The Conversation That Hurt

A few days ago, we had someone visiting our home. I got home with a massive headache that seemed to be trying to morph into a migraine. So light was not my friend and I just wanted to go to bed.

I could tell by Mark's body language that me heading off to bed at 7 was not going to go over well. So I tried to put my chin up and clean up the kitchen and make small talk with our guest.

Let's just say that the conversation went into a direction that caught me extremely off guard.

Somehow we started to talk about Andrew. I probably shouldn't have gone there. But she was concerned about Mark. About us.

"Mark's having a hard time this month."  I said.

"Oh really," she commented shocked.

I described some of his nightmares. His panicking over things with Lynn. His seeming, almost paranoia at times, that she will die or get hurt and die. That all the kids will die.

She seemed surprised. Almost alarmed. It almost seemed like she didn't believe me. There was an awkward silence. I sat down at the dining room table where she was at and put my hand on the stand where Lynn was sitting in her bouncy seat.

"Did you struggle much when you lost your son?" I ask hoping for some connection . . . or . . . something.

She responds that she didn't really. His death was for such a different reason than Andrew's. He died of a medical condition. His heart wasn't formed right for some reason that she doesn't really know. So it wasn't hard for her. That caught me strangely. How could even that not be difficult? It's your child. Your flesh and blood.

It seemed there was little sympathy there. Of course, I could be wrong. But I definitely felt like I should protect my heart at that point and just wanted to go to bed. Gosh was my head killing me.

"How old was Andrew when he died?" she asked me. "23 weeks?"

"Um," the last thing I wanted to do is figure out his age in weeks.

"All I know is that he was five and a half months. I've never thought of his age in weeks." I stated groggily.

"Oh, so then he was about 24 weeks or so." I closed my eyes and moved my head around wishing I was in bed. I didn't care how many weeks old he was. He's not here is all I knew.

More silence.

"Lynn is 10 weeks now?" she asked reaching out to touch Lynn's foot.

I looked at the calendar on the wall just over Lynn's head. "Yeah."

"So she's almost half way to the age that Andrew was when he died."

And my heart stopped and jumped into my throat.

"What!?!" was what I thought in my head as I thought I was going to lose it. I felt such an intensity of pain and then looked at Lynn almost with panic.

A wave of nausea came over me.

She's almost halfway to where . . . . oh my gosh. I thought to myself.

The aching in my heart grew more palpable as I looked down at the floor. I almost thought that . . . . I almost couldn't breathe.

I couldn't do this right then.

Who says that to someone who had just told them that they were having a tough time to dealing with their child's death even a year and a half later? Who says that? What kind of . . . . .

Even now, it hurts to think about what she said. It still catches in the throat. I still find myself sickened by such a thought. So nonchalantly. So casually as though she were talking about one of the boys going out to go sledding.

It's not as though I am not aware that when she turns 5 1/2 months, that that may be a bit difficult for us. I am nervous for that day. A bit fearful.

But pah-leeze.

Such an awful thing to say.

What an awful thing to call to mind.

Gosh that conversation hurts. . . . . gosh my heart hurts.

Who is at Fault for Andrew's Death?

December has been a tough month for Mark. Part of it is unknown to me but a portion seems to stem from the anniversary of Andrew's birthday.

He has been dealing with a lot of guilt. I figured he probably would but has never voiced it. If I had been home at the time, I would have blamed myself for his death. But it was good to hear Mark share that. Something I know must have been difficult to admit. I would have been quite fearful in his shoes to share that with him.

He has struggled so with this he asked me how I could continue to live with him after this. That really shocked me.

"I fear I would not have been as gentle with you as you have been with me," he also said. This is true. He probably wouldn't have. "I am surprised you  haven't blamed me for this." He even stated that, although it was an accident and really no one's fault, since he was the one responsible for Andrew's care, it was ultimately his fault.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"I have struggled with that since Andrew died." I never thought I would say that to him. I figured there would never be a "right" time. I knew it was possibly something I could never voice to him because it would only cause him more pain than good. I also knew that such a struggle within me was something that could destroy us and our family and our children. So I kept it quiet.

