Year End

2013 has arguably been the worst year of our lives.

It certainly feels like the longest.

Maybe because, despite this being the year we lost Harper and all of the months of worry leading up to her birth and all of the mourning and sadness after, a lot of good came out of this year, too. Not the least of which was Harper herself.

We've come to the end of 2013, and I'm struggling to wrap my mind around it. Maybe I should just give up trying. I'm having terrible issues with insomnia, and I strongly suspect it has to do with the subconscious stress of the holidays and the turn of the year.

I'm not entirely sure how to think back on the past year. How to sum up the roller coaster of emotions, then and now.

This is the pattern of thoughts that has been haunting me lately:

I've spent almost 9 out of the past 12 months pregnant. It'll be 18 out of 24 months. Truth be told, I am heartily sick of being pregnant. It seems horrible to complain when we've been so fortunate to be blessed with another (so far!) healthy baby, but it's a pretty large toll on one's body. And thus far, I have no baby to show for it.

Now that we know that spawn is healthy, I'm just ready for him to be here. I just want to fast forward through these last few months and just hold him and nurse him and know he's going to survive. That we'll get to bring him home.

He seems to be doing his best to reassure me by being the most active of my three pregnancies, moving and kicking constantly, even at this fairly early stage. "Baby dancing" is trying to conceive euphemism for having sex when you think you're fertile, but I actually think it more accurately describes those early prenatal flips, squirms, and wiggles. Baby is indeed dancing.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what would have happened if we'd found out earlier. What if our genetic counselor had put all the pieces together and we'd been tested for SLOS in utero? There's no doubt in my mind we would have terminated the pregnancy. SLOS is just too scary a disease.

I never would have met Harper. I would have been a completely different person. And not necessarily a better one.

As cliche as it sounds, this really has been a life changing year. So much so that I can barely grasp all that took place in the space of a year. Was it really only a few months ago that Harper was born? That she died? I actually have to read this blog to remind myself that it was less than a year ago that I was stressing over every doctor's appointment, full of false hope that somehow it would all work out all right. That we had a fixable bean.

I keep thinking of the song from Rent, Seasons of Love. "How do you measure, measure a year?"

Five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes indeed.

The conclusion of that song - that a year should be measured in love - reminds me to do something.

To say thank you.

To all that read this blog, to all the friends and family and colleagues who reached out to express love and support, to the favors large and small - thank you.

Much of that time is a blur. One day, I suppose I'll be strong enough to go back and re-read all the notes and cards, to watch the video of Harper's memorial service. To be reminded of the unbelievable outpouring from the world around us. I can't do that yet. But I do feel like I cannot possibly express in words or gestures how much all of the words and gestures we received during that horrible time and all the months since really mean. The collective hug that embraced us help us survive the impossible. I feel very guilty sometimes that I haven't done enough in return to truly say thanks. I need to let that go, I suppose, and just do my best to pay it forward when the opportunity presents itself.

I'm one of those people who used to secretly snort when my yoga teacher would say things like "life is a journey."

But this year really has felt like a journey. An around the world trip taking us to places we never knew existed. Introducing us to fellow travelers and new friends, as well as shared experiences with those we'd known forever.

And I think we really are changed forever. I will always be a mommy who lost a child. My boys will always have a sister who does not exist. I will always have a debt of gratitude to those around us who helped us, and continue to help us, recover from this experience. Who help us keep Harper's memory alive.

I am trying to be hopeful that 2014 will be a better year, but there is still that lingering sense of fear, of uncertainty. I was hopeful last year, too, and we all know how that turned out.

So, in an effort to uphold our commitment to trying to take the positive out of Harper's short life and loss, I make the following Harper-related New Year's Resolutions, large and small:

• I am going to bring donuts, cookies, or something of the ilk to the NICU staff on Harper's birthday. They took such amazing care of her, and of us - we won't be able to participate in reunions, like so many former-NICU parents do, but I'd like to continue to express our thanks.
• When I start to lose my temper with Shea, I will do my best to remember how grateful I am for him, how critical he was to getting me out of bed everyday, during a time when I wanted nothing more than to disappear. I will hug him at every opportunity, and when his brother arrives, I will do the same.
• Similarly, when Lou and I are cranky and tired from dealing with two small children and the world around us, I will remind myself how he was with me every step of this journey, my partner at every turn. 
• On May 5, I will take new spawn to visit Harper's tree, so the sister he will never meet will know that she hasn't been replaced, that our love and our family still includes her.
• I will continue to look for ways to say thank you and express my love for family and friends who were there for us in our time of greatest need.
• I will try to use the lessons we learned from Harper's loss to help others who are mourning or in need. 

Happy New Year, Harper bean.