Unnatural

I’m still coming to accept that the first time I held my daughter was the last and only time I held her.

THAT’S NOT HOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE!

The river of life naturally flows downstream…from our grandparents, to our parents, to us and on through our children.  I think of myself as being part of my parents and my children being part of me not the other way around (i.e. my parents are part of me and I am part of my children).  Don’t get me wrong!...The unbreakable connection and bond between a parent and child is there in both directions and unconditional love is woven so tight it cannot be frayed, but I guess it is the process and product of creating and growing a family that creates this feeling of a downstream current for me. 

Everything about this situation and outcome feels unnatural.  We’re not supposed to have to say goodbye to our child and feel the guttural pain that comes with that parting.  We’re supposed to learn about death and the difficult, sometimes impossible decisions that accompany it from losing grandparents, then parents hopefully after long and fulfilling lives.  I wish my son did not have to experience the extremes of losing a great-grandfather and a baby sister within the span of three months.  It’s unnatural.  Life flows downstream and any unyielding barrier that falls in its path changes the flow and course of the stream forever. 

I realize how fortunate I am to be able to say and feel that losing a child is unnatural and unexpected.  I know now more than ever that there are so many in this world that live with the expectation or knowledge that they will likely lose a child as a result of their medical, living or political conditions.  My hearts bleeds for them and for every woman who has experienced this unthinkable sadness.  I don’t care how expected or unexpected a loss like this might be, the feelings a grieving mother feels must be universal in some light.  While I HATE that my grief is shared by many other “knowing” mothers, it is comforting to know that I am not alone.  I have had friends, doctors, teachers, mothers of neighbors and strangers share with me stories of the infant losses they have experienced.  We always hug and usually cry together.  (Their tears, many years or decades later, are proof that while it gets better and is not always felt…the pain never fully goes away.)  Behind their tears I find comfort and hope in the strength I see…they made it!  They continued walking life’s path in their new shoes…putting one foot in front of the other.  While fundamentally changed they are okay.

On some days my world stops turning and on other days it seems to turn slowly but it has undoubtedly been knocked from is axis and is turning at an uncomfortable and unnatural tilt.  

“I will (I did) Survive”

Well, I did it.  I made it through my daughter’s funeral/memorial service.  I survived the planning…the hustle and bustle…flocks of family and friends…feasts of food and drink and everything else that comes along with a significant lifetime event.  I survived it and even enjoyed many things about our week in Florida.  What I wasn’t sure I was going to survive was watching the husband I love so dearly -- a man full of emotion who is rarely emotional -- sob unabashedly through the entire service.  If that wasn’t hard enough my four-year-old son began stroking Matt’s arm saying, “It’s okay Daddy.  Don’t cry.” This lasted a few minutes until Carter relented and laid his head in Matt’s lap quietly crying and saying, “I miss Baby Kate.  I really wanted a baby sister.”

It’s so hard to see the people I love in pain!

The day of Kate’s service I constructed the Hoover Dam around my tears and emotions.  I knew if I opened the flood gates I wouldn’t be able to control the tears and I didn’t want my sobs or wails to get in the way…I didn’t want to miss a thing that morning!  I wanted to hear and remember every scripture verse, every comforting word of Rev. David Juliano’s message, and every note of every song…  I heard it all and I will remember it all… It was perfect.  The service reflected Kate in every way.

I know it sounds weird but planning Kate’s funeral brought back many memories of planning Matt’s and my wedding.      

• We were married in the same church with the same officiant (Rev. David Juliano who is a very, very good friend of ours)
• All of my brides maids were present (what incredible friends/family they all are!)
• Designing and printing the memorial bulletin felt much like designing and making our wedding programs
•  Trying to find the perfect dress (if there is a perfect dress when you’re two weeks postpartum)…the only difference is this dress is black not white!  The white dress a bride searches high and low for is one that will guarantee she is the radiant center of attention while the black dress a grieving mother hopes to find is one which gives her enough confidence about her appearance to give her confidence and belief that she can make it through one of the most difficult days of her life.
• Nerves to the core – Wedding: How am I going to hold it together and not cry as I walk down the aisle or during my vows?  Funeral: How am I going to hold it together enough to not drown out the minister with my sobs?

