Since we said goodbye. It seems like forever sometimes. And sometimes it hurts like it was yesterday.
Sometimes Love is a Moment
Sometimes Love is a Lifetime
Sometimes a Moment is a Lifetime
Friday, June 3, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mothers who have lost a child - Erma Bombeck, May 14, 1995
Mothers who have lost a child - May 14, 1995
Erma Bombeck
If you're looking for an answer this Mother's Day on why God reclaimed your child, I don't know. I only know that thousands of mothers out there today desperately need an answer as to why they were permitted to go through the elation of carrying child and then lose it to miscarriage, accident , violence disease or drugs
Motherhood isn't just a series of contractions. It's a state of mind. From the moment we know life is inside us, we feel a responsibility to protect and defend that human being. It's a promise we can't keep. We beat ourselves to death over that pledge. "If I hadn't worked through the eighth month." "If I had taken him to the doctor when he had a fever." "If I hadn't let him use the car that night." "If I hadn't been so naive, I'd have noticed he was on drugs."
The longer I live, the more convinced I become that surviving changes us. After the bitterness, the anger, the guilt, and the despair are tempered by time, we look at life differently.
While I was writing my book, I Want to Grow Hair, I Want to Grow Up, I Want to Go to Boise, I talked with mothers who had lost a child to cancer. Every single one said death gave their lives new meaning and purpose. And who do you think prepared them for the rough, lonely road they had to travel? Their dying child. They pointed their mothers toward the future and told them to keep going. The children had already accepted what their mothers were fighting to reject.
The children in the bombed-out nursery in Oklahoma City have touched more lives than they will ever know. Workers who had probably given their kids a mechanical pat on the head without thinking that morning are making phone calls home during the day to their children to say "I love you."
This may seem like a strange Mother's Day column on a day when joy and life abound for the millions of mothers throughout the country. But it's also a day of appreciation and respect. I can think of no mothers who deserve it more than those who had to give a child back.
In the face of adversity, we are not permitted to ask, "Why me?" You can ask, but you wont get an answer. Maybe you are the instrument who is left behind to perpetuate the life that was lost and appreciate the time you had with it.
The late Gilda Radner summit it up well: "I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned the hard way that some poems don't rhyme and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what is going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.
Erma Bombeck
If you're looking for an answer this Mother's Day on why God reclaimed your child, I don't know. I only know that thousands of mothers out there today desperately need an answer as to why they were permitted to go through the elation of carrying child and then lose it to miscarriage, accident , violence disease or drugs
Motherhood isn't just a series of contractions. It's a state of mind. From the moment we know life is inside us, we feel a responsibility to protect and defend that human being. It's a promise we can't keep. We beat ourselves to death over that pledge. "If I hadn't worked through the eighth month." "If I had taken him to the doctor when he had a fever." "If I hadn't let him use the car that night." "If I hadn't been so naive, I'd have noticed he was on drugs."
The longer I live, the more convinced I become that surviving changes us. After the bitterness, the anger, the guilt, and the despair are tempered by time, we look at life differently.
While I was writing my book, I Want to Grow Hair, I Want to Grow Up, I Want to Go to Boise, I talked with mothers who had lost a child to cancer. Every single one said death gave their lives new meaning and purpose. And who do you think prepared them for the rough, lonely road they had to travel? Their dying child. They pointed their mothers toward the future and told them to keep going. The children had already accepted what their mothers were fighting to reject.
The children in the bombed-out nursery in Oklahoma City have touched more lives than they will ever know. Workers who had probably given their kids a mechanical pat on the head without thinking that morning are making phone calls home during the day to their children to say "I love you."
This may seem like a strange Mother's Day column on a day when joy and life abound for the millions of mothers throughout the country. But it's also a day of appreciation and respect. I can think of no mothers who deserve it more than those who had to give a child back.
In the face of adversity, we are not permitted to ask, "Why me?" You can ask, but you wont get an answer. Maybe you are the instrument who is left behind to perpetuate the life that was lost and appreciate the time you had with it.
The late Gilda Radner summit it up well: "I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned the hard way that some poems don't rhyme and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what is going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.
