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'...

Thought I heard you talking softly

This came up on my Pandora a few days ago. It's always been one of my favorite Duran Duran songs. And I'm sure I've listened to it a hundred times. But that's the most amazing thing about music - even if you've heard it before, you hear something new in it each time.

And as I try to make my way

To the ordinary world

I will learn to survive

Out

I added Sarah's photo to the mantel this morning. It was time for her to stop hiding in the drawer.