It is a quiet Friday night. My husband is working. The kids are in bed. The diswasher is running. My floors are swept, pans washed and for the first time in what seems a millenium, I did NOT neurotically check my children's hair for invisibile nits that I know aren't there any longer but feel compelled to look anway.
A glass of pinot sits to my right and time streches before me as I sculpt it.
I could do lots of things, most too mundane to mention, yet I feel like sharing something with you. Something I never have.
I am a Christian. I believe in God. I don't believe I've ever said that here for it was neither here nor there, as I love and support each newcomer in this community not for their faith or their disbelief or their indifference to a higher power, but because we have all been bonded by something more, something that fears, doubts, wonders, and - most probably - is angry at that higher power in the wake of our loss.
So why do I make a point of it now? In my last post I mentioned that I stepped in for our pastor last week. Yeah - I preached! It isn't the first time. And, I don't think it's presumptious to say that it probably won't be the last.
Why me? That is a question I can't even begin to answer. You'd have to ask my preacher. But what I can tell you is what I speak on when I'm called to stand before the group of people I've come to know over the years.
Last year, I addressed the church with a talk entitled, "Searching Faith or Grieving Faith". It was a rambling oral essay on the plight of analyzing your faith after tragedy. It included this.
My definition of FAITH:
An entity, which once part of your being, never leaves you. Even in the midst of tragedy, confusion, devastation, and questions you will never have answers to, faith still lives inside you. You might not focus on it, or even acknowledge it, but you feed it just by living. Just by waking up every day and going to bed every night, you keep faith alive. It’s there, waiting, biding its time until you are ready to call on it again. When you do, your old friend is there in an instant, in whatever measure you need. It grows with you as you search for meaning and it strengthens you when you find your path. It embraces you as take your next step, and feeds you peace and joy with every further step you take.
That was last summer.
***
Early this summer, I was called on again.
I prepared a heartfelt talk about finding your purpose. About recognizing your purpose when it presents itself at your waiting feet. I spoke of direction and blind faith that even when you question the outcome of your next step, you know it is the direction you are meant to go. I spoke of endless energy, and love, and desire to do more, be more, accomplish more, because you love your work.
And then, I said that I had found mine. That Share Southern Vermont was mine. That being there for other broken hearted families so they didn't have to navigate tragedy on their own was my purpose.
It begged the question, did Emma have to die? Had I found the illusive reason for her death? For if she had survived that mutinous cord, I would still be one of the blissfully ignorant women get pregnant and nine months later they all have babies people. And SSV wouldn't exist. And my Comedian might not either. And that is too sad to even imagine.
It's not a question I'm willing to answer. Instead, I said this. "Our lives are sculpted by our experience. Mine has launched me into a supporting role. I embrace it as a way to mother my Emma, even by lifting up others."
***
Amazingly, even though each time they invite me I seem to talk about grief, loss, and tragedy; they had me back last week.
This time I shifted gears -- a little.
This post has already rambled on long enough, fueled, no doubt, from my glee to be posting at all and the glass of wine that still sits to my right, nearly gone.
My sermon can wait. But I want to share it here for I feel it pertains so much to us, those who hurt and in an attempt to try to quell our pain, give boldy. It is a message I know I need to hear again. Yet before I posted my musings from the altar, I needed you to know a little about my religious background.
It matters little what kind of Christian I am. Just that you know I am the believing kind, the faith filled kind, the kind that cursed the heavens and shunned God for years but eventually let him back in, a sliver of light at a time through a tentatively opened door. The kind with hope. The kind with a lot to give.
Has your loss defined a purpose in your life? A course of action you may not have taken if your child had lived? How do you reconcile the two?
Showing posts with label Emma and Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emma and Me. Show all posts
Friday, October 2, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Where I'm Supposed To Be
"Hi!" I said, more cheerfully than I truly felt. The sun beat down on the plastic chairs. I looked down the line of mothers following their children's trajectories as they bobbed in the shallow water.
***
I don't take the kids to the town pool.
It is twelve miles away. It is crowded. I can't work there. Not to mention that our neighbor has given us blanket permission to use his any time. It's one hundred yards away and vacant.
But swimming lessons have introduced us to the town pool and strirred memories of my own childhood in this little town where our lazy, hazy days of summer were spent swimming and eating popsicles until we were lobster red.
