Behind the Curtain

The Wizard of Oz knew what was up.  He had this whole land of everything beautiful and shiny, with all of these happy little people singing-it looked like a good setup albeit there was a witch hanging around making things messy here and there.  Now it’s only at the end that we see “The Great and Powerful Oz” for what he was, this bumbling, fumbling, frazzled guy behind the curtain trying to keep up the charade that he had all of his shit under control, a.k.a. he was just the parent of Oz.  Things behind the curtain didn’t look as pretty and his tough guy act melted away pretty quickly but it was real, man.  I had nine glorious days off from work for February break full of family visits, and friends, and plenty of behind the curtain moments. 

My cousin and his family rolled into town the first weekend for their yearly visit; I think we are on year five now.  We packed in a lot of fun stuff, which was well received by all of the kids, which, trust me, is a huge deal.  There was swimming, slides, sledding, and horses and a ton of smiles.  It was easy to revel in how much fun they were having and smile along with them.  Don’t be fooled by this rosy picture I’ve painted for you, friends.  Behind the curtain there were plenty of meltdowns, bickering, empty mom-threats, tears, time-outs, and words spoken through gritted parent-teeth.  The good far outweighed the bad and it was another visit that makes you look forward to the next one.

We tried to lay low for the few days we had in between the visit and the trip we had planned to go out to Boston to see our friends.  Of course plans being what they are, I ended up cleaning the whole house, top to bottom-floor trim and all, with the exception of our bedroom, which is like a vortex of disorder in an otherwise pretty orderly place. This was all in preparation for an interview with the local newspaper about Jack’s Herd and Jack’s story.  I was equal parts nervous and excited but I felt like the house looked good and we even managed to make it outside to enjoy the gorgeous, freak weather we got in February in the northeast.  Kindergarten paperwork showed up for Kennedy and I died a little.  As I snapped a picture of it to send to Sean, when I went back to look at it and saw her playing in the background, drawing on the driveway in chalk it was clear I am the only one that isn’t ready for this- my little one is not so little anymore.  The interview went great, until the photographer that came along wanted a picture that required us to be at the computer in our room and just like that, the curtain was pulled back and the chaos was exposed.  We were able to laugh it off, but my God that was mortifying.

Friday we made our way to our favorite city to see one of our favorite families.  We’ve always loved spending time with Jen and Andrew but now their little guy Oliver is just icing on the cake.  You could just mush him for days- those cheeks were made for kisses.  Every time Kennedy would groan, “He is adawww-wable,” we would laugh but whole-heartedly agree.  We again soaked up the still amazingly warm weather going to the parks sans coats-willing Mother Nature to give us more. We went to Disney on Ice’s “Dare to Dream” with the little lady, and since we’ve seen about 5 of these shows and consider ourselves connoisseurs of character themed ice-capades, I feel confident in telling you this was a good one.  As we made our way to our seats somehow was managed to sit in the right row but the wrong end.  We didn’t realize it until 15 minutes in.  We were right at the end of the “stage” and so every time the performers came in or out we could see them behind the curtain, quite literally.  So my kid would excitedly scream the characters name before they even came out for everyone else to see.  As I looked around I realized we were the only people that were that far over that didn’t work at the arena and so we check the seats against the tickets and made our way to our much better, closer to center-stage seats.  The excitement on her face literally made my eyes fill with tears (and this made me feel like my mother-in-law) and I’m pretty sure Sean’s eyes filled with tears as he repeatedly shelled out money for a light-up wand, cotton candy and the ridiculous Dory hat that came with it and everything else Kennedy “needed”-but when she genuinely thanked him and kissed his cheek I knew she could have gotten way more out of the guy.  It was a great weekend but behind the curtain there was four-year-old sassiness that was awfully embarrassing at times, a painful moment where a well-meaning stranger inquired about my kids and how many I had, and how old they were where I had to figure out how I could avoid the awkwardness and tears and yet still do right by Jack, and running through the park as the warm sky finally gave way to rain that Kennedy yelled at and blamed Sean for.

