The space between

We drop Jonah off at Hebrew and take Rachel and toddler Isaac to the park. There is time to fill and there is energy to burn. At 9 AM on a dreary Sunday, it is empty. Wet leaves blown into piles, puddles gathered in the low spots. It smells like autumn. Damp, dank with a sweet smell of rot.

The metal gate creaks as we enter and Rachel squeals for Ike to follow her. They go up and down the playground ramp, cajoling Ike into sitting first before he goes down the slide. She admonishes him for stepping off an edge that drops him sharply to the ground. Isaac is angry that he falls, not understanding how gravity could possibly let him down.

Just as we got in the groove, it was time to bring Rachel back to the synagogue for her class. Isaac cried and wailed. It was too soon. He wasn't done. How dare we?

While Joe walks Rachel to her classroom, I sit in the back of our car, feeding Isaac honey bears. Eventually I unbuckle him and watch as he climbs triumphantly into the back row bench, with a smug look. Its the row he stares at from his rear-facing car seat. The empty space.

Once Rachel is situated, we pile back in to visit the cemetery. I think about going often, but try not to go frequently. Nothing really changes there except for the season. The trees grow, the leaves fall, the snow returns. And then it melts back in.

I spend a few minutes unearthing the rocks that have fallen off her stone, returning them to the top. some are gently buried; they have been sinking into the soft soil. Many are gone and I wonder which tiny child may have pocketed the blue piece of sea glass, or the fossil from Lake Placid? Where do those things go?

Joe says its okay that they disappear. You don't leave a rock on top of a grave and expect it to stay. After all, time passes there too. And at four years out, the grief still fits in all the crevices, even when you can't find exactly where it has gone.

A twist

Rachel, like many little kids, mispronounces words. She often drops Rs and Ls and replaces them with Ws. And some of them are just deliberate changes, like refusing Ms and Ns for words with long U sounds.  Noodles are Yoodles. Music is Yoosic.

Add this to a family that loves nicknames and you get silliness. Funny ones, rude ones. Ones that we grow into over time. Wachel WooCHEEah. Loo. Looch. Sounds like a character from Dr Seuss! 

Sarah, on the other hand, never really had any nicknames...until yesterday. While working with Rach on various tongue twisters, Sarah Tzipporah came out as Carrot Tzipporah. 

She giggled. I giggled. 

And it was good.

Next season

I just watched the season premiere of Scandal. Olivia is no longer going by "Olivia." She is now "Julia." And Mellie is mourning the death of her son. Her entire demeanor has changed, from prim and proper to flamboyant and flippant. 

In a poignant scene, she and her husband visit their son's grave. She is at the foot of his stone, laying down in the grass and staring upwards.

It takes me a moment to process it. I think about how sad it must be to lose a child. And then I remember a split second later that I know how it feels.

I wear so many hats during the day. Mom, sister, wife and daughter.  There are times where I forget who I am. Who I have been. And I don't get nearly enough time to think about who I want to be. There are diapers to change, tears to wipe and Legos to step over.  

Isaac

Just over three weeks ago we welcomed a healthy baby boy into our family. He is warm, fuzzy and smells like butterscotch.  

I was relieved that labor went so well. Several days of maybe, followed by a morning of "go wake up the midwife NOW!"  It was a planned home birth and he arrived in the water, just like his biggest sister.

As a family, it's been a welcoming period of adjustment. I feel like I've been holding my breath for months. And now that he is here, it feels surreal. 

There's an incredible mount of healing that comes from nuzzling his sweet head. I can't help but think about how all our lives would be different had Sarah lived. And now our path changes again with this little dude, our Isaac.

More

Home stretch of this pregnancy. I'm not quite as much a wreck as you might expect, but like every pregnant woman, I reserve the right to freak out and change my mind at any moment. 

I can't say enough things about surrounding yourself with a village of good, supportive people.  My midwife, who has caught all my babies, is still at my side. I've been seeing a counselor who reassures me that my emotions are normal, valid and expected.  I've got friends who msg me on FB and check up on me at 3am. And the one who says "Can I take your kids away all day so you can rest?"

My husband is my number one rock star these days. I'm not always sleeping well or very long. He's sending me back to bed, pushing me to nap whenever there's a pause. Good rest has been key to managing my stress and anxiety. 

