Every Night

Every night I ask Elias to visit me in a dream and let me know that he's okay, that he loves me, that he isn't angry, that he's at peace. Every night I fail to dream of him, and when I wake up my heart is broken all over again.

Trying

People who have suffered the worst loss imaginable have to fight for their lives every day. I know that sounds melodramatic, and even loss parents reading this might think "exaggeration much?" but stop and think about having your heart torn out and being expected to survive that? And yet, we do. Survive. But when do we get to do more than simply survive? Every day is a struggle to get out of bed, shower, get dressed, hell even breathing just hurts some days. Now that the first year has passed, I am making a conscious effort to emerge from my hermit-like self-loathing pity party state and be an active participant in life. My son wouldn't want it any other way. He would want me to fully LIVE. So as I said before, I am striving for that balance of work, home, friends, hobbies, myself, and all the other things that grief "stole" my attention from. This is kind of a HUGE deal. Not everyone gets here. Some people stay STUCK forever in the black mire. Well, apparently not all of my friends truly realize the significance of my efforts or how much more difficult it is for someone who is grieiving to try and throw something like a dinner party. I spent allll day Saturday cooking, cleaning, decorating, and getting amped up to have people over. Two couples that we were expecting to come over didn't show up. One of them had promised to come and were a huge part of why we were throwing the party, because they said they never do anything. Less than three days before the party, one of them mentioned to my sister that they wouldn't be able to make it due to a prior commitment (mind you, we had spoken about the party for weeks beforehand where nothing was ever mentioned about prior plans). I find that excuse very difficult to buy, and I need to emphasize that this person never even bothered to tell me directly or apologize or anything along those lines. They didn't even ask if my sister could pass the message along. (?!) Another couple said they were coming and just never showed up. We heard nothing. A week or so ago, another friend of mine ignored several of my attempts to hang out after saying she wanted to. This was a friendship that had drifted, and I was trying to do some mending, which takes a great deal of emotional energy on top of grief. I tried suggesting different things to do and at different times, and she never confirmed anything, so I finally said "What is going on????" and still no response. So, I'm about done. With everyone. I keep putting myself out there, and it angers me that people must think I'm better, that I don't need friends, and it angers me that they don't know that in many many ways I am still fighting for my very life. Fighting to have some kind of life outside of the loss world, to do more than simply survive but to live. It angers me that my husband doesn't understand that concept, either. How will anybody else get it when he doesn't? I remember when he used to "get" me. I miss those days more than ever. Overall, I feel so disrespected, devalued, alone, misunderstood, unloved, and unimportant. If I didn't have my daughter here, I think I'd just be done with it all. The weather is getting nicer, and I have the day off, I should be out enjoying it, but I just want to crawl in a hole and disappear.

Feeling off-balance.

