Yahrzeit
December 15, 2010 at 4:44 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning, traditions | 13 CommentsTags: child loss, death, grief, Sawyer
As I wrote in this post, I really appreciate most of the Jewish mourning customs. And for the most part I am on board with observing the Yahrzeit, a time of remembering the dead by reciting the Kaddish, lighting a 24-hour candle, and remembering the person who has died. The Yahrzeit falls annually on the Hebrew date of the deceased relative’s death according to the Jewish calendar as opposed to the secular calendar.
My only issue with observing Sawyer’s yahrzeit (not counting the fact that I cannot spell the word) is that according to the Jewish calendar Sawyer’s yahrzeit is tomorrow. And, like most Jewish holidays it begins at sunset the night before and lasts for 24 hours. Tonight we will light a candle and say a prayer for our sweet baby boy.
We will say kaddish, a mourner’s prayer. Anita Diamant writes in her book Saying Kaddish, that “Kaddish reminds mourners of their obligation both to dream of a world of peace and to build it — without delay.” I think this means that I should continue to repeat to myself the phrase I have already mentioned in an earlier post. “Remember the past, hope for the future but live in the present.” And thanks to my very wise and close friend I have a new quote from the movie Kung Fu Panda:
“There is a saying: yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the “present.” ”
No promises that I can do this but I will try not to dwell on how different our lives were a year ago. I will try hard not think about the secular anniversary of Sawyer’s death because it is not today. I will try to stay focused on today’s gift.
Awkward Appointments & Awesome Acting
December 4, 2010 at 4:44 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning | 6 CommentsTags: child loss, death, grief, life after loss
I was cast in one of the lead roles in my 6th grade play, The Taming of the Shrew. Andrew Schulz had to kiss me on stage but that is different story. My acting career pretty much began and ended right there in 1982 in my elementary school all-purpose room. Until I became a bereaved parent. In 2005, I was cast in the role of a mother with a newborn son who died. In 2009, I was cast for the role once again.
William Shakespeare wrote, “all the world’s a stage.” This is so true in the life of a bereaved parent. I will be out to dinner or talking to someone on the phone and they will say “you are doing really great.” I will try to remember what exactly I said or did to give such a good impression. And, I think to myself what a good actress I am.
Then there are other times that I seem to forget my “I am doing really great” lines. For example, I went to the dentist the other day. I have not been to the dentist since the week before Sawyer was born. I have gone to the same dentist for over 10 years and I don’t mind going there. I knew they would ask “how is the baby?” We did not send out birth or death announcement for either Sawyer or Jake. I could have avoided the whole thing and switched dentists (I did switch hair salons for this very reason).
I chose to stay with the same dentist and play my part as the bereaved mother. However, my “I am doing great” lines had all been forgotten. I am pretty forgetful these days so I should not be surprised. Instead, I cried. I cried and explained that our perfect baby boy had died. Luckily (or unluckily depending how you look at it), during a dental cleaning there is only so much crying and talking you can do.
After crying through my dentist appointment I was happy to get out of there. As I drove away I realized this was the first time in months that I had spoken about Sawyer for so long. Now that I think about it maybe the title of this blog works both ways – it could also be awesome appointments and awkward acting.
Thanksgiving
November 25, 2010 at 10:04 pm | Posted in Death, silver lining | 10 CommentsTags: child loss, gratitude
Last Thanksgiving we had just brought Sawyer home (I will go back and finish writing his story, I promise). This Thanksgiving is bittersweet. I suppose every day is bittersweet but holidays and anniversaries can be harder.
I am so very thankful for family and friends who have stood by us during the best and worst of times of our lives. I am certain that I would not be able to get through these days alone.
I am thankful for our silly twins and their father.
I am very thankful for the time that we did have with Jake and Sawyer. However, there has always been more – I have had a feeling of gratitude that I have not been able to articulate since Jake passed away. It is very hard to be grateful that your son (or now in our case sons) have died. The feeling that I want to describe is that I have been so thankful that Jake and Sawyer never knew the hardships which life can bring. I would give anything to have had them experience more of life than they did. I was not successful with making that bargain. Instead, I find comfort and I am thankful that all they ever knew in their too short lives was love.
