Would "one more" be enough?

I often see quotes, images, pictures asking for one more day with a loved one...one more chance to say I love you...one more chance to hear their voice or kiss them goodbye. I appreciate these, but I know that for me, "one more" would never be enough.

If I had one more day with Henry, I wonder what we would do. I would want to snuggle the crap out of him, feed and burp him, even change a diaper. (Yes, I actually miss changing diapers!) But would I be happier staying at home snuggling him, keeping him to myself, or would I want to take him out and about and show him off? Would we go to the park, or the library, or Target? How could I ever pack all that I want to do with Henry into one day??

And what about Mom? I want to have one of our heart-to-heart chats in the sunroom...but would one day be enough to get her perspective on everything that's happened over the last two years? And to get input on what the coming years may bring? And then would we have time for one of her famous back tickles too?

Then there's Brady. It's hard to envision what I would want to do with Brady...all we had with Brady were hopes and dreams. Would one day be enough to get to know Brady a bit? To find out what his personality is like? Most likely not...

I guess my point (if I have one) is to treat each day as if it's your "one more." Do what you can to live out your hopes and dreams each day. We never know when our "one more" may be our last. But if we put all of ourselves into each day, at least when that last day comes we won't have any regrets. I don't regret any of the time I had with Henry. I know one more day wouldn't be enough, but at least I don't regret wasting the precious time we had.

The more things change...

As the old saying goes, the more things change the more things stay the same.  I feel a bit like that's the cycle I'm in now.  At the beginning of the summer, I felt anxious and worried...wondering how I was going to fill my minutes, my hours, and my days.  I wasn't sure how to simply "be," and I worried that memories of what I was doing last summer would haunt me and make me sad.  However, I feel as though I've done pretty well this summer.  It took a few days to feel comfortable in my summer freedom, but then I settled in.  I've gotten some projects done, gotten some things organized for the new school year, read some books, and watched (a rather embarrassing number of) some TV shows.  Of course, I often thought of Henry, and what we were doing together last summer (which consisted mainly of snuggling, napping, and watching TV.)  But I found myself able to reminisce and be productive and enjoy my time all at the same time.

Now, as summer winds down, I again find myself anxious and worried...wondering how I am going to be able to be a productive employee, how I am going to fill those minutes, hours, and days of the work week, how I am going to function socially on a daily basis.  And now, the memories of Henry seem to be crowding in more, taking more of my attention.  For instance, on this day last year I dropped Henry off for a trial run at daycare.  I remember dropping him off at Carrie's, driving away (without crying, even!) and going to school for a few hours.  I remember that I got a few things done, but that the whole morning I was looking forward to picking Henry up.  It's not just the memories of Henry that crowd my thoughts, but also the wonderings and what-ifs.  What if Henry were here now?  How would I be feeling about the end of summer?  Would I be ready to get back to a routine?  Would I be exhausted from keeping up with a 1-year-old all summer?  Or would I be dreading giving up that time with Henry?  I think about the things we had planned for this summer...trips to the zoo and the park, visiting splash pads, stopping by Daddy's office and the library...and then I dread the, "How was your summer?" conversation that dominates the first few days back to school.  I had a good summer, but it wasn't the summer I dreamed of.  I also try to picture how I would get into a routine of getting myself and a 1-year-old ready for the day.  We had it down with an infant last year, and I try to picture how it would look now.

It's so strange to me the path this last year has taken.  And that although I've returned to work since losing Henry I still dread the beginning of the year.  Once again, it's just so different than what I pictured at the beginning of last year.  It's strange that Henry will always be an infant.  We can ponder what he would be up to, what he would look like, and what his personality would be, but we will never know.  Thankfully, infant Henry was such a sweetheart, and is such a joy to remember!  And this year, as I reluctantly return to the world of a working adult, I have his pictures on my computer, on my desk, in my window, even on my file cabinet.  Hopefully his sweet smile will help me to smile through the good days as well as the tough days.

