What I Learned From A Year of Grieving Hopefully...

Joy

Sorrow

Happiness

Sadness

Grief

Hope

This has been my life.

This has been Ed's life.

This has described our marriage.

And this shall be our future.

Today was the last day of April.  On our refrigerator, the photo calendar I lovingly make for Father's day every year is filled with "this time last year" photos each month.  As I turn the calendar to May tomorrow morning, there will no longer be "this time last year" photos of Gavin.  Sure, we will always include photos of Gavin in our calendar - that's a given.  But from this moment on, they will be considered "old photos."  The reality of that is heartbreaking to me.

But today, Hope turned five months.  

And there was much to celebrate... milestones to document... photos to take.  The joy we feel having this little girl in the house is insurmountable.  The joy we feel watching Brian revel in his job as big brother is beyond measure.

As I was growing up - and well into my twenties, everything happened TO me.  Someone was bad... something was wrong... and I was the victim.  There was nothing to be learned except I was wronged and people suck and you have to learn to "accept" what happened "TO" you.

Something shifted the night Gavin died.  It was like a parallel universe opened up and handed me the answers I had personally been seeking for so long.  

We are all individuals on our own personal journeys on this Earth.  I said in my eulogy to Gavin that "we all come from this magical, unknown place full of wisdom and knowing.  We arrive here with everything we need to know and a clear purpose set out for our lives.  I like to believe that ALL of our souls sat with God before we arrived here on Earth and together with Him created our life's blueprint.  We chose what lessons we needed to learn, what message we wanted to deliver and what our mission should be.  Because I believe that, I have a different way of looking at my children.  I am able to see them as my greatest teachers."

I have felt this way for some time - but then Gavin died and it meant more to me than ever.  What if we chose the plan for our life?  What if we chose the pain... the sorrow... the joy and the happiness?  What if all of it was part of our own, personal journey?  Your child dying is one of the worst possible things you can go through - that is the truth.  But Gavin's death was part of his journey.  It happened to him.  Our journey as those he left behind is learning how to move on without him... bringing all we learned from him with us.  

It's hard to believe that in one year's time we lost a child and gained a child.  Everything surrounding Hope's very existence is, to us, a miracle.  Ed and I both feel like she's been in our lives forever - yet we also can't believe it's been five months since she was born.  

One important lesson I learned from Gavin is to let my children show me who they are - and what they can do.  I no longer check charts or worry about timelines.  Hope will do what she'll do when she's ready, as far as I'm concerned.  I write down each little thing she does just so I have it recorded for her one day.

One thing I never want her to forget is her incredible bond with her Daddy.  She is truly "Daddy's little girl."  She will smile for me all day long - and I'll even get an occasional giggle.  But the second Daddy walks in the door, I am toast.  He gets belly laughs and snuggles and huge grins.  It's so beautiful to watch their relationship develop right in front of my eyes.

And Brian.  He is so in love with his sister. I often find him quietly talking to her or playing with her toys to entertain her... stroking her head or singing to her.  I think they will always have a special bond.

And me?  I feel so lucky to have another child.  I know I will learn so much from this little girl who came to us bearing the gift of hope during the darkest time in our life.  Clearly she is here for a purpose - like we all are.  I will be a willing student as she grows.

I think the greatest legacy we can leave for Brian and Hope is showing them that we can grieve hopefully.  That sorrow doesn't have to bury us.  That we can survive with grace.

This opened up a whole new way of thinking for me.  In some strange way, Gavin's death helped me to heal my past.  I was able to remove my attachment to people who "wronged" me and see that they were on their own journey.  Yes, I walked with them on their path for a while - but then I got off and got back on my own.  My path stayed crooked and broken and overgrown with weeds and twisted vines.  But that was because I had brought a piece of them onto my path - and they didn't belong there.  

Our life journeys are our own to take.

Perhaps you had a rough childhood with dysfunctional parents.  Maybe you had an abusive ex-spouse and you still feel the scars.  You might have a difficult time with a child and everything seems to be spinning out of control.  I promise you - if you take a step back and see that they are on their own journey, learning their own lessons - and that this is not your "stuff" - it will free you.  Everyone is on their own mission... on their own path... and will do everything in their own time according to their own, personal plan.  What you choose to do - and how you choose to react to their journey - will be life defining.

