Pumpkin patch

Perhaps I've mentioned once or twice how much Mo LOVES pumpkins. So, you can imagine the sheer joy that this past weekend inspired, when we pulled into this place:

This is just down the road and it isn't even one of the real big pumpkin patches in our area (we will save those for the future). It was like a dream come true for this kid. Now he keeps talking about carving up the orange guys we got. We also talk about Halloween, costumes, and the Halloween cast of characters constantly (witches, spiders, ghosts, black cats). Nearly every day he asks me if it's Halloween yet. At the rate we are going, I think it's going to be a long month.

Hall Pass

In the months and even years following the sudden (and not sudden) death of someone you deeply love, the world you knew spins violently out of control. It is impossible to focus on anything but getting through the next moment. And even when it starts to get better, there is still an always present chaos. It is out of your control to a great extent. Every day that ends feels like an accomplishment, simply for having gotten through it.

During those days, there will be emails, voicemails and texts that go unanswered. There will be many times where you lose track of the story - of others, of yourself. You simply cannot think straight. 

You might feel like everyone you know and love is in great danger - of dying, suddenly and without warning. This feeling can sometimes dull the intensity of everyday (and not so everyday) problems. Taking care of three little kids is hard but not nearly as hard as the constant feeling that I have two and a half months to save the life of my youngest baby. I am literally out of my skin with anxiety about his making it through this year. I'm just trying to put it in perspective.

If someone you love (or loved) has lost someone they love. Especially if they've lost the person around whom their whole life revolved, who was the most special person in their world - I ask that you give them a hall pass. 

They may not be able to focus on you in the way you need or would like. You might need to seek out other outlets for a while. Im sorry to say this - but your "big" problems might be enviable to them. They might forget to return your last text (or your last 10 texts), they might not initiate phone calls or coffee dates (because they probably aren't "hanging out"). Don't take it personally. Your friend will be disappointing. Please try not to expect too much from them - they will disappoint you if you do.

I wish I had had a hall pass for at least the first couple of years. I still sometimes do. Instead I feel like I've been watched under a microscope - while I've tried to rebuild my life. In the past four years, I've had several miscarriages, gone through a complicated adoption, had two children 9.5 months apart and taken care of three under 3 years old, moved across the country & left behind my best friends and family. None of those things by themselves, or even in combination with each other has come anywhere near in the same universe of difficulty as grieving my heart out for Max all of this time. And I'm actually not asking for your sympathy, because I think we've done an amazing job functioning and even thriving through this. But I AM asking for an occasional hall pass and I am wondering if you might consider giving one to anyone you know who is going through a really hard time.

Practice compassion. Thanks!

You should know...

When you sweep aside Max, you sweep me aside too. When you act like I should be over him by now, what I hear is that you are over me. When you deny him, ignore him, and pretend like he never existed - you shut me out and close me down. When I try to talk to you about him and you don't listen - I feel it and it keeps me from connecting to you.

Because, you see, Max IS my soul. He is part of the very essence of who I am and my loss of him will be etched into every moment of my life forever. 

Just thought you should know.

Mace Seven Months Old

I am so grateful that Mace is seven months old.  The closer we get to nine months, the more scared I am.  He somehow seems more and more vulnerable to me, the older he gets.  I can't wait to post his ten month photo.

In the meantime, Mace has had an action packed month.  We took took a mommy & baby trip together to California for a wedding.  He was SO easy on the plane.  He sat on my lap quietly, just looking around and smiling until he fell asleep. The way home was a red-eye and he slept the whole way.  He is a very portable guy. He started daycare (I can hardly believe it either) at Mo's school (with Myla too). The teachers all love him and are always commenting on what a good and easy baby he is. I am praying that this was the right decision for our family.  My feeling is that there are so many capable and certified teachers there - 3 in his classroom alone - and we were having nanny fatigue. It was near impossible to find a nanny like our last one in CA, Vivian, and we couldn't keep playing musical nannies. So far, we've been really happy with the school, for all of our kids. Mo loves visiting his brother and sister throughout the day and Macie is getting so much attention. 

Mace started eating solid foods at the start of the month. He LOVES rice cereal and is pretty much bored with everything else. I have to hide other foods in the ride cereal. I've never had a kid even like rice cereal, Mace can't get enough. 

He is still crazy cute, as evidenced below:

A New Year

The Jewish High Holidays are a time for reflection, renewed commitment to spirituality and community, and without a doubt - for me at least - a time that I can't help but overthink the meaning of everything that has happened, everything that is, and all that will be.

Before losing Max, Rosh Hashana (the Jewish New Year) wasn't too much different than the secular New Year for me.  It was a good time to put together some basic resolutions, get together with friends and family, and reflect on the year that had just passed.  Not to mention that the fasting holiday of Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) a week later is a perfect kick off to losing the next 10 pounds (Am I right? - You know I am).

