I Am Here

I am here.

I feel your pain and am so very near--to the heart, to the core, to the reality that is so sweet and faces the shore.

I hear the pain that resonates in your pours so pure and clear.  I am here.

Do not fear, shed it.  For the truth is coming straight away.

This journey is rock rumble and it will eat you fast but the thing that will last is the path of focus, narrow, sharp and forgiving past.

I know you feel it sister, brother.  I know you do.

Be the movement, the pass, the breath.  Be the constant togetherness.  Feel the pull of much more than you see.

When it awakes it will consume the essence of free.

Love your child.  Love her/him so full it consumes.  That child will tell you a tale more complete than the presence you live.  Heart break and let it go--is all we can know.  All we can know is to live a human life planting seeds of fruitful grow.

Ode To The Family

Ode to The Family

We love The Family.

                         We do.

                         We do.

They embrace levels within us so true and true.

                                                      

Grandmas, Grandpas, Aunties and Uncles too, some are blood.

                                                                                         Our brood is grand.

Some are new, and kind as the land.

Elders and babies, we are an ageless look—for the guidance and connection is the master book.

And this is why we love our family so.

Sisters Grief

I held space for a gentle friend.
Her daughter a kindred spirit to my Nora's end.

We've cried.
We've sang the story of our families.
Together with our men we have grown stronger with each bend.

Twisting, aching, laughing at the bizarre life we now lead as
                Mama of life
                Mama of death.

Harsh
        Yes but this is our then, now, on.

We are sisters grief and I thank her forever more.

March 26, 2007: The Quiet

I am lonely.  Large groups continue to exhaust me but one-on-one time with friends and family is perfect and lifts me.

The cards, emails and phone calls have dwindled considerably.  I don't doubt people think of us and remember but the contact is small.   I understand it is because friends and family have the everyday lives to sort and bustle through.  I miss the contact and wish I could be in a place of relax with this, a place of love. But it is difficult.

Sadly the quiet only fuels the fire of fear in me that the world and I will forget her.

I acknowledge this is part of my work yet it is another rough patch, living with the quiet.

March 23, 2007: 3 Weeks Since & Living Limbo

Three weeks since she was born, since I released her. The pain pressure this week has been large.  I have cried a lot.  The trauma wounds are deep and I am feeling them all too well.  The weather outside is not helping.  I find that waking up to heavy clouds is simply a reminding reflection of how I feel--lost in this grey abyss.  


I don't want to feel this way.  I want to climb out, yet how do I do that?  


What I am finding is that even though I yearn to move forward and begin planning again, acting "normal" and productive only creates more anxiety than I can handle.  I know my present movements need to be small, delicate and very present based.  


I must be patient with my own process.  I must be accepting of going slow, of living in limbo.  My limbo is this grief work.  I must acknowledge that the only certainties in this uncertain reality are my choices to finding understanding.


I see now that my self care means being patient, accepting, loving and slow.  Finding meditation in the little tasks (sweeping, weeding, writing) is what grounds me to the core of my work; building myself back up.  I am small now but I will grow.  I will be whole again.  The void, the wound will heal and my scar will be my reminder of where I've been and how I've grown.  


Sitting here in Limbo
Waiting for the tide turn.
Yeah, now, sitting here in Limbo,
So many things I've got to learn.
Meanwhile, they're putting up a resistance,
But I know that my faith will lead me on.

Sitting here in Limbo
Waiting for the dice to roll.
Yeah, now, sitting here in Limbo,
Still got some time to search my soul.
Meanwhile, they're putting up a resistance,
But I know that my faith will lead me on.

I don't know where life will take me,
But I know where I have been.
I don't know what life will show me,
But I know what I have seen.
Tried my hand at love and friendship,
That is past and gone.
And now it's time to move along.

Sitting here in Limbo
Like a bird ain't got a song.
Yeah, I'm sitting here in Limbo
And I know it won't be long
'Til I make my getaway, now.
Meanwhile, they're putting up a resistance,
But I know that my faith will lead me on.

I don't know where life will take me,
But I know where I have been.
I don't know what life will show me,
But I know what I have seen.
Tried my hand at love and friendship,
That is past and gone.
And now it's time to move along.

Gonna lead me on now.
Meanwhile, they're putting up resistance,
But I know that my faith will lead me on.
Sitting in Limbo, Limbo, Limbo.
Sitting in Limbo, Limbo, Limbo.
Sitting in Limbo, Limbo, Limbo.
Meanwhile, they're putting up a resistance,
But I know that my faith will lead me on.