Funk

I've been in a bit of a funk the last few days. I'm not entirely sure why...probably a combination of things. Summer is winding down quickly, and like every year, I have so much more I want to get done than time in which to do it. My stack of books to read is still towering, my list on Netflix is long, and I have projects pinned that I haven't even started. Then I worry about the start of school for other reasons as well...will I be able to be fully "present" in my work as I get started this year? How will I go about interacting with staff and students who didn't know me last year and didn't know Henry? It's another beginning that is completely different than I expected less than a year ago. And will the ones who did know be tired of hearing my story?

Then today is the 2nd anniversary of what was supposed to be Brady's due date.  I remember this day two years ago, and how sad and devastated I felt.  I remember receiving some formula samples in the mail that day, and cursing the company for not somehow just knowing that we had lost the baby we were so excited to meet. I remember this day last year, and taking Henry to the cemetery to visit his older brother. Sometimes it still blows my mind to think of all that has happened in just a couple years' time. Last year, visiting Brady was still hard, but having Henry made it more bearable.  I knew that if we hadn't lost Brady, we wouldn't have had Henry. The timing just would not have made sense. (Having Brady in July, I highly doubt we would have been pregnant again in mid-August with Henry!) So although I missed Brady, I couldn't exactly wish that he were here...I could wish we hadn't lost him, but I also had to thank him for showing us what we needed to know to get Henry here safely.

Time shows us things...I can now understand some of the reasons for losing Brady, as that brought us Henry. I don't yet understand Henry's loss, or any of the reasons for that. I miss my boys fiercely every day, and being in a "funk" makes the wounds on my heart a bit more raw. I will try to enjoy my remaining days of "freedom," knowing that my boys wouldn't want me to always feel sad. I will continue to take care of myself, enjoy my present and hope for our future.

(I took this picture on Brady's due date. The gown is one that is donated by a lady who makes them out of wedding dresses. That was just one of the items in the memory box put together by the hospital. We treasure that memory box...it has his hand and foot molds and prints, booties, a blanket, a preemie diaper which actually would have been gigantic on him, and other physical things to help us remember Brady. We were able to donate $1000 to the foundation that funds the memory boxes, and now parents who get one have a tag inside that says "Donated in memory of Brady Leland Seretta.")

Missing this smile...

It's funny what time does to us. It turns open wounds into scars, fills holes, grows things... This happens with grief too. The gaping wound left when Henry died will never fully heal, but it does soften over time. I will miss Henry every day of my life, but the raw pain has started to soften into a dull ache. Of course, there are days when that pain flares up, but that's to be expected.

Some days I see pictures of Henry, and it almost seems like he was a dream...and other days the pictures seem so real that I could almost reach in and scoop him up. And some days, it's a strange combination of both. But seeing his smile never fails to put a smile on my face...how could it not?! I miss this little booger and his sweet smile, and am so grateful to have pictures like these to look back on. ❤️

Missing pieces

Today I'm feel like I'm missing a couple extra pieces. It's my mom's birthday...she would have been 72 today (and now I'll wait to get struck by lightning for divulging that little fact!) I miss my mom every day, but there are some times the hole seems a bit deeper, like today.

Mom, although she certainly had her issues, had a knack for knowing just what to say...giving you just what you needed at a given moment. She never wanted to bother, going so far as to have Dad text me to ask me to call Mom when I had a chance. But she would be there when I needed her, whether that was volunteering in the library every week, helping me move, hanging pictures in my apartment, setting up a new classroom, or making a middle of the night run to Omaha when we learned Brady was going to be born. I miss her quiet reassurance when I'm having a bit of a rough day, I miss her laugh when something got her going, and I even miss her gum-smacking (or at least the laughs we got from it.) I miss her reaching back for my hand when we were driving somewhere, her back tickles, and just sitting in the sunroom and chatting.

When Mom died, I felt so sad that she wouldn't know Henry. Little did I know that before too long she would have Brady AND Henry to look after! Henry was a lucky little boy...he had loving grandparents here on earth, and went to Heaven with his Nana waiting for him. So until we are all one day reunited, I like to picture Mom laughing at the antics of her grandsons, and sneaking them some of her birthday cake. 

