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Author Archives: Emily Eaton

About Emily Eaton

I'm just a mom, trying to figure out how to create my "new normal" after my son Julian was diagnosed with Leukemia, then died 15 days later -- just 9 days before his 4th birthday. I'm determined not to let my future be focused on grief. I want to take my cherished memories of Julian with me as I move *forward* into a future that once again includes happiness and joy.

Angel Day #3: The 3rd 3/3

03 Mar

Today is Julian’s Angel Day. The third one. The 3rd 3/3. And he was 3 when he died. Lots of threes today.

I recently read Louise Hay’s latest book, You Can Heal Your Heart. I highlighted several quotes throughout the book, but the one that struck me most is this:

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“The person you were has forever changed. A part of the old you died with your loved one, but a part of your loved one lives on in the new you. This can be a holy transition instead of a lose-lose frame of mind.”

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So in honor of this day of 3, I’d like to share three insights from the “holy transition” I’ve been living through these past three years:

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1. I leaned in. And then I leaned back. And now I fly above. 

I’ve always been a driven person. Goal-setting was automatic; there was always a destination I was striving for. I was “leaning in” way before Sheryl Sandberg told us to. When I was 28, I founded a successful business that grew to support more than 10 families. I served on boards, and I was recognized as a “pioneer” and a “leader” in my field. But eventually I was just on frantic auto-pilot, working nights and weekends for years and years to maintain the leaned-in life I’d created for myself.

The first year after Julian’s death, I appreciated that auto-pilot life. The quantity and intensity of activity in my life was a welcome distraction. But by the time Julian’s first Angelversary came around, I realized I was completely burned out. I cracked. I just couldn’t do it anymore. But I didn’t know what I wanted to do instead — and I couldn’t do nothing — so I leaned BACK. I stayed in my business, but I redefined my job description and I cut back on anything I could cut back on.

Then, when Julian’s second Angelversary came around, I realized that leaning back wasn’t any better. Instead of achieving more “balance,” I’d gone from frantic auto-pilot to bored robot. I was going through the motions, without authentic passion for any of the things that used to excite me. So I made the scariest decision of my life: I decided to transition out of my business. I had some ideas for what I wanted to do next, but I didn’t have an exact plan. I wasn’t even comfortable calling it a “sabbatical,” because I didn’t know if I’d ever want to return to the work I’d done before. I took a running leap into the unknown — no specific goal, no specific destination. I wasn’t leaning in or leaning back. I was flying above.

And here I am today, three years after Julian died, feeling alive for the first time in forever. What am I doing now? For one thing, I’m writing a book. But more importantly, I’m pursuing what Danielle LaPorte calls “goals with soul.” Instead of traditional goals, I’m driven by my core desired feelings: Freedom, Creativity, and Abundance. And when I re-focused on what I really valued, I found that spark again. I was struck by divine inspiration (thank you, Julian!) for a NEW business that will merge my past career in website design with my newly discovered passion for spiritual technology. (More on that later. I gotta get that book done first!)

I leaned in, then I leaned back, and now I fly above. I’m more “me” than I’ve ever been, and it’s because a part of Julian lives on in the new me. And I thank him for that every day.

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2. I’ve examined my “primal thinking” about relationships.

Another one of my favorite quotes from You Can Heal Your Heart is, “Grief is the window that provides the opportunity to examine your primal thinking about relationships.” As I think back on the past three years, I see how profoundly true that is.

I learned two things about relationships shortly after Julian died. First, I was told that I’d be surprised by who supported me in those darkest days (I’d be surprised by who came forward, and I’d be surprised by who retreated). And yes, that was true for me. But what surprised me even more was how my friendships continued to change as the years went by. Friends who were once close drifted away, and people who entered my life after Julian died are now some of my best friends and biggest supporters. I treasure these new soul sisters, and I thank Julian for bringing them into my life.

The second thing I was told about relationships is that the loss of a child often ends in divorce. A child’s death can directly lead to divorce, like when one parent was fully or partially responsible for the death. Or the child’s death can indirectly lead to divorce, like when a spouse’s physical characteristics bring up memories of the child that are too painful to live with on a day-to-day basis, or when the parents fail to soothe each other and feel they must part ways to find joy again.

I’m happy to report that my marriage did not suffer either of these scenarios. When I look back on the past three years, it’s clear to me that Julian’s death brought my husband and me even closer. He’s had his own journey of grief and recovery, and he’s come out the other side with strength and determination. Together, we experienced the very worst thing that any parents can experience, and we learned that we can survive anything… because we have each other.

My “primal thinking about relationships” has shifted a lot in the past three years, and I’m grateful for it. I’ve made beautiful new friendships, and I’ve gained even more strength in my marriage. Julian inspires me to appreciate every relationship I have.

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3. I’ve learned the Truth: love never dies.