Shared it only with God.

No one knew.

It has been a heavy thought to bear.

Oddly, he was glad to hear that I had struggled and did not feel condemned. That was my fear. That I might blurt it out in a moment of utter frustration or anger at him for something surrounding Andrew's death. And in expressing such a dark thought that he would turn to his old vices. That our family would lay in a shambles. That we would all be ruined.

But he didn't.

We lived through this open and bare moment. We shared in a moment of total honesty and came out the other side in peace. And now the load is not as much of a burden any longer.

I still struggle with how just a few small changes could have saved his life. Just doing one thing differently, giving a different answer, having a different approach would have possibly meant that we would still have Andrew here with us.

I suppose that struggle will probably never be fully resolved. Almost like which came first, the chicken or the egg. Except this predicament is much more personally weighty to me.

I can understand why couples do not always make it through after a child dies. It is difficult. Not just the differences in grieving styles added onto the normal stresses of life. It's those unspoken things that hang there that fester in the darkness. That gather their strength and seek to burst forth at an ill-timed moment when the other is weak and vulnerable. To strike at the weak spot. To jab at the open wounds.

We have both finally been able to disarm this a bit. I have thrown down my sword and Mark is surprised.

His tendency is not really gentleness or a quiet answer to turn away anger. That is often my way.

For once I got to see its wisdom at work. And I thank God for giving me the strength to wait for the opportune moment to share the lie that has tried to deceive me regarding Mark's role in Andrew's death and bring more healing to us both. That is only His goodness shining through. His faithfulness. Grace that I do not deserve.

So who's at fault? No one. I say to the lies, no one is at fault for Andrew dying. So stop trying to make me bitter and unforgiving. Because I won't accept it.

Merry Christmas 2012 Andrew!

Merry Christmas Little Special! This would have been your second Christmas at home with us if you had lived.

We decided that Christmas Day was going to be more just our family and Mark's mom, Jean. But a few weeks ago I realized that a single woman I am friends with at the office has no family in town. So Mark and I extended the invitation for her to join us for the holiday. No pressure. No need to bring presents or anything. Just come and join us. She was so touched by our invitation and appreciative of the gesture.

She normally spends it alone. Last year she tried to find Chinese and was surprised that no place was open. So I insisted then, that she should join our family. We're informal, casual, open a few presents, enjoy the kids' reactions to their various gifts and eat.

So she arrived today and quickly blended in as we enjoyed watching the boys open their few presents. And then I got the delight of handing Emlyn, my friend who joined us, her own Christmas stocking and some presents we had purchased for her. Things I knew she could use and would like. Tea, Epsom salts for the bath, candles in favorite scents, etc. It was so much fun looking for presents to bless her with. And it was even more fun to see her surprise at how much we gave her.

And she, despite my telling her she did not need to bring gifts, gave the boys dinosaurs, Lynn some special rattles and Mark and I a gift card. She even gave my mother-in-law a candle. Emlyn loves candles and my mother-in-law likes them as well.

It was wonderful to open our home and the holiday to her and just meant a lot to us to have her join our family for the day. Too bad Andrew wasn't here to meet her.

He would have been getting into everything most likely.

After cleaning up from a delicious lunch, I challenged Samuel's fleet to a sea battle. And Ryan helped me figure out what positions to look for Samuel's ships. I was about to win when grandma took over the game as Samuel felt called to playing with the new racetrack they had just received and she sank my last battleship just before I could finish sinking her last ship. I turned to Emlyn to comment, "I said I like playing battleship. But that doesn't mean I am good at it."

Then we found the new card game Mark had purchased. We didn't know there was a shorter version so us women played for 2 1/2 hours before Emlyn came out of no where and cleaned out her stock pile. All while I snuggled the little treasure and we talked writing, places... people... stories...life.

And Andrew was with us all in our hearts.

Merry Christmas little special!