Time can be Tricky (part 2)
November 14, 2010 at 11:02 am | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning, silver lining | 10 Comments“Time heals all wounds.” Really, does it? If it does, how much time? It has been 5 years since Jake died and I am not healed. Time certainly has changed my wounds but they are not gone. Keeping busy helped me to live in a world without Jake. The grief and the sadness were still always there but have become a part of me. The twins brought and continue to bring happiness to my life but it does not take away the loss.
Sawyer’s death in December, 2009 was not only devastating for the mere fact of losing Sawyer but it reopened the wounds from Jake’s death. The pain of losing Sawyer is so excruciating at times that I cannot let myself think about it. I put it away in a box and do not take it out. I live in my land of denial and keep myself busy. Toddler twins don’t leave too much free time so, often it is not a problem to stay in the land of denial. I know that time will change this. I will leave the land of denial more frequently and maybe one day I will not return to it. However, it is impossible for me to believe there will come a time that I will be healed from losing my baby boys.
As I wrote in this post, I try to stay present. I repeat to myself “remember the past, hope for the future but live in the present.” It is just extremely difficult at times because the present does not include Sawyer or Jake.
Next Steps (2006)
November 8, 2010 at 7:58 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning, silver lining | 1 CommentJanuary, 2006 made me realize I needed help. We were already in therapy. My family and friends could not help me. I needed to help myself. I had to figure out how to live in a world without Jake.
I very slowly came up with a plan. My plan had several steps. It would be revised, it would change and evolve. (In December of 2009 it would be shattered)
1. I needed to look for a full-time job. Running my own business was not working. I could not keep myself organized. I could not concentrate. I just wanted to wake up, get dressed and go to the same place every day.
2. Evan and I needed to find a support group. Support groups were suggested to us several times. However, up till this point I was not able to handle anyone else’s sad story. I could barely deal with our own. Now, I needed to see how other parents got up every morning after their child (or children) had died.
3. The most frightening part of the plan – we started to talk about trying to have another baby.
Excerpt from Thoughts on Becoming a Mother (read at the 2006 Atlanta Walk to Remember) Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to or a child that G-d leads me to, I will not be careless with my love. I will be a better mother for all that I have endured. I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter, neighbor, friend and sister because I have known pain. I know disillusionment as I have been betrayed by my own body. I have been tried by fire and hell many never face, yet given time, I stood tall. I have prevailed. I have succeeded. I have won. So now when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs. I listen. And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely. I have learned the immense power of another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth and when life is beyond hard. I have learned a compassion that only comes with walking in those shoes. I have learned to appreciate life. Yes I will be a wonderful mother. – Author UnknownCostco and Confusing Conversations
November 4, 2010 at 4:58 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mother, pregnancy, silver lining | 10 Comments
2 for 1
A new Costco opened near our house. I took the twins shopping there the other day. I put them into the cart. As I pushed them along, I saw a family who used to be in our Gymboree class. The mother and I were pregnant at the same time last year. Our due dates were a few weeks apart.
She was holding her 11 month old daughter. She looked at me and she was trying to remember how she knew me. She asked “Do I know you from music class?”. I thought about running the other way but decided to just tell her that we were from her 3-year-old son’s Gymboree class. She said “Right, we were both pregnant last fall. Smart of you to leave the baby at home.”
In my mind, I quickly go through the scenarios. If I had responded with the following:
1. “Yes, Sawyer is happily at home. I have to go now so I can get home in time to feed him.” She would wave goodbye and walk away with her baby.
2. “No, Sawyer is not at home. He passed away.” She would also wave goodbye and walk away with her baby.
As desperately as I want to come home and feed Sawyer, I know it is not my reality. I took a deep breath and calmly explained that he was not at home. He had died.
Earlier this week we had another confusing conversation:
A woman was speaking to me and the twins in passing. She mentioned her 1-year-old son. As I wrote in this post the twins love babies. The twins excitedly tell her about their baby brother. I quietly explain that their brother passed away.
