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The day before Ollie passed away Bekka and I went shopping for his birthday party. Everyone had been tentative to plan anything because you just never knew what the next hour would bring. I had entertained thoughts of planning the party as a surprise so that if anything happened to Ollie beforehand we could cancel it without Neil and Bekka ever knowing. But. Bekka decided that he was doing well and we absolutely could NOT let his first birthday pass without a big celebration. Ollie was going to have a Mickey’s Clubhouse party. We got streamers and plates and napkins and favors and those things you blow into that make noise and puff out. We ordered gigantic mylar Mickey and Minnie balloons.
The day after our shopping trip Ollie passed away.
One of the hardest things I did the day we lost him was call the bakery to cancel the Mickey’s Clubhouse birthday cake and birthday balloons.
Dave had the horrible, unfathomable job of calling all the friends whom we had not gotten in touch with yet. I would not trade jobs with him that day for anything in the world.
I don’t know if I have a point to this little bit. I just want to keep remembering the days we had with him and what it means to miss him.
If there is one place in the whole word where you would expect to be safe from the slap-in-the-face reminder of loss it would be a comedy movie about zombies. Comedy. Zombies. Woody Harrelson. Really.
Dave and I went to see Zombieland with Neil and Bekka last week and out of nowhere the hilarity ceases and we find that a main character has lost his son. And we hear the line: “take away a man’s son and he has nothing left to lose.”
The whole world is a weird, surprising minefield for anyone experiencing loss. Madeline Sphor’s grandfather mentioned it too in his guest post on Heather’s website. You just have no way of knowing where it will hit next.
We were helping Bekka shop for Neil’s birthday. Several large boxes needed to be put in the trunk of the car. We open it up and there is Ollie’s stroller.
I ordered the complete season of This American Life and watched a few episodes while Dave was out of town. The emmy-winning episode of the show is about a 27-year-old man with SMA.
There are places where you know the mines are. Every time I turn on my computer at work I know I will see a photo of myself and Ollie. If I get online I know I will read updates from other SMA families. If I call my parents I will be asked how Neil and Bekka are, instead of how Ollie is. The knowable mines are easy to handle. It the ones you don’t know about that knock the wind out of you, really quite literally. You feel your stomach clench up and your head starts to swim. Your ears roar with the enormous vacuum of silence. Sometimes the mine goes off completely. Sometimes it’s a dud. You just never know.