It’s messy behind the curtain, people.  The curtain comes in all different shapes: a smile, perfect Instagram photos that leave out the tears and refused “cheeses”, the clean house but terribly messy bedroom.  It’s ok to keep the curtain pulled but just don’t forget that after the wizard was exposed for what he was: an overwhelmed, exhausted guy just trying to keep the show going- he was able to slow down and breathe and actually get the job done. 

We’ve got a lot going on behind the curtain over here these days but that’s for another time.

Take me to Church

I was raised in a religious family; church every Sunday.  Every. Single. Sunday.  We weren't just holiday Catholics (though I always thought they had the right idea).  I grew up with the traditions set firmly in place: beautiful baptisms and big parties to follow, first communion and big parties to follow, confirmation and a party to follow.  I think that's what always made it fun as a kid-the celebrations that seemed to go hand in hand.  I complained about going through all of it. A lot. It was always made clear-it was not my choice until I was older, at which point I would ask for clarification on exactly how old.  It's not that I disliked religion, not even close.  I think faith is a beautiful thing.  But understand: I am a questioner.  Always have been, about all things. That doesn't mesh easily with religion and so it's been a relationship of ups and downs, on-agains and off-agains, and questioning commitment.

When Sean and I got married we didn't do so in the church.  This was kind of a big deal with lots of, "your grandmother may not be happy,"  and, "it would be so nice for you to be able to be married in our church," comments.  I wasn't budging.  I had left for college 7 years before and hadn't "had a church" that was mine in just as many years, going only occasionally when I felt homesick or sad or when I was home for holidays.  My parents had even changed parishes and no longer attended the church I grew up going to.   I also, very firmly felt that God would be present at my wedding whether I was married in a church or next to a dumpster.  He was either always present or he wasn't; I chose to believe that it was unconditional.  And so, looking to smooth the decision over with the older gals, we found a reformed Catholic priest that basically dressed the part and said the right words and prayers to appease the crowd and either way we were married.  Mission accomplished.

We went on not attending church, not against it, but not looking to get involved either.  When I found out I was pregnant though, there was never any question that we would baptize her.  I knew we should go back to church and refresh our game before meeting the priest after she was born but we didn’t and so when it was time to go and talk with Fr. Jerry, a nice man but clearly no dummy, it was bound to be awkward and good ol’fashioned Catholic guilt inducing.   I definitely earned a trip to the confessional that day, lying more than once about our attendance to mass at their church and swearing in church (an f-bomb, for the love of all things holy!) after I dropped a paci.  I failed his test, clearly fishing to see if I had been to the church as recently as I’d claimed.  It was a mess the whole thing, and I found myself wondering if it all even mattered.  We went to baptism class (yes, there is a class) and set the date but not before Fr. Jerry talked us into saying our vows before him, oh and God, in the church to legitimize them in the eyes of the church.  So me and Sean, who had lost his wedding ring, with our baby in tow (I wanted to ask wasn’t it worse that we “had our baby out of wedlock” in the eyes of the church but didn’t want to push it with the priest who clearly saw I was not amused by the whole thing) oh and don’t forget my nine-months pregnant sister who had to serve as our witness.  He called me Pat as we said our vows, I’m pretty sure I swore again; it was really a joyous day.  We were told that was our wedding date within the church but don’t ask me what day it was-I have no freaking clue.  It was June. I’m pretty sure.  We went out to Ruby Tuesday’s after.  Classy.  But we were extra married and our little girl was going to be introduced to a family tradition that in the end was worth doing.  It was a beautiful day surrounded by love and family and a light that I think can only be explained as faith that someone greater than ourselves was protecting our girl.

We continued to go to church for a while after that but Kennedy was no church mouse and the noise got to be too much to wrangle and so we bowed out for a while again. 

And then came Jack.  When we got all of the diagnosis information I was mad.  At the world. At God. I was mad at everyone.  I kept being told, “God wouldn’t give you more than you could carry,” and all of those platitudes but that’s easy to say when you aren’t the one carrying it all.   As time went on and things happened as they did, we found ourselves in Philadelphia at a restaurant the night before our appointment to meet with the people we hoped could save our son, talking about baptism.  Would we have him baptized by a priest if he was born so soon, or would we have faith that we would make it to a Christening down the road a few months?