On Mother's Day
On Mother's Day, we are reminded of what we have. We are also reminded of what we lost. And for loss moms, Mother's Day can be a bittersweet reminder of our babies.
On days like this, I am drawn to Shannon. I love my children. I love all my children, whether I got to give them a hug today with my arms or in my heart. And today I am reminded of a comment about Mother's Day by a great writer and observer or the universe - Erma Bombeck. She said:
Her full column appears in the next post.
So "happy" Mother's Day to all the beautiful mommies whose babies soar with the butterflies. You love them and they love you. And sometimes it helps to be reminded of that.
On days like this, I am drawn to Shannon. I love my children. I love all my children, whether I got to give them a hug today with my arms or in my heart. And today I am reminded of a comment about Mother's Day by a great writer and observer or the universe - Erma Bombeck. She said:
This may seem like a strange Mother's Day column on a day when joy and life abound for the millions of mothers throughout the country. But it's also a day of appreciation and respect. I can think of no mothers who deserve it more than those who had to give a child back.
In the face of adversity, we are not permitted to ask, "Why me?" You can ask, but you wont get an answer. Maybe you are the instrument who is left behind to perpetuate the life that was lost and appreciate the time you had with it.
Her full column appears in the next post.
So "happy" Mother's Day to all the beautiful mommies whose babies soar with the butterflies. You love them and they love you. And sometimes it helps to be reminded of that.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
someday
Someday I'll be able to read other mom's blogs without crying all over my keyboard. Someday maybe I'll be able to read that book that sits on my nightstand about the mom who lost her baby and not cry when I'm a few pages into it. Someday maybe I'll feel healed enough. But I think I'll always cry. I think that losing Shannon left a door open in my heart that only other loss moms know about. A door that lets us cross over into each other's pain and let's us share our burdens with each other so that each of us can bear our pain, and help others bear theirs.
I think we do that because there are so many others who shut themselves off from us when we had our losses, so they wouldn't have to feel our pain, or "catch" our bad luck.
But even if that someday happens for me, I'll never believe that everything happens for a reason. And I'll never stop missing Shannon.
A week or so ago, we went to dinner with one of the "someone's" who disappeared when Shannon died. They likely disappeared because they were, at the time, pregnant with a girl and were likely freaked out by my Shannon's death. When I saw them, I was cordial, friendly even a little, but I was surprised to admit to myself that I was still kinda mad, in my heart, that they had ditched when the shit hit the fan for us. And that is ok.
I think we do that because there are so many others who shut themselves off from us when we had our losses, so they wouldn't have to feel our pain, or "catch" our bad luck.
But even if that someday happens for me, I'll never believe that everything happens for a reason. And I'll never stop missing Shannon.
A week or so ago, we went to dinner with one of the "someone's" who disappeared when Shannon died. They likely disappeared because they were, at the time, pregnant with a girl and were likely freaked out by my Shannon's death. When I saw them, I was cordial, friendly even a little, but I was surprised to admit to myself that I was still kinda mad, in my heart, that they had ditched when the shit hit the fan for us. And that is ok.
Monday, February 7, 2011
happy birthday butterfly
It's been 3 years since we said hello and goodbye to Shannon. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago. February is always a hard month to deal with. I had my first pregnancy loss in February, then, exactly one year later, my 3rd - Shannon.
Losing Shannon gave me a perspective on life that I never had. I have met so many people along the way of my loss journey, but losing Shannon was a real eye opener. Some people have fallen by the wayside because of how she has changed me, and others have come with me on this long journey of healing and self-discovery.
I'm here, I survived. I miss my little girl every day. I wish she didn't die, but I also know that my life would be radically different today if she had lived. If any of my lost butterflies had lived, I wouldn't have known the life I have now. And I wouldn't give up the life I have now, even if I could go back and change things.
I don't believe that stuff happens for a reason. I believe that stuff happens. How we deal with it is the measure of us as humans. How others relate to the bad things that happen to us is the measure of their value in our lives. To understand that, I believe, is a gift. A gift that Shannon gave to me, because she wasn't going to stay. And I appreciate that, even if my heart still hurts.
