Mother's Day blahs

I'm not looking forward to this weekend at all.

Not only is it Mother's Day on Sunday, but Saturday is May 11, 2013.....Catelyn died on September 11, 2011.  That means that this particular month marks 20 months since Catelyn died.

Catelyn was 20 months old when she died.....  (okay, so she was 20 months and 13 days old, but those extra few days, which I would usually argue on behalf of, don't really feel all that important right this moment).

It feels so unbearable that, after this weekend, her time of death out numbers her time of living.  (Yes, it could still be argued that she was in the womb for about 8 months, so she was closer to 28 months living, but again, that isn't a comfort.)

My heart aches.

It still feels like yesterday that I held her.

It's 7:09 right now.  When Catelyn was alive, I would we would end our night by cuddling and watching Wheel of Fortune.  Just before the final round, I would tell her, "okay, it's nigh-nigh" and she would rush over to our staircase and energetically rattle the child safety gate that prevented her from taking the stairs alone.  We'd get upstairs, and I'd put her in her jammies, we'd snuggle and watch the final individual puzzle, and then I'd carry her to her room and lay her down.  Before I'd leave, I'd sing her the bedtime song my mom made up for me when I was a little tyke.

"Time to go to sleep Catelyn.  Dream a little dream Catelyn.  When you wake up in the morning, the sun will shine brightly on you."

I can hear her little voice, and her fun jabbering.  It seems impossible that she could be dead for 20 months.

When the movie "The Wedding Singer" came out, I adored it.  I still have most of the movie memorized.  When I think of how much living a life without Catelyn growing up in front of my eyes hurts, all I can think of is a scene with Drew Barrymore (Julia) & Adam Sandler (Robbie):

Julia: Okay, so it was your first wedding back. Of course, things are gonna be a little shaky.

Robbie: A little shaky? I hate weddings. I hate the bride, I hate the groom, I want them to be miserable 'cause that's what I am.

Now, please understand that I don't want to see anyone else as miserable as I am, but at the same time, I can't stand to see people celebrating and loving life and enjoying each second.

The reality, which I often lose sight of, is that everyone has something that is causing them pain in their lives.  I am not the only one.  Just because someone enjoys Mother's Day or Halloween or Birthdays or Christmas doesn't mean that there aren't other days that they struggle with.

I think it comes down to the fact that it's hard to know how to find a balance between feeling like I've lost everything, and feeling like it's okay to move forward.  It's hard to just "be" on Mother's Day.  I don't feel like a Mother, and remembering that I was one hurts.

So many friends and family members work so hard to include me on Mother's Day, but I honestly can't fathom how I could still be a mother when my toddler died.

the Liebster Award

Wow!  Apparently I’ve been nominated for my first blog award - The Liebster Award!

Thank you, Phenomenal Lass for your support of Missing My Catelyn, and for the shout out.  :)  I started this blog as a way to get out the feelings pent up inside me as a result of Catelyn's death, and I truly appreciate all the wonderful feedback from my readers.  I can only hope that my blog will continue to enlighten others who are enduring hardships of any kind.

Liebster Award Rules:

1. Thank your Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog and link back to their blog.
2. Answer the 11 questions from the nominator, list 11 random facts about yourself and create 11 questions for your nominees.
3. Present the Liebster Blog Award to 3-5 bloggers who you feel deserve to be noticed (other than the person who tagged you). These blogs must have no greater than 3000 followers. Leave a comment on their blog to let them know they’ve been nominated by you.
4. Copy and paste the blog award on your blog. Post all the items listed in item 2 on your blog also.

Here, in no particular order, are 11 things you may not know about me:

1. When I was a little girl, I wanted my name to be Nicki.
2. Not only did I give myself a haircut as a child, but I gave one to one of my stuffed animals too.
3. I have a crafting problem  :)
4. One thing I have always wanted to be is a mechanic.
5. Thus far, I have never been drunk in my life, nor do I plan to be.
6. I took up knitting in January so I can make baby hats to donate to local hospitals.
7. I LOVE singing at karaoke night - any time, any where!!
8. At a concert, when I was 19, I was up near the stage, and the crowd surged, and I was nearly trampled.
9. As a young child, I had a bar of Lava Soap placed in my mouth for sticking my tongue out at my babysitter's daughter, and it sizzled and burned!!
10. I used to adore skating (both ice skating & roller skating)
11. I was on a TV show based out of Topeka, KS called "Whizzo" when I was ~3 years old.

Here are my answers to Phenomenal Lass' questions:

1. What is your favorite thing about blogging?
         Well, for starters, I love writing, and find it very therapeutic.  Also, I tend to be a coward outside of my blog, so it's nice to have a 'safe space' where I feel like I can write whatever I feel and not be judged.  I assume that if you don't want to know what I have to say, you won't read it!  :)

2. If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, what would it be?
        Hmmm....so many movies are so important to me for different reasons....it's hard to choose.  I guess I'd pick 'The Green Mile'.