And so, today, lost in my own private nostalgia I said out loud, "Why don't we spend the afternoon at the town pool?"
As we drove there, the kids barely contained by their seat belts for the excitment running through their bodies, I realized just what I had gotten myself into. crowded, social, people I know, people I used to know...
Ah well, I rationalized, at least there are lifeguards there so I don't have to be in the water the whole time.
***
"Hey Cara! Oh My! It's been so long. Is that Bear? That must be Comedian." I knew what was coming before she said it, "They are so tall!"
Smiling and nodding I sat, settling in. One glance at my girls made clear they were living the life I recently had been remembering.
"I heard you started a group of some sort" the mom closest said, one arm around her nearly nine year old daughter. I immediately recognized her as the wife of our local undertaker.
***
I should have known I was supposed to be there. I should be in tune enough by now to recognized when I'm being led somewere, even if I have no idea why.
Emma moves in this world. She transcends my experience here as evidenced by so many former posts: one red leaf on her burning bush last fall, the double rainbow appearing on her birthday as we exited the resturant, my Missouri hot tub experience, and how I found our Share meeting space.
She wasn't alone today.
I spoke of Share Southern Vermont. I spoke of my mission. I spoke of the sad tragedies happening all around us right now.
She listened. She nodded. Then she said, "My good friend had a stillborn baby nearly ten years ago. She has more children now, but that was so difficult for her."
We began talking about how hard it is to reach the families who lost babies before the group began. We were loosly brainstorming how to get the word further out when her cell phone rang. She casually glanced at the caller id screen, and gasped.
When our eyes met, I knew. "Would you believe that is her?" she asked, still staring at the screen. I answered her as she walked away talking animatedly, "No, I swear I was just saying your name. This is so weird..."
"Yes, I believe it.", I said smiling ear to ear.
Two angel babies were busy today. Another connection made. Another stepping stone placed. Another earthly connection with my daughter.
Thank you Emma Grace. Your presence in my life is so precious. Guide me and I'll do the rest.
***
I don't take the kids to the town pool.
It is twelve miles away. It is crowded. I can't work there. Not to mention that our neighbor has given us blanket permission to use his any time. It's one hundred yards away and vacant.
But swimming lessons have introduced us to the town pool and strirred memories of my own childhood in this little town where our lazy, hazy days of summer were spent swimming and eating popsicles until we were lobster red.
And so, today, lost in my own private nostalgia I said out loud, "Why don't we spend the afternoon at the town pool?"
As we drove there, the kids barely contained by their seat belts for the excitment running through their bodies, I realized just what I had gotten myself into. crowded, social, people I know, people I used to know...
Ah well, I rationalized, at least there are lifeguards there so I don't have to be in the water the whole time.
***
"Hey Cara! Oh My! It's been so long. Is that Bear? That must be Comedian." I knew what was coming before she said it, "They are so tall!"
Smiling and nodding I sat, settling in. One glance at my girls made clear they were living the life I recently had been remembering.
"I heard you started a group of some sort" the mom closest said, one arm around her nearly nine year old daughter. I immediately recognized her as the wife of our local undertaker.
***
I should have known I was supposed to be there. I should be in tune enough by now to recognized when I'm being led somewere, even if I have no idea why.
Emma moves in this world. She transcends my experience here as evidenced by so many former posts: one red leaf on her burning bush last fall, the double rainbow appearing on her birthday as we exited the resturant, my Missouri hot tub experience, and how I found our Share meeting space.
She wasn't alone today.
I spoke of Share Southern Vermont. I spoke of my mission. I spoke of the sad tragedies happening all around us right now.
She listened. She nodded. Then she said, "My good friend had a stillborn baby nearly ten years ago. She has more children now, but that was so difficult for her."
We began talking about how hard it is to reach the families who lost babies before the group began. We were loosly brainstorming how to get the word further out when her cell phone rang. She casually glanced at the caller id screen, and gasped.
When our eyes met, I knew. "Would you believe that is her?" she asked, still staring at the screen. I answered her as she walked away talking animatedly, "No, I swear I was just saying your name. This is so weird..."
"Yes, I believe it.", I said smiling ear to ear.
