525,600 minutes

It's been 525,600 minutes since you left us. 365 days of mourning, coping, grieving, loving, missing and living.

I can't understand how a year could have past while the pain can still feel so fresh. I can't imagine how I managed to make it through 365 days without your advice, support, love and company. But mostly, I can't imagine how many years there are yet to come without you.

I spent this first year trying to get through it. And now that we're on the other side, I'm left with the realization that I have many, many more years yet to come. That is a daunting realization. How do I learn to be a Mother without one? How do I learn how to be myself without your guidance? How do I decide if the cough is bad enough for a call to the pediatrician? How do I redecorate my apartment without your advice on where the couch should go?

I miss you so much, Mommy. I miss your smile, your enthusiasm, your sense of adventure. I miss your reassurance. Your sense of just knowing. Mostly though, I miss your friendship. Your calls to just say hello and see how the boys where doing. The daily "How did he sleep last night?" or the "those shoes just went on sale...". The plans to have dinner after work or to take an adventure to Petra. I just miss you.

And after spending 365 days focused on getting through the first 365 days, I'm now faced with this bitter reality that there are endless days yet to come. But I am strong and I am brave. And now matter how difficult the day may be, I move forward. I am living. And for that I am proud, and I know that you are too.

I love you, Mommy.

The Toughest Week.

I'm wishing that I could just pretend that this week doesn't exist. That I could hibernate somewhere in a sedated state where I don't need to think, feel or pretend that everything is ok. I wish I could just disappear and come back next Monday. Come back as myself. The me before cancer.

Shallow wishes, I suppose. But I can't help but wish them anyway. 

This will be the toughest week. I know this, because it already is. 

Channeling deep breathes and my bravest face. 

I will be ok, even if it isn't the ok that I want to be.

Are You OK?

When things got really hard; I stopped writing. Mostly because I didn't have anything positive to say. And saying negative things just feels like your attention (or sympathy) seeking or just generally being a downer. And though the truth is that my life is full of wonderful things worthy of deep gratitude, it also really, really sucks sometimes.

Grief is the worst feeling that I've ever encountered. It's unlike anything I've ever know; gut-wrenching, agonizing pain and sadness muddled with anger, helplessness, resentment, sorrow and uncertainty. Everything that you've ever known suddenly doesn't make sense. The faith that I'd always innately had isn't there anymore. It comes in waves and without warning. Grief is paralyzing. Next in line after grief is loneliness. Another empty, painful feeling that can knock you immediately off balance. Being surrounded by people while feeling completely alone is horrible. Empty. Watching everyone else's life move on while yours is still shattered in a million pieces on the floor. Spending all of your energy walking through life with a smile on your face, trying to be some fraction of the person you once knew... Life is lonely, because it is no longer yours. Life becomes about making everyone else feel better, to let them all believe that you're OK.It's lonely because no one ever asks.

Once in a while I'd get an "Are you Ok?" thrown my way. I hate that phrase. It forces a halfhearted "yeah; fine." to make someone else feel like they've done their duty. It's an out to asking the real question, which is "how are you?" With time you learn to cope. And you learn to deeply appreciate the people who aren't too afraid to ask the ladder question. You learn how to move forward, even when you don't want to. You learn that you are strong. And enough.

I am stronger than I ever imagined. And I am OK, regardless of how I feel in a given moment. I am OK and I no longer doubt that I will be OK.

I say this now, because I think I've lived through the worst of it. I am absolutely still grieving, but I've learned to cope. I have a handful of incredible, brave family and friends who have consistently been willing to ask me, to cry with me, to listen and to just be with me. They have helped carry the weight of this for me. They are forever written into my story and I am forever grateful for their support.

But what I want to say is if you know someone who is grieving. Someone who is hurting for any reason, stop being so afraid to ask them. Yes, it's painful to hear our loved ones hurt. But they are hurting either way. Be strong enough to bare some of their weight, even if only for a few minutes. Don't ask then if they are ok. Ask them what you actually mean; ask how they are. Ask how they are coping. Realize that they have to be brave every day. Let that encourage you to be brave, too. 

