of the human spirit. We are incredibly resilient creatures, it's true, but I am nowhere near close to being healed. I am STILL taking it one hour at a time. And even though I am smiling on the outside, I am often still dying on the inside.
Is it weird that I feel comforted when I hear of other people who've lost children? It isn't that I am "glad" that they've lost. It's that I think, "If they've done it, I can do it!"
Even as a regular person, I feel that there is an expectation of a role I am supposed to play. People want to see that this woman made it through the awful loss of her son and is now living a happy and beautiful life. I sometimes feel like my role, among the people who know me (but don't really know me), is to demonstrate the strength of the human spirit. We are incredibly resilient creatures, it's true, but I am nowhere near close to being healed. I am STILL taking it one hour at a time. And even though I am smiling on the outside, I am often still dying on the inside.
While I am on the subject......
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
I've written for the past couple of days about how I believe that Mo (and his future siblings - fingers crossed) can and will have happy childhoods despite the fact that there will always be a missing big brother that their parents mourn and miss. I have been, in some way, defending my parenting to anyone who believes that I cannot possibly give my children a normal childhood because of the loss that I have suffered. I've probably also been giving myself a little pep talk while writing all of this - in effect telling myself, "Many others have walked this path before you - you can do this!"
But, while I am on the subject, there is something that has bothered me since the start of this journey. Why do we feel the need to pretend that bad things don't happen? Why can we not honestly and with thought and purpose teach our children that pain and suffering exist? Does it all need to be Princesses and Santa Claus and Happily Ever After? I mean, are we actually preparing our children for real life? If we never teach them, how will they grow up to be compassionate people? How will they manage their own lives when unexpected sorrow or tragedy happens to them? I'm just putting it out there.
Let me be perfectly clear (yes, I am talking to YOU, "Anonymous"!) - I am not talking about explaining in detail the horrors of death or danger, I am talking about saying "There are children who don't have enough to eat, let's feed them" or "Our friends baby got sick and now he is in heaven, we need to go comfort them because it is so sad."
My nieces understood that Maxie was gone and they expressed their sadness in various ways to their mothers for a long time. I think that my sister in law and stepsister handled it in the best way possible. They spoke openly with their daughters about Max. They put (or kept) photos of Maxie up around their homes. They spent time visiting and mourning with Ted and I. There is no way of getting around what happened....I am just not sure I understand the value in pretending like it didn't and sweeping it under the rug. Children are very smart and intuitive. My experience is that they handled Maxie's passing more honestly and maturely than most adults. My nieces still talk about Max all of the time because they want to (first of all) and because they know we like hearing them talk about him. They are smart enough to know that it might make us emotional, but our emotions don't scare them, like they scare adults. We could learn a lot from kids.
We are so scared of the bad things that happen, that we try to convince people, who are going through the impossible, that their trials are no big deal. I am going to tell you something that might blow your mind - heartbreak, loss, suffering - it's real....whether you acknowledge it or not. And here is something you really aren't going to want to hear - you will feel it too someday - whether you want to or not. It may not be heartbreak on the scale that I am experiencing it, but your heart will be broken someday. You will experience a loss that will affect you profoundly. I don't think very many people get through this life without it.
I don't believe that I need to shield Mo (or his future siblings - god willing) from all of the hurt in the world. I know that he will have to experience hurt in some form or another himself at some point as well. I hate it that he will know pain someday, but I know it to be true. And, when he does - I will be here for him. He can confide in me and cry to me and I won't pretend like he isn't hurting. I don't really see the point in that. If he is hurting, I want to comfort him, not dismiss him.
I guess I am just saying - I wonder if we would be able to cope better with heartbreak in our lives if we were a little more prepared.
But, while I am on the subject, there is something that has bothered me since the start of this journey. Why do we feel the need to pretend that bad things don't happen? Why can we not honestly and with thought and purpose teach our children that pain and suffering exist? Does it all need to be Princesses and Santa Claus and Happily Ever After? I mean, are we actually preparing our children for real life? If we never teach them, how will they grow up to be compassionate people? How will they manage their own lives when unexpected sorrow or tragedy happens to them? I'm just putting it out there.
Let me be perfectly clear (yes, I am talking to YOU, "Anonymous"!) - I am not talking about explaining in detail the horrors of death or danger, I am talking about saying "There are children who don't have enough to eat, let's feed them" or "Our friends baby got sick and now he is in heaven, we need to go comfort them because it is so sad."
My nieces understood that Maxie was gone and they expressed their sadness in various ways to their mothers for a long time. I think that my sister in law and stepsister handled it in the best way possible. They spoke openly with their daughters about Max. They put (or kept) photos of Maxie up around their homes. They spent time visiting and mourning with Ted and I. There is no way of getting around what happened....I am just not sure I understand the value in pretending like it didn't and sweeping it under the rug. Children are very smart and intuitive. My experience is that they handled Maxie's passing more honestly and maturely than most adults. My nieces still talk about Max all of the time because they want to (first of all) and because they know we like hearing them talk about him. They are smart enough to know that it might make us emotional, but our emotions don't scare them, like they scare adults. We could learn a lot from kids.
We are so scared of the bad things that happen, that we try to convince people, who are going through the impossible, that their trials are no big deal. I am going to tell you something that might blow your mind - heartbreak, loss, suffering - it's real....whether you acknowledge it or not. And here is something you really aren't going to want to hear - you will feel it too someday - whether you want to or not. It may not be heartbreak on the scale that I am experiencing it, but your heart will be broken someday. You will experience a loss that will affect you profoundly. I don't think very many people get through this life without it.
I don't believe that I need to shield Mo (or his future siblings - god willing) from all of the hurt in the world. I know that he will have to experience hurt in some form or another himself at some point as well. I hate it that he will know pain someday, but I know it to be true. And, when he does - I will be here for him. He can confide in me and cry to me and I won't pretend like he isn't hurting. I don't really see the point in that. If he is hurting, I want to comfort him, not dismiss him.
I guess I am just saying - I wonder if we would be able to cope better with heartbreak in our lives if we were a little more prepared.
Lessons
Monday, December 9, 2013
(continued from Damaging)
Enough people had mentioned their worry for Mo while I was planning Maxie's Benefit this year, that I had to pause and wonder if honoring Maxie's memory would somehow screw up Mo. I was talking to my friend Kim about it and she shared a story from her own life with me that solidified the way I feel about the whole subject.
Kim told me that she had an uncle who died before she was born, when he was just a kid. Every year, her grandparents put together a large fundraising event in his honor. She told me that her whole family would get all dressed up and sit at the head table and the whole room would be filled. She said that she knew the whole event was to honor her uncle's memory and she felt very special to be a part of it - she loved that she and her family were the guests of honor on that day. She knew that it was meaningful and important. This is something that I will carry with me - this story of Kim's uncle's benefit. My intent is that Mo and his future siblings will be proud of being Maxie's siblings, that they will see themselves as the guests of honor within our Maxie tributes and memorials, and that they will know that they are a part of something very important.
I made a new friend last week with whom I had an instant connection. She wrote me a couple of months ago in response to my post about whether I needed a carseat for vacation and offered to lend me her Sit N Stroll. I took her up on the offer and then went over to her house last week to drop it off. We ended up hanging out for a while, sharing some inappropriate stories and jokes, laughing A LOT and talking about some heavier stuff too. It turns out that her parents lost two children - a three month old baby before my friend was born and an older child in his twenties when my new friend was a preteen. There were a lot of things she shared about having this experience in life but one thing that stuck with me most was that her parents have survived. I know that sounds crazy - because OF COURSE they did....but sometimes it still seems like I won't, even though I will. My new friend is hilarious (and you know how important that is to me) and well-adjusted (seemingly - I mean I don't know her THAT well ;)), but she knows that bad things happen to people in this life. She knows about loss and compassion.
Someone in one of my Facebook grief groups shared this post that she'd read the other day that really touched me. It is written by a woman who lost a sister who was only eight weeks old when the author was only two. She has no memory of that baby sister, only memories of honoring and memorializing that sister. The post is about a very vivid dream she had in adulthood about that sister. "Shortly after the dream", she writes, "I asked my mom about the decision to make Rachel such a part of the fabric of our lives. Many families experience a miscarriage or the death of a young child and do not discuss it openly or often as we do. She told me something I’ll never forget. She said, 'I wanted you all to grow up knowing that bad things happen, for no reason, things you think you can't survive, but you can, you do. We did.'”
What I really want - need - long for - dream about - is for Mo to KNOW Max. For them to grow up together, to play together, to argue and make up. They are so much alike. Mo has the same disposition as Max did. Raising Mo through babyhood was so much like raising Max that I get their idiosyncrasies mixed up. I know that they would have loved each other. I KNOW that with all of my soul. And, they would have only been a year and a half apart - best men at each others wedding, travel buddies, best friends. It guts me to think about it. But, I recognize that what IS is that Mo may feel very little connection to Max as he gets older, just that his mommy and daddy loved this boy and that he is gone and we celebrate his life with various rituals....and that's ok. Let's face it - none of it is really ok but it just is.
What I hope this tragic experience will give Mo is the knowledge that horrific things can happen in this life but that people can and do survive (and even thrive), that having compassion will enrich his life and may make a difference in someone else's life, and that no matter what happens, we will always love and adore him. And, even if he doesn't get any one of those lessons from Maxie's legacy, I hope he will always feel proud of being a guest of honor whenever we memorialize his incredible big brother.
