Lessons

I am 35 years old. I would say that the majority of my life was pretty blessed. I lost my grandfather when I was 8, but I was only 8 and didn't fully comprehend what it meant to lose someone. I lost family pets here and there over the years, and those times were sad, of course, but nothing compared to what I would experience several years later. I would say that up until last year, I lived life fairly unscathed.

Then July came and we lost our precious boy. September came, and my mom received a new liver, but processing the joy in her gaining her life back along with the sadness of a young woman who was able to give that gift to a handful of people because she lost her life...it's just so conflicting. When we met the family of this woman, it was incredibly bittersweet. There was so much sadness, but the joy in seeing their daughter/friend/sister live on and give life to others was apparent. You could see that immediately.

Earlier this week, I learned that a friend had suffered a brain aneruysm. She was a fellow July mom who gave birth to a beautiful little girl. Just yesterday, I learned that my friend had passed away. She was much too young. She had a young baby, just 8 months old. Things like this aren't supposed to happen. I can't even begin to imagine how her husband is processing this. He must wonder how he's going to honor his wife and make sure his daughter knows what a beautiful person she was. He must think about how much his daughter will miss, and also all the joys of his daughter growing up that his wife will miss. I think about these things often and would feel absolutely robbed if something were to happen to me and I couldn't watch my son grow up.

I'm not sure it's necessary, but I will say that I've never actually met this woman in person. When I was expecting Christopher, I became part of a Facebook group for women expecting in July 2012. I will admit that, at first, I was a bit skeptical of advertising that I was part of a Facebook group, thinking that it somehow equated to MySpace or something not very nicely looked upon. What I learned was that there was a group of absolutely amazing women who grew to love each other, support each other, answer each others embarrassing pregnancy questions, support each other through the aches and pains...and the early deliveries, the happy deliveries. Out of a group of more than 300 women, I was the only one who carried to term and lost their baby full-term. I was not the only one who suffered a loss, or suffered some kind of seemingly insurmountable obstacle before or after birth. Struggles or not, all of these women are strong, funny, supporting and loving.

When I lost Christopher, the outpouring of love and support was amazing...beyond amazing. I mean, I can't even begin to say how much these women kept me afloat in my most horrible time. They collected money for us that we were able to use toward Christopher's memorial, many of them took part in a balloon release on the day of his service and I have pictures of nearly every single one of them. It's beyond words and my heart still swells at the amount of love these women and their families sent to my family, and to my little boy. Several of the women sent me messages, or even sent me meaningful items I have placed at a makeshift altar of sorts for Christopher. One of these gifts came from this woman who passed away. She comes from a family who works with stained glass, and she made a beautiful glass collage of pictures of Christopher, as well as a few ornaments. These are the only pictures we have up of Christopher, even still. We also learned from this woman's mother that she was an organ donor--her gift of love lives on in the lives she will save.

It is not lost on me at all that there are a lot of similarities or connections between what happened to me and what has happened to her. I somehow feel a connection to her and her family. Since last July, I have learned that so many people suffer tragic losses, but don't speak about them. Perhaps it's from fear of making others sad. I am guilty of that. Perhaps they don't want pity. I am guilty of that as well. But sometimes I want to tell the world that I had a beautiful boy who was only with us for a few days, not because I do want pity or want to make others sad, but because he was my child, my son, we had hopes and dreams and plans as a family. I want to honor him by sharing these things. He has taught me that life is so fragile, and my friend's passing has not only reinforced that notion but has also taught me that we are not guaranteed a tomorrow. It's part of being human to take things for granted, but tragedies like this make it easier push away the trivial annoyances we normally harp on, and instead focus on the joys and love we have. You don't have to look very far to see that the world is full of people who are generous and loving. I am lucky to know so many of them, and saddened that one of them has left us. Things like this aren't supposed to happen.

While the news of her passing has sort of resurrected some of my own grief, it is mostly empathy I feel for her and her family. I am sure they are trying to make sense of all of this...and there is no sense to it. Just an ending, and a time of figuring out how to carry on without her in their lives. I am so heartbroken for them.

To my friend: Rest in peace. Know that your baby girl is in the loving hands of your family. We will think of your generosity and love often. And...one small favor: could you give my baby boy a big hug and kiss from his Mommy?