I went up to Peyton's Hill the morning of Mother's Day. I needed to be near her. I needed to tell her how much I love her, and miss her. How grateful I am to her for giving me the gift of motherhood. I feel the need to do this every day, but Mother's Day makes missing her especially hard.
I walked up to her grave and commented on the weather. I apologized for the sad state of her site, and remarked about the newest pinwheel we had placed up there, which had already gone missing. It gets very windy on Peyton's Hill, so I imagine a good gust came along and was just too much for it.
I stood for a while, breathing the place in. I watched birds in the trees, closed my eyes, and tapped my chest in the spot where her back used to be when she fell asleep against my chest. In the silence of her Hill, I began singing "Smile Awhile," one of the songs from my repertoire when I had rocked her in the hospital.
It's a World War I song about loss.
Most of the songs I sang Peyton were about loss.
Maybe I just knew.
Smile awhile and kiss me sad adieu
when the clouds roll by I'll come to you
then the skies will seem more blue
down in lover's lane my deary
wedding bells will ring so merrily
every tear will hold a memory
so wait and pray each night for me
till we meet again
Halfway through my song I was approached by an older woman. She looked disheveled, as if the day had snuck up on her somehow, and was covered in dirt from flower pots that she held in her hands. I recognized something in her. Something I had seen in myself so many times before. She looked neither present, nor lost. She just was.
We got to talking and she pointed out her son's grave. I knew her son. His name was Mike. He was paralyzed, wheelchair bound after a freak construction accident, and used to walk his dog around the path at the cemetery each afternoon. Mike, G, and I were a sort of lonely hearts club. Three outsiders with broken hearts who had nowhere else to turn for relief but a cemetery. Mike died suddenly last year. He got the flu and aspirated when he vomited in his sleep. Mike wasn't even forty years old.
His mother told me she had come up to plant some flowers around a bench she had placed on the Hill.
"It was your idea you know," she said, "I hope you don't mind."
I didn't.
The idea to get a bench up on the Hill was one that came to hubs and I early on, but the months had passed, and then the years, and the truth is I didn't know when we were going to get around to placing one up there. We had mentioned the idea to G who had mentioned it to Mike's mom, and when I came up last fall to find her bench placed, I was happy to see it.
I told Mike's mom how sorry I was for her loss. We got to talking, and talking led to crying. She was really suffering through facing Mother's Day without her son.
"I can't make it through a ride in the car," she told me, "without breaking down. I cry all the time. I feel his loss all the time."
I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. So many car rides these past two and a half years had been spent crying tears of sorrow and loss for my little girl. So many songs on the radio had triggered emotions in me, or felt as if they had been somehow sent directly from her.
"And I know I sound crazy," she continued, "but sometimes I get little signs from him."
"Funny things happening with lights?" I asked.
She looked at me, mouth agape. "How did you know?"
"It always seems to have something to do with lights," I smiled. "If you feel something happening, and you think it is Mike, cherish that. Who is to say it isn't him?"
We exchanged stories about funny little occurances that we felt were gifts from our children. Flickering flashlights at my house. A solar light that suddenly became aglow on her birthday at hers.
"Was Mike your only child?" I asked.
"My only son."
"I'm so sorry."
She looked at his grave and let out a deep sigh. "I am just so afraid people will forget about him."
"I won't forget him." I offered, knowing this feeling too well, this fear that my child will be forgotten. That there will come a day where this earth rotates as if she had never even existed.
Talking with Mike's mom showed me how many commonalities there are in the grief of one's child. It doesn't matter how old they were when they passed, though losing a baby is certainly different than losing a teenager and that is certainly different than losing an adult child, there are certain common threads to the grief of a mother.
Mothers cannot let go.
Mothers always hurt.
Mothers feel the absence of the child they have lost all the time, and strive to feel their presence in whatever ways we can.
Mothers all share the great fear that our children, their lives, and their impact on this great wide world, will be forgotten.
To lose your child is to forever lose a piece of your own soul.
As mothers we need to protect our children.
As bereaved mothers we need to protect their memories.
Showing posts with label cemetery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cemetery. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
So close and yet so far.
This isn't the post that I sat down to write. I was going to tell you about my frustrations over Peyton's grave. I was going to tell you how guilty I feel that her spot has gone neglected these last few months. How I lie up at night sometimes, thinking about it.
I tried to go up there to fix it up yesterday, but I had two fussy babies on my hands and by the time I got there it was too buggy to get out of the car.
I was going to talk about how it makes me feel to think of Peyton looking down from Heaven and watching me leave the cemetery without even exiting the car because circumstances didn't allow for it. How I was so close to her grave, yet a world away from her (hence the title of this post) that it hurt my heart and I worry she might feel as though she has somehow been replaced.
I wish that I could get the message to her that replacing her - our first child - our brave little warrior - is impossible.
I tried to go up there to fix it up yesterday, but I had two fussy babies on my hands and by the time I got there it was too buggy to get out of the car.
I was going to talk about how it makes me feel to think of Peyton looking down from Heaven and watching me leave the cemetery without even exiting the car because circumstances didn't allow for it. How I was so close to her grave, yet a world away from her (hence the title of this post) that it hurt my heart and I worry she might feel as though she has somehow been replaced.
I wish that I could get the message to her that replacing her - our first child - our brave little warrior - is impossible.
That is what I was going to write about, but as I started writing this is what came out instead.
Yesterday I ran into G, an elderly man that I have come to know during my visits to Peyton's hill. I drove into the cemetery and when our eyes connected, I could see a familiar sadness in his. We exchanged hellos and G proceeded to tell me how down in the dumps he has been feeling lately which came as no surprise since every conversation we have ever had has involved G telling me that he is feeling down in the dumps. I've almost come to expect it.
G doesn't seem to want or to permit even the smallest bits of joy to creep into his life and to see him on one of his visits feels more like bearing witness to an act of penance as he leans for three hours a day, day in and day out regardless of the elements, against the cold stillness of his wife's stone. There is nothing cathartic or healing for him in his routine.
The sad truth is that G has given up. He had already given up by the time I first met him, and it is something that has always struck me about him. Even during my darkest days on the hill I found it difficult to understand the level to which G had let go of allowing himself to find any measure of joy in what life he has left. Don't get me wrong. There were days, months, that first year really where I found little joy or humor in anything, but if a smile crept through, or a laugh, I welcomed the change. G does not and this has always struck me as especially ironic as I would peer into the young face in Peyton's picture at her grave, and note that while my daughter was allotted so few days on this earth, G has wasted so many.
He is in good health. He is living independently despite his age. He has family and friends (us included) who frequently invite him to dinner, or over for holidays, but he declines all invitations because to accept one might mean accepting happiness, and G sees this somehow as a betrayal to his lost love.
He is in good health. He is living independently despite his age. He has family and friends (us included) who frequently invite him to dinner, or over for holidays, but he declines all invitations because to accept one might mean accepting happiness, and G sees this somehow as a betrayal to his lost love.
I see G's story as a cautionary tale for all of us. It demonstrates what can happen when we, as the grieving, fall into a pattern of belief that to love those we have lost is dependent upon punishing ourselves.
Finding it difficult to find joy or to even want to find joy is a normal reaction to loss. There were days in my grief, many days, when I would let the phone go unanswered. Days when I thought the sky was black like pavement, because I didn't look up to see the sun. Days where I believed my smile might be lost forever... but not every day. Not every minute of every day.
I think it is important to remember that regardless of what stage you are at in your grief, if there are times when the sun pokes through the clouds and you feel joy, even if that joy lasts only the briefest of moments before another reminder of all that you have lost, it is okay to embrace it. Punishing ourselves to the point of never experiencing joy benefits no one.
Not our families.
Not our friends.
Not the loved ones we have lost.