And does it hurt today? Christmas only hurt when he was here with us at the NICU and we celebrated as a family somewhere else becuase the NICU did not allow children under age 12 in. That was the only thing that hurt. So, as I said last year, we're used to not having him with us physically in the room on Christmas Day. When going to the Rogers for Mark's side for their celebration and when going to the Falksens on my side. So all of that to say . . . . only in the most small of ways does it hurt.

Dwelling on Andrew with Delight

Two years ago today Andrew got my heart by showing me that he wanted to breastfeed. Now, for me, and possibly other mothers that have a baby born by Cesarean 7 weeks before the due date, that your body may be capable of all of the same things as when your child comes full term but there is a bit of a delay. So my milk, actually the initial milk called colostrum, was not available after he was born.

This broke my heart when I first pumped. Only a few drops were extracted.

They told me I would have to pump for a few days in order to get my milk flowing. So that's what I did. Every 3 hours, I pumped for 4 days without getting much each time. It was so saddening to me. I wanted to give him the added nutrients all of his siblings had had that were born.

On the 5th day after his, I was about ready to give up thinking that my body just wasn't going to do it. That I was wearing myself out for nothing. So I held him on the 23rd of 2010 and apologized because it seemed that I wouldn't be able to give him breastmilk even through his little tube that they had down his nose into his stomach. And NICU nurses said that he probably wouldn't nurse.

So I held him, the little 7 inch long bundled up body that his 20 inches was, and sang to him and enjoyed my snuggle time with him. He always nestled into me without hesitation as though that was always where he wanted to stay. It was so nice. He was much more of a cuddler than any of the kids have been, including Lynn.

Then he began to move his little head back and forth. It was 6:30 at night. I only remember because when I came to visit, the marker board recorded his vitals, last feeding time, the name of the nurse and Mark and I's contact info in case they needed to call us. It was a vital part of the communication and monitoring his health at a glance.

So anyway, somehow I remember it was 6:30, because the movement of his head became much more insistent. I looked up at the clock and saw that 7 was his next feeding. Now in NICU they have the babies on a VERY strict feeding schedule. We were told not to mess with it to make sure he adapted to it. So he's giving me the cues that he's wanting to eat and BAD and I look at the clock and see he has to wait another half hour.

But he keeps moving his head back and forth and making little grunting noises as he was getting upset at not getting any results. So, I looked at the clock again and decided, this is my little boy. He's telling me he's hungry so I can't deny him that. Especially since I did not get to be with him around the clock. The other boys needed me to spend time with them as well. It was so hard.

So I made the adjustments to get him into position and he latched on immediately. It was like he was a pro and the little tug and sound of his swallows warmed my heart. The little guy really was hungry. He really did want to nurse. And I felt tears well up in my eyes. My heart felt so full and I was so proud of him. Next to breathing at the moment he was born 7 weeks early and not having to depend upon life support, this was a wonderful accomplishment. So little and already doing so well.

He nursed for 5 maybe 10 minutes. I came to learn that that was his typical pattern. He didn't have enough energy to nurse for a full session.

Then he fell asleep all content. I just kept staring at him amazed letting him stay close to me. I relished this moment. I still cherish the memory if you can't tell.

The nurse came in at 7 to feed him and I told her what had happened. I was expecting a lecture on how I had messed up his schedule and I was fully prepared to tell her she could take his schedule and shove it at the moment. It was first time wanting to breastfeed and I thought that bonding and closeness was much more important than that.

Well she didn't scold me but said she was glad to hear that he had showed an interest in nursing. She took the feeding tube in his nose, attached a syringe and pulled out the contents he had drank. It was half of what he needed per his weight. It seemed so strange and cruel. So she pushed the colostrum back through his tube into his tummy. Then she filled up the syringe with the amount he needed to finish the feeding and I held it up so that he could complete his feeding.

They measured everything meticulously and tracked his weight with each feeding. It was amazing and sad. So many monitors hooked up to his little tiny body.

That's why I always held him the entire time I visited him. Whether it was a few hours or 12 hours (there were few such visits that were so long). It was so unfortunate. We'd talk. I'd sing. He'd snuggle in close. I'd kiss him often and marveled at the miracle he was to us.

