We visited the cemetery yesterday. As I watched Mo play on the grass, dancing among the gravemarkers, I just felt overwhelming sadness - that this is where we have to come to be close to our beloved boy, that this is a place that my other children will be familiar with, and that there is no escape from this reality. I don't know why it still feels SO unreal and so impossible....but I haven't seen my baby in three years. I won't see him ever again in this lifetime.
I've worked really hard to get to where I am today - in a place of mostly gratefulness and happiness. I PROMISE you that it hasn't come easy - it has been the fight of my life - and I imagine that it will continue to be. Being happy and grateful is a decision that I have to make every single morning, and often, throughout the day. The fact is that I still feel cheated, and like Ted was cheated, and Mo and Myla - and most especially Maxie. Maxie was cheated and that just kills me.
This JUST happened. Whether you see it that way or not.... for us, it JUST happened. He was JUST taken from us. We JUST left the hospital without him. And we miss him so much. SO SO SO SO MUCH. And we will never get over it, or move on, or feel like new children have replaced him. Every child is unique. No child replaces another....and frankly, if you don't know that, I am not sure what kind of a parent you could possibly be.
On this third anniversary, I have nothing really profound to say except that he deserved more, but I guess we all already know that.
The third 19th
Friday, July 18, 2014
These past few weeks have been so busy that I have been able to keep my mind from wandering into the abysmal thoughts of tomorrow's three year anniversary. I wonder how it can possibly be three years already - when I feel as though I lost him yesterday. The pain, when I give any power to it at all, is just as intense and all-consuming as it was in those horrible days in the hospital and that dark and hopeless year that followed. I still long for him with an aching intensity that sears every fiber of my being - an intensity that is made so much more excruciating by the fact that I know he is gone for good. This simple fact is still completely unbelievable and impossible for me to wrap my brain around and I am still expecting to find out there's been some terrible mistake....because I can still smell him, and feel inside how being his mother felt. I can still see him in my minds eye - his smile, his enthusiasm for life, his love for those who loved him. It just remains a complete nightmare - all waking hours. It just never goes away.
And at the same time, there is this part of me that has gone on. It makes me sick to acknowledge it, because part of me thinks that anything less than my death is a complete betrayal of my love for him - like Romeo and Juliet, or Westside Story, or Buttercup's intentions on the night of her marriage to Prince Humperdink. How can one go on living when their true love has died? It's almost impossible. It really is.
But, somewhere you eventually find the strength - and in my case (our case - because this is true for Teddy too) - you fall in love again. And, don't think for an instant that didn't come with it's own complications - I still sometimes worry that my love for Mo might be seen by Max as a betrayal - since I love him SO completely, so fully, and so exactly just as much as I love/d Max. And, people always tell me "Well, you feel that way when you have another child. You always feel like you're betraying the first one." And, I feel a similar worry with Mo now that Myla is here BUT, you have to believe me, it is different. I can wrap Mo is my arms and kiss him and tell him that I adore him. I cannot do that with Max. You cannot compare the experience of two living children to the experience in which one is dead. I am sorry but, as much as you want to, you cannot make that comparison.
I guess the point is, that while everything seems to have changed, there is still a core piece of me that will be forever stuck in July 18th of 2011. The last full day that my child was alive. The last day that I remember being in complete harmony. Yes, I had every day stressors - work and money and whatnot - BUT - there was no hole in my heart. It is the last day that I was ever who I used to be. It was the last day that Ted and I and our beautiful baby just were. The next morning, everything changed, and there has been this missing - a missing person, a missing piece, a missing/ a longing - ever since. Awful. Unbelievable. Shocking. Heartbreaking. Reality.
I still miss you. I still love you. There is no piece of me that isn't still longing to pick you up and love you. Everything has changed and really nothing has changed at all.
And at the same time, there is this part of me that has gone on. It makes me sick to acknowledge it, because part of me thinks that anything less than my death is a complete betrayal of my love for him - like Romeo and Juliet, or Westside Story, or Buttercup's intentions on the night of her marriage to Prince Humperdink. How can one go on living when their true love has died? It's almost impossible. It really is.
But, somewhere you eventually find the strength - and in my case (our case - because this is true for Teddy too) - you fall in love again. And, don't think for an instant that didn't come with it's own complications - I still sometimes worry that my love for Mo might be seen by Max as a betrayal - since I love him SO completely, so fully, and so exactly just as much as I love/d Max. And, people always tell me "Well, you feel that way when you have another child. You always feel like you're betraying the first one." And, I feel a similar worry with Mo now that Myla is here BUT, you have to believe me, it is different. I can wrap Mo is my arms and kiss him and tell him that I adore him. I cannot do that with Max. You cannot compare the experience of two living children to the experience in which one is dead. I am sorry but, as much as you want to, you cannot make that comparison.
I guess the point is, that while everything seems to have changed, there is still a core piece of me that will be forever stuck in July 18th of 2011. The last full day that my child was alive. The last day that I remember being in complete harmony. Yes, I had every day stressors - work and money and whatnot - BUT - there was no hole in my heart. It is the last day that I was ever who I used to be. It was the last day that Ted and I and our beautiful baby just were. The next morning, everything changed, and there has been this missing - a missing person, a missing piece, a missing/ a longing - ever since. Awful. Unbelievable. Shocking. Heartbreaking. Reality.
I still miss you. I still love you. There is no piece of me that isn't still longing to pick you up and love you. Everything has changed and really nothing has changed at all.
Frequently Asked Questions about our Adoption
Monday, July 7, 2014
We are excited about everyone's excitement over Myla! She is an awesome baby and yes, we feel very lucky (I think that answers question number 1). We've received lots of questions about Myla and our decision to adopt - I know people are curious, so hopefully this helps a little:
2. Why did we decide to adopt?
This is the most obvious question with the most difficult to articulate answer. The truth is that I've been interested in adopting for as long as I can remember. It's possible that I watched Annie too many times (and no, I am not kidding). As I got older, I thought about it more and more because I knew there were no guarantees that I would be able to have my own children. After Maxie was born, Ted and I spoke a lot about adopting from the foster care system. I think we just loved being parents so much and showering Max with love that the idea of being able to shower a child that wasn't getting that kind of love was really appealing to us. The week before Max died, I had a lunch with a colleague who adopted his son through the foster care system so that I could ask him a bunch of questions and meet his kid. After Max died, and the future seemed not worth living, it became something positive we could put our efforts into (though, by that time, adopting from the foster care system felt too scary - because I had heard too many stories of birthmothers changing their minds.)
3. What happened? I thought that this birthmother changed her mind?
Yes, it's true. There was a major turn around that happened. Myla's birthmother decided 5 days after Myla was born that she wanted to raise her herself and not place her with us. That was really hard for us and obviously, it was a difficult decision for her too. I left Georgia thinking I'd never see this baby again. But a few weeks later, Myla's birthfamily contacted us to say that they were having a change of heart.
To place one's baby for adoption has to be one of the bravest, selfless and most loving things that a parent could do for their child. This baby was very loved by her birthfamily - mother, father, grandmother, aunts, sister, cousins and all. To decide to give her a "better life" was not an easy decision for any of them. It's no wonder it took so much time.