Before Julian died, I described myself as “spiritual but not religious.” I still describe myself that way, but now I really understand what that means. I’ve found myself drawn to books like Proof of Heaven and Many Lives, Many Masters. I know in my heart that Julian and I have been together before, and we’ll be together again. But also, WE’RE STILL TOGETHER NOW.

Louise Hay says, “The ultimate truth is that love never dies.” I’m here to tell you, that’s true. And I don’t mean conceptually or abstractly true. I mean, literally capital-T True. Julian is no longer in human form, but he is not gone. He is present in my life every day. In large and small ways, he gives me signs that he is with me. Like for example, last year my whole family was celebrating Julian’s birthday and our server introduced himself to us. His name was JULIAN. That wasn’t a coincidence. That was Julian saying, “Hi! Thanks for celebrating my birthday! I’m here, too!”

Our loved ones’ bodies die, but their love never dies. Their souls live on, and connect with us ALL THE TIME. If you pay attention, you will see it, too.

So there you go. A trinity of transition. Three ways Julian has become a part of the new me. He blessed me in life, and he blesses me still. 

Happy third Angelversary, little one.

 
5 Comments

Posted by on March 3, 2014 in Angelversaries, year 3

 

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The difference between empathy and sympathy.

11 Dec
The difference between empathy and sympathy.

I never thought much about the difference between empathy and sympathy until my life took a turn and suddenly I received an abundance of both. 

When Julian was diagnosed with leukemia, most people in my life wanted to show me they cared, and they wanted to help — but they didn’t really know what to do or say. When he died two weeks later, they really didn’t know what to do or say. And I didn’t blame them. I wouldn’t have know what to say to me, either.

Earlier this year I read a book that profoundly changed how I understand empathy and sympathy, as well as vulnerability and shame. (And trust me, after losing a child, one becomes intimate with all of the above.) The book is called Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead by Brené Brown.

As much as I loved the book, it soon became just another good literary memory as I moved on to read other great books. Then yesterday, the author posted an animated video that so beautifully captures her core message about the power of empathy. The video reminded me of how much I loved that book, and I just have to share it:

My own “hole” was about as deep and dark as they come. Very few people felt they could climb down that ladder, even if they wanted to. What I didn’t quite recognize at the time is what Brené Brown shares from her research: empathy is a vulnerable choice. Empathy is risky and painful; sympathy is not.

For someone to be empathetic with me, they need to get in touch with their own pain. They either authentically revisit  a time when they experienced profound loss, or they allow themselves to really feel the pain they imagine they would feel if they were me. (The latter approach is less effective, but appreciated.)

Sympathizers, on the other hand, may have good intentions but maintain a separation from me and often say the wrong thing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve shared about Julian, and the first thing someone asks is, “Do you have any other children?” The look of relief on their face when I say yes is equivalent to the “at least” insight from the video. At least he wasn’t your only child. I’m grateful for my older son, but nope. Not helpful.

My favorite quote from the video is right at the end: “The truth is, rarely can a response make something better. What makes something better is connection.” After Julian died, many people wanted to be able to say something to make it better. But nothing could bring Julian back. What I needed was something to help bring ME back. That something was connection.

Thanks to my personal connections combined with the grief journey I’ve described on this blog, I now feel more connected to the Universe and other people than I ever did before. And maybe that’s why the Brené Brown video struck me so deeply: I now know, without a doubt, that connections are what keep us afloat and alive. Without authentic connections with others, we could so easily be eternally lost in our dark hole.

So if there’s someone in your life who is struggling, be thoughtful about whether you are responding with empathy or with sympathy. Remember that the need for empathy isn’t limited to extremes like cancer and death — there are people in our lives who need and deserve our empathy for minor things, too.

Also, if someone in your life is struggling with something as traumatic as cancer or death, don’t try to convince yourself that you’re unable to be empathetic because you haven’t experienced the exact same thing. As I’ve written about before, pain is pain. If you are human, you’ve felt pain. And if you’ve felt pain, you have the ability to show empathy. You just have to be brave enough to be vulnerable.

You don’t need to be a bereaved parent to understand what it means to experience traumatic loss. I don’t need you to tell me, “I know how you feel because I’ve also lost a child.” I just need you to tell me, “You’re not alone, I’m here, I’ve also experienced pain.”

Because ultimately, Brené Brown says, the most important two words for connection are, “Me, too.”

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Learn more about Brené Brown:

 
3 Comments

Posted by on December 11, 2013 in year 3

 

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Second Firsts: the book I was looking for.

12 Nov

reading-with-flashlightI’ve always loved to read. When I was young, I’d read with a flashlight long after I was supposed to go to bed. Books — both fiction and non — have always been my go-to source of information, entertainment, and escape. So when my son Julian died, I instinctually gravitated toward books to help me take those first steps on my grief journey. Books had always helped me in the past, and I expected them to help me again. So I spent hours searching for, skimming, and attempting to read countless grief books… but ultimately they made me feel worse instead of better.

