So...here it goes. Time to fess up. I've hinted and hemmed and hawed. But...I've not really SAID it here.
I'm pregnant.
I just hit the second trimester this week.
And, I'm very honestly...terrified.
Happy yes.
Terrified...even more.
A wonderful baby loss mama over at Once a Mother just gave birth to twins...beautiful perfect twins. She's been waiting and hoping and worrying for so long...I couldn't be happier for her. She needed them. So very very very much. I saw their pictures and I just thrilled to the core for her. And, of course, I cried too. I am not jealous OF her...but I'm missing Simon and Alexander...the idea of them. What it would have been like to have twins. . . Which...I am not having this time.
This time, there is a little jumping Jack (or Jill) inside of me....he (or she) moves around with such vigor there can be no lingering doubt that maybe...just maybe...there might be two...like before. Not this time. Just one.
Now, I'm HAPPY....but when my midwife said happily "You'll be happy to note there's just one..." I froze inside. Why would that make me happy? She didn't think obviously...and I tried to brush it off. Of course she would think that would make me happy. I have five sons. Living. Who in their right mind would want twins after FIVE living sons?
One more is really more than I could handle...right?
It's o.k...really. I'm really in love with this baby. My baby. Created under the light of Venus in love with the man who holds my hand in good times and bad.
A star baby. MY star baby.
And I tell my husband every day how much I want to hold this baby...alive...in my arms. How very very much I want my rainbow. Sweet Kristin...and her beautiful snowflakes...you have given me a little hope. You MADE it. They are with you. Safe. Sound. Healthy. In your arms. Where they belong. You DID it.
I'm hoping that in August...I'll find that kind of healing too.
So why is there a lump in my throat?
Fear.
Fear about the fact that their are no promises for happy endings.
Fear about the fact that I can not know the future holds a healthy alive baby for me.
Fear that my children will be crushed by another loss.
Fear that my husband will hold that pain in his eyes forever.
Fear that I will never trust life again.
Fear.
I am pregnant. Beautifully so. Happily so.
And I'm going to need a lot of strength to enjoy what that IS. Right now.
This is a new time.
A new pregnancy.
I'm not having twins.
I have no expectations.
I do, however, have wishes.
For my rainbow star baby. My star child.
Please...please come home to us. We need you so.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Priorities
We all have our priorities...they vary from home to home.
At the moment, I'm trying to focus on what it is my priorities are actually all about. And, to be honest, they are really pretty simple. I want my children to be healthy, happy and well adjusted. I would prefer for my children not be to harmed permanently or killed ever again. I would like my husband to be able to enjoy a life of contentment with work that is fulfilling and compensated well, with friends that nourish and support him. I'd like to know my home is not only safe and cozy but also functional. I'd like more time to brush my sweet Ferdinand. I'd like time to walk and talk each day with my best friend and lover; and I'd like to live a nice long life with him, preferably into our 90's as healthy and mentally in tact elders. I need wholesome food, and the time to create dishes that are economical and tasty. I'd love to be able to pay my bills, and maybe even save a little from time to time... I'd also like to finish my degree.
It's that last one that is bugging me today. Finishing my degree.
What does that entail? Well...I used to think that it simply meant that I would jump from hoop to hoop, easily passing courses, as I usually do, and that effort would one day result in a silly little piece of paper that proclaimed I had successfully jumped through all the collegiate hoops required to be a professional someone.
However...there is one hoop that is tripping me up.
One hoop that may prevent me from achieving my goal.
One hoop that threatens all my educational plans and mocks the amount of loan money I've taken out thinking I would be able to pay it back once I had my degree.
One hoop....called Linear Algebra.
As I write the word...I shudder. Linear Algebra. It sounds like a weird disease you wouldn't want to catch. Linear Algebra.
I have a math disability. This means that while I score in the 98th percentile for all other subjects, (a genius I tell you!) I also happen to score in the 3rd percentile for math ability. Not the 30th. The 3rd. This doesn't mean I can't do simple equations. It doesn't mean I don't understand concepts. It means that I can not compete with normal brains in the realm of upper level math. Even lower level math is hard for me. It's not a matter of practice. I practice and practice. I always have. It doesn't stick. I can't keep it. Not with a hundred problems...not with a million. I've been tested on this. I am an anomaly. It's not just that "math is hard for me". It's that my brain will NOT absorb math in a linear (or any other) way. It will not KEEP math within it's neuronal boundaries. I understand what I read, and can perform instructions. I can not remember formulas, or applications, or....anything really...with numbers.
or letters posing as numbers.
So. As I write, which comes easily to me, I am stewing over the past four hours wherein an exam I took which allowed double time due to my disability was still, even with my most dedicated efforts, not passed. I got a D. Better than an F perhaps. But not better enough.
If I don't pass the class. They will have me take it again. The problem with that is this. I won't remember anything I've learned in this semester, so it will be as if I am doing it all over again having never seen it before. I. do. not. learn. math.
And yet...it is required.
In spite of the fact that I am missing the limb required to perform the function.
It is required.
In spite of the fact that I will never...and I MEAN never...use math for anything other than my calculator buttons.
It is required. Even though it has nothing to do with anything I will ever do.
And so...even though I am an honor student boasting A's and B's in every subject...I may not be able to get my degree.
And so, I am brought to my knees. Questioning priorities.
I am two (math) classes away from my degree. Two (math) classes I may be unable to pass. Two (math) classes away from being able to work for a wage that would carry my family above poverty level. Two (math) classes away from showing my kids you can do anything if you try hard enough.
And...I'm failing.
Priorities.
There really are more important things in life....
Things like smiling children...healthy babies...loving partners...good food....good health....quality of life.
Things like rainbows...flocks of birds...ocean waves...mountain peaks....ice cream.
Things like healing from loss...
Things like protecting the future...
Things like love.
Friends.
Spirit.
Hope.
Sincerity.
In the history of the world, my having a degree is but a spot--less than a spot--in the cosmos. It means nothing.
And yet....
I cried this afternoon when I got my grade back.
Because...it did mean something. To me. It meant that no matter how hard I try...some things will never change. Some things are exactly as they are. math disabilities. dead babies. brain injuries. loss. It's all permanent. It never goes away. I can reroute my life...I can heal from loss, and find a new normal. I can try to have another baby and love the children I have with all my heart...looking away from the pain...trying to find the mom who believed in joy. I could keep trying to remember math equations that will not stick...like a dog trying to chase a stubby tail. I could keep trying. and trying. and trying.
But...there is a thing called learned helplessness. And...in all honesty...when you try and try...and your efforts all fail, you learn that no matter what you do...you can not succeed. Depression lies there.
In any case...I will keep trying. Because I have to. Because I want to pass. Because I need to pass.
I will keep trying. Blind in an obstacle course with no instruction, I expect I will fall a lot. I may never even find the way out.
I suppose I can smile about one thing though....my boys do not appear to suffer with the same disability I have. They are as brilliant in math as they are every other subject. So, when I smile at them and say "Sweetheart...you can be whatever you want to be. You can succeed if you put in the effort." I am not feeding them a falsehood. They really can. Nothing like a silly class will stop them. The hoops will not be covered in spikes and fire. They will be able to decide "hey...I'm interested in this...I think I'll learn it". I've always had to ask..."What will have the least math?" Not because I'm lazy. Or stupid.
But...because I have a certain kind of brain.
Priorities...
It's just math....
Just math.
My priorities are not calculated in an equation or ratio of importance.
They are more real than that. More real...than numbers.
At the moment, I'm trying to focus on what it is my priorities are actually all about. And, to be honest, they are really pretty simple. I want my children to be healthy, happy and well adjusted. I would prefer for my children not be to harmed permanently or killed ever again. I would like my husband to be able to enjoy a life of contentment with work that is fulfilling and compensated well, with friends that nourish and support him. I'd like to know my home is not only safe and cozy but also functional. I'd like more time to brush my sweet Ferdinand. I'd like time to walk and talk each day with my best friend and lover; and I'd like to live a nice long life with him, preferably into our 90's as healthy and mentally in tact elders. I need wholesome food, and the time to create dishes that are economical and tasty. I'd love to be able to pay my bills, and maybe even save a little from time to time... I'd also like to finish my degree.
It's that last one that is bugging me today. Finishing my degree.
What does that entail? Well...I used to think that it simply meant that I would jump from hoop to hoop, easily passing courses, as I usually do, and that effort would one day result in a silly little piece of paper that proclaimed I had successfully jumped through all the collegiate hoops required to be a professional someone.
However...there is one hoop that is tripping me up.
One hoop that may prevent me from achieving my goal.
One hoop that threatens all my educational plans and mocks the amount of loan money I've taken out thinking I would be able to pay it back once I had my degree.
One hoop....called Linear Algebra.
As I write the word...I shudder. Linear Algebra. It sounds like a weird disease you wouldn't want to catch. Linear Algebra.
I have a math disability. This means that while I score in the 98th percentile for all other subjects, (a genius I tell you!) I also happen to score in the 3rd percentile for math ability. Not the 30th. The 3rd. This doesn't mean I can't do simple equations. It doesn't mean I don't understand concepts. It means that I can not compete with normal brains in the realm of upper level math. Even lower level math is hard for me. It's not a matter of practice. I practice and practice. I always have. It doesn't stick. I can't keep it. Not with a hundred problems...not with a million. I've been tested on this. I am an anomaly. It's not just that "math is hard for me". It's that my brain will NOT absorb math in a linear (or any other) way. It will not KEEP math within it's neuronal boundaries. I understand what I read, and can perform instructions. I can not remember formulas, or applications, or....anything really...with numbers.
or letters posing as numbers.
