Two years now, since our precious Ariana was taken from us. This year, with the 31st falling on a Friday, makes the entire week feel like a week of mourning, like we're sitting shiva years (years!) after the fact.
And there are so many memories. And such a dearth of memories. Being a human with all its dualism has never been so real to me as these past two years with a child in the grave. There are things that I can remember remembering. Things like the special way we'd snuggle when the boys were in bed. I know that we did that, and I remember that it felt amazing, but I can no longer remember what it felt like. Boy, does that hurt.
There are memories of her death - the discovery, the revival attempts, the hospital, the funeral home. I remember calling my dad to tell him to bring my mom to the emergency room. I remember coming home to my crying neighbor, mowing my lawn, and her saying, "I just don't know what to do but I have to do something for you." I remember seeing my father-in-law, my father, and my husband cry. I remember sitting in a room at the hospital while the police interviewed my husband and listening to Tanner sing "Jesus Loves the Little Children." I remember holding her for the last time. There are terrifying memories of the police investigation. I still remember feeling the driveway under my hands when the detective came to return my laptop, confiscated for the investigation. I remember him taking a step toward me and looking me in the eye, saying, "The autopsy was pretty clear. You suffocated her." The next thing I remember is the kitchen floor. I'm not sure if Ryan brought me inside or if I got inside on my own. I'm not sure when the detective left. (His assertion later turned out to be false). I remember getting the phone call telling us that we couldn't bury our daughter until we consented to further investigations, because the PD wouldn't allow the death certificate to be released until we did so (this later proved to also have been a false statement given to us). I remember kissing her goodbye in the casket. I wish I could remember what it felt like to hold her; I remember all too clearly what she felt like at the funeral home. I remember poring over the autopsy report, the police report, and the ambulance transport reports, trying to figure out what went wrong, and trying to figure out why I was dealing with CPS, the HPD, and accusations every time I met with the detective.
I still don't understand why we've had to endure this. I still don't know why I have to listen to my husband's voice break when he wishes she was here. I don't know why I have to explain to my son that we were lucky to have had her for the short time we did. I don't know why I am thinking about how to explain Ari to her younger sister. I don't know why they can't meet til Heaven.
I want to not be afraid when my baby is sleeping. I don't think I check on her any more often than I did the other two children, but I do know that there's a greater sense of urgency to check on her. I want to not panic in the middle of the night if I can't hear Ryan snoring. I don't want to panic when my phone rings (paradoxically, of course - I was the one MAKING the phone calls that horrible day).
Despite it all, despite the fact that the good memories fade and the bad memories persist in nightmares, I still have this overwhelming sense of goodness when I think of my oldest daughter. I think of her one-of-a-kind smile. I think of the way she'd hold her arms out to her daddy when he got home from work. I think of the way she'd tease her big brother - and how no one believed that a 9-month-old could do what she did until they saw her in action. I think of the way she'd try to eat the cat's fur. I'm crushed and I'm sad and I miss my baby every single day. I imagine her in pigtails and dresses and going to three-school and being jealous of her baby sister. But...when I think of her, even when I think of the sad and the scary memories, I feel joy. Isn't that weird? That seems weird to me. I think of the overwhelming joy I felt when I held her for the first time. I think of the overwhelming joy I felt when she latched on for the first time. When she first said, "Mamma." When she looked at me and smiled. When I made her laugh.
For now, maybe it's enough. Maybe that joy can tide me over until I get to Heaven and I can hold her and laugh with her and see her smile again.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Thursday, May 9, 2013
On Being Grateful
Tulip Time is in full swing here in Holland. The kids have their sweet little Dutch costumes and we've been busy with parades - meeting friends downtown for the Volksparade, Tanner on his school's preschool float for the Kinderparade, and Saturday, we will attend the Muziekparade with Grandmas and Grandpas. It's a fun time of year for Tanner, and as a mom, I'm enjoying it even more than I did as a kid, with none of the ironic ennui I had for it as a teenager.
