My life with the Sullivan boys

I wanted to tell you that before I came to the Family Center I had two friends. Two friends in which to share the monotony of new motherhood. Two friends to plan play dates and tumbling classes and swimming lessons and movies for moms, anything to get through the days while our husbands went off to work. Let me tell you it got awfully lonely if one of my friends was out of town and the other had sick children. I was Home. Alone. With my child. For eight hours… Then I had my second boy, Dermot. In the beginning he had, what I like to call now, some “minor” health issues and my two friends tried to support me. Three months after he was born we moved to Edina, to a house that had more than two bedrooms. I decided to keep my oldest son in preschool in St. Louis Park in order to stay connected to my two friends. Then, at four months old, Dermot had his first seizure, and that changed everything. You see when a child has a seizure and goes to the ER and stays in the PICU for...

Grief in an eight year old: Two days after the funeral he had rubbed most of the ink off of the wristband he received at the funeral. Got almost frantic when I told him I couldn't fix the wristband, then calmed down when I agreed to give him the one I got. Gave me several unasked for hugs when he noticed me crying at the dinner table, at church on Sunday and while reading him a book. Asked to read his obituary in the paper, again. Asked why his heart stopped beating. Read the article about his friend in the neighborhood newspaper and was comforted by the fact that his favorite team was Notre Dame. Listened while his friends at swim practice talked about "the boy who died", didn't share with us what they'd said. Spent a few nights out of sorts, almost crying, almost yelling. Made sure that the green #7 sticker was placed correctly on his hockey helmet. Wanted to know if he'd been to any other funerals when he was younger. Seems to be hugging his bro...

Cathartic: producing a feeling of being purified emotionally, spiritually, or psychologically as a result of an intense emotional experience or therapeutic technique. That is why I write. I’ll admit when I first started writing it was to inform family and friends about Dermot’s health and hospital stays so I didn’t have to repeat painful information over and over, but at some point my blog morphed into a vehicle to process my thought and feelings. Yesterday I went to the funeral of a friend’s eight year old boy. He died suddenly and quite tragically. Yesterday I posted my heartfelt experience of his funeral and the happenings that occurred at the funeral. As with most people this was the most difficult event I’ve ever experienced. First because he’s eight years old and we knew him. We saw him often and our families have a connection. I know I don’t need to explain the relationship we have with the family, but because of some criticism I received over yesterday’s post I fe...