Our Boys

I can remember the day so clearly.  My best friend, Jen, had told me she was going to find out whether she was expecting a little boy or girl and that she’d let me know as soon as she left the doctor. I was at work and checked my phone a dozen times.  I finally texted her a pink heart, a blue heart, and a question mark, unable to wait any longer.  After a bit she texted back a blue heart and then right after that she said, “I hope that you’re okay with it.”  And with that my heart broke a little.  Here she was on one of the most exciting days of her life and she was worried about my feelings; I hated myself a little for that.  I hated that I had let my grief push its way to the forefront of yet another amazing moment and it wasn’t even my moment.  I quickly responded, “OF COURSE it’s okay!” And truly, it was. But I would be lying if I didn’t say it hurt something awful too.   The hurt wasn’t born of jealously-not an ounce of that-but that our beautiful baby boys would never play together; that we would never take a picture of them together and look back at it in wonder that they’d ever been that little, as there is no doubt in my mind that Jen and I will grow old together.  

I love me some Oliver; we all do.  Sean gets such a kick out of him and Kennedy has loved him like her own baby brother from the moment she first held him.  And so I was feeling pretty sad that we didn’t get to make a vacation happen with them the way with did last summer and so I made plans to head to Boston for a day or two with Carter since K would be at gymnastics camp.  

So after Kennedy’s first week of camp we made a visit to Long Island.  It was filled with family, boat rides, and pool days.  It was great and needed but all of it was overshadowed by the fact that my baby boy looked at me, while I was putting on makeup to head to a bridal shower and said, “Mama.”  I swear to God I almost cried ever drop of mascara I’d just applied. To hear that sound come from the mouth of a little boy has been something my heart has been desperate to hear for the last three and a half years.  He is a snuggly, mushy little mama’s boy (which I mean in the most affectionate way) and he soothes my soul in ways I can’t begin to put into words. It was a great long weekend but it took its toll on the little girl and so we skipped camp this week.  

I went back and forth about bringing her with us but decided not to, which she was not thrilled with me about.  The thing is, it would make it a very different visit and I felt like I needed it to be low key and low maintenance, neither of which describes my fiery, wild-haired girl.  She was entertained by her grandparents and did just fine through FaceTime calls and some whining.  The little man and me?  We did just fine too.  

The second we arrived to Jen and I saw Oliver’s little face light up as he shouted over the pouring rain, “Hi Baby!” I was done.  Jen parked the car for me and I made my way up the stairs holding one boy in my arms and the hand of the other as he chatted to me.  The second we walked through the door Oliver directed us to sit on the floor and he talked Carter, showing off all of his bog boy moves.  Carter was enthralled by him, laughing and trying to mimic the sounds and clapping.  Separated by one year and one day, they had not yet met face to face as life just got in the way, but they acted like old friends instantly (except when poor Oliver got close enough for a fistful of hair from the Ultimate Hair-Puller). Watching them, my heart was literally fluttering.  Though in this scenario Oliver was the big boy and Carter the baby, my brain allowed my heart to remind me he would have been sandwiched between my boys in a different life and I smiled to myself thinking of the noise level with three and how they’d have been thick as thieves. Just like that, our boys were together.  And it was everything I needed it be all of these years.  

We had a great visit that ended too quickly but we had a little girl that missed us and wanted us (mostly “her baby”) back home and so we got one last picture of the little men together and headed back to New York.

We decided to add another big milestone to month ten for Carter and took him to get his first haircut. While the mullet has always made me laugh I find it less funny on the heads of my children and so I thought a good trim was in order.  I went off the suggestion of a friend and brought him to an honest-to-God Barber Shop in the town next door; the kind where the barber’s were sitting outside waiting for men in need of some grooming.  A guy that could have been Sean’s doppelgänger was “up” and instantly started talking to Carter, making him feel at ease and let him touch the buzzer and combs.  My big guy- my last baby- he never fussed or cried once.  And though every snip of his baby hair’s made me want to scream STOP!!  I knew it was really Time I wanted to stop and not this sweet man cutting his hair.  In a month and a half he will be One and I’m just not ready to be there yet. So he is still my baby.  My baby with a pretty damn cute ‘do. 

As if there just wasn’t enough emotion coursing through my veins as we got in the car Kennedy asked why we were taking Carter’s hair home in a bag.  I explained that we’d done the same for her and that I had a special box to put it in.  Naturally, her mind always loops in Jack when I say “my kids” and so she asked, “Did you keep Jackie’s hair too?”  I could barely breath but managed to squeak out “No” as the tears started welling up behind my sunglasses.  When she asked why, I couldn’t give her a good answer because I was too busy asking myself the same question Why?! Why didn’t I ask them for a lock of his hair? He'd had so much.  It was dark blond and it was beautiful and I suddenly wanted to touch it more than anything in the world.  Grief is funny that way; it comes out at unexpected times and swallows you up.  And so, as I do whenever my heart calls out for Jack, I did my best to take in every second of time with his baby brother and sister, believing that he lives through them.

