I Looked Up

I look up, Weeping into the sunshine
Goldfinch flit past my eyes
Flashing bits of brilliant sunlight within my reach
Gentle breezes caress my bare arms
Drying my wet and heavy tears
Coaxing me
enjoy this Day
Coldness from the rock where I am still
Seeps into me
Spreads throughout me
I take my sorrow and go inside to wait for Night
where Darkness always receives me
preventing any distractions from Grief

I look up
Turning my face to the darkness
Waiting for a familiar coldness to overtake me
I Listen for my sobs
But, I am not overcome
I marvel instead at the near moon
Light surrounded by blackness
A white curved glow piercing the expansive nothing
A hope quickens within, and a thought forms
If the moon in it's passivity can conquer the night
I can in my patience conquer this death that eats me

Today I wept in the sunshine
Tomorrow I will smile, remembering the moon

"Dirt"

Dirt 
 
Its arrogance will break your heart. Two weeks ago
we had to coax it
into taking her body.
Today,
after a light rain,
I see it hasn’t bothered
to conceal its seams. 


~Jo McDougall
 

                                                                                                           

I remember the anger I had at the seams in the ground where Caitlin's coffin was buried. A small rectangle of sunken earth with scars where they cut the sod to lay her in. It took a couple of seasons for the growth of grass and work of bugs to mask those scars. But sometimes, when the weather is severe, they can still be discerned.

                                                                                                           

Word Portrait

She's

Transparent, perhaps

Sincere, certainly

Tentative, likely

Unique, maybe

Constant, clearly

She's

Clearly transparent

Perhaps sincere

Certainly tentative

Likely unique

Maybe constant

Clearly . . .

On Being

She walked
Chose a path
With no past no destination
Stepping grateful for
No sense of place
No thoughts
Nor haunting memories
Or Worried plans
Neither hope nor dread
She walked
Chose a path of mere

Breath and footsteps

Update on the "R" Word

Thanks to M at The Maybe Baby (Babies), I came upon some information about removing the "R" word. It's called "Rosa's Law," and it PASSED.

Professionals and laypeople will be using "intellectual disability" instead of "mentally retarded" in school and government-related business. You can bet that I'll continue trying to spread the word. In Caitlin's memory.

Words

Names hurt
Labels break the spirit
Strike the heart like sticks and stones

Dare deny this truth with silence
Find it affirmed with words

Words can heal

Words matter

Tears Have Dried

There are days when I feel that the tears have dried
Nights when I wipe away phantom tears
A stoic heart evaporates what should be wetting my cheeks
A conscious mind soaked the moisture away from my skin
I sometimes beg for weeping
Then I'd feel my own heart beat
My own soul be
Sadly, in this moment
I feel that the tears have dried

Ironic, it's what others, and yes, me too, had hoped for
That one day, hours would pass without falling tears
That one day, I'd laugh and think again
It's here --- But, I'm not sure I like it that much more than
the tears

No words
I don't taste them anymore
When they're not seasoned with grief
I just hate this ambivalence
This life, after the death of my daughter

To Come Home To Yourself

by John O'Donohue

May all that is unforgiven in you
Be released.

. . . .

Graced with love.

On Passing a Graveyard

On this Memorial Day, I am remembering and honoring those who died in service. 

On Passing a Graveyard (by John O'Donohue)

May perpetual light shine upon
The faces of all who rest here.

May the lives they lived
Unfold further in spirit.

. . . .

May we reverence the village of presence
In the stillness of this silent field.

Sisterhood Award

I was recently moved by the poem "Community" by Rachel Barenblat. I copied and planned to post it here, because I feel held by this community of bereaved and infertile mothers (fathers too). When I opened the blog to post it, I was greeted with a comment from Rebeka at Life After Levi. She nominated me for a blog award! Rebeka's kind words and the Sisterhood award made me feel like I was contributing to this community, and so I'm humbly accepting the nomination by posting the image with the rules and 10 more awardees AND posting the poem--because we are all connected.


COMMUNITY

One by one
every woman I know
approaches me
carrying words

it happened to me
my mother
my sister
my best friend

four times in a row
before the baby came
once, before
I even knew

three times
over six years
and then children
healthy and perfect

just keep breathing
in and out
around the stone
you’ve swallowed

I’ve been there
I am holding you
you won’t feel this way
always

[You can read more from Barenblat on her blog and read all of Barenblat's poetry in her online book "Through." It's a free download and you can purchase a paperback as well.]

And now, I must follow the rules and so here are 10 more of our community to receive the Sisterhood Award.

Here are the rules:
Put the logo on your blog or post.
Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude and/or gratitude.
Be sure to link to your nominees in your post.
Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a comment on their blog.
Be sure to link this post to the person who nominated you for the award.


Amy at Surviving the Day (Yes, I know she already received the award, but she left the most lovely photo of a pink tulip and thought of my daughter and I just felt hugged.)

Trish at Fertile Hope (She wrote the most thought provoking post about the r-word that brought me to her blog.)

