Building Heavenly Bridges

Gentle Reminders

2010-09-04T03:01:00.000-07:00

A post about Emma's unwaivering presence in my life this time of year.

I work mornings this year. I homeschool our 2nd grader in the afternoons. The goal is a calm, supportive environment to explore the 'other' parts of learning that seem not to happen at school: the social /emotional education all young kids need.

Hence, it would behoove me to arrive calm, prepared and ready to dish out lots of love even as we are learning.

The issue? I have 30 minutes to drive what is really a 4o-45 minute commute to pick her up on time. And, inevitably, I get behind a big truck or a sight seer or someone who thinks that 5 miles below the speed limit is lovely speed.

The result? I get frustrated, very frustrated. And, try as I might to stay calm (seriously, I have a mantra) by the time I am 'so close but so far away' and late, yet again, I am sputtering.

And that is when Emma's song comes on the radio. A gentle reminder of what really matters. A 'take a deep breath mom - minutes don't change your experience unless you let them' reminder that I really need.

Sometimes I wonder (and you won't get this if you don't have an angel of your own) if I'm not just the tiniest bit lucky to have her where she is. Don't get me wrong, like all of you, I'd give anything to rewind the clock and have her here, from the beginning, but if this is how it has to be then how astounding that she is always there for me.

How humbled I feel to know that her focus, her priority, is me.

That there is always a song to pick me up when I lose perspective and a red leaf on a burning bush to say I love you.

Emma - I've got to say I hope you've got something else ready to permeate this sadness I feel this year. Your birthday is Wednesday and try as I might to plan a day that feels right, I just keep feeling like I'm getting it wrong.

So much

2010-08-30T18:10:00.000-07:00

There is so much inside these days

Memories of babies
My baby - going to Kindergarten
A new baby, of the canine variety, in our family - who, for some inexplicable reason has an attachement to me, the self-professed non-animal-gene-recipient of the family.

A search for self, through yoga, through the gym, through quiet moments
An attempt to help my 7 year old begin the search for herself - through long talks, deep breathing, more quiet moments, more yoga

Our year begins tomorrow - the first day of school. It's design has been much researched and hard won. Our purpose this year as part school / part homeschoolers is so out of the public school box that it should be scary, but all it is - is - exciting.

And yet, that first day of school gets me every year.

Emma, another year older, 10 years old entering another grade, discovering more amazing things about herself that only time, only the gift of growth would have revealed.

As I watch her sister grow, evolve, and find those things that are all 'her'. The focuses that drive her forward to a love of learning, I am opressed by the next set of unanswerable questions. Although I know their road is cyclical, it is a hard carasel not to ride this time of year.

Rambling on...my mental state...so much. Time will sort it all out - again, for another year, at least.

Tomorrow, I'll glow with memory, pride and love as we walk to school, a Kindergartener in one hand, a second grader in the other, and an angelic force bigger than all of us in my heart.

Walk with us Emma. I'll feel you.

The Great Divide

2010-08-27T18:10:00.000-07:00

Wow.

It sure has been a long while since I've been here. I'm not sure exactly when my world imploded but it was just about the time when Share Southern Vermont exploded, grew - that is, into a real deal charity needing a full time leader.

Changes, they are a coming. Heck, who am I kidding, you would be startled to hear the bulleted list of things that have happened since I went silent. But that can wait.

About a week ago the air quality began to change. My heart began to hurt. My movements became slower. The world appeared tinged by an invisible outline. And I knew it, my grief season had begun.

It has been a loooong week.

And then, I got this email today from Once A Mother. "I just wanted you to know that I referenced an amazing post you wrote last year about grief season. It impacted me greatly when I read it last year, and has always stayed with me. I thought others should read it too."

The universe always knows. Just when I thought it was my job to walk this years haze alone, you, this group I have been disconnected from for so long, reached out.

It's nice to know there is always a home to come back to. A 'you' that gets-it, forever. Thanks. I'm going back to read my own post and see if it brings me a little peace, just a little would be nice.

10 years.

Wow

So, you want a t shirt?

2010-04-26T04:09:00.000-07:00

I've had a number of people email me about how to get one of our fab shirts this year! I love the idea of our yellowness all over the country, and the lavender words spreading our message one person at a time!

So, if you are NEAR - email me at sharesouthernvermont@gmail.com with the number of shirts you need and sizes. You can pay by cash or check when you pick them up.

Kids: XS (2-4) S(6-8) M(10-12) L(14-16)

Adults: S, M, L, XL and XXL

They are $5 each thanks to a loving family who donated every single last one making every cent pure profit that will go towards board member training and serving hurting families!

If you are FAR you can email then send a check to SSV PO Box 22 Proctorsville, VT. 05153 OR us the DONATE button on our website and note how many shirts and what sizes. Shipped shirts are $8 each.

And remember, Memory Bands are available too! Throw in a few of those and your shipping won't change!

All this info and more are at the blog: www.sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com.

Thanks again to all how have watched this mission grow from a mere idea to a reality. As it blossoms before me, even I find myself standing back, eyes wide with all that has been accomplished in just over a year.

Here's to 2010!

Walk a mile in their shoes

2010-04-25T04:28:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe that Share Southern Vermont's 2nd Annual Walk for Hope and Remembrance is only two weeks away. As the date approaches I am struck by the surreal feeling of details mixed with memory. I wrote about this for the Spring 2010 publication of Exhale, and since writing those words memories have been flooding back.

With it, a longing so deep to be back in this world. I am firm believer that the body's muscle memory is wholisitic. Last year, I was limber, calm and flexible - from the cognitive realm to my lower back muscles. I was purging emotion and negative energy here. Lately, my body has been knotted up, head to toe - literally, and as each wave of discomfort hits or pain shoots I find myself wondering which sadness it was, cycling through again, unable to fine the way out.

I've been bottling, unintentionally of course, but holding emotion none-the-less. I can only imagine my inner workings are begging for me to fold back into a pattern of meditation, yoga, exercise, and blogging. For the latter is as much a form of of body wellness as any.

The image above is a partial of our walk t-shirt this year. By printing, we added the word fragile: so it reads: Every life, no matter how fragile or brief, forever changes the world. We are all fragile. We all need love and care from the inside out.

In this last year, I have met so many more families living through baby loss. They have shaped my life. Their angel babies have been the architects who mold, chip, and design my new realities. Today, I walk with Mark and Jill, proud parents of Emma and Chase born too soon in the the March of Dimes - March for Babies event.

The fact that my daughter's name is also somehow represented on this shirt is not lost on me. I picture the two girls, Chase in the middle, looking down on us as we walk.

We are so sad you're here ~ We are so glad you came

This has become the constant phrase of our group, putting so perfectly into words how we would regain our autonomy in a second if it meant we could have our babies back. But in leu of that, our bond, our unbreakable connection feeds us, soothes us, heals us.

I will begin posting more frequently again. I have to. You are part of that connection and without it I have been tangibly unfed, unsoothed, and my healing space has grown much smaller.

Here's to taking steps, to going back to go forward. Walk with us...

A Broken Plank

2010-03-09T18:54:00.000-08:00

I wrote the post below a couple weeks ago. It was easy enough to write, true emotion always is, but I couldn't hit publish. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because I haven't been able to hold your emotion lately so why would you want to read mine? But then, I got an email from Parenthood for Me saying, amazingly, unbelievebly, that she was hoping to win Lori's limerick chick contest again and if she did her plan was to amazingly, unbelievebly -- donate money to Share Southern Vermont.

And then she did.

And I was shocked to realize that much like a high-school exchange student you connect intimately with your junior year, then don't see again for many more -- the connection we made last year couldn't be severed by afternoon appointments, evenings spent pouring over power-point presentations, or even going back to work.

You are still there. I am still here. Our paths cross far less but our bonds are strong. Thank you Erika. Thank you Lori. You reminded me that friendship is a give and take relationship. Sometimes, you have a lot to give. Sometimes, you have to take a bit more.

So, hold my raw emotion please....for I am drowing here in over-committed land, even when huge, prayed-for things are happening. Hoping to come up for air soon.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(two weeks ago)

Sleep is elusive, at best, lately.

I have long nights to ponder this. I am, as I have so elequently put recently, "wildly over-committed, but fine". To this obvious contradiction in terms a friend, speaking of himself, spoke my acutal truth. "Ha!" he said just a hint of whimsy in his voice, I'm wildly over-commited and not fine. "

On paper it all works. On paper a tutoring session from 9am to 10am puts me in my car by 10:10 and at church by 10:15, allowing just enough time to set up the Sunday School lesson that an indescript number of children will stomp down the stairs for at about 10:30 - give or take.

In reality, it doesn't. It really, really doesn't.

On spreadsheets, the numbers compute. 25 teaching hours + 10 in the car + weekly appointments + time with kids, a clean kitchen after dinner, laundry in drawers, and still there is time: evening hours to run a non-profit, to organize the next big event, to maintain that level of connectedness with the grievers who are brave enough to walk through a heavy library door every month for support.

In reality, the board of directors is worried about me. I can tell. They are finally standing up to me, taking both partial and complete tasks out of my gripped hands. I trust them, explicitly. I'm releasing, a lot.

And still, I fret.

As a youth my need to lead, to control, was about affirmation. To hear my name called, to recieve an award, to know that others took notice of my actions. That is youth for you. Later, the drive came from within, no longer concerned with the world's particular take on my forward progress, but only allowing celebration after reaching my self-imposed goal. What a number I could do on myself if I quit early, if I failed to sink that 8 ball in the corner pocket.

And this is the amazing thing. Currently, it is neither of these admittedly self-serving motivations that plagues me. Everything will get done. Events will be amazing. People will be served. Hospitals will embrace our offer of support. These things always come together. I trust life enough to know that now.

No, what is far more unsettling for me is that I seem to have lost my center. The sense of purpose mixed with peace; the awareness that fueled my forward motion has dimmed.

Our microwave broke this week. My husband, convinced he can lay his contractor hands on anything and tweak them back to life threw those same hands up in utter frustration today. "I just don't get it!" he exclaimed, "Everything works, the fan, the power source, the rotating tray. It just doesn't have any heat!"

Exactly.

Last year, I had nothing but time. I had a strong sense of direction. I had a handle on the many rivers of my life that fed the ocean. I had peace. I had meditation. I had guidance. I had writing. I had this space, almost daily. I had you. I had something so intensely special that people often look their whole lives and never find it: purpose.

Here is what I didn't have: fear. Often I found myself unsure where I was on that path, but never did I doubt that I was on the wrong one.

I am that microwave. All the part of my life are still there, the book, the blog, the support group, the memoralizing events, my kids, my husband, my angelic daughter, the magazine - but the heat is conspiciously absent.

I posed this question to another friend recently. How do you make peace with your daily life when you know what you actually want to do and what it feels like to do it? I mean, I got how young kids, older adults even, who never figured out their life's purpose muddled through a strange variety of test days wondering if tomorrow would be the day when the epiphany struck. When their path would emerge clearly and their journey would offically begin. But how do you go back to milk when you have tasted the cream?

Its a strange sensation really, walking through each day knowing exactly what you want to do, recalling the full-body reaction to the illuminated path then turning 180 degrees and stepping into an over-crowded, rocky opening, squinting to see where it may lead you.

This is temporary. That I know for sure, for it is the only way that I can navigate that path everyday when the other shines so brightly, lit up with possibility and promise. I suppose I should be grateful really that I know my future at all, that I found the 'thing' that inspires me.

"You light up whenever you talk about it." This is what my husband says. So, why then, is it so surprising that I shouldn't want to talk about it all day, everyday even? Why then, wouldn't I want to devote all my working hours to developing it?

To be ahead of your time is a cruel affliction indeed. I no idea if anyone famous ever said this but I imagine they did. Hindsight might be ugly, but I believe that foresight can be a source of burning frustration.

"You can't eat an elephant in a day." This was said, by someone very influential in my life. Apparently I took a very big bite. I'll let you know when I'm done chewing on it.

That kind of joy

2010-02-14T04:56:00.000-08:00

And still, it seems, I don't have much to say. Of course I do it is just a matter of how to phrase it. For the joy of Emma seems to have transformed. It used to come in a well timed breeze, a knowing look, a song on the radio, a creative moment. She still does, arrive in these intangible ways, yet there is more.

For the longest time I intentionally separated her potential being from the two other vibrant ones skipping through my home. It was a habit, I think, begun over seven years ago when a lab tech said the three words I desparetly didn't want to hear; "It's a girl"! His face radiated good news. My brain immediately began it's training: You will not compare. You will not wonder. You will not saddle this girl with the ghost of her sister. You will not project unknown expectations. You will not. You can not. How could I not?

I spent years fighting mind-spinning urges, like smoke as it entwines with itself, creating yet another stream, another answerless possibility. I beat the ideas away, inwardly chanting She is her own person. She is her own person.

If I went down that road I wouldn't be able to stop. If I allowed the train of thought my journey would cease to be in the present. A single, I wonder if... would have launched me back to a hot summer night when my labor cries failed to produce the same from my baby.

Her nose. Were they the same? Her fingers. Were they long like Emma's? From there, it would only have been a quick and seamless leap to her temprament. Did they share a love of 'aloneness', needing only to be swaddled tightly and placed in her crib to put themselves to sleep? And on, and on, I would have gone.

That road, that dangerous trecherous road was one I knew I could not walk. So I didn't. It was self-preservation. And yet, I did myself a disservice. By setting that roadblock I masked the ability to see that Emma and her sisters may have shared traits while still maintaining their indiviuality. Alive or dead, this is the truth.

Moreover, by refusing walk on paths thay may intersect Bear's joy's were isolated as were Comedian's, as Emma's contined to be etherial, intangible, mine.

As of late this has shifted. Without a conscious effort I've noticed how she lives within them, within their play, their moments of elation, and in their tears of dissapointment. She is not just in the breeze, but in their movements, the manurisims. Of course, I cannot know with any certainty what is 'hers' vs 'theirs', but it seems not to matter. Not anymore.

I suppose this is the integration I speak of so often. Whatever it is, it feels good. My children, all three of them, live in this home. They inspire me. The educate me. They love me. They are all mine, however they exist.

2010-01-25T16:06:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, January 26 is a special day for us. Our Comedian, our last rainbow, turns five. Please click over for a birthday post if you like. She is featured in a photo...

Tuesday, January 26 is also a special, albeit difficult, day for other families. Two of our angel wall families are remembering their babies tomorrow. The function of the Angel Wall has been expanded slightly. Please click over to read about it and remember.

Sending love to all of you... Cara

Emma

2010-01-21T03:35:00.000-08:00

This post is easy - and yet, it's hard.

I find I don't have much to say lately, here. I have pictures galore and stories to match at The Bear and the Comedian, my other blog. I am finding such joy in my growing children, trying to document it all so I can look back someday and know I really lived it.

This space remains vacant, blank. The stark contrast made me stop and think.

After much reflection I seemed to find an answer. BHB was created with a purpose. It is an 'Emma driven' blog, a window where I journal about her presence in our lives. My lack of stories doesn't mean that she isn't here, showing herself in small ways, comforting our hearts in time of struggle, and appearing on the lips of her sister's daily.

What came to me was that I had unintentionally futher defined this space as a place to write about the emotionally challenging times that Emma's presence and past bring to me. The tears, the strife, the worldly conflicts, the righteous indignignation, the anger, the frustration, the love that tears you in two because you can't fullfil it with touch.

Yes, this was the vapory place. The space for all the emotions that only you would understand.

So, what's happened?

Joy, in larger doses than I've ever imagined. The thought of Emma's presence brings my heart joy, swelling it momentarily. Tears still sting my eyes but they are simultaneously accompanied by a wide smile.

I often speak to the SSV support group about 'integrating' their loss. Acceptance is a fallicy, but allowing your child's spirit to live on in your family by integrating them in the way their story allows is a healthy grieving process. As I recently wrote in a grant to create countless more memory boxes for families, "Healthy grief leads to integrated grief, empowering grieving parents to give back, to reach out to the newest families struck down by the tragedy of loss".

Apparently, with the exception of minor annual 'blips' and my downtime during the season of her birthday, I have done that.

This is why I haven't seen fit to write here lately. Not because I don't have things to say, but they are all upbeat, loving, signs of her integration, and - yes, joyful.

Recognizing how I defined this space has allowed me to expand that definition. I want to share these heart-lifting times with you too. I'm just not sure you want to hear them, yet, depending on where you are in your process.

I suppose that is your choice, to read - or not to read. Just know that it is possible you will find uplifting tales of the '9 years after' variety, and if you do choose to read through may they bring you hope that the dark early days do dissipate, that you will choose to re-enter the world, and that the attacks of grief which blindsight you so often in the early years receed, slowly, with time.

Someday, his name - her name - their names, will cause you to tear up and smile simultaneously.

Share Newsletter and Submission Opportunity

2010-01-13T11:34:00.000-08:00

I try to keep what's Emma's Emma's and what's Share's Share's, but in this case they are one in the same.

I recently put up a post at SSV's blog about the newsletter that comes out every two months.

I'm re-post it here, primarly for the submission opportunity. I know many of you write about the grief of your losses. Here is an outlet for submission that is SURE to get distributed to others who may share your experience.

Let me know if you do. I'll look for it in coming issues! - Cara

If you are a bereaved parent you may already be sent the Sharing newletter put out by the National Share office.If not, we will link to it here every two months for you to access. Each issue has a topic.

The January/February 2010 Sharing newsletter is now available online at http://www.nationalshare.org/Jan-Feb_2010_with_cover.pdf. The topic is Meeting Milestones and we hope you enjoy it.

The editors are always looking for sumbissions to match a future topic. If you experience fits the topic, feel free to send in your piece.

The topic for the March/April 2010 issue is Recurrent Loss. If you have experienced recurrent pregnancy losses, we invite you to share your experiences with other readers. We are looking for stories of how you coped, any answerers you received, and how you eventually felt hopeful for the future. The submission deadline for this issue is February 1. Please send your submissions to Rose Carlson.

A Construction Plateau

2010-01-09T16:13:00.000-08:00

The odd thing about a project is that when completed, you rarely remember how you 'lost steam' midway and it just sat there for a while.

I don't mind, really, we have all been so sick. But, still - it would be nice to get to my part of the transition! Ok, I'll enlist help picking paint colors (I always do), even so getting Bear in her new room will be so nice!

If you need the sorted tale that is: the beginning of the project, click here, if not - say some inspirational, under-the-breath, mutterings in Jer's general direction.

And, to show how much faith I have in all of you -- I'll start consulting my color guides.

Where we currently stand:

The smaller bathroom -- with a wall!

The same wall, from the other side: becoming Bear's closet.

Look, electrical and all!

A new door frame!

Comedian's room, with wall! First paint choice goes here!

Show and Tell: Demo and It's About Time!!

2009-12-23T16:06:00.000-08:00

I have mentioned before that I live in an old house, a very old house, an 1800's farmhouse to be exact.

We love it. We fell in love with it the minute we did our first walkthrough. This love may have blindsighted us to the degree the current owners lied through their slightly-crooked teeth
about how much work had been done to the place.

We've re-wired the whole place. And that's why my husband nearly got electricuted when the knob and tube in the kitchen was still live...

Oh, the septic tank? It's been pumped every two years, and the most recent pump was just last year... Really? Is that why the guy from the septic place said it was full to bursting and we just nearly avoided it bursting cause it hadn't been done in at least 4 years?

Oh yes, we gutted every room, took out the plaster and lathes, added sheetrock and insulation -- *ahem* -- except the kitchen.

Ok, they told the truth about the kitchen. But they had to, with it's obvious plaster sticking out behind older-than-dirt wallpaper and the stunning hot-pink, plywood kitchen cabinets!

Anyway, over the course of the 8+ years we have lived here we have done little to the interior. Painted some rooms as rainbow babies arrived. And, yes, contracter Jer has actually re-done the kitchen, making his own cherry cabinets and an exposed beam ceiling I could still lie down and stare up at for hours.

And so recently we began a conversation we've had about a million times. "You know, for being such a big house it really only has three bedrooms" he said. "Yeah" I responded, "and I really miss my guest room. The girls need a playroom. *sigh* I know we've proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they cannot sleep together, but - seriously -..."

And together we finished, for we have said it to the point of naseum, "girls that size do not need bedrooms that big!"

Oddly, the conversation we've had a million times resulted in a different ending. "Well" my amazing husband said standing in the upstairs bathroom staring at the jaccuzi tub that doesn't actually work, "if I eliminated that wall and put a door here I could put a wall here, then here, and...."

You get the point. He has vision like that. I just nodded and smiled because I don't, and, even though the conversation had never progressed to this point, I still thought it was all musing and possibilities.

Until the day I came home to, this:

It seemed our 'project' had begun.

"This is a perfect size bedroom for a little girl, don't you think?" he asked me. And, yes, it looked lovely from this side of the camera. Check out the 180 degree shot!

Bear even got in on the action! She loved demo and was quite good at it.

She really loved throwing all the lathes out Comedian's bedroom window! Oh -- and in case you didn't catch on. Do you see any inulation? Sheetrock? Um, no -- really? Grrrr.... can you say, can.of.worms?

I won't even tell you about the mess the pluming is in. Liar Liar, pants on fire....that's all I have to say.
Even still, the ever growing project seems to make my family happy. I, for one, have never been happier to live within the realm of chaos. It means change is coming! Bear loves beating on things with a hammer. And Comedian, well -- just look at her and her daddy!

Current Status: The bathroom is in the hallway.

A new wall is under construction...

Comedian sleeps nightly in a 'room with a view' - if you will... (the other side of the room - to the right- is the nice, homey shot from the beginning of this post!)

And, the jacuzzi tub still sits on the front porch. Does that make us the owners of a 'redneck yard' I wonder?

Stay tuned, this project is sure to get more interesting or frustrating or expensive, or -- all of the above! But, one thing is for sure it will result in: 2 appropriately sized bedrooms for small girls and a playroom / guest room for playing and visiting!

Ahhhhhh.....progress. Nice yes? Dont' forget tos check out what everyone else is showing and telling.

Happy Birthday Share Southern Vermont!

2009-12-22T03:44:00.000-08:00

Hard to believe, but today is Share Southern Vermont's first birthday!!!

For my gooey, heartfelt post about the meaning of this day at SSV's blog CLICK HERE.

Oh, and if you feel like adding to the mush I am today, go ahead and leave a birthday wish for us.

Amazing, this all started with a post (Hmmm, I'd like to start some kind of support group) and a comment, (Well, have you ever heard of Share?)

Puff-Puff...Chuga-Chuga

2009-12-17T17:01:00.001-08:00

Is a very cute book about a train conductor concerned his little engine will never survive the track with three big animals on it.

It is also a euphamism for my current mindset. Read on, and you will see why!

I am still sick. It stinks, as there is so very much I was supposed to have done / still have to do for Share by the end of the year.

It used to seem far away. Now it looms. And, so does my cough of nearly two weeks. It led me to the doctor today saying inane things like, "But I don't really feel sick-sick; I just can't stop coughing, you know?"

He raised his eyebrows at me. It was a bit daunting as he was wearing a mask and all I could see were his eyes.

One nebulizer treatment later I am now the proud owner of my very first inhaler, ever. No, I don't have asthma, but apparently whatever cold virus got a hold of me grasped tightly to my lungs (literally) and my future for the next week is measure in puffs: 2 every four hours, with kick-a$$ cough/codine medicine as a chaser so I finally get some sleep in my own bed, not sitting straight up on the couch.

