Cemetery Woes & Unexpected Healing

Recently our cemetery announced proposed rules.  But not just any rules.  These are rules.  Because the last set of rules prohibited horses in the cemetery.  The new rules were requested by the current cemetery caretaker who is a nice young man overwhelmed by the amount of decorations and plantings around gravesites at our cemetery.  The sheer number of items and decorations on and around the graves make it difficult for him to keep the graves neat looking and properly trimmed.

At first, I was outraged.  The rules proposed banning all artificial flowers, all grave decorations, all solar lights, shepherd's hooks, wreaths, benches, etc.  All that would have been allowed were fresh flowers and artificial flowers for a two week period around major recognized holidays.  Well, you better bet I did my duty as a citizen and showed up at the city commission meeting (who oversees the cemetery) and voiced my opposition to these rules.  Why?  Because we have a bench, a wreath, a shepherd's hook, solar lights, a rock border, artificial flowers and tons of little birthday and Christmas gifts scattered along the lip and rocks bordering our headstone where Wyatt rests.  Eli rests at our feet and has a flat stone so we are unable to put anything at his stone.  You know what happened?  The commission decided to form a committee of people both for and against the proposed rules to hash it out.

I volunteered to serve on that committee because I felt so strongly about my opinion that I wanted to be part of the change, whether for good or bad.  So through the course of about six hours over two meetings, which included a walk through of the cemetery to see and listen to the caretaker show us why he believed the policy was needed, we came up with a new proposed set of rules.  There were tears and disagreement during our meetings.  Three of us opposed the rules and three supported them.  We were different ages and tended many different kinds of graves.  We listened carefully to the opinion of the caretaker and he listened to us.

The end result was a set of rules which is respectful to those who choose to remember their deceased with flowers and items but respectful of the caretaker and those who were seeking a neater looking cemetery by limiting the kind and scale of these items.  We have taken our bench, shepherd's hook, solar lights and many small tokens home.  We cleaned up most of our rock border but left the marigolds we planted this summer.  We'll plant more again next summer along with some moss rose and we'll leave fresh flowers for the boys' birthdays which can then be mowed over later.

I was forced to look at the cemetery and my own displays of grief from a different perspective.  Did my boys need all of those things I put out there for them?  No, they were for me.  But did they really do anything real for my grief?  Probably not.  It was therapeutic to remove many of the items which were faded but my own grief had prevented me from removing them.  I just couldn't take anything else from the boys who were taken from me.  I also was able to see that I searched for items that were being marketed to me as a grieving person and I don't really like that there is such a large market aimed at grieving people.   It already takes a lot of money to lose a loved one.

I am excited for the spring when all of the graves are cleaned up and our gravestone can finally be neatly trimmed more often than not by the mower, rather than having to rely on a hand trimmer because our bench and rock border were in the mower's way and of course with four young kids at home we don't get to tend to the grave as often as we would like to.  I want it to look neat and respectful.  I told the caretaker that he has a special job, he is caring for our loved ones' resting places in our absence and that is a labor of love.

I was able to present the new set of rules to the commission, tell my story and explain why I supported the rules even though I would give up so much to abide by them.  I think it was a powerful position to take and one I hope that eased other's pain a little as they approach their own loved ones' graves this fall.

Change is change.  It is not always bad and more often than not an opportunity to find good or start anew.

Who is it for?

Frequently I drive by a house in town which has a large wooden cutout angel in front with a beautiful lattice border around it.  On the angel is a female's name.  It is not clear whether this name is a daughter, sister, friend, wife or mother but what is clear is she is a very special person to someone or many someones in that house.

That got me wondering.  Why is the angel displayed so publicly?  Is it in remembrance of that person  or is it to remind others that this family is still suffering her loss?