It feels so strange and unnatural comparing one of the happiest days of my life with one of the saddest and most difficult; however, I can’t help but recall something my father said to me around the time of my wedding.  One day I was stressed and upset about the amount of money my parents were spending on our wedding (in hindsight and comparison it was a fairly modest amount but I was still bothered by it).  My dad sat down next to me and said, “Honey, there are typically only two days in your life when the vast majority of people who love and care about you the most are in one place to celebrate you…one day is your wedding…the other is your funeral and you can’t enjoy your own funeral!”  My dad kissed my forehead and told me that this money was the best money he had ever spent!  Maybe that’s why I felt so many similarities between the two events.  There were so many of the same people present at Kate’s service as there were at our wedding and many other people who care about our family a great deal.  In many ways Kate has given me the gift of a glimpse of what it might be like to be present at and enjoy my own funeral!  I had the wonderful opportunity of seeing and visiting with so many people I otherwise might not have seen for quite some time.  Thank you Kate…you continue to give lasting gifts to those who love you.

After a week in Florida with many highs and many lows we have returned to Iowa to begin (or really continue) the long path toward healing.  As we begin to walk this path I am becoming aware of how much I have been changed by this experience…that I am now wearing a new pair of shoes.  Today my dad sent the following email and poem… *(I so don't know what I/we would do without the support of our incredible families! Hope it's okay that I shared your email Daddy...I really loved it and love you!)

Carlin Elizabeth,

An awesome experience to watch a daughter tested in the fire.  It is hard but it is good; for the daughter, and for the father.

By this process you are annealed.  Stronger from within.  Able to take the strain.

Somehow now you are larger than life, yet closer than a whisper.

You touch me like the wind.

Papa

"A Pair of Shoes"

I am wearing a pair of shoes.

They are ugly shoes.

Uncomfortable shoes.

I hate my shoes.

Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.

Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.

Yet, I continue to wear them.

I get funny looks wearing these shoes. They are looks of sympathy.

I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.

They never talk about my shoes.

To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.

To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.

But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.

I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.

There are many pairs in this world.

Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.

Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.

Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think

about how much they hurt.

No woman deserves to wear these shoes.

Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.

These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.

They have made me who I am.

I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.

~Author Unknown

We have been surrounded and enveloped in the loving embrace of family, friends and even strangers who have come together to support our family through this difficult and trying time.  I am so thankful for and grateful to you all. 

Taking my first steps in my new shoes… learning to walk all over again.  I will survive!

Memorial Service Bulletin

Ramblings of a Grieving Mother

The last two weeks have been a bit like an out of body experience.  In many ways I feel like I’ve been going through the motions and just getting through the days.  I’ve been very busy taking care of things that had to be done to prepare for the coming days/week…writing obituaries, ordering a casket, telling your child’s school counselor that they have lost their sibling…things no one ever wants to have to do, but at least they have kept me busy.  Matt began teaching his classes again last week and that has successfully kept him busy too.  Busy is good.  It’s when the ‘busy’ stops that I worry about.  

Hopefully the ‘busy’ won’t ever stop… thankfully we have two energetic, funny, feisty and loving boys that keep this house BUSY most of the time!

They are my purpose and saving grace right now…I don’t know what I would do without them! (Love you Carter and Ben!)

Things have been such a blur since the Tuesday we learned of Kate's diagnosis.  Things happened so fast Matt and I have barely had time to process.  I have noticed each of us are holding onto physical things from our experiences of those five days (Tuesday thru Saturday)...  Neither Matt nor I have taken off our Baby ID hospital bracelets…neither of us have said anything to the other, but I don't think we can bring ourselves to remove them. (Since I wrote this Matt's bracelet broke off while he was sleeping...very sad.)

Matt has been carrying with him the lucky bean he had in his pocket in the delivery room (for those of you who don't know what a lucky bean is here is a photo.  

Matt has had this lucky bean for years. (My brother and I used to hunt for them as kids.  Matt and I found this one at my family's cabin woods retreat in Naples.)  Matt told me he sat the lucky bean on Kate's diaper as he talked to her in the PICU... I know that small grey bean has extra special meaning to him now.

The nights have been the most difficult for me so I have quietly found comfort in sleeping with the soft pink blanket Kate was wrapped in while in the PICU.  It smelled like her for the first few nights and now her scent has faded and been replaced by mine.

Support...

