Child's Passing

Lullaby

11:11 PM



They didn't have you where I come from
Never knew the best was yet to come
Life began when I saw your face
And I hear your laugh like a serenade
How long do you want to be loved?
Is forever enough, is forever enough?
How long do you want to be loved?
Is forever enough?
'Cause I'm never, never giving you up
I slip in bed when you're asleep
To hold you close and feel your breath on me
Tomorrow there'll be so much to do
So tonight I'll drift in a dream with you
How long do you want to be loved?
Is forever enough, is forever enough?
How long do you want to be loved?
Is forever enough?
'Cause I'm never, never giving you up
As you wander through this troubled world
In search of all things beautiful
You can close your eyes when you're miles away
And hear my voice like a serenade
How long do you want to be loved?
Is forever enough, is forever enough?
How long do you want to be loved?
Is forever enough?
'Cause I'm never, never giving you up
Is forever enough?
'Cause I'm never, never giving you up
                    - Dixie Chicks

Child's Passing

The Dance

11:11 AM



Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared 'neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance
Holding you, I held everything
For a moment wasn't I a king
But if I'd only known how the king would fall
Hey who's to say? You know I might have changed it all
And now I'm glad I didn't know
     
                       - Garth Brooks

Bereavement

Winter Song

11:11 AM


This is my winter song to you.
The storm is coming soon,
it rolls in from the sea
My voice; a beacon in the night.
My words will be your light,
to carry you to me.
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
They say that things just cannot grow beneath the winter snow,
or so I have been told.
They say were buried far, 
just like a distant starI simply cannot hold.
Is love alive? 
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
This is my winter song.
December never felt so wrong,
cause you're not where you belong;
inside my arms.
I still believe in summer days.
The seasons always changeand life will find a way.
Ill be your harvester of light
and send it out tonight
so we can start again.
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
This is my winter song.
December never felt so wrong,
cause you're not where you belong;
inside my arms.
This is my winter song to you.
The storm is coming soon
it rolls in from the sea.
My love a beacon in the night.
My words will be your lightto carry you to me.
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
                        - Sara Bareilles

Child's Passing

Now You Belong To Heaven

11:11 AM


miss your voice, miss your smile everything about you, worth a while always wondering where you are
I hope you're with us, near or far Many questions aren't answered I guess, we'll never know But now you belong to heaven it's empty without your smile The truth brings us to tears all the love you gave us all these years Always seeing you at night when I turn off the light and the world's asleep In my heart you'll always stay we'll never forget you you'll never fade away I'll always remember the times we shared togehter Remeber your laughter, forever and ever But now you belong to heaven it's empty without your smile The truth brings us to tears all the love you gave us all these years And I wonder what would be the first I'd say if I meet you again one day and I'm hoping you'll remember my name if I see you again ... But now you belong to heaven it's empty without your smile The truth brings us to tears all the love you gave us all these years But now you belong to heaven it's empty without your smile The truth brings us to tears all the love you gave us all these years all the love you gave us all these years
- Mary Olsen

Bereavement

The Effect of Not Doing

11:11 PM

do·ing

1. the activities in which a particular person engages.
2. effort; activity.
Our actions shape our lives, but what we don't take action on can be just as powerful.
Life is sculpted on a moment-to-moment basis. Every one of the thoughts we think, the words we speak, and the actions we take contributes to the complex quality and character of the universe's unfolding. It simply is not possible to be alive without making an impact on the world that surrounds us. Every action taken affects the whole as greatly as every action not taken. And when it comes to making the world a better place, what we choose not to do can be just as important as what we choose to do. 
For example, when we neglect to recycle, speak up, vote, or help somebody in immediate need, we are denying ourselves the opportunity to be an agent for positive change. Instead, we are enabling a particular course to continue unchallenged, picking up speed even as it goes along. By holding the belief that our actions don't make much of a difference, we may find that we often tend to forego opportunities for involvement. Alternatively, if we see ourselves as important participants in an ever-evolving world, we may feel more inspired to contribute our unique perspective and gifts to a situation. 
It is wise to be somewhat selective about how and where we are using our energy in order to keep ourselves from becoming scattered. Not every cause or action is appropriate for every person. When a situation catches our attention, however, and speaks to our heart, it is important that we honor our impulse to help and take the action that feels right for us. It may be offering a kind word to a friend, giving resources to people in need, or just taking responsibility for our own behavior. By doing what we can, when we can, we add positive energy to our world. And sometimes, it may be our one contribution that makes all the difference.

