A Decision Reached

First and foremost, a big thank you to all who commented on my last post. Your insights and opinions went a long way in the Share Southern Vermont board of directors making a decision regarding contact protocol after a loss.

If you requested a shirt, know that I will send those out tomorrow morning. If you insited on making a donation...thanks. Our smiles get bigger knowing how you support our efforts.

I do plan on replying to each of you, in due time, but time seems to be my enemy lately. The summer rush seems to have begun. You know, the how-much-fun-and-day-camps-can-we-cram-in-before-school-starts rush?

In any case, as you took the time to give your well-earned reccomendations I thought I would do the same to report our verdict.

The board met last Monday night. Our main concern was balancing offers of support without being to pushy or crossing over privacy lines. We also wanted to be consistant with our approach so each new family received the same opportunities to respond as the next.

Here is what we decided. We will contact families:

1. At time of loss. This will be done either at the memorial / funeral or by mail if we aren't aware of the loss until afterwards. The packet will be identical to that we proposed to the hospital so we know the families are receiving our information. (we are still fighting hard to create a working realationship with the hospital...but with very little results)

2. One Month Later: via phone call or email, whichever we have been given permission to use. During this call we will offer whatever support they feel ready for, as well as a memory box if they weren't already given one from the hospital they delivered at. We will also inquire how the family would like us to continue reaching out in the coming months.

3. (If we don't hear back) Six Months Later: via phone call or email. Just checking in to see how they are doing and if we can be of any assistance at the time.

4. One Year Anniversary: Via regular mail. We are currently voting on an appropriate card to send to the family, marking the day and making sure they know someone out there remembers with them.

Obviously, the best case result is that one of our initial outreaches results in the family coming to the monthly support group and working through their grief in the company of others living the same hell.

So -- again, many thanks to each of you for weighing in. We owe you a great deal.

Oh, and if you have a line on compassionate grief cards sold in bulk at a resonable price, feel free to email me with that info!!!

In Grief, Love and Hope

Cara

Turn To The Back

I've never been much of a newspaper reader. A picture-skimmer perhaps, who occasionally gets drawn in and reads a portion of the article, but not a cover-to-cover reader.

And yet, In the last month I have received two emails that went something like this: "Check yesterday's paper for an obituary we {Share Southern Vermont, Inc.} should acknowledge".

And so, I find myself looking at newspapers, almost daily. I still don't read the majority of the articles. I still surf the pictures. But not until after I have turned directly to the back and skimmed the entire obituary contents, my eyes searching for key words like: infant and baby.

I imagine there are people out there who read obituaries daily.

I never thought I'd become one of them.

I hope and pray that the cards, memory boxes, t shirts, and support group information SSV sends to these families reaches their hearts. I've yet to blog about the funeral three SSV board members attended recently for a stillborn baby boy, 8 months gestation. I will. I have to.

But here is my struggle. After we reach out, after we present them with all the grief support we can think of during their acute shock, how long should we wait before contacting them with an offer of support again? I mean, its not like we are long lost friends who could call weekly in the beginning. We are a group of well meaning, totally comprehending, we-lived-it-too, parents; but strangers none-the-less. It is essential to treat families with respect, but not to leave them hanging when they truly want support!

So, I turn the question to you wise bloggers and iclw-ers. If Share had reached out to you just after your loss and the box of stuff sat on your table, opened but not really attended to for weeks afterwards, when would you want them to call you again?

Leave a comment with your opinion and why you feel that way.

And...for your trouble. If you want a L or XL, Share Southern Vermont - First Annual Walk for Hope and Rememberance T-shirt, email me your address / size choice and it will be on its way.

In Grief, Love, and Hope,

Cara

Mother to Emma Grace, born still 9.8.00 - 40 weeks and 1 day

Founding Director - Share Southern Vermont, Inc.

Show and Tell -- A Taste of Italy

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...

And Now...For Show and Tell!

I am Italian, really Italian, like - 100% Italian. All it takes is one good look at me to know it.

I married a man who, although comprised of a great many heritages, is as far from Italian as one can get. So, although my last name has long been changed to a Vermonter's monniker my love of all things Italy, expecially the food, remains.

Guilty Truth? I could eat pasta at every meal! With a good basil, cream sauce - fresh panchetta and peas and a tall glass of pinot noir to match!

