1 Day and counting - "The Eve"

(PICTURES OF CHILDREN LATER IN THIS POST)

Oddly the day before Emma's birthday has always been my most emotional day and not her "actual" birthday. (she was born at 3:30 am on the 8th, so really my experience happened on the 7th)

On September 7th I rarely leave the house for an unwarranted emotional attack can happen at any time. I am a devoted church goer, I didn't go today. I really need to buy eggs (so I can make meatloaf for dinner), but I can't motivate myself to go to the store, even though the girls are sleeping and my husband is here (a rare combination). But still, staying home on the 7th has also become something of a tradition, I guess.

I am doing all right today, kind of. I am very quiet (and for those who know me, you know that is not at all like my typical self) and, I guess meloncholy is the right word for my mood. I look at my two sweet girls and see a third then a bittersweet feeling envelops me. This day is a modified rollercoaster for me compared to the years past. The ride has become shallow so my ups are, well, I have ups and my downs are merely speedbumps, not the elephant sized potholes from the past.

When I woke up today I knew, deep down in my inner knowing place, today was going to be different, but I didn't know why. I rarely do, so I didn't give this much attention, but then the answer presented itself instantly. My husband is amazing and sweet and loving and yeah - I could go on and one, but one thing he has never done with me is grieve. He does that on his own. We agreed a loooooong time ago that his process and my process look nothing alike and to respect those differences. Of course if I am really a puddly mess, he'll hold me and support the mush that I become until I return to some form of substance and can hold my own. But, if I am just quiet and internal he usually lets me navigate it on my own. He is so strong, a rock really from the first instant Emma Grace was conceived, through her birth and even as we faced her death, but we honor two very different grieving roads.

So, when he made to return to bed this morning I was a little surprised, saying to myself, "This can't be about me. I'd be surprised if he even remembers that this is the most difficult day for me". Then, this is what I heard. The Comedian asked him, "Are you going back to sleep daddy?" and his easy response, "No. I'm going to hug your mother". And he did. He didn't say one word to me, just hugged me for a long time as tears slid from my cheeks to the pillow. Finally he said, "How are you doing today?" This speaks volumes about the connection between greiving and time.

I sighed with as much contentment as I am allowed to feel on this day and was grateful for his attention and effort. I actually felt blessed to be experiencing this new reality, a cohesive approach by our 4-member family to this "day before" Emma's birthday. The day turned from cloudy and breezy to a beautiful Vermont fall day. The sun emerged and with it, "A RAINBOW!" I heard my family say. Turning, I saw it too, then my tears came. The rainbow was unique, displaying both sides but no middle, it was covered by clouds. I was a mess, but just for a minute. Emma has been so busy lately. She has been so present in our lives. First, the red leaf, then the rainbow, next what? Still, I cry because I am so happy that she knows we want her here and we are ready to embrace her regardless of how she presents herself.

Family has been the word of the day. It seemed we just couldn't seperate after this rainbow appeared. The girls and I went inside and made birthday cards for Emma. Each was different, but each displayed a rainbow and the number 8 for her age. I am not ashamed to say I have the worst artistic skills on the planet (and possibly beyond), because my five year old could potentially have the best. Her card made my eyes moist again, the rainbow, the roses, the writing, her tiny name on the bottom and the love that went into it. We laminated the cards and mounted them on colored popsicle sticks, then walked to the cemetary.

While we were making birthday cards for an angel who, "lives to God", according to my three year old, my husband was building a bridge. Seriously! It was a project he had set the sauna tubes for two years ago, but only recently was completing. The bridge connects our yard to our orchard and goes over the little brook that runs through our back yard. Honestly, sometimes I am stunned to silence by the neon signs flashing tiresly in my face, yet I can't see them. Last week when I sat down to name this blog, it never crossed my mind that my husband was building a blasted bridge! I have walked around for weeks as I ready to send my book proposal to publishers knowing that building bridges between huring and greiving mothers is my mission. Did I put the two together? No..of course not...it was just to obvious!

Anyway, I walked slower than my energetic bundles and their father on our way to the cemetary. The picture from behind was stunning. A tall, bulky man with a little princess in each hand, skipping and hopping alongside their father, occasionally lifted into the air with a laugh and the use of very strong muscles. Priceless, really. He even managed to give them both a piggieback up the huge hill to the headstones. Per tradition we took pictures at her headstone and rearranged the flowers with her cards. Truly priceless.