Written by Madisyn Taylor


Bereavement

The SIGN

12:53 PM




My poor Jenner. He is the silent, forgotten mourner. No wonder he doesn't want to talk about Aspen or visit the cemetery. The other day we were getting his haircut and the lady asked him if he had any brothers or sisters. He answered "No, but I have a dog." My heart sank. Does he really think he doesn't have a brother? Did he permanently erase Aspen from his memory? Is this a normal way for a child to respond to a question like that? He did go on to say, "but my mom and dad are trying to have a baby," which I thought was a little forthcoming given she was a complete stranger he had never met. I could see him declaring such a statement to his PE Teacher and Soccer coach as he did last time we were in Colorado, but not to some random person he had never met. It really broke my heart to think he has somehow written off the memories, and is moving forward claiming not to have a sibling. I must be doing this all wrong! It didn't ever cross my mind that he could forget his brother. How could he? We try and talk about him all the time, our house is littered with pictures of him and our family.  Jenner doesn't act that way when he's with us. As a matter of fact, he orders for Aspen when we go out for dinner, he makes me move my purse out of the chair, and states, "Aspen's sitting there" and he will talk about the funny things Aspen used to do. He surely hasn't forgotten him. We have been diligent about making sure we take him to trauma therapy every week, to Ted E. Bear Hollow events, schedule meetings with his school counselor and check in with his teacher periodically to make sure he's acting somewhat normal at school. We have tried to create as much normalcy as possible by keeping him involved in sports and our usual activities. What am I missing?

 I sat down at my desk yesterday to begin my day and realized that right below the pinwheel that has been taped to my computer since Aspen's funeral, was a piece of art that had not been there the day before. This handcrafted masterpiece was like a beacon. A sign from my sweet Jenner. No words or conversation necessary. He feels forgotten. He feels like all the focus has been and continues to be on Aspen. It is his way of saying, "Mom, I'm still here - I'm still alive." I literally felt sick. My sweet baby feels like he doesn't belong. How in the world could I have missed this? How did I not know he felt this way? He has been forced to become the silent, forgotten mourner. He fears seeing us breakdown, so it's best that he pretends Aspen never was part of our family, at least to strangers apparently. If he would have brought up Aspen's passing, I would have most likely began to cry and that's exactly what Jenner does not want to see - me sad. I get it now buddy! I read your sign loud and clear! You need to be our focus 110%. You are the living angel. Our angel Aspen is gone. Physically anyway, he is no longer with us. I opened Facebook not long after I found the sign and an excerpt from a "Grieving Parent's" page I am a part of came up.  Christi lost her son Judah a month ago in a drowning accident. She has 5 other children, and shared a conversation she had with her 12 year old that struck me at the absolutely perfect time.  Here's what she wrote:
Ethan, my 12 year old, asked me this morning if I had ever lost another person in my life, besides Judah. I told him I had but no one as close to me as Judah. He said he was asking because I was so sad for so long and wondered if it had happened before. I think he wanted to know if we would ever be able to be happy again, like we were before. And maybe he was feeling a bit insecure, about his own place with Mark Brown and I, because we have been so sad about his brother. I've read that can happen with surviving siblings. So this is what I told him:
"When you were born, God grew my heart, to give me the ability to love you completely and fully. There is a space in my heart, just for you and it is full. Then, when Hannah was born, God grew a new place in my heart, just for her and her place is now full. And when Anna Brown, Mark Brown, Jack and Patch came into my life, God grew special places for each of them in my heart, which are also, now filled. When Judah was born, God grew my heart for the seventh time, and his place was full too, until the day he died. When that happened, and he went to Heaven, that part of my heart, the Judah part, became empty and that hurts so bad, because it was created to be full with him and his life. 

No one else can fill that Judah place in my heart. Just like no one but you can fill that Ethan place in my heart. No one but Anna can fill the Anna place in my heart and the same for all of my kids. So, there is a place in my heart that is hurting so badly, because it can't be filled now. My love for Judah is still there, and always will be. But his place is empty and that hurts really bad. It would hurt just as bad if your place was empty, or any of my kid's places. But you need to know that just because that Judah place is hurting so badly, doesn't mean that mom's love for you has changed. Your place in my heart is full and my love for you is just as strong as it always has been. I am thankful for you, my son. I am thankful for your place in my heart. I cherish it. I cherish YOU. You are my Ethan and no one will ever take that special place in my heart for you."

