Wind in the Willows

I was reading to Shane tonight.  By some sweet circumstance, I got Noah to bed earlier and it was just Shane and me.  This fact made me giddy, its far too rare a seen nowadays, and the simplicity of earlier years flooded me with nostalgia.

Before school.  Before I worked.  Before Jimmy's injury or layoffs.  Before a 2nd and 3rd pregnancy, before the death and the birth of a new sibling.  Before our marriage ended.

Shane and I would snuggle in my bed in the middle of the day and I would read him The Wind in the Willows.

He asks me tonight why it has that title.  I read from the last sentance of the first chapter, where Mole was relaxing in his boat, just listening to the wind blowing through the willow trees, sure that he could make out what the wind was whispering.  I explain that it was a simple and peaceful time, when there were no other cares but to listen to the sounds of nature around you. 

I feel a lump in my throat.  We have been through some hard times.  Times that have taken us so far from those innocent days.  Through it all, I kept going, what else can anyone do?  But tonight, maybe mostly for Shane's sake, I feel a sadness wash over me.  And I long for that simple time every once in awhile.  Reading books to Shane under the covers in the middle of the day.

Forgiveness

Yesterday was Forgiveness Sunday in the Orthodox Church.  Its traditional for the entire congregation to form a receiving line, so to speak, each member asking forgiveness in case they've done anything to offend the other.  It is so beautiful, though  I've been too shy to attend one of these services for a long time.

One of the questions that keeps resurfacing for me since the beginning of the end is Whose to blame?  I'm a responsable person.  I like responsability so much, that sometimes I take it all for myself.  Whose to blame? I sit around and think about all the things I could have done differently.
The power of forgiveness, is that when we focus on it, then it doesn't matter at all whose to blame.  We are both forgiven.  I wish I could inject this message into every region of my heart and mind.  I will, eventually.  It is in my highest and best not to blame.  Not my husband, not my parents, not myself.  But to forgive my husband, my parents, myself.

The power of forgiveness is that it grants the freedom to move forward at quantum speed.  I feel weighed down by my inability to forgive myself, just in general, but I will keep my focus there until it is acheived.  Because I can see that being weighed down with blame isn't good as a parent.  I see it affecting my function as a parent.  I see it affecting my child.  And I will not lose one more member of this family. 

So, I will work to forgive as though my life, and stronger still, the lives of my children depend on it.  Because they do.

The Gift

In his book, The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz says a lot of crazy things.  Really wise, spiritual things, but so far out, so surreal.  As I read, at times my mind feels lost, but once, my eyes trailed on a group of words that felt like they were just for me.

       If someone is not treating you with love and respect, it is a gift if they walk away from you.  If the person doesn't walk away, you will surely endure many years of suffering with him or her.  Walking away may hurt for awhile, but eventually your heart will heal. .. But if you are truthful with yourself, you will save yourself a lot of emotional pain.

Oh, it hurt for awhile.  I think about some of the phone calls I made over the summer, and I have to laugh.  I was freaking out.  I was sobbing to new friends and old.  In public.  Sometimes it isn't pretty, but, being unashamed of how fallen apart we feel, diving into the wreck, so to speak, speeds up healing. I speak from experience.

I do believe that its all a gift.  Jimmy and I were in love, and we both put a lot of effort into the relationship.  Life threw us a few, more than a few curve balls, and things slowly crumbled.  A choice was made, it wasn't mine.  Even so, I'm grateful for what he was able to give.  I forgive, and I ask his forgiveness.  It stung unbelievably, but my heart is healing.

I went to a birthday party last month. I love the parties that Kerri throws for her girls. The pinatas are something I'll always remember. They are paper grocery bags, stapled together, with a colored print-out of the party theme taped to it. We made musical instruments out of paper towel rolls. Down home. Anyway, I was chatting with a mom whose also one of Kerri's nearest and dearest, assuming she knew about my latest crisis. We talked about having more kids, and somehow it became apparent that she didn't know. After we talked about it for awhile, she said something that I knew to be true as well. She said she could tell I was lighter. I seemed light. I feel light.