Finding it difficult to find joy or to even want to find joy is a normal reaction to loss. There were days in my grief, many days, when I would let the phone go unanswered. Days when I thought the sky was black like pavement, because I didn't look up to see the sun. Days where I believed my smile might be lost forever... but not every day. Not every minute of every day.
I think it is important to remember that regardless of what stage you are at in your grief, if there are times when the sun pokes through the clouds and you feel joy, even if that joy lasts only the briefest of moments before another reminder of all that you have lost, it is okay to embrace it. Punishing ourselves to the point of never experiencing joy benefits no one.
Not our families.
Not our friends.
Not the loved ones we have lost.
G's wife died more than two years before Peyton - which means that this pattern, this slow march towards death, this refusal to enjoy one single moment of life, has gone on for nearly five years.
Five years where new connections could have been made, lessons could have been learned, experiences could have been had.
Five years where even if the overwhelming majority of his time had been spent grieving, G may have felt his suffering ease for a few brief moments here or there.
Five years of moments that would never and could never have replaced his wife or cheapened his love and commitment to her.
Five years of a death sentence that G could have spent living.
Five years where new connections could have been made, lessons could have been learned, experiences could have been had.
Five years where even if the overwhelming majority of his time had been spent grieving, G may have felt his suffering ease for a few brief moments here or there.
Five years of moments that would never and could never have replaced his wife or cheapened his love and commitment to her.
Five years of a death sentence that G could have spent living.
When I look at G leaning against his wife's stone, I see so much tragedy in the fact that with her death, so died his willingness to ever again allow himself to live.
Loving those we have lost should not carry with it this kind of a death sentence.
Love is not a punishment.
****
This Sunday is International Babylost Mother's Day. I am wishing for you all a day of beauty, peace, and if possible - joy.
Loving those we have lost should not carry with it this kind of a death sentence.
Love is not a punishment.
****
This Sunday is International Babylost Mother's Day. I am wishing for you all a day of beauty, peace, and if possible - joy.
****
Exhale Magazine is hosting its first ever visual arts contest with the theme SEEING WITHIN. There are great prizes available. The deadline to enter is this Sunday. Check out the details here.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
All My Children...
What can I really say?
No one ever imagines their family pictures will be this way.
This is my reality.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Our new life...
The snowflakes are now three and a half weeks old. It is hard to explain how significantly our lives have changed in this span of time, one that has gone by in an instant, and dragged out due to exhaustion all at once, with building our home and our world around them. Things that once seemed important (getting to those bits of housework for instance) have fallen by the wayside, and instead have been replaced by 2AM feedings and skin on skin time and being stared up at by two sets of beautiful royal blue eyes. Eyes that are young, and innocent, and not at all "all knowing" like those that came before them were.
If I had written this post the first week, I wouldn't have noticed too many of the small joys of new parenthood. The exhaustion I felt from the anemia is something I can barely describe in words -like running in sand, or trying to breathe through a straw. I am grateful to be feeling a bit stronger in that regard with each passing day, and now that my energy levels are coming up, and my milk (Thank God!) has come in, the chaos that is my life raising newborn twins, and missing the older sister who should be here with them, has almost (dare I say it) started to settle into a routine. Well.. as routine as life without sleep can be, but in a good way.
I am no stranger to lack of sleep. Anyone who has read here for a while knows I am an insomniac, and have been since Peyton's passing, but this new lack of sleep - the wake up to change and feed and change and feed (and usually change again) is more physically, but far less mentally, exhausting than my nights have been these last few years, and for that I am grateful.
I used to wonder what I would do if the snowflakes arrived looking like Peyton. Now I have my answer. Our little K is so much her clone in looks that it threw me for a loop the first week or two. H, however, has a look all her own. I guess I am grateful that if one has to look like Peyton, it is K. I think seeing a little girl who so resembled her big sister would be hard on me.
We brought the babies up to Peyton's hill last week. It was a visit cut short by some not very nice weather, and paving happening at the entrance of the cemetery, but I felt it was important, to show them who she is, and to show her that she has not and never will be replaced or forgotten. I also wanted to go up there and offer her my gratitude, for the blessings and protection that I know she offered over her little siblings leading up to their safe arrival.
It's a funny thing, and one I know you have all read a million times on rainbow baby blogs, but I have to say, there is something so bitter sweet in seeing these babies do all that Peyton couldn't. This week they will have outlived their big sister, and while I am so grateful for all that they do, and the ways they thrive and grow and learn with each passing day, there is a part of me - the Peyton's mother part, that feels so sad for her and all that her siblings get to do, that she never was afforded the luxury of. Little things, like being looked at with eyes full of joy, rather than those of fear and sadness. I wish Peyton had been allowed so many things... and that's the reality of parenting a child gone too soon - no matter how full my heart and my life become I will never stop wishing for all that should have been for her.
If I had written this post the first week, I wouldn't have noticed too many of the small joys of new parenthood. The exhaustion I felt from the anemia is something I can barely describe in words -like running in sand, or trying to breathe through a straw. I am grateful to be feeling a bit stronger in that regard with each passing day, and now that my energy levels are coming up, and my milk (Thank God!) has come in, the chaos that is my life raising newborn twins, and missing the older sister who should be here with them, has almost (dare I say it) started to settle into a routine. Well.. as routine as life without sleep can be, but in a good way.
I am no stranger to lack of sleep. Anyone who has read here for a while knows I am an insomniac, and have been since Peyton's passing, but this new lack of sleep - the wake up to change and feed and change and feed (and usually change again) is more physically, but far less mentally, exhausting than my nights have been these last few years, and for that I am grateful.
I used to wonder what I would do if the snowflakes arrived looking like Peyton. Now I have my answer. Our little K is so much her clone in looks that it threw me for a loop the first week or two. H, however, has a look all her own. I guess I am grateful that if one has to look like Peyton, it is K. I think seeing a little girl who so resembled her big sister would be hard on me.
We brought the babies up to Peyton's hill last week. It was a visit cut short by some not very nice weather, and paving happening at the entrance of the cemetery, but I felt it was important, to show them who she is, and to show her that she has not and never will be replaced or forgotten. I also wanted to go up there and offer her my gratitude, for the blessings and protection that I know she offered over her little siblings leading up to their safe arrival.
It's a funny thing, and one I know you have all read a million times on rainbow baby blogs, but I have to say, there is something so bitter sweet in seeing these babies do all that Peyton couldn't. This week they will have outlived their big sister, and while I am so grateful for all that they do, and the ways they thrive and grow and learn with each passing day, there is a part of me - the Peyton's mother part, that feels so sad for her and all that her siblings get to do, that she never was afforded the luxury of. Little things, like being looked at with eyes full of joy, rather than those of fear and sadness. I wish Peyton had been allowed so many things... and that's the reality of parenting a child gone too soon - no matter how full my heart and my life become I will never stop wishing for all that should have been for her.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Missing and Growing...
I miss Peyton's hill... a lot.
I miss talking to her.
I miss feeling her near me.
I miss breathing in the air up there and being inspired to write.
I miss the cold snap of wind against my cheeks as I ask her to send mommy a little warmth and sunshine.
I miss watching the hawks, and the eagles soar overhead.
I miss telling her about the animals that have left tracks in the snow.
I miss finding moments of animation among the stillness.
I miss closing my eyes and tapping my chest the way I would her back when she was in my arms.
I miss singing songs to the quiet air - "You Are My Sunshine," "Smile Awhile," and "Oh Dunderbeck."
I miss feeling that she could hear me singing these songs.
I miss these moments which are the only ones I have left to mother her through.
I miss her.
I can handle the boredom, and the redundancy of bedrest.
I can handle feeling trapped in my home.
I can handle so many things.
What is hardest for me to handle is the way this has kept me from her.
I hate knowing she is up there, covered in snow, and there is nothing I can do to clear her space.