Before the craziness of the past two weeks I caught a few episodes of Matthew Perry’s new show Go On (about a support group Perry's character attends after his wife's unexpected passing)… as I begin to formulate our/my long road of dealing with loss, grief and healing I foresee the likely use of counseling and  potentially support groups.  I now have an entirely new appreciation for the show.  I wonder if the support group I may join will have any interesting, hilarious...maybe even odd characters like the group in Go On?...guess I can only hope!

Anger...

A few years ago Matt and I watched a good friend pass away from Pancreatic Cancer.  He had been married for nearly 30 years, had two boys in high school and a little less than six months from the time of his diagnosis to his passing.  I remember sitting on the couch with him talking and he was telling me how ANGRY he was with his illness and the situation.  It wasn’t fair.  Then he told me that in the past four months the most helpful and meaningful thing anyone had said or done for him was to pick him up and take him to a quiet lake near some woods.  His friend brought with her a big bag of rocks and together, without saying a word, she sat with him while he flung rocks into the water, at trees, at the ground, at anything… sat with him and just let him be ANGRY! 

I’m very aware that anger is one of the five stages of grief and I know ours will come.  We have two old sets of golf clubs in the garage that Matt was planning to cut down for the boys.  I suggested maybe we each take a set and bend them around the light post down the street!  Who knows what my anger outlet will be… 

Ramblings... 

As I said before, this blog is more of a journal outlet for me than for any other reason.  When things were happening so quickly with Kate’s situation I was afraid I would forget the days and details so I started writing them down.  Then the blog became a central and more effective way to deliver information to family and close friends.  Never did we imagine it would reach or touch so many people.

I’m not sure how I feel about continuing the blog and continuing to write and share as we move through the grieving process, but a good friend and neighbor suggested I do.  She said, “as Kate’s due date arrives, as the holidays come, etc. it will be a way for us to read and know how you’re doing... to know if you’re okay or to have a little insight into how you’re feeling and know what we might be able to do to help.”  (I/We are truly blessed to be surrounded by such incredible people and wonderful friends.)  For now I will continue blogging and sharing my ramblings, but I look forward to the day I can sign off the blog with a healing heart, remembering...never forgetting…but moving forward to the next chapter in our lives.  

Words

In the past week and a half we’ve received lots of teary-eyed hugs with the comment, “We/I don’t know what to say!”  You know what…that’s okay!  I’m glad people don’t know what to say because that would mean they know what we are feeling from experience and we are so glad that is not the case.  Thankfully experiencing the death of a child is not a natural or common thing in our society.  

We hope people can share their sympathy, thankfully not their empathy.  I’m not sure there are ever ‘right words’ in a situation like this.  For us a quiet hug and gentle smile shows both love and support and that is what we need the most. 

Tie a Pink Ribbon

Monday afternoon Matt and I drove home from Iowa City.  We were exhausted but were so ready to see and hug our boys.  Matt drove while I made a few phone calls and we talked a bit about the coming days.  The last half-hour of the trip I closed my eyes and dozed a bit but woke up when I realized that Matt had stopped the car for a while.  He quietly said, "you need to sit up and look around."  He had stopped the car at the corner of our street in our small neighborhood...our house was 50ft to the right.  Everywhere we looked, on EVERY tree large and small, EVERY light pole and EVERY sign post there were pink ribbons... Pink ribbon tied in bows and blowing in the breeze.  Neither Matt nor I had shed a tear yet that day, but at that moment we both sat silently with tears streaming down our face.

In addition to the ribbons many of the houses on the street have left their lights on in honor of the light Kate brought to the world and to show their support of our family.

If you ever hear someone say "neighborhoods are not like they used to be" or "neighbors aren't as friendly as they were when I was a kid" come visit our neighborhood! Merced Drive is an INCREDIBLE place to live!

As if the ribbons and house lights weren't enough armies of loving and supportive neighbors, friends and colleagues have mobilized to ensure all of our family’s personal and professional needs are covered.  The neighborhood started a 'Meal Train' that was extended to the entire community.  In two days every possible meal slot was booked for our family until December!  Like I said...INCREDIBLE!  I logged on the other day to check it out and couldn't believe the amount of yummy, cheesy, creamy goodness people have volunteered to bring us!  I don’t know how I’m EVER going to begin to loose any of this baby weight with all of the wonderful comfort food coming.  Maybe I’ll just hibernate this winter and awake with a mission in the spring!

In the past few days we have found so much comfort in the tender smiles, strong hugs and shared tears of friends…we are truly blessed. 

Thank you, all!