What wonderful things to dwell on as we head into our second Christmas without him at home.

The Dream

I have been doing a bit better.

When I meet with my doctor for her to check my medication, she said she thinks that this birthday has been more difficult only because I wasn't expecting it to be difficult. She guessed that if I had expected that his birthday would be as difficult as it was last year, then it would have been "easier". But since I wasn't expecting the trial that it ended up being, it caught me off guard when it was a bit trying.

It makes sense. Perhaps that is true.

I had a dream last night.

I was going to one of the grief support groups I've attended. It almost looked like I was at a trade show. The place looked like an auditorium set up how trade shows are set up. Seats in rows. Booths to the right and left and behind the areas where people were gathering.

The leader of the mom's group I attend at times introduced me to a woman. She had just lost one of her children. She began to talk to me and tell me her story. She was so emotional and extremely sad. It was almost like I was in her memory seeing what she was saying. It was so strange. Suddenly she said that the child she lost was a twin.

I thought to myself how awful that was. How hard for her and that twin that survived.

Then I was out of her memory and back in the place where the meeting was going to be held. And I felt so sad for her.

Then I awakened thinking that I was glad that dream was over.

Evidentally I'm still processing this week.

The Memories That Slip Away

Snow is falling and the wind is blowing. Even though it is nightime, the clouds trap the city lights and the air has this grayish purple glow to it. And the sky looks like it has its own intrinsic light. As I look out my dining room window, I see one of our larger, older trees shaking slightly in the wind. Its leave rustle although I hear no sound of their movement. Instead I only hear the slight swoosh of the furnace heating our home. Countering the extreme cold of the winter landscape outside.

It finally feels like Christmastime. A holiday that I normally just relish and savor listening to the music of this beautiful time of year. And this year, both Mark and I have struggled with getting excited or motivated for this holiday.

Andrew's second birthday has come and gone. Although Mark and I discussed the fact of what the day was yesterday, the boys did not comment. It was almost like they didn't notice. In some ways I envy their seeming innocence in this vein of our lives. And yet I know they too will feel more pain over this loss in the days, months and years to come.

I have noticed of late that my memory, my recall of my little special isn't as crisp as it used to be. It's harder for me to remember his face. The look in his eyes. How they twinkled and looked deep into mine. The sounds he would make as he "talked" to me. The giggle he would let slip out as he grinned all big at me.

He was so full of life and yet, it's his life that seems to be slipping away. Almost like I'm forgetting him.

I try so hard to keep it all there. But it just keeps departing from my recollection bit by bit. Moment by moment. Minute by minute that I shared with him.

How he felt. How he loved. How he was.

This makes me so sad.

I look at pictures of him and it's almost like he's a stranger. How can this be? A mother can't forget her own child. I know I'm not forgetting my son but it sure seems like I am. This isn't right.

I miss him so much.

And it hurts so badly sometimes I want to tear out my heart and stop feeling. I want to stop existing. (Not kill myself - it just hurts so much it would be nice not to feel the pain of losing him.)

But it feels like I'm forgetting him.

Then I get a bit anxious.

I can't forget him. That can't be what's happening.

And yet . . . . I can't bring him to mind as easily or in as much detail as I used to. And although I know I will never forget him, he's my son that I carried and bore. He's my flesh and blood.  A part of me. A mother can't forget her children ever. Besides, I still bear the scar where they cut me open to get him out so that he and I would live.

But I still find myself wondering, am I forgetting him? Will he keep just slipping away bit by bit over they years until he's only a photograph and emotions felt without memories attached?

To forget him, would be one of the most awful things I think. And it causes tears to well up in my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. And makes my sting as though its very nerves are being pulled out.

Oh how awful this all is at times.

Can you hear my quiet cries? Can you see the tears streaming down my face?

Can anyone see Andrew?

Happy 2nd Birthday Andrew!

Happy Birthday Andrew!

Happy 2nd birthday!

