Max would have been 7 months old today. It fills me with mixed emotions to
think of the things that he would be doing today. He would be helping us discover which baby foods he prefers,
he would probably be crawling all over the place, and there is no doubt that he
would be one big dude. Max would
probably look much older than just 7 months. I saw a friend post her daughter’s 4-month stats on Facebook
the other day—14 lbs, 22 inches.
Max was 12 lbs and almost 24 inches at his one-month check-up, so I
think everyone will agree that he would be absolutely gigantic now. His feet, as I’ve mentioned before,
were huge. Maybe he would be
wearing toddler-sized socks and shoes by now. I have the luxury of believing that Max never would have
lost his beautiful hair, as most babies do. I imagine him with a full head of strikingly dark locks. I can do that. I can imagine all of these things
because obviously I’ll never know what he would really be like. In my mind, Max will always be
perfect. He’s always smiling
too. Imagining these things gives
me some sort of comfort, which probably sounds odd. Of course, it also makes me so damned sad. There’s no easier way to realize the
absolute unfairness of losing Max than by imagining the things that he never
will get to do or be. At the same
time, I feel like I owe it to Max to recognize these things and to let my
imagination run wild. Everyone who
has or has ever had a 7-month-old knows that it’s not perfect, but in my
imagination, Max gets to be perfect.
I’d like to think that I would appreciate Max even in difficult times,
but I know that it’s hard to do when you are cleaning up every second of the
day after a curious, suddenly mobile baby and trying to make that
still-unable-to-communicate-effectively baby happy at all times. Parenting is the most dangerous
experiment in the world, and its lack of a manual makes it the most confusing
and frustrating experiment too. We
just do what we can and keep trying until something works. Through all of the experimenting,
though, it’s impossible to not learn.
Sometimes we learn little things—Peas do not agree with Max’s
system. Sometimes we learn big
things—patience and persistence.
I’ve been thinking about the big things a lot lately.
I’ve heard from a lot of people who tell me that Max’s short
life taught them a lot about life, parenting, and relationships. I think the shock of losing such a
young person in such a sudden, unexpected and unexplained way makes people
think a little bit harder and reflect a little longer. I sometimes think that the shock of
Max’s death hasn’t worn off for a lot of us, and honestly, it never will. How could it? It’s so unnatural.
So, we’re constantly thinking about our own lives and questioning the
things that we’ve always believed (or at least desperately wanted to
believe)—everything happens for a reason, good things happen to good people,
you get what you give, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, God has a
plan, God only gives you what you can handle, etc. Well, if that’s the case, I would like to have a little
discussion with this “God” that you speak of. I don’t think I need to explain why I think a lot of those
clichés are complete BS, but I’m guilty of believing them from time to time
before Max’s death. My honest
opinion is that these are things that make other people feel better when
horrible things happen to people they know. It’s our way of satisfying this need to explain or justify
things. Trust me, it is of
absolutely no comfort to hear these things from people. Still, I’ve heard them more times than
I care to count. And,
unfortunately, I’ve said them more times than I care to count. After Max, though, I don’t believe I’ll
be pulling these “gems” out any more.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t scream at people who say these things or
hold grudges against them. Not at
all. I’m actually glad that they
can find comfort in believing these things, but I also worry for them because I
think we all one day will experience something that makes us realize that these
clichés really are just blindfolds that we put on to make it easier to deal
with horrible things happening.
The truth is, in my opinion, horrible things just happen sometimes. You will never, ever discover a reason
for them happening; you will never feel stronger for it having happened to you;
you will wish that it HAD killed you sometimes; you will hate God for falsely
believing that you could handle something like this; and you will discover that
the whole idea of karma is BS when it comes to the big things in life. I really hope that none of this comes
across as arrogant or hateful or insulting; I truly don’t intend it to be any
of those things. I’m just keeping
my promise to be honest all the time, which means that sometimes I’m going to
offend people. I’m okay with that
because people offend me too sometimes.
Shocker!
My real intention was to write today about some of the
lessons that Max’s life and death have taught me. So I guess I’ll get to the point now.
I continue to think of new lessons from Max daily. Sometimes they are little ones—what a
relief, truly, that I have some of his hair to touch and feel! Sometimes they are big ones. Those are the ones I’ve been thinking
about a lot lately, like I said earlier before I got totally off track (not
shocking). These “big” lessons
have changed me. I’m still coming
to terms with some of the newly developed facets of my personality, and I
suspect that this will continue to happen for the rest of my life. For one, I am more appreciative of my
friends and family. The most
important part of this is that I am vocal about that appreciation. Before, I might have assumed that my
friends and family just knew how much I loved and appreciated them. Now, I know that nothing in life is
guaranteed and that it takes very little effort to make your appreciation
known. Sometimes I send little
cards to show that I recognize the importance of a friendship, sometimes I
spend a few extra minutes on the phone to say thank you for all that you’ve
done for me, and sometimes I just stop by a coworker’s classroom to say
hi. I’ve even noticed that I’m a
little more vocal about this with my students. I give them candy when I mess up their names or when I lose
patience with them for silly reasons.