I have drafted many posts about these feelings of loneliness, but it never felt right to post. It seemed like the most desperate attempt at soliciting attention. The reason that I've decided to post it this time because I know now that I am OK. But I hope that this will benefit someone else who is hurting. Or better yet, that it will make all of us take a moment to consider our intentions when planning our actions so that what we say is what we mean. Be brave, friends. It's worth it.

My Nan

Today I am headed to London with my Sister, my Aunt, my Cousin and our Nan to celebrate my Nan's 80th Birthday. I am deeply, deeply grateful for my Nan. She is fearless and inspires me often, but more than that, she is the closest thing I have to my Mom. For that, she is a treasure.

I am so glad to be able to celebrate her birthday with her, even if it's a more somber celebration than most.

Happy Birthday, Wellsy

Happy Birthday, my Sweet Wellsy Boy!

This past year has been a difficult one, there's no secret there. But it's my hope that you always know how important you were and are. You were the light that gave hope to the darkest of days. You brought peace and joy to everyone, even when there was nothing but uncertainty and angst. You have brought more love into our crowded apartment than I thought was possible. You remind me regularly that this World is still capable of goodness. You have given me purpose... and faith.

Watching you this past year, has been a joy. From your first smiles, to your first steps. You amaze me with your fearlessness and your endless giggles. And watching Jack become a big brother has been equally amazing. He is so proud and confident, loving and gentle. It's wonderful to see all that you are both becoming! I know first hand the joys of being a sibling. I hope that you and Jack continue to love each other, care for one another and challenge each other to be better. I am so proud of both of you!

I have so many wishes for you. But above all, I wish that anytime you doubt yourself you remember all of the love that lives inside of you. Your spirit is capable of anything. Be brave, my love, after all, life is an adventure.

Happy 1st Birthday, Wells Thomas.

A year ago

I was in the hospital, breathing through contractions, waiting to meet my sweet little babe.

This was taken as we were walking out the door to go to the hospital, where I was going to be induced. Despite my desires for an un-medicated birthing center delivery, my water was leaking and I needed to be induced 3 weeks early. Ready or not, my little one was on his way! 

I could have killed Nick for sneaking this pic during a contraction! 

Here I was, about 6 hours into my labor, sitting on a birthing ball & breathing deep. 

Wells Thomas came into the World about 3 hours later :)

I have to be honest, as I rocked Wellsy to sleep tonight, I cried. I cannot believe that he is already 1. 

I'm not ready.

I want to keep him teeny forever - well, not forever, but for a bit longer.

A year ago, my Mom sat in a chair beside my bed and cheered me on. She wasn't sure that she could stay awake into the night, but she did. And at 1:00am, when it was time to push, she got up out of her chair and held my hand as I delivered Wells. 

She held him before I did.

In that moment, she looked more alive than she had in months. She was elated. 

Life was the one thing that could make us all forget about Cancer.

Tonight I am so grateful for my healthy, happy baby boy.

I am grateful that we get to see his 1st birthday, even though I think it went too fast.

But above all, I am so grateful that my Mom held my hand and her sweet grand baby.

Tough Few Months.

I've been quiet for a while. It's been a tough few months and frankly, it's been difficult to find something positive to say.

This summer was filled with memories of a year ago.
When you told me that you were going to die, we cried at the thought of only 4 more precious years. Years. Ugh...
The plans we made when we thought that you wouldn't live to see your newest Grandson...
We took our last family vacation and savored a weekend together...
I turned 30, knowing it would be my last birthday with you.

These months have been unbearably difficult, and I'm certain that these next months will be no easier.

It's hard to feel so sad and lost, and so completely alone, when everyone around me seems to be living their lives. Moving on. Time hasn't stopped for everyone else, even though it feels like it should have.

Last week, on a particularly difficult day, I found Bethany's blog. It inspired me to find words and to keep writing. It reminded me that writing about my saddness isn't a cry for attention, it's real. It reminded me that gratitude and grief don't have to be mutually exclusive. Writing makes me feel less alone, and that is reason enough to do keep doing it. Thank you, Bethany.

So, here's to the future.