Your dad and I are a bit down today. Instead of getting out a birthday cake I made for you and putting 2 candles on top for you to blow out after singing, "happy birthday" to you, we have just another evening at home.

Just another day.

Well, not really.

It's a day where your absence is especially felt.

I should have gone shopping for you trying to find something special just for you to play with. And a new book. Probably a Dr. Seuss I really like that your brothers have destroyed and we've thrown away.

I should have given you a hug this morning before going to work, given you an extra kiss on the forehead and said, "happy birthday little special!"

I wonder if I still would be calling you little special at this point?

I still wonder what you would be like? What would your voice sound like? How would you be joking around now because I'm pretty sure you were a little joker in the making. What would you like to play with? Which brother would you play with the most?

Would you have learned to go up the stairs first or down? Samuel would go up and not down for the longest time. Then when Alex came along, he quickly gravitated to the stairs to keep up with Samuel and ended up mastering going down first. Scared the heck out of me until we learned that he'd automatically turn himself around and slide down bump after bump on his belly. He'd get down in 2 seconds flat. Or would Ryan show you a new way which would cause us to fear for the first few times?

Well, sadly, we won't know.

And unfortunately, we don't know.

You are forever 5 1/2 months to us although we mark the years now. And we miss you terribly.

Happy Birthday Andrew!

We send you our love even though we are apart. And wish that you were here with us.

Somehow We Ended Up on the Topic of Andrew

Mark and I got to go to the theater recently. I got complimentary tickets as a thank you for being the contact person and organizer of the group membership my company has at the civic center. Otherwise we probably wouldn't have gone to the play that was opening recently. (And I didn't care for it myself when we saw it either.)

On the way there, we were chatting about stuff. You know, life. Kids. Home. Work. Stuff.

Somehow we found ourselves on the topic of Andrew. Mark has been dealing with some of his grief surrounding his death. And I asked him if he'd share. He did.

I was amazed at what I learned. Mark has talked so little about his perspective, what he's thinking and how he's doing. Evidently it hit him a few weeks ago and God helped him through it. It was good to hear that God was strengthening him and healing his heart.

I won't share the conversation. It is private to just he and I. But suffice it to say, it was a very good conversation and a very honest one on both of our parts. I was shocked at some of what he shared. Something that I think may help both us with healing a bit more.

Gosh - what a way to begin a date night.

We sure miss you little special.

I Don't Want the Day to Come

Here I thought Andrew's 2nd birthday anniversary wasn't going to be so bad.

Silly me. I had come to deceive myself that this year wouldn't be so bad. It's his birthday not the anniversary of his death.

But this week I have been a bit moody. Snippy. Very melancholy. And down hearted.

My little special was born 2 years ago this coming Tuesday. What a wonderful day!

And as we heard his first cries, we had no idea that our days were numbered with the little guy. That we would see his last breath five and a half months later.

When not at work and putting on this air that all is fine, I had a big frown on my face. I walked around almost like I was in a daze. It was hard to be present my sadness was so intense and deep.

Well, at work it wasn't totally an act that all is well. I can get distracted at work with all the projects and things I am responsible for.

I even wrote, mostly on my own, a proposal that got us an interview in a few weeks. It wasn't even fully compliant with their requirements at my project manager's insistence. Crazy. Long story. Ask me sometime if you want to know because we're all amazed that we were asked for an interview. It should not have happened.

Anyway, today has been the first day I have felt somewhat normal. That the sorrow has not been so strong.

How am I going to deal with this? This year is the first year that I work on the anniversary of his birth.

And I don't want the day to come.

And It Happened Right Before Christmas

Yesterday, in Connecticut, a 20 year old killed 27 people at an elementary school. An elementary school. How sick is that? I can't imagine.

I heard this on the way home from work and became so sickened by it that I found it difficult to drive home after that. I felt such sorrow and grief.

I pictured it in my mind. Young, innocent children attending just another day of school. Minding their own business. Thinking about recess, how boring school is, dreaming of Christmas morning, giggling over silly things like odd body sounds. And then 20 of them had their lives taken from them along with 6 of their teachers or other adults at the school before the gunman took his own life.

