Perfect Moment Monday - Gifts of Inspiration

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.

Perfect Moment Monday - A Pregnant Pause (UPDATED)

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?

Perfect Moment Monday -- Unexpected Beauty

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.

Potentially Perfect Moment Monday -- The Swinging Door

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.

Perfect Moment Monday - Expectations

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.

1. We had 84 people there. Eighty Four for a first event!
   
2. We covered our costs and raised an additional $866.00 – damn.


3. 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.


4. 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.

Perfect Moment Monday!

Hey All - This weekend my DH and I went away to a Marriage Convention / Retreat at Killington Mountain. It was amazing on so many levels:

• Time alone away from the kids


• Lines of communications opened again (we nearly needed a cardiologist for all the build up in them)


• Goal sets


• Priorities Made


• Had a litttle fun too!
  

But here was the best part!!! When I made the reservation I was asked, "hotel or condo"? My answer, "Whichever is cheapest." Um - I didn't think it would be this...

See that wood burning fireplace? We had one!! And, a kitchen, dining room, washer / dryer, etc. etc...

You bet we too full advantage of the hot tub, pool, sauna, and game room!!!

A perfect weekend to be sure!