No, you remember correctly

Sarah's death came two months after Jonah started Kindergarten.  He was terribly proud that he already had one sister, Rachel. And he was so very excited to tell his class that he was going to soon have TWO sisters.

I never did get the hang of his Kindergarten school year. Figuring out the school culture, the special sharing days, the school spirit events. Even things like birthday parties and play dates, I just avoided. Socializing and making small talk was the last thing I wanted to do.

Luckily, my better half is much more socially adept than me and did manage to get Jonah to several birthday parties, where they both had a blast.

But Jonah's now in first grade, and he's made it abundantly clear that he is an Aspiring Social Butterfly. If there is a chance to play with friends, he wants IN.

So I summoned my courage, and I escorted him to a classmate's party at the Y this evening. I was hoping to drop him off and run out, but he insisted that I stay. And while it was likely good that I stick around (holy boy party craziness) it left me in the not-so-enviable position of having to chat with folks I really don't know well.

Telling people that Sarah died makes me die a little inside, each time. And sure enough, when I introduced myself to the lovely mama who was hosting the party, there were several awkward moments where she wondered where the baby was - and me trying to not die as I explained that yes, I was pregnant last time she saw me, but no, there is no baby.

It's only the second time it has happened. And yet I feel like I brace for it every day. Because it's the most innocent of conversations - the basis for all conversations with a fellow mom: how many kids do you have? How old are they?

Nothing's true and nothing's right

Throughout this entire ordeal, I find people often refer to me as "strong." Which still baffles me, because I don't really see myself like that at all.

I've made lots of decisions, in this post-Sarah world, to keep my family intact. I get out of bed every day, not because I always want to, but because my kids need me. I stay up late at night, watching zombie movies with my husband, because I need Us to laugh. (Yes, at zombie movies.)  And occasionally, I make myself do something nice for myself (like accept help) because I know it is the right thing to do.

Like lots of things in life, sometimes you have to fake it until you make it true. I don't think that makes me strong. But I do think it makes me determined. That while Sarah's loss will always be in my heart, I can't let it be the end of me or of Us.

One

Yesterday Sarah should have been one.

We should have:
+ watched Sarah take her first steps, likely last week according to how her siblings rolled
+ had a fantastic Halloween birthday party
+ fed Sarah a gooey piece of cake
+ let a wobbly walker climb into a wet pile of leaves

Instead, we cried a lot. Hugged a lot. And rejoiced with our friends that love can carry us through.