But it's hectic. And it's spring and Tanner is 5 and looking for his independence and his own way in life, and he's making decisions. Some are good and some are bad. He's stubborn, and he's obstinate, and he tests us constantly. And young Miss Madeleine, well...she cries. A lot. Less than she did when she was younger, but now that she's pushing 7 months, she is still crying a LOT more than her siblings did. And she's not sleeping through the night. And she's needy. And Tanner is jealous. And there are days when I'm tired and sleep-deprived, and Ryan is working 60+ hour weeks and dear God do I feel like I need a break more days than not.
And I feel guilty. Dead guilty. Because I know all too well what it is to NOT have that child needing me and wanting me and driving me absolutely stark raving crazy. So I should be grateful for the good times AND the bad times. I should constantly be thankful that at least these two children are with me and loving me and here to snuggle and sing to and play.
But some days I'm not. Some days washing the dishes after dinner and getting them bathed and ready for bed feels like the end of the freaking world and I just want it to be 7:30 so that I can read the damn stories and make the kids go to sleep. I just want to read a book or do a crossword puzzle or do ANYTHING but be a mom for a while. But I can't. And Ryan gets up at 4:00 AM to go to work so I doubly feel responsible to handle the kids and the dishes and dinner. And I feel guilty too when I don't want to cook, I don't want to pick up my house, I don't want to do the errands or the chores. Because I'm stay at home now, and it's something I've wanted since December 24, 2007 when my sweet baby Tanner was born and something I never thought we'd be able to do thanks to the abysmal state of the economy. BUT I'M TIRED AND I WANT TO GO OUT AND HAVE FUN AND GO FISHING AND DO STUFF THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE RUBBING THE OUCHIE OUT OF OWIES AND NURSING THE BABY AD NAUSEAM AND CONSTANTLY WIPING FACES AND BUTTS AND DOING MUMSY STUFF!!!!
It's even more guilt-racking when I think of friends and acquaintances who have struggled with infertility or who would like children but for myriad reasons just can't think about trying right now. What would they give for those sweet snuggles late at night or a child hanging on them saying, "Mommy momma mom come look!" So where do I get off wanting a break and feeling frustrated and just wanting to STOP for a moment?
I have to keep reminding myself that I'm human. That the fact that I DO appreciate my sweet children means a lot. That the fact that I DO put off the crossword puzzle, the sewing that i want to do, that one TV show that's on...that means a lot, too. And that even when you love your job, you can sometimes hate the grind of it and need a break. Mostly I need to be more gentle with myself. I can't be the perfect parent; no one can. The standards are so high, but they've become unreasonable. The only thing I need to attain each day is being the best that I can. And I need to remember that each day is a new day.
My prayer every night is one of thankfulness for the day that has happened (sometimes thankfulness that it's over!) and a request for new patience and new dedication for the next day. And maybe...maybe that's enough. We pray for our DAILY bread...not our weekly bread or our monthly bread. Contentment is a state of being, but it's not a permanent beer buzz of giddiness each and every second of each day.
So despite the fact that I have so so much, I am allowed to be frustrated. I am allowed to be tired. I am allowed to pray that the time before bedtime passes quickly! Because I am still grateful. So, so, so, so grateful and so infinitely blessed. But still human.
(but what I wouldn't give to be kitting out all three of my children for the parades this year and forcing a stubborn 5-year-old and a headstrong 2-1/2-year-old and a wailing 6-month-old in Dutch costumes into the tulips for kitschy and wonderful pictures...)
But it's hectic. And it's spring and Tanner is 5 and looking for his independence and his own way in life, and he's making decisions. Some are good and some are bad. He's stubborn, and he's obstinate, and he tests us constantly. And young Miss Madeleine, well...she cries. A lot. Less than she did when she was younger, but now that she's pushing 7 months, she is still crying a LOT more than her siblings did. And she's not sleeping through the night. And she's needy. And Tanner is jealous. And there are days when I'm tired and sleep-deprived, and Ryan is working 60+ hour weeks and dear God do I feel like I need a break more days than not.
And I feel guilty. Dead guilty. Because I know all too well what it is to NOT have that child needing me and wanting me and driving me absolutely stark raving crazy. So I should be grateful for the good times AND the bad times. I should constantly be thankful that at least these two children are with me and loving me and here to snuggle and sing to and play.