Enough people had mentioned their worry for Mo while I was planning Maxie's Benefit this year, that I had to pause and wonder if honoring Maxie's memory would somehow screw up Mo. I was talking to my friend Kim about it and she shared a story from her own life with me that solidified the way I feel about the whole subject.
Kim told me that she had an uncle who died before she was born, when he was just a kid. Every year, her grandparents put together a large fundraising event in his honor. She told me that her whole family would get all dressed up and sit at the head table and the whole room would be filled. She said that she knew the whole event was to honor her uncle's memory and she felt very special to be a part of it - she loved that she and her family were the guests of honor on that day. She knew that it was meaningful and important. This is something that I will carry with me - this story of Kim's uncle's benefit. My intent is that Mo and his future siblings will be proud of being Maxie's siblings, that they will see themselves as the guests of honor within our Maxie tributes and memorials, and that they will know that they are a part of something very important.
I made a new friend last week with whom I had an instant connection. She wrote me a couple of months ago in response to my post about whether I needed a carseat for vacation and offered to lend me her Sit N Stroll. I took her up on the offer and then went over to her house last week to drop it off. We ended up hanging out for a while, sharing some inappropriate stories and jokes, laughing A LOT and talking about some heavier stuff too. It turns out that her parents lost two children - a three month old baby before my friend was born and an older child in his twenties when my new friend was a preteen. There were a lot of things she shared about having this experience in life but one thing that stuck with me most was that her parents have survived. I know that sounds crazy - because OF COURSE they did....but sometimes it still seems like I won't, even though I will. My new friend is hilarious (and you know how important that is to me) and well-adjusted (seemingly - I mean I don't know her THAT well ;)), but she knows that bad things happen to people in this life. She knows about loss and compassion.
Someone in one of my Facebook grief groups shared this post that she'd read the other day that really touched me. It is written by a woman who lost a sister who was only eight weeks old when the author was only two. She has no memory of that baby sister, only memories of honoring and memorializing that sister. The post is about a very vivid dream she had in adulthood about that sister. "Shortly after the dream", she writes, "I asked my mom about the decision to make Rachel such a part of the fabric of our lives. Many families experience a miscarriage or the death of a young child and do not discuss it openly or often as we do. She told me something I’ll never forget. She said, 'I wanted you all to grow up knowing that bad things happen, for no reason, things you think you can't survive, but you can, you do. We did.'”
What I really want - need - long for - dream about - is for Mo to KNOW Max. For them to grow up together, to play together, to argue and make up. They are so much alike. Mo has the same disposition as Max did. Raising Mo through babyhood was so much like raising Max that I get their idiosyncrasies mixed up. I know that they would have loved each other. I KNOW that with all of my soul. And, they would have only been a year and a half apart - best men at each others wedding, travel buddies, best friends. It guts me to think about it. But, I recognize that what IS is that Mo may feel very little connection to Max as he gets older, just that his mommy and daddy loved this boy and that he is gone and we celebrate his life with various rituals....and that's ok. Let's face it - none of it is really ok but it just is.
What I hope this tragic experience will give Mo is the knowledge that horrific things can happen in this life but that people can and do survive (and even thrive), that having compassion will enrich his life and may make a difference in someone else's life, and that no matter what happens, we will always love and adore him. And, even if he doesn't get any one of those lessons from Maxie's legacy, I hope he will always feel proud of being a guest of honor whenever we memorialize his incredible big brother.
Damaging
Sunday, December 8, 2013
I didn't tell people about my pregnancy with Mo until I was five months along because I didn't really want to hear what people had to say. I didn't want to hear how excited they were that we would be happy again (as if the hole left behind by Max would be filled by this new person) and I definitely didn't want to hear that Ted and I were not ready for another child. Too many other bereaved parents had shared their experiences with me about that - the unsolicited advice about "getting over" grief before having more children. Ted and I both knew that there would be no getting over the grief in this lifetime - the best we could hope for was that it would soften with time.
As soon as I announced my pregnancy, I got a lot of both kinds of responses but mostly, I got a lot of sincere love from friends and family who knew that our hearts were still broken and that at the same time, we were thrilled to be expecting another child. Thank god! Many still expressed their concern for the new child - could he/she be happy with us for parents? What would we tell our future children about Maxie? Generations before us didn't share as much or even went so far as to keep the child that they had lost a secret from their subsequent children. That could NEVER be us.
We knew that Maxie would always be a gigantic part of our lives and that our subsequent children would know how much we loved their older brother. It is important to us that Mo knows how much we love Maxie. It is just as important to us that Mo knows how much we love him. This isn't even an issue for parents with more than one living children. Yes, children get jealous at times - but parents can love ALL of their children equally without being judged. Some have suggested that our love and remembering of Maxie could damage Mo. I feel very much the opposite.
I believe that it is SO important for Mo (and any other children we may have) to know that death does not stop us from loving and remembering special people with all of our hearts. I want them to remember their grandparents after they are gone. I want them to remember us when we are gone. I believe that it is important for them to know that no matter how far they are from us physically, they will ALWAYS be on our minds and in our hearts. I believe these are important life lessons. The people I have loved in my life and lost are still very very special to me. Their death did not end my love for them.
When those who I thought loved Maxie unconditionally seemed to move on easily, it felt very confusing to me. Was love this transient? Could you really get over another person this easily? And, by the way, would they take my photo off the mantle if I died? Would they stop mentioning me? Would they never remember that I was missing from holidays and events? Would their hearts not be broken if I died? How they feel about Maxie's death directly reflects how they feel about us and about Mo - honestly, how could it not? There is no way they just didn't love Maxie. I don't ever want my children to feel that way. Can you imagine growing up and knowing that you'd had a sibling that died that your parents never mentioned or kept a secret? What does that say to your living child about a parents' love for their kids? I'll tell you what....It doesn't say much....
I hope that our children will also learn that horrible things can happen in this life and that people DO get through them. That the pain softens. That joy returns.
A friend wrote me a panicked email a while back with the subject "What about Mo?". The content of the email was basically a bunch of questions about how we would tell Mo about Max. How would we make sure that he didn't grow up completely damaged by this loss? My response was basically that life can hand any child a number of unfortunate, life altering, and downright crappy incidents and we do the best with what we are given - divorce, death, disease, poverty....children grow up with all of these things and there is no reason to think my child can't thrive despite the legacy of his brother. I BELIEVE that Ted and I know more than most the value of having a happy and healthy child. I believe that Mo will know our unconditional love always. I believe that knowing how much we continue to love Maxie, in spite of his not being here with us, is an incredible lesson about the power of love. I believe that with everything that I am.
Mo is only 16 months but this is what I can tell you about him - he is a happy baby. He loves hugs and kisses and cuddles (and that is a really good thing because he gets smothered in them ALL DAY LONG). He is well adjusted in that he approaches other children of all ages, he likes being around other people, he enjoys learning new skills, loves being read to and plays well by himself. I am sure that there will come a time when he will wonder more and more about his older brother and we will be happy to tell Mo all about Max - with all of the love in our hearts.
To be continued.....
As soon as I announced my pregnancy, I got a lot of both kinds of responses but mostly, I got a lot of sincere love from friends and family who knew that our hearts were still broken and that at the same time, we were thrilled to be expecting another child. Thank god! Many still expressed their concern for the new child - could he/she be happy with us for parents? What would we tell our future children about Maxie? Generations before us didn't share as much or even went so far as to keep the child that they had lost a secret from their subsequent children. That could NEVER be us.
We knew that Maxie would always be a gigantic part of our lives and that our subsequent children would know how much we loved their older brother. It is important to us that Mo knows how much we love Maxie. It is just as important to us that Mo knows how much we love him. This isn't even an issue for parents with more than one living children. Yes, children get jealous at times - but parents can love ALL of their children equally without being judged. Some have suggested that our love and remembering of Maxie could damage Mo. I feel very much the opposite.
I believe that it is SO important for Mo (and any other children we may have) to know that death does not stop us from loving and remembering special people with all of our hearts. I want them to remember their grandparents after they are gone. I want them to remember us when we are gone. I believe that it is important for them to know that no matter how far they are from us physically, they will ALWAYS be on our minds and in our hearts. I believe these are important life lessons. The people I have loved in my life and lost are still very very special to me. Their death did not end my love for them.
When those who I thought loved Maxie unconditionally seemed to move on easily, it felt very confusing to me. Was love this transient? Could you really get over another person this easily? And, by the way, would they take my photo off the mantle if I died? Would they stop mentioning me? Would they never remember that I was missing from holidays and events? Would their hearts not be broken if I died? How they feel about Maxie's death directly reflects how they feel about us and about Mo - honestly, how could it not? There is no way they just didn't love Maxie. I don't ever want my children to feel that way. Can you imagine growing up and knowing that you'd had a sibling that died that your parents never mentioned or kept a secret? What does that say to your living child about a parents' love for their kids? I'll tell you what....It doesn't say much....
I hope that our children will also learn that horrible things can happen in this life and that people DO get through them. That the pain softens. That joy returns.