Little boy Otter has been doing a fantastic job of kicking me frequently and passed his biophysical profile with flying colors.  

I'm still having a hard time picturing what life is going to look like after this little dude arrives. With Sarah, I was worried about parenting three children - a 5 year old, a 2 year old and a newborn. But our family looks so different today, with a 7 year old feeling confident about entering second grade and a 4 year old about to begin preschool. 

I can only hope that the next few months are filled with more love and laughter than tears. 

Seconds

We did our "official" Father's Day celebration yesterday. It was difficult, but not nearly as raw as the first one, post-Sarah. Lunch and a street festival, kids climbing all over the place. 

Our family has grown in so many ways over the past year, and that's not including the baby on the way.  Jonah sat down in the restaurant and started reading items off the menu. Only 10 days or so left of first grade! Rachel and I visited the preschool where she will attend in the fall. Rather than try to talk me out of it, like her big brother, she immediately started gathering her belongings. "Let's go, Mama! I don't want to be late!"

Perspective and time have helped me realize that so many things in life are temporary and often too brief. When things are good, you need to slow down and make them last. And when they are bad? Realize that it only makes the good things that much better.

There's an episode of The Hive (a British animated series about silly bees) where everything is blamed on "the baby."  It's become the running punch line to all of our days. Legos disappeared? "The baby did it!" Can't find your shoes? "The baby did it!" Jonah even ran up to me, and planted a big kiss on my cheek. "The baby did it!"

I'm looking forward to when the new baby really does cause so many antics. 

What we can't see, but will always feel

It's the second Mother's Day since Sarah died. And the first one with a new little baby, still inside me, waiting to meet us. The combo is a stunning mix of emotions. All of which I'm trying to embrace, rather than push to the side.

Husband and kids made it a very special day. Original art, an illustrated bound book by my first grader who is proudly boasting about his ability to read chapter books. 

And a beautiful necklace. A mama, holding hands with not just two kids, but four: a Jonah, a Rachel, a Sarah, and a wee-one who has yet to reveal his name. A blessed reminder that I'm not just a mama of the two who bounded through the park with me today, but an extra one in my heart and another one who is close to earthside, kicking me in the belly. 

What it looks like

A boy. A son. A new picture in my mind, of what our family will look like in August. 

With Sarah, it was easy to imagine her sharing a room with her sister, Rachel. Just two years apart, my girls.

This boy will be four years younger than Rachel. And seven years younger than his big brother. Perhaps it's a good thing I've never gotten around to painting any of the bedrooms. At some point, there will be a shuffle. But I'm not sure what that will look like, yet.

The ultrasound was as good as it gets. A kind tech, a sassy doctor. I was annoyed to be kept waiting for our appointment, but that was my nerves more than anything else. The heartbeat was immediately found, a round head and little dawdling to discover a penis. Apparently my jokes of Baby On Board (Bob) and cravings for Frank's Red Hot Sauce (hello Bobby Frank!) were right on target. And the doctor found nothing remarkable. Boring and normal, other than an awesome thumbs-up that our son flashed on screen. 

Jonah does this eyebrow raising, nose wiggling face of joy when he is excited. And when we handed him an envelope later that afternoon, revealing the sex of the new baby, it was epic. Both he and Rachel were so sure that they were having another sister. But there was no disappointment on their faces. Only joy and hope. It's a scene I'm going to playing over and over in my head, for months to come,

Brave, not Frozen

We're heading off to our level 2 ultrasound in an hour. The AFP test came back as remarkably boring and didn't point to any increased risk for open spina bifida, Down Syndrome or Trisomy 21. But it rarely catches closed spina bifida, which is what happened with Sarah. A level 2 ultrasound may give us a better look - or maybe not. 

I'm trying to remember to breathe. And be present. And to focus on the part where I know there should be an answer: is she a girl or is he a boy? I'm trying to imagine Jonah's face as I tell him, later today. Will Rachel freak out if she has another brother? Will she dress him in tiaras and insist in painting his toes? 

Bravery, for me isn't pretending everything is okay. It's putting one foot in front of the other and continuing to move forward, remembering that no one knows what is ahead of them. 

Are we there yet?

Almost halfway there. Except I'm not really sure where "there" is and if I'll ever get there.