This year, we are in a new place (to me at least) and we are new members of a new synagogue.  Ted had to work on Rosh Hashana, so I went to services alone - well, alone with 3 kids.  I dropped Myla and Mo in the child care room to do art projects and play with other kids while Macie and I went to pray - or, probably more accurate - reflect.

The reading for Rosh Hashana is the story of G-d asking Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, at Mt. Moriah. By any interpretation, it is a shocking text - even when G-d finally tells Abraham he can put down the knife because he was only being tested.  It's hard not to wonder what kind of a G-d would test a man's faith by asking him to sacrifice his own child. G-d asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac because he knows that there is nothing more precious to a parent than his/her own child.  (How is it possible that anyone could still think otherwise?)

It's impossible for me not to make parallels to our own story of losing Max and wonder what G-d's role in his death must have been. I do sometimes wonder if we are being tested - if this could possibly be G-d's way of seeing whether we can handle this, whether we will become more or less faithful, whether we will become bitter or enlightened.  But, I realize that I am giving myself WAY too much credit when I start thinking like this.  I am not Abraham - and my child was not spared. And, then the finality of it - the sick realization that my son is never coming back (which I know I SHOULD realize by now - but I still kind of don't), becomes real once again. This leads to the next set of thoughts, which roll around and around a kind of fatalist set of beliefs that don't serve me at all:

• There is no meaning in our lives
• Whether we are "good" or "bad" has no impact at all on what is to become of us in this lifetime
• Do we all just return to dust in the ground?
• Etc, etc, etc......

Depressing.  I am sure you can tell by now that these holidays weigh heavily on my soul - as do so many things - birthdays, anniversaries, "firsts" that will never be. 

In a few weeks (October 7), Max would be turning five.  FIVE.  I see photos of my friend's children who were supposed to be Maxie's lifelong friends, and they are almost five, and I cannot relate or understand or shake the shock from my brain. Max would be in Kindergarten.  I try not to think about it too much - but holy shit - MAX WOULD BE FIVE.  It's so effing unfair, it takes my breath away.

In the weeks leading up to Max's past birthdays, I've been busy putting together invitations to his Birthday Benefit, collecting silent auction items, pestering people to come to the fundraiser that I am putting together in his honor.  I tell everyone about the activities I've planned - art projects for kids, beer and food and drinks, superheroes, awesome auction items....  You'd think that the whole exercise was giving me a sense of purpose to pour myself into - but I think you'd be somewhat mistaken. 

There will be no Birthday Benefit this year - and it is in large part because we moved, and we have three little ones, and I don't have the network here that I had in LA, or the perfect spot to throw a great fundraising party. I still feel deeply committed to the work of First Candle and I am grateful for the support that they have given me over these past few years.  But, I am also happy to have the excuse not to plan this year.  Because it takes so much out of me emotionally, and running around with a big smile on my face during an event memorializing my child feels somewhat inauthentic to me.  I hope that it will change with time but I just cannot be sure.

What I know is this - not doing an event does not mean I am over it, or getting past it, or so focused on my living children that I have forgotten about my beloved first.  No.  I am still longing, missing, and questioning all of the time. Always hanging on to the hope that there is meaning in this loss - and that someday we will be together again. 

Mace Six Months

Macie is six months old today. He has big blue eyes, awesome stick straight hair that falls right down the center of his head, and always a big open-mouthed smile. He rolls over, loves rice cereal, and is still a tummy time champ as evidenced by this photo - shot during this morning's six month photo shoot.

I'm not sure if I believe in reincarnation, but if I did, this would be the kid carrying Maxie's spirit. Their personalities are so alike. And when Macie looks at you, it's as if he can see straight into your soul - very much like his biggest brother. 

He's still his own little guy though and we are all CRAZY about him!!!

Mo 3 Years Old

It's a few weeks late but our Mo is three years old (click here for the recap of year one and his second year photo)! His birthday was the same day that Macie turned five months. We had an awesome birthday party for him the following weekend, in the middle of which Mo announced "Let's have a dance party!" So, Ted set the kids up with an outdoor speaker and they had a dance party. That's our kid for sure!!!

Mo has an awesome vocabulary, he is so friendly and playful. He loves dinosaurs, superheroes, Halloween and pumpkins. He still loves playing drums and he especially loves his little sister and brother. We are so lucky he's ours!!!

Superhero Strength

I haven't been writing much lately.

To be honest, I am beginning to feel like my emotions might be too private, complicated and hard to share. I also feel like the further we get in time from the day we lost Max, the more people expect us to be ok.

