April 20, 2007 "What Normal?"

I feel melancholy.  I miss the old way of feeling--normal.

The normal where I can write a date on the calendar months ahead and follow through with going somewhere. Maybe sitting with a smoke and drink with friends while talking about nothing but doing something.  This new normal has an after taste I cannot seem to ignore nor lessen.

I understand my life has shifted to a point that is unrecognizable right now.  I just wish for familiarity.

Nothing is familiar in this grief.  I write because it keeps somewhat grounded.  I share these thoughts because it hurts to much to bottle them.  I write to share because I believe somewhere I am connecting with someone.

There are times, like this moment, when my heart feel empty.  So empty my heart, soul ache.  I have to push it out in a primal groan.  That is how I feel again.  Feel released and centered again.  I am just so damned tired of cycle.

March 28, 2007: Cut Hair, Emotional Shedding

Today is Nora's one-month birth anniversary.  I am cutting my hair today.  I am cutting it short and similar to how it was when Alex and I fell in love.  I am nervous but ready to embrace this important shedding to gain something new.  Cut hair of pain.  Short hair for breath of green.

April 8, 2007: Lesson or Child?

I gaze at photos of my daughter and think, how can she be so beautiful?  Her shoulders, arms, nose, lips, long toes, her beautiful hands.  Such tender perfection I was only able to hold for a short while.  I wish I could have her here to hold and bath with mama care.

I feel cheated.  The anger and sorrow are married.  They take turns surfacing to fight and make me exhausted.  Tonight, I feel both.  I am vulnerable to their mission to breech and dive to a greater place of something--awareness? kindness? compassion?--all are a massive, disappointing unknown.

I want to talk about my baby as a baby and not as a lesson to understanding.  I hate it.  I hate relating this experience to survival on a boat adrift--some days I collect ample survival understanding and others I loose it all, never to be found again.  I feel so lost.

I wish I were exhausted from feedings, sore arms from baby holding, anything but this.  I loath this pain.  I do not want to be in this here and now.  It hurts too much.

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.

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?

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.