I took my other pregnancies for granted. That if I made it through the first 12 weeks, that I'd have a sweet babe in my arms in another 30-32 weeks. I never worried about much related to the actual pregnancy. I was tired, cranky and achy. But that's normal. 

This time I worry if there will be a baby at the end. One who looks me, one who will eventually recognize me. One who will cry and learn to smile.

One who will live and grow up.

This pregnancy reminds me that all of these moments should never be taken for granted. It's both a blessing and a curse. To appreciate what I have, without the promise or guarantee of ever getting "there."

Reckless crazy and wild love

Sarah would have been 15 months old today. She would have been walking, likely running. And I'd be exhausted. But in an awesome way.

Instead, I'm exhausted in celebrating Jonah's half birthday, chasing Rachel through the grocery store and being pregnant way. About 200 more days of being pregnant. 

I'm happy that I'm pregnant. I'm happy that my body works that the stars aligned. But I've spent most of the first trimester being angry, upset and anxious. I really thought I was ready. Those hormones on top of everything that happened with Sarah just brought me back to a bad place.

Turns out you can't outrun it. Trauma forever changes you, for better or worse.

I wanted to wait to tell the kids for as long as possible. Like maybe until I was waddling. I wanted to wait because I didn't want to hurt them. I never wanted them to live in a world where babies die. Where their sister dies. And how horrible would it be for that to happen more than once? 

Except that's me. Those are my feelings. Not theirs.

So we told them, earlier this week. Jonah had this beautiful smile and Rach totally ignored us. It only took him a moment to process and ask if this baby would die too. Of course, we gave him the honest answer - that we hoped not and that most babies do live.

The next morning he lashed out, using hurtful words to express his fear. I should have expected it. But I didn't - at least not quite so soon.

How do you allow yourself to get attached, knowing your last baby died? How do you teach your kids to do what you fear most? 

So this is what I'm working on. 

I spoke with my dear friend Rebecca, who faced a similar dilemma, after being told her baby would likely not survive outside the womb. How do you go on, knowing that you may be disappointed and crushed the biggest way possible? 

And she's so right. SO right. I don't regret loving Sarah. I don't regret the nights she kept me awake, kicking my bladder and making me eat midnight snacks. I don't regret the joy she brought to our family, or the big grin she put on my face while I was picking out matching sister dresses for her and Rachel. I don't regret it one bit.

I'm scared and exhausted, still. But I'm going to do it with love.

Again

We waited a year. A year to do all the firsts without Sarah. A year to be angry, sad, and accept. A year to want no other baby but Sarah. But now... Now we know there is still so much love to give. And the only way to do that is to start the journey again. Brave, hopeful and scared. And pregnant, again.

Space

So many wonderful friends and family joined us on Black Friday at the cemetery for Sarah's stone unveiling. It officially marked year of mourning, a year of everything moving way too fast and at the same time creeping along, dreadfully slow. 

My kids did well at the ceremony, and eventually, when Rachel became antsy, I reached into my pocket to find a distraction. Gloves, tissues.... And a shiny pink jewel.  Which she promptly place atop Sarah's marker. (You can see it nestled on the right side of the stone.)  

Never has such a crammed space felt so comforting to look at.

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.

Button

The last time I know for sure that Sarah moved was around 3am on the 31st. She woke me, pushing on my bladder. I had contractions off and on for days, previous to that, but they petered out like an engine revving.

But when I woke up on October 31st, I knew it was the day. My October Otter. I sent Jonah to school with his bee costume, I called my sister to come keep me company, and I dispatched my husband to take Rachel on a jaunt. (Later I would learn that they went jewelry shopping and bought me a necklace with three circles.) I called my parents and asked them to attend Jonah's costume parade, so he would see his people waving to him.

I was having contractions all morning. I was carving pumpkins. I wasn't paying attention to Sarah's movements. I was anticipating a long day and a victorious finish. 

Later that morning I checked in with my midwife and asked her to head over. But no rush. I knew it was still going to be a while. 

I often wonder about the moment Sarah died. What was I doing when her heart beat for the last time? It's the sort of thoughts that torture me. And do no good.

Its easy to get stuck there, in a loop with no answers. I have to consciously press the stop button.

