Surviving the First Year

We have survived the first year of life without our Angel Harry here with us in his 'little overcoat'.

I remember last year at this time having such mixed feelings over the passage of time. On the one hand I wanted time to stop. I resented every second that ticked away and took us further away from the time when Harry was with us. I wanted to turn back the clock and forever stay on August 2nd. Even if that meant living with such a sick Harry, I just wanted him here with me to hold and cuddle and laugh with, bounce with, point to the buses with, live with. Part of me just didn't want to face living without my Harry.

Part of me still doesn't.

Though, fortunately, the rest of me, is able to reason with that part of me, "That is ridiculous, you are here and Harry is there (where ever 'there' is), you have to just make the best of it. No point in moping - you can't change what has past. Harry was here but now Harry is gone, and no amount of wishing will every bring him back. You have a choice, you can mope and be miserable or you can honour Harry and what he taught you and focus on the good things in life and finding the joy in every day".

The lecture works better on some days than on others.

Back to time. On the other hand, last year, I wanted time to fast forward through one year. I just wanted to get through the whole, long, painful first year without Harry. Fast forward through it and get to year two. I just had a sense that things would feel sufficiently different in a year - the pain would not cut so raw.

And I was right.

We have lived through the year of hard firsts, all of the holidays without Harry. Taking Lydia to school, dance class, Kindermusik, swimming, hockey and skating, doing all of those things, seeing all the families with their children, and missing Harry in each moment. We have done the hard work of putting away all of Harry's things. His car seat is washed and in the attic. His booster seat washed and in the basement. His toys, the real baby ones, washed and put away. His coats gone from the hallway. His hats and mitts moved out of the basket in the front hall. His shoes in a basket in his room. His trike and red cars washed and put away. His medicines gone from the kitchen. His towel no longer hangs in the bathroom. His toothbrush is gone from the toothbrush holder. The baby gate is gone from the top of the stairs. All of the diaper changing stations have been long cleaned up and put away and his extra diapers and baby food given away. His room is cleaned up, though still his room, and still set up for him. I'm not ready to change that yet.

Some of those things we did very quickly right after he passed over. Before I could think about it too much I remember taking his car seat out of the car and washing it. Same with his booster seat. A part of me could pretend he had merely grown out of them and we were washing them up and putting them away because he was done with them. Well, he was done with them.

Other things took months to work up the strength to face.

But now, much of the 'Harry-i-ness' has been cleaned up and organized out of our house. Our house is neat and organized. It is the house of an only child - where the parent's stuff rules instead of being over run with kids' stuff. It is hollow and empty in that way.

All that said, I suppose I am at peace with Harry's life. I have come to terms with his short life. I have worked out a narrative of truth that comforts me and gives me hope and strength. But I will *Never* *Ever* *Ever* 'get over' Harry's death.

I suppose that is one thing I have learned in this past year. About mid-way through I suddenly realized that, "I will never get over this. This is not something you 'get over'. This is a pain you learn to live with, to take into your heart and hold and surround, but it will never, ever, go away."

I actually found that realization very freeing.

Once I realized this feeling, this dull ache of pain of missing Harry would never go away, I was free to stop waiting for it to go and able to just accept its presence in my life.

That is what I have now, sixteen months of wonderful memories of love and laughter and tears and pain and joy and happiness. Almost 2000 pictures and 41 minutes of video. Some clothes and toys. The one picture that Harry and I scribbled together. And an ache that will never go away.

I think about Harry every day and I don't expect that to change. He is no longer the very first thing I think of when I wake up or the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. But I think about him often during the day.

But I also think of very happy things. Lydia makes me laugh each day. I treasure every moment with her in I way I never did before. That is one of Harry's greatest gifts to me. He helped me to see just how much I love his sister. I mean, I have always loved Lydia, but losing Harry showed me just how much and how deeply I treasure her. I have much more patience for her and am able to really focus and give myself over to our moments together.

I love Henry more too. Much more deeply, though I didn't even know that was possible. I treasure him more too. I have seen him at his most vulnerable, but I have also seen him in his greatest strength and love, and we have held each other through it all and love each other all the more deeply for it. That is a profound gift.

I think of how much I love where we live. What wonderful friends and neighbours we have. What a blessing it is to live less than one hour from a beautiful lake and beach in the summer.

Little things that used to bother me don't affect me much at all. The one benefit of this experience is that we can say we have lived through one of the worst things that can happen to a family. So while I know our experience doesn't make us 'immune' from further tragedy (oh would that it did!), I know I can face pretty much anything and survive.

Since November we have been planning a big house renovation. People used to warn us, "Oh, doing a renovation can be really stressful on a marriage. There are so many difficult decisions."

Henry and I just laugh at that. This is pure luxury to have the time and money to plan a renovation when many people in the world can't even afford a house. When you have been faced with the decisions we have had to make, choosing kitchen cupboards and such is easy. I think we have had a grand total of one fight over the renovation - and it was all over whether we should put a TV in the living room or not - at the end of it we both felt so sheepish and silly - we recognized it totally didn't matter and really wasn't important and neither of us really cared where the damn TV went!

I still have to remind myself that the stress is over and that I don't have to feel stressed out. I still tend to look for the one next bad thing coming on the horizon instead of all of the good things that are right before us - but I am getting better on focusing on the good.

I remind myself often, "If it wasn't for the fact that Harry got sick and died our life would be pretty much perfectly amazing right now". I try to change that to, "Harry's life was perfect and exactly what it was meant to be, just not what we wanted it to be. Our life is still wonderful, blessed, and amazing and there are many more *good* things to come for us".

It *IS* better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, as the old saying goes.

I wouldn't trade my 16 months with Harry for anything. If my choice was to go back and either not have Harry at all or have him again and have the exact same experience, I would choose to do it all over again. Really. Having had the chance to love Harry and be his Mum and experience his incredible and amazing life and spirit. I would not trade that for anything. Okay, yes of course I would trade it for him never having gotten sick ... but even as I write that, I know of all of the amazing gifts from this experience, and I don't know that they would have come without Harry's illness, and I am profoundly grateful for them. I am a much, much better person for having gone through this. This experience with Harry was in almost all ways such a gift. To be held in such love, to experience such community, to know such profound joy and happiness and hope. I have tasted from a rare well of perfection that few are given the opportunity to know. I would not turn my back on that gift.

There are still so many stories rattling in my head. I hope people reading this don't find me self-indulgent, which I know blogging can sort of be. I can't explain it. I know I have heard authors of books talk about the stories and characters being in their head and they just had to write them down to get them out. That is how it is for me with my stories of life with Harry. They rattle around in my head, mostly fully formed and they push and prod and poke until I sit and let them out and write them down. I usually just write and hardly edit anything - everything just comes out the way you read it. But once the story is down and out of my head, I am able to find peace with that part of the story and put it to rest so to speak. So I know this is helping me work through my grief and something I have to do. I can't possibly leave the stories in my head or they would make me crazy.

So I'll continue to write them till they're done.

But now I have to get to bed.

Good night.
Love and light to you all,
Cynthia