I love Bellwood. Nestled in an old farmhouse that sits on the property that also houses a Unitarian church, sleepy Bellwood was a perfect fit for our little Owen. It’s like home. The educators, led by Linda Moser, are creative, caring, inspiring, and allowed our child to be child. It is a very special place. 

We came full circle with Bellwood on a soggy evening in June. The couple who introduced us to that magical place, Glen and Dana Getz, joined us along with several of his class peers, parents, and his favorite teachers to dedicate a beautiful bench that will greet students and families as they arrive. They also presented us with an incredible framed picture of our boy, which now sits prominently and cherished in our dining room. 
   
    
 

a wknd to disconnect for a bit with some old (and dear) friends in the allegheny national forest. 

  

  We were on this same porch in the same sweltering heat nested among sunflowers one year ago tonight. We sat together as a family that evening before sending our daughter across the street and into that house with the porch light for a sleepover with our dearest friends, the Mussers (we had an early arrival time at the hospital the next morning). We hugged. I remember trying to relish that moment. It was the last time we were together. 

Tonight I stand in the light of a unique and  glowing moon. Fitting and most incredibly sad.

  
I took this picture one year ago today. Owen and I were sitting on an amusement park train. We must have taken a hundred pictures as we were waiting for the train to move. Some silly. Some serious. 

I remember sitting there with a heavy heart. My wife’s grandmother passed away unexpectedly that morning. Meghan was at her bedside. We had planned to go to the Idlewild for some time. Given Owen’s impending surgery, she implored us to continue with our plans. It’s kind of how she is: always putting the kids first and making sure their needs are met. See, to her, Owen needed the trip to Idlewild. In four days he would be moving from full speed, kid-in-the-summer, to recovery mode. His summer would effectively be over as he recuperated in time for the 1st day of school. Idlewild would be his last hurrah of the summer. 

As we took these pictures I remember feeling anxious, wanting for everything to go well with the surgery. Fearing the worst, but knowing that the two previous surgeries were  completed flawlessly. As a parent, I have always found that my mind drifts to the worst possible scenario. It’s sort of a defense mechanism that considers that possibility and then almost immediately snaps to a more reasonable and less frightening scenario. That flash, that deep dark place, is evident in my eyes in that moment.

Memories from last July–the weeks leading up to the events of August 2014–are painted in my mind so vivid and near. The memories, unlike any I have, are like a keepsake box that I carry with me. I am taken to a certain place at the slightest reminder of a date, a song, this photo.

july is our kid birthday month. owen’s birthday is july 13. olivia’s is july 24. kid birthdays have always been special occasions in the galluzzo household. while we aren’t backing up the toys r us truck to the front door, we do ensure that each birthday has a unique theme (music, star wars, fairies, mustaches, etc.), and that we deck the place out. we have a couple birthday signs that we re-use each year, and we typically bedazzle our home with balloons and streamers. this festival atmosphere lasts the entire month.

we started thinking about how impossibly difficult today was going to be months ago. how do you commemorate this day? the answer: surrounded by love & with great care and creativity.

we’ll start here:

this is jessica rutherford. she is a glass artist of the world class…and an incredible friend. jessica knows loss. it’s a bond we share. jessica (among her many skills and interests) creates beads for the beads of courage program at children’s hospital. as some may know, owen was a recipient of hundreds of beads throughout his life. he was very proud of his beads. i asked jessica to help me do something special for owen’s birthday, which (of course) requires some exposition: owen played on an 8 and under coach-pitch baseball team in 2013. his team was the cubbies. it needs to be said: owen loved the cubbies. so, early on in the season his coach approached each player and requested that they give themselves a nickname. there was destroyer, j-money, beast, charlie rocket, dr. j, and others. our quirky little guy selected “the world.” that’s right, he was “owen the world” for the entire season (and beyond). since owen’s passing, “the world” has been a thread weaved through a good number of remembrances. i asked jessica to create a “world” bead that we could share with family and friends for their courage and support. on saturday olivia and i visited her studio. jessica walked us through the process for how she carefully and patiently crafted each of the miniature globes–tons of love behind those individual works of art.

on sunday olivia and i put together packages for the beads. images follow:

olivia assembling

finished products

ready for distribution

so, today was owen’s birthday. i cannot adequately account for the emotions i felt today. some new. some familiar. mostly an unbearable day, but some incredible moments.

we visited his tree for a picnic with some of our closest friends. 

we painted rocks (now a cathartic tradition).

we sent birthday greetings to the sky.

and we traveled door-to-door to distribute “world” beads. this greeted us as we returned home. 

our pain is rich. we miss our boy terribly. an immeasurable wealth of love buoys us.

july is grey. this made me smile. I’ll explain later.

 

  

  The end of the school year. An emotional upheaval for many of us. Children have hit another milestone that further asserts their presence in the universe, serving as a benchmark of a linear transition to independence. It’s an affirmative recognition of that growth, a sincere pride for their accomplishments, and a tingling sadness of knowing that a chapter has come to a close. Things like those temporary chicklets have been replaced by grownup teeth. Tastes in music and television are nearing pre-adolescent. Care Bears have been replaced by Everafter High. And, there’s this ephemeral piece: like advancing grade levels is evidence of the slow chipping away of the magic and wonderment of being a kid.

This particular end of school year is obviously different. The events of August 2014 occurred right before the school year was set to commence. While that entire period is a blur, there’s this mash-up of emotions that I associate with that time. I recall sitting on the front steps crying one afternoon in late August. The UPS truck arrived. Upon seeing it, Lulu performed this impressive bee-line sprint to the driver’s door. Her new monogrammed butterfly backpack had arrived! I was in this state of consumed mourning, but also relishing her excitement about the new school year. I’ve been taken to that single moment every time I’ve seen her lugging that oversized bag. The emotions and memories of that period are permanently etched and intertwined.

The 2014-15 school year has sometimes felt like a series of painful and void-filled “firsts”–visiting the school for the first time after Owen’s death for Lulu’s orientation, the first annual Halloween parade at the school without him, the first holiday assembly (which deserves an entire long-form article), the first time we decorated his tree with classmates and friends, and on and on. How will the second time around feel? Will it be as painful? Time moves. Chapters close.

Owen will forever be three weeks away from entering the third grade. Wow, writing that brings incredible sadness. His peers are now set to enter the fourth grade, and for some reason that revelation brings a weird panic. His kindergarten and 2nd grade teachers came over to the house the other evening. They shared an incredible meal with us. We swapped Owen stories and watched as Lulu enriched and balanced our grief with her buoyant and rich presence. Their visit put an exclamation point on this chapter–and served as reminder that the love and pain we share for Mr. O will carry into future chapters.

Tonight we camp. Stella, me, Lulu. It’s lulu’s 1st time sleeping in a tent. She loves it. Smores, campfire, rustic grilled cheese, etc. I’m sitting here wondering about Owen. Camping was something he always wanted to do. Would he have enjoyed this? I ache when I think about him never having this experience.    

3/4 of one entire year.  Today is Mother’s Day. Absence and ache. 

This drawing is on our dining room wall. It’s based on a photo I took of Meghan holding Owen for the 1st time. I took a long look at this today.