4. How is Mo doing with having a new baby in the house?
He LOVES her! See exhibit A. It is definitely a transition and he has been a little more needy than usual. He is also making a little emotional switch over to daddy since mommy's hands are fuller than usual (AND, let's face it - daddy is more fun anyway.) Ted's been waiting patiently for the extra attention for a long time.
Exhibit A:
5. Are you taking maternity leave?
I am not taking maternity leave....a decision that I might regret later. But, I felt that I should power through, having taken off so much time after Max was born, after he died and then again after Mo was born. I am also taking a work trip to Israel in early August that I am preparing for - that will be super hard but something I made a commitment to long before knowing Myla even existed. So far so good though. I work from home and Mo's nanny is great. When I am not wearing Myla - she will be taking care of her.
6. How are you adjusting? (Otherwise known as "You must be over the moon")
We love her so much. Quite honestly, it still doesn't really feel like she is ours. Until the moment we drove home with her, we still really had no sense at all about whether it would really happen or not. Sometimes it feels like we are just babysitting someone else's kid. I've been assured by other adoptive parents I've spoken to that this is totally normal and that it just takes some time. So, we have been mostly holed up at home, getting to know her and creating new routines for our family.
So far, she has been really easy. She sleeps a lot (because, duh, she's two months old), takes down a 4 ounce bottle every 3 hours or so, only wakes up once during the night (lovely), and is mostly pretty chill. I like to wear her around a lot in my Moby carrier (and in fact have been wearing her all morning while working at my computer). She loves being held and played with and isn't very demanding at all.
2. Why did we decide to adopt?
This is the most obvious question with the most difficult to articulate answer. The truth is that I've been interested in adopting for as long as I can remember. It's possible that I watched Annie too many times (and no, I am not kidding). As I got older, I thought about it more and more because I knew there were no guarantees that I would be able to have my own children. After Maxie was born, Ted and I spoke a lot about adopting from the foster care system. I think we just loved being parents so much and showering Max with love that the idea of being able to shower a child that wasn't getting that kind of love was really appealing to us. The week before Max died, I had a lunch with a colleague who adopted his son through the foster care system so that I could ask him a bunch of questions and meet his kid. After Max died, and the future seemed not worth living, it became something positive we could put our efforts into (though, by that time, adopting from the foster care system felt too scary - because I had heard too many stories of birthmothers changing their minds.)
3. What happened? I thought that this birthmother changed her mind?
Yes, it's true. There was a major turn around that happened. Myla's birthmother decided 5 days after Myla was born that she wanted to raise her herself and not place her with us. That was really hard for us and obviously, it was a difficult decision for her too. I left Georgia thinking I'd never see this baby again. But a few weeks later, Myla's birthfamily contacted us to say that they were having a change of heart.
To place one's baby for adoption has to be one of the bravest, selfless and most loving things that a parent could do for their child. This baby was very loved by her birthfamily - mother, father, grandmother, aunts, sister, cousins and all. To decide to give her a "better life" was not an easy decision for any of them. It's no wonder it took so much time.
4. How is Mo doing with having a new baby in the house?
He LOVES her! See exhibit A. It is definitely a transition and he has been a little more needy than usual. He is also making a little emotional switch over to daddy since mommy's hands are fuller than usual (AND, let's face it - daddy is more fun anyway.) Ted's been waiting patiently for the extra attention for a long time.
Exhibit A:
5. Are you taking maternity leave?
I am not taking maternity leave....a decision that I might regret later. But, I felt that I should power through, having taken off so much time after Max was born, after he died and then again after Mo was born. I am also taking a work trip to Israel in early August that I am preparing for - that will be super hard but something I made a commitment to long before knowing Myla even existed. So far so good though. I work from home and Mo's nanny is great. When I am not wearing Myla - she will be taking care of her.
6. How are you adjusting? (Otherwise known as "You must be over the moon")
We love her so much. Quite honestly, it still doesn't really feel like she is ours. Until the moment we drove home with her, we still really had no sense at all about whether it would really happen or not. Sometimes it feels like we are just babysitting someone else's kid. I've been assured by other adoptive parents I've spoken to that this is totally normal and that it just takes some time. So, we have been mostly holed up at home, getting to know her and creating new routines for our family.
So far, she has been really easy. She sleeps a lot (because, duh, she's two months old), takes down a 4 ounce bottle every 3 hours or so, only wakes up once during the night (lovely), and is mostly pretty chill. I like to wear her around a lot in my Moby carrier (and in fact have been wearing her all morning while working at my computer). She loves being held and played with and isn't very demanding at all.
Myla Loreen Nicole Leviss
Friday, July 4, 2014
Introducing Myla Loreen Nicole Leviss.
Myla - you know we love the M names over here.
Loreen - Loreen is a family middle name from Abby's side.
Nicole - the middle name given to her by her birthmother
Leviss - no explanation necessary
We weren't with Myla on her first month birthday, so we are starting with month 2 - a few days late!
Baby Girl Leviss
Thursday, July 3, 2014
It's been two months and two days since the day she was born. We didn't give up on her. After spending some special time that her birthmother needed with her - she is finally here! Baby girl Leviss....name on the way!!! She is sweet as can be and loved by all - especially her big brother!
Stay Tuned
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Today is the 2nd day of the 7th month of this year (27!). We are expecting big things over here.........................Stay Tuned!
Forgotten
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Between 2004-2006, I was really involved in the "Save Darfur" movement. I co-founded a Regional Darfur Coalition in the Bay Area, moved to NY for 6 months to coordinate participation in a rally for Darfur in Washington DC., and helped to put together a mock UN trial against Omar Al-Bashir for genocide and crimes against humanity. I could hardly focus on things happening in my own life because I was consumed by what was happening in Sudan.
I am ashamed to say that was 8 years ago. At the time, we knew that the statistics were wrong - we'd say "over 200,000 dead", even though we knew that the body count was much higher. Ted and I watched a piece on 60 minutes about Darfur a couple of nights ago that gave the same statistic - a statistic that remains static because nobody can actually confirm how many more have been killed or have died as a consequence of being displaced.
I was watching the piece and I couldn't stop crying. I stopped being involved in the movement because it felt useless - nobody was listening anyway. I stopped being involved because I wasn't comfortable with the communities of activity in Los Angeles, where I moved in 2006. I stopped being involved because I became increasingly involved in my own life. Terrible excuses.
I can't think about it for more than a minute without feeling sick - the number of women who've been raped, the children dying of malnutrition, the villages being burned and the people being killed. And it is only ONE place on earth where this is happening. Just one place. A place that isn't strategically important enough for us to care about ending its genocide. It's a forgotten place - a place nobody talks about anymore, nobody sends their money there anymore. It's refugees are forgotten as well - having been given up to 2000 calories a day five years ago, today they are lucky to get 900.
I am so ashamed - is anyone else?
And, it was only three months ago that 230 school girls were kidnapped right from their school in Nigeria. I saw lots of "#bringbackourgirls" for a while, but I don't anymore. I guess they are forgotten too. I guess we cannot dare to imagine what it would be like to be a child taken from their school by terrorists - or the fear and grief and emotional torture of their parents. We are overcome by our own lives and we forget. I honestly don't know how to change this in my own life, let alone advise or admonish anyone else for the same. I just know it makes me feel ashamed.
