The Smallest Shifts

Ok, I know it was almost a year ago that I said 'good-bye' to this blog, then I wrote one more...and now I'm writing another one. The truth is, this blog will never be closed, there will always be something about this process of grieving that pulls me to this place to express moments that happen to my heart that I will feel need to be written. In reality there are many times I could write here, mostly I just wait until it feels right.

Years ago when I thought life was hard (before it actually got hard!) I had a dear friend teach me the acronym "AFGO"  which is = Another F'ing Growth Opportunity! This week I had 3 AFGO's. AFGO's are good! Here's what happened...

Some of you know that I have a Facebook page for Health & Wellness and follow me there. Of the 300+ people who follow that page only a small handful know the back story of why I am so passionate about the pursuit of a happy healthy life. So this week when I posted about my 'oldest son' working in Puerto Rico I am certain no one blinked an eye at what an incredible turning point it was for me to refer to Daniel, my middle child, by birth order as "my oldest child". The post was probably no more than 25 words. Yet I typed, backspaced, deleted, reflected, re-wrote, contemplated, backspaced (again) and finally after about 10 minutes settled on leaving it as Daniel - 'my oldest son'.

My 'mother heart' doesn't like it, she squirms and contracts around the broken pieces that have worked at putting themselves back together. My intellect knows it's the path of least resistance and rationalizes that, in fact, Daniel is my oldest son by use of a chronological system. And as you know from my post about dodging questions that are uncomfortable, I took the path of least resistence.  My AFGO here - Growth is something that happens when we're not looking for it. It comes to us in unexpected moments. I was simply posted how proud I am of Daniel and the work he is doing in PR. I wasn't looking for a reflection on my life.

Personal growth will knock on the door and asked to be let in, but it is our mindfulness and awareness that actually allow for the growth to happen. Every day we have these opportunities - how often do we open the door is a reflection of our readiness and desire to change. I guess I was ready for this one.

My second AFGO this week was an interesting reflection on happiness. I was driving home from having taught a Yoga class and was feeling especially happy. And I thought of Brandon and a strange thing happened.... I continued to be happy! This is a big deal for me! In the past 3+ years thinking of Brandon most often results in me being emotionally devastated. It could send me into a spiral of grief that might take days to come out of. So, feeling happy and thinking about Brandon at the same time is a huge shift in my growth. And the really cool part was, I continued to think about him and the happiness he brought to my life and the pure love that radiated from that amazing young man. I actually became MORE happy the more I thought about it - and attaching him to these positive feelings made me feel his presence in a much deeper way.

Dare I say how fortunate I am for this life's experience - That I have been able to embrace enough growth from the most pain experience of my life that it can also bring me pleasure. It hasn't been easy and it has meant me opening the door to growth more than I would like. But those moments of happiness driving home from Yoga were spectacular!

Then there is Sam, the impetus for the last of the three AFGO's this week. As I said in a previous post about 'firsts', Sam gives me an interesting view on this process of grief. Well, last night Sam let me peek into what what questions will be important to him as he learns about his brother Brandon's death. I'm going to give it to you straight - What do you say to a 5 year old when he asks you:
1- Did Brandon take his 'Blankie' to heaven with him?
2- What happened to Brandon's body if it didn't go to heaven?

...ouch....

Actually the 'blankie' question was easy - Brandon's blankie is right next to my bed, where it's been for  three years and four months. And oddly, this was the right answer for Sam, he's glad he can have his blankie 'forever'

Now to question #2... I am not ready to answer this question for Sam. And I will tell you why - I still question my decisions around this topic. I still struggle with deciding to cremate my son. And I still question if I should get a grave site somewhere (but where is always what comes up). How can I answer this when, even after 3+ years, I don't have clarity? It's lumped into a bucket of unexpected decisions that were made in a fog, out of context of the natural order of life. I should never have had to make that decision... so I question if I made the right one. And now I'm being asked by a 5 year old to explain what happened.

