Delivering A Message

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?

My Meltdown - Part 5 - "The Call"

In the climax of a movie, where the protaganist is teetering on the edge of decision, getting ready to act -and - in most flicks...succeed; faith filled spirits, uplifting with a sense of serene hope prevail. They tie up the ending in a happily ever after aura, or at least a happily as far as you can imagine once the credits roll.


In real life - the teeter totters much more often.


I arrived home, filled with the recent faith filled epiphany, ready to embrace my husband; to say those words. I love you for respecting me. Thank you for your constant love. Thank you.


And then, I heard the message. I had to play it back four times to be sure I heard it correctly.


"Hello. This is ____ from the hospital finally returning your call. I showed your proposal to my superiors and we have decided not to be part of this."


My emotions began to spin, re-drilling the recently unearthed soil and burying themselves, once again, in frustration and a lack of comprehension. But - no - I forced myself to hear the rest, certain words and phrases burning my ears with bitterness.


"We are under financial constraints. We have to be careful about taking on new monetary projects...."


WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? AAAARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!! Literally screaming out loud I tried to make sense of where the communication breakdown happened.


I asked for THREE things - NONE of which required the hospital to make a "financial committment"! NONE!


1. Include our brochure, contact information and conset to contact in the "Loss Packet" they ALREADY give to parents!


2. Send out a letter to past loss families making them aware that there now exists a support system in our town. (I wrote the letter and SSV offered to pay the postage!)


3. Instead of giving a cheap W.lm.rt memory box that someone threw a little stain on...give these families a HOMEMADE HARDWOOK PERSONALIZED MEMORY BOX** that had been DONATED (read: free to the hospital) by Share Southern Vermont.


Of course, I was professional and calm as I called back and left the general gist of this, admittedly, angry and sarcastic post on the head nurse's answering machine.


And, after a little time had gone by - I realized - this mission is not that dissimilar than that to write a book and help others. Both goals require dedication, passion, and the ability to weather these roadblocks while knowing that, in the end, we will succeed.


I don't know what our happily as far as you can imagine looks like, but I know its coming. How do I know? Minutes after reeling at this irksome pothole of a phone message, the phone rang again. It was a bereaved father, holding our pamphlet in his hand, calling to find out more about our meetings.


We WILL make a difference. We won't stop until we do! Thank you - a thousand times over - to all of YOU, in blogland, who believe in us so much that you have done what this local hospital seems unable to do. You have prayed, donated, made buntings, blankets, and - by far the most helpful thing - told me through comments and emails that you are with me on this!


Can't wait to share the Happily Ever After with you.


**Jer has finished the first batch of memory boxes! 20 of them - wow - check it out! (I WILL UPDATE WITH A PICTURE LATER TODAY) Now, the shop class at the local high school gets to take over...but pray that this batch takes us a very, very long way into the future!

My Third World Is Not A Country

"Mom - fairies are real, you know" Bear said to me on a walk this morning. "Hmmm?" I answered. "Oh yes" she continued, "I went to check on my fairy house and all the food is gone. It was sticks and twigs and no-one would want that kind of food unless they were a fairy - so - now I believe."

Heaven and Earth -- The Seen and the Unseen

I talk about them all the time.
I write about them even more consistently.
They permeate my every thought.

I have three daughters: one in heaven, two on earth.

Two Worlds Collide was a working title for my book. A quick google revealed it was also a sci-fi novel and as much as my life experience may feel like science fiction at times, a book on grief and healing with the same name wouldn't really resonate with the literary public.

Regardless, for eight years I have worked to resolve the infinity sized gap between my two worlds. I have searched for earthly objects to represent the spirit form - grasping at their tangibility with my mortal soul, while crying oceans of tears knowing it would take a lifetime - my lifetime - to really narrow that chasm.

Perspective. It all comes down to the way we choose to see the world. This is what I told myself recently.