Two angel babies were busy today. Another connection made. Another stepping stone placed. Another earthly connection with my daughter.
Thank you Emma Grace. Your presence in my life is so precious. Guide me and I'll do the rest.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Who Am I?
This is a question I have long grappled with.
Over the course of my lifetime I have been easily swayed by popular vote, by current trends, by the words and actions of another.
Until my early 20’s I was like a big, walking, talking blob of molding clay. Other’s qualities would attach, then sculpt a piece of me, much like a cookie cutter to dough. Without intention I found myself talking like someone after spending a great deal of time with them or noticed that my handwriting suddenly looked more like theirs. It must have been excruciating to watch me flail, or worse yet, to live with.
I cannot recall exactly when it happened, but I remember with detail the intense shock I experienced one day as I looked at myself. I mean really looked and saw the montage I had become. Which pieces are me? Which belong to others? What fits? What doesn’t?
I was forced to ask myself these questions. And, amazingly, just by asking them the process of self-discovery began. Once triggered, it was intense and quick. Of course, I wish I had started it long before that, but for a girl who consistently defined herself by other people’s expectations for the majority of her conscious life, twenty-one seemed a fair place to start.
Two years later Emma died and a far deeper, darker, more intimate internal makeover ensued. The result? In the past ten years I have discovered, and then ,re-invented myself.
Who was I? I rarely stop to think about that other girl. But when I do it leads me to hope and pray and hope some more that my current strong sense of identity is enough to save my girls from the dramatic rollercoaster that was, my childhood. In fact, I’m not sure I ever intended to go back there. I didn’t like that girl much. Oh, she was nice enough to everyone else: compassionate and giving, trusting and gullible. She was the ‘save the world or bust trying’ type. She was not, however, very nice to herself.
Two things happened this week that forced me back there.
1) This sentence from a parenting book I’m reading: “The times that problems arise are when children grow up feeling responsible for everyone and everything, squelching their own desires, in a constant hopeless search for approval.”
And
2) A bedtime request from the Comedian, “Mama, will you read me this book tonight?” She was holding my 8th grade diary.
You know how we often say that we should wear a sign around our necks identifying our status? I am an only child. Or I am a vegetarian. Becky Bailey has my early years sandwich-board written on page eleven of her book. I feel responsible for everyone and everything; therefore I squelch my own desires in a constant, hopeless search for approval.
Last night I read the diary, start to finish. It is a snapshot of 47 days in the life of a completely unassured 8th grader. As I turned each page, I felt mildly sick to my stomach with tears threatening on more than one occasion. I felt sad for that girl because written between the thick, sappy, attachment issue lines was approval from her friends, from her parents, from her teachers and support staff. She just couldn’t see it. How different her experience may have been, if only…
She did know one true thing. That fact could not be denied.
-Aug 19th, 1989
“My name is Cara. I am 13 years old, going into 8th grade and infatuated with kids. The family I babysit for most are the G’s. They have four kids, ages 7, 5, 3, and 1.”
- April 7th, 1990
“…anyway at 2pm I went over to the G’s house and baby-sat until 10pm. While I was over there we did a lot of things. I played Barbie’s and loved it. I guess you just have to have the right state of mind…”
- April 16th, 1990
“I’m actually writing from our vacation house. There’s not much going on here but I heard that J and J, the kids I baby sat for last summer, are here too. So, maybe I’ll go see them tomorrow.”
- April 17th, 1990
“I saw J and J today. At 11:30 I went to their house and we played marble madness or something like that. When I had to go J. wouldn’t let me and I had to pry her off of me. But, I took some pictures of all of us together so I’ll send her one.”
Clearly, I needed the kids just as much as they thought they needed me. But, tabling underlying issues, my love of children ran deep. Mothering was something I never had to work at, or work toward, or earn the right to do.
Parenting? Well, that is another matter all together, hence the reading of the book! But mothering, the simple act of loving another and meeting their every need; that comes easily.
And so, it seems almost fitting, albeit bittersweet, that my first child taught me the lesson I could never learn. Through the pain of losing Emma I learned who I truly am and who I strive to be. A lifetime won’t be enough to perfect the qualities I cherish in myself, but I thank my daughter for for clearing away the rubble and allowing me to see, my true self, and hopefully become the parent I always wanted to be.
