November 20, 2011--Remembering Max

This used to be my favorite time of the year.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my birthday are all quickly approaching, and I love all three of those occasions for different reasons.  This year, obviously, things are different.  I am still looking forward to the holidays, but I’m also dreading them.  Is there really a way to prepare for the holidays when such an important, celebrated piece of them is missing?  I’m doing my best though.  I’m trying to come up with new traditions to honor Max, and I’m trying to prepare for what will be a totally new experience by reminding myself that I really can’t prepare for what the holidays will be like.  I just have to take it in stride and allow myself to react however I do.  That’s pretty much my new motto on life in general, so maybe the holidays won’t be so bad after all.  One thing I have learned is that the anticipation of a day or event is often much worse than the day itself, so bear with me if I’m a little high-strung over the next few weeks!

We recently attended a how-to workshop aimed at coping with the holidays after losing a loved one.  We learned a lot, but mostly we got affirmation that what we are feeling is normal and acceptable and okay and even expected.  There is no rule that says that we have to do things as we always have and as if we haven’t experienced a horrific loss that still hangs over us, even in times of happiness and togetherness.  In fact, we shouldn’t do things as we always have.  We can throw out whatever old traditions we want to, and we can start whichever new ones we choose to.  There aren’t a whole lot of old traditions that we really want to do away with, but there are lots of new ones that we want to start.  I hope that we’ll find some healing and happiness in them, and I really hope that we find some that work for us in the long-term.  We are going to need some help with some of them, so please feel free to offer your suggestions or input on the “new traditions” described below.

One of the “new” traditions, and perhaps the biggest one, is that we will be hosting Thanksgiving this year.  We usually go to Scott’s parents’ for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but this year I don’t think either of us is up for a lot of traveling during the holidays.  There is something about being home that eases my mind.  I thought that this might be an abnormal or maybe harmful feeling, so I was relieved and surprised to hear that all of the families in my “Child Loss” support group feel the same way.  Being away from home is a little like being further away from Max; being here feels like I’m closer to him.  That’s what I need lately, so I’m happy that Scott’s family members were all willing to travel here for Thanksgiving.  Being here for Thanksgiving also allows me to start many of the “new” traditions that I’m really excited about.  It won’t be just family here for our “Thanksgiving dinner” on Saturday; we will also be surrounded by some of our friends who have been sources of strength and support for us since losing Max.  Basically, we’ll be surrounded by many of the people who we are truly thankful for this year.  I can’t think of a better way to spend Thanksgiving this year.

Having Thanksgiving here means that we have the freedom to start some of the other traditions that we need some help with.  We want everyone, all 20+ of our guests, to help us decorate our Christmas tree.  I had also planned on having Ethan make an ornament for Max, and I planned on doing this every year.  Now, I wonder if all of our friends and family would like to join Ethan and make their own ornaments for Max.  I never pictured my house being host to a crafting party, but my life has pretty much become what I never pictured it to be, so why not add crafting to the mix?!?!  I’m also working on getting a Christmas tree topper made for our tree.  I don’t really have a clear picture of it, but it needs to be sturdy and made to last.  I want it to have a picture of Max on it, and I want it to be our Christmas tree topper for the rest of our lives.  I picture us placing the topper on the tree year after year while remembering the beautiful presence that Max was in our lives, the important legacy that he has left us, and of course, the hole that has been left in all of our hearts by his death.

One of the “new” traditions that I’ve been working on today is creating centerpieces to use at Thanksgiving.  After Max’s funeral, I began saving a flower or two from each of the floral arrangements that were sent to us.  At the time, I wasn’t sure why I was saving them; I just knew that I couldn’t bear to throw them all away.  The idea for the centerpieces slowly came to me when I thought about what to do with the dried flowers.  Today, I got all of them out and sprayed the flowers with hairspray (I learned about this on the internet, not from some innate crafting ability).  I’ve picked out a few vases that will work, and I’ll be on the hunt for some more.  My plan is to create three centerpieces, one for each of the tables that we’ll have at Thanksgiving, using the dried flowers that people sent to express their sympathies after Max died.  I even saved the ribbons that came in and on some of the arrangements, so those will add a nice touch.  I guess the purpose of the centerpieces is to remind us of what is missing, but also to remind us of the parts of Max that still surround us.

I’m sure that I’m forgetting some of the traditions, but two of my favorites that I do remember involve gifts from Max and adopting an angel.  We plan to give Ethan one special gift from Max this year at Christmas, and our hope is that Max will give Ethan a present every year.  We are also going to adopt an angel who is the same age that Max would be, so this year we will be adopting a 7-month-old baby.  We will shop as a family to buy him gifts that we would have gotten for Max, and we’ll give those gifts to our angel in Max’s memory.  We plan to do this every year, getting gifts for an older child each year.  I don’t know what we’ll do when we reach the Christmas when Max would have been 18 or 35 or 50, but we’ll figure something out.  We know that shopping each year for this angel will probably be difficult, and sometimes we might not want to do it, but we also both agree that this is important and maybe even necessary for us to do in Max’s memory.

So, am I looking forward to the holidays?  Yes.  Am I sure about that?  No.  The best I can do is to try it out and see what happens.  I do have a lot to look forward to, but I’m also missing a lot.  “Bittersweet” is a term that has come to define how I feel about a lot of things in my life, but it isn’t all bad.  Along with pain and loss comes understanding and personal growth and clarity.  I’m coming to accept those things and to see the beauty in them.  The holidays will surely bring tears and stress and frustration, but they also give us an opportunity to do something that we, as a grieving family, need so badly:  to remember Max in meaningful ways.  I guess this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful that we will be able to that with the people who mean the most to us.  