I just want to say that I miss this place, and I miss reading blogs regularly and commenting and all of the above. I am really struggling right now to achieve some sort of balance. I have stepped away for awhile, mostly because I feel I was here perhaps too often, and that's not good either. Life is not meant to be spent tied to a computer screen. The positives have been that I'm taking a workout class and am also learning to cook and enjoy other things. However, something is missing, and I know that I still need to come here; I need to write and to read and to connect. I just don't know how to get things balanced. Slowly I am "unsubscribing" from people on Facebook and will be doing a cleanup. I feel I have overdosed on social media to some extent, and I want to emerge from the shadows and focus more on "real life" and all that is tangible. Then, I realize, I don't even know what that means or what that is. Between my career, my marriage, my home, my family, my friends, it's just so difficult to balance it all. New hobbies and interests have taken shape in my life, but where do they fit in, and how do I incorporate all of this new stuff and still come here? It blows my mind when people say they are bored. How the hell are people ever bored? Life is so painfully short, and there's so much I want to do, become, achieve, and explore. So many people to connect with. So many people who can change and enhance my life. I can't disconnect from the loss community, either - not that I would ever want to. No way, no how. I am judged by people (and it is very obvious) for still reading the loss blogs when I do (which isn't often enough), for connecting with other loss moms on FB, and for wanting to acknowledge and honor my son. Maybe to some extent at certain points in my life, things were lopsided in that direction, sure. But now, I am realizing that, and the problem is that I don't know how to fix it so that it all has its proper place. I've found myself becoming much more social lately, which also has its pitfalls. Anyone in the loss community will tell you that figuring your social life out post-loss is a very confusing and difficult task. Just when I open my heart to be vulnerable again to friends, I end up getting screwed over again. I am at a point in my life where I am done with games and passive aggressive relationships. You're either my friend or you're not. I realize friendships are on a spectrum, and they shift and morph, but there's also a limit. And when I feel completely disrespected and devalued? Time to move on. I don't know how to achieve balance in my life yet, and I realize that's the goal so many of us have. I don't know how to reach "integration" as some call it. I don't know how to just be at work and focus on work, or be at home and focus on home. Everything gets blurred, the colors bleed, the lines shift. Just as I don't know who to trust anymore or how I will ever be okay again, really okay again, without my son here. Everything is lacking clarity, and I feel aimless, confused, hurt, abandoned, and scared. My grief has new layers to it that I never knew before, and I have horrible flashbacks and nightmares that can be triggered by many different things. I don't want to say I have PTSD, because I don't really know, but it really wouldn't surprise me. Work used to be my safe haven, my place to go and get away from my grief, and it was easy to compartmentalize to some extent. Why fifteen months out (today!) is it becoming more difficult to do that? Why do I find myself crying at work during my lunch hour? Why can't I focus and be efficient? Why do I still not know what choices are best for me, and why do I feel like depression is lurking around the corner threatening to snatch away any joy and motivation I feel?

Ignorance = Bliss?

There's nothing that irritates me more than a pregnant woman who seems to think she is immune to loss.

Guess what, honey? You're not. Nobody is immune.

In fact, most of the loss mamas I know are extremely educated, received great care (and would not switch their OBs post-loss for anything other than simply not wanting to invite flashbacks), ate well, rested, read every pregnancy book they could get their hands on, and loved their babies with everything in them. Society projects this idea that healthy people with solid medical care (especially with all that technology)don't lose babies.

I realize this is why there are so many smug women out there who truly believe they will never lose a baby (or babies). Ok, fine. So do we blame society? Then again, that mentality isn't even what pisses me off so much as that many of these blissfully naive and ignorant women also flaunt their seeming invincibility against harm (if you think I'm exaggerating, stop it. I'm not. I could give you countless specific examples of said flaunting that has been done in front of myself as well as in front of other loss mamas who have shared their frustrations with me, but I won't. At least not today).

And, well, there's just no excuse for that smugness. None at all. Nobody is immune to tragedy. Who in their right mind truly believes they are?

I hear some speak of "God's plan" and knowing it. Well, all those weeks when everything was PERFECT with my babies, I thought God had a hand in that too. I felt blessed too. Doubly blessed. What happens if/when your blessing(s) gets taken away? How do you reconcile that in your mind with a God you believed to be all-loving, all-powerful, and knew your heart and your innermost prayers? Did God fall asleep at the wheel? And please stop with the "Satan stole your baby" crap. I swear, there is nothing that makes you sound much crazier. (Yes, I had someone tell me that.) I've had extremely religious people during my pregnancy literally say that God spoke to them and told them both of my babies would be born healthy and safe. Why would they say that? Post-loss, they expect me to not grieve because it's "part of God's plan". Really? Wait, I thought God told you his plan, and this wasn't going to be part of it. So...Did your signals somehow get crossed? *sigh* These women who apparently feel they have a direct line to God, know his plan, know his plan could never entail heartache or tragedy from them because they are "protected" or invincible somehow, they SERIOUSLY get on my last nerve.

Show some humility. Show some respect.

