A Birthday Lost in Neverland

Happy Birthday Logan boy. I can hardly believe it’s been 2 years since I was clinging to you in my arms wishing for a miracle that would selfishly keep you with me. I know we made the right decision to not let you suffer, but I still wish you hadn’t had to go before me on your journey to heaven. It’s just against every pattern our lives are supposed to follow.

I’ve heard your in a better place at least 1,000 times and I’ve rejoiced at least this many times for you. But I still just feel homesick longing for you. I just feel out of place on days like today. Torn between heaven and Earth and not being able to be seeing your face on days like this.

I have no idea what being a boy mom is like. Would your party have been all about dinosaurs or construction stuff like your daddy? Instead of opening new toys to celebrate you we open messages of remembering you. I have so been wondering what you would be looking like at 2. Would have lost your baby fat by now, how many words would you be able to say? What would you have thought of me if you’d been able to open your eyes? Would you have said this family is crazy and loud and been the quiet introvert or been screaming with the craziness of your big sister?

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t absolutely ache for you little boy. I wish I had some great silver lining to make anyone reading this feel better, but really losing someone this close to you and changing the life plans you thought you had isn’t a silver lining. It’s just hard.

You learn to still breathe and somehow figure out how to do things like pay bills and feed the 4 year old. You do learn to laugh again. But I will always have a moment of looking at the moments of happiness and seeing one face missing. Seeing one little blonde boy with chubby cheeks who should be grinning with me.

I’m going to celebrate today and the 15 hours you were here where you touched so many. You’ve taught us big grown ups way more than we thought we’d ever learn from a guy who’d just gotten here.

So though you’re not going to get the chance to grow up and are forever staying a lost boy like Peter Pan I’m sure you’re still going to wait for me. Logan know your mommy and daddy always have a place for you in our hearts. You are forever loved and forever missed. Especially on days like this. We love you to the moon, the sun and all the stars.

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Beauty of October Sunrise

The calendar hit another first of the month. Another day further from you in my arms, but closer to meeting you again. I knew coming up that October would be hard. Last year October felt like a stab in the gut. Logan should be here and we should have pictures of him at the pumpkin patch. We should be deciding what cute Halloween themed onesies he’d be wearing. 

I still feel it this year, when deciding on costumes what would he like. He’d only be a little over 1 so I’m sure I could convince him to be a pumpkin like his sister was our first Halloween in our new home. 

October is hard for another reason, it’s infant loss awareness month. I know before this I only knew October for breast cancer and pink shirts everywhere. 

Last year I found out about a project ‘Capture your grief’. It was starting by a photographer who experienced infant loss and she wanted to use her art as therapy. The idea is not to have great photos that belong on walls, but capturing where your memories are that day and she gives you prompts. Last year I was too raw to think through each day. Some of these assignments are just downright hard. This year I’m giving myself grace to remember, and grace to let go of some hard memories. 

This morning for the beginning of October the assignment was sunrise. I was at first mad at how cloudy it was that there wasn’t looking like much of a sunrise. Then slowly the pink filled in under the blue. I couldn’t help thinking that this is just what this month needs! A little more blue to go with all the pink in October! 

One of My Grief Writing Inspirations

I cannot say enough how inspiring Sheryl Sandberg is personally and professionally as a woman teaching other women to Lean In. In May 2015 Dave Goldberg, then CEO of tech company SurveyMonkey, husband of top Facebook executive Sheryl Sandberg and father of their two children, passed away unexpectedly while on vacation in Mexico. The way that she has been very open about her grief and teaching empathy in the midst of her own pain has amazed me. Sheryl has shown me that it’s ok to address the elephant. That although the standard time for mourning is over that we have to continue to learn how to live life differently.

Following the end of the 30-day religious mourning period in Judaism known as sheloshim, Sheryl Sandberg posted a note on Facebook, reflecting on her grief and her learnings.

Here are a few of the thoughts she shared publically on her Facebook page which has since gone viral:

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“Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not.” Sandberg says she finally understood that telling people facing challenges that “everything will be okay” is not actually helpful. Sometimes, acknowledging what is happening — the pain — is what people truly need.

“Let’s all move out of the way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.” Sandberg was referring to the cars on the road while the ambulance drove her husband to the hospital, but the call for less selfishness can be universally applied.

“I have learned that resilience can be learned.” A friend of Sandberg’s told her about the three elements to resilience: personalization (it’s not your fault), permanence (these feelings won’t last forever), and pervasiveness (this doesn’t have to affect every area of your life).

“One of my favorite cartoons of all time has an elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, ‘It’s the elephant.’ Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.” Sandberg realized that people close to her, especially at work, were terrified of saying anything that could hurt her, and the only solution was for everyone to openly ask questions and share their feelings. Addressing that elephant in the room is the only way to move forward.

“Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.” These wise words came from a friend of Sandberg’s, about acceptance — and making the best of the situation. Goldberg might not be there for their children anymore, but she can commit to making the best from the alternative.

The Security Blanket

I know I’m 30, so I should really be past having a security blanket with me. 

Security Blanket

It’s now the most precious thing that our family can wrap each other in. It’s the matching set to the one Logan has with him. It’s a little mascara and tear stained, but man what that blanket can withstand is pretty amazing! It’s wrapped in love and comfort. It’s put up with screams and sobs that are so painful no one can understand what words were coming from my mouth. It is remembrance which is what security means to me right now.