Of course we don't, having a gluten free girl in the house, and its a good thing or I'd be the size of this big old farmhouse, but - even so -some of my fondest childhood memories are walking the North End of Boston with my parents.

The traditional Italian resturants...Nonnies!

The traditional Italian pastry...Mikes!

And, of course, the traditional Italian little old men sitting on random street benches speaking animatedly with both their voices and their hands!

Recently I was as a yard sale and saw a crumpled box. At first glance it looked old, but then I realized it house a brand new pitzelle maker, and the box had only sustained considerable water damage. $5 the price tag said.

And, if you read here on even a semi-consistant basis you will recall my love for all yard-sale procured, $5 and under small kitchen appliances! Ah- but this was no run-of-the-mill gadget. No, this was a traditional Italian pitzelle maker.

Just standing there looking at the box brought a delicious sensation to my mouth. I could nearly taste the vaguely licorace taste of the thin pastaries. And, although $5 was all I had in my pocket on that particular day, I bought it.

I have not been dissapointed. Nor, have I been visited by the buyer's remorse that often visits me.

Instead -- I have created these!

My father says they are (his words), "Hands down, some of the best he's ever tasted". I can't really take any credit for that, as (1) he's bound to be a bit bias as I am his daughter and (2) it is so shamefully easy to do that a blindfolded monkey could probably be trained.

Even so, I've experimented with different kinds and - so far - the neighbors (my taste testers) have had nothing but rave things to say! I've even let my mind spin so far as to think about mass production, packaging and selling in the few random stores in our little town.

For now, this delicious - if only a little bit bad for me - reminder of my heritage is enough. So, what is the rest of the class showing?

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?

Back To The Beginning - Part 1, Page 1

I barely slept last night. Opening the cover of Emma's journal was like a portal. I knew it would be. And yet my sleepless hours weren't filled with movie-like images of the past. Instead they probed me with questions: What was on the next page? When will you continue the journey? Are you really ready? Are you scared of what you will find?

Grief Season arrived early this year.



Naptime isn't a given in this household any longer. The girls are four and six after-all, but today it evolved rather effortlessly. My plan was to revert to the infancy habit of 'sleep when they sleep' to preperve the moddacum of patience I have managed to produce today. But, being the finish what I start kind of person that I am I decided to finish commenting on some recent posts.

Good plan. Mentally swept clean I could actually rest.



However the last offering from the list led me to Once A Mother's blog, which left me sobbing, which brought me back to the journal, which- in turn - has found me here.



And so - Page 1





The Letter Reads:



"We wanted to say a final goodbye that travelled with you to your new home. Your father and I prepared your room and prepared our hearts for your entrance into our lives. Both are, at this moment, empty. In time your brother or sister will fill your room but noone will ever take your place in our hearts. We wish you a blessed trip to heaven and your sinless soul a speedy life until we meet you again. Our earthly time holding you, hugging you, dressing you, and loving you is etched forever in our memories. ~~ We love you forever, Mom and Dad"



The jounal sits in my lap as I type this, for as my tears fall freely I need her right now to tell the truth.



The truth is that I was clearly in shock. No one resembling the puddle-on-the-floor that I turned into could have formulated such clear, cookie-cutter thoughts let alone formulate them into sentences on paper with perfect elementary-ed-teacher handwriting. Although I don't actually remember pasting the picture into the journal or writing the letter, I can look back through my mind's eye. As it focuses I see a broken shell of a girl clinging to what she knew: order, writing, record keeping, and putting facts on paper, saying them repeatedly until they took the shape of the truth. Oddly, the entry in undated, yet as the next entry is clearly marked 9/15/00 I must have written this letter sometime in the week after her death and birth.



The truth is that most of what I wrote were lies. I clung to the untruths because, according to me, that was the way it was supposed to be. I wrote what I wanted my experience to look like, not ready to admit that the way it actually happened was all right and if someone chose to judge me, him, us for the choices we made that it would actually be their issue not ours. We had our issue. Our baby died. At some point I had to admit it, believe it, but not yet -- not when I wrote that letter, eyes glazed by fantasy.



The truth is that We didn't do all those pretty things I spoke of. I did. I prepared the room, I set up the car seat, I glowed at the baby-shower arriving home with a Ford wagon laiden down with more gear than our tiny apartment could hold. I was ready our baby girl. I needed to write that journal.