And frankly, I can't even post this post without acknowledging my grief over the three kidnapped and subsequently murdered Israeli boys, who were finally found yesterday, buried under some rocks. Their parents are getting all of the messages we'd expect - about how their sons death brought together an international community, about how everyone they know is going to hug their kids tighter, about how they should be comforted by the Mourners of Zion (aren't THEY the Mourners of Zion? In this case it actually makes sense because down the road, they will be left to comfort themselves.) My statement on this one is far from political - I am left wing on Israel - very much for a two state solution - very uncomfortable with settlements - you can even quote me on that. But I am so sad to think of three young boys hitchhiking (something I've done in Israel too many times to count), being picked up, scared out of their minds, and then murdered. #bringbackourboys no longer. They are gone forever.
And - I know these things don't all tie together perfectly. They do for me - I just have a hard time articulating it. But, I often wonder why it seems like so many people in my life have forgotten Maxie - and then I remember that he was just one little boy, just one baby, and he wasn't kidnapped or murdered or tortured, and STILL my life ended on that day that he stopped breathing. And I want so much for him to be remembered. SO MUCH. But, I can't even step away from it long enough to remember the suffering that surrounds us all every single day.
Sometimes it really all seems too cruel, too much, too unjust. Maybe all we can do to preserve our own sanity is to forget. I just refuse is all. I won't forget any of it. I couldn't even if I tried.
I am ashamed to say that was 8 years ago. At the time, we knew that the statistics were wrong - we'd say "over 200,000 dead", even though we knew that the body count was much higher. Ted and I watched a piece on 60 minutes about Darfur a couple of nights ago that gave the same statistic - a statistic that remains static because nobody can actually confirm how many more have been killed or have died as a consequence of being displaced.
I was watching the piece and I couldn't stop crying. I stopped being involved in the movement because it felt useless - nobody was listening anyway. I stopped being involved because I wasn't comfortable with the communities of activity in Los Angeles, where I moved in 2006. I stopped being involved because I became increasingly involved in my own life. Terrible excuses.
I can't think about it for more than a minute without feeling sick - the number of women who've been raped, the children dying of malnutrition, the villages being burned and the people being killed. And it is only ONE place on earth where this is happening. Just one place. A place that isn't strategically important enough for us to care about ending its genocide. It's a forgotten place - a place nobody talks about anymore, nobody sends their money there anymore. It's refugees are forgotten as well - having been given up to 2000 calories a day five years ago, today they are lucky to get 900.
I am so ashamed - is anyone else?
And, it was only three months ago that 230 school girls were kidnapped right from their school in Nigeria. I saw lots of "#bringbackourgirls" for a while, but I don't anymore. I guess they are forgotten too. I guess we cannot dare to imagine what it would be like to be a child taken from their school by terrorists - or the fear and grief and emotional torture of their parents. We are overcome by our own lives and we forget. I honestly don't know how to change this in my own life, let alone advise or admonish anyone else for the same. I just know it makes me feel ashamed.
And frankly, I can't even post this post without acknowledging my grief over the three kidnapped and subsequently murdered Israeli boys, who were finally found yesterday, buried under some rocks. Their parents are getting all of the messages we'd expect - about how their sons death brought together an international community, about how everyone they know is going to hug their kids tighter, about how they should be comforted by the Mourners of Zion (aren't THEY the Mourners of Zion? In this case it actually makes sense because down the road, they will be left to comfort themselves.) My statement on this one is far from political - I am left wing on Israel - very much for a two state solution - very uncomfortable with settlements - you can even quote me on that. But I am so sad to think of three young boys hitchhiking (something I've done in Israel too many times to count), being picked up, scared out of their minds, and then murdered. #bringbackourboys no longer. They are gone forever.
And - I know these things don't all tie together perfectly. They do for me - I just have a hard time articulating it. But, I often wonder why it seems like so many people in my life have forgotten Maxie - and then I remember that he was just one little boy, just one baby, and he wasn't kidnapped or murdered or tortured, and STILL my life ended on that day that he stopped breathing. And I want so much for him to be remembered. SO MUCH. But, I can't even step away from it long enough to remember the suffering that surrounds us all every single day.
Sometimes it really all seems too cruel, too much, too unjust. Maybe all we can do to preserve our own sanity is to forget. I just refuse is all. I won't forget any of it. I couldn't even if I tried.
Obsessed
Thursday, June 26, 2014
I am OBSESSED with Downton Abbey. And not just because I love the name of the show (insert winky face ;)). I started watching it on the plane to Israel (I think they had the first three episodes) and then came home desperate to see what was going to happen next.
I couldn't find it on Netflix, even though I know that it was streaming there at one point. I know this because Ted and I had watched the first episode months before and hadn't been able to get into it (something that sounds completely ludicrous to me now). I figured out that I could watch really fuzzy episodes on youtube - the pirated kind where I think someone records their tv screen with their phone and then posts it. Those episodes were impossible to find and almost more impossible to watch.
I was about to give up streaming them until I figured out that I could watch them with my Amazon Prime account! Praise the lord! I watched the first three seasons back to back during any free moment I could find, only to get to Season Four and find out that Amazon wasn't streaming that one. And if you know what happens at the end of Season three - you KNOW why I needed to get my hands on Season four immediately!
So I finally sat down at the computer and reorganized our Netflix DVD queue and threw all of the upcoming episodes, in order, up to the top (something Ted is extremely pleased about, I am sure).
I know you might be wondering why I am telling you all this because why the heck do I think you care about my latest television obsession? (Although, not that having no reason at all to tell you about my tv addiction has ever stopped me before). But, here is the thing: a lot of people die on Downton Abbey. In fact, the most important, loved and pivotal characters die - young and tragically. Two of the main characters on the show are, by Season Four, bereaved mothers (and I think there are enough characters that I am not being a "spoiler" by telling you this). And, while I think there are imperfections with their depiction of the grieving process - I'd say that it gets much closer than most anything else I've seen. And the writing! They way these characters express my thoughts! It's (dare I say) Magical. I recognize and relate to the anger, the jealousy, the complete paralysis, and the inability to look past one's own grief. I am more consumed with those stories than I am with the love stories (and those are pretty good too). I think about them all of the time - wondering how the writers are going to write the next stage of grief - praying that they won't let any of the grievers move on too quickly - hoping that they will recognize all of the right triggers that would set off someone who was really in grief. It will never be perfect, because it is still fiction, but they do a pretty good job.
It seems that still, after almost three years without Max, I am searching for connections with the ways other people deal with death and grief - it's even good enough for me when the most authenticity I can find is in fictional characters. The "problems" of non aggrieved characters fall flat for me. In fact, it's hard to believe, but I haven't chosen a romantic comedy in ages. It's not that I won't watch anything else, you know I will....but I definitely prefer content that includes deep grief, post traumatic stress and complete upheaval.
A few brilliant Downton Abbey quotes that really sum it up for me and have left me in puddles of my own tears:
"You see, when your only child dies, then you're not a mother anymore. You're not anything really. And that's what I'm trying to get used to."
"“…but you see I have this feeling that when I laugh or read a book or hum a tune, that it means that I’ve forgotten him, just for a moment and it’s that, that I cannot bear.”
"When one loses a child, is it really ever over?"
"I’m not unhappy. I’m just not quite ready to be happy."
"You are being tested. And you know what they say, my darling -- being tested only makes you stronger."