So. As I write, which comes easily to me, I am stewing over the past four hours wherein an exam I took which allowed double time due to my disability was still, even with my most dedicated efforts, not passed. I got a D. Better than an F perhaps. But not better enough.
If I don't pass the class. They will have me take it again. The problem with that is this. I won't remember anything I've learned in this semester, so it will be as if I am doing it all over again having never seen it before. I. do. not. learn. math.
And yet...it is required.
In spite of the fact that I am missing the limb required to perform the function.
It is required.
In spite of the fact that I will never...and I MEAN never...use math for anything other than my calculator buttons.
It is required. Even though it has nothing to do with anything I will ever do.
And so...even though I am an honor student boasting A's and B's in every subject...I may not be able to get my degree.
And so, I am brought to my knees. Questioning priorities.
I am two (math) classes away from my degree. Two (math) classes I may be unable to pass. Two (math) classes away from being able to work for a wage that would carry my family above poverty level. Two (math) classes away from showing my kids you can do anything if you try hard enough.
And...I'm failing.
Priorities.
There really are more important things in life....
Things like smiling children...healthy babies...loving partners...good food....good health....quality of life.
Things like rainbows...flocks of birds...ocean waves...mountain peaks....ice cream.
Things like healing from loss...
Things like protecting the future...
Things like love.
Friends.
Spirit.
Hope.
Sincerity.
In the history of the world, my having a degree is but a spot--less than a spot--in the cosmos. It means nothing.
And yet....
I cried this afternoon when I got my grade back.
Because...it did mean something. To me. It meant that no matter how hard I try...some things will never change. Some things are exactly as they are. math disabilities. dead babies. brain injuries. loss. It's all permanent. It never goes away. I can reroute my life...I can heal from loss, and find a new normal. I can try to have another baby and love the children I have with all my heart...looking away from the pain...trying to find the mom who believed in joy. I could keep trying to remember math equations that will not stick...like a dog trying to chase a stubby tail. I could keep trying. and trying. and trying.
But...there is a thing called learned helplessness. And...in all honesty...when you try and try...and your efforts all fail, you learn that no matter what you do...you can not succeed. Depression lies there.
In any case...I will keep trying. Because I have to. Because I want to pass. Because I need to pass.
I will keep trying. Blind in an obstacle course with no instruction, I expect I will fall a lot. I may never even find the way out.
I suppose I can smile about one thing though....my boys do not appear to suffer with the same disability I have. They are as brilliant in math as they are every other subject. So, when I smile at them and say "Sweetheart...you can be whatever you want to be. You can succeed if you put in the effort." I am not feeding them a falsehood. They really can. Nothing like a silly class will stop them. The hoops will not be covered in spikes and fire. They will be able to decide "hey...I'm interested in this...I think I'll learn it". I've always had to ask..."What will have the least math?" Not because I'm lazy. Or stupid.
But...because I have a certain kind of brain.
Priorities...
It's just math....
Just math.
My priorities are not calculated in an equation or ratio of importance.
They are more real than that. More real...than numbers.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Take a Deep Breath with the Newest Issue of Exhale!
Hey everyone...it's finally out! Exhale magazine is up and running once more, with a beautiful and inspiring new issue for your enjoyment, introspection and ponderings... you can find it here and...if you like, you can check out my article in particular, Adrenaline Overrated at this spot.
Exhale was created for people who have lost a child to miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal loss, and is also for those who deal with infertility. A cathartic, literary jaunt into the worlds of amazing artists, photographers and writers who have walked this road, Exhale strives to offer a place of healing with an intelligent look at what is, might be, and has been.
As an editor and writer for Exhale...I hope you will enjoy this beautiful issue as much as I have and encourage you to consider contributing your own pieces for future issues.
Enjoy!
Sara
Exhale was created for people who have lost a child to miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal loss, and is also for those who deal with infertility. A cathartic, literary jaunt into the worlds of amazing artists, photographers and writers who have walked this road, Exhale strives to offer a place of healing with an intelligent look at what is, might be, and has been.
As an editor and writer for Exhale...I hope you will enjoy this beautiful issue as much as I have and encourage you to consider contributing your own pieces for future issues.
Enjoy!
Sara
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Sugar and Spice is a Boy thing too...
What are little boys made of? What are little boys made of? Snips and Snails and Puppy dog tails...that's what little boys are made of.
What are little girls made of? What are little girls made of? Sugar and Spice and All that is Nice...that's what little girls are made of.
I recently read this poem to my 7 year old.
He frowned at me and told me he thought it wasn't fair that girls got to have all the nice stuff.
I agree.
As the mother of sons...I agree.
Boys, in my experience, are tender. They are the most huggable little loves...if you let them be that way.
I've witnessed women and men chastise my boys for wearing pink. Grown ups. Adults. People who should know how to watch their mouths and keeps their bigoted opinions to themselves.
Nervous about displays of male affection...ie: hugging. Disaproving over colors that anyone who hasn't been brainwashed might enjoy. Irritated at the birthday gift of a unicorn or a silk cape in a lovely shade of rose that lit up the eyes of a brown eyed 5 year old.
What IS this?
When we demand that little boys are only allowed to like certain colors, certain toys, and certain ideas, we create exactly what is wrong with our world today. A universe of little boys dressed like big men with big tough exteriors that beg to not be torn down or peeked inside of. Little boys pretending to be the men they were told they HAD to be. And they forgot who they were...they forgot that they were allowed to be gentle.
We create men who don't know what they feel, or why they feel, or why anyone else is allowed to feel.
And it hurts us all.
Why do we do this to our boys? Why do we allow our girls to tell our boys that the toy they are playing with is a "girl toy"? Why do we stop our children from being who they really are simply in the name of a fear...or, in all honesty, a prejudice.
If the fear is "turning your child into a gay person"...it's important to understand something real: You can't make a person what they are not by allowing them to be who they are. Enjoying certain colors, toys, hobbies or jobs does not make someone who they are not. In fact, a recent study I read in a psychology class indicated that most gay men have been shown to have had un-supportive or emotionally unavailable fathers. This is NOT to say that every boy who has an emotionally constipated father WILL be gay; correlation doesn't equate to causation..but there is a correlation that should be looked at...wondered about. And I had to wonder in light of this...why don't we shudder when we see a father being dismissive to his child in the same way that we shudder when a little boy gets to wear the pink sequined chuckys he's been coveting for months? Why don't we think it might screw with a child's sexual image when dad plasters his face to a football game all weekend instead of playing with his child in the same way we might when we find out that an 8 year old loves cooking above sports? Why don't we cringe when we see a little boy get a tonka truck when he REALLY wanted a rainbow unicorn or a baby doll?
I'm just pondering here....because I see a world wherein my sons are being allowed to feel. And I see that they are being raised differently than their male peers. The results? I have a 14 year old who WILL stop in the middle of a soccer game if a kid on the other team gets hurt to make sure he is o.k no matter how much his peers chastise him for being sensitive. I have an 8 year old who wants to hug me for several minutes, without being patted away impatiently: Comfortable with how it feels to nestle up to his mother, without fear of being teased as a mama's boy. I have a 12 year old who nurtures all things soft and fluffy and who isn't afraid to admit that he doesn't care for the gun games his peers play or the sports they covet watching on t.v... I have a 7 year old who adores pink, and green, and blue and anything sparkly and can often be found wearing all three at the same time bejeweled with any glittering thing he can find. All of these boys are quick to select pink frosted cupcakes with hearts over sports themed cupcakes. All of these boys are immediate in their efforts to console one another over heartbreaks and life disappointments.
Sure, they joke and use occasional potty talk and tell jokes about farts too. They play in the mud and adore bows and arrows. They like rock music and are clear about their opinions about girls. As the 14 year old stated yesterday..." I feel sorry for skinny blonds. They look so pale and hungry. I'm more into girls that look like they don't starve themselves...they have more to look at and enjoy."
Smart lad. I guess wearing pink socks hasn't altered his feelings toward the opposite sex. But honestly, even if he wasn't in to girls...it wouldn't have been the freaking SOCKS that determined it. And, I'd love him as fearlessly as ever.
All in all...I guess what I'm saying is that while I have zero experience with little girls, and so can not KNOW if they really are sugar and spice and everything nice...I DO know that my little boys are everything sugar and spice and everything nice. They know how to be sweet. They are sassy and clever. And...there is nothing sweeter than the little boys who look up at you, even into their teens, as you kiss them goodnight and tell you..."Mommy...your the best in the whole world."
If that's not everything nice, I don't know what is.
Homeschooling Considerations
I've been invited to try Time4Learning for one month in exchange for a candid review. My opinion will be entirely my own, so be sure to come back and read about my experience. Time4Learning is an online educational program that can be used in many ways including as a homeschooling curriculum or afterschool tutorial. Find out how to write your own curriculum review for Time4Learning
Monday, January 31, 2011
Dreaming of the Dream...
Walking on the first spring-like day of the year, I saw it. A brilliantly arranged flock of birds, dancing in the wind patterns only they could see. The sky was vivid blue, and their inky blackness swooped in perfect harmony.
It made me wonder...
Why aren't human beings in such beautiful communal union with their surroundings...with each other?
