One of the sympathy cards we received in the week or so after Joseph died contained a verse by Australian Poet Michael Leunig . I was so affected by the verse that I included it on the back page of the funeral booklet, which was distributed at the service we held for him some nine weeks after he died.
Love is born
With a dark and troubled face
When hope is dead
And in the most unlikely place
Love is born:
Love is always born.
I guess is struck me, because the love we felt for Joseph, for our other children and from those who surrounded us and supported us so intensely in those earliest days, was overwhelming. It felt like Love indeed was born, renewed, raw & primal.
The lady who sent the original sympathy card was quite touched that we included this verse in the service booklet. We talked about how mighty this small poem was and we both seemed to 'get' the power behind these words. She mentioned to me that it was from a little book called The Prayer Tree, and the next time we saw each other, she gifted me her copy.
I devoured it in minutes and loved every word. One other poem that stuck out even more than love is born is this one:
God be with those who explore in the cause of understanding; whose search takes them from what is familiar and comfortable and leads them into danger or terrifying loneliness. Let us try to understand their sometimes strange or difficult ways; their confronting or unusual language; the uncommon life of their emotions, for they have been affected and shaped and changed by their struggle at the frontiers of wild darkness, just as we may be affected, shaped and changed by the insights they bring back to us.
Bless them with strength and peace.
AMEN.
I feel like I am a student in this class of life that no one wants to sign up for. I never put my hand up for it and I feel the loneliness of being the only one showing up for it every day. It's compulsory for me to attend now. I hope that once I get to a point of graduation (if that can happen), that I can share my learning with others and that those around me can be receptive to these insights and not have dropped out (away from me) for good.
PS - 'God' is a universal term for me.
26 August, 2011
22 August, 2011
Big Week. Big Post
The missing this week has hit me like a mac truck. It’s been a big week and a big build up to a big meltdown.
I received a text from a friend mid-morning, just saying ‘love you’. I thought – ‘well, that’s nice, is this a significant date?’ I looked at my phone and realised, it’s the 21st – exactly 8 months since Joseph died. What kind of mother forgets the date of the month when her child died?
I have been sick. Very sick. Laid up in bed type sick with a full blown flu for 2 days and very out of it. I haven’t had the usual distractions of the kids, TV or the internet, because I literally couldn't surface from bed. This has left a lot of time to think and think and miss and miss. I would have thought with all that thinking and missing, I’d remember today is the day he’s been dead for 8 months.
I just want him back.
It got to nearly dusk and realised I hadn’t lit his candles today. Lighting candles daily stopped sometime between 6 and 7 months out. I still light them, but not daily. I felt bad that even after realising it’s 8 months today since he died, I still then didn’t go and light candles for him. Sometimes I wonder what the point is in doing that. Candles don’t heal my broken heart. And they don’t bring him back.
I just want him back.
In the week or so after Joseph died I contacted a lady from a company that does plaster cast molds of baby’s hands and feet. They are then painted silver or gold and put in a box frame, either on their own, or with a plaque and photo. This lovely lady went out to the funeral home, about a week and a half after Joseph passed, to get the molds.
So, this was back in January some time. I had spoken to her several times over the phone and arranged many times to go out there to pick the frame, choose gold or silver paint and to give her a photo to be put in the frame. I’d put this off for a long time, until I finally made it there a couple of months back. I gave her the photo, chose the frame etc and left, awaiting her call to come back and pick up when ready. The lovely lady called a number of weeks ago to say it was ready for collection. Again I delayed, sighting financial reasons, getting someone to watch the boys etc.
Last Wednesday, the day after he would have been 8 months old, I took a drive about an hour from my place to pick up the frame. My niece came with me, she met me at my place first. I was in a panic when she arrived. I felt like I really didn’t want to do it. I should never have had the casts done, should never have ordered this expensive keepsake. I didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t want to look at gold painted replicas of his hands and feet. I couldn't bare the thought of it. But, I felt obligated, I owed her money. She drove a long way to take molds of my dead baby’s hands and feet. It’s a big ask. The least I could do is honour her time and this order. I felt quite sick driving there and the anxiety and tension was building within. But, I am so glad that I had organised to have this done. And glad to have this keepsake. I delayed for a long time because it felt like so much, emotionally, to get my head around. These are ‘tangible’ 3D replicas of his big/little hands and feet, more than the photos we have. I’ve wondered, over the last few days since this has been hanging on our lounge room wall, if it’s a bit creepy. It’s taking some getting used to but I hope it will blend into the house, settle in and get as comfortable as the furniture and everyone else here. It's still not enough.