"This tragedy will either make or break your marriage. Hold each other tight and never take one another for granted."
I couldn't find it on Netflix, even though I know that it was streaming there at one point. I know this because Ted and I had watched the first episode months before and hadn't been able to get into it (something that sounds completely ludicrous to me now). I figured out that I could watch really fuzzy episodes on youtube - the pirated kind where I think someone records their tv screen with their phone and then posts it. Those episodes were impossible to find and almost more impossible to watch.
I was about to give up streaming them until I figured out that I could watch them with my Amazon Prime account! Praise the lord! I watched the first three seasons back to back during any free moment I could find, only to get to Season Four and find out that Amazon wasn't streaming that one. And if you know what happens at the end of Season three - you KNOW why I needed to get my hands on Season four immediately!
So I finally sat down at the computer and reorganized our Netflix DVD queue and threw all of the upcoming episodes, in order, up to the top (something Ted is extremely pleased about, I am sure).
I know you might be wondering why I am telling you all this because why the heck do I think you care about my latest television obsession? (Although, not that having no reason at all to tell you about my tv addiction has ever stopped me before). But, here is the thing: a lot of people die on Downton Abbey. In fact, the most important, loved and pivotal characters die - young and tragically. Two of the main characters on the show are, by Season Four, bereaved mothers (and I think there are enough characters that I am not being a "spoiler" by telling you this). And, while I think there are imperfections with their depiction of the grieving process - I'd say that it gets much closer than most anything else I've seen. And the writing! They way these characters express my thoughts! It's (dare I say) Magical. I recognize and relate to the anger, the jealousy, the complete paralysis, and the inability to look past one's own grief. I am more consumed with those stories than I am with the love stories (and those are pretty good too). I think about them all of the time - wondering how the writers are going to write the next stage of grief - praying that they won't let any of the grievers move on too quickly - hoping that they will recognize all of the right triggers that would set off someone who was really in grief. It will never be perfect, because it is still fiction, but they do a pretty good job.
It seems that still, after almost three years without Max, I am searching for connections with the ways other people deal with death and grief - it's even good enough for me when the most authenticity I can find is in fictional characters. The "problems" of non aggrieved characters fall flat for me. In fact, it's hard to believe, but I haven't chosen a romantic comedy in ages. It's not that I won't watch anything else, you know I will....but I definitely prefer content that includes deep grief, post traumatic stress and complete upheaval.
A few brilliant Downton Abbey quotes that really sum it up for me and have left me in puddles of my own tears:
"You see, when your only child dies, then you're not a mother anymore. You're not anything really. And that's what I'm trying to get used to."
"“…but you see I have this feeling that when I laugh or read a book or hum a tune, that it means that I’ve forgotten him, just for a moment and it’s that, that I cannot bear.”
"When one loses a child, is it really ever over?"
"I’m not unhappy. I’m just not quite ready to be happy."
"You are being tested. And you know what they say, my darling -- being tested only makes you stronger."
"This tragedy will either make or break your marriage. Hold each other tight and never take one another for granted."
Garbage Day
Friday, June 20, 2014
If you have (or have had) a little boy, you might know where I am going with this.....
The little boys at Maxie's daycare loved garbage day. They could hear the truck coming from a block away....the low growl of the machine humming along the road....the day's best entertainment only minutes away. They would all run to the window anxiously anticipating the excitement about to come. And THEN - the garbage truck would pull up to the house and they'd all go wild! They'd wave and cheer, and when they were lucky (otherwise known as almost every trash day), the garbage man would wave back.
I loved watching them on garbage day. I loved getting a peek into the boyish joy that would one day be my Maxie's too. He'd definitely get caught up in the excitement of it all. It was impossible not to. Even this 37 (at the time) year old woman did!
My Mo loves trucks. He loves tractors and excavators and U-hauls....and he really loves garbage trucks. There is a familiar and sad feeling that comes over me when we hear that garbage truck grumbling down our street and then the "beep, beep, beep" of it backing into place. In our house, we have to stop everything to either rush to the window or run outside (which really depends on whether I have put on a bra yet). Then Mo points and points and babbles like crazy, so full of excitement. And when the garbage truck finally disappears around the corner, Mo says "Bye, Bye" as loud as he can while waving his little hands in the air. I love it....and it breaks my heart.
All the reminders - there is really no end - they are everywhere. I wish I'd seen that little boy of mine run to the window with his daycare buddies. Even more, I wish I could see him doing it with his little brother today.
The little boys at Maxie's daycare loved garbage day. They could hear the truck coming from a block away....the low growl of the machine humming along the road....the day's best entertainment only minutes away. They would all run to the window anxiously anticipating the excitement about to come. And THEN - the garbage truck would pull up to the house and they'd all go wild! They'd wave and cheer, and when they were lucky (otherwise known as almost every trash day), the garbage man would wave back.
I loved watching them on garbage day. I loved getting a peek into the boyish joy that would one day be my Maxie's too. He'd definitely get caught up in the excitement of it all. It was impossible not to. Even this 37 (at the time) year old woman did!
My Mo loves trucks. He loves tractors and excavators and U-hauls....and he really loves garbage trucks. There is a familiar and sad feeling that comes over me when we hear that garbage truck grumbling down our street and then the "beep, beep, beep" of it backing into place. In our house, we have to stop everything to either rush to the window or run outside (which really depends on whether I have put on a bra yet). Then Mo points and points and babbles like crazy, so full of excitement. And when the garbage truck finally disappears around the corner, Mo says "Bye, Bye" as loud as he can while waving his little hands in the air. I love it....and it breaks my heart.
All the reminders - there is really no end - they are everywhere. I wish I'd seen that little boy of mine run to the window with his daycare buddies. Even more, I wish I could see him doing it with his little brother today.
Understanding
Thursday, June 19, 2014
In the almost three years since we lost Maxie, a lot of people in our lives have lost a lot of people. People have lost grandparents, parents, siblings, friends, and there have even been a few children lost over these past years. Loss is something that none of us can escape, even if we believe that bad things only happen to "other people". The fact is - some day your parents will die. You may be lucky enough to never suffer a tragic loss, like we have....i.e: maybe you are lucky enough to only lose people who have lived long and full lives.....but it still might feel tragic to you. Your mother, your father, your grandparent might be the closest person you have on earth. Even if they die at 100 years old, it might feel tragic.
Over and over again, people reach out to me and say "you are the only one who understands what this feels like". They are talking about grief - and sadly, I am actually NOT the only one who understands - but grief has a way of making you feel like you are alone, in a world of wildly happy and superficial people who don't have a care in the world. I know that I often feel like the Abby that my non-grieving friends see is an entirely different person that the grieving ones do. I have a split personality and each side has only pieces of authenticity. I am neither entirely one nor the other but I cannot seem to exist as both at the same time. I am constantly choosing sides.
People tell me, "I didn't understand what you were talking about until I experienced it myself" - meaning - they didn't understand that the pain is so excruciating that it feels impossible to escape, to distract oneself, to imagine any kind of a future at all without the person you've lost. And when I hear this, it is almost never in the context of losing a child. Grief is grief - it is a kind of universal pain. Still - losing a child? Take that grief that you finally understand and multiply it by 1000 or 1,000,000. There can be nothing worse. I am still convinced. Not to belittle anyone's grief - just to say that losing a child has to be the most unnatural thing I could ever imagine....and I've imagined a lot of worst case scenarios in my life. Well before losing Max, losing a child was always the worst one I could think of.