Gavin's death - given my history of wanting to give up or drink things away or swallow all of my emotion - should have wrecked me.  

Instead, I have chosen to celebrate the gift of his life.  This child came here with wisdom and knowing - with a clear mission.  And he nailed it.  We can all learn a lesson from him.

"In order to complete our amazing life journey successfully, it is vital that we turn each and every dark tear into a pearl of wisdom, and find the blessing in every curse."

--Anthon St. Maarten, Divine Living:  The Essential Guide To Your True Destiny

These are the lessons I've learned from my year of grieving hopefully.

He Can't Be Put Away...

Yesterday was a rough day.  I have been on a roll lately getting things organized around the house...something that makes me very happy.  But the one thing that threw me yesterday was deciding to put some of Gavin's clothes "away."  His closet and dresser are still filled with the clothes he was wearing for the Spring season.  But in the spare room I had all the clothes he had grown out of or was going to be wearing this Summer.  Every day they stared at me.  Mocked me, even.  Typically, I would either give away or sell the outgrown items in a consignment sale I participate in twice a year.  But I won't be doing that this time.  At least not yet.

With Brian safely in the playroom watching a "Veggie Tales" movie, I kneeled on the guest room floor - soon to be Hope's nursery - and I slowly and painstakingly placed each item in a plastic bin.  With each article of clothing, I hoped for a memory to flash through my mind of a happy time.  Instead, I got flashes of the last days.

The second he stopped breathing in the emergency room.

The crowd of people around him and on top of him trying to bring him back.

The jerking of his tiny body when he started seizing.

Saying goodbye...only to soon have hope once again.

Watching his eyes travel in different directions that night and just knowing...he was gone.

Watching his skinny body swell with fluid.

Knowing we would soon say goodbye.

In the hospital on those long days and nights, I actually flashed forward to the day I would start "putting Gavin away" at home.  It seemed inconceivable.  Wrong.  A betrayal.  I left a tear on every piece of adorable clothing as I put it in the bin.

But the truth is, Gavin can't be put away.  He is in every corner of our home.  His spirit invaded our bodies from day one.  His room is now Brian's room - whether it's temporary or permanent is up to Brian.  The truth is, I would have put these clothes away or sold them or given them away if Gavin were still alive.  But typically I look forward to buying new things to replace the old - and there will be no new clothes for Gavin.

I kept it all to myself when Ed got home from work.  We had dinner, did our nightly bedtime ritual with Brian and then went our own ways.  A little while later, I got an email from Ed about a 4th of July sale at Pottery Barn Kids that started that day.  I'm not much of a shopper so I typically ignore these sale emails because I don't want to buy anything.  But for some reason, I clicked onto the website.  And that's when I saw this...

I knew it was Hope's.  And it really felt like Gavin had a part in choosing it.  Everything about it was perfect.  The trees are just like the big trees in Gavin's bedroom.  The big owl and the little owl - like Brian and Hope - with a butterfly flying over them.  I showed Ed and he wholeheartedly agreed.  We had to get it.  (The best part is - Ed had a $200 Pottery Barn Kids gift card that he won so we got this so, so cheap!)  

Then this evening, the three of us went to the Carter's store.  What I wanted to do was exchange a brand new pair of sandals that Gavin never had the chance to wear and choose a new pair for Brian to replace them.  As I was choosing the new sandals with Brian, Ed wandered away.

I walked through the store and froze in my tracks when I saw where he was.  The newborn baby girl section.  As I got closer, he turned to me with a sweet terry sleeper in his hands and a tear in his eye.  

It is really just amazing - improbable - that anyone could find beautiful and hopeful moments after the loss of a child.  But we have been so blessed with Hope... and hope... in more ways than one. 

But you know, it's more than this baby.  We refuse to give up hope.  We refuse to give up joy.  We refuse to give up love... and laughter... and happiness.  Is that easy?  Not always.  But doing anything else would be a disservice to Gavin, who found joy and laughter and happiness in his every day.  Through each painful moment, we remember and honor him by holding onto hope.

Gavin will always be in this home.  He can't be put away.