My two worlds are like a swinging pendulum in constant motion. There are moments, pinpointed seconds in time, when they collide with such force even I, moving in an opposite direction, cannot miss it. Time stops. Peace resides. All is right with both spheres - for a moment, a mere instant - we are a connected family. This I have made peace with. I no longer create questions or make up answers when these miracle moments come. I sit in them. In fact, my longing for them to stretch into forever is most probably what makes them dissapear. I can see them slip away, and feel the struggle return.

This has been my road, my two-laned highway for so long I don't even need to check lanes before passing. But this week, a third lane appeared. It came out of nowhere. It blind-sighted me with such force that I didn't notice in time. I crashed.

On Christmas Eve night I logged in to check my google reader. Ok there's no keeping secrets from you, is there? I logged in to see if Antigone had begun labor yet. And maybe that is why reading of Emilie's death reduced me to a sobbing mess. But if my all-consuming reaction could have been explained away by a diversion of focus, then I should be able to speak of it or even think of her now without tears. I can't.

I cried while asking for prayer at church for her husband, parents and boys.
I cried while writing my previous post regarding her loss.
I cry, now - writing this.

I know Emilie wasn't my third lane, but she represented it. She is the gorgeous spirit who knocked down the divider so I could finally see the world in triplet. Her death revealed how powerful this blogging community is to me. It cleared the fog allowing me to see past a rectangular computer screen and hear more than the clickety-clack of my partially grown nails on the keys. It brought my thirld world into focus - You.

I feel you. I feel the community. Apart from the occasional world tour or a decoration crisis, you have not seen the inside of my house, but you are here. I walk through my days and thoughts of you walk with me- I wonder if Stellan is breathing easier right now. ~ I hope Hope's Mama's non-traditional Christmas dinner is coming out all right ~ Wow! I wonder how many pre-sale copies of Lollipop's book have flown off the virtual shelf already. mingle with my typical (and boring) daily musings, I should get the mail before I go to town because there might be a check to deposit ~ What the heck am I going to feed my family tonight? ~ When will I get to watch the next episode of Brothers and Sisters? (yes Mel - I'm hooked)

Over the past four months you have become part of me. Your families, your tones of voice (or at least the ones I use when reading your words), your struggles and your rejoicing events walk through my days. But it happened so fast. It was like falling in love and not realizing it until a starry night when you looked into his eyes and nearly fell over.

Reading of Emilie's death knocked me over. I'm up. But I feel compelled to make you a promise - Never again will I underestimate the power of what we have. I cannot see you, but you are part of me. You are my third world.

"Bear" I said, crouching down so we were level - eye to eye - "Of course they ate the food. And I want you to know something. As you grow up - never forget - it is so important to believe without seeing."

Show and Tell - An Act of Faith

Faith, hope and love - three beautiful emotions and a great song by Point of Grace!

I have faith our fundraising goal will be met by Christmas!
I have great hope that our Share chapter will be up and running and serving many hurting hearts early in the new year.
I have love for so many who support my process:

• Carol, the Share co-ordinator from Northhampton who took 90 mintues out of her busy life to talk to me and answer all my questions.
  
• Martha, my West Coast Publicist (he-he), who felt led to call all the local newspapers in my area and annouce my mission and further request they cover the story. She's also full of great fundraising ideas!


• Jane, who I met yesterday (IRL) for a book related meeting, but turns out to be an art therapist and wants to volunteer her time to work with the families, yes kids too, who are in our group.
  
• My husband, for all his talent and time creating the memory boxes.


• All who have donated so this dream can become a reality.

And, of course, love for my Emma Grace for working so boldly in this word and moving me to act.

So for Show and Tell I share that ... I took a leap of faith.
I filled out the application. It will be in the mail tomorrow morning.

If you are here from ILCW or new to the blog and have no idea of what I speak - and would like to, there is red text with a link to the original post on my side bar.


Now, full of faith, hope and love...click back over to see what the rest of the class is showing! And yes - Mel, just in case your grading this week: the application was two pages, my essay answers were seven!