Shaped by Grief

Three weeks ago today, a glorious and gorgeous light was taken from this world entirely too soon. This young man was really just starting his life and those of us who loved him like our own, were shocked and devasted by his sudden and unexpected death. It was an honor to watch him grow from a little boy through his tweens and teens and finally into a young man starting to make his mark on the world. As a part of our circle, he had more "mamas" than he knew what to do with, but there were a few of us who were fortunate to spend more time with him and felt even more of a maternal draw towards him. After news of his death, a group of us "mamas" came together as we processed and grieved and cried and raged and tried to wrap our heads around this enormous and shocking void. Unbelievably, five days (five days!) later, one of these dear "mamas" also lost her son. When I say unbelievably, I mean that in the very fullness of that word. My dear friend lost her beautiful son, Luke, suddenly and unexpectedly. Luke was such an amazing young man, also just starting out into adulthood. He loved so fully and completely. His light so bright others could find their way out of the darkness. And it is utterly unbelievable. When I heard about Luke, I rushed to my friend's home and wrapped her in my arms, trying to take away the tragic reality. She asked me if it ever gets better, and I said, "I'm not going to lie to you, it doesn't get better, but you will find a way." In my experience, you never miss your child less, but you somehow find a way to live with a hole in your soul. For these past three weeks many of us have been walking around in a fog. We have surrounded my friend, Luke's sister, his beloved partner, and their family and friends with love, support and service. We have held their hands and held them up. Encouraged them to eat, sleep, and stay hydrated. Tended to as many of their day to day needs as possible. We have done what you do wnen someone you love is in unimaginable pain, we loved them with all we have to offer. And it is hard. It is so, so hard to watch someone ache to their very core. After Hart died, I remember people telling me they felt honored to be by our side as we grieved. Now I know what they meant. It is such an honor, an intimite, raw, personal walk of love. I would be lying if I said this hasn't triggered some really big feelings and unearthed some memories that had been deeply buried. I'm trying hard not to project or insert myself into her grief, but have offered my friend some of my experiences, my mistakes, things I feel I got right (or right for me, anyway), "permission' to feel any and all ways, to change her mind, to not change her mind, to make decisions, to not have to make decisions. I told her that I know there are things that bring comfort to some and deepen despear for others. So much of grief navigation is trial and error and it is constantly changing. What worked yesterday may not work today. Everyone who has walked this walk knows that grief is an individual, solitary, neverending act. It clings to every part of your life, sometimes as a hardly noticible shadow, sometimes as a giant obstacle blocking your path. There are some similarities, "universal truths," of course, but every experience is unique, nonlinear and life-long. The thing is you want people to understand, you want them to say the words that will ease the pain, to offer grace and healing. You want them to know how losing a child impacts every aspect of your life, every decision, every action. You want them to know you are absolutly doing the best you can, even when it looks like a complete mess. You want everyone to understand the weight of life, because it is so heavy and oh so brief-so, so brief. But really, you don't want anyone to understand or experience the unfathomable anguish of losing a part of your soul and you know there is no other way to understand. It's interesting how grief creeps in without invitation, without regard for time or space and before, even, thought can form. In the past few days I've wiped my cheek countless times to find tears I didn't even know I had shed. I've been surprised how fresh and raw grief can feel-even 18 years later. In an alternate reality, Hart should be graduating high school this spring, but instead I feel like it was yesterday that we were saying goodbye. I'm not sure how much of this fresh grief is because I keep thinking of what could be-what should be, and how much has been stirred by the heartbreaking loss of these two amazing young men. It doesn't really matter, it is part of my journey, one that I cannot avoid or protect myself from, but honestly I wouldn't want to, because the joy is always worth the pain.

DearHart

Eighteen years ago, our beautiful, beautiful baby boy died. When I talk about Hart’s death I try to articulate what a beautiful experience it was. It’s hard to believe through the most heart-shattering occurrence so much beauty grew. But it is in those shattered pieces that true beauty lies.

Usually when someone dies, our emotions are complicated. We are sad. We miss them. We long for them. We relish in their imprint on our lives. We celebrate their accomplishments. We love them. But, often, there are other emotions as well. We have regrets over cross words, hurt feelings, unfinished conversations. We long for do-overs. We chastise ourselves for the times we could have done better, been better. These are all perfectly normal feelings, the expected path that grief takes. All of these things that wove the fabric of our relationship while the person was alive continue to drive our grief for them.

