Where are Sawyer & Jake? (part 2)

February 26, 2012 at 9:16 pm | Posted in after death?, Death, Grief, life lessons, Love, normal? | 5 Comments
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In this post I wrote that I believe Jake and Sawyer are in our hearts.  I also believe they are close by.  I do not have any proof.  It is just a feeling (and a hope).  Maybe at times it is more than a feeling.

Last year, in the last few days of Evan’s mother’s life she (Shelley) spoke about people in the room.  She was at home.  Family, friends and hospice were with her.  A few times Shelley mentioned that there was a woman behind her and a little boy on the bench at the end of her bed.

When she was 17, Shelley took care of her sick mother.   Shelley cared for her until she died 2 years later.  Shelley was 19 at the time.  Over 40 years later, Shelley spoke about a woman behind her bed.  I believe that woman was her mother.

Evan’s sister asked questions about the woman and the boy.  Shelley said that the boy seemed like he was around 6.  At the time of Shelley’s death Jake would have been 5 1/2.  I like to think that the boy was Jake.

“It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but only retire a little from sight and afterwards return again.  Nothing is dead; men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in some new strange disguise.”   – –  Ralph Waldo Emerson

It is all part of my new normal.  The reality I live in now does not include Jake and Sawyer’s physical presence but they are always nearby.  They send me signs – like when I see a praying mantis on the window of my parent’s 8th floor condo or a ladybug in the middle of winter.  I will look for their signs while I wait to hold Jake and Sawyer again.  As an extremely wise bereaved mom wrote, “a lifetime is an impossibly long time to wait to hold my child again.”

Things could always be worse. . .

February 18, 2012 at 9:16 am | Posted in emergency room, Grief, life after loss, Love, mourning, venting | 6 Comments
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The other night I was talking to one of my favorite friends and she asked how everyone at my house was feeling.  I thought about it and cautiously answered, “Everyone is doing pretty well.”  And, I truly thought all was well, until 5 am the next morning.  I woke up to Evan asking me to go get some ice packs.  He had a bloody nose that would not stop.  I won’t go into the gory details but he was a mess.

This had happened once before a few weeks after Sawyer died.   Evan had come home from work and after a few hours he could still not stop the bloody nose.  He shocked me by asking me to call 911.  He was taken to the ER in an ambulance.   The bloody nose eventually stopped.

After Jake died I had this realization that anyone and everyone close to me could slip away at an instant.  Life had a new kind of uncertainty.  I even flipped out when our dog, Buddy, had to be sedated for a dental cleaning.  My very same favorite friend talked me down off the ledge as we waited at the vet.

Life seems so fragile. Maybe it was fragile before Jake and Sawyer died but I was oblivious.  After Evan’s first visit to the ER it was not hard for me to imagine the worst happening.  Only a few weeks before we had buried Sawyer.  Nothing is guaranteed.

After yesterday’s visit to the ER I found myself trying not to let my mind go to the worst places.  As I drove Evan from doctor to doctor I took deep breaths.  I reminded myself of what my grandfather always says when asked how he is feeling, “I could be better but things could always be worse.”

The doctors told us that based on Evan’s blood pressure we were very lucky that it was a bloody nose because there were far worse alternatives.  My mind had already played and replayed the worst of the alternatives.  Now I will do my best to focus on the present.  Unfortunately, Evan and I both know all too well that things could always be worse.  He will get better.

Evan holding Sawyer

Doctors

February 12, 2012 at 9:02 pm | Posted in Grief, hydrops, hydrops fetalis, venting | 13 Comments
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I have been going to the same primary care doctor for forever. I am not sure how many years forever is, but I know it predates my new normal.  The doctor who I usually saw retired before I had Jake. There have been so many other doctors in my life. Obstetricians, perinatologists, infertility specialists, therapists, pediatricians, cardiologists, pathologists, I could go on and on but you get the point. I have only gone to my primary doctor’s office a few times over the past several years. After the doctor I liked retired I would just go to whoever in the group could see me. Starting over with new doctors since Jake and Sawyer have died is emotional and complicated. Explaining my medical history feels extremely daunting.

I never considered switching until yesterday.  Yesterday I saw a doctor I will call “Dr. H.”  His office walls were covered with articles about his medical expertise along with framed awards and diplomas.  I made the appointment because despite my best efforts, I cannot seem to get rid of a persistent cough.  All I really wanted from Dr. H was a prescription.

As he looked into his computer at my file he seemed to be reading my history.  The subject of Jake and Sawyer came up.  Dr. H asked about depression and if my husband and I had looked into therapy.  I responded “I have got depression and therapy covered, thanks.”

Dr. H went on to comment about Jake.  “Ahh, seems that it was failure for nature to correct itself.”

I stared blankly at Dr. H, took my prescription and left. I now wish I had said something back to him but my mind could not process what he said till it was too late.  If nothing else, I should have responded with Ann Taintor’s perfect quote “Funny. . .I don’t recall asking for your opinion”.