The truth is that Jer was more anxious, scared, and overwhelmed at the arrival of our baby girl than blissfully overjoyed. His emotions were completely valid as our re-connecting, falling in love, falling pregnant and getting married were unintenionally accomplished in the span of 6 months. He would have been fine. He would have been struck-down in love with that girl from day one. This I know. But instead, he was forced to attempt to reconcile his hestiant emotions with the devestation, grief, and disbelief her death presented. Moreover, the silent unanimous vote elected him the pillar, an ever present rock for me: making decisions, cooking, cleaning, working, paying bills; leaving little time or energy for any grief he needed to feel, to expel, to share with me.



As I work with family after family during their time of acute grief I see this play out. The father has little opportunity to just be, to feel their tidalwave of emotions.



The truth is I never acknowledged this. I never gave Jer his time or space to sort out the emotional expolsion that Emma's conception, death, then birth presented him with. Instead I projected rosy, hormonal expectations onto him putting a dual face on my experience. Oh, we had such hopes for our little girl, I gushed to a neighbor. We clearly remember how she settled right in our honeymoon cruise. She just loved the rocking of the ocean. It soothed her - really, I recounted more times than I can count. Yes, I confirmed to many a sympathizer, We were so ready for her. How can she not be here?



Taking ownership of this isn't easy, but it is essential. He deserved to be met with empathy, with compassion, with a smidge of understanding. I wasn't capapble. I was so lost within my vast image of what should have been while simultaneously writhing at the bottom of an equally deep grief hole that I let him suffer.



The truth is a miracle. He chose to stay. He chose to fight, for us.



The result is another miracle. I love him more everyday, not just for the traits that drew me into his heart originally, but for the choices he's made that broadcast his character. And, even more astoundingly, he seems to feel the same way about me.

He is a more dedicated, engaged, and compassionate father than I ever hoped to imagine -- even in my fanciful untruths. I see the proof of this everyday. You can read about it in this month's issue of Exhale. It's high time I gave this man, this father, the credit he deserves.

Why did Emma die? I have no rightly idea. But I have accepted this fundamental truth. With the right perspective, chaos is a window to calm fulfillment. I am strangely fulfilled. I miss her more than ever.

{Author's Note: Truly I had no idea where these journal pages were going to take me. Now, I am more curious and anxious than ever for this first post was not at all what I expected. I guess life rarely is. See? I'm still learning.}

Show and Tell - An Unexpected Beginning

I have a terrible memory. A really terrible memory. I'm not particularly forgetful, its more that I seem never to register the event in the first place. Add to that, that I am just now learning to live in the moment, recognize it for what it is and smile as I watch it happen, and the question has to be asked: What happened to all those moments from the past? How did I live them and not stash away even a few of the pieces to look back on later?

I'm able to make sense of these intentional omissions as they relate to what happened in the days and months after Emma died, but all those other childhood tales, early adult adventures, and just plain fun random moments...where did they go?

In fact, I have to wonder what I am really missing thanks to my amnesiac tendencies. I know they earn me many cocked heads paired with shocked expressions when I admit to my friends that I truly don't recall the fun night out they just recounted.

Today, I was the one shocked, no - baffled, by my lack of recollection.

***

I opened the journal. I expected to find mid-September 2000 lamentations on paper questioning why my daughter had to die and who should I blame for the 'fluke' tragedy. I was prepared to find profanities scrawled across the page and dark random pen patterns representing the black hole that my heart had become overnight. I know it's in there. I never made it that far, for these were tucked inside the cover.

Eyebrows furrowed at a stack of rather ordinary index cards, and mildly irritated as I mused how they could have been put into Emma's Journal, I started thumbing through.

Clever, Love, Active, Intelligent, Really Sweet, Exceptional

Curious, Loveable, Adventurous, Irresistible, Regal, Expectant

Courageous, Loveable, Affectionate, Innocent, Rambunctious, Entertaining

Cherished, Loved, Admired, Intelligent, Respected, Energetic

Card after card listed these loving attributes, vertically, predicting the life experience of my second-first born: CLAIRE.

And then there were the little notes on the back and they were signed by friends, family, former co-workers...all the people that were at Bear's shower!

The clues merged leaving one obvious solution - it was a game played at our 'transition shower'. But, try as I might I cannot recall it happening. In fact, I don't ever remember seeing these cards before. Not once. Not even to tuck them into Emma's journal.