I write them little notes and attach candy (this is a must with high
schoolers) when I notice that they’re having a rough day. The origin of these acts is not lost on
me—I know that I do these things because my friends and family do them for
me. I guess I’ve realized the
importance of little gestures of appreciation. They aren’t so little to the person receiving them. Trust me on that! Next time you think about doing
something small for someone, spend the time you would have wasted on thinking
of reasons NOT to do it and just do it.
You’ll feel better, and who doesn’t like to receive a piece of candy or
a little note to brighten their day?
I think I might have a hard time explaining this next one,
but bear with me. I have become a
little more willing to stand up for myself and to not let other people’s
actions ruin my day. Before Max’s
death, I would have considered myself pretty passive. I still don’t like confrontation, but I don’t go out of my
way anymore to avoid it either.
I’m much more likely to call people on their rude or inconsiderate
acts. Some people might consider
this a bad thing, and I can see your point. But I also used to waste hours of my life wishing that I
would have said something to the woman who was rude to Ethan at the grocery
store or the receptionist who was absolutely no help to me at the doctor’s
office or the woman at my dentist’s office who tried to make herself feel
better for not doing her job by blaming me for not getting preapproval for my
teeth cleaning. Obviously, I’m
getting a little too specific for these things to have not happened to me
lately! The difference now is that
I said what I wanted to to these people, and I was surprised to find that I
didn’t dwell on it all day. I
actually felt better. I told the
woman at the grocery store that she was being incredibly rude…to a
five-year-old child. I think it
was important that I stood up for Ethan and that he saw that I will stand up
for him when someone else is in the wrong. After all, if I call him on his rudeness and lack of
consideration, then shouldn’t I be willing to do that to others as well? I told the woman at my doctor’s office
(she is the ONLY rude one, trust me) that I didn’t appreciate her unwillingness
to find the answer to a simple question for me when I knew that the
expectations of her superiors were much higher than that. In my defense, I was trying to find out
whether I was going to have an “invasive” procedure done at an appointment that
I had to bring my six-year-old son to.
And I told the woman at my dentist’s office that while it might not
technically be her job to make sure that my cleaning was approved by my
insurance company, it was shameful and unethical of her to call me several
times before my appointment to tell me that she had, in fact, gotten all of the
charges cleared by my insurance company.
I guess the lesson is that letting other people determine my moods and,
in some cases, take advantage of me is not an option anymore. It made me feel weak and frustrated before. Now, maybe the woman at my dentist’s
office will think twice before she lies to another patient since one already
called her on it. Maybe the woman
at my doctor’s office will be a little more willing to do her job since I wrote
a letter to her office manager. As
for the woman at the grocery store…if you’re rude to a five-year-old, then I’m
not sure there’s much hope for you anyway. Some people just can’t be helped…
One final “lesson” that I’ll touch on applies to everyone,
and it’s one lesson that I’m very grateful to have learned. It is, simply, that we’re not
guaranteed a certain amount of time with our family and friends. We all realize this, but I’m not sure
that most of us do anything about it.
I’m not saying that you need to go crazy like some people who we are all
friends with on Facebook. You know
who I’m talking about—he/she just climbed a mountain this morning! Then he/she made a sweater for a needy
child by hand! Then he/she cooked
a five-course meal from scratch, even the dinner rolls! Then he/she took all seven of his/her
children for a visit with Santa and then came home and made cookies and
decorated them and churned some butter and hand washed every article of
clothing owned by all family members, including the dogs’ sweaters and ran six
miles and worked for 18 hours and made a movie and painted the ceilings in
every room. I’m talking more about
the moments when you are exhausted and looking forward to a few minutes to
yourself. You’re interrupted by a
crying baby or a sleepless toddler or even a six-year-old who just won’t stay
in his bed. What might have been
an annoyance before is really a gift now.
It’s a few more minutes with my child that I wouldn’t have gotten had he
stayed in bed. Of course, I would
LIKE for him to stay in bed and develop wonderful sleeping habits, but I try
not to be so annoyed that I forget how much I enjoy hanging out with
Ethan. This doesn’t mean that I
let Ethan dictate everything he does, including when he sleeps, or that I say
yes to every request to do something.
He wants to go to the creek, he wants to build a fort, he wants to play
Lego’s, he wants to skip a bath, etc.
Sometimes it’s just not possible to do those things, but I try to find
something to do with him, even if it means just cuddling up on the couch and
watching a movie. I guess I’m more
willing to put things that I want to do on hold to do things that he wants to
do, and I enjoy every second of it.
I’ll never be able to make a complete list of the lessons
that I’ve learned from Max’s life and death, and to be clear, I will never
agree if you tell me that the point of Max’s life was to teach me these
things. The point of his life was
to bring us all love and happiness and to receive those things in return. He wasn’t guaranteed a certain amount
of time to experience life, unfortunately. The lessons that I have learned from Max are the inevitable
results of losing someone that I loved so much and that I miss so much. Losing Max didn’t make me stronger, it
didn’t happen for a reason, and no matter what others might say, it is NOT part
of any “plan.” It is horrible, it
is tragic, and I would give anything for it to never have happened. These lessons are a way for me to come
to terms with Max’s death and to make sure that he is still a part of my daily
life, even though it’s not the way I want him in it.
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