I guess what I am saying is this - before you judge, before you think to yourself "I would do this better than she is doing it", before you nod your head in knowing that you are the lucky one - think about this - one day you might be reaching out to me to say, "I never understood until now".
Over and over again, people reach out to me and say "you are the only one who understands what this feels like". They are talking about grief - and sadly, I am actually NOT the only one who understands - but grief has a way of making you feel like you are alone, in a world of wildly happy and superficial people who don't have a care in the world. I know that I often feel like the Abby that my non-grieving friends see is an entirely different person that the grieving ones do. I have a split personality and each side has only pieces of authenticity. I am neither entirely one nor the other but I cannot seem to exist as both at the same time. I am constantly choosing sides.
People tell me, "I didn't understand what you were talking about until I experienced it myself" - meaning - they didn't understand that the pain is so excruciating that it feels impossible to escape, to distract oneself, to imagine any kind of a future at all without the person you've lost. And when I hear this, it is almost never in the context of losing a child. Grief is grief - it is a kind of universal pain. Still - losing a child? Take that grief that you finally understand and multiply it by 1000 or 1,000,000. There can be nothing worse. I am still convinced. Not to belittle anyone's grief - just to say that losing a child has to be the most unnatural thing I could ever imagine....and I've imagined a lot of worst case scenarios in my life. Well before losing Max, losing a child was always the worst one I could think of.
I guess what I am saying is this - before you judge, before you think to yourself "I would do this better than she is doing it", before you nod your head in knowing that you are the lucky one - think about this - one day you might be reaching out to me to say, "I never understood until now".
Fresh
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
I've been playing around with the look of my blog, something I wish I had done AGES ago (like, when I still wrote every day). I created the blog using a basic blogger template. It was boring and I never liked it. I wanted my blog to be a place where visitors could really feel Maxie's spirit shining. I feel like I managed to do that somewhat, even with the boring background. What I really wanted was a slideshow at the top, so I am excited about that and still working on it. It is still a little basic, but designing blog sites really isn't my thing. I hope you like the new look of Missing Maxie. I feel like it breathes a little bit of fresh air into our account of his life and our lives without him.
The best reaction
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Early last week, Ted told me that he had "the best reaction to telling someone about Max" so far. Ted's been at a new jobsite in Silverlake lately and a neighbor has been coming by daily, while strolling his 18 month old, to check on the progress of the house Ted is working on. Ted told him that our son, Mo, is just a few months older than the neighbor's baby and the neighbor has asked a few times whether Mo is our only child. Ted had been doing his best to avoid the question but felt he couldn't really push it off any longer. He finally told the neighbor about our sweet Max last week. The man cried. And these tears made Ted feel really, really good.
Ted is a real "man's man"....whatever that means (even though you know EXACTLY what that means). I've only seen him cry a few times. I know he has cried oceans of tears for Maxie, but they have happened in hiding - at the cemetery, in the bathroom or in his car. He is warm and loving and someone that people like to confide in - but I wouldn't say he is super comfortable with emotion....so I am definitely not suggesting that people start crying their hearts out to Ted from now on to make him feel good. But, that spontaneous eruption of emotion from a (mostly) stranger upon hearing of our loss was meaningful to him. It made him feel good to have someone acknowledge the pain and devastation of losing our baby boy.
I am the vocal one. I am the one who paints the picture of life without our baby. I am the one who couldn't stop crying for months. But, Ted's life has been turned upside down too. He may not cry or beg for acknowledgement or try to explain to anyone what "this" is like - but sometimes, just the look in his eyes says more than any words ever could.
Ted is the most incredible father a child could ask for. His life revolves around these boys. His relationships with Max and Mo were/are so special and unique. I don't need to say it - but Father's Day is bittersweet. Ted became a father the day our Max was born - and though it may not look like it on the surface, he is a father of TWO. He carries Maxie in his heart so profoundly - I see it every day. I hope Max does too. If he is with us somehow, there is no way he could miss it.
Happy Father's Day to the best father I know. I know this road is challenging. I couldn't feel luckier than to be walking it with you.
XOXO - Love you Teddy!
Ted is a real "man's man"....whatever that means (even though you know EXACTLY what that means). I've only seen him cry a few times. I know he has cried oceans of tears for Maxie, but they have happened in hiding - at the cemetery, in the bathroom or in his car. He is warm and loving and someone that people like to confide in - but I wouldn't say he is super comfortable with emotion....so I am definitely not suggesting that people start crying their hearts out to Ted from now on to make him feel good. But, that spontaneous eruption of emotion from a (mostly) stranger upon hearing of our loss was meaningful to him. It made him feel good to have someone acknowledge the pain and devastation of losing our baby boy.
I am the vocal one. I am the one who paints the picture of life without our baby. I am the one who couldn't stop crying for months. But, Ted's life has been turned upside down too. He may not cry or beg for acknowledgement or try to explain to anyone what "this" is like - but sometimes, just the look in his eyes says more than any words ever could.
Ted is the most incredible father a child could ask for. His life revolves around these boys. His relationships with Max and Mo were/are so special and unique. I don't need to say it - but Father's Day is bittersweet. Ted became a father the day our Max was born - and though it may not look like it on the surface, he is a father of TWO. He carries Maxie in his heart so profoundly - I see it every day. I hope Max does too. If he is with us somehow, there is no way he could miss it.
Happy Father's Day to the best father I know. I know this road is challenging. I couldn't feel luckier than to be walking it with you.
XOXO - Love you Teddy!
Portland weekend away
Monday, June 9, 2014
I don't think you'll be surprised when I tell you that I spent the weekend at an Afterlife Conference in Portland. The organizers of this conference were different that the ones who organized the last one I went to, but the basic premise was the same: hundreds of grievers gathered together wondering where their loved ones have gone. My mom and I flew up because we were ready to attend another one of these things, but also because my Auntie Alison and Uncle Danny live in Portland (and we love them and their city) and it was a good excuse to visit. All I can say is that I feel lighter than I have in years (mostly due to one session in particular - but I will get there in a moment).
If you'll recall (or read, or re-read), the last time I attended one of these things, what was MOST important to me was to figure out how to connect to Maxie. I suppose that was important to me this time as well, but I felt no anxiety or anticipation about that part. What I really wanted to do was have a safe space to grieve and connect to other people like me. So we skipped a lot of the really "Woo woo" stuff (a term that was used by conference organizers as well) and tried to get in as much of the practical stuff as possible (but let's face it - it was all a little "woo woo").
Highlights of the conference included a Peruvian Grieving Ceremony, led by a shaman and attended by a couple hundred people. It was powerful, sacred, cathartic and incredibly moving - all things that are not easy to accomplish in a hotel special events/conference space (you can go to www.livinganddyingconsciouslyproject.org to download a script and materials list to hold your own grieving ceremony - I am planning on doing another one myself). Other highlights included getting to hear Dr. Raymond Moody (responsible for coining the term "Near Death Experience") and Dr. Eben Alexander (a neurosurgeon who wrote about his own Near Death Experience in his New York Times bestseller book, Proof of Heaven). But the most powerful presentation of the weekend, and that I've heard in the last three years, was by Tom Zuba called "A New Way to Do Grief - a New Way to Do Life". I left this session feeling a tangible change in my soul.