Realize that the unfortunate reality is that loss happens more frequently than you'd think (thanks, society, for covering that one up with all the shiny happy baby shower bull!), and that loss does not discriminate. It doesn't care about your color, race, religion, ethnicity, sexuality, education level, morality, finances, state of health, or anything else.

In fact, the day after my loss, one of the L&D nurses came to visit me and shared that she has suffered a full-term stillbirth. She gave me her phone number, and she shared some very personal things about her loss, and I will forever be grateful to her for not only those things but for the lesson she gave me. Which is that even doctors, L&D nurses, doulas, and midwives experience stillbirth. EXPERTS in the field of pregnancy and delivery.

This shouldn't come as a surprise, but for me it initially did. I have had to take a hard look at myself and my perceptions about loss and confront the fact that I must have also thought that with enough knowledge, care, and caution, people wouldn't lose their babies. So why, you ask, do I have a "right" to get frustrated with others when I may have had a similarly naive view? Here's why. Even before I had EVER experienced a loss, I was always cautious about the topic of pregnancy. I was never one to shout it from the rooftops the first sign of a "plus". I was always aware of the pain and suffering in the world enough to call my best friend and tell her the news but then follow it with, "Should I tell anyone else yet? I mean, what if, God forbid, I lose this baby?" (Then, I did miscarry.) Never once did I feel "above" experiencing a loss, even with all those things that I admittedly felt would put the odds very much in my favor of a successful outcome.

So no, there's no excuse for the arrogance. That's the part that drives me bonkers.

Is there some correlation between being a cautious, mindful, caring, humble person and experiencing loss? Because it seems that I have met the most amazing people inside this very community, the loss community, and it really makes me wonder.

I used to believe in karma. Well, karma is crap.

The One Sentence Post

Fourteen months out from our loss my husband and I are doing some afternoon shopping when I am stopped by an acquaintance / grade school friend / FB friend who says, "Hi, Lindsay! Where are the babies?" and when I remind her that my son died she says, "Oh, I forgot. I'm sorry."

Their Birthday. Chills, times two.

Part Two: Their Birthday

This will give you chills. Twice, if you read all of it.

So, I apologize that this is a bit convoluted. I shared with you the Elias remembrance event on FB that led up to their birthday and Evelyn’s party at the community center two days after their birthday. What I need to do now is try and document their actual birthday, which is really hard for me to even put into words.

Because really, it was just perfect. Absolutely positively perfect.

In order for you to get the full effect of it (which is basically impossible), I need to share something ELSE amazing that happened in July when Evelyn was about seven months old. I’ve never written here about it, but it’s time I do.

Last July we were at a balloon release for a local woman who had lost her daughter a little over halfway through her pregnancy four years ago. I did not know her well (although I know her better now), but I had talked to her a couple of times online and wanted to help her honor her sweet girl (BLMs stick together like that, you know). I think I had met her through the S.O.B.B.S. forum on FB, and she lived about a half hour away, so we were glad to go.

So there we were at her house for the first time, not really knowing anybody else there other than the host, and we weren’t even there for five minutes when we noticed a woman looking at us, transfixed. She slowly approached us, looked at Evelyn, and burst out, “Is she a twin?” with this look of complete shock on her face.

My heart was pounding. You can imagine. (Well, maybe you can). I was immediately thrust into the early days of our loss and that feeling of “Everyone knows!” Do you know what I mean? Those early days when you feel like you have a flashy neon sign announcing your dead baby to every cashier lady and every random stranger on the street? I hadn’t felt that self-conscious panicked neon sign-y feeling in months, thankfully, and there it was again! I thought, “How the hell does this lady know Evelyn is a twin??!?!?! Are we branded?! Do I have a freaking tattoo on my forehead that gives it away?!” I admit, I was very self-conscious, and I don’t know where that came from other than I was JUST SO CONFUSED! Who was this woman?! How did she know?! Do we look miserable?! Even so, how do our expressions and appearances translate to ‘lost one twin’ to outsiders?!?!! Are we the walking plague; are we so obvious?!?!! I had a few moments of crazy, but they were much quicker than I’m making them out to be here. Then, I realized, this woman was familiar. But why? Who was she, and where did I know her from?

