It’s been a long thirty days. Today is the last day of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. I understood going into September that this national, annual campaign is an opportunity to capitalize on people’s attentiveness. To educate, to advocate, and to fundraise for research. This was true last September as well, and during the Septembers when Benji was here, and on treatment. But this year I went in with both barrels blazing. I had a strange fire burning to make this month count in a big way. Events every weekend, meetings several weeknights, articles, interviews, photographs, ribbon cuttings, l ..read more

Twelve moons have waxed full Since you took your last sweet breath. I don’t understand.   On your first birthday, We celebrated milestones: Sitting, crawling, words.   You could say mama, You laughed with your whole body, You took steps. We cheered!   Those moons waxed slowly, Invitations to reflect: Oh my! How you’ve grown!   Now, the waxing burns At a speed that dissolves Time’s definition.   Now, it’s your absence That competes with your presence For my reflection.   So, I watch the light: The silver moon, shimmering Over the ocean;   The sun’s rays risin ..read more

Benjamin was born on the longest night of 2007. It was the night of the Winter Solstice, the night before a full moon, and one of the two proudest nights of my life. Throughout my gigantic second pregnancy, I referred to my child in utero as my little bird. It wasn’t exactly a practical decision; Benjamin was so enormous that at one point my midwife thought I might be carrying twins. But little bird flew onto my breath one day and just stayed there, calling to him in whispers, through summer months, through holidays, into December. When I entered my delivery window, my friend and henna artist ..read more

He’s been gone from his body For forty weeks and four days. For forty weeks and four days, He grew inside my body. As he grew inside my body, From a love to a sprout, From a grape to an ultrasound, My God, I was huge, From a phone call to a groaning cake, From a moonlit walk to a kiddie pool, From an explosion– I knew you before you were born-– To a strong, determined, wet, fuzzy, baby boy, As if he’d always been here, My perfect son, To whom I whispered, as he pinked: “You’re not going anywhere. This is your home.” And he didn’t. Go anywhere. Not then. Not yet. He stayed, right here with us ..read more

Sweet Mother Mary, Please help me through these next forty days. Carry me to his great grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving. Help me see his shadow in the pine trees. Help me hear his laughter in the crackling fire. Help me hold space for his father, who used to find such comfort there, and for his brother, who will probably skip the wishbone this year after the turkey is carved. Help my eyes find the beauty in the twinkling lights he loved so much as we drive back home. Push the lump down deep in my throat when I see the egg nog in the grocery store. Help me breathe through the pain in my che ..read more

We are approaching six months since Benjamin died, and every day I am learning new lessons. Some days I cannot move, and some days I find it easy to feel joy, to see beauty in a way I never saw it before. Most days I wonder what is real, and how time can be such an illusionist. And still, every single day, I fantasize about golden curls walking around the corner, like nothing ever happened. Today, I was busy preparing for tomorrow’s trip to Wisconsin, which begins a vacation centered around picking Banyan up from Camp Highlands. I knew that his absence these last three weeks would be huge. It ..read more