I couldn’t love you any better…

This boy that I love has inspired me to dust off this blog, ignore the work I have waiting for me, and share something that I don’t ever want to forget. It’s a story about a conversation I had with him tonight that reminded me how important it is to love him just the way he is. In a moment of parental brilliance (the same kind that leads us to think, “I know a GREAT way to make picking up toys seem like fun!” I thought I would give my son a chance to be a brave big brother. Because although my boy is a lot of things, brave is not one of them. He is not brave. I know this, everyone who knows him knows this. Sure, maybe he’s one of those cool self-esteem building definitions of brave like, “being brave means always feeling free to cry in front of people about the smallest thing that upsets you,” but he is certainly not the courageous kind of brave. He has been outclimbed, outjumped, and outdared on every playground he’s ever been to, by kids half his age. I used to call him cautious…sure. He’s cautious alright. He is not fearless, and he never has been. So I thought tonight, I would create an opportunity for him to feel strong and brave. Nice of me, right?

So as we were getting ready for bedtime, and I was holding Ayla, I said, “Buddy, tomorrow is the day of Ayla’s big 8 week appointment when she’s going to get four shots. I thought maybe you could tell her about…” But I never got to finish. Because instead of his chest puffing up and his voice getting deeper as he dispensed six-year-old wisdom, his eyes shot open in panic and he immediately began to cry. “NO, Mommy, I don’t WANT her to get any shots. I don’t want her to hurt, ever. She’s just a baby, she can’t handle it, Mommy!” (sobbing and shaking his head now) “Mommy, she’s not REALLY 8 weeks old yet, because she was an early baby! She will have to wait and have those shots later! NO MOMMY, I don’t WANT her to have ANY! Can her body handle that pain? NO IT CAN’T!” and he clutched onto her little legs and cried and shook his head and I realized that I had asked him to be something he wasn’t, because I thought it would be good for him.

I do want Aaron to be brave. Not because he’s a boy, but because life takes bravery. He does worry and care and cry and maybe one of those alternative definitions of bravery does apply to us: the one about giving your whole heart in complete love after suffering the worst possible loss, and he has most certainly done that, more than anyone could ever ask of such a young person. So Chris and I talked to him about why we think the shots were important (no vaccination debate please) and how the pain from the shots only lasts a very short while but they are designed to help protect her from things that would be much more painful and dangerous to her. We also reminded him that he had the very same shots and is just fine and doesn’t remember the pain at all, which he insists we are wrong about, by the way. Later, while I was sitting in the bathroom during his shower, thinking back through it, I cried (of course) and he heard me (of course) and asked why I was crying. I told him I just loved him so much, just the way he is, and he said, “Mommy, get a tissue and wipe your happy tears FIRST because you don’t want to get snot near your eyes.” Thanks for bringing me back, son.

Do you follow Hands Free Mama (Rachel Macy Stafford) on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/TheHandsFreeRevolution or her blog called the Hands Free Revolution? Her advice about how to be present in the moments that matter most is not to be missed. She made a post on her Facebook page on April 4 about how a preschool teacher once told her she was going to need to toughen up her tenderhearted daughter or life would be tough for her, and I can say that as the parent of a tenderhearted boy I have heard more than my fair share of similar comments. It’s a great post, you should check it out. I started following her recently and found myself really taking a good hard look at my use of technology in front of Aaron and the way it impacts our relationships. I am not affiliated with her or her blog in any way, just a fan speaking my mind is all.

Thanks for reading. Have missed this darn thing.   :)

April 1-7 Spring Break!

We stayed home for Spring Break this year and had a lot of fun doing local things we have been wanting to do. We hiked, went to the zoo, visited Mary Washington, went to Busch Gardens and hit some memorials.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 25-31

Aaron’s Birthday Party

We really have fun giving Aaron fun birthday parties. We work hard to make things ourselves and try to make it an experience that all the kids will really enjoy. This year’s Medieval Knight party was AWESOMELY fun and we were so happy with how everything turned out.

March 18-24

March 11-17

March 4-10

February 26-March 3

February 19-25

February 12-18

February 5-11

January 29-February 4

 

 

Hallooooo!

Well, my last post was in September, and it was about LAST January 19th. phew. But here we are, and I have a good idea for catching up. on 2012. Stay tuned :)

January 16

Today I sat around in my pjs, watched Star Wars with Aaron, and graded some things I had brought home with me the weekend Mara died. Might as well.