Three days later, I heard myself say to the nurses and social workers, “I want a priest here.  I want my baby baptized before he dies.”  They were scrambling to get a Catholic priest to the hospital on a Sunday but they did.  And so, Jack’s baptism looked a little different than his sister’s; a lot different.  Instead of being surrounded by his family and our friends he was surrounded by doctors and nurses.  I was not holding him as the holy water was poured on his head, but watching him as I was being operated on.  I didn’t cry tears of joy that my son was being welcomed into a community of love and tradition, I was sobbing that this would be the only “celebration” we would ever have for him.  And then he was gone.  And I hated God.

One of the last things I remember about the days following Jack’s death, when my mind finally, mercifully shut down to protect me, was meeting again with Fr. Jerry at our church to plan Jack’s funeral.  As we talked Fr. Jerry reminded me our children are really God’s and he doesn’t promise how long we will have them with us on earth and I can vividly remember thinking ‘you bastard, he was my child, no one else’s’ and that is all I remember until a few weeks later.

We went to church for a few months because I was desperate to feel like there had to be a reason for all of this.  That I had to believe I could feel him a little more inside of a church.   And then Mother’s Day rolled around and the ferocious beast that is grief came out again, and I was mad at God all over again.  So no, I wasn’t going to go to church. 

I don’t apologize for the path my faith has taken.  I also believe that the God I choose to put my faith in does not hold this against me.  I do not think I have to be in a church to have Him watch over my family, and me, or to feel the pain that courses through my heart every day.  I also do not place the responsibility of Jack being taken from us on God- because I can’t not imagine that a being that loves the way I was taught He loves, could ever make the decision for two people to hurt as Sean and I do.   So for me, church is watching my little girl sleep, it is hearing her laugh when no one is listening; it is the moments of inexplicable peace I feel in my heart from time to time.  I pray with Kennedy once in a while but my heart isn't always in it and so I hate to have that be her early experiences.  I know I’ll find my way back to the pews of a church some day, I always do.  I also know that faith is believing in something you can’t see; and I have faith that my boy is somewhere, with someone that will care for him in my place.

Another Trip Around the Son

Dear Jack,

You’d be two today.  Two.  How can that be? It doesn’t seem possible.  None of this does.  It still doesn’t seem real that you came and left so quickly.  I remember thinking that I could never move forward after you went to heaven and, yet, here we are two years later; a second trip around the sun.

As usual, your mama was all about the build up.  Getting myself nice and worked up the days leading up to it.  In my mind it softens the blow.  It doesn’t in reality, and so waking up without you today was just as terrible as every other day these last seven hundred and twenty nine days.  As soon as I opened my eyes, there was no disorientation-I knew exactly what day it was and the first of my tears for today slipped out.  But I told myself that I would hold it together enough to go to your sister who was calling for me.

And you know what, Jack?  The second I opened her door, in her sweet muddled accent that I always wonder if you would have had too, she said, “Hey you know what, Mama?  It’s Jack’s birthday today!”  I know you saw her smile and I can guess how it made you feel because I could feel how excited she was to celebrate you.  And in that one tiny gesture she changed my perspective.  Cry?  Yes, I was going to cry there was no getting around that, but we would celebrate you today.  So we read two books to “send up” to you- I hope you liked them as much as she did.

It was Pajama Day at school today and Kennedy had been so excited that it was the same day as your birthday.  She kept telling everyone they were having PJ day for your birthday and a bounce house too.  I laughed to myself wondering if she was going to tell everyone at school that and what type of details she would add too it-she’s great for an awkward moment, that sister of yours.  So Daddy and I dropped her off and made our way to your spot.

It’s a sloppy snow here and so our footprints tracked mud in front of you.  I hated that we ruined it-everyone else had a fresh coat of snow but it was clear people had been there to see you so I was fine with that too.  It was freezing cold and while I don’t remember much of that day the weather reminded me of the morning we brought you there two years ago and if made me crumble.  I’m sorry-I try not to cry so hard when I’m there but today I couldn’t help it and it was a loud, ugly cry but I had to let it out before Kennedy came back later with us because I hate to make her nervous.  I hope the flowers last more than a night in the cold but it’s January and so I’m not too hopeful.  Flowers seem ridiculous to bring a baby boy on his birthday but we couldn’t go empty-handed.