She looked directly at me, put her hand up to her cheek in shock, and said, “I took your son’s photos.”

It was the kind, quiet, talented woman, D, from NILMDTS (Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, which is a volunteer organization of photographers who photograph stillborn babies and those with fatal diagnoses). She had been there on that day, the best day and worst day of our lives. A stranger with a camera in our most painful and private moments, to capture what we didn’t realize we would later be so grateful to her for having captured.

I was shocked. A different kind of shock. I didn’t know what to say or what to do or how to feel about this. Immediately, we hugged, and we were both crying. It was just so absolutely amazing to me that we were both brought together a half a year after our loss. And, well, she thought so, too. She said, “I never get to follow up with the families after I photograph their babies, ever. So this is just incredible for me to see you and talk to you.” She was very kind and respectful, and it was very moving to have a chance to talk to her and reflect on our experiences.

Once that initial shock wore off, I tried to piece together why she was here at this other BLM’s house, and so I assumed she had taken photos for her as well. But no. In fact, she knew the women through church. So it was a total “random” thing (or was it?) that we were both there that day and brought together in such a mysterious way.

Now, I am typically no longer the “everything happens for a reason” type of person, but I will say that running into her that way made me stop and think. It really didn’t seem or feel like a coincidence. And it gave me chills that stayed with me for some time..

She offered (more like insisted) to do a free photo shoot for Evelyn as a gift to our family, and I couldn’t resist the offer. I hadn’t had professional photos done for Evelyn since her newborn shoot (which was expensive, I’ll add), and to have this woman offer to do them for free was so generous, not to mention meaningful. There was something beautiful, something so poetic, about her having done Elias’s photos in the hospital and then having an opportunity seven months later to do an infant photo shoot for Evelyn. And, I must add, they turned out gorgeous, and I often get asked “Who did Evelyn’s summer photos?!”, and I love telling them the story of D and how we were reunited so unexpectedly.

Fast forward to December and the week of their birthday. I received packages in the mail that week, as I mentioned in my last post. One of those packages was from D. Inside was an adorable owl gift box, and inside that gift box were two adorable metal owl ornaments. They were hand-painted white owls with little scarves on them, and each had a name painted on it. One for each of my precious twins.

Next, inside the box, we found a chain. On the end of the chain was a black and white photograph of Elias’s precious adorable little feet. His name had been added to the photo, and it hung as a pendant on this chain. D had that made just for me (with a photo she had taken in the hospital). She enclosed a heartfelt message to me about how she knows I’d rather have him snuggling on my chest, but since I can’t, at least I can wear this necklace and keep Elias close to me.

I cried my eyes out, and my husband was equally touched, although he rarely cries. He said, “Only D could have given this to us. Only D could have given us such an incredible gift.” And he was right.

We both took a day off of work on the twins’ birthday. We had no set plan, and we weren’t sure what to do. In the morning while Evy was napping, we went through Elias’s memory box. I looked at every single card given to us when he had passed away and from his memorial service. I laid them out and took a photo of them, although I’m not sure why. My heart just felt so full of gratitude to all the people who had mourned the loss of our son with us.

I reflected on all the thoughts of those early days and how things seem a lot different now in my mind and in my heart. So many irrational thoughts had been put to rest that week of their birthday. Memories and flashbacks had come to me, and upset me, and then I talked about them to my husband and my therapist who both helped me to realize I had been harboring many feelings even one year later that either made no sense, were completely illogical, were irrational, and were simply unhealthy. When those things were realized it was a weight off of my chest, and that happened on the anniversary of the last time I had heard his heartbeat. That in itself was an amazing gift that I feel my son most definitely had a hand in.