Stephanie at Beauty in the Breakdown (Beautiful posts of artistic expressions of parents' grief journey)

Anarchist Mom at Anarchist Mom (Because she always posts sincere and honest thoughts, and frequently challenges how I see the world, and I'm of a mind that that's a good thing)

Sarah at Cover her Briefness in Singing (I was drawn to her blog because of the title--I have a thing for singing--and I quickly added her blog to list of frequent reads)

Sophie at faraday's garden (another baby loss mama who held her baby girl for a short time)

Kari whose blog is private, but I wanted to acknowledge because she's another bereaved mother who writes smart and expressive essays

Jessie at The Encouragement of Light (I love the poetry she frequently includes and am inspired by how she walks her grief journey)

Loribeth at The Road Less Travelled (Because I relate to being a parent without a living child and she embraces life, choosing to thrive as well as survive)

Mommy (you can call me OM) at Overeducated Mommy (She always leaves such kind and comforting comments)

"In Silence" by Thomas Wolfe

In Silence

Was it not well to leave all things as he had found them,
In silence, at the end?
Might it not be that in this great dream of time
In which we live and are the moving figures
There is no greater certitude than this:
That, having met, spoken,
Known each other for a moment,
As somewhere on this earth we were hurled onward
It is well to be content with this,
To leave each other as we met,
Letting each one go alone to his appointed destination,
Sure of this only, needing only this--
And silence only,
Nothing but silence,
At the end?

[Since Wolfe's poem poses a question, my answer is no. The silence is part of the music, the vibrations of life that we cannot hear living, but perhaps we will become when we pass. His phrase "hurled onward" described for me that feeling of being put on this grief journey--not my choice, I was hurled to this path with Caitlin's death. And the letting go, is excruciating and once again, there is no choice but to surrender to it.]

"Magic" by Thomas Wolfe

Magic

And who shall say --
Whatever disenchantment follows--
That we ever forget magic,
Or that we can ever betray,
On this leaden earth,
The apple-tree, the singing,
And the gold?


I have no idea to what disenchantment Wolfe speaks of, but for me the horrors of Caitlin's death threatened to make me forget the joys of life and the magic of the ordinary. That she lived, that she gave me the gift of motherhood, that she looked into my eyes and saw her mother and heard her mother's songs, is for me the "gold."

Peace. May all find what is gold in their ordinary lives.

Grown Stronger and yet . . .

I have grown significantly stronger since Caitlin died. I've gained much on this journey, but I've noticed also that with that strength there are a few things I've lost. Yes, lost.

I've gained an ability to intellectualize more readily painful and challenging situations. Many times, I can actually see my emotions and discover where they germinate and then make a rational decision about how to proceed. Not all the time, but more frequently. With that intellectualism, I've lost some sense of emotional connection to Caitlin. In grief, tears and sadness felt like all I had with my daughter in death. These were real and tangible, reason---seems less real and, feels, sometimes cold.

I've gained strength in recognizing during casual conversation when talking about Caitlin fits. And I've lost the fear to talk about her most of the time in those casual conversations. I've lost the fear of making others uncomfortable. If the talk is about babies, I share what I know about my baby. If the talk is about special needs, I share what I know. I don't stay there, as with other "normal" conversations, I allow the conversation to morf into other topics. And I allow others to share whatever loss (though sometimes stretched "friend of a friend that I heard about") they have experienced. After all, everyone wants to connect in some way.

I've gained introspection, and lost some of the poetry that came so vividly in the acute stages of grief--when words tasted and came to my mind in images and combinations that I didn't know I had in me.

[ICLW friends, welcome. If you haven't been here before, you can read 25 Things about Me (Bereavement Version). That will catch you up!]

Vocal Life Chords

Fear sings with broken sounds
Stuttered lyrics and phrases inert
The performance lays bare a mother’s
Sorrow

Love sings with broken sounds
Stuttered lyrics and phrases in motion
Melodies soaring then softening
rendering Fear
forgetful and indecisive
Reformed
A dissonance resolved

For a Stillborn by Marisa de los Santos

For a Stillborn

You haven't left me empty but too full

of children, every possible of you. 

To love each one could make my heart go dull, 

but still I try and sing each night to lull

shut eyes of green and black and gray and blue. 

You haven't left me empty but too full

of singing (my throat burns). I feel the pull

of tiny nursing mouths. I'm hungry, too, 

to love each one. What makes a heart go dull

as sunstruck eyes? (I've learned the sun can fool:

it rises and we think that day is new). 

You haven't left me empty but too full

of mornings, all my infants' wakings, all

their cries. My arms can only lift a few. 

To love each one will make my heart go dull. 

In not becoming one, you now are all.

I wish (a thing I know I shouldn't do)

you hadn't left me. Empty and too full, 

my love, my heart refuses to go dull. 

[Schew. I'm revisiting this poem since I first read it over 6 months ago, and my heart refuses to go dull. I'd like to know if this poem is from personal experience, though. I checked her website and it has no mention of her losing a child. But no matter, it still speaks to me.]