The thing is, Hart wasn't tethered to any complications. He was only love. He was in the arms of someone who loved him every minute of his life (every minute). Because we knew our time with him was short, we relished in each moment. We were able to (for the most part) put our lives on hold while we celebrated Hart's very existence, for the entirety of his existence. His whole life carried the magic of Christmas morning. We loved him and continue to love him, so fiercely and so purely.

The gift of knowing his life would be so short helped us prepare (or at least think we were prepared) for his death. We were blessed by incredible people who shared vital information and walked with us every step of the way. We knew what to expect physically. We knew what we should do during and immediately after his death in order to bring us comfort later. We were told how to talk to our other children and how to involve them in his death. We gathered every piece of information that we could in order to lay a solid foundation for our grief.

The only problem was, of course, you cannot prepare your heart. As Hart died (peacefully, painlessly and beautifully) I kept thinking, "Okay, this is it. This is what you've been preparing for. This really sucks, but you're prepared. You've got this." I went over my mental checklist countless times. As I type this, I realize how completely asinine that is, but I definitely thought I could prepare myself for his death. We had about 15 hours from the time we realized the end was near until he took his last breath. We went to the in-house hospice located at the local children's hospital and were drenched in the love our family, friends and caregivers (who had become family).

I was holding Hart, inhaling his sweet baby smell like a junky about to be cut off from her source. Believing if I inhaled enough, his smell would be with me forever. When he died I let out an achingly primal groan. I felt it bubbling up inside me, but was so disconnected from the sound, I couldn't quite figure out where it was coming from.

People often say that when they lose someone, it leaves a hole in their heart. That's not what it feels like to me. I feel like part of my heart is now made of crystal. It is beautifully filled with all of my love for Hart, nothing can diminish it, but it also can't grow like the rest of my heart. There are no new memories to make, no new strands to weave into our relationship, no need for that part of my heart to be able to expand, but it is solid and beautiful and light shines through it and reflects in me.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

                              -Laurence Binyon 

"The deeper that sorrow carves

into your being, the more joy

you can contain"

                                  -Khalil Gibran

A Found Treasure

As I was preparing for our annual birthday celebration and homage to baby Hart, I stumbled upon a journal entry from about a month after his funeral. Reading past journal entries brings the beautifully messy gift of transporting me back in time, complete with every emotion I felt when I wrote them. I'm often in awe of what I was able to see or understand through the fog of grief. When I think back about that time, I feel like all I could see was fog, so I would often close my eyes, but these journal entries show me otherwise. (Although they also prove that sometimes I was, in fact, blinded by grief.)

February 6, 2005

We went back to church for the fist time since Hart's funeral. I cried when I took Felix to Sunday School class and spoke to the always fabulous Miss Anne. Over the summer I told her about Hart. This was, of course, after we decided to let God prevail. She said, "What a strange thing to know." With the simplest of words, our beloved Miss Anne struck upon such a deep truth. It was a strange thing to know.

I am so grateful we knew. Because of this, we were able to garner so much support, information, knowledge and some understanding.

To know a child is going to die, would many people decide not to have that child, to protect their hearts from unbearable pain, meanwhile missing out on a great, beautiful love? What if that child had 2 months, 6 months, a year, 16 years to live? How long of a life is a life worth allowing? We are all going to die, none of us has a guarantee.

I feel as though, for our family, knowing Hart's entire life would be brief was a blessing. Had you asked me before, I would have insisted that I would rather not know. But knowing enabled us to make a decision. A decision that no parent should have to make, yet everyone should have the right to make.

It's Been a Hart Day's Night

She held her grief behind her eyes like an ocean & when she leaned forward into the day it spilled onto the floor & she wiped at it quickly with her foot & pretended no one had seen.                                                                                  -Brian Andreas

Today is the 10th anniversary of the day Hart died. Traditionally, December 8 is a tough day for our family. We celebrate the time he was with us, but feel the full weight of his absence on this day. Today, I have been very busy and felt pretty okay until about an hour ago. It was then, after everyone else was asleep that I was able to have a few minutes alone with my thoughts. I began feeling a little melancholy and nostalgic. I looked through a bin of Hart memorabilia and found these adorable pictures. Looking at them made me so happy! I love that he was sleeping (or just waking up) with his sweet little arm covering his eyes! It made me want to reach through the photos and hold that precious little baby peeking out from behind his arm.