So, happy birthday little butterfly. I'm sure that you would have had an extraordinary life. And I look forward to Spring, when the butterflies will return and I'll send you wishes and love with each one.
Losing Shannon gave me a perspective on life that I never had. I have met so many people along the way of my loss journey, but losing Shannon was a real eye opener. Some people have fallen by the wayside because of how she has changed me, and others have come with me on this long journey of healing and self-discovery.
I'm here, I survived. I miss my little girl every day. I wish she didn't die, but I also know that my life would be radically different today if she had lived. If any of my lost butterflies had lived, I wouldn't have known the life I have now. And I wouldn't give up the life I have now, even if I could go back and change things.
I don't believe that stuff happens for a reason. I believe that stuff happens. How we deal with it is the measure of us as humans. How others relate to the bad things that happen to us is the measure of their value in our lives. To understand that, I believe, is a gift. A gift that Shannon gave to me, because she wasn't going to stay. And I appreciate that, even if my heart still hurts.
So, happy birthday little butterfly. I'm sure that you would have had an extraordinary life. And I look forward to Spring, when the butterflies will return and I'll send you wishes and love with each one.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Another year gone
It's 2011. Seriously, where did the time go? So much time passes, we hardly notice it anymore. And, then, you realize that it's almost been 3 years since my little girl died. Wow. That is a real long time, when you think about it. Several of my friends have recently passed their 3 year marks too. And they told me what I already knew, it still sucks. It still hurts and, what's worse, is that so few people remember anymore that 3 years ago, a happy mom and dad were happily pregnant and happily preparing to expand their lives to include a child who, in the end, didn't stay.
Recently, I've been seeing posts about a little baby named Scarlett Grace. Thousands of people are praying for a miracle for her. I had no idea, until today, what they were talking about. And when I found out, I cried because right now, there is a family in California with a beautiful little 3 month old girl who is in surgery because she has a form of cancer that is 1/6 million. One in six million. What kind of crappy odds are they to be on the wrong side of?
I get crappy odds. What happened to my Shannon was 1 in a million. I know how much that sucks. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Shannon and her last days, because I have been sick. What's the connection? The connection is that, on the night Shannon died, I had a terrible cold. I couldn't breathe and I took a sudafed because my doctor told me it was ok (and it was). Then I slept. And while I slept, Shannon died. And, after that, I was too afraid to ever take any medications when I finally got pregnant again. Especially sudafed. So, in dealing with this annoying illness, I've spent a lot of time thinking about my baby, and how much I miss her.
3 years has gone by so quickly. My rainbow baby is 18 months old and the love of my life. But I miss my Shannon. And I hope that if she has any pull wherever she is in the universe, that she can send some good vibes to that little baby girl in California to give her the healing she needs to stay here with her mommy and daddy. I don't believe in miracles, but in case they do exist, I'd like to give the one I didn't get 3 years ago to someone else who seems to really need it now.
Recently, I've been seeing posts about a little baby named Scarlett Grace. Thousands of people are praying for a miracle for her. I had no idea, until today, what they were talking about. And when I found out, I cried because right now, there is a family in California with a beautiful little 3 month old girl who is in surgery because she has a form of cancer that is 1/6 million. One in six million. What kind of crappy odds are they to be on the wrong side of?
I get crappy odds. What happened to my Shannon was 1 in a million. I know how much that sucks. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Shannon and her last days, because I have been sick. What's the connection? The connection is that, on the night Shannon died, I had a terrible cold. I couldn't breathe and I took a sudafed because my doctor told me it was ok (and it was). Then I slept. And while I slept, Shannon died. And, after that, I was too afraid to ever take any medications when I finally got pregnant again. Especially sudafed. So, in dealing with this annoying illness, I've spent a lot of time thinking about my baby, and how much I miss her.
3 years has gone by so quickly. My rainbow baby is 18 months old and the love of my life. But I miss my Shannon. And I hope that if she has any pull wherever she is in the universe, that she can send some good vibes to that little baby girl in California to give her the healing she needs to stay here with her mommy and daddy. I don't believe in miracles, but in case they do exist, I'd like to give the one I didn't get 3 years ago to someone else who seems to really need it now.
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