When I was young, if I thought of the month of May I always got a warm feeling. I could almost smell the Lilac, hear the birds, and feel the grass between my toes. May meant that winter was indeed over, and that while there may be rain and chilly days ahead- there would be mostly sun. I never thought that my view of an entire month and season could be changed by one life event. If I think of May now, I mostly feel a void in my mind where I lost an entire month in 2010. I remember coming home from the hospital, and the few days following but then the void consumes that space. There are snippets of things I can recall. Laying on the couch, not wanting to sleep without the TV on because I kept remembering the doctor saying “I’m sorry but he died”. I remember leaving one night, packing my bags and just walking out the door while Dustin was working because I couldn’t stand to be in our apartment anymore. The sadness of the place was so much that I couldn’t bear it. I wandered our neighborhood for hours, just walking with no sense of direction. Only hopelessness.

When we didn’t know what had happened to Jack’s body, I had nightmares. I dreamt that he was lost forever and that we would never find him. Hence the name of my blog. Searching for Jack. The rest of the month though, whatever happened in between these events are very blurry. There was a lot of crying and pain….so much pain.

During the first anniversary of Jack’s birth and then death, I anticipated what I would feel. Our grief counselor prepared us for it and told us to make a plan. We pretty much did that, and we survived. I thought that by making it through the first year, we’d make it easier through the years to come. I didn’t anticipate the immense sadness and overall depression that this second year would bring. It all came crashing down on Saturday. A real meltdown and Owen was there with me trying to make me smile.

He is the reason I think this year is so much sadder. Now I know the true scale of what we lost when Jack died. We lost the smiles, the laughs, the poops, the gurgles, and the memories that we have so enjoyed with Owen. I think this realization has made this harder to bear.

But in my sadness, I try to hope that Jack would be proud of what we have accomplished in his memory. That we have helped so many families through him. I try to be thankful for him and all that his life has taught us. I try not to miss him too much, especially in front of Owen. I try not to cry.

Everyday though, and every spring, every May will always bring Jack’s Day. And I will always miss him, my heart will always ache.