Grandparents

October 25, 2010 at 3:02 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, parents | 6 Comments

Making 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. 

 

11 Months

October 18, 2010 at 3:10 pm | Posted in mourning, silver lining, traditions | 10 Comments

Yesterday we should have been taking 11 month pictures of Sawyer.   A very close and clever friend told me about taking pictures of her son with a sign of his age.   She said it makes it easier to go back and put the pictures in a scrapbook.   Well, I have yet to make any scrapbooks but I did borrow her idea and take the pictures.  

Every month I would print a sign.  We would put the twins in pottery barn chairs from their great grandparents.  One of us would sing head, shoulders, knees and toes and the other one would snap as many pictures as possible.   Hopefully, we would get both twins looking at the camera and/or smiles.   For example: 

Smiles, sort of looking at the camera

Both looking at the camera, no smiles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day after taking the pictures I would email them to family and friends. Jake only lived 2 weeks so we were not able to take any month pictures. On December 17th, 2009 we did take 1 month pictures of Sawyer. We improvised and used one of the twins’ chairs with a Sawyer towel over the name. Sawyer’s pottery barn chair arrived in the mail the week after he passed away. Here is one of those pictures.

Sawyer - 1 month

Today, the day I should be sending out Sawyer’s 11 month pictures, I  am instead emailing this blog.  And, the twins’ 11 month picture:

1 smiling & looking at camera; both - haircuts

October

October 13, 2010 at 5:00 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning, parents, pregnancy, silver lining, traditions | 15 Comments

Many 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.

People & Planning

October 10, 2010 at 11:20 pm | Posted in Grief, mourning | 6 Comments

A very wise man, my 98-year-old grandfather, has told me for years that “mentsch tracht, Gott lacht.”   For those of you (like me) who don’t speak yiddish this means “men make plans and G-d laughs.”  I have updated the saying just a little to “people make plans and G-d laughs.” 

Historically, I have been a planner.   I could write on and on about plans I have made and how somewhere my plans are the source of a lot of laughter.   Instead of boring you with all the broken plans, I will just give a few examples.

I had always planned/hoped to be a mother.   As you have read that plan did not go exactly as I had envisioned.   I have learned some very hard lessons about planning.   I have learned to make plans and then change them and then change them again.     

Another example, this blog.   I had planned to write in chronological order about Jake, the twins and then Sawyer.   That plan went out the window with this post.  And, I continue to interrupt myself.   Thank you all who are following me on this journey.   Turns out it is not such a straight path. 

So, today I am making a new plan.   My new plan is not to have a plan.

Emily Post, may I please have an etiquette extension?

October 4, 2010 at 10:54 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, traditions | 12 Comments

I 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 Comments

I 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:

  1. The Cord Blood people have found something in Sawyer’s blood which would explain why his heart suddenly just stopped.
  2. 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).  
  3. 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.

Back to work

September 28, 2010 at 10:44 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning, silver lining | 7 Comments

In late September of 2005 my maternity leave came to an end.  As I mentioned here and there, maternity leave without a baby at home is no picnic.   Turns out, going back to work had challenges as well. 

When I went into labor with Jake I was working as a consultant.  When I went back to work not everyone knew what happened.  Acquaintances who passed me in the halls saw me 26 weeks pregnant in August.   At the end of September I was back at work.   A very natural question upon seeing me for the first time would be “how is the baby?”.  I had thought of this and had been rehearsing my responses in my head.

As much as I knew the questions would be asked and as much as I had rehearsed my responses, I was not prepared.   “Did you have a boy or a girl?”   The pit in my stomach grew and tears welled up in my eyes but I spoke.   “We had a boy – his name was Jake.  He passed away when he was 2 weeks old.”   Then, I ran to the bathroom, went into a stall and cried.  

There is only one thing worse than speaking ill of the dead –

and that is not speaking of the dead at all.

                              — Anonymous

I had decided that I would always speak about Jake.   It might be hard for the person asking the question but I needed (and need) to talk about him.   Now, I need to speak about Jake and Sawyer.

So, in late winter of this year I was jogging.  I saw in the distance a neighbor who I had not seen since Sawyer was born and died.   I thought of turning around and going down another street but decided to take my chances.   I smiled, said hello and tried to speed up.   Behind me I heard her ask, “How is the baby?  Are you getting any sleep with the three kids?”.   I knew I had no choice but to stop and answer her.   I spoke – I am not even sure what I said but I know that I answered.  

The mention of my child’s name may bring tears to my eyes,

But it never fails to bring music to my ears.

