Six Months

Today marks six months without our beloved Errol.
He brought such pure joy to the world.
He would have enjoyed this day, as he did all days.
Still, try as I might, I am filled with such sadness.

The Three Little Pigs

Early in the morning, the students release the pigs into the school. It is April Fools Day, after all, and to make things more interesting the pigs are painted on their sides with the numbers 1, 2, and 4. It’s easy to imagine the administrators, on their walkie-talkies, roaming the school, sweating, out of breath, looking for number three and reporting to home base, “We’ve got one and two down in the physics lab, and four’s up here in the cafeteria, but we can’t find #3 anywhere.”

And here I am looking for Errol. It’s only been five months since we left him, and the other day someone said, “You must think of him every day.” And I think: Every day?!?! How ‘bout every hour, every minute, constantly! I am a glass of warm water and Errol is ice, and he has melted away-dissolved into me- and he makes me better and more than I was.

My senses are attuned to Errol: I see an automatic paper towel dispenser and there we are in the hospital, I hear bath water running and there he is, I smell sweet potatoes, and I am at the dinning room feeding Errol; but he is not really anywhere except within me, and I can look as long as the administrators look for number three, and I won’t find him out there. And I keep looking!

Good Night, Sleep Tight, Wake Up Bright In The Morning Light

Last night I put Owen to bed and said “Good night”
And his mother said, “Sleep tight.”
And Owen said, “Wake up bright in the morning light!”

Owen’s words joined with ours to make the song we sang Owen and Errol to bed to every night of Errol’s life.

Good Night
Sleep Tight
Wake Up Bright In The Morning Light

And he always did. And he always was our bright morning light.

When Errol lay dying in his mother’s arms, when there was no hope he would get better, when it was time for his suffering to end, we wanted to do whatever we could to help ease his passage out of life. We unplugged Errol from all the ventilators and machines that were keeping him alive, and then we turned off his oxygen. As his little breaths got shallower and shallower and the space between them got longer and longer we sang Errol the goodnight song to help him let go. To help end his suffering.

Through sobs and moans Cary and I sang, over and over again, “Good night, sleep tight, wake up bright in the morning light.” Errol slowly stopped breathing until he was gone.

We have not dared to sing this song or even say these words since then.
But last night, Owen was ready to sing this beautiful song.

Errol Word Cloud

Click on the image above to see the words from Errol's blog transformed into a word cloud! The more frequently a word is used, the larger it is in the word cloud.

Mother's Day

I stood behind Cary, jumping up, waving my arms, trying to get Owen's attention as he shared his big news, “Mama, I’m going to wake up early to wrap up your secret presents; the bowl and necklace, and then Daddy and me are making you a surprise French toast breakfast.” He gets it from me. I have a hard time waiting for big celebrations. And today was a big one: Cary’s first Mother’s Day since our beloved Errol died. We’ve been dreading it for some time, but that didn’t stop it from getting here.

Owen was true to his word and woke up especially early to fete his mother, because he knows even better than I do, what a great mother he and Errol have. Had it not been for Cary’s strength, energy, optimism, brilliance, hope, tenacity, and love, Errol would not have lived a third of his three and a half brilliant years.

For this diminished Mother's Day, we did many of the same things that we did last Mother’s Day, just without Errol. We rode bikes in the morning, Owen behind me, on the tandem, and Cary on her bike with an empty child’s seat – Errol’s seat – behind her. I’m glad Cary couldn’t see herself, but I know how much lighter her bike was, and that she felt every ounce of Errol’s missing weight.

We rode to a baseball field and the whistling wind began to bend the trees. We threw our frisbee around our little family triangle and then, as the wind built, we threw our Frisbee up, up, up, into the wind which sent it right back to us, again and again. Owen always says that Errol is the wind, and I wonder if he thought Errol came to give his mother a visit on her special day.