I went from visiting her every single day for over a year and a half, to seeing her only a handful of times this entire pregnancy.
You have not been forgotten little girl.
You have not been replaced.
You never will be.
****POSSIBLE TRIGGER POST****
The remainder of this post talks about the Snowflakes, my pregnancy, and also shows some belly pictures. I know how painful this can be for some of you, and as always, am placing some space here for anyone who wants to avoid such triggers.
*
*
*
*
Just a little Snowflakes update here.
I am 31 weeks 2 days and feeling every bit of it - in great ways of course. There has been a ton of movement - and these little ones have developed the ability to hiccup over the last week or so, which can be pretty entertaining. I feel a lot of pressure lately, and am completely exhausted. I have read about the "brick wall" that you can hit in the final trimester, and don't really remember that with Peyton, but carrying two has proved to be a much different game, and my energy is just tapped out. Breathing has become a bit of a challenge, especially at night. I think that as the day progresses, and my body fills with fluid etc, the babies put more of a strain on my lungs. I am not sure what can be done for this, so I switch positions a great deal in an effort to get some sleep. I usually get a few hour clips at a time. I like to think of it as practice, this insomnia just preparing me for life with two newborn babies at home.
I was supposed to go for a growth ultrasound tomorrow, but it was cancelled due to the horrific weather we are expecting here in the Northeast. That's alright though. Better safe than sorry, and the appointment has been rescheduled for Thursday instead. I am anxious to see how the babies have grown. All along our little boy, Baby A, has been measuring large. At our appointment around 27 weeks, he was already estimated at 2 lbs 12 oz, which put him in the 93rd percentile. Our little girl, Baby B, was measuring 2 lbs 9 oz, which placed her around the 50th percentile. They say that at this point, the babies grow about a half a pound a week, so judging by the fact that nearly 4 weeks have passed since that last scan, and the plethora of new stretch marks that have made an appearance as of late, I feel pretty confident these little ones are keeping that pace up and will be around the 4 lb mark when I go in next.
This is all great news, of course, since the SCH that has had me on bedrest for the last 130 days, also puts me at a heightened risk for preterm labor. The bigger these babies are, should they decide to make an early appearance, the better! Of course I don't want them to come early. I want them in there and cooking for as long as is best for them. If my uterus holds out until 38 weeks, the doctors will insist upon a c-section (which is an experience I would really rather not repeat) so I am just praying that they decide to come on their own around week 37.
For those of you who have asked about names - we don't have any picked out as of yet. We have a list, a very LONG list, that I am hoping to have narrowed down soon. It is proving harder to name two than we expected. Hubs and I don't agree on many names, so our search for the right ones has been an interesting experience.
For those who would like to see, here are the latest belly shots from 30 weeks. As always, your continued prayers for the Snowflakes' safe and healthy arrival are much appreciated.
I miss talking to her.
I miss feeling her near me.
I miss breathing in the air up there and being inspired to write.
I miss the cold snap of wind against my cheeks as I ask her to send mommy a little warmth and sunshine.
I miss watching the hawks, and the eagles soar overhead.
I miss telling her about the animals that have left tracks in the snow.
I miss finding moments of animation among the stillness.
I miss closing my eyes and tapping my chest the way I would her back when she was in my arms.
I miss singing songs to the quiet air - "You Are My Sunshine," "Smile Awhile," and "Oh Dunderbeck."
I miss feeling that she could hear me singing these songs.
I miss these moments which are the only ones I have left to mother her through.
I miss her.
I can handle the boredom, and the redundancy of bedrest.
I can handle feeling trapped in my home.
I can handle so many things.
What is hardest for me to handle is the way this has kept me from her.
I hate knowing she is up there, covered in snow, and there is nothing I can do to clear her space.
I went from visiting her every single day for over a year and a half, to seeing her only a handful of times this entire pregnancy.
You have not been forgotten little girl.
You have not been replaced.
You never will be.
****POSSIBLE TRIGGER POST****
The remainder of this post talks about the Snowflakes, my pregnancy, and also shows some belly pictures. I know how painful this can be for some of you, and as always, am placing some space here for anyone who wants to avoid such triggers.
*
*
*
*
Just a little Snowflakes update here.
I am 31 weeks 2 days and feeling every bit of it - in great ways of course. There has been a ton of movement - and these little ones have developed the ability to hiccup over the last week or so, which can be pretty entertaining. I feel a lot of pressure lately, and am completely exhausted. I have read about the "brick wall" that you can hit in the final trimester, and don't really remember that with Peyton, but carrying two has proved to be a much different game, and my energy is just tapped out. Breathing has become a bit of a challenge, especially at night. I think that as the day progresses, and my body fills with fluid etc, the babies put more of a strain on my lungs. I am not sure what can be done for this, so I switch positions a great deal in an effort to get some sleep. I usually get a few hour clips at a time. I like to think of it as practice, this insomnia just preparing me for life with two newborn babies at home.
I was supposed to go for a growth ultrasound tomorrow, but it was cancelled due to the horrific weather we are expecting here in the Northeast. That's alright though. Better safe than sorry, and the appointment has been rescheduled for Thursday instead. I am anxious to see how the babies have grown. All along our little boy, Baby A, has been measuring large. At our appointment around 27 weeks, he was already estimated at 2 lbs 12 oz, which put him in the 93rd percentile. Our little girl, Baby B, was measuring 2 lbs 9 oz, which placed her around the 50th percentile. They say that at this point, the babies grow about a half a pound a week, so judging by the fact that nearly 4 weeks have passed since that last scan, and the plethora of new stretch marks that have made an appearance as of late, I feel pretty confident these little ones are keeping that pace up and will be around the 4 lb mark when I go in next.
This is all great news, of course, since the SCH that has had me on bedrest for the last 130 days, also puts me at a heightened risk for preterm labor. The bigger these babies are, should they decide to make an early appearance, the better! Of course I don't want them to come early. I want them in there and cooking for as long as is best for them. If my uterus holds out until 38 weeks, the doctors will insist upon a c-section (which is an experience I would really rather not repeat) so I am just praying that they decide to come on their own around week 37.
For those of you who have asked about names - we don't have any picked out as of yet. We have a list, a very LONG list, that I am hoping to have narrowed down soon. It is proving harder to name two than we expected. Hubs and I don't agree on many names, so our search for the right ones has been an interesting experience.
For those who would like to see, here are the latest belly shots from 30 weeks. As always, your continued prayers for the Snowflakes' safe and healthy arrival are much appreciated.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Making "The Best" Of The Holidays Without Her
Last weekend was the annual laying of the grave blanket on Peyton's hill.
Since her passing, my parents have made a tradition of providing Peyton with a decorated spray of greens meant to keep her warm and protected from the winter snow.
Due to my being on bed rest, I wasn't sure that I would be able to join my parents on their trip up to see her this year. Ultimately I decided that since the cemetery is only a few minutes from our house, and since this stupid SCH had already cost me the chance of celebrating Peyton's birthday and balloon release with her, I would go along and just lay in the car if I had to.
This year my mother decided to go with a different style for the grave blanket, fashioning it into a candy cane. Didn't she do a lovely job of decorating it? I think this year's is her best one yet...
When everyone was happy with the way things looked, hubs waved me over from the car and I joined in the celebration.
Peyton had a nice visit with her Gramma and Pop-Pop who said some prayers for her, and talked to her about the upcoming holidays...
Our time with Peyton, unfortunately, was limited. On bed rest I am not allowed to stand more than 10 minutes at a time, and this short visit had my stomach and back in quite a bit of pain, but it was worth it.
I have really missed being able to visit Peyton on her hill these last few months. A mother feels her child with her always, it's a bond that even death can't break. But for me, that cemetery is sacred ground. It is where my child lays. Even though I carry her spirit with me everywhere, regardless of location, there is still something to be said for being so close to what remains of her physical being.