Comedian doesn't sound much better. Her appt is tomorrow afternoon.

*big sigh* cough-cough -cough-cough (Note to self: deep breaths induce coughing fits...don't do it!)

I have to say, unlike last winter (which appeared to be Mrs. Spock's barnacle), this one is dragging us down in germ fest after germ fest.

Is it the new 'strains' of things floating around?

Is it because I work in a preschool where kids pick their noses then touch toys and walk away like nothing happened?

Is it because fatigue has reached a new high for me trying to burn multiple candles at both ends?

I have no idea. But I am looking forward to our 10 day break. And I am praying that the new year finds me healthy and restored with all the energy I used to possess and more.

The grant is due Jan. 11th, you know...

Stepping Back - And Not Feeling Guilty About It!

2009-12-13T08:00:00.000-08:00

I am not supposed to be here right now. We were suppoed to be at church early today. I was supposed to fill in for the church pageant director and lead the rehearsal. I was supposed to bring a quiche for the after church luncheon. We were supposed to stay and decorate the tree, while the kids all received small gifts.

We are not there.

The flurry of phone calls it took to un-clutter our morning wasn't fun. Making executive decisions never is, but it was necessary.

Comedian isn't well enough to be there. She needs to rest, to get fully better from the hacking cough and faucet of a nose she's lived with this week as we dragged her from one 'must attend' event to another, and yet another.

Bear isn't quite that under the weather, but has that peaky look around her eyes. A sign of fatigue that even I can't miss while she says, "I'm fine! I can go to everything!"

I was quite sick mid week, berating myself for staying home from school, even while I was shivering under the covers and my fever steadily climbed over the 102 mark.

And, to complete the family experience Jer was up all night, most of it spent in the bathroom, and looks like a paler, droopier version of a man today curled up on the couch unable to move.

So, I decided to cancel our morning, letting go of whatever the fallout is on the world. Truly, I don't think we can matter quite that much. The girls are snuggled under layers of covers watching the classic Santa Claus Is Coming To Town, and I felt great joy catching up on some blogs that were long overdue.

A lesson is to be learned here. I can say it out loud, as I did to my mother, "If it is a lack luster pageant next weekend it won't be the first, and probably won't be the last".

My family comes first. Their health is more important. Yes, Bear is Mary, mother of Jesus in the show. Oh well, he'll have to get by with Joseph for the day. Sure, I made a quiche for the lunch. Aw heck, guess I'll have to have a slice or two.

I think my husband put it best. "It just shows you that all the things we think are important really aren't. We have a good life without all the drama. It's that simple."

Hope your day is calm and bright and not filled with overwhelming drama!

Blogseccible

2009-12-06T16:20:00.000-08:00

Just because my life isn't 'blogseccible' (blog accesible - made up a new word, that's how crazy busy I am!), I still want to exchange holiday cards with those of you that mean the world to me.
Ha! The world. And, you span the world.

I'm cracking myself up.

With bad jokes.

That happens when I'm overtired and stressed.

Anyhoo, the most amazing thing happened. We went to the post office yesterday and got two festive cards! I suppost, that in-an-of-itself isn't amazing, but they were our first two of the year and from bloggy friends!!!

Oh you guys and your holiday spirit! Love you so much Mrs. Spock and A Mending Heart! (sorry no energy to link but search them out - you won't be dissapointed)

Soooo, if you want to trade super cute mugs this year (yes - faces, and yes - another bad pun) then email me! We've got a GREAT card, featuring our two living angels together in one picture and their real names if you don't already know them.

Summary:

I'm rambling. I'm stressed and overtired. I have two formal presentations and a grant to write. Tomorrow is a school day. I'm going to bed in 30 minutes. And, I want to do a card exchange. E-mail. Me.

Show and Tell: Pumpkin Pie in a Jar

2009-12-02T17:25:00.000-08:00

Remember these? Yeah. Part of the super, duper fall harvest.

Well, they sat, and sat, and sat for a bit more until Halloween had well passed and if we didn't do something soon, so would they.

"We can't let them rot" Jer said, a little manic, I worked hard growing all those.

"Yeah" I quipped, "You successfully grew a kabillion tons of something you don't even like the taste of!"

"Well" he retorted, for all yet to be retorts have to start with 'well', "I suppose it doesn't can very well..."

I felt a little be sad for him. He did put a lot of energy into those gorgeous pumpkins. So, I caved. I called his mother, otherwise known as the queen of everything canned.

"Oh sure" she said in her 'we are farmers and anything can be done' voice, "it takes a little while but it can be done and it's pretty good."

When I relayed this news to him - another Jeremiah inspiration hit.

Ok, it's slightly more labor intensive than my clever byline, but not much. The pumpkin is cooked and spiced. All you do is mix 4 eggs, 18 oz evaporated milk and 1 cup of sugar together. Dump in your pumpkin, stir and split between two pie crusts.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention - one jar makes two pies.

Cool huh?

But, just in case you were wondering, my mother in law's nonchallance turned out to be the understatment of the year to the tune of a couple early morning nights waiting for the pressure canner to de-compress.

Still - the pies are yummy!

Any post-thanksgiving food revelations for you? What's everyone else showing and telling?

To Black or To Cyber?

2009-11-30T03:43:00.000-08:00

"Do you do Black Friday?"

"Nope." I answered. "It's not my thing, the lines, the crowds, the chaos."

"But you LOVE deals!" my friend said.

"Yup, that's why I do cyber Monday."

She had never heard of it. I educated her, citing years when all my Ch.rist.mas shopping was done in one fell click-clack of the keyboard as I sipped coffee and relished that I never left my home to shop.

Oddly, I'm not 'doing' cyber monday this year. And, it's not because of any economy woes. I could if I wanted to, but somehow, this clean my house top to bottom, clear out corners of clutter, and - in the process - create more filled contractors bags of trash than a mini-demo team has opened my eyes to what we have.

Enough.

We don't need more. And amazingly, inside this minute, I don't want more. Not even if it is half off with free shipping and would look striking on the bathroom wall.

It seems I actually internallized the lesson of the recession. We are a blessed country. I have more than enough. What I truly need will always be provided for me.

Chances are time will swing me back to some kind of happy medium. I'll shop again, moderately, I'll clean again, without the fanatical gleam in my eye. I'll find a calm space to work within. But for today, I go back to work and leave the deal snatching to my capable online friends!

So, do you 'do' cyber Monday?

Complete 180

2009-11-28T17:27:00.000-08:00

I have become a clean freak.

Almost overnight - well, more like over the last month, but still, a - if you take something out put it away, if you turn on a light then turn it off, consistantly nagging and scrubbing something neatnik.

I cannot go to bed with a dirty kitchen.

The cushions on the couch being askew sends me over the edge.

The bed must be made.

Unfinshed projects must be completed.

And, (don't gasp), the laundry must be sorted, folded, and put away.

This is unprecedented for me. I have never (and feel free to ask my mother if you think I'm exaggerating), I repeat, never been an instinctual cleaner.

It took an external motivation to make me clean. Often, the prospect of being judged or embrassed by my surroundings, like when people were coming over, could push me over that clorax/bucket edge. But, even then, the difference between neat and clean were lines that consistantly blurred for me and never, for one minute, did I want to be scrubbing the toilet.

I'm not pregnant. Hence, I'm not nesting. We are not selling the house. I don't have any major gatherings on the horizon.

So, what's up? I am freaking myself out. I'm white-on-rice on anyone who leaves anything laying around. I bellow their name creating syllables where they don't exist. It's a tell. They walk slowly.

I suppose I should embrace this new level of white-space living, but to be honest I'm driving myself a little crazy. (Seriously, I'm considering mopping the kitchen floor before bed) And, if I'm sending myself over the edge, I can only imagine what my family must be thinking. Um, did mom get kidnapped by aliens and replaced with a robot version or something? would probably be pretty accurate.

A happy medium would be great. I could get a bit more blogging, reading and commenting done too! Any ideas? Any sympathy? Been there? Talk to me!

Show and Tell: Click - Clack - Click - The Punchline I Never Saw Coming

2009-11-24T18:07:00.000-08:00

I love scrapbooking. I love taking pictures.

I didn't even care, much, that my camera was on it's last clicking legs. The images were getting hazier, the battery door was cracked, and the recovery time between pics had me yawning.

Even still, when I lost the camera I was devestated.

And, it was right before the bowling event when I was supposed to be uploading images of all the raffle items to the website!

I begged to borrow a friend's. She's a good friend. She let me.

I lived fitfully without my camera for three weeks only letting a random, "Oh - I wish I could take a picture of that" or "I guess this will have to be a mental picture" pass my lips, lest I receive the raised eyebrow look from my hubby.

Two weeks before the event I raised the question of buying a new one. I approached it well, I thought and he was on board before I even finished my well practiced pitch. So, I went for it.

"Well, I could get what we had before. You know they are pretty cheap now. Or I could get a good camera."

He raised his eyebrows. I continued.

"Yes, its an investement but the quality is amazing and the features are awesome and if I get it this weekend with the S.e.ar.s card there is a percentange of money off and no financing for 18 months!"

With eyebrows still raised, he nodded, then smiled.

And so, that weekend I took 30 minutes out of my 12 hour (9am to 9pm) scrapbooking day with my good friend (the one who lent me hers) to go buy my new tashmahal of cameras!

A half an hour later I re-entered the Hol.ida.y I.nn proud as punch and ready to keep scrapping the backlog of pictures I had so I could take hundreds more with my new toy!

As I approached the table my friend raised her eyebrows. "What did I miss?" I asked.

"Your husband called." she said, "He found your camera."

I acutally laughed out loud. "Ha! Good one. That's really not a funny joke, though" I said, still laughing.

"Not kidding" she replied. "I'm not creative to make that up."

And so, I used my new camera to take a picture of my old camera and vice versa - and wha-la, a show and tell in the making!

Yes, I asked him if that meant I had to return the new one and the benevelent soul he is said no, but 'no Christmas presents under the tree for you' in a very soup-nazi kind of voice)

I can live with that. My camera rocks!

Now, go see what other good shows and tells are out there this week!

Liberation

2009-11-22T18:41:00.001-08:00

There is somthing wildly liberating about this phrase: "I have the whole week off".

I must have said it at least a half dozen times today.

I have planned, then re-planned, then scrapped every notion of a plan for the time - just because I can.

I realized something. I have been tired, really tired, lately. And, yeah - you could make a case for fatigue based on the hours I work plus working the strings on non-profit event after, fundraiser, after meeting.

But it's more than that.

I realized, the idea of working makes me tired. Strange, huh? But it must be true for the nearly-tangible aftershock of my repeated phrase today -- I have the whole week off -- was an influx of energy, resulting in a very clean house, good food on the table, 150 pages of a book ingested, and still enough energy remaining coupled with a burning desire to post, leading me here at 10:00 pm.

And why, might you ask, can I luxioursly type to the internets at large at such an hour? I'll tell you. Because I have the whole week off! (translation: I don't have to rush out the door tomorrow!)

And, quite suddenly, the Cara of last year seems reborn, or - at the very least, her spirit possesses me for the moment, and most probably, the week.

I want to write. I want to search through emotions. I want to discect realities for their roots. I need to revist your lives. I desire to see what pages you have turned, like looking at pictures of the same person months apart and noting all the suble differences you missed in the everyday of their lives.

Ahhh- and it feels good. I feel home. I feel back where I should be. And because I want to stay in this emotion I write my intention for the week here. With it, I give you blanket permission to point out if you feel like I am leaning hard in the direction I don't want to go. Like...if I start lamenting that I can't finish painting the section of hallway that has sat unfinished for two years because the local hardware store can't match the paint, then make it a shade lighter because that section of the hallway is really dark...

See how easily I walk that road? Please pull me back. I'll thank you for it. Promise.

I intend to live every minute of this week with gratitude for the time I don't usually have alloted to me, with gratitude for what I accomplish but not frustration for what I didn't manage to get to, and to let go what cannot be done in favor of quiet, special moments with my kids and family.

In short -- I aim to feel led, not lead.

Missed you. Terribly. Tell me what I missed.

The First of Anything...

2009-11-16T15:30:00.000-08:00

(This post duplicated at Share Southern Vermont's Blog with pictures!)

She held my gaze with tears in her eyes, words tumbling out, eager to be free and I, just as eager to hear them.

"I'll never forget the day I was reading the paper online and saw a link to 'new infant loss group'. Of course, I had to click on it and read your article. Tears fell as I read it again and again. I printed it out and held it, wanting to give it to my daugther but knowing it wasn't yet time."

I smiled, already knowing the ending to this story, yet needing to hear it again if for no other reason to solidfy that the facts of the last year are actually true, that I haven't been living a dream that a good solid pinch will wake me up from.

"That was last February" she continued, tears more prominant than ever, "and here we are, in November - bowling. My daughter found you, found your group."

Yes, yes she did and we are so grateful for her strong presence, both in group and as part of our ever expanding board.

"My prayers were answered" she concluded and I found that we were holding hands, joined in our reverie even as the chatter of giggling families and clatter of bowling balls whirred around us.
***
The event was everything is was meant to be. As always, all the right people were there and received exactly what they needed. It was advertised as a 'celebration of family' and one pan of the room conveyed that our intentions had indeed been met. Yet, even as balls hit gutters, pizza was consumed and cheering ensued as someone threw a strike, our babies were remembered, were there amounst us, smiling angels on our shoulders.

I stop short when I think what has been achieved in just one year and look forward to the lighthearted celebratory conversation that will spin around the dinner table as the board members dine together on December 22nd, our one year anniversary.

Even so, there is so much more to be done. Lest we not lose our momentum, but let it gather speed propelling us futher down the track of expansion, reaching every family, every parent, every heart broken by loss.

For images from that day, click over.

Epiphany

2009-11-14T10:07:00.001-08:00

As I searched for formerly-stored boxes and recently packed ones, stacking them haphazardly in the corner to be loaded into the car at a time yet to be decided as it is currently pouring outside and looks not to be subsiding anytime soon, my email beeped.

I ran to it hoping it was an update about something for tomorrow.

It was an update, from St.ap.les. In a flash my mind forwarded to the location I will be in later today, walking the isles as the copy center prints our program. Instantly, I was calm, no longer frenzied by the mis-stacked boxes still threatening to fall.

Is that sad? That St.ap.les is my favorite store of all time? That all the uber organized isles full of color coded binders, sticky notes, and carasouls of small offices supplies: paper clips, binder clips, and push pins, settle my soul?

How I wish my house could inflict the same sense of peace. Ah well, back to the office to search out a few more well hidden things. S.t.apl.es, see you in a couple hours!

The ups and the downs

2009-11-13T14:58:00.000-08:00

This has been such an emotional week. Half the time I'm struck by the fact that I want to fly to my friend and the other half I'm in auto-pilot, checking last-minute details off the Bowling for Babies to-do list.

Honestly, it feels somewhat easier to be the computer: running and doing, thinking and forgetting, then remembering, driving to pick things up and drop things off then it does to the the compassionate friend who can get sucked into an emotional portal in a second.

The event is Sunday. Then I plant my feet. I travel to her on Wednesday, then again on Sunday for the memorial.

Oh, and for those of you that read the local paper and my blog -- the event is really Sunday, this Sunday, not the one they mis-printed for all to see. *sigh* Have to go put out media-fires...

A good show and tell planned for next week and wouldn't say no to some benevelent soul wanting nothing more than to take over all media promotions for events!

A New Day...

2009-11-09T17:59:00.000-08:00

I'm doing a little better today. The afore mentioned training has kicked in and I'm preparing a trip to see my friend. I'll be laden down with the package I'm so used to sending, minus all the share grief support materials, of course - she already has them.

Thanks to all of you for your kind words and prayers - for her - and for me.

What I'm wondering today is, if you are the support and it happens to you, what happens within you?

Does the congntitive process of what you should do to set the stage for healthy grieving automatically start up, like a remote starter on a car? Do you watch yourself walk through each step as though outside of your body?

Or, does the shock and subsequent shut down from the fact that it is now your reality trump what you've been taught, making you as ready for guidance and support as the person who had no idea it was possible to bury your child?

Ideas? Theories? Personal Experience? Hit me. I'm digging deep here, for never before have I needed to do this right so badly.

Grief

2009-11-08T09:48:00.000-08:00

I am heavy with grief today. My body aches. My eyes brim, silently spilling without provocation. Images fill my head and no real life presence can make them evaporate, like ashes, into the air.

This morning I received an email that, yet another baby had been born still. I receive them all the time: the calls, the emails, the references from a friend of a friend; but this was different.

I sat, reading and re-reading, thinking it had to be wrong. This couldn't have happened to her. No. It just wan't possible. Not even the unbalaned choas of this world could justify that she would be the 1 in 4.

***
We met at the Share National Training last spring. A small intimate group sat around the table and over the course of 5 days we knew details about each others lives as minute as the lines in a fallen leaf. We bonded, all of us, but this woman and I connected, really connected, and not just because we had travelled half-way across the country from the same small section of the Northeast. We could have been on the same airplane.

Two paths converging. Two lives about to be forever changed. Neither of us had a clue.

***
She's special for so many reasons:

~She is a social worker.
~She is a yoga teacher, for adult and children alike.
~She runs a Share support group.
~She runs a pregnancy after loss group.
~She is a loving mother to her girls.

But, most of all -- and this is the key that unlocked my affection for her -- she chose to attend that training. She intentionaly put herself in a place to learn more about bereavemnt, to listen to broken parents speak of their lost little ones. She opened herself to a world most push away with brute force, unwilling to listen because it might make it possible.

She welcomed the knowledge with a serene smile, an understanding heart, and a desire to truly help.

And, if you have read here for any length of time, you will remember a story of a quest during that conference: a desire to lounge in a hot tub made possible by a giving friend. She is that friend. She made it happen.

***
Today, I brim with equal measures of grief and anger, my day derailed by the undeniable remined that babies die everyday.

This is the email I sent her:

"I need to you know how affected I am by your loss. I get these calls and emails all time, as do you, but with you it's different. Silent tears fell all through church. I asked someone else to teach my Sunday School. I have images playing through my head that I can't be sure happened. Our time together last spring was a bonding experience. Looking back now it is obvious we met for a reason...even though I just was so grateful to you for being who you are: a kind, compassionate person in a helping field, attending a training to be better prepared to help OTHERS as they lived the tragedy of babyloss. I told my husband that it is rare to find people like you.I think that is why I'm so broken with grief for your lost girl and anger that YOU, you of all people didn't deserve this. I know I'm rambling and you are in no space to hear my emotional rambles. I just wanted you to know how much you are filling my day, I'll cry for you all day if I have to, I'll purge my emotions -- then, my training will kick back in and I will support you however I best can."

Past meets present. My experience converging with her reality. Our history setting the stage for a new type of relationship.

I hate that we now are in this club together. I hate that I now get to say, "I am so sad to be here. I am so glad I came" to her.

Tomorrow

2009-11-06T18:07:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I scrapbook -all day - 9am to 9pm.

Why oh why did I commit to this? I asked myself more than once today.

I don't have one picture cropped. I don't have any papers sorted. My materials are scattered across the office. sigh

Not to mention that I can't not think about Bowling for Babies for more than thirty seconds.

No! I am scrapbooking.

I will take a break from the whirlwind my life has become and allow the moment to re-take me. I think I might finish the half-complete album about me, my childhood, my adolescence, my early years with Jer.

Yes. A trip down memory lane is exactly what I need. (with a brief sneak-out to pick up the addition bhb flyers that are ready and waiting at St.a.ple.s. I can't totally shut off - I mean... really)

Show and Tell - The Ties That Bind

2009-11-04T15:50:00.000-08:00

The chinese raffle for Bowling For Babies has taken great gabs of my time as of late, and I've loved every minute of it. They have been arriving via email, snail mail, UPS and in person.

I've made new friends and been reminded of tried and true ones. Today, these showed up.

They are from Babysmiling. Her show and tell for the week describes them perfectly, but what it doesn't say is how the package reminded me that my friends live far and wide. That, presumably, the words typed here stay with them for a spell, causing them to make an effort to package and ship bowls even while reveling in their new twin babies!

That is what amazes me most. Our binding ties remain, even as babies fly, or are born, and life takes over for a time.

I've shared before, but it's worth repeating in my emotional state that other blogging friends are participating in this event too.

Martha from A Sense of Humor made this gorgeous necklace.

And Lindsay from Destined To Be An Old Woman With No Regrets sent this framed shot all the way from her Canadian post as she watied out the end of her pregnancy!

Pamela donated a copy of her memoir, Silent Sorority.

And Are You Kidding Me? donated time to crochet some angels for the ornment drive!

And so, you can see why I feel like this raffle is as much yours as it is the people who physically walk in the door of the Springfield Bowling Alley on Sunday, November 15th.

Sure, you may not be able to take advantage of a gift certificate to a local eatery or come in to pain your own pottery, but there are many prizes in the ever growing list that could easily be shipped to your front door.

CLICK HERE to preview the current item list. READ the raffle directions. Then, if something catches your eye, ENTER using the donate button and be sure to specify how to distribute your tickets!

Thank again, to each of you, for your support over the last year. Your words have sustained me through every transition. This reality is yours to celebrate too.

While you do, peruse what the rest of the class is showing and telling!

Week by week...

2009-10-22T13:14:00.000-07:00

life seems to get a tad bit more overwhelming, not in a bad way, just a try to get everything done and still have a sane smile at the end of the day, way.

Thanks to all of you for your insightful responses to my last post. I am certainly feeling more at peace about my decision and blessed that another member of our board can attend. It is time to give up certain contols and let the crew man the ship a bit. Not an easy task for a person like me, but necessary when, as I just told a friend, "the thing you built is growing faster than you ever imagined."

An issue for a self-proclaimed control freak like me.

I have posts that are extremely important to me brewing, about the lighting cermony, about my big-daddy benefactor of sorts showing up, about love and life and seeing a side of my little girl I never thought I would.

I have catching up to do within your lives. I have babies to welcome. Anniversaries to belatedly acknowledge, hoping the mommy and daddy know I was thinking of them on their day. And sad moments to support.

Even as the chicken sautees, the pumpkins sit half-carved, the UPS man approaches the door, the Bowling for Babies flyer is 3/4 done, the eggs boil, the dough for our cinnamon buns rises, and my 332 pictures beg to be uploaded and ordered from Sn.ap.fi.sh my mind flies to all of you and the words spin through my head.

I have come to the unsatisfactory, yet realistic conclusion that I am at a blogging crossroads. I blog for me, and for you, but primarily to keep my senses sharp, my words in tune, and my emotions processing about the loss of our little girl. In just over a year I have nearly hit 300 posts. Writing daily was cathartic. It was my outlet. It allowed me to cultivate the relationships I now find myself missing daily.

Even so, at this time one or two posts a week is all I will be able to create until the new year. Until all the fundraisers are done, numbers added, and Share Southern Vermont's first tax return filed. I have to be ok with this down shift. I have to use it as a learning experience in the world of blogging. I imagine they all have their ebbs and flows. Just know that the ebb frustrates me as much as my lack of commenting might irk you.

Catch you on the fly...

The First Test

2009-10-16T16:55:00.000-07:00

Recently I wrote about balance, or the search for it, within my life for I often feel like I am leading two well-cast, yet parallel existances: one with the living the; other with the dead. Or more accurately, not with the dead, but because of them.

They don't intersect well.

More often than not I find myself faced with choices that lay on either side of the lifeline. Choices that leave me feeling like lose:lose is a guilt ridden understatement. For, regardless of which side of the line I land, someone will be negated, or left out, or added in when they didn't need to be, or over-exposed to the concept of death, or left behind while I go attend to that very thing.