Why do we walk down the street, passing the faces of our community with barely a glimmer of recognition?
Why do we eat alone, in our private homes, away from the fires of other hearths. In fact...where are the hearths to begin with?
Where are our sisters and brothers? Our uncles and aunts? Our grandmothers and grandfathers? Our parents?
Where are they?
Often, we, in our nuclear families, are alone. Striving to make things work with less than we have ever had. Yeah, there is more "stuff"...but less substance.
Where are the elders who could pick you up if you fell? Where are the wizened folks who look to teach the ones who are trying to find their way?
I look into the sky, and I see community. I look into the fields and see the grazing deer, and community is there as well. I look into the town, and see the cars rushing past each other...each person with his own agenda and plan for the day, the week, the year...
My children go to Aikido classes, and there, they see other children who they will laugh with as they learn the art of non-violent defense. And then, at the end of the hour, we all bustle back into our cars and drive off to our homes.
Once in our homes....distractions abound. Homework, housework, meal prep, consumption......bedtime.
I look out the window and see the stars twinkling together in the sky...and I wonder where my community is.
I wonder how many tomorrows will be spent in a human created isolation that contrasts with what I believe humans, as social creatures, were meant to have.
In another time...We would have played and worked together. We would have cooked and eaten together. Our children would grow up and learn together. And we would commune with the stars, moon and sun together. We would birth our children together. And mourn our losses together. Our husbands would bond together. And we would nurture together. We would KNOW each other, just as the birds in the sky flying in perfect harmony know each other. And we would be there for each other...because, we would BE each other.
It made me wonder...
Why aren't human beings in such beautiful communal union with their surroundings...with each other?
Why do we walk down the street, passing the faces of our community with barely a glimmer of recognition?
Why do we eat alone, in our private homes, away from the fires of other hearths. In fact...where are the hearths to begin with?
Where are our sisters and brothers? Our uncles and aunts? Our grandmothers and grandfathers? Our parents?
Where are they?
Often, we, in our nuclear families, are alone. Striving to make things work with less than we have ever had. Yeah, there is more "stuff"...but less substance.
Where are the elders who could pick you up if you fell? Where are the wizened folks who look to teach the ones who are trying to find their way?
I look into the sky, and I see community. I look into the fields and see the grazing deer, and community is there as well. I look into the town, and see the cars rushing past each other...each person with his own agenda and plan for the day, the week, the year...
My children go to Aikido classes, and there, they see other children who they will laugh with as they learn the art of non-violent defense. And then, at the end of the hour, we all bustle back into our cars and drive off to our homes.
Once in our homes....distractions abound. Homework, housework, meal prep, consumption......bedtime.
I look out the window and see the stars twinkling together in the sky...and I wonder where my community is.
I wonder how many tomorrows will be spent in a human created isolation that contrasts with what I believe humans, as social creatures, were meant to have.
In another time...We would have played and worked together. We would have cooked and eaten together. Our children would grow up and learn together. And we would commune with the stars, moon and sun together. We would birth our children together. And mourn our losses together. Our husbands would bond together. And we would nurture together. We would KNOW each other, just as the birds in the sky flying in perfect harmony know each other. And we would be there for each other...because, we would BE each other.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Another time...another place.
I spoke to my dear friend Amy today. As I relayed to her the reality of fear in my gut, I was comforted by her wise reply. "Sara, the body you have today is completely different from the body you had two years ago. Everything about you is different. Everything about everything is different."
I heard her loud and clear. You can't project the past onto the future, because, even if "you" think "you" are the same person who might get the same thing...."you"....aren't.
What do I mean by that?
Hummmm.....well....let's see. . .In biology, we learned that we are a compilation of ever changing matter. We breathe out our cells, and breath in newness. Every part of every one of us is completely different every single year. This is why we sometimes witness miraculous change in disease factors....why we see things differently from year to year....we are ever changing. We are not stagnant. We are....change.
So, though memory and circumstance plague us, and tell us that something IS....in reality, it ISN'T. Not NOW anyway.
I was a woman who watched her beautiful teen son on the brink of death. His stunning face mangled by harsh pavement. And though I have those vivid and horrible memories....I am not THERE. I am here. The lungs that breathed in the smells of the hospital do not have a trace of that reality in them anymore. I am here.
I was a woman who held a dead baby in her arms, drifting away in a haze of allergic reaction to a poison specific to my body. Opiates. They screw me up....in a very real way....a deadly way. My body, two years later...has no trace of that day. I remember it. It has made me who I am....but my physical body....is not the same. Nor is my understanding of life. Or death.
I was a woman who bled to death...only to discover that the cause was a retained baby that SOMEONE should have known was there. But...no one did. Not until....later.
That woman was filled with masses of blood clots and rotting tissue that, at one time, had been my baby...my twin son. Rotting tissue that filled me with heaviness and poison....rotting tissue that could have killed me from blood poisoning....
Months of regular periods have flushed out that uterus...months of exercise and healthy eating have cleaned this system, leaving me healthier than ever before.
There is memory...oh yes....muscle memory...cell memory...nervous system memory......
But...it's a memory. Not a physical reality.
What has happened doesn't mar the now with anything more than...memory.
Somehow, hearing my friend describe my body as a different body...in a different time....in a different circumstance...
Well, it gave me a smile. It gave me some hope. It gave me a vision of reality that I really needed.
I remember. I remember it all. And, I am willing to make some new memories in honor of the old. I am a new person. A bigger person. A wider person. A more whole, if somewhat broken, person.
I see life in a new way.
I'm open to life in a new way.
I want life...in a new way.
So....2011....BRING IT ON! This girl is NEW. This woman has potential! I will not be defined by the past.
I am here.
Now.
I heard her loud and clear. You can't project the past onto the future, because, even if "you" think "you" are the same person who might get the same thing...."you"....aren't.
What do I mean by that?
Hummmm.....well....let's see. . .In biology, we learned that we are a compilation of ever changing matter. We breathe out our cells, and breath in newness. Every part of every one of us is completely different every single year. This is why we sometimes witness miraculous change in disease factors....why we see things differently from year to year....we are ever changing. We are not stagnant. We are....change.
So, though memory and circumstance plague us, and tell us that something IS....in reality, it ISN'T. Not NOW anyway.
I was a woman who watched her beautiful teen son on the brink of death. His stunning face mangled by harsh pavement. And though I have those vivid and horrible memories....I am not THERE. I am here. The lungs that breathed in the smells of the hospital do not have a trace of that reality in them anymore. I am here.
I was a woman who held a dead baby in her arms, drifting away in a haze of allergic reaction to a poison specific to my body. Opiates. They screw me up....in a very real way....a deadly way. My body, two years later...has no trace of that day. I remember it. It has made me who I am....but my physical body....is not the same. Nor is my understanding of life. Or death.
I was a woman who bled to death...only to discover that the cause was a retained baby that SOMEONE should have known was there. But...no one did. Not until....later.
That woman was filled with masses of blood clots and rotting tissue that, at one time, had been my baby...my twin son. Rotting tissue that filled me with heaviness and poison....rotting tissue that could have killed me from blood poisoning....
Months of regular periods have flushed out that uterus...months of exercise and healthy eating have cleaned this system, leaving me healthier than ever before.
There is memory...oh yes....muscle memory...cell memory...nervous system memory......
But...it's a memory. Not a physical reality.
What has happened doesn't mar the now with anything more than...memory.
Somehow, hearing my friend describe my body as a different body...in a different time....in a different circumstance...
Well, it gave me a smile. It gave me some hope. It gave me a vision of reality that I really needed.
I remember. I remember it all. And, I am willing to make some new memories in honor of the old. I am a new person. A bigger person. A wider person. A more whole, if somewhat broken, person.
I see life in a new way.
I'm open to life in a new way.
I want life...in a new way.
So....2011....BRING IT ON! This girl is NEW. This woman has potential! I will not be defined by the past.
I am here.
Now.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Roller coasters
Roller coasters.
They are part of life. A very real part of life.
Right now, I'm calling out to you talented people who read here and write elsewhere to submit something to Exhale magazine. I'm co-editing for it right now, and we need all types of submissions, regarding the theme "Roller coasters". Exhale is a mag. devoted to the subjects of miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal loss, PAL, baby death in general...and infertility. It is generally a very supportive and uplifting, sympathetic place for those of us who know...and those of us who know someone who knows.
It is a hard place to be. "In the know".
So much nicer to be in the dark...where a pregnancy is greeted with hope, and phone calls of laughter and delight for the future you know will be. Where the question is: "What are you having?"
See it there?
"What are you HAVING?" The assumption that you will...after all of the pregnancy discomforts...have SOMETHING.
When you know that it's not always like that....when you know that you may end up with nothing but tears and empty arms....wow....
It's overwhelmingly different.
Unexpectedly different.
At least...I find it so.
Here I am...on a journey I'd given up on. And instead of the joy I expected, I am finding myself wading in terror.
The terror of what if's. What if I die? What if I lose him or her? What if....what if.........what if........
The terror.
It surprised me. Took me off guard.
I expected to feel nothing but elation.
I did not expect the terror.
I did not expect the fear.
I did not know....that it would be waiting for me with sharpened teeth that would present me with nightly dreams of death and loss. Dreams that would impact my days....cause me to seem off balance...weepy.
Roller coasters. I enjoyed them as a young person. I loved the thrill of losing my breath. I adored the pressure pushing me back as I whipped around in a delightful kind of horror. I'd rush back into the line as soon as the thrill was over. MORE!! MORE!!!