3. What is your greatest strength?
       Perhaps my creativity is my greatest strength.....I don't really know. 

4. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
      Switzerland, Ireland, England or France

5. What’s your favorite song (of the moment)?
     Respect by Erasure

6. Are you what you wanted to be when you grew up?
      Nope.

7. If you had to retake one class from school, what would it be and why?
    Art, because it lets my soul breathe

8. If you had to commit one of the Seven Deadly Sins, which one would you choose and why?
    Probably envy.  I constantly compare myself to others, and often want what they have...so why not stick with what I know, right?

9. Your new best friend is a character from a book. Who do you pick?
   I haven't really read much recently, so I guess I'll have to pick Stephanie Plum....she's funny, adventurous, believes in herself, and is easily entertained!

10. What’s the best thing you ate this week?
    Grilled pork chops

11. What are your plans for the weekend?
    Going on an overnight trip with my husband, and then celebrating his grandfather's 92nd birthday!

11 Questions for the nominees

1. What 4 words would you use to describe yourself?
2. What inspires you?
3. What did you want to be when you were little?
4. What is your favorite way to spend your day off?
5. What do you enjoy most about blogging?
6. Describe your favorite childhood memory
7. What movie/book title would you pick for your life story?
8. What's the best advice you have ever received
9. What are your goals for 2013?
10. If you were told you had to spend a year in isolation on a desert island, but you could bring 5 things with you, what would you would bring?
11. What chore do you absolutely hate to do?

And the nominees are:

1. Ink It Up! with Jessica
2. Tinker With Ink & Paper
3. An Urban Cottage
4. The Lovely Residence

I am a work in progress.

Since my last post, I've taken some time off from work to take part in an intensive outpatient therapy program.  I have been learning a lot about myself, and I'd like to share a little bit of what I've learned.

(Disclaimer - for those who know me, this may be harder to read than reading my first ever post about how Catelyn, my toddler, died.)

1. I am a hardcore perfectionist, which means:

• I think in terms of all or nothing (ex: if I did 99 things right, and 1 thing wrong, I am a complete failure).
• I procrastinate in fear of making mistakes, but if things go well, I continue to procrastinate because it worked in the past, and if it doesn't work out the next time, it's only because I didn't have enough time....
• I re-write almost everything: my blog posts, emails, letters, notes, etc.

2. I am not very assertive, but when I am, it's usually in a passive-aggressive kind of way.
3. I LOVE DOING ART!!!!  (This may not be a surprise to some of you, but it was to me!)
4. I am talented, creative, and have a lot to offer the world.
5. I have spent a large part of my life believing I am worthless/unworthy.
6. I have spent a large part of my life thinking that if I am not being productive, I am unlovable.
7. I am EXTREMELY hard on myself.

There are many other things I have learned, but I won't bore you with the details.... 

However, one very important thing I would like to share is that Catelyn's death does not define who I am.  Her death, of course, was quite tragic, and I will grieve the rest of my life.  Catelyn's death will influence the decisions I make.  Her death has changed me (hopefully for the better).  Catelyn's death is a part of me, but it alone does not make me who I am.

This idea is a foreign concept; something I had not previously considered.

You see, somewhere around 8 months, grieving Catelyn's death became a little less daunting.  I found myself laughing, joking, smiling, etc.  I thought I was making progress. 

At the one year angel-versary of her death, however, I was entirely overwhelmed.  I felt like I was back at square one, almost as though time had not passed at all.  I was reliving her death, and I couldn't break my thoughts from the overwhelming sadness.  I started to spiral downward.  I felt like nothing was ever going to change, and that for the rest of my life, I would always be sad.  I was convinced that nothing was going to get any better. 

I tried to fight the feelings of despair, but they were stronger than I was, so I started giving in to them, and I fell into a deep dark pit.  I was stuck, and couldn't fathom a way out, much less see one.  Luckily, I was introduced to the idea of outpatient therapy, and I was placed in a program that helped me determine my negative thought and behavior patterns, and begin to change them.

Now, I realize that I am a work in progress.  I will always be a work in progress, and that's okay.  It is a battle to chip away at long standing beliefs, but I know that I am worth the fight.  It is incredibly challenging trying to re-train my thoughts and behaviors, but not only is it what I want, it is what Catelyn wants for me too.

So, here's to the future, and to all of the other work's in progress who have taken the time to read this.  To those who are struggling, to those who have found their paths, to those who are in the midst of rerouting their paths in order to reach their goals.

Whether you have found your way, or haven't quite begun the journey.  Never give up.  Your life has purpose, and to put it simply: you are worth it.

the bitter truth

We all have moments that are up, and moments that are down.  No one's life is truly any "better" than anyone else's, it's just that we don't cycle on the same timeline, so sometimes when we are down, others are up, and vice versa. 

The truth is that everyone struggles.  And right now, I am struggling....battling even.

I am finding myself at the hard place where it feels like I don't fit in anywhere.  I am no longer who I was, and I can't quite figure out where I belong. 