If you are really my friend, let me hear the beautiful music of his name.

It soothes my broken heart and sings to my soul.  

                                            – – – Author Unknown

Maternity Leave

September 22, 2010 at 4:08 pm | Posted in Grief, mourning | 11 Comments

Every day after Jake’s funeral I would go visit his grave.    As I wrote in this post, I had a c-section.   I was not allowed to go back to work for 6 weeks from the day of the surgery.  I was on maternity leave with no baby at home.  I would go take care of a little plot of grass in Arlington cemetery.  I would cry, bring flowers and sing.   I would go every day without fail.   I felt like the poem below was written about my feelings (however, I am not the author).

Dream

I am drawn quietly to his grave to check on him,

Just as I’d have been drawn quietly to his crib.

I trim the grass around his marker,

And dream of trimming bangs from his forehead.

I place flowers in his vase,

And dream of placing kisses on his cheek.

I hold his memory dear to my heart,

And dream of holding him in my arms.

                                             Author unknown

Four and a half years later I once again found myself on maternity leave with no baby at home.   People often say to me at least you have the twins.   Yes, I am so very lucky that I have the twins.   I am just still so very sad that Sawyer is gone.   The twins no longer can help take care of their little brother.

After Sawyer’s funeral, I could not bring myself to go to the cemetery.   I could not sing – not to Jake, not to the twins and not to Sawyer.   I was silent and so very sad.    There has now come a day that I can go back to the cemetery.    I am even able to sing to Jake, the twins and Sawyer at times.   I am still so very sad and so very lucky that this time around I do have these cheeks that I can kiss.

Sitting Shiva

September 16, 2010 at 11:50 pm | Posted in funeral, mourning, traditions | 4 Comments

I am uncertain about my religious beliefs these days – especially since Sawyer passed away.   However, I am very certain that I really appreciate the Jewish mourning customs.   As I mentioned in this post, I am a big fan of the shomerim.  Another Jewish custom that I appreciated was that funerals must be held as soon as possible.   Jake’s funeral was approximately 30 hours after he passed away.

As we left the funeral two rows of people formed.  Evan and I walked through the rows and for the first time I was distracted from my vision of Jake’s casket.   The friends and family surrounded us to offer their condolences.   I had not realized until this point that Jake had impacted so many people. 

After the funeral it is the Jewish custom to sit shiva.  “Shiva” is derived from the word sheva which means seven.   Shiva is the mourning period during the first seven days following a death.  I cannot imagine what would have happened to me and Evan if we had come home from Jake’s funeral to an empty house.   The fact that friends and family were at our house constantly during those first few days was so helpful (not to mention it probably kept me from completely losing it. . .).

In the back of my brain I knew that there would be a day, not so far from then that I would be alone in the house.   Evan would go back to work.  Friends and family would go about their lives (as they should).  I would have to figure out what was next.  How would I get through the days and the nights in a world without Jake (and now Sawyer)?  But, that day – the day of Jake’s funeral I did not have to think about the days ahead.   I felt a bit like Scarlett O’Hara when she wanted to escape reality.   “I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

Anniversaries

September 12, 2010 at 4:40 pm | Posted in Death, Grief | 7 Comments

The tragedy of 9/11 and its’ anniversary are kinds of grief.   It is of course, an enormous source of grief for all of the families and friends who lost loved ones.  It is also the kind of grief in which you realize that the world as you knew it will not ever be the same.

Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans the week that Jake passed away.   A very close friend of mine took her 5-year-old son in for his check up and the pediatrician found a rare heart condition.   My grandmother had died.  I felt like the world was coming to an end.   So, I asked the rabbi who presided at Jake’s funeral about the possibility that the world was ending.   He replied with an analogy.   He said that it is like when you decide you are going to buy a certain kind of car.   Once you make the decision you start seeing the car every where.   So, my take away from his explanation was now that I was grieving I would start to see grieving every where. . . Turns out you don’t have to look too far for grief in this world.   The record 7.0-magnitude earthquake hit Haiti shortly after Sawyer died.

I know that 9/11, where close to 3,000 people died; Hurricane Katrina, where 1,500-1,700 people died; and the earthquake in Haiti, where almost 230,000 people died are tremendous losses compared to the death of two babies.   But, those babies were mine.   And, my world will never be the same as it was before they had died.

There is not a contest for who has the most grief.   I am not trying to compare my losses to these catastrophic tragedies.   There are not any winners here.  In grief we have all lost.   However, there is still the next day and the day after that.  And one day, there is a point where we will realize that our loved ones are dead but we are still alive.

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