Perhaps I was too busy emotionally letting go of one to welcome another. Even still. *sigh*

Here are a few more for you to enjoy before you check out what the rest of the class is sharing.

Charismatic, Lovely, Autonomous, Ingenious, Rare, Everything you want to be... (Auntie D)

Caressable, Lullabyable, Adorable, Irresistible, Rejoiceable, Embraceable (from Papa)

Cuddly, Lovable, Apple of my Eye, Inquisitive, Rambunctious, Energetic (from Nana)

She is all this, and more - much, much more and we were just guessing, really. So, here's one for you Emma.

Empathetic

Mild

Mama's Girl

Alluring

What does your name stand for? Your baby's name? Has your personality acronym shifted, before and after IF, before and after loss?

Easier Said Than Done

Less screen time, that is. And, I suppose that could mean that I am on the computer more than ever, solidifying my semi-addiction to the ALI world. But this isn't at all what I mean.

Yes. I miss you -- more than you know.

Yes. I run my blog roll in my head while I'm sitting outside a summer camp, on the deck of a swimming pool, or helping the librarian through an activity at the local summer event; musing about your transfers, pregnancies, deliveries, and how the hell Mel does it.

Yes. I miss opening my email and seeing message after message with your words, each seeming to read in my head with a different voice or dialect that obviously I have made up to go with your uber cool personality.

But most of all, I miss writing. It's that simple. I miss that satisfied feeling that settles in the deepest part of my being after I have put my emotions to words and purged them from my body.

And honestly, It matters little to me what I'm writing these days, just that I am. But I made my choice. And it is a good one. The fact that I have little time for creative writing is my doing, and yet I do have deadlines, albeit mini ones, to meet monthly. Yet when the urge strikes I seem rarely to be blessed with the writer's trifecta: mood, inspiration, and time.

In less than two months this blog turns one year old. The day it does will be our first day of school with kids. Yes, that's right, I'm going back to teaching this year - part time, but still it leaves me with a sinking feeling that sounds kinda like how will I ever find any time to write then?

But I will. I'll have to. For the I cannot stand the feeling left behind when I don't.

What a difference a year makes. What a strong presence you are in my lives even if I can't get to your blogs everyday.

Next Post: The beginning of my Journal Series. It's time to open it...it's time.

Show and Tell -- Up A Tree...Literally

You may recall we had to make a choice. Of five kittens, we could only keep one. We chose Mr. Butterscotch.

All-in-all, we have felt we made a good choice. His penchon for pooping in our house plants not-withstanding, he is a family friendly, cuddler. Truly, his need to snuggle is beyond any other cat's human touch desire that I've ever seen. On any given evening he can be found with his tiny face tucked under my chin and his heiny squarely lodged between my ample bosom!

That said, his isn't the smartest bulb ever born. He has been up the large oak tree four times so far. Each time, he's been rescued, admonished and loved before he got too high. But last Friday, as I was readying to go to the funeral the girls screamed, "Look! Butterscotch!! Oh My..."

He was three limbs up. I could almost hear him thinking..."Well, if I went up two limbs last time and someone saved me, then let's try three today."

However, what my sweet and sour little kitty didn't know was that I had no time -- literally, to save him that day. So, with a tough-love, semi-reproachful, semi-pitying look we drove off. "He'll either get down or he won't" I told the girls.

When we got home (and no, they didn't go to the funeral) he was on our front porch. Oh boy, did we praise that little boy. Later, at a neighborhood bbq, we discovered our praise had been misplaced.

Seems our neighbor's pre-teen kids thought it would be a good idea to get a ladder and save the boy. So, our other grown-up neighbor saved the day. *sigh* He really is a bit naughty, but we love him!!

What is the rest of the class showing and telling??

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.

The Plug vs. The Unplug

I have (as I mentioned) consciously attempted to not plug back in to the extent that I was before vacation.

Things making this easy:

• My internet connection is crankily slow, occasionally refusing to work - period.
• The immense pleasure I get from hearing my kids say, "You were really fun today mommy."
• The satisfaction of seeing my house clean and organized at the end of a day when we were actually here!

Things making this hard:

• I still think, talk and write-posts-in-my-head like a full time blogger
• My internet connection's suckiness when I just want to check one little thing!
• The guilt I cannot seem to shake about being so far behind with all your posts.
• I MISS writing. I miss having the time to just open the computer and let the words fall out.
• I don't like having to 'schedule' my creative time. It just doesn't work like that!
• Things are just not getting done...like updating the Angel Wall, or blasting out Share media news. They will...I promise!

