Tomorrow's Kisses

Help us celebrate Lachlan’s 4th Birthday!

Simply do something to make someone smile today!

Tomorrow, 4th of July, we will be spreading the message of ‘Lachlan’s Light’ with a float in the City of Woodstock Freedom Fest 4th of July Parade.  The parade starts at Hwy 5/Main Street  just north of Hwy 92 and goes north 1.7 miles, ending at Woodstock Elementary School on Rope Mill Road.  If you’re not doing anything, come on out and cheer us on!  Just look for the sunflowers!  Parade starts at 10 am. 

I took Callum to summer camp this morning.  It’s just day camp.  I will see him at four o’clock.  But I’m going absolutely crazy.  It has only been one hour since I hugged him bye and I am going out of my head.  Silly, I know.  It’s summer camp.  Lots of fun.  I know he is having a great time as I write this.  So why am I so crazy? I didn’t sleep last night.  Worried about every little thing.  There is a lake there.  Will the lifeguard at the pool be watching closely.  Do they realize how much this child means to me?  Do college students with no children have the ability to even comprehend how much this child means to me? When I left him he was excited; hardly even taking the time to hug me and never even looked back.  Great for him.  So hard for me.  Before leaving the property I had to go look at the pool.  I had to lay my eyes on the lake.  I felt the hot sun; did I put on enough sunscreen and will he put more on if he needs it?  I looked at the woods…the bathrooms… They go to the restroom in groups.  He will be fine.  Before driving away I told the universe that my child WILL be safe and that nothing less than a perfect day was acceptable.  For good measure I added a prayer.  And now I try to begin tackling my list of ‘things to get done while Callum is at camp.’

But I sit unreasonably frozen.  And I know why.  Lachlan.  I couldn’t protect him.  I did all of the ‘right things’ with him.  He was breast fed, had regular naps and good night’s sleep, ate veggies and fruit, organic milk, no fake sugar, very minimal food coloring…. I did it all.  Even before he was born I ate right, took care of myself…..Didn’t even take a tylenol if I needed it.  Despite all efforts, he got sick.  I couldn’t keep it from happening and I couldn’t make it better.  For eight months and four days I couldn’t make it better.  I couldn’t protect him.  And so, as the depth of my grief over Lachlan increases daily, so does my anxiety over Callum.

I am trying very hard to be aware of these things so that I don’t smother him.  I know that I can’t be with him every moment.  I know that I have to be reasonable.  I know that he will be fine, probably better, without me by his side.  I have always been perhaps a bit too cautious with my boys.  I would never even entertain the thought of leaving them with a drop-in childcare service.  Simply letting someone else drive them sends me into heart palpitations.  Callum went to the soap box derby a couple of weeks ago, without me, and I couldn’t breathe all day.  And now camp.  Snakes, deep water, strangers, sunburn, mean children… a splinter! Kidding, sort of.  I have a scene playing over in my mind:  I can see myself dressed like Rambo, with camouflage outfit (matching hat, of course) and painted face.  Silent in the woods.  Watching over him….

I wonder if they have therapy day camp for adults?

It has been eight months today.  Might as well be eight years.  Sure feels like it.  Feels like eight years and it feels like eight days.  I don’t know anymore.  And no one seems to know what to say to me.  I don’t know what to say to me either.  The question most asked is, ‘How are you?’  I’ve heard it one thousand and one times.  I appreciate it every time, I do.  The problem is that I don’t know the answer.  I don’t know how I am anymore.  I don’t know who I am anymore.  This process of redefining your world and your place in it is an all consuming one.  There has not been a moment where I have been able to step outside of it and assess how I am.  Maybe I’m just scared of what I will find.  A very dear friend came up to me a couple of months ago and asked me, “How are you?”  I answered my usual, “Good.”  She nodded, smiled, and started to walk away.  But she stopped, came back, looked me right in the eye, and said, “Really?”  She called me out.  No, not really.  Of course not.  I laughed out loud and said an honest, “No. But isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”  That’s what everyone wants to hear.  And I completely understand. Caring enough to ask is very kind; but, I think most people are not ready to have the reality of my situation unloaded in their presence.  So they do me a favor and ask me how I am.  I know they care.  So I do them a favor and tell them I’m good.  I guess I’ve been doing the same to myself.  How am I?  I’m good.  You’re good Leslie.  You’re doing good.  It’s good.  Life is still good.  Look at what you still have that is good.  It’s all good… About as good as someone who has just had their legs bitten off by a shark, their tourniquet is unraveling, and they’re ‘enjoying’ lobster and a cocktail on the beach…. It’s all good.

