The Ocean
April 4, 2012 at 9:28 pm | Posted in Death, Grief | 5 CommentsTags: child loss, dark days, fathers, Grandfather, Jokes, life after loss, member of the club, parenthood, perspective, twins, unexplainable, valley of death
I met a bereaved father the other day. There is an immediate level of familiarity when you meet another member of the club. Bereaved parents all have different stories but we have all walked in the darkest valley of death. We have all cruelly defied the circle of life and outlived our children.
It has been 7 years since his 29-year-old son died. The father went on to tell me an analogy of grieving for your child. I am not sure I can explain it as eloquently as he did but I will try.
Grief is like an ocean. At times it is calm but there are always ripples. Other times the water is rough. The ocean is unpredictable. Out of no where and with little or no warning a tsunami will drown you. Over time the waters will calm down again but they will never be still.
On a completely different but still ocean related note, click this link to hear the twins tell their versions of their great grandfather’s ocean joke.
Running with the Rosebuds
March 20, 2012 at 10:48 pm | Posted in after death?, life after loss, Love, normal?, twins | 7 CommentsTags: Charlie, child loss, cystic fibrosis, hope, life after loss, perspective
Last weekend the twins ran in a race to support Cystic Fibrosis. One of my brother’s best friends, Charlie, had CF. Cystic fibrosis is an inherited, chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 individuals in the United States, and 70,000 people worldwide. In the 1950s, few children with cystic fibrosis lived to attend elementary school. Today, advances in research and medical care have enhanced and extended the lives of children and adults with CF. Many people with the disease can expect now to live into their 30s, 40s and beyond.
Charlie’s parents were told that he would not live to be a teenager. He beat the odds and he did live past his teens, twenties and into his thirties. Charlie was an amazing person who inspired all who were lucky enough to know him. I hope that Jake and Sawyer have somehow been able to meet Charlie.
Both Evan and his sister have been diagnosed with lung diseases which CF research could potentially one day help.
Click here to see the twins race warm up.
Human Doings
March 4, 2012 at 3:18 pm | Posted in after death?, Grief, life lessons, venting | 6 CommentsTags: dark days, new not so normal, perspective, post traumatic stress disorder
I have written that I do not necessarily have advice for bereaved parents. I do not have the magic words to take away the pain. However, I do have a strategy which I have used most of my adult life. Being busy. I over schedule. Moments alone terrify me – they are opportunities for dark thoughts to take me over.
I will never forget the dark empty days of January, 2006. Jake had died and I could not fill up the days with anything that would distract me from my grief. Slowly, I rejoined the land of the living. Keeping busy was a huge part of my plan. I worked as much as I could and made sure that I was never home alone.
Right after Jake and then Sawyer died family and friends were around a lot. I am still so appreciative that a couple of my thoughtful friends made an online calendar for me. People would come by or call every day. These days I am usually with the twins or at work so busy is built into my schedule.
“Don’t be afraid of the vacant moment. You are a human being not a ‘human doing’ so just be and consider your boredness. You may be surprised at how it clears the mind (after getting over the initial discomfort) and provides new thoughts.” Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff… and It’s All Small Stuff by Richard Carlson
Today I am not completely terrified of the “vacant moments” but there is still fear. I am still more of a human doing than a human being. I know that there is a balance. I will find it one of these days.
P.S. If you have a free moment will you please vote for brilliantly funny Mamabirddiaries in the Circle of Moms Top 25 Funny Moms contest?
Where are Sawyer & Jake? (part 2)
February 26, 2012 at 9:16 pm | Posted in after death?, Death, Grief, life lessons, Love, normal? | 5 CommentsTags: child loss, family, life after loss, new not so normal, perspective, unexplainable
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 CommentsTags: dark days, family, life after loss, new not so normal, perspective, post traumatic stress disorder
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 CommentsTags: BS, Jake, new not so normal, perspective
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.