But some days I'm not. Some days washing the dishes after dinner and getting them bathed and ready for bed feels like the end of the freaking world and I just want it to be 7:30 so that I can read the damn stories and make the kids go to sleep. I just want to read a book or do a crossword puzzle or do ANYTHING but be a mom for a while. But I can't. And Ryan gets up at 4:00 AM to go to work so I doubly feel responsible to handle the kids and the dishes and dinner. And I feel guilty too when I don't want to cook, I don't want to pick up my house, I don't want to do the errands or the chores. Because I'm stay at home now, and it's something I've wanted since December 24, 2007 when my sweet baby Tanner was born and something I never thought we'd be able to do thanks to the abysmal state of the economy. BUT I'M TIRED AND I WANT TO GO OUT AND HAVE FUN AND GO FISHING AND DO STUFF THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE RUBBING THE OUCHIE OUT OF OWIES AND NURSING THE BABY AD NAUSEAM AND CONSTANTLY WIPING FACES AND BUTTS AND DOING MUMSY STUFF!!!!
It's even more guilt-racking when I think of friends and acquaintances who have struggled with infertility or who would like children but for myriad reasons just can't think about trying right now. What would they give for those sweet snuggles late at night or a child hanging on them saying, "Mommy momma mom come look!" So where do I get off wanting a break and feeling frustrated and just wanting to STOP for a moment?
I have to keep reminding myself that I'm human. That the fact that I DO appreciate my sweet children means a lot. That the fact that I DO put off the crossword puzzle, the sewing that i want to do, that one TV show that's on...that means a lot, too. And that even when you love your job, you can sometimes hate the grind of it and need a break. Mostly I need to be more gentle with myself. I can't be the perfect parent; no one can. The standards are so high, but they've become unreasonable. The only thing I need to attain each day is being the best that I can. And I need to remember that each day is a new day.
My prayer every night is one of thankfulness for the day that has happened (sometimes thankfulness that it's over!) and a request for new patience and new dedication for the next day. And maybe...maybe that's enough. We pray for our DAILY bread...not our weekly bread or our monthly bread. Contentment is a state of being, but it's not a permanent beer buzz of giddiness each and every second of each day.
So despite the fact that I have so so much, I am allowed to be frustrated. I am allowed to be tired. I am allowed to pray that the time before bedtime passes quickly! Because I am still grateful. So, so, so, so grateful and so infinitely blessed. But still human.
(but what I wouldn't give to be kitting out all three of my children for the parades this year and forcing a stubborn 5-year-old and a headstrong 2-1/2-year-old and a wailing 6-month-old in Dutch costumes into the tulips for kitschy and wonderful pictures...)
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Time to get this train rollin'!
Hello all, if you're still out there. It's been a long, long time since I've posted anything substantive, and I think it's time to start again.
The past two years have been a whirlwind of emotion - losing Ariana, the miscarriage shortly after, welcoming Madeleine, and through it all, trying to facilitate the healthy growth of our family. There aren't really words that I have learned that can encompass the things we've experienced since May of 2011, but I know that heartbreak, faith, love, and healing are probably the best to sum up into the big picture.
I had a rough weekend in which I reflected on the various opportunities I've been given in my life - and the myriad ways in which I've wasted them. I thought back on the things my parents did and the ways in which they sacrificed to give me growth opportunities...most of which I squandered. I am only 27 years old. I have been through four pregnancies. I have two children and a wonderful husband and a very obnoxious furry kid with whom I live. I have been to multiple sessions of music camps, I have attended space camp, I have been overseas, I have a B.A. Yet the only things I have to show for myself are the kids. And don't get me wrong - my family is the best and most important work I've ever done; they are the best gift I've ever been given. But what I have a done with my life? Where are the signposts I had marked so clearly back in 2006? I'm down a completely different road than I was then, and the way forward is so very much obscured. What's different now than in 2006, I've come to realize, is that my faith has grown. Despite the fact that I have very little control over the events that conspire to fell me, I have faith that God is clearing the way in front of me. Someday, I might reenter some sort of career path. That day is not today. I've been given a responsibility to lead my family from the homefront, to teach my children how to grow in faith and love and trust, and to stand at my husband's side in order to support him in all that he does to support us. After the weekend of doubt and self-recrimination, I have emerged into a week of new resolve. I have not wasted my opportunities, I have merely lived through them. They are all a part of who I have become. The lessons I have learned (many the hard way) shape the way in which I interact with my children and my husband. I am grateful beyond words to my parents who allowed me to go and to grow and yes, even to fall and fail, because that is what good parents do. They let you make your own choices even when they can see the end result. I struggle daily to be that kind of parent, who teaches and then steps back, only interceding when necessary for the child's well-being.
