Happy Birthday Emma

Well, the countown is over. My baby girl is 8 years old and if yesterday was the family day then today was all about me!

Before I left for my, "take care of my inner spirit" day I picked a card from my Law of Attraction deck and my Inner-Self deck. I know it kinda sounds like hocus pocus, but I do this everyday to center my focus and guide my intentions. Most days the card I pick really matches up with the tasks ahead of me, but today I was overwhelmed with my alignment. Today I picked, "I can relax into my natural well-being" and "I am not here to create sameness". I definatley intended to do both.

"I am one with God. I am more than enough. I am one with Emma. I am strong. I am a good mother. I am healing." are the powerful sentences I reapeated over and over in my head as I was lying face down for (hands down) the BEST massage of my life. Even so, tears escaped my eyes and dripped to the floor causing the massuse, massoose (how do you spell that word?) to silently hand me tissues under the sheet. Now, seriously, how was I supposed to use those tissues? I was face down, my head stuffed in that oblong shaped thing and had no access to my eyes. But, still, it was sweet of her. The most amazing part is I was competly unabashed. When I walked in the door I said, "I may be emotional. Today is my daughter's birthday", just so she wasn't competely blind sighted by my potential outbursts. How she made sense of tears as a response to my daughter's birthday, I have no idea. But, here's my perspective, this is my process and I am NOT here to create sameness! I have walked this grieving road long enough to be aware that anywhere and anytime is a possible opportunity for a heart reaction and it is my job to embrace it.

Embrace is a perfect word for today. After the massage (where I truly did "relax into my being") I was treated to a facial. I may shock some of you when I say, I AM 32 YEARS OLD AND HAVE NEVER HAD A FACIAL! It's true, well, until today that is. It was scrumptously amazing. So, on my sweet angel's birthday I opened myself to a new experience. But it gets better.

My friend teaches yoga and reiki at the spa resort. She treated me to a private class designed just for my healing. The seven shakras (again - spelling?) of the body combined with their affirmations shot me back to the hospital room and visions of a still baby leaving my hands, forever, but then something mindblowing happened.

On my mat in a position (ironically called the "corpse" pose) I was transcended, kind of . Cognitively, I knew I was in the solarium on a mat, but I was standing on a cliff, my toes reaching out over the rocks and my body slightly rocking. I guess you could say I was teetering on the "Proverbial" edge. I sensed there was a decision to make. I peeked down to the depths below me and could see that hospital room, see Emma in her tiny infancy, see the nurses taking possession of her, and see myself crumbling away - a shattered heart with a body for a shell.

Then, I looked up. I would love to say that I saw Emma or even some angelic symbol of her shimmering in the heavenly aura, but I can't. In fact, I didn't see anything. (not even my friend holding her hands only inches over me ) No, I felt deep in my inner gut, I knew, like the student who just opened the test booklet and felt a surge of relief that he knew the first answer.I knew that my path was up.

I knew the memory of Emma's physical body wasn't nearly as powerful as her angelic spirit. It is her spirit that has led me through years of emotional crisis to a hopeful place, an inspirational place. It is her spirit that brings rainbows, red leaves, and perfectly times songs on the radio. And so, I took a step over that cliff, but I didn't fall. I was lifted toward my higher self, my constanly evolving self, and it felt good. Simultaneoulsy, my chest heaved with sobs and the tears streamed from my eyes to the mat. I wept because making that choice not to allow my memories to lead my path was like a goodbye. I felt like I was letting go of my security blanket after eight years of holding it close. It is a fine line, because my grief will never dissapear, but I will not permit it to possess me, I am in control and "breaking up" with the images was a process in itself.

I checked out from the world today and checked-in with myself. The good news is I am doing the best I can. The better news is the world didn't stop just because I did. Emma was very busy today! Her most impressive miracle came in the form of a phone call at 4pm, exactly when I arrived home. To fully comprehend the massive nature of this miracle would require much explanation, so let me just say we, as a family, were waiting for something for nine months and this Wednsesday it was going to happen. Three weeks ago I got a call that it was not going to happen and we were back, indefinately, on the list. Today, we were allerted that there was a "freak" opening, this Wednesday and "did we want to come?". "YES! YES! YES!" I practically screamed into the phone as the receptionist had no idea that her "freak" opening was exactly the day we were supposed to come in the first place.

If I keep walking, one step at a time, towards her spirit our mother /daughter connection will stregthen, will grow and our hearts will form an integrated front. I'm listening Emma, guide me.