(Henry wore this onesie on Mom's birthday last year, and it was actually a onesie we bought for Brady... Henry sure did love his nana, and his Grandma and Grandpa too! What a loved little boy he was.)

Quiet time

I've been kind of quiet on here lately. It's been a busy couple weeks, which even when I'm at my best is exhausting! I've always been a person who values quiet alone time. Now, that's not to say I don't enjoy doing things with other people-because I do! I just like to have little breaks here and there. Even as a kid I remember wanting quiet time in my room or with a book every now and then.

Now, as one who is "bereaved," it's even more exhausting. I do feel more like myself every day, but I still feel like I am putting on my happy face when I go out into the world. (And the world is defined as anything beyond my house.) This is not due to anything or anyone, it's just how it is for the time being.

Today I got a much looked-forward to break. I didn't get dressed beyond gym shorts, didn't do my hair, and spent most of my day on the couch with the pups (who, by the way, didn't mind that plan at all...see the picture below!) I did run to the store to get a few things, but then returned to my perch on the couch. I feel a bit refreshed and somewhat reenergized.

That is one of the lessons I've learned through the beginnings of this journey...to be kind to myself! Today I could have tried to catch up on things around the house, done some things to prepare for the upcoming school year, or just worked on my to do list. But I knew that I needed some time to recharge, and so that's what I gave myself. I don't always have the opportunity for a lazy day, so I'll have to take it when I can get it!

Happy Birthday Tim!!

Today I want to wish a very happy birthday to Tim! I'm sure for him it will be another one of those bittersweet days...a day that not that long ago he imagined so differently. Yet Tim, being the man he is, will make the best of it. Tim's optimism, love, and caring spirit help so many people every day, me included.

I truly could not have picked a better daddy for my boys. Tim is the epitome of what a dad should be. He puts his children first, even before they are born! He takes care of their mama too, so that she can be the best mama she can. Tim makes time for his kids and family the number one priority.

It's true what they say...I loved Tim before we had kids, but that love grew tremendously once I saw him as a father. Tim, I hope you can feel the love today, as we celebrate YOU!

My first test

I had my first “test” tonight for answering the dreaded question.  I am traveling back to Omaha from a visit to my aunt and uncle’s in Virginia.  My flight connected through Chicago (Midway, not O’Hare, thank goodness!) and once I landed I got some dinner and found a comfy spot to hang out and charge my phone.  While I was sitting there, two young girls were wandering back and forth by my chair.  One of the little girls stopped and peeked at my iPad, which of course has a picture of Henry on it.  Her mom apologized for the little girl bothering me, and I replied that it was no bother.  She asked if I had a baby, having seen the picture of Henry.  I answered honestly, and told her that he passed away in November from cancer, and then held the iPad up so she could see.  She told me how sorry she was to hear that, but smiled as she saw Henry and said what a beautiful baby he was.  And as she and her family headed off to their next destination, she gave me another smile.

It was nice to be able to share Henry, even with a stranger.  And it wasn’t nearly as awkward or as uncomfortable as I sometimes build it up to be.  Of course, every interaction will be different.  I think that’s what I’m trying to “train” myself for…to be comfortable sharing my boys without expectation of any given reaction.  And tonight I did just that.

Here is the picture that is on my iPad, that caught the attention of this little girl and her kind mama.  Thank you to these strangers who took a moment to share Henry!

Allowing Grief

In my Internet perusings lately,  I came upon this question.  "What if you just allowed grief to do it's very important work in your heart, body, and soul, without trying to hide from it or interfere?" (http://stillstandingmag.com/2015/07/giving-grief/)  It's a scary proposition...to allow grief in, to give in to the feelings, not to hide.  Initially it seems that it would be so much easier to hide and to go on with life as if everything were normal.  Eventually, however, the grief will catch up and you will have no choice but to give in to it.

I avoided grief when we lost Brady.  Tim and I took our 5 days of bereavement, holed up in the house together, and then went back to "normal" life the next week.  Brady's loss was an uncomfortable topic for people, and Tim and I were the only people to even see Brady, so I didn't feel like it was something I could discuss.  I used that spring and summer to "party" my grief away, as though having fun could erase the sadness and feeling of loss.  And then, the end of that summer brought news of Henry's coming arrival.