Books written by bereaved people typically followed the same formula: “I had a beautiful life, and then my child/spouse died, and then life was horrible, and then I wrote a book.” Books written by therapists were even more discouraging, because their work was based on chronic grievers who, by definition, were less resilient than the average person.

Eventually, I found a science-based book (which I wrote about in a previous blog post) that gave me hope — but at the time I was most desperate for help from books, the memoirs and self-help books that monopolized the “grief” category on Amazon were depressing and disappointing. My intuition told me that I could find joy again, but no one was talking about joy after loss. 

That was over two years ago. And thankfully, I’ve been able to find other ways to learn, grow, and move through my grief. In fact, I’ve started to write a book about my process and my own journey. In other words, I’m writing the book I wish I found when Julian died.

second firsts coverBecause I’m writing a book about life after loss, I like to keep tabs on what’s happening in the publishing world. So a few weeks ago, I read a newsletter from the publisher Hay House, and I learned about Second Firsts by Christina Rasmussen. When I read the description of this new book, my first reaction was embarrassingly selfish. “That’s the book *I* was going to write!” shouted my ego. This new book, to my simultaneous dismay and excitement, was described exactly as the book I was just beginning to write — the book I was so desperately seeking two years ago. This book teaches people how to “live, laugh, and love again” after loss.

Thankfully, my ego-based first reaction was quickly replaced by my heart’s appreciation for the message that Ms. Rasmussen (whose husband died of cancer at the age of 35) brings to the world via this book. FINALLY, someone has given a voice to those of us who instinctually choose happiness despite tragedy in our lives. And, better yet, offers actionable advice to those of us who continue to struggle.

There are many things I love about this book, and several of her themes are consistent with things I’ve written about on this blog. For example:

  • MEMOIRS
    She, too, was less-than-satisfied by the grief memoirs:

“I read many memoirs written by people who had gone through a tragedy, and these authors placed so much emphasis on their losses that the idea of truly living life after loss, while in the midst of grieving, was never really addressed” (pg 16)

  • REINVENTION
    She encourages her readers to not just “heal” but create a new life (a “new normal”):

“…healing from grief isn’t just about putting your life back together; it’s about creating a new life that makes you happy…. We can even create a life that is more amazing than the one we were previously living.” (pg 24)

  • SELF-DISCOVERY
    She motivates her readers to discover who we are, despite our grief:

“Above all, you have to be adventurous despite your grief, if you want to find out who you truly are and what you are made of.” (pg 32)

  • OTHERS’ EXPECTATIONS
    She acknowledges the challenge of attempting to move forward in a culture that has certain expectations of grief:

“Keep in mind that it’s natural to want to dismiss the return journey from the world of grief. It goes against what we’re being told by the environment around us, which is that we are injured and need to stop, hide, and rest until the pain goes away.” (pg 67)

  • PARTNERSHIP OF LIFE + GRIEF
    She encourages us not to assume that joy and grief are mutually exclusive, and she reminds us of the consequences of not finding a way for life and grief to coexist:

“The longer we have been grieving a loss, the harder it is to start living again. This is one of the reasons why I wholeheartedly believe we must invite life and grief to walk hand in hand. If life doesn’t escort grief back to joy, then it takes us much longer to get there, if we ever do.” (pg 69)

  • BRAIN SCIENCE
    She studied brain science, and learned how the brain is the key to a joyful new life:

“There is a different identity waiting to be revealed. A real evolution takes place in the brain during the days, months, or years following a loss — and it holds exciting possibilities. It can lead to an extraordinarily happy, productive, and fulfilling new life.” (pg 98)

  • THE CHOICE OF HAPPINESS
    She confirms that happiness is a choice that is available to all of us, no matter what we may have endured in the past:

“This discovery that happiness is a choice we must repeatedly make, day in and day out, rather than an event-based experience, set me free from my attachment to loss and enabled me to shift my focus toward living my life. Once I saw this truth, I chose to be happy again.” (pg 100)

The book Second Firsts was meaningful to me because not only does it provide helpful insights into what I’ve experienced in the past, it also makes me very excited for the “grief industry” as a whole. The first printing of the book sold out in record time and was recently re-published, and currently has an average rating of 5 out of 5 stars on Amazon. This shows me that the world is hungry for this message. People are tired of living in the past, and for perhaps the first time, there is evidence that we can thrive after loss.

I’m still working on my own version of the book I was seeking two years ago. But in the meantime, the world is a better place because Christina Rasmussen’s book is in it. And with any luck, someday Amazon will tell you, “If you liked Second Firsts, you might like Emily Eaton’s book!”

 
9 Comments

Posted by on November 12, 2013 in year 3

 

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This is water.

23 Jun


About a month ago, I was one of over 4 million people who watched a video on YouTube called, “This is Water.” It was one of the most moving and inspirational things I’ve seen in a long time.