Ever think about these public displays of grief and grieving?  I think in some ways we all do it.  I have photographs of Eli & Wyatt displayed proudly in my living room.  We hang their stockings at Christmas.  Their names are included on our family signs hung in the house.  I have their names engraved on a ring along with my daughters' names and I wear that constantly.  I don't hide them to make others more comfortable nor do I parade them out to display my losses.  I have simply woven them into my life.  But on some level I think some of it comes from a desire to have others recognize that I am not who I used to be and that the grief of those losses has profoundly changed me.  I need for them to remember, not necessarily for my sons', but for me.

Holidaze & The Christmas Box

It's that time of year again.  Really, it's always "that time of year".  Either I'm anticipating one of the boys' birthdays, just celebrated one of their birthdays or I'm facing another holiday season without watching them search for their Easter baskets, carrying their Halloween bags stuffed with candy bars, setting them a place at our Thanksgiving table or ignoring the two empty stockings on Christmas morning.  That's life after loss, right?

This particular time of year is especially hard for me, even though it's been 11 years since Wyatt was born and 3 since Eli was born.  It's still hard and I know it will always be.  There's just something about Christmas for me.

A few years back I wrote this post about what our family does to celebrate and remember our boys each year.  Not much has changed.  We still try to find a local group where we can choose a child that would be each boys' age to buy a gift for and we still try to donate toys when possible as well.  Even in the deepest snows we trek out to their grave site to clear the snow and stand by their Christmas tree for a moment.

Each year on December 6th at 7pm, our family attends a Candle Lit Remembrance Service where we hang ornaments with our sons' names on them on a special Christmas tree alongside many other little ones' ornaments who are no longer with their families.  It is a special time for us to focus just on our boys in the busyness of the holiday season.  We also have an Angel of Hope statue which is derived from the Richard Paul Evan's story "The Christmas Box".  You can read more about the angel and the story here.

Whatever you do this season and wherever you are in your grief, I encourage you to listen to your heart.  If you need a break, take one.  If you need to say no, do it.  The holidays are stressful and busy enough without the added burden of grief and longing.  We find that at Christmastime more than ever we just need time by ourselves.  Create traditions that honor your family and your memories.  It's okay to break old ones and start new ones.  In my opinion, a tradition is only as good as it makes you feel.  If it doesn't make you feel good and able to share warmth and happiness with your family, then what is your family going to remember by honoring that tradition?

My husband and I have made some significant changes to how we celebrate Christmas with our children.  Over the years, how we view Christmas has changed.  What we see and feel has changed and how we celebrate has needed to change as well.  Our families may not understand, but it has been important for us to hold true to ourselves and it is an ongoing process each year.  The year I was pregnant with Eli we found out about his Potter's not too long before Christmas and I spent many an evening sitting in the dark of our living room with only the light of our twinkling Christmas tree rubbing my belly and sorting through the depths of my emotions.  Years later staring at that same tree in the dark as it twinkles the same way it did then is oddly comforting.

May you find something comforting this holiday season and hold fast to it.  Blessings.

When I Realized I Am Somewhat Healed

As I'm sure many of you know, this past Tuesday, October 15th, was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  I knew that too but I didn't actually realize it until after 10pm that evening and even then I didn't come to that realization on my own.  I happened to be reading a book with the local evening news on and bam! there was mention of pregnancy and infant loss remembrance.  It got my attention immediately and just as quickly I felt like a schmutz.  Here the whole day had passed and I did nothing.

It's okay, judge me.  I know what an important day this is to the community of us who have lost pregnancies and/or infants.  I never dreamed it would be possible to forget this day.  While wondering how this could have happened, I realized that for me it is a signal that I've healed - some.  I no longer want or need to announce my loss to the world which was a big part of my participation in October 15th in years past.  I wanted everyone and anyone to know how much I had suffered.  I needed to have some kind of explanation out there for how freakish I felt inside.  As the days, months and years have passed I have assimilated that suffering into myself and at some point unknown to me it just became a non-defining part of me.  I no longer define myself as bereaving mother though I know I will be one until the day I die.  It is another hat that I wear underneath all of my others.  It's a hat that I can't take off but one that I also don't show off.  It's something I hold close to my heart like the other weekend when I ran my first 10k and woke up to a day of snow mixed with rain and 40mph+ wind gusts and instead of seeking refuge in my warm, comfortable home I went to that race and I ran it because I knew no matter how difficult it would be physically that I have suffered so much worse in my life and I would absolutely make it through.  And I did.

