When I think of my tiny boys, the first memories that come to mind are troubling. I hate that the strongest memories I have of John Blaise and Alexander are both of that moment when I realized I was going to lose the baby, when my water broke prematurely. I…
Capture Your Grief Day 4: Legacy
A great misconception our culture perpetuates is that the longer the life, the greater the legacy, the more valuable the life. This is closely tied to the ugly belief some hold that a child in the womb has no “value” unless the mother wants him or her. But as many…
Capture Your Grief Day 3: Myths
October 3, 2013 “How are you doing?” That is perhaps the most difficult question to answer after losing a baby. At least that’s been the case for me. How exactly am I supposed to answer that question? On what scale am supposed to evaluate my well-being? And, really, does…
Capture Your Grief Day 1: Sunrise
October 1, 2013. Today is the first sunrise I’ve witnessed since July, our wonderful week at the beach, while I was just wrapping up my first trimester of pregnancy with Lightning Bug. I was so happy that week. It was the best vacation, well, maybe second to my honeymoon. Maybe.…
The middle: where to start
What if you knew you were immortal … as long as you never fell asleep? What if you knew that the second you hit REM, you would leave your fleshy confines, never to return?
To what lengths would you stay awake? Would you “not go gently into that good night”? Or would you do what you could to tie up loose ends before welcoming the sleep to end all sleep?
At one point in my life, there was no question that I would welcome, not fight Dylan Thomas’ “good night.” But since then, I have celebrated a few more birthdays, married my (somewhat unlikely) soulmate, and been blessed with two amazing children. I’ve managed a handful of creative accomplishments that — noteworthy or not — I am proud of. All of these things are attachments of sorts, “loose ends” I can’t tie up, no matter how much time I might be given.
But still there are days I live for sleep.
I don’t know where I’m going with this.
…
A week ago, my maternal grandfather, Grandpap R. passed away. Prior to his death, he had been in the ICU about 10 days, including a few days of heavy sedation — meaning he was unconscious.
…As I write this, “Details in the Fabric” is playing.
“Hold your own,
know your name,
and go your own way
everything will be fine…”
know your name,
and go your own way
everything will be fine…”
…
So I went up to PA this past Wednesday & Thursday for the funeral. As strange as it might sound, it was probably the “happiest” funeral I have ever been to. That’s not to say all eyes were dry. But it was full of laughter as well. It was a family reunion.
God, I hope it’s not our last.
It was wonderful, really. I think 14 of the 16 grandchildren made it in (in addition to all 7 of his children), many of whom I haven’t seen in years. It’s strange and amazing that we’re all part of the same family. Really, in many cases we’re more different than we are the same. But then you notice his jawline, her laugh, the way the three of them stand just like their mother who got it from Grandma. … And somehow we’re all family again.
…
I think this is the first time I’ve really cried yet about this. Not that I’ve been holding back or in or anything. But I’ve been holding up and keeping busy. Not as a defense, but as a side effect of life. Even up there at the funeral, I took our youngest (and only him) since he could fly free on my lap, so I was preoccupied with him, I guess. At the viewing, it was all foreign and strange to me. The body in the casket was a wax man with too much make-up. I had absolutely no emotional attachment to him. But to the right was their wedding picture. And I got choked up over that, but that was it.
Mom pointed out that difference (between his as opposed to my grandmother’s death 18 years ago) is the difference between a full, long life well lived and one cut too short.
…
As a point of public note, I request that no roses or chrysanthemums be included in any arrangements for my funeral when that comes. Wait, no. Stick with the no chrysanthemums (mums are ok, but those big ones, no), but let’s restrict the roses to the pretty, less fragrant mini roses: the smell of roses says funeral to me. I hate it. As soon as I opened the door to the funeral home the first time there, it hit me, like a blast of hot air from inside a car that’s been sitting in the July sun all day.
I prefer lilacs be sent in lieu of roses.
I prefer donations to the pro-life charity of your choice be sent in lieu of flowers in general.
No, I’m not quite dead yet. But we never know when this information could actually be relevant.
…
Ever just feel like screaming out of frustration? I mean, I feel like I’m grinding my gears and spinning my wheels. I feel like there’s so much I’m supposed to do with my life. I feel like there’s something big out there I’m supposed to be a part of. But I don’t know what or where it is. How does one work toward a goal she can’t define?
“Go your own way.”
…which would be …?