Over the course of my lifetime I have been easily swayed by popular vote, by current trends, by the words and actions of another.
Until my early 20’s I was like a big, walking, talking blob of molding clay. Other’s qualities would attach, then sculpt a piece of me, much like a cookie cutter to dough. Without intention I found myself talking like someone after spending a great deal of time with them or noticed that my handwriting suddenly looked more like theirs. It must have been excruciating to watch me flail, or worse yet, to live with.
I cannot recall exactly when it happened, but I remember with detail the intense shock I experienced one day as I looked at myself. I mean really looked and saw the montage I had become. Which pieces are me? Which belong to others? What fits? What doesn’t?
I was forced to ask myself these questions. And, amazingly, just by asking them the process of self-discovery began. Once triggered, it was intense and quick. Of course, I wish I had started it long before that, but for a girl who consistently defined herself by other people’s expectations for the majority of her conscious life, twenty-one seemed a fair place to start.
Two years later Emma died and a far deeper, darker, more intimate internal makeover ensued. The result? In the past ten years I have discovered, and then ,re-invented myself.
Who was I? I rarely stop to think about that other girl. But when I do it leads me to hope and pray and hope some more that my current strong sense of identity is enough to save my girls from the dramatic rollercoaster that was, my childhood. In fact, I’m not sure I ever intended to go back there. I didn’t like that girl much. Oh, she was nice enough to everyone else: compassionate and giving, trusting and gullible. She was the ‘save the world or bust trying’ type. She was not, however, very nice to herself.
Two things happened this week that forced me back there.
1) This sentence from a parenting book I’m reading: “The times that problems arise are when children grow up feeling responsible for everyone and everything, squelching their own desires, in a constant hopeless search for approval.”
And
2) A bedtime request from the Comedian, “Mama, will you read me this book tonight?” She was holding my 8th grade diary.
You know how we often say that we should wear a sign around our necks identifying our status? I am an only child. Or I am a vegetarian. Becky Bailey has my early years sandwich-board written on page eleven of her book. I feel responsible for everyone and everything; therefore I squelch my own desires in a constant, hopeless search for approval.
Last night I read the diary, start to finish. It is a snapshot of 47 days in the life of a completely unassured 8th grader. As I turned each page, I felt mildly sick to my stomach with tears threatening on more than one occasion. I felt sad for that girl because written between the thick, sappy, attachment issue lines was approval from her friends, from her parents, from her teachers and support staff. She just couldn’t see it. How different her experience may have been, if only…
She did know one true thing. That fact could not be denied.
-Aug 19th, 1989
“My name is Cara. I am 13 years old, going into 8th grade and infatuated with kids. The family I babysit for most are the G’s. They have four kids, ages 7, 5, 3, and 1.”
- April 7th, 1990
“…anyway at 2pm I went over to the G’s house and baby-sat until 10pm. While I was over there we did a lot of things. I played Barbie’s and loved it. I guess you just have to have the right state of mind…”
- April 16th, 1990
“I’m actually writing from our vacation house. There’s not much going on here but I heard that J and J, the kids I baby sat for last summer, are here too. So, maybe I’ll go see them tomorrow.”
- April 17th, 1990
“I saw J and J today. At 11:30 I went to their house and we played marble madness or something like that. When I had to go J. wouldn’t let me and I had to pry her off of me. But, I took some pictures of all of us together so I’ll send her one.”
Clearly, I needed the kids just as much as they thought they needed me. But, tabling underlying issues, my love of children ran deep. Mothering was something I never had to work at, or work toward, or earn the right to do.
Parenting? Well, that is another matter all together, hence the reading of the book! But mothering, the simple act of loving another and meeting their every need; that comes easily.
And so, it seems almost fitting, albeit bittersweet, that my first child taught me the lesson I could never learn. Through the pain of losing Emma I learned who I truly am and who I strive to be. A lifetime won’t be enough to perfect the qualities I cherish in myself, but I thank my daughter for for clearing away the rubble and allowing me to see, my true self, and hopefully become the parent I always wanted to be.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Honest Scrap and Honest Facts
Thanks to CLC for tagging me with this award. I love nothing more than an overflow of honesty. Before I get there though - I have to address a question she brought up in her last post, titled - First or Second? This is a question we - those who have lost babies - tackle every day both in our hearts and in the waiting rooms of various offices, the checkout line at food stores, and in every other populated location where people make small talk.