A friend wrote me a panicked email a while back with the subject "What about Mo?". The content of the email was basically a bunch of questions about how we would tell Mo about Max. How would we make sure that he didn't grow up completely damaged by this loss? My response was basically that life can hand any child a number of unfortunate, life altering, and downright crappy incidents and we do the best with what we are given - divorce, death, disease, poverty....children grow up with all of these things and there is no reason to think my child can't thrive despite the legacy of his brother. I BELIEVE that Ted and I know more than most the value of having a happy and healthy child. I believe that Mo will know our unconditional love always. I believe that knowing how much we continue to love Maxie, in spite of his not being here with us, is an incredible lesson about the power of love. I believe that with everything that I am.
Mo is only 16 months but this is what I can tell you about him - he is a happy baby. He loves hugs and kisses and cuddles (and that is a really good thing because he gets smothered in them ALL DAY LONG). He is well adjusted in that he approaches other children of all ages, he likes being around other people, he enjoys learning new skills, loves being read to and plays well by himself. I am sure that there will come a time when he will wonder more and more about his older brother and we will be happy to tell Mo all about Max - with all of the love in our hearts.
To be continued.....
Mo's Wonderful Nanny
Friday, December 6, 2013
Over the past few years, I've heard a lot of smack talk about the Millennial Generation. I've heard about how selfish and entitled they are and how they don't understand the importance of civic engagement, volunteerism and philanthropy. I've even seen it with my own eyes. There are some really annoying millennials out there!
Just as there are annoying Baby Boomers (oy), Generation X'ers (my own people - they embarrass me so!), Generation Y'ers (don't get me started - as a side note: an ongoing battle of Ted and mine is when I tell him he is Generation Y and he insists that he is Generation X - the battle continues).
I try to judge people by who they are and not their age or generation. I find that when I do this, I feel much more comfortable with my own age as well, since I end up with friends from all generations. I can see where I've been and what I've got coming and the future looks a whole lot less scary when you can find a few "oldies but goodies".
This post is really about Mo's nanny, Jessica. She is 24, with a wise old soul. I can't tell you how much I love this young woman. She is so good with Mo, so easy to be around, so responsible. She is always reading about child development and looking for new ways to engage our baby. She is also deeply compassionate and I love that about her. Since she started working here, there have been many days where I just couldn't stop crying. She has patiently listened to me talk about Max, and grief, and life after death, and my medium experiences and my anger, and on and on and on. Poor Jessica! I'm not sure she knew what she was getting into. But, she loves Mo with so much obviousness.
For the past two weeks, Jessica was in Ethiopia, visiting care sites for orphaned children and children in need. She spent her hard earned money to get on a plane and go across the world for what will likely be her only real vacation this year, to sleep in a guest house with 3 roommates, bring much needed supplies and make sure that the money she has been sending monthly for the last four years is indeed helping children. Her monthly gift to Children's Hope Chest sponsors a little girl with money for food, textbooks and supplies and medical care. She was the youngest solo traveler in the group (there were several teenagers in the group who were traveling with their parents.) Most of the friends she made while in Ethiopia were my age or older.
Before she left, Jessica could see that Mo was about to start walking. She was sad that she'd likely be missing his first steps. She texted me from Ethiopia to tell me that she missed him so much and asked if I would send photos. I told her he hadn't started walking yet - he was waiting for her. And, indeed he did! His first day walking was her second day back with him.
I love that my kid isn't the only one that Jessica is taking care of every single day (and I am not just referring to the fact that she takes care of an adorable 6 year old girl every afternoon after she leaves us). I know she'll be going back to visit with her Ethiopian friends for many years to come.
One of the group leaders wrote this post about their trip, that includes so many wonderful pictures from their trip.
One of the schools that Jessica visited is looking to buy textbooks so that each child there will have one. Currently, they are sharing one book for every 4-5 children - happily. If you would like to help the school (Trees of Glory) purchase books, you can click this link to make a donation: http://bit.ly/TOGbooks.
Just as there are annoying Baby Boomers (oy), Generation X'ers (my own people - they embarrass me so!), Generation Y'ers (don't get me started - as a side note: an ongoing battle of Ted and mine is when I tell him he is Generation Y and he insists that he is Generation X - the battle continues).
I try to judge people by who they are and not their age or generation. I find that when I do this, I feel much more comfortable with my own age as well, since I end up with friends from all generations. I can see where I've been and what I've got coming and the future looks a whole lot less scary when you can find a few "oldies but goodies".
This post is really about Mo's nanny, Jessica. She is 24, with a wise old soul. I can't tell you how much I love this young woman. She is so good with Mo, so easy to be around, so responsible. She is always reading about child development and looking for new ways to engage our baby. She is also deeply compassionate and I love that about her. Since she started working here, there have been many days where I just couldn't stop crying. She has patiently listened to me talk about Max, and grief, and life after death, and my medium experiences and my anger, and on and on and on. Poor Jessica! I'm not sure she knew what she was getting into. But, she loves Mo with so much obviousness.
For the past two weeks, Jessica was in Ethiopia, visiting care sites for orphaned children and children in need. She spent her hard earned money to get on a plane and go across the world for what will likely be her only real vacation this year, to sleep in a guest house with 3 roommates, bring much needed supplies and make sure that the money she has been sending monthly for the last four years is indeed helping children. Her monthly gift to Children's Hope Chest sponsors a little girl with money for food, textbooks and supplies and medical care. She was the youngest solo traveler in the group (there were several teenagers in the group who were traveling with their parents.) Most of the friends she made while in Ethiopia were my age or older.
Before she left, Jessica could see that Mo was about to start walking. She was sad that she'd likely be missing his first steps. She texted me from Ethiopia to tell me that she missed him so much and asked if I would send photos. I told her he hadn't started walking yet - he was waiting for her. And, indeed he did! His first day walking was her second day back with him.
I love that my kid isn't the only one that Jessica is taking care of every single day (and I am not just referring to the fact that she takes care of an adorable 6 year old girl every afternoon after she leaves us). I know she'll be going back to visit with her Ethiopian friends for many years to come.
One of the group leaders wrote this post about their trip, that includes so many wonderful pictures from their trip.
One of the schools that Jessica visited is looking to buy textbooks so that each child there will have one. Currently, they are sharing one book for every 4-5 children - happily. If you would like to help the school (Trees of Glory) purchase books, you can click this link to make a donation: http://bit.ly/TOGbooks.
One Step Forward, Two Days Back
Thursday, December 5, 2013
As I mentioned yesterday, Mo started walking on Tuesday. He spent that whole day walking all over the place. He seemed happy and proud. Then the last two days - nothing. He is completely over it. Our nanny took him to the petting zoo yesterday so he could finally walk (and not crawl) in there, but unless she was holding his hand, he was right back on the ground. Don't get me wrong, I am not worried, just feeling like I need to come clean after all of the excited responses to yesterday's post. I can't really guarantee that you will get to see him in an upright stance the next time you see him. He is an enigma wrapped in a riddle. I don't know what is going through that little head of his. Regardless, it still looks like he enjoyed the zoo and even stood for a minute or two (assisted) so he could feed some straw to this little goat.
Mo's Walking!!!!!
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
If you are Facebook friends with my mom (and a lot of you are!), you already know that Mo is walking! He started yesterday. He is so proud of himself - and so are we! We love this guy so much!!!!!!
Thriving
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
My friend Glenda wrote me the other day after receiving my post about surviving and said that in more recent years, she has gone from surviving to thriving. The idea both scares and excites me. I can't even imagine thriving again. I thought a good activity for me today might be to make a list of all of those parents who've lost children and who have managed to find a way to thrive again. I am going to start with Glenda. My fear is that, of course, there are people who look like they are thriving but who may not actually be. We bereaved parents become very good with time at fooling the rest of the world. Regardless, I will do the best I can to put my little list together. Then, when I am feeling like I just want to give up, I will be able to pull out my list and try to channel some of their strength.
Co-dependent
Monday, December 2, 2013
I've always been pretty independent. I lived by myself for years before Ted and I moved in together. I've traveled all over the world by myself. I have always had a lot of friends but never felt like I needed to call, or text, or hang out with someone all of the time. I've always really enjoyed alone time. But, something has changed for me in these past two and a half years. I think I've become co-dependent.
Ted works long days. He also goes through periods of longer work weeks too. I knew this was a part of his job description when we first started dating. Before we lost Max, it was something I was used to. In fact, the first year we lived together, Ted worked every Saturday. I made plans with friends, or went to the gym, or hung out with my family.
Since losing Max, I miss Ted more every day. I start missing him early in the day - like mid-morning - and by the time early evening rolls around, I am counting down the hours. I feel so alone in this world, Ted is the only one who really understands me. He is the only one who feels like I feel. He is the only one who doesn't try to keep me from thinking of Max - because he is thinking about Max all of the time too. Other than writing about it here, I feel like Ted is the only one I can really share my feelings with and not worry how he will react.
For more than a year after Maxie stopped breathing, Ted and I had a hard time communicating. He preferred keeping all of his feelings bottled up inside - I couldn't stop myself from crying and screaming and talking if I tried. I felt like the pain was tearing my insides out and the only way to manage it at all was to talk about it. Talking relieved the pressure that was constantly building just a little bit.