If I were a puzzle piece, I would probably be one of those ones that you've spilled something on.  My puzzle piece has become smudged, warped.  Or maybe my puzzle piece is one that the dog has chewed the edge of.  No matter which one you pick, I can't seem to figure out how or where I fit.  I keep turning myself around and around trying to make myself fit back into my space that seems wrong.  My puzzle piece has changed, but I can't seem to figure out how to fix it.  I've thought about trying to trim the edges with scissors, or even take a hammer and puond myself into place.

I can't see where I fit.  I feel completely lost.

You see, I gave birth to a wonderful daughter.  She was a part of our life for 28 months (8 in womb and 20 out of womb), and now, physically, she is gone.  She was our only child, so by appearance, it looks as though my husband and I have no children. 

So, when I am with friends who have not had children I cannot fully relate to their lives, because I did in fact have a child, though she isn't physically seen.  And on the flip side, when I am with friends who have children, I cannot fully relate to their lives, because my child isn't physically here.

I am in this odd sort of limbo-like state.  I know I belong, and I know I fit in, but I am trying so hard to figure it out that I end up feeling isolated instead of comforted or protected.

There are plenty of people who deeply care about me and love me.  They hurt to see me hurting.  They want to help me.  They want to make me better.  They would do anything to ease my pain.  They would fix me if they could.  They think I am strong as I go through all of this....but the bitter truth is that I am falling apart. 

I struggle to get out of bed in the morning.  I still find glimpses of good things, but they are only momentary.  My view is fogged over, and I'm stuck in this dark, hard place.  There is no magic fix - believe me, I've looked. 

There is nothing I can do on my own right now to make me better, so I am trying to seek help from others.  Essentially, I'm wandering in the fog with my arms outstretched, and when I come into contact with someone, anyone, I grab them to me and try to explain what I need.  I don't really know what I need...

So here it is in plain language....I'm 16 months into my bereavement, and I'm struggling with major depression.  I can no longer take care of myself, so I am seeking help from my therapist.  I am happy to report that we have figured out a plan to help me get the care that I need. 

I am greatly looking forward to moving out of the fog.

Random Ramblings (from Jan. 2012)

Posted on Facebook on Friday, January 20, 2012:

So I attended a TCF meeting last night and one of the questions asked of our group of grieving parents, siblings and grandparents was:  has anyone told you 'it's time to move on, and how did you handle it?'

So here are my thoughts:  WHAT!?!  'It's time to move on?' 

Um, NO.  That is not even acceptable. No one in this world has the right to dictate to people around them HOW to handle their grief or the TIMELINE in which it should be taken care of. 

I'm only 4.5 months into grieving the loss of Catelyn and can clearly see that losing a child is something that will haunt you the entire rest of your life. 

It's not something you just 'get over', EVER.

You see, you had this child, and felt like it was your responsibility to raise them and take care of them and make sure they stayed safe.  Now they are gone (and it doesn't matter how long), and everything you do and see and say and feel reminds you of them, PERIOD. 

You find yourself thinking 'my child would've loved this', 'wouldn't it be great if my child was here to see this', 'my child loved ________'.  There is simply no 'getting over it' or 'moving on'. 

Every moment from the day of their death or the moments leading up to it will haunt you for the rest of your life.  Your mind is on constant re-wind and re-play looking for the answer that would've changed everything.  The worst part is that you can never go back and 'fix' it.

I'm sure it seems well-intentioned to think 'isn't it time to move on' on the exterior, but let's face it, that is NOT HELPFUL.

Life will never be the same again after losing a child.  All bereaved parents are doing the best that they can to rebuild their lives after they have lost a child. 

Nothing can make it 'right' again.

And, while that child isn't there physically, they will ALWAYS be a part of every moment: in spirit, in heart and in mind.

My Un-Apology (from Dec. 2011)

My Facebook post from Thursday, December 29, 2011 (only changes: names removed):

Do you remember those 'everything I learned I learned from _____' posters?   Well, this is sort of along those lines, but at the same time, it's not.  I guess I feel that I am as good of a person as any to write a statement on grief because I've encountered my own somewhat recently.

What I have learned from this grieving process is that no two people grieve or even think or feel in general the same way about things.  When it comes to grief, people have to do what feels right to them.

Some people wish to cry, some wish to scream, some can't even bring themselves to feel or do anything, some want to talk, and some want nothing more than to be left alone.  Some people can't even stand the thought of eating, and some people eat everything in site just because it brings temporary relief.  Some people stand up for what they believe in, some fall down.  Some rely fully on the people around them to bring them strength, and some think they can do it all on their own.  Some will light candles, bake or cook or eat, write books or songs or poems, draw pictures, create gardens, plant trees, cry, purchase gifts, give donations or even release balloons in honor of others, and some may do nothing because they aren't sure what to feel, think or do.

No matter what people wish to do, feel, or think, they are choosing what is right for them.  People who are grieving are doing the best they can.  There is no right or wrong way to grieve.  People are doing what feels right to themselves in an effort to get through.

