Not a Waste

Two days before he died, my husband and I watched Doubt. It was yet another example of how one of Philip Seymour Hoffman's movies can change your perspective on things.

I remember thinking when it was over, how many incredible movies he had made and how many more he would make. Truth be told I thought he was more in his late 50s not 46, but still I thought he had decades left of cinema brilliance.

When I heard the news he had died I was not surprised. He looks washed up and hung-over on the red carpet, so it doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduct he may have been using something.

I also consider him almost genius like. Watching a movie he was in is almost uncomfortable. It is like he transcends the screen and you are actually in the room wherein the scene is taking place. Geniuses are troubled, whether famous or not. So it goes to reason, that often they seek solace, perhaps from their own minds, in substances that numb.

But what I can't seem to get off my mind, is the comment I keep showing up on feeds,

"WHAT A WASTE!"

Perhaps, you have seen it too. Or maybe the less hurtful one,

"He had so yet to give, what a waste of talent."

I get the sentiment I suppose, but what a misguided and frankly hateful comment.

His life was not a waste. He was human being. A human being that was with a person I follow on FB days before at their son's basketball practice. A human being that changed many through his movies. A human being, who was flawed like us all, and ended up with the worst possible outcome because of his choices. A human being whose life mattered just as much as my children's.

Since I have lost a child, I always go right to the mother and what she must be going through. Remember, his mother (the mother with which he wanted us to congratulate for his Oscar) is somewhere mourning. Think of how she sees her son. Think of how you would want one to see your child if they passed, no matter the circumstances.

So let's do what is best to do at these tragic times: learn from his mistakes in his death, but not create our own mistakes by belittling his life.

14 months

Fourteen months is a grand milestone in our children lives.
Your brother Henry learned to walk at 14 months...

 

and become a big brother...

 

 

14 months is also when your sister Amelie walked...

 

....and when she broke two major bones in her leg

...adventurous that one.

 

Fourteen months is a hard one for me to be without you. Not only is it hard because your bro and sis were simply adorable at that age...I mean look at those pictures, but it is really when your brother and sister blossomed.

Personalities, mobility, learning all seemed to make a big jump around that time.

But here we are 14 months since you were born and we will not see you blossom. We will not see you toddle with new found independence as only a new walker can. We will see you point to colors or identified numbers as your siblings did.

But perhaps the hardest we won't hear your little voice. Oh, I wish so much I could hear the gibberish and cues and mommas and dadas from you. I wonder if you would talk a lot like your sister and brother, or would they do the talking for you? 

I wondered when we first lost you would I always see you as a baby or would grow with time.

I feel your growing with time. I see you as 14 month old. I see your wavy, brown locks, your big brown eyes and your chubby legs as your make your way around the house reeking havoc on its cleanliness.

But I also see you unchanged. No you will not blossom into a full rose, but this means you will not wither. Your petals will not fall and shrivel...

 

You will remain the beautiful little pink baby bud just as the one we laid in your hands.

Too BIG of a heart

Cardiomegaly.
An enlarged heart.

That is what the autopsy showed.

A heart too big for your little body.

Your heart outgrew you.

I think that is pretty much as fitting a diagnosis as we could get. After all, we know there are no bonds of what your little body and huge heart can accomplish.

Valentine's Day is fast approaching and I feel a hole in my heart the shape of you. But I am often reminded of why you died. How you died. I start to go down a bad path of whether or not you had pain. Did you suffer? Or did you simply fade from my belly to God's arms?

I suspect you suffered. Others have tried to convince me other wise but I remember your tugs and painful pulls the last few days and my instincts feel you were in pain.

I try not to focus on that. It is a sticky, painful and fruitless path.
Instead I try to grasp on that diagnosis. An enlarged heart.

I like to think you loved too much to live in this old, ugly world. And somehow your big heart transcends death and inspires ME and countless others to widen our hearts!