Now, I talk a lot less and Ted talks a lot more. We've almost met in the middle (I say "almost" because of course, he'll never talk as much as me - most people don't). Our marriage has grown stronger. We are a team - working towards the same goals - hoping to find a way to create happiness again. I get so lonely without him. I know it is crazy. I know all couples need time apart but I feel like a part of me is missing when he is gone. I feel so alone without him. And, even though I am playing with Mo and we are enjoying each others company, there is a 2 hour window every evening before Ted gets home where I feel like I might lose my mind without him. Music helps a little. Sometimes Mo and I watch a movie or TV show. Sometimes we read. No matter what we do though, I cannot settle down until Ted gets home, which is probably a lot of pressure for him since I start texting him at 5 with messages like "Come home! I am so lonely without you!" or "#lonely!"
Poor Teddy - long hours and a co-dependent wife. I'm not sure what to do. It's still morning and I am missing him already.
Ted works long days. He also goes through periods of longer work weeks too. I knew this was a part of his job description when we first started dating. Before we lost Max, it was something I was used to. In fact, the first year we lived together, Ted worked every Saturday. I made plans with friends, or went to the gym, or hung out with my family.
Since losing Max, I miss Ted more every day. I start missing him early in the day - like mid-morning - and by the time early evening rolls around, I am counting down the hours. I feel so alone in this world, Ted is the only one who really understands me. He is the only one who feels like I feel. He is the only one who doesn't try to keep me from thinking of Max - because he is thinking about Max all of the time too. Other than writing about it here, I feel like Ted is the only one I can really share my feelings with and not worry how he will react.
For more than a year after Maxie stopped breathing, Ted and I had a hard time communicating. He preferred keeping all of his feelings bottled up inside - I couldn't stop myself from crying and screaming and talking if I tried. I felt like the pain was tearing my insides out and the only way to manage it at all was to talk about it. Talking relieved the pressure that was constantly building just a little bit.
Now, I talk a lot less and Ted talks a lot more. We've almost met in the middle (I say "almost" because of course, he'll never talk as much as me - most people don't). Our marriage has grown stronger. We are a team - working towards the same goals - hoping to find a way to create happiness again. I get so lonely without him. I know it is crazy. I know all couples need time apart but I feel like a part of me is missing when he is gone. I feel so alone without him. And, even though I am playing with Mo and we are enjoying each others company, there is a 2 hour window every evening before Ted gets home where I feel like I might lose my mind without him. Music helps a little. Sometimes Mo and I watch a movie or TV show. Sometimes we read. No matter what we do though, I cannot settle down until Ted gets home, which is probably a lot of pressure for him since I start texting him at 5 with messages like "Come home! I am so lonely without you!" or "#lonely!"
Poor Teddy - long hours and a co-dependent wife. I'm not sure what to do. It's still morning and I am missing him already.
My distraction
Sunday, December 1, 2013
I've been feeling so blue. So lost without my first born baby. Having fun with Mo and seeing him smile is the best (and often only) distraction for me. He lights up my life and reminds me how important I am as his mother. He looks so much like Max to me these days too. He reminds me so much of what I am missing while making me grateful for what I have.
He is so perfect!! I love them both more everyday.
More than this
Saturday, November 30, 2013
I've been thinking lately how far we've come since last year. Last year at this time, I remember that Thanksgiving felt very unreal to me...that I showed up but I didn't really show up. A few weeks later, we went to a friends surprise 40th birthday party with Mo and it was really hard. I felt out of place and people I've known for 20 years pretended like they had no idea who I was so they didn't have to talk to me. People still do that but I just don't take it so personally anymore. They are the ridiculous ones - I know that now. I really feel like we are in such a better place today and I have been feeling comforted by that - thinking that maybe things will continue to get easier incrementally over the years.
Then yesterday we were driving to my dad's house for a Hanukkah celebration and a wave of grief hit me so hard, I couldn't stop crying. Max should be here with us and I am tired of doing all of this without him. I hate that he doesn't get to celebrate Thanksgiving or Hanukkah. I hate that he doesn't know his funny little brother and that Mo doesn't get a big brother to play with and love. I ABSOLUTELY HATE IT! And, I hate surviving - that right now the biggest goal in my life is to survive. The fact is that "better" isn't good enough and neither is a lifetime of surviving. I want more than this for us, for Ted, for Mo and for myself.
Miracles and Survivors
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
My aunt and I went to a conference last year where we heard a speaker talking about the power of positive intention. Specifically, the speaker spoke about overcoming illness with positive thinking. I felt myself getting uncomfortable and finally, somewhat angry by the end of the talk.
I believe in the power of intention. I believe that when you complain about your situation all of the time, your situation probably won't change and I believe that if you think you can overcome obstacles, your chances greatly increase. Positivity can't hurt, and will definitely make the quality of your life better. What I don't think is that this is a foolproof way to change outcomes. Sometimes the disease wins, no matter how positive the person who has it remains. My aunt agreed - she lost her best friend and cousin to cancer. My cousin Andrea radiated positivity. The talk we'd just listened to seemed to almost blame those who didn't survive - as if they only had their own selves to blame - for not being positive enough.
I've heard many people talk the same way about prayer. "Our God is powerful", they say, when a "miracle" happens. "Everyone was praying for her and our God heard". I pray. All of the time. I use my prayer to focus on the really big things. I don't pray for parking spaces or nice weather but I do pray for good health for the people I love. I prayed for Maxie every day from the one I learned I was pregnant with him. I prayed for his health, happiness and long life with a tremendous amount of intention - ALL OF THE TIME. When he was in the hospital hooked up to life support, people were praying for him all over the world. I have done a lot of traveling in my time and I have made friends in all corners of this earth and so when I say that they were praying for him all over the planet - I mean just that. Our prayers were either ignored or meaningless. Had he lived, everyone would have pointed to the power of our prayer.....but, he didn't.
Last month was Breast Cancer Awareness month (it was also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month - which I am sure you did not know). Now that I am back on Facebook, I noticed that my feed was inundated with people recognizing those loved ones who were breast cancer survivors. There are a few in my family as well - including my mother. And, maybe the people I know only know survivors - which would be a pretty good explanation of why I didn't really see anyone write about remembering someone they'd lost to breast cancer. I am not saying nobody did it. I am just saying, I didn't see it.
I'm not exactly sure how this all connects for me - but it does - in a way that has been glaring at me since the time we lost Max. Everyone loves a happy ending. Everyone loves positivity and miracles and survivors - and so that is where we focus all of our energy. I can't tell you how many parents of children who passed from cancer tell me that they (and their child) had tremendous support while the child was still living but then were tossed aside after the child died. It's like you stop counting when your happy ending doesn't happen. And, to a much lesser degree, I've heard people say something similar about divorce - everyone was there when they celebrated their life's happy moments, but nobody was there once it all fell apart.
I guess what I want to say is that WE are the survivors - those of us who prayed, who kept a positive attitude in the darkest hours, who have to live without our children or loved ones for the rest of our lives, who have been tasked with building whole new lives. BELIEVE ME when I tell you that I wish the survivor had been Max. HE was the purpose of our prayer. BELIEVE ME when I tell you that I prayed directly to God with intention for his life. BELIEVE ME when I tell you that I wish I could say, "He was a fighter, we prayed and poured all of our positive intentions into his recovery and then God gave us a miracle." Max was never given a diagnosis. He was never sick. He couldn't have been a "fighter" even if he wanted to.
Believe me when I tell you that us parents, who are left on this earth without our children - WE ARE SURVIVORS.....and if I were on Facebook, I'd tag every one of you - Teddy, Susan, Molly, Bryan, Glenda, Alta, Rebecca, Tiffany, Suzanne, Kira, Jane, Jami, Mallow, John, Heather, Fiona, Grace, Susanna, Justine, Harriet, Eve, Jill, Melissa, Cassie.....I've left out so many but you are ALL survivors - and that is the most dumbfounding miracle of them all.
I believe in the power of intention. I believe that when you complain about your situation all of the time, your situation probably won't change and I believe that if you think you can overcome obstacles, your chances greatly increase. Positivity can't hurt, and will definitely make the quality of your life better. What I don't think is that this is a foolproof way to change outcomes. Sometimes the disease wins, no matter how positive the person who has it remains. My aunt agreed - she lost her best friend and cousin to cancer. My cousin Andrea radiated positivity. The talk we'd just listened to seemed to almost blame those who didn't survive - as if they only had their own selves to blame - for not being positive enough.
I've heard many people talk the same way about prayer. "Our God is powerful", they say, when a "miracle" happens. "Everyone was praying for her and our God heard". I pray. All of the time. I use my prayer to focus on the really big things. I don't pray for parking spaces or nice weather but I do pray for good health for the people I love. I prayed for Maxie every day from the one I learned I was pregnant with him. I prayed for his health, happiness and long life with a tremendous amount of intention - ALL OF THE TIME. When he was in the hospital hooked up to life support, people were praying for him all over the world. I have done a lot of traveling in my time and I have made friends in all corners of this earth and so when I say that they were praying for him all over the planet - I mean just that. Our prayers were either ignored or meaningless. Had he lived, everyone would have pointed to the power of our prayer.....but, he didn't.
Last month was Breast Cancer Awareness month (it was also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month - which I am sure you did not know). Now that I am back on Facebook, I noticed that my feed was inundated with people recognizing those loved ones who were breast cancer survivors. There are a few in my family as well - including my mother. And, maybe the people I know only know survivors - which would be a pretty good explanation of why I didn't really see anyone write about remembering someone they'd lost to breast cancer. I am not saying nobody did it. I am just saying, I didn't see it.