When we were expecting Peyton, this is certainly not the way I envisioned spending the holidays with my little girl, but nothing about living without your child can be expected. Though not ideal, our visit with Peyton was still nice, and I am grateful to my parents for creating this lovely tradition.
What traditions have you put into place to make "the best" (or at the very least the "most bearable") of the holidays without your little one's here?
Since her passing, my parents have made a tradition of providing Peyton with a decorated spray of greens meant to keep her warm and protected from the winter snow.
Here is a picture of my mother with last year's grave blanket...
Due to my being on bed rest, I wasn't sure that I would be able to join my parents on their trip up to see her this year. Ultimately I decided that since the cemetery is only a few minutes from our house, and since this stupid SCH had already cost me the chance of celebrating Peyton's birthday and balloon release with her, I would go along and just lay in the car if I had to.
This year my mother decided to go with a different style for the grave blanket, fashioning it into a candy cane. Didn't she do a lovely job of decorating it? I think this year's is her best one yet...
She and my father brought the candy cane over to Peyton's grave, and I watched from the car as hubs got to work attending to his little girl's spot. Even though she is not here, hubs still takes such care in making sure things are just right for her. He cleared out some fall plantings and cleaned up any lingering leaves...
When everyone was happy with the way things looked, hubs waved me over from the car and I joined in the celebration.
Here we are, all together - Hubs, Me, The Snowflakes, and Peyton...
(please excuse the awful, awful, wild static hair and lack of make-up
nearly a hundred days of bed rest will do that to you)
Peyton had a nice visit with her Gramma and Pop-Pop who said some prayers for her, and talked to her about the upcoming holidays...
There was even enough time to sing a few Christmas carols...
Our time with Peyton, unfortunately, was limited. On bed rest I am not allowed to stand more than 10 minutes at a time, and this short visit had my stomach and back in quite a bit of pain, but it was worth it.
I have really missed being able to visit Peyton on her hill these last few months. A mother feels her child with her always, it's a bond that even death can't break. But for me, that cemetery is sacred ground. It is where my child lays. Even though I carry her spirit with me everywhere, regardless of location, there is still something to be said for being so close to what remains of her physical being.
When we were expecting Peyton, this is certainly not the way I envisioned spending the holidays with my little girl, but nothing about living without your child can be expected. Though not ideal, our visit with Peyton was still nice, and I am grateful to my parents for creating this lovely tradition.
What traditions have you put into place to make "the best" (or at the very least the "most bearable") of the holidays without your little one's here?
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Walking The Line
Thank you so much to all who reached out with support on the 2nd as we dealt with the anniversary of Peyton's passing. The weekend was a hard one for me, mostly because I couldn't get out to the cemetery and be with her, and thinking of my little baby laying neglected up on that hill since her birthday a month ago just breaks my heart. I learned earlier this week though of a visit some friends had made, unbeknownst to me, to leave fresh flowers on her stone, and thinking of them taking the time to honor her that way really did my heart some good.
The weekend itself was full of ups and downs. There were moments where I felt fine, laughing and getting along, and then others where grief hit me like a ton of bricks and the loss of her felt so new, and raw, and permanent, that I struggled for my breath the way I did last year, and the year before. I am coming to terms with the fact that the Fall will always feel this way for me.
At one point on Sunday I went back to the blog that my sister had authored to keep friends and family informed during Peyton's life (and at the news of her death), and re-read the comments that had been left there for us. They were desperate and encouraging, hopeful and then grief stricken. After that I went to the funeral home's site and re-read the messages from there as well. I don't know why I did that to myself, it was torture reading words left for a poor couple upon hearing the news that they had lost their baby, and knowing that poor couple was us made it even harder to take. I can't explain why I put myself through that, I just felt compelled to do it, and as I read the sympathies expressed there by family, friends, and strangers alike, I couldn't help but to feel sorry for her, and for us, and to just feel so robbed, robbed, robbed.
I guess there is a reason I have let those messages go unopened for the better part of two years.
I guess there is a reason I have let those messages go unopened for the better part of two years.
Sitting in bed, reading and crying (hubs was out back doing some construction) I started feeling guilty for my grief, that in some way it was doing a disservice to the joy I feel over my little snowflakes. It's a complicated feeling, and hard to explain, but I find myself struggling for footing in this balancing act between expectant mother and grieving mother.
I am hopeful - I am heartbroken.
I am overjoyed- I am full of sorrow.
I am planning for a future of what ifs - I am mourning for a life that never can be.
I rubbed my belly, and apologized to the snowflakes for whatever they might be feeling of my tears, and told them about Peyton, their big sister who they will never meet in this life. I explained that though she is not here, and they are, I still love her as I do them, and that sometimes, even as we celebrate in joy the blessings of our lives, there will come the time to shed tears for the little girl, our first little girl, who was taken too quickly and too permanently from all of our lives. It might sound crazy (as I often do here) but for some reason I got the feeling that they understood, and once that feeling had washed over me - my tears halted and I was at peace.
The good news is that both of my little snowflakes are growing and growing and growing! The average baby at 17 weeks is 5 oz, and despite the fact that I have struggled to gain weight in this pregnancy because of unrelenting morning sickness, pregnancy nose, and nauseating food aversions, I am happy to report that baby A is weighing in at a whopping 9 oz! while baby B is just about where (she) should be at 7 oz.
All of the measurements the ultrasound tech and Perinatologist took, showed these babies to be right in the appropriate ranges, though it has become fairly clear on ultrasound that Baby A is our future NBA star, with long legs and big old feet like his daddy.
Always one for keeping up the mystery, Baby B decided to hang out in the shadows of my belly button a bit longer, keeping (her) parts hidden from clear view. The docs have told me that they really think A is a boy, and B is a girl, but like any modest little girl should, when they went to get a good look, B covered up with her hands (what a little lady haha) so a definitive determination of B's gender has not been made. The Peri assured us that at the anatomy scan, we will definitely find out for sure.
The news about my SCH was pretty good. I had a few more brown bleeds since the last time I blogged about it, and the SCH that they have been watching seems to be down to about 6.5cm which is great news (it was 12.5cm at its largest.)
The not so wonderful news is that they think I may have developed a second SCH measuring 4cmx4cm, and this one was not as far from the babies as the first so that made us sort of say ugh. The tech told us they weren't absolutely sure that it was another SCH they were seeing, explaining that it could possibly be a blood vessel, so only time will tell.
My placenta previa also seems to be doing "okay." When I am having a contraction, I have full placenta previa, but when I am not contracting, Baby A moves up a little bit and makes some room for the cervix. I asked the Peri if she thought it would correct itself, and she said that while there is still a chance that it might, at this point I am pretty far along for that to happen, so that, too, may be something they have to watch for the remainder.
Overall I have to say that I am feeling pretty good, though I am officially the size of a house, okay maybe not a whole house, but a condo at least. I am still throwing up just about daily, but not nearly as much - and though I hear talk about some mysterious energy boost that is supposed to be here in the second tri, the rain we have been having here in the northeast these last few weeks has kept that from happening.
I guess that if there is one good thing to be said as I approach my now 6th week of bed rest (I can't believe it, I mean I can because it is boring and redundant and I have lived it every day, but I can't believe it still) is that there is a lot of free time to partake in some good naps.
I was going to share some ultrasound pics with you today, but hubs still needs to get them scanned for me, and we are overdue for a belly shot, so that will come soon too.
Instead I thought I would share these lovely goodies that I have been so lucky to receive over these last few weeks, for which I am truly, TRULY, grateful.
This lovely painting actually came more than a few weeks ago, isn't it beautiful? It is a watercolored butterfly sent to me from my beautiful friend Jill at Footprints on Our Hearts!
Jill was also kind enough to send me this care package to get me through bed rest, as well as some twin books which unfortunately I don't have a pic of ...
