Friday, October 16, 2009


Tomorrow, I have some SERIOUS catching up to do. No, not just the bills and housekeeping sort.

In the last few years AD (you know, after diagnosis years), I have become shamefully accustomed to missing birthdays and anniversaries; something entirely unheard of in my BD life. I guiltily scramble to get in belated cards before it's too late for even those. However, much worse than that, I've even begun to miss marking the anniversary of the passing of those close to me, and the shame of that I need to begin to clean up first thing tomorrow.

I've mentioned within my blog before that I became pregnant with the Roo at the same time that a friend, N, became pregnant. Our somewhat new but already special friendship grew deeper during our pregnancies, and I brought yet another friend into our mix who also was due at the same time. When we three had our babies within three weeks of one another, it was natural that we bonded even more and organized our first ever play date together. I still pull out a photo from time to time that shoes the three car seats lined up, the newborns so tiny and beautiful. We moms shared our experiences, took turns rocking babies, ate a little lunch, swapped stories, arranged our next get together that day. Less than six months after that photo, N's baby was gone. It's still so difficult for me to put that sentence into writing, to remember that heart wrenching time.

I have never stopped thinking of baby Katie. Recently, just before the fifth anniversary of her passing, I was thinking about her even more than usual, thinking of her mother. And then, suddenly, it was just after the anniversary. How did that happen? I have no idea; each year, our other friend and I make sure to reach out to N and to express our love for her, for her daughter who is so missed. Before the anniversary, I'd been trying to decide how I wanted to make my remembrance of Katie this year, and I was contemplating signing up for an upcoming local SIDS charity walk. Poof, time warped, and it's weeks later.

Tomorrow, I'm calling N. I'm going to figure out where to begin, somehow manage to convey how sorry I am for missing her birthday, for not reaching out to her on the anniversary of the worst loss imaginable, to tell her I love her, to ask about her beautiful boys and her loving husband and her work, to tell her I never forget. I hope she will understand. Knowing N, she will. I think she knows how much her friendship means to me, whether we are in contact or quiet for a spell. I think she knows that I not only mourned the passing of her daughter, and celebrated the life of her daughter, but hold fast to the lesson that life is short, and our children are precious.

Katie was Rooster's first friend. I wanted them to grow up together.

I never forget that I am lucky.

Another friend of mine, at least I would like to call her that despite never having met her anywhere but on our blogs, posted today about how important it is to tell people how much they matter to us while they are here, and not wait until after they are gone. I think her wisdom and her thoughtful post helped me today, and will help me do my serious catching up tomorrow. In her post, Jess wrote something of an open letter filled with friendship. It inspired me to say this to you, reader:

Many of you are people whose birthdays, losses, or other meaningful times I've not properly marked as I should these last couple of years (especially here lately), and, friends, I want you to know that I'm sorry. I want you to know that even when you don't hear from me, on time or at all, I'm thinking of you. I want you to know that my intentions are good, my love still fierce, and that I in no way mean to make excuses for my slacking. If I come across as self centered while I'm throwing my blogging pity parties, know that I'm not as entirely self-centered as I might sound, because I really do consciously try often to center myself around my love for you, friends, and for my family. Thank you for all of your support, your wisdom, your kindness, for inspiration and celebration and tips, for holding my mental hand, making me laugh, setting me straight. If I were you I'd be thoroughly fed up with hearing about my fatigue, but it does account for my inability to keep track of what day it is, and while that is not an excuse, it does come with a huge "I'm sorry." Everyone who reads here regularly, I want you to know you are appreciated, you are special, you are in my thoughts. I celebrate your joy, empathize with your challenges, and am so sorry for you grief.

And now that I've said all that to you here, I know I am ready to say something like it to N tomorrow. With her I have some serious catching up to do.


jess said...

this is beautiful, my dear. absolutely beautiful.

and she will get it too.

it's never too late. hell, sometimes it's right on time.


redheadmomma said...

I think that's beautiful. I want to write something to the friends that I had back in '06 when I seriously went off the deep end of grief.

pixiemama said...

I know. I am the same. I miss birthdays. I miss anniversaries. I miss my people. And I, too, am tired of my own tired. When does life begin again?

pixiemama said...

And! In my fatigue, I could care less about any dates that should mean something in my life. I have one horrific date etched in my brain, but when it comes to my birthday, anniversary, mother's day, whatever, I'd rather everyone just forget. I just wish everyone adequate rest each day.