Days of Thanks #9

Today, on the eve of Hudson’s fourth birthday, I am grateful for the community of bereaved mothers that has surrounded me, held me, grieved with me, and lifted me up ever since Hudson’s death.

I received an email earlier today from an acquaintance telling me that one of her friends tragically lost her young son almost a year ago and asking if it would be okay for her friend to contact me, because she has not been able to find anyone who really understands her loss.

The road a parent must walk after the death of a child is a harrowing one. It is dark. It is endless. It is utterly unfathomable in every sense of that word. There are moments, days, weeks, when you feel you just may have turned to putty, that your feet don’t touch the earth but instead plunge through it, that perhaps you will never find solid ground beneath them again.

And it is during those moments, days, and weeks when you most need to know that you are not walking the road alone. That others are walking it in front of you, leaving little cairns here and there to show you where they have been and that they have survived. That others are walking it right beside you, ready to pull you back out when your feet plunge through. That others are walking it behind you, giving your child’s life and death new meaning because now you are the one who builds the cairns, the one who retrieves the despairing. Even as you still sometimes stumble unknowingly through the dark, even as you still sometimes plunge straight through the earth beneath you.

I don’t know how I would have survived without all those mothers walking in front of me, beside me, and behind me during that first year. During that second year. During this third year. A very few I knew before Hudson died. The vast majority I came to know after, most of whom I still have never even met. And yet we are friends. We are family. I feel nearly as close to any one of those women I have never met as I feel to those I knew before and those I have had the pleasure of meeting since. We gush over each others’ photos on Facebook. We send notes when we see or hear things that remind us of each others’ lost children. We remember our lost children together during those hardest parts of every year, year after year, ad infinitum. Birthdays, death days, holidays, regular days, every day. We build cairns. We pull each other up. We give our lost children’s lives and deaths new meaning because we are there for each other.

So it will be my privilege to be in touch with my friend’s friend, because no one should ever walk this road alone.

To all of my fellow mother-sisters in grief, thank you. I love you.

Days of Thanks #8

Today I am grateful for the sweet treats Ed brings me back from DC every week.  I'd much rather he didn't have to travel up there so often, but if he has to go, cupcakes from my favorite place or chocolate truffles from Godiva are a nice perk. He's something else, that one. 

Days of Thanks #7

Today I am grateful for that last moment every night before I get into bed, when I go into Jackson's room just to look at him, his limbs splayed in all directions in his deep, toddler-exhausted sleep, his wispy hair sometimes sticking straight up. I listen for his breath and watch his ribs move slowly up and down.  Every once in a while, I risk it.  Every once in a while, I bend over and put my hand on him, on his tummy, or his back, or the top of his head.  Just because I can.  Just because I can. 

I Love...

. . . the way you tuck your hands underneath your belly when you are resting in my arms with your head on my shoulder.  It's as if you are settling in for a good, long snuggle (even though you are just as likely to wriggle away ten seconds later).

. . . how you imitate the noises of inanimate objects, like when I am chopping with a knife, you say, "Ah! Ah!" to imitate the chopping sound. 

. . . that one of the teachers at your school called you "The Greeter" the other day.  Just like your big sister. 

Days of Thanks #6

Today I am grateful for a husband and partner who is so much the yin to my yang.  We are alike in so very many ways, but the few ways in which we are very different are incredibly important to the success of our friendship, our marriage, our lives as parents, and our lives in general.  For one of many examples, today we met with our builders about the budget for the remodel of our new house (which we still aren't living in).  The project is way over budget on lots of line items through no fault of our own (meaning the overages aren't due to us making extravagant finish choices and things like that).  In a conversation that could easily have become a little heated (although hopefully it wouldn't have, since we actually like our builders a great deal and now consider them friends), Ed was the epitome of letting cooler heads prevail.  He is so good in these situations where I would be so very bad if left to my own devices, and for that, I am so grateful.  As I have said so many times since we met, he always makes me want to be a better person, which is what I think a marriage, or really any relationship, should be all about.  

Days of Thanks #5

I am so grateful for the light in Jackson's eyes and the delight in his voice when he sees me at the end of his day at school.  There's very little that can beat the excited "Mommy!" out of his mouth as he drops whatever he is doing and comes tumbling over to hug me.  And when he puts that head down on my shoulder...  well, most of you know the rest on that one.  Tonight, before Ed put him to bed, I asked him for a hug, and he willingly obliged and then went back to his daddy.  And then he leaned over to come to me again, and I said, "I'll take all that you'll give me sweet boy," and I held him tight for a moment, not a long moment, but long enough. 

Do One Good Thing for Hudson’s Fourth Birthday

I am working hard to write this one. I don’t want it to be hard work. I don’t want this post to be about me. I don’t want it to be sad. I don’t want it to be about anything other than helping celebrate my beautiful daughter’s life on her upcoming fourth birthday.

But this birthday feels so much different than the two before it that we have celebrated without her. We no longer live in the town where she lived. Our dear Arboretum is no longer a ten-minute drive away. I no longer pass the hospitals where Hudson was born and died on a daily basis.

She feels farther away from me than ever. Her death feels more surreal than ever. And what’s even worse, her life feels more surreal than ever. I’ve written many times about how her death seemed like a dream, but only a few where it seemed not that her death had been a dream, but her life itself. I’ve been feeling that so much lately. I feel so separated from her, especially as our lives just tumble forward, totally unhindered by my grief.

But her birthday is here again. Her fourth. Our third without her. And the best (and really only) way we know how to celebrate it is by trying to help her spirit keep working in the world by doing some kindnesses for others. In DC, we donated toys and books that had been favorites of Hudson’s to Children’s Hospital, which took such exquisite care of her until she left us. And we donated dog treats and toys to the animal shelter, in honor of Hudson’s love of animals, especially her Bess. And we donated and visited the Arboretum, in honor of her love of the outdoors and in memory of the many special times we spent with her there. We are still pondering what One Good Things we will do here in our new-old home, where we will celebrate the rest of her birthdays for all the many years we must live without her. It’s part of why this birthday is so hard. I will get back to you once we decide what to do.

But meanwhile, as we have each of the past two years, we invite you to do One Good Thing sometime this week or on December 1st. And please share with anyone else you know who might want to help us celebrate her life in this special way. And as in years past, if you are so inclined, we would love to hear from you about your One Good Thing, so feel free to leave a comment here about it.
  
I will end the way I have each of the past two years. We can’t stop it from coming. We can’t bring Hudson back. But in the spirit of the lesson she taught us, we can continue to help her light shine in the world by finding the One Good Thing, and this week, that means doing One Good Thing.  Thank you all so much.