Tom's young daughter died in 1990, his wife died in 1999, and his teenage son died in 2005. He spoke about the importance of grief and creating an appropriate space to grieve. He compared the old way to do grief, which included keeping busy, moving on, and not crying, to the NEW way to do grief - which is to allow oneself to feel their feelings. "Feeling feelings isn't the problem. It is the solution.", he said. He also suggested being open to signs from our loved ones - to recognize and thank them when they happen, instead of listening to our rational brains, which just explain them away. I have had many signs. I always explain them away.
There were profound statements from the audience in attendance that really touched me as well. One woman stood up to talk about how nobody cried when her son died, not even his grandparents. They explained that they didn't want to cry in front of her and her husband because they worried that they would make them more sad....."as if that was possible", she said. She quoted a book she had read called "Lament for a son", which said "Your tears are a salve to my wound. Your silence is the salt." That quote struck me deeply - how I wish that the people who loved Maxie most would have felt comfortable enough to express their own broken hearts to me. When people cried with her, she knew that they cared. Another woman said that when her child died, she asked herself over and over and over again the same question - would she be "better or bitter?". I have asked myself the same question a million times. I think there is no way to escape a certain period of bitterness. Mine lasted almost two years and still pops up from time to time.....but I choose now to be better. I hope Maxie's death makes me a better person - it is the only way I can imagine that his death could bring any positivity in my world. I can't change that he died - I can only change who I am because of it. Tom believes that we need to teach people about grief because it affects everyone in one way or another at some point. I also can't remember how he said it, but for the first time, even though a million other people have said it before him, it sunk in: We cannot change the outcome of any situation in our lives - we can hope and pray and work for certain outcomes - but that won't guarantee a thing. The best we can do is to accept that each piece of our story is meant to teach us something and add some value to our lives. Of course, we'd all trade the lessons to have our children back - but that isn't an option. The very best we can hope for is to grow from their loss. We have to learn to love the life we have now. Ted is going to kill me - because he says this to me all of the time - but sometimes it takes the right setting for something to sink in.
Like the last conference we attended - there were a LOT of bereaved parents. Being responsible for the happiness and well-being of the person you love the most and then losing that child - it kind of makes sense that we'd be the most desperate to know where our loved ones have gone. The fact that our lives had revolved around these people and then they died - far before their time - it is just impossible to wrap our brains around. I guess when you have something so impossible happen in your life, it feels like every other impossible thing is a little more possible......like all of the "woo woo" stuff.
Visiting Portland is always a treat. What a cool city! It was especially beautiful this past weekend. Everything was in bloom, the grass and trees were green, the sky was clear and the temperature was just perfect. We skipped a few sessions to go shopping and explore the neighborhoods close to my aunt and uncle's house. Especially exciting was getting stuck in traffic late on Saturday night as we were driving home from the conference because thousands of naked people on Bicycles were clogging up all of the roads! Oh so very Portland! My aunt sent me this link about the ride this morning: Crazy Naked Portlanders. So very awesome. It was dark out by the time we ran into them so all we really saw were flashes of white thighs and side boobs - it wasn't all that shocking!
I continue to work hard diving into my grief - exploring the unconventional and looking for ways to move forward. I owe it to myself and to the ones I love that are still here on earth. I think it has been my willingness to feel my feelings and to keep on seeking that has brought me to a happier and more content phase of my journey. If there was the smallest chance on earth that I could feel my baby again for even a second, I would take that chance. Nothing - not even death - can keep us apart.
I love you Maxie XOXOXO Forever and ever and ever.
If you'll recall (or read, or re-read), the last time I attended one of these things, what was MOST important to me was to figure out how to connect to Maxie. I suppose that was important to me this time as well, but I felt no anxiety or anticipation about that part. What I really wanted to do was have a safe space to grieve and connect to other people like me. So we skipped a lot of the really "Woo woo" stuff (a term that was used by conference organizers as well) and tried to get in as much of the practical stuff as possible (but let's face it - it was all a little "woo woo").
Highlights of the conference included a Peruvian Grieving Ceremony, led by a shaman and attended by a couple hundred people. It was powerful, sacred, cathartic and incredibly moving - all things that are not easy to accomplish in a hotel special events/conference space (you can go to www.livinganddyingconsciouslyproject.org to download a script and materials list to hold your own grieving ceremony - I am planning on doing another one myself). Other highlights included getting to hear Dr. Raymond Moody (responsible for coining the term "Near Death Experience") and Dr. Eben Alexander (a neurosurgeon who wrote about his own Near Death Experience in his New York Times bestseller book, Proof of Heaven). But the most powerful presentation of the weekend, and that I've heard in the last three years, was by Tom Zuba called "A New Way to Do Grief - a New Way to Do Life". I left this session feeling a tangible change in my soul.
Tom's young daughter died in 1990, his wife died in 1999, and his teenage son died in 2005. He spoke about the importance of grief and creating an appropriate space to grieve. He compared the old way to do grief, which included keeping busy, moving on, and not crying, to the NEW way to do grief - which is to allow oneself to feel their feelings. "Feeling feelings isn't the problem. It is the solution.", he said. He also suggested being open to signs from our loved ones - to recognize and thank them when they happen, instead of listening to our rational brains, which just explain them away. I have had many signs. I always explain them away.
There were profound statements from the audience in attendance that really touched me as well. One woman stood up to talk about how nobody cried when her son died, not even his grandparents. They explained that they didn't want to cry in front of her and her husband because they worried that they would make them more sad....."as if that was possible", she said. She quoted a book she had read called "Lament for a son", which said "Your tears are a salve to my wound. Your silence is the salt." That quote struck me deeply - how I wish that the people who loved Maxie most would have felt comfortable enough to express their own broken hearts to me. When people cried with her, she knew that they cared. Another woman said that when her child died, she asked herself over and over and over again the same question - would she be "better or bitter?". I have asked myself the same question a million times. I think there is no way to escape a certain period of bitterness. Mine lasted almost two years and still pops up from time to time.....but I choose now to be better. I hope Maxie's death makes me a better person - it is the only way I can imagine that his death could bring any positivity in my world. I can't change that he died - I can only change who I am because of it. Tom believes that we need to teach people about grief because it affects everyone in one way or another at some point. I also can't remember how he said it, but for the first time, even though a million other people have said it before him, it sunk in: We cannot change the outcome of any situation in our lives - we can hope and pray and work for certain outcomes - but that won't guarantee a thing. The best we can do is to accept that each piece of our story is meant to teach us something and add some value to our lives. Of course, we'd all trade the lessons to have our children back - but that isn't an option. The very best we can hope for is to grow from their loss. We have to learn to love the life we have now. Ted is going to kill me - because he says this to me all of the time - but sometimes it takes the right setting for something to sink in.
Like the last conference we attended - there were a LOT of bereaved parents. Being responsible for the happiness and well-being of the person you love the most and then losing that child - it kind of makes sense that we'd be the most desperate to know where our loved ones have gone. The fact that our lives had revolved around these people and then they died - far before their time - it is just impossible to wrap our brains around. I guess when you have something so impossible happen in your life, it feels like every other impossible thing is a little more possible......like all of the "woo woo" stuff.