This has been my delicate dance since I started Share Southern Vermont. I dove into the mission with a fire burning in my broken heart, finally feeling like I found a way to parent Emma while unconsciously burdening myself with the added dillema of choosing to spend my time with my living children or taking action in memory of my spirit one.

I repeat: without boundaries they don't intersect well.

And perhaps that is my real issue. Maybe balance isn't my holy grail of time management. Instead, I might need clearly defined, boldly outlined peremiters to keep me where I am supposed to be, when I am meant to be there.

Because babies will die everyday. No amount of wishful, child-like, kum-buy-ah thinking will keep it from happening.

My living children grow and learn everyday too.
My husband and I seem to see less and less of each other with each passing moon.

There is a memorial service for twins who perished inutero as a result of a car crash next Sunday at 3pm.

At the exact same time there is a couples class at our church, the first in a series of three, intended to strenthen how we, as husband and wife, listen to and communicate with each other. And, in turn, how we parent the little ones who look to us as models of social appropriateness.

I was temporarily stumped. I always make an effort to go to the services for infants in Southern Vermont. It shows the parents that perfect strangers do care because they too have lived those horrific moments. It gives them someone to cry out to through the computer. It often gives them the intense courage to walk into a support group meeting sooner, rather than later.

But my family unit is important. How we build our routines and work as a team is vital to our future.

It appears I am going to miss this memorial. It makes me sad. I hope and pray this family knows how much we have to offer them. But on that day, at that time, I will be doing something so my husband and I have more to offer our family.

Balance... boundaries...

I wonder, did I pass my first test?

A Poem for Us All

2009-10-14T12:25:00.000-07:00

Currently, I am re-printing our International Wave of Light programs because an idea came to me, last minute - as most of my good ones do.

As we light our candles tomorrow night my father will strum his guitar. At first, the background music seemed enough, a light touch to add to the memorial at hand. But then, I wanted, no - needed a poem. Something equally light and airy, not too deep, the perfect words to compliment random chords and small, moving bits of light.

After making a call, it came to me. My mind rewinding to the last day of my Share training.

Our closing ceremony was brief, filled with music, tears, complicated I-just-met-you-but-can't-stand-to-go goodbyes, and - a poem. This poem. It is perfect.

I type it here for each of you. If you are lighting candles tomorrow night, perhaps you might read it along with us. The idea of our collective actions happening simultaenously across the globe lights the flame within me.

For each and every one of you missing your sweet angel babies...

We Remember Them

In the rising of the sun and its going down –
We remember them
In the blowing of the wind and the chill of winter –
We remember them
In the grayness of an early morning rain and in the promise of the rainbow that follows,
We remember them

In the opening of bud and in the rebirth of spring,
We remember them
In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer,
We remember them
In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
We remember them

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We remember them
When we are weary and in need of strength,
We remember them
When we are lost and sick at heart,
We remember them
When we have joys we yearn to share,
We remember them

So long as we live they too shall live, for they are a part of us as,
We remember them

The Sermon I Need To Hear Again...

2009-10-09T16:52:00.000-07:00

And again, and with our monthly support group this Wednesday followed directly by the National Wave of Light candle lighting ceremony on Thursday, a message I will have to read daily to stay sane.

Last Friday night I wrote of my religion as a prelude to this post. One most certainly begets the other, so if you missed it -- it might be worth a click over.

I read from the book of Matthew, Chapter 6: Verse 25 - 34, Entitled: Do Not Worry

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed liek one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?

So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after all these things and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well.

Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

And then, I began.

LAST JUNE I STOOD HERE AND SPOKE OF PURPOSE, OF FINDING YOUR ROAD AND WALKING IT WITHOUT FEAR OF ROADBLOCKS OR DETOURS.

IN JUNE I STOOD BEFORE YOU ASKING, WHERE IS YOUR GOD?

WITHIN YOU OR OUTSIDE OF YOU?

CAUSING YOU TO FEEL LED OR WAITING FOR YOU TO ANSWER?

TODAY, A MERE THREE MONTHS LATER, I STAND BEFORE YOU AGAIN TO SPEAK OF BALANCE.

THE WORD ITSELF IS ILLUSIVE. THE CONCEPT CONSIDERED BUNK BY MANY, BUT STILL – WE SEARCH FOR IT, TRY TO CREATE IT IN OUR LIVES.

BALANCE BETWEEN WORK AND HOME

BALANCE THE ATTENTION WE GIVE OUR CHILDREN

BALANCE THE MONEY THAT COMES IN WITH THE MONEY THAT GOES OUT

BALANCE OUR MORALS AND VALUES WITH THE DEMANDS OF THIS INCREASINGLY CORRUPT WORLD

ALL THESE STRUGGLES ARE VALID, STRESSORS THAT EXIST IN OUR DAILY LIVES, AND YET – TODAY, I ASK THE BIGGER QUESTION:

WHERE IS YOUR BALANCE? THE BALANCE BETWEEN YOU AND THE WORLD?

WE ENTER THE WORLD COMPLETELY DEPENDANT, AND – IF AGE IS WHAT RETURNS US TO OUR MAKER – WE LEAVE IT THE SAME WAY.

AS INFANTS WE HAVE NO RESPONSIBILITY TO OTHERS. WE EXIST BECAUSE THEY DO, FEEDING US, BATHING US, LOVING US, TEACHING US.

OUR EXISTANCE FOR THE EARLY FORMATIVE YEARS OF OUR LIFES IS ENTIRELY SELF-SERVING.

AFTER THE BIRTH OF A FIRST CHILD, THE PARENTS CAN BE HEARD TO JOKINGLY LAMENT, “IT’S NOT ABOUT US ANYMORE. EVERYONE WHO COMES, CALLS, OR VISITS IS HERE ABOUT THE BABY!”

A FEW YEARS LATER, WE OFTEN ROLE OUR EYES AT OUR 3 YEAR OLD SAYING, “ALL THEY THINK ABOUT IS THEMSELVES –THEY LIVE IN A ME – ME – ME KIND OF WORLD!”

AND THEY DO. AND THEY SHOULD.

BUT SOMEWHERE ALONG THE LINE, AS PRE-TEENS PERHAPS, OR YOUNG ADULTS – THE LINES GET BLURRED.

WE SHIFT FROM A WORLD REVOLVING EXCLUSIVELY AROUND ‘US’ TO A WORLD WHERE THE REQUIREMENT IS TO SERVE ‘THEM’

DO NOT THINK OF SELF – BUT THINK OF OTHERS

DO NOT ACT IN YOUR OWN BEST INTEREST, BUT FOR THE NEEDS OF OTHERS AROUND YOU

2 Peter 1:5-7 ESV / 3 helpful votes
"For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love."

INDEED, THIS IS A NOBLE DIRECTION. AND, THERE ARE SOME BORN INTO THIS WORLD AS GIVERS.

I THINK OF A YOUNG GIRL IN OUR PRESCHOOL. SMALL AND QUIET, SWEET TO A FAULT, AND ALWAYS FOUND DIRECTLY NEXT TO, OR HELPING, OR DOING SOME THING FOR THE EQUALLY SWEET CHILD WITH DOWNS SYNDROME. I LOOK AT HER AND THINK, ‘SHE IS GOING INTO A HELPING FIELD SOMEDAY!”

FOR OTHERS, THE TRANSITION IS LESS THAN SMOOTH. GIVING IS A LEARNED SKILL, THINKING OF OTHERS FIRST – OFFERING THE LAST ROLL TO THE THREE PEOPLE AT THE TABLE BEFORE TAKING IT FOR YOURSELF DOES NOT COME NATURALLY, BUT HAS TO BE MODELED, PRACTICED, AND THEN - PERHAPS - HABITUAL.

STILL, THE EVOLUTION OF SELF-CENTERED LIVING TO SELFLESS LIVING IS ONE THAT ALL FAMILIES SEEM TO TEACH, REGARDLESS OF RELIGIOUS BELIEFS.

I AM VERY MUCH LIKE THAT YOUNG ‘HELPER’ GIRL. IN FACT, I WOULD VENTURE A VERY ACCURATE GUESS THAT I WAS THAT GIRL IN PRESCHOOL, AS A YOUNG CHILD, AS A PRE-TEEN, AND I KNOW I AM AS A YOUNG ADULT.

AT TIMES, MY ‘DO FOR OTHERS WITHOUT THINKING OF THE COST TO SELF’ ACTIONS GOT ME IN TROUBLE.

SOMETIMES I WOULD GET SICK, MY BODY’S WAY OF TELLING ME I HAD EXERTED TOO MUCH, AND IF I WASN’T GOING TO TAKE TIME FOR SELF, THEN IT WOULD FORCE ME TO.

SOMETIMES, I WOULD HAVE TO PAY FOR OTHER’S MISTAKES. LIKE THE TIME I VOUCHED FOR A VIRTUAL STRANGER AS HE PURCHASED A CELL PHONE AND FOUND THAT YEARS LATER IT NEARLY AFFECTED OUR ABILITY TO PURCHASE OUR FIRST HOME.

BUT MOSTLY, I FOUND MOTIVATION AND PRIDE AND REWARD IN PUTTING OTHERS FIRST.

***

THEY SAY THAT OPPOSITES ATTRACT, AND THAT OVERUSED STEROTYPE IS HAUNTINGLY TRUE IN MY MARRIAGE. HOWEVER, IN ONE VERY FUNDAMENTAL WAY WE ARE IDENTICAL.

I MARRIED A GIVER. LAST YEAR HE GAVE ME A GIFT.

‘TAKE THE YEAR’ HE SAID WHEN THE CONTRACT I THOUGHT A SURE THING FELL THROUGH, ‘I’LL WORK OVERTIME TO COVER THE FINANCES. YOU DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO.”

FOR ONE SATURDAY MORNING I HAD TEARFULLY CONFESSED HOW I HAD A WILD IDEA…A DESIRE – NO AN ABSOLUTE NEED – TO WRITE A BOOK. HOW THE TIME SEEMED TO BE AT HAND TO FOCUS ON EMMA, HER MEMORY AND WHAT HER LEGACY HERE, IN THIS WORLD, WOULD BECOME.

HE GRANTED MY WISH.

HE REMOVED MY STRESSORS, TAKING THEM ONTO HIS OWN SHOULDERS.

HE ALLOWED ALL MY FANATICAL IDEAS TO SPIN AROUND OUR HOUSE, NODDING AND SMILING AS YET ANOTHER ‘BIG NOTION’ HIT ME – PROPELLING MY ALREADY RACING PACE.

HE WORRIED FOR ME, AS I TOOK ON YET ANOTHER PROJECT, OR WRITING ASSIGNMENT, OR STARTED ANOTHER BLOG.

OUR RELATIONSHIP WAS VERY ONE SIDED. THE WEIGHTS THROWN VASTLY OFF BALANCE. HE GAVE – I SEARCHED.

AND I, VERY MUCH LIKE THAT THREE YEAR OLD, FOCUSED ON MYSELF: MY IDEAS, MY NON-PROFIT, MY DESIRES, MY NEED TO BE EMMA’S MOTHER IF ONLY BY GIVING TO OTHERS.

HOWEVER, FOR ALL MY EGOCENTRIC WAYS, GOD FOUND ME IN A STRONGER, MORE CONNECTED WAY THAN EVER BEFORE.

I MEDITATED DAILY. HEARING MY WAY, AFFIRMING MY PATH. KNOWING EACH NEW STEP WAS RIGHT EVER IF I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND WHERE I WAS HEADED.

I SAW HIM THROUGH DAILY DOINGS, ACKNOWLEDGING HIS PRESENACE WITH A NOD AND A GRATEFUL SMILE.

I FELT HIM WORK WITHIN ME AS I HAD A GENUINE DESIRE TO EXERCISE MORE AND EAT HEALTHER FOODS, WITH THE PLEASANT RESULT THAT I FELT COMFORTABLE WITHIN MY BODY AGAIN.

I WALKED TALLER.

I FELT COMFORTABLE IN MY OWN SKIN.

I LIVED MY LIFE – TRULY ENJOYING EVERY MINUTE, EVEN THE ONES THAT COULD BE PERCIEVED AS UNFORTUNATE OR BAD, KNOWING THAT IF I LOOKED HARD ENOUGH, OR WAITED A FEW EXTRA MINUTES THE GOODNESS WITHIN THE NEGATIVITY WOULD PRESENT ITSELF.

TIME WAS FLUID, AND EASY, AS IF THERE WOULD ALWAYS BE MORE THAN ENOUGH TIME TO ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING I WANTED.

IT WAS A MAGICAL YEAR.

TOGETHER – WE WERE POWERFUL – GOD AND I.

THE RESULTS WERE OBVIOUS. FRIEND WERE CONSTANTLY COMMENTING ON HOW 'CALM' I SEEMED. MY KIDS SETTLED, OUR DAILY LIFE FLOWING WITH AN EASE IT NEVER HAD BEFORE, AND FIRST TIME EVENTS - LIKE OUR MEMORY WALK DREW OVER 80 PEOPLE.

LIFE WAS GOOD. LIFE WAS EASY. ANYTHING WAS POSSIBLE.

THAT YEAR IS OVER, AND WITH IT - THE MAGIC HAS FLOWN.

I HAVE REENTERED THE WORLD.

I AM BACK TO WORK.

THE WORLDY STRESSORS HAVE RETURNED.

I SEEM NOT TO FIND TIME FOR DAILY PRAYER AND MEDITATION ANY MORE, MY MIND CLUTTERED WITH TOO MANY RESPONSIBILITES, TOO MANY ‘NEED TO DO’S’.

– AND ALTHOUGH I WOULD NOT CALL OUR RELATIONSHIP BALANCED EXACTLY – I KNOW THAT I HAVE TAKEN SOME OF THE WEIGHT OFF MY HUSBAND’S SHOULDERS.

ALL THIS WAS NECESSARY, BUT AT A COST.

I HAVE LOST THAT SENSE OF SELF. I HAVE SWUNG BACK TO THE FAR RIGHT, AND AS MUCH AS I KNOW THAT GOD IS STILL BESIDE ME, CHEERING ME ON, I NO LONGER FEEL HIM WORKING WITHIN ME, EVERY DAY, EVERY MINUTE.

LAST YEAR - I LIVED AS MATTHEW DIRECTED: NOT WORRYING ABOUT THE LOGISTICS OF MY LIFE, WHERE THE FOOD WAS COMING FROM, THE CLOTHES, THE TIME, THE NEED…JEREMIAH TOOK THAT ON.

6:34 – "Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

MY CHALLENGE NOW, IS TO REMEMBER THAT. TO LIVE MATTHEW’S WORDS IN SPITE OF:

THE DINNER THAT ISN’T QUITE ON THE TABLE,

THE CLOTHES THAT HAVE YET TO MAKE IT TO THE DRYER,

THE PRESS RELEASES THAT JUST MISSED THE DEADLINE FOR NEXT WEEK’S PAPER,

THE LACK OF ATTENDACE AT AN EVENT BECAUSE I DIDN’T HAVE THE TIME TO DEVOTE TO MEDIA COVERGE,

THE TIME I KNOW I SHOULD SET ASIDE FOR MEDITATION AND PRAYER,

THE TIME I KNOW I NEED TO DEVOTE TO MY HUSBAND FOR ALL HIS SUPPORT, HIS LOVE, AND HIS WILLINGESS TO TAKE ON MORE THAN HIS SHARE.

AND SO, I'LL SAY THIS OUT LOUD:

I ACCEPT THIS CHALLENGE, KNOWING FULL WELL I WILL HAVE TO RETURN TO THIS SCRIPTURE OFTEN, DAILY PERHAPS – FOR I WILL FAIL.

TODAY – I CHALLENGE YOU TO THE SAME.

REMEMBER YOURSELF AT THE CENTER OF YOUR LIFE, WITH THE SAME VIGOR YOU CULTIVATE YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR GOD.

AND THEN, REACH OUT, GIVE, SERVE, PROVIDE, FOR YOU WILL HAVE GREAT THINGS TO GIVE.

FOR ACTIONS BASED ON REQUIREMENT ARE HOLLOW, LEADING TO REGRETTABLE RESULTS.

BUT, JUST AS WATER BECAME WINE AND A MODDUCUM OF FISH AND BREAD BECAME ENOUGH FOR THE MASSES -

ACTIONS BASED ON A KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR SELF AND YOUR GOD WORKING WITHIN YOU – YIELD BOUNTY YOU CAN NEVER IMAGINE…

I PRAY I FIND THE BALANCE. I PRAY THE MAGIC RETURNS.

Show and Tell: Abundance

2009-10-07T13:58:00.000-07:00

We like to celebrate the abundance of things in our life. We use it to teach the children gratitude and satisfaction for our experience. We recognize that others don't have even that.

This time of year is full to bursting!

Emma's bush is full of gorgeous red leaves. Even as Comedian grieves the fact that they will 'fall off and die" she makes a point to mention they will "pop back after the snow melts".

And, after a year when the topic of in-town summer conversations lamented on various responses to, "And how was your garden this year?" we consider ourselves wildly abundant to have this:

I mean, look at the size of that blue hubbard squash

The chickens are all grown up. They say "don't count your chickens", but I do. There are 23 and even though only about half are currently laying we fill an egg carton a day.

A pantry full of canned vegetable will sustain us for the winter.

The outdooor furnace we (Um: I mean he) fills morning and night sits next about 22 cord of wood.

And so, it seems that if the world were to stop turning for a few moons we would be allright. For we have more than enough, no - much more than enough to be happy and healthy.

What are you grateful for that others might not have? What are you showing and telling?

Delivering A Message

2009-10-02T16:49:00.001-07:00

It is a quiet Friday night. My husband is working. The kids are in bed. The diswasher is running. My floors are swept, pans washed and for the first time in what seems a millenium, I did NOT neurotically check my children's hair for invisibile nits that I know aren't there any longer but feel compelled to look anway.

A glass of pinot sits to my right and time streches before me as I sculpt it.

I could do lots of things, most too mundane to mention, yet I feel like sharing something with you. Something I never have.

I am a Christian. I believe in God. I don't believe I've ever said that here for it was neither here nor there, as I love and support each newcomer in this community not for their faith or their disbelief or their indifference to a higher power, but because we have all been bonded by something more, something that fears, doubts, wonders, and - most probably - is angry at that higher power in the wake of our loss.

So why do I make a point of it now? In my last post I mentioned that I stepped in for our pastor last week. Yeah - I preached! It isn't the first time. And, I don't think it's presumptious to say that it probably won't be the last.

Why me? That is a question I can't even begin to answer. You'd have to ask my preacher. But what I can tell you is what I speak on when I'm called to stand before the group of people I've come to know over the years.

Last year, I addressed the church with a talk entitled, "Searching Faith or Grieving Faith". It was a rambling oral essay on the plight of analyzing your faith after tragedy. It included this.

My definition of FAITH:

An entity, which once part of your being, never leaves you. Even in the midst of tragedy, confusion, devastation, and questions you will never have answers to, faith still lives inside you. You might not focus on it, or even acknowledge it, but you feed it just by living. Just by waking up every day and going to bed every night, you keep faith alive. It’s there, waiting, biding its time until you are ready to call on it again. When you do, your old friend is there in an instant, in whatever measure you need. It grows with you as you search for meaning and it strengthens you when you find your path. It embraces you as take your next step, and feeds you peace and joy with every further step you take.

That was last summer.

***

Early this summer, I was called on again.

I prepared a heartfelt talk about finding your purpose. About recognizing your purpose when it presents itself at your waiting feet. I spoke of direction and blind faith that even when you question the outcome of your next step, you know it is the direction you are meant to go. I spoke of endless energy, and love, and desire to do more, be more, accomplish more, because you love your work.

And then, I said that I had found mine. That Share Southern Vermont was mine. That being there for other broken hearted families so they didn't have to navigate tragedy on their own was my purpose.

It begged the question, did Emma have to die? Had I found the illusive reason for her death? For if she had survived that mutinous cord, I would still be one of the blissfully ignorant women get pregnant and nine months later they all have babies people. And SSV wouldn't exist. And my Comedian might not either. And that is too sad to even imagine.

It's not a question I'm willing to answer. Instead, I said this. "Our lives are sculpted by our experience. Mine has launched me into a supporting role. I embrace it as a way to mother my Emma, even by lifting up others."

***

Amazingly, even though each time they invite me I seem to talk about grief, loss, and tragedy; they had me back last week.

This time I shifted gears -- a little.

This post has already rambled on long enough, fueled, no doubt, from my glee to be posting at all and the glass of wine that still sits to my right, nearly gone.

My sermon can wait. But I want to share it here for I feel it pertains so much to us, those who hurt and in an attempt to try to quell our pain, give boldy. It is a message I know I need to hear again. Yet before I posted my musings from the altar, I needed you to know a little about my religious background.

It matters little what kind of Christian I am. Just that you know I am the believing kind, the faith filled kind, the kind that cursed the heavens and shunned God for years but eventually let him back in, a sliver of light at a time through a tentatively opened door. The kind with hope. The kind with a lot to give.

Has your loss defined a purpose in your life? A course of action you may not have taken if your child had lived? How do you reconcile the two?

Unwritten Words

2009-10-01T17:13:00.000-07:00

There are so many. The opening line to a blog post as I drive to, or from work. The ingenious title that appears, then evaporates as I attempt to get it down. The topic, the analogy, the connections -- and they are gone. Without my computer at the ready and my schedule equally willing to accomodate -- I lose my thoughts.

And with them, posts. The best I seem to be able to manage is a once-a-week blog post, indulging in show and tell. It's like my chocolate. But not even that worked out this week. "Ah well", I tell myself, "there's always next." And it is true, as the next Wednesday seems to arrive before I dare to believe another week has evaporated.

Another week, gone -- another fit of worry that only 2 weeks remain until the National Wave of Light ceremony, 6 until Bowling for Babies, and the Angel ornament drive.

Slow...go slow Cara...it will all get done. It will all be successful and affirming, everything you hope it will be.

As of today the Memory Bands are available for purchase. Our kick off fundraiser for the season. They say SHARE (our logo) Forever In Our Hearts.

They are a perfect token for yourself, your families and friends who want to remember and keep your babies close without always having to put it into words. They are moderately priced at $3 each or 4 / $10. Shipping is minimal. Please pass the word and the link.

Last week my pastor was out of town and asked me to fill in for him. I did - the main point of my message preserving self even as you give of yourself to others. The balance is tricky. And so I say again...We Give Because You Share!

Show and Tell - Refrigerator Surprise

2009-09-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

I don't love venison. It's not necessarily because of the vegetarian point of view and I'm not even bothered so much by the perspective of the hunting community. I just don't like the taste. The fact that it is leaner and therefore, healthier for you than beef, doesn't persuade me.

Honestly, I feel the same ambiguity about beef. Interestingly, I am often asked as I order a 'veggie sandwich' or a local venue's creation called 'the asparagui', "Are you a vegatarian?" To which I reply, "I could have been, but I married into the wrong family".

For, this, is what one of our chest freezers looks like, nearly empty.

In a few months I will be mentally thrown back to my retail days in the dairy cooler as we rotate the 08 meat to make space for the newly wrapped sirloin, hamburg, chuck steak, stew meat and top and bottom rounds of 2009.

And so, it is not uncommon for the inside of my fridge to look something like this:

as a variety of beef and pork selections naturally defrost to meet the requirements of my menu planning for that week.