~Jimmy Cliff "Sitting In Limbo"

March 21, 2007: She Spoke To Me In A Dream

Dream:

It was her celebration, her memorial.  I held Nora's body.

I saw my cousins and invited them to see her.  Somehow Nora woke and began moving just as she did when she was in-utero.  I started talking to her.  We all cried deeply.  She opened her eyes and they were ocean blue.  She kept looking at me with wonder, wisdom.  She knew why she was there.  I, on the other hand, was over come with motherly hunger.  Over and over I tried to wrap her feet in blankets, wanting to bundle her in order to warm her body but she would wriggle away and without mouthing words, she began speaking to me through her eyes.  She told me she did not need to be bundled.

I carried her to Alex.  Alex and I searched and held her in awe.  We gathered our old hopes again, our old dreams of raising a live daughter for this world.  Once our focus was on the hopes, the dreams and not on her in our arms; she left us again.

Her body was limp and just a body.  Her soul, her spirit had left.  As I held her body to my chest, I cried great pain again.  But the eyes of Nora were real and intimately knowing.  I found comfort in that memory.

Brothers

Yo mama, why you tell me to be so true?
Why mama do I feel so too?

Because dear heart, the world awaits you.

You my soul, my mission quest of fate.
You be my ocean
             my meadow
             my Pacific City dune.

We be connected, more than we know.

You my life blood
                    and so and so.

Dance, be righteous
Feel the earth's pull.

Move in sync and love one another so.

March 7, 2007: New Reality, New Maternity

My reality is this:
I kiss and hold a photograph of my daughter.  I kiss and caress the bag which holds her ashes.  I kiss and smell my daughter's blankets and birth hat.

I thank my daughter for her presence as I feel her everywhere.

I hold a bit of guilt about this situation and what it means to be a parent of a deceased child--the conflicting thoughts that race through my head about moving on and having another child, not going back to work right now and the world around me forgetting.

I am afraid of forgetting.

I do not want to forget.  I want to always cherish Nora as my first child and honor her.
We are a family.

I continue telling myself that even though she is not here physically does not diminish her place in our family as our child; our love made of love.

I do not want our world to forget that we are parents of Nora, parents to her future siblings.  And even though we will conceive again, we never will forget to hold Nora in our daily movements and intention.

This time is my time to raise myself.  To be okay stumbling to learn this new rhythm of parenting a child that is not physically present yet the lessons are just as deep and meaningful.

This is my reality.
This is my maternity.

March 2, 2007: Sibling Talk

I now am beginning to hear the words of Nora's siblings tell her story, share her person to the world.

"Raise your hand if you have a sister?" their preschool teacher will ask.  I hear their voices clear and true sitting in that circle singing, "I do."

We are not afraid to share this weave in our family fabric.  Nora is not on earth, but she is everywhere.  Nora's life cycle was shorter than what the family wanted but we are lucky to call her daughter, sister, grandchild, niece.

Her siblings will know the meaning and celebration of life on such a deep and loving level because we will not be afraid to remember.

February 28, 2007: Birth

Dearest Daughter,

Such a long journey we have traveled.  My Nora, you are no longer living within me yet I feel you everywhere.  I do not feel alone or separated from  you.

Your birth was a gift.  You traveled so beautifully and gracefully through my body and when we were ready, you were released to earth's gentle hands.

I held you.
We held you.
Your papa showed you off as a jewel--the fire jewel you are.

Your weight was delicious.
I bathed you in mama care.  Your family bathed you in tenderness and love.
All of you.

You are our baby.
You are our Nora.

February 23, 2007: How?

I hold so many fears.
I fear holding her after birth and what that will feel like.  How can I let her go?

I fear this moment--this frozen time of "in it," just feeling and seeking out release but there is none to be had.

I feel dry yet the tears keep coming.
I feel broken, sore, in pieces all around my core.

The shock drug has worn its ugly welcome and it is gradually existing; grief.
Full, sticky grief has moved in.

I am loosing my first baby and all I am left with is grey--Grey, sticky, all surrounding grief.

I never knew a pain that never leaves.

I want so much to be present with baby but I find myself steps ahead because of fear and not holding her long enough.

I don't want to feel that guilt after she has left me but how do I stay focused on my connection with her?
How
HOw
HOW

So many question marks it only reminds me of her spine; curved, tender, exposed.
How?