Recently, my husband and I have offered that people, who wish to, could release balloons on 12/30 in rememberance/recognition of Catelyn on her birthday.  Some people feel that this is a nightmare - ecologically speaking.  All I can say is that if it doesn't feel right to you, then don't do it.  If you'd like to light a candle, have a birthday meal or a birthday cake or a birthday cupcake or even a cookie, make a donation of some type to some place, do nothing, cry, scream, cheer, sing, or anything else you can think of, then do that.   Our idea to release balloons isn't about doing ONE thing, or even ANY thing, but if you feel like you want to do SOME thing, then pick and do what is right for you.

A different but "Merry" Christmas (from Dec. 2011)

This was a post (altered only by removing names) from facebook written on 12/5/2011:

 This year, I don't really feel like 'celebrating' Christmas.  I haven't purchased one gift, and I absolutely DO NOT want anything for myself.
     I haven't sent any Christmas Cards (though I did make quite a few with my Stampin' Up! friends), and I have no plans to write up a cutesy holiday letter.
     Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas - I love the lights, giving gifts, singing carols, baking, being invited places, spending time with friends and family, hearing from loved ones, and of course decorating.
      I have been listening to the 24-7 Christmas song stations, and I've even gone out to see a holiday parade filled with lighted floats and more!  At most, I might put up a teeny-tiny tree in Catelyn's room, and I have her stocking available to put a note in to tell her how much I miss her and love her.  I've decided to 'gift' her presents, that I had already started purchasing in the summer, to an organization that takes in items for children (haven't decided which one yet, though).
     Many, many friends and family members have wanted to do something for my husband and I, and we greatly appreciate that.  The best thing that I can come up with is donate your time or funds to people in need.  Get involved somehow, and if there is a "in honor of" option on what you do, please consider doing it on behalf of Catelyn.

Some ideas of places to donate to:

• A local food pantry or soup kitchen
• Meals on Wheels - http://www.mowaa.org/
• Toys for Tots - http://www.toysfortots.org/
• The Angel Tree program - http://angel.jcpenney.com/angeltree/
• Project Linus - http://projectlinus.org/
• Make-a-Wish - http://www.wish.org/
• Ronald McDonald House - http://rmhc.org/

Whatever you choose to do, I hope that your Christmas is extra merry this year!

2010 First Christmas - at Grandma and Grandpa's

2010 First Christmas - at Great Grandma & Great Grandpa's

the importance of giving

Today is officially the first day of 2013 (at least in my time zone), and I want to take a second and share about Catelyn's birthday, which was 2 days ago.

As you may know, my husband and I requested that family and friends let us know about ways that they are remembering Catelyn through giving to others.  We sent out our request through the blog & facebook about ten days before Catelyn's birthday.  I was pretty slow in sending out emails to family & friends, but managed to get the word out a couple of days (at best) before her birthday.

On December 30th, we were surprised to see that we had received just over 35 emails from people telling us of the good things they did in Catelyn's honor.  What a gift within itself!!

As began reading the messages, it quickly became clear that our request, of loved ones and strangers, to help us find joy during such a hard time had a bigger impact than we realized.

Numerous people mentioned that our request of giving to others actually gave them an unexpected gift within itself.  I felt one person put it best when they said:  "By giving love we receive love which makes everyone feel good."

Every message we received was so incredibly touching, and each gift immeasurable.  Here is an idea of the gifts we were notified of: 

• New or gently used items have been given, sometimes completely anonymously, and even when the giver's own funds were stretched, including:
• books
• toys
• crayons
• clothing (lots of clothing)
• bicycles
• quilts, afghans, & blankets
• luggage (for children who are in the foster system so they don't have to carry their belongings in garbage bags)
• get well packages (for children in the hospital)
• plants
• shopping carts at stores that require you to 'rent' them while you use them
• ornaments (to a mother who recently survived an accident that her children did not)
• varying gifts to those who might not receive them otherwise
• Financial support has been given to various causes including 
• struggling family members
• The Histiocytosis Foundation
• Project Linus
• Salvation Army
• Feedmore.org
• Toys for Tots
• youth group mission trips
• animal shelters
• animal surgeries
• Technology for educational care/support was given to a teenager struggling with illness that requires multiple surgeries which would prevent her from attending school in the traditional way
• Driveways were shoveled for elderly
• Elders were visited
• Perspectives were changed
• Resentments were cast aside
• Random Acts of Kindness are being offered including:
• smiles
• hugs
• kind gestures
• kind words
• holding doors
• generous tips to waitstaff
• purposeful consideration (for illness, worry, sadness, loneliness, kindness, and so many, many reasons)
• prayers
• positive thoughts
• Kleenex
• memories
• transportation
• meals/donuts/cookies/baked goods/beverages
• seeking out the owner of a cell phone that was found in a slushy parking lot just days before Christmas
• Letters and Cards sent to the ill, elderly, & struggling
• One family adopted Catelyn's spirit by naming their Child's doll after her, so Catelyn can go on adventures with their family
• Other drivers were given extra consideration in high traffic zones
• Grieving siblings (younger and older) and parents were recognized in special ways
• The Christmas Angel Tree gift program was reinstated at an organization, led by a grieving mother, in honor of all Angels taken too soon
• Candles lit
• Volunteering of time/talents has occurred
• Blood drives have been attended
• Some relationships have been mended

I've tried to give a good picture of all of the messages we've received, and I'm sure things have been left out.  Needless to say, we were wonderfully overwhelmed by all of the messages we received.

