Approaching the One Year Anniversary of my Child's Death
I am a planner. I love to plan. It is a strength of mine, one that has served me well through
many seasons of life.
As the one year anniversary of my son, Levi’s death is approaching, I have some very kind and wonderful friends who have thoughtfully been asking me “Do you know what you will be doing on that day?”
“Not yet” has been my initial answer, “I have been thinking about it, but no clear plans… yet.”
About 3 months ago, I had an idea about how we might share this day with friends and loved ones. People who cherished Levi. As we have passed through a series of firsts without Levi (his birthday, Christmas, the start of a new year), each has called upon me to make a plan of how to navigate, honor, remember, and cherish Levi in the midst of our grief and loss.
A much anticipated marker
The one-year death anniversary is a heavily weighted and anticipated marker in life. Questions and comments about this have come up many times, in many conversations, since Levi’s death. I appreciate friends who are willing to ask these questions.
Like many deaths that include a dying process, Levi’s death is preceded by a holiday, Valentine’s Day. For me this day marks one of the last full days of his living, without the knowledge of his approaching death.
The eve of February 15th is the beginning of Levi’s active dying process which I consider to be his end-of-life. Over the next four days we gathered with friends and family, pouring our love in + over + around + through Levi. We knew he was dying, we knew he was ready to go, and we actively and fully embraced the journey, while welcoming many to join us.
At 6:43pm on the evening of the fourth day, February 19th, Levi’s spirit lifted off to heaven. The fifth day was a time for our private family vigil, where we engaged in after death care and tended to the final needs of his earthly vessel.
As we approach this first death anniversary, these seven days beginning with Valentine’s day, feel like one set of days to me. Days and nights knit together by the conscious awareness of death approaching.
The 19th has held significant importance each month since Levi’s passing. And yes, February 19th will rise up as a mountain rises up from the landscape below. Yet and still these six days in February are one, one landscape, one season, one whole experience.
I have been struggling with questions about what to do? How do we mark this one-year date? What would be meaningful to us as a family? Who else to include? How to do so? What about Younger Brother?
The Truth is
The truth is, as my son’s one year death anniversary is approaching, I don’t want to plan. Any of it. I don’t want to figure out “what to do” or how to mark the day. I don’t want to make decisions about what will be meaningful and how to express that through word, objects, time, space, food.
I don’t want to plan or to lead.
I don't want the roles mothers are often in when it comes to marking time through celebration, remembrance, ritual, food, art, decoration, and tradition.
Birthdays, holidays, graduations, anniversaries, are mostly planned and lead by mothers. The experience of Christmas “happens” because of what mothers do within their families to plan, prepare, execute, lead, and clean up.
The truth is, I don’t want these roles when it comes the to the one-year death anniversary of my son. It is bad enough that this season will come and go. On the other side of it we will enter the journey into year-two without Levi on earth - an idea I can't still fully comprehend.
And yet, there is no one else available to make these plans or lead my family through this anniversary. My husband is in no better shape to fill this role. Nor are Levi’s grandparents. Younger Brother is far too young to take on such roles. We are all actively grieving.
And yet, I don’t want the day or this season to go by un-marked, un-noticed, un-honored, un-remembered. It was ok the 19th day of each of the 11 proceeding months have passed quietly by like a whisper. But it would not be ok for the 19th of February to whisper by.
I Wish
I wish someone else would do the work of planning, preparing, and executing a meaningful one-year death anniversary for our family. I wish I could lean into the knowing that this will happen, without my active engagement.
I wish to just be mom...a grieving mom.
I wish for a parallel experience. Last year, because of the support of hospice and many loving hands, I was able to step out of the many many roles and responsibilities I had during Levi’s life. Roles he needed because he was a child with medical complexities. I got to just be mom for a few days.
A few days.
I wish to be a participant and a recipient.
I wish for many hands to again lighten the load.
For someone to bring a meal.
Someone to light a candle.
Someone to send a poem.
Someone to say a prayer.
Someone to make an art project.
Someone to offer a donation.
Someone to share a memory.
Someone to post a photo.
Someone to buy flowers.
Someone to release a balloon.
Someone to give me a hug.
Someone to weep.
Someone to clean up.
Someone to help make this anniversary accessible and meaningful to Younger Brother.
Someone to do something I haven’t thought of.
I wish for many someones to plan, prepare, execute a piece. Even a little piece. For all of the little pieces to glue themselves together into a mosaic by the proximity of time, happening within the collection of seven days we call Levi’s end of life journey. Or the one day of February 19th.
I wish for my family's mourning, the expressions of our deep sorrow and grief for the one-year anniversary of Levi’s death, to be buoyed up.
The Lifter up of my Head
In Psalm 3: 3-5 David writes
3 But you, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high. 4 I call out to the Lord, and he answers me from his holy mountain.
5 I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the Lord sustains me.
In these days approaching, I have been singing this song over and over again as my prayer to God. Allowing the words of Scripture to permeate my heart and sustain me as I trust in God.
As a grieving mother is it not the ten thousand foes that surround me, for which I seek I seek the Lord's help. It is the ten thousand days and nights separated from my child.