I thought about how my life was enriched by having known him. I thought about how he was so much a part of me, is a part of me still, and will always be a part of me, and I smiled at that thought. I thought about the amazing support system I have found through other loss parents and how my son has brought me out of my little sheltered bubble and into a global community of people who daily amaze and inspire me with their writing, meditations, and art. I thought about how I am a better person for being my son’s mom, how my life has changed in more ways than I can ever articulate, how I live more fiercely, how I push life against the wall and get what I can from it instead of being a silent witness of others’ lives, how I don’t let my fears hold me back anymore, how I refuse to let my son’s legacy be sadness and darkness and misery. I want him to look down and see that we are survivors, that he has brought us so much more than pain and loss, that he has brought us immeasurable gifts that are endless. I thought about how he has taught me the true meaning of unconditional love, and how amazing that feels, even though it also hurts so much sometimes. My heart was just overflowing with thanks to my sweet boy, all the while missing him intensely and wishing he could be here with us.

My sister visited and gave Evelyn her first birthday presents, and we got an adorable shot of her with a big pink bow on her head (which we later used for her thank you cards), wearing a dress with butterflies on it of course. Evelyn loved her presents, and I was so grateful that her auntie was able to shower her with some lovin’ and pampering, as our focus that day was admittedly our son. She gave us a solar butterfly for our yard, and my aunt baked two smash cakes, which we ended up eating Elias’s while Evy smashed hers. (It’s what he would have wanted, right?)

We spent most of the day at home as a family, and that felt perfect. However, my parents stopped over, and deliberately at a time when Evelyn was down for a nap. It meant a lot to me that they did that, that they wanted to spend time with us apart from her, to take time to be with us and remember our son, their grandson. My mother gave me a card with a beautiful message in it, and she had written his name on the front (and it was a beach card, so his name was in the sand, so cute). She had bought a butterfly-shaped mirror from Pottery Barn Kids, which seemed the perfect tribute for the day, as I could hang it in Evelyn’s nursery but it would be in memory of Elias. And one day she will look in that mirror and see her reflection and perhaps feel his connection there.

The topic of his photos had never come up before really, and I didn’t know how to bring it up, but I managed to do so, telling my parents about D and how generous she had been sending gifts for our twins, and how talented a photographer she is, and then I changed the subject (I didn’t want my parents to feel pressured to view his photos with us). Well, my mom brought it back up, and so the four of us sat and viewed the disc from D of his photos as a slideshow on the TV. Everyone was silent, other than at one point, my mother said, “I’m so glad you have these, Lindsay.” And the best part was that she meant it. And that meant so much to me. After, we had a really nice discussion about how the culture of loss has changed (compared to the old days where they wouldn’t let you see the baby), and I talked to my parents about how inspiring this community is to me. It was a much-needed conversation and felt like we were really clearing the air of a lot of our unspoken thoughts on all sides; it was extremely refreshing. I felt like pieces of my shattered heart were glued back into place, some of them, and I could breathe with more ease.

We went to the park where there is a butterfly engraved in stone in our son’s honor (with his name by it), and we released a single baby blue balloon for him and said a prayer.

We went out to eat, the five of us, and we weren’t there five minutes but I felt arms around me, someone hugging me from behind. “Oh my God!” my husband exclaimed. I turned to see D standing there, arms extended, tears streaming down her face. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She had never been in this restaurant before; it was a last minute thing, and she had NO clue we were going to be there. But, of course, she knew what day it was. For her to be on the other side of town and at the exact same place at the exact same time as us one year to the day that she photographed our twins after one was born alive and one not?!?! It was all just too much to even process, and I’m still tossing that one around in my heart and mind, but I mean it when I say that it made our day. I introduced her to my parents, who had just seen her precious photos, and that warmed my heart, too.

It was like the missing piece to our having a perfect day had miraculously fallen into place, and it was a piece we hadn’t known was missing until we saw her.

