The things we want to do and the things we want to do. Love both.

Repeatedly We Are Asked

to embody or consume;

to be in kinship with everything larger

or to order and manage everything smaller.

We are asked, every day, to align or separate;

to coordinate our will with everything living

or to impose our will on everything we meet.

And not choosing is a choice. Acquiescence

is different from patience or surrender.

All this leaves us needing to know:

whether to better the song through practice

or to better ourselves through singing.

Every year in October, international child loss month, ceremonies are held in honor of all the babies loved and lost all over the world. Candles are lit, prayers are said, tears are shed. People remember alone, quietly, in the spaces where no one can interrupt. People remember in groups, in congregations, in homes and in parks. Everywhere, people remember.

I attended an Angel of Hope Ceremony here in Central Florida. Most of the people from my support groups were there. We lit candles for our babies and placed roses on the angel statue when our child's name was called. When I was in line writing down Mateo's name on the list of names to be called I heard the woman behind me sigh, heavily. I watched her write one name, and then two names and then a third name. She grabbed three roses and walked away. Her pain was so heavy that for a moment there I couldn't feel my own.

Whenever I drive to and from events like these, or even to Mateo's grave, there is always a sense of anger. The sting behind the fact that there is a big difference between the places I should be driving to with my baby and the places I drive to in order to honor him. I feel cheated. And sad. And angry. But am also grateful for the opportunity to have the latter. I've had every other opportunity to be his mother taken from me. The ability to hold him, and kiss him, and nurture him. The opportunity to watch him grow, and kiss his scraped knees and watch him become a man. Of all the things I have been denied, not even death can take away my motherly duty of loving him. I love him every day. With every breath. I love him every time I drive to a ceremony in his honor. 

I love him.

                                                          

 

The more things change the more they stay. Period.

"They say, if real enough, some see God

at the moment of their death. But isn't

every fall and letting go a death? Isn't God

waiting right now in the chill between the

small doe's hoof and those fallen leaves?" Mark Nepo

Changes. There is something about fall. Whenever this time of year comes around I find myself in the space between anticipation for the future and mourning what is falling. Didn't I just get accustomed to this year? Aren't I just now embracing what it means to be here in this year? Just in time to see it go and start all over again it seems. In Florida we don't get fall like in other places. It isn't obvious in the leaves. The weather will betray you the moment you feel you might need a sweater. But fall isn't about weather or climate. It's about change. A change so integral you feel it in your bones, in your teeth, your cells. It is the time of year when things change from the inside and the world's changes on the outside are just a reflection. 

This time of the year always brings me back to Andre. I find myself imagining what his life would be like today. I picture the him I knew then in the world I live in today and it feels like a puzzle with missing pieces. I can't create, not even in my mind, the man he would have been today. Not the experiences that would have changed him. Not the heartbreaks and not the accomplishments. I can't create him in this world. But I can carry the him I do know and love with me into this world. Because that Andre, the one that brings a smile to my face at just the thought, that Andre lives in me. I miss him so much. 

This time of year also brings about nervous anticipation and grief about next month and the one year anniversary of Mateo's birth. And death. I have planned on going to New York and being with my best friend Andrea. She wheeled me down to his bed in the NICU so we could read him bedtime stories those dates last year. I would like her to be my side those dates this year. Maybe we will do something to honor his birth. Maybe ill just lay in bed and cry. Either way, I want to do it with Andrea. 

So I moved into a new apartment this week. Talk about a change. This perfect mix of old things and new things in a new place with the old you. I went through all my things, throwing some away, relishing in the memories of others. You run into that old picture you hadn't seen in years and question your life choices- "is that what my hair looked like and no one helped me?" You find things to donate and things you just absolutely have to hold on to for posterity. You imagine a great grandchild asking a question about that item- an old journal, a good book with an inscription from ex "to the forever love of my life, something forever and love and did I  mention forever? love always". A piece of jewelry passed down from your mom, nothing fancy but just nice enough that you look forward to giving to a daughter, grand daughter, great grand daughter and telling her its vintage. You imagine what a stranger would picture you like if they went through your most prized possessions. What do my things say about me? Oh the picture our things paint! And then you put it all away neatly in a box and keep unpacking because this isn't the time to ponder mortality or posterity. It's time to find a place for all those dvd's you swear you'll watch again some day.

I can definitely feel that it is fall. I can feel the familiar changes.