Not now.
Now, roller coasters are symbols of being out of control. The last time I went on one was shortly after my eldest son's brain injury. A time wherein the security of life was at best...shaky. I hopped on with my kids, thinking I was in for an exuberant ride of a lifetime. Strapped in, I felt the ride going up...up...UP....and suddenly, we were free falling. My mouth opened in a voiceless scream. I could feel my heart pounding maniacally in my chest. I was shaking in fear so powerful I could NOT scream...and I started laughing in a crazy way....like I'd lost my marbles. When the ride was over I heard my kids laughing and proclaiming it the best ride EVER....I couldn't stop laughing, and I ran toward my husband who had opted to NOT go. I fell into his arms, and the sobs began. Hard, racking sobs that wouldn't stop. My kids were shocked. One minute, I was laughing out of control...and the next? sobbing.....My husband, patting my hair, explained to onlookers that the ride had been a little much for me.
What an understatement.
Anyway, the point of all of this is to explain that right now...I feel like the ride is a little much. I feel out of breath...afraid. . .I don't want to free fall anymore.
I want to take a ride on the merry go round, or something benign like one of those motorized car rides where you stay on a track, even if you opt to not steer.
I used to like the adrenaline rush of a roller coaster. That was before I understood that roller coasters in life sometimes land you in arenas of death. Where all you have in your arms is someone you loved that you have to bury.
It's the understanding that you'd rather NOT tell anyone...because telling someone means you might also have to tell them that it's all over. It's the reality that you don't tell your kids...because you can't bear to hurt them again...can't bear to tell them it's over. Again. So...you don't tell. And, it is the very act of not being able to tell that reminds you there is a REASON not to tell.
Because...there are no guarantees.
But, when you don't tell....when you choose to keep it inside...considering holding back on telling your family until you have a living breathing babe IN ARMS...that you understand that to give life is to walk side by side with the possibility of death. You don't tell...because you can't bear to face the possibility of loss.
I want to step onto a bumper boat ride...where the only threat is a little water in my face. Perhaps even a lot of water...but...nothing scary. Nothing....deadly.
So, on that note...please contact me or Kristen Binder, the amazing mama at http://onceamother.blogspot.com/ "Once a Mother" if you have something you would like to submit to the next Exhale.
With love....and hope....
They are part of life. A very real part of life.
Right now, I'm calling out to you talented people who read here and write elsewhere to submit something to Exhale magazine. I'm co-editing for it right now, and we need all types of submissions, regarding the theme "Roller coasters". Exhale is a mag. devoted to the subjects of miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal loss, PAL, baby death in general...and infertility. It is generally a very supportive and uplifting, sympathetic place for those of us who know...and those of us who know someone who knows.
It is a hard place to be. "In the know".
So much nicer to be in the dark...where a pregnancy is greeted with hope, and phone calls of laughter and delight for the future you know will be. Where the question is: "What are you having?"
See it there?
"What are you HAVING?" The assumption that you will...after all of the pregnancy discomforts...have SOMETHING.
When you know that it's not always like that....when you know that you may end up with nothing but tears and empty arms....wow....
It's overwhelmingly different.
Unexpectedly different.
At least...I find it so.
Here I am...on a journey I'd given up on. And instead of the joy I expected, I am finding myself wading in terror.
The terror of what if's. What if I die? What if I lose him or her? What if....what if.........what if........
The terror.
It surprised me. Took me off guard.
I expected to feel nothing but elation.
I did not expect the terror.
I did not expect the fear.
I did not know....that it would be waiting for me with sharpened teeth that would present me with nightly dreams of death and loss. Dreams that would impact my days....cause me to seem off balance...weepy.
Roller coasters. I enjoyed them as a young person. I loved the thrill of losing my breath. I adored the pressure pushing me back as I whipped around in a delightful kind of horror. I'd rush back into the line as soon as the thrill was over. MORE!! MORE!!!
Not now.
Now, roller coasters are symbols of being out of control. The last time I went on one was shortly after my eldest son's brain injury. A time wherein the security of life was at best...shaky. I hopped on with my kids, thinking I was in for an exuberant ride of a lifetime. Strapped in, I felt the ride going up...up...UP....and suddenly, we were free falling. My mouth opened in a voiceless scream. I could feel my heart pounding maniacally in my chest. I was shaking in fear so powerful I could NOT scream...and I started laughing in a crazy way....like I'd lost my marbles. When the ride was over I heard my kids laughing and proclaiming it the best ride EVER....I couldn't stop laughing, and I ran toward my husband who had opted to NOT go. I fell into his arms, and the sobs began. Hard, racking sobs that wouldn't stop. My kids were shocked. One minute, I was laughing out of control...and the next? sobbing.....My husband, patting my hair, explained to onlookers that the ride had been a little much for me.
What an understatement.
Anyway, the point of all of this is to explain that right now...I feel like the ride is a little much. I feel out of breath...afraid. . .I don't want to free fall anymore.
I want to take a ride on the merry go round, or something benign like one of those motorized car rides where you stay on a track, even if you opt to not steer.
I used to like the adrenaline rush of a roller coaster. That was before I understood that roller coasters in life sometimes land you in arenas of death. Where all you have in your arms is someone you loved that you have to bury.
It's the understanding that you'd rather NOT tell anyone...because telling someone means you might also have to tell them that it's all over. It's the reality that you don't tell your kids...because you can't bear to hurt them again...can't bear to tell them it's over. Again. So...you don't tell. And, it is the very act of not being able to tell that reminds you there is a REASON not to tell.
Because...there are no guarantees.
But, when you don't tell....when you choose to keep it inside...considering holding back on telling your family until you have a living breathing babe IN ARMS...that you understand that to give life is to walk side by side with the possibility of death. You don't tell...because you can't bear to face the possibility of loss.
I want to step onto a bumper boat ride...where the only threat is a little water in my face. Perhaps even a lot of water...but...nothing scary. Nothing....deadly.
So, on that note...please contact me or Kristen Binder, the amazing mama at http://onceamother.blogspot.com/ "Once a Mother" if you have something you would like to submit to the next Exhale.
With love....and hope....
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The brightest star in the night sky...isn't.
No...it's not a star. It fools us all as we look into the inky blackness of night as it shines in brilliant glory. It looks like a huge star...glistening...shining....
but it isn't.
It's Venus. The planet named after the goddess of love.
I've always loved it so. . .
It draws my attention each evening, and as the night-owl that I am, I worship it's beauty and find inner peace in its steady light. Sometimes, even on a cloudy night, I can still see it peeking through the dense cloud cover. It speaks to me.
It tells me to remember who I am.
We've been enjoying a brilliant, although cold, winter. Vivid stars, brilliant moons, and always, always, there is Venus. I've seen her there next to Mars...her lover. I've watched her flirt with Orion in his diamond encrusted belt. I've witnessed the conversations between the big and little dipper, and Cassiopeia. And...I've watched her embrace all the gazillions of other stars who are no less important, but whose names I have not yet learned.
I discovered that while I was raised by people who discussed stars and planets and prominent constellations and families of star children, that the night sky is not always common knowledge. My sweet husband was raised by morning lovers. As such, he wasn't familiar with the night sky in the same way I was. I took the knowledge for granted that I was friends with the stars and planets. My surprise at his blind gaze was one of wonderment, for no one appreciates the beauty of the night sky like my husband. His appreciation did not gather, like a map, the patterns of the stars...the locations and changing patterns of the seasons. What he saw was patternless...or at least....un-named.
We walk for miles every night after tucking our kiddos in bed, safely supervised by a competent and wizened elder brother. Cells phones tucked away in pockets in case of emergency, we romp like people of a younger age...a younger time. The miles melt away under introspection, contemplation, and...listening. Listening to each other, to the earth, and to the sky. Listening to the signs and feelings and subtle understandings which manifest our reality.
We walk alone under the stars, seeing the blue flickering lights in the valley below of our "fellow Americans" who, instead of witnessing the beauty of nature in it's midnight glory, are watching the news, Jay Lenno, and the snarky tales of "reality television". We walk alone. The deer and elk, munching peacefully, acknowledge us without fright; even as our big lumbering sheepdog romps nearby. He doesn't chase them or bark...he is witnessing as well.
Did you know...that there is a magic in the night? Did you know that the planets and stars can speak to you?
If you care to listen....
Did you know...that in the heat of love, the snow under your feet fails to freeze your body?
Did you know...that creation amidst creation turns into a swirl of color and sound that overwhelms the universe with passion and hope?
Did you know...that under the watch of Venus's brilliant light....one can discover what it means to be truly human?
An incubation has begun. A mixture of shooting stars, planetary light, and midnight flame.
The stars, in patterns of constellational beauty. The moon, in devotion to the yin and yang of light and dark cycles. The planets in their union with the sun's gravitational pull.
When we admire the creations all around us...it doesn't matter who or what or how it was made...it just IS...and we are witnessing it all.
In creation.
We are calling 2011 the year of emerging light. As the shadows fade, we hope illumination will shine on our paths just as the lunar eclipse of winter solstice brought a brilliance to the moon after it lay in amber shadow...2011 has much to offer.
I await gratefully. Thank you Venus.
but it isn't.
It's Venus. The planet named after the goddess of love.
I've always loved it so. . .
It draws my attention each evening, and as the night-owl that I am, I worship it's beauty and find inner peace in its steady light. Sometimes, even on a cloudy night, I can still see it peeking through the dense cloud cover. It speaks to me.