Yesterday, I opened the fridge to see a stack of meat taller and wider than I remember taking out for the week. I pulled one package after another - venision...the whole bunch. Eyebrows furrowed, I tried to make out the markings R.K.

You see, when we slaughter it is a very old-fashioned, men in the basement with sharp objects and women upstairs with paper and tape kind of process. We, the women that is, write things on the packages like the date, what variety of cut it is, and the initials of the person who owns the chest freezer the package will call home.

C.T. would have made sense. J.T would have made more sense. D.T, his brother, could even have cause me to stop mentally searching as they often trade cuts depending on what is left in each other's stock. But R.K. I couldn't place.

And then, with a clarity and connectedness to rival Keyser Soze, it hit me...

The dent in his brother's car

The phone call Sunday morning

The glimpse of a ribcage in the back of a truck as I dropped the girls off for church

R.K.

Road Kill

There's got to be a redneck joke in there somewhere, but right now I am hardpressed to find the humor in it. Ick. Just Ick.

What are you showing and telling?

A Rainbow Baby or Two...Now What Do I Do?

2009-09-18T17:30:00.000-07:00

Thank you to all of you who responded to my last post with some compliment to my parenting skills, my ability to impart the truth about death to two littles. Truly I appreciate your words and want so much for them to be true - but doubt myself, still.

I have read book after book after book.

I have searched blog after blog, reading similar laments that made me feel slightly better about the "if - then" consequence I had doled out earlier that morning.

I have asked therapist after therapist for 'sound advice' on parenting children in the wake of loss.

I emply empathy and compassion, trading them for the 'tried and not so true' strategies of the past.

I am continually told that I am doing the best I can and my kids will be better for it.

But nothing really solidifies it for me. In the wake of loss... that is the permeating factor here for to live in the shadow of a sister you never knew, regardless how light and pretty and non-reflective the visage is - is a shadow none-the-less.

For as I often say, parenting Emma is easy. She doesn't wake me in the dark hours of the night or fight vehamently about her dislike of green vegetables. She doesn't beg for 'just one more movie' or strike me down with a vilified look when the timer goes off on her computer time. No, she fills me with joy and light, with purpose and desire, and - of course - with sadness and longing that I wish her perfect self was here to do all those same things.

And there is the problem. On some fantastical level I truly believe that she would be this easy to parent. That if miracles could reverse the tragedy that was her death she would be filled with the resulting gratitude and embrace her life as a gift; eating all her vegetables, offering help to all in need, sailing through pre-teen years with grace, and infusing me will all the afore mentioned emotions.

Rest assured, I do live in the real world. I live with two subsequent children who are, as siblings go, as different as night and day. They see the world through different eyes. They each possess their own intrisic set of rules for living. They feel the world filtered by opposing anxiety thresholds. One is flexible to a fault, the other rigid only able to bend at the ankles. The fir tree and the oak tree if you will.

And, as any parent of siblings will tell you, it takes a different skill set to parent one than the other. But what if that toolbox was orginally filled with hope and wonder and blissfill ingnorance that the worst thing babies can endure is diaper rash has been stripped and repacked with grief, and disapointment, and reality, and an image of perfection that is unattainable at best?

Funny. My biggest fear in having rainbow babies was that I would be unable to differentiate my visualized experience of Emma from their reality. That I would compare and question and wonder until I had blended my tangible child with her angelic sister. I fought hard against this. I have not done this.

But I think, without realizing it, I have failed at a more organic level. Although I put no obvious pressure on them to achieve, I clearly enjoy them differently. I prefer to venture into the world with them individually, embracing whatever they have to offer on that day; leaving the other one to do the same with daddy, or nana, or Grandma.

Perhaps it is a natural response of an only child raising siblings. Or perhaps it is a natural consequence of living intense joy after life-altering loss. I don't have answers, only questions - as ususal. But now, these queries are laced with doses of guilt that I might prefer one reality to another, one self-made fantasy to the facts that are placed before me.

This is hard. Really hard. I am doing my best, and - without saying too much about what our family is currently going through - I hope that the best I am doing is what they need, what will allow them to flourish.

So thanks for your words - and if you are having, or have a tiny rainbow baby and want to remember who they are in connection to their angel sibling check out this awesome link. I wish I'd had one or two!

Show and Tell: Birthdays and Deathdays

2009-09-16T17:19:00.001-07:00

I suppose there really isn't much of a difference in this show and tell.

We celebrated Emma Grace last Tuesday on what would have been her 9th birthday.

No pictures of her thined out, well past little girl face. Just those of our everchanging ones that transform annually in her scrapbook.

The cake, strawberry - just as Bear said it should be.

Days later, the phone rang. "Great Gram has passed" my mother in law said, continuing with details about the funeral this week.

"Your Great, Great Grandmother has died" I told the kids, next day over breakfast.

"Is that the lady that Gram took me to see?" asked Bear, "The one who was 100 and sooooo old she couldn't even get out of bed, or walk, or talk?"

"Yes dear" I said, "that's her. Great Great Gram Brown". "Oh," continued Bear, "Well I still have a Grandma and a Great Grandma and Emma was waiting for her so I guess everything is just fine."

Oh Yes my sweet girl. A long and happy life ended by age is what I would call 'just fine'. And, although it took me a bit of time to find this picture, it was worth it to remember when she could walk, and talk, and hold newborn baby girls with the love of family still intact in her mind and heart.

What are you show and telling?

Eeeek - There's A Louse In The House

2009-09-11T16:12:00.001-07:00

Or, a few hundred...

Seriously. I'm that lucky.

Perhaps I needed a distraction to navigate my grief this year. A mission comprised of mountains of laundry, magnified by loads of patience. Whatever the reason when the phone rang on the first day of my second week of school - on Emma's Birthday - I looked up, instantly knowing it was for me, and that it wasn't going to be good.

Another teacher held the phone out to me.

"Cara" my mom said, "Um, I hate to put this on you today of all days but Comedian has been sent home with lice."

No. Seriously. Cause I'm just that fortunate.

"I already sent dad to the pharmacy to get two treatments. I'll do both girls for you. Bear only had one nit but I'll do her anyway... Don't worry. It will be okay."

She said that for my benefit because I had burst into tears, protected from the flock of preschoolers by a small, rug-resembling makeshift wall. And, once again - without the sarcasm - I am that lucky. I don't know too many nana's that choose to sit and de-louse their grandchildren's hair.

And, it has been okay. I mean, aside from those mountains of laundry and bagging all the stuffed animals in the house and changing Comedian's sheets everyday, and having to call in to work on my second week because the fed.e.rally fun.d.ed preschool she attends has their own 'no nit' policy. I kinda get it. No, I do - because if I was on the other side of this fence, I'd get it. Still, it isn't called a nuisance condition for nothing.

Even so, I must say that I have enjoyed my time with Comedian. I know that might sound strange, but she has been amazingly patient with me, with this whole process. In fact, compared to the cranky, my glasses don't feel right, my body is uncomfortable, I can't possibly ever wear clothes again child I have been bemused by for the last couple weeks the new version sitting quite still with a smile ear to ear Did you get another dead one mummy? is quite lovely.

We chat while I pick nits. She has watched more 'tiny movies' than I could have ever believed I'd allow. Her hair is cleaner than its ever been. Can I see? she askes as I squish yet another sticky egg like sac onto a piece of tape, can we save them to show daddy? They are soooo coool.

Um. Yeah. I'm really that lucky.

So, the long and short of it (HA! Just cracked myself up as her hair was halfway down her back and now grazes her ears!*), anyway -the long and short of it is, it could have been much, much, much, much worse.

Like - Bear having it. Which she doesn't. *Whew* she says as a thank you to the big man above.

But, it has - once again - consumed any available time I had for me and all that other time I already had designated for other things.

A Lesson In Patience was my other potential post title. Damn, if ever I needed any...now's the time.

See you when every last, cottin' pickin', sticky little nit has been removed from my child's head and she's been readmitted to school!

*pictures at the Bear and Comedian as soon as possible.

Happy Birthday Emma Grace

2009-09-08T03:43:00.000-07:00

There is a plan for today wrapped in the kind of traditions we created to measure unquantifiable things.

We will measure her burning bush. How tall would you be.
We will take pictures of her grave with a newly potted mum. What would your new look be?
We will eat a strawberry drip cake with vanilla pudding frosting. What would your favorite flavor be?

Most of the time I have made peace with these answerless questions. In fact, most of the time I just make it up in my head, creating a satisfactory picture much like a sketch artist in a police station. But yesterday my living children, her sisters, posed the questions in such a way that my bland answers of third grade kind of tall just didn't seem to cut it.

"I know" Bear said, "She be just about as tall as the Maddie in third grade, you know, the skinny one and she'd have long straight dark brown hair kind of like me, but longer and her favorite flavor of cake is definately strawberry cause daddy's the only one who really likes it and he needs someone on his side."

So, there you have it. A picture of Emma I've never seen sketched with words by her little sister.

After crying myself to sleep last night I woke to messages from around the globe filled with loving words, supporting advice, and reminders that I'm not in this alone - that the supporter needs to allow herself to be supported every now and then.

I'll take that with me to work today. I can do this. I have to do this.

The Day of Labor

2009-09-07T03:23:00.000-07:00

September 7th.

Otherwise known to be called: the day before the day, the day when everything happened

Annually - the day I fall apart, the day the world becomes a movie theatre and everywhere I look images of my past appear, hospital scenes laced with self doubt lead to an affirming, silent climax play on a revolving screne.

It has taken nine years, but it seems the world has finally got it right. "Happy Labor Day" they will say as I drop a memory box off to a volunteer woodworker, visit a daycare where Comedian will go a couple hours a week during the gap when preschool ends and my job doesn't, and spend some special moments with my mother celebrating her birthday - belatedly.

I will smile in return. No more. For their words hit my heart, fit my memory with an accute precision they can never understand. Yes, I did labor on this day. My body riding wave after wave of contractions while my mind lived in a deluded science-fiction, hollywood ending type haze that if I endured enough pain for my allegedly 'expired' baby, she would emerge alive, a miracle capable of wiping those pitying looks off all their faces.

This has always been my labor day. It always will be.

The images have faded, a little. The movie, syndicated, so I only seem to see certain, select scenes.

For I must labor today.

I have been away for two days. My children need love and attention. My house needs the same, The errands must be run. The tomatoes must be canned. The press releases must be drafted, the events are only one and two months away respectively. New parent packets must be made for the meeting on Wednesday. Mothers are still laboring. Babies are still dying.

There is work to be done. laboring.

Perhaps I'll wear my pin today, my necklace too. Maybe they are meant to don my body two days a year.

Emma Grace entered this world, September 8th at 3:30 am. Her birthday - eternally. I knew, resisted, felt certain, doubted, was told, went delusional, then labored on September 7th.

Happy Labor Day to all...I'll never forget.

When The Warm Wind Blows...

2009-09-06T03:43:00.001-07:00

When the warm wind blows...all the 5 years old go to the middle.
When the warm wind blows...all the kids having hot lunch go to the middle.
When the warm wind blows...go the middle if you like the color yellow.

We used to play this game with the Kindergarteners. They loved it, flowing from the outer rim to the inner circle and back. It was an exercise in listening.

Present Day:

When the Warm Wind Blowed...I followed it, through the rolling mountain hills to a little town called Eden, Vermont - where, it turns out:

there is no cell service
there is no wifi
there are no motels, or hotels, or campgrounds.

My original plan had been to sleep in my van, seats submerged. Jer talked me into taking the truck.

I showed up at Jeff's house unannounced thanks to a forsightful moment when I hit print on the mapquest directions to his address.

"Know of any good places to stay?" I asked, a smile playing on his bemused face. "How about my daughter's room?" he relplied, "She can sleep in with us for the night."

And so, I came to sleep in a very comfortable bed of a highly-articulate 2 1/2 year old surrounded by pictures and memories of her older brother, Simon. His life had been short. 99 days to be exact, before he flew without reason in his sleep. SIDS they call it. Tragedy on another family.

Yet, like so many other families struck down before, they rallied years later to reach out, to create awareness, which is why the warm wind blew me here to this sleepy little town.

Today I will set up Share Southern Vermont's booth and tell our story over and over. Today I will walk five miles, surrounded by others who have their own story.

My Story...

Nine Years ago today I awoke instinctivly knowing something was wrong. Orginally written for my book (another long story in itself) I plan to publish my day to day, mini countdown to Emma's birthday.

In fact, it would have been this post if the flighty attendant at the Sta.pl.es C.opy C.en.ter had remembered to give back my thumb drive after running 200 copies of our brochure and contact cards.

Ah - well, the wind sure it blowing this weekend. And, shockingly, I have finally learned to listen. A few stolen minutes on a friend's computer is enough. Reading blogs will have to wait - again. *sigh*

Home this evening - after I pick up my memory stick and the store credit I demanded...cause I'm like that!

The Meaning of Work

2009-09-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

It isn’t work if you love what you do…

I’ve heard this over and over, throughout my life. Find your purpose and working will feel like playing.

I found my purpose. It doesn’t feel like work.

I love working on Share, reaching out to families, planning awareness events, pulling together fundraisers, writing press releases, networking and collaborating with other support groups, even sending condolance cards to newly bereaved families.

It feels that that thing I'm supposed to do. With one very obvious exception. Noone has knocked on my door yet smiling ear to ear saying, "What a lovely job you have done starting this outreach. My boss would like to be your benefactor and pay you a healthy wage to keep doing it!"

My guess is he's not coming.

Last Tuesday I went back to work. You know, the kind where you have to arrive on time and stay until your contract says you can go? I love that work too, truly I do - but this job is never far from my mind.

And, with it, the fact that I am getting more behind as each pre-school, water stays in the cup, no - you may not throw trains, um - we need clean up in the bathroom, again - minute passes.

My rigidly organized spreadsheets ensure that familes will not fall through the cracks, that newspapers will get the press release before the deadline, that all volunteers are on the same page, and each monthly meeting reminder goes out exactly 7 days prior to the gathering. No, it is my lack of time for blogging, and consequently reading other blogs, that has me in a mental tailspin.

I am having a Pam.p.ered C.hef show later this month. (Not really my thing but I promised hubby as soon as the kitchen was DONE I would. He finished it about a year ago...*sigh* promises must be kept) Anyway, as I was compliling my list of invitees I found myself writing all YOUR names and it was a long minute before I realized that you can't come. You don't live here. We can't just hop in the car and physically see each other. Moreover, you might be a little cranky with me for lack of 'hanging out' with you lately.

I am going away alone this weekend. The point of the trip is to attend The SIMON Project's Ride to Remember. I will be networking as they are a SIDS awareness and prevention group. I will also be alone with my computer during down time and I am very much looking forward to catching up on your blogs and your lives.

Know this as my days meld into weeks working out of the house! Even if I missed a big announcement, a healthy delivery, a slight scare, a rough day, an all around crappy week, I have been thinking of you, praying for you through it all.

My best friends in the world are ones I see but two or three times a year. The conversation flows like the break never existed. This is how I think of you. Although, rest assured I won't dissapear without letting you know!!

Be seeing you this weekend!

Show and Tell: The Tell Is Not Always The Show!

2009-09-02T17:52:00.000-07:00

For example:

The closest we made it to Mt. Washington was here -

the up and down, so narrow I thought my life might be in danger more than once trail road of Smuggler's Notch.

And, our ride up the trail? These,

two borrowed, and not-so-cushiony I might add, bikes that left my arse feeling might sore for days to come. Still I managed 8 scenic miles, ooohhing and ahhhing all the way. FYI - The bike path along Lake Champlain in Burlington is gorgeous!

And, our version of camping?

We DID have the tent, air matress (without a way to blow it up, but would have figured it out), a shovel, food, and tp - but then we saw the clouds roll in and heard someone say the word 'hurricane' with some disscussion before and after and decided to call Jer's cousin who happily took us in!!

So - have you guessed our dream weekend vacation? Yup - we played tourist in our home state!!

And, it was FUN!

There was a little bit of this. Um...a chain resturant is like crack to us have to drive 45 minutes to think of reaching one.

You KNOW I can't resist this two-word phrase. We visited three winerys on this trip, yeah - in Vermont! And Jer doesn't even like wine. I guess he must love me ...

Did a little fishing...

Made a kickin' meat sauce, that added the right taste to the homemade lasagna.

Procured all the necessary ingrediants for making our OWN fruit wine. See, I told you he loved me!

And took a slight detour on the way home to taste some icccce -creeeaaam!

All in all - one of the best weekends in a long time. So how's that for flying life by the seat of your pants?

Not bad for a girl that used to make a spreadsheet just to decide what movie to go see. Now, what is the rest of the class showing and telling?

A Day By Many Other Names

2009-08-31T15:18:00.000-07:00

Today is September 1st.

A day that inherently carries no meaning and yet it means a great deal to me. If you gathered 100 people and asked them to say the first thing that sprung to mind, then uttered "September 1st" they might say things like:

The day I have a haircut.
The day my rent is due.
The day I will get my new cell phone.

It just so happens that I have a few of these underwhelming associations with the day as well.

Today is:

The day Bear starts first grade.
The day Comedian goes to her friends house - all day!
The day I start my new job.
The day before my mother's and my mother-in-law's birthday.

Ok, maybe not so mundane. Even so, this day holds my heart with gently hands for it is my blogoversary. It marks the moment when a train starting gaining momentum, only to find itself barelling down the track in the New Year, creating projects and goals bigger than I ever dreamed to imagine.

A Year In Review could be done, in fact, it probably should. But not today. Today it enough for me to breath a big, contented sigh of friendship with all of you around the globe.

Suffice it to say, if you have ridden these last 365 days with me you could probably tick off my big ideas on your right hand.

Parenting After Loss Blogging

Founding Share Southern Vermont - Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support

Building An Angel Wall

Writing For Exhale Magazine

But being here, being welcomed by this emotionally bonded community meant more than all the achievements put together. The first people to ever comment and say, "Hi. So sorry to meet you but so glad I have" laid the groundwork for all that was to come by giving me the courage to do it.

On September 1st, 2008 I began a countown to Emma's birthday. I went back and read them today. Tears fell. Memory swam. If you would like to take a trip down memory lane with me, your ticket is punched. Just click on over and scroll to the bottom. Hope to see you in the passenger car.

Happy Blogoversary....Happy Blogoversary.....Happy Blog-o-ver-saaaaa-rrrrr-yyyyy...Happy Day To You and Me!

German Chocolate Cake. That's my favorite. Have a slice, then raise your tall glass of milk to the power of the ALI community.

And many more....cha cha cha

Show and Tell - The Show

2009-08-26T11:02:00.000-07:00

My husband is allegic to poison ivy. Well, if we were to get techincal about it, he is allergic to the oil on the plant.

"Hmmm" he muttered about a week before our anniversary in May, "I think I might have gotten into some poison ivy."

"I'll call the doctor" I said. "No" he replied, "I don't think it's much. Maybe it won't happen".

A week later I was making calls. I was cancelling the childcare we had in place for our weekend getatway. And, of course, one to the doctor - for him.

"Sorry" he muttered, over and over. "No problem" I said, meaning it, we'll just cash in on those childcare overnights and go away for Emma's birthday this year. It will be great!"

It had hit his blood stream.

He was covered head to toe, literally.

It took six weeks to clear up.

Ick.

***

Because the weekend of Emma's birthday we will be at The SIMON Project's Ride to Remember (a SIDS foundation that supports support groups) we are taking our mini-vaca this weekend.

"Um, I hate to say this but I think I got in the ivy again." He told me this on Saturday. Saying nothing in return I picked up the phone. "You have an appointment at 2pm" I told him five minutes later, "and we are going away this weekend. I don't care that we can't afford it. We can't afford not to go. Get your meds and start taking them today."

We really can't afford it - financially I mean. I already have had to make choices to delay paying things that allow me to without penalty. But I speak the truth when I say that we cannot afford not to go.

This time of year it is essential for me to feel connected. If not, I can easily drift so far into myself that I become strangely vacant. It happened just a few weeks ago and it isn't pretty. And so, somehow we will find a way to get here:

To the top of Mount Washington.

We might even take this:

The Cog Railway.

And with any luck, and perhaps a little angel on our side, we might get to see this.

We will bask in each other's presence. Just to two of us, going grass roots to rediscover the things about each other that made us look twice all those years ago.

***

"Damn" he muttered, August 8th 1999. I feared he might be out of words, for we had talked the night away, unable to leave each other's side, "I think this might be the beginning of something special."

Well, I say: Damn the weather. Damn our finances. Damn that poison ivy.

We will go to the top of that glorious mountain. And we will come back renewed. Ready to start the school year. Ready to celebrate our daughter's heavenly birthday. Renewed and ready.

So there's The Show...Next week, The Tell! What is the rest of the class show and telling?

All Consuming

2009-08-25T17:28:00.000-07:00

That is what life as the director of a non -profit organization seems to be.

There is always something to so. There is always an event to be planned. There is always red tape to walk like a tightrope as I prepare the presentation packets for the select board I have to speak in front of on Wednesday night...

Oh, sorry, yet another to-do list crept up on me.

We have a wonderful board of directors, each taking on responsibilities to share the load. Even so, turning to you made sense.

A new post is up at SSV. If you are good with wood or thread, please click over.

If you feel led to help us, please let me know.

You are all such good friends, how could I not ask you?

Perfect Moment Monday - Gifts of Inspiration

2009-08-24T07:29:00.000-07:00

FACT ONE: I have always celebrated motherhood. Even before I was a mother, I saw the beauty in it and knew it would be a celebration for me...one day.

FACT TWO: I don't wear much jewlery. I don't have pierced ears. I don't stop and look at the ring / necklace booths at craft fairs. They just don't call to me.

I wear my engagement ring and wedding ring.

THE RING

And so, a few years ago, when my deepest desire became to own a mother's ring it was no wonder my husband raised his eyebrows and asked, "Really? You mean, to wear it, all the time?"

Yes. A visual and tangential representation of my three children, touching me, at all times. That is what I wanted for my birthday, then for Christmas, then - finally - on Mother's day it arrived. A simple yellow gold band with a symmetrical hearts housing three stones, Emma's in the middle, loved on either side by here sister's purple and red hues.

I put it on immediately. I rarely take it off. (I am having great difficult photographing it...but look closely in the pic later and you can see it)

***

THE PIN

"Just come Cara, you don't even have to look at the jewlery if you don't want to. Just come and sit and have a glass of wine and enjoy our company" my neighbor said, talking me into going to her jewlery party a few weeks ago. Lowering her voice she finished, "It kinda sounds like you need it".

I did. And I did glance at the sterling silver bobbles. Not surprisingly, nothing called to me. But, to be polite I turned the pages of the catalog as I sipped the afore mentioned wine.

And then I saw it. And it did call to me. The back says, "Watch Over Me". So I ordered it. For me. For Emma. For us.

An angel pin that called her name. Another visual and tangential reminder of her I can wear close to my heart. "I'll wear it on her birthday" I said to my husband, thinking I had to justify the purchase, "And, any other day when I feel myself slipping."

***

THE NECKLACE

An email popped up from one of my favorite people. She was the first follower on the Share Southern Vermont site and a founding force from across the country as we began the group.

I read, "The video is beautiful and so are you. Emma has inspired me to do something for her Mommy and it's on its way to you. Blessings always for all the grieving parents and our babies."

It arrived last week. With a note.

"Dear Cara - I hope you enjoy this mother's necklace made for you. I truly was inspired by Emma to create a crystal mecklace with the birthstone colors of your three girls. - Love, Martha"

***

Wow. This is amazing. This is astounding. This is overwhelming. Thank you Martha. You are a dear friend.