The AFGO - Perhaps Sam's question was a gentle reminder from the Universe that I still have some hard work to do around Brandon's death. That for me not to get stuck in my healing process I need to get clarity of the decisions I made at a very hard time in my life. The truth is, there are a lot of things I still need to work on.

I have time to decide how best to teach Sam about this part of death (Just so you know-I gave a very generic answer).  I will need to do the work to get through yet another aspect of a child...ugh...

These small seemingly insignificant shifts in attachment to labels (oldest, middle, youngest), attachment to what makes me feel happy and the smallest of nudges that I still have work to do are good reminders that each of us needs to be mindful of even the smallest things in our lives.These small shifts are proof that we have grown and they reveal  opportunities for us to become even more.... when we're ready to open the door and sit with them. Which reminds me of a favorite Rumi Poem - The Guest House.

Ok, One More Post

Yes, I know I said in my last post that I was going to wrap up this blog as it was time to move on. As I have known all along grief never has a final chapter, it's not something you get to close the book on and put it on the shelf next to all your other life's experiences. So there is room for another post on this blog.

Sunday is Mother's Day, it is also Brandon's birthday. He would be 24 this year. It is impossible for me to even write those words without becoming very emotional. And by emotional I mean, start crying with tears streaming down my face in an emotional exodus away from the burning in my heart that arrived the day he died. But with a skill I have honed over the last three and a half years, I will take a deep breath, wipe the tears and take another step forward.

It doesn't feel like it should be this hard. This is the third birthday that we will recognize without Brandon here. Perhaps part of it is on the 14th Daniel will turn 21 - the same age as Brandon was when he died. There is something very strange about that for me. In birth order Brandon should always be the oldest, so for Daniel to surpass him seems incredibly un-natural...almost as un-natural as out living your child.

We are heading to Moab for the next five days. As a person who embraces the concept of 'running away' I somehow always choose to honor these mile stones by leaving my regular routine and getting away. In Moab I will be surrounded by the people who have walked this journey with me step by step, shoulder to shoulder. In addition to Scott, Daniel, Jason and Sam I am so honored to have my friend Beth go. These are truly the people who really get it. And I will surrounded by some of the most beautiful landscape in the world. Getting into nature has always been the best way to soothe my soul.

Gratitude has become my 'go-to' coping skill to get me past these unwanted milestones, so here goes my gratitude to get me through the next few days.

Because I got to be Brandon's Mom I learned.... warn milk with a little honey makes you sleep better, checkers are a great way to connect, smile-a big smile that lights up your eyes, follow your dreams, wear your heart on your sleeve-even if it hurts it's worth it, be loyal, be generous, be a goofy dork sometimes, quit worrying what people thing about you, have boundaries, love-love-love and love some more.

A Beginnings End

One of the best lines from a song, "...every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end.", (Closing Time by Semisonic). And if you're like me you sing along with the melody in your head every time you say it. It has a nice flow about it, the words, the intonation and the truth that resonates within it. This blog post will be both a new beginning and the end of my purpose in writing this blog. It will be the last post.

I started this blog just eight months after Brandon died. I really needed an outlet to express the truly shattered feelings I had about my life, my loss and my process through this. But it's time for new beginnings, which I am ready and anxious for. No, I don't have some amazing announcement to share. I guess the amazing part is that I feel ready, really ready to square my shoulders to life with a happy (yet expanded) heart.

 "Like any injury the body sustains, a broken heart never heals back the same way. But I would like to believe I have some control over how it is put back together. That may be my only hope that, again some day, I can let go of waiting (again) for the other shoe to drop."