My Husband Is Das Shit!

My Husband is Das Shit!

He sweetly embraces me as I weep.
He sat beside me in fire and sweep.

He is Das Good, Pure, True.

He is my life inner, for no fool could come close to such an awesome match.

We be Yes
We be Hella No
We be together
           forever and ever
           blazing in the middle with the family circle.

Lucky us, oh Life
                      Lucky us.

February 22, 2007: Ease Release

Spirit Grandmothers
Spirit Grandfathers

They surround me, they embrace her.
They bring such deep peace, such love, such tenderness.
They ease her out of my body with their gentle, never letting her fall, never letting her experience anything but

LOVE
JOY
WATER CALM

They lift her to another light, they cherish her, they kiss and ease her.
She is never worried.
She is never afraid.
She is never in pain.
She only feels depth of connection and release
                                                              sweet, beautiful release for our daughter.

She is warm and vibrant in her elders' hands.
She is life, she is whole.

February 22, 2007: Hurt

I wish the pain would ease.
I sit here;
write
cry
write
hurt
write
moan.

Where do I hold the pain?
Where do I gather the one calm image that somehow
alleviates
alleviates
soothes?

There are no images, no peace--just exposed hurt.
The pain of letting Nora go too soon feels crushing.
I just want it to all be a dream.
                                    horrible but a dream.
Wake up!

I feel here still.
I feel her move within me and that slices even deeper because in a very short while I have to hold
Limp.

My limp, small babe.

The It

I feel It.
          The It that sings pain and ache.
           This time though it is in early surfer waves
                                                                     soft
                                                                     purposeful
                                                                     labor.

She sits with her husband in the trauma room knowing It will come.

She is mother, wife, woman.
                                 Life wife--sometimes a slave to emotion and love.

We are together.
            She story.
            My story.

I held her and it feels of sister.

Her husband, my husband.
Her parents, my parents.

The list long but such tenderness knowing We
                                                                    Stories
                                                                    Living family fabric are different.

And the It
              remains the same.

Our Story

Once upon a time, deep in a wooded grove there lived a young couple.  The couple's house throbbed with the same warm hues of reds, oranges and yellows that nestled deep in the woman and man’s hearts.  The house and surrounding forest felt dense with sweet liken and evergreen huckleberry life.  And the young woman and man loved each other very much and wanted a child made of the same love they felt for one another.

The young woman hoped for a child with eyes the color of ocean and sky, just like her beloved husband's.  The young man had hoped for a child with strong, graceful hands capable of nursing family and earth, just like his cherished wife's.  They hoped for much.

One autumn day when the leaves showne with brilliant ambers and the wind settled for the sun, the woman felt a change in her body and heart.  She and her husband knew she was with child.  The young couple’s hopes were being born--they were going to be parents.  Such love they felt for one another!

 The child grew and grew in her mother’s womb.  With time, the couple learned that they were pregnant with a baby girl.  The young one was full of firery movement.  Each evening when the curtains were drawn and the husband rubbed the great belly full of life and the wee girl kicked with fire delight and sumersaulted freely maybe three, four, sometimes five or six times before her night's rest.  “She is her own, is she not?” laughed the couple, also snuggling in for the night.

In her dreams and while doing her daily chores, the young mother began to hear a sweet voice sing softly to her, “Wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya, wind-aa-ya, ho-ho-ho-ho, heh-ee-o, heh-ee-o, ya-ya-ya.  Nora va, va.”  The woman was confused by the words, for she did not know what they meant.  But she knew they were of importance. 

While tilling the earth for a new garden, the young mother again heard the sweet whispered song and knew what needed to be done.  She held her growing belly and the hand of her beloved, “Husband, I believe our daughter’s name is Nora, and we must honor her with this name.”

“How do you know, dear wife?” 

“The wind and dreams told me.” 

From that day on, their daughter was called Nora.  Beautiful Nora.  

 As the air became cooler and the earth hardened the woman felt a freeze run through her.  The gentle wind again spoke to her.

“Your child is not yours.  Your child is of the air and of the fire.  Your child is of fierce truth and understanding.  You must learn from her and not be afraid.  Her life cycle on this earth is for now and only for a short time more.  You will birth her in love and you will release her so she may venture to where she is needed.  Young mother, do not be afraid.  For you and your loving husband will be cared for while you learn to understand the meaning of your daughter.  You will never be alone.  You will be held in love, the same love you hold for your Nora.”