We tried to celebrate this bright windy day, but every time the trees would bend and sway, we all thought of Errol. I remembered Errol in loving arms, on his grandfather's boat, out on the shimmering water, the sun beating down, and Errol smiling and smiling, full of joy with the wind on his face.

Life Is Round

My favorite line in a Coen Brothers film comes from the scene in Raising Arizona where the escaped convict, Evelle, asks a grizzled old store clerk about some balloons he is thinking about purchasing, “These blow up into funny shapes and all?”

The grocer looks at his customer askance and replies, “Well no…unless round is funny.”

Errol thought round was funny, he thought his brother jumping on the bed was funny, leaves falling from the sky were funny, his three crazy doggies running around the house were always funny, chickens flapping the yard were even more funny, and snow was probably funniest. I remember rolling Errol out onto the porch his last winter, and pointing up at the big white flakes falling from the sky, and as sick as he felt, Errol looked right up at the snow, smiled, looked over at me, and then let out a little chuckle. For Errol, although his life was harder by far than any I have known, life was always round. After all, as Oscar Wilde said, “Life is too important to be taken seriously.”

Grieving

Errol is in our thoughts all the time.

One night at dinner Owen suddenly smiled and said, “Errol is on your shoulders mama. He’s nibbling your food.”

“Hi, Errol.” Cary said gamely, turning towards her shoulder.

“Mama,” said Owen, “Now Errol is in your arms.”

Cary cradled her sweet boy in her arms while Owen looked on, his eyes smiling. Sometimes just going through the familiar motions of Errol, holding, lifting, laying down bring floods of joy and sorrow. “And he’s grabbing your hair.” Said Owen.

“Now I’m holding him, Mama.” And Owen rocked his brother in his arms. Then Owen pointed to me. “He’s on your shoulders Daddy.”

“Hi, Errol.” I replied, waving and smiling. And to explain my tears I said, “Ouch, he’s pulling my hair!” - which was Errol’s favorite game, after all.

And as suddenly as it started, Owen sang out. “Now Errol is the wind.” And that was the end of the visitation that Owen had conjured.

A few minutes later we finished dinner and went into Owen and Errol’s bedroom. I know Owen must feel lonely up in the top of his bunk bed with no one below to share his big room, but his pet chickens.

We read a children’s book about death called I Miss You and when we asked Owen how he was feeling he said, “I don’t know what’s going to happen next.” I told him that we didn’t know either (not reassuring perhaps, but true) but that we thought things were going to get better (which they do, until they don’t) and that he was going to feel better. And he is feeling better, these days. And we know that Owen misses Errol as much as he loved him (which is a lot) and that Errol will help Owen to grow up to be a very strong and loving man. But for now it’s heartbreaking to watch a little boy's heart break.

Errol’s fourth birthday reminded us of Errol’s first tenuous day of life. As we move through these slow days of loss, it's clear how remarkable it is that we got any time at all with Errol (his sweet little body was not made for this world). It’s amazing he survived a day, much less three and a half years. How lucky we are.

Errol cheated death, and I think he knew it, and that’s what gave him that lucky-to-be alive glow that made the dark times more bearable, and the light times all the sweeter. We are so lucky.

And to think - we came a razor width away from never knowing beautiful, radiant Errol! How fortunate we are for the wonderfully joyous boy we got to share those beautiful days with.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Brothers Dancing

Errol and Owen loved each other so much. Here is a video of the two boys from last summer.

Birthday Fireworks

We listened to a recording of Errol laughing, laughing, laughing.

We planted a peach tree for Errol - our little peach.

We shot off fireworks for Errol - who loved fireworks (until the police came and made us stop.)

We sat with family and shared stories about our beloved Errol that brought him (almost, almost) back to us.

It was a beautiful day. It was a horrible day.

Birthday

Errol's birthday is Monday, March 8.

He would have been four.

We miss our sweet boy so much.

His mother took this picture of him last year on his birthday.

We will always remember Errol at age three.

Smiling.

Joyful.

Full of life.