“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!