For Her Father

With February well on its way, I've been thinking about Valentine's Day. I don't particularly care for holidays. Well, I like them, I just try hard not to have too high expectations of myself and others. Since Caitlin's death some holidays are particularly painful for me (like Mother's Day). My reflections on this up-and-coming Hallmark event, brought me to something I wrote after our daughter died, and the strength my DH showed in holding me, until I was strong enough to hold him.


For Her Father

For the one who held me as I wailed
Who waited to release his pain
To be present with mine
Who understood
As I clung to his breathing body
That I was trying to fold myself into him
Searching and aching to find my child
Within him
Draining myself into his soul
Resting for a moment there

For the one who then
Entrusted his sorrows to me
Released tears that bathed my naked arm
Buried his head in my neck

I cherish you
for
Within
Each other we find our child
For her essence
Lives in us
Together

Lake Song by Colette Inez

Every day our name is changed,
say stones colliding into waves.
Go read our names on the shore,
say waves colliding into stones.

Birds over water call their names
to each other again and again
to say where they are.
Where have you been, my small bird?

I know our names will change one day
to stones in a field
of anemones and lavender.

Before you read the farthest wave,
before our shadows disappear
in a starry blur, call out your name
to say where we are.

Praise Song for the Day

Praise Song for the Day
By Elizabeth Alexander
2009

Each day we go about our business
Walking past each other
Catching each other’s eyes, or not
About to speak or speaking

All about us is noise
All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din
Each one of our ancestors on our tongues

Someone is stitching up a hem
Darning a hole in a uniform
Patching a tire
Repairing the things in need of repair
Someone is trying to make music somewhere
With a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum
With cello, boombox, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus
A farmer considers the changing sky
A teacher says, “Take out your pencils, begin.”

We encounter each other in words
Words spiny or smooth
Whispered or declaimed
Words to consider
Reconsider

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone
And then others who said
“I need to see what’s on the other side. I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet, see.

Say it plain.
That many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here.
Who laid the train tracks
Raised the bridges
Picked the cotton and the lettuce
Built brick by brick the glittering edifices
They would then keep clean and work inside of

Praise song for struggle
Praise song for the day
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign
The figuring it out at kitchen tables

Some live by “love thy neighbor as thyself”
Others, by “first do no harm”
Or
“Take no more than you need”

What if the mightiest word is “love”?
Love beyond marital, Filial, National
Love that casts a widening pool of light
Love with no need to pre-empt grievance

In today’s sharp sparkle
This winter air
Anything can be made
Any sentence begun
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp

Praise song for walking forward in that light.

Wow, I couldn't disagree more!!!

LA times totally panned, In my opinion, Alexander's poem, and I couldn't disagree more. I believe she did write a poem that spoke to so many of us. I'm working on writing my humble response, but I've already posted a blip and so will post this blurb, until I can get my thoughts and words around what she did for us.

Peace,

Caitsmom

Ok, so I don't think that the the media--common or elite can take in poetry for what it can offer us. That's my feeling. The average individual who has not experienced extra-ordinary events (such as the death of her only child) has limited ability to understand the power of this poetry. There, I said it, and I'm glad.

You must be open. And you must be open to the arts. You must willingly be vulnerable to the joy and sorrow of regular life to understand and appreciate what Alexander had to say. And, people! She spoke from a humanist perspective and she included religious as well as "non-believer" perspectives. No one group was laude. We all were shown to be of a people who understood how to love. Did you listen to how she explained what kind of love would save this miserable world? Ugh. I'm so frustrated.

Why does it have to have a package that Christians, Jews, and Muslims believe? Why does it have to be a monotheistic belief represented for a particular group, before others are moved? People, seriously, can you not see that all love and all wail in the death of their children? Mothers whose babies die in Jesus are just as inconsolable as those who die in Islam or in non-belief.

I am not capable of seeing this event through the eyes of none other than a bereaved mother. Why cannot other acknowledge their biased lens? You see it through your god, admit it and be who you are, but please don't participate in more violence.

Alexander, in her poetry calls us to look to the broadest definition of love. Why is that not good enough for us? Why must we continue to force belief upon another? In my humble nobody opinion, the cynics should have first taken to heart the statement by Barack Hussein Obama that "to the cynics, the earth has shifted beneath you." Why do people not want to seek a better way? I don't know. But this poem was worthy of laude.

Politics aside, this sentiment, this poetry, was worthy of pause and attention.

Peace.

This poem used words, I have thought, but did not have the skills to fashion. Did you hear her understanding of love beyond romantic and familial? Did you hear? Please, listen. The dead beg that you listen.

Dr. Elizabeth Alexander's Inaugural Poem

Outstanding! Moving! Beautiful. It spoke to my heart and I forgot it was about the inauguration so much validation for people in so many places and spaces. I can't wait until I can find the text and read again.

"I Still Cry"

Below is a reflective video to the song "I Still Cry" for Liam's mom using her poem "September Sun"as bookends to this beautiful song.