The 26th

A really blessed, really reflective, really melancholy, really joyful weekend this past one was.

Let me start by saying that Scott and I both admitted feeling strangely light and relaxed when we visited Duncan last weekend while in Columbus. We told him we loved him, then stood silently over his grave for a short while, then departed as peaceful as when we had arrived. It was special and important to be with Duncan, yet not at all filled with sadness or grief at thinking about the nearing anniversary of his death. In fact, we smiled more than we teared up at the thought of Duncan.

And we spent the whole week between that weekend and this past one in the same way - surprisingly upbeat and forward-moving. We entered into the weekend without much expectation...how could we know exactly what would be our experience of this anniversary? Our plan all along for the 26th was to purchase a dogwood tree, much like the one my special friends planted at the Park of Roses in Columbus, and to plant it in our own back yard as a place to honor Duncan.

For both of us, Saturday afternoon was when "something" hit. It's really hard to explain... all the memories and thoughts about Duncan that meant something, but previously were experienced unemotionally... those memories and thoughts starting Saturday were experienced in a more attached way. That's the way anniversaries work with me. I don't consciously build them up in any way or attempt to overdramatize them, yet the anniversaries themselves do the work... it's like all memories and thoughts are heightened.

We went to a fun orchard with another family here, raked and bagged leaves, and went to a fun nature preserve for a Fall hike. It was a full and good day, with a melancholy-ness to it as well. Sunday we went to church (which just happened to be All Saint's Day) and then we did get the tree, although blustery winds and SNOW *that's right I said SNOW* prevented us from planting it... we're thinking that'll happen this weekend when dear friend Becky Smith visits. I individually journaled a TON and Scott individually processed in his way - and last night we had the most wonderful conversation about Duncan. What we remember about him. What we love about him. What ripples (only the ones we KNOW about) he has made in our lives and others. What conversations and holy moments happened that night one year ago with the people who surrounded him in that hospital room at the end. What absolute peace we had then and still do have about the way that last day happened... and that last one is what I thank God and Duncan for almost daily: Scott and I were gifted with 17 hours from the time that we were called to the NICU in the middle of the night to the time Duncan passed. When it became clear to us that his condition was as shaky as it was, Scott and I began, on the spot, requesting for DUNCAN to let US know if and when he needed to go. Yet again, this is a hard thing to explain, but it was as if he at that point became ageless and it was his spirit (slash God's spirit - all one and the same for us then) that we requested this guidance from. So when Duncan left, we felt he left on his own terms - we didn't intervene medically to keep him with us longer than his soul wanted to be and we didn't feel as though we "gave up" too earlier. That kind of peace - releasing the authority to Duncan's soul - is what we thank God for daily. It made the departure how it should have been.

So this was our experience of the 25th through the 26th... As always, we feel so blessed to have had the kind of support over the last year to encourage the kind of healing bringing us to now. The cards and calls and emails from our Ohio/Kentucky friends provided such bright spots to our weekend and we even were gifted a beautiful bouquet of flowers from a couple couple friends here in Minnesota who wanted to show their support... a sure sign that we have several homes, and this is becoming one of them.