My summer vacation is winding down with my return to work starting in August.  Time off never feels like enough but there has been some pretty good moments to carry my through until our beach vacation down south the end of August.  Until then, I will soak in the sun and the chaos.  You do the same, my friends. 

Where I'm Supposed to Be

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

I’m learning that, in life, everyone will have these moments where they realize that they are exactly where they need to be.  I think it hits us at different times; some really huge moments and then at times where, if you aren't paying close attention, you could miss it altogether.

Two weeks ago was one of those moments for me.  Sean and I, with a lot of help from our wonderful family and friends, saw Jack’s Herd, Inc. host its Second Annual Cocktail Party and Silent Auction.  The build up for this is tremendous, months of planning and phone calls, asking for donation after donation, being shocked and overwhelmed when even more donations than we expected came in; it’s really an amazing process.  But the stress- oh the stress- it builds and I found myself wishing it would just hurry up and get here, not so I could rush it away, but so that I could slow down for a minute and take in everything that has happened since last year for the organization we started to honor the sweet boy that we couldn’t keep.

Putting it all together this year was hard for a lot of reasons.  The main one is a big-eyed, chubby cheeked little man that, though is as un-fussy as they come, makes it hard to do anything else; hard to want to do anything else.   You see, he’s six months already and time is going way too fast and, of this, I am constantly aware.  I already feel like my attention is pulled in so many different directions and I struggle to feel like I am giving enough to any of it, but when it comes to him and his sister, I feel that struggle so much more intensely.  And then I feel guilty, because this is all that Jack gets of us, a party thrown in his name once a year, and so it deserves my full attention.  So what does this all mean for me?  A lot of sleepless nights, a lot of nerve-induced tears, a lot of bickering with Sean and the rest of our board members about what would be best for Jack’s Herd and the event, but it’s this overwhelming sense of love that drove it all forward.  And then it was here. 

So when every single, solitary person you know will be at the same place as you and you’ve planned an adults-only party, what’s a mom to do with her kids?  You ask a friend to drive up from Long Island to help you out!  And what, you may ask, happens when said friend comes down with a big’ole stomach bug?  You beg your baby brother to watch your kids for you.  And what do you do, when said perpetual baby, states, “sure, but I can’t change diapers so…”?  You dress the baby up in his Easter outfit and bring him to a cocktail party. 

After a day of working, and setting up and putting on a pretty awesome rental dress, we were finally on our way, nervously chatting about what we thought the night would bring and be announcing that I scrapped my planned speech and would just wing it.  Needless to say, my stomach hurt and I was regretting the Taco Bell I’d caved and ate out of stress hours earlier.

The venue was beautiful, the auction was amazing and everyone looked great.   And so we stood around and waited.  And once it started it was absolutely incredible.  The turnout was everything I’d hoped for; the smiles on every face made it all worth it.  Sean and I walked to the front of the room to speak and I looked out to tell them what their support this last year did; that they’d helped over sixty grieving families in their worst moments and when I looked up to speak those words, I knew.  I knew I was right where I was supposed to be.  That somehow, these last three years and all of the heartache and healing that went with it had brought me to what I was supposed to do.  And so I opened my heart, wider than I had before in front of everyone, and told them what it all meant for these families, what it meant for mine.  I can’t tell you exactly what I said, though a friend of mine tells me I used the term “shitty consolation prize” which reminds me public speaking is not in my future, but I know my heart felt lighter when it was over.

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

 

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

 photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

photo credit: Jessica Merrill Photography

And, my God, the support and generosity that was shown that night told me these beautiful people got it.  They understood why what we are trying to do is so important. We surpassed our fundraising goal and expectations.  I spoke with families who had been through something similar and heard about us and decided to be part of it.  I was where I was supposed to be. 

The rest of the days have been filled with thank you letters, and material orders, and attempting to get ourselves organized in our day-to-day life again.  It has been filled with family, and birthday parties for little people we love, and trying solids, and a special night out with my little girl; it has been filled with St. Patty’s Day celebrations-that look much different than they used to, and bridal showers and paint and sips.  It has been busy, and exhausting, and beautiful and it all brought me to where I found myself this morning.

I had the gym waiting for me, and a mound of dishes in the sink, and a pile of thank you notes to handwrite.  But I also had a little girl that came out into the living room after waking up asking to cuddle me, and a husband that was craving pancakes for breakfast, and a baby boy that lets me hold him close and touches my face and kisses his big sister full on the mouth that needed some loving.  And so, again, I stopped for a minute and realized that the rest of it could wait; that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.