This is the comment I left for CLC's post: "I do exactly what you did at the office and - no - we are NOT lying. Mostly, I smile and answer honesty for the first round of questioning. IF the person persists with more than three questions, I tell the full truth. I figure they deserve* it if they have pushed that far. I think I'll write a post about demonstrating my "typical conversation" - thanks for reminding me that we all do this. It does feel better, more right - over time. Just this week I said, "My middle child turned 6". My MIDDLE! Wow - what a concept."
(deserve - in a good, earned, they-can-probably-handle-it way ~ not in a flash-it-in-their-face-for-asking way)
And so - I offer my typical conversation, most recently occurring at an alarming rate at the fancy resturant I wait tables at.
Them: What do you do for a day job?
M: I write and I'm home with my kids. (see - they make it look like I opened the door - but really they did, the backdoor at any rate)
Them: Oh! How many kids do you have? (question #1)
ME: Three
Them: Wow! How old are they? (question #2)
Me: 4, 6, and 8
Them: Oh - you really ARE busy! (whew - a comment which I employ to give them an "out" from where this conversation is going - most don't take it)
ME: "Yes, but that's why I come here! I can be a grown-up for the evening."
Them: "What are their names?" (question #3)
ME: The Comedian, Bear, and Emma
(so here we have reached my three question limit. Any question they follow up with at this point is bound to lead us to the "full" truth - as I say - and, as the edges of photos are clearly visable each and every time I open my billfold, often the next query is...)
Them: Are those their pictures? (checkmate)
ME: Yes (opening the billfold all the way so they can oooh and awww at my beauties)
Them: (dropping the question of all questions) Where is your third?
And - well - you know how that conversation goes. Unfortunately - a nice, relaxing fine-dining Italian resturant with all-Frank-all-the-time playing in the background isn't exactly the right place to drop the, "she died" bomb. So, usually, this is where I make my evasive move and let the maternal guilt consume me as I say something like, "Oh - I must remind myself to put her photo back in here". I know - a copout of the grandest proportions - but who am I to ruin their dinner?
If, however, I find myself in those other places I mentioned at the beginning of this post: doctor's office, check out lines, dentist's, playgroup, pre-school pick-up, or even on line for the bathroom at the mall - you can hear me say, "Oh Emma Grace? She is our first born, born still, but forever a part of our family."
****
And - now for the Honest Scrap Award.
The rules:
A) Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.
B) Show the 7 winners names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with "Honest Scrap." Well, there's no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.
C) List at least 10 honest things about yourself and - I must add - I think my long lost twin IS CLC - for so many of her truths are mine as well.
10 honest things about me:
1) I am type A - yet anal organiztion escapes me.
2) I see so much of my younger self in Bear that it scares me.
1) I am type A - yet anal organiztion escapes me.
2) I see so much of my younger self in Bear that it scares me.
3) Like CLC - I don't enjoy hinting. Say what you mean every time!
4) Unlike CLC - I was an early bloomer - well at least with the menstrual thing.
5) "I do not buy anything unless it's on sale" PERIOD!
6) I introduce my purchases with their pricetag. Ie: "Oh what a lovely coat Cara!" "Thanks! I got it at the Winter clearance at X store for $4.99!"
7) I am an only child who always swore I would have a HUGE family. I have three. I'm done.
8 ) My bucket list is getting longer and longer.
5) "I do not buy anything unless it's on sale" PERIOD!
6) I introduce my purchases with their pricetag. Ie: "Oh what a lovely coat Cara!" "Thanks! I got it at the Winter clearance at X store for $4.99!"
7) I am an only child who always swore I would have a HUGE family. I have three. I'm done.
8 ) My bucket list is getting longer and longer.
9) I can't imagine life with sons. Our life is all girl and I love it.
10) I am addicted to blogging. Probably not a shocking truth, but I just had to say it out loud.
Oh - the picking...(sigh) it brings me back to dodgeball day in high-school gym class. (lets not go there) How about...Kristin, Tarah, Martha, Barbara, Eskimo Kisses, Momofonefornow, and Mary? Wanna play?
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