What a gift we've been given, and it sounds like many of you who have participated have experienced the same feelings.

We are grateful beyond words.

It's hard to feel anything but some joy as we read such wonderful messages.  Thank you for easing the pain on what could've been a much harder day.

Each of you is a blessing.

trying to find joy at Christmas

Christmas is said to be 'the most wonderful time of the year'... 

When your child has died, it is hard to feel 'wonderful' about anything....especially any days that suggest any type of celebration.  Birthdays suck, holidays suck, every day is draining.  High expectations are placed on the bereaved.  People don't want to see you hurting, and they don't know what to say.  Often, they expect you to be cheerful, and it's really the last thing you want to be. 

When your heart is broken, there is no joy, and there is little hope.  What was once 'normal' has been shattered.  Nothing seems right, and even your most favorite songs, meals, movies and traditions lose their luster.

Last year, my husband and I realized, two days before Christmas, that we could not bear the thought of being home over Christmas, so we took a last minute trip to Las Vegas - a place where no one really seems to care what day it is.  It was great - we were able to get away, and we didn't have to face the 'traditions' that used to be associated with Christmas.

This year, has been hard, too....I'd even say it's been harder than last year.  Last year, our Christmas was "blessed" with the cover of shock as we tried to go through the motions.  This year, we are still trying to go through the motions, but unlike last year, the shock has faded, so this year carries all kinds of Emotion as we face each day.

My heart is torn.  One part of me has always loved Christmas.  The decorations, the giving, the kindness and joy.  The other part of me wants to ignore the whole thing.

Deep down, I feel like we need to do something for Catelyn, to remember her....even if our hearts ache, even if we don't feel joy.

We did purchase a small tree to set up in Catelyn's room.  I think it's 18-24 inches tall.  I found a few ornaments I had picked up last year, and I bought lights for Catelyn's tree this year.  My initial thought was that we could write little notes to her and tie them to the tree as a special tribute to her... 

I truly thought it was a good idea, and that it would be therapeutic to write to her all of the things I want to say, but to be honest, the tree is still in its box sitting in our kitchen, and I don't think it will be used this year, especially since today is the five days before Christmas, and we are heading out of town tomorrow.

At a time when so many are feeling joyful, I can't help but feel hopeless. 

I miss my daughter.  I try not to focus on the fact that she is gone, but sometimes I can't overlook it either.

Catelyn would be celebrating her 3rd Christmas this year, and then her 3rd birthday on December 30th. 

She had one Christmas and one birthday with us.  She was 360 days old when she celebrated that first Christmas, so it was fun watching her try to figure out opening gifts.  Between celebrating with her great-grandparents, her grandparents (on both sides), and her aunt & uncle - not to mention my husband and I, she had plenty of practice!  She was so dainty as she scraped the icing off her cake piece (quite possibly the cleanest 1st birthday pictures ever!!!). 

She was so fun to watch, but we don't know what future Christmases and birthdays would've been like if things had gone differently. 

It's heart breaking to wonder about, and yet, it's hard not to.

So how am I supposed to find healing or even joy in a time when I feel so broken? 

Well, recently, I heard about a blog called Theo's Christmas Stocking.  Theo died at 9 months of age.  His family has spent 7 Christmases without him now.  As the first Christmas without him approached, they decided to ask friends and family to help them honor his life by asking a favor.

I realize that it's not fair to ride on the coattails of someone else, but the idea was so beautiful, I could not help but want to do the same for Catelyn.

So, what my husband and I are asking is that our friends, family, and even strangers, consider doing something kind for others in Catelyn's honor.  Simply send us a note telling us what you did via email or mail if you know our address. 

We will save any messages we receive and read them on Catelyn's birthday (December 30th).

Please note, we are not expecting anyone to do anything that costs money - the idea is just to do good things for others, and to think of Catelyn as you do them.  Besides, there are plenty of free things you can do for other people that are meaningful:

• shovel sidewalks or mow lawns
• hold doors for others
• smile at strangers (you can make a game of this and try to say hi and smile at everyone you meet!)
• compliment a stranger
• volunteer
• sit and talk with an elderly person
• go caroling
• spend more time listening to others
• give you (blood, time, talent, strength, etc)
• let someone go ahead of you in line
• give hugs
• be kind to people you aren't normally nice to
• pick up trash laying on the sidewalk, or road, or anywhere
• read books to kids (go to www.wegivebooks.org  where you can read books to give books to other kids)
• give to important causes with the click of a button (The Hunger Site, The Breast Cancer Site, The Animal Rescue Site, The Veterans Site, The Autism Site, The Child Health Site, The Literacy Site, The Rainforest Site)
• say please and thank you

This request may come easier to some than others, and that's okay too.  Some people may want to do things year round, and that is great!  The email address will be available year round, though it may not be checked often, since the goal is to read the notes on Catelyn's birthday - 12/30.