That quote is the closing lines of my first post. In looking back I am proud to say I have done exactly what I set out to do. It has not been easy and I would never want to do it again, but I have worked really hard to put my heart back together and that I have been able to stop living waiting for the other shoe to drop and to crush what was left of me. One thing I want to be very clear about - I did not do it alone! I am so fortunate that I had people who held the fragile scaffolding together while I did the work of rebuilding my broken heart. These people were tireless, committed, strong, brave, courageous and loyal often in the face of my caustic, mean, depressed, scathing, miserable and sullen demeanor. My husband, Scott and best friend, Beth deserve a medal of honor as I literally owe them my life. Daniel and Jason, just by their mere existence in my world (unknowingly) forced me to put one foot in front of the other many times. And then there are the friends who kept me running (Dottie), texted me random messages of hope (Crystal), hugged me (Meg) and always made a point of acknowledging my hard days like birthday and holidays (Jim, the best Father-in-Law!). The list could be really long and I probably should have a big appreciation party and invite everyone because I wouldn't be writing this with each contribution, no matter how small.

Putting closure on this doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any more, it means it is time for me to look at how I can use my process to actively inspire others to have hope for one more day, or hour, or minute or second, whatever it takes to take another breath or another step towards healing. It can be done and it starts with looking at all those pieces of brokenness and saying "I have some control over how it is put back together" and.... I'm going to build it back together bigger!

I hope over the next few months to develop something I can give back with. Perhaps it's motivational speaking or writing or retreats. I'm not sure yet, but any input, thoughts or suggestions you have would be welcome. And to those who have read this blog and provided support in that way, you too have made an impact in my healing. I thank you and am grateful for you in my life.

"Be the change you want to see in the world" - Gandhi

Dodge, Duck, Dip, Dive and Dodge

Who doesn't love Dodgeball?



Wow, it has been a really long time since I've posted anything. It's not that I haven't thought about it, I have. Then I have the thought, "What do I have to say?". And from there, in my head, is sounds something like this: "Don't flatter yourself, your thoughts are not so profound...Maybe I say I still miss Brandon like it was yesterday? Nah, it's been almost two years people will think I'm crazy, I should present the strong side of myself. Well then, don't tell how you broke down and got on anti-depressants last spring. No that would admit you aren't so strong Miss All Knowing Wellness Professional. Ok then, what do I say? I don't know, be inspiring, show strength, share wisdom! Nah... Fine then, don't write anything. Fine." Then the small voice from the back of my conscience says, "Excuse me, how would it feel to be authentic, be real, write from your heart. That's why you started this. Who cares what people think. This is your journey, your story. Step up sistah and put it on paper!". So here it is, sans all the voices in my head.

More than a decade ago when I was sifting my life and making the hard decision to get divorced, a woman shared the poem The Invitation,. It resonated with me so strongly that I kept a copy in my purse for years. In recent years however, I had completely forgotten about it. Then last week I was laying in bed with Sam both of us gazing at the artificial stars illuminated on the ceiling by his night light (yes, a Pillow Pet, $19.95+ S&H that he got for his birthday, but that's another story) and a phrase from the poem began to put itself together in my head. I laid there and the words, the intonation, the meaning and flow of that phrase bounced around in my head. It was like when you walk into a room and  forgot what you were going to do when you got there. The words were familiar and I could feel the comfort in the re-creation of them from a forgotten memory, but couldn't quite put them together in the right order. Thank goodness for Google, as soon as Sam was asleep I typed in the phrase and up came The Invitation in it's entirely. The piece that rolled around in my head was.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

And with that I realized that since Brandon passed away it has been comforting to surround myself with people who are able to do just that.... Sit with my loss without moving to hide it, fade it or fix it. Its seems strange, but at this point in my journey I need the moments I can bring up Brandon's name, in a social setting, without someone flinching, paralyzed by what to say or not to say and afraid of what I will do next. Yes, I might cry, or cuss or smile or just simply need a moment, but that's point - I need that moment! The moment when the love and light of my friends surpasses the darkness of losing my son. It makes me feel like I'm making progess in integrating this into who I am now. I continue to occasionally avoid and be cautious of social situations where I might be asked, "How many kids do you have." or "How old are your kids". This is where dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge come in. I have developed an arsenal of ways to avoid these questions. It makes for an interesting dance - One person innocently chatting up small talk while I dawn my gas mask and dodge, duck and dive for the floor. While another person, flack jacket ready in case I implode with memories of Brandon,  cautiously  makes small talk before they can move, hide, fade or fix the pain they feel on my behalf. Don't get me wrong, I don't go around blabbering my story. My instinctive demeanor is to be much more emotionally guarded. But it's hard when some random thing happens that makes me think of Brandon and I want to say, "I remember when Brandon.... ". But I know that because he is dead it becomes a buzz kill in any situation so I keep it to myself.  If it was about Daniel or Jason no one would flinch.