Obviously, this kind of reflection pushes me to think about what kind of mother I am and what kind of mother I want to become. After losing Ariana, I felt that I had failed at the one thing I was responsible for - keeping the kids safe. I did not and do not feel that a mother who has a child die, particularly unexpectedly, is responsible for the death. However, I DO feel that I was/am/will forever be responsible for the fact that Ariana has gone. As you can imagine, this attitude has severely impacted my feelings of self-worth. Over Christmas, we had the unique opportunity to portray the Holy Family in one of the services at our church, with Madeleine as Jesus and even Tanner participating as a shepherd. Each Christmas I marvel at the Nativity, but until this year, I've only thought of Jesus and the miracle that he embodied at his birth. The things that Mary pondered in her heart? Those were a mystery to me. This year, as we took part in the pageantry at church, I resolved to take to heart those deep wonderings and hopings and longings that Mary must have had for her child. She must have had all the same fears and hopes that we mothers have as we experience the mystery and joy of growing our children inside us (or waiting for our child to arrive via adoption), but on top of that, she had this absolute faith that God had a plan. She knew that she carried the child of God in her womb, and if it were me, that fact would have scared the living daylights out of me. How much responsibility! To rear the child of God! The Messiah! Yet she had faith.
This weekend at church, our pastor discussed the importance of family in living Christ-like lives. I had, once again, never thought about the fact that as Jesus hung dying on the cross, as He bled and suffered, His thoughts were not all about his pain. His third statement was an exhortation to John to care for His mother. And what must Mary have thought as she watched her son scourged and insulted and left to die as a criminal? I have said many times that losing Ariana would have been much, much worse if we had had to watch her suffer. Yet there Mary is at the foot of the cross, and I'm sure in her heart she was holding her beloved boy. Where else could a mother be? Did she feel she had failed him? Did she feel she had failed God?
It is time for me to move forward. I promised myself and I promised my family that I would not let Ariana's death paralyze me. I have work to do here. Yesterday a friend shared an article about a little boy who had passed away at the age of 1 following a terminal illness. At his funeral, the priest remarked that if love for the child had expanded so many people's hearts, then we have a grave responsibility to use that extra love and make it shine.
Mary grieved. I grieve. But her boy was raised, and my daughter will be someday, too.(Please note that nowhere do I say I am analagous to the virgin Mary!!) Mary trusted God, and I will, too.
Well isn't that a serious post to return to blogging with? But I'm back, and this is the foundation upon which I am building a new life for myself and for my family. No more regrets and no more fears. Ariana may not have known it, but she fulfilled Jesus' command to love one another. Our oldest daughter was pure love. She radiated love to those around her. And it's my job to make sure that light continues to shine.
As another family who lost their daughter so aptly says, "Shine on!"
The past two years have been a whirlwind of emotion - losing Ariana, the miscarriage shortly after, welcoming Madeleine, and through it all, trying to facilitate the healthy growth of our family. There aren't really words that I have learned that can encompass the things we've experienced since May of 2011, but I know that heartbreak, faith, love, and healing are probably the best to sum up into the big picture.