And for Peyton's birthday, a lovely blog reader named Denise H. sent me the most perfect butterfly chimes... aren't they amazing? They hang at our front porch now, and make the most beautiful wind-song when a soft breeze blows.
Well I guess that's all I have to report... please continue to keep my sweet little snowflakes in your prayers, that they continue to grow, and thrive, and come into this world healthy and strong.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
I'm still standing... er... sitting/laying
10 days. It's been 10 days since my little Peyton celebrated her second birthday in the stars, and I had my big bleeding fiasco. I have spent these days on modified bed rest, trying to free my mind from the worries that come with continued bleeding while pregnant. I've tried books, movies, surfing the internet, but the reality is that every trip to the bathroom is a reminder of this stupid SCH, and until it's presence is no longer so evident, freeing my mind from worry is not too likely.
For the most part I have put my energies into finding info that builds my optimism. I read a study saying that the risks of SCH's associated with IVF are much lower, so I have that going for me, and the vast majority of SCH women that I see on the online boards are still kickin', though there are other boards, boards that talk about loss from SCH, and as a means of self protection, I just try to ignore their existence.
I think the babies are trying to help me through this too. Though I have felt the odd "roll" here or there, being 14 weeks along, movement is not super evident as of yet, and the comfort one can get in these situations from a kick count is not yet an option for me. That being said, last night I felt quite the movement from my little baby B, and this morning, Baby A gave me what I think was the first jab of this pregnancy, and a welcome little jab in the side at that. I like to think they are saying, "don't worry mom, we are here, we are fine."
I felt Peyton begin to flutter at 14 weeks, so I guess it is not completely outside the realm of possibility with two of them in there, and my uterus being so incredibly tipped, that I should start to feel their movements ramp up in the coming days/weeks. What a blessing each movement is, a reminder that this is not for naught, and they are fine, and happy, and playing around inside of me.
I have a routine as I prepare for bed each night, of laying down shirt lifted, my eyes on my stomach just watching for the slightest movement, where I rub my belly, and remind them over and over how very loved they are, and how very wanted they are, and that it would be a really good idea to do whatever they can do to stick around and thrive.
This level of bedrest that I am on (bed to couch to bed with a few trips to bathroom and kitchen in between) is an indefinite situation, and my house is really starting to show the effects of that. I should mention that when it comes to house cleaning, I am a bit OCD. There are ways that I do things, very particular ways, ways that have been set in stone in the ten years of hubs and I living together (barring mybrief absence from interest in caring for anything the year after Peyton died) and since I have been instructed not to bend/lift/push/pull anything, poor hubs has had to pick up all the household slack before and after putting in a day at work. Sure, he doesn't do it the way I would do it, but he tries nonetheless and it's an effort that I truly appreciate.
I have to say that of all his new responsibilities, I find his efforts at dinner time to be the cutest. For the better part of our decade together, he has never had to think about what to have for dinner or trying to prepare meals. Sure, he has grilled some meat that I took out for him here or there, maybe cooked up some spaghetti, but for the most part these duties have fallen on me, and to see him present his little "man feasts" with such pride is just adorable.
In the past week and a half I have been treated to the finest in bachelor cuisine: taco salad, mac n' cheese, a really not very good chicken in peanut butter thing, a pb& j sammich, and last night, grilled cheese. Each meal is presented with a look of pride and a huge grin and I just smile and tell him it is delicious and "the best pb&j I have ever had" and he beams in appreciation, and that's all that matters. (Well, except for the chicken peanut butter thing, we were both in agreement that that tasted pretty awful.)
I guess that is really it then. I wish I had something more exciting to report, but life on bedrest fundamentally lacks any level of excitement. Please know how appreciative that hubs and I feel for all the prayers that have been sent to our little snowflakes lately. I will leave you today with some pictures of Peyton's birthday party. Though we were not able to be there, we are so appreciative that my Aunt took pictures for us. Like I mentioned earlier, it means a lot that our friends continued the celebration in her honor without us.
****EDIT - per hubs special request, he has asked that I clear his good name, and mention to the world, that last week he "attempted" to make chicken and dumplings... err... the dumplings were good.
For the most part I have put my energies into finding info that builds my optimism. I read a study saying that the risks of SCH's associated with IVF are much lower, so I have that going for me, and the vast majority of SCH women that I see on the online boards are still kickin', though there are other boards, boards that talk about loss from SCH, and as a means of self protection, I just try to ignore their existence.
I think the babies are trying to help me through this too. Though I have felt the odd "roll" here or there, being 14 weeks along, movement is not super evident as of yet, and the comfort one can get in these situations from a kick count is not yet an option for me. That being said, last night I felt quite the movement from my little baby B, and this morning, Baby A gave me what I think was the first jab of this pregnancy, and a welcome little jab in the side at that. I like to think they are saying, "don't worry mom, we are here, we are fine."
I felt Peyton begin to flutter at 14 weeks, so I guess it is not completely outside the realm of possibility with two of them in there, and my uterus being so incredibly tipped, that I should start to feel their movements ramp up in the coming days/weeks. What a blessing each movement is, a reminder that this is not for naught, and they are fine, and happy, and playing around inside of me.
I have a routine as I prepare for bed each night, of laying down shirt lifted, my eyes on my stomach just watching for the slightest movement, where I rub my belly, and remind them over and over how very loved they are, and how very wanted they are, and that it would be a really good idea to do whatever they can do to stick around and thrive.
This level of bedrest that I am on (bed to couch to bed with a few trips to bathroom and kitchen in between) is an indefinite situation, and my house is really starting to show the effects of that. I should mention that when it comes to house cleaning, I am a bit OCD. There are ways that I do things, very particular ways, ways that have been set in stone in the ten years of hubs and I living together (barring my
I have to say that of all his new responsibilities, I find his efforts at dinner time to be the cutest. For the better part of our decade together, he has never had to think about what to have for dinner or trying to prepare meals. Sure, he has grilled some meat that I took out for him here or there, maybe cooked up some spaghetti, but for the most part these duties have fallen on me, and to see him present his little "man feasts" with such pride is just adorable.
In the past week and a half I have been treated to the finest in bachelor cuisine: taco salad, mac n' cheese, a really not very good chicken in peanut butter thing, a pb& j sammich, and last night, grilled cheese. Each meal is presented with a look of pride and a huge grin and I just smile and tell him it is delicious and "the best pb&j I have ever had" and he beams in appreciation, and that's all that matters. (Well, except for the chicken peanut butter thing, we were both in agreement that that tasted pretty awful.)
I guess that is really it then. I wish I had something more exciting to report, but life on bedrest fundamentally lacks any level of excitement. Please know how appreciative that hubs and I feel for all the prayers that have been sent to our little snowflakes lately. I will leave you today with some pictures of Peyton's birthday party. Though we were not able to be there, we are so appreciative that my Aunt took pictures for us. Like I mentioned earlier, it means a lot that our friends continued the celebration in her honor without us.
****EDIT - per hubs special request, he has asked that I clear his good name, and mention to the world, that last week he "attempted" to make chicken and dumplings... err... the dumplings were good.
Thanks to my sister for hosting the party at the last minute.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Stop this ride, I wanna get off!
So last week I blogged just about every day. This week...not so much. This is due, in large part, to the incredible roller coaster that this week has been, full of extreme highs and lows.
Here is a recap of some of its ups and downs.
On Monday we got a call that an opening for NEXT WEEK came up in the injections class. The woman told me if we couldn't make that one, we would have quite a wait ahead of us. I guess someone either dropped out, or got pregnant on their own. Needless to say, we jumped right on it. We go on Thursday, and if all goes well and my meds arrive on time (our insurance requires that we use a mail order service) than we might cycle as early as next month.-That was an UP!
