Dear Molly,

I re-read last year’s post from your birthday/the anniversary of your death and was struck by how much of it applies to how I feel now/this year. When navigating difficult and uncertain times, I often think I’ve never felt like this before, it is so hard. However, in reality every age and stage of life is filled with challenges that can feel almost insurmountable while we are living through them. That is one of the many experiences you never had/will have since you died only minutes after you were born 16 years ago today.

Sweet 16.

That was definitely a memorable one for me, that included a big slumber party at my childhood home on Isabella in celebration of my 16 candles.

The biggest milestone I associate with a 16th birthday is being eligible to get a driver’s license. However, both your older sibling Sean and I didn’t get ours until after our birthdays, because we took drivers ed in school. We are considering allowing Gail to take it privately after they get their permit when they turn 15 in September, as it would help everyone in our family to navigate our busy lives/schedules if they could drive. So I am wondering if would we have given you a similar opportunity, since I’ve been back in the traditional workforce full time for over 2.75 years now.

There are so many pop-culture references related to being 16 years old. From The Sound of Music, when they sing about being “16 going on 17,” to in John Cougar Mellencamp’s Jack and Diane with the lyrics from the bridge “hold onto 16 as long as you can, changes come around real soon, make us women and men,” and, of course, the movie Sixteen Candles.

I met someone at work this week who mentioned they have a child who recently turned 16. Interactions/moments like that tend to stop me in my tracks. After all this time, I am able to handle them well and still there is a small part of me inside that is aching for and wondering about you/who you’d be today, if you lived longer (to turn 16). This morning during our active recovery workout, your dad and I were listening to my Sara Bareilles Pandora radio station (as I like to do in the morning after our more intense exercise routines and during lower key ones), and “Bigger Than the Whole Sky” by Taylor Swift came on. As I shared in your birthday letter/post last year, that is one of so many moving songs that speak to me as I continue to navigate life as a bereaved mother. I also wonder if you would share your sibling Gail and my excitement for Taylor to release her new/next album, “The Toured Poets Department” in two days (on Friday, April 19th), as well as our enchantment with following her relationship with Kansas City football player and New Heights podcast host, Travis Kelce.

As with every year that comes and goes since I carried you, you were born and died soon after, so many things seem to change and others stay the same. The most significant change since this time last year is my mother/your Grandma Jacquie’s death on July 13th. Sometimes I wish I didn’t identify as agnostic in these times, as it is certainly more comforting to imagine that she was reunited with my dad/your Grandpa Kevin, along with her parents, you and other loved ones, when she took her last breath, as Aunt Meg, Gail and I finished signing “You Are My Sunshine.”

One of the many things we learned from our journey with you, Molly, is how meaningful hospice care can be when someone is dying. That experience allowed us to make special memories around your birth and the hours following your death, which helped me so much in the years to follow as I grieved and imagined who you might be if you lived longer. Similarly, though Grandma Jacquie’s death was somewhat unexpected, when she began dying on July 12th and then lived longer than her medical team anticipated, getting to spend time with her and receiving support from hospice nurses meant so much to our family and me.

One of my vivid memories of Grandma Jacquie as it relates to you and your short, but very special, life, is a conversation we had in the dining room on Isabella. I was sharing with her about how I felt like I could communicate with you in some ways, feeling a connection to you in an afterlife (which back then I felt more sure existed). To that, Grandma Jacquie asked how it was possible that I believed a baby that lived for such a brief amount of time and never spoke could do that with me from Heaven? Which is a fair question, though I took offense to it initially/in that moment. I responded that I wasn’t sure it was actually possible and yet, it brought me some peace and comfort, so I was going with it. That seemed to make more sense to her, which she expressed and I appreciated.

That day was a turning point in Grandma Jacquie’s understanding and ability to be more supportive after you were born and died. From that time on, I recall her being more curious, patient and understanding when I wanted to talk about you and/or do things that felt meaningful in your honor and memory. I really appreciated her effort, especially in a culture where people are often uncomfortable talking about baby loss and death in general.

With your birthday/the anniversary of your death falling on a Wednesday this year, we decided to celebrate our 2024 Molly Day on Sunday. We started our day with a family workout and then drove down to the southwest side to visit your grave at the cemetery, where we added some decorations to what we’d brought at Easter and flew a kite for the second year in a row. This year’s kite was Minion themed, which was fun. It was a beautiful day to spend time outside and your dad, Gail and I each took turns flying the kite, which felt meaningful. Afterwards we drove to Beverly, our old neighborhood in Chicago, and had brunch at one of our favorites local restaurants there, Horse Their Hollow, which was delicious. Lastly, we headed to the Beverly Arts Center, where your siblings participated in so many theater productions, to see an old friend perform the lead role in The Diary of Anne Frank play. It was so well done and a moving way to spend part of our Molly Day this year. We didn’t let anyone in Beverly know we were coming, though we considered it (the time got away from us to try to plan any meet ups), and still managed to run into two of the families we would’ve reached out to at the play, which was really nice.