Please know that we are appreciative of anything and everything done in Catelyn's name.  And, no matter what type of giving suits you best, it is my hope that each of you can find joy in the gifts you are giving to others.

We could not move forward in our grief without the love and support of each of you, and we are so grateful for everything you do.

no magic

As a person who is already mourning the loss of their child, I find myself feeling especially helpless as I see people around me who are grieving.  I feel like I should be able to offer some kind of comforting words, and find myself realizing that there are no right words to say...ever.

There is no magic way to take the pain away.  There isn't anything that can 'fix' the situation.  As a person who likes to fix things, this makes me feel so incompetent.

Recently, I have put my foot in my mouth, trying to talk with other grieving people, more than I care to mention....oh yes, I have.  It just goes to show that when tragedy strikes, no one, not even the bereaved, knows what to say.

The best thing that any of us can do is listen, without expectation, to what is being said to us.  I truly believe that we cannot offer any "right" words of comfort.  The best thing we can do is LISTEN.  Let the person who is mourning say (or not say) what they need to.  Offer support through actions and not words.

When we try to offer words of encouragement, they usually get in the way of what our intentions are.  We find ourselves, accidentally, trying to hurry the course of grieving along.  It's not that we don't believe, or even understand, that grieving should take a long time, it's more that we want to remove the suffering.  We want to make it "better".

There is no "better"....not immediately, and sometimes not even after a couple of years.  "Better" comes with time, and often lots of time.  Each day gets a little "better", even when the days are feeling worse.

I am going to try to illustrate this timing by looking at astronomy (which you will soon see that I am no expert in - sorry Ms. Burrichter if you should read this).

In school we learn that it takes the earth approximately 24 hours (or 1 day) to make a complete rotation on it's axis.  At the same time, it takes the earth approximately 365 days (or 1 entire year) to completely orbit around the sun.  Because the earth is tilted, and also rotating on its own, as it moves around the sun, we experience different seasons at different times.

When we experience a loss, in our own way, we become tilted (like the earth), and we begin to experience different stages of grief (seasons).  We continue to try to move forward (orbiting on our own axis) the best we can in life (while rotating around the sun), and eventually we realize that we've begun to heal (made a complete revolution around the sun).

The biggest difference between grieving and astronomy, is that there is no set timeline for the seasons, and we can't rush it either.  The seasons (stages of grief) come when the come; we don't necessarily get the luxury of knowing that in a certain amount of time this will all go away.  We have to accept that healing will come when it's supposed to.  We may not feel healed in one year, or five years, or even fifteen years, but we keep moving forward.  It's all we can do.

Not everyone will understand, and perhaps most people won't, but it's not up to us to worry about that.  We have to look out for ourselves and do the best we can.  Our world is now tilted.  We're going through things differently than we did before. 

Our "better" will come, but it may take a while.

If you are struggling with grief, find people who will listen to you and not try to force you to find "better".  Find people who have the power to listen and don't have to fix things.  If you can find 2-3 people who can support you, it will help.

At some point, if you look backward, you will begin to see how far you've come, and though your "rotation" may not be complete yet, you can see that you are moving...you may not feel it (much like we don't feel the daily rotation or annual rotation of the earth), but you will start to see it.

we are not experts on anyone's grief

As many have already heard, there was a very tragic shooting at an Elementary School in Connecticut yesterday.  I believe I last heard that 26-28 people died, at least 20 of which, were children.  My heart truly aches for all of the families whose lives have been forever changed by this incident.

At this time, the tragedy is too hard for me to think about in great depth, but a few days ago, I was researching websites on bereavement counseling, and found a couple of really helpful websites:  one is somewhat more geared towards people who want to be grief counselors, and I feel that the other is more for anyone.  Either way, they both have a lot of good information to offer:

http://www.omh.ny.gov/omhweb/grief/

http://www.selfinlight.com/Bereavement.html


A couple of important points found on the former website are as follows:

"We are not the experts on anyone’s grief...we must meet the grieving without expectations about what should happen or what they should be feeling....there are no experts..."  

“Without time to incorporate change, the mourner’s assumptive world is abruptly destroyed. Control, predictability, and security are lost, and the assumptions, expectations, and beliefs upon which the mourner has based her (his) life are violated.”

TCF memorial candle lighting

Tonight was one of those really tough nights. 

Good was mixed with bad, heartache was mixed with joy...

The Compassionate Friends, an international grief support group for parents, siblings, and grandparents, held their candle lighting ceremony tonight.  At 7pm, in every time zone, all across the world, people lit (or are lighting) candles, as groups or individuals, to honor the lives of the deceased.  It's a very powerful and touching ceremony.

My husband and I participated as helpers in the ceremony.  We greeted every person who came in, we passed out ornaments that were shaped like doves and stated 'love', 'joy', or 'peace' on the body, we lit the ceremonial candles with another couple, and we joined all of the participants as each of us lit an individual candle for the child/sibling/grandchild we miss.