Your dad was wonderful today.  I know when you look down you can see what a good man he is.  He hates to see me sad but, though it goes against everything he is as a person, he lets me cry when I need too, he doesn’t try to fix it anymore.  There is no fixing this: you are gone from me and that is never going to be something my heart can get right with.  So he hugged me a lot today and he squeezed my hands.  When he said, “Happy birthday, buddy,” I could remember him holding you so clearly and recall how much he loved you already.  He may not talk about it all the time, but he misses you, Jackie.

When we picked up Kennedy from Baba’s house she told us all about her day and how much fun she’d had but when I told her my idea for the night she lit up like the sun and the PJ party was old news.  We made our way to the store to the dessert counter and she walked around and around, carefully deciding what she was going to pick.  I talked her out of the fourteen inch chocolate cake that no one but Daddy would have eaten (we have to help the guy out where be can, Jack) and instead she settled on a big buttercream frosted cupcake.  When I asked the girl behind the counter for one Kennedy quickly and loudly interrupted me and said, “No, two!” and as I started to disagree she said, “Mommy, its my brudda’s birthday, we have to get two.”  And so we did.  On the way out of the store she asked for a balloon and picked out a pink one for herself.  Then she told the lady helping us, “It’s by brother’s birthday today! He’s two!” to which the woman said we had to send one home for him too.  Your sister began to share that you’d died but thank the Lord for the loud helium tank and we avoided the sad, awkward-stranger encounter.

The whole way to the cemetery she talked about she couldn’t wait to send your balloon up to heaven and hoped your friends wouldn’t steal it from you.  I assured her it wouldn’t happen as I smiled to myself at the idea that you have a little squad up there with you.  When we pulled up she was out of the car in record time and could barely wait for me to get my phone out to capture a few moments of it.  Watching her let it go and look towards the sky to you and jump up and down telling you to have fun- my God, Jack, it’s those kinds of things that let me draw my next breath that keep me going.  She loves you so much and so deeply.  And she misses you- I know this in the way she talks about you unprompted, and out of nowhere sometimes; or when she talks about how she would have helped you reach the counter to get you snacks you wanted, and that’s love, little man.  We watched your balloon disappear (I apologize to any animal that this balloon affects or the environment in advance) and we made our way home to finish celebrating.

When we got home, some of our friends, people that love you and your family so much, had sent some things to cheer us up and show how much they care.  Your herd is growing so big, Jack.  So many of them were incredibly generous today in honor of your memory and we are able to help so many people because of gestures like that made all of the time.  We sent you a wish lantern again this year.  I always have to be careful when it comes to wishes because I have to remind my heart that it can’t wish for you to be here but I can wish for you to feel our love for you and for our family to feel peace even in your absence and for you to watch over your sister and guide and protect her like she would have done for you.  As we watched it sail away I sent all of those thoughts out into the universe and prayed nothing caught fire nearby (so far no fire alarms).

We ate dinner as quick as we could because a certain little lady was rushing the dessert portion of the celebration.  And so we placed the number two candle that we still had in the junk drawer from Kennedy’s second birthday (and I silently thanked Nana for once for passing on her pack rat tendencies to me). And we sang to you.  Loudly and with hearts filled with love (our voices are just angelic- I know) and your big sister took care of the candle, just like I’m sure she would have if you had been here.

I got through today as best I could with a piece of my heart missing.  Like I said, I feel the loss of you in an enormous way every day but, if at all possible, more acutely today.  I told your dad today that it makes me sad to remember how heavy my heart was all that time ago, and almost sadder still to know that there is a bit of lightness to it now.  It's not that I’m less sad, by any means, I think it’s just that my heart figured out how to re-distribute the sadness so I could carry it a little easier.  I miss you terribly, my sweet boy.  Today my heart literally aches for you.  I held your bear today and willed myself back there, not that it’s hard to do, and I breathed you in again.

I’m doing my best to live a life that can make you proud; one that doesn’t cause you to have to watch over me too closely so that you can have fun with those friends and play with your new puppy, Honey (no she’s never going to stop licking your feet-it’s her thing).  You are never far from my heart and like the book we read this morning said, “I wanted you more than you ever will know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go…”

Happy birthday, Jack Holden.  You are so loved.

Love, 

Mommy