Taken Me a Long Time to Get Back Here

I like confession.  I love it.  It's a useful and beautiful tool we have in the Orthodox church.  There's no penance.  Just, before God, tell me what is on your heart. 

During my most recent confession, my priest told me that this, confession, was actually a requirement for someone in my position, in order to, I don't know how he worded it, but get back "in" because my marriage has ended.  Marriage, he said, is a state of grace, and you are no longer in a state of grace.

Funny, it felt to me like the opposite was true.  In fact, talking to my mom over Christmas, I used that exact phrase to explain why I was doing so well, accomodating, forgiving, forging ahead.  Mom, I'm in a state of grace, I said.

I had gone to confession in April, the day Jimmy told me our marriage was over.  I went to confession as a way of taking full responsibility for my part in the failure, to own up to all that I'd done to drive him away.  In the months that followed, I blubbered, I begged, I took the boys to give him space, time to think, time to miss us.  Nothing changed.

When he moved out in August, I was in crisis.  Overwhelmed by the feeling of rejection, triggering deep insecurities, ones that told me that there was something inherently wrong with me that rendered me unable to love and be loved.  Equally overwhelmed that I had no job, no income, and two little ones to house and feed. 

Thus the healing began.  My home is a more peaceful place, a more beautiful space, and I am thriving.

 I'm going to write about my life here, in this blog named for my daughter.  And it will bring honor to her.  Anything that is pure, from the heart, true, and shares with others so that we all feel a little less alone, honors her.  Honors us all.

Transition Stage

Bear with me as I mount my soap box here.  I've always wanted to write an essay entitled "How Laboring Naturally Better Prepares You for Motherhood."

Now I would say it just plain better equips you for life.  Here's why I think that's true:  You can't numb away your pain all the time.  This seems to be the way we try to do it.  We mask our pain with anger, we take anti-depressants or self medicate.  We run away.  Well, I personally feel that I have learned a thing or two by just letting pain hurt.  You learn that the only way out is through..  And you learn that you do get breaks, and eventually there is an end to it.  I'm not going to lie, it HURTS so freakin bad.  So bad.  So bad that I enter a place in my mind that I've never been before.  That you can only get to through immense pain.  And the door that opens remains open, granting wisdom and confidence whenever needed.  Yes, you become the rockstar you always thought you might be.

The greatest lesson for me in feeling the pain of labor is the truth of the Transition Phase.  You can't bear the contractions anymore.  You feel hot, you feel like you're going to faint.  Like you are dying.  Like you can. not. go. on.  That's the phase!  And when you feel these things it means you're almost there.  Trust me, when I'm in this phase I don't care that I'm almost there, I want to turn back, I want to stop, I would like a mallet to my head please.  But you can not possibly stop.  Your body won't stop.  You have to push through.  And push you will. 

Mothering little ones, that's all I've done so far, I liken to being in the trenches, in the front-lines. It's hard. Ridiculously hard at times. It's lonely. It's exhausting. It can make you feel totally inept. And you can't quit. You need to find patience. I can't find it. You HAVE to find it. You have to pull from every resource you never knew you had.  Whenever I feel that way, I trust that this means my break is on the way.

Have you ever felt the transition phases of life?  Maybe you're moving and you can't pack one more thing into one more box.  Or there is a situation in your life that is unbearable and you see no solution and you're panicked about it.  I recognize that now as meaning I'm almost there.

I am truly grateful for the privelage of birthing three precious beings, and the wisdom and strength I've gained through feeling all the pain.  I have to believe, I'm holding on to the possibility that feeling all of the pain in life without running away from it, will lead to feeling all of the joy that a numbed mind would not have access to.