It tells me to remember who I am.
We've been enjoying a brilliant, although cold, winter. Vivid stars, brilliant moons, and always, always, there is Venus. I've seen her there next to Mars...her lover. I've watched her flirt with Orion in his diamond encrusted belt. I've witnessed the conversations between the big and little dipper, and Cassiopeia. And...I've watched her embrace all the gazillions of other stars who are no less important, but whose names I have not yet learned.
I discovered that while I was raised by people who discussed stars and planets and prominent constellations and families of star children, that the night sky is not always common knowledge. My sweet husband was raised by morning lovers. As such, he wasn't familiar with the night sky in the same way I was. I took the knowledge for granted that I was friends with the stars and planets. My surprise at his blind gaze was one of wonderment, for no one appreciates the beauty of the night sky like my husband. His appreciation did not gather, like a map, the patterns of the stars...the locations and changing patterns of the seasons. What he saw was patternless...or at least....un-named.
We walk for miles every night after tucking our kiddos in bed, safely supervised by a competent and wizened elder brother. Cells phones tucked away in pockets in case of emergency, we romp like people of a younger age...a younger time. The miles melt away under introspection, contemplation, and...listening. Listening to each other, to the earth, and to the sky. Listening to the signs and feelings and subtle understandings which manifest our reality.
We walk alone under the stars, seeing the blue flickering lights in the valley below of our "fellow Americans" who, instead of witnessing the beauty of nature in it's midnight glory, are watching the news, Jay Lenno, and the snarky tales of "reality television". We walk alone. The deer and elk, munching peacefully, acknowledge us without fright; even as our big lumbering sheepdog romps nearby. He doesn't chase them or bark...he is witnessing as well.
Did you know...that there is a magic in the night? Did you know that the planets and stars can speak to you?
If you care to listen....
Did you know...that in the heat of love, the snow under your feet fails to freeze your body?
Did you know...that creation amidst creation turns into a swirl of color and sound that overwhelms the universe with passion and hope?
Did you know...that under the watch of Venus's brilliant light....one can discover what it means to be truly human?
An incubation has begun. A mixture of shooting stars, planetary light, and midnight flame.
The stars, in patterns of constellational beauty. The moon, in devotion to the yin and yang of light and dark cycles. The planets in their union with the sun's gravitational pull.
When we admire the creations all around us...it doesn't matter who or what or how it was made...it just IS...and we are witnessing it all.
In creation.
We are calling 2011 the year of emerging light. As the shadows fade, we hope illumination will shine on our paths just as the lunar eclipse of winter solstice brought a brilliance to the moon after it lay in amber shadow...2011 has much to offer.
I await gratefully. Thank you Venus.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
It's almost time...
To wrap the gifts that is....
I've somehow magically saved every single item for the last moment. Nothing has been wrapped. Nothing.
I think the kids are convinced that the tree will go present-less...and I wouldn't blame them. It's never taken me this long to get organized...
There are many factors involved, and none of them has anything to do with procrastination.
so, tonight is the night. For as much as I would love to engage upon a night of walking under the stars with snow crunching under my feet...I must wrap. As much as I would prefer to cuddle up with "A Christmas Story"...I must wrap. As much as I need to write so that my bank account will not delve past a negative balance....I must wrap.
In all honesty, there isn't much to wrap in spite of five children's worth of presents. We opted for simplicity this year. We opted for hope.
Something is brimming on the horizon which seems born of a year and a half of pleading with the universe for guidance, for support, for......hope.
I dare not utter much about it...though I will say for eager readers that I am...at least as far as I know...not pregnant. Not even after concentrated effort. It's something else....somewhere else.
In any case....I feel a bit like Frodo in his journey through the Fellowship of the Ring...and if things go the way I wish, I will actually walk in the land of "Middle Earth" by the end of the year. And...I will make a new home...a new future...a new tomorrow........and, maybe...if I'm very very lucky....a new little kiwi.
Wishing you all...ALL...a wonderful...hopeful....peaceful...and bountiful...Christmas.
With love.
I've somehow magically saved every single item for the last moment. Nothing has been wrapped. Nothing.
I think the kids are convinced that the tree will go present-less...and I wouldn't blame them. It's never taken me this long to get organized...
There are many factors involved, and none of them has anything to do with procrastination.
so, tonight is the night. For as much as I would love to engage upon a night of walking under the stars with snow crunching under my feet...I must wrap. As much as I would prefer to cuddle up with "A Christmas Story"...I must wrap. As much as I need to write so that my bank account will not delve past a negative balance....I must wrap.
In all honesty, there isn't much to wrap in spite of five children's worth of presents. We opted for simplicity this year. We opted for hope.
Something is brimming on the horizon which seems born of a year and a half of pleading with the universe for guidance, for support, for......hope.
I dare not utter much about it...though I will say for eager readers that I am...at least as far as I know...not pregnant. Not even after concentrated effort. It's something else....somewhere else.
In any case....I feel a bit like Frodo in his journey through the Fellowship of the Ring...and if things go the way I wish, I will actually walk in the land of "Middle Earth" by the end of the year. And...I will make a new home...a new future...a new tomorrow........and, maybe...if I'm very very lucky....a new little kiwi.
Wishing you all...ALL...a wonderful...hopeful....peaceful...and bountiful...Christmas.
With love.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The happiest time of the year???
I'm not so sure about that.
In many ways, I feel the effort of trying to stay on top of everything is really just....not happenin'
On many days I look in the mirror and I really don't like who I see. And, most importantly, this has nothing to do with the actual image. I'm not looking and hating my fat, sags, or wrinkles. I'm not loathing my physical body. No....it's that I look in the mirror and see a person who has tried sooooo hard for soooo long...a life time really. . .and the damage of LIFE just seems---to have made me a bit "ugly".
Sometimes I say things without thinking. Hurtful things.
Sometimes I think I'm trying to be helpful. But I'm being hurtful.
Sometimes, I try to forgive...forget....move on.....and I promise I WILL....
but...then I don't. At least...not all the way. Which, is like lying.
I look in the mirror and I see a person who really needs a lot of support, but who is so frazzled that the demand for MY support crushes me.
Not all the time....just....enough.
I want to be more supportive. Unconditionally.
I want to be more easy going. Unbendingly.
I want to be happier. Frequently.
I want to be more trusting. Undyingly.
I want to be more honest. Lovingly.
I want to be a better me. Devotedly.
But...
I am not.
Not right now anyway.
So many people say this is the happiest time of the year.
I am not finding it so.
The northern climate of Montana insists upon cheating me out of much needed sunlight. The cold chills my bones. The lack of connection to community leaves me feeling....alone in my "un-aloneness".
Demands from life to be better, faster, kinder, more on the ball and in the game....oh brother...how they crush me.
Demands from culture to make Christmas "the best one EVER!" (every single year), deflates me.
What will it mean to make Christmas the best ever? Not more PRESENTS, surely??? Maybe more crafts? More outings? More More More More.......
And yet...all I want, or SAY I want...is nothing. I told my husband I wanted nothing for Christmas.
But...it was really a lie.
I want a lot.
I want joy. Serenity. Peace. Gratitude. Hope. Laughter. Trust.
I want parents that think I'm indispensable. Irreplaceable. Unconditionally wonderful. Parents that would do anything for me without guilt, anger, or manipulative tactics.
I want relationships that are built on bedrock. Where trust and love and laughter are ever-present.
I want my core to not feel ravaged and threatened every-time something looks......iffy. Potentially scary. As if I might have a bomb land in my lap at any time.
I want to trust life again.
I want to TRUST life again.
Can anyone wrap up a box and fill it with trust that I could ingest and be made to feel whole?
No. There is no "OZ" who can provide me with trust. Just as there was no "OZ" bursting with wizardly power to provide courage, a heart, or a brain or a home sweet home.
We have to find it on our journey. Trust.
Somehow, it seems rather difficult when the journey seems to be all about yanking the ground from under me.
Trust.
I want it in my stocking on Christmas morning. But, it won't be there amongst the chocolate, trinkets and baubles. It can't be bought. Or bargained for.
And, while I am sure there are other gifts I'll have in my life....I'm afraid that this little girl will have to find the way to trust again on her own.
As I look ahead at that task, I feel wary. (see, there is that lack of trust again.) I'm not sure I will ever find it again. I can pretend....and even get fooled by that sometimes....but it pops up. The lack of trust. It pops up late at night when I should be sleeping...when the world looks more bleak. And the inkling of trust leaves me...alone.
I suppose I could blame myself...life...anything or anyone. But really...it just IS the way it is.
And I am who I am.
I wonder if that could be enough for anyone else? To just let me be who I am...and think I'm great...wonderful...independently fantastic? I guess I'd like to feel perfect "enough".
So...this year, I'm going to re-nig on my request for "no gifts"...and I'll ask my readers. Do you have a gift for me? Can you share a tale of self love that might brighten my day? Can you offer a tidbit of wisdom I can put in my pocket? What do YOU do to feel "whole"? "trusting"? "hopeful"? "positive"? "kind"?
You don't have to wrap it....just...blow it my way.
In many ways, I feel the effort of trying to stay on top of everything is really just....not happenin'
On many days I look in the mirror and I really don't like who I see. And, most importantly, this has nothing to do with the actual image. I'm not looking and hating my fat, sags, or wrinkles. I'm not loathing my physical body. No....it's that I look in the mirror and see a person who has tried sooooo hard for soooo long...a life time really. . .and the damage of LIFE just seems---to have made me a bit "ugly".
