Unexpected Growth

My mother is a gardener. And not just a when-the-mood-strikes planter, but a dedicated, it runs through her veins gardener who puts much thought into the all around landscaping design of the grounds.

Last Fall, my dad, husband and myself put our collective talents: digging, digging deeper and organizing - in case you were wondering - into full effect to help her create the most intricate (seriously I can't remember what kind of flower) design on their front bank. Each kind bloomed at a certain time and was a specific color. The job fell to me to organize each grouping of plants by blooming season and color so the pattern was never interrupted.

Yes, my mother is a gardener.

I am not. Not even close...I know - it's disappointing, but my high school 'If suzie has three yellow apples and Mike has four pears....' skills do occasionally come in handy - at least.

So, last fall when my mother came to our house with some leftover another flower I couldn't possibly tell you the name of and suggested planting them around the base of Emma's bush - I said, "Sure".

"They may or may not come up" she cautioned, "They like direct sun and its hard to know if they will get enough with her bush being so big at this point."

The fact that I shrugged this off seemed totally appropriate on that day. Looking back, especially with the most recent reaction I had to Emma's bush being loved on by her sister - I realize what a success moment that was. Even a couple years ago the idea of something living being put in her earth with the potential, no probability - of dying, would have put me over the edge.

Sometimes we take big steps without even realizing the size of the footprint we left behind.

But, today - when I strolled past Emma's bush and leaned down to remove brown, crunch leaves for the hundreth time (blast you wind!) I noticed something.

For a non-grower the sight of these two shoots (still - have no idea what they are...sorry) send a burst of love through me.

I don't recall how many she planted - but two is enough, especially since they will bloom right next to her angel.

Here's to big steps - to new life - and to possibilities.

Show and Tell - An Act of Faith

Faith, hope and love - three beautiful emotions and a great song by Point of Grace!

I have faith our fundraising goal will be met by Christmas!
I have great hope that our Share chapter will be up and running and serving many hurting hearts early in the new year.
I have love for so many who support my process:

• Carol, the Share co-ordinator from Northhampton who took 90 mintues out of her busy life to talk to me and answer all my questions.
  
• Martha, my West Coast Publicist (he-he), who felt led to call all the local newspapers in my area and annouce my mission and further request they cover the story. She's also full of great fundraising ideas!


• Jane, who I met yesterday (IRL) for a book related meeting, but turns out to be an art therapist and wants to volunteer her time to work with the families, yes kids too, who are in our group.
  
• My husband, for all his talent and time creating the memory boxes.


• All who have donated so this dream can become a reality.

And, of course, love for my Emma Grace for working so boldly in this word and moving me to act.

So for Show and Tell I share that ... I took a leap of faith.
I filled out the application. It will be in the mail tomorrow morning.

If you are here from ILCW or new to the blog and have no idea of what I speak - and would like to, there is red text with a link to the original post on my side bar.


Now, full of faith, hope and love...click back over to see what the rest of the class is showing! And yes - Mel, just in case your grading this week: the application was two pages, my essay answers were seven!

We - The NEARLY 1500!

Mel just reported nearly 1500 sites on the blogroll. "That is astounding!" I thought. 1500 brave women sharing their dreams, heartache, losses and success with one another. A plethera of opportunity for one hurting soul to find another who has suffered the same category of loss, even if (as it was for me - and so often is) a rare and freak incident that took your baby's life.

But then, my mind returned to researching statistics for my book. This, in itself is a daunting task for, finding accurate statistics in the world of baby loss is like trying to count the fish in the sea, especially when you consider MY definiation of baby loss (as mapped out in MY MISSION) SORRY I DON'T KNOW HOW TO MAKE THOSE PRETTY BLUE LINKS YET...HELP ANYONE???

Anyway, based on the latest updated research including stillbirth, infant death and SIDS, "on average" (and I abhor this term because every baby is a soul and I want to know exactly how many have been lost!!!) 99,000 babies died last year. This does not even include the sweet little souls lost to miscarriage, because that is represented by percentage. So take the 99,000 and add in the 20% of all pregnancies ending in miscarriage and our faboulous 1500 brave mothers are only a drop in overflowing grief bucket.

Where are the others? How are the others? How are the fathers coping out there? What about the living sisters and brothers, how are they doing? What about the grandparents who feel like they lost a child? I don't have answers, but I do know that what has begun here...in the world of the blog...is huge! It is just the beginning, but the world is ready for us. The nation is ready to hear of our babies, our boys, our girls, our faceless 9 week losses and our buried 40 week bodies. Elizabeth McCracken's book just released last week, is already getting good reviews indicating that the living are ready to at least...hear about and acknowledge the dead.

I am so excited to be part of this, to reach out and hold a new hand, listen to a new friend, and support others who have lost recently, or a long time ago. Each of us follows our own path but knowing that the path is paved is of some consolation.

