525,600 minutes

Dear Ben:
I can't believe that today marks one year that you have been away from us. I feel a little sick today thinking about how much you are missed....how much I miss you...how much we all miss you.

Although you left behind an emptiness in our hearts, life does go on, and it won't wait for us. Your daddy and I have done our best to be present with your brother, to love him and not let our grief get in the way of that. It has been hard. We wish so much that you were here to grow up with him...to be brothers.

I still find it so hard, so often, not to talk about you. I still bring you up in conversation as "my older son" or "my oldest son". I think you will remain so for a long time. It brings up some uncomfortable moments, then, when people ask where you are...usually strangers...and I have to explain. This could so easily be avoided by not talking about you at all, but how is that possible?

You see, Ben, even though we miss you and are sad, it is impossible not to speak of you. To smile when I tell people what a miracle you were...are... I still find myself wanting to tell people how incredible your life was. How you were not supposed to live, and yet you not only lived (in the biological sense), you LIVED (in the joyful sense). I cannot describe to people who never met you how amazed I still am at your joy, your smile, your life, your determination.

And there are things I will never be able to tell anyone about...things that mothers understand. What it felt like to hold you for the first time. The feeling of your hands on my cheeks when you would pull my face to yours and laugh. The sound of your laughter. The sound of your morning song. The weight of you in my arms. The feeling of holding you that last night...at two am...listening to your breath.

And there are the things that so very very few understand...Living with the knowledge that your child is not yours....people say they know this, but it is different for those parents who get the news your dad and I did. The determination it takes to grit your teeth, overlook all the frustration and fear and forget your emotions when talking to a doctor, a specialist, a nurse, a pharmacist, a teacher. Explaining again and again and again what is "wrong". Explaining again and again and again that there is nothing to be done. The feeling you get when you are comforting someone about YOUR own child's condition...when they look at you with that look that says "how do you live with this?" What it is like to feel the weight of a soul leaving the body.

I know these things.

People who have lost someone say they will never forget...and I can say the same. But it feels silly to say that, knowing as I do that it's not like there is a choice to forget. You are a part of me...like my own skin. I have no choice but to remember. I am relieved that I remember. There are, however, things that slip away...your smell, the feeling of your hair on my fingers. I fear that over time I will forget things I would rather not..like the sound of your laugh or what it was like to hear you sing.

Today and tonight we will light a candle for you, Ben. We will do the same next weekend on your birthday. We light a candle to remember you and remember how much we love you. Today is not a day for me to have to be strong...today I can just feel, and remember, and love you.

We miss you so much, Tiny Man.

C'mon spring!

Now that all the snow is gone, I find that I"m just completely disenchanted with this whole winter thing. I mean, I live where I do because I like winter...okay, it's not my FAVORITE season, but being a homebody and all, I love being able to curl up in my house and putter all day while the wind and snow and cold rage outside. I love cooking comfort food and feeding Hubby with it. I love knitting in front of a good DVD. I feel guilty doing any of this in the middle of the day when it's "nice" outside and I should be out soaking up the sun. But this week? yeah. The snow is gone and so is the love. Let's get a move on, spring.

We've been in the house completely too much lately...most of the week, actually. The plus side of this is that I've been a bit...well...compulsive this week, so the house is clean and pretty. The down side is that the house is now clean and pretty and I'm STILL IN IT. I need to get out. I sense a trip to...well, somewhere this afternoon to get out of this place. Toast and I did go for a lovely long walk on monday (that coupled with the cleaning earned me more than a few activity points for my weekly Weight Watchers total, let me tell you), and that did help.

I think part of this whole cabin fever thing is the aforementioned weather, part of it is the timing...this week marking the one year anniversary of Tiny Man's death. It's been a rough time. We were supposed to go to a memorial service last saturday, but did not due to the extreme migraine I had all day. To answer the question, maybe it was caused by tension and subconscious...I don't know. I do know that I have very mixed feelings about missing the memorial. On one hand I really would have liked to have gone....but our hospice team is still making visits, so we see them regularly anyway. And the timing for us, the weekend before the one year mark, was very poor. So maybe next year we'll try again.

I spoke to a friend this week about anniversaries like the sort I'm experiencing now. She asked if I was remembering everything from this week last year, and the answer is yes. I remember what I was doing with Tiny Man each and every day of this week last year. It's so vivid it almost scares me. We have made plans for this weekend and next to be out of the house and with family, and I think that this is a wise decision. I"m looking forward to it.

Perhaps some thrifting at salvation army this afternoon.....

Sensitive new-age man

I lost my wedding ring last week. Yes, I panicked...looked high and low, etc etc. It was missing for a week and we found it yesterday, so balance is restored in my world. But that's not the story.

When I found my ring, I had been so worried about having lost it, I started to cry. I couldn't help it...I was so glad to have it back. Toast leaned out of hubby's arms, into mine, wrapped his little arms and legs around me and laid his head on my shoulder. "It's alright, mama," I could feel him thinking.

I just got off the phone with our hospice nurse...well, her voicemail. I"m trying to set up some visits to help us get through this month of anniversaries, and I had a few questions about the memorial service for all of the kids hospice served who left this earth in the past year. I couldn't get through the call without crying. Toast looked at me, so concerned, and when I picked him up...from a sea of toys that he had been decimating ten seconds before...he snuggled in and laid his head on my shoulder. "It's alright, mama."

I know, my man, I know.