 I share this, just in case anyone out there is experiencing the same thing with their surviving children. Phrase it however you want, but please make sure they know that their place is secured and not forgotten, even amidst the terrible grief. Make sure they know that life will be happy again, even when their hearts and their parent's hearts hurt for their siblings. They need to know those things. They need to see their parents be proud of them and their lives and they need to know that their lives matter, every bit as much as their sibling's life did. The siblings are often called the silent mourners. Sometimes the forgotten mourners, because the parents and lost child are usually so focused on in this horrific time. That can cause a lot of damage for them. Please make sure they don't slip into the shadows....

...

It is my new mission, to honor our living angel every second of every day and be more present than ever to show him that he is the most important person in our lives! We will never stop honoring Aspen's memory, but Jenner needs to become the FOCUS! We've been so busy getting Aspen's new foundation and the inaugural event planned, that we've gotten off course a bit in terms of what is most important. I realized something, that sign appeared the day after Aspen's ad campaign started for the stuffed animal drive. There are TV commercials and news stories, and other press. In my mind thought it would make Jenner happy to see Aspen's memory being honored. I guess instead, he viewed it as Aspen getting all of the attention, while Jenner sits in the shadows. THANK YOU JENNER for communicating to me through this sign, albeit a little passive aggressive. I got the message sweet boy and I will not let you slip into the shadows!!!  I love you to the moon and back and will never stop honoring my living angel!! You have my promise!















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Child's Passing

If I Die Young

11:11 AM



If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in a river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Uh oh, uh oh
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh,
And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger,
I've never known the lovin' of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holdin' my hand,
There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever,
Who would have thought forever could be severed by...
...the sharp knife of a short life, oh well?
I've had just enough time
So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done
A penny for my thoughts, oh, no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Uh oh (uh, oh)
The ballad of a dove (uh, oh)
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em, oh
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls.

                           - The Band Perry

Bereavement

Halloween

8:06 AM



ASPEN - 2015 MINION (NOTICE THE BLUE TOES)
ASPEN & AUNT TRISHY - 2015 

ASPEN (NINJA) & AVA - 2014

ASPEN (LION) , MOMMY & JENNER - 2013
AIDEN, ASPEN & JENNER - 2013

It's here. Another holiday.  One of Aspen's favorites! HALLOWEEN!  I'm getting ready to head to school to volunteer in the library as I do every Monday and then help with Jenner's party at school this afternoon. Today I have a lot of anxiety. I spent all day crying yesterday after we attended a Halloween brunch with friends and Jenner refused to take a picture with me. It just made me so sad. I know I'm extra emotional right now, but it just hit me. Jenner is getting too old for pictures with his mommy. If Aspen were here, he would have taken as many pictures as I wanted to take. Not only have I lost my baby, but in a sense, I'm losing my first born. At least that's what my crazy mind is telling me. After brunch we had my nephew, Isaac's confirmation. I cried almost the entire time. I'm sure people in the church thought, what a lunatic, but they didn't know I just came from a brunch we have attended since Aspen was born and seeing all the littles running around just made it all come crashing down again. The picture was just the straw that sent me into another emotional meltdown. Confirmation was followed by our annual pumpkin carving/painting with my sister and brother-in-law, Katie and Adam. I LOVE carving and painting pumpkins. I buy a few kits every year and usually am the last one sitting at the table finishing my masterpieces. This year was no exception, but it didn't feel the same. It felt sad. Instead of my usual printouts, I bought the Paw Patrol printouts to honor our sweet boy! I knew he would be so excited to see the pumpkin I carved especially for him - SKYE the Paw Patrol dog. Aspen also loved this annual event and he'd always paint his pumpkins.

 I got a text from my friend Lisa this morning. Her son Colton has been having dreams about Aspen. She said it had been awhile since he had a dream, but last night Aspen came to Colton in his dream and told him he was going to be SKYE - the Paw Patrol dog. Coincidence?!? I hope not buddy. I hope you see all we are doing to honor your spirit and I'm going to hold on to that today so I can make it through yet another holiday without you. I hope you come to the party tonight and know mommy will be right there with you dressed in my angel costume - just for you! Love you to the moon sweet angel!  