This line of thinking led me to wonder, What would my blog have looked like if it had been an option when Emma died? In that period when I was feeling raped by life and like someone had their boot pressed firmly on my heart at all times, I needed this web of knowledge, statistics, love, support, and yes - a hopeful tone from someone who was past the first year of hell. I did search the internet for answers and for groups of women battling the same emotions, but I came up dry...so I turned to something more physical - scrapbooking.

I know it sounds odd to say I can chronicle a dead baby, but I did and I still do. Or maybe its more accurate and honest to say I chronicle my life as it has been forever affected by her. Obviously I only have a handful of pictures of Emma but I journal, put pictures of her burning bush, of her sisters as they arrive, of the red leaf and the rainbow, and rarely...of myself - but when I update my scrapbook every September it becomes my mirror. It evolves into a looking glass where I can see my reflection, differing from year to year. So, even though I don't have a blog of old to compare with the tone of my blog of new, I do have year one in her book and it reads and looks VERY different from year eight.

I can see my growth, I can feel my healing, and I am overwhelmed that we, the nearly 1500, can be that for all the other mothers, fathers, grandparents, sisters and brothers who have yet to face their grief and take the first step on their road to healing.

I love you Emma Grace, and every other heavenly soul.

3 Days and Counting

Two teachers came for a home visit today as my younger, The comedian, starts pre-school on Monday. As I whipped through their stacks of paperwork and "check the right box" questionaires I found myself thrown for just a moment...this is how it went.

"Oh, wow, filling out this paperwork is sooooooo easy in comparison to Bear's!"
"Wait! You know better than to compare children. They are different and that is all there is too it."

Right, I know that conciously, but even so I was thrown back to my early post-delivery thoughts. I was reminded of the years I spent wondering about who Emma "would have been". Asking myself all kinds of unanswerable questions like, "Would she have been outdoorsy or an indoor kid?", "Would she have loved sweets or not?", "Would she have been cuddly or independent?" "Was she blessed with a talent? Art? Sports? Dance?" Remembering, just for a moment, looking back to see how I used to torture myself, how each question would induce another set of racking sobs, I sadly smiled.

My wonderings have evolved, just like my grieving, so they are still there - in the distance, living in an alternate world that represents impossible dreams. Yes - they are still wisps of wonder, but it appears I have finally accepted, truly reconciled, that I will never know any of these answers. This is simultaneously sad and hopeful. It is sad because it makes me feel like I am letting go, but then hope takes over and I see so many of Emma's purposes here on earth. I know her spirit isn't dormant, it is very busy and this turns my focus to the future. What miracles will she do next year or the year after? How will she continue to lead this family in her heavenly way?

That said, I remember the hell of the first few years. I remember the circular thinking (What if - I wonder, If... Then) that put me in such a tailspin I couldn't even walk stright through the room. I remember being sure there could never be, never ever be, any cognitive or spiritual "reason" for her leaving. Where are you in this process?

• Are you in the beginning where you would without hesitation join your baby if you could, just to see one of your phantom answers?
• Have you accepted that she your little one is gone, but can't let go of your questions, thinking that somehow, someday, a way might just present itself to quell you?
• Do you relive the days before you lost your baby, changing key moments and getting so far lost in the charade that you believe you can change the outcome?

I know - I have done all this and more. I have evaporated so far from the "real" world to my creation, which was far better than facing reality. And now, this nubmer, eight, eight years later, why does this number resonate? I don't know, but I don't really need to know. All I need is to recognize that my current reality is exactly what it is supposed to be.

So is yours! Wherever you are today, is where you start. Whereever you are tomorrow, even if its a step back, is where you continue. Check in with yourself in few weeks and try to see, objectively, that you have - just by attending to your emotions, taken more steps forward, than back.

A common soul,

Cara

The Mission

Building Heavenly Bridges is a labor of love finally taking shape after years of marinating in my brain.



First - A little about me. My name is Cara and I have three beautiful daughters. Two are in the next room negotiating sharing the crayons and one is gently resting in heaven preparing for her 8th birthday.



Emma Grace is my first child. Her birthday is September 8th, 2000. She is one of approximately 26,000 stillborn babies that year.



After three years of heavy, intense grieving and four more proving to me that grief never leaves but shifts and morphs allowing me to integrate both worlds, I can say with certainty, Emma Grace is my guiding light and my inspiration who consistently pushes me to expand my vision of the world, the innerworkings of my heart and is now asking me to reach out and build these bridges between me and you and between you and someone else. I pray these bridges bring hope for the future.



This is a place for anyone who has felt the loss of a child. Treat this as a communication haven regardless of how or when you felt your loss. My definition of loss: miscarriage at any stage, still birth regardless of week gestation, infant death at any month, and loss of a child even if your child was all grown up. For me they all hold the same root of devestation. None are more profound or more "easily" dealth with than another.

Welcome Mothers, Fathers, Grandmothers, Grandfathers, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Friends and anyone else who needs an ear...

Please come with an open heart.
Please cry if you need to.
Please connect with others who are in your same space.
Please email me if you feel led to
Please comment so we know what you need
Please tell your story



A similar soul,
Cara