It was so touching to be a part of something so important, and yet, it was hard.  It was hard to hear the music choices, one of which was 'From a Distance' (my friends from grade school could attest to the fact that song has made me cry since I was in 5th grade and my grandpa died).  It was hard to see so many people gathered to remember so many children.  It was hard to watch the PowerPoint presentation of so many faces and names.  It was hard to listen to the song that was played as we lit candles to remember our babies/siblings/grand-babies.

As I watched the faces streaming across the presentation, I was sad to recognize names of children I have heard so many times in The Compassionate Friends meetings I attend nearly every month, yet it was sort of nice to see the faces of some of Catelyn's angel friends.  Catelyn's name approached, and I felt myself growing anxious, almost as though her picture couldn't pop up fast enough, and when her beaming smile crossed the screen, I felt like it should've been up far longer. 

It's so hard to only be able to see her face in pictures or video, and even if I look all day, it's never long enough. Oh, don't get me wrong, we have ~2500 pictures and a decent handful of videos of that little girl (yeah....she was only 20 months old), and I am SO grateful for each and every one of them....

But what I wouldn't give to be able to hold her again....to smell her hair....to run my fingers through her hair...to kiss her goodnight.....to hear her laugh and tell me things.

At the end of this month, we will reach Catelyn's 3rd birthday.  Three-year-old's are wicked-smart, highly observant, and they have no 'filter' of what they should and shouldn't say....I can't even imagine the things she would know or say or do....

At 20 months, she was so wise already.  She knew that when it was time to leave, we'd give everyone a hug; she knew that she had to put on her hat & shoes before we'd go anywhere; she knew that she had to say 'please' if she wanted something - which was usually 'up', and she'd say 'uppies' to request it; she knew how to put on her shoes....and everyone else's!; she knew how to dance, sing, sign, & speak German & English; she knew she ought to pet the kitty 'nice' ly, though she hadn't quite mastered how to lay her hand on him gently (and he didn't seem to care); she knew she was supposed to go to the pool & play on daycare days during the summer, and she knew what it meant when mama or daddy appeared and weren't in swim clothes....and so much more.

It seems I've become side-tracked from what I was trying to say.  I was a part of something vastly important to so many people tonight, and it was nice to be able to let my heart ache in the company of so many others, though it was so sad to see so many people tonight, too.

I'm grateful for The Compassionate Friends, and having so much support from people who understand all too well what it's like to endure the death of a child/grandchild/sibling.  Even though many of us may have had mixed emotions tonight, it was still a good experience overall.  It's nice to have a designated day when all of our loved ones are honored, and candles are pretty much lit for 24 hours straight....our hearts ache, but it's heartwarming.

telescopes

I feel like I fell into a pit or a well that is just wide enough for my body to be wedged inside.  And, of course, I didn't fall gracefully.  Instead, I am stuck with one leg tucked up by my head, the other leg dangling straight down, and one arm crammed next to my head while the other presses awkwardly into my side.  I can't scream for help because I can barely breathe.

I am physically and mentally stuck.

I am stuck, but somehow I have been given a telescope.  With the telescope, I can see life moving on above me, but I still can't get free.

Every day I fight a battle to get up and get out of bed.  On a good day, I can convince myself that getting out of bed is for the best, and that I have a responsibility to my job, my husband, and the other people around me to be 'normal'.  On a bad day, though, I stay in my jammies and sleep and watch tv all day....and usually cry....

I'm 14.5 months into the grieving process, and I can only imagine that some of these statements may seem odd, but please realize that a great portion of the first year of Catelyn's death was spent in shock. 

As soon as the doctors walked into the room our family, friends, and pastor waited in, my brain knew what had happened, but the second those men walked into that room, the shock took over and built a brick wall in front of my face.  The wall was placed there to protect my heart.  My mind wasn't so easy fooled, though, and it caught on right away to what was happening. 

Thus began the battle of my mind versus my heart.

Continually, my mind knew what was happening, but my mind was smart and knew that there was no way my heart could withstand the pain.  The knowledge.  The reality that Catelyn was gone.  So shock took over as best as it could, and my mind was forced to wait....wait for the brick wall of shock to begin to crumble.

It turns out that shock doesn't crumble or fade overnight.  So, the first year of Catelyn's death, was basically spent moment-to-moment, trying to get through, not worrying about what was coming next, just trying to live in each moment and accept it for what it was - ever changing, often painful, and slow moving.

Now, I am not a mason, so I don't know a lot about building brick walls, but I can only guess that when a wall is put up too quickly, there are bound to be mistakes.  Perhaps the mortar didn't take properly, or proper alignment wasn't used, or erosion wasn't accounted for, but for one reason or another, when a wall is put up too quickly, that wall will not hold forever. 

So, bricks started falling somewhat early within the first year, causing my heart to realize what had happened, one glimpse at a time.  And, as one might imagine, the slowly falling bricks helped ease some of the pain of reality.  But, about the time that things started to seem like they were manageable, a large chunk fell off of the remaining wall, and reality really hit, which brings us to present.

