An update?!?!?

Can it POSSIBLY be that I am updating my blog??? YES..... I am. Finally. I apologize for the delay in doing so. I have been called to active duty at my home station, and have not had access to my blog - and have been so busy trying to keep up with both jobs, that honestly, I just have not had time. I will return to my civilian job full time on October 1st though - which will be lovely.

Molly and Kate have been wonderful, I must say. Molly is now involved in cheer leading and loves it. I do NOT love the 2-5 night's per week it takes from our schedule - but it is an activity and kids need those to feel involved I guess - so we'll continue with it. Kat has decided she is also a cheerleader and follows Molly around constantly, doing the same cheers. She has learned most of them.

We do not have much else going on right now, other than keeping up with work, school and trying to sleep on occasion. I am greatly anticipating the day when life returns to normal - or as close to normal as possible.

Five years later...

"How very softly you tiptoed into our world.

Almost silently - and only a moment you stayed.

But what an imprint you have left

upon our hearts."

Five years ago, in the immediate aftermath of my daughter’s death, when my loss was nearly incapacitating; someone who had suffered a similar blow offered me this prognosis: My aching would stop. My wound would heal over. The raw pain would subside, but my loss would stay with me forever, like an inoperable yet non fatal heart murmur. The injury wouldn't always restrict my mobility, nor would it preclude my capacity for love and joy. And allowed to cure under the right conditions (given adequate space and time) my loss would age and mellow into something sweet and dignified - something endured. The hole would fill in enough to reveal a new perspective; adding depth to my character and throughout my lifetime, helping me focus on the bigger picture. For that blessing, I was told I would be grateful.

Someone else, another well seasoned traveler along the journey through grief, told me I would one day be able to rest my loss upon a shelf of my closet, where it would remain inconspicuous but always present. Like an old coat I was attached to but seldom wore, my loss would become a better fit. Occasionally, I would stumble upon it while looking for something else. Perhaps I would take it off the shelf and examine it. In time, I would try it on – and I would begin to notice as the years went by, the fit had become increasingly comfortable. Eventually (and this was the unbelievable thing the man told me) I might purposely seek it out from time to time, finding some measure of peace in its weight upon my shoulders. In any case it would be mine forever, and I would never be able to donate it to the Salvation Army - nor in the end would I wish to.

More than one person who had fallen into to the depths of despair (and then found their way out) predicted I would soon discover that societies’ perception of grief is largely inadequate. Only the uninitiated speak of "getting over it" or "moving on." Only the blissfully ignorant believe it is possible or even desirable to put a thing like this behind us, as though it were a foolish investment or a bad meal. The reality is, it’s not possible to outrun it, even if we wanted to. Our best hope is to come to terms with our pain; allowing it to become part of who we are and even how we survive from one day to the next.

There are no definitive answers to the question "Why?"… only theories. There is no "period of mourning"… only the rest of our lives. And so five years down the road it has come to pass – My aching has stopped.

My heart murmur - although incurable, does not keep me down. My loss rests upon its shelf, but gathers no dust. I bring it down frequently, but not obsessively. I look over it regularly, and it still has lessons to teach me. I am more conscious than ever of life's fragility and uncertainty; and I appreciate (more than I did five years ago) the importance of being grateful for those we have for as long as we have them. I understand in a way I never could before, that life is shorter than we think - and that’s a good thing to know. "Why" is no longer the pressing question it once was - It now seems beside the point. My loss is not behind me. It is not a thing of the past. It is not something I'll ever get over - even if I live to be 100. It is right here with me – every moment of every day, and that's exactly where it belongs.

In five years of grieving I have learned we can survive the unthinkable. In the beginning we survive for others. Then, very slowly we begin to survive for ourselves. In surviving my grief I have learned, only through the good I do for others in her name, will the beautiful spirit which is my precious Emily Hope, live forever. For the joy and honor of being part of Emily’s life, no matter how brief … for my countless blessings discovered along this journey through grief; and for my new perspective on life, revealed only by grieving Emily’s death – I am now, and will forever be unspeakably grateful.

Just for Today...

• Just for today, I will try to make it through the next 24 hours and not expect to get over my child’s death, but instead try to live with it - one day at a time.
  


• Just for today, I will remember my child's life - not her death, and I will bask in the comfort of those treasured days and moments we shared.


• Just for today, I will forgive all the family and friends who didn't help, or comfort me the way I needed them to - for they truly did not know how.


• Just for today, I will smile no matter how much I hurt on the inside, so maybe my heart will soften, and I will begin to heal.


• Just for today, I will reach out to comfort a relative or friend of my child, for they are hurting too, and perhaps we can comfort each other.


• Just for today, I will free myself from my burden of guilt - for deep in my heart I know that if there was anything in this world I could have done to save my child from death, I would have done it.


• Just for today, I will honor my child's memory by doing something for another child, because I know that would have made my own child proud.


• Just for today, I will offer my hand in friendship to another bereaved parent, for I do know how they feel.
  
  
• Just for today, I will not compare myself with others. I am fortunate to be who I am, and to have had my child for as long as I did.

• Just for today, I will try to be happy - for I know that I am not deserting my child, by continuing to live.
  


• Just for today, when my heart feels like breaking, I will stop and remember Grief is the price we pay for loving - and the only reason I hurt, is because I have had the privilege of loving so much.
  

• Just for today, I will try to accept that I did not die when my child did. My life goes on, and I am the only one who can make that life worthwhile once more...

The Rose Bud...

On your journey to heaven

Oh, littlest of angels,

I will forever give thanks

You came first to my arms,

Where you lay in warm sweetness

For the briefest of moments.

Not even the rosebud,

Nor the first crocus petal,

Could match the soft wonder of your small,

flowering face…

Though you lingered only briefly,

our torn hearts found comfort;

and your very presence

gave our sorrow grace.

Etched in our memories

To hold and to treasure

Are experiences we had not known;

These you gave in your innocence.

And oh, little darling,

We are richer by far,

To have held you a moment,

Than never to have held you at all.

Our Field of Loving Dreams

Butterflies dance across a field, in my mind.

You chase them and smile at me from between the wildflowers.

Your toothy toddler grin spreads wide, to grace me with joy.
Innocence shows in your eyes…
You laugh and I long to hold you,

to cuddle you close with the sigh of the wind.

The same wind lifts your baby hair,
Fragrant as the flowers you have played in,

soft as the kiss of your butterflies, and dark as the early night.

You smile into the sky and the rays of sun illuminate your profile.

You are fresh as a new day and

oh, how I love you!

We run together across our field,

chasing dragonflies and dreaming of fairies.

Holding hands, we dash across the rocks of a shallow stream,

and it is there in a clearing, that we dance.

Lifting you into my arms we whirl and turn,

Laughing and smiling, waltzing to the tune of the singing bluebirds.

We are one, you and I
Free to hold each other, free to love -

Until I place you gently on the ground, and step away.

For a moment, we hold hands.
For a moment, we gaze at each other.

For a moment, time stands still for both of us.

And then you are gone-
And I am here in my reality.

I can still feel your tiny fingers squeezing my hand.

I can still smell the wildflowers blending with your baby scent.

I can still hear your laughter rushing around me like our shallow stream.

I can still feel your little body cradled in my aching arms.

But I know too, that you will be here waiting for me

whenever I need you.

Here in our field of loving dreams -

Where reality fades away in the distance.

Where we are free to dance with the butterflies -
Where we can run, chasing dragonflies and dreaming of fairies;

and where I can hold you once again,
Just as I would have -
If you had lived.

"Welcome to Holland"

This article was passed on to me during our "Emily days" last year by a very dear friend, who had endured the deaths of a daughter 40 years ago and a special needs grandson, very recently. My friend died very unexpectedly a few months ago, leaving a significant void in my life - but the lessons he taught me in our time together, I will treasure in my heart always.

"Welcome to Holland"

By Emily Pearl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability or a parent who has endured a loss, to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to imagine how it would feel. For me,it's like this:

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. You'll see The Coliseum, The Michelangelo David, The gondolas in Venice...You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go! Several hours later, the plane lands. The flight attendant comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

... "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy - I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy!" But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland, and there you must stay.

The important thing is, they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place. So now, you must go out and buy new guide books. You must learn a whole new language... And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. "Holland" is a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy... less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around and begin to notice that Holland has windmills, and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts!

Still, everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That is what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss. But - if you spend your life mourning the fact you didn't get to Italy, you will never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things... about Holland.

Emily's 5th Birthday...

Today is my Sweet Emily's 5th Birthday, and I can hardly imagine it has been five years since she came into our lives. Emily was such an amazing gift to our family, and I know she continues to bless my life in ways I can not begin to describe. As Emily's birthday has approached, I have found myself reflecting on the words of John F. Kennedy: "To those whom much is given, much is required." I have been given so much with the gift of Emily's presence in my life. I know my life and my world are both richer, because Emily has been a part of it; and so I hope I live up to the expectations set forth by Kennedy's words. I know how much I try...

This is a time of much reflection for me. As we celebrate our "Emily days", it has always been my belief that as Molly and Katie grow up, they should remember this week as being a happy week in our home. We honor Emily's memory by choosing to celebrate her life, instead of focusing on her death. There will undoubtedly be grieving for each of us, but I have been here in this "grieving place" long enough to say with confidence, I am no longer wrestling with my grief. It is no longer the unwelcome guest it once was in my life. With time, my grief has taught me if I am not careful, I can clutch so tightly to the past, it leaves my arms too full to embrace the present. I am thankful beyond explanation, for the gift of this knowledge.

Happy Birthday, my Sweet Emily....I love you with every breath of my being. I am forever blessed for having known the gift that was you. I miss you terribly, and the beautiful person you would have become; but my life is richer because you were part of this world, if only for a brief moment. My precious child, I promise you as long as I can, I will gaze at this wonderful world for both of us. As long as I can, I will laugh with the birds... I will sing with the flowers...and I will pray to the heavens, for both of us.

Celebration

This day will be a celebration

of the short time you were here.

You are remembered my child,

with great love, and also -

sometimes with tears.

But to feel only pain and sorrow

would not be fair to you.

Your life meant so much more to me-

more than I ever knew.

You were here so very briefly

I wonder if you know -

all the ways you've touched my life

since the day God called you home.

You're an angel now, my child

with our heavenly Father above -

And I see not only what I've lost,

but my capacity to love...

There will always be a void in my life -

and my soul will grieve forever.

But will I ever forget, or stop loving you?

No, not now - not ever.

So as this day has come upon me,

oh, how my heart still hurts -

But even as I mourn your death,

I celebrate your birth.