The video begins:

“There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says ‘Morning, boys. How’s the water?’ And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, ‘What the hell is water?‘”

The video, created by The Glossary in L.A., brought to life a profound and moving speech by David Foster Wallace. The full speech was delivered as the commencement  address at Kenyon College in 2005; the video edited it down to just a few minutes of its core messages.

There are several themes in this video that resonated with me, but the most significant was the reminder that each of us gets to decide what has meaning in life. WE get to choose whether to go through life being irritated by traffic and lines at the grocery store… or adjust our “default setting” to see the world from the perspective of gratitude and empathy.

As David Foster Wallace observed:

“The only thing that’s capital-T True is that YOU get to decide how you’re gonna try to see it. This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t.”

This message reminds us that it’s easy to lose track of what we are swimming in, day in and day out. We forget to ask the question, what has meaning to ME? What the hell is water?

Until, of course, something happens. Like, for example, your child being diagnosed with cancer and then dying two weeks later. That happens, and everything changes.

In the past two years since Julian died, I’ve thought a lot about life and death and meaning. And now, listening to David Foster Wallace’s words, I recognize the capital-T Truth in what he said to those Kenyon College graduates back in 2005:

“I know that this stuff probably doesn’t sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational the way a commencement speech is supposed to sound. What it is, as far as I can see, is the capital-T Truth, with a whole lot of rhetorical niceties stripped away…. None of this stuff is really about morality or religion or dogma or big fancy questions of life after death.The capital-T Truth is about life BEFORE death…. It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

“This is water.”

“This is water.”

After spending two years in the category of “bereaved parent,” I have a whole new perspective on this world we are all swimming through. And now I’m ready to make big changes, to take responsibility for my personal “automatic default setting” that the video illustrates so beautifully.

More to come on my “big changes”… but for now, I encourage you to watch the video and see what your heart responds to. What’s your automatic default setting? What do you choose to give meaning? What’s your water?

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HOW CAN I WATCH THE VIDEO?

Sadly, David Foster Wallace was as troubled as he was insightful. After a life-long battle with depression, he committed suicide in 2008. The video was created without official permission to use his speech, and after it “went viral” in May 2013, the David Foster Wallace Literary Trust asked The Glossary to remove the video from their channels.
There are petitions trying to get re-posted, but they haven’t been successful yet. After some digging, I found it in an article by AdWeek. Read the AdWeek Article and watch the video, before this link goes away too!

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3 Comments

Posted by on June 23, 2013 in year 3

 

Chopped All-Stars! (Part 2)

06 May

Last night was the finale of Chopped All-Stars on the Food Network. And — spoiler alert! — after a grueling duel of culinary skill and endurance, our friend-slash-celebrity chef Gavin Kaysen beat every single opponent… except one. 

Gavin-Kaysen_on Chopped

Gavin in action (source: Food Network)

So he didn’t win the grand prize of $50,000 that would have gone to the Children’s Cancer Research Fund (CCRF) in memory of Julian. But what he DID do is raise awareness for an amazing organization that my husband and I are so proud to support in every way we can. And, he shared Julian’s story with the world.

Words can’t even describe what an honor it was to watch Gavin on national television (NATIONAL TELEVISION!) talking about Julian and CCRF. He said things like, “”I’m here to tell the story of Julian Golden and the Children’s Cancer Research Fund.” And, “”I have to get that check for Julian!” It literally brought tears to my eyes every time I heard my son’s name.

Funny thing is, the competition was filmed over a year ago at the Food Network in Chelsea Market in New York. And, amazingly, the filming of the finale occurred on the exact day that John and I flew into New York to celebrate one of my best friend’s 40th birthday.

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Food Network headquarters

 

When the show’s producers learned we’d be arriving in the city, they told us they might be able to have us visit the set. But of course, we had to just play it by ear because no one knew which competitors would be “chopped” until the chopping occurred.

So the producers had us on call, and then we got the green light — Gavin had made it to the final round of the finale!

So we made our way to Chelsea Market, and then were escorted to the Food Network studios. After signing some hardcore legal documents about keeping everything confidential, we were able to watch the final round as it happened live.

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We watched the dessert round as it was happening live, via nine different camera angles.

 

If you watched the show last night, you know how that last round went. Gavin’s dessert was PERFECTION. His competitor, Scott Conant, was… not. In fact, it was a pretty big mess! We were positive Gavin had won it. The producers and crew were positive he had won it.

The producer took us into another room and wired us with microphones, because they were getting us ready to go out on set and surprise Gavin after his big win.

(I was more than a little freaked out about being on camera, but I was so excited for Gavin!)

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John getting wired for sound

But then, there was a delay. And more delays. Then the producer told us that Scott’s family was getting wired for sound, too. (Huh?)

The minutes ticked by. Then an hour. The producer and crew were visibly different than they were initially… something was up. And then they told us the heartbreaking news: Gavin wasn’t going to win after all.