I just want him back.
After the half day of driving to collect the casts. I had a family dinner to attend. It was prearranged that D would stay home with the ‘babies’ (as X calls them) and I would take X. I was feeling shaken by the day as it was, so really should have thought about self-care and just stayed home. I’d been trying to call D from about 4.30 to find out where he was at and remind him that we wouldn’t be home for dinner, but he wasn’t answering. I started panicking from about 5.30. If he’s not home by 5.15 he always calls to let me know where he’s at, or I get onto him to find he’s around the corner. But he just wasn’t answering. I kept calling his mobile and the home number, but no answer from either. This went on for 2 hours and I was feeling the panic setting in. This was out of character, where was he? My mind was taking me to horrible, dark places of where he was and what could have happened to him. The tragic story of the women who’s baby died, her womb taken, robbing her of the chance of birthing any more children, all because of medical negligence, and now she’s left a widowed, single mother of 3 remaining children, fighting for her own life.
Anxiety much? PTS perhaps?
I left my sisters place and drove home, with my niece in the car. Pulled up out the front to see his car there and told her to wait in the car with the boys. I figured, on my signal when I found him inside, dead or dying, she’d drive the boys to my Mum’s so they wouldn’t see an ambulance and witness any more trauma death in their short lives, and I’ll stay here and pick up the pieces. I found him in bed, sick, with the before mentioned flu. I was due at the restaurant 15 minutes earlier and selfishly said I gotta go. I should have stayed home, but I’d talked it up to X, told him it would be fun because he’d get to play with his favourite cuzzybro and have my attention the whole time, so I felt it unfair to turn around and tell him last minute that he couldn’t go. I didn’t realise how sick he was until he took the next day off work and didn’t surface all day. This is a man who never takes sickies, and has a very strong Catholic work ethic (and he’s not even Catholic).
At the restaurant is my cousin with her 8 month old baby. Her baby and Joseph were born just over a couple of weeks apart. I find it so difficult to be around her. I don’t want to be. I want to embrace this little baby but I just can’t. Yet. She’s just a constant reminder of where Joseph would be at and it breaks my heart every time I see her. I was out the front of the restaurant filling in my sisters on the days event. They were asking me how the day before was. How that day went picking up the framed casts etc and this baby’s Mama was out there. She interjected straight away with how she’s “tried getting inked footprints but A gets squirmy and won’t cooperate so I’ll have to wait till she’s asleep and if she’s like that how would she go getting casts done?, cause that’s something she really wants to do, and, A’s feet and hands are so tiny, not like Joseph’s, my God, his feet were huge”! My blood was boiling. I just wanted her to shut up. I just wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up. I wanted to beg her not to compare my dead sons hands and feet to her baby’s…who is well and truly alive and 8 months old. I feel so bad because I know there is no malicious intent in innocent, everyday conversations like this. That if she knew how much I felt like I was dying inside when this was going on, she’d be horrified. How will I get to a point where I’m not relating everything back to Joseph and me?
FUCK. I just want him back.
There have been quite a few pregnancy and baby announcements lately, some from other Mama’s at kinder, including the kinder teacher. One kinder Mama has become a friend over the last few years and I felt kind of blindsided when she told me her news. Of course I’m happy for her. But, it made me feel more heartbroken for me. I had to share with her that when conversations around her pregnancy come up, I’ll have to step out because it’s just too difficult for me to take part in small talk like that. It’s nothing personal. Pregnancy talk is just too much for me right now. There are many masks I can and do wear, but that it not one of them.
Then, there’s gorgeous Sally, who’s second beautiful baby daughter arrived earthside, safe and sound the day before what should have been her big sister’s 3rd birthday. I’m over the moon at this news. So glad that the anxious wait is over and that she’s here. It’s a hard place to be though, to be giddy with excitement for her and her partner, but so heartbroken for me (and us). How can one feel such differing emotions at the same time? I’ve seen the photo, beautiful it is. Baby lying soundly, sleeping, skin on skin, right where she belongs, with her mother. Beautiful.