January 13

I had a horrible angry day today. Today I knew I had entered the ugly stage of my grieving. Shock had passed, and it was time for the tough work of feeling everything. I felt frustrated by well meaning sentiments from friends and loved ones who offered comfort by telling me that God has a plan, or that everything happens for a reason. It felt like they said those things because THEY found comfort in them, and they thought they might give me comfort too. I wasn’t upset at anybody, because people’s love and support made each day bearable, but I found no comfort in those words, and I was angry. I HAD A PLAN. Our FAMILY had a plan. Her name is Mara.

I used to believe that there was a purpose or a design for everything that happens. Through everything I have experienced, I have been able to focus on my own growth and appreciate the role each event or hardship has played in my life. But I guess you could call January 13 the day I changed my mind about that. Now I know that a child dying has no greater purpose, and it is not part of any plan. There is no silver lining. The kindness that people have shown us, the love and support we have received, the strengthened bond between me and Chris, the sharp focus of attention on Aaron, those are all good things. But they don’t make Mara’s death good, they don’t make it make sense, they don’t make it okay. None of it.

While I was out walking today in the clean and healing January air, I had a twisting collection of horrible ungrateful thoughts that raged around in my mind, and were hard to quiet. I felt like I had borne too much, and that I would never be able to recover from this. Why has this happened to us?  I want to be happy, I want my daughter, I want my life the way I imagined it. We are good people, we work hard, we are loving, and I want to stop hurting. I didn’t have these thoughts for long before I felt wretched and ungrateful. Aaron is fine, after the seriousness of his surgery, he is in perfect health and I am so grateful. I am loved and close to my family, and comfortable and successful and have the career of my dreams. I am not ungrateful or unmindful of those things. But my heart is surely broken. It is impossible to imagine that these overwhelming feelings of despair will someday pass.

I realized today that I hadn’t had a single nightmare since the day Mara died. I have a nearly lifelong history of awful nightmares, some have been recurring since I was old enough to describe them to my parents. I find it odd that I haven’t had any about Mara or her death. Instead, sleeping is my only true relief these days. It’s as if the nightmare is when I’m awake, where the worst thing that could possibly happen has already happened. My brain can’t make room for any more pain, so I get a break while I sleep.

I had good moments today too. I knew today that I would definitely go back to work eventually, at least to see if I still have what it takes. It was a decision of immeasurable significance. I am very afraid of how it might go. I’m afraid that when I go back to work and start being around people again, they won’t like me as much as they did before. I am so sad now. So different, and quiet and still and sad. The things my friends liked about me before might be gone, or altered forever. I am not the same, I will never be the same as before Mara died. What if people look at me with sad eyes forever? What if the people I love only see me as a shell of who I was, and miss who I used to be before Mara died? Well if they did, they would be feeling exactly the same way I feel about myself. What if my relationships change, and I have that grief to bear too?

I have no appetite. I love to eat, I love food, but it is now one of many things that make no difference to me, and that I don’t enjoy anymore.

 

Here is Aaron with a gift Chris brought home from one of my former students with a letter so moving that I cry about it writing this post in September. She told me that I have lots of children, and hundreds of daughters, and that they were ready to support and comfort me as I had done for them.

January 12

Sometimes…straight from the journal works. Here are my unedited words from January 12.

“Dear Mara,
Today was okay. Nothing more, nothing less. I woke up, did things, cried between them, and kept moving. That is really all I can say for myself.
I love you. I love Daddy, and I love Aaron, and I am trying so damn hard to be okay.
Love, Mommy”

(Aaron drew this picture today of a knight on one of his Christmas thank you notes. I thought it was so cute how he has the lines in front of the face like the eye guard from a helmet)

January 11

This was a really rough day for me. It was dark and cold and rainy all day and I wanted to be outside and see the sun. Chris and I haven’t been sleeping well, and Chris is especially exhausted from being back at work. I spent some time attacking a long to-do list I had been making for my maternity leave…I figured since I’m still at home I could at least accomplish some things. I saw a young boy and his little sister walking to the bus stop this morning and it choked me to tears. Aaron and I both had dentist appointments today and while the dentist had her hand in my mouth, she asked me that perennial harmless question, “Is he your only child?” It was the first time I had been asked that question by a stranger since Mara died and I found myself in the horrible position of having to decide how I would answer in that particular situation. With her hand in my mouth, and the sensation that my chest had been sliced open by her question, I answered, “yes” but I knew in that very same instant it was not the right answer. I had thought it would be easier to say yes that to explain the whole story to someone I didn’t know while having my teeth cleaned, but it wasn’t easier at all. It felt like I was denying my girl, and I knew I would never, ever answer that way again, no matter how awkward or inconvenient it may be to give a fuller answer. Now, writing this eight months later, I can say that conviction has been put to the test and I always say that I also have a daughter who was stillborn. It usually results in the other conversational party being stunned silent, then fumbling for words of apology. I hope that by breaking through that barrier myself I can help others to do the same.