Give freely and you recieve with gratitude.

Now I know what this really means.

And, ironically, the girl who "doesn't wear jewlery" now owns a ring, a pin, and a necklace - all in memory of Emma Grace, all to keep the inspiration flowing as we reach out and support other families living the hell of babyloss.

If...

2009-08-23T06:04:00.000-07:00

You like success stories

AND

you are ok with pictures of living children

AND

you were wonding how that afternoon of swimming I spoke of went...

then you have an open invitation to click over to The Bear and The Comedian.

Where I'm Supposed To Be

2009-08-20T15:40:00.001-07:00

"Hi!" I said, more cheerfully than I truly felt. The sun beat down on the plastic chairs. I looked down the line of mothers following their children's trajectories as they bobbed in the shallow water.

***
I don't take the kids to the town pool.

It is twelve miles away. It is crowded. I can't work there. Not to mention that our neighbor has given us blanket permission to use his any time. It's one hundred yards away and vacant.

But swimming lessons have introduced us to the town pool and strirred memories of my own childhood in this little town where our lazy, hazy days of summer were spent swimming and eating popsicles until we were lobster red.

And so, today, lost in my own private nostalgia I said out loud, "Why don't we spend the afternoon at the town pool?"

As we drove there, the kids barely contained by their seat belts for the excitment running through their bodies, I realized just what I had gotten myself into. crowded, social, people I know, people I used to know...

Ah well, I rationalized, at least there are lifeguards there so I don't have to be in the water the whole time.

***
"Hey Cara! Oh My! It's been so long. Is that Bear? That must be Comedian." I knew what was coming before she said it, "They are so tall!"

Smiling and nodding I sat, settling in. One glance at my girls made clear they were living the life I recently had been remembering.

"I heard you started a group of some sort" the mom closest said, one arm around her nearly nine year old daughter. I immediately recognized her as the wife of our local undertaker.

***
I should have known I was supposed to be there. I should be in tune enough by now to recognized when I'm being led somewere, even if I have no idea why.

Emma moves in this world. She transcends my experience here as evidenced by so many former posts: one red leaf on her burning bush last fall, the double rainbow appearing on her birthday as we exited the resturant, my Missouri hot tub experience, and how I found our Share meeting space.

She wasn't alone today.

I spoke of Share Southern Vermont. I spoke of my mission. I spoke of the sad tragedies happening all around us right now.

She listened. She nodded. Then she said, "My good friend had a stillborn baby nearly ten years ago. She has more children now, but that was so difficult for her."

We began talking about how hard it is to reach the families who lost babies before the group began. We were loosly brainstorming how to get the word further out when her cell phone rang. She casually glanced at the caller id screen, and gasped.

When our eyes met, I knew. "Would you believe that is her?" she asked, still staring at the screen. I answered her as she walked away talking animatedly, "No, I swear I was just saying your name. This is so weird..."

"Yes, I believe it.", I said smiling ear to ear.

Two angel babies were busy today. Another connection made. Another stepping stone placed. Another earthly connection with my daughter.

Thank you Emma Grace. Your presence in my life is so precious. Guide me and I'll do the rest.

Show and Tell - The Story Behind the Story

2009-08-19T17:45:00.000-07:00

I'm Baaaaack, courtesy of Two Bass, A Beer, A Benedryl and A Blessing Way.

What!? You don't know the story yet? Well - click on over and read that first! Today, for Show and Tell - I offer a pictoral version and they will make A LOT more sense if you read the story.

The Tale of Two Bass

Begins with a boat, well - a canoe actually.

"HEY!" I joked, after not catching about twenty fish in a row, "I'm getting better. I can gauge the size of the WEED I have on!" "Heh" Jer managed, "better take a picture of it then." So I did.

$14 fish number one

And $14 fish number too, where, because I am suave like fisherwoman, I managed to catch the net too!

The Tale of A Beer and a Benedryl

Well, I didn't actually take a picture of either (Ironically it was a Bass Ale) so here's a representative shot of the Shiraz that hides in the back of my pantry for what I like to call, 'executive decision emergency' nights.

Oh, and while I was self medicating the rest of the crew was oogling over their fish:

No, I did not take drastic measures because of my fish tally! I told you it would make more sense if you read the story!

So that leaves...

The Tale of the Blessing Way

Which, because of the tone of this post and the time I will defer for yet another day. But I think the picture says just about all you need to know. We were six connected, in-tune, red-tent sisters by the end. It was just about perfect.

What are you showing and telling?

And Then There Was This...

2009-08-18T17:05:00.000-07:00

This family lives 45 minutes south of me.
They are fighting for their twins to be recognized as people.

What's worse, they were still getting over losing a baby girl, Shannon, last year due to "complications at childbirth"

Her voice is strong. Her message is clear. I just hope that we can make a difference.

The video is two minutes and well worth watching.

http://www.wcax.com/global/video.asp?clipId=4039338&autostart=true

This is a portion of the message I sent to the production manager at the tv station.

"...I am writing to say a profound thank you for covering and airing the story of Patricia and Randy Blair's twins. The tragedy is not as rare as people believe, but what is uncommon is for it to gain any media attention. It is time to speak of these losses and by doing so, affirm for the parents that their babies are loved and remembered..."

Patricia and Randy - We are so very sorry for you all your losses. Shannon, Kaleb and Harley lived and still live because of you. The ALI community and Share Southern Vermont will always recognize and remember your children. Please reach out when you are ready. We are here to support you as you begin yet another grief road.

Two Bass, A Beer, A Benedryl and a Blessing Way

2009-08-17T17:54:00.000-07:00

This, apparently, is the combination for snapping one out a funk so deep she wasn't recognizable - not even to herself.

I know that the timeline doesn't quite fit. My last post was uplifiting and so was the wedding, mostly. It was a cultural blending of the most gorgeous kind: Christian and Tibetan. The colors burst from every angle, bright reds, deep green and prints of every kind. We danced the night away. I smiled and laughed. Even still, the fog remained so that when I looked at Great Gram or an uncle looking quite elderly before his time my first thought was I wonder how long until we gather again for a funeral.

Cheerful, yes?

The wedding was like a bandaid that you put on right before you take a shower. It didn't last long.

And, I am sad to say, that instead of turning to all of you, pouring my soul into the keyboard like I have in the past, I went completely inward. Now that words have returned to me I think of it like this.

Connecting with you has been like travelling abroad. I turn on the computer and instantly immerse myself in your life, your culture, your language, your grief and your joys. Your experiences validate mine but also allow me to be a support. While I was supporting I didn't have to focus on my pain. You were my bandaid. Your adhesive was strong. I said that my grief attacked me like a runner foul-starting on the line, but it didn't. Not really. I just didn't see it coming.

The bandaid was ripped off and I had to walk away - just for a few weeks. I had to live in my here, my now, my timezone. I had to come home to feel my grief. Please forgive me for not announcing my vacation. I had no idea it was coming.

TWO BASS

There is, however, great anonimity in not annoucing you are leaving town. I found this out last weekend as we packed for an imprompu fishing trip. We skipped town Thursday morning without intentionally telling a soul arriving at his parent's hunting/fishing camp near the Canadian border at lunch time.

"It might be good for you" Jer said to me, his facial expression clearly saying the words he dare not speak, "Oh Lord do I hope this helps - even a little"

I am not a fisherwoman, but I try. I bought a 3 day fishing license for $28. I caught two fish, total. Yes, do the math, please.

But I was settled a bit by the lake in the wee hours of the morning, the calm of the water as the sun rose, the noise the paddle made as we pushed through the surface.

A BEER AND A BENEDRYL

What stopped any forward emotional progress was lack of sleep. I am a light sleeper. Others (I'll leave it at that to be kind) at the camp are LOUD sleepers. One has earned himself the evening nickname of 'the chainsaw'. Seriously, his snores sound just like them.

After the first night of, and I am not stretching this here, little to no sleep I was in a more I-better-apologize-in-advance-for-my-lack-of-enthusiasm-to-be-here mood than ever.

The next night I discovered an evening cocktail of my own. You guessed it, the beer and the benedryl. I know, I know - you can lecture me on the saneness of my choice later but get this: not only did I NOT hear 'the chainsaw', but I slept in the same room as my youngest daughter (recall she didn't sleep through the night till four years old and still wakes up alot) and....wait for it....I slept through the night without hearing a thing!

The next day looked a whole lot brighter. The trip really did start to lift my spirits.

A BLESSING WAY

I returned home to complete my weekend by attending a dear friend's blessing way. The intense experience I had at this traditional Navajo blessing ritual for momma and baby is far too detailed for this post. It deserves one of its very own.

I will share that during the guided drum meditation I had a profound experience. I felt 'full of the womb' as I shared in the circle afterwards. Clearly, I am not pregnant but the sensation instantly reconnected me to each of you that are or are trying. One by one you went through my mind and like a coach calling off players on his roster your stats appeared: 18 weeks, 4 days - currently in a good state of mind - planning a c-section - lost three babies before, and the like.

My passport had been re-instated and I reveled in the feeling not wanting it to end. When the drum beat changed and we were called back silent tears fell from my cheeks. I grieved having to let it go, that fullness within me. I wanted to keep it, to stay in that moment inevitably. As I sat up it fluttered briefly before dissapearing but in its place I found what I had been missing the last month: renewed acceptance.

The thought of Emma no longer brought immediate tears to my eyes.
The word angel didn't send my into hysterics.
The idea of cooking, cleaning, and righting my home seemed appealing.
The pull to return to my husband and show him gratitude for seeing me though another ugly season led me out of the tent.

I skipped the dinner and went straight home.

Briefly I wondered if today would dawn as bleak as all the other days before it, regardless of the bright sun shining down. It didn't. My drive has returned. My bittersweet love for the mission given me has been rekindled. My passport as been reinstated.

And so, if you are struggling, weighted down by a cloak of unyeilding grief, perhaps you too might find solace in two bass, a beer, a benedryl, and a blessing way. An odd combination to be sure. An effective one for me.

Shifting

2009-08-07T04:30:00.000-07:00

I awoke this morning to find my husband's lips on my cheek. As if in a commercial, the smell of strong coffee wafted through the room. "Bear's had breakfast and Comedian's still sleeping" he said, "I have to go. Love you - hope today is better."

After listening to the sound of his engine dissapear I lingered for a few minutes more. I opened my eyes. Yes, something is a bit brighter today. I realized with minor shock.

I walked downstairs to find Bear calm, happy, surrounded by her barbies and spinning a 'lets pretend' story in song. perfect

My coffee waited for me, just a bit of milk, no sugar. perfect

A few responses from yesterday's show and tells waited for me with love and support and countless hugs. thank you

An idea hits me: perhaps I'll do a load of laundry today, or pay some bills, or finally go shopping in my closet to find a dress for that wedding we are going to tommorrow.

I do so love weddings. They are love and hope and promise all spun into one beautiful day, finished by good food, good drink, and a spin or two around the dance floor.

Could it be, be purging my emotion I've been granted a brief haitus from this grief? I try on my old meditation mantra.

I will embrace this day, I will create this day, I will enjoy this day for what it is.

I'll let you know -- but so far so good. Have to go put the girls eggs on a plate. Yes, I actually cooked eggs. See? Good signs.

Show and Tell: Since I Feel Like I'm There Anwyay We Might As Well Go -- Back To The Beginning, Part 1 - Page 2 &3

2009-08-05T10:11:00.000-07:00

A quick recap:

Recently I found Emma's journal.

Thinking I was ready, I decided to go back to the beginning.

Part One is HERE

Her ninth birthday is on September 8th.

The post before this is a peek into my current mindset...so let's go back, together, shall we?

PAGE 2

The journal is falling apart. No real surprise as so am I these days. But the symbolism has a melodramatic feel as I re-glue each piece of tissue paper, and then, the obituaries on top of them. Clearly, I am still putting the pieces back together in some way.

The fragile, nearly see through pieces of newsprint say things like:

"Emma Grace ... , infant daughter of Jeremiah and Cara... died Sept. 8th, 2000 at..."

"A private family graveside commital service will be...."

"There will be no visiting hours..."

"Contributions may be made to the Childbirth Center..."

My mind says:

~If you acknowledge that she died then you must recognize that she lived, but you - the collective you, as in politicos and state legistatures, insist that becuase she was born dead there was never life. Although I will argue this point until I join her in heaven, if they are so very insistant with their rebuttal shouldn't it have said, Emma Grace...infant daughter of Jeremiah and Cara...was born still on Sept. 8th, 2000 at... I'm one for details like that.

~The graveside service was private?? Really? As in either I, or he, or perhaps even Emma's life touched nearly 200 private people in our lives? Imagine if it had been open to the public. Just imagine...

~ Yes, come to think of it there were no visiting hours. Never occurred to me before. Probably a good choice as the sight of her casket ripped me into a thousand pieces, some real, most fictional. Couldn't have handled a church service either.

~ Contributions may be made to the Childbirth Center. Really? Was this protocol? Could I have trusted my mind to think logically and find a support group or research facility where donations could have been sent? Clearly not...but I wish I had and I wonder if said birthing center ever did receive a donation in the name of Emma Grace. Doubtful.

(Reminder to current self: add a link list on the sidebar of all the locations people can send grieving supporters to donate)

Sorry for the downer show and tell...next time - Page 3, a more honest peek into my early post Emma days.

"9-15-00 : Our joys will be greater - Our love will be deeper - Our life will be fuller - Because we shared your moment...

And they are.

Grief Season Opens Early...Take Cover

2009-08-01T18:59:00.000-07:00

I am in a rut, and not just the literary kind, but an all-encompassing life-sized-rut where motivation and desire seep from you like water through a collander. The transistion was not slow. Almost overnight, it seems, I realized that I am not myself. I stop. I focus my senses.

I can feel the hollowness reattaching itself to me.

I can sense sadness nearby readying its attack..

I can smell memory beginning its annual journey to possess me.

I cringe at the sharp tone escaping my mouth, even as the tears well - again.

On one level, that of a parent who loves their child unconditionally, even if it means that I have to love her through grief; even if it dictates that I allow despair full reign of my being for a spell -I welcome it.

On a more cognitive plane, I'm aware that it is a rotten time to be deabilitated, especially when the world sees no outward change in my movements or activities. A person mis-diagonsed with a sprain when they have truly broken their leg gets no support. A bereaved mother, approaching nine years out, with two happy, healthy, active girls to celebrate is spared little intuition from her friends. It's approaching that time of year again. ~~ I can tell you are feeling a bit down lately, understandably ~~ I remember her every year too...just thought you might like to know.

It would be nice, wouldn't it -- to have our inner gutting be reconginzed before the inevietable scene where I lose it, crying hysterically as I run from a movie theatre for no very good (read: obvious) reason.

It happens every year, not the running-from-a-movie-like-a-lunatic part, but the first part of this post, the bulleted vingettes that shape-shift my personality as Grief Season begins.

It's started early this year. I'm thrown. I have no idea why.

Perhaps you know I write a monthly blog post for the Share National Blog, perhaps not. It runs the first week of each month. Below is what will appear this week. It says what I'm trying to much better than I seem to be able through a keyboard that's not mine, tears falling upon it, and longing to hold my baby girl's heavy, red-lipped body just one more time that is nearly knocking me out of my chair.

Every year I expect it to get just a bit more bearable. It doesn't.

July 2009 – Grief Season Opens Early

“They stocked the stream yesterday” I hear annually. Within hours the fishing poles, tackle and canoe have been unearthed, readied for the next days use.

“Got your license yet?” is the popular question months later as clever deer take cover and less intuitive ones end up in our freezer.

Vermont is known for its seasons and not just the classic four: Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring. No, here we trudge through Mud Season. We sweat through Hay Season. We swat through Black Fly Season. And, this year, the Rainy Season seems to have come to stay.

What is less attended to is Grief Season. This season is a sneaky one. It does not arrive preceded by rain, or mud or sun. There are no marking flowers or distinct temperatures associated with it. No, that isn’t entirely true. If I stop and focus; if I look, listen, and feel the signs are everywhere: a slight chill in the air, the promise of Fall within weeks, leaves starting to look more crisp than the week before, and a slightly red tint on the leaves of Emma’s burning bush.

This is my grief season. Much like J.K. Rowling’s love potion, the signs are different for each of us. Ordinary parts of perfectly good seasons become omens of rough days to come. She was due on the 6th. . I realized she was gone, then labored through a deluded haze on the 7th. She was born on the 8th.

Annually, I have come to recognize these signals, taking emotional cover. Every August, the roughest segment of road appears marked by a bright yellow road sign: CAUTION - SEPTEMBER APPROACHING – 14 DAYS – SHARP TURNS AHEAD.

And yet, is seems my grief season has begun early. Even if the signs are different, its emotional makeover is unmistakable. Without warning my body hurts, aches, head to toe. I am plagued by constant fatigue. My migraines have returned with vengeance. Armed with prescription meds I can keep them at bay, but they are always there ready to attack with the slightest provocation. My mood, so recently light and flexible to match our summer schedule, has become darker, more subdued with the regrettable side effect that I find myself barking at people more and more. Wait! It isn’t time yet. I’m not ready yet. Oh, just breath – I’ll test this theory.

I smell the air. It’s still hot and sticky.

I search the trees. Their leaves still look supple and lively.

I inspect her burning bush. It is pregnant with growth this year, just as green as its neighbor – not a hint of red.

Don’t ask…no, don’t. But I can’t help myself.

Why? Why the shift in schedule? Does this mean it will pass and dissipate earlier than usual too? Doubtful. So, why the assigned extension?

I could attempt to answer this rhetorical query.

Because I am going back to work.
Because this magical year of writing is coming to a tapered end.
Because babies are still dying.
Because my commitments will cause me to be ‘less Emma’s mother’ again
Because I’m sharing pregnancy after loss anxiety with the members of our support group who are trying again.
Because on September 8th she turns nine years old.

Because…Because…Because

They are only guesses. Some might me more accurate than others, but it comes to the same end. I passed the road sign. My Grief Season has come early this year.

What are your signs that grief season has begun? What are your triggers and how do you try to combat them?

A Decision Reached

2009-07-31T08:38:00.000-07:00

First and foremost, a big thank you to all who commented on my last post. Your insights and opinions went a long way in the Share Southern Vermont board of directors making a decision regarding contact protocol after a loss.

If you requested a shirt, know that I will send those out tomorrow morning. If you insited on making a donation...thanks. Our smiles get bigger knowing how you support our efforts.

I do plan on replying to each of you, in due time, but time seems to be my enemy lately. The summer rush seems to have begun. You know, the how-much-fun-and-day-camps-can-we-cram-in-before-school-starts rush?

In any case, as you took the time to give your well-earned reccomendations I thought I would do the same to report our verdict.

The board met last Monday night. Our main concern was balancing offers of support without being to pushy or crossing over privacy lines. We also wanted to be consistant with our approach so each new family received the same opportunities to respond as the next.

Here is what we decided. We will contact families:

1. At time of loss. This will be done either at the memorial / funeral or by mail if we aren't aware of the loss until afterwards. The packet will be identical to that we proposed to the hospital so we know the families are receiving our information. (we are still fighting hard to create a working realationship with the hospital...but with very little results)

2. One Month Later: via phone call or email, whichever we have been given permission to use. During this call we will offer whatever support they feel ready for, as well as a memory box if they weren't already given one from the hospital they delivered at. We will also inquire how the family would like us to continue reaching out in the coming months.

3. (If we don't hear back) Six Months Later: via phone call or email. Just checking in to see how they are doing and if we can be of any assistance at the time.

4. One Year Anniversary: Via regular mail. We are currently voting on an appropriate card to send to the family, marking the day and making sure they know someone out there remembers with them.

Obviously, the best case result is that one of our initial outreaches results in the family coming to the monthly support group and working through their grief in the company of others living the same hell.

So -- again, many thanks to each of you for weighing in. We owe you a great deal.

Oh, and if you have a line on compassionate grief cards sold in bulk at a resonable price, feel free to email me with that info!!!

In Grief, Love and Hope

Cara

Turn To The Back

2009-07-25T06:05:00.000-07:00

I've never been much of a newspaper reader. A picture-skimmer perhaps, who occasionally gets drawn in and reads a portion of the article, but not a cover-to-cover reader.

And yet, In the last month I have received two emails that went something like this: "Check yesterday's paper for an obituary we {Share Southern Vermont, Inc.} should acknowledge".

And so, I find myself looking at newspapers, almost daily. I still don't read the majority of the articles. I still surf the pictures. But not until after I have turned directly to the back and skimmed the entire obituary contents, my eyes searching for key words like: infant and baby.

I imagine there are people out there who read obituaries daily.

I never thought I'd become one of them.

I hope and pray that the cards, memory boxes, t shirts, and support group information SSV sends to these families reaches their hearts. I've yet to blog about the funeral three SSV board members attended recently for a stillborn baby boy, 8 months gestation. I will. I have to.

But here is my struggle. After we reach out, after we present them with all the grief support we can think of during their acute shock, how long should we wait before contacting them with an offer of support again? I mean, its not like we are long lost friends who could call weekly in the beginning. We are a group of well meaning, totally comprehending, we-lived-it-too, parents; but strangers none-the-less. It is essential to treat families with respect, but not to leave them hanging when they truly want support!

So, I turn the question to you wise bloggers and iclw-ers. If Share had reached out to you just after your loss and the box of stuff sat on your table, opened but not really attended to for weeks afterwards, when would you want them to call you again?

Leave a comment with your opinion and why you feel that way.

And...for your trouble. If you want a L or XL, Share Southern Vermont - First Annual Walk for Hope and Rememberance T-shirt, email me your address / size choice and it will be on its way.

In Grief, Love, and Hope,

Cara

Mother to Emma Grace, born still 9.8.00 - 40 weeks and 1 day

Founding Director - Share Southern Vermont, Inc.

Show and Tell -- A Taste of Italy

2009-07-22T16:06:00.001-07:00

I married a man who, although comprised of a great many heritages, is as far from Italian as one can get. So, although my last name has long been changed to a Vermonter's monniker my love of all things Italy, expecially the food, remains.

Guilty Truth? I could eat pasta at every meal! With a good basil, cream sauce - fresh panchetta and peas and a tall glass of pinot noir to match!

Of course we don't, having a gluten free girl in the house, and its a good thing or I'd be the size of this big old farmhouse, but - even so -some of my fondest childhood memories are walking the North End of Boston with my parents.

The traditional Italian resturants...Nonnies!

The traditional Italian pastry...Mikes!

And, of course, the traditional Italian little old men sitting on random street benches speaking animatedly with both their voices and their hands!

Recently I was as a yard sale and saw a crumpled box. At first glance it looked old, but then I realized it house a brand new pitzelle maker, and the box had only sustained considerable water damage. $5 the price tag said.

And, if you read here on even a semi-consistant basis you will recall my love for all yard-sale procured, $5 and under small kitchen appliances! Ah- but this was no run-of-the-mill gadget. No, this was a traditional Italian pitzelle maker.

Just standing there looking at the box brought a delicious sensation to my mouth. I could nearly taste the vaguely licorace taste of the thin pastaries. And, although $5 was all I had in my pocket on that particular day, I bought it.

I have not been dissapointed. Nor, have I been visited by the buyer's remorse that often visits me.

Instead -- I have created these!

My father says they are (his words), "Hands down, some of the best he's ever tasted". I can't really take any credit for that, as (1) he's bound to be a bit bias as I am his daughter and (2) it is so shamefully easy to do that a blindfolded monkey could probably be trained.