Visiting Portland is always a treat. What a cool city! It was especially beautiful this past weekend. Everything was in bloom, the grass and trees were green, the sky was clear and the temperature was just perfect. We skipped a few sessions to go shopping and explore the neighborhoods close to my aunt and uncle's house. Especially exciting was getting stuck in traffic late on Saturday night as we were driving home from the conference because thousands of naked people on Bicycles were clogging up all of the roads! Oh so very Portland! My aunt sent me this link about the ride this morning: Crazy Naked Portlanders. So very awesome. It was dark out by the time we ran into them so all we really saw were flashes of white thighs and side boobs - it wasn't all that shocking!
I continue to work hard diving into my grief - exploring the unconventional and looking for ways to move forward. I owe it to myself and to the ones I love that are still here on earth. I think it has been my willingness to feel my feelings and to keep on seeking that has brought me to a happier and more content phase of my journey. If there was the smallest chance on earth that I could feel my baby again for even a second, I would take that chance. Nothing - not even death - can keep us apart.
I love you Maxie XOXOXO Forever and ever and ever.
Makeover
Friday, May 30, 2014
I just spent my lunch break trying on clothes at Nordstrom Rack and Target. I was highly unsuccessful and came away only with two new sports bras - a pretty safe buy when everything else you try on looks completely wrong on you (I couldn't leave completely empty handed could I?) I think I've finally realized that the reason my dressing room adventures are always so unproductive is because they are terribly misguided. I am still dressing for my pre-baby body, and even if I am buying clothes in a different size, they aren't quite looking right.
What I need is a make-over. Seriously. I think this could help get me out of my slump. Only, I am not sure where to begin. I vaguely remember reading somewhere that I should be wearing empire waist clothing and wrap around shirts and dresses....but whenever I try on those styles, I look really really mom-ish. If only Stacy and Clinton could show up (without a television crew) and help me figure it out (and give me some shopping spree cash to match). I also really don't know where to shop. I only ever go to the two stores mentioned above. There has gotta be something else!
Look - I see women of all different sizes who look terrific and always (always) much more put together than me. Where on earth are they all shopping? Today I am wearing a gap mini skirt with a women's Giants t-shirt - and I'm not just wearing that because I can be casual. I am wearing that because I honestly think it is the cutest summer outfit I own. I need some help. Please - dear reader friends - where does a mom who doesn't want to look so "momish" go to shop these days? I definitely need some help.
What I need is a make-over. Seriously. I think this could help get me out of my slump. Only, I am not sure where to begin. I vaguely remember reading somewhere that I should be wearing empire waist clothing and wrap around shirts and dresses....but whenever I try on those styles, I look really really mom-ish. If only Stacy and Clinton could show up (without a television crew) and help me figure it out (and give me some shopping spree cash to match). I also really don't know where to shop. I only ever go to the two stores mentioned above. There has gotta be something else!
Look - I see women of all different sizes who look terrific and always (always) much more put together than me. Where on earth are they all shopping? Today I am wearing a gap mini skirt with a women's Giants t-shirt - and I'm not just wearing that because I can be casual. I am wearing that because I honestly think it is the cutest summer outfit I own. I need some help. Please - dear reader friends - where does a mom who doesn't want to look so "momish" go to shop these days? I definitely need some help.
Unpacking
Monday, May 26, 2014
I finally just unpacked my bag from Georgia yesterday. It was a really big bag. I had already unpacked most of my own stuff when I got home but was happy yesterday to uncover some clothes that I had forgotten about (and had been looking for these past weeks - like a moron!) Most of the suitcase was filled with stuff for the baby - cute little pink and purple onesies, a frilly little baby dress, tons of soft swaddle blankets, cloth diapers and teeny tiny socks. I unpacked slowly, and over time, not wanting to feel the full weight of the disappointment all at once.
I have finally unpacked the contents of that suitcase but I need to leave almost all of the emotional stuff packed up. There are so many layers of hurt and I just haven't gotten to the point yet where I can look at it at all without becoming completely unglued....and unglued was exactly how I felt on my last day there. It was awful and I am scared to let myself go there again. I've definitely learned by now that all wounds, great and small, take time to heal. I guess I will have to postpone the healing with this one (and so many others that have come over the last few years) because I am still working on trying to heal (as much as possible) the heartbreak of Max dying. I do know that leaving Georgia without that baby girl opened up the Maxie wound. When I have allowed it to surface, even momentarily, it hasn't been pretty.
Emotionally unpacking this experience is something I really didn't want to have to do. It's something that I still don't really want to do. I want to bundle it all up in a bag and forget about it. I want to leave it on the bedroom floor, like I left my suitcase, and just pile other stuff on top of it. I want to forget what is in the bag and maybe even pretend it didn't happen - because there is just too much to unpack and it is too intertwined with the much more crushing loss of Maxie. If he hadn't died, I really don't think this experience would have happened at all. And packing up baby stuff - looking for places to put it all - and wondering, with a heavy heart, whether it will ever be used, is all too familiar. Much different - but still familiar.
When I got home, several people offered to put me in touch with their friends who could talk to me about their failed adoption experiences. A few people told me that they knew it was "like a death" - words that stung to hear. Not bringing home this baby was not like a death. The death of a child doesn't only mean an end to the fantasies that the parents had for their child but it also (and much more horrifically) means the end of that child's life. The little girl I fell in love with in Georgia still lives - she has people who love her, an older sibling, a bunch of experiences waiting for her in the future. Do I wish she was mine? Yes! Totally. Am I completely turned upside down by having to leave her there? For sure. But, all this really is is the end of a certain dream of mine. It doesn't even compare to having to know that Max will never have dreams of his own - but I'm still sad.
I have finally unpacked the contents of that suitcase but I need to leave almost all of the emotional stuff packed up. There are so many layers of hurt and I just haven't gotten to the point yet where I can look at it at all without becoming completely unglued....and unglued was exactly how I felt on my last day there. It was awful and I am scared to let myself go there again. I've definitely learned by now that all wounds, great and small, take time to heal. I guess I will have to postpone the healing with this one (and so many others that have come over the last few years) because I am still working on trying to heal (as much as possible) the heartbreak of Max dying. I do know that leaving Georgia without that baby girl opened up the Maxie wound. When I have allowed it to surface, even momentarily, it hasn't been pretty.
I have no reason to be posting the photo below except that my grandma used to always tell us grandkids that we were her best medicine. I never really thought about the meaning. I just thought it was one of those grandmotherly things to say. But, just look at this kid! It pretty hard to stay sad with this guy around.
Mosie - he really IS my best medicine.
Mosie - he really IS my best medicine.
Uplifting
Sunday, May 25, 2014
I woke up in the worst mood - sad, defeated and depressed. But then we went here:
A drive up Route 2, a nature walk with my boys and then lunch at a forested biker bar really cleared my mind. Happy Memorial Day Weekend.
Sleeping in
Friday, May 23, 2014
I was on my college swim team: Go Sagehens! (or as my mom once said when reading my parka wrong "Go Saga Hens!"). In the height of our season, we had two practices a day and at least twice a week, I had to be at the pool by 5 am, which meant I was up by about 4:30. It was tough on my 18-21 year old partygirl soul. I stopped swimming in my senior year just so I could sleep in a little longer.
