July 18, 2011

I know that people have a lot of questions for me.  And I know that they don’t ask because they don’t want to make me feel uncomfortable.  I appreciate that.  I think it’s kind and thoughtful.  I also want people to know that I don’t mind being asked questions.  If I don’t want to answer, I’ll tell you that.  I’m going to address some of the questions now, but some of them I need to wait a little while to answer.  I’m not quite ready to share every detail about the day that Max died yet, but I am ready to share some other things.

I do want more children.  I want that more than I ever have before.  I’ve got all this love, protectiveness, patience, pride, and care built up inside of me.  I started building it up before I became pregnant with Max, and I spent every day of my pregnancy building it up more and more.  I showered Max with all of it while he was here.  When he died, those feelings didn’t go away; I just didn’t have any place to put them anymore.  After Max was born, Scott and I felt like our family was complete.  We had our two little boys, and we weren’t going to have any more kids.  Max’s death has changed all of that.  All of the things that annoyed me about being pregnant—being tired all the time, not being able to eat certain foods, not being able to enjoy a beer or go to happy hours with my friends—seem so silly and ridiculous now.  I would give up all of those things for the rest of my life to make my kids happy.  It is a privilege to be able to give those things up to ensure that the life growing inside of you is healthy and safe.  One of the first thoughts I remember having after Max died was that I wanted another baby.  I don’t want another baby to replace Max; I want another baby because I love being a mom.  Now that I’ve experienced parenthood, I can’t imagine living my life as anything other than a parent.  I want to experience that pride and happiness again.  My neighbor told me last night about how one of her friends described the feeling of becoming a parent.  He said it’s like someone takes your heart from inside of your body and puts it on the outside, on your child.  So every day, it’s just out there in the world, vulnerable to pain and anguish.  That is exactly what it feels like.  It is the only thing in the world that is worth the possibility of feeling the kind of pain that I feel now.  I know that I’m not ready to get pregnant now because I want to give birth to Max again.  I would be heartbroken if the doctor handed me a girl, or a bald baby, or a tiny baby.  I would want a beautiful, perfect 8 lb 4 oz, 21-inch long baby boy with a full head of dark hair and huge feet.  Anything else would be devastating right now, so I’m not ready.  But I will be.  I’m working on it.   

I also want people to know that I don’t have an aversion to all children and pregnant women right now.  I have a diversion to children and pregnant women who are strangers.  The ones I see at Wal-Mart and Target who don’t have names and don’t know what I’ve been through.  I have never been happier to see my friends’ children because I can give each of them a little of my love that I had saved up for Max.  And I have never been happier for my pregnant friends.  Yes, it’s a little bit harder than before, but that’s probably because I’m a little bit more scared for them than normal.  I just had a pretty screwed up experience that reinforced to me how unfair life can be and how vulnerable we all are, no matter how hard we try to protect against tragedy.  I am, however, so excited for my friends to experience the joy that overwhelms your heart when you become a parent.  So, pregnant ladies and parents of children, please don’t be scared to share your happiness with me.  I want to be a part of it.

The last question that I’m going to address is probably the hardest one for people to bring up:  Max.  People wonder if it’s okay to ask me about him or mention his name.  I can’t say this loud enough:  YES, it is!  It is more than okay; it is what I want to hear.  We put a poem inside the memorial books that people got at Max’s funeral.  One of the lines in it explains that we don’t want people to hesitate to mention his name because it’s something we long to hear every day.  I want to be saying Max’s name a million times a day while I’m changing his diaper, comforting him while he’s crying, and rocking him to sleep.  Even though I can’t do those things any more, it doesn’t mean that I can’t stand to hear his name.  He was my child, the love of my life, and the embodiment of perfection.  Of course I want to hear his name.  I’ll never hear a more perfect name than Max McFall.  I know that I won’t hear it every day, but just keep in mind that I was already planning on hearing it every day of my life.  You’re just sticking to the plan when you mention him.

A little side note—we are planning a big fundraiser with our friends, Lori and Nate.  Their son, Bo, passed away on May 18^th.  (Today is the two-month anniversary of his death, so please keep them in your hearts and send some strength their way.) The fundraiser that we are working on will probably take place in the spring, but we will be busy planning for months.  Our plan is to have a dinner, silent auction, and party.  If you think you can help with any part of it, whether it’s getting items for the silent auction or getting us some free publicity, please let us know.  The money raised will go to scholarships in both boys’ names, SIDS research, and support resources for other parents who, unfortunately, will find themselves walking this same road in the future.  We hope it’s something that we’ll be able to do every year to keep Max’s and Bo’s memory alive, be in the company of our awesome family and friends for an evening, and create some kind of support system for other families dealing with the loss of a child.