For the last 2.5 months, I have been living in reality, truly realizing that my life has changed forever.  But, not only has my life changed dramatically....other people's lives have continued to move forward.  It's so hard to realize you have stayed complacent for a year, and everyone else hasn't. 

When Catelyn died, it was like a fell into a deep, dark, well.  Life kept moving forward, and I was stuck in place.  I've now found myself in the well, but I don't know how to get out.  I'm trying, but I can't figure out the next move. 


I feel disconnected from everyone....and of course I do.  But, if I don't talk about where I'm at, and how I feel, then no one will ever know what I am going through.  And though no one may have the same experience, at least you might be able to get a glimpse (even if only through a telescope) of what it's like for me, and I'm okay with that.  After all, we are all different, and so is our grief.  I like to say we are like snowflakes and that no two people ever grieve the same. 

It's hard for me to feel anything but sad these days, but I don't want you to feel sad for me.  I just want someone to understand that this is a part of the process, and things will improve, but don't rush me or try to change my thinking.  I'm at a point where I need to work my own way out.....so listen when you can, or offer encouragement when you can, but don't try to tug on me....I'm in a fragile place, and if you pull too hard, you might break me.

Thanksgiving...it's harder than it looks

It's Thanksgiving Day today.  I don't feel very thankful. 

Don't get me wrong, i know I have things to be thankful for, such as an amazing husband, a warm house, a cat, a job, a family and friends who love me....

It's just very hard to find reasons to celebrate anything.  Though last year was the first Thanksgiving without her physical presence, there was a great deal of shock clouding the vision of my heart.....so in a way, this is my first Thanksgiving without Catelyn.

This morning I was watching video footage from Catelyn's first and only Thanksgiving.  In the video, she is grabbing tons of ads for Black Friday, and crawling around with them, swishing them around, and then finally sitting to try to 'read' them.  It was so sweet....so simple....so Catelyn.

I have another video from that week in 2010, where she discovered her dad's shoes on the floor, so she picked one of them up and hefted it from left to right, dropping it on occasion, and scooting around with it. 

She was wonderfully inquisitive, and persistent.

So, I guess I'm grateful......grateful to have the technological advances that allow me to keep Catelyn's memories alive, and hear her voice and see her mannerisms.....grateful that Catelyn lived long enough for us to have memories with her.....grateful that she was able to show me joy in the simplest activities.

where i am

Today is Sunday.

It's been 14 months, today, since Catelyn died.

I didn't realize how hard the anniversary of her death would be, and the last two months have broken loose a lot of emotions that hadn't even come out yet.

The day of Catelyn's angel-versary (the anniversary of her death), was filled with heartache as I remembered nearly every moment of Sunday, September 11th, 2011.  It was so hard to recapture each of the moments of the day: from things seeming good, to going very badly. 

...but it was even worse, in some ways, because it felt like she had just been in my arms a week before, even though a year had passed.

Over the last two months, I have begun to realize something that I didn't feel last year.  Life is moving forward without Catelyn.

During the first 12 months of grieving, I consciously knew that life was moving forward, but it didn't really feel like it, I guess.  As I was telling Catelyn's story recently, I felt the reality slowly creep up my side, and encompass my heart.  And with it, my world changed from light gray to black.

Catelyn is dead...
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault....
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault, and there is nothing that I can do about it.

I am not a person with high self-esteem to begin with, and I've felt like such a loser lately.  Feeling the devastation of the death of a child is pretty much a daily reminder of things I cannot change, and that only makes me feel worse.

Believe me, I know that I couldn't have done anything more than what I did to try to save her, but there aren't words to describe how personally the knife of death cuts when you outlive your child.

I know quite a few people who have lost children, and I have no idea how they have made it through the pain.  I am hopeful that I will be lucky enough to find the courage and strength to face each day, as they have.  At this point, though, I don't want to deal with this anymore.  I would like to lock myself away in my bed and never leave the house in hopes that I could make the pain subside.  (and don't worry, I'm not going to do anything hasty, and I see a therapist who knows all of this)

The pain is strong, and it's like nothing else I've ever experienced.  We've done so many positive things in Catelyn's honor, trying to keep the memory of her life both strong and positive, but in a way, it's like placing a band-aid over an appendage that just got ripped off....it doesn't stop the bleeding, and it doesn't eliminate, or even lessen, the hurt....

Recently, I read a quote (I can't remember who wrote it) that said:  "We all die twice in our lifetime: once when we actually die, and again when our name is said for the last time."  I am confident that Catelyn's second death will not occur for many, many, many years to come.....long after I am gone, but that brings such minute comfort in a time when the pain is so great.

At the Compassionate Friends meetings I attend, we have always said you can't outrun your grief, it will always catch up with you.  I had never thought I was trying to outrun my grief, but now I'm not so sure...

Things feel so grim right now.  The only thing that I know for sure is that I miss my baby girl.