November 10, 2011

Max died exactly 5 months ago today.  It seems like an eternity and a blink at the same time.  We’ve still done nothing with his room, and we haven’t finished thank you cards.  I have a feeling we’ll never truly be done with either of those tasks.  I’ve been pretty vocal about my desire to have more children, so obviously Max’s room is going to have to be touched at some point.  Plus, it’s probably not healthy to keep his room exactly as it was the day he died for the rest of our lives.  I’m just not ready for today to be the day when we decide what to do with Max’s things.  We’ve made a few decisions:  we will not paint the walls, we will keep the chair, we will wait to see how we feel about a new baby wearing the clothing meant for Max.  It may not seem like much, but it’s pretty big for us.  For now, we’ll just keep his clothes in the drawers and hanging in the closet, and we’ll keep the bedding on the crib mattress as if he’s going to sleep on it tonight.  Don’t worry; I have no illusions that this is actually going to happen.

            My friend Donna brought me flowers today.  She said they are called Football Mums.  Whatever they are, they are beautiful.  They’re white and full and happy, and I love the simple cylindrical vase that they sit in.  I must say, my vase collection is pretty enviable at this point.  Donna snuck in my room before school and left the flowers on my desk.  She is the same friend who snuck in and left me a bag full of red Starbursts that I am still working my way through.  As you may have gathered, Donna is pretty sneaky, but in the best way possible.  Today was different than most mornings, and I didn’t start the day in my classroom.  In fact, I didn’t make it up to my room until a few hours after I had gotten to work.  So, I didn’t see the flowers at first.  I spent quite a bit of my time away from my room talking to Donna, and she didn’t even mention the flowers.  I’m glad she didn’t.  What a beautiful surprise!  I am still so touched by these gestures that might seem small.  Their significance is not lost on me.  Besides Donna’s flowers, I got many hugs and encouraging words from my coworkers this morning.  That so many people remember the impact of the 10^th and that so many people remember Max and have the courage to tell me so is astonishing to me.  I am grateful and humbled and touched beyond words.  It means so much to me that when I think of Max, I also think of the kindness and thoughtfulness of my friends.  For the mom of a little boy who lives in memory only, it’s amazing to know that it’s not just my memory that he lives in. 

            The past few weeks have been pretty good for me.  At my lowest, I still feel like I can do this; at my highest, I feel happy and hopeful.  The truth is that I have a lot to look forward to in my life.  I have a husband who loves me, a son who is curious and affectionate, friends who are selfless and understanding, and family that is supportive and encouraging.  Yes, something horrific and unimaginable and unnatural happened to me.  My life won’t be what I wanted it to be.  I’ll have bad days.  I’ll feel hopeless and angry and short-changed.  I will be impatient.  I guess what I’m focusing on lately is that all of these things are worth it.  If someone came to me and said, “I can take it all away,” I would say no thanks.  I read something at Faith’s Lodge that explains the way I feel perfectly:  “Only hearts so full of love can hurt so badly.”  My pain is a reflection of the love that I had and still have and will forever have for Max.  It is a necessary reaction to the loss of the recipient of that love.  If I hadn’t loved Max so deeply, maybe it would be feasible for me to “get over it.”  But I did, so it’s not.  I wouldn’t trade that love for anything in the world.

            We went to Mexico last weekend.  Nicole and Aaron got married there, and we were lucky enough to be able to attend.  It was a weekend full of relaxing and reflecting for me.  We mostly just lounged on the beach and ate when it was required.  We did some snorkeling, but once I saw what was in the ocean, we decided to stick with the pool.  I used all of the stationary in the hotel room to write letters to people.  How strange.  Max’s death, though, has reiterated to me the significance of written words.  I don’t mean words written on a computer (although those have their place) or in a text; I mean handwritten words.  I saved every single note and card that I’ve received since Max died, and I go through them quite often.  There is something meaningful about a handwritten note.  It’s more personal.  Please don’t feel bad if you sent me an email or a typed letter—I understand the convenience and perhaps the self-consciousness regarding your handwriting.  J  I don’t mean to take away from any form of communication because I needed all of them, and I treasure all of them.  All I mean to say is that I grew a deeper appreciation for handwritten letters, and so I write lots of letters lately.  Anyway, the weekend was highlighted by a perfect, beautiful wedding.  When we arrived at the airport in Kansas City, I noticed an old friend at the baggage claim.  He was traveling with his wife and son, and they had all been on our flight, unbeknownst to us.  His son happens to be six months old.  Max would have been six months old last Friday.  This was my first meeting with the baby; they live halfway across the country.  I held the baby and smiled with him and laughed with him and spoke in my signature “baby talk.”  I loved it.  I truly did.  I feared that it might be strange or that I might react badly, but I didn’t.  I didn’t even have to remind myself to keep it together; I just did.  I’m pretty proud of that.  People walking by me in the airport had no idea what an accomplishment they were witnessing.  I held a baby who was the same age as the one I’d lost five months before, and I felt genuine happiness.  To give him some credit, the baby is one of the cutest I’ve seen, and his smile was pretty contagious.  But still…

            I don’t know what the whole point of this entry is.  I guess it’s just an update to let people know that I’m doing okay.  I still have bad days, I’m still sad, and I still cry.  But I am also happy.  I’m learning to be grateful for the time that I had with Max.  I’m learning who my true friends are and just how valuable their friendship really is to me.  I’m learning that a lot of clichés are true:  the human spirit can endure, hope springs eternal, one day at a time, blah blah blah.  I’m learning how to live after a part of me died.  And I’m doing a pretty good job of it lately.