They still had us come out on set and surprise Gavin, and it was sooo exciting to be on a full-blown TV studio! We stood there in front of the judges, side-by-side with Gavin and Scott.

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The host Ted Allen, me, my husband John, and judge Marcus Samuelsson

The judges asked us questions, and we chatted about CCRF and even talked about this blog. It was awesome.

When we were done, we got autographs and photos with the judges Marcus Samuelsson, Geoffrey Zakarian, Aarón Sánchez, and the host Ted Allen. Marcus Samulesson even walked us out of the building! It was pretty unbelievable to be making small talk with one of the U.S.’s most iconic celebrity chefs.

So in the end, the big money didn’t go Gavin’s way. But we could not have been more thrilled with the awareness that he created for the Children’s Cancer Research Fund. And, he brought Julian’s story to a national audience.

It was never about the money. It was only about making a difference… and Gavin was DEFINITELY a winner in every way that matters.

Did you watch the show? Did Gavin’s hard work inspire you? Please consider making a donation of your own. Visit JulianGolden.com and click “donate” — every donation makes a difference.
 
6 Comments

Posted by on May 6, 2013 in year 3

 

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Chopped All-Stars! (Part 1)

26 Apr

To say my husband John is “into” cooking would be an understatement. Because although he has never pursued a career in food, cooking has been a life-long passion for him. (When most kids were watching cartoons, John was watching the Galloping Gourmet.)

So in John’s world, there’s pretty much nothing better than meeting a celebrity chef. Except maybe becoming friends with a celebrity chef. Or maybe… learning that his friend-slash-celebrity chef was selected to be on a cooking competition in which each chef was invited to compete for a charity, and this friend-slash-celebrity chef selected the Children’s Cancer Research Fund in memory of Julian.

And that’s exactly what happened!

Gavin_and_John

Gavin and John on 7/22/11

As I described in a post from January 2012, we initially met Chef Gavin Kaysen after my dad (a friend of Gavin’s dad) visited Gavin’s restaurant in New York City. My dad introduced himself to Gavin, and ended up telling him Julian’s story… and also told Gavin about his son-in-law’s passion for cooking.

One thing lead to another, and a couple of months later, my dad and Gavin had planned John’s ultimate birthday gift — a day of cooking with Gavin, resulting in a dinner party for John and our closest friends… all in honor of Julian. That day of cooking together turned into an ongoing friendship, including unforgettable meals in Gavin’s restaurant, joyful celebrations with his family, and a trip France to cheer Gavin on as he coached the Bocuse d’Or USA team.

If you visit the videos page on Gavin’s website, you’ll see that he is no stranger to cooking competitions and TV appearances. In addition to representing the USA in the Bocuse d’Or, he has competed on the Food Network’s Next Iron Chef, and more.

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Gavin in an interview segment on 4/14/13.

So it didn’t surprise us a bit when Gavin shared his secret with us… he would be competing in a televised cooking competition! John and I both had tears in our eyes when he asked us if it would be ok if he told Julian’s story, and then if he wins, $50,000 will be donated to the Children’s Cancer Research Fund in memory of Julian.

The televised competition isn’t just any cooking competition. It’s Chopped *All-Stars*, currently airing on the Food Network. There are four categories of four chefs each — The winner of each category will then go on to compete against each other in the final round on Sunday, May 5.

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My family with Gavin’s parents on 4/14/13.

Gavin is in the appropriately-named “Mega Chefs” category, which aired on Sunday, April 14. We were thrilled to watch Gavin make his magic on the TV screen, and cook his way to victory! That means he is will be competing in the final round on May 5.

So if you have cable, please watch Chopped on the Food Network on Sunday May 5. You’ll see that the only thing bigger than Gavin’s talent is his heart.

This whole experience has been amazing, and reminds us once again that the tragedy of Julian’s death has not prevented us from feeling love and joy. We are so incredibly greatful for the gifts Julian has given us in his life as well as in his death, not the least of which is our friend Gavin Kaysen and the attention he is bringing to the Children’s Cancer Research Fund.

 
6 Comments

Posted by on April 26, 2013 in year 3

 

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Four years a boy, two years an angel.

03 Mar

Julian smile_11Today is Julian’s two-year angelversary. It would be easy to write about how much I miss him, or how I would do anything to hold him in my arms again. But if you know me at all, either in real life or through this blog, you won’t be surprised that I’m not going to do that. Instead, I want to thank him.

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First, I want to thank him for joining our family in the first place. Before Julian was born, I knew our family wasn’t complete yet. But when John and I decided we were ready for a second child, he wasn’t quite ready for us. After several months of disappointment, we started to wonder if maybe my body wasn’t going to cooperate. But I never lost the feeling that someone was missing. That someone was Julian, and he joined our family when he was good and ready. Just after he was born, the first thing I did when I was alone with him for the first time was look into his eyes and tell him, “I’ve been waiting for you.” He stared back at me; he knew. He’d been waiting for me, too.
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Second, I want to thank him for the four years he was with us on this planet. He was loving and independent. He was generous and determined. He was smart and scrappy. He was a leftie and a Pisces. He was completely his own person, and he added a whole new dimension to our family. As I walked out of Children’s Hospital exactly two years ago today, I remember saying to my brother Alex, “I feel so grateful to have had him for almost four years. I would rather have had him for four years than to have not had him at all.” I was in shock, and I don’t remember much of anything else that I said to others or others said to me, but I remember saying that. That was my Truth in that moment, and it still is. All the pain of the past two years pales in comparison to the joy of the previous four years.
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Lastly, I want to thank him for the gifts he’s given me in the past two years since he became our Guardian Angel. There have been many gifts, and I know they are from him. Not from God, not from the Universe, not from luck. From HIM. He gave me the gift of new friends who have changed my life. He lead us to our cabin, which is now my favorite place in the world. He has given me countless gifts of experiences and insight. But the most profound gift he gave me was the gift of my Self.
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The person I am today is so different from the me of two years ago. Life is deeper, sweeter, truer. Things I used to question are now answered. Things I used to believe have turned into things I just know. Things that I used to waste energy on are now easy to let go of. Things about myself that I used to regret but accept as “just how I am” have been replaced by attributes that enable me to experience life from a deeper place.
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Somehow, life is just warmer now. Pema Chödrön‘s book Taking the Leap includes a chapter called “The Importance of Pain.” Old Emily probably wouldn’t have picked up this book in the first place; New Emily appreciates her wise words. She opens the chapter by explaining,
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“Before we can know what natural warmth really is, often we must experience loss. We go along for years moving though our days, propelled by habit, taking life pretty much for granted. Then we or someone dear to us has an accident or gets seriously ill, and it’s as if blinders have been removed from our eyes. We see the meaninglessness of so much of what we do and the emptiness of so much we cling to.”
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She concludes the chapter by describing exactly what I have experienced over the past two years,
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“When things fall apart and we can’t get the pieces back together, when we lose something dear to us, when the whole thing is just not working and we don’t know what to do, this is the time when the natural warmth of tenderness, the warmth of empathy and kindness, are just waiting to be uncovered, just waiting to be embraced.”
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Two years ago today, my life was shattered into a million pieces. Today, I embrace the warmth of empathy and kindness.
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Julian was an Earth-bound boy for four years, and he’s been an angel for two. He changed my life for the better when he was born, and he continues to change my life for the better. And for that I feel nothing but gratitude.
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Happy second angelversary, little one. Thank you for everything.
 
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Posted by on March 3, 2013 in Angelversaries, year 2

 

Smile because it happened.

03 Sep

 

"Don't cry because it's over... Smile because it happened."Today is Labor Day. It’s also the 18-month anniversary of Julian’s death. On days like today, it’s important to remind myself to focus on what I gained, not to dwell on what I lost.

“Lost” is such an odd concept, anyway. Some bereaved parents really hate phrases like, “the loss of a child.” As one of my friends says, “Our sons are not lost. We know where they are. We did not lose them, they died.”

She makes a good point. When a person dies, it’s not the person that we have lost — we lost our future with this person. But did we really ever “have” it in the first place? Was it really ours to lose?

It’s easy to take the future for granted, especially when it comes to our loved ones. I expected to have a long, full life with my husband and two sons. When Julian died, my future with my youngest son felt more than lost. It felt stolen. In fact, a simple definition of “bereaved” is, “deprived of a loved one by death.” It is us, the *surviving* parents/children/loved ones, who have lost.

Eighteen months ago, I began reading everything I could find about “surviving the loss of a child.” I quickly discovered that there are two types of bereaved parents who write books, write and comment on blogs, and otherwise get their voice out there: those who are stuck in their grief, and those who acknowledge that what they assumed to be true about their life and their future — their definition of “normal” — has been permanently changed.

I can certainly relate to both sides of this coin, but it was the parents in the latter category that motivated me. They often referred to their “new normal,” which inspired the name of this blog, Creating “New Normal.” I knew I had to make a choice… either stay stuck in grief over the loss of the future I had expected, or be proactive in the process of creating my new future.

I believe it is the spirit of Julian himself that helps me focus on my gratitude for the years I had with him, instead of focusing on the future that has been permanently changed. One particularly powerful experience occurred just a few days after his death, when I went out with my husband and mother-in-law to run some errands. As they went into a gourmet food store, I went into a nearby gift shop to see if they had any guest books we could use for his Celebration of Life, which was happening a few days later.

As I walked in, I thought to myself, I wonder if there’s anything Julian might want me to see in here? Then, instead of walking straight toward the guest books, I was compelled to take a left down an aisle. I felt pulled to the end of the aisle, where a display case held a collection of framed quotes. Most were well-known sayings from famous philosophers… but the one that caught my eye said, “Don’t cry because it’s over… Smile because it happened.”

Tears of gratitude came to my eyes, because this was exactly the message I needed to be reminded of that day. When I noticed that the quote was from Dr. Seuss, I got goose bumps (or “spirit bumps” as my friend calls them). This quote, from this person, in the middle of a collection of famous philosopher quotes? I knew it was a message from Julian. I bought it, brought it home, and placed it on my home office desk. It’s still there today, 18 months later.

This quote became the theme for his Celebration (which I wrote about in a previous blog post), but it also became the mantra for my survival. This quote reminds me of the message of the famous Buddhist saying, “Pain is inevitable; Suffering is optional.” Every moment, it is MY choice. Do I choose to suffer, because I “lost” the future I expected? Or do I choose to smile, because I was blessed with almost four years with him?

I love that the Dr. Seuss quote specifically references a smile, because one of my favorite things about Julian was his smile. He almost always smiled with his mouth wide open with joy. How can you not smile back at this sweet face?

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Of course, sometimes I just need a good cry. But I still feel his spirit in my heart — even more now than in the beginning — and I know he doesn’t want me to suffer. Suffering does not honor his memory, and it certainly won’t suddenly make him “found” again. I know he wants me to smile, and remember what I gained by having him in my life.

I will always be grateful for Julian’s life, and today I’m not crying because it’s over. I’m smiling. Because it HAPPENED. And best of all, I know that just because he isn’t here with me on Earth doesn’t mean he will be absent from my future. He is, and will continue to be, with me in a new way — a “new normal” way.

 
9 Comments

Posted by on September 3, 2012 in year 2

 

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I’m going on a “little” walk.

26 Jun

ImageWhen specific memories of Julian pop into my head, they usually make me smile. Sometimes they remind me of not just the memory itself, but who he was as a person. And every once in a while, something triggers a memory that not only makes me smile and remember the person he was, they teach me something about myself today.

One of those memories, of all things to be one of those memories, is of his potty-training process. I’d heard (or maybe just hoped) that the second child is usually easier to potty train than the first child, because he’d be motivated to be a “big boy” like his brother. As we began the process with Julian, I thought back on how it went with his big brother, three years earlier.

I remembered how my husband and I had to bribe Oscar by giving him rewards during and after he used the potty. We were weaning him off his pacifier at the time, so that became the most successful bribe — Oscar could have his pacifier in bed and on the potty, but nowhere else. (Admittedly this arrangement was wrought with mixed messages, but it worked, so we went with it.)

So, that’s the approach we took with Julian. We offered him bribes, and parental peer pressure. “Oscar uses the potty! Don’t you want to be just like Oscar? He’s such a big boy! Don’t you want to be a big boy like Oscar?!?!”

Turned out, Julian couldn’t be bribed. He also wasn’t falling for the parental peer pressure nonsense. “No, Mommy.” he said one day, as I was attempting to get him to try the potty. (Just try! Don’t you want to be a big boy?)

“No Mommy, I don’t want to be big. I want to be little.”

And then he walked out of the bathroom. There would be no compromise. He understood his options, and he made his choice: Little.

As a person who has spent most of her life being goal-driven, I was perplexed by this. He just didn’t want to move on to the next milestone in his growing-up process. And he wasn’t giving me any excuses or explanations, either.

Thinking back on this today, not only can I smile at the memory, I can be inspired by him. Over the past few months I have been on a bit of a growing-up process myself. In some areas of my life, I’ve been working hard to un-goal myself. In other areas of my life, I’ve been trying to set new types of goals for things I’ve never done before.

One of the things I’ve never done before is run a 5K. So about 3 months ago, I decided I’d run in the “Time to Fly” for the Children’s Cancer Research Fund. We have a team that runs (and walks) in memory of Julian — “Joggers for Julian.” I figured, what better motivation could there be? I’d do something I’ve never done, and I’d do it in honor of Julian.

I registered for the run, told my friends and family my plan, and started a training program. At first, the training went fine. Then, not so fine. Then, I started getting really stressed about it. But I continued to slog my way through the training program, because I said I was going to do it (dammit!).

So much of my life has been spent as a goal-driven non-quitter, it literally didn’t occur to me to NOT run the 5K. Until I remembered the story about Julian’s potty-training. I suddenly became very inspired by the “I want to be little” part. This was a significant epiphany for me, because I have spent most of my life moving forward to the next milestone, the next goal, the next “big.”

Most of the time, I forget that “little” is an option. But Julian didn’t forget that. He knew what his options were, and he knew himself. He was resolute and uninfluenced by bribery or peer pressure. He understood that he was supposed to want to be big, and he probably recognized that big-ness was inevitable. But not yet. Not that day.

So, I let go of the running goal. I decided I no longer wanted to be “big” and run the 5K. I wanted to be “little” and just plan to walk the 5K with my friends and family. In the past, I would have been very critical of myself for making this choice. Today, I smile and think of Julian. I’ll be thinking of him every step of the way on my 5K *walk* this coming Saturday.

And in case you’re wondering… he did eventually become potty-trained: Some time went by, and I half-heatedly continued the potty-training efforts. Then one day, I noticed he had left the room and I couldn’t hear him nearby (3YO + silence = red flag). I went looking for him, and the found him… sitting on the potty chair. “Oh, Sweetie!” I said, “You’re pooping on the potty!”

“Yep,” he said. “I decided to be big. I just decided.”

And from that point on, he was potty trained. Because he decided. He just… decided.

Maybe someday I’ll decide to run the Time to Fly 5K. But not this year. This year, I’m going on a “little” walk. 

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AFTERWARD: 

The event on June 30, 2012 was a wonderful celebration of Julian’s memory. We were overwhelmed and honored by the huge outpouring of support in the form of donations, participation, and encouragement.

We had over 50 people participate on the Joggers for Julian team, and we won 3rd place in overall donations with a grand total of $13,675 raised for the Children’s Cancer Research Fund. My husband John also won 2nd place for individual donations.

There was also a “Joggers for Julian – Ohio” event organized by my cousin Mary Catherine, and there will soon be a similar event in Connecticut organized by John’s family.

THANK YOU to everyone who contributed — financially, physically, and emotionally. And last but not least, thank you to Julian for being such an inspiration to those who knew him, those who never met him but have heard his story, and to me. I thoroughly enjoyed every step of the *walk*!

 
8 Comments

Posted by on June 26, 2012 in year 2

 

The last of the firsts.

03 Mar


Today is March 3rd. That means it’s Julian’s first Angelversary. One year since the worst day of my life. The last milestone in a year of unimaginable “firsts.”

The first time I woke up, convinced it was all a horrible nightmare… and later, the first time I woke up and knew it wasn’t. The first time I laughed… and later, the first time I realized I had gone a whole day without crying.

The first of his birthdays without him; the first of my birthdays without him. The first Mother’s Day and Father’s Day; the first Christmas and New Year’s. The first time someone asked me how many children I have; the first time I heard Oscar refer to himself as “an only child.”

There’s a surprising amount of relief in reaching the last of these firsts, the first anniversary of his death. Perhaps the only thing I’ve heard about grieving that might be universally true is, “the first year is the hardest.” And as of today, my family and I have survived that year. It’s behind us now. Another bereaved parent recently told me, “it never gets better, but it does get easier.” I believe that will be true for us, too.

Today, I’m thankful for many things. In this particular moment, I’m thankful that my parents encouraged John and I to take a week off of work and take Oscar out of school to join them in Mexico, at the resort that we spent many family spring breaks growing up. I’m thankful that we agreed to it, despite the fact that we had already planned a vacation for the end of March. It’s peaceful and relaxing here, and I’m grateful to be able to spend this day with my husband, oldest son, and parents.

Today I’ve been reflecting on how I have changed in the past year, as I listen to the waves crashing nearby. As irrational as it seems now, I remember that in the first days after Julian’s death, I felt a very real fear that I would somehow forget him. I also started feeling internal and external judgement about my grieving process — as if intense grief indicated intense love, and healing from grief indicated a lack of love. And if I stopped grieving, I would forget him.

But with time, I gained confidence in my own approach to grieving and healing. Thankfully, I eventually came to the conclusion that Martha Whitmore Hickman described so eloquently in Healing After Loss:

“Of course time eases our grief, provided we let it follow its course and give it its due. Few of us would want the intensity and desolation of early grief to stay with us forever. That’s not what we’re afraid of.

But we may be afraid that we’ll lose the intensity of love we felt for the one we have lost.

At first these two–the grief and the love–are so wedded to each other that we cannot separate them. We may cling to the grief in desperation so we will be sure not to lose the love.

Perhaps the grief and the love will always be wedded to each other to some degree, like two sides of a coin. But maybe after a while, when we flip the coin, it will almost always be the love that turns up on top.”

Today, I’m thankful that in fact love almost always does turn up on top. I’m also thankful that a year has passed and I can say with all certainty that he isn’t alive, but he isn’t gone. I still have a relationship with him. I see him everywhere. I see him in my dreams. I saw him in the whales that appeared a short distance off the beach this morning, despite the fact that they weren’t expected for a couple more weeks. I see him in every sunset.

Sometimes, even in Mexico, the sunset is obstructed by clouds. But that doesn’t make me question whether or not the sun exists. Similarly, even if I don’t see or feel him, I know he’s there. A year ago I was afraid he was gone forever. Today I know he’s with me always.

Today is the first anniversary, the last of the firsts. And as my mom said to me just a few minutes ago, “It’s a good day.”

 
18 Comments

Posted by on March 3, 2012 in Angelversaries, year 2

 

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