As I walked out of the office I looked again at the diplomas on the wall.  Too bad Dr. H never took a compassion 101 course.

Things People Say (part 2)

February 6, 2012 at 10:20 pm | Posted in life after loss, life lessons, normal?, twins | 7 Comments
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In my last post I should have included the fact that I am positive I have said, written or done the wrong things at the wrong times.  Almost every time I call my father-in-law, who is a recent widower, I cannot seem to stop myself from starting the conversation with, “How are you?” I try to rephrase the question as soon as it comes out of my mouth but it is always too late.

Over the weekend, I found myself in a conversation with a woman who is thinking about starting infertility treatments.  I feel like I have earned a masters (or at least an honorary degree) in infertility.   At first I started to tell her about the injectables, IUIs and the IVFs.  Luckily, my brain kicked in before I opened my mouth.

I thought back to my life before the twins were born.  Jake had died.  There was no “your baby died, now you get a baby free pass” for me and Evan.  Eventually we boarded the infertility rollercoaster.   The sadness and desperation were all-consuming.  Every month seemed like an eternity.

My friend was in pain and did not need to hear about my depths of despair.  So, instead of sharing my war stories I gave her the phone number of my doctor.  Then I told her if she ever felt like talking I would always be here to listen.

There seem to be endless opportunities in life to say the wrong thing.  It is hard to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and separate out your own feelings.  We all have different experiences.  We start from a variety of places.  Who is to judge what is right and what is wrong?  All we can do is try our best.

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion.
If you want to be happy, practice compassion.
                                                                      ~Dalai Lama

After I did have the twins one of my favorite friends sent me the link to the video below.  It makes me smile so I thought I would share.

Sunshine and Rain

January 30, 2012 at 11:14 pm | Posted in Grief, life after loss, normal?, silver lining | 7 Comments
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Weather is a great metaphor for life – sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad,
and there’s nothing much you can do about it but carry an umbrella.
~Terri Guillemets

Thank you for all the well wishes.  Today was sunny and both of the twins went to preschool.   This time of year the birthdays, anniversaries and yahrzeits for Jake and Sawyer are over.  The “pressure to be happy because it the holidays” is over too.   The dark days are a little less dark.

It helps that the sun has been shining and this winter has not been too cold.  There has been a lot of rain and sometimes there are storms.  It is all part of life.  I wish some of the storms were not quite so severe but no one asked me.

When it does rain the twins usually belt out a few verses of “rain, rain go away.”  This brings a smile to my face.  If that does not do the trick then I can always fall back on the song Blame it on the rain by Milli Vanilli.  “You can blame it on the rain. . .You got to blame it on something” is then stuck in my head for the rest of the day.  So, even on the dark rainy days there is some light.

Paranoid Parenting

January 28, 2012 at 11:22 pm | Posted in emergency room, life after loss, normal?, twins | 9 Comments
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I felt my heart racing as I drove down the street towards the twins’ pediatrician.  They were in the back seat.  I hoped they did not sense my panic.  My heart always races just a bit faster when we pass the entrance to the emergency room of the Children’s hospital.  I cannot drive past it without thinking of driving in the ambulance with Sawyer.

Confession #1 – At times I have driven way out of my way to avoid this entrance.  However, passing it is the only good route to the twins’ doctor.

Confession #2 – I have thought about switching pediatricians just so I do not have to drive down this street all the time.  I rule this out because I know that these flashbacks are in my head and I cannot escape them (and I love our pediatrician).

It was the 2nd straight day of high fevers.  Pink eye had definitely returned to our house.  And, as usual I am completely paranoid about their breathing.  Colds, flu, pink eye – it is all part of being a parent.  I know this and I repeatedly remind myself that all kids get sick.  I try to trust my instincts as a mother.  The doubt always creeps in – not matter what I do.  I thought Sawyer was fine the night he died.  My maternal instincts failed me that night – could they fail me again?

I had begged the sick appointment nurse to squeeze us in Friday afternoon.  We were the last appointment.  We got the pink eye medicine and an antibiotic.  Pulsox levels were good.  No irregular heart beats.   My panic started to subside.  I packed the twins back into the car and drove home.

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My Real World (part 2)

January 26, 2012 at 11:23 pm | Posted in Grief, life lessons | 5 Comments
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Throughout history children have predeceased their parents.  Abraham and Mary Todd Lincoln had 4 sons.  Only 1 lived to adulthood.  No wonder Lincoln was always characterized as being depressed.  After the death of their 3rd son, Willie, Mary Todd Lincoln wrote, “when I can bring myself to realize that he has indeed passed away, my question to myself is, ‘can life be endured?”.

Here and here I posted a quote by Robert Frost.  He had a brilliant response to Mary Todd’s question.

