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 - Handmade Love

My mother is a quilter. This one of the ways she creates love with her hands. We all do, in different ways and her love of quilting has been a lifetime evolution. I remember as a little girl nearing the kitchen and smelling the wafting odor of dye as she prepared wool for her hooked rugs. She taught me to crochet, once-upon-a-moon, and although she did her best to enstill the love of all things needle based with me, alas - it just isn't my creative outlet.

But it is most definately hers. I could tour my house and show you quilts of past: the one she made for me in college that has four distinct corners, personalizing the bed covering with my loves and my traits is my favorite. Our wedding quilt is stunning - it is a spring bed quilt, thin but cozy, nearly enough to convince me to stay under the covers all day long on a fair spring day.

But the quilts she makes for the kids are - far and away - the ones that inspire me most. With each pregnancy she began the quilt early on so that, by the time of delivery the only thing left to do was embroider our sweet girl's name and birthdate.

This is Emma's.

She is buried in it; swaddled in the love that Nana made. The perimeter is bunnies, following - chasing each other around and around quilt. I wanted her buried in this - really I did, but I found myself missing it: it's colors, the bunnies, the fact that is had been hers.

And so, for Christmas my mother made a miniature wall hanging with the leftover fabric.

It hangs on my bedroom wall, to the left of our bed. She is with us all the time - she always is, but this helps. And I often find myself thinking about how putting Emma's name and birthday was supposed to be a joyous time. It would mean that she was here, finally - the first grandchild, a most wanted child.

Instead, Nana, after being called from her classroom and shocked with the news that her grandchild had died, sitting with us all night, holding sweet Emma after her 3:30am delivery - went home to embroider each letter and number in the wee hours of the morning. I imagine each consonant brought a new wave of pain, each vowel another shower of disbelief, each digit a reminder of the day that it all went wrong.

It's hard to see the letters - but they are there: EMMA GRACE.

Forever missed - forever loved - wrapped eternally in love, made at her Nana's hands.

Now, click on over and see what the rest of the class is show and telling.

Show and Tell - Grief Old and New

I have a creative family. We create through many mediums. My parents sing. My father plays the guitar. Both my parents are artists in their own right. I sing, but art...the draw/paint/sketch kind is lost on me. (Seriouly - I can draw rainbows and houses...the sun and a few flowers - That's It!)

Bear is a born artist. Damn- her stuff impresses me and she is only 6. The Comdian? Well, her artistic gift is more physical and words - oh her words - her timing - I'm laughing just thinking about her contorted face, all for a laugh.

And speaking of words, that seems to be my gift. The power to put them on paper and touch a soul and the ability to speak them in front crowds in an effort to further a cause. Both feel great to me, both free me of a measure of the grief that permeates - always. Oh - and I love to scrapbook, but that's more creative that artistic - but I love it just the same.

My show and tell this week is that gift - seen through my parent's eyes. The first poem was written by my father days after Emma's death. He found the strength to read it at her funeral - somehow.

The second is a poem written by my mom, only months ago, and given to us in Emma's 8th birthday card. The image on the card was as much the gift as the poem. Whoever created that image may have reached into my head and pulled out the imagined picture of Emma I hold: Long straight flowing hair, red cheeks, and a calm airy existance - enjoying every minute of her life.

Please enjoy grief - old and new - as an affirmation that grief never leaves us, only morphs and changes as we integrate it into our lives.

Angel of Love

When she was born she brought to this world
Such beauty and grace this brave little girl
She’s place in our hearts for now and for always
Beautiful Emma Grace

She’s in heaven now so holy and blessed
Peaceful and joyous – a place she can rest
She’s placed in our hearts for now and for always
Beautiful Emma Grace

This angel of love is with us today
Bringing us comfort is so many ways
She’s placed in our hearts for now and for always
Beautiful Emma Grace

September Graces

Autumn treasures
To embrace
Nature's daughter,
Emma Grace

Butterflies
With wings of lace
Graceful girl
Emma Grace

Beams of light
Dance 'round her face
Heavenly child
Emma Grace

Eight bright candles
Light your place
Birthday angel,
Emma Grace.

** Both poems have been submitted to the Share Infant And Pregnancy Loss Newsletter. The next issue's topic is GRANDPARENT'S LOSS. Please feel free to submit your own piece by clicking on the above link and following the directionso on the sidebar. The deadline is February 1st.