Ok, clearly I have a bit more work to do in my 12-step program to on-line/real life balance. But since the real life piece has been quite blissfull, I guess I chalk this first week up as a success.

Tomorrow I am headed to a funeral for a little boy who died 8 months gestation. His parents and sister are devestated, obviously. I am attending as a fellow grieving mother and with to other board members of Share Southern Vermont. We hope to show that we care from the very beginning, a silent support system of strangers...if you will.

I find it timely that I have still yet to open my journal. I feel that if I had, attending this funeral might have been impossible. As it is, I type this at 9:30 pm - 12 hours before the service - and remain as calm as can be.

Think good, strong, positive thoughts that I can both represent Share in a professional way while touching their hearts with understanding.

Oh -- and Issue Six of Exhale is out!! I can't believe we have been at this for eight months now! Be sure to click over and read all the goodies in this issue (including a MALE columnist and a piece all about my sweet hubby!)

Don't be surprised if tomorrow night brings me back to the keys, a couple of glasses of vino later to lay the funeral experience out for you!

Show and Tell -- Drawing a Blank

For once I truly have no idea what to show. Perhaps that is why I inadvertanly hit the publish button on this post when I had yet to type even one letter.

So, after a random, almost desperate search through my photos I have come up with this.

Our first homemade pizza night evah...down to the tomato sauce baby!

Ready for the Step by Step?

1. Prep the Gluten Free Dough. Let it Rise.

2. Make the Regular Gluten Dough...IN THE BREADMAKER!!! (Yet another astounding use for this yard sale kitchen gadget!)

3. Whip up homemade pizza sauce with the help of Dr. Google and his team of recipe posters.

4. 2 DONE Pizzas! One Gluten...the other Gluten free!

5. And then, create the masterpiece. A garlic, pesto, chicken, ricotta, motz and fresh tomato delight!

RAW

COOKED

Mmmmmm...it was so good. I think another pizza night is in order soon!

Ok, lesson learned. Sometimes drawing a blank can lead you to remembering something very worthwhile!

Now...go see what everyone else is showing and telling...and learning!

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.

Coming Home

I pulled into the driveway, placed the car in park and turned off the engine. The kids immediately escaped the confines of their five hour moving-jail, bolting for the house door screaming "Daaaaadddddyyyy".

I sat. The quiet grew as I allowed a slow scan of my surroundings. The grass was greener, the chickens bigger, the yard tidier and the view -- more beautiful than I remembered it being for years. Nothing had really changed, but everything had. Gratitude for the life that I live, have lived, for the last nine years seemed nearly tangible without the myriad of 'responsibilites' vying for position, diminishing the value of our walls, our roof, our land, our little brook running through the back field, our garden, and -of course - our focus on family.

This vacation was so many things. I'm sure the physical details will show themselves both here and at the Bear / Comedian site, supported - no doubt - by adorable pictures and well spun tales. But the true result of this unplugged vacation* was a new grasp on perspective, and - if I'm being honest, a not-so-sudden realization of the not-so-mild addiction my computer represented in my life.

And yes, that last sentence is intentionally in the past tense, not because I think that I can just snap my fingers and erradicate the fact that my blog leads me more than I lead it; but because I am consciously choosing to reverse that fact.

I missed you more than I can say, but I also embraced the unpluggedness of my time. I experienced a familiar rush as I logged on to my google reader, but vow to manage my time better. By that I do not mean that I will do less. I will still participate in Show and Tell, Perfect Moment Mondays, update the Weekly Children's Wisdom Quote, maintain the Share Southern Vermont website, update the Angel Wall twice monthly, and post as the mood and inspiration strikes about my sweet angel daughter, but like the well trained teacher that I am, I will plan for these events allowing myself more time here, in my physical world, tuning-in to my children and being the most attentive parent I can be.

The shift was imminent, not only because it is summer and school is out, but because these are the formative years for my girls. The self-motivated and self-regulated tools they learn now will serve them for the rest of their life, or not.

Case in point...

Comedian (in a serious moment): "Momma, I can't wait to be a grown up."
Me: "Hmmm...what do you see when you look at grown ups?"
Comedian: "Big people who do lots of homework** and say 'wait a minute' a lot"

Vacation: (n) A break from the routines of normal daily life complete with a lack of expectation that allows only good and fun things to happen resulting in a return to perpective of what is important.