After I found these treasures, I received the most adorable video message from my good friend and her 2 little boys. The video message made my day complete-and made me cry (tears of joy) ! I think it was the perfect way to end this day!

Dear Hart....Love, Dad

I have a confession. When I read Steadfast Husband's 1st contribution to the Hart 10th Birthday love and memories fest, I (kindly/not kindly) asked him to try again. It was lovely, but felt sterile. After several obnoxious attempts, I finally stumbled onto the words that articulated what I was trying to say.*

*Thank you dear IU creative writing professor who told me that a good piece of writing is well-written, but a great piece of writing has a little piece of your soul in it. Not your "soul", but a piece of you that once put out there, cannot ever be retrieved.

Here's S.H. moving letter and a piece of his beautiful soul!

Dear Hart,
   I have been struggling to write this letter, wanting it to be as eloquent and meaningful as your life was.  My heart knows perfectly what to say, I am just having trouble putting into words the joy and the blessings as I sit here missing you.  I start daydreaming about who you would have grown up to be, how you would have continued to impact the world around you, and what we would have done together.  In the end, the “you” that I do know -has had and continues to have, more impact than my wildest daydreams.  I know you as the shining light that God provided to us, the baby with the power to bring people together, and the hero who defied odds for 24 days in order to touch as many souls as possible.
   I live each day trying to make it better than yesterday. My heart feels full when helping others, and empty when I am unable. My inability to "cure" you or to come up with a solution to give you a long, healthy life was very hard to accept. I had to take a leap of faith, relying on others for information, guidance, and support. I had to trust God, that he had a plan and that He would hold and protect you and our family.

   I have finally come to the realization that you were not here to be taken care of, rather you came to take care of us. I feel like you are still watching over our family. I feel you are with me on a daily basis. I feel like there are moments that you are so acutely with me that I relive moments we had together and experience new moments together. 

   I can’t help but envision you as the ten year old you would be today. There are moments when I see children your age and feel like I've been given a gift. An opportunity to see and enjoy in real life what we missed out on as proud parents, siblings, family, and friends. Whether it is an organized event or just seeing a father and child playing together, I feel those moments on a deep and personal level. 

   You should know as well as anyone, that I love babies. Now my love for babies envelopes my love for you. Having the opportunity to cradle someone else's little one enables me to be with you, my own angel again. These are the most special and meaningful moments for me. I am overcome with an incomparable peace and joy.

   I am blessed each time I experience any one of these moments! I am surrounded by these treasures and nuggets of time with you. I have seen the effect your life has had on others and heard stories of how it continues to do so. I am so proud of you son, for what you have achieved and what I know is yet to come. You have set a high bar for impacting the world and although it is one that I may never reach, I will always enjoy trying. For it is through this journey that I feel closer to you, it is by witnessing your greatness that I am encouraged to be my best.

                                                                             I love you always, 

                                                                                      Dad

Nonnie and Grandad: Going the Extra Mile

Evidently I caused a lot of confusion among family members by requesting "special Hart memories" a few days after the moppets made a similar plea. Fortunately, our family tree is full of good sports, so they all honored both appeals.

In order to fulfill the moppets' request, Steadfast Husband's awesome parents and grandmother drove over an hour to send love from the cemetery where Hart is interred. I was so touched by this; they didn't say that's where they were (I added the location note at the end of the video), but this is exactly the type of thoughtfulness they are famous for! 

And here is the note they sent me in remembrance:

     The thought of Hart being gone for 10 years is hard to process.  He was with us 

     for a short time but touched  all our lives.  Hart's parents endured the pain that 

     no parent wants to feel and did so with dignity and faith.

     God gives us the gift of memory so we can keep Hart forever in our hearts.

 All our love,

  Mom & Dad

Mimi's Musings

One of the reasons I asked my family to contribute their memories of Hart for The Cottage Cheese, was to get various perspectives of love and loss. Snapshots of his impact from the lenses of his siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. As I read my mother's (Mimi) contribution, I was so touched by her raw honesty and enlightened by the glimpse of the loss of Hart from his Mimi's eyes. 

Happy Birthday Hart! We all miss having you here with us but as Dr. Joan’s butterfly metaphor expressed poetically at your memorial service, you were here for a short time but did so much.