I can tell by the way that some friends share their heartache with me - as if I am living an easy and comfortable life and can in no way relate to their feelings that life has been unfair to them and that the dreams that they had for their future are so far unrealized.

I can tell by the way that I sometimes get swept into drama and lashing out from others about stuff that feels very small to me in the grand scheme of my life - stuff that pales in comparison to where I've been, what I've seen, and what life looks like to me today.

I can tell by the way that people assume that I, too,  believe that "everything happens for a reason" just because they believe that and it is how they help themselves feel better about Maxie's death and reconcile the awesomeness of our new and big happy family. It seems like a nice little package when you simply tack "Everything happens for a reason" onto our story and keep on moving.

It's become too hard for me to explain what being a bereaved parent and missing Maxie feels like today. It is just easier now to mostly keep it to myself than to share it with anyone other than Ted and other parents like us (who've lost children). When I try to share it - even with those who are supposed to be closest to me - I can tell they don't get it. What's more is that I can tell that they don't really want to get it. It's yesterday's news already.

So, I compile these thoughts for those of you reading who are the newly bereaved.

There will come a time soon (ish) when everyone will think you are "over it" (or at least they will be over it and think you should be too). Everyone will begin to see your life as normal again (because there will eventually be a "normalcy" to it - a completely reconstructed, alternate-universe kind of normal). People will get angry with you about the things you've said since and immediately following the death of your child and will bring it all up now that they believe you are strong and ready to apologize. They are nitpicking. You don't need to apologize. The people that love you should have been (and should still be) more patient with you.

I know that you are still not "normal". I know that you will never really be.  And, I know that you know that too. I also know that when you try to really tell someone (who isn't a bereaved parent) that you don't feel normal they will likely reply with something like, "who is really normal anyway?" - and they won't really be getting it because your entire perception of reality shifted in an instant and cannot change back no matter what you do.

I know you feel misunderstood and alone in these early days.  That feeling will change - but it won't go away. The only thing that will happen is that you will learn to deal with it. You will become stronger. You will get used to friends and family brushing aside your heartbreak and pain because they don't believe it anymore and frankly, they are bored and sort of want you to pay attention to their issues already.  And, just like the "normal thing", when you try to tell them how broken you are - they will let you know that, "everyone is broken in their own way". They have no way of knowing that everything that you thought was broken in you before (the loss of your child), every drama and heartache you experienced, every argument, every anxious filled moment was NOTHING in comparison to the broken you know today.

The fact is that your newly found strength (that you would trade in an instant to have one more minute with your child) will become part of the reason why your heartbreak is ignored. And, I guess that is ok - because you will be able to handle it. You have super human strength now to get through anything life throws at you and I am truly, deeply sorry.

Maxie's Candles

Thank you for remembering Max by lighting a candle. Hearing from so many of you really feels good. 

Mace five months

Our Macie is five months old today. He is SO cute. He loves rolling over and pushing onto his knees like he is going to start crawling. He is cutting his first tooth on the bottom left and likes to try and stick his whole fist in his mouth to teeth on. He has the best smile and infectious laugh. He's so perfect! We adore him! He is also the favorite of both older siblings and he loves the attention!

Sunday

I've been feeling on edge and sort of sick to my stomach the last few days. My brain keeps looping over and over all of the stuff I need to do and take care of - at work, at home, with the kids, with myself. I'm overwhelmed with things to do and in the back of my mind is this nagging feeling that something is just off - way off.  And something is.....it always will be.

I wish I could say we did something special on Sunday.  Released some butterflies or balloons or sat in contemplative meditation - acknowledging our gratitude that he is/was our son and will always be.  I wish I could say that we planted the tree we bought in his honor for our new house and that we came back inside and shared memories of our sweet boy.

Mostly it was a day like any other days around here. We juggled swim lessons, naps, playtime, potty training and meals. It was hot and humid and the kids and I holed up in our family room with the air conditioning reading books and playing with toys, while Ted sweat his face off in the backyard building a masterpiece playground with a fort, slide and swingset (it's awesome).

By the time everyone was down to sleep, we were too tired for any of the meaningful stuff.  We just drank some wine and ate some dinner and called it a day. But Max was with us throughout. Ted listened to his Maxie playlist while he worked outside, and I talked about Max with the kids (even though they don't understand) and showed them photos. There was a serious and somber tone all day (still is) between the two of us and with our families.  His absence was felt all day in a slightly more intense way than it is felt always (and it is felt always).

Tonight we plan to light our candle, plant our tree and say our prayers for Max.  As time goes on, this is what it looks like. No less heartbreaking than it was before but less startling somehow - more a part of everything we do.

Four years missing you

Maxie - I had so many dreams for the two of us, for our little family, for you, my son. Small things we looked forward to - like seeing you crawl, then walk, then run; taking you to the park to play; trips to Disneyland, the pony rides, days at the beach, vacations everywhere.