Last  year as I approached the one year anniversary I had lunch with a friend who has also lost a son. She warned me that year two was worse. Worse simply because our culture figures you're "over it" by now. Sadly, from that perspective that has been true. I could count on one hand the times anyone has asked how I am in relation to the loss of my son. Friends I haven't seen or spoken to since before he died don't touch it, they stay on the fringe of the conversation dancing like they have to go to the bathroom, hoping it doesn't come up. For some, if I bring it up, they are quick to move it, fade it, or fix it. Don't get me wrong, I get it, am guilty of the same thing and I'm not judging it. Perhaps in reading this you realize you too have a favorite tactic. Personally, I like them all. Fade is a simple tactic that allows me to glide right over an uncomfortable moment and on to something more pleasant. With my kids I like 'fix', the Mom in me wants to fix everything for them. 



In less than a month I will step across the two year threshold and continue to mark the time without Brandon. My heart can't tell time and it still aches for Brandon and misess him just as if it were yesterday. Sam talks about Brandon and heaven (like it's Detroit or some place we could go) and it twists my heart every time. Last week he colored pictures to send to Brandon...ouch! In every photo of the three boys together I only see who is not there, and won't ever be. I miss him. I miss a lot every day.

My small hope in sharing this experience is that it will allow us both to grow and move beyond the need to instantaneously move away from these painful moments. That by sitting, even if just for a moment, with someone elses pain we allow our own hearts an opportunity to soften and expand. There is no need to fix, fade, hide or move, just be present and hold the weight for a moment (I promise your won't explode). In exchange we allow the person sharing to move towards healing a broken piece of themselves. It's a win-win.



So I challenge you not to dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge next time you are invited to share someone's heartache. Rather consider it a privilege that person believed in your hearts ability to expand enough to hold their story.

Into the Briar Patch

The universe has a funny sense of humor. I think I've done a fine job this past year making lemonade out of lemons, getting tough when the tough got going and any other adage suggesting we should made the best of what we have. Maybe it's my competitive spirit, but when my oven quit working on the cusp of holiday baking season I decided to make it my lemonade and see what I could do without an oven. I have made five holiday treats without as much as glance as the oven that is currently on Santa's naughty list. Scott said it was like throwing me in the briar patch.

Maybe so, maybe sometimes I choose the briar patch. Maybe I like to see what I'm made of, surprise people or surprise myself. Maybe the poke of a sharp thorn now and again reminds me to feel alive and makes me appreciate the comfortable times when there are no thorns. Maybe people who don't choose the briar patch are the ones missing something. Maybe playing it safe, always do the 'right thing', coloring inside the lines, pleasing your parents, being appropriate, holding your tongue, not taking a risk, going with the crowd, having 2.5 children, being normal isn't where we plant the seeds of a truly joyful life. What would happen if you took a risk, led from your heart, went against the grain, spoke your truth when no one wanted to hear it or just did a great big cannon ball into the briar patch? What would you learn? You would learn that the thorns were good back scratchers and that hidden within the thorns are beautiful flowers you can only see when your in the thick of it. You would learn that the people who really care about you will never leave, but rather they will cheer loudly for you to succeed and they will pull you out of the bushes when you've had enough. You would learn how thick your skin really is and how sometimes a tender touch is the best way through the tough stuff. And most of all you would feel alive because you will have proven to yourself, the only person who really matters, that there is so much to you that is waiting to be explored.

What did I learn from entering the briar patch this past week? Are you waiting for me to reveal what amazing 'a-ha' moment enlightened me, that took my personal life journey to the next level?  Wait for it....

