6 years

Tomorrow will be 6 years since the day I delivered James. His birthday, his death day.

As each year passes, life slows down in the week approaching. Well, life doesn’t slow down as much as my mental speed does. The grief always rises and emotions hit me like thrashing waves; taking enormous mental strength to process basic things.

But this week has been interesting, amidst the present grief, there has been so much to celebrate. A text from a dear friend that after 7 years of trying to grow their family (via infertility treatments and failed adoptions), was chosen one morning to be parent to a precious baby girl, a friend secretly getting married, another engaged, one successfully undergoing a scary surgery, another starting labor. I can’t help but just be overjoyed at the goodness of life and celebrations around me, despite the approaching anniversary of my son’s death.

I suppose this is the passage of time, it’s not that I don’t think about him constantly or that it is any easier to talk about having dead child, but that as each year passes, his impact on my life is deepening my life experience and the joy I feel for others.

This year has been hard. Suddenly taking in a teenage girl and learning how to co-parent with her parents and then undergoing a home renovation that wasn’t planned for and unending threw me back into the waves of grief. I was thrown into a life I hadn’t planned for or imagined. I yearned for simplicity and was given immense complexity.

This past winter, I decided to get a pedicure in an attempt at self-care. However, in an attempt to steal some more time for myself to go thrifting, I rushed the process and slipped on my flats after what I felt was enough time drying the polish. Once I got in my car to head home, I check the polish and saw that it was all basically ruined. I groaned, but in my resourcefulness decided to just stop at Walgreens and buy a matching polish and fix it at home. At home, I pulled out the applicator brush and realized out of ALL the bottles, I had chosen one that had lost it brush. It was just a stick of plastic.

I lost it.

I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air between heavy sobs. The difficulty of life just got to me. Everything was hard, nothing came easy. There were so many little fires to put out each day and I felt completely incapable of handling it anymore.

In a moment of heavenly clarity, I remember that I had promised myself that one day I would go to therapy to process James’ death. At that moment, I knew I needed it.

You see, often when someone goes through trauma of any sort, a common phrase extended to that person is, “You are so strong.” It’s true, they are. But the reality is that it can become a crutch, something to lean on when days and weeks get hard. They muscle through trials because they know they can. They strive to maintain the image of perseverance and strength.

In my moment of grief over something as trivial as nail polish, I knew that I did not have the right tools and thought processes to handle the trials that were before me. I had worked so hard to escape the darkness and grief of James’ death, yet here I was and my own strength wasn’t enough.

So I started going to therapy. I found a safe place to talk and realize that I was physically keeping myself from feeling emotions, sabotaging my own efforts to heal. I was powering through the heartache, but these trials weren’t ending. There wasn’t a solid, single date to them, they were constantly flaring up and causing frustration. In therapy I have been learning to let myself feel, to cry; to hold both grief and understanding at the same time.

This week, as I was feeling so much joy during such a heavy time, I realized perhaps the true power of our trials is not in our muscling through to gain strength and wisdom, but rather in the deepening of our life experience. My joy has depth and nuance because of the inherent brokenness of my heart. My sorrow works likewise. That is the inherent beauty I see in my life now, that is my true strength.

With that said, each year for James’ anniversary I like to ask family and friends to do an act of service in his name. I call it The James Effect. It has brought so much light to this day, as acts of kindness bring life to his name. This year, however, I have a little twist. My hope is that this year, for your service, you consider reaching out to a friend or family member who has been going through a hard time. Send them a message or invite them over to chat. Create space for them to feel safe, to breathe and feel. Ask them, “How are you coping?”, “What is helping?”, “How is your heart?”. Make room for vulnerability and let them know that they have a village of love and support. Don’t try to fix things, just let them be seen and heard.

Lastly for tomorrow, I hope you do something to fill your own cup, something that brings you joy. Whether it is going on a sunset walk, eating chocolate cake, or having a dance party with your kids, seek out those experiences that are sure to bring a smile to your face.

Fill your cup to overflowing, because when it overflows, that’s when you can share it.