As some of you know, there is a journalist, Joel Meares, who has been interviewing me on and off for the last six or so months for a story he is writing for Columbia University about online grieving. That story hasn't actually come out yet, but he wrote an opinion piece for the Australian website "The Punch" this week, in which he defended online memorial sites (there has been some controversy over them in Australia, and rightfully so) and mentioned my blog. Being the nothing special girl that I am, I found it to be pretty darn exciting, even though it didn't seem to sway many minds on the topic. You can read that here if you'd like. -Another UP!
This week, like every week, I am missing Peyton. Waves of grief, like those from her early days Why me? Why her? Why us? Why is cancer our cross to bear? Why can't I be normal and make healthy babies? etc. etc. come crashing down sporadically and with little warning. I usually visit Peyton's grave for comfort when those questions come calling, and this week, doing so did not bring healing. It brought the discovery that someone had allowed their dogs, again, to desecrate her grave. This was pretty hard to take. - This was a Down!
That being said, I met with Officer B yesterday and she promised to take more runs through that area in the hopes of catching whoever is doing this, whether it be the same man, or someone else. Officer B also lost her only daughter, so she understands how hard seeing Peyton's grave disrespected is for me. She understands that it is just another example of my inability to protect my child.
During our meeting over coffee yesterday morning, Officer B also mentioned a grieving mothers group that she was going to, and invited me to come. I did, and in the process met some wonderful women. Our situations were different, it was not a baby loss group, but I made some great connections nonetheless. -Up!
Just when I finally felt the earth moving again, and started feeling hopeful about trying for a rainbow baby, I was met with some devastating news that left me rocked to the core. This news left me questioning everything.
I came across the story of a woman who lost not one, but two of her precious babies to the same type of extremely rare Leukemia that Peyton had. She is the only known case of having more than one child be diagnosed, without the siblings being identical twins, and I know that I should find some comfort in that, but she doesn't know how or why her two babies developed this Leukemia, so there is no reassurance in having heard her story.
Seeing how she, like me, lost her first child to this devastating disease, was hard enough. Hearing her tell how she spent a year of healing before building up the the nerve to try again, only to have Leukemia steal another child from her, well, it was too much to take. The tears and deep sense of fear were unstoppable.
Here hubs and I were celebrating our good fortune in having the chance to try IVF, and then, out of left field, this story came along leaving us to question everything.
Should we try?
Do we have the right to try?
Is it selfish to try when this risk may still be out there?
This story spit in the face of my sense of hope. I felt myself spinning, lost, unable to navigate back to a place where my confidence in my right to, belief in, or ability that I can have healthy children would return. The burden of having lost my child inexplicably to cancer buys me membership to a club that I want no part of, a club that forces me to worry that other kids could be affected too. This was a Down! Down! Down!
I know life is unfair, but why? Why does it have to be? Why can't I scream "Hey universe, I have already had my share of shitty days, its my turn to shine. Back off!"
These questions were weighing really heavily on my mind, and then I heard this. It is something from my meeting last night that I'd like to share with you all.
A woman, ten years out from the death of her son, said she hated when people told her "Time heals." She said, "Time doesn't heal, it reveals."
I meditated on this quite a bit, and it brought me back to a post that I read some months ago by Carly. In it, Carly shared a present day picture of herself with her children. In the post, Carly said that she wished the old her, the grief stricken mother dealing with the death of her child, could have seen the picture of her future, back then. She said that if she had, if she had known that such blessings still awaited her, she would have felt more hope through her suffering.
That, I guess, is what the woman at the meeting meant by "Time Reveals."
I hope to one day be so fortunate as to have healing reveal itself to me with time. I pray for the day when I hold my rainbow baby(s) in a picture representing my new norm. A norm full of promise. I pray that I can discover who I am in this baby lost world. Who the "new me," is. The one who can never go back to who she was before, but can still feel that her life has been truly blessed despite all of the pain of losing Peyton.
Until then, until I see that snapshot of a better life, a life that came through this storm changed but okay, I will just have to wait. Wait and pray that time for me, too, will reveal healing.
Here is a recap of some of its ups and downs.
On Monday we got a call that an opening for NEXT WEEK came up in the injections class. The woman told me if we couldn't make that one, we would have quite a wait ahead of us. I guess someone either dropped out, or got pregnant on their own. Needless to say, we jumped right on it. We go on Thursday, and if all goes well and my meds arrive on time (our insurance requires that we use a mail order service) than we might cycle as early as next month.-That was an UP!
As some of you know, there is a journalist, Joel Meares, who has been interviewing me on and off for the last six or so months for a story he is writing for Columbia University about online grieving. That story hasn't actually come out yet, but he wrote an opinion piece for the Australian website "The Punch" this week, in which he defended online memorial sites (there has been some controversy over them in Australia, and rightfully so) and mentioned my blog. Being the nothing special girl that I am, I found it to be pretty darn exciting, even though it didn't seem to sway many minds on the topic. You can read that here if you'd like. -Another UP!
This week, like every week, I am missing Peyton. Waves of grief, like those from her early days Why me? Why her? Why us? Why is cancer our cross to bear? Why can't I be normal and make healthy babies? etc. etc. come crashing down sporadically and with little warning. I usually visit Peyton's grave for comfort when those questions come calling, and this week, doing so did not bring healing. It brought the discovery that someone had allowed their dogs, again, to desecrate her grave. This was pretty hard to take. - This was a Down!
That being said, I met with Officer B yesterday and she promised to take more runs through that area in the hopes of catching whoever is doing this, whether it be the same man, or someone else. Officer B also lost her only daughter, so she understands how hard seeing Peyton's grave disrespected is for me. She understands that it is just another example of my inability to protect my child.
During our meeting over coffee yesterday morning, Officer B also mentioned a grieving mothers group that she was going to, and invited me to come. I did, and in the process met some wonderful women. Our situations were different, it was not a baby loss group, but I made some great connections nonetheless. -Up!
Just when I finally felt the earth moving again, and started feeling hopeful about trying for a rainbow baby, I was met with some devastating news that left me rocked to the core. This news left me questioning everything.
I came across the story of a woman who lost not one, but two of her precious babies to the same type of extremely rare Leukemia that Peyton had. She is the only known case of having more than one child be diagnosed, without the siblings being identical twins, and I know that I should find some comfort in that, but she doesn't know how or why her two babies developed this Leukemia, so there is no reassurance in having heard her story.
Seeing how she, like me, lost her first child to this devastating disease, was hard enough. Hearing her tell how she spent a year of healing before building up the the nerve to try again, only to have Leukemia steal another child from her, well, it was too much to take. The tears and deep sense of fear were unstoppable.
Here hubs and I were celebrating our good fortune in having the chance to try IVF, and then, out of left field, this story came along leaving us to question everything.
Should we try?
Do we have the right to try?
Is it selfish to try when this risk may still be out there?
This story spit in the face of my sense of hope. I felt myself spinning, lost, unable to navigate back to a place where my confidence in my right to, belief in, or ability that I can have healthy children would return. The burden of having lost my child inexplicably to cancer buys me membership to a club that I want no part of, a club that forces me to worry that other kids could be affected too. This was a Down! Down! Down!
I know life is unfair, but why? Why does it have to be? Why can't I scream "Hey universe, I have already had my share of shitty days, its my turn to shine. Back off!"
These questions were weighing really heavily on my mind, and then I heard this. It is something from my meeting last night that I'd like to share with you all.
A woman, ten years out from the death of her son, said she hated when people told her "Time heals." She said, "Time doesn't heal, it reveals."
I meditated on this quite a bit, and it brought me back to a post that I read some months ago by Carly. In it, Carly shared a present day picture of herself with her children. In the post, Carly said that she wished the old her, the grief stricken mother dealing with the death of her child, could have seen the picture of her future, back then. She said that if she had, if she had known that such blessings still awaited her, she would have felt more hope through her suffering.
