3 years 1 month and 1 day 12 hours and 1 minute

Dear Sonzee, 

Friday was officially 3 years and 1 month that you left. It was also the day after our school community learned of a horrible house fire that at that time took the lives of the father and two children. Over Shabbos the remaining two siblings also died. 

It took me a second to process what I heard when I spoke to aba Thursday afternoon. I then saw an email from the school with the same information. Naturally I panicked thinking of your siblings. The amount of child loss they have experienced in their short lives is nauseating. The amount of sadness and loss in general makes me so sad for them. Auntie A and I didn't experience the type of loss they have had by their age; it isn't fair. 

I tried to intervene the news being told to them the way the school was planning, but I wasn't quick enough to school and each of your siblings handled it the way I anticipated they would. My biggest concern is always your older siblings because they don't react in an extroverted way. Instead, Tzvi will make comments here and there and just avoid any conversation about it. Laeya will bottle it up inside and slowly at night, always late, she will begin to share insight into her mind. Meena on the other hand was crying the minute she got out of school and ran into my arms. She spent the rest of the day an absolute mess. Her lack of ability to cope with all of the big emotions made my ability to cope with managing my emotions and trying to handle hers worse than zero. 

I sent an email to the head of school. I don't place any blame in how the information was given. I don't envy the position he found himself in, but I do feel (selfishly) that due to our family's specific circumstances surrounding child/sibling loss, I should have been able to intercept your siblings to discuss it with them and be there when the news was delivered. 

The one child who attended the school currently they all knew and spoke with a handful of times, and one of the brothers was in Meena's class during his younger years (she shared some stories over shabbat dinner with us). The challenge with this situation is that while most of the other families are horrified over what happened and can't wrap their heads around losing one child much less four (and their father), our family has lived the loss of one. It hits our family differently. It opens up hidden compartments in each of us that we have either openly or secretly been working on over the last 3 years and 1 month (and 2 days) since you left us. 

For me, my initial thought was relief. How thankful I was that this father didn't have to live with the loss of any of his children (and it would have been all). My heart doesn't want to experience that ever. My brain knows how horrific that would be, there is no need for me to have to imagine. It would be 4 times worse than what I experience every single day without you here, there wouldn't be a point to continuing life. I appreciate Hashem sparing this father that type of pain. I have spent the last few days processing everything. I found myself back in the stages of numbness. It is just horrible, despite the beauty of them all being together in Gan Eden. 

Tomorrow is their funeral. I debated going and was then told/warned that I even showed up I would be escorted out. (Sometimes I am thankful for the friends I have). There is guilt looming over me, but I also know that I am incapable of attending a child's funeral and not being sent back to day one in my grief. Three years, 1 month, and 1 day ago I sat in a surreal world not even comprehending it was you being buried. I spent the next year numb and in this weird denial position. (It was more of knowing you were dead but with an inability of blending that knowledge into everyday life). Those moments have (thankfully?) become less. Three years, 1 month, and 1 day ago I started a new life. One that would never include you again. I am afraid (although it feels so selfish) that I would be sent back to that time. I can't go back there. I can barely be where I am at now. There are other selfish reasons I cannot bring myself to go. As usual, with grief, your father and I are different, and he will be attending. He thinks it will be good for him. (Whatever that means). Meena also wants to go. Laeya hasn't decided yet. Whoever wants to go can and who doesn't won't and that is ok. 

I miss you a lot little bear! I'd ask for you to come and visit, but lately I feel like you've been blessing us with your presence in the form of water and I don't know if a flood of any sort is really necessary this week. So, maybe we can compromise, and you can meet me in my dreams? I would love that! (Plus, to this day it has never happened for me, and I am envious you went to aba).

Until next time baby girl!

Love always, 

Ema

2:07am

Dear Sonzee, 

Yesterday when your siblings came home from school they excitedly put on rollerblades and went skating. Your little brother just got his first pair on Wednesday, so it was day two for him. They all kept rollerblading into the house which was making me insane and sent them all back outside. I was filling out camp forms and I swear your twin girl had just been told for the umpteenth time to get back outside when I heard her screaming for aba. I ran outside as I heard aba scream back "what happened". I don't know what I expected or thought, but I know a flash of panic over your brother being hit by a car came into my mind. I got outside and aba was rolling Laeya down the street supporting her underarms and saying she broke her arm. I know I asked, "why can't she skate?" The answer was "I don't know". I swear it felt like it all happened in 30 seconds or less despite how much happened. 

