Show and Tell: Birthdays and Deathdays

I suppose there really isn't much of a difference in this show and tell.

We celebrated Emma Grace last Tuesday on what would have been her 9th birthday.

No pictures of her thined out, well past little girl face. Just those of our everchanging ones that transform annually in her scrapbook.

The cake, strawberry - just as Bear said it should be.

Days later, the phone rang. "Great Gram has passed" my mother in law said, continuing with details about the funeral this week.

"Your Great, Great Grandmother has died" I told the kids, next day over breakfast.

"Is that the lady that Gram took me to see?" asked Bear, "The one who was 100 and sooooo old she couldn't even get out of bed, or walk, or talk?"

"Yes dear" I said, "that's her. Great Great Gram Brown". "Oh," continued Bear, "Well I still have a Grandma and a Great Grandma and Emma was waiting for her so I guess everything is just fine."

Oh Yes my sweet girl. A long and happy life ended by age is what I would call 'just fine'. And, although it took me a bit of time to find this picture, it was worth it to remember when she could walk, and talk, and hold newborn baby girls with the love of family still intact in her mind and heart.

What are you show and telling?

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.

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.

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

Then and Now

As I was canning tomatoes yesterday, it struck me (hard) that time is really a paradox. Emma's birthday is one week away, a mere seven days, and I was doing the mundane task of canning tomatoes and actually enjoying myself!

In the raw stages of our grief just after losing a child we are shred, unable to participate in any of the world's activities, important or mundane. We don't fit in and when we try we seem to lose layer after layer of ourselves to the effort. Emma's first birthday was like a time portal, I was shot back to the actual event, and worse to the preceeding day and forced to live each stage of the finding out, denial, labor, delivery, saying goodbye, burying her ..etc all over again.

The second, third and fourth years weren't much better. Truly, you didn't want to be near me in the last part of August or the first two weeks of September because there was no telling what would trigger me causing full on emotional breakdown whereever I happened to be.

But here I am, eight years later, listening to inspirational music on my mp3 player and preserving food for the upcoming winter with Emma's anniversary looming, but I am ok. I will not tell you that I don't see those images on a daily basis. I do. I see them because it is September but also because I am writing a book about Emma, our bond, our story and the powerful truths I learned to get to this healing point. To do this I have to recall these scenes in great detail. So yes, I do see them, but they don't hold the same power over me that that used to. In fact, I have taken control of them. I use them to remember her face and the feel of her body pressed against mine as we cuddled together after delivery. I use them to smile when Bear (my five year old) weeds Emma's burning bush and talks to her about our life here, just like I did all those years ago. I guess there was no need, she is still here.

This, it seems, is a big year. The buzz around the world... 8 is a powerful number. I don't know about the world, but it appears that eight years is a very powerful number for my grieving process. Wherever you are in your process, not measured in years, but in your heart and in your "trigger threshold", God bless you and may you continue to walk, one step at a heartbreaking time, down your grieving road toward celebration.