I do so much for my boys now without even giving it conscious thought.  They are my rock and keep me grounded when everything else is in the air.  I just keep telling myself that I've suffered so much worse and I can get through whatever is dragging me down.  I no longer need my pink and blue ribbon but I know exactly where it is. I'm sorry October 15th, I'm sorry that you didn't get the attention you deserve from me this year.  I'm also incredibly grateful for those of you who gave it more attention that most, for those who make sure it is declared a day of remembrance, for those who place beautiful white roses and poems on all of the baby graves in my cemetery, for whoever got it on the local news that evening.  Because October 15th is about more than me, Wyatt, or Eli - it's for recognition of the pain those of us who have lost little ones carry, it's about letting others know how and why they can help us bear that pain, and it's about letting anyone who has carried that pain know that it's okay to recognize the pain and that it's never too late.  So I may be late, but to all those who have lost pregnancies or infants, God bless you, your families and your little ones.

I Think He (figureatively) Wept Too

It is officially done.  The stump is ground and the mulch has been scattered.  Wyatt's Willow is no more.  I have carefully replaced his garden decorations and cautiously unburied the plants which were just starting to reawaken after a long cold spring.  I hope they all will come back to us but it's too early to tell.  Hope extends now to the new tree, Wyatt's Prairie Reflections Laurel Willow.  So named because the leaves are supposed to glimmer like mirrors in the sunshine.  Our newly planted willow is a bit bare right now so that much remains to be seen.  It feels good to have something different, yet special, in the ground.

My husband confided that he also felt relieved to have another tree in that garden.  He spent many hours out there cutting the tree down himself and chopping the trunk into manageable pieces.  He cut off two special pieces which are now drying out for us to keep as remembrances.  Silly maybe, but not to me.  That tree was supposed to outlive me as I have outlived Wyatt and while I have no ill feelings toward it there are a lot of complex emotions.  The tree is what tied me to this house.  It was planted less than two months after we moved in and only three months after Wyatt died.  It was a great period of transition.  I had my first baby.  I buried my first baby.  I bought my first house and moved in.  I began my career after finishing school.  I hadn't even been married two years.  That tree grounded me to a place, to a point in time.  It felt good to know that I wasn't the only one grounded by that willow.  That I'm not the only one who will miss it's rough bark and weeping canopy that just barely tickled the ground when left untrimmed.  It's almost painful to look at that area of the yard from my kitchen window.

Up on the Rooftop

Since my post on remembrance I am just bursting at the seams wanting to shout from the rooftop "Remember, remember! My sons are gone".  While all of you (family) are making your holiday preparations all I can think about is the empty chair and high chair at my table.  The unwrapped presents under my tree.  The candles in my window.  Blinking away tears.  Gifts are unimportant, dinner is unnecessary.  What is important:  buying something small for their graves, making sure their Christmas tree lights are lit up at night, getting to and from the wintry cemetery, honoring their memory through a gift of charity, hearing their names.
So I'm up on the rooftop waiting for Santa to deliver me the one miracle that even Santa doesn't have in his bag.

Reminder vs. Remembrance

Holidays are a time of celebration.  For those who have lost loved ones they can also serve as times of remembrance and sorrow.    When that loved one has sat at the dinner table holidays past, even just one time, there may smiles and stories to tell.  In my case, neither one of my sons has experienced a holiday.  I have never purchased a little suit or even a vest, never used a dab of gel to smooth an errant cowlick and never gazed across the table into the eyes of my sons.  My grandmother died just a little over a month after Wyatt died and every holiday celebrated at my grandfather's since her chair sits painfully empty, a reminder of her absence - and of her presence for so many years.