D and I stood in the middle of Olive Garden, hugging and crying, while strangers ate soup and pasta and were ignorant of all that was transpiring in our hearts in that moment.

And yes, it made me stop, and think. It still makes me stop, and think, and wonder, and thank my son yet again for his endless gifts and lessons. I do not know how this world works, and that’s going to have to be okay.

A Birthday Party and a Facebook Event

My daughter’s birthday party was two days after her real birthday, which was also Elias’s birthday and angelversary. (Angelversary is just so much easier than saying one year since he died or death anniversary…I don’t really believe he’s literally an angel. I guess it’s metaphoric in a way.)

Her party was…exhausting. A bit robotic and “sterile” feeling, being in a community center (we didn’t have room in our home for the number of guests). I am not complaining; please know that. But oh my, it was difficult to go through the motions and not lose my mind. And I felt like people were looking at me waiting for me to freak out. Did I have fun? Of course. Do I realize how lucky I am to have been able to throw a birthday party? Of course. Yes, I’m grateful to have a living child out of my pregnancy, and I fully realize that I am blessed to have her, and that this anniversary would have been much more difficult without being a member of the “parents of living children” club. But on the other hand, it IS much more complicated to have a pregnancy end in both a loss and in a living child at the same time, and I can’t pretend that to not be the case. Celebrating their birthday was very complex, and it took me months to figure out what to do. Same day? Different day? If they were both alive, obviously I would celebrate their birthday together, but is it not so totally different to celebrate the first birthday of a living child than it is to honor the anniversary of your child’s entrance into heaven? Those are just two completely different things, and to try to blend them together did not feel very natural to me. So I was left unsure of how any of it would really turn out. I just had to move forward and start planning what I could.

I knew that I wanted to mentally step outside of the whole “babylossmama” mentality and just focus on my daughter as much as possible, and if you judge me for that, fine, whatever, but you have to understand that I did not want to rob her of any joy that day or rob myself of the celebration of finally having a living child to celebrate a birthday for. (I’ve had two losses, remember, and both traumatic in very different ways, so this has been a long road for me.) I didn’t want to stay glued to the couch and wish my life away. I didn’t want to spend the months and weeks leading up to my twins’ birthday feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to do (mostly) what I would have done had I been preparing for the first birthday party of a healthy singleton baby. Call that denial, call it a defense mechanism, call it crazy, call it whateverthehellyouwant, but I wanted to do all of those things I would have done had I NOT been a grieving mother. So I did.

I filled a scrapbook someone had given me at my baby shower, and I didn’t edit any of the pages. I remembered in the early days hating that scrapbook and thinking none of it would ever apply anymore after Elias died, but it was a gorgeous scrapbook that someone had put a lot of time and effort and care and love into, and it needed my addition of family photos. So I spent weeks putting the photos inside organized by theme: pregnancy, shower, birth stats (I included a photo of clay molds of Elias’s feet opposite of Evelyn’s photo), bringing Evy home (that part stung the most to put together), bath time, meal time, family time, etc. I also put together a weekly photo album of my daughter (I am a photo freak), which was something I had dreamed about doing even before I was ever pregnant. I had seen such a photo album at my niece’s first birthday party, and I had thought about how intensely I wanted an album like that for my own child someday. So it was very therapeutic to put that together and remember that even though my life has been filled with such pain, there were times when I wondered if I’d ever get to parent a living child, and I didn’t have to wonder or fear ever again because in my hand was an album documenting the weekly changes in my gorgeous daughter. These things I enjoyed doing, but I admit I also did them partly in defiance, resisting the urge to lay around and pity myself and get lost in my grief, thus missing out on the simple joys I would have had as a mother to a healthy singleton baby. Mostly it just felt great to put together these keepsake albums for my little girl. I was actually really proud of myself upon their completion. I haven't been proud of much of anything in a really long time. (Irrational guilt gets in the way, really.)