Because what matters isn't when she died. There were a full 9 months before that where she was peaceful and safe. Where she experienced nothing but warmth, love and the adoration of her family.  And that has to be okay. Because that's all she had. Because that's all we had.

We love you Sarah. Always and forever.

Click

Sarah was supposed to be my last pregnancy. My last child. The end of anxiety ridden first-trimesters and months and months of morning sickness which always lasted all day.

She was supposed to be the end and simultaneously the beginning of my perfect size family.

And when she died, it felt like the end. How do you go on? How do you live life, knowing that your baby is dead? How can you do the mundane things, like brush your teeth, or engross yourself in a novel? How do you care if your shirt is wrinkled or even remember to look in the mirror before leaving the house?

I've had some huge ups and downs in the past 11 months. I've had days where I really did feel like it wasn't worth getting out of bed.

Somehow that gets buffered by the days where the giggles of my children sound like clinking champagne glasses in heaven. Where the sunshine hits the autumn treeline and I think back to The Office, where Jim turns to Pam and pretends to "click" his imaginary camera. A perfect memory, saved away for future viewing.

There is something quite astonishing that happens when your child dies. The worst possible thing has already happened. Its done. And it only repeats itself in your mind.

Yes, it is horrible and devastating.

But within the experience of death is this amazing freedom of perspective. I went through what will likely be the worst thing ever and I'm still here. When petty things start to tweak inside my head, I'm able to say, "No, that doesn't matter. No one got hurt, no one was harmed, no one died. It will be okay."

So as we approach the anniversary of Sarah's death, I'd like to ask all friends and family to take a moment and reflect on their daily gripes and complaints. Think about what is really important. And clear your mind of all the unproductive talk and focus on the here and now. Make a new beginning and make each moment one worthy of a "click."

Full harvest moon

They say the days are long but the years are short. And whoever "they" are speak the truth. 

I'm amazed at the sophisticated conversations I'm now able to have with my six year old. On the way home today from our Sukkot celebration he asked me what happens when everyone dies. 

Everyone.

So we talked about how everyone doesn't die at once - and that most people do not know WHEN they will die - and that this isn't something he needs to worry about.  What's important now is that we love each other and we do our best to be kind.

Besides, I said, maybe someday you will get married and have kids. And then your kids will have kids. And then you will be a Zeyde (a grandpa). He smiled, then replied, "Maybe I will marry Nomi.... Maybe."

Earlier in the day I had carefully brought up Halloween. I reminded him that we needed to start thinking about costumes. Did he remember last year? Did he remember that I wasn't there to take him trick-or-treating? In fact he did, and gave me some details. 

Then he frowned and asked why I hadn't been there. 

I don't think anyone ever told him that I was in the hospital. That I was in labor. And that it was the day that Sarah died. He was young, no one wanted to scare him, so he was pushed through the day in the most normal way possible. Which was necessary and appropriate.

But now he is six, and his capacity to process has grown. So we talked about it. His eyes went big and his eyebrows wiggled around. "Mama, did you cry? Mama, were you so sad that you cried even when you were asleep?"

Yes. I did. And I sometimes still do. Which is why it's important to say the "I love yous" and pause for the big hugs. To love and be kind. Because sometimes the days are long, but the years are short.

Hidden family

It has been a whirlwind of a weekend.

It started with a call from my mother, letting me know that she had just called 911 for my dad. He's going to be okay, thank God. And even better, the incident that brought him to the hospital led to them finding another underlying condition that they were able to address with surgery today. Quite a blessing in disguise.

In the meantime, my niece turned nine. I was there at her birth, and its been amazing watching her grow into a young woman. She is lovely and quirky and so self-assured. It is possible she may rule the world, someday.

My brother, sister-in-law and nephews came up for the weekend. My oldest nephew is almost taller than me, at age 10. Wow!

And my sister-in-law has graciously been digging through our family history to build us a tree. I love seeing the old marriage documents, particularly from family that left Eastern Europe and landed in England and changed names and spellings, compounded by sloppy census counters. But the results! Cousins, second cousins. People who have these oddly familiar faces, that I've never met. And more red heads, which make me smile. I look forward to the wonders of Facebook and meeting them, someday.

I'm not sure how the summer is almost over, but time keeps on tickin'...