Though this letter/blog post has been a work in progress in recent days, I spent some time on it while watching the WBNA Draft on Monday, including getting to see Caitlyn Clark from Iowa go #1 to the Indiana Fever and Kamilla Cardoso from South Carolina (who won the NCAA Women’s tourney earlier this month) go #3, as well as Angel Reese from LSU (who won the tourney last year) go #7 to our very own Chicago Sky! Our family has enjoyed watching more NCAA Women’s Basketball games this year and added a NCAA Women’s Tourney pool for our Axe family, in addition to the Men’s pool we’ve done for years. We’ve never been to a WNBA game and decided to order tickets to see the Chicago Sky play the Minnesota Lynx (who drafted Alissa Pili #8 from Utah)!

Our family and I continue to wonder and imagine what might bring you joy and make your life meaningful if you were still alive/here with us. What would your sophomore year in high school be like and what activities might you choose to participate in? Dance? Acting? Music? Sports? Would you enjoy live music/theater productions and/or adventures/traveling as much as your dad, Sean, Gail and I do? One of the highlights of our 2023 was our extended Benson family trip to Maui in celebration of Grandma Jan and Grandpa Bob’s milestone 50th Anniversary and this photo was taken on a black sand beach during one of our Road to Hana exploration days there.

Today in many ways will be an ordinary one for our family. However, as always, we will infuse it with special ways to honor your life and memory. For me, that includes wrapping up this letter and posting/sharing it. Your dad and I are both working remotely from home, Sean took the day off from CityYear (so they would be able to spend more time together with us) and Gail is on a school field trip to the Illinois Holocaust Museum in Skokie. I plan to make a cake at some point today (we chose a yellow cake mix with a caramel frosting, which we are excited to try) and we’ll likely go out to dinner at one of our favorite local E-town restaurants in celebration of you, dear Molly Marie.

We love you and miss you so much!

Love,
Mom

I have you in my heart. ~ Philippians 1:7

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Remembering Molly:

15 Years

14 Years

13 Years

12 years

11 years

10 years

9 years

8 years

7 years

6 years

5 Years

4 Years

3 Years

2 Years

1 Year

Molly’s Birthday

Always in Our Hearts: For Molly and Babies Benson from Kathy Benson on Vimeo

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Today it’s been nine months since Mom died and I have so many swirling thoughts that surround this milestone.

I miss her so much.

I think a lot about all that I learned from her in my 48 of her 80 years on this earth.

I am inspired by how committed Mom was to living a healthy life — from how she chose to fuel her body to the emphasis she placed on regular exercise.

I am also heartbroken by how, in spite of doing so many “right things,” Mom experienced a lot of bad luck (especially Type 2 Diabetes and Parkinson’s disease) which significantly impacted her ability to live a longer and less painful life.

After Mom died on Thursday, July 13th last year, our family left Evanston Hospital and returned to Three Crowns Park to clean out the room in skilled nursing where she had been living temporarily. Mom ended up there to recover and receive a higher level of care after she was released from a hospital stay in June, related to a fall in her assisted living apartment. One of the things we found on the table in between her bed and chair (where she kept items she wanted to be within arms reach) was a small hot pink one pound weight. I was struck by the reminder that, even with everything she was going through physically and emotionally, towards the end of her life, Mom was still prioritizing exercise, which may’ve been part of her “homework” in between physical and occupational therapy sessions.

Sometime in recent months we came across Mom’s one pound weight, which we’d saved, and I decided to put it on a shelf in our workout space, where I can see it when I exercise there most mornings. Especially during difficult moments in a routine, when I am lifting heavy or struggling do all the reps of a challenging core move, I’ll look at Mom’s weight and tell myself, “If she could do that, I can do this!”

Next month my American Council on Exercise Group Fitness Instructor certification, which I have maintained for 18 years, is due to expire. Every two years since I passed the exam and got certified in May 2006 I have managed to complete 20 hours of related continuing education. This is something I am proud of and yet, I haven’t taught a group fitness class in over four years (since before the pandemic) in early 2020.