I'm not exactly sure how this all connects for me - but it does - in a way that has been glaring at me since the time we lost Max. Everyone loves a happy ending. Everyone loves positivity and miracles and survivors - and so that is where we focus all of our energy. I can't tell you how many parents of children who passed from cancer tell me that they (and their child) had tremendous support while the child was still living but then were tossed aside after the child died. It's like you stop counting when your happy ending doesn't happen. And, to a much lesser degree, I've heard people say something similar about divorce - everyone was there when they celebrated their life's happy moments, but nobody was there once it all fell apart.
I guess what I want to say is that WE are the survivors - those of us who prayed, who kept a positive attitude in the darkest hours, who have to live without our children or loved ones for the rest of our lives, who have been tasked with building whole new lives. BELIEVE ME when I tell you that I wish the survivor had been Max. HE was the purpose of our prayer. BELIEVE ME when I tell you that I prayed directly to God with intention for his life. BELIEVE ME when I tell you that I wish I could say, "He was a fighter, we prayed and poured all of our positive intentions into his recovery and then God gave us a miracle." Max was never given a diagnosis. He was never sick. He couldn't have been a "fighter" even if he wanted to.
Believe me when I tell you that us parents, who are left on this earth without our children - WE ARE SURVIVORS.....and if I were on Facebook, I'd tag every one of you - Teddy, Susan, Molly, Bryan, Glenda, Alta, Rebecca, Tiffany, Suzanne, Kira, Jane, Jami, Mallow, John, Heather, Fiona, Grace, Susanna, Justine, Harriet, Eve, Jill, Melissa, Cassie.....I've left out so many but you are ALL survivors - and that is the most dumbfounding miracle of them all.
My guy
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
As of yesterday, Teddy is a California State Licensed Contractor! Mo and I are so proud of him! Whoever said Jewish boys aren't handy hasn't met my guy!!!!
Recalling my previous statement
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Here is the thing. I do believe that parenting is the hardest job, contrary to what I said before. I know that it is hard for a number of reasons that no other kind of job could ever be....most especially because you are responsible for the most important person (people) who ever lived - your kid(s). That is a lot of pressure. The decisions you make could and will determine the course of their lives. I know that parenting is the hardest job. It's just that sometimes, I can't bear hearing people talk about it. It hurts my ears. As do a bunch of other things people like to agonize about.
I often can't handle listening to people whirl themselves into a tizzy about small stuff. I'm not saying I haven't done it - I have done it many, many times. It just feels like a luxury now. I think I am oddly jealous. I miss the simplicity of my former life. I miss getting all worked up about stuff that could be fixed. When I let myself go there now, I feel really ridiculous afterward. I am not sure that I deserve that indulgence.
Same goes for the whole "parenting is the hardest job" business. I have lost my little boy. I miss him all of the time. I spend all of my spare time reading grief blogs and books and talking to other bereaved parents. I don't think I get to indulge in this whole "parenting is the hardest job" thing. I mostly just feel grateful to have a second child. When I let myself go there, I usually wish I could take it back. The hardest part of parenting is knowing that you could lose your child - that has already happened to me and I am 100% positive that grieving is MUCH harder work than parenting EVER could be.
All this to say - YES parenting is so hard. I KNOW it gets harder in some ways as they get older. I KNOW it gets harder when there are more kids to parent (my cousins Ben and Jenny have FIVE kids. That sounds pretty hard to me.) I KNOW all of this but it just isn't my reality today and I am PRAYING (literally) that I get to know this hard business in the future. I think I've kind of become that old grandpa who had to "walk 10 miles through the snow to get to school and back every day". I don't want to be that guy. I know it is all relative. My hardships are not yours and yours are not mine.
So, I am sorry to all of the parents who know that their job is the hardest. It is....and you are doing a good job. I woke up last night thinking "Why did I write that about parenting? It IS hard." My apologies. I hope you didn't get all worked up about it.
I often can't handle listening to people whirl themselves into a tizzy about small stuff. I'm not saying I haven't done it - I have done it many, many times. It just feels like a luxury now. I think I am oddly jealous. I miss the simplicity of my former life. I miss getting all worked up about stuff that could be fixed. When I let myself go there now, I feel really ridiculous afterward. I am not sure that I deserve that indulgence.
Same goes for the whole "parenting is the hardest job" business. I have lost my little boy. I miss him all of the time. I spend all of my spare time reading grief blogs and books and talking to other bereaved parents. I don't think I get to indulge in this whole "parenting is the hardest job" thing. I mostly just feel grateful to have a second child. When I let myself go there, I usually wish I could take it back. The hardest part of parenting is knowing that you could lose your child - that has already happened to me and I am 100% positive that grieving is MUCH harder work than parenting EVER could be.
All this to say - YES parenting is so hard. I KNOW it gets harder in some ways as they get older. I KNOW it gets harder when there are more kids to parent (my cousins Ben and Jenny have FIVE kids. That sounds pretty hard to me.) I KNOW all of this but it just isn't my reality today and I am PRAYING (literally) that I get to know this hard business in the future. I think I've kind of become that old grandpa who had to "walk 10 miles through the snow to get to school and back every day". I don't want to be that guy. I know it is all relative. My hardships are not yours and yours are not mine.
So, I am sorry to all of the parents who know that their job is the hardest. It is....and you are doing a good job. I woke up last night thinking "Why did I write that about parenting? It IS hard." My apologies. I hope you didn't get all worked up about it.
Funny
Friday, November 22, 2013
The quality I have historically valued most in the friends I have chosen has been a great sense of humor. I can very honestly say that most of my closest inner circle of buddies are hilarious. I mean, pee in your pants, tears rolling down your face, stomach hurts so bad - kind of hilarious. I have valued hilarity above all else in life - more than loyalty, kindness (in fact, I generally like my hilarious friends to have some sass), or empathy. If you could make me laugh, I'm not sure I really cared how good of a person you were. If you could make me laugh, chances are I liked you.
In my darkest days, the last thing on earth I wanted was to laugh. In fact, I found it fairly insulting when people would try and make me laugh or laugh in front of me. Nothing was funny anymore. The ease of my former laughter was gone. Another reason I couldn't be around friends - they were just too funny. I spent some time re-evaluating my priorities - was funny really the most important quality a person can have? I needed empaths, deep souls, spiritual beings who understood pain and loss....not funny people.
Nothing was funny - for a long, long time. Really. Nothing.
As it turns out, most of my funny friends have much more depth than I probably ever appreciated. They did such a good job showing their compassionate sides that, over time, I actually forgot how funny they were. They put their comedy routines on hold for a bit while I got my basic self back together. A slow, agonizing and ongoing process.
And, as I have begun to emerge from the fog of the deepest, most painful grief, their senses of humor have reappeared - helping to guide me back into the light - helping me to take life a little less seriously and reminding me of the importance of laughter.
To my funny friends (you know who you are!) - thank you for reminding me how to laugh. I love you.
In my darkest days, the last thing on earth I wanted was to laugh. In fact, I found it fairly insulting when people would try and make me laugh or laugh in front of me. Nothing was funny anymore. The ease of my former laughter was gone. Another reason I couldn't be around friends - they were just too funny. I spent some time re-evaluating my priorities - was funny really the most important quality a person can have? I needed empaths, deep souls, spiritual beings who understood pain and loss....not funny people.
Nothing was funny - for a long, long time. Really. Nothing.
As it turns out, most of my funny friends have much more depth than I probably ever appreciated. They did such a good job showing their compassionate sides that, over time, I actually forgot how funny they were. They put their comedy routines on hold for a bit while I got my basic self back together. A slow, agonizing and ongoing process.
And, as I have begun to emerge from the fog of the deepest, most painful grief, their senses of humor have reappeared - helping to guide me back into the light - helping me to take life a little less seriously and reminding me of the importance of laughter.
To my funny friends (you know who you are!) - thank you for reminding me how to laugh. I love you.
Not Interested
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
I think we've decided that if Mo REALLY wanted to - he could walk. But, frankly, I just don't think he is that interested. You see, he IS the fastest crawler in the West and he gets everywhere he needs to go lickety split - so why walk? At least, I think that is what he is thinking. I am not worried but I'd like to see him walk - if for no other reason than I am always having to wash off those dirty hands everywhere we go. He LOVES crawling and I let him crawl basically everywhere - even on really dirty floors. Gross. So, we are trying to hold his hand more (he doesn't like it) and make time for him to walk around with the baby-walker that Gigi got him. I think you'll agree that the walker isn't really doing the walking - Mo is! I think he is going to be off and running in no time!
Off limits
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
There are places from our former life that are now off-limits. Places that hold really difficult memories for either Ted, or I, or both of us. Places we just know that we cannot visit again - or, at least, for a long while.
There are the obvious places that I avoid as much as possible - like driving past Max's daycare, the hospital where he was first brought, or the one where he took his last breath.
I haven't written much about it - but I loved Maxie's daycare. I loved the woman who took care of him. I loved her little boy. I loved how much Maxie loved it there. It was a place that I thought Max would be safe and that brought me tremendous comfort. Knowing that he took his last breath there makes me want to die - it is the reason that I feel like a terrible mother. I think about how I made my decision to send Max to daycare over and over and over again and wonder why I didn't do something differently. It just about kills me. Thoughts of the daycare send me into a panic, a never-ending looping nightmare of scenes that I have imagined over and over again in my head - never really knowing what happened that day.