I don't have that reminder.  There is no physical evidence aside from the photographs hanging on my living room wall that my sons entered into this family.  We don't keep their things out in the open, they are too precious, too cherished and sometimes just too sad to see all that often.  

So I sit in silence during these holidays, smiling and enjoying the celebrations while silently aching for two little boys who will never come home.  I remember my sons instead of trying to find a way to remind others that they are gone.  I don't think any forced reminders of their absence would make me feel better anyway.  I am too scared to know why others don't acknowledge it and any words uttered in response just wouldn't seem genuine. I liken it to the kind of apology a child gives when her parent insists.  There is nothing that compares to someone's own remembrance of my children.  

I choose remembrance rather than reminders.  In my own way and on my own terms and I've learned not to seek validation in the words and actions of others.  I own this.

No Bull About It

"Bull"ying that is.  October is National Bullying Prevention Month and October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  

You may be asking yourself what these two things have to do with each other.  On their faces, nothing.  But on the inside, everything.  The loss of a child, or any loved one for that matter, comes along with a bunch of emotions.  A bunch.  Some of which won't even be experienced for weeks, months and even years.  Death may occur in one moment during one day of our lives but the repercussions are felt for the rest of that lifetime.  A lifetime which continues without our loved one.  

This is where the bullying comes in.  Emotional bullying.  It is not the ugly kind of bullying which has recently captured national attention.  It is quiet and even often well-intended.  It can be perpetrated by strangers, family and friends alike.  The bullying us into getting over our loss, moving on.  Sometimes it's bullying to swallow our emotions like a burned casserole with a smile on our faces.  It is cruel, painful and so often not even realized by the perpetrators.  

So this month in particular I want everyone to think about the connection between these two profound awarenesses that occur in the month of October.  To remember that we are more than others think about us and that at the end of the day we are the ones who live with our own regrets.  With that said, I'm going to put a cautionary statement out there.  Spring of 2011 I was still in the darkness left after Eli's death and struggled against it each and every day.  Sadness was a constant companion despite the smiles and laughter wafting frequently through my own home.  My husband called me out, he acknowledged my grief but also told me in no uncertain terms the effects he was seeing my grief having on our three wonderful children and himself.  It was a bitter pill to swallow.  On one hand I thought, "My baby just died, cut me some slack, of COURSE I'm sad."  On the other I thought, "My goodness, I didn't know."  I was alive for them and being dead for him was doing none of us any good.  What I did is chronicled here.  My husband bullied me back to life and helped me to see what the darkness had hidden from me.  

I think sometimes it's important to listen to the words and try to see the reality within and around them. It is important to grieve and to own that grieve.  It is also important not to lose our hearts to our grief.

Just a Glimpse

Pain is all around us, all the time.  Often it goes unseen in the form of physical ailments unmentioned by the suffering individual.  Sometimes it goes even deeper, into the farthest reaches of a heart which aches for someone who is no longer there.  My pain has not given me an insight into others' but it has opened my eyes to the possibilities, the likelihoods and the realities.

We celebrated Eli's first birthday this weekend, one full year without him in our lives and it is upon that one brief day he was here, for less than 2 hours, that I now reflect.  I am thankful for every minute I was given with my sons while their hearts were beating, every second that life resided in their small bodies.  I saw Eli's eyes slightly open once and that one time has to be enough.  That tiny glimpse into my son.  The son that I had just given birth to and the son who I had hoped to hold in my arms, not just my heart, for a lifetime.  In that tiny glimpse I was able to see the baby I  would have taken home, the toddler I would have encouraged to crawl and then walk, the preschooler I would have taught, the gradeschooler I would have nurtured, the young man I would cherish knowing how quickly he would become my adult son whom I would release into the world.  In the blink of an eye my glimpse was gone and I would release my son into a world where I could not yet follow.

My heart is full of sadness and gratitude.  In those moments I was given more than many families will ever get and much was taken from me that many many families will never realize or appreciate.  Everything began with one, the first minute, hour, day, month and now year without him.  It is easy to get overwhelmed by what I don't have and to forget what I did have.  Eli may have died one year ago but my loving memories live on.