Then…FUCK. I JUST WANT HIM BACK.
And then, today. The call from my brother. It was bound to come. I knew they’d been trying for quite a while. Their little boy is just over 3.
She’s pregnant.
He’s sorry.
I’m in tears.
He’s sorry.
It’s twins.
Wanted to wait the 3 months before telling me and others, in case. Why cause more heartbreak. It’s all good so far.
I’m in tears.
He’s sorry.
He tried to call when I was driving to collect the hand and feet casts, figured that might not be the best time to tell me. I say, well no time is good, really. Today is 8 months since he died and what kind of mother am I to have neglected to remember.
I’m in tears.
He’s sorry.
I’m sorry.
This is GREAT news. “Congratulations!” I say. I mean it. TWINS! WOW! Another set of twins in our family. Who would have thought? I try my very best to fight off the thoughts of ‘if they even make it, don’t count your chickens blah blah blah’, and enter into offerings of all the twin stuff we have to pass on.
I hang up.
I’m beside myself.
I’m crying like Joseph died yesterday.
I miss him so much.
I want him back so much.
I want another baby so much.
I want that naked baby lying skin to skin on my chest.
I want so desperately to feed another baby.
I can never have another baby.
I want it all back. He’s not coming back.
There will never be another growing in my belly. My womb is gone forever and there’s not a goddamn thing that can be done about it.
So, how do I move forward?
How do I get to a place where I’m at some sort of peace with this?
I want to feel genuine, heartfelt love and eagerness for the niece/s/nephew/s arriving early next year.
I’m figuring I’ll have progressed along the grief line that little bit more by then. Won't I?
They won’t be the same age as Joseph like my cousins beautiful baby. It will be over a year since he died. I want to be able to dedicate time to help her with these babies. I know all too well the hard work of twins with an older sibling. I really want to give them that time and relish in the true wonder of these new babies.
But what if I can’t?
What if their arrival sets me even further back?
All this - it scares the crap out of me.
I received a text from a friend mid-morning, just saying ‘love you’. I thought – ‘well, that’s nice, is this a significant date?’ I looked at my phone and realised, it’s the 21st – exactly 8 months since Joseph died. What kind of mother forgets the date of the month when her child died?
I have been sick. Very sick. Laid up in bed type sick with a full blown flu for 2 days and very out of it. I haven’t had the usual distractions of the kids, TV or the internet, because I literally couldn't surface from bed. This has left a lot of time to think and think and miss and miss. I would have thought with all that thinking and missing, I’d remember today is the day he’s been dead for 8 months.
I just want him back.
It got to nearly dusk and realised I hadn’t lit his candles today. Lighting candles daily stopped sometime between 6 and 7 months out. I still light them, but not daily. I felt bad that even after realising it’s 8 months today since he died, I still then didn’t go and light candles for him. Sometimes I wonder what the point is in doing that. Candles don’t heal my broken heart. And they don’t bring him back.
I just want him back.
In the week or so after Joseph died I contacted a lady from a company that does plaster cast molds of baby’s hands and feet. They are then painted silver or gold and put in a box frame, either on their own, or with a plaque and photo. This lovely lady went out to the funeral home, about a week and a half after Joseph passed, to get the molds.
So, this was back in January some time. I had spoken to her several times over the phone and arranged many times to go out there to pick the frame, choose gold or silver paint and to give her a photo to be put in the frame. I’d put this off for a long time, until I finally made it there a couple of months back. I gave her the photo, chose the frame etc and left, awaiting her call to come back and pick up when ready. The lovely lady called a number of weeks ago to say it was ready for collection. Again I delayed, sighting financial reasons, getting someone to watch the boys etc.
