Tragedy

I joke sometimes that since we've moved to Connecticut, there seems to be disaster after disaster and that maybe if we moved, things would go back to normal. Maybe I am not so funny.

We live a few miles away, but attend church in Newtown, Connecticut. The congregants in our ward come from multiple towns in the area. Today, one of the families lost their precious and beautiful six year old daughter. Tomorrow, we were to have a Nativity celebration and she was to have been an angel in the play. Instead, she is a true angel.

I have tried to put together words that would be eloquent or that would really capture the feelings of this day and give it the reverence it deserves, but, I struggle. Even having walked the path of child loss, I can't even begin to comprehend what anguish so many families are dealing with.

I looked so many times at my daughters, who would sit near that little girl in Primary on Sundays, and just thanked my Heavenly Father for each moment I get with them. Thankfully, they put up with my many hugs and squeezes and kisses today.

Tonight, they prayed for this girl's family. Unfortunately, the know death all too well. I prayed that they will turn to God always in the face of tragedy and that we will all continue to hold each other close.

With such a heavy heart, I hope that we can all "mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort."

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A Lifetime

Sorry for the lack of blogging. Life just gets crazy, I guess. Today is eleven years since that day that changed the world. September 11th. Everyone who was old enough can cast their mind back and remember the moments of that day, where they were, what they were doing when those things happened. A friend mentioned today on Facebook that it felt like just yesterday. Yesterday.

No, not yesterday. For me, now, it feels like a lifetime ago. I can remember that day with great clarity, indeed, but its shock and misery pierced another me. A person who was not quite an adult. Someone on the brink. I do remember thinking to myself that day that things, the world, would never be the same. It is rare that one event can cause collective feelings of grief and loss and a different outlook on life.

But our lives are made up of more than just collective experience. I was trying to remember last night when 9/11 started to feel so far away. It was two years ago when a personal and family tragedy rocked our world and we knew that our lives would never be the same.

A couple years ago, Johnson & Johnson had a beautiful ad campaign that featured black and white footage of adorable babies and their parents and at the end it would say, "having a baby changes everything". Indeed. Two weeks ago, my two little girls, my first two babies, went back to school. Cecily in first grade, Cordelia in kindergarten. Their lives have existed only in a post 9/11 world. This changed world is their world. I looked at Cordelia last night and remarked to Nate, "She looks like a kindergartner." I know, of course she does! She is growing up, a lifetime away from what happened 11 years ago.

When Phineas died, our world changed. Our little family was irrevocably different. I stressed and worried about imposing grief on my daughters' young souls. And yet, we are coming through it, bit by bit. But even beyond our family tempest, there has been another lifetime. Freddie was born into a world where 9/11 and his brother's death were just part of the fabric of life. He officially went to nursery on Sunday and again I was just amazed at how quickly things pass.

It is strange to look back at such a tragic and life changing event, back when you were a different person, because really, who is the same after 11 years? It feels like looking into a vision of the past, like in Harry Potter, looking into the pensieve where your mind has stored your experience of events. Each person's would be different, but when you stop and look, you are different and the world is too. But then it is okay. New life springs forth after tragedy and destruction, new lifetimes always being built. This does not diminish what has been lost, only strengthens the knowledge of what should be kept and treasured. Those people and experiences and little lifetimes. The world can be better and not worse because of what happened.

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Huh

Sorry for my super down-in-the-dumps post. I was planning to write something else right after but "going to" doesn't necessarily mean that I am going to.

Funny thing happened.

We were packing boxes. Cleaning. Preparing for the realtor to come over to the house to photograph. We were planning on making a trip cross country to California.

Then, anxiety. An anxious feeling came over me that I could just not shake off. Just like that, we decided to stay. A couple weeks ago, Nate mentioned that maybe "Connecticut wasn't quite done with us yet". I think he was right. Over the last weekend, Nate and I both had so much anxiety and were panicking. Red flags.

So, after a five minute conversation, we changed our minds. I emailed the landlord. Almost instantly, our burden was lifted and we both felt an immediate feeling of relief. We are winging it, yes, but I know this is the right choice. Things are looking better, brighter.

We also made a pact to "live" here. So much of our time here has been spent with us apart. Nate working, me hanging out with the kids.

The past couple days, we have gone swimming on the lake, yes we live on a lake. Nice, huh? It felt like a mini-vacation, a bit of release for us. A renewal.

Hoping for more good things to come.

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Heartsick

Do you ever just feel so heartsick you want to vomit? That sick feeling in your stomach when things just aren't right? That's me right now.

Today at church, I held a brand new baby boy. He was sweet and lovely. Freddie climbed up next to me and leaned his head in close and smiled and squealed at the baby. At the time, I wanted to hold the baby. I chose to. It was wonderful.

I looked at Freddie and how big my baby boy is in comparison. Huge! This sweet new baby has a sister just a bit older than Freddie, so quite close in age. I've done that, didn't want to do it again. And still.

I have had this pang for another child for awhile now. No, we are not planning it anytime soon, not very good timing. Just wishful thinking, I guess.

Within the next few weeks, we will be headed back to California. It feels like the right choice for us. I have to admit, we stayed here far longer than we should have. Why have we stayed? The cost of living is horrendous, things just haven't worked out the way we planned job wise, and it's hard to be such a distance away from family. Why? Honestly, our boy is here. He's buried in the town we live in. It hurts to have to leave him.

I want him to be near. I want more children, yes, but at this second, I just want the one I can't have. The boy who should be two.

I am just having a moment. Living in Connecticut has felt like our refiner's fire. There is hope and opportunity coming our way. We just have to take the next step. I just wish the next step would have all our children in it. Not one constantly left behind.