Child's Passing

In the Arms of an Angel

11:11 AM




Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard, at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh, beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
And maybe empty
Oh, and weightless, and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight
In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
The storm keeps on twisting
Keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack
It don't make no difference
Escape one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness
Oh, this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees
In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

                - Sara McLauchlan

Child's Passing

Chasing Cars

11:11 AM



This was one of Aspen's favorite songs!

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own
We don't need
Anything
Or anyone
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel
Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life
Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads
I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life
All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see
I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
                              - Snow Patrol

Child's Passing

Too Hard to Say Goodbye

11:11 AM


Everytime I close my eyes
You're all that I can see
I hold you in my heart
And know you're watching over me
Standing by your side
It felt like I could fly
If I could be half the man that you are in my eyes
And I could face the darkest day
And fight the tears inside
I can't turn the page or hold back the time
It's too hard to say goodbye
It's too hard to say goodbye
From you I learnt it all
You would never let me fall
Love won't come undone
Between a father and his son
Standing by your side
Felt like I could fly
If I could be half the man that you are in my eyes
I would face the darkest day
And fight the tears inside
I can't turn the page or hold back the time
It's too hard to say goodbye
It's too hard to say goodbye
There will come a day
I'll have to walk alone
And I'll have to make it on my own
You thaught me all there is to know
Dad I'll never let you go
Standing by your side
I felt like I could fly
If I could be half the man that you are in my eyes
I would face the darkest day
Fight back the tears inside
But I can't turn this page or hold back the time
It's too hard to say goodbye
It's too hard to say goodbye
Just can't say goodbye
                - Westlife

Child's Passing

someone told me...

11:11 PM




…that life was made of moments.
I didn’t believe them.
I worked hard to be the good mom instead.
Scrubbing finger prints from windows and handprints from walls.
Wiping down faces and tucking in covers.
Drilling math facts and reading reading reading.
Worrying.
Much worrying.
Waking without sleep and brewing coffee.
Driving here and there and here and there.
Rocking babies.
Texting teens.
And then one day I realized that I was wrong.
The moments that I remembered weren’t the moments of outward victory.
They were the little simple things.
The first grader’s art project.
The look on the toddler’s sleeping face.
The smile from the teen.
The 20/20 on the math fact sheet.
The hum of the dishwasher and the island clean.
The hand holding in the grocery store.
The dinners pulled together at the last minute.
The worrying about being a good mom.
The sleeping and exhausted and giving.
And I realized that until one sees the simple beauty in motherhood there isn’t joy in the big.
So let me tell you.
Celebrate your normal.
The simple.
Because that?
That’s exactly what being a good mom is.
It only took me living life to figure it out that what someone told me was absolutely true.
~Rachel

Child's Passing

An Uncharted Journey

11:11 AM



The past 3 days I've been in Hell.  That's what it feels like anyway.  It's not hot like I imagined, instead it's cold. It's actually substantially worse than I pictured. It's empty and dark and lifeless. It's filled with the most utter sadness and gut wrenching pain.  No words can begin to come close to describing it. I didn't mean to put myself in this place; trust me no one would ever intentionally put themselves here, but I did. I've been sobbing uncontrollably since Sunday and after I read a Facebook post from a mom who too, lost a her daughter in a drowning accident, I realized that this is what losing a child is, it is as close to Hell as we as parents will ever be. Her words, but it is such an accurate description.

 On Sunday, we had an entire day with no plans other than dinner with my family.  I thought, I'm going to make this day productive and get organized. I've been living in chaos since Aspen's accident. I rarely make it down to our basement because the memories are too much for me. People who know me well, know that I am a little OCD when it comes to having things in their proper place. I have more label machines and storage containers than the Container Store can keep in stock. Jenner has been having friends over and I just knew the basement was probably a disaster area. So I made it my mission to organize the playroom and give some of Aspen's toys to his cousins and a few close friends who have toddlers. What a huge mistake that was. It is a prime example of how grief can run you down like a Mack truck. As I sat on the floor going through each bin, I'd come across Aspen's very favorite things he used to love to play with and just start sobbing in disbelief.  Disbelief that he's really gone. I know it sounds dumb, it's been 4 months since he died, but as a mom, I just don't know how you ever really wrap your heart or your head around the fact that your baby is gone.  