Your journey was not easy for you or your Mom, Dad and siblings.  There were decisions, thoughts, and prayers that guided your journey.  When you were about to come into this world no one thought you would make it.  You showed ‘em! Not only did you survive the voyage of birth, you stayed for 24 days to teach us all.  I, of course, was not immediately supportive of seeing this through to the end. Not for selfish reasons, but for the implications of the effect on your parents and siblings.  Data has shown that this can tear families apart and I worried about the long term for your brothers and sisters. 

I didn't live in the moment. When you arrived, everyone was very anxious  as to what to expect. No one, not even the medical staff thought you would be going home. You showed ‘em again.  And I began to watch and learn from you! I have never seen such love. I used to watch your Mom sit on the floor and cuddle you with her eyed closed, me thinking she was exhausted, she is my little girl, but realizing she was trying to savor every bit of time she had with you. Smelling you, feeling your breath, embracing the baby you were; not what was coming. I watched your brothers and sisters hold you, sing to you, play with you in the way they had with each newborn. This family loves babies! I watched your Dad tenderly pick you up when he came home from work to make his memories. 

I learned a lot about love, grace, wonder and prayer. I learned that a tragedy could not only tear apart, but also bring together a family in a way nothing else can.  I know you are very proud of your Mom and Dad, Number 1, 2 & 3 brother and 1&2 sister and tickled by sister number 3.  They are a family of strength, love, charity, and good will. I know you are a part of that family.
I love you Hart, Happy Birthday.

… I always watch for butterflies

Team Hart Birthday Wishes

Hart's Uncle, Aunt and 3 of his cousins sent this awesome birthday video. While I was soliciting written tributes, the Moppets were secretly working on a plan of their own. They arranged lots of surprises for Hart's Birthday including a video of love messages and birthday wishes from our family and put together a beautiful rendition of Happy Birthday with voices of love far and near!

And this was the lovely note I received from Steadfast Husband's brother and his fabulous family! 

Happy Birthday to a little joy that entered the world 10 years ago to grace his parents with God’s glory.  He was too special for us on Earth and God needed him more.  Blessed the family who bore and cared for him.  Their days together will never be forgotten.  Happy Birthday Hart!

Beautiful HeART-break

When I asked my family to send me a memory or tribute to commemorate Hart's 10th birthday, I didn't realized how difficult it would be to read them. (Actually, I didn't even think about that part!) While trying to articulate so much emotion: love, loss, joy and heartache through writing is an enormous challenge- reading them was quite daunting as well.  Words cannot always adequately convey the fullness of the emotion behind them, but reading the words of my family,  I was overwhelmed in the most magnificent way. I started to read my sister's eloquent tribute so many times that I've lost count, it was too "big" to get through. But I finally made it through today and all I have to say is, SISTERS are the BEST! 

Beautiful HeARTbreak. It is really the only way I can describe it. The joy of Hart's birth, the overcoming of so many odds for him to even get here, to live long enough to be born. The fact that he was able to be with us for 24 days was miraculous and crushing. He was here and gone, but left an indelible mark on every life he touched. It was awful and beautiful. It was terrible and glorious. He took us to a thin place. The place where heaven and earth are so close they touch, and when we are still and open our hearts, we can see it. 

I was living in Beijing when my sister found out the little boy she was carrying had trisomy 18. I felt so helpless being so far away. Trying to understand what the situation was, trying to comfort her, trying to navigate different people's reactions and interpretations of the same information. It was overwhelming and my heart ached for her.  My sister is no stranger to life's bumps and bruises and she is gifted with a grace and faith in these times that is inspiring.  She and her husband were able to cling to each other and provide a stable foundation for her five children to navigate. 

When Hart was born, they were joyful, fully loving even though they knew that he wouldn't be here long. They lived out of a space of openness and gratitude, not mourning. From a place of infinite...the more love you give, the more love there is. Remarkable, especially because in this kind of situation it would be easy to close your heart, protect yourself, blame God or anyone else in your path and become hard and bitter. It would be easy, understandable even, to do this. Instead they opened their hearts more and leaned in closer.

I was able to come back for his memorial service. It was sad, yet it was a celebration. It is difficult to describe the feeling in the sanctuary. There was a tangible feeling of holiness. You could feel it in the air, in your bones and in your soul.  It filled every space.  The affirmation that there is so much more, it is all so much bigger than we dare to imagine. 