I learned that I have a deep endearing, passionate love for Beer Pretzel Caramels! I do!  I have honestly eaten about 10-1" squares of the chewy, sweet yet salty, decadent little morsels of heaven. You say 10 isn't that many? You could do better. That was just today. I made them yesterday and they had to sit over night or that number would be much higher. 

Beer Pretzel Caramels made with Tommy Knocker Cocoa Porter

 

 

If you are still waiting for my deep thoughts on personal growth you're not going to find it in this post. Really, I do like the BPC's that much! The simple thing I learned it that I do seek out the briar patch, I always have. Sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose and I have raised boys that do the same. And how it pains me when I see them winding up for big double back flip into the thorns. I find a comfortable spot on the banks of the thicket, bring my bull horn and cheer from the edge so they know where to find me if they need anything. And now I will pack a bag of Beer Pretzel Carmels, but I'm not sharing. These are the same boys who have suffered through their parents divorce and the loss of their brother and they are deep souls that see the value in not judging people because they don't fit the mold. They own character traits that no GPA, ACT or SAT scores will ever be able to measure. They follow their hearts, and have the scars to show for it (both physical and otherwise). Their thorny adventures are often the thorns in my sides, but I wouldn't trade them for anything...except maybe Beer Pretzel Caramels.

Not everything in our lives are catastrophic opportunities to learn more about ourselves, sometimes we simply learn a new recipe that makes our hearts sing with joy. I now know that really good caramels are made with butter, sugar and heavy whipping cream (and beer in this case)... and it is sooooo good! So, just like signing up for a half-marathon keeps me logging the miles, this too will force me out the door for a few more miles in exchange for enjoying my new found melt in your mouth love. And to think, if my oven had kept working I would never had learned this and thrown myself into the briar patch (again). Here's to launching yourself into the briar patch with abandon and excitement about what you will learn, how your will grow and what you will learn to love.

Wishing You a Beautiful New Kaleidoscope!

The nerve of those Whos. Inviting me down there - on such short notice! Even if I wanted to go my schedule wouldn't allow it. 4:00, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me - I can't cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing... I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But what would I wear?  

 ~The Grinch

Someone has to play the role of the Grinch, but this year it's not me! Well, at least not that anyone will notice and I will still have my moments (lots of them) and I will still miss Brandon and my Dad and I will still wish my Christmas was a Norman Rockwell painting. As those close to me will tell you, I am historically a Grinch. It goes back to my Dad passing away on Christmas Eve when I was 16. Those who don't know me, expect me to be the Grinch after Brandon's passing. Ha, this year I will fool you all! Yes,  I have been known not put up a tree, no lights on the house, gone somewhere topical or not shopped until December 23rd. But, like each event in our kaleidoscope lives we choose what we see when we look into the viewer at our lives and we choose how we move with it.  And just like a kaleidoscope, if you twist even the smallest amount it changes everything. So again this year, I am twisting it to get a better view.

My Dad had been fighting cancer for years before he passed away. I vividly remember the scar that went 180 degrees around his torso where they removed half of one of his lungs. I remember watching his hair fall out and grow back; Seeing the radiation burns on his neck and staying at my Grandmas when I was sick so that he wouldn't get sick because the chemotherapy wrecked his immune system. So on Christmas Eve 1985 when we got a call from the hospital that he wouldn't make it through the day, I felt a huge sense of relief. Not that anyone ever talked about the fact that he might die, but it buzzed around us like in uninvited mosquito at a backyard BBQ. No, I didn't want to lose my father, but I had maxed out my 16 years of grieving skills and it was evident in my radically unhealthy social behavior. For years before my Dad died I always wished on the first star of the night.... Starlight, star bright first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, the first wish I wish tonight..... I never wished for him to be magically healed, even as a kid I knew better, I wished for my Dad not to suffer. And for years after he died I believed that his passing was the slap of reality I needed to pull me out of an abyss of bad teenage behavior. But then, I chose to look into my Kaleidoscope and believe that I had been ripped off. Other people heard Christmas carols and it made them happy and reminiscence of cheerful kaleidoscope colors. I heard Christmas Carols and remembered sitting next to my Dad's hospital bed watching the seconds tick by between his breathes wondering if each one would be the last as the seconds between each breath became longer.  Then, 15 years after my Dad passed away, my son Jason's kaleidoscope would clash with my own in a way that would require me to re-arrange what I was saw. When hearing that my father died on Christmas Eve, eight year old Jason exclaimed, "That is Awesome!!!!". Really, Awesome? He followed with even more glee and excitment, "How many people get to go to heaven ON Jesus' birthday!?".  And it clicked, my Dad was a spiritual man and according to the hospital staff he requested to be let go that day (for which my Mom is still angry about). So there you have it! What I saw as sad and taking away from the joy in my life, Jason saw (and helped me see) that my Dad, not the cancer, got to choose the vibrant colors of his kaleidoscope in those last hours.