Summer: (n) see above definition









* turns out it was tough love not forced celebacy!
** she calls working on the computer 'homework'

Real Life Won Again

Still here...briefly.

Vacation delayed by one day -- will jet tomorrow at 9am!

Can't wait, even if we ARE headed for a week of wet weather that might have us doing a plethera of indoor activites! Will be jonesin' something BAD for the internet I'm sure. I'm not taking the laptop...or maybe I will...for writing of course -- just for writing, certainly not for popping into the local library or wifi cafe!

Back on the 25th.

See you then!!

Show and Tell - Rerouting

I could share many things tonight - without pictoral evidence to back them up.

For instance, I could share about the genuine tater tots I consumed at the hand of a lunch lady serving me -- and the hundred other middle schoolers behind me at 11:20pm.

Or, I could share about the cool yard sign proclaiming the work of the "Travelling Hoe" on the surrounding property.

Or, I could share about the newfound perspective and genuine desire I have to play barbies, chase, and hide-and-seek for hours on end with my littles, simply because they are still little and still want to spend time with me!

(Also a derivitive of my day surrounded by big/little people who clearly think they are giagantic and would not envision an evening of freshly popped popcorn and a lively game of skip-bo with mom and dad an evening well spent)

But, my Show and Tell at Share Southern Vermont's Site probably constitues 3 Shows-and-Tells in one! Please click over. Please watch it. It is a PSA of the most intimate kind meant for both the broken-hearted and those we hope will never live our hell on earth. SHARE has existed for over 3o years, but people don't know about us because (and I quote our National Executive Director) "they don't want to..." They choose not to hear of our sad mission, and who can blame them, but how empowering would it be if then next sad victim of babyloss knew enough to turn to their nurse and manage, "I need SHARE".

Consider it my "final exam". The end of the school year is upon us, after all. Oh - and Ms. Teacher, I put alot of effort into it. So, fellow classmates, what are you showing??

Real Life Wins

Have you ever been so focused on what you have to do (CLEAN HOUSE, CLEAN LAUNDRY, PACK...) in the next (2) days so that you can do something else (VACATION!) after those days are over --that it seemed those days (which, of course had yet to even happen) had already evaporated?

Well, that is me. And, yes, I the way I am typing is an accurate reflection of my current scattered state!

I want to read all those posts from the last few days (and the futurisitic days) that I'm just not going to get to.

I want to participate in Show and Tell on Wednesday night. Perhaps...who knows.

I want to update the Angel Wall before I leave.

I want to picnic with Comedian at Emma's grave.

I want to find that net.fl.ix movie that I know is around here somewhere and return it before I leave, even though I also know there are no late fees.

I want to pack just enough, but not too much, and remember absolutely everything I should.

*sigh* - we'll just see how much of that comes to be. But, since I clearly won't have time to return comments via email let's have a pro-active VACATION Q and A:

Q: Cara, where are you going?
A: Cape Cod

Q: How long will you be gone?
A: 1 week, I think -- or maybe not (weather report isn't looking so hot...literally)

Q: Why now?
A: The house is free and available now - We go now.

Q: Will you have internet access when you are gone?
A: Nope. (Good thing - like tough love? Bad thing - like forced celibacy? I don't know...yet)

Q: When are you leaving?
A: Thursday. Back on the 25th. Will miss you all terribly and shudder to think at the exponentially bigger number of blog posts awating when we return.

And, yes - I am typing like it is already Wed night and I only have a one more sleep until we depart. It is, isn't it?

What's In A Number?

And - No, this is not a post-birthday lament...but a HUGE thank you is due to all the lovely ladies who took time out of their day to wish me a nice one. I can tell you, it just got better and better and better!!

Jer and I walked down the isle with a shared common nieve, pollyanna vision of our future. Although polar opposites to look at we tapped right into that whole 'soul mate' thing, as in 'I am already complete by myself but you fit like the right puzzle piece' kind of soul mate.

There was one thing we disagreed on, however. Whenever we were asked, "How many kids do you want?" Our consistently opposing answer was "Me: 4, Him: 2". It seemed on this point, we could not agree.

I am an only child who, as a way of overcompensating, always had dreams of a BIG family. I envisioned myself with a Maria-like air, signing my personal sound of music as I did the dishes (by hand of course) with my flowing skirts just toucing the floor and a non-descript number of kids happily playing at my feet.