I wanted to add something here, months later.  I can see how any type of birth experience prepares us for motherhood, as long as it doesn't go as planned, is much more intense and painful than we imagined, or in any other way tears our previous notions to shreds.  Birth is at its best a humbling experience.  I am so grateful I got to experience it three painful times.  The power of a body thrusting out is just, there's no word for it.

ever after

i've wanted to post earlier.  my hands have been full.  Noah is the easy baby I always imagined him to be, but he is still a baby, and requires hands to hold him, change him, feed him, rock him, and hold him some more.  He has healed the wound a great deal.  It's a strange thing to say, and unless you've been through grief it may not make sense, but I don't feel ashamed of our story anymore.  Not that I felt shamed for anything that happened, but that, I guess a better word would be embarrassed.  It's not as embarrassing to say my daughter died, whilst holding my baby son in my arms.  The story is not as tragic.  It has a happy ending.  It is way, way better.

Virtual Memorial

By Thy righteous judgment, Thou hast cut down like a green herb before it has completely sprouted, the infant that Thou hast taken, O Lord. But, as Thou hast led him unto the divine mountain of eternal good things, do Thou plant him there, O Word.




The sword of death has come and cut thee off like a young branch, O blessed one that has not been tempted by worldly sweetness. But, lo, Christ openeth the heavenly gates unto Thee, joining Thee unto the elect, as He is deeply compassionate. (Ode 5 of the Canon)



O Most-perfect Word, Who didst reveal Thyself as perfect Infant: Thou hast taken unto Thyself an infant imperfect in growth. Give him rest with all the Righteous who have been well-pleasing unto Thee, O Only Lover of Mankind. (Ode 3 of the Canon)





No one is more pitiful than a mother, and no one is more wretched that a father, for their inward beings are troubled when they send forth their infants before them. Great is the pain of their hearts because of their children ... (Ikos following Ode 6 of the Canon)



This further intensifes in one hymn that seeks to articulate the words of the infant if he could communicate with those "left behind" Here we find a realistic acknowledgment of intense grief suffused with a certain hope that God can bring relief to that very grief:



O God, God, Who hast summoned me: Be Thou the consolation of my household now, for a great lamentation has befallen them. For all have fixed their gaze on me, having me as their only-begotten one. But do Thou, Who wast born of a Virgin Mother, refresh the inward parts of my mother, and bedew the heart of my father with this: Alleluia. (Ikos following Ode 6 of the Canon)

the year

happy birthday?  i'm not sure what to do today.  my little tessie.  my kickiest baby.  you would be walking.  you would eat cake and ice cream today.  shane would hug you too hard and knock you over.  you would cry.  or maybe hit or kick him.  daddy would get all overwhelmed at the commotion. 

anyway.  mommy loves you loves you loves you.

thank you for Noah.  if you're reading this, you probably already have the sensitivity not to suggest that one child can replace another.  i am more comfortable telling our story when strangers ask.  and i'm going to start correcting this suggestion.  i want to keep all of my children,  wouldn't you?  i would have kept them both, i'll say.

Brynn, please know how dear you are to me.  Hey.  Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world?  She walked out on me ... i think i mentioned earlier i had this Roger Whitaker song in my head on the way to that most hainous of midwife appointments.

The experiences of this past year have made me stronger and wiser, and most significantly given me the sense of community support.  that has been the most powerful thing to me.  like so many others in my situation, some people who were previously close did nothing, but others who stepped up more than made up for it.  i've written before how every little gesture, message, whatever, just physically upheld me.  What a gift to be given this empirical knowledge.  It is enough to heal as deep a sorrow. 

 i do understand how you could be afraid to do the wrong thing.  here is the advice i give to myself now, going forward.  don't do nothing,  do something.  you dont have to say anything.  bake something, send a card and just sign it if you dont know what to say.  don't be afraid of the bereaved person.

i used this phrase a lot: "so and so showed up for me."

i'm not capitalizing because i hold my sleeping baby with my left hand.  yea for that!  What a mother f-ing year.