Last year when I looked into my Christmas Kaleidoscope once again what I saw was a deep sadness of losing Brandon. No glistening bright colors, no twinkling shifts of the beautiful hues of the season. We didn't spend Christmas Eve at home. I rented a hotel room in downtown Denver and we all spent the night in an unfamiliar place and did things we had never done before. The big boys long boarded down the 16th street Mall beneath the bright lights of down town. We ate seafood and got takeout desserts from the Cheesecake Factory to eat in our room. We toasted Brandon with champagne after opening our presents on the 23rd floor of the Marriot Downtown. I hated it all and I hated my new Christmas Kaleidoscope...it wasn't fair.

Imagine my dismay when retailers started putting up Christmas decor even before Halloween this year. Apparently the Holiday Season would return again this year.  I shot back with...4:00, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me - I can't cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing...  But, somehow this year that didn't fit. It would be too easy to double up on the self-loathing and take seconds of self-pity. No, this year I devised a better plan... 4:00, pick myself up by my bootstraps; 4:30, fake-it til I make-it; 5:00, adjust the Kaleidoscope, 5:30 Run; 6:30, Appreciate ALL the colors in my Kaleidoscope; 7:00, Run (again) while wrestling with self-loathing (again) but win this time... Repeat as needed.

I have to admit that my change in disposition this year is made possible by a heaping serving of denial (not healthy, but necessary this year). I am careful to navigate the twists of my Kaleidoscope.  Knowing that there is a delicate balance of the hues I can tolerate without back sliding into the darkness of how much I miss Brandon. Navigating this new found boundary is a work in progress. I am always just a breath away from being crushed by it's weight. It will always be with me, missing my Dad and wishing for more time with Brandon.

None of us can take colors out of our Kaleidoscopes and often we don't get to choose what colors are created as a result of the twists and turns in life. But, I am grateful for all of them and I am grateful that they are all there for me to revisit, relish in, remember, turn back to and occasionally turn away from so that the other colors can shine more brightly.  Happy Holidays and I hope your kaleidoscope is full of twinkling shades of your perfect season blessed with all the things that soothe your soul and create peace in the New Year!

Facing the Last First

Brandon was my 'first born'. Our lives are measured and celebrated by "First's". First tooth, first steps, first day of school, first kiss, first job. Some of us even have our 'first marriage' to put on that list, only to realize it was a rough draft and the final draft would be the so much more (love to Scott). This Sunday, October 9th,  will be the end of a  list of 'firsts' few want to embrace. 365 to be exact. Each morning since October 9th has been the start of something new. Our culture focuses on the understanable firsts - Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, Mother's Day and yes, they are as hard as everyone imagines. Oddly, of the holidays, Valentines Day was horrible for me. To be so keenly aware that Brandon will never come home with that warm twinkle in his milk chocolate eyes and his genuine soft smile and say he has met "the one". Knowing I will never be at his wedding or watch him hold a new baby that would be his pride and joy. His birthday, May 12th, we had his favorite Carrot Cake and sent wishes up to Brandon in Heaven. That was the easy part. The hard part was sweet innocent Sam asking, "Whewe B at?" and looking for him to share the cake with. But really what makes these the easy ones is that they are predictable, I knew they were coming. And, had I forgotten, others are happy to remind me because it is a topic people feel comfortable bringing up to someone in my position. Somehow everyone becomes an experts in the "first year". So, subtract out about 6 days of recognizable firsts and there are 259 days left of firsts for me to experience.