That, I guess, is what the woman at the meeting meant by "Time Reveals."
I hope to one day be so fortunate as to have healing reveal itself to me with time. I pray for the day when I hold my rainbow baby(s) in a picture representing my new norm. A norm full of promise. I pray that I can discover who I am in this baby lost world. Who the "new me," is. The one who can never go back to who she was before, but can still feel that her life has been truly blessed despite all of the pain of losing Peyton.
Until then, until I see that snapshot of a better life, a life that came through this storm changed but okay, I will just have to wait. Wait and pray that time for me, too, will reveal healing.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
He's Baaaaaack!
I don't even know what to say except that I am furious.
The asshat that I talked about here, and here, is back.
Yesterday I went up to see Peyton with my cousin and discovered little souvenirs that his dog had left around her grave. I didn't have anything on me to clean it up with, so I headed back up there early this morning with bags in tow. What I found broke my heart. There was enough dog waste around Peyton's little grave to fill three plastic doggie pickup bags.
I looked around at the other graves and found nothing. It's like he walked it over to her spot and placed it himself.
What kind of a person can do something like that to a little baby's grave? As you all know, I have already gone to the police. I don't know where else to turn because they can't have someone stationed there 24/7.
I really don't need this...
The asshat that I talked about here, and here, is back.
Yesterday I went up to see Peyton with my cousin and discovered little souvenirs that his dog had left around her grave. I didn't have anything on me to clean it up with, so I headed back up there early this morning with bags in tow. What I found broke my heart. There was enough dog waste around Peyton's little grave to fill three plastic doggie pickup bags.
I looked around at the other graves and found nothing. It's like he walked it over to her spot and placed it himself.
What kind of a person can do something like that to a little baby's grave? As you all know, I have already gone to the police. I don't know where else to turn because they can't have someone stationed there 24/7.
I really don't need this...
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
"Look for the signs. They are everywhere!"
Today I went for a visit to Peyton's grave. It was about 2PM and my buddy Guerwyn (the 83 year old who I see up at the cemetery) brought some very sad news. Our other cemetery friend, a guy named Mike who was wheelchair bound after a construction accident, had aspirated when he got sick in his sleep and couldn't sit up. He passed away. This news came as a real shock. Mike, was barely forty.
A voice in my mind: "You need to find a way to start living."
After talking with Guerwyn, and discussing the news in disbelief, I made my way to visit Peyton's grave. It was bitter cold today, and I knew our visit would be cut short by the weather. I apologized for not coming by as often as usual, and explained how hard this last week has been for me. Saying my prayers, I went to leave, when two things caught my eye. The first was a large set of dog prints around my daughter's grave, and that of her neighbors. The second was that a vase at the grave beside hers was filled to the brim with yellow snow. The jerk I wrote about here and here had returned to let his dogs violate the graves on Peyton's Hill. Last week there was substantial damage to Peyton's grave blanket, and I thought maybe he was responsible. This evidence was irrefutable. He had promised not to return. He had said he understood. I was beside myself.
Walking back to the car, Guerwyn sensed that I was upset, and asked what was wrong.
"I wish I knew that guy's name so that I could look up his grave when he passes, and have my dogs piss on it."
"Your a meany!" Guerwyn teased with the joking smile of a kid, but his humor was lost on me. I was furious.
Taring out of the cemetery, I knew what I had to do, and headed directly to the Police Department. I was a woman on a mission. A protective mother who couldn't bear any longer to see the spot where her daughter laid being disrespected. I stomped the snow off my boots, and headed for the front door and straight up to the desk.
"Can I help you?" The dispatcher asked.
"I need to file a complaint."
"Regarding?"
"Regarding a man who lets his dogs defecate on my child's grave."
"Oh..." she offered, "just a moment."
I gave the woman raw details, and my contact information, and she promised an animal control officer would call me within the hour. I headed home, fed Charlotte (my black lab) and waited by the phone.
I should mention here that I have been on some crazy antibiotics the last week to fight any possible infection that might have been brought on by the HSG. The pills are huge, and have to be taken 2 hours after AND 2 hours before you eat, so that your stomach is very, very empty. They make me nauseous as all get out, and admittedly a little cranky, so when the phone rang and the woman, we will call her "Officer B", asked me what had happened, I spilled every gory detail of what this man had let his dogs do, and why it hurt me so badly. I then went on, in the uncensored manner that has become commonplace, to also spill all the gory details about my misfortune, all the way down to my two bum tubes.
"It's all a little overwhelming." I admitted. "You know, she's still my daughter. It might sound silly, because she is dead, but, she is still my daughter. I just want to protect her."
"I understand," Officer B. consoled. "I lost my daughter too. She was 24. To suicide."
Isn't it funny the way you feel an instant connection with someone? Just as I have with so many of you, because of our shared loss, I knew that Officer B really got where I was coming from, and in turn, having lost my own child, and a close friend as a teen to suicide, I understood where she was coming from. Our situations were totally different, but the bond was there. The connection was instant. In that moment I knew she, too, was determined to stop this asshat from letting his dogs violate Peyton's hill.
Officer B went straight to the cemetery and checked it out.
"I see footprints and urine everywhere," she acknowledged. "Now, here's the bad news. There are no leash laws in this town, so unless he is caught in the act, it's going to make it hard."
I told her I understood. And she promised to patrol the area at the time of day when I usually found him. We made more small talk, and promising to let her know if I saw him again, and she to let me know if anything came of the report, we ended the call.
Charlotte had a vet appointment today at 5 to get her second Lyme vaccination, and by 5:15 we were on our way back home. Walking in the door, I heard the phone ring.
"Kristin?"
"Yes."
"This is Officer B. You will never believe this."
"What?"
"Right after I hung up with you, this little black dog came running up to me unleashed. Two more followed behind him. And finally, our guy."
"No! What happened?" I asked eagerly.
She told me about their exchange. How initially he provided false information and so she called for backup, who came in for the assist. I couldn't believe it. In less than two hours time, this wonderful woman had taken care of something that had caused me much grief.
"Your not the only one to complain." She told me. "There have been others from the church too."
She told me that she politely let him know that to walk his dogs there, they would have to be leashed and kept away from the stones, and if there were further complaints, he would be fined.
"I'm not gonna leash them," he told her. "My dogs like to chase squirrels, that's why I let them come here to roam around."
"Listen," she said, "I lost my child. I understand where these complaints are coming from. These people come here to grieve. That is what this place is for. Your dog's defecating adds to their grief. You cannot bring them here if you won't follow the rules."
Disgruntled, he said he would just find another place to bring them then.
"Good," I told her. "Go somewhere else."
"There's more..." she went on.
After looking up his real name she found that none of his dogs were registered, and he was met with a hefty fine on that one today too.
"Some happy new year!" was all he could say.
I couldn't believe her story, and it got me to thinking... maybe my doctor was wrong... maybe there IS justice in this world.
"I can't tell you how grateful I am for what you did today," I told her.
"I understand where you are coming from. I understand that pain. " She said.
We talked a bit more, about life, about our dogs, and then in saying goodbye, she added "look for the signs."
"Signs," I asked, "like from my daughter?"
"Yes, look for the signs, they are everywhere."
"Maybe this was a sign." I said. "Maybe our daughter's found eachother up there and brought you to me, and me to you, so that you could help me with this guy, and we could talk about our girls and our grief and come together. Maybe this was a sign."
"Maybe so," she agreed.
Maybe so, indeed.
THANK YOU OFFICER B!
A voice in my mind: "You need to find a way to start living."