If anyone had told me even four years ago that September 7th and 8th could and would, in any minute way carry the feeling of celebration I would have cried them out of town. But, here are the facts - I smiled at a rainbow today and I smiled at a red leaf two weekds ago and even though my smiles are mixed with tears, it does not diminish the feeling of gratitude for birthdays, for Emma, for family, for J., for Bear, and The Comedian, for Fall Vermont days, for sun, for two worlds colliding.

If you haven't already, start traditions, stick to them and let them grow and evolve. When enough years have passed and your heart is ready, they will feed your grieving soul.

2 Days And Counting - "The Burning Bush"

After Emma was stillborn a slew of gifts arrived our way. There were cards, flowers, plants, and even some cash. We were grateful for all of it and used the money to pick the most beautiful baby headstone we could find.

The burning bush given to my parents, however, was the gift that became our focus. It was a living thing to gather around, to plant, to care for, to watch grow, and any other number of metaphors you could easily put in the same sentence when refering to your baby. Now, understand I am not a real "flower" person. In fact, my mother finally stopped giving me plants for gifts because withing weeks, they were withering. But, this burning bush was something different for me. It represented so many esoteric feelings and tangible moments for me. It was my first earthly link to Emma.

The first bush was planted at my parents house. J. and I didn't own a house yet and that was the home I had lived in for the entirity of my childhood. On a breezy day in mid Sept, 2000 Grandma, Grandpa, Nana, Papa, J. and I gathered to plant Emma's burning bush. In a grand ceremony kind of way, that none of us really though about..but just unfolded, we each took a turn digging into the ground, tossing in some fertalizer, then - when the bush was settled, the rotation began again for placing the dirt back into the earth and watering. After, we shared a family meal and attempted to enjoy each other's company.

In order to really understand the magnitude of this easy, holiday like scene, it is key to know our families' dynamics. (these are just the facts now...no judgement here!) I am the product of two city raised post graduates who moved to the country, but couldn't really be called "country folk". After a few years their only child was born, and although not overly spoiled, was definately doted upon with a strong focus.

J. is the oldest son in a farming family. Chores, responsibities, farm odors, hard long hours, and a weekly majority of meat & potatoes was the lifestyle from his early days. We make a great pair, but our parents, and rightfully so, sometimes struggle to see the world through the other's eyes. There are often questioning eyebrows or befuddled faces when the topics of slaughtering or seminars are brought up.

So now you see how unique our experience that day was, sitting around the table, discussing (to be honest I don't even remember what) but it was a calm, easy, low-tide discussion. There were no raised eyebrows or befuddled expressions. Emma was with us. She was our reason for gathering. She performed one of her countless miracles that day and harmoniously brought together the families of a Romeo and Juliet like relationship.

There are currently three burning bushes planted for Emma Grace. J. and I bought a house about a year after her passing, and my parents gave us one for the front yard. I was so touched by the stone work my husband did, creating an "endless circle" of flat stones around the bush to keep her safe and show our neverending love. Two years ago, my parents moved to a new house and didn't want to run the risk of transplanting the original bush, so they erected another. What a masterful show for a tiny soul. Well done Emma.

Every year on her birthday I take a picture of our bush, I measure it and record its height like you would with your child, and I cry tears of joy, appreciation, sadness, meloncholy, and inspiration as every leaf turns flaming red in the fall as if to say, "I am here. I know this when you focus on me the most and when your hurt the most. So, see my red leaves and know - I am here, mommy".

This year, the most amazing thing happened. Two weeks ago, on Bear's first day of Kindergarten, as we walked by the bush and I turned, like I always do, to say hello, I noticed a flash of color. "No Way!" I told myself. "Fall isn't here yet and the weather had been unseasonably warm. Your bush can't be turning yet!" But as I walked closer, silent tears slid down my cheeks. One, single, solitary leaf was red.

"Mommy" Bear yelled "Let's go to Kindergarten" as The Comedian was pulling on my pant leg. I wiped my tears away and called them over to the bush. "Look" I said, "Just one leaf is red on your sister's bush". Then Bear, in her 'matter-of-fact', all-knowing, odd topics don't bother her, kind of voice said, "Yeah. Emma came to wish me good luck". Of course she did, I thought. Of course.

Bear's world-colliding abilities are a post for another day, but I will tell you that the leaf is no longer red. It has gone back to green, like it's hundreds of brothers and sisters. They will all turn red, soon, but she was here for just a day, just like Bear said.

God bless each and every one of you hurting, grieving mothers who are looking for your miracles. Keep an open mind and a wide-open heart and your baby will find you.

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