How awful. How traumatic. Those poor, poor families that lost children. The siblings that lost their brother or sister. The classmates traumatized by seeing their peers killed.

It is simply awful. Tragic. Horrible.

It is overwhelming to me that such a thing happened to children.

Murder.

I can't imagine the struggles of those parents and siblings and spouses of people that worked there. I know some of the pain the parents feel but not the pain of my child being murdered. Mine died because of a most stupid and tragic accident. An accident. Not someone purposefully killing my child.

Oh God. How awful this is. Comfort those families and people that are so hurt by this. Bring peace. Bring your Presence. Bring your strength for them to go on. Bring Your healing.

How sad.

This is hard to grasp.

And it all happened right before Christmas. How very hard and impossible this Christmas will be now. And how trying this time of year will always be for those people. I think December is a difficult month. How much more for these people now.

May this not ruin anyone touched by this but, eventually, make them stronger.

Conversations with Alex

Some amazing things happened this week.

When I was putting Alex to bed over the weekend, he told me he always gets sad when we visit Andrew's grave. I was so surprised to hear him bringing up Andrew on his own. And yet I also got a lump in my throat. I found myself feeling concern that this conversation may go on for awhile and how was I going to handle it. I didn't know that I could handle it.

I told him that his dad and I also get sad when we visit Andrew's grave too.

"It's very normal," I told him.

He just sighed and said, "yeah," and moved on to talking about something else.

The funeral home did say that they would bring it up like a random thought and then move onto something else like they had just talked about a toy or anything else. Gosh is that ever true.

And then just last night he came out after I had put them to bed. I was in the dining room trying to get things cleaned up and make bottles for Lynn. He had his index finger in his mouth and was acting almost shy.

"Um, mom," he said, "we haven't gone to Andrew's grave in a long time." He paused. Alex moved a few steps closer to me, ran his right toe around on the floor in front of him as he looked down.

Again I was surprised that he was bringing up Andrew but was much more stable emotionally about it.

"Yes it has." I said to him trying to make eye contact with him. I wondered where he was going with this.

"Um, mom," he said with trepidation and sighed.

"Yes sweetheart," I replied.

"When are we going to go back to his grave?"

I was about to answer when he continued with continued shyness.

"Did he ever get a stone on his grave?"

I responded, "Yes, that happened a few months ago."

"Well, uh," he continued, "I want to see what his grave looks like now that the stone is on it?"

He wanted us to take him there.

"Of course. We can take you there whenever you want to. All you need to do is ask us."

"Okay."

I told Mark when he got home and we'll be heading out to Andrew's grave sometime soon for Alex.

That Night

The Open House at my work went quite well. I actually networked fairly successfully. This is a first for me. It's a hypothesis I had. If I got to the point where I knew some people then I could probably handle a room full of people that I should talk to to further develop those relationships. And I wasn't terrified for once!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It felt great!

The only thing that caught me a bit off guard was sharing about my family. I, of course, was proud to brag up Lynn and carried around a small photo album I made of Lynn's little life. Well, with that came the question of how many other children I had or how many boys.

I am used to this and yet I'm not. Most of the time now I have come to realize I need to say I have only 4 children to avoid the whole awkward conversation about our deceased children.

But on occassion I feel a bit downhearted about this. That night was such a night. On that night I wanted to acknowledge we have 6.

I left feeling a bit downhearted. Proud of myself that I had networked well but saddened by not being able to acknowledge Andrew and Alexa.

Since Andrew Died . . .

It's a busy week at work. A huge proposal to write. A report to get off to a client. Another report to write for another client. The open house to prepare for. I haven't been able to be at home as much as I would like to. And my little girl still acts like she doesn't know me when I get home. How sad that is to me.

I saw a dear friend today. Totally unplanned and, as always, a very pleasant surprise. A very welcome surprise. Like usual, it lifted my spirits and left me with a huge smile. It was like a breath of fresh air. This friend is one of the the people that I treasure in my life. Someone that means a lot to me. Gosh it was so nice.

