What Makes You Vulnerable Makes You Beautiful

Vulnerability--"It appears that it's also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, of love." -- Brene Brown

Just loved watching this as a researcher confirms some of my own thoughts about the necessity of vulnerability.
I wrote these thoughts two years ago. They seem as fresh to me today!


Vulnerability
You must be open to the possibility of being hurt, betrayed, gossiped about, and prayed over
If you wish to receive help
For you cannot be aided in the trials of life
Without leaving your heart-door unlocked and your soul-windows open

Without the cry of "I am weak"
You will get no scaffolding
Without the confession of "I have nothing left"
You will get no match from another who will also bring the candle
of hope to light in your home
Without the wail of "I am imperfect"
You will get no one to sit with you in your failings
making you whole

You must be open to the possibility of being judged and condemned by another
equally malformed human spirit-body
If you wish to be healed of your wounds and
guided to more loving ways of being human
Without truthful disclosure of what you think, feel, wonder, reason and pray
Without willing vulnerability
You cannot be loved

Death and the Mother

A fellow bereaved mom's blog post made me think of this video. Here it is with (((((hugs)))) to fellow bereaved moms. 

Second September Without You

On the first day of Caitlin's birth, the nurses cleaned and dressed her and took pictures. In those first pictures she wears this multicolored cap that volunteers knit for babies in the NICU. They laid her in my arms, those first days of September wearing that hat. This past year, I came across this bear in a sale bin. My eye was drawn to it because of the colors; they reminded me of Caitlin wearing that cap in those first days after her birth. I picked it up and saw "September" stitched over the bear's heart. And I smiled.

To mark Cailtin's second birthday, I put together some pictures from her first days. Among the pictures are short videos of me talking and singing to her. The lyrics in the music punctuate my thoughts, "I'm thinking of you."; "Was this be part of the plan?"; "What's left for me to do?"; and "I didn't want to say goodbye."

Happy Birthday, my little sweetie. I miss you.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

He's Grommit to My Wallace

With all this lack of sleep and restless sleep and grief-infused sleep, I've been feeling exhausted during the day. DH and I watched Wallace and Grommit shorts last night. The DVD included additional segments of "Cracking Contraptions."


The snoozatron had me in stitches. Perhaps I need a snoozatron and an understanding dog or . . . a loyal companion or . . . a loving husband?! Heh heh, sometimes DH must feel like Grommit when I have these tossoturn nights.


You can see the flick here. I highly recommend buying or renting these highly creative and funny videos. It gets my safe for babyloss mamas stamp-o-'pproval!

Worth Sharing

Brian Bradshaw's aunt delivers a powerful statement for the bereaved. What resonated so strongly for me was her early statement that what hurt the most was the media silence concerning the death of this bright boy who gave his life in service to this country. How hard it is for all bereaved to trudge through the pain while the world continues to spin. What also struck me was the image of the mother with open hands waiting for them to give her the flag. I thought only that her arms remained empty when that flag at last fell into her hands.

For me it is worth nothing that more media attention was given to Michael Jackson's death; it is of no comfort to "win" the "grief Olympics." [Let me be clear, I don't think that she engages in this "grief Olympics, but I think that others are tempted to go there.] For me, much of the MJ coverage was over-the-top, but I don't have the energy to judge those who feel the pain of his death. And it won't give me one bit of comfort for my own grief.

We all hurt. All love ones deserve to be remembered, and this video is worth sharing.


Watch CBS Videos Online

"Play me, I'm Yours"

Luke Jeram brings art to the streets of London and soon-to-be other UK cities with "Play me, I'm Yours."

I love it. Seeing people gathered around a piano with smiles and wonderment on their face. And, it seems a bit of confusion . . . doesn't music come from an iPod? You mean regular people can make music? Don't you have to be a star? An American Idol?

Nope.

I love that Luke Jeram in his art has provided a way to help people make music for themselves, and the real people that gather around to listen. Love it. We need the arts to live.

Here's a couple videos. But, don't expect a commercially produced recording. The art in this is more powerfully in the experience of those who make the music, and those in their physical presence.

Phoebe Snow "A Mother's Song"

DH and I have a few TV shows we watch, and fewer still that we will record. Well, I love Sunday Morning, so we record and then after church we drink coffee and watch the stories about life, politics, art, music and bet on whether the nature scene will include birds or not (it usually does!).

Well, today there was a story about Phoebe Snow of "Poetry Man" song fame, but oh, that song is not what defines her. The interview with this songstress was poignant and real. She told her story of her daughter who suffered afixiation at birth, and lived until she was 31 with her Phoebe. Phoebe's grief was apparent and so what the strength and joy of telling her daughter's story. I was grateful she told it. She talks about how hard it was to sing after her daughter died, and the tears that were already welling in my eyes at last let go. Her friend Linda Ronstadt told her that she had to sing about Valerie. In Phoebe's performances, she now dedicates a song she originally wrote for her mother, and now sings for her daughter. I immediately went on iTunes to download below is a youtube vid if you would like to listen.

The lyrics that most resonate for me are "Everything good I am you taught me. Everything good I am." It's not that I started out as an unloving person, but Caitlin made me love in ways I didn't know I could. This growth of understanding and actively loving in deeper and more profound ways is typical of parents with living children, I know. But, my experiences is that another dimension is experienced when too soon that love must be expressed through grief. One struggles to express love to a child no longer living. You hug the air, stare at the moon and try to pull it to you, and wonder at how the world continues when all has ended for you. Then you struggle to love in this new strange world, and something bursts open in you--an echo of the first time you saw your child only louder than the first sounds of love in your heart, a bit of a reverse echo, if you will. And this something makes you love others more, love nature more, love struggle more. The possibilities for loving overwhelm you that sometimes you are rendered inert and other times you write, paint, and, as Phoebe shares with us---sing.

The song's title is "You're my Girl," and the album she describes as a "love letter to my daughter."




Here's another link to her story if you are interested.
Interview with WOW The Women on the Web

"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.

Time it Was

Peaceful Snowfall

Preserve Your Memories

We Love You

Echo In My Soul

As Caitlin's death date approaches, I find I am swept away with grief. "It sounds an echo in my soul" is a lyric from the recessional hymn at Caitlin's funeral. It isn't death that echos there, but love and the music that is all that has the power to connect us here in this life.

Music was very important to us during Caitlin's short life. I sang to her constantly in the hospital. I made a recording of songs for the nurses to play for her when I couldn't be there. And as we walked out the door to go to the funeral, I grabbed the digital recorder that laid by her head so she could hear her mama's voice. I recorded her eulogy and many of the songs. I remember thinking, that I needed to be as present as possible. "I must pay attention," I thought, "and I must remember."

After the last post about "How Can I Keep From Singing," I trudged through the files on my computer and listened to those recordings again. The tears flowed, but that's love. I've drawn together some pictures, all from my camera on this grief journey and added the first verse of the recessional hymn at her funeral. I don't know how I sang, and in some places, I didn't--I just knew that I had to sing her out of the church as I sang her into heaven just days earlier.

To view click the butterfly.


Echo in My Soul 10/18/08