My life with the Sullivan boys

"Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length." Robert Frost That was the quote on the spine of the Real Simple magazine when I glanced down at the stack next to the rows and rows of nail polish. I kept looking at it while I was receiving my hand massage by the Asian man assigned to paint my finger nails. Indeed the quote was true and very fitting for today. I've been sad the last few weeks, and I've let you know about it. But there's happiness involved here too. On Wednesday the doctor told us that whatever type of therapy we're doing seems to be working with Dermot and he won't need Botox injections in his legs. Hooray! Progress for sure. Then there was a great evening out with dear friends that same evening, lots of sharing and lots of laughs. And today, a friend ask if I'd like to join her to get our nails done. I would, I did. Sometimes the bad stuff outweighs the good in quantity, sometimes it transforms me into a sad but com...

"That's how our life is, so we should probably start living it that way!" I replied defiantly to my husband. I was the driving the familiar route to the Y to swim with the whole family. I had suggested that he take the two typical kids on a spring break trip and he balked at the idea that we wouldn't go as a whole family. How? I can't see driving twenty plus hours to Florida, let alone fly there. The last time we took Dermot on a plane we were very lucky to get first class and that his wheelchair wasn't trashed in the baggage compartment. On the way home we were in trouble. Dermot needs full support while sitting, we bring his large carseat and after that is installed in the narrow airplane seat, there's not even an inch of space left for his long, six year old legs. After we returned home from that trip I knew it would be a long time before we would travel again. So I listen to your stories of family vacations to Steamboat or Orlando and I envy you. I...

It's eleven o'clock. I don't want to go to sleep. Or even try. I put my head on the pillow and the thoughts come rushing in. Thirty five days ago someone else's little boy died. Thirty five days ago my husband and I wept on our knees in the hallway of our home and tried to explain why to our four year old boy. I immediately made lasagna and M & M cookies and a CD of my favorite songs to cry to. I drove it over to their house the next morning. We went to the visitation, then the funeral. I made more food and delivered it with a note. And then more food and more cookies. More notes. More cookies. Every night since the death, I can't seem to sleep. The first two weeks I spent late night hours in my dark living room drinking sleepy time tea, watching a rabbit at the bird feeder outside the window. Images of the funeral and details of the tragedy keep my mind racing. Complete sorrow for the family, complete. I know this is grief, I've felt this before. I...

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...

"I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go." Abraham Lincoln Driving to Target last Friday afternoon, I switched on MPR radio as per usual and heard mid sentence a mention of 26 dead, 20 of whom are children......elementary school shooting....lone gunman....teachers dead.... I took a gasping breath, almost cried and switched immediately to a Maroon 5 song talking about how his body keeps on telling him yes. "Not today, not now." I said out loud, to myself. It was too much. I have two boys in elementary school and one in a very public preschool. This happened to them, far away. This won't happen here. To me. The illusion of safety is a dangerous one. I used to think that tragedy happens to other people, people I don't know. Not me. Or I thought that I'd paid my dues in life already and not another bad thing could possibly go wrong. Until I had Dermot. Until I felt the grief, over and ove...