I managed to avoid grief to a large extent when I lost my mom a few months later.  Sure, I took a few days to be with her as she neared the end, and I had my 5 days of bereavement to spend with my family.  Toward the end of that week, we found out that Henry was Henry (that he was a boy), and that seemed to refocus my attention to my pregnancy and preparations for our baby.  And then, a couple months later I was put on bedrest which completed the shift from grief to anticipation.

I didn't actually manage to avoid my grief in these circumstances...rather I redirected it, postponed it.  It wasn't until Henry died that I really faced any of these feelings.  And then, instead of dealing with one tragic loss, I was trying to deal with THREE.  Finally, I stopped hiding (from my feelings, anyway).  I cried.  I leaned on family and friends.  I took time off from work to allow myself to work through the beginnings of this journey (even though I really didn't have any time to take.)  And even when I did go back to work, or slowly started to re-enter my life, I did so slowly.  I talked, I shared, I was open to my grief.

I'm not healed, and I won't ever be.  But I am trying to allow my grief to do what it needs to do.  I am trying not to hide from my feelings.  I am trying to be patient with myself.  I am a changed person, and I have accepted that.  It's not always easy...some days still crush my spirit.  But some days I feel like a real human being, and I don't feel guilty about it!  Grieving is an active process, and I am actively working my way through each day as it comes.

The dreaded question...

I may have addressed this topic before, but it's been weighing on my mind lately as the start of the school year looms closer. It's that question that bereaved parents dread..."So do you have any children?" It seems like a pretty innocent question, and to most it is. But to a bereaved parent it can be a very uncomfortable one.

After Brady's loss, I often just answered the question with a simple, "No." The few times I answered honestly I was met with an awkward silence, and people not knowing what to say. So it was easier to just say no. But then I'd feel like I wasn't honoring Brady and his short but meaningful presence in my life. It was a constant struggle between wanting to honor him and wanting to avoid awkward conversations.

It's not that I don't understand people's reactions. Back in my "before" days, I would've reacted the same way to such a statement. I would have quickly changed the subject to avoid such an unpleasant and painful subject. I would have projected an uncomfortable and awkward silence myself, not knowing what to say or do. 

Now, however, in my "after" days, I realize that often these parents want to talk about their missing babies. They want to speak their name, and share a memory or two. I have decided that for myself, it is more important to honor my boys. That doesn't mean that this innocent question won't still lead to an awkward silence and quick change of subject. And when it does, that's okay. I'm not offended...I understand. Nor am I offended or hurt if someone asks about my boys. But I want to honor their memory, and so my answer to the "dreaded question" will be, "Yes. I have two boys in Heaven."

A Smile for Today

This video popped up in one of my social media histories recently, so I thought I'd share it with my fellow Henry fans.  I've said it so many times...Henry was such a happy baby.  He almost never fussed, though he would get mad if he was extra hungry or tired (thus teaching Mom and Dad a lesson that we shouldn't push the limits on these!)  Even as he got sick with what we thought was a nasty cold, he really didn't fuss.  We could tell he didn't feel well, but he sure didn't complain about it.

This video shows Henry's happy, laid back personality.  This is what we did many days, hung out on the couch; Henry babbling away and me just gazing in wonder at this tiny person that we created.  I very much miss that, and I am so incredibly thankful that we have videos like this one to keep those memories fresh and clear.

So today, I hope this video brings a smile to your face just as it does mine! :)

Patience

Today is a hard day. Holidays tend to be that way. The missing pieces are more glaringly obvious on a holiday. Plus I've gotten somewhat adjusted to living day to day with pieces missing, but I haven't had as many holidays to be able to adjust. 

I've been in a funk, having a hard time being present, and kind of wanting to just hang out in my room with the lights off. Which, to be honest, is what I'm doing right now. 