Though our time with you was not long, every moment is remembered. You were sweet and easy and you stared into our eyes and through to our souls. Your smile was everything. I'd sell my soul to kiss those cheeks, squeeze those thighs, make you laugh just once more.

I've cried SO MANY TEARS. Sometimes I'd like to turn off all of the noise, get into bed and cry and cry until we meet again. The unfairness of it all often makes me want to scream.

What has kept me going are those friends who've cared enough to listen, the happiness we've found with your brothers and sister, your sweet loving daddy, and my faith that you and I will be together again. 

I know we will Max. 

Until then, know how much I love you, how I would never trade our nine and a half months together for a lifetime with any other kid, and how we think and talk about you every day. 

We love you to the moon and beyond. Forever. 

Knowing him

"At least you didn't have time to really get to know him", is what they said when my nine and a half month old son died. 

"Who said it?", you ask. More than I care to remember. A few less than told me, "at least you can have more children", but a few more than those who said "time heals all wounds". 

"At least you didn't have time to really know him" is in my mind constantly as I stare at my four and a half month old son. I love him as deeply as his older siblings and I know him just as well. 

We spend hours every day just staring at each other and smiling. He gets a thousand kisses a day. I love just nuzzling into his neck and smelling his baby smell. I love giving him baths and cuddling him close when I nurse him. I am head over heels in love....even though he is ONLY four and a half months old.

The truth is that I am scared to death of losing him...and Myla...and Mo. There are certain times and environments where I feel like they are so vulnerable and I am so scared that I really believe that if I am not 100% focused, they may not make it. I am worried all of the time. I never think we are safe now. I never feel out of the woods. I look at this beautiful baby and I can't help but worry that I might only have five months left with him. Sometimes it's more than I can stand. 

I love this baby with every ounce of myself - and I KNOW him that much as well. He's only four and a half months and he is already my whole world. I know you know Max was my whole world too (even if you said "at least...")

   

Alike

We think our boys all look alike. Mostly because they do. We don't only see Mo in Mace. We see Maxie there too. Perhaps it makes you uncomfortable to hear that or you think it better for me to not look for Max in the other two, but I find it comforting. I didn't think I'd ever see his beautiful face again. It nearly broke me. But occasionally, when I'm really lucky,  I see glimpses. 

Our three guys! I love them so much.

Myla-versary

One year ago today,  the most beautiful, loving, funny, crazy, wild, smart, strong, and perfect little girl came home with us. It was something that had felt, up until the hours before she got to our house, a complete impossibility. Over this past year, we have gone from cautiously attached to madly in love. Her smile and personality lights up every room, she makes everyone around her laugh, she is the most independent/completely attached little person I've ever met. She is perfect in every way and I just can't believe she's ours! We are the luckiest parents to call this special person our daughter. Love you Myla!!!

As an added bonus - I'm loving all of the free dental exams:

Mace Four Months

Macie is just about the cutest four month old I've ever seen! He has the sweetest disposition and is always smiling. He looks exactly like Mo did at the same age, which is pretty trippy but we also see a lot of Max in him - especially in certain expressions. He is a great nurser, not a great bottle taker and is just about to start rolling over. Mo and Myla are always all over him and so are we. We all love this little dude!

A year of Mo

With a little help from nannies, grandparents and Ted, we took a photo a day of Mo from January 2014 - January 2015.  It got a little tedious and sometimes the best I could do was a dinner or bathtime photo but it was SO WORTH IT!!
 

Light

I've been talking and listening to some other bereaved parents about how there are things - normal, everyday, things - that happen with our living children that have taken on more meaning to us as bereaved parents. Things like play dates, music classes, trips to the playground. Things we did or imagined doing with our children that didn't live. When I take my kids to the park or simply play with them, I'm often thinking about how I never got to do these things with Max - and the normal, everyday things feel therefore more special. I appreciate them more. 

Then there are the special things. The things I fantasized about doing with Max: when I was pregnant with him, when he was a baby, after he died. Birthday parties, vacations, trips to Disneyland. They are dripping with intensity and joy for me. They are life affirming - exponentially increasing the gratitude I feel for their lives and my own: feelings that during the especially dark period of my life, when I felt no gratitude for my own life, I really couldn't have imagined ever feeling again. 

Every birthday my living children celebrate feels like a gift. Every special outing like the best day of my life. I look forward to them the way I looked forward to things when I was a kid. And when plans get spoiled, it probably feels much more disappointing to me than it would to a non-bereaved parent.

For a while before we moved here, things felt very heavy for me again. I was having a really hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt thrown back into the darkness for many, many reasons. 

These were the moments that kept me going: