Thanks.

I hoped to have written this post much sooner and the sentiments that I am about to express are shamefully long overdue.  Unfortunately, my emotions have been such that up until now I have honestly not been able to fully express my gratitude.  Although I have been able to politely say "thank you" when appropriate, full acknowledgement and recognition of those who have touched my life has not been possible.  This Wednesday, February 9th, would have been Henry's first birthday and I cannot think of a better way to honor him, a boy who has given us so much, than to give thanks to those that we love.  

But in order for me to make sense of these thoughts and thanksgivings, I need to preface them.  Last Monday was a dreadful day.  My psyche had been dealt a lethal combination of too little sleep, too much noise and too many demands on my time and in my moment of stress my thoughts turned to Henry.  I bitterly thought about what I would have been doing if he were here; tasks that seemed (and still seem) much more purposeful than homework and errands.  I thought about his impending birthday of the activities that we would surely be doing and the presents we would have bought him.  My somber mood carried into everything I did that day and I found myself blinking back tears in even the most public of places.  I ached for Henry more desperately than I had in recent memory and somehow the pain I experienced was just as fresh as it had been a year ago when we said goodbye.

At the height of my anguish I went into Henry's nursery and began rocking his clothes in the chair that he tragically was never able to sit in.  In a room that he never slept in and in a house that he never came home to.  The despair that I felt at that moment was complete and I let it sweep over me again and again as I not only mourned our son but also the life that we should be leading.  Loneliness accompanied these intense emotions and in the middle of such pain I wondered how I would ever feel better.  Shortly thereafter I found myself looking through Henry's baby book.  A book which I dutifully filled throughout my pregnancy and even recorded a brief, sanitized version of his birth the day after he was born while he fought for his life in the NICU.  His book is special for obvious reasons and I can remember thinking about it on the night he died as we drove home from the hospital.  Even then I knew it would be agony to see that precious book, illustrated with Peter Rabbit and his friends, knowing not only that my son had passed away but that the beautiful pages would remain empty.  As an act of symbolism and catharsis, we used this same book as a sign-in at Henry's service.  And it was through these comments that I read last Monday.

My tears did not stop right away.  Indeed, on certain pages they flowed more intensely as I read messages of grief and sympathy.  Initially I read each signature and line individually but as I continued to flip through each page I soon became overwhelmed by the sheer volume of condolences.  Whether by his mother or by those that love him, each page of Henry's book has something written on it and seeing that support in writing helped slow my tears and calm my heart.  Many of the people who wrote in that book read this blog and I want you to know that you have made a difference.  That although what Rob and I are going through is still extremely painful and personal, that knowing you and of your love has helped us in even the darkest moments.

After I finished reading Henry's book I thought back to those weeks immediately after he passed away.  I thought of the blog tributes, posts and comments; and of the many Facebook messages, texts and phone calls.  I thought of the beautiful flowers that we received as our sad news traveled to our family and friends.  I remembered the delicious meals that not only fed Rob and me but sometimes our entire family as we gathered together seeking solace and companionship.  I then looked at a box full of cards, notes, letters and pictures; mementos that people have so thoughtfully given us since his passing.  As I read, my fingers found a necklace around my neck from my mother and I not only thought of her but of the many other pieces of jewelry that I have received from friends and family, objects that I cherish and treasure.  But the list does not stop there.  We have other beautiful and sacred items on our keychains, on our clothes and around our home that remind us of Henry each day and most of them have come from you.  Thank you.  

We just received one such item from a dear and very talented friend last week.  It is her gift to us for Henry's birthday and we have it placed on our table.  It reminds both of us that even though we cannot see it right now, that we are in fact a family.               

And lastly, I would be remiss if I did not mention the gifts that we received that cannot be measured.  The long conversations, the visits and the hugs.  The kisses, the smiles, the friendships and the tears.  Even though it has been a year since we have lost Henry, we are constantly reminded that people are praying and fasting for us.  Thank you for opening up your hearts to us when ours have been so exposed and broken.  I know that being around us has not always been easy this past year and that sometimes it was undoubtably difficult to talk or interact with us, but thank you for being patient as we work through missing Henry.