In three words I can sum up every- thing I’ve learned about life. It goes on.  ~Robert Frost

I may have studied the life and work of Robert Frost in high school English class but I do not remember learning that he and his wife had 6 children.  Only 3 of those 6 children outlived their mother and only 2 outlived their father.  Frost and his wife both (not surprisingly) suffered from depression.

I have always known that Evan and I are not alone in this club.   There is tragedy, loss and grief throughout history and the world.  It is everywhere.  Or maybe it seems that way to me.  The rabbi who presided over Jake’s funeral told us an analogy which made a lot of sense to me.  He said that death/grief/loss 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.

Regardless of how common or uncommon death/grief/loss is in the world I have a different perspective since Jake died in 2005.  I did not think that my child or now my children would die before me.  I thought it was something that happened a long time ago or to other people now it is my reality.

No matter how far the distance you have traveled nor the failures that  have gathered, hope would still meet you anywhere.  – Dodinsky

The Good News & the Bad News

January 14, 2012 at 9:22 pm | Posted in Cemetery, Grief, normal?, venting | 11 Comments
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I got a call the other day from the very kind woman who works at the cemetery.  She asked me if I wanted to hear the good news or the bad news first.  I feel like any calls from the cemetery are bad news but I went ahead and answered, “The good news.”  I know it does not always seem like it but I still try to be an optimist.

“The good news is that Sawyer’s headstone arrived.”  I did not need for her to tell me the bad news.  I could figure out for myself that the bad news is that Sawyer’s headstone arrived and it is wrong.   She had already begun to tell me that the headstone has already been sent back and they will let us know any updates.

I do not know what one is supposed to do when their sons’ headstones keep coming in wrong.  Do you complain to the customer service department?  Do you write to the better business bureau?  What exactly are the options here? 

Ultimately, I do not know when but I do know that eventually Sawyer’s headstone will be correct.  He is not going anywhere so there is no rush.  He will still be dead no matter what is on his headstone.  I just wish he was with us and there was no need for a headstone at all.

Life Lessons (part 2)

January 12, 2012 at 11:22 pm | Posted in Grief, life lessons, silver lining, twins | 14 Comments
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“Today is the best day ever,” is a phrase the twins proclaim almost every day.  This week I asked what exactly makes it the best day ever. 

Day 1, we were in the carpool line and the teacher opened the car door.  At that moment one of the twins proceeded to get sick in the car and on himself.  His sister somehow managed to stay clean and went to school. 

I drove home, cleaned him and the car.   Our dryer had been broken so as I debated how best to clean the dirty clothes he announced, “This is the best day ever!”  Really!?  So, I asked him, what makes this the best day ever?  He laughed as he replied, “The water you gave me after I got sick.”

Day 2, we woke up to this:

After we left the pediatrician to go pick up the prescription for pink eye, he proclaimed, “This is the best day ever!”  I was so perplexed as to why he thought waking up with your eye glued shut and spending the morning at the doctor’s office was so fantastic.  I asked again, “Really, this is the best day ever?  What makes it the best?”  He excitedly answered, “I get to go to CVS!”

Day 3, I had been up most of the night with the twins because of coughing and pink eye.  They share a room so I decided to take one into the other room and hoped that everyone would get some sleep.  The other room was originally our guest room.  Then it was Sawyer’s room.  Now most of Sawyer’s things have been removed, the guest furniture is in the room and it is still light green we had it painted before Sawyer was born. 

I woke up in the morning and both twins were in the bed.  They were talking about how Sawyer thinks this is the best day ever.  I asked, “Why does Sawyer think this is the best day ever?”  They replied, “He is so happy to share his room with us.”

There are good days and there are bad days, and this is one of them – Lawrence Welk

Life Lessons

January 2, 2012 at 10:50 pm | Posted in Grief, life after loss, life lessons, silver lining | 9 Comments
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Here are a few of the things I have learned so far in life. I did not necessarily learn them in 2011 but now seems as good a time as any to share them.  Do you have any you would like to share? 

This list is not complete and will most likely be ongoing for the rest of my life.  They are in no particular order. . .

  1. When asked,  “How you are?”  Most of the time people just want to hear the response, “Fine” and go on with their day. 
  2. Hug more.  One of the twins loves to hug and be hugged all the time.  I will actually be hugging him and he will say, “Mama, I need a hug.”  I answer, “I am hugging you right now”.  He responds, “Hug more.”
  3. Look for rainbows.  
  4. Listen carefully.  The twins wanted gelt, the chocolate coins which are given out at Hanukkah.  However, they kept asking, “Is it time for Hanukkah guilt?”
  5. Music makes people happy. 
  6. Tutus also make people happy (see above).  And, apparently ties can be the reason for really big smiles.
  7. Sleep.  Grief (along with life in general) is exhausting. 
  8. Life can be heartbreaking, unfair and unexplainable.  No one ever promised any thing different.
  9. Treasure the moments – you are never sure just how many you will have.

 

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