We chatted for a short time, joked around like we usually do, caught up a little bit and then had to get to other commitments. Of course, Lynn came up and how I am saddened to be away from her during the day. Hopefully we'll be able to get together soon and take more time to catch up more appropriately.

Since Andrew died, I have found that I want to be more relational. More intentional. Make more out of life than I did before. Especially with Lynn, my family and even with this friend I saw today. I really try to make the short amount of time that I can have with her now when I'm off count. Just like I want my time with my friends and family to count more. That's a bit difficult for me in some ways. I am much more task-oriented than people-oriented. Although if I know I am respected and cared for by someone, then it's easier for me to be more relational with that person. And if I click with someone, and become comfortable with someone, then that ability is only amplified. At that point I will be extremely loyal to that person and can be very warm and caring.

It's just something I have to keep working on in myself. To be more warm to others and social as I interact in life. And thanks to Andrew, that has been boosted on a bit more.

Since Andrew died, a few other things have changed in me too. How I try to mother. How I try to be. Who I try to be.

May God give me the ability to become who I am supposed to become in Him.

We Were There For Them

Yesterday my mom emailed me. A third cousin of mine, Scott, had lost his step-daughter in a tragic car accident last week and the visitation and funeral were last night. His mom, my 2nd cousin Glenda, told my mom thinking that Mark and I may want to go since we understand the pain of losing a child firsthand.

Now, I don't remember Scott at all. He's around 17 years older than me and was only a name to me and a picture on Glenda's wall as I grew up. So this was going to be a bit strange but all I could think of was, this is a hard time and if we could be of any comfort or provide any kind of support, we needed to go. Unlike us, his step-daughter was 33 and had a family of her own but it's still hard.

I immediately called Mark and told him that I thought we needed to go. That it was probably important for us to be there for them since we have experienced the pain of losing a child. I was pleasantly surprised that he didn't question or doubt my instincts and agreed with me. He called his mother and she agreed to look after the kids for us to go.

As we drove to the medium-sized town about an hour from our house where the funeral was being held, I had a small sense of uneasiness within me. What emotions would this evoke in me? Would I lose it during the service? Does this mean I'll have an awful dream about Andrew tonight? Will this stir up things I don't want to feel? How are they handling this? Will Scott even know who I am or how I am related? What will we find?

I wrote a personal note in the card we got at the last minute that said we know how words do not describe at this time but that we were there for them if they wanted. I gave them my contact info and signed it for the family.

We got to the funeral home and I found Glenda and we hugged. She introduced me to Scott. It was awkward but I tried to make some conversation and show I genuinely cared. I couldn't really read where he was at. He was quite stoic and looked almost fine with a touch of sad. I made sure to look him in the eye and with concern asked about his wife. How was she doing with all of this. I didn't know much about Scott and his wife and his family so I was really feeling around in the dark trying not to sound stupid.

To my question I actually read some emotion. I'm not saying he wasn't feeling them, he just seemed to be able to hide his emotions well.

"It's been hard," he said. I nodded in agreement. I understood. I knew too well. This is the third death for them. Two grandchildren and now their daughter. I shook my head. How awful.

"So it's hard," he said again.

I said something and felt so bad and yet still awkward.

Glenda added in how Mark and I understood. "They lost their son last year." She said.

"Yes," replied Scott as he looked back at us seeming to be uncomfortable now himself, "I remember."

I learned later that he had been married to his wife, Janelle, for 20 years. So then I felt stupid for not asking him how he was doing. I just felt so awkward and odd and self-conscious.

Glenda's son, Neil, was there with his wife and we were very glad to see each other. Neil is very special to me. He's in his fifties but I know him the best of Glenda's kids. I played my flute at his first wedding many years ago when I was in college. But the thing that really bonds us together is that he lost his son just a few weeks before we lost ours. Despite his fresh pain and grief, he insisted on coming to Andrew's funeral to support us. He knew the pain we were feeling and wanted to be there for us. It meant a lot to me that he showed up and he cried as he hugged me when he arrived at our church for the service.

