A New Death Overshadows My Angel's Birthday

 

[Dreading my angel's birthday.]

I was dreading the approach of my angel Alli's 14th birthday on March 2nd. It often comes with heartbreak and pain that even time and distance don't remove. We look at a baby book of my sweet Alli. It takes us through her four-month life, through the pregnancy with ultrasound images of her, of the kids kissing my belly, of her new, 5 lb 13 ounce, gosling-honking newborn form. Those bright, glorious pictures of her tiny, blue-eyed form take us through our adventures with her, her siblings laying on tummy time with her, her older sister bonding with her, her parents and grandparents holding her with joyful faces. The day at three months when the neighbor taught her to smile. 

[Newborn Alli.]

The pictures didn't show the pain and the heartache we went through with a miscarriage before she finally came. The pictures don't show how much we worked to bring her here alive, with trips every 1-2 weeks from 17 weeks to a hospital 45 minutes away to have a flurry of ultrasounds done to make sure the Kell antibody that plagued the pregnancy didn't suck her dry, as it could have. There's so much of her short time here that the pictures don't show, but they do end with her face frozen in death, her too-tiny casket lying in the ground. They do end with warm letters of condolences. My soul always grows cold when we get to that point. I end our visit with Alli in sobs every time. Then, we eat angel food cake to celebrate her birth. We did that this year, but I just felt numb for all of it. Maybe because it was already in the shadow of a more recent loss. In four more months, we will commemorate her death. 

[Jurassic Park; source]

As we often do, we planned to go somewhere for one of her significant dates. I hate to be in my own head on those days. We planned to celebrate our other second child's birthday by heading to a dinosaur museum with friends. A snowstorm made that impossible, which devastated my teenager. The loss of that anticipated event overshadowed Alli's birthday. We were at least able to watch "Jurassic Park" together, which was something. It's been a long time since we all watched any kind of movie together. 

[My dad when I was a kid.]

But a bigger shadow still overcast the whole thing. Thursday morning, we got the call we knew was coming, My father had passed away. We've seen it coming. He was diagnosed with dementia 10 years ago. Over that time, he went from being a strong, confident man who led his family with an iron fist to a jolly lump on the sofa. He went from being stressed and angry about the burden of adulthood to smiling at everyone, having no idea who they even were but loving them anyway. 

[The jolly lump and his dog.]

As he shed the weight of his memory, he shed his anger, his fear, his worry and was just happy to be fed, given Dr. Pepper, snuggled by his dog, taken care of my mother, and entertained by his TV shows. He just wanted comfort. At the very end of his life, my mother could no longer care for him as she had, so we put him in a care facility. He wasn't happy about it, but we didn't have any other choice. And that's where he passed away, a full ten years after dementia set in. He was always difficult, whether the tyrant or the jolly lump, but now, my mom is kind of a lost soul. He gave her purpose, even if the purpose made her miserable most of the time, but now, she's alone. 

[Carrying the weight of death: source]

All of these things have made this last week so difficult. But at the same time, I don't feel it all acutely. Maybe I'm in shock or just burned out from life, but I don't feel any of this as deeply as I'd expect. As anyone would expect. I feel bad for not feeling worse about losing my father. I feel bad about not fully getting to commemorate Alli's birthday and not really feeling what I did. I know these are irrational emotions, but emotion is usually irrational. It is what it is. I do know families can be together forever. That helps with all of this loss. Maybe the upcoming funeral will make me feel anything other than numb. 

A January of Loss

[Loss in threes.]

What is it about losses coming in threes? Not all of them are mine, just ones that have affected my life in some way, however mild. The first one came on New Years Day. This was the loss that affected me most personally, but it wasn't the last. 

[Dodger fades.]

We were told three and a half years ago that Dodger, the purebred Pomeranian I bought 12 years ago, was dying. They didn't really expect him to survive the year. As he kept chugging along, inflated heart, clogged lungs, and collapsing trachea and all. When he first came to me, he was a strapping young guy, full of life. But I got him just after I'd lost my baby. The day I got him, I set him down to go potty, and he took off into the night. We were sure he was a goner because we lived on the highway, but we found him two miles down a different road, happily settled with a population of cats. I had a dream around that time in which he was a were baby, switching back and forth from female baby to Pomeranian. The translation is pretty transparent. He was the first dog I ever had to make it into my heart. And here we were, 3 1/2 years after we were told he was dying, feeling like we'd have him forever. Then, suddenly, I'm pretty sure that burdened heart gave out. Over two days, leading up to New Year's Day, he faded away. He breathed his last in my husband's arms. The house has felt emptier without him. 

[Foreshadowing; source.]

A week or two later, we had a scare. My dad fell four times in one day and started to refuse food there in his care center. He was fairly unresponsive, just like Dodger at the end. I even put family members on alert, in case this was the end. It made me want to reach out more to his first family, his first set of kids with the hopes of building bridges. We don't know them well, so it seems like the time to change that. It wasn't the end. He came back. But he has lost his will to live. I don't expect him to be here much longer. When he does breathe his last, I will write about him. But for now, he is still chugging. He's not one of the three. 

[Saying goodbye; source]

Just after that, Theresa, my good buddy of 16 years and next-door neighbor, lost her beloved grandma. She, too, had been expecting that loss. But expected loss has its trials, just like unexpected loss. Even when you know it's coming, it still hurts. She went to a funeral in each of two areas to be with family. I watched her loss from a distance, but I felt her pain. I was there for her. Each person's voyage is different, but loss gives us an understanding on some level of the pain of loss. 

[Her time came; source]

Two days ago, I received news that Ree, my best buddy from my early undergrad days, lost her battle with cancer. I'd watched with growing concern the reports of one treatment after another, one day after another that brought new pain, new hardship to her and her family. I watched from a distance, praying for them, but I feel like I should have reached out toward the end, should have reforged that connection we once had. But it didn't seem possible it was the end. I'd had a lot of friends and family survive cancer. This seemed like it would be one of those. Vibrant, exciting Ree who brought sunlight into my lonely, solitary existence of my freshman year of college at Vassar couldn't die. But she did. She's gone, and her husband, also a friend from that time, is so bereft. They were best friends until the end, and he is a lost soul without her. 

[Loss is individual; source]

Each person's voyage of loss is so different. I turn to the Lord in the face of loss, but not everyone does. Whether loss is expected or not, it tends to be hard, sometimes life-changing. It can be destructive or constructive and everything in between. Some people seek to be busy. Some seek out others. Some just want quiet to just feel or just be. Some people fall apart. It's easy to think that life as we know it is the norm. But change, loss, and pain are such a part of that. As they say, tomorrow is not promised. The best we can do is be there for each other, especially in loss, to not judge or tell someone how to grieve, how to face loss. Tell me about something someone has said to you that has helped you in the face of loss. How did it help you?