Sometimes I say things without thinking. Hurtful things.
Sometimes I think I'm trying to be helpful. But I'm being hurtful.
Sometimes, I try to forgive...forget....move on.....and I promise I WILL....
but...then I don't. At least...not all the way. Which, is like lying.
I look in the mirror and I see a person who really needs a lot of support, but who is so frazzled that the demand for MY support crushes me.
Not all the time....just....enough.
I want to be more supportive. Unconditionally.
I want to be more easy going. Unbendingly.
I want to be happier. Frequently.
I want to be more trusting. Undyingly.
I want to be more honest. Lovingly.
I want to be a better me. Devotedly.
But...
I am not.
Not right now anyway.
So many people say this is the happiest time of the year.
I am not finding it so.
The northern climate of Montana insists upon cheating me out of much needed sunlight. The cold chills my bones. The lack of connection to community leaves me feeling....alone in my "un-aloneness".
Demands from life to be better, faster, kinder, more on the ball and in the game....oh brother...how they crush me.
Demands from culture to make Christmas "the best one EVER!" (every single year), deflates me.
What will it mean to make Christmas the best ever? Not more PRESENTS, surely??? Maybe more crafts? More outings? More More More More.......
And yet...all I want, or SAY I want...is nothing. I told my husband I wanted nothing for Christmas.
But...it was really a lie.
I want a lot.
I want joy. Serenity. Peace. Gratitude. Hope. Laughter. Trust.
I want parents that think I'm indispensable. Irreplaceable. Unconditionally wonderful. Parents that would do anything for me without guilt, anger, or manipulative tactics.
I want relationships that are built on bedrock. Where trust and love and laughter are ever-present.
I want my core to not feel ravaged and threatened every-time something looks......iffy. Potentially scary. As if I might have a bomb land in my lap at any time.
I want to trust life again.
I want to TRUST life again.
Can anyone wrap up a box and fill it with trust that I could ingest and be made to feel whole?
No. There is no "OZ" who can provide me with trust. Just as there was no "OZ" bursting with wizardly power to provide courage, a heart, or a brain or a home sweet home.
We have to find it on our journey. Trust.
Somehow, it seems rather difficult when the journey seems to be all about yanking the ground from under me.
Trust.
I want it in my stocking on Christmas morning. But, it won't be there amongst the chocolate, trinkets and baubles. It can't be bought. Or bargained for.
And, while I am sure there are other gifts I'll have in my life....I'm afraid that this little girl will have to find the way to trust again on her own.
As I look ahead at that task, I feel wary. (see, there is that lack of trust again.) I'm not sure I will ever find it again. I can pretend....and even get fooled by that sometimes....but it pops up. The lack of trust. It pops up late at night when I should be sleeping...when the world looks more bleak. And the inkling of trust leaves me...alone.
I suppose I could blame myself...life...anything or anyone. But really...it just IS the way it is.
And I am who I am.
I wonder if that could be enough for anyone else? To just let me be who I am...and think I'm great...wonderful...independently fantastic? I guess I'd like to feel perfect "enough".
So...this year, I'm going to re-nig on my request for "no gifts"...and I'll ask my readers. Do you have a gift for me? Can you share a tale of self love that might brighten my day? Can you offer a tidbit of wisdom I can put in my pocket? What do YOU do to feel "whole"? "trusting"? "hopeful"? "positive"? "kind"?
You don't have to wrap it....just...blow it my way.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Blood in the Snow...
I know...it's a gross title.
But, there is a point to it all. I promise.
On Thanksgiving morning, Ty and I went out with Ferdinand for a hike. We have, here in Montana, about 3 feet of snow in our local mountains...and in front of my house. We bundled up in our winter gear for the expedition because, in addition to the fluffy snow, it was below zero.
We try to walk every day...or every night. I'm not talking about little walks...I'm talking about miles of journeying. This Thanksgiving, Ferdinand was now fluffy; grown out from his summer hair cut. He looks amazing leaping through the snow, and Ty and I laugh and talk and talk and laugh for hours while we trek through whatever mother nature wishes to dish out. The boys, content to ride sleds down the block at the school contact us via cell phone for simple requests like "can we make hot chocolate?" (yes, of course!) or "Will you bring home burger king? (no...you can make grilled cheese though.) and "How much money do you get when you pass Go in Monopoly?" (we lost the rules ages ago...). With competent big brothers abounding, we don't worry when we take off on these walks that the boys do NOT want to come on...due to the expansive lengths of time we enjoy in the wilderness. So, they stayed warm and toasty...happy with their sleds in between bouts of hot cocoa and grilled cheese while smelling the roasting turkey that weighed in at 28.7 pounds.
Sooo...as I was saying, Ty and I took off that morning for a nice long hike while the turkey self basted itself in homemade herbal butter. We decided to trek around through the trees, enjoying the winter wonderland before us. A natural high permeated the woods and we joked about getting lost in a Narnia-like atmosphere.
Deer walked through the woods with us. They seemed completely unafraid of our presence. It was as if we simply belonged there, just like them. We watched them quietly, enjoying the full rack of horns on a prominent buck. Even Ferdinand was quiet. Watching.
We continued walking and came upon a femur. Yeah. A femur. It was large. Not from a deer. It was slightly bloody and it stained the snow. My educated guess was that it had once belonged to a cow. Recently belonged. Ferdinand claimed it, and I let him keep it. He looked so funny carrying a MAMMOTH bone in his teeth, trotting merrily along as if he was leaking pride from every crevice in his being. I wondered what kind of animal had brought that bone to that wooded area. Too big seeming for a fox.
Maybe a mountain lion???
I shivered a bit. Ty could feel that I was a little wary; my anxiety levels climb quickly now-a-days. I've been trying to self monitor these feelings of anxiety, so I suddenly flung myself onto the ground to make a snow angel. I find that acting foolishly and child-like often helps to offset my anxious feelings. Flap, flap, flap! I was determined to make a KICK-ASS snow angel. Ferdi cocked his head at me, his blood stained bone in his mouth. Ty laughed joyfully at my antics and blew rings of misty air into the sky as hot breath met frozen air.
I brushed myself off and looked at the snow angel.
It was bleeding.
Well...not really. IT wasn't bleeding, but, apparently I was.
My period had arrived. And I, stupidly, was not prepared and had soaked through my winter apparel. Soaked into the figure of my snow angel. Where my blood stained the snow like crimson.
I suppose I should have been prepared. I know my cycles. I think I just....wanted to be pregnant.
But, I'm not.
Ty and I held hands as we walked away from the bloody angel.
We want a baby.
That's really all we used to need to know.
In the past, wanting a baby simply meant we would have one.
Time changes these things.
If we had never had children, most people would feel sympathetic with our seeming infertility; but...that really isn't the case for us. We have beautiful sons. Five of them. We had, at one time...two years ago...thought we were complete...done...finished.
Simon and Alexander changed how we felt. Losing them created a vast emptiness, and we realized that we wanted to fill that void. We couldn't have them...but surely we'd be able to have...someone else????
But...a year and a half later of very half-assed efforts at prevention, and in the past 7 months, active trying to conceive...I'm starting to get that I may be...done.
Not because I want to be done. Not because my husband wants to be done.
Simply because I am 36 years old. And very possibly, I am at that 11th hour wherein pregnancy is no longer "easy" to achieve.
It's humorous really. In a sad kind of way. I get to have a monthly period. A HEAVY monthly period, which deep seated cramping and a flow that no one would envy. But...I don't seem to be able to get pregnant. My eggs aren't meeting with sperm and creating a baby. Even though there is ample sperm around.
Even so....I feel really grateful.
As I walked out of the woods with my husband holding my hand, I understood deeply that this man...this dear wonderful man who I love with every cell in my being...is my life partner. Babies grow up...they create their own families. They do not belong to us. We are entrusted to care for them...to open doors for the future. I understood as I walked that even after my babies...now boys...almost young men....are grown and have lives of their own, that I will be holding the hand of this man for as long as life allows us to live. This is my life.
And...it's a good one.
There is much to feel thankful for...including the blood in the snow.
But, there is a point to it all. I promise.
On Thanksgiving morning, Ty and I went out with Ferdinand for a hike. We have, here in Montana, about 3 feet of snow in our local mountains...and in front of my house. We bundled up in our winter gear for the expedition because, in addition to the fluffy snow, it was below zero.
We try to walk every day...or every night. I'm not talking about little walks...I'm talking about miles of journeying. This Thanksgiving, Ferdinand was now fluffy; grown out from his summer hair cut. He looks amazing leaping through the snow, and Ty and I laugh and talk and talk and laugh for hours while we trek through whatever mother nature wishes to dish out. The boys, content to ride sleds down the block at the school contact us via cell phone for simple requests like "can we make hot chocolate?" (yes, of course!) or "Will you bring home burger king? (no...you can make grilled cheese though.) and "How much money do you get when you pass Go in Monopoly?" (we lost the rules ages ago...). With competent big brothers abounding, we don't worry when we take off on these walks that the boys do NOT want to come on...due to the expansive lengths of time we enjoy in the wilderness. So, they stayed warm and toasty...happy with their sleds in between bouts of hot cocoa and grilled cheese while smelling the roasting turkey that weighed in at 28.7 pounds.