Even so, I've experimented with different kinds and - so far - the neighbors (my taste testers) have had nothing but rave things to say! I've even let my mind spin so far as to think about mass production, packaging and selling in the few random stores in our little town.

For now, this delicious - if only a little bit bad for me - reminder of my heritage is enough. So, what is the rest of the class showing?

Perfect Moment Monday - A Pregnant Pause (UPDATED)

2009-07-19T16:33:00.000-07:00

WELCOME ICLW-ERS! THERE IS MUCH GOING ON HERE AT BHB IN THE LAST WEEK AFTER, WHAT NOW SEEMS A STRANGE CONCERN I HAD ABOUT LACK OF WRITING TIME. IF YOU ARE NEW ON THE GRIEVING JOURNEY YOU MIGHT FIND AN ODD KIND OF COMFORT IN MY "BACK-TO-THE-BEGINNING SERIES". PART ONE IS RECENT, MY FIRST TIME BACK TO THE JOURNAL I WROTE DIRECTLY AFTER EMMA DIED. WHAT FOLLOWS HERE IS PRESENT DAY MUSINGS...

UPDATE- TUESDAY, JULY 21ST: ELIJAH ARRIVED AT 11PM LAST NIGHT AND A CUTE COMEDIAN STORY, AS WELL AS PICS OF THE BABE ARE AT THE OTHER BLOG. THANKS FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS AND WELL WISHES. MOMMA AND BABY ARE FINE, TIRED - BUT FINE.
***
Emma wasn't just my firstborn. She was the first grandchild on both sides.

One year, one month later my nephew was born.

I was ambivalent about the birth. I was jealous. I was simultaneously happy, incandesced, angry, excited, nervous and anxious to meet him.

It just so happened I was spending the night at my friend's house because our evening class had run late. The phone rang, "Hey babe" Jer said, "Just thought you'd want to know that she had the baby and...it's a boy." I had hoped, no - prayed and begged for that. Somehow it will make it less painful...I told myself.

It didn't.

After hanging up the phone I was engulfed in a tidal wave of tears. The wracking, full-body-reaction kind of sobbing that makes a puppet out of you. My puppeteer, a rocking chair, seemingly moving of its own accord: back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; if only to remind me that I still exisited. Through it all my friend said all the right words, stroking my hand, allowing my emotions.

Not one's typical reaction to the miracle of birth.

It could have been that his birth was so close to her first birthday.

It might have been that I, even though I wasn't exactly 'trying' on account of my general state of puddle-on-the-floor-mushiness I'd existed in for the last year, wished it were me giving birth; suffering through painful contractions with the end in sight -- a live baby.

It could have been the flashbacks it brought on, the new wave on intense longing for my baby girl, or the fact that this baby was fawned over while mine was invisible, and consequently -- rarely spoken of.

I suppose it was all of the above. Whatever the emotional cocktail, the result was I spent little time with my nephew in his younger years. I wonder if, without intending to, I resented him for re-taking the 'top spot'.

After that, my sister and law and I took turns, annually having a baby so that the school system has reason to raise their eyebrows each year and say, "Another from the Tyrrell-clan starting this year?"

Today*, my second nephew is making his way into the world.

The four cousins slept together last night, a perfectly content ladder of children ages 7,6,5 and 4. By days end, the last of the T-clan will have pushed his way into our family.

Today I am excited, anxious, jump every time the phone rings, in love with idea of another, grateful to have these kids in my home, and filled with an indescribable kind of peace every time our family's second-first born looks into my eyes and calls me, "Aunt Cara".

He remembers nothing of my ambivalence. He only knows I love him and his sister, and - of course - the little boy we hope to meet before the sun sets.

A perfect moment to be sure. Click back for all the rest.

*- And, on his actual due-date. How rare is that?

Back To The Beginning - Part 1, Page 1

2009-07-16T10:53:00.001-07:00

I barely slept last night. Opening the cover of Emma's journal was like a portal. I knew it would be. And yet my sleepless hours weren't filled with movie-like images of the past. Instead they probed me with questions: What was on the next page? When will you continue the journey? Are you really ready? Are you scared of what you will find?

Grief Season arrived early this year.

Naptime isn't a given in this household any longer. The girls are four and six after-all, but today it evolved rather effortlessly. My plan was to revert to the infancy habit of 'sleep when they sleep' to preperve the moddacum of patience I have managed to produce today. But, being the finish what I start kind of person that I am I decided to finish commenting on some recent posts.

Good plan. Mentally swept clean I could actually rest.

However the last offering from the list led me to Once A Mother's blog, which left me sobbing, which brought me back to the journal, which- in turn - has found me here.

And so - Page 1

The Letter Reads:

"We wanted to say a final goodbye that travelled with you to your new home. Your father and I prepared your room and prepared our hearts for your entrance into our lives. Both are, at this moment, empty. In time your brother or sister will fill your room but noone will ever take your place in our hearts. We wish you a blessed trip to heaven and your sinless soul a speedy life until we meet you again. Our earthly time holding you, hugging you, dressing you, and loving you is etched forever in our memories. ~~ We love you forever, Mom and Dad"

The jounal sits in my lap as I type this, for as my tears fall freely I need her right now to tell the truth.

The truth is that I was clearly in shock. No one resembling the puddle-on-the-floor that I turned into could have formulated such clear, cookie-cutter thoughts let alone formulate them into sentences on paper with perfect elementary-ed-teacher handwriting. Although I don't actually remember pasting the picture into the journal or writing the letter, I can look back through my mind's eye. As it focuses I see a broken shell of a girl clinging to what she knew: order, writing, record keeping, and putting facts on paper, saying them repeatedly until they took the shape of the truth. Oddly, the entry in undated, yet as the next entry is clearly marked 9/15/00 I must have written this letter sometime in the week after her death and birth.

The truth is that most of what I wrote were lies. I clung to the untruths because, according to me, that was the way it was supposed to be. I wrote what I wanted my experience to look like, not ready to admit that the way it actually happened was all right and if someone chose to judge me, him, us for the choices we made that it would actually be their issue not ours. We had our issue. Our baby died. At some point I had to admit it, believe it, but not yet -- not when I wrote that letter, eyes glazed by fantasy.

The truth is that We didn't do all those pretty things I spoke of. I did. I prepared the room, I set up the car seat, I glowed at the baby-shower arriving home with a Ford wagon laiden down with more gear than our tiny apartment could hold. I was ready our baby girl. I needed to write that journal.

The truth is that Jer was more anxious, scared, and overwhelmed at the arrival of our baby girl than blissfully overjoyed. His emotions were completely valid as our re-connecting, falling in love, falling pregnant and getting married were unintenionally accomplished in the span of 6 months. He would have been fine. He would have been struck-down in love with that girl from day one. This I know. But instead, he was forced to attempt to reconcile his hestiant emotions with the devestation, grief, and disbelief her death presented. Moreover, the silent unanimous vote elected him the pillar, an ever present rock for me: making decisions, cooking, cleaning, working, paying bills; leaving little time or energy for any grief he needed to feel, to expel, to share with me.

As I work with family after family during their time of acute grief I see this play out. The father has little opportunity to just be, to feel their tidalwave of emotions.

The truth is I never acknowledged this. I never gave Jer his time or space to sort out the emotional expolsion that Emma's conception, death, then birth presented him with. Instead I projected rosy, hormonal expectations onto him putting a dual face on my experience. Oh, we had such hopes for our little girl, I gushed to a neighbor. We clearly remember how she settled right in our honeymoon cruise. She just loved the rocking of the ocean. It soothed her - really, I recounted more times than I can count. Yes, I confirmed to many a sympathizer, We were so ready for her. How can she not be here?

Taking ownership of this isn't easy, but it is essential. He deserved to be met with empathy, with compassion, with a smidge of understanding. I wasn't capapble. I was so lost within my vast image of what should have been while simultaneously writhing at the bottom of an equally deep grief hole that I let him suffer.

The truth is a miracle. He chose to stay. He chose to fight, for us.

The result is another miracle. I love him more everyday, not just for the traits that drew me into his heart originally, but for the choices he's made that broadcast his character. And, even more astoundingly, he seems to feel the same way about me.

He is a more dedicated, engaged, and compassionate father than I ever hoped to imagine -- even in my fanciful untruths. I see the proof of this everyday. You can read about it in this month's issue of Exhale. It's high time I gave this man, this father, the credit he deserves.

Why did Emma die? I have no rightly idea. But I have accepted this fundamental truth. With the right perspective, chaos is a window to calm fulfillment. I am strangely fulfilled. I miss her more than ever.

{Author's Note: Truly I had no idea where these journal pages were going to take me. Now, I am more curious and anxious than ever for this first post was not at all what I expected. I guess life rarely is. See? I'm still learning.}

Show and Tell - An Unexpected Beginning

2009-07-15T12:25:00.000-07:00

I have a terrible memory. A really terrible memory. I'm not particularly forgetful, its more that I seem never to register the event in the first place. Add to that, that I am just now learning to live in the moment, recognize it for what it is and smile as I watch it happen, and the question has to be asked: What happened to all those moments from the past? How did I live them and not stash away even a few of the pieces to look back on later?

I'm able to make sense of these intentional omissions as they relate to what happened in the days and months after Emma died, but all those other childhood tales, early adult adventures, and just plain fun random moments...where did they go?

In fact, I have to wonder what I am really missing thanks to my amnesiac tendencies. I know they earn me many cocked heads paired with shocked expressions when I admit to my friends that I truly don't recall the fun night out they just recounted.

Today, I was the one shocked, no - baffled, by my lack of recollection.

***

I opened the journal. I expected to find mid-September 2000 lamentations on paper questioning why my daughter had to die and who should I blame for the 'fluke' tragedy. I was prepared to find profanities scrawled across the page and dark random pen patterns representing the black hole that my heart had become overnight. I know it's in there. I never made it that far, for these were tucked inside the cover.

Eyebrows furrowed at a stack of rather ordinary index cards, and mildly irritated as I mused how they could have been put into Emma's Journal, I started thumbing through.

Clever, Love, Active, Intelligent, Really Sweet, Exceptional

Curious, Loveable, Adventurous, Irresistible, Regal, Expectant

Courageous, Loveable, Affectionate, Innocent, Rambunctious, Entertaining

Cherished, Loved, Admired, Intelligent, Respected, Energetic

Card after card listed these loving attributes, vertically, predicting the life experience of my second-first born: CLAIRE.

And then there were the little notes on the back and they were signed by friends, family, former co-workers...all the people that were at Bear's shower!

The clues merged leaving one obvious solution - it was a game played at our 'transition shower'. But, try as I might I cannot recall it happening. In fact, I don't ever remember seeing these cards before. Not once. Not even to tuck them into Emma's journal.

Perhaps I was too busy emotionally letting go of one to welcome another. Even still. *sigh*

Here are a few more for you to enjoy before you check out what the rest of the class is sharing.

Charismatic, Lovely, Autonomous, Ingenious, Rare, Everything you want to be... (Auntie D)

Caressable, Lullabyable, Adorable, Irresistible, Rejoiceable, Embraceable (from Papa)

Cuddly, Lovable, Apple of my Eye, Inquisitive, Rambunctious, Energetic (from Nana)

She is all this, and more - much, much more and we were just guessing, really. So, here's one for you Emma.

Empathetic

Mild

Mama's Girl

Alluring

What does your name stand for? Your baby's name? Has your personality acronym shifted, before and after IF, before and after loss?

Easier Said Than Done

2009-07-12T17:38:00.000-07:00

Less screen time, that is. And, I suppose that could mean that I am on the computer more than ever, solidifying my semi-addiction to the ALI world. But this isn't at all what I mean.

Yes. I miss you -- more than you know.

Yes. I run my blog roll in my head while I'm sitting outside a summer camp, on the deck of a swimming pool, or helping the librarian through an activity at the local summer event; musing about your transfers, pregnancies, deliveries, and how the hell Mel does it.

Yes. I miss opening my email and seeing message after message with your words, each seeming to read in my head with a different voice or dialect that obviously I have made up to go with your uber cool personality.

But most of all, I miss writing. It's that simple. I miss that satisfied feeling that settles in the deepest part of my being after I have put my emotions to words and purged them from my body.

And honestly, It matters little to me what I'm writing these days, just that I am. But I made my choice. And it is a good one. The fact that I have little time for creative writing is my doing, and yet I do have deadlines, albeit mini ones, to meet monthly. Yet when the urge strikes I seem rarely to be blessed with the writer's trifecta: mood, inspiration, and time.

In less than two months this blog turns one year old. The day it does will be our first day of school with kids. Yes, that's right, I'm going back to teaching this year - part time, but still it leaves me with a sinking feeling that sounds kinda like how will I ever find any time to write then?

But I will. I'll have to. For the I cannot stand the feeling left behind when I don't.

What a difference a year makes. What a strong presence you are in my lives even if I can't get to your blogs everyday.

Next Post: The beginning of my Journal Series. It's time to open it...it's time.

Show and Tell -- Up A Tree...Literally

2009-07-08T05:53:00.000-07:00

You may recall we had to make a choice. Of five kittens, we could only keep one. We chose Mr. Butterscotch.

All-in-all, we have felt we made a good choice. His penchon for pooping in our house plants not-withstanding, he is a family friendly, cuddler. Truly, his need to snuggle is beyond any other cat's human touch desire that I've ever seen. On any given evening he can be found with his tiny face tucked under my chin and his heiny squarely lodged between my ample bosom!

That said, his isn't the smartest bulb ever born. He has been up the large oak tree four times so far. Each time, he's been rescued, admonished and loved before he got too high. But last Friday, as I was readying to go to the funeral the girls screamed, "Look! Butterscotch!! Oh My..."

He was three limbs up. I could almost hear him thinking..."Well, if I went up two limbs last time and someone saved me, then let's try three today."

However, what my sweet and sour little kitty didn't know was that I had no time -- literally, to save him that day. So, with a tough-love, semi-reproachful, semi-pitying look we drove off. "He'll either get down or he won't" I told the girls.

When we got home (and no, they didn't go to the funeral) he was on our front porch. Oh boy, did we praise that little boy. Later, at a neighborhood bbq, we discovered our praise had been misplaced.

Seems our neighbor's pre-teen kids thought it would be a good idea to get a ladder and save the boy. So, our other grown-up neighbor saved the day. *sigh* He really is a bit naughty, but we love him!!

What is the rest of the class showing and telling??

Perfect Moment Monday -- Unexpected Beauty

2009-07-06T03:39:00.000-07:00

I've always marveled at Carly's work at To Write Their Names In The Sand, but the idea of submitting Emma's name felt very 'not yet' to me. Each time I thought about it another thought took over: There are others with much more recent losses who need this much more than I do right now. And so, I waited -- again.

My good friend Sally pointed out just how silly this reasoning was. I concurred, admitting that following this thread I'd never submit her name as, sadly, babies die everyday - hence - putting yet more devesated parents in the mental line before me.

No matter, I'd waited 8 years for Emma's sketch. It would come to me when I was ready for it. All good things do.

Friday morning I woke to this.

with a short note, "Cara,I have been meaning to do this for months now - I hope you like the photo attached. Thank you for all your beautiful work you do for the bereaved.Many wishes,Carly x"

She'd been meaning to for months. Funny, so had I. It is perfect, more stunning than I could have hoped for.

It definately came exactly when it was supposed to creating a perfectly perfect moment.

The Plug vs. The Unplug

2009-07-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

I have (as I mentioned) consciously attempted to not plug back in to the extent that I was before vacation.

Things making this easy:

My internet connection is crankily slow, occasionally refusing to work - period.
The immense pleasure I get from hearing my kids say, "You were really fun today mommy."
The satisfaction of seeing my house clean and organized at the end of a day when we were actually here!

Things making this hard:

I still think, talk and write-posts-in-my-head like a full time blogger
My internet connection's suckiness when I just want to check one little thing!
The guilt I cannot seem to shake about being so far behind with all your posts.
I MISS writing. I miss having the time to just open the computer and let the words fall out.
I don't like having to 'schedule' my creative time. It just doesn't work like that!
Things are just not getting done...like updating the Angel Wall, or blasting out Share media news. They will...I promise!

Ok, clearly I have a bit more work to do in my 12-step program to on-line/real life balance. But since the real life piece has been quite blissfull, I guess I chalk this first week up as a success.

Tomorrow I am headed to a funeral for a little boy who died 8 months gestation. His parents and sister are devestated, obviously. I am attending as a fellow grieving mother and with to other board members of Share Southern Vermont. We hope to show that we care from the very beginning, a silent support system of strangers...if you will.

I find it timely that I have still yet to open my journal. I feel that if I had, attending this funeral might have been impossible. As it is, I type this at 9:30 pm - 12 hours before the service - and remain as calm as can be.

Think good, strong, positive thoughts that I can both represent Share in a professional way while touching their hearts with understanding.

Oh -- and Issue Six of Exhale is out!! I can't believe we have been at this for eight months now! Be sure to click over and read all the goodies in this issue (including a MALE columnist and a piece all about my sweet hubby!)

Don't be surprised if tomorrow night brings me back to the keys, a couple of glasses of vino later to lay the funeral experience out for you!

Show and Tell -- Drawing a Blank

2009-07-01T16:34:00.000-07:00

For once I truly have no idea what to show. Perhaps that is why I inadvertanly hit the publish button on this post when I had yet to type even one letter.

So, after a random, almost desperate search through my photos I have come up with this.

Our first homemade pizza night evah...down to the tomato sauce baby!

Ready for the Step by Step?

1. Prep the Gluten Free Dough. Let it Rise.

2. Make the Regular Gluten Dough...IN THE BREADMAKER!!! (Yet another astounding use for this yard sale kitchen gadget!)

3. Whip up homemade pizza sauce with the help of Dr. Google and his team of recipe posters.

4. 2 DONE Pizzas! One Gluten...the other Gluten free!

5. And then, create the masterpiece. A garlic, pesto, chicken, ricotta, motz and fresh tomato delight!

RAW

COOKED

Mmmmmm...it was so good. I think another pizza night is in order soon!

Ok, lesson learned. Sometimes drawing a blank can lead you to remembering something very worthwhile!

Now...go see what everyone else is showing and telling...and learning!

Potentially Perfect Moment Monday -- The Swinging Door

2009-06-29T05:52:00.000-07:00

THIS POST WAS WRITTEN ON JUNE 10TH. IF YOU NEED BACKSTORY CLICK ON THE 'WENT BACK TO THE ATTIC' LINK. WHAT MAKES THIS A POTENTIAL PERFECT MOMENT IS I HAD GRIEVED THE LOSS OF EMMA'S FOLDER AND MY FIRST JOURNAL, FINALLY BELIEVING THEY HAD BEEN LOST IN ONE OF OUR MANY MOVES.

Comedian and I went back to the attic today. I was ready. The dead bird was gone and the space had a few days to 'air out' as my husband so delicately put it.

Apparantely, so had I.

Visually, I see my first visit as one with many different colored doors representing the past. They surrounded me creating a perimiter I could not cross without stepping through one of them. Each mutually exclusive from the other, forcing me to immerse momentarily then reemerge temporarily teetering from the stark constrast of that girl versus me.

Today I ascended the stairs confident, mentally prepared -- knowing I would continue to find vivid, blatent reminders of the many lives I used to lead, even looking forward to certain doors reappearing. To be clear, I realize that life is constant, a multi-layered series of events creating your experience and leading you to the present moment. But, back then, before I reached any space of self-acualization, life truly felt segregated to me.

When I was a student, I was all student. Anal to the point of devestation at an A-, doing and redoing my work, then finalizing it two days before the deadline 'just in case' there was something I had to change...

When I was a teacher, I was all teacher. My focus was exclusively teaching, creating lesson plans, developing curriculum, connecting with families, attending student's sporting events...

When I was in a relationship my whole world revolved around it, or - more specifically, him.
I found evidence of all these things today.

And yet, those individualized doors didn't appear. Instead, I saw one large swinging door. It was in constant motion inviting me to peek, but not delve. Encouraging me to see each part of my personal evolution as another layer, not another burst bubble left behind never to be revisited.

I sifted through cases and cases of class notes from high school, college and grad school.
I found letters from old boyfriends.
I found college application essays and their corresponding acceptance letters.
I found evidence of my 'well roundedness', (read: extreme nerdiness) -- although I now believe the two phrases are interchangable.
My extra-curriculars screamed overachiever with entries such as: HOBY (Hugh O'Brian Youth Leadership Foundation), Close-Up, Goveners Institute for the Arts, National Honor Society Award for something...
I found my baby book, letters to Santa, my first tooth that ever fell out, and other small pieces of my childhood signed and dated by my parents as they put them away.

Nothing threw me, until I found this,

An innocuous, albeit buldging, envelope with faded pencil letters spelling: Emma. I'm fine. I knew there was more. Just open it.

I put my hand inside, eyes averted, like someone picking the winning giveaway number, I will pick out what I am supposed to. My hand landed on something thick. I pulled.

As I stared at the missing journal tears came without control. I had looked for this tirlessly last summer as I began the manuscript. Finally, giving up the search, I grieved how it must have been lost in one of our many moves. But here it was, in my hand, and I wasn't sure I could open it.
It held the beginning. The real, raw, I sometimes just wrote profanities across the page beginning. I need to go there, but not with Comedian next to me. Those are my layers, your layers, but not hers.

And so, here is where I will explore that journal, that portal back to dark days when nothing made sense, or mattered, or caused me to care.

Each post that is journal related will be marked Back To The Beginning - Part X, and so -- another series is born.

My hope for this series is dual:

1: that I am able to revisit those days with perspective filled eyes
and
2: that you, where ever you are in your grief process will be benefit from seeing where I started, putting where I am in just a bit more perspective.

Just like at our SHARE meetings, there are no rules. You can read and be silent or take over the comment section with your 'beginning' story. I sincerely look forward to sharing this journey with you.

Coming Home

2009-06-26T10:40:00.001-07:00

I pulled into the driveway, placed the car in park and turned off the engine. The kids immediately escaped the confines of their five hour moving-jail, bolting for the house door screaming "Daaaaadddddyyyy".

I sat. The quiet grew as I allowed a slow scan of my surroundings. The grass was greener, the chickens bigger, the yard tidier and the view -- more beautiful than I remembered it being for years. Nothing had really changed, but everything had. Gratitude for the life that I live, have lived, for the last nine years seemed nearly tangible without the myriad of 'responsibilites' vying for position, diminishing the value of our walls, our roof, our land, our little brook running through the back field, our garden, and -of course - our focus on family.

This vacation was so many things. I'm sure the physical details will show themselves both here and at the Bear / Comedian site, supported - no doubt - by adorable pictures and well spun tales. But the true result of this unplugged vacation* was a new grasp on perspective, and - if I'm being honest, a not-so-sudden realization of the not-so-mild addiction my computer represented in my life.

And yes, that last sentence is intentionally in the past tense, not because I think that I can just snap my fingers and erradicate the fact that my blog leads me more than I lead it; but because I am consciously choosing to reverse that fact.

I missed you more than I can say, but I also embraced the unpluggedness of my time. I experienced a familiar rush as I logged on to my google reader, but vow to manage my time better. By that I do not mean that I will do less. I will still participate in Show and Tell, Perfect Moment Mondays, update the Weekly Children's Wisdom Quote, maintain the Share Southern Vermont website, update the Angel Wall twice monthly, and post as the mood and inspiration strikes about my sweet angel daughter, but like the well trained teacher that I am, I will plan for these events allowing myself more time here, in my physical world, tuning-in to my children and being the most attentive parent I can be.

