Gone Two Years

Missing Caitlin today. Still can't call it an "anniversary," but it is an important time marker; she's been gone for two years. Now she's forever in our hearts--it's not enough for a parent, but it's what we have.

A Quote

Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow.

--Dorothy Thompson

It's Happened Again; Politics Intersects with Grief

"The U.S. ranks 31st in life expectancy (tied with Kuwait and Chile), according to the latest World Health Organization figures. We rank 37th in infant mortality (partly because of many premature births) and 34th in maternal mortality. A child in the U.S. is 2 1/2 times as likely to die by age 5 as in Singapore or Sweden, and an American woman is 11 times as likely to die in childbirth as a woman in Ireland."

I simply do not want any other mother's babies to die.

I read a lot of opinion pieces, but what usually grabs me are facts. Not the typical way of responding, though, most people are moved by stories and emotions, and in fact we make our most important life decisions based on feelings and not facts. But the facts above frighten me--children die and mothers die more here than countries with less than we have. Then I get angry, to be told that this is a government take over of health care, by the very people we pay to take over running the government on our behalf. I desire politicians to act on statements that they care about the American people, but so far, I hear that they are willing to accept the deaths of children and their mothers for the sake of who?--the very children and women who die? No, I suspect it's for the power or security or profit for themselves. I feel discouraged that some try to tell me it's OK to not want to contribute to the health of others, and encouraged me to think that only other people's children die for lack of care.

Please vote compassion and care, not greed. Please read the facts. We don't have the greatest health care system in the world. We seem to value money over life. And still with the latest bill that restricts health care for those who would have an abortion, the conservative population does not support reform . . . I'm stymied. Please, vote compassion and care. Let children and women live.

(Ah..... DH reminds me that Jesus was a liberal! Love DH. Matthew 25: 34-40. Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you? And the king will answer them, "Truly I say to you as you did it to the least of my brothers (and I say sisters) you did it to me. Matthew 5:43-47. Love your neighbor, and hate your enemy. But, I say, Love your enemy. In that way you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven.)


[Oh crap . . . . . . OK, I've done what I can't stand, I've bible-versed you. I'm sorry and well, there it is. I'm simply saddened that we can't see to the prevention of the deaths of future children . . . . I'm saddened. ]

Like Slog

It's like slog inside my mind, when I'm thinking along and all is going smoothly. The words flow as I articulate what I mean, and then my thinking runs into a thick swamp of dead reeds, murky water, mud, and a toxic oil spill. And I must step forward and slog through, dragging myself through the thoughts, searching wildly for images within my mind, and reaching desperately for sounds to make words to string together. All the while, I push down the panic that I won't survive it. I won't survive this grief moment. Hoping the tears will wait as I slog my way through to the other side, with the sludge still clinging to my body as I open my mouth and eventually successfully speak. The damage is apparent, and it's embarrassing and frustrating. The experience resolves itself first with emotions of relief, then sorrow and anger, and finally the unsettling fear of the next swamp to come.

Another grief moment at work, that rendered my lecture a lesson in what it looks like when the mind succumbs to grief and the brain doesn't function as it should. I have amazingly supportive students, but I hadn't planned on explaining to them what I struggle with periodically. I planned on teaching them, but my stammering made me appear like someone who had no business teaching them, and so I told them--"I've experienced a traumatic event in my life that left me with symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A trauma causes very real chemical changes in the brain, and sometimes it affects how I speak." Then I said something like "Oh crap, I didn't mean to tell my students that."

A new fear is creeping in--will this grief destroy my career? Will a bereaved mother be relegated to only grief as her work? I worry. I worry.

All Saint's Day

I went to visit Caitlin's grave yesterday, and thought a lot about All Souls Day coming up, and celebration of All Saint's Day today. According to my religion, I need not pray for Caitlin's soul to be purified in purgatory, as she entered the kingdom of heaven with no sins to purge. I supposed I am to be comforted by that, but I wish that she were here and could be well on her way to racking up some "sins." She deserved to live here on earth with her mama and daddy. At the same time, it is comforting to think of her in paradise with the saints.