And - someday I will HAVE to go back to that Emergency Room where the doctors tried to save Maxie's life. It is blocks away from our house and to think we will never have an emergency again is wishful thinking. I keep thinking that I should start driving past it now so that when the time comes when I really need to go there, my heart won't just stop. I've only been there once. I can't imagine that being in that place could do anything but make me want to die. It was unbearably horrific.
The hospital where Maxie's life ended is in Tarzana. Ted hates going to Tarzana period. I was in such a fog when we drove there, following Maxie's ambulance, that I actually didn't even really remember where it was and where we had been those three days. But, when we come anywhere close, Ted's jaw tightens and he gets very quiet. Tarzana is pretty much off limits (with VERY few exceptions!)
Laguna Beach is off-limits. Dear friends of my mother's offered their Laguna apartment for us to stay in one weekend soon after we lost Max. We thought it would be a nice place to go to get a break from our grief. It is a cozy apartment, just a short walk from the beach and several nice restaurants. The thing is - we could not get a break from the grief. It was with us there so strongly AND I think mostly, we just felt totally lost and out of place. We would have been better off just staying home. There were children everywhere, we drank too much to try and drown the pain, and the reality of our lives hit us in the face with full force. It was too early to think we could get away. I love Laguna but for now, it is off-limits. It's much too painful for us.
Catalina is off-limits. It makes me sad too, because I spent many of my childhood summers there. Ted and I planned a trip to Catalina for our second anniversary before we lost Maxie. Ted had never been there before and I was excited to share the island with him. I booked the hotel and my Auntie Alison arranged to come to town to spend the weekend in LA with Maxie and my mom. After losing Maxie, we decided to go anyway. In retrospect, it was a huge mistake. I spent the whole weekend crying. There were families and happy children and babies everywhere. Ted never wants to see Catalina again. I don't really blame him. It was awful.
There are many other, less obvious places too - restaurants we used to go to with Max, a yoga studio that I did prenatal class at and that I took him to for Mommy and Me, the Pump Station in Hollywood.....it's all too hard. Our life with Max was beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that it is hard to be in the spaces that we once shared with him and it is even harder to be in the spaces that we occupied after we lost him.
There are the obvious places that I avoid as much as possible - like driving past Max's daycare, the hospital where he was first brought, or the one where he took his last breath.
I haven't written much about it - but I loved Maxie's daycare. I loved the woman who took care of him. I loved her little boy. I loved how much Maxie loved it there. It was a place that I thought Max would be safe and that brought me tremendous comfort. Knowing that he took his last breath there makes me want to die - it is the reason that I feel like a terrible mother. I think about how I made my decision to send Max to daycare over and over and over again and wonder why I didn't do something differently. It just about kills me. Thoughts of the daycare send me into a panic, a never-ending looping nightmare of scenes that I have imagined over and over again in my head - never really knowing what happened that day.
And - someday I will HAVE to go back to that Emergency Room where the doctors tried to save Maxie's life. It is blocks away from our house and to think we will never have an emergency again is wishful thinking. I keep thinking that I should start driving past it now so that when the time comes when I really need to go there, my heart won't just stop. I've only been there once. I can't imagine that being in that place could do anything but make me want to die. It was unbearably horrific.
The hospital where Maxie's life ended is in Tarzana. Ted hates going to Tarzana period. I was in such a fog when we drove there, following Maxie's ambulance, that I actually didn't even really remember where it was and where we had been those three days. But, when we come anywhere close, Ted's jaw tightens and he gets very quiet. Tarzana is pretty much off limits (with VERY few exceptions!)
Laguna Beach is off-limits. Dear friends of my mother's offered their Laguna apartment for us to stay in one weekend soon after we lost Max. We thought it would be a nice place to go to get a break from our grief. It is a cozy apartment, just a short walk from the beach and several nice restaurants. The thing is - we could not get a break from the grief. It was with us there so strongly AND I think mostly, we just felt totally lost and out of place. We would have been better off just staying home. There were children everywhere, we drank too much to try and drown the pain, and the reality of our lives hit us in the face with full force. It was too early to think we could get away. I love Laguna but for now, it is off-limits. It's much too painful for us.
Catalina is off-limits. It makes me sad too, because I spent many of my childhood summers there. Ted and I planned a trip to Catalina for our second anniversary before we lost Maxie. Ted had never been there before and I was excited to share the island with him. I booked the hotel and my Auntie Alison arranged to come to town to spend the weekend in LA with Maxie and my mom. After losing Maxie, we decided to go anyway. In retrospect, it was a huge mistake. I spent the whole weekend crying. There were families and happy children and babies everywhere. Ted never wants to see Catalina again. I don't really blame him. It was awful.
There are many other, less obvious places too - restaurants we used to go to with Max, a yoga studio that I did prenatal class at and that I took him to for Mommy and Me, the Pump Station in Hollywood.....it's all too hard. Our life with Max was beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that it is hard to be in the spaces that we once shared with him and it is even harder to be in the spaces that we occupied after we lost him.
Disappointing
Sunday, November 17, 2013
My dad likes to call me after he reads my especially angry sounding posts and ask me, "Who pissed you off this time?". As if it were that easy. My last post of the sort was not actually angry. It was just a realization of the people who I encounter and their attitudes towards me and how I have reconciled to deal with them. I am not angry at anyone in particular - just extremely disappointed by life.
As an example - (one of many): I reconnected with someone from my past on Facebook the other day. He wasn't a good friend really, but was sort of on the periphery of a group of friends that I had when I lived in Israel. He is Israeli (not that it matters). Anyway, we were sort of IM'ing off and on over an hour or so in the middle of the day. A line here, two lines there. He told me he was living in Holland, divorced and that he had a four year old daughter and was missing home. I didn't say much about myself but said that his daughter looked very cute (she does) and that I can imagine that he misses home - I miss his home and it isn't even mine. Then he said that he thought the photo of me with my family was really nice. I thanked him. I am not sure then why I decided to share Max with him - probably because I knew I wouldn't have to see his face while he received the information. I said, "The last few years have been hard. Our oldest son stopped breathing while he was at daycare at nine and a half months. We lost him over two years ago and it hurts every minute of every day. Our second son, Mo was born a year later and he is so wonderful". There was no response for a few minutes and then, "hope you are ok!! must work talk later bye bye".
I un-Friended him. This is why I'd rather NOT share Max with just anyone. It is a disservice to his specialness. It forces me to look at people and see who they truly are and I'd rather wear my rose colored glasses most of the time. I hate that people are so disappointing. I really hate it.
As an example - (one of many): I reconnected with someone from my past on Facebook the other day. He wasn't a good friend really, but was sort of on the periphery of a group of friends that I had when I lived in Israel. He is Israeli (not that it matters). Anyway, we were sort of IM'ing off and on over an hour or so in the middle of the day. A line here, two lines there. He told me he was living in Holland, divorced and that he had a four year old daughter and was missing home. I didn't say much about myself but said that his daughter looked very cute (she does) and that I can imagine that he misses home - I miss his home and it isn't even mine. Then he said that he thought the photo of me with my family was really nice. I thanked him. I am not sure then why I decided to share Max with him - probably because I knew I wouldn't have to see his face while he received the information. I said, "The last few years have been hard. Our oldest son stopped breathing while he was at daycare at nine and a half months. We lost him over two years ago and it hurts every minute of every day. Our second son, Mo was born a year later and he is so wonderful". There was no response for a few minutes and then, "hope you are ok!! must work talk later bye bye".
I un-Friended him. This is why I'd rather NOT share Max with just anyone. It is a disservice to his specialness. It forces me to look at people and see who they truly are and I'd rather wear my rose colored glasses most of the time. I hate that people are so disappointing. I really hate it.
Empowered
Friday, November 15, 2013
When something horrible happens to you, the rest of the world expects you to pull yourself up by the boot straps and put one foot in front of the other. They expect you to be strong and to serve as a model of grace and strength - even though they have no idea how it feels to be in your position, even though they have no idea what it takes to get there, even though they don't understand that the strength doesn't happen overnight. Like any other skill, strength takes time to develop. It takes practice and many, many failures before one can even feel remotely successful at being strong in the face of adversity. The rest of the world has no patience - they want you to be better overnight - to model the behavior that they have seen on tv. Though I believe I am stronger, I think my greatest strength these days is in convincing the outside world that I am better.
When we lost Maxie, all of my power and control in life was taken from me. We realized that everything we had dreamed of and worked for was gone. There was nothing left but shells of our former selves.
And then we had to face people. People who expected us to be strong and were angry and disappointed when we weren't. And, so rather than continue to disappoint people, I hid. It felt like hiding was the only control I had left in my life. I was tired of explaining that, yes, losing Max really IS the worst thing that could ever happen to us. And, NO another child won't replace Max.....and I don't care what your kids think about his death or how painful it was for you to have to explain it to them.....and IREALLY don't care how much tighter you hugged your kids after our tragedy. It was all incredibly INFURIATING and insulting.
I soon realized that my anger was empowering. I didn't HAVE to listen to those ignorant comments if I didn't want to. I didn't HAVE to smile and nod while you dismissed my beautiful child's life, insulted me and hurt me. I could tell you to stick it where the sun doesn't shine.....and that felt good. And, I am sorry if it hurt your feelings but you hurt mine too .....and let's face it, mine were a little more fragile than yours. I've spent a lifetime tip toeing around insensitive people. It felt kind of good to give it right back to them!