These other 259 days are sprinkled with days early on when I could hardly get out of bed, in spite of the fact I most likely didn't sleep more than about 3 hours. It has just been since Labor Day that I have actually slept through the night. Here are a few of my everyday firsts through the past year.

The first day I realized the bags under my eyes were here to stay and that the deepening of the crevasse across my forehead probably wasn't going anywhere either. Visual expressions of what my heart felt was literally written across my face.

The first Sunday after Thanksgiving when Daniel walked by my bedroom door and saw me crying. He came in, hugged me tight and told me with such conviction that he is always here for me and that anything I needed to say or do he would be here for me. My first glimpse at the changing dynamics of our family. Daniel had now moved up from middle child to oldest.

Followed by the first day (September 8th) Daniel told me how much he appreciated me listening to him and thanked me for the last year. I'm not sure who has supported whom more, but we have both clung to each other through each day this year.  Without Brandon to bridge Daniel and I together we have had to rebuild our own bridge. The bridge is made of trust, transparency and a comfortable knowing where we have both been and the trolls we had to slay to build the bridge.

The first day (March 1st) when I actually felt 'hope' warm my chest and expand my heart. I called Scott and through tears told him about this first, I could hear the fear he had carried since October 9th melt away in his voice and be replaced with his own hope that maybe, someday, he would get his wife back.

The first day, over Memorial weekend, we played cards in our new camper. Brandon loved camping and I always wanted a camper when the big boys were young. The simple act of a camping trip ripped my heart open knowing Brandon would never enjoy this with us. It was the first acknowledgment that the rest of my life would be filled with experiences that would always be weighted against Brandon's absence in sharing life with him.

Sam's first day of pre-school became a flashback to Brandon's first day of school. The vivid photo I have of Brandon sitting on the steps of our front porch, head cocked to one side resting in his hand, eyes off to the ground. I now know that every one of Sam's first will include the sting of a flood of memories when my first born did the same things. I am grateful for Sam's unknowing contribution of reviving memories of Brandon I might not otherwise get to enjoy again, however painful they are.

My first day back to work when someone asked me for the first time (yes, two 'firsts' in one day), "How many kids do you have? How old are they?". This line of questioning has become a game of Social Dodgeball for me anytime I am in situations where people try and make small talk. It is the dreaded question of all questions because there is no comfortable answer.

The first time I went to the grocery store and each aisle presented a favorite food of Brandon's that I would never buy again. It's a Mom thing, you know your kids so well, you don't put it on your grocery list you just know that when you hit the aisle with the plastic bowl of Chinese Hot & Spicy Noodles you'll just pick up a few to have on hand. It has been replaced by 'Take 5' bars for Daniel, Mojo bars for Jason and Annie's Mac & Cheese for Sam.

In a strange way I am looking forward to having 365 'firsts' behind me. Nothing will magically change on October 10th, there will still be many 'firsts' that will either be expected or sneak up on me and take me out at the knees. The hardest part of closing the door on the 'firsts' is my fear that Brandon will start to be forgotten.  That fear is what reminds me that the best way to keep Brandon alive is to be alive myself, to engage life and to appreciate that life will continue to present 'firsts'. This doesn't always come easy, there are many times with I have to fake it until I make it. The weekend after the 1-year mark I am doing my 'first' half marathon since before Brandon died. Only since August have I been emotionally able to run consistently enough to do this. Each step will be part of my personal passage to build an expanded heart that is able to love more, give more, appreciate more, forgive more and embrace the 'firsts' as they come... and maybe create a few of my own.