I played some of her songs on my ipod as I sat at her grave. All her angels and other items I've brought were still there, which always makes me relieved and grateful. The frog toy still makes noise, but the smiley face one has succumbed to elements and no longer makes the bird and squeaky noises it used to.

Today has more special meaning, as it's Caitlin's grandfather's birthday. So, I'm remembering him holding her and remembering the hope I felt in those days of her life. Perhaps she has already whispered a gentle "happy birthday, Papa J" with her angel voice on the wind. If not, I'll relay the message soon.

Survived by His Parents

A ten-year-old boy succumbs to H1N1, and a family member has died. Another mother and father have lost a child. I read this distant relative's obituary and paused at "survived by his parents." A quiet sadness overtook me. Death is final, but I consider these phrases "survived by his children" with "survived by his parents." If only the former could have been this boy's obituary. If only . . . The death of a child feels like the death of hope. I slump with heaviness to know that when the parents die, their obituaries will read "preceded in death by their child."

I am so very sorry for their loss. So very sorry.

Did I Get Enough of What I Want?

Another blogger wrote a post about the Womens Conference, and in particular the conversation titled, "Grief, Healing, and Resistance." This session brought this question to me. "Did I Get Enough of What I Want?" One of the panelists, Elizabeth Edwards describes a statement she made after seeing her son in the morgue, and telling a friend that she was so glad that she had her son for 16 years. And she continued to explain how she came to see that as a gift.

It was not as long as I wanted, but, you know often times you don't get all that you want, but if you get some of what you want, isn't that great? And I look at it now as a gift.

The tears come because I too see Caitlin's brief life as a gift. And I didn't get enough of what I wanted--I wanted to bring her home from the hospital and continue parenting. I try to transform her life as a gift, only the desire to parent a living child is becoming stronger rather than receding as that transformation continues from debilitating grief to transformed pain of loss to gratefulness for the gift of motherhood she gave me. The question will linger, however, and I wonder how DH and I can resolve it. If we have the courage and means to resolve it. I fear that, well actually, I'm resigned to having some of what I want, rather than having my desire for parenting a living child fulfilled. I'll be OK. I always am somehow--and that's a gift or a curse, to live with getting a taste of what I want, though rarely (except on the day DH asked me to marry him) getting enough of what I need. You know, it's that I am loved enough----but have not found the ways to love enough-------

Perhaps the conversation might bring a question to you. Here's the link.

I Will Tell You What I Know

It never goes away. This aching painful broken feeling never goes away.
but, you will smile broader than ever before, because you will know how fleeting a moment worth a smile is.

That's it. That's all I got.

I Think This is What We Do

Stand on our own tails to prevent ourselves from falling into the pit. ((((((Hugs))))) fellow bereaved parents.

Let it Be

I sometimes listen to music on YouTube, and I wanted to hear this song again because it's still rattling around since that Walaid, Delayed, and Detoured day. I usually open another tab and let some music play, while I work or surf for other information. But, today, I wanted to study the lyrics as I listened, because there is clearly a reason my mind and heart are not done with this song. I was reminded how inspirational the song is for me personally, especially as a bereaved mother. Also, the connection to the religious iconic figure from my faith is pretty powerful as well--beautiful words the writer hears whispered from a bereaved Mother. While I'm ruminating, I catch an error in the lyrics typed for the video, "here will be an answer" instead of "there will be an answer." Well, there it is, a kernel of something new I gained from focused study on something my mind wanted me to look at (though it didn't know about this error), I think that error might be a typical unconscious statement of how this song is used to speak to how the song may have the power to comfort.

Here's what I mean: "There" means, the answer will come someday, but "here," means an answer, and for me meaning, is here already, embodied in melody and voice. Meaning that is fashioned in my mind and heart as I remember Caitlin in the here and now, perhaps as the light that shines on me. And answers are here within myself, as I explore my connections with my religion and my reason.