Last Wednesday, the day after he would have been 8 months old, I took a drive about an hour from my place to pick up the frame. My niece came with me, she met me at my place first. I was in a panic when she arrived. I felt like I really didn’t want to do it. I should never have had the casts done, should never have ordered this expensive keepsake. I didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t want to look at gold painted replicas of his hands and feet. I couldn't bare the thought of it. But, I felt obligated, I owed her money. She drove a long way to take molds of my dead baby’s hands and feet. It’s a big ask. The least I could do is honour her time and this order. I felt quite sick driving there and the anxiety and tension was building within. But, I am so glad that I had organised to have this done. And glad to have this keepsake. I delayed for a long time because it felt like so much, emotionally, to get my head around. These are ‘tangible’ 3D replicas of his big/little hands and feet, more than the photos we have. I’ve wondered, over the last few days since this has been hanging on our lounge room wall, if it’s a bit creepy. It’s taking some getting used to but I hope it will blend into the house, settle in and get as comfortable as the furniture and everyone else here. It's still not enough.
I just want him back.
After the half day of driving to collect the casts. I had a family dinner to attend. It was prearranged that D would stay home with the ‘babies’ (as X calls them) and I would take X. I was feeling shaken by the day as it was, so really should have thought about self-care and just stayed home. I’d been trying to call D from about 4.30 to find out where he was at and remind him that we wouldn’t be home for dinner, but he wasn’t answering. I started panicking from about 5.30. If he’s not home by 5.15 he always calls to let me know where he’s at, or I get onto him to find he’s around the corner. But he just wasn’t answering. I kept calling his mobile and the home number, but no answer from either. This went on for 2 hours and I was feeling the panic setting in. This was out of character, where was he? My mind was taking me to horrible, dark places of where he was and what could have happened to him. The tragic story of the women who’s baby died, her womb taken, robbing her of the chance of birthing any more children, all because of medical negligence, and now she’s left a widowed, single mother of 3 remaining children, fighting for her own life.
Anxiety much? PTS perhaps?
I left my sisters place and drove home, with my niece in the car. Pulled up out the front to see his car there and told her to wait in the car with the boys. I figured, on my signal when I found him inside, dead or dying, she’d drive the boys to my Mum’s so they wouldn’t see an ambulance and witness any more trauma death in their short lives, and I’ll stay here and pick up the pieces. I found him in bed, sick, with the before mentioned flu. I was due at the restaurant 15 minutes earlier and selfishly said I gotta go. I should have stayed home, but I’d talked it up to X, told him it would be fun because he’d get to play with his favourite cuzzybro and have my attention the whole time, so I felt it unfair to turn around and tell him last minute that he couldn’t go. I didn’t realise how sick he was until he took the next day off work and didn’t surface all day. This is a man who never takes sickies, and has a very strong Catholic work ethic (and he’s not even Catholic).
At the restaurant is my cousin with her 8 month old baby. Her baby and Joseph were born just over a couple of weeks apart. I find it so difficult to be around her. I don’t want to be. I want to embrace this little baby but I just can’t. Yet. She’s just a constant reminder of where Joseph would be at and it breaks my heart every time I see her. I was out the front of the restaurant filling in my sisters on the days event. They were asking me how the day before was. How that day went picking up the framed casts etc and this baby’s Mama was out there. She interjected straight away with how she’s “tried getting inked footprints but A gets squirmy and won’t cooperate so I’ll have to wait till she’s asleep and if she’s like that how would she go getting casts done?, cause that’s something she really wants to do, and, A’s feet and hands are so tiny, not like Joseph’s, my God, his feet were huge”! My blood was boiling. I just wanted her to shut up. I just wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up. I wanted to beg her not to compare my dead sons hands and feet to her baby’s…who is well and truly alive and 8 months old. I feel so bad because I know there is no malicious intent in innocent, everyday conversations like this. That if she knew how much I felt like I was dying inside when this was going on, she’d be horrified. How will I get to a point where I’m not relating everything back to Joseph and me?
FUCK. I just want him back.
There have been quite a few pregnancy and baby announcements lately, some from other Mama’s at kinder, including the kinder teacher. One kinder Mama has become a friend over the last few years and I felt kind of blindsided when she told me her news. Of course I’m happy for her. But, it made me feel more heartbroken for me. I had to share with her that when conversations around her pregnancy come up, I’ll have to step out because it’s just too difficult for me to take part in small talk like that. It’s nothing personal. Pregnancy talk is just too much for me right now. There are many masks I can and do wear, but that it not one of them.