I have to be patient with myself, and allow myself to have days like this. I am working so hard to be positive, find the good in every day, be present, and enjoy life. And I'm doing a pretty darn good job, I think. But that doesn't mean that days like this won't come along, where I struggle more and feel worse. That's ok, that's to be expected, and that doesn't mean I'm not still healing, not still making progress. It means I'm still grieving, and that I will continue to grieve for probably the rest of my life. Grieving will evolve and change, and it won't always be quite so freshly painful, but it will be there. However, I know I've made progress, since as I sit here I know that I will probably feel better tomorrow. And I know that hard days will continue to come, and I know that I will continue to make it through. The dark days are a bit less dark, and the light days are much brighter. 

After all, as the saying goes, "Grief never ends...but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith...It is the price of love."

Holidays

The 4th of July has never exactly been my favorite holiday.  One of my phobias is fire, so you can imagine that fireworks aren't exactly something I love.  (I love them from a distance...setting them off on my own is a different story!)  I don't really like loud noises and big booms.  I can remember hiding under my mom's lawn chair as we watched people set off fireworks in the street.  And I've always felt like I'm supposed to do something big...have some sort of big celebration...and that pressure I put on myself is a bit stressful!

Since meeting Tim, the 4th of July has been a bit more bearable.  Tim loves fire, big booms and loud noises.  Seeing the joy on his face as he lights off fireworks makes my holiday more enjoyable.  Plus I have someone to spend the holiday with, and I feel like that's enough whether we do something or not.  And, of course, last year, we had our own perfect little "firecracker."  Just like everything else, Henry loved the 4th of July.  He loved that he got to hang out with Mommy and Daddy, Grandma, and aunts and uncles.  He loved doing the Ralston fun run/walk with us.  He had it easy, riding along in the stroller as we huffed and puffed up the huge neighborhood hills!  And he liked watching the fireworks around the neighborhood - the noise didn't bother him a bit.  (He was asleep well before the big show, so Tim and I watched what we could see from our backyard.)

This year, of course, the 4th of July is different once again.  We don't have to worry that the neighborhood fireworks will keep a baby awake.  Instead, we worry about our already anxious dog, and how the noise will affect him.  (As I write this, that anxious dog is burrowed under a blanket on my lap.)  I miss having Henry around.  It's not always a holiday that brings back stronger memories, but today that is the case.  This 4th of July, there's a big piece missing from our holiday...I miss that little firecracker <3

Before and After

Some events in our lives divide our life into before and after. These events can be happy or sad, tragic or exciting, but they change us in some way. We can never return to the person we were before once such an event happens.

Henry's diagnosis with leukemia and his death was such an event in my life. I'd known tragedy and sadness before his diagnosis...losing Brady, losing my mom. I'd known happiness and joy...graduating college, starting a career, getting married. Even though before Henry's diagnosis I truly believed we had survived the worst, I was still a bit of a pessimist. I tended to see more negative in situations than the positive.

Before losing Henry, I was happy. I thought life had finally settled into a groove for our little family. I still, however, got easily annoyed at insignificant things. And I felt that maybe I was "owed" happiness by the universe. I thought it was our turn for good things, and when things weren't good I felt we were getting cheated.

Ironically enough, I think I've become a much more optimistic and positive person since Henry's diagnosis and death. Part of this may be a survival tactic. If I focused only on the sadness and the emptiness, I wouldn't get out of bed in the morning. I no longer believe that we've been through the worst thing that could happen. I believe we've been through some terrible times, but it can always get worse. I could be on my own going through this, or have an absent or distant husband. My family could leave me on my own to heal. My coworkers could roll their eyes every time I mention Henry's name. I no longer feel that I'm "owed" happiness, but rather I am working on making my own happiness. I am learning the art of meditation and visualization. I keep a gratitude journal and add to it daily. I do things I enjoy, like reading, binge-watching series on Netflix, craft projects. Although at first I had to force myself to do these things and they brought little joy, I now find myself actually enjoying them again.

I am a changed person and I can't go back to who I was before losing Henry. But I can't dwell in the past, and I can't foretell what the future holds. However, I am responsible for my own present. So with the support of my husband, family, friends and community, and the work I'm putting in, I am enjoying my present and holding hope for my future. And, perhaps, I'm even becoming a bit of a better version of the self I was before.