My Real World (part 2)
January 26, 2012 at 11:23 pm | Posted in Grief, life lessons | 5 CommentsTags: child loss, new not so normal, perspective, tragedy
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
Life Lessons (part 2)
January 12, 2012 at 11:22 pm | Posted in Grief, life lessons, silver lining, twins | 14 CommentsTags: child loss, life after loss, new not so normal, perspective, Sawyer, twins
“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
My New Not so Normal
December 30, 2011 at 11:40 am | Posted in Grief, life after loss, normal?, silver lining | 8 CommentsTags: acting, child loss, dark days, hope, Jake, new not so normal, perspective, Sawyer, unexplainable
In three words I can sum up every-
thing I’ve learned about life.
It goes on. ~Robert Frost
I am not the same person that I was before 2005 – before Jake died.
I went to where I thought was the deepest darkest place in my life. Then there came a day when I realized that I was still alive and I needed to figure out how to live in a world without Jake.
I called it my new normal.
I tried every day to just live. I went to work. I tried to interact with the rest of the world. When the twins were born my normal life revolved around them and their routine.
I have never gotten “over” Jake but I thought my new normal was working.
Until Sawyer died. My new normal was thrown a devastating curve ball.
There is nothing normal about 1 child dying let alone 2. I am now attempting to live my new not so normal.
This new not so normal is not easy for anyone. It is hard for Evan. Family and friends suffer the loss of Jake and Sawyer as well as their own challenges and losses in life. All I can do is try my best every day to live this new not so normal life.
I often repeat to myself a phrase that my high school track coach would yell after us as we ran, “whatever does not kill you will make you stronger.”
Tear Soup
December 20, 2011 at 11:10 pm | Posted in Grief, silver lining | 8 CommentsTags: dark days, hope, Jake, life after loss, perspective, Sawyer
After Jake died many people gave us books to read about death and grief. I could not read any of them for a long time. I was searching for steps to get through the grief. The first book I managed to read was Tear Soup by Pat Schwiebert and Chuck Deklyen. There are a lot of pictures and the story is simple. The book does not provide the “steps” I was looking for but it did help me.
The main character is Grandy, a wise old woman. She has suffered a big loss but the exact nature of the loss is not mentioned. She goes into her kitchen and cooks a batch of Tear Soup. The soup is made of memories and lots of tears. She cooks the soup throughout the book. She never really finishes cooking the soup but she does put some of it into the refrigerator to take out at a later time.
At the end of the book there are tips for the cook. I thought I would share a few of them:
• Grief is the process you go through as you adjust to the loss of anything or anyone important in your life.
• The loss of a job, a move, divorce, death of someone you love, or a change in health status are just a few of the situations that can cause grief.
• Grief is both physically and emotionally exhausting. It is also irrational and unpredictable and can shake your very foundation.
• The amount of “work” your grief requires will depend on your life experiences, the type of loss, and whatever else you have on your plate at that time.
• A sudden, unexpected loss is usually more traumatic, more disruptive and requires more time to adjust to.
• You may lose trust in your own ability to make decisions and/or to trust others.
• Assumptions about fairness, life order, and religious beliefs are often challenged.
• Seasons, with their colors and climate, can also take you back to that moment in time when your world stood still.
• You may sense you have no control in your life .
.• Being at work may provide a relief from your grief, but as soon as you get in the car and start driving home you may find your grief come flooding back.
• You may find that you are incapable of functioning in the work environment for a short while.
• Because grief is distracting it also means you are more accident-prone.
• The object of grieving is not to get over the loss or recover from the loss but to get through the loss.
• Over the years you will look back and discover that this grief keeps teaching you new things about life. Your understanding of life will just keep going deeper.
These days between Sawyer’s birthday and the day he died are difficult. I try to look back at what helped me in the past and hope that it will get me through these dark days.
“It is always darkest before the dawn.” Proverb
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