12 Days of Christmas With You in Heaven

Over the last eight years, our family has begun many Christmas traditions to honor our son Wyatt, which we will continue this year with the addition of our son, Eli. The first Christmas after Wyatt's passing we ordered special Winnie the Pooh ornaments through Lenox which bear Wyatt's name and his birth year.

We purchased one for ourselves and one for each family within our immediate family to hang on their Christmas trees in his remembrance each holiday season. (Eli's ornaments have been ordered for this Christmas.) Some families even display theirs year round. The ornaments serve a dual purpose, to remind our families of our missing sons and to remind them of our ongoing grief which is especially poignant during the holiday season. For the years of 2003 and 2011 they also served and will serve as holiday gifts to the families because of the cost involved.

Our second or third Christmas after Wyatt's birth brought healing and crafts. This time we poured our hearts into a very special memorial, a homemade stocking. We purchased a Bucilla felt stocking kit. My husband and I cut, embroidered, stuffed and sequined each tiny detail into this beautiful stocking (every single piece of felt is hand cut and embroidered onto the stocking from the tallest tree to the tiniest paw). No sewing skills are necessary prior to beginning this project but it is quite time intensive and there is a slight learning curve if you are not familiar with embroidery. I figure if my husband can do it, anyone can.

We purchased and began Eli's stocking last year while I was pregnant with him but before his Potter's Syndrome diagnosis. After the diagnosis, it was packed away. Here is a picture of the progress we made.

I hope to finish Eli's stocking before this Christmas Eve and have it look like this with Eli's name embroidered on the banner instead of "Santa's Sweets". All our children's stockings are hung proudly in our living room each holiday season though sadly two will always remain empty.

Every year since Wyatt's birth we have participated in a giving program such as the Salvation Army's Angel Tree and chosen an anonymous boy about Wyatt's age to purchase and donate a gift for. This year we will do the same for Eli too. We would have spent much more money and time on Christmas for Wyatt and Eli if they were here so it feels good to honor that and them by donating something for another child their age. It also serves as an annual reminder of how much they would have grown and what we have missed. It is a gift of heart and a time of reflection.

We also purchase the boys small gifts to leave at the grave for Christmas and place a small decorated Christmas tree at the gravesite. When we began doing this we would carefully wrap a string of battery powered Christmas lights in plastic and take them out to the cemetery Christmas Eve. Last year however, dawned a new age of Christmas lights for us with an LED battery powered set. We found the set still fully lit days after Christmas so this year our boys will have a lighted tree for much longer!

These holiday ideas are inspired by our sons, Wyatt and Eli, imperfectly formed and lost due to Potter's Syndrome but perfectly loved and remembered by our family which includes three beautiful rainbow girls born in between. My blog is the story I began writing while carrying Eli to term which details my Potter's Syndrome journey beginning with Wyatt and our life beyond.

Unexpected

Our church remembers those who have died and their families in a mass each year. That mass was held this past Saturday. I attended along with all three girls and my in-laws (who, incidentally are not Catholic and neither is my husband but he chose to stay home). The names of all those gone were read out loud one by one and families went up to the front where four rows of candles stood and one by one those candles were lit. Names were read by date of death so I had an idea when Eli's name would be read. Even though I knew when his name was coming I was completely unprepared for the flood of tears which gathered in my eyes so quickly after hearing that name. I am lucky that I was able to see straight enough to light that candle and return to my seat. After all the names had been read, a song of remembrance was sung and it was then that the tears burst forth. Of course we were sitting in the front row and being unprepared for such an emotional reaction I did not have a tissue handy so I had to dig one of out my purse. I don't know what to think. Should I have anticipated those tears? Why didn't I? I have known about the mass and what would take place for at least a month and half yet it never once occurred to me...completely unexpected.