‘It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.’

We all know this popular quote.  It’s taken from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem ‘In Memoriam:27,’ 1850:

 I hold it true, whate’er befall;                                                             I feel it, when I sorrow most;                                                           ‘Tis better to have loved and lost                                                   Than never to have loved at all.

So I was standing at the sink.  Thinking of Lachlan.  Again.  I still expect him to appear from behind the kitchen island, huge blue eyes sparkling, with a train or motorcycle in hand.  And I still think sometimes, for a brief second, when I walk into the pantry, that I will find him sitting on the floor quietly enjoying a snack he had climbed the shelves to retrieve.  He never did inquire as to whether it was okay; not even with his eyes when he was discovered.  Lachlan’s world was a wonderful one.  He made it what he wanted it to be.  So many memories.

Today, while looking for extra space for Callum’s new shirts in the dresser, I made the mistake of opening Lachlan’s shirt drawer.  It was open only a moment.  A moment too long.  There.  The orange surf shirt he wore while bouncing on the blow up mattress with Callum and Aiden.  There.  The grey soccer shirt he wore to school that day when he looked so unbelievably cute.  There.  The brown shirt he was wearing the day we were told he would have brain surgery the next morning.  There. The black shirt he wore for his entire birthday party because I wanted him to be really comfortable, even though I had a beautiful smocked jumper with tractors on it.

As I stare out the window over the kitchen sink I have to ask myself,  or rather, I need to reassure myself, that it is indeed better to have loved and lost.  For every moment of joy his memories induce, there is the immediate adverse reaction of being gutted.  It does cross my mind that if I had not known him then I wouldn’t know what I’m missing.  Of course I am so thankful that I did have the honor of being his mother.  The joy he brought into my life and the lives of others — and continues to do so — is immeasurable.  The pain, however, is also immeasurable.

Imagine, if you will, that you have met the love of your life.  Your chick-flick romance novel ‘soul mate.’  Every day with them is full of love and laughter and joy.  You couldn’t imagine life being any better. Ever.  You have two amazing years with this person.  You see your future together; getting married, having children, traveling.  Then imagine you have to watch this person fade away and then pass away.  You are left shaking your head and wondering what just happened.   You will spend the rest of your life thinking of what would have been.  Their voice, their touch, their laugh, now out of reach.  Your taste of joy is now so tainted that you are afraid to ever taste it again.   Maybe it would make you question whether or not it was ‘better to have loved and lost….’

Some days I just don’t know. 

One day some people came to the master and asked: How can you be happy in a world of such impermanence, where you cannot protect your loved ones from harm, illness or death?

The master held up a glass and said:  Someone gave me this glass; It holds my water admirably and it glistens in the sunlight.  I touch it and it rings!  One day the wind may blow it off the shelf, or my elbow may knock it from the table.  I know this glass is already broken, so I enjoy it — incredibly.

~Achaan Chah Subato

‘And ye, who have met with Adversity’s blast, 

And been bow’d to the earth by its fury;

To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass’d

Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury~

Still, fill to the Future! and join in our chime,

The regrets of remembrance to cozen,

And having obtained a New Trial of Time,

Shout in hopes of a kindlier dozen.’

~ Thomas Hood

We went to see Santa tonight.  He was, as always, magnificent.  The fur on his suit was as white and perfectly groomed as the beard on his chin.  The quintessential twinkle in his eyes.  His gentle demeanor.  His unstrained smile.  The children were a mixture of excitement, nerves, and “get me out of these itchy clothes before I get medieval on you with this candy cane!”

When it came our turn, I walked up with Callum.  I had brought Lachlan’s precious bun bun with us.  He goes most places with us. We showed Santa a picture of Lachlan and told him that he recently passed away.  We told Santa that he held Lachlan last year, and asked if he could hold his beloved bun bun this year.  Santa took him gently and held him with his hand on bun bun’s shoulder; as he would have done if Lachlan had been sitting there.   He fully understood that this was not simply a stuffed animal.  Then he patiently sat and listened to every word Callum spoke.

When they were finished, Santa gently placed bun bun back in my arms.  He then reached up with two perfectly white gloved hands and wiped tears from his face.  He looked me in the eyes and, with the compassion of the universe in his voice, said, “Merry Christmas.”