Hart called us to transformation, to open our hearts and lay the old ways aside.   My heart felt broken, cracked wide open. By God's grace, this precious baby showed us that we could stop spending our lives trying to patch up the cracks and crevices of our broken hearts because the cracks are where the light gets in. By focusing all our efforts on crack repair and management, we miss the light show completely.  In his brief life, Hart showed us that it is going to be okay, that we are loved and cherished and when we focus on that, all the rest falls away. All that remains is love.  Hart taught me in the strictest of terms,  that life is too short to waste it on anything that is not love. 

Honest Beauty: A Love letter

This is the beautiful tribute my stepmother, Gloria, wrote for Hart. It touched me so deeply not only for the content, but also in the "knowing." Gloria has also experienced the devastating loss of a child. Her son, Michael, died when he was in high school and her loving support has meant more than she will ever know.

Hi Erin,

I know you asked for our messages yesterday, but for some reason it has been very difficult for me to put my feelings into words. I can't tell you how many times I have written things for you and torn them up because my words didn't convey what I wanted to say or how I wanted it to come across.

I think of Hart so often with peace, knowing he is with our Heavenly Father. I especially think of him when I drive by your old church and see how big and tall his and all the other trees planted for loved ones lost are now. I think of him every Christmas when your dad and I hang his handprint ornaments on our tree in his memory. I think of him when I drive to my friend’s house in Noblesville and past the cemetery where he is buried. I've even stopped a few times, but haven't been able to find his gravesite. But I didn't want to ask you the location because I was too embarrassed to admit I didn't remember. 

The day of Hart's burial was so heartbreaking and brought back many memories from the loss of my own son. I knew the devastation you and John were feeling. There was nothing any of us could say or do to take away your pain. I knew the hurt you both would feel, walking away, knowing it was the last time you would see his precious face in this life. It was the hardest or should I say strongest testimony to your faith, showing you knew Hart was back in God's care. 

I know through my studies of the Bible, God doesn't make mistakes. He has a plan for all our lives and has since the beginning of time. Throughout the Old and New Testament he or his promise to us for the ultimate reward of Eternity in Heaven with him never changes. We also see how he enlisted Chosen ones and through these most unlikely people worked his miracles. I believe Hart was a Chosen one and through his short life changed all our lives. I know my life changed watching him conquer the odds of making it through birth and by every moment he lived.

Both you and John have given us and your children the greatest example of faith and trust in making the decision, in the beginning, to put Hart's life in God's hands. Not knowing day to day what to expect with his diagnosis, you showed us what a Blessing his life was to you both. By accepting God's will for his life you were prepared to accept whatever challenges his life might bring and to endure the heartache you knew would come saying goodbye. 

I feel so blessed to have experienced God's miracle of Hart. I will never forget him and I too, celebrate his life. 

Love,

Gloria

Love in Verse

During my culling of love and remembrance for Hart's 10th Birthday, I received this beautiful letter in the mail (the USPS delivered kind) from Steadfast Husband's lovely Grandmother.

Dear Ones,
Hoping all's going well for you and yours.
As I am not into videos, Ipads, tweets and such, I'll respond in my own way.
I have had this verse for many years; while the tense is wrong, the words are so true. Hoping you find meaning in it for you.

                                  I love you so,

                                        Grandma

God's Child and Yours -Unknown

"I'll lend you for a little time

A child of mine" He said - 

For you to love the while he lives 

and mourn for when he's dead. 

It may be six or seven years 

or twenty two or three 

but will you, till I call him back, 

take care of him for me?

He'll bring his charms to gladden you 

and, should his stay be brief, 

you'll have his lovely memories 

as solace for his grief. 

I cannot promise he will stay, 

since all from earth return 

but, there are lessons taught down here, 

I want this child to learn.

I've looked the wide world over, 

in search of teachers true, 

and from the throngs that crowd life's lane 

I have decided you. 

Now will you give him all your love, 

not think the labor vain, 

nor hate me when I come to call

to take him back again?

I fancy that I heard them say, 

"Dear Lord Thy Will Be Done" 

for all the joy this child will bring 

the risk of grief we'll run. 

We'll shelter him with tenderness, 

we'll love him while we may, 

and for the happiness we've known 

forever grateful stay. 