4 Days And Counting

A few years ago after falling apart year after year I made a promise to myself, I will never again work on Emma's birthday. For me, it became a family holiday. Regardless of my current job, September 8th was a day off. In the beginning it was a logistically sound idea so I could cry all day without worry that I had to leave my house. But, in the past few years we have come to treat the day as a special celebration and make plans that we would never do on an ordinary day.

Some years my husband and I take the day alone and revel in the silence as we do whatever we choose. One year we re-created our first date at the state fair and drove the back roads antiquing (that was my favorite!). Last year we included the girls and spent a family day navigating a local farm's corn maze, splitting up, getting lost then finding each other again and rolling down hills until we were dizzy and covered in hay.

Also last year, at their instance, we had a "real" party with cake, ice cream, presents and singing happy birthday. I wasn't sure if I was ready for any traditional spin but we just couldn't say no to their serious little faces scrunched up with concern that I might vito their well presented idea, "But she is our sister and she is turning seven! Every seven year old gets cake, ice cream, presents and the birthday song. But" Bear added her tone now equally serious as if trying to figure out a math problem, "since Emma lives with God and not us I guess she would want us to play with her presents". And so, that is how it happened. Our first traditional celebration.

This year, they haven't mentioned anything and I am really not up for it. I am feeling very internal, not broken, just introspective about the magnitude of the year. I decided to spend the day alone. I don't know why I feel so inspired to do this, but something about this eighth year has really struck me as "my time". My journey is being so vastly effected by the power of this number that I feel called to attend to my innerself on Monday. This year I celebrate Emma by feeding my body for the day. I am not sure of all the details, but I know I am more in touch with my inner voice than ever before. I will start, like always, at her grave and follow my heart for the rest. I will medidate for as long as I like and a massage sounds good at the local spa, maybe a yoga class and a definately a long soak in the hot tub.

I like that every year seems to have a life of its own, similar to the evolution of birthday party themes. When Bear was 3 The Comedian 1 a Dora party fit perfectly, but this winter when they turn 6 and 4 it just wouldn't work. I can look back and see how I spent Emma's day in year one, year three, year six and now year 8 and just that glance back reflects my annual growth in healing, affirming each powerful step, even the teary ones.

A similar soul,

Cara

6 Days and Counting

As I lay in bed last night, trying to sleep, but unable I realized I am troubled by how normal life is this week before Emma's birthday. I told yesterday of the early years and the paralyzing effect they had on my ability to function, but here I am making cupcakes for Gram's birthday and purchasing mini-toiletries for the overnight my husband and I are taking, all with great ease and only six days before Emma's birthday.



"How am I doing this" I asked myself, "Am I somehow degrading Emma's memory by not attending to memories and tears with the devoted focus I used to?" This is a question I think we all ask ourselves at many points in our grieving roads. How much is too much? When is enough? What actions fall short of memorializing "properly".



What I realized is I am thrown by my ability to function and find myself yearning (in some small non-heart tearing way) for just a bit of the countdown I used to employ to save me from myself.



So I am having a countdown - starting today. It will act as yet another way for me to observe my progress and celebrate the relationship Emma and I have developed. Join me if you like! It is like that friend that you know who doesn't just celebrate her birthday on "the" day, but drags it on for a whole week! I have decided to post a tribute to Emma on each descending day, a trinket of our journey from start to present.



September 2nd - Day 6 - "Emma's First Birthday"

I sufferred over how to speak of this day. I worried over the terminology and if I was supposed to bow my head when I said, "the memory of our daughter's birth" or "the anniversary of our daughter's death". But then I got mad and said, "NO! She died, inside me on September 6th. That would be the anniversary her her death. SEPTEMBER 8TH IS HER BIRTHDAY!"

So I began planning a, well - "rememberance" was the best word I could come up with. Remember, I was only 12 months removed from handing over my beautiful creation to a nurse. I certainly could not call it a celebration, but knew I NEEDED a gathering on that day to feed my ever breaking soul.

I was mentally prepared for Saturday, September 8th, but completely unprepared for Friday September 7th. The pain and memory hit me like a lead weight. I could barely breath.
I attempted work, became a useless puddle on the floor, and returned home where I didn't leave my bed for the entirity of the day and through the night.

Finally, on Saturday morning I roused and we joined our family at Emma's grave. We played her song. We spoke of her and the ways she had shown herself to us in her first year. We cried - oh how we cried! Then, we let go of balloons, each with a personal message written inside, just for her. I broke down entirely when her father let go of his red balloon last, yet it reached heaven first. It is a tradition we maintain to this day (minus the balloons - they were only for the first year). We have many traditions - I will share them with you sometime.



For today - Trust your inner voice when it says "act" and the outcome may overwhelm you.



A similar soul,

Cara