Sooo...as I was saying, Ty and I took off that morning for a nice long hike while the turkey self basted itself in homemade herbal butter. We decided to trek around through the trees, enjoying the winter wonderland before us. A natural high permeated the woods and we joked about getting lost in a Narnia-like atmosphere.
Deer walked through the woods with us. They seemed completely unafraid of our presence. It was as if we simply belonged there, just like them. We watched them quietly, enjoying the full rack of horns on a prominent buck. Even Ferdinand was quiet. Watching.
We continued walking and came upon a femur. Yeah. A femur. It was large. Not from a deer. It was slightly bloody and it stained the snow. My educated guess was that it had once belonged to a cow. Recently belonged. Ferdinand claimed it, and I let him keep it. He looked so funny carrying a MAMMOTH bone in his teeth, trotting merrily along as if he was leaking pride from every crevice in his being. I wondered what kind of animal had brought that bone to that wooded area. Too big seeming for a fox.
Maybe a mountain lion???
I shivered a bit. Ty could feel that I was a little wary; my anxiety levels climb quickly now-a-days. I've been trying to self monitor these feelings of anxiety, so I suddenly flung myself onto the ground to make a snow angel. I find that acting foolishly and child-like often helps to offset my anxious feelings. Flap, flap, flap! I was determined to make a KICK-ASS snow angel. Ferdi cocked his head at me, his blood stained bone in his mouth. Ty laughed joyfully at my antics and blew rings of misty air into the sky as hot breath met frozen air.
I brushed myself off and looked at the snow angel.
It was bleeding.
Well...not really. IT wasn't bleeding, but, apparently I was.
My period had arrived. And I, stupidly, was not prepared and had soaked through my winter apparel. Soaked into the figure of my snow angel. Where my blood stained the snow like crimson.
I suppose I should have been prepared. I know my cycles. I think I just....wanted to be pregnant.
But, I'm not.
Ty and I held hands as we walked away from the bloody angel.
We want a baby.
That's really all we used to need to know.
In the past, wanting a baby simply meant we would have one.
Time changes these things.
If we had never had children, most people would feel sympathetic with our seeming infertility; but...that really isn't the case for us. We have beautiful sons. Five of them. We had, at one time...two years ago...thought we were complete...done...finished.
Simon and Alexander changed how we felt. Losing them created a vast emptiness, and we realized that we wanted to fill that void. We couldn't have them...but surely we'd be able to have...someone else????
But...a year and a half later of very half-assed efforts at prevention, and in the past 7 months, active trying to conceive...I'm starting to get that I may be...done.
Not because I want to be done. Not because my husband wants to be done.
Simply because I am 36 years old. And very possibly, I am at that 11th hour wherein pregnancy is no longer "easy" to achieve.
It's humorous really. In a sad kind of way. I get to have a monthly period. A HEAVY monthly period, which deep seated cramping and a flow that no one would envy. But...I don't seem to be able to get pregnant. My eggs aren't meeting with sperm and creating a baby. Even though there is ample sperm around.
Even so....I feel really grateful.
As I walked out of the woods with my husband holding my hand, I understood deeply that this man...this dear wonderful man who I love with every cell in my being...is my life partner. Babies grow up...they create their own families. They do not belong to us. We are entrusted to care for them...to open doors for the future. I understood as I walked that even after my babies...now boys...almost young men....are grown and have lives of their own, that I will be holding the hand of this man for as long as life allows us to live. This is my life.
And...it's a good one.
There is much to feel thankful for...including the blood in the snow.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Thanksgiving Approaches
In one week, I will be serving my family of 7 a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Stuffed under the skin of a beautiful Hutterite (sort of like Amish...) turkey will be a walnut cranberry dressing with all kinds of secret ingredients I will only pass on to my daughter in laws of the future so their husbands won't be wistfully wishing mom was still the only cook in their life. We'll have pomegranate salad, stuffed eggs, artichoke spread, butternut squash and candied yams, ginger pumpkin cheesecake, red smashed herbed potatoes, maple pecan pie, Brussels sprouts and caramelized garlic and a variety of other last minute ideas I am sure to come up with.
We don't live near family...so I'll be doing it all on my own. I'm used to it...in fact...I even like it! There is something about providing a feast like that all on my own. Listening to the moans of delight and knowing I caused them! My sons and husband always tell me I am the best cook in the world, and I appreciate their praise greatly. Yeah...I know how to cook (as is evidenced by the size of my thighs...groan!). I always think about the people who will come to love my sons and want to spend their lives with them. I don't envy them trying to make the things my kids like to eat...so I always knew that I'd be happy to share the secrets with them while encouraging them to find their own culinary signature...Who knows...it's possible they will be better cooks! I'd like to think so....
But, all of this talk brings me to a certain point. I don't know what Simon and Alexanders favorite's would have been. And that fact....hurts.
I can't assume anything about it because the core truth of why I concoct so many dishes each year is that each one of my boys has a different favorite Thanksgiving dish. I make each favorite just to see their eyes light up at the mouthwatering display that contains the food they crave the most. I will never see my twin's eyes light up over a favorite food...or a favorite anything.
My sons have been actively making their Christmas wish lists. So many treasures and desires. So many options for delight. I love looking at the long scrolling lists of heart felt wishes. I remind them each gently that it's impossible to get them everything they wish for. They always smile and express that in truth, they are just EXCITED period.
One of my boys put "A baby" on his list.
He said that was the one he wanted most.
He is currently carrying around a little egg with a painted face....to see if he would be a good father. He says that if he lets the egg break, his baby will die because he wasn't careful.
I responded to this by making him a cotton filled container to reduce the risk of breaking. I never want it to break. But....I do know that at some point, that egg will get rotton...and I will have to do SOMETHING....I don't know what that will be yet. All I know is that the egg needs to stay in tact for my son. It has to.
And yet...eggs are pretty delicate.
And, as he so wisely proclaims, so are babies.
As I scan these holiday wishes, I am forced to be grateful for all the abundance in my life. We have so much.
We have each other. The trauma's of life have brought my family so close. We depend on each other for support, guidance, love and laughter. We count on each other to come through with the tasks we have at hand so that no one else is over-burdened. That can be hard when grief is being dealt with, but I've found that even in grief, this family bedrock has held firm.
Thanksgiving is coming, and Christmas is on it's tail.
The outcomes of both holidays promise to be joyful, with the essence of two little boys that should have been, in the rafters of our hearts. Watching. Protecting. Reminding.
It's time to be thankful for each other. In life. And in death.
It's all the same really.
We don't live near family...so I'll be doing it all on my own. I'm used to it...in fact...I even like it! There is something about providing a feast like that all on my own. Listening to the moans of delight and knowing I caused them! My sons and husband always tell me I am the best cook in the world, and I appreciate their praise greatly. Yeah...I know how to cook (as is evidenced by the size of my thighs...groan!). I always think about the people who will come to love my sons and want to spend their lives with them. I don't envy them trying to make the things my kids like to eat...so I always knew that I'd be happy to share the secrets with them while encouraging them to find their own culinary signature...Who knows...it's possible they will be better cooks! I'd like to think so....
But, all of this talk brings me to a certain point. I don't know what Simon and Alexanders favorite's would have been. And that fact....hurts.
I can't assume anything about it because the core truth of why I concoct so many dishes each year is that each one of my boys has a different favorite Thanksgiving dish. I make each favorite just to see their eyes light up at the mouthwatering display that contains the food they crave the most. I will never see my twin's eyes light up over a favorite food...or a favorite anything.
My sons have been actively making their Christmas wish lists. So many treasures and desires. So many options for delight. I love looking at the long scrolling lists of heart felt wishes. I remind them each gently that it's impossible to get them everything they wish for. They always smile and express that in truth, they are just EXCITED period.
One of my boys put "A baby" on his list.
He said that was the one he wanted most.
He is currently carrying around a little egg with a painted face....to see if he would be a good father. He says that if he lets the egg break, his baby will die because he wasn't careful.
I responded to this by making him a cotton filled container to reduce the risk of breaking. I never want it to break. But....I do know that at some point, that egg will get rotton...and I will have to do SOMETHING....I don't know what that will be yet. All I know is that the egg needs to stay in tact for my son. It has to.
And yet...eggs are pretty delicate.
And, as he so wisely proclaims, so are babies.
As I scan these holiday wishes, I am forced to be grateful for all the abundance in my life. We have so much.
We have each other. The trauma's of life have brought my family so close. We depend on each other for support, guidance, love and laughter. We count on each other to come through with the tasks we have at hand so that no one else is over-burdened. That can be hard when grief is being dealt with, but I've found that even in grief, this family bedrock has held firm.
Thanksgiving is coming, and Christmas is on it's tail.
The outcomes of both holidays promise to be joyful, with the essence of two little boys that should have been, in the rafters of our hearts. Watching. Protecting. Reminding.
It's time to be thankful for each other. In life. And in death.
It's all the same really.
Monday, November 8, 2010
A Baby with No Name...
This weekend my husband got a call from a friend who used to be the bass player in his band, The Voodoo Horseshoes. Though they no longer play in the band together, they still appreciate each other musically and spend regular time jamming together. My husband is musically gifted and can play just about anything he wishes to play. . .drums being his hallmark instrument. In any case, the call was about a local bonfire party. When Ty asked me if I'd like to go, I said yes, and so....we went.