A few phone calls later and our support system was fully in place. Meena was going to her gymnastics private and someone else was going to pick her up, Noam was off to one of his besties, aba was off to hockey with Tzvi and I was on Laeya to PCH urgent care duty. Morah Zupnick and I were playing the game of beating the urgent care posted times. We won. They said 30 min when we got there and we were seen within 15 minutes and were sent on our way to the PCH ER within an hour. It was between the time they explained her wrist fracture and displacement and us waiting for them to call the hospital to let them know we were on our way that I realized I was going to have to walk through the sliding doors at 1919 E Thomas Road. 

I don't remember the exact date of the last time I walked through those doors. I don't even remember what month it was. Like riding a bike, I drove to the familiar exit and I made a right, a left, and a right to find a parking spot right in front of the ER. She was assigned an orange folder, that was always what you got. I know there are more urgent cases besides a displaced fractured wrist, but they felt because of our time at urgent care we should have a "fast pass" to triage. We were in a room within an hour. I visited the same Starbucks I had visited so many times at night before it closed, but the coffee tasted gross. It didn't matter, another coffee was soon to be on its way to me, also with a hot chocolate for your sister when she would wake up from the sedation. 

The halls look the same. It is hard to believe it's been 3.5-4 years since I was there. It is hard to believe I didn't know anyone, and no one knew about you. I am not a frequent flyer anymore. (Well, except for the ortho department). The tv channels are the same, the movies were also. We watched inside out and Laeya had her amazing laugh. She, much like you had horrible veins and it took a blown vein and multiple people to get an iv into her hand. I referenced you a few times, but I didn't want to make this about you, or me. I put on my Sonzee bear brave face. Your sister was a rockstar the entire time. 

For the procedure, they moved us to one of the trauma bays, you know, just in case. I had a mild inner panic attack over the rare complications. I wanted to vomit with the number of times the doctor said it was unlikely. (so was CDKL5). I didn't say that aloud, but my inner thoughts screamed it too many times. I couldn't sit still, but with your sister finally calm and her blood pressure finally normal I was outwardly composed. Thankfully you never were in the trauma bay she was taken to. After they gave her the sedation they took me to the waiting room. I reminded myself she was going to be okay. I played in my mind the potential chaos that could occur while being afraid of hearing a code being called. (It turns out she only paused her breathing for a few quick seconds and with oxygen her levels rose right back up)

The worst part of the night was after they set her arm and had to do an x-ray. I was standing against the wall in the hallway when a hysterical woman walked by, followed by a few other members of her family. Staring straight. Holding a box. I recognized the cries. I recognized the lost look. I saw the father a few steps behind. He held a blanket, smelled the drops of blood and walked to the sliding doors. I took a few breaths, forcing myself to not run to any of them to wrap my arms around them and cry with them. I wanted to scream that I understood their cries. I remained still. I walked back into the room when I was allowed and paced some more. I did my usual make small talk and asked the nurse how often that happens. She said, "not often, about two times a month." I thought to myself, two times too many. Your sister asked what I was talking about, and I didn't answer. She said, oh you can't say. The nurse then said, "something that hopefully you or mother never have to know". I said, "well, I had a daughter, she had a sister, it didn't happen here, but on hospice...and I really wanted to go and hug that mom". The nurse spoke her sympathies to me and I swallowed my tears and emotions. Your sister was adorable and funny. The nurses and doctors loved her. 

I won't ask why it all had to happen last night. I will try not to wonder why out of the two times a month, one of those had to be the same exact time that I was in the hospital. I am too emotionally exhausted to wonder what the purpose of last night's events was. I thank you for watching over your sister and giving me an ounce of your strength to keep myself together for her. I miss you. I love you. 

Until next time. 

Love always,

Ema

158 and 159 weeks

Dear Sonzee, 

It has been 9 days since my last letter to you. It seems like so much longer. I am so sorry. I hope you know that the lack of letters is by no means representative of the number of times you are thought about every minute. It would be impossible to write you so much, and, you would most certainly roll your eyes and be annoyed if I did. 