The young woman cried deep sobs.  She did not want her Nora to be anywhere but within and later beside her.  She wanted time.  She wanted Nora to live a long life on the same soil she and her husband walked and loved. 

She stumbled to the forest where her husband worked.  “Please help me,” moaned the wife.  “I am afraid.  I have heard the wind speak that we have little time with our Nora.  She is not meant to be of the earth but of the air and fire.  We are supposed to learn yet I hurt too badly to think of anything but my heart.  It feels broken.  What are we to do?”

The healing husband hugged his wife.  He loved her so and while feeling his own pain whispered, “We are to feel the pain right now and think later.”

At the foot of a nurse log covered with fresh dewy mother ferns, the young couple began to feel older than their years.  The tears ran down their rosy cheeks large and fast, blocking out all vision except that of their family.

The earth held them tenderly as they felt their sadness.

It was time to sleep, yet the mother and father could not rest their bodies or minds.  They yearned for strength to move through the pain.  They needed guidance and help, so they hugged deeply and spoke aloud, “Where are you?  We are afraid?” 

The dark room filled with rose light and a voice clear and true sang, “I am here.  I will never leave you.  You are my mother.  You are my father.  I am your daughter.  I am your teacher.  You shall always love and remember me.  I am of your heart and mind, and although I will be away from you physically, I will always be with you in your thoughts and feelings.”

“I feel comfort in your words, dear Nora, but please tell us more.  We feel weak and broken.  We need your guidance.  What will you teach us and how will we understand?” begged the mother.

“I will teach you how to see me.  I am of fire and strength.  I show the meaning of love.  You will understand more as time progresses and you exercise patience and acceptance.”

“What will we do when we feel weak and hopeless and when we miss you?”

“You will sing my song and feel me with you.  You will always love me and will never forget.  We are a part of each other.  We are family.  I am a part of your life story.”

Softly then the wind sang, “Wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya, wind-aa-ya, ho-ho-ho-ho, heh-ee-o, heh-ee-o, ya-ya-ya.  Nora va, va.”  And the parents were soothed to sleep.

Nora’s birth was perfect.  Mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, all children sang Nora’s song as she entered the world.  She was born and passed to her next journey in the same moment. Her earth life story had been the warmth and calm of her mother’s loving womb.

Through the tears of sadness the wife and husband felt deep gratitude that their beautiful daughter had only known sweet softness in her life.  They missed her yet they knew she was with them always.  They also knew they were parents and even though they must parent in a very different way from others, it was their responsibility to share Nora’s life with others and celebrate the love she continuously offered them.  They needed to honor the life she lived on earth and the life she was to live in air and fire.

On an unusually warm late-winter day, the parents of Nora walked along a pebbly beach with hundreds of loving family and friends to build fire, sing songs and open their hearts to the possibility of a greater appreciation of love and life.

Just as the fire began to roar an eagle graced the skyline, soaring high, so high she seemed to kiss the parted clouds.  The husband and wife, who were now full parents, held one another in strength, unity and yet—so much hope.

And with each passing day, the parents grew stronger and happier for they felt Nora in each step, each touch of garden blossoms, and each raven call.  And in this strength they heard the wind sing loud and true, “You are to be parents again to two more children of earth and water.  They will be their own and live a full life cycle on earth beside you.  They, like Nora, will teach you many things and you will teach them of their sister. They will love her tenderly and protectively.  They will be fuller humans because of her.  You will learn deeper levels of love from and with one another.  Call to these children and do not be afraid.  Trust in the strength of your hearts.  Trust in the strength of your family.  You will live a blessed life because you will see it as that.”

The wind then sang deeply and purposefully, “Wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya, wind-aa-ya, ho-ho-ho-ho, heh-ee-o, heh-ee-o, ya-ya-ya.  Nora va, va.  Fin-ley va, va.  Kai va, va.”  The children were soon to come and the woman and man would begin the second journey. 

In spring’s warm grasp, during a deep, difficult night, full of sleeplessness, the mother with eyes the same color as the earth felt the movement of change.  Moss, rosehip and budding lavender held her hand as she told her dearly loved husband that summer was approaching and they were to have a son. In the nearby tree, a raven family called the song of truth that the cycle was to begin again.  The mother and father knelt in the rosemary bush and cried, not for hurt but for the delicious taste of joy and possibility.