It has been an unusually warm fall, which is nice because we have been spending a lot of time walking and talking and talking and walking....in the day, in the night...just...whenever we can! So, in the theme of a beautiful fall, the night was glittering with an abundance of starlight. We pulled up in our car and walked around with Ferdinand for a bit before entering the scene. It's become sort of a tradition really...talking and walking...assessing feelings before entering any social environment...touching base with where we are in the moment as a couple...as people.
Once the ground felt firm under our feet, we walked over to the warmth of the fire. Free-spirited people were smiling and drumming in a circle. Women and some children swayed near the fire. An older woman held a rainbow colored pipe in her mouth, blowing smoke rings into the fire. Ty brought out his guitar and seamlessly entered the melody bringing the mellow groove into an energy that follows my guy everywhere. It was powerful. So, even though I do not carry a musical bone in my body, I pulled out his mini drum and tried to keep some semblance of a beat. My efforts were in vain, but, it didn't matter. I wasn't on stage; I was just one of the many enjoying the music. Participating in the rhythm...even if I have none.
Sparks were flying in the air, and a curly haired woman offered me a huckleberry seltzer. It had whole huckleberries floating in it. It was fresh and inviting and I chastised myself for missing out on the gathering of huckleberries this year. I had wanted to....but, I just couldn't DO it. I know we will miss those berries this winter. Maybe next year I will be ME enough to get out there and gather berries. As I drummed lightly, and sipped my drink I noticed that right beside me was a lovely young mother holding a tiny baby. TINY. He smelled like the newness of life.
I gathered the courage to speak to her. I knew I might cry...but I couldn't stand to pretend that I wasn't dying to touch his tiny nose with my own.
The young mother told me he was nine days old...and when I asked his name, she smiled softly and said "He hasn't shared his name with us yet....He doesn't have a name." My heart swelled as I looked at the little nameless baby. His mother and I talked about baby's, breastfeeding, birth....and I told her I had five living sons. I told her about our loss. We talked about stillbirth and about my journey through it all as the music pulsed around us.
The hours went by and then, she turned to me and smiled.."Would you mind holding him while I go pee and get something to eat?" I looked at her smiling...and nodded.
He felt warm and toasty from the firelight and his mama. His little eyes fluttered open and he SMILED at me...or whatever it is baby's smile at when they are so very new. Then, he nestled in my arms up against my breast and cooed into a sweet slumber. We sat like that for about 20 minutes. I gazed at him intently feeling the energy of this little man with no name. He could be anyone. He could have been any baby. No name to define his inner being. Still free.
For a moment, I thought about the fact that I am not pregnant in spite of a very exuberant and constant attempt to change that. Who else do I know...or does ANYONE know who has sex at least 14 times a week? Or more? I used to be so fertile that it wasn't as much as issue of how, but instead was always just when. As I am now in the 6th month of being "open"....I still have a vacancy sign in the window of my heart...with no takers.
I am the teenage girl who finds herself pregnant after only one encounter; her first and only encounter at that.
I am the mother of five living sons and the woman that had 3 miscarriages in between. I am the .1% of women who will become pregnant with an IUD...with twins. And the mother who lost those twins.
The point is...I used to get pregnant easily. Yes...I've had as many losses as gains, but pregnancy was never an issue.
Until now.
So, as I held that little nameless baby I was surprised that I didn't need to cry. I am not pregnant. I may never be pregnant again. And worse...I may become pregnant at some point only to lose that pregnancy.
I may be too old.
It may be too late.
But I held that little boy....and gently rocked to the music of the drum circle where my husband was now jamming on the drums like there was no tomorrow to the delight of the bonfire companions we were enjoying.
Holding a baby with no name allowed me to feel the energy of baby-ness. It gave me permission to ask the universe who he was. The answer kept coming "He is Peace...Peace....Peace."
His mother came back and smiled at me. I gave her baby back to the warmth of her arms and went back to my lame attempts at drumming. Awed that there was no urge to sob in having to give that precious being to another woman. His mother.
I closed my eyes and felt the pulse of my husbands rhythm in the air all around me melding with the rhythm and song and dance of a group of new sisters and brothers in love with the stars and fire in the clean air of a perfect autumn night. A baby with no name nestled in my heart. Peace flowed through my veins. I found my heart beat and began to feel it in my fingers. Suddenly....I was softly drumming. And it was on the beat. For the first time in my life, I had a rhythm that wasn't painful to the ears or soul. I was really....drumming. To the beat of life. My life. When I opened my eyes, I saw Ty smiling with surprise and joy in his eyes...I was DRUMMING!
My womb may remain empty. The baby in my heart may never have a name. My sexy, virile husband and I may make love more than anyone in the world without sperm and egg creating someone new ever again. But even if all of that is true for the rest of my life, I feel that something was born in spite of it all. It's name is peace---- And it lives in me.
It has been an unusually warm fall, which is nice because we have been spending a lot of time walking and talking and talking and walking....in the day, in the night...just...whenever we can! So, in the theme of a beautiful fall, the night was glittering with an abundance of starlight. We pulled up in our car and walked around with Ferdinand for a bit before entering the scene. It's become sort of a tradition really...talking and walking...assessing feelings before entering any social environment...touching base with where we are in the moment as a couple...as people.
Once the ground felt firm under our feet, we walked over to the warmth of the fire. Free-spirited people were smiling and drumming in a circle. Women and some children swayed near the fire. An older woman held a rainbow colored pipe in her mouth, blowing smoke rings into the fire. Ty brought out his guitar and seamlessly entered the melody bringing the mellow groove into an energy that follows my guy everywhere. It was powerful. So, even though I do not carry a musical bone in my body, I pulled out his mini drum and tried to keep some semblance of a beat. My efforts were in vain, but, it didn't matter. I wasn't on stage; I was just one of the many enjoying the music. Participating in the rhythm...even if I have none.
Sparks were flying in the air, and a curly haired woman offered me a huckleberry seltzer. It had whole huckleberries floating in it. It was fresh and inviting and I chastised myself for missing out on the gathering of huckleberries this year. I had wanted to....but, I just couldn't DO it. I know we will miss those berries this winter. Maybe next year I will be ME enough to get out there and gather berries. As I drummed lightly, and sipped my drink I noticed that right beside me was a lovely young mother holding a tiny baby. TINY. He smelled like the newness of life.
I gathered the courage to speak to her. I knew I might cry...but I couldn't stand to pretend that I wasn't dying to touch his tiny nose with my own.
The young mother told me he was nine days old...and when I asked his name, she smiled softly and said "He hasn't shared his name with us yet....He doesn't have a name." My heart swelled as I looked at the little nameless baby. His mother and I talked about baby's, breastfeeding, birth....and I told her I had five living sons. I told her about our loss. We talked about stillbirth and about my journey through it all as the music pulsed around us.
The hours went by and then, she turned to me and smiled.."Would you mind holding him while I go pee and get something to eat?" I looked at her smiling...and nodded.
He felt warm and toasty from the firelight and his mama. His little eyes fluttered open and he SMILED at me...or whatever it is baby's smile at when they are so very new. Then, he nestled in my arms up against my breast and cooed into a sweet slumber. We sat like that for about 20 minutes. I gazed at him intently feeling the energy of this little man with no name. He could be anyone. He could have been any baby. No name to define his inner being. Still free.
For a moment, I thought about the fact that I am not pregnant in spite of a very exuberant and constant attempt to change that. Who else do I know...or does ANYONE know who has sex at least 14 times a week? Or more? I used to be so fertile that it wasn't as much as issue of how, but instead was always just when. As I am now in the 6th month of being "open"....I still have a vacancy sign in the window of my heart...with no takers.
I am the teenage girl who finds herself pregnant after only one encounter; her first and only encounter at that.
I am the mother of five living sons and the woman that had 3 miscarriages in between. I am the .1% of women who will become pregnant with an IUD...with twins. And the mother who lost those twins.
The point is...I used to get pregnant easily. Yes...I've had as many losses as gains, but pregnancy was never an issue.
Until now.
So, as I held that little nameless baby I was surprised that I didn't need to cry. I am not pregnant. I may never be pregnant again. And worse...I may become pregnant at some point only to lose that pregnancy.
I may be too old.
It may be too late.
But I held that little boy....and gently rocked to the music of the drum circle where my husband was now jamming on the drums like there was no tomorrow to the delight of the bonfire companions we were enjoying.
Holding a baby with no name allowed me to feel the energy of baby-ness. It gave me permission to ask the universe who he was. The answer kept coming "He is Peace...Peace....Peace."
His mother came back and smiled at me. I gave her baby back to the warmth of her arms and went back to my lame attempts at drumming. Awed that there was no urge to sob in having to give that precious being to another woman. His mother.
I closed my eyes and felt the pulse of my husbands rhythm in the air all around me melding with the rhythm and song and dance of a group of new sisters and brothers in love with the stars and fire in the clean air of a perfect autumn night. A baby with no name nestled in my heart. Peace flowed through my veins. I found my heart beat and began to feel it in my fingers. Suddenly....I was softly drumming. And it was on the beat. For the first time in my life, I had a rhythm that wasn't painful to the ears or soul. I was really....drumming. To the beat of life. My life. When I opened my eyes, I saw Ty smiling with surprise and joy in his eyes...I was DRUMMING!
My womb may remain empty. The baby in my heart may never have a name. My sexy, virile husband and I may make love more than anyone in the world without sperm and egg creating someone new ever again. But even if all of that is true for the rest of my life, I feel that something was born in spite of it all. It's name is peace---- And it lives in me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)