I look at pictures like this often. Sitting in my office are various pictures from Picture People of the kids. They died on Thursday May 8, 2014, we were scheduled for that Saturday for the 2014 Picture People pictures. I pulled out boxes from the attic that very morning promising Bella the next day we would figure out the outfits. It never happened. That among a million other things got added to the list of the things that never would be.

I never wanted Oli to be an only child. They were 4 1/2 years apart, which was perfect. Oli had basic reasoning skills and could kinda understand the needs of a new baby, was excited about a sibling, and even helpful at times. There are hundreds upon hundreds of pictures of them together. I was determined to raise them differently than my parents raised us.

My sisters are 8 and 10 years older than me. So, by the time I was about 8 or 9, they were out of the house, and I was raised more like an only child at times. I don’t have a lot of memories, which I am sure there are a lot of reasons why. My mom, because of her own multitude of issues from her childhood, and her dysfunctional marriage to my dad, had more of a divide and conquer, and competitive type of modeling. Again, more to that, but needless to say, it did not lead to a warm and fuzzy family model. My mom often used me as a sounding board, and lived vicariously through my upbringing, passing on some of her dysfunction. So much more complicated to sum up in a few sentences, and so much therapy (and continued therapy) to unwind and understand. My dad was not entirely innocent in all this, modeling his own stuff, but was mostly absent, as was kinda normal for the time. So this all led me to want two children, model a healthy marriage, parenting, and encouraging bonding and kindness to each other and the rest of the world. No short order.

We did pretty good with them. I have always said, and continue to say, Jesse was a better parent than me. He had more patience, flexibility, and brought fun and laughter into learning. He came up with creative ways when the kids fought, and had hard lines with unkindness towards each other. We made a point to each have mommy or daddy dates with them, so they would have “special” time with each of us. We had Oli every other weekend, and that Friday night would always be family pizza and movie night. We were always taking them places, mostly OMSI, the Children’s Museum, and the Zoo. During the summer, Jesse, who was home with them, took them almost daily. We went to our local parks all the time. Was it perfect? No way. No fucking way. Was it pretty good? Yeah. They grounded us through all of our own ups and downs.

I look at this picture, and wonder how much Oli remembers? He tells me he can’t remember much at this point. I don’t force it, because I know it is painful. I am not sure if I want that? Not to remember? It is a visceral and gut wrenching pain to remember. I don’t get the luxury of just remembering the good, I remember it all, including the day she died. Brains don’t get to be selective like that. Instead, I have these reminders, these moments in time that I captured, these moments of carefree playing and silliness, something I don’t remember having as a child. These moments that remind me, yeah, I was succeeding at doing it differently. Again, don’t get me wrong, instead of a college fund, I started a therapy fund for each, because, well, there were days it got funded, I figured they could get student loans, but therapy wasn’t something you could get a loan for. But, for everyday it got funded, four or five countered it.

I mourn them everyday. I mourn the futures they never got. I mourn for the future I never got with each. And I mourn that Oli is growing up not only grieving this tragedy, but also his future without each of them. I mourn not watching them grow up together with all that entails. It is not just the physical presence you miss, you miss all the potential, all the futures as well.