The shift was imminent, not only because it is summer and school is out, but because these are the formative years for my girls. The self-motivated and self-regulated tools they learn now will serve them for the rest of their life, or not.

Case in point...

Comedian (in a serious moment): "Momma, I can't wait to be a grown up."
Me: "Hmmm...what do you see when you look at grown ups?"
Comedian: "Big people who do lots of homework** and say 'wait a minute' a lot"

Vacation: (n) A break from the routines of normal daily life complete with a lack of expectation that allows only good and fun things to happen resulting in a return to perpective of what is important.

Summer: (n) see above definition

* turns out it was tough love not forced celebacy!
** she calls working on the computer 'homework'

Real Life Won Again

2009-06-18T16:45:00.000-07:00

Still here...briefly.

Vacation delayed by one day -- will jet tomorrow at 9am!

Can't wait, even if we ARE headed for a week of wet weather that might have us doing a plethera of indoor activites! Will be jonesin' something BAD for the internet I'm sure. I'm not taking the laptop...or maybe I will...for writing of course -- just for writing, certainly not for popping into the local library or wifi cafe!

Back on the 25th.

See you then!!

Show and Tell - Rerouting

2009-06-17T14:44:00.000-07:00

I could share many things tonight - without pictoral evidence to back them up.

For instance, I could share about the genuine tater tots I consumed at the hand of a lunch lady serving me -- and the hundred other middle schoolers behind me at 11:20pm.

Or, I could share about the cool yard sign proclaiming the work of the "Travelling Hoe" on the surrounding property.

Or, I could share about the newfound perspective and genuine desire I have to play barbies, chase, and hide-and-seek for hours on end with my littles, simply because they are still little and still want to spend time with me!

(Also a derivitive of my day surrounded by big/little people who clearly think they are giagantic and would not envision an evening of freshly popped popcorn and a lively game of skip-bo with mom and dad an evening well spent)

But, my Show and Tell at Share Southern Vermont's Site probably constitues 3 Shows-and-Tells in one! Please click over. Please watch it. It is a PSA of the most intimate kind meant for both the broken-hearted and those we hope will never live our hell on earth. SHARE has existed for over 3o years, but people don't know about us because (and I quote our National Executive Director) "they don't want to..." They choose not to hear of our sad mission, and who can blame them, but how empowering would it be if then next sad victim of babyloss knew enough to turn to their nurse and manage, "I need SHARE".

Consider it my "final exam". The end of the school year is upon us, after all. Oh - and Ms. Teacher, I put alot of effort into it. So, fellow classmates, what are you showing??

Real Life Wins

2009-06-15T11:02:00.001-07:00

Have you ever been so focused on what you have to do (CLEAN HOUSE, CLEAN LAUNDRY, PACK...) in the next (2) days so that you can do something else (VACATION!) after those days are over --that it seemed those days (which, of course had yet to even happen) had already evaporated?

Well, that is me. And, yes, I the way I am typing is an accurate reflection of my current scattered state!

I want to read all those posts from the last few days (and the futurisitic days) that I'm just not going to get to.

I want to participate in Show and Tell on Wednesday night. Perhaps...who knows.

I want to update the Angel Wall before I leave.

I want to picnic with Comedian at Emma's grave.

I want to find that net.fl.ix movie that I know is around here somewhere and return it before I leave, even though I also know there are no late fees.

I want to pack just enough, but not too much, and remember absolutely everything I should.

*sigh* - we'll just see how much of that comes to be. But, since I clearly won't have time to return comments via email let's have a pro-active VACATION Q and A:

Q: Cara, where are you going?
A: Cape Cod

Q: How long will you be gone?
A: 1 week, I think -- or maybe not (weather report isn't looking so hot...literally)

Q: Why now?
A: The house is free and available now - We go now.

Q: Will you have internet access when you are gone?
A: Nope. (Good thing - like tough love? Bad thing - like forced celibacy? I don't know...yet)

Q: When are you leaving?
A: Thursday. Back on the 25th. Will miss you all terribly and shudder to think at the exponentially bigger number of blog posts awating when we return.

And, yes - I am typing like it is already Wed night and I only have a one more sleep until we depart. It is, isn't it?

What's In A Number?

2009-06-12T06:45:00.000-07:00

And - No, this is not a post-birthday lament...but a HUGE thank you is due to all the lovely ladies who took time out of their day to wish me a nice one. I can tell you, it just got better and better and better!!

Jer and I walked down the isle with a shared common nieve, pollyanna vision of our future. Although polar opposites to look at we tapped right into that whole 'soul mate' thing, as in 'I am already complete by myself but you fit like the right puzzle piece' kind of soul mate.

There was one thing we disagreed on, however. Whenever we were asked, "How many kids do you want?" Our consistently opposing answer was "Me: 4, Him: 2". It seemed on this point, we could not agree.

I am an only child who, as a way of overcompensating, always had dreams of a BIG family. I envisioned myself with a Maria-like air, signing my personal sound of music as I did the dishes (by hand of course) with my flowing skirts just toucing the floor and a non-descript number of kids happily playing at my feet.

Him, one of two, realized the dynamics of siblings and was firm with his 'two is enough' declaration, adding the 'we can divide and conquer' theory to back up his statement.

My response, "Well, if we have three - we have four. I will NOT raise a middle child. I'm sure to muck that up with honors!"

This banter was fun. It was easy to muse about our future when our first was already growing so steadily inside me. No decisions had to be made, time would sort all that out...

And then, Emma died. And our second looked very much like our first. And our third (the on-the bubble-child, if you will) looked very much like our second.

And one day, Jer looked at me. His face slightly contorted like something profound yet only recently made obvious had just struck him. He said, rather sadly, "Well, it looks like we had three, but there's no need to have four."

Too true my love. It seems that babyloss tests the boundries of math equality. Easy equations no longer add up. In my life: 2 = 3.

How many children did you envision? What is your equation? And, how do you present it to the 'real word'?

A Little Birthday Ditty

2009-06-11T04:30:00.000-07:00

You Know The Tune...

Happy Birthday To Me...

I Am Thirty-Three...

Most Smile And Say, "Oh - You're Still A Baby"

Tell Me - How Can That Be??

Honestly, I do feel young. Well, young-ish.

Then again, I don't get carded anymore. Well, sometimes I get the 'second glance' but that's about it.

And, I am not that girl the young flaggers with their stop/go sign turn to look at anymore...

But I am still young - ish

Most importantly, I feel special. Very special. Look what my sweet husband did for me when I was facilitating our SHARE meeting last night.

I awoke this morning to a four star breakfast (french toast, sausage, bacon, and coffee!), this gorgeous cake (german choc. - my favorite!*), and two totally amazing cards: one from him and one from my Bear.

His said, "To My Wife, My Friend, My Soul Mate"

And all this before 8am. Enough said...a very happy birthday to me indeed.

*We DID NOT eat cake for breakfast. But let it be said: I was tempted!

Um...Did I Mention I Love FREE Stuff?

2009-06-10T08:06:00.000-07:00

Oh, yeah... I DID! And then, Ms. Martha from A Sense of Humor Is Essential posted about this. And she KNEW I would salivate. And enter. And post. And I Did! Because what is better than just finding free stuff?? WINNING IT - of course!

Fantoubously Frugal is a great site!!

Seriously, if you want to win a MAJOR prize package...click on over.

In English...we could win:

Decorative envelopes from etsy seller Adnagam
Frango Dark Chocolate Mints
Sunshine Yellow Hair Pins from etsy seller creamrose
Purple Rain Amethyst Earrings from etsy seller Sew*Cool Design
Paperchase 8 Folded Cards with Envelopes
Small change purse from etsy seller Made by Hank
Cucumber Melon Salty Soap Scrub from etsy seller Sissy Soap
Soap Nuts from Laundry Tree
Spring Flower Garden Cupcake Liners from etsy seller Layer Cake Shop
2 Vera Bradley cloth napkins
Musings Recycled Notebook in Blue from etsy seller subu
Fleur de Lis Necklace from etsy seller Bumble Beadz
Marc Jacobs key fob
Stationery and small letter-pressed notebook from etsy seller Sarah Drake
Estee Lauder Advanced Night Repair Protective Recovery Complex
Coriander Ivory Small Cosmetic Bag from etsy seller The Sweet Sugar Beet
Smashbox Lip Gloss
Reusable Sandwich & Snack Bags from etsy seller Green Street
Reversible Coffee Sleeve from etsy seller LilE
Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
OPI Nail Polish
Stick With Me, Kid Shopping Tote from etsy seller Earth Cadets
As well as MANY MORE surprises!

Clearly I will be frequenting this blog... a lot! Oh, and drop my name...or Martha's...and we are all winners!

Stage Fright

2009-06-08T16:30:00.000-07:00

I don't have it. Never have. I've been on stage in one capacity or another since I was five years old, my father speaking into the mic, "And this is my daughter Cara. Come on up here Cara...come on."

And yet, I always get a MAJOR case of the butterflies before I interpret. (hence my last post)

And then, I always feel great about my 'performance' if you will. Like I did the meaning of both consumer's words justice in a calm, flowing, way.

I always leave the job with a satisfied smile on my face and an affirmation in my heart: I am good at what I do.

The butterflies will come back. They always do. I suppose they keep me on my toes and feed that inner want-to-do-well drive that seems to be in overdrive.

Thanks for your support. It went well, obviously.

Off I Go Into The Wild Blue Yonder...

2009-06-07T05:06:00.000-07:00

of an Episcopal church to interpret for the baptism of a sweet little baby!

Have you ever noticed that the Ca.th.olic based services say the same thing over and over and over, just with fancier and longer words????

YIKES!

Translation Secret: In ASL I'm just saying the same exact thing over and over and over.

The Deaf must think we are quite boring folk!

See you on the other side!!

Show and Tell: F.R.EE - My Favorite Word

2009-06-06T13:57:00.000-07:00

FREE - I love this word, no - I'm in love with this word. Everything has value, in some capacity, to someone so when people are giving something away, hence - it's freeness, I always ask myself Cara, could this be of some use to you or will it just become transplanted clutter that you will deem valueless in time?

This next statement should come as no great shock to you. I love yardsales. Oh, how I love them - the signs, locating them, 'window shopping' in the great outdoors, and then there is the bartering. I am not as aggressive a negotiator as I once was, but I can still haggle with the best of 'em, and if I don't like the deal - I walk.

A couple years ago I found this at an off-the-beaten-path yard sale.

It wasn't free. It was five dollars. *ouch* I mean, five bucks at yard sale is excessive for a lifetime nickle and dimer like moi. But I couldn't stop thinking about this breadmaker. I'd always wanted one and what is five bucks, really? A number 3 at Mc.D.'s. A combo sandwich at Dun.kin's. Apparantely for the price of a calorie ridden stack of junk I could get my very own breadmaker.

Even still, I did what I always did. (note: did, not do) I walked away. As I started the car I thought, If it's still there tomorrow it'll mean that it is really supposed to be mine.

But could I let it go? HECK NO! I thought about it. Obsessed on it. Couldn't stop thinking about it. "Slept" on it. Woke up worried that just after I left someone else snatched it up. Tried to focus at work and beelined directly there (an agreevis waste of gas...) at 4pm.

It was there. It was mine. Five Bucks...what a steal! I thought as I paid and took possession of the 'must have' item. Nope, I didn't even try to barter.

It didn't come with a manual. No biggie. A quick google search, a bit of patience as twenty-something pages downloaded, then printed and wha-la I was in the bread making business. A steal indeed. My yardsale breadmaker purchase ranks right up there with the best-five-bucks I ever spent on ebay!

So, last weekend, after celebrating my mother's 38 years of teaching at a small family luncheon (didn't she look happy!) Jer and I spied a sign across the road. FREE it read, in big, bold, beckoning letters. Tables and tables of stuff, just sitting there - FREE!

Um, a kid in a candy store was I! We approached and I saw it.

A rice cooker! It seems I have weakness for small kitchen appliances that are hard and bulky to store. Do you know how much rice I cook with a gluten free girl in this house???

Unable to stop myself, I glanced around while reaching for it, like someone was going to say - Ha! Just kidding! Not FREE for you. But no one was there. And it was. And it now sits in my pantry. And I have no idea how I ever lived without it. It makes the best dang rice I've ever had.

However, like all things obtained for little or no money at yard sales, it did not come with a manual. And, according to those pretty blue and green buttons it also makes porridge, oatmeal, brown rice, etc. I'd love to know how!!!

To really maximize my SHOW AND TELL, I'm also sending out a SEARCH for my quick trip to google yielded this word: discontinued.

So, if you have a SANYO ECJ - B35M kickin' rice, porridge, oatmeal maker WITH a manual (and access to a copier), then I have postage! My email link is under the header. Thanks.

OH - AND IF YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING ON THE EDGE OF YOUR SEAT WITHOUT FALLING OFF FOR SHARE SOUTHERN VERMONT - MEMORY WALK PICS...CLICK HERE AND YOU WILL ONLY BE A TAD DISSAPOINTED, PROMISE.

Just Not Brave Enough to Go Back Through The Door

2009-06-04T09:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I went back through ready to tackle any other past lives that popped up.

But I wasn't ready for the BIRD that popped up, then repeatedly slammed into the stained glass window over and over trying to get out.

I was even less prepared for the DEAD HEADLESS BIRD lying at the top of the stairs.

Methinks Ms. Sally snuck up there and had herself a grand old party before heading to the vet today.

Eeewww - Ick - and Rats...I was really on a roll with this attic sorting thing!

Stepping Through The Door - Love Remains

2009-06-03T10:07:00.000-07:00

If you have been wondering how our cat drama ended, the story is HERE, because children are pictured. If you can't click over...I understand.

COMMUNITY YARD SALE - JUNE 13TH...CHEAP TENT SPACE - SELL! SELL! SELL!

The ad called to me, not just because it will be at the local elementary school or because we happen to have that day free, OR because our attic is so full of crap that has been there since the day we moved in...SEVEN years ago - but for it's byline: WE DO THE ADVERTISING. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SHOW UP.

DONE.

And so, Comedian and I opened the door...to the attic...this morning. As I climbed the dusty, dead-bug ridden stairs my mind repeated a controlled mantra: throw away the trash, sell the clutter, keep only what you NEED...

This not easy for me. Perhaps the need to keep all things past is genetically encoded, for my parents attic looked just like this, but worse, before they moved. They had lived over 30 years in the house. Well, to be fair, a good portion of their attic clutter was deposited into MY attic the day we moved here. It hasn't been touched since. *sigh*

I knew it wouldn't be an easy task. I knew Comedian would keep it light hearted with her constant chatter, keeping me from getting lost in old year books, stacks of heart pulling photos, or years and years and years of college class notes, papers, and records of my early teaching days...

What I wasn't prepared for was the pinball machine effect. Every box I opened held a past life. Every time I turned around I was in another place, surrounded by different people: an ASL teacher, a student, a voice actor in a Deaf play, in an airport with friends I barely see headed overseas for the first time...

Crumpled old collages that used to pepper my pale pink walls. Each had a theme, pictorally representing a portion of my life.

Yet another journal. Oh Lordy...that's just what I need.

In my bedroom at 7 years old playing barbies. But check out the CLASSIC carrying case!

In my underoos with my cousins, which was captured for all eternity on the cover of Kidsong's songbook.

Teaching myself to type on my BRAND NEW Commodore 64 with this hot off the presses game: Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing... (oh the money I made typing papers for people!)

Playing 'Emily' in the classic play, Our Town, annually during my high school years.

Walking in on my college roommate having sex, over and over and over.... *eeewwwww*

Obsessing to the point of perfection in every class, for every assignment, excelling..then keeping them all - for ALL THESE YEARS! (There are many - many more of these crates...)

What a trip. A nice ride, a fun ride, controlled by a constant genuine voice gasping for air at every treasure, "Oh Mommy, you found more paper!" It kept me from diving in, unable to come up for reality-based air. I was quite enjoying myself until...

I opened this card,

and I was right back there. It was my first day back to work after Emma died. Everyone tried. They had no idea what to do. Someone tried harder. She was handing me this card. "Time Passes...Love Remains"

"O.K. Sweets", I managed "That's enough for today."

And, thankfully, she agreed, "Yeah. You have too much stuff here and it makes me sneeze."

Time does pass, but love doesn't just remain - it grows.

It's Time To Celebrate...

2009-06-01T12:19:00.000-07:00

Not just because Kristin and Christa have unveiled their newest cross-stich design. (Cuppa-Joe Designs ROCK!) Although that IS something to celebrate: their hearts mission, the SHARE National Office's cooperation and the gorgeous designs people have FREE access to show what can happen when we support each other!

SHARE Southern Vermont has a long-time-coming / brief annoucement too. CLICK OVER to cheer with us!

And, while you are at it, take a moment to pat yourself on the back. You know why.

So......what should our first tax free purchase be???

The Post Where I Question This Combination of Words: MAN - POWER TOOL - SELF-CONTROL

2009-05-31T15:41:00.000-07:00

"Honey, I'm going to go trim a little off that tree near the road."

Uh- yeah...

Oh Man, I hear the motor reving again!

Show and Tell: Spay, But Don't Pay

2009-05-30T16:41:00.000-07:00

As you may recall...many show and tell's ago, I spoke fondly of our cat, Sally, and her quiet labor bringing five new kittens into the world.

That was twelve weeks ago. They are BIG now. They are ACTIVE now. They are HUNGRY now.

One - found a good home... four have not.

Eight weeks ago, visions of me as the 'old cat lady' were amusing. Today - not so much.

Oh, forgive me - formal introductions:

You remember Butterscotch

Frisky, cuddly, relatively calm, and quick to purr - very - loudly!

This is Fluffy:

She's moody and not one to love human touch. Eager to eat...all.the.time! (Let it be said that I voted for "Peanut Butter and Fluff" as their names, but was vetoed)

Meet, Thing One

And, Thing Two

Formerly known as 'the twins' until their markings came in. Then, tentatively named after Dr. Seuss characters for reference purposes only, as we intended them to find homes and be re-named when they did. They are sweet, small, and quiet compared to their siblings.

So, this weekend I'm reading the paper. The words low cost spay / neuter clinic catch my eye, for a variety of obvious reasons.

I call. "You have two options" I'm told.

OPTION 1: $35 / boy and $40/ girl. We have 3 boys and 2 girls. I didn't do the math. It scared me a little.

OPTION 2: The "Spay the Mom" program. "It's free" she said. Um...tell me more

Apparantly, a good nascar driving samaritan with a love for all things feline made a grant to the humane society. If a cat has kittens that are unwanted or 'too much for one family to handle' they can bring in everyone. They spay, neuter, de-worm, give shots and a bunch of other things I didn't understand - FOR F.R.E.E!

That 's the upside. The down? Mom comes home with you. Kittens stay. O.K - I can deal...maybe

But we really wanted to keep Butterscotch. Both because he has bonded with us in cuddly ways and because he pulls my 10-year-old heartstring memories - we reallllllly - wanted to keep him.

So, I asked with my father's lifetime mantras playing through my head (no question is a stupid question - the worse they can do is say no) And, they said - ok!

Bottom line - for that is what it always boils down to, right - On Tuesday morning I will walk into the humane society with five cats and leave with two.

The kids don't know yet. *sigh* How do you explain such monetary based decisions to littles who make all their choices with emotion?

I guess I know why they couldn't be peanut butter and fluff. You can't really have one without the other...

The shape of life

2009-05-29T07:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I attended a play. My nieces were in it. They were the stars of the show.

Comedian and I arrived early, as I so often do for events and were ushered upstairs to wait with their mother and another friend. Their mother (D.), also featured in the piece linked above, is extraordinary. And, for all that we have lived together (as in been in the same room at the same time and saw the same things...) we have apparantely not seen the same things, or, at the very least, not remembered the same things about the event.

I have just come to realize that. It began at the memory walk...

I could hear her voice in the background, a beautiful sound carrying me as I buzzed with intention from one tent to the next, responding and directing each part of the event. But she remained, in one space, calm and focused, one-with-herself, talking...about me. "What a blessing" I heard, "She allowed me to be part of this", and "I feel so lucky to have been on her journey."

Stunned, I stopped moving, listening now with intention. What I heard threw me even more. She spoke of events that I wasn't sure I recalled, but -wait - yes, I do remember, just not quite like that. She spoke of the 'before the next baby' era, a time still foggy for me, requiring focus and energy to recall details. She smiled as she shared our beginning with others. But the most astounding part of her words were the uspoken ones. Were you to have laid eyes on her in that moment you could have seen it, she was truly thankful, enternally grateful, that I welcomed her into my intense grief.

Can you imagine? All these years I have said, then said again, then re-itteraited my thanks for her as she shared her kids with me without abandon, opened her world to me without question. I nearly bowed at her feet thinking that what she did must have been a sacrifice, but still felt that nothing would ever measure the gift she gave me.

And yet, it turns out, that she felt similarly gifted by my presence.

Astounding. Heart-Healing.

Just being around her calms me. Our connection allows her privilidge that others are not allowed. Like yesterday, in that waiting room, when introductions ensued.

It sounded like this:

D: "Friend, this is one of my nearest and dearest friends, Cara, and this is Comedian, her second, third daughter."

ME: "Nice to meet you."

Friend: "How old are your others?"

ME: "Bear is 6 and Emma would be 8 and half."

D: "Yes. Cara lost her first and that is how we met. Actually, I think it has become a blessing for she has grown into a beautiful, strong woman as a result."

The conversation evolved from there and quite nicely. There was no drama. There were no shocked expressions or quick 'i've go to be goings' as there often are when Emma is introduced. And as I look back on it two things strike me:

1. She introduced Emma, not me. That is rare.
2. Phrases that are allowed only to me when I'm in the right emotional space like, 'second -third child' and 'it has become a blessing', roll off her tongue with ease and feel right to my ears as I hear them.

She respects my daughter. She acknowledges her place in our family. She recognizes the emotional growth that has occurred.

I have been known to say that she "saved my life". From now on I will say, she "shaped my life" and apparently, I - hers.

I Believe

2009-05-27T12:23:00.001-07:00

The Card Said: "SIT IN SILENCE AT LEAST 10 MINUTES A DAY..."

yes...I need some some silence

So I sit - and I breath - and the sensation takes me over, opens me up.

Eyes closed - heart open, anything is possible - everything is doable

Images begin to form inside closed lids...

imagination, inspiration, achievement, a sense of total calm......

Eyes open, breath catches - she looks down upon me Yes... she seems to say, You will meet every goal you set. Trust in yourself. Trust in me. Together, we cannot fail...

The End Is In Sight...

2009-05-26T18:26:00.000-07:00

Or is it?

Oh...wait. That's not the end.

That is just a tiny clump of fireflies burning the midnight oil with you - yet again - as you delude yourself that the end is around the next corner, then over the next hill.

The Memory Walk was two and a half weeks ago. It is STILL.NOT.OVER!

There is the public access tv quality video (HA!) that I, yes yours-truly, has attempted to make interesting enough that were you to be sitting quietly in the comfort of your own home on a random weeknight and it began playing on your tv, you might acually choose to watch it through. (It's only 20 minutes...with random special effects...well - the best that win.dows mov.ie mak.er allows)

And, apparantly the universe heard my loud and desperate cries for PICTURES...for as I type 750 - (um..that's seven hundred and fifty) are uploading to my desktop. Any guesses how long it will take me to make the final cuts? Let's just say...I don't do well with lots of choices.