And then more time passed - and I started to take more control of my life by doing things that make my moments a little happier, by taking small breaks from grief, by controlling my anger. And today I realize that I now have a different power - the power of ignoring you. The power of making you think that everything is good and that Ted and I have wrapped up this whole nasty incident and tied it up with a bow called Mo and everything is fine. Because it is easier to give you what you want than to share our truth with you, and the truth is that you are too shallow too actually hear it. And so I feel empowered by not letting you in. I feel empowered by allowing you to think that I am strong and that I have accepted this loss and am moving on. Because, let's face it - you never understood how I felt anyway. You just wanted me to get over it. And so I am playing the part that you want me to play, but I am playing it by my own rules. Today I feel empowered by not allowing the ignorance and insensitivity of others pierce my heart. I am empowered by a greater sense of control over who I let in.
When we lost Maxie, all of my power and control in life was taken from me. We realized that everything we had dreamed of and worked for was gone. There was nothing left but shells of our former selves.
And then we had to face people. People who expected us to be strong and were angry and disappointed when we weren't. And, so rather than continue to disappoint people, I hid. It felt like hiding was the only control I had left in my life. I was tired of explaining that, yes, losing Max really IS the worst thing that could ever happen to us. And, NO another child won't replace Max.....and I don't care what your kids think about his death or how painful it was for you to have to explain it to them.....and IREALLY don't care how much tighter you hugged your kids after our tragedy. It was all incredibly INFURIATING and insulting.
I soon realized that my anger was empowering. I didn't HAVE to listen to those ignorant comments if I didn't want to. I didn't HAVE to smile and nod while you dismissed my beautiful child's life, insulted me and hurt me. I could tell you to stick it where the sun doesn't shine.....and that felt good. And, I am sorry if it hurt your feelings but you hurt mine too .....and let's face it, mine were a little more fragile than yours. I've spent a lifetime tip toeing around insensitive people. It felt kind of good to give it right back to them!
And then more time passed - and I started to take more control of my life by doing things that make my moments a little happier, by taking small breaks from grief, by controlling my anger. And today I realize that I now have a different power - the power of ignoring you. The power of making you think that everything is good and that Ted and I have wrapped up this whole nasty incident and tied it up with a bow called Mo and everything is fine. Because it is easier to give you what you want than to share our truth with you, and the truth is that you are too shallow too actually hear it. And so I feel empowered by not letting you in. I feel empowered by allowing you to think that I am strong and that I have accepted this loss and am moving on. Because, let's face it - you never understood how I felt anyway. You just wanted me to get over it. And so I am playing the part that you want me to play, but I am playing it by my own rules. Today I feel empowered by not allowing the ignorance and insensitivity of others pierce my heart. I am empowered by a greater sense of control over who I let in.
Ode to Zumba
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Oh Zumba with your awesome reggaeton beats and Latin dance moves
Where have you been all of my life?
I eagerly await our next encounter
A lot like old school aerobics but not at all like "sweating to the oldies"
(Even if the Zumba crowd isn't exactly young)
Thank you for coming into my life sassy Zumba and giving me something small to look forward to!
I love him more
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
This kid loves me! Like, REALLY loves me. He cries whenever I leave the room and settles down as soon as I pick him up. He kisses me all of the time - right on the lips and makes a "MWAH" sound while doing it - repeatedly. I have NEVER felt this loved in my life...and what is SO crazy is knowing that as much as he loves me, I love him a MILLION times more.
Post vacation hangover blues
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
I really won't be writing every day anymore. Or, at least, I don't want to feel like I have to write if I don't want to.
But, today, I feel like I have something going on that is too huge to ignore. It's the post-vacation hangover blues. I've suffered from it my whole life but it is SO MUCH worse now. I'm sure you've had it too - when you wait for and look forward to that vacation or special event for so long and then it's over. It's a combination of things - nothing to look forward to, the grind of daily life, the absence of celebration. I don't know. I've been able to somewhat escape myself for the last month or so, but here I am again - same old grieving mom - same old feeling of "not sure how I am going to get through all of this".
And, there is something else - for the last month, I've been surrounded by people who know and support us - from Maxie's Benefit, to a weekend with my college girlfriends, to our vacation to Costa Rica - I haven't had to worry about meeting new people and trying to explain myself. I haven't had to really worry about being understood. Usually, I am pretending to be "normal" when I know that I am anything but. Having to face regular people in regular life again is daunting.
All of this to say that yesterday and today, there has been this dark cloud hanging over my head. It is so so heavy and I can feel it just hanging there. I am cowering underneath it, hoping that if I can get low enough, it won't touch me. I keep pushing all of this pain deeper and deeper inside of myself and it is eating me alive. I wish I could just escape again. Maybe there is someplace I could run where I would be untouchable....where I could stop being me.
But people keep reminding me that "Wherever you go - there you are" - there is no escape. I am doomed to a life of being me.
But, today, I feel like I have something going on that is too huge to ignore. It's the post-vacation hangover blues. I've suffered from it my whole life but it is SO MUCH worse now. I'm sure you've had it too - when you wait for and look forward to that vacation or special event for so long and then it's over. It's a combination of things - nothing to look forward to, the grind of daily life, the absence of celebration. I don't know. I've been able to somewhat escape myself for the last month or so, but here I am again - same old grieving mom - same old feeling of "not sure how I am going to get through all of this".
And, there is something else - for the last month, I've been surrounded by people who know and support us - from Maxie's Benefit, to a weekend with my college girlfriends, to our vacation to Costa Rica - I haven't had to worry about meeting new people and trying to explain myself. I haven't had to really worry about being understood. Usually, I am pretending to be "normal" when I know that I am anything but. Having to face regular people in regular life again is daunting.
All of this to say that yesterday and today, there has been this dark cloud hanging over my head. It is so so heavy and I can feel it just hanging there. I am cowering underneath it, hoping that if I can get low enough, it won't touch me. I keep pushing all of this pain deeper and deeper inside of myself and it is eating me alive. I wish I could just escape again. Maybe there is someplace I could run where I would be untouchable....where I could stop being me.
But people keep reminding me that "Wherever you go - there you are" - there is no escape. I am doomed to a life of being me.
Sporadic
Monday, November 11, 2013
And here it is....
As time goes on, I want to share less and less. Those who have made an effort to understand have an understanding. Those who don't - don't. I will keep on writing, but I don't feel the need to write here every day anymore. It is part of the softening of grief I guess. Everything feels a little less urgent AND it all feels a lot more private.
I want to continue sharing Max with you and I want to continue sharing this journey as well. I remember checking the blogs I read every single morning for the first two years after losing Max. It was part of the many rituals I established for myself that helped get me through. I have no idea if I am part of someone else's ritual but I do know that other parents who've lost do check in with me from time to time and I hope that my words have helped and will continue to help them. I know that hearing from them helps me.
During this past week of vacationing, I felt strongly about sharing my good times here so that someone else who thinks that they will never smile again will know that it is possible. It is not only possible but also likely. At first the smiles and laughs come with guilt but I have to admit that I just take the really good laughs for what they are now most of the time and leave them at that. Sometimes life is just funny - so funny, in fact, that you forget to over-think it and you just laugh.
Anyway, I am not really going anywhere - just planning to take some days off here and there. Let's face it - I am getting kind of repetitive - which is unavoidable because the missing, longing and regret hasn't really gone anywhere. You'll be hearing from me - just a little more sporadically.
As time goes on, I want to share less and less. Those who have made an effort to understand have an understanding. Those who don't - don't. I will keep on writing, but I don't feel the need to write here every day anymore. It is part of the softening of grief I guess. Everything feels a little less urgent AND it all feels a lot more private.
I want to continue sharing Max with you and I want to continue sharing this journey as well. I remember checking the blogs I read every single morning for the first two years after losing Max. It was part of the many rituals I established for myself that helped get me through. I have no idea if I am part of someone else's ritual but I do know that other parents who've lost do check in with me from time to time and I hope that my words have helped and will continue to help them. I know that hearing from them helps me.
During this past week of vacationing, I felt strongly about sharing my good times here so that someone else who thinks that they will never smile again will know that it is possible. It is not only possible but also likely. At first the smiles and laughs come with guilt but I have to admit that I just take the really good laughs for what they are now most of the time and leave them at that. Sometimes life is just funny - so funny, in fact, that you forget to over-think it and you just laugh.
Anyway, I am not really going anywhere - just planning to take some days off here and there. Let's face it - I am getting kind of repetitive - which is unavoidable because the missing, longing and regret hasn't really gone anywhere. You'll be hearing from me - just a little more sporadically.
Maxie's Rainforest
Sunday, November 10, 2013
In my darkest hours, I listened to hours of guided meditations to calm myself down. In all of the recordings I downloaded, I was asked to picture myself someplace peaceful. Every single time, I pictured myself on our beach- the one down the road from our Costa Rica house - the one that Teddy and I got married on and that we brought Maxie to when he was only four months old. Picturing myself sitting on this beach helped me to breathe. It filled my mind and heart with temporary serenity. It made me feel close to Max.
The first morning that we got here, I went down to the beach and waited for the calm to envelope me. But instead, all I found was the obvious missing and disappointment of life - of having lost Max. While my friends set up their chairs and towels, I walked down the the ocean. With each step closer, my sadness deepened. And when I finally got in the ocean, I lost it. I cried and screamed WHY????? Why is he not here with us. The sounds of the waves crashing drowned me out as the tears poured down my cheeks. I let the water wash over me with each wave until I'd cried it out. Then I turned around, walked up to our chairs and played with Mo.
