October has always been my favorite month. It is when the heat that has kept me sweating
for months finally lets up and allows for some cool air to settle in and change
the leaves into something magical.
Everything starts to change; my clothes, coffee and donut flavor
offerings and of course the leaves. If I
was in my fifties or sixties, had spare weekends, and passengers in my car that
would ask me every 10 minutes where we were going I would totally be what we, in
the northeast, affectionately call a “leaf peeper”. Alas, none of these are true for me and so I
must settle for oohing and ahhing out the car window while my poor colorblind
husband can’t see what all the fuss is about.
I think what I loved most about fall is that it’s as if the leaves changing
are the trees last attempt to show us all they still have something beautiful
to offer though they will shed the best part of themselves.
My grandfather passed away on October 15th
sixteen years ago and so that day has been a tough one since. October has come to be a month of
significance for me in ways that weren’t relevant to me of the people in my
life until recently. This year I learned
October 15th is also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day only a
few days after I buried my son. I felt so
sad that this was a day I had never known about, but now would never overlook;
a day that, for so many men and women, is a rare opportunity to say to the
world: We had a baby, even if they aren’t here with us, they were for a time. The month of October is also Down syndrome
Awareness month. I have done my best to
help spread some love for people rockin’ an extra chromosome but in the sad
corners of my heart it seems so painful and ironic to me. I should have my baby in my arms and doing my
best to learn as much about his diagnosis as I could be for both him and the
rest of the people in my life, and instead I am observing a day dedicated to
babies that have passed away and it’s just all wrong.
Last Thursday, Sean, Kennedy, and I did have the chance to
do something amazing in Jack’s memory.
We found out about a local organization that was recently started,
called The Ohana Foundation. A young
couple that had lost their son earlier this year as well created it to help,
financially and emotionally, other families going through the same thing. Our sons died only about one month
apart. I remember feeling so hopeless as
I looked for support in our area for people going through what we were going
through and finding nothing and it seems this young woman felt the same. The organization hosted a short ceremony to
memorialize the babies that left this earth long before their families. It was a memory lantern ceremony. It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking. It allowed Kennedy to send a light up to her
baby brother and “his friends” as a way to say, “I still talk about you. I still think about you. We miss you.”
This little girl that, though she never had a chance to meet him, still
calls her brother Jackie, waved to the lights that seemed to float to the
heavens. It was everything Sean and I
needed that day.
We watched my nephews this past weekend too. It was equal parts fun and exhausting. I got my Mason cuddles in, and I swear the
boy knows I need them. Cooper, my little
ginger snap, knows how to smile and melt your heart. And Kennedy always takes these opportunities
to assert her “leadership skills”, reminding both boys she was watching them.
Everyone survived and some fall fun was had, even if it was much
chillier than fall would imply.
So I am doing my best to embrace this fall, October most of
all. It is the last month I have before
the holidays roll in, before the winter rolls in. It is a chance for me to show the world that
I, too, have something beautiful left to offer, even after I’ve lost one of the
best parts of myself.
“And the tree loved the little boy, even more than she loved
herself.”
-The Giving Tree
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