And should thy Angels call for him 

much sooner than we planned, 

we'll brave the bitter grief that came 

and try to understand.

Poppy Love

For Hart's 10th Birthday, I asked members of our family to share special messages or memories about him.  I am posting their beautiful expressions of love and remembrance here (in random order).
 My dad (Poppy) is an artist, a graphic designer by profession, so he felt it was only fitting to pay tribute to Hart in illustration form. I didn't open or read most of what was sent to me before preparing to post it-I wanted it to be like opening a present. Moments ago I opened the file my dad sent and was completely enchanted by the beautiful "gift" he sent.

Accidentally in Love...

Today is my favorite day of the year. I don't always remember that. Actually, any other day of the year, I would say that today is one of the two days each year that I look forward to with great trepidation and anxiety. Throughout the year, I hear November 15 and a heavy feeling envelopes me.  But when it's here, I remember. I remember that today is a celebration of an "accidental" life. A beautiful, amazing, full life. A life with purpose, that had an everlasting impact on countless others. A life in which every moment was so very treasured and certainly warrants celebration...especially today!


Happy Birthday to my beautiful baby boy! Today, Hart would have turned 10 years old. When I think back, there are memories that are so clear, so close, that I can almost reach out and touch them. Other memories are so fuzzy, that I am unable to bring them into focus and the harder I try, the further they slip out of reach. But I'm completely okay with that-actually I think that's how it's supposed to be. Sometimes, these memories come back into full focus in that nirvana right between sleep and awake. When I try to grab these memories and carry them into my conscious, clear memories, they slip away again. But I know they'll be back and I love the feeling that brings.


It also encourages me to depend on the memories of others, to talk about Hart, reminisce and share in a way I would otherwise not.  As a way to celebrate Hart's 10th birthday, I asked family members to share memories and thoughts about Hart. Over the next several days, I will share their beautiful, poignant  recollections.

So Humbled.....

I kept trying to figure out a way to retell this exchange in my own words. Silly me! I realized that posting the following facebook message exchange as it happened was a much better idea. There was no way I could convey  my friend's heart better than her own words!

Message from my friend:
Hi sweet girl! I wanted to send you a message because you need to know something very cool I am a part of because I was inspired by Hart. I have begun a photography business on the side and recently began volunteering for a national group called "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep". This group takes photographs for families who have suffered the loss of a new born child. I was so moved at Hart's service by the beautiful pictures it planted a seed and I knew that some day I would do this. Today (March 2013) was my first chance to shadow one of the volunteers. Such a powerful experience. I just wanted to let you know that your son influenced me and who knows how many lives I will be able to touch as a result. Even though his time on this earth was a sprint and you so wanted it to be a marathon, God still used him to make a difference. I hope you and all of your littles ones are doing well!! Love, Mari
https://www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/

My response:
Wow! I am so overwhelmed! What a beautiful thing to do and what an honor to Hart! Do you care if I share this with others? I am feeling so humbled and touched right now-you have no idea!! Everyone should be so fortunate to touch others in such a special, what a blessing Hart was and continues to be and what a tremendous blessing you are and will be to these amazing families!

Response from my friend:
I would be honored if this would move anyone else. Share freely as you see fit! I enjoy seeing you and your beautiful family on FB and the cottage cheese! :)

All the words I know feel much too small to describe the awe and gratitude I felt when I read this...

property of Mari Hammond Sandifer

Celebrating 10 Years: Remember to Use Your Words

This November 15 would have been my son, Hart's, 10th birthday. As the day approaches, I am struck by a myriad of polarizing (sometimes paralyzing) emotions.  I feel sad that he is not here to celebrate, to lavish with gifts, cake and birthday magic, I feel overwhelmed with joy for having known him, I feel sentimental recollecting all my memories of his life and I feel resolved to honor his amazing life.


A couple of years ago, I decided that we needed to honor Hart's 10th birthday in a meaningful way.  That it needed to be bigger than just our immediate family. I initially thought that we were going to ask people to perform 10 random acts of kindness, in his memory. Then a few months later I thought, "Oh my gosh, everyone does that, and it's lovely, but it no longer feels like the right way to honor Hart."