The woman then said to the twins, “You will see your brother again.”
Smiling the twins quickly reply, “We see Sawyer now. We bring him flowers.”
The woman tries again, “Well, he is in a better place.”
The twins answer, “Yes – we send him balloons.”
At this point, I walk away and the twins follow. My head hurts. I don’t know what to say to the twins or to the women in these conversations. How do I explain what I do not understand? Maybe I should just stay home.
Grandparents
October 25, 2010 at 3:02 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, parents | 6 CommentsMaking the decision to have a child is momentous.
It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
~Elizabeth Stone
However, becoming a grandparent is not something you decide. It is the decision of your child. Losing your child’s child is in many ways a double loss. Not only are the grandparents mourning the loss of their grandchild, they also hurt for the pain their child is feeling. Parents want to be able to fix things for their children. Parents want to make it better. Parents want to take away the pain.
There is no way to fix the loss of a child. There is no way to make it better. There is no way to take away the pain. It is a feeling of helplessness and frustration when a parent cannot fix things for their children. Often grandparents are referred to as the “forgotten mourners”, as they are here and here.
A loss of a grandchild is unique. Death makes us all face the reality that we are not immortal. It seems especially difficult when the death is out-of-order. The circle of life does not include burying your children or grandchildren. It is not the way things are supposed to be.
I am not writing from experience because I have not been a grandparent. However, I often think about how Evan’s parents and my parents feel. They grieve for Jake and Sawyer. They also watch as Evan and I grieve. We know that you would make it better if you could (and we would let you). We have not forgotten you. We thank you and love you.
October
October 13, 2010 at 5:00 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning, parents, pregnancy, silver lining, traditions | 15 CommentsMany of you know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. What you might not know is that October is also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month. In 1988, President Ronald Reagan proclaimed October to be Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month.
In October of 1988 I was a freshman in college. Not only did not know about this proclamation or personally know any bereaved parents, I could not have envisioned in a million years that one day I would be a bereaved parent who would bury two children.
This past weekend we participated in a Walk to Remember. Across the country thousands (maybe millions) of families walked to remember their little loved ones. Thank you so much to the organizers of our walk – Tara, Megan and Aimee.
Evan and I have walked since 2006 in memory of Jake. Now we walk for Sawyer too. The event starts with a few speeches. I am always in awe (and in tears) during these speeches given by bereaved parents. The stories are all unique in many ways but also the same. They all have the same tragic ending.
This year I looked around the crowd. So many families. So many babies who are no longer with us. So much heart-break, sadness and loss. We, along with the other families at the walk last weekend, have the “fear of the unknown. . .behind us, for most of us, because we have already taken a long look at hell.” The Bereaved Parent by Harriet Sarnoff Schiff
After the speeches there is a very short walk. Note: Just to clarify this year and last year we did not actually walk. One of the twins had an accident requiring a two adult clean up right before the walking part of the event this year and last year.
The twins writing to Sawyer and Jake
The last part of the event is a balloon launch. We all write notes to our babies on butterfly shaped paper. This year the twins had a big discussion about what to write on their notes. We are not exactly sure about the topics covered in the discussion but they both completed their notes to their brothers. We then had to explain to the twins that we needed to attach the notes to the balloon strings. Attaching the notes to the balloons was ok with the twins. The next part, letting go of the balloons, took some convincing. Evan and I have gone to great lengths to emphasize the importance of holding onto balloons. We were sending very mixed parenting signals. However, we finally were able to pry their little hands off of the balloon strings. And the notes were lovingly sent to Jake, Sawyer and all the other babies we remember.
Emily Post, may I please have an etiquette extension?
October 4, 2010 at 10:54 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, traditions | 12 CommentsI should clarify from my last post, I do open mail. I just don’t open it until it is screened. My superior high-tech method of screening is Evan. As I mentioned in this post, there are many things that I can’t handle these days – which by default (or by choice in some cases) fall to Evan. Opening mail is in that category.