The last two weeks have been filled with your siblings' hockey and gymnastics, a lot of work, your birthday, and my slow return to normalcy after the last 6 weeks. The latter is the main reason it has taken me a bit to write you a letter.

After both your Hebrew and English birthdays my body collapsed. It was as if all of the emotions of the last 6 weeks were finally able to be released. It has taken me about a week to mentally get back on track. I wish I could find a way to make this situation make sense. It is just after 6 weeks of being stuck in the grief trenches, the sky begins to lighten, the clouds begin to part, the sunlight begins to peak through, and eventually, the normalcy of what has become our new life returns. 

The typical grief remains. It isn't as intense all at once, it goes back to just coming in waves and spurts. It goes back to catching me off guard and bringing mood swings at a more steady rate. It returns me to an average level of being able to "tolerate stupid" and manage to parent. 

Meena has mastered some amazing tricks at gymnastics. On the floor she can do a running front flip, and a round-off quadruple back handspring. On the beam, she can do a cartwheel and some other fancy-named things. She is really working hard on getting her Kip on the bars. She is hoping she can get it before official team placements happen next month. I hope for her sake she gets it. She is amazing to watch and we are just so impressed with her talent. It is hard to believe she started not even 2 years ago. 

This weekend Tzvi had his President's Day tournament. He and I spent the majority of it in Peoria. His team is not only on the younger side, but they are also on the tinier side. They did amazing not giving up, even when us parents wanted them to. They played an elite team whose program has sent about 15-20 kids to the NHL. Tzvi's coach said to remember their names; I think we all will. They were impressive to watch, but the boys were very much out of their league. We thought that maybe Tzvi would pay a bit more attention in school now that he has had a taste of what talent goes to the NHL, but instead, he said he will just work harder. Okay!?

Tonight was the first class of a pilot program for ASU and Hospice of the Valley called Resilient Parenting for Bereaved Families. I was asked to explain your death, my biggest challenge since, and something that has helped me to cope. I started with a deep breath and mentioned how I don't like to relive your death, I don't like to talk about your last weekend, but I did it, and I allowed myself to cry. I mentioned that the minute you left us was actually peaceful in and of itself. I said it is so hard to pick the biggest challenge, but I settled on it is how I am not naive to think your siblings can't die also. I said that the New Song grief group and friends have helped me to cope, but despite feeling like a failure for needing more help, I admitted that after the first 18 months on this grief journey, I realized it was okay to need the help of medication and for the last year and a half since I started to take it, it has made life manageable, it has allowed me to function, it's what helps me to cope without you here.

Anyway, my love. We are just a week away from it becoming a new month. The amount of time since you have been here just continues to grow and become difficult to comprehend. The weight in my chest is heavier to hold. The hole in my heart is bigger. The love for you is still exponential. 

I hope you are having a great time wherever you are. Thank you for all of your recent visits. I don't doubt your presence. 

Until next time baby girl!

Love always, 

Ema 

   

Sonzee "turns" 8

Dear Sonzee, 

Today, 8 years ago you came quickly into our lives, but 3 years and 8 days ago you slowly left. Making it your 4th birthday we have had to celebrate without you here. It doesn't make sense to celebrate a day when the reason, you, is missing, yet here we are, again. The truth is, this year was the easiest. All of your many signs over the last few weeks have been a significant help with that.

A bit over a year ago a friend of mine realized her father shared the same yahrzeit as you, the 8 of Shvat. She came with us to say kaddish at your grave. While she was there she also noticed that you and her father also shared an English birthday. Aba says the chances of that are about 1 in 40,000. We know how well you understand rare.

On Thursday this week, this friend invited us for Shabbas lunch today. At the time neither of us was thinking about the date. On Thursday night, before leaving for hockey with Tzvi aba asked me if I wanted to celebrate your birthday with a cake. As usual, when aba asks me about plans to honor one of your dates I snapped. Why would I want to have a cake? We have never had a cake, why start this year? He gave reasons why, but I continued to be annoyed. The conversation ended.

Yesterday morning I received a text. It read that my friend's children and she were going to be making a cake for her father, would I like her to add your name to the cake because birthdays can be so hard. I paused. I had forgotten that you and her father shared your birthdays. I immediately smiled and said yes, that would be amazing. It's funny how that came together. I knew that it was meant to be after that text, after all, I am sure you were involved in this orchestration. 

