Month: October 2019

When Gabriel died, people kept telling me to look for the signs of him here on Earth. I wasn’t even sure I believed in the kind of signs that people wanted me to find. Those who have lost children shared stories of butterflies visiting more often after their kids passed. For some it was dragonflies. Butterflies are kind of the “symbol” used a lot of places for child death and I wanted so badly those first few months to believe that every butterfly I saw was Gabriel. But I realized that I was just trying to force myself to believe in something that didn’t feel genuine. I’ve spent much of the last year thinking that the whole idea of “signs” was just a way for people who have lost loved ones to cope. Maybe it’s something they make up in order to feel better about their loss. And maybe I won’t ever be the recipient of one.

And then, a few weeks ago, I started to see Gabriel’s name. Now, I now it’s not the most uncommon name but it’s also not super common, either. I signed Lauren up for a mommy & me music class on Thursday mornings. We went for the first time last week and had an absolute blast. Afterwards, a few of the parents meet in the playroom and let the kids play and they extended the invite to Lauren and me. Lauren was playing with some toys and I was making small talk with some other moms when I looked up at the chalkboard in the room and noticed “Gabriel” written on it. It took me by surprise and I had a moment of pause to think about it, and think about him. It was strangely comforting and felt much different than all those times I tried to make myself believe that every butterfly that fluttered by was him.

Then, this weekend we were driving to a fall fair/cornmaze/pumpkin patch with the kids and drove by a baseball field where some teenagers were playing. Max pointed and said “hey, look, those kids are playing baseball!. As we got closer, Barry and I turned to each other after simultaneously reading that they field was named “Gabriel Memorial Field”. I mentioned that I had been seeing his name pretty often the past few weeks, and Barry said he had as well. Obviously, the field was there long before Gabriel was born and died, and it’s purely coincidental, but maybe it’s not coincidental that we drove by it that day. As we approach his birthday, the importance of keeping him with us and keeping his memory alive keeps growing. The feeling of peace when I see his name makes me wonder if that’s his way of saying hello to us. I don’t see his name and get sad, surprisingly, but instead it makes me smile. And maybe now I’m the person who is making stuff up in my head to make myself feel better. Maybe it’s all a coincidence. Or maybe it’s my sweet baby saying hello and making sure we know he is here with us.

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I’ve been meaning to write for a while now but it’s been hard to find the words. We’ve settled into our new-to-us-new-jersey-life and it’s been busy. It’s our first move with Lauren, our toddler, who has some special needs and requires several hours of therapy per week. I’ve started a new job, Max has started a new school (well, actually two schools since our town doesn’t have full day Kindergarten), and Barry is navigating his new role at work. It’s been a good distraction as we approach November 14th. It has been almost a year since we met, held, kissed, and said goodbye to Gabriel.

I have struggled for the last few weeks knowing that with the changing season and the holidays, his birthday will come. Do we celebrate it? Should we have cake? Or should we be sad knowing that instead of picking out an Elmo smash cake, putting up decorations, and celebrating his first year of life, we are reminded that it’s been a year since we held him.

Maybe we will do both. I can’t shake the feeling that 1 year is going to turn into 10 and his memory and life will become more and more distant. Sometimes I catch myself having to look in my phone for pictures to remember which day he was born. No one should forget their child’s birthday. But sometimes, I do. I don’t think it’s some sort of dysfunctional coping mechanism or anything, but in the days leading up to my induction, I likely didn’t know or care about the date. My sole focus was on meeting him, loving him, and preparing myself to say goodbye to him. And now, I don’t have the luxury of planning a first birthday party for my last baby. Instead, I am reminded every day that my kids are growing up and the bitter sweetness of this serves as a constant reminder that there is one who is missing.

Max still talks about Gabriel, “the baby we had that died”, and still doesn’t seem to fully understand it. But why would he? He was 4 years old and he met Gabriel for about 20 minutes. We still talk about him, but it’s become sort of awkward for me to talk to people about it. It’s almost like it’s a passing subject in a conversation about something else.

“How many kids do you have?”… “Two *sucker punch*”

“Are these your only kids?” … “Yup *sucker punch*”

“Do you think you’ll have more kids?” … “No, we’re done. *sucker punch*”

Because bringing him up in conversation makes me feel like a sad pathetic person who hasn’t gotten “over it” yet. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Sometimes I talk about him and it feels good, and sometimes I talk about him and I immediately regret it. I guess that’s just part of this journey, because as much as you want to talk about your child who died, there aren’t a ton of people who want to hear about it. But, he is part of our family and we will continue to keep his life and memory relevant. Because, he is.

Life is overwhelming with Maxwell and Lauren and the daily demands that we have rarely afford us an opportunity to relax. Life would be infinitely busier, more expensive, and more tiring with a soon-to-be-one-year-old. But man, would it be sweeter.