As for the invites to her party, I made sure her brother’s presence was incorporated into the design. A girly owl graced the invitation, and there was a blue butterfly flying on its own happy little journey. I cried when I found the invite on Etsy. It was just so incredibly perfect to represent my babies. That invite set the theme and tone for the whole party. I wanted it to be girly and chic, with coordinating decorations, and so “mod hippie owl girl” became the motif. However, many of the decorations also included butterflies. My absolute favorite part of the party in terms of remembering Elias was that I had made and ordered (online) plantable seed cards in the shape of a butterfly to hand out as a party favor in his memory. My husband agreed that as much as we wanted the party to be her special day, we also wanted to include Elias in a more obvious way, as the first anniversary of his passing was a very difficult milestone for us to approach and pass. I think in the future we will be okay with his presence being a quieter more subtle one, but for this first one we wanted it to be clear and not only honor him but also send a message to guests that we recognize him as our son. I got the impression that people were really touched by the favors. And honestly, their reaction wouldn’t have mattered to me in the end either way, because I did what I could to elbow space for my son in the world (as my friend Sarah would say), and that’s all I can do. Finally, we had Elias’s name in the sand (what you see at the top of my blog) on display, just in case people didn’t pick up on the butterfly symbolism. We also did a quick balloon release, but I don’t really want to talk about that. It was rushed, and I felt flustered, and I felt like I looked like “that crazy lady” trying to get people to participate, and I felt a little like I was going to stab someone with the pink plastic cake knives if people didn’t come outside, but whatever. I am judged in my grief, and I know that. But I have to be brave and grieve anyway and do what I feel to be right.

All in all, the day of Evelyn’s party was nothing in comparison to her actual birthday. (Their actual birthday.) I will have to save that for my next post. But I will say that I put together a Facebook event in the weeks prior called “Remembering Elias”, and I can’t tell you how good that felt to do. To have something “out there” just for him, just as her party was (at least mostly) focusing on her. That balance is so difficult to strike, and I like to think I’ve managed to do it pretty well. It was very healing for me to also “explain” to people what caused his loss, as we had never been able to do that. I know they aren’t owed an explanation; it was more for me than anything else (that part of it). It was my way of saying I wasn’t going to hide in shame anymore, that I was going to talk about it, that this was something completely rare and unexpected and quick, and I’m not going to succumb to pressures to keep it hushed. The Facebook event went really well. It was amazing how many people sent their support from all over the globe. Countless people made remembrance pictures in honor of Elias (which was a suggestion I had made on the event page, because I wanted to be able to add to his album on FB). I love having an album on FB just for Elias, one that I can add to, just as I add to my other albums regularly. I know this probably sounds silly, and I know it’s just FB, but for me that helps me “elbow space” for him. As I’m uploading “one year old!” photos of Evy, I can upload remembrance photos of him, and the sting lessens a tiny bit.

I received heartfelt notes all week long in honor of Elias. I received dozens and dozens of photos from people for his album. Every single one made me tear up – grateful tears that my son was being recognized, that he mattered, that he matters still, and that he will always matter. I received flowers – gorgeous flowers with butterflies sticking out of them – in honor of my twins from a woman I’ve never met in person but feel so connected to. She also lost her son from a boy girl twin pregnancy very close to term. I cried when I got those flowers, and I brought them to my daughter’s party. It’s not every day you get flowers sent to you from someone who lives in another country – that was so incredibly special to me. Another friend of mine in the U.K. attended a candlelight vigil and remembered Elias. Candles were lit globally for him. I received ornaments in the mail - five – in honor of Elias for our Christmas tree. How lovely to have these and to know that we will be hanging them every single year. The outpouring of artistic expression, of love, of grief, and of remembrance for Elias moved me and changed me in ways that I can’t quite articulate. It’s taken me over a month to even write about it here. More to come in Part Two…where I share their actual birthday with you.