 Shopkins were some of Aspen's favorite things to play with, to his father's dismay. You know those miniature grocery store items; the choking hazards that are not meant for a toddler. I vividly remember the day at Scheels we went to buy a trampoline. It was 3 weeks before his accident. We had been at our friend's home over the weekend and the boys spent the entire night jumping on their trampoline. They LOVED it! The next day, I told Clint, I wanted to get a trampoline for the boys. So off to Scheels we went. Little did I know how expensive trampolines were, but it was too late as we had already told the boys were getting one. After we made the trampoline purchase, Aspen immediately gravitated to the Shopkins aisle.  What a weird thing for Scheels to carry, but they do kind of have everything.  I explained to Aspen that we were there to buy a trampoline and Shopkins would have to stay in the store. Somehow that little stinker talked me into getting those Shopkins. That was Aspen. He knew what he wanted and wouldn't stop until he got it. I being THAT mom, would give in more than I'd like to admit. Which now I look back and do not regret for a single second.  I spent the rest of Sunday and all day yesterday sobbing. It's day 3 of this roller coaster of emotion and I am working on trying to get everything ready for the launch of the Stuff the Turkey for Aspen's Angels stuffed animal drive. Guess what that entails?  Looking for pictures of Aspen to include in our TV commercial and promotional material. Just constant waves of sadness come over me as I sit here and try to be productive and make this an awesome event in my angel's honor.

 I decided mid-morning, after sheer exhaustion from crying, that I needed yet another paradigm shift. I can't let Hell win. Aspen would be so very disappointed in his mommy if I did. The problem is, I struggle to find a balance of experiencing the grief and trying to ignore it. Experiencing it is just so painful. Looking through pictures and videos - it's just too much for me. Apparently organizing toys is also too much for me. How do I attempt to live a somewhat normal life, when I don't know what is going to take me down? Is normal for me to feel like I'm literally living in Hell for now? Shouldn't my days be getting easier instead of more difficult?  Am I doing this all wrong? It's like I'm trying to navigate an uncharted journey without a clue on what first step to take. And I know, I know, there is no roadmap for grief, but oh how I wish, I at least had a compass.