I'm drowning in a virual media soup, without the technological paddles I require!!!

(SERIOUSLY - HELP! IF YOU...know how to splice audio from its visual counterpart, and then place it with a different sequence of video...oh - OR ...if you know how to solve this issue: the audio from one camera is MUCH louder than the audio intake from the other...)

So, let this little paniced post serve as a lesson to you all. If you are going to bite off more than you can chew - invite friends!

**Your local programming of Cara reading and commenting on your posts will recommence after she has emerged from the media swamp!***

But, because I know I cannot continue to just TALK about this event...I picked three random numbers and pulled those pics. (Hey - come on...3 number out of 750 isn't easy to pick, remember...not so great with choices)

Much...much....much....more to come!

Show and Tell - Chicken Tractor

2009-05-23T16:05:00.000-07:00

Lest you have been thinking we are cruel and unusual round these parts where chickens are concerned...lay your eyes on this!

The CHICKEN TRACTOR!

This two story abode-on-wheels allows for the best grazing. It is fully equip with an easy-access food dispenser,

A peek-a-boo window for roosing and egg collection,

And, flying to the upper level is optional with this well-constructed staircase

The 'king' likes it!

And, since their move we have seen our first two eggs - count them, 2 eggs!! It seems they like their new home. But why, you may ask, did they have to leave the comfort of their existing home with ample space, roosting options, and a recent screened in porch?

Because...we needed space for twenty new babes!

Awww...so cute - for now! Be sure to see what everyone else is showing and telling.

It's Official

2009-05-22T11:07:00.001-07:00

I had heard rumor that my OBGYN was closing his doors and moving on to the next phase of his life. Today I received a letter confirming it.

In that letter was this sentence,

"I am grateful for the many years that I have had the privilege to work with you all through pregnancies, childbirth, disease, health and will miss you greatly."

I see the invisible hole where lies a missing word, for although he wasn't my delivering doctor for Emma's pregnancy I know he has lived loss with countless women in the community.

I don't begrudge, truly - I don't, for I recognize that coersing that word into the sentence would have been a two part challenge:

First, choosing the word would be a daunting task. Which synonym best fits: childloss, infant death, miscarriage, or just plain - loss?

Then, placing it. Does it go between 'pregnancies' and 'childbirth' or fit less like a broken puzzle piece between 'childbirth' and 'disease'? Perhaps its optimal location on the end, without a forced bookend to contain its meaning.

Just me. What's your take??

Who Am I?

2009-05-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

This is a question I have long grappled with.

Over the course of my lifetime I have been easily swayed by popular vote, by current trends, by the words and actions of another.

Until my early 20’s I was like a big, walking, talking blob of molding clay. Other’s qualities would attach, then sculpt a piece of me, much like a cookie cutter to dough. Without intention I found myself talking like someone after spending a great deal of time with them or noticed that my handwriting suddenly looked more like theirs. It must have been excruciating to watch me flail, or worse yet, to live with.

I cannot recall exactly when it happened, but I remember with detail the intense shock I experienced one day as I looked at myself. I mean really looked and saw the montage I had become. Which pieces are me? Which belong to others? What fits? What doesn’t?

I was forced to ask myself these questions. And, amazingly, just by asking them the process of self-discovery began. Once triggered, it was intense and quick. Of course, I wish I had started it long before that, but for a girl who consistently defined herself by other people’s expectations for the majority of her conscious life, twenty-one seemed a fair place to start.

Two years later Emma died and a far deeper, darker, more intimate internal makeover ensued. The result? In the past ten years I have discovered, and then ,re-invented myself.

Who was I? I rarely stop to think about that other girl. But when I do it leads me to hope and pray and hope some more that my current strong sense of identity is enough to save my girls from the dramatic rollercoaster that was, my childhood. In fact, I’m not sure I ever intended to go back there. I didn’t like that girl much. Oh, she was nice enough to everyone else: compassionate and giving, trusting and gullible. She was the ‘save the world or bust trying’ type. She was not, however, very nice to herself.

Two things happened this week that forced me back there.

1) This sentence from a parenting book I’m reading: “The times that problems arise are when children grow up feeling responsible for everyone and everything, squelching their own desires, in a constant hopeless search for approval.”

And

2) A bedtime request from the Comedian, “Mama, will you read me this book tonight?” She was holding my 8th grade diary.

You know how we often say that we should wear a sign around our necks identifying our status? I am an only child. Or I am a vegetarian. Becky Bailey has my early years sandwich-board written on page eleven of her book. I feel responsible for everyone and everything; therefore I squelch my own desires in a constant, hopeless search for approval.

Last night I read the diary, start to finish. It is a snapshot of 47 days in the life of a completely unassured 8th grader. As I turned each page, I felt mildly sick to my stomach with tears threatening on more than one occasion. I felt sad for that girl because written between the thick, sappy, attachment issue lines was approval from her friends, from her parents, from her teachers and support staff. She just couldn’t see it. How different her experience may have been, if only…

She did know one true thing. That fact could not be denied.

-Aug 19th, 1989
“My name is Cara. I am 13 years old, going into 8th grade and infatuated with kids. The family I babysit for most are the G’s. They have four kids, ages 7, 5, 3, and 1.”

- April 7th, 1990
“…anyway at 2pm I went over to the G’s house and baby-sat until 10pm. While I was over there we did a lot of things. I played Barbie’s and loved it. I guess you just have to have the right state of mind…”

- April 16th, 1990
“I’m actually writing from our vacation house. There’s not much going on here but I heard that J and J, the kids I baby sat for last summer, are here too. So, maybe I’ll go see them tomorrow.”

- April 17th, 1990
“I saw J and J today. At 11:30 I went to their house and we played marble madness or something like that. When I had to go J. wouldn’t let me and I had to pry her off of me. But, I took some pictures of all of us together so I’ll send her one.”

Clearly, I needed the kids just as much as they thought they needed me. But, tabling underlying issues, my love of children ran deep. Mothering was something I never had to work at, or work toward, or earn the right to do.

Parenting? Well, that is another matter all together, hence the reading of the book! But mothering, the simple act of loving another and meeting their every need; that comes easily.

And so, it seems almost fitting, albeit bittersweet, that my first child taught me the lesson I could never learn. Through the pain of losing Emma I learned who I truly am and who I strive to be. A lifetime won’t be enough to perfect the qualities I cherish in myself, but I thank my daughter for for clearing away the rubble and allowing me to see, my true self, and hopefully become the parent I always wanted to be.

Perfect Moment Monday - Of The Greek Tragedy Variety (UPDATED SO LAST IMAGE WORKS!)

2009-05-18T05:55:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: IF YOU ARE A VEGETARIAN - YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ THIS POST. IT IS PART OF MY LIFE...EVEN IF I WISH IT WASN'T.

Yesterday, at 1:30 pm, heads were a rolling...literally.

The Prequil - New Years Eve, 2008

For a month, he added water, turned them daily, made sure the heat was just right. Tonight, he awoke every two hours to the sound of yet another breaking shell. Ten new lives entered this world...

Who were they? Rooster or Hen? How long could they survive their fate? Questions only answered by time.

Five months later...

The Tragedy - May 17th, 2009

The familiar blue truck pulled in. Grampa hopped out muttering words we knew were coming, but were still unready to hear. "Guess we better take care of them roosters." It wasn't a question.

The odds, it seemed, were against them from the start, for of the ten hatched eggs, seven - yes SEVEN, grew into large, feathered, LOUD roosters who seemed not to understand that crowing was typically reserved for when the sun acually appears on the horizon. Seven roosters and three hens *sigh* we know what that meant.

"I really only need one rooster" Jer said, "It's eggs we want."

"Yup" I responded, "I get that but I don't want to be here for it. I don't want to see it. I don't want to hear it...got it?"

Best laid plans and all...for that Grandpa covered the ground from truck to ax to chicken coop in about 10 seconds flat. (note: even with supermommy skills I couldn't get the girls in the car that fast)

And worse: their small-person curiosity had been peaked! And then - it was over. And, even though I didn't look I found myself deeply cringing at my children's reactions. It was like watching a movie through the window...

We left - then came back 2 1/2 hours later.

The Comedy - Same day...just later

Bear's In-The-Moment Reaction: A stoic face clearly processing what she had just seen. Silence. More processing. A bit of face contortion as they did what chickens do after they lose their heads. More silence. More processing. A quiet ride in the car to the school play we planned to be at while the drama ensued!

Bear's Delayed Reaction: "Mom, is that what we would do if some cut our heads off?"

Um...no. Definately not. Not funny in the ha-ha sense, but certainly not what I expected her first question to be!

The Comedian's In-The-Moment Reaction: Drawing in one deep excited breath, totally enamoured with the whole process, then yelling out in only the way she can..."HEY! Them can fly without them heads!!!!!" And without missing a beat she fell in step beside her beloved Grandpa, cocking her own head to ask, "You gonna do another one?"

The Comedian's Delayed Reaction: Do you even have to ask? Re-telling the story over and over and over and over with additional details each time as I just nod and sport a slight smile.

The Pre-Prequil

When I was fourteen years old I went over to Jer's house for the first time. I was there as a friend of his brothers, but my reason for being there made no difference as I was invited a 'wrapping day'.

Believe you me, when the men-folk said "see you in a bit" and descended into the depths of a basement I had never seen I was more than a bit puzzled. But, being the dutiful little guest I was, readily ripped paper for who-knew-what...

Us ladies, you see - were upstairs preparing to wrap the hams and steaks that would soon ascend from said basement looking (I was very relieved to see) much like they do in the grocery store.

Even still - for a country girl raised by previously raised city folk, it was an eye opener. Let this little tangent serve only to say that when the beautiful day came that I fell for Jer, I knew what I was getting into.

That said, "I am a farmer's wife" did not translate, for me anyway, into "I will participate in all of the farmer's duties."

Just saying.

The Comedy - Part Duex

But even I, the mentally on-the-fence about all things slaughtered, wife of a generational farmer, could not stop laughing at 6pm yesterday.

"What would you like to watch a little bit of before bed tonight?" I asked my elder.

"We started a movie this morning when you were at church. Let's finish that" she replied.

I pushed the play button on the dvd player, assuming it would remember where it stopped before - and saw this...

Ironic beyond measure. Planned? I doubt it. Appropriate in some warped way? I thought so, or at least, my funny bone did.

Show and Tell....A Few Pics

2009-05-17T05:48:00.000-07:00

Literally...a few - meaning three. Thanks to Sandie for sending me these as I eagerly await the rest!

Just a taste....more to come!!! But how cute are these little kiddos???

Oh - and I had a walk-vido post READY to go, but blogger kicked out the upload at the last second...so I guess you will have to wait to hear my vocal rendition of I Hope You Dance! Luckily Lori, at Webbles Wobbles has an AWESOME little song uploaded onto her show and tell for the week!!!

Enjoy.

The days fall in a row...

2009-05-15T05:19:00.001-07:00

Regarding that next post:

Tomorrow turned into today - which is going to become a couple tomorrows...I fear because

Bear had no school yesterday
I feel like garbanzo beans today...and
Tomorrow, I am at an all day training.

Oh - and still not one picture to grace my inbox or arrive on a cd...I'm starting to wonder if this thing ever happened!

“Who’s Who”

2009-05-13T05:46:00.000-07:00

Do you know that publication? A quick google search reveals multiple cataegories you may fall into: Who's Who in the USA, amoung students, online, professionals? Being sited in one of these books is considered, "one of the most prestigious awards the (fill in the blank) community can bestow".

Long ago, my name appeared in one of the student publications. I cannot find the book. I cannot remember the actual category I fell into. I cannot recall if it was my high school performace or my college accolades that earned me such a "prestigious honor". Equally, I cannot recall feeling honored at all, seeing as my father had to cut a rather large check to the publisher so we could own one of these well-bound books that just so happened to have my name somewhere within its hundreds of pages.

Who would ever see me there? Why would it ever matter? How did this wheat from the chaff approach to academics futher anybody's journey through life? It didn't, not for me anyhow.

And yet, segregation within circles is what communities do. We all have our labels, or defining titles that place us within other’s minds. The teacher, the preacher, the mother, the activist, the rebel, the writer, the peace keeper, the quiet one; and then there’s the famous…

It’s the latter I’ve been thinking of quite a bit lately, for fame exists in each of these categories.

Is ‘Famous’ is a quantifiable word? In the real world it seems to be, measured by income and notoriety, number of fancy cars, and the square footage of your house, but not really by nobility for I can think of many famed personalities that reached their current status by actions considered 'less than noble'.

Fame is relative. A few well timed articles in local newspapers and neighbors joke, “Jeez – you’re famous!” A spot on the Today Show and your level of notoriety launches to the National level. And, lest us forget the coveted spot on Ms. O’s show, which will inspire or incense the world-at-large to your cause.

So, are there famous bloggers? This is the question I have been grappling with for weeks. Well, of course there are famous bloggers, but most were famous before the conception of their blog, and I would be willing bet that they don’t sit awake at 1am updating their blog because their emotional state is in such turmoil they have to purge the words before they sleep. Their blog is an extension of their pre-existing famous-ness.

So, to communitize this a bit more (are you keeping track of just how many new words I can make up in one post?) – Are there famous bloggers in the ALI community?

And, I suppose the most obvious answer is ‘yes’, as quantified by their following readership, the number of comments receive per post, or the sitemeter silently rotating numbers on their sidebar. And yet, I clearly recall my first impression of the blogging world, six.short.months.ago – as a very user friendly, equal opportunity, bring-any-and-all-emotions-here, community. This is – in fact, one of the founding purposes of the LFCA (Lost Found Connections Abound).

I have written many times, within countless posts, of the base connection I feel to my blogging friends. I have emoted about how I know very little about their real life: cars, houses, bank accounts, etc) but have no doubt that were we to hop a plane and share physical space with each other, the connection would be instant. For I do know, their losses, their struggles, their grief, their triggers, the things that lift them up. In short, I know their heart.

We are all connected. We are all important. All our feelings are valid and matter. And before this post becomes a segway for yet another tangetalized piece of Mel’s weekend,
(Um…btw – Mel, with her given title, “Goddess of Infertility”, and her recent exposé in the metro-times, certainly qualifies as a famous blogger)… I’ll get to the point.

There were three bloggers at my real-life walk this weekend. Because, I consider them famous as mapped out by the above critera and from personal perspective, I will not name or link to them. I will allow them the freedom to blog about their experience if they so choose. But I need to share mine.

Tomorrow's post will be the intensely emotional experience I encountered meeting them in person. My first, second and third meet-and-greet, if you will....

Till then, I leave you with a few questions:

What, in your opinion, is bloggy fame? How do you measure it? And, if you were given the absolute choice to become a famed blogger overnight, would you take it? Why? or Why Not?

Perfect Moment Monday - Expectations

2009-05-11T06:47:00.000-07:00

One of my nearest, dearest friends in the whole world once said to me - "Live without expectations and you will always succeed. You will always feel satisfied, never disappointed."

Fundamentally - it makes sense.

If you expect nothing from your job and do it for the love of the mission, every penny of your salary is like a bonus.

If you expect nothing from your children, every tiny thing they accomplish feels like a huge achievement.

If you expect nothing from your spouse, every kind gesture you receive lifts you up.

Realistically - it's a fallacy.

Existing without expectation, I mean truly living without even an out-of-focus image in your head of what you might like to happen, is not the way most of us experience life. If it were, none of us would have ever felt, the blissful ignorace of pregnancy = forty weeks= healthy screaming baby = up all night feedings = a happily ever after.

Conversely, we would also have escaped the resounding crash that landed the world upside down at our feet, crushing our hearts into bite sized pieces and leaving us there to pick them up.

Ah - expectation: too much of it can de-rail you; too little, and motivation can pass you by.

The trick is to find just the right balance of intrisic desire with acceptance of 'what is' and 'will be'. And, it has been my experience that when you find said balance it often happens that the result blows your 'would-be-expectation' out of the perverbial water.

This was my experience with the memory walk.

My (let’s loosely call them) expectations for this event were:

for a just a few more people than our members and their families to come
to cover our costs, but not focus on fundraising
to raise awareness
to educate the community
to allow a safe space for inspiration and emotion
to affirm parents with empty arms
and to make it through singing without crying

The bigger-than-I-ever-imagined-it-to-be reality of the day still brings me to tears.

We had 84 people there. Eighty Four for a first event!
We covered our costs and raised an additional $866.00 – damn.

I am already receiving emails from people who want to donate their services, or heard about the event ‘afterwards’ and want to be involved in the future.

Parents who are 15, 20, 30, and 40 years out from their loss responded that ‘they finally feel like that baby’s mother, father, grandparent..etc.’

A series of perfect moments to be sure.

Thank you Emma Grace for making this all possible. For teaching your earthly mother that there is more to tragedy than pain and sorrow. That beauty comes from emotional growth.
I’m dancing sweet girl – just for you.

Life Terminology

2009-05-10T05:53:00.000-07:00

Do you Effectively Multi-task OR Neglect Effectively?

Personally, I don't think there is much inherent lingusitic derivation between these two phrases. I mean, I thought I was doing the former with grace, maybe even style - micro-managing the countless focuses of my life: the dropping off to school, creating a column worth reading, the house, the seasonal switch of car tires, the food, the laundry, this blog and, of course, the non-profit that has become my life.

In fact, yesterday during the whirlwhind that was our memory walk (note: I hope the only person that felt whirwindish was me...) when I was being approached with linguistic questions both in person and over that confundeled walkie-talkie thing (why on earth do they say 'roger'? - seriously), my dad heard someone say, "Women can multi task, Men can't."

Of course this statement could be debated for I know a great many men who do numerous things at the same time, but regardless of the gender overextending themselves, my question stands: Effectively multi-tasking or Neglecting effectively?

Twenty-four hours after the most intensive event I have ever planned (with much help!) I am forced to admit I have done the latter, perhaps - with just a little of the afore mentioned 'grace' and, maybe even a smidge of 'style' - maybe.

And before you start pumping me up with accalaids and emotional cheers - know that this is a plain fact, not a self-degregating statment. The facts are clear:

My car is a mess - again - in record time
Dishes sit in the sink
Piles of laundry seem to pop up around my house: needing to be washed, needing to be hung, needing to be folded, begging to be put in drawers (um..yeah - right)
My exercise cd sits, figurative eyebrows raised, where I laid it...5 days ago - or something
My husband says things like, "I feel like I haven't seen you in a week"
My fridge is pretty bare
My kids, *sigh*, I miss them and they are right here
My google reader mocks me as I hope you haven't felt neglected too

Even my body is crashing, a not-so-slow deescallation of all the muscles that cranked themselves tighter and tighter all week long. It's acually painful. I didn't expect that.

See, this tightrope I walked for the last week, trying not to mis-step or the food might not all be there or the port-a-potty was missing, or would the generator power the mic without over powering it...has affected every part of my life. And, of course it would.

But the part I really didn't expect was the 'after'. I couldn't sleep last night. Well, I crashed...then at 1am awoke out of a sound sleep and couldn't go back. The thoughts of who I forgot to thank and recognize, the 'what we will do differently next year's, and the haunting image of a woman I never saw but was told - arrived late and left early - did we upset her more than comfort?

Be assured there will be more posts about the highlights of our day. Pictures and videos will come, when I get them. It was a very affirming and successful day and I do feel that the all-encompassion life-debris was all worth it. I just need to acknowledge it. And, so there is a chance I might be able to get some sleep tonight...

Thank you to ALL the volunteers that gave their time and energy, manning tables, babysitting the kids tent, blowing up balloons, taking picutres, capturing video, and breaking down.

Thank you to my amazing, astoundingly gorgeous husband and his 'always there' loyal cousin who single (or double) handedly erected and broke down five tents, six tables, built a performance platform, set up and manned the sound system, and said all those cute, but totally over my head things over the walkie talkies. This event would not have happened without you.

Thank you to every single brave person who came, cried, smiled, laughed, hugged, and shared their story. Your children are well loved and well remembered.

Thank you the beautiful gang of children we had, who even in the midst of tears frolliced in the green grass amidst a sea of yellow dandelions. You were such a welcome sight. We live for you.

And, Thank you to all our angel babies for filling us - eventually - with equal measures of longing and inspiration. Because of your short lives we change the world.

*Phew* - That feels better. Time to do laundry, and dishes, and play with my kids, and kiss my husband, and go food shopping and...

Surreal To The Point of Disbelief

2009-05-09T17:22:00.001-07:00

The Walk is over. I felt very much like I was at my wedding all over again - like it was happening all around me, but I couldn't focus, step back and really take it all in.

It was amazing, unreal, more people than I could have imagined for a first event.

And yet, for one of the very first times in my life I was not behind the camera...hence I have no pictures to show, yet.

They will come - along with video - as we had two, yes 2 - videographers.

But for now, I will just say...

It went off with a minimal of hitches.
Surprise guests took my heart by storm
The community knows we exist - even if they were trying not to!
I got through singing without crying

But...I cried four times. Uh huh - just four. Yes Michelle - I believe this makes you the winner.

I will post more indepth about my range of emotions, but for tonight - I'm spent... Good Night

Click - Click - Click

2009-05-08T08:02:00.001-07:00

That is the sound of my stapler as I colate 75 perfect, pale purple programs for the walk tomorrow. The all James Taylor online radio station plays in the background and - wha...la - an idea hits me.

Because - you know, I really needed one more idea to pop into my head less than 24 hours before the event!

So, I'll keep it brief, or try - for there is much to be done.

The sheer emotion of the event is starting to take me over. I'm inviting it because better that I'm a sobbing, bittersweet, I-can't-believe-we-actually-created-this-resource, mess today, than tomorrow.

I'm sure I'll be emotive as I greet each brave person who approaches the registration table...but I'd rather not be blubbering. You know, being the director of the corporation and all.

Oh, my idea? Sorry...a slight tanget got the best of me.

Well, during the memorial we are giving away on of hubby's handmade, hardwood memory boxes. (click over for a visual...see? told you I was keeping it brief!)

And, it occurred to me that just because you can't be there, seeing as most of you live halfway around the globe, you shouldn't be exempt from winning such a special object. I mean, nearly half the names we are reading are your children after all.

But, to be fair to the red-ticket-holding folks standing in front of the podium - I will giveaway a second box to the internet folk. So, what do you have to do??

Comment with your prediction to this question: How many times will Cara succumb to tears between the hours of 9 - 12?

I'll be sure to keep track. Better yet - I'll ask someone else to keep track too. That might me more accurate number. And, to avoid any questioning of what is crying the defining rule is: the tear must leave my eye and meet my cheek.

Delurkers?? This is a great opportunity to introduce yourself AND perhaps win something at the same time!

If there are a number of you spot-on, then it will come to a video draw...by, who other than my Knocked-Down Hunk of a sweet man, without whom this event (read: sound, contstruction, tents, performance platform...etc) could not happen.

So - comment - guess - win - and introduce yourself!!!

And The World Keeps Spinning...

2009-05-07T07:14:00.000-07:00

And spinning, and spinning... as we enter a 48 hours countdown to the walk!!Tomorrow morning I will be printing the program which contains the names / dates of all the babies we will walk in memory of.

Please feel free to click over to the Wall of Angels to read the open invitation.

If your baby is already on the wall then their name is on the list.

If not, and you wish to send it to me: please use sharesouthernvermont@gmail.com as my contact email for this event.

And please...pretty please....pretty pretty please with a cherry on top - write out both the actual and PHONETIC spelling of your sweet baby's name!!