8 years ago you came into this world and everything we ever knew about life and parenting went out the window. Usually, on a person's birthday, they make a wish, they get gifts, and they are celebrated. For 4 years your wishes were your secret only. For 4 years the gifts you got weren't anything you could have asked for. For 4 years you were celebrated the best way we knew how. For 4 years I wished that you would no longer suffer, that you would find peace, and that you would be able to be free. For 4 years you gave me the gift of your life. For 4 years you let us celebrate you with hugs, kisses, and love, the only way we knew how. For the last 4 years, you have made my wish come true. For the last 4 years, you have given me the gift of believing in faith, in signs, and a new beginning of trust in Hashem. For the last 4 years, you have given me the ability to continue to celebrate you.

Thank you for choosing us to be your parents, for allowing us the greatest opportunity of trusting us to help you complete your earthly mission, and for helping me to see that you are never really as far away as it some days feels. 

I hope your actual wishes can be spoken, be heard, and have come true, and I pray when the time is meant to be, that I am given the gift of seeing you live them, so we can celebrate together.

Happy 8th birthday baby girl!

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema

157 weeks and almost one day

Dear Sonzee, 

These last 2 weeks have been pretty rough, to say the least. I knew they would be, but knowing doesn't seem to make a difference. There is no way to actually prepare. There is nothing that I can do to make it less rough. Maybe that will come in time? I can only hope. 

Over the last 2 weeks, we have honored both your Hebrew and English dates of death. In 4 more days it would have been your 8th birthday. I am looking forward to the completion of all of these dates. The rest of the days of the year are hard enough without all of these days piled on top. Maybe it would be better if they were spread out some, but they aren't and so I try to give ample warning these aren't ideal weeks for me to deal with the mundane, but it seems people just don't get that I become a ticking time bomb. 

Maybe I shouldn't become a loose cannon, and maybe it isn't an excuse, but then again maybe I shouldn't have had to bury you, so I guess that is a moot point. I know it doesn't give me a free pass at everything, and it doesn't make me entitled...but I feel it gives some justification.

This last week while we were in Vegas at the hockey tournament a kid purposefully lunged toward one of Tzvi's teammates and it resulted in a concussion. It was a trigger for me. A child potentially dying due to playing a sport they love by some little piece of work who wasn't taught the potential of his actions makes me sick, angry, upset, disgusted, and so incredibly sad. It is something I have been unable to rebound from. The worst part, this kid's teammates' parents laughed while our player was on the ice not moving. This kid didn't even look back, he didn't even check on the kid, he simply had zero regards for what he did. It is just a damn game. It isn't worth potentially killing someone.

I shared the video of the hit, wrote a post to educate others, and stated that I had hoped his parents took the time to educate their son and I lost 2 "friends". Those two people said I shouldn't have posted the video. One or both of those people said I was reported to the Arizona Amateur Hockey Association. I am happy they did because doing so will bring awareness of that intentional hit. It also helped me to weed out people I do not need in my life. I also sent my own email about the video and the post to AAHA and I know I did nothing wrong. I did not shame this team, parent, or child. If I had wanted to do that I could have mentioned the name of the kid, team, jersey number, and all the little details that occurred, but I didn't. I stand by the post. I stand by my feelings. There is no place in a sport for that sort of behavior. There is no reason to potentially kill a child. The thought of these friends of mine having to bury their son after playing a hockey game is something that I just cannot shake. It shakes me to my core. There is nothing worse than having you gone. I wish no other parent has to join this club, but if they do, it better not be due to an extracurricular activity. 

I took a "mental health" day today and came to be with you. It feels like it has been so long since I have done that. I remember doing this every day after I got up from Shiva for the longest time. Then life continued and I came less and less. Then it became too hard to come. Now I don't do it enough. These grief emotions just get too much to handle at times.  A friend dropped off a Starbucks drink and I brought it with me. I am sitting on this cold granite bench wrapped in the blanket I picked out during our first grief group. I sprayed all of the rocks with a water protectant. I brought my markers to paint you some more. I wish any of this helped. I wish this journey wasn't so damn hard! I wish something would make this all better...but without you back that isn't possible, so I am left to do my best to keep it all together, and honestly...I feel like I am failing.

Love you, little girl!! I hope you are planning something amazing for your birthday with all of your friends. 

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema