Pioneering Women

Recently, I've been called upon to digitize an amazing scrap book of the history of our area, dating back to pioneer times.  As a member of the empty arms club, I think I read these stories differently than a lot of people might.  Instead of hearing about it from the safe distance of time, I read from child death to child death, and there are many.  Some families lost child after child.  One, in particular, about killed me because she lost something like eight of her ten children plus her husband.  Having been there, I imagine how it must have been to place one cold, lifeless child into the cold, lifeless dirt after another.  I don't know how these women (and men) had the strength to continue.  I do know those women's eyes just look tired.  I can see how the loss and struggle took so much out of them.  I think I would have puddled on the ground and hoped to not wake up.  One woman wasn't even a pioneer and still buried child after child in the various epidemics and outbreaks, some of them three at a time.  I just don't know how she survived it. 

But they continued for their remaining children.  I get that.  That was why I had to pick myself off the ground.  I moved like an automaton, going through the motions, for months and months, possibly years.  Perhaps I'm still doing it.  You move forward because you have to.  Because there really isn't an alternative.  Maybe you can escape into oblivion, sleep or depression or whatever, for a while.  But eventually ,you have to move forward.  I guess I can take inspiration from this.  If they survived losing three, five, eight children and carried on, I can do so as well.  I know they did it through their faith, through their trust that they would one day hold their angels again.  And all of them are holding their lost ones now. One day, I will as well.  And that thought brings me a lot of strength. 

One of Two

(Alli new)

Well, we made it through one of two major hurdles that come around every year.  March is my angel's birthday.  June is her angelversary, her death date.  Those two dates still feel way too close together.

The worst part of her birthday was just before, when I wrote the last post, and then the morning of, when it was quiet, and people were writing and calling in sympathy.  I wasn't thinking about it until then.  After that, it was all I could think about.  Fortunately, it was a short day at school.  After I picked up kids, I was swept up in the reality of mommying, especially when I also ended up babysitting my sister's kids.  Then we all went out to eat to make up for not being able to have my girl's party that night.

(Playing with Alli)

At the end of festivities, however, it was time to eat our angel food cake and go through Alli's pictures.  The tears flooded in again.  It's always a pleasure to feel her back with us as I'm looking through those pictures.  The worst part is always when I get to the funeral pictures with her waxen face and, almost worse still, when the pictures run out.  I always feel so empty when I get to that point.

(Viewing)

It made me sad that the kids said they don't really remember her at all.  It has been eight years.  I guess that's a very good reason to go through those pictures at least twice a year, so they can remember her and feel like she's a part of us instead of just a memory.  Sometimes, it's hard to feel like she's more than a memory for me.  I know she's with us as often as she can be.  I know she's still real, an angel watching over us.  But I've gotten so used to the pain that it can be hard to remember the joy.  Some years, her birthday feels more like a celebration of her brief life.  I guess that's the way it should be every year, so she knows we still remember and love her.

Let Down

I was actually kind of looking forward to my angel's birthday in two days because it seemed I would be too busy working then being with family then going to my child's party that I wouldn't have to think.  Now, due to a pending storm, I'll have plenty of time to think and not much to anticipate but another day to suffer through.  And I'm feeling it hard.  I was fine earlier today.  Then thoughts of yet another refusal from a publisher, a long, hard week of small frustrations, and then this disappointment all hit at once. 

And now, I stare into the face of another birthday without her.  Another day of hollow acknowledgement that my arms are still empty.  That my rainbow never has never and will never come. 

Most of the time, I'm fine.  Most of the time, the blues don't get me down.  I can try to live in the gratitude for what I have rather than mourning for what and whom I've lost.  Much of the time, I feel like I've come a long way toward healing. 

But when those anniversaries strike, whether it be on the day or not, they strike hard.  And all the scabbing and peace I've built up to protect me from the pain peels away.  And I'm left with only the pain.  I'll probably be okay tomorrow.  I'll somehow survive the birthday.  The birthday that was supposed to be forever more a joint princess birthday party. 

But right now, it just hurts.  And it sucks.  And no amount of peace the rest of the time stops the pain right now. 

"Some days are like that, even in Australia."-Judith Viorst.

The Birthday Creeping Up

I'm trying to avoid thoughts of my angel's birthday, less than a month away.  It doesn't help that I'll be throwing my girl's birthday on that date.  It's hard now to plan one without thoughts of the other slinking through.  When we looked at the calendar before my angel came and got excited that their birthdays would be so close together, we had vague plans of princess parties for two.  Now, one is a day of death.  One is a day to celebrate life.  I prefer it when they don't converge, but with only three days between them, it's almost inevitable that an eclipse will happen sometimes. 

Last year, I remember my angel's birthday hit me even harder than her angelversary.  Some years, it's not half as bad.  I never can tell in advance because I can't predict how I'll react.  At least we'll be together as a family and busy.  That sometimes helps to make the day less arduous.  Sometimes, the stress can make the day that much worse. 

She would have been eight March 2nd.  For LDS people, that date is significant because it's when a child can get baptized.  Significant dates --preschool entry time, what would have been entrance into or graduation from kindergarten, etc.--tend to be just a little bit harder because they remind us what we're not able to do for our child.  So far, I've just felt vague twinges and had the occasional thought about that rapidly approaching day.  I know those feelings will come faster and closer together as the day approaches, kind of like contractions only more hollow, less hopeful. 

I know it is what it is.  Like every other calendar day, that anniversary will come.  It doesn't help to dwell on things I can't change.  I just wish sometimes that I could skip over that day. 

An Angel's Birthday

I watched someone I know approach her angel's birthday in fear and trepidation and then have that day fulfill every fear and every expectation for a terrible day.  I saw her pain, her celebration of that child's life through pictures, and above all, the inclusion of others through an invitation to celebrate her little girl's birthday through a joint birthday party.  It was a beautiful, heart-rending thing.  Few things bring back the pain more than birthdays and angelversaries, the day on which the angel got his/her wings. 

I saw all of this from a distance, but my heart ached as I knew at least a part of the pain that family was undergoing.  Each person's loss is unique, and each person's grief hurts in a unique way.  At the same time, there's a unity in grief.  Those who have been through it know what it is to be in the empty arms club, to feel those empty arms and long for one person alone to fill them. 

It warmed my heart to join in the outpouring of love and support for this family.  I know nothing will make that pain any less except time and the healing touch of Jesus Christ.  But I also know few things help more than love, support, and prayers when days like this come with their accompanying sense of pain and renewed loss.  It brings me peace knowing they're getting that support they need.  I wish there was anything any of us could do to make that pain go away.  But it helps to know there are people supporting for you, pulling for you, standing by when these painful days come.  And that's what makes these days survivable. 

Emotional Landmines

When I hadn't been through serious, heart-shattering loss, the world was just a world.  The blanket was a blanket.  I mostly saw things at face value.  Now, I'm often startled at how things have changed meaning and how often I have to dodge emotional trip wires I find everywhere.  I look at our wall of recent family photos and see the glaring hole where Alli should be.  I look at the older photos and see an easy smile, an innocent smile of one who didn't yet understand what loss was.  I see the baby who would disappear from later photos. 

The same is true all over.  There was a time it was no big deal watching a tv episode about an unwanted baby or hearing a news story of a child murder or commentators talking about how easily people terminate unborn life.  These things seemed distantly sad, like they happened a world away and in no way touched mine.  Now, they're a very personal punch to the gut.  I hear them with pain on a very real level.  I tried for years to have a child, only to meet with fresh miscarriage.  Fifteen or more fresh miscarriages in a row, seventeen child losses if you count Alli and the miscarriage before.  The idea of someone not wanting a child or taking the life of a child for granted causes me physical pain. 

There was a time women could announce they were pregnant in a way that implied they were actually expecting to give live birth or that I could see a huge family with as many children as a family could want or even a pregnant woman and not feel a twinge deep within, that inevitable twinge of jealousy.  If I get pregnant, the only thing I'm expecting is fresh loss, fresh death.  Another angel statue for my shelf.  Pregnancy is all about fear. 

I remember life without an emotional landmine just beneath the surface.  I can't say I truly appreciated it then because I didn't understand there was anything else.  I didn't have that empathy to understand the perspective of those who had had this kind of loss.  I can wish the empathy on others, but I would never wish them this kind of loss.  And that's the fastest way to gain empathy.  I can hope families will appreciate and love their children as the treasures sent by God that they are.  But the world is what it is.  Loss will still happen.  Children will still go unappreciated and neglected. 

I just have to accept what is rather than cause myself more pain with unrealistic expectations.  I have to know the landmine is there and continue to seek healing.  I've come a long way.  The mines used to be closer together, more fragile, more explosive.  I'm thankful that the pain has lessened.  I'm thankful for the perspective I've gained.  I just wish there had been a way to gain this perspective without the landmine.  But I know it is what it is, and I'm thankful God his here, walking me through, protecting me from the worst of it. 

Bearing Burdens

This holiday season wasn't as bad, emotionally, as some have been.  Mostly, it passed uneventfully, with a few twinges or moments that reminded me they were supposed to be hard.  I'd say that was a vast improvement.  Our practice of looking for people to help really made it easier to think of someone other than myself.  But other things helped as well.  

It also helped that people would show they were thinking of us and wishing us well.  I had people checking in on us, asking us how we were in the way that it was clear they really wanted to know.  I had a friend show up on my doorstep with a gift to add to my angel shelf.  That did bring a tear to my eye, in the very best way.  

We also prayed consistently for those who struggled more than we did, and there were many.  Someone I know sat beside the hospital bedside of her little girl as that toddler flirted with death.  Someone else I know struggles with a difficult pregnancy.  Several someones struggled financially or emotionally.  Others struggled through their worst Christmas ever as they mourned the recent loss of a loved one.  

Nothing helps with one's own burdens more than thinking of others or having others think of us.  Knowing that there is love and there are prayers help carry the difficult burden of a holiday.  Thank you to all who prayed for us and all those who gave us an opportunity to pray or serve them.  There is truly magic in bearing one another's burdens.