I lived on a kibbutz in Israel - 3 different times. Wake up time on a kibbutz is brutal. We often met in the banana fields at 5 am. I would be done with my work every day after lunch, around 2 pm, and then I'd come back to my room and sleep until dinner.
Early mornings are not for me. With the exception of those two experiences, I've never been an early riser. If I know I have to get up early, I cannot stay up late, even though it's my favorite thing to do. I love sleeping and have even often fantasized of coming back in my next life as a bear. Oh how glorious it would be to sleep through the winter!
Both of my babies were sleeping through the night pretty young. I've learned since having children that THAT is what is important to people who ask. "Is he sleeping through the night yet?" They start asking that when your baby is about one week old. To me, the sleeping through the night has never been as important to me as whether they go back to sleep after waking and how late we can keep pushing our actual "get out of bed" time each morning. Mo used to wake up at 4 am, play a little, go back to sleep at 5 and then sleep in until 8. I'm happy to play at 4 am if I get to go back to sleep until 8. In fact, in the really early days, I could keeping pushing our mornings out until 11am. After a year of sleeping all day, every day, I needed to transition back to a parent's schedule slowly.
But for the last year or more, there's been another routine.
But for the last year or more, there's been another routine.
Mo goes to sleep by 7:45 or so and sleeps until 5 am. Five is REALLY early. There is no way I am leaping out of bed at that hour and starting to play - especially because I know he's not going back to sleep again until almost 1 pm. So, I usually pull him into our bed and then try to cuddle (read: sleep) with him for as long as I can, then turn on the tv for him (and sleep) until he gets bored, and then finally give in to getting out of bed.
This last week, the routine has changed again. It's changed in a way that should be bringing me tremendous joy. He's been sleeping in! Most days this week he slept until 7ish. Today he slept in until 7:30. This should be a dream come true! Complete deliciousness! But instead - it scares me. I get up starting at around 5:30 and start worrying. I look at the monitor to see if I can detect movement. Eventually, I go to his room and put my hand on his chest. After I reassure myself that he is fine, I leave and am already worried again by the time I get back to our room. I go back as often as every fifteen minutes to make sure he is still alive. The sleeping-in is wasted on me and it's a bummer, because I want it so bad.
I've been surprised about how far I've come. How I've made it through the last 22 months of Mo's life without losing my mind with fear. I'm still impressed. I imagined it being much more challenging. But a part of me is still filled with fear, still imagining the worst case scenario. I may never feel quite right. I will probably never get to just lie there and soak in the extra hours in bed. It's ok. It's probably expected for someone whose been through what I have.....but - Oh, how I'd love to sleep in! You feel me?
A special life
Monday, May 19, 2014
Yesterday we celebrated the life of my warm, interesting and special Aunt Sue. She passed after a three year battle with cancer, leaving behind her two sweet sons, a lovely daughter in law and two grandchildren. My Auntie Susie and her husband Mike were such special people: major children of the sixties (friends with Jim Morrison), smart, curious and free spirited. I can remember them both always interacting with me like I had something important to say, even when I was really young. They treated kids with the utmost respect and always made us all feel very special. Sue was a poet and a book of her poetry was shared with everyone yesterday. She was gifted with words.
Images Fade
Images fade and change
Like garments go out of style
They are elusive, bright
But full of air
As I reach out to touch the unreal
Halt the flow for a while
Stop the movement away from where
I am comfortable
Until comfort, too
Fades like a fad
And I am left waiting
For the cycle to begin again
To reach my favorite part
Where I can stop thinking
And listen with my heart
Susan Gale Jordan
Susan Gale Jordan
Beach Day with my boys
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Mother's Day this year was pretty perfect. Just me and my boys enjoying the beach! It doesn't get much better than that!!!
I know that Mother's Day can be a HUGE trigger for mother's who have lost children. It definitely was for me for the last two years. Somehow this year, it felt softer. The fact is that I miss Maxie every single day - I didn't miss him more on Mother's Day....though I had been missing him more lately (if that is even possible). I've decided not to overanalyze. The point is that was nice - nice to be with Ted and Mo and nice to be appreciated as a mother.
I know that Mother's Day can be a HUGE trigger for mother's who have lost children. It definitely was for me for the last two years. Somehow this year, it felt softer. The fact is that I miss Maxie every single day - I didn't miss him more on Mother's Day....though I had been missing him more lately (if that is even possible). I've decided not to overanalyze. The point is that was nice - nice to be with Ted and Mo and nice to be appreciated as a mother.
The story of my life
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
There are times when I wish I could just leap forward in the story of my life to see how it ends- and not just the FINAL chapter, but all of the chapters that come between now and then.
When I was single, I think I would have enjoyed myself a whole lot more if someone could have just said to me - "Hey, the right guy is showing up at the end of your 32nd year, chill out". I didn't really care when he was going to show up, I just wanted to know he would.
Today, I want to KNOW if we will ever have another child - I don't need to know the details: whether it is a girl or a boy, adopted or biological - I just want to know if it happens. I feel like it could save me a lot of grief. I am 40 years old - how much more effort am I going to put into this pursuit? Also, failed adoption and fertility treatments aren't free. They cost just as much as the successful ones do. We aren't exactly swimming in cash over here.
And, of course, EVERY SINGLE DAY, I wish I could just know whether Max was waiting for me somewhere. If I KNEW he would be there at the end of this crazy life of mine, I think I could handle all of the ups and downs a whole lot better. I fantasize daily about our reunion - being able to hold him and kiss him again. Anything less than that is nothing.
I keep hoping an awesome patch is up ahead - filled with happiness and success. I feel like I keep trying to move forward and be all strong and set goals for our family that will heal us and make us stronger and that everything I do just makes things worse. I think the time is coming to just put it all to rest. I really, really don't want to be a victim but I keep setting myself up for failure. What will be will be. No reason to think I can change this story at all. But what I wouldn't give for just a teeny tiny peak at the end.
When I was single, I think I would have enjoyed myself a whole lot more if someone could have just said to me - "Hey, the right guy is showing up at the end of your 32nd year, chill out". I didn't really care when he was going to show up, I just wanted to know he would.
Today, I want to KNOW if we will ever have another child - I don't need to know the details: whether it is a girl or a boy, adopted or biological - I just want to know if it happens. I feel like it could save me a lot of grief. I am 40 years old - how much more effort am I going to put into this pursuit? Also, failed adoption and fertility treatments aren't free. They cost just as much as the successful ones do. We aren't exactly swimming in cash over here.
And, of course, EVERY SINGLE DAY, I wish I could just know whether Max was waiting for me somewhere. If I KNEW he would be there at the end of this crazy life of mine, I think I could handle all of the ups and downs a whole lot better. I fantasize daily about our reunion - being able to hold him and kiss him again. Anything less than that is nothing.
I keep hoping an awesome patch is up ahead - filled with happiness and success. I feel like I keep trying to move forward and be all strong and set goals for our family that will heal us and make us stronger and that everything I do just makes things worse. I think the time is coming to just put it all to rest. I really, really don't want to be a victim but I keep setting myself up for failure. What will be will be. No reason to think I can change this story at all. But what I wouldn't give for just a teeny tiny peak at the end.
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