I had a rough weekend in which I reflected on the various opportunities I've been given in my life - and the myriad ways in which I've wasted them. I thought back on the things my parents did and the ways in which they sacrificed to give me growth opportunities...most of which I squandered. I am only 27 years old. I have been through four pregnancies. I have two children and a wonderful husband and a very obnoxious furry kid with whom I live. I have been to multiple sessions of music camps, I have attended space camp, I have been overseas, I have a B.A. Yet the only things I have to show for myself are the kids. And don't get me wrong - my family is the best and most important work I've ever done; they are the best gift I've ever been given. But what I have a done with my life? Where are the signposts I had marked so clearly back in 2006? I'm down a completely different road than I was then, and the way forward is so very much obscured. What's different now than in 2006, I've come to realize, is that my faith has grown. Despite the fact that I have very little control over the events that conspire to fell me, I have faith that God is clearing the way in front of me. Someday, I might reenter some sort of career path. That day is not today. I've been given a responsibility to lead my family from the homefront, to teach my children how to grow in faith and love and trust, and to stand at my husband's side in order to support him in all that he does to support us. After the weekend of doubt and self-recrimination, I have emerged into a week of new resolve. I have not wasted my opportunities, I have merely lived through them. They are all a part of who I have become. The lessons I have learned (many the hard way) shape the way in which I interact with my children and my husband. I am grateful beyond words to my parents who allowed me to go and to grow and yes, even to fall and fail, because that is what good parents do. They let you make your own choices even when they can see the end result. I struggle daily to be that kind of parent, who teaches and then steps back, only interceding when necessary for the child's well-being.
Obviously, this kind of reflection pushes me to think about what kind of mother I am and what kind of mother I want to become. After losing Ariana, I felt that I had failed at the one thing I was responsible for - keeping the kids safe. I did not and do not feel that a mother who has a child die, particularly unexpectedly, is responsible for the death. However, I DO feel that I was/am/will forever be responsible for the fact that Ariana has gone. As you can imagine, this attitude has severely impacted my feelings of self-worth. Over Christmas, we had the unique opportunity to portray the Holy Family in one of the services at our church, with Madeleine as Jesus and even Tanner participating as a shepherd. Each Christmas I marvel at the Nativity, but until this year, I've only thought of Jesus and the miracle that he embodied at his birth. The things that Mary pondered in her heart? Those were a mystery to me. This year, as we took part in the pageantry at church, I resolved to take to heart those deep wonderings and hopings and longings that Mary must have had for her child. She must have had all the same fears and hopes that we mothers have as we experience the mystery and joy of growing our children inside us (or waiting for our child to arrive via adoption), but on top of that, she had this absolute faith that God had a plan. She knew that she carried the child of God in her womb, and if it were me, that fact would have scared the living daylights out of me. How much responsibility! To rear the child of God! The Messiah! Yet she had faith.
This weekend at church, our pastor discussed the importance of family in living Christ-like lives. I had, once again, never thought about the fact that as Jesus hung dying on the cross, as He bled and suffered, His thoughts were not all about his pain. His third statement was an exhortation to John to care for His mother. And what must Mary have thought as she watched her son scourged and insulted and left to die as a criminal? I have said many times that losing Ariana would have been much, much worse if we had had to watch her suffer. Yet there Mary is at the foot of the cross, and I'm sure in her heart she was holding her beloved boy. Where else could a mother be? Did she feel she had failed him? Did she feel she had failed God?
It is time for me to move forward. I promised myself and I promised my family that I would not let Ariana's death paralyze me. I have work to do here. Yesterday a friend shared an article about a little boy who had passed away at the age of 1 following a terminal illness. At his funeral, the priest remarked that if love for the child had expanded so many people's hearts, then we have a grave responsibility to use that extra love and make it shine.
Mary grieved. I grieve. But her boy was raised, and my daughter will be someday, too.(Please note that nowhere do I say I am analagous to the virgin Mary!!) Mary trusted God, and I will, too.
Well isn't that a serious post to return to blogging with? But I'm back, and this is the foundation upon which I am building a new life for myself and for my family. No more regrets and no more fears. Ariana may not have known it, but she fulfilled Jesus' command to love one another. Our oldest daughter was pure love. She radiated love to those around her. And it's my job to make sure that light continues to shine.
As another family who lost their daughter so aptly says, "Shine on!"
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