I haven't felt this normal in two and a half years. I managed to stay present almost all of the time all week long. I engaged in all of my favorite activities- laughed and ate and drank and swam and sunbathed. It may not have been obvious but Max with with me all week- in such a strong way. I was thinking about him every morning, afternoon and night. I didn't stop thinking about him at all. He was in my heart - as he always is.
Yesterday, we planted just a couple of trees in the rainforest next to our house. We hope that it will become a tradition to plant a tree for Max every time we come here from now on - so that those trees will continue to grow along with our family in his place. It feels like something we need to do. He is never far from our minds. He is always in our hearts. That little boy of mine - he is special to me always and forever.
Bar talk
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Last night my mom offered to babysit Mo so we could all go out to dinner. We had a lovely dinner out and then proceeded to a bar that is sort of my local hang when I'm in town. The last time we were there was with Auntie Beth, Sadie and Max for a Giants game. That was three years ago. On our way in last night, I was immediately greeted by bartenders that I hadn't seen since that visit. We were all excited to see each other and catch up. "It's been such a long time," they said. "Like three years?" That's about right. I was genuinely happy to see them. They asked about my Prima Sharon (who's been on crutches and stuck in our house all week), about my husband and my baby. They remembered meeting my baby the last time I was there. "How old is he now?", they asked. "Fifteen months", I responded. I could see they looked confused but I just changed the subject. While part of me wants to scream, "yes, my son Max was here! He was such a good boy", the other part of me doesn't want to share him in this context. It's just easier not to share. My relationships here - while really warm - don't go super deep and I just don't want to share Max anymore with people who won't appreciate it and him and our story. It feels like a disservice to him. And, I know I keep revisiting this subject - to tell or not to tell - but I've come to see it as one of the struggles that I've finally made some peace with. For a REALLY long time - I told everyone who asked. It was my way of ensuring that his existence was never denied. Now, I only share him with those people that I choose to go deep with. And those people are fewer and more far between.
This is a photo of my crew from our night on the town:
40
Thursday, November 7, 2013
I am forty today and, believe it or not, I have been looking forward to this birthday. I am fine with getting older. In fact - kind of happy about it.
I can't believe how lucky I am to be in paradise, with a group of people who I love, celebrating life. We've been smiling and laughing and I just wouldn't have been able to imagine any of this two years ago. I never thought I'd smile again. And here is the kicker - I'm happy. If I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that for the most part - I am.
But I woke up in the middle of the night with the most profound sense of missing. I miss him. SO MUCH. And I hate myself for being happy. I really hate myself. Because I love him so much and he isn't here and everything we are doing with Mo is what I dreamed of doing with Max. It just feels WRONG. I can't believe I fell back asleep - I was hating myself so much....for feeling happy.
So, that's where I am today. Happy. And feeling so sad about that. And 40.
Travel days
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
I did not adequately describe our travel day on Friday. In fact, the way I wrote it, it sounds like we were delayed three hours. That is not the case. The plane was delayed three hours, but since the airport was on lockdown, we could not board that plane. I'd be surprised if anyone was on that flight. No, we were sitting in the cafe of a Marriott Courtyard a few blocks from the airport with a bunch of other stranded travelers. We were trying to keep Mo entertained while we checked the flight and airport status updates. The communication was awful. There was little to no information about what was going on or whether we could expect the flights to start up again. Every once in a while, one of us would walk up the street to ask the cops stationed there if the airport was opening again. The streets were filled with people and their luggage. It was a crazy scene. Eventually, we could see that the flight was not delayed anymore and so we decided to bring our luggage out to the street. We sat on the curb for a while, watching floods of people leave the airport arrivals ramps on foot, pushing and pulling luggage. Then seemingly out of nowhere, thousands of people started walking up Century Blvd - up, up, up the departures ramp. It was crazy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
We walked to terminal four - to get there meant having to bypass terminal three, where the shooting occurred and which was still a crime scene . We had to go down an escalator at two, walk past terminal three and Bradley international on foot, before arriving at our destination. Once we got there, we learned our plane had left without us. So we got in line with hundreds of other hopeful re- routers. Someone handed Ted a card with the Arline's phone number and once we'd gotten about halfway through the line, the service rep had arranged for us to get on a 9:30 flight to Orlando, with a connecting flight to Miami. Our original flight was scheduled for 1:30. Our eventual flight didn't take off until nearly 11. Considering all of that, I'd say my kid is the worlds biggest trooper! He had one brief meltdown while we boarded the plane, but as soon as the cabin lights went out, so did he. We had to rent a car at our final destination amd drive 1.5 hours south to the keyes. He napped when we got to Isla Morada for a couple of hours and then powered through five hours of wedding celebrations! We woke up early Sunday morning, drove back to the airport, flew to San Jose, Costa Rica, had a three hour layover before getting on another plane to Manuel Antonio. He was in a great mood all day, was really easy and had a lot of fun crawling around airport terminals. I actually think it would have been worse without him. At least he kept us entertained and busy!
Anyway, we are here and very aware that what was for us an inconvenience, was for many other people the most tragic day of their lives.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
We walked to terminal four - to get there meant having to bypass terminal three, where the shooting occurred and which was still a crime scene . We had to go down an escalator at two, walk past terminal three and Bradley international on foot, before arriving at our destination. Once we got there, we learned our plane had left without us. So we got in line with hundreds of other hopeful re- routers. Someone handed Ted a card with the Arline's phone number and once we'd gotten about halfway through the line, the service rep had arranged for us to get on a 9:30 flight to Orlando, with a connecting flight to Miami. Our original flight was scheduled for 1:30. Our eventual flight didn't take off until nearly 11. Considering all of that, I'd say my kid is the worlds biggest trooper! He had one brief meltdown while we boarded the plane, but as soon as the cabin lights went out, so did he. We had to rent a car at our final destination amd drive 1.5 hours south to the keyes. He napped when we got to Isla Morada for a couple of hours and then powered through five hours of wedding celebrations! We woke up early Sunday morning, drove back to the airport, flew to San Jose, Costa Rica, had a three hour layover before getting on another plane to Manuel Antonio. He was in a great mood all day, was really easy and had a lot of fun crawling around airport terminals. I actually think it would have been worse without him. At least he kept us entertained and busy!
Anyway, we are here and very aware that what was for us an inconvenience, was for many other people the most tragic day of their lives.
Back in our spot
Monday, November 4, 2013
I haven't been here in almost three years. I used to come 3 times a year. I thought I would never come back here. I had visions of bringing Maxie here every year - to hike in the rainforest, to play at the beach, to see the monkeys (and coatis, and sloths, and toucans).... I thought Maxie was the luckiest kid in the world to have a piece of paradise to grow up visiting. The last time I was here was with him. I thought I'd never come back - because my dreams all died with my baby.
But eventually, I realized that Mo deserves all of those dreams too. So here we are and I am actually happy to be here. It seems like Mo is too. We've got lots of "aunties" around - and grandma -and I'm hoping that at some point this week, we'll feel Maxie's spirit with us too.
But eventually, I realized that Mo deserves all of those dreams too. So here we are and I am actually happy to be here. It seems like Mo is too. We've got lots of "aunties" around - and grandma -and I'm hoping that at some point this week, we'll feel Maxie's spirit with us too.
Florida
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Yesterday was crazy. But I'm so glad we made it here because we had such a nice time at our friend Jesse's wedding.
Mo was such a good boy! Traveling is so hard on babies. I can remember the last flight we took with Max. It was coming home from visiting Ted's family in CT. Max missed his morning nap and we were running late. By the time we got on the plane, Max was melting down. I spent a lot of time on that flight with Max in my baby carrier in the back of the plane. Our flight to Miami started off pretty much the same way with Mo. Because of a horrifying shooting incident, our plane took off three hours late without most of its passengers. Somehow we got on a flight through Orlando that left at 10:30 pm. Had we been on schedule, Mo would have done great. In fact, he was GREAT until about 9:30. By the time our plane was boarding, he was melting. People were giving us either major stink eye or major looks of empathy. The melt down continued pretty much until the cabin lights finally went out and then he slept basically the whole trip out.
Today we have another challenging day of travel. Wish us luck!
Halloween playdate
Friday, November 1, 2013
I told Ted that I wanted to dress Mo up as a pumpkin this year - because he is my little pumpkin. Ted thought Mo would be kind of embarrassed to be dressed as a pumpkin. "Kids don't want to dress like pumpkins, they want to dress like Star Wars and super heroes". "He is 15 months old", I said. Obviously, it was settled - Mo was a pumpkin. Our SUPER talented nanny, Jessica, made his costume!
Then Ann emailed and said, "When are we doing our Halloween photo shoot?"
Once you do it two years in a row, it becomes a tradition right?
Last year Mo and Riley just happened to have the exact same costumes. Weird coincidence - especially considering the costumes were kermits and giraffes. This year, Mo was a pumpkin and Riley was Darth Vader. Maybe Ted was right? Kids DO like to be Star Wars - who knew?
Anyway, here it is - a little less controlled than last year.
They kept getting away from us:
Bribing them with food seemed to keep them put for a while at least
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)