After talking with Guerwyn, and discussing the news in disbelief, I made my way to visit Peyton's grave. It was bitter cold today, and I knew our visit would be cut short by the weather. I apologized for not coming by as often as usual, and explained how hard this last week has been for me. Saying my prayers, I went to leave, when two things caught my eye. The first was a large set of dog prints around my daughter's grave, and that of her neighbors. The second was that a vase at the grave beside hers was filled to the brim with yellow snow. The jerk I wrote about here and here had returned to let his dogs violate the graves on Peyton's Hill. Last week there was substantial damage to Peyton's grave blanket, and I thought maybe he was responsible. This evidence was irrefutable. He had promised not to return. He had said he understood. I was beside myself.
Walking back to the car, Guerwyn sensed that I was upset, and asked what was wrong.
"I wish I knew that guy's name so that I could look up his grave when he passes, and have my dogs piss on it."
"Your a meany!" Guerwyn teased with the joking smile of a kid, but his humor was lost on me. I was furious.
Taring out of the cemetery, I knew what I had to do, and headed directly to the Police Department. I was a woman on a mission. A protective mother who couldn't bear any longer to see the spot where her daughter laid being disrespected. I stomped the snow off my boots, and headed for the front door and straight up to the desk.
"Can I help you?" The dispatcher asked.
"I need to file a complaint."
"Regarding?"
"Regarding a man who lets his dogs defecate on my child's grave."
"Oh..." she offered, "just a moment."
I gave the woman raw details, and my contact information, and she promised an animal control officer would call me within the hour. I headed home, fed Charlotte (my black lab) and waited by the phone.
I should mention here that I have been on some crazy antibiotics the last week to fight any possible infection that might have been brought on by the HSG. The pills are huge, and have to be taken 2 hours after AND 2 hours before you eat, so that your stomach is very, very empty. They make me nauseous as all get out, and admittedly a little cranky, so when the phone rang and the woman, we will call her "Officer B", asked me what had happened, I spilled every gory detail of what this man had let his dogs do, and why it hurt me so badly. I then went on, in the uncensored manner that has become commonplace, to also spill all the gory details about my misfortune, all the way down to my two bum tubes.
"It's all a little overwhelming." I admitted. "You know, she's still my daughter. It might sound silly, because she is dead, but, she is still my daughter. I just want to protect her."
"I understand," Officer B. consoled. "I lost my daughter too. She was 24. To suicide."
Isn't it funny the way you feel an instant connection with someone? Just as I have with so many of you, because of our shared loss, I knew that Officer B really got where I was coming from, and in turn, having lost my own child, and a close friend as a teen to suicide, I understood where she was coming from. Our situations were totally different, but the bond was there. The connection was instant. In that moment I knew she, too, was determined to stop this asshat from letting his dogs violate Peyton's hill.
Officer B went straight to the cemetery and checked it out.
"I see footprints and urine everywhere," she acknowledged. "Now, here's the bad news. There are no leash laws in this town, so unless he is caught in the act, it's going to make it hard."
I told her I understood. And she promised to patrol the area at the time of day when I usually found him. We made more small talk, and promising to let her know if I saw him again, and she to let me know if anything came of the report, we ended the call.
Charlotte had a vet appointment today at 5 to get her second Lyme vaccination, and by 5:15 we were on our way back home. Walking in the door, I heard the phone ring.
"Kristin?"
"Yes."
"This is Officer B. You will never believe this."
"What?"
"Right after I hung up with you, this little black dog came running up to me unleashed. Two more followed behind him. And finally, our guy."
"No! What happened?" I asked eagerly.
She told me about their exchange. How initially he provided false information and so she called for backup, who came in for the assist. I couldn't believe it. In less than two hours time, this wonderful woman had taken care of something that had caused me much grief.
"Your not the only one to complain." She told me. "There have been others from the church too."
She told me that she politely let him know that to walk his dogs there, they would have to be leashed and kept away from the stones, and if there were further complaints, he would be fined.
"I'm not gonna leash them," he told her. "My dogs like to chase squirrels, that's why I let them come here to roam around."
"Listen," she said, "I lost my child. I understand where these complaints are coming from. These people come here to grieve. That is what this place is for. Your dog's defecating adds to their grief. You cannot bring them here if you won't follow the rules."
Disgruntled, he said he would just find another place to bring them then.
"Good," I told her. "Go somewhere else."
"There's more..." she went on.
After looking up his real name she found that none of his dogs were registered, and he was met with a hefty fine on that one today too.
"Some happy new year!" was all he could say.
I couldn't believe her story, and it got me to thinking... maybe my doctor was wrong... maybe there IS justice in this world.
"I can't tell you how grateful I am for what you did today," I told her.
"I understand where you are coming from. I understand that pain. " She said.
We talked a bit more, about life, about our dogs, and then in saying goodbye, she added "look for the signs."
"Signs," I asked, "like from my daughter?"
"Yes, look for the signs, they are everywhere."
"Maybe this was a sign." I said. "Maybe our daughter's found eachother up there and brought you to me, and me to you, so that you could help me with this guy, and we could talk about our girls and our grief and come together. Maybe this was a sign."
"Maybe so," she agreed.
Maybe so, indeed.
THANK YOU OFFICER B!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Gramma & Pop Pop Pay a Visit - Mel's Show & Tell
My parents have been coming to see me, and visit Peyton's grave, pretty much every week since her passing. At first it was a necessity thing. They would come and get me out of the house, because I wouldn't do it myself. Those early visits usually involved long car rides where we would see something, and nothing, all at once. Under the guise of taking "day trips" they would listen as I cried about how sad I was, the guilt I felt, and how I had lost my sense of worth. They offered unwaivering love and compassion, and most importantly, an ear to listen.
I know how hard it was to be me in those earliest months, I can only imagine how difficult it was to voluntarily be around me. It hit me one day, at around six or seven months out, that my parents were grieving more than just the sweet little grandchild they had lost, but also their own daughter who had lost herself. Through the tears, and the pain, and the angry outbursts, my parents remained steadfast, returning to my side week after week. They would spend the day with me, and the evenings with me and hubs once he came home from work. I can't honestly say that I would have made it through without their support.
When my parents visit now, it is more to visit than to grieve. We have fallen into this wonderfully comfortable pattern of spending every Thursday together to talk, visit, and go to see Peyton's grave. I can't lie and say there are never tears, but for the most part, we have a nice day together. Even when I can't bear the idea of seeing anyone because I am feeling so low, a visit from my parents can make me feel better.
Last Thursday, I had to go in for a stress test at the cardiologist, and had to cancel our day together. To my surprise, my folks still made the hour long drive from their town to ours, to go see their little Peyton's grave, and deck it out for the holidays.
Today, for show and tell, I am sharing the pictures that they took, of their visit with Peyton, and the beautiful grave blanket they made for her.
I am so grateful for these shots, because just a few days later, the entire hill is buried under eight inches of snow. It brings me comfort knowing my little one is warm beneath this blanket.
A view at the head of the blanket.
I love this little Angel ornament. It seems so fitting.
Here is the view from standing back.
I love the way the grave blanket spans the distance between where Peyton is buried (beneath the garden) to the base of her plot where her stone is.
Here is a picture of my mother, Peyton's "Gramma", showing off her handiwork. Last year my parents bought Peyton a grave blanket from a local florist, this year they made this one by hand, choosing each piece that went into decorating it.
The wreath, which I had hung the day before their visit, was also a gift from my mother, which she gave me last year to use on Peyton's grave this Christmas.
I love these butterflies. My father put these on, since butterflies have always been associated with Peyton.
Peyton Elizabeth
Here is a picture of my Father, Peyton's "Pop Pop" paying her a visit.
To see what others are showing and telling, visit here.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Hell hath no fury
What a day. What a day. What a day.
She hooked me up for an EKG, tore a print out from the machine, and informed me that the Doctor would be in with me shortly. A magazine boasted a picture of Katherine Heigle and her new adopted baby from China. Even at the cardiologist, babies seem to follow me.
Doctor M. entered the room and