Him, one of two, realized the dynamics of siblings and was firm with his 'two is enough' declaration, adding the 'we can divide and conquer' theory to back up his statement.

My response, "Well, if we have three - we have four. I will NOT raise a middle child. I'm sure to muck that up with honors!"

This banter was fun. It was easy to muse about our future when our first was already growing so steadily inside me. No decisions had to be made, time would sort all that out...

And then, Emma died. And our second looked very much like our first. And our third (the on-the bubble-child, if you will) looked very much like our second.

And one day, Jer looked at me. His face slightly contorted like something profound yet only recently made obvious had just struck him. He said, rather sadly, "Well, it looks like we had three, but there's no need to have four."

Too true my love. It seems that babyloss tests the boundries of math equality. Easy equations no longer add up. In my life: 2 = 3.

How many children did you envision? What is your equation? And, how do you present it to the 'real word'?

A Little Birthday Ditty

You Know The Tune...

Happy Birthday To Me...

I Am Thirty-Three...

Most Smile And Say, "Oh - You're Still A Baby"

Tell Me - How Can That Be??

Honestly, I do feel young. Well, young-ish.

Then again, I don't get carded anymore. Well, sometimes I get the 'second glance' but that's about it.

And, I am not that girl the young flaggers with their stop/go sign turn to look at anymore...

But I am still young - ish

Most importantly, I feel special. Very special. Look what my sweet husband did for me when I was facilitating our SHARE meeting last night.

I awoke this morning to a four star breakfast (french toast, sausage, bacon, and coffee!), this gorgeous cake (german choc. - my favorite!*), and two totally amazing cards: one from him and one from my Bear.

His said, "To My Wife, My Friend, My Soul Mate"

And all this before 8am. Enough said...a very happy birthday to me indeed.

*We DID NOT eat cake for breakfast. But let it be said: I was tempted!

Um...Did I Mention I Love FREE Stuff?

Oh, yeah... I DID! And then, Ms. Martha from A Sense of Humor Is Essential posted about this. And she KNEW I would salivate. And enter. And post. And I Did! Because what is better than just finding free stuff?? WINNING IT - of course!

Fantoubously Frugal is a great site!!





Seriously, if you want to win a MAJOR prize package...click on over.

In English...we could win:

Decorative envelopes from etsy seller Adnagam
Frango Dark Chocolate Mints
Sunshine Yellow Hair Pins from etsy seller creamrose
Purple Rain Amethyst Earrings from etsy seller Sew*Cool Design
Paperchase 8 Folded Cards with Envelopes
Small change purse from etsy seller Made by Hank
Cucumber Melon Salty Soap Scrub from etsy seller Sissy Soap
Soap Nuts from Laundry Tree
Spring Flower Garden Cupcake Liners from etsy seller Layer Cake Shop
2 Vera Bradley cloth napkins
Musings Recycled Notebook in Blue from etsy seller subu
Fleur de Lis Necklace from etsy seller Bumble Beadz
Marc Jacobs key fob
Stationery and small letter-pressed notebook from etsy seller Sarah Drake
Estee Lauder Advanced Night Repair Protective Recovery Complex
Coriander Ivory Small Cosmetic Bag from etsy seller The Sweet Sugar Beet
Smashbox Lip Gloss
Reusable Sandwich & Snack Bags from etsy seller Green Street
Reversible Coffee Sleeve from etsy seller LilE
Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
OPI Nail Polish
Stick With Me, Kid Shopping Tote from etsy seller Earth Cadets
As well as MANY MORE surprises!

Clearly I will be frequenting this blog... a lot! Oh, and drop my name...or Martha's...and we are all winners!

Stage Fright

I don't have it. Never have. I've been on stage in one capacity or another since I was five years old, my father speaking into the mic, "And this is my daughter Cara. Come on up here Cara...come on."

And yet, I always get a MAJOR case of the butterflies before I interpret. (hence my last post)

And then, I always feel great about my 'performance' if you will. Like I did the meaning of both consumer's words justice in a calm, flowing, way.

I always leave the job with a satisfied smile on my face and an affirmation in my heart: I am good at what I do.

The butterflies will come back. They always do. I suppose they keep me on my toes and feed that inner want-to-do-well drive that seems to be in overdrive.

Thanks for your support. It went well, obviously.