My October Is Different

I found my first online community for parents who have lost children during or after pregnancy eight years and three months ago. That community of people was a lifeline for me just one month after Wyatt died. It was a safe place to share scary feelings that didn't seem acceptable and probably wouldn't have been accepted among those who had not lived through similar tragedies as mine. In that place I found families who had lost babies to Potter's Syndrome as I did, women who had carried their babies to term knowing that the child would not survive. I also encountered families who had suffered miscarriage, some suffering a heartbreaking number of miscarriages. I met families who had suffered stillbirths and losses due to SIDS. Families with babies diagnosed with chromosome disorders or organ defects. Those were just the ones with names, and only a fraction of them. There were so many more without explanation, almost without words to describe the tragic loss. It was in that place that we all worked through whatever stage we were in. I witnessed anger, extreme sadness, jealousy, the immediate whirlwind after loss and the relative calm that comes years after. I also witnessed the births of many many rainbow babies and the shattered trust which happened when those rainbow pregnancies were sometimes lost as well. I will never forget the mother who literally died of heartbreak after her daughter's death and her devastated husband's words to let us know that her suffering had come to an end.

I remember how important October of that year became to me. I wore ribbons of pink and blue and gave them to family members. It was important to me to not only have Wyatt recognized, but to have my husband and my suffering recognized too and to be able to share that suffering with a larger group. October of this year, even though we lost our second son Eli just seven months ago, is different. Things have changed and it didn't just happen this year. October 15th of each year, a day of remembrance for pregnancy and infant loss, is always a special day for me. But I chose to write this on October 17th for a reason. To illustrate where I am in my grief and how things can change. I no longer wear awareness pins during October or ever for that matter, I honestly haven't for years. Instead I wear a men's silver tungsten wedding band which is engraved, on the outside, with the names of all of my children.

I am fiercely proud and fiercely private about my children. For a long time I wondered if my sister-in-law even knew that we had a son named Wyatt.

He is so loved that his name is never far from my lips but his memory is closely guarded. If you visited our home you would see over sixty portraits of our children, all of our children, hung lovingly on our living room wall. It is a statement without words and perfectly describes our family.

I understand why Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness is lost in a sea of pink Breast Cancer Awareness ribbons this month. Breast cancer is specific. It is about the health of one or both breasts which is being attacked by a specific disease, or strain within, which scientists can isolate, study and attempt to cure and effectively treat. Pregnancy and Infant Loss is everything that breast cancer isn't. It doesn't have hopeful survival rates or survivors to run races or wear pink for the cause. It has mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents who had survived without a baby - that pink and blue ribbon was created and is displayed because a baby, or babies, died. The pregnancies and infants lost are due to so many different causes: clotting disorders, hormone imbalances, pregnancy reactions, cord accidents, complications of existing conditions, organ defects, lack of oxygen, slowed intrauterine growth, premature birth, diseases contracted during pregnancy and/or labor, labor accidents, medical malpractice, chromosome disorders, syndromes and the list goes on ... and ... on ... and .... on. There is no one enemy to fight here, no one banner to wave, no one cause to throw money and research at. It is instead a celebration of survival in the saddest of circumstances. A recognition that even though parents are not supposed to outlive their children that too often they do and that those parents are left to live without them. That is where October has changed for me. In the last eight years I have accepted Wyatt's death and made my survival without him a part of me. For me it no longer warrants recognition, I no longer need, but always appreciate nonetheless, the recognition that I'm a survivor, that I have two sons. Two sons who are loved more than the moon loves the stars.

"There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of even one small candle.” Robert Alden.

I am that small candle and even if I am the only one who remembers, they still live on. For me this October, that's enough.

Two Unexpected Gifts

Last week I received two unexpected gifts. One from a family member and one from someone I have only met once. The one time that I met her was to share the story of our precious Wyatt. She not only remembered us, but after hearing about this baby's fate, she was moved enough to send a card for comfort. I guess it was someone's (not of this earth) way of letting me know that I am not alone and that there are people out there who care. These small acts of kindness meant the world to me and could not have been timelier. For that I am very grateful.