 

 

(clean teeth!)

January 10

Today my parents flew back home and Chris headed of to work, and I slowly got Aaron out of the house for school. He was so happy to be at school he could barely be bothered to kiss me goodbye. As Aaron and I were walking, I noticed that the trees in the Prince William Forest were gorgeously covered in snow and ice, so I decided that my walk would be along Dumfries Road. It was my first day alone.

 

I felt Mara in that walk. She was in the cold air blowing in my face, and the snow sprinkles blowing off of tree branches that sparkled me to blindness in the morning sun. I became aware that I felt close to her out in nature. Spending time outside quietly observing natural beauty would give me great comfort in the weeks to come.

January 9

 

Today was Aaron’s first day back at school since Mara died. I was excited for him to get back in his routine and back with his friends, but I knew I would miss having him around. Everyone at Aaron’s was so wonderfully warm and supportive and I knew that he would be watched over carefully. He got right into talking and catching up about Christmas with his friends as if he had just seen them the day before. I was worried about what I would say if any of the students in his class asked me about the baby, because they had seen me pregnant every day and there were lots of kids who rubbed and hugged my belly on a daily basis and asked about the baby. I wanted to make sure that if their teacher had a way of explaining it to them that I had a chance to hear that and support it in case any of the kids asked me, but none of them did. I walked back home, grateful for the cold air on my face, but sharply feeling one of many coming aches as I thought about how I had been planning to make those walks back forth to Minnieland with a baby in a front pack. Instead of heading home to a day of baby bliss, I was walking home alone. I thought about that walk off and on all day and how I wished so hard to be making that walk with Mara…harder than I had ever wished for anything. I imagined that I would have lots of those days ahead, as we would keep realizing all the ways we were missing her. Now as I write this post eight months later, that was exactly what happened.

My parents talked to me about how sad they were to be leaving the next day and how hard it is to live so far away, especially during a difficult time like this. I read a little about Grandparent Grief, it's called "double grief" because you are grieving for your grandchild but also for the pain your child is experiencing that you have no power to ease.

I wrote one of many long journal entries on January 8, and like many from those days, it was addressed to Mara like a letter. I reflected on all the people who couldn’t wait to meet her and welcome her into their hearts, and the fact that now all of those people were grieving in different ways. Some people wanted to use her name and talk about her in a loving way, and some people didn’t want to talk about her at all. But even so, she was already loved by so many people, and I felt that the love others were ready to give to her was being transferred to us to help us through this horrible time.

January 8, and a note

Before continuing, I want to make a note about the blog. I started this as a fun and easy way to share some of our daily happenings with far-away friends and family, and I also got into P365 photos and scrapping. Daily ANYTHING is hard to keep up with…and even though watching us it may seem like our daily lives haven’t changed much, life has been completely altered. I started keeping an online journal so I could keep record of my grieving, and I’m so glad I did. At the same, I took far fewer pictures than any time since Aaron was born. Part of this is related to just feeling quiet and thoughtful and somewhat withdrawn, and part of it is related to how nice it feels to set down the camera sometimes and just experience something. In the past, I have made posts to reckon for every day of the year, noting the days when I had no photos. That has started to feel a bit silly to me, so I’m just going to post pictures for the days that I have them. You will see lots of huge gaps. But I would rather post what I have than stop this completely, and now that I’ve gotten over the hurdle of yesterday’s post, I’m excited to move forward with it.

*Much content from the months January-June is drawn from the journal I kept during that time and so truly reflects how I was feeling at those times.

 

I noticed today and yesterday how Aaron seems to have grown up so much in the past week or so. Maybe just a trick of the eyes or a trick of the heart, more likely, but it seems awfully noticeable to me. Just when babyhood is something I want the most, Aaron seems to be getting further away from it.

I sent out an email to the family today telling them about our morning in the mountains, and offering to send pictures to those who wanted to see them. I heard back from from everybody very quickly and I sent pictures out to everybody. It means so so much to me that my family is so willing to accept Mara as a part of their lives even though she’s not here. Auntie Kathy even said she was going to print the pictures of Mara and scrap them and I was so so happy to hear that. I think it will be a while before I can scrap the pictures of Mara herself, but I hope to be able to soon.

Elsewhere in the household, Ashley did a lot of moving to her new place today, with the help of everyone in the house. I am also looking forward to Aaron going back to school tomorrow. Taking him will be hard, and I know I will miss him sorely in my fragile state, but I know it's the next step that we all need.