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Right Where I Am: 2 years, 2 months

Has it been a year already? Last year, I participated in Angie's Right Where I Am project and she has decided to run another this year. I am looking forward to being a part of this again and to seeing where others are. If you are a part of the babyloss community, I urge you to share where you are, too, here.

Twenty-six months ago, today, our third child was born. He died 9 days later in another state after existing almost entirely on life support.

I remember those early days, when I would wish myself a couple years in the future like other mothers were, wanting to escape the ever present pain I felt. I read in books about the stage of grief called Acceptance.

Acceptance.

How I longed for it and feared it. I feared betraying my boy. That accepting his death and my grief would not be keeping him present in my life.

I am there now. Acceptance. Not so scary as I thought. He's mine, he's present. He is a part of our lives everyday. I see his picture on our wall and now, there is usually a smile and a tear for my dear one. I see his image in his younger brother's face still sometimes while he sleeps. Little moments everyday, weaving himself into our new normal.

I imagine sometimes that my grief is like a well. Deep and dark blue. I go everyday to take a bit of it. Some days, I drink a little more deeply and I need that. Other times, the well overflows, and that's okay. It's my well and I can visit whenever I need.

I struggle, I cry. Today is a good day and those are becoming more common. Today is a day that I can rejoice in the person my Phineas is helping me become. In the life we are leading because of him. I still hope that I am the mother he needs me to be.


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A Funny Thing

A couple days ago, I was messing around on Facebook. Just looking at pictures and things that my friends had posted. A couple friends had posted pictures of their sons. They are both in the 4 year old range and adorable kids. I had a strange feeling of longing. A pang of sadness. A stab of anger. Why?

Usually, I have tried to avoid pictures of the babies, now toddlers, that had been born around the same time as Phineas. I know quite a few, actually, and they are mostly boys. It's getting easier, but there are still moments I wonder. But why had these pictures affected me so?

I longed for my son, for the boy he'd be becoming. Now, as his younger brother is starting to become a proper little boy, I know we are well past babyhood for both of them. I don't have the sadness I did when I was around small babies that I did for a long time. I can see them and marvel in them. There is no rage of jealousy or anger that their parents got what I didn't.

We watched a show last night where people were discussing their lives and a couple people had suffered significant losses in their lives. Of course, one of them had lost a baby boy at birth. Like that mother, our loss has caused me to examine myself more, to cherish more.

Nate and I sometimes say how enamored we are with our little Frederick, and why that is. Why is our connection so powerful, even stronger than when the girls were babies? It's not him, though, it's Phineas. We treasure all of our children much more since we have lost. Sometimes I just sit and gaze at my children, trying to soak in every bit of them, counting moments. I know there are only so many for each of us. I think this is the essence of what loss has done to us.

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A Good Day

Saturday was Phineas's birthday. I struggled to think of what to do for his day. I have seen things that other people have done and it just didn't feel like me. I asked Nate what he thought and he just said, "let's try to have a happy day". Okay.

At the last minute, Cecily was invited to her little friend Noah's birthday party. I took the girls and they played at the park and I talked a bit to Noah's mom. She told me that she used to work as a NICU nurse when I told her about Phineas. We had a good conversation. We then went to get ice cream and the kids played some more.

We went home and got ready to go to the cemetery. The girls hadn't been for quite awhile, but they remembered about cemeteries when we went to a couple when my parents visited last summer (apparently I have ancestors buried in Connecticut near Massachusetts). Cordelia made a card and wrote a note and drew some pictures for her brother. We drove over and the girls saw their brother's "rock". It was suddenly getting colder so we made a pretty quick trip.

But not without a picture of all my babies together, more or less.

Then we went and had dinner, Freddie flirted with people at the table next to us and we just enjoyed each others' company. We picked up a cake for our boy that we had at home.

All in all, a peaceful day. It was a good day.

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Our Guy

On Saturday, our little boy turned one! Frederick is just an incredible boy. He has been so easy and such a joy, and as Cordelia said, "the perfect baby for our family!" Indeed. Fred is a charmer. He is an observer and a flirt. He is quick to smile, slow to cry and adores the circle of family around him. He is crawling all over, not walking yet, which is fine by me. I know, I am gushing, I can't help it.

He has indeed helped to heal our hearts a bit. Having these wonderful kids has made me such a blessed woman and I am forever grateful.

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Counting Up Counting Down

On Saturday, Frederick will be one year old. (How did that happen?) Three Saturdays after that, it will be Phineas's should be 2nd birthday. I have been counting down to these dates for a couple months. These two March babies, their existence so intertwined.

In the early days, I remember counting the days beyond his birth, beyond his passing. One day, three days, twenty. Soon, it became weeks, I don't think I got much past ten, but every Friday would sneak up as a reminder that I had lived another week without him. And so, it goes. Months were what I counted and when I reached the horrible time that was 18 months since his birth, I stopped. Then I started to countdown to two years. Here we are now, a matter of days away and slowly, slowly, his life and death is starting to weave itself into our everyday lives. I read this piece today and pondered whether I had crossed into mourning. I think I have. Please, go read it, it's really good.

Tonight Nate switched some photos over to my computer from his and among them were the pictures we took of him. They did not paralyze me, they even made me smile a bit. My son, my son. I thought of how he might look now. How he would look similar and different to his siblings. How he'd fit in. My arms don't ache like they used to, they are usually full, but there are moments, many, when I wish I had a toddler to snuggle.

Now, I must figure out how to honor him properly on his day, to help our growing girls to know about their brother. I am working on it. Struggling some days, succeeding others. I feel heartened that I can do it, that I will be a good mother to him and all his siblings. The counting up and counting down will never stop, his time and the present growing further apart. I am holding him close, though, now and always.

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