As usual, Neil gave me a huge, long, intense hug and we exchanged real pleasantries. In other words, that it was good to see each other and we really told each other how we were actually doing. We instinctively knew that we were talking about dealing with the loss of our sons. It was good to connect and share in the moment. Neil is such a good man and I was so glad he was there.

The concerns I had before were still playing in my mind as we sat down for the service to begin. Scott down next to a woman and put his arm around her. Finally I knew who his wife was. She was definitely having a hard time as she put her head on Scott's shoulder.

The pastor began the service reading the obituary. I read along and found myself at the end before the pastor. One of the last lines read, "she joins her son . . . and her grandparents . . .". And I closed my eyes as I thought, "wow, she joins her son. I look forward to joining mine someday. But she's with hers." And a tear ran down my cheek. I pressed my lips together and thought about being with Andrew. How nice that would be to see him and be with him.

I handed the program to my husband in case he wanted to read it and look at the pastor while thinking, "she joins her son". I kept thinking about that off and on for the rest of the night.

The rest of the service turned out to be rather "uneventful" in a sense. It wasn't a beautiful service. It wasn't very touching except for the beginning as people shared about their memories of this woman named PJ. It was rather strange actually. Not just because I didn't know the deceased or hardly anyone, it was just a different kind of service than I have been to before since most of the attendees didn't seem to be very respectful of what they were there for. Many were chatting throughout the special music numbers, which included a hip hop song that I found to be rather strange myself but it's what they chose.

We enjoyed time with Glenda afterwards, I got another huge hug from Neil and we headed on our way. Although not what I expected, we still were there for them. That made us feel good. And we knew we did the right thing. We were there for them.

It's Coming

It's Sunday night. The eve of another work week. And this week my work hosts its annual Open House. And this year I'm looking forward to it. I have to send out some invites to some of my friends and hopefully have a chance to see them.

On the flip side, little princess has enjoyed having me home and we've spent most of the time together. I am feeling heavy of heart that I return to work again tomorrow and will be parted from her. I do not look forward to her expression when I come home. I know she'll adjust . . .

This has been another tough weekend.

Andrew's second birthday is coming up. How ironic, his second birthday anniversary will be Lynn's 2 month birthday. Slowly I am starting to dread this.

I think of him so much now.

Partly because of Lynn. It's hard not to draw some parallels. Not comparing really . . .

I don't know.

It's hard to describe.

Leaving Leave and Leaving Lynn

I have returned to work. My maternity leave is done.

And while it is good in some ways to be back at it again, it is also saddening to me too.

As I expected, the teams I work with held off on many things while I was out. And some things didn't move ahead because the temp didn't know to keep asking to keep them moving. Or how to ask or maybe that she should ask.

She did a good job but her inexperience definitely showed.

Each night I come home from the office and make a special point of saying hello to Lynn and planting a kiss on her forehead. I love her so much and miss her so during the day.

And she looks blankly at me almost like she doesn't know who I am. It just kills me. I hated leaving Andrew to go to work and Lynn is no different. I dread the moment I have to go away. And Lynn's almost indifference to me when I return tears my heart out. As my heart is sad that she is not happy to see me, I tell her that I love her and that I missed her so much and that I never leave because of her. I just have to work so that we can have a place to live and eat and stuff. I repeat that a few times to her throughout the evening and hold her close and give her as much attention and love as I am able to between doing the dishes, doing laundry and picking up the house.

A few hours into the evening, she finally lights up like a light bulb and gives me a smile while wiggling her legs with excitement. And I look deeply into her eyes and talk to her about how special she is, how precious and dear she is to me.

Unfortunately, I have to retire for the night to try to get some sleep before my night shift comes. The next morning, I get ready to leave, kiss her good-bye again and tell her that I love her so much, will miss her terribly and that I don't leave because of her. It's only because I have to work so that we can live. Otherwise I would be right there with her.

Gosh do I hate that I don't get to be with her during the day.