Then, there’s gorgeous Sally, who’s second beautiful baby daughter arrived earthside, safe and sound the day before what should have been her big sister’s 3rd birthday. I’m over the moon at this news. So glad that the anxious wait is over and that she’s here. It’s a hard place to be though, to be giddy with excitement for her and her partner, but so heartbroken for me (and us). How can one feel such differing emotions at the same time? I’ve seen the photo, beautiful it is. Baby lying soundly, sleeping, skin on skin, right where she belongs, with her mother. Beautiful.
Then…FUCK. I JUST WANT HIM BACK.
And then, today. The call from my brother. It was bound to come. I knew they’d been trying for quite a while. Their little boy is just over 3.
She’s pregnant.
He’s sorry.
I’m in tears.
He’s sorry.
It’s twins.
Wanted to wait the 3 months before telling me and others, in case. Why cause more heartbreak. It’s all good so far.
I’m in tears.
He’s sorry.
He tried to call when I was driving to collect the hand and feet casts, figured that might not be the best time to tell me. I say, well no time is good, really. Today is 8 months since he died and what kind of mother am I to have neglected to remember.
I’m in tears.
He’s sorry.
I’m sorry.
This is GREAT news. “Congratulations!” I say. I mean it. TWINS! WOW! Another set of twins in our family. Who would have thought? I try my very best to fight off the thoughts of ‘if they even make it, don’t count your chickens blah blah blah’, and enter into offerings of all the twin stuff we have to pass on.
I hang up.
I’m beside myself.
I’m crying like Joseph died yesterday.
I miss him so much.
I want him back so much.
I want another baby so much.
I want that naked baby lying skin to skin on my chest.
I want so desperately to feed another baby.
I can never have another baby.
I want it all back. He’s not coming back.
There will never be another growing in my belly. My womb is gone forever and there’s not a goddamn thing that can be done about it.
So, how do I move forward?
How do I get to a place where I’m at some sort of peace with this?
I want to feel genuine, heartfelt love and eagerness for the niece/s/nephew/s arriving early next year.
I’m figuring I’ll have progressed along the grief line that little bit more by then. Won't I?
They won’t be the same age as Joseph like my cousins beautiful baby. It will be over a year since he died. I want to be able to dedicate time to help her with these babies. I know all too well the hard work of twins with an older sibling. I really want to give them that time and relish in the true wonder of these new babies.
But what if I can’t?
What if their arrival sets me even further back?
All this - it scares the crap out of me.
12 August, 2011
08 August, 2011
Oh Bless His Heart
I cut Googie's fingernails which resulted in a meltdown, a screaming fit in fact. He was pulling at his fingertips, hysterically demanding they be put back on. This lead me to the couch with him for some snuggle time and reassurance. Dummy in his mouth, nonnies in his arms, telling him it will all be alright, everything will be OK and that they will grow back.
I found myself caught out. I did what I sometimes do and and imagined he was Joseph in my arms, cuddled up for comfort because something wasn't right in his world. I had tears in my eyes and couldn't stop. I just missed him so much in that very moment and wished so much for it to really be him. But it wasn't.
"Why are you crying Mummy?", says Xavier.
"Oh, because I'm sad. I miss Joseph and I'm sad that he didn't get to come home with us, that he's not here."
"Well don't cry Mummy, don't be sad."
"Sometimes it makes me sad though, and that's OK"
"But Mummy, you've got all theeese babies here!" *he says as he waves his arm in a gestural manner to his brothers, like he's the Wheel of Fortune hostess showing off all those alluring prizes up for grabs*
"Quite right Xavier", I say.
Oh, these boys, what a tonic they are.
I do count my blessings.
I found myself caught out. I did what I sometimes do and and imagined he was Joseph in my arms, cuddled up for comfort because something wasn't right in his world. I had tears in my eyes and couldn't stop. I just missed him so much in that very moment and wished so much for it to really be him. But it wasn't.
"Why are you crying Mummy?", says Xavier.
"Oh, because I'm sad. I miss Joseph and I'm sad that he didn't get to come home with us, that he's not here."
"Well don't cry Mummy, don't be sad."
"Sometimes it makes me sad though, and that's OK"
"But Mummy, you've got all theeese babies here!" *he says as he waves his arm in a gestural manner to his brothers, like he's the Wheel of Fortune hostess showing off all those alluring prizes up for grabs*
"Quite right Xavier", I say.
Oh, these boys, what a tonic they are.
I do count my blessings.
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