1-2-4-9

For most of my life, we were a family of four. My sister Lori had passed away when I was very young and my father lived in Connecticut, while I lived in Florida with my mother, sister Linda and brother Mark.

As you may or may not know, of the six people in my immediate family, I am the only one who is still living. My father was not in our lives, but he passed away in the mid 90's. Lori lost her battle with Leukemia at the age of almost 8 years old in 1974. Mark was killed when his truck collided with a train at the age of 24 in 1997. Linda succumbed to breast cancer when she was 45 years old in 2010. My mother ended her courageous battle with cancer in 2011.

When my mother passed away, I felt an overwhelming sense of being orphaned. With my siblings already gone, my mother was the last person who knew our history. We were always a close family. My mother and my sister were my best friends. We shared everything. Our lives were intertwined. The people who knew me best were no longer around. They were my whole heart and now I was alone.

One day, the numbers 1-2-4-9 became significant to me. I would like to say there was a pivotal event that brought it together, but it wasn't. It was a random conversation with my boyfriend about the months of our birthdays. The numbers represent the birthday months of me (January - 1), my sister Linda (February - 2), my brother Mark (April - 4) and my mom (September - 9). 1-2-4-9.   

As I alluded to earlier, I was devastated when my mother passed away. She was an amazing person, mother and friend. She had a quiet strength and had overcome so much grief in her life. She has always been and is still an inspiration to me as a mother, as a woman and as a person.

You see, my mother birthed four children. In her lifetime, she buried three of them. I don't know how she could get up in the morning. She once told me, "Joanne, when Lori died, I found the strength to wake up every day for you, Linda and Mark. Then, when Mark was killed, my strength came from you and Linda. Now that Linda is gone, I will continue to wake up every day for you, until the cancer wins."

You can take a moment to grab a tissue before I go on. I will wait.

I stop and catch my breath every time I think about her saying those words. Her inspiration for living, even through the pain of losing a child was her other children.

Being a mother brought her joy. In my mind, she was the epitome of the perfect mother. She was loving and selfless. She worked hard to give us a good life, with the foundation of family, love, respect, humor, hard work and education.

My boyfriend, Mike, who later became my husband, did not always know what a day would bring. With all of the angels I now had looking out for me, there always seemed to be a birthday or anniversary on the calendar. Especially in the first few years of my grief, he tried his best to support me through the grief, despite struggling to remember all the significant dates. Eventually, I simplified things by sharing the months of importance with him.

We did not use a digital calendar at the time, so one day I just said, "January, February, April and September. 1-2-4-9. Those are the birthday months. I will tell you when something else is coming up."

That is how it happened.

Wait, though. This is where it gets interesting.

Coincidentally, my mother's birthdate, September 1, 1942 (9-1-4-2) also includes the year 1-9-4-2, adding a fun twist to the numerical significance in our lives.

But wait...

As I navigated my grief journey, Mike and I got married, and his children became part of our family.. Soon after, our son Nicholas was born in 2012. I was 42 years old.

I love being a mom. I truly do. As cliche as it sounds, I could never have imagined how it could feel to have my heart walk around outside my body. It is a joy and an honor to raise my son and be a bonus mom (and now grandma) to Mike's other two children.

On my son's tenth birthday, I was looking at the pictures on my refrigerator. I picked up the birth announcement, which was still stuck to the freezer with a lighthouse magnet. I loved the picture on the front. Even on the day he was born, he had a sweet smile on his face as he slept. I remembered how happy I was on that day. He made little squeaking noises when the nurse put him on my chest. We called him Squeaky Pete.

And then I looked at it a little bit closer. I was shocked that I had never seen it before that moment.

I laughed out loud at myself. It was right there, on my fridge for ten years and I never paid attention to it.

He was born on December 13, 2012. He was due on December 12, 2012, but I guess the universe had a different plan and the doctors wouldn't induce me.

So, on the announcement, I read his stats again. It had his weight, his length and the time he was born.

What time was he born? 12:49pm.

The exact moment my heart healed.