Child's Passing

Children Don't Always Live

4:20 PM



Written by:  Jayson Greene
My daughter, Greta, was 2 years old when she died — or rather, when she was killed. A piece of masonry fell eight stories from an improperly maintained building and struck her in the head while she sat on a bench on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with her grandmother. No single agent set it on its path: It wasn’t knocked off scaffolding by the poorly placed heel of a construction worker, or fumbled from careless hands. Negligence, coupled with a series of bureaucratic failures, led it to simply sigh loose, a piece of impersonal calamity sent to rearrange the structure and meaning of our universe.
She was rushed to the hospital, where she underwent emergency brain surgery, but she never regained consciousness. She was declared brain-dead, and my wife and I donated her organs. She was our only child.
The incident was freakish enough to be newsworthy. Requests for interviews flooded our email while we still were at our daughter’s bedside; television trucks trawled Manhattan looking for us. When we left the hospital, I caught my daughter waving at me from the corner of my eye. A picture of her from my wife’s Facebook page was on the cover of The Daily News.
Over the next year, we became another local story about the quiddities of fate, the heartless absurdity of life in the big city. “Oh, you’re that couple,” a father said gravely when we introduced ourselves at a support group for bereaved parents. The attention was both bewildering and gratifying. We met couples whose children had died at home, in private, with only their shattered family to help them cope. There was succor to be drawn from all this awe and care, and I found myself leaning into it as often as I pushed it away.
Seven weeks ago, our second child was born; a son, Greta’s younger brother. They would have been exactly three and a half years apart. With his birth, I have become a father to a living child and a spirit — one child on this side of the curtain, and another whispering from beneath it. The confusion is constant, and in my moments of strength I succumb to it. I had a child die, and I chose to become a father again. There can be no greater definition of stupidity or bravery; insanity or clarity; hubris or grace.
Lying on the floor, talking to my son in soothing tones and jingling bright, interesting-looking things in front of his eyes, as I did with his sister, I yearn for him to feel his sister’s touch. Then I remember with a start: We were never going to have him. We always said Greta was enough — why have another kid? I gaze in awe. He wouldn’t exist if his sister had not died. I have two children. Where is the other one?
Becoming a parent is already a terrifying process. After a child’s violent death, the calculations are murkier. What does my trauma mean for this happy, uncomplicated being in my care? Will it affect the choices I make on his behalf? Am I going to give a smaller, more fearful world to him than I gave to Greta? Is he doomed to live under the shadow of what happened to his sister?
After Greta was born, my wife, Stacy, and I had a habit of checking to make sure she was still breathing. During that time, we ran into a fellow parent, a mother of two children, and Stacy made a nervous joke about it. The woman smiled. “They’re always breathing,” she said.
I imagine it’s the same for all parents. You begin to adjust to the reality of your child’s continuing existence. Their future begins to take shape in your mind. They’re always breathing, you tell yourself.
Life remains precarious, full of illnesses that swoop in and level the whole family like a field of salted crops; there are beds to tumble from, chairs to run into, chemicals and small chokeable toys to mind. But you do not see death at every corner, merely challenges. The part of you that used to keep calculating the odds of your child’s existence has mostly fallen dormant. It is no longer useful to you; it was never useful to the child; and there is so much in front of you to do.
At 2, your child is a person — she has opinions and fixed beliefs, preferences and tendencies, a group of friends and favorite foods.
What happens when that child is swiftly killed by a runaway piece of everyday environment, at the exact moment you had given up thinking that something could take all of this away from you?
When I am on the playground years from now, watching my son take a fall from the monkey bars, I might not panic. But some part of me will remember: A heartbeat can stop. Hearing a heartbeat for the first time during the ultrasound, and then watching doctors shine light on unresponsive pupils two years later, you stop thinking of a heartbeat as a constant, and more as a favorable weather condition. Now I am a reminder of the most unwelcome message in human history. Children — yours, mine — they don’t necessarily live.
When I realized Greta would not live, I wanted to die so purely, and so simply. I could feel my heart gazing up at me quizzically, asking me in between beats: “Are you sure you want me to keep doing this?” But I found I could not give the order.
Since my son was born, I’ve caught myself making concrete plans for my suicide if he were to die. I will draft a letter to my parents, or even tell them face-to-face. “I’m going to meet my children,” I will say. If the world takes this one, I am not meant to be here. It is a frightening thought because it is so logical. How would anyone argue me out of it? Who would even try?
I do not believe anything bad will happen to him in his infancy. It makes a sort of sense: Nothing bad happened to Greta as an infant. I do not wake up in the middle of the night to check on him. I do not even flinch when I hand him to others and watch them grapple awkwardly with his floppy neck.
However, some part of me is grimly certain he will die at 2. The evidence is all on my side: 100 percent of my children have suffered this fate. Even as I carry my baby into the world — this crowded, clamorous, septic world — I am holding a breath that I will not release until he turns precisely one day older than Greta.
During my son’s birth, I leaned into the crook of my wife’s neck while she pushed, just as I did when Greta was born. I closed my eyes and smelled the gauze from her deathbed. My boy came out sickly white, with the umbilical cord knotted around his neck, and he was silent for an eternal second before his gurgling cry bubbled through his lungs and my wife clutched him and wept. “This is a miracle baby, I hope you understand that,” said our midwife. She was the same woman who had caught Greta and handed her to her mother; Greta had promptly let loose a tarry slick of meconium all over Stacy’s belly and wailed, her feet swiping feebly in it like a bird in an oil spill.
Children, hospitals, blood: It’s all a confused swirl of joy and agony. Somewhere in my subconscious, my daughter is on a scale, her birth weight being calculated; in the same moment, she is blue and cold and being carted away. All I am is a spectator: Her body is not mine to protect, not mine to save.
My wife and I are young still. With our son’s birth, we have committed to another round here on earth. My son will always have a dead sister; when I am 50, my heart will ache in this exact same way it does today. Children remain dead in ways adults do not, and on bad mornings, in the wrong light, everything from here on out feels like ashes.
Thankfully, I see it that way only in the margins. A breezy day, a good drink, my wife laughing, holding my son’s head to my chest — these things help dispel it. I look at my boy, a beautiful already-fattening baby, and this world, the one that senselessly killed my daughter, is benevolent once more.I talk to him about his sister, whom I think he met before arriving. “Your daddy will always be sad your sister’s not here,” I tell him. “But you fill Daddy’s heart up with joy and he loves you more than everything.” I also want to say, but do not: I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ll never be the same father I was before. I’m sorry that you will live with me, to some degree, in grief.
But life is good: Greta loved it. She found every second of it delightful, and at its best when appreciated with others. I think of her hand touching my cheek and I muster up every drop of bravery I can: “It is a beautiful world,” I tell him, willing myself to believe it. We are here to share it.