I’ve told myself during those four years that it made sense to keep up my certification “just in case” I ever wanted or needed to teach again. That said, it is a time consuming and somewhat expensive process, for little return these days. I’ve been on the fence about whether to spend my time and money on this over the next six weeks or so. In many ways it makes sense for me to let it go and, yet, it also feels hard for me to do.

I am reminded of the Sunk Cost Fallacy, when I think about the effort I put in to train and study to get certified between May 2005 – May 2006, as well as the many years of continuing education, and the overwhelming idea of having to study and retake the exam if I wanted to teach again as a certified instructor in the future. I also recognize that letting go of things is something I really struggle with — both figuratively and literally.

I decided to bring this topic to a recent therapy session to process. My therapist suggested we look at the theme of letting go as a metaphor for seasons of life. She said if we don’t let go of the things that aren’t working for us, we can’t make room for new experiences. My therapist also pointed out how we can put a lot of energy into an idea of something (the possibility I might want or need to teach group fitness in the future as a certified instructor) versus what we actually want (more time to pursue what is meaningful in my life now), which can get us stuck.

My therapist spoke of Marie Kondo’s idea of “thanking things,” acknowledging what they gave us, and how that can help us let go, which I appreciate. When I consider thanking what teaching group fitness gave me for 14 years of my life, it takes me back to when I first started going to Beverly Bodyworks (located in one of our neighborhood church social halls) to participate in group fitness classes in the Winter of 2005. Sean was about 15 months old and had given up their morning nap. It was an opportunity for Sean to socialize in a childcare room there with other toddlers. I was also grieving our first miscarriage in December 2004 and found the daily group fitness classes with fellow young moms and older women (many of whom were retired) to be a healthy outlet.

Soon after I started attending classes at Beverly Bodyworks (BBW) regularly, with a friend/fellow stay at home mom (who found it/invited me to go) from the playgroup Sean and I were in, the owners/instructors noticed I had good form and picked up the moves quickly. One of the owners/instructors commented on that and invited me to train to become an instructor, which included modest pay and free classes. I jumped at the chance and in the year to come trained, began to teach and studied for the certification exam. Within a year I had passed the exam (on my first try, I knew someone who hadn’t passed the first time they took it), subbing often for various group fitness classes, and eventually taught one – two regular classes each week.

As I’ve shared here on my blog over the years, we went on to have another miscarriage in August 2005 and an interstitial ectopic pregnancy in November 2005. Working out and teaching at BBW during that time was a lifeline for me and I managed to get into the best shape of my life prior to that point.

As we moved forward with infertility treatments/assisted reproductive technology/IVF in 2007, around the time I began blogging, everyone who knew about our struggle with secondary infertility at BBW was very supportive. The owners/instructors were awesome when I needed to tag in and out related to our trying to conceive/sustain future pregnancies, especially when I was carrying Molly and Gail, as well as when I was recovering after they were born.

Teaching group fitness also was one of the first outlets I had as a stay at home mom that gave me an identity outside of wife, mom, and homemaker, which it didn’t take me long to crave. I liked being able to say that I was more than *just* at SAHM during those years that I didn’t work in the traditional workforce. It also led me to feel more qualified to become a health and fitness coach 10 years ago, in 2014, when I got involved with Beachbody/BODi.

As my therapist and I were wrapping up our discussion focused on whether or not I will maintain my group fitness instructor certification, she said “this can all be true and (you) can still let it go.” I continue to appreciate the idea that more than one thing can be true at the same time, especially when it comes to grief and loss (which reminds me of the dual processing model, that Mary-Frances O’Connor explains so well in her incredible book The Grieving Brian). My therapist also shared that often it feels really good on the other side, once we’ve made our choice to let something go and make room for other things in our life to take root and grow.

I decided to let my group fitness instructor certification go.

Though it feels bittersweet, I also feel lighter, as if a load has been lifted off of me.

Circling back to today being the nine month milestone since Mom died… In addition to showing me the importance of staying active and eating healthy throughout adulthood, including during one’s “Golden Years,” Mom modeled letting go and making room throughout her life, which I admire and continue to reflect on. Especially in her retirement years, Mom was constantly reading/learning, allowing herself to form new perspectives, and she thrived being involved with social justice movements. Interestingly, I have  found myself drawn two both, even more meaningfully, since Mom died.

I intended to work on my annual blog post in honor and memory of Molly this morning, with the 16th anniversary her birth and death approaching on Wednesday. However, this post came pouring out of me instead and that’s okay.

I hope wherever this find you, that you are able to let go and make room when it works for you in the days to come, as well as to find inspiration to help you keep going in the those moments that feel especially heavy/hard.

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