Writing letters is a different story. The old me used to be pretty good at writing thank you notes. From a young age I remember my late Aunt Harriett discussing with me (or maybe talking to my mom about me. . .) the importance of writing notes and cards. Aunt Harriett definitely inspired me to correspond timely.
After Jake passed away I wrote thank you notes to everyone. I cried as I wrote. I felt like I was accomplishing something – or rather doing something for Jake. The endless list of things I would never do for Jake did not include writing those thank you notes.
When the twins arrived I diligently wrote thank you notes. I did not cry writing those notes. I was pretty sleep deprived so the notes may not have made any sense but they were written and mailed.
Since Sawyer died I can not write a single note. I know it is part of my grieving process but I just can’t seem to do it. I have joked many times that Emily Post does not have a rule for me yet. Recently, I was surprised to learn that she does have a rule:
“No one expects a long letter, nor does any one look for an early reply. A personal word on a visiting card is all any one asks for. The envelope may be addressed by some one else.”
Luckily for me Emily Post is not super strict:
“There is no official time frame for writing notes of appreciation to those who have extended their condolences and kindness to you.”
I am going to interpret this to mean that Ms. Post has granted me my extension. . .
Jake and Sawyer’s notes have this quote on the front of the card:
What we have once enjoyed we can never lose;
All that we love deeply, becomes a part of us.
Helen Keller
And this quote applies to all four of our children:
The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, not touched.
But are felt in the heart.
Helen Keller
Reason no. 999 NOT to open the mail
October 1, 2010 at 5:58 pm | Posted in Death, father, Grief, mother, parents | 8 CommentsI have known for several years that opening mail can be very risky. The first one of Jake’s medical bills that I opened sent me into such a tailspin of tears that I to this day will not open anything from the hospital (where I had all four of our children). The letters from various doctors not able to process Jake’s bills because they did not have his social security number added to my inability to open mail.
Note: Social Security cards take approximately 6 weeks after birth to arrive in the mail. Death certificates, oddly, take much less time. All were additional pieces of mail that I would/could not open.
I foolishly let my guard down. Our twins are mildly – ok, outrageously obsessed with Halloween and costume catalogs. They study costume catalogs for hours and often try to sleep with them. The catalogs have caused a few disputes so, I have been anxiously awaiting the mail these days in hopes that a new costume catalog will arrive (and temporarily resolve the disputes). Yesterday, I got the mail. There were no costume catalogs. However, there was a large envelope addressed only to me from the Cord Blood Registry.
My mind started to create ideas for what could possibly be in this envelope addressed only to me. We were not able to store Jake or the twins’ cord blood. The only cord blood we stored was Sawyer’s. The first thoughts which popped into my head were the following:
- The Cord Blood people have found something in Sawyer’s blood which would explain why his heart suddenly just stopped.
- The Cord Blood people were writing to apologize for the difficult time they gave us when we requested for some of Sawyer’s cord blood be sent to the Mayo clinic (where he is part of a study).
- The Cord Blood people were writing to me to tell me that this was all a horrible mistake (I know that this crosses the lines of impossibility but it was a very brief thought/wish/hope).
None of the above thoughts were correct. I went against my better judgment and opened the large envelope. It was a birthday card. A birthday card for Sawyer. The very thoughtful Cord Blood people not only sent a card but a gift. A book. A book for Sawyer. The book is Where is Baby’s Belly Button?. I guess that the part of the company which handles requests for the cord blood to be sent out to the Mayo clinic does not communicate with the part of the company which sends out the birthday cards. I guess the woman we spoke to extensively about the need for our baby’s cord blood so that it could be part of a study to help determine his cause of death was not able to flag our file to indicate our baby is dead. I guess the Cord Blood people send cards and gifts early because Sawyer’s first birthday is not for another month and half.
I could not cry I was in such disbelief. And, as you can read I have reverted back to the anger stage of grief (at least for the moment). I will put Where is Baby’s Belly Button? on the twins’ bookshelf right next to the copies of the Best Ever Big Sister and the Best Ever Big Brother books by the same author.
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