In quick succession I contemplated and then dismissed the following (really awesome and completely practical) ideas:

• Hire a skywriter to write "Happy 10th Birthday Baby Hart" across the clouds
• Scatter billions of paper "Harts" across the world
• Go BASE jumping (in a really cute Hart-themed base-jumping outfit)
• Build a memorial pyramid

 

Then, over the summer, it came to me. During Hart's life and after his death, there was an urgency, a familiarity that erased the distance that often prevents people from sharing such affections. It was so beautiful and unbelievably comforting. So in honor of Hart's 10th birthday, I am asking everyone to say 10 beautiful, encouraging things to others. Things that you think, but are often too reticent to say. Things that may feel gushing or unrestrained, enthusiastic, extravagantly demonstrative or completely effusive. The idea is that people walk away feeling a little taller, a little more confident, with a clearer picture of the best that other's find in them. Empowered with the knowledge that others recognize the value in their character, accomplishments or tenacity.


Recently, I went to NYC with a friend for a whirlwind 24 hours. She was going to see a friend she hadn't seen in 27 years. Her friend and his wife were in the country for business (he, for the first time since high school), and it was the only chance for these old friends to get together. At the end of their visit, he told my friend how important she was in his life. That her (brief, high-school) friendship had changed the trajectory of his life. I was so overwhelmed by their reunion (even as a bystander trying to blend into the scenery) it was such beautiful, meaningful moment and cemented my idea for celebrating Hart's birthday! It is a rare and precious gift when someone gets to hear that they made an imprint on another's life, and how awesome if it happened more often!


At Hart's memorial service, a friend told us that, although Hart wasn't a survivor, he was a warrior. And while a warrior doesn't necessarily win the battle, he fights with honor, integrity, courage, compassion, and discipline. Honestly, I was caught off guard by his words. I would have preferred a survivor, even a dishonorable, scaredy-cat one with a bad attitude. But he said these words from a place of so much love and admiration, that I knew after I digested them, I would agree. It is in that spirit that I want people to pass on words from a loving place and honor what they see in others.


So, please help us celebrate Hart's 10th Birthday by telling 10 encouraging, meaningful, grateful truths to others and celebrate having such amazing people in your life!

HARTbroken

This morning when I woke up, I was already crying. When I opened my eyes, thimbles worth of tears fell onto my pillow. Usually, there is the "honeymoon" period after I wake-up, that moment just before I remember, when all is right with the world, before feelings wash over me. Before emotion, like a wave when you're facing the shore, takes me completely off guard and envelopes me wholly. Not today. Today, I was feeling before I woke up. Mourning before the shackles of sleep began to loosen their grip.

Nine years ago today, Hart died. There are so many emotions-all flooding to the surface, competing for my attention.  Pain, emptiness, sadness and gratitude. Gratitude may seem like an odd emotion to feel in association with the loss of a child, but I am so grateful that I got to spend time and get to know my little boy. This is what I feel most strongly. Today, gratitude wins. Without gratitude, the other feelings would be irrelevant. I wouldn't ache for my child, my arms wouldn't feel empty, my heart wouldn't feel like a chunk of it is missing. It was the cost of admission to loving Hart and was such a small price to pay. And I would pay it all over again, plus everything I have and am to have one more day, hour, minute with him.

Yet, I remember, at the time, saying to God "I don't know how much longer I can do this." I couldn't continue to watch him die, it was excruciating. I was grateful that he died (relatively) quickly. That his suffering was short. I try not to feel guilty, especially now, when I am not emotionally empty and physically exhausted. When I am not completely depleted of everything that gives me life. But, at the time, I felt like I was on the verge of disintegrating, melting, imploding or just running full speed through the plate glass window.

I believe the passage of time is a beautiful gift. It allows the acute awareness of details fade, the sharp pain of hurt to dull. It enables us to polish memories, and to even completely rewrite history. Today I say that I would do anything to have one more minute-and I mean that, I would. But I know that it is my revisionist version and not how I felt at the time. I remember telling my husband, I truly cannot go on like this, and I know I meant it. I feel embarrassed and ashamed to admit that now, but I know that's how I felt and it wasn't until more than a year after he died that I felt differently.

My husband and I made a deal when Hart was born that we would live his life with no regrets. That whatever we did, we would know that we were doing the best we could, that there would be no second guessing. At the time, and for a long time after, that was easy to do, but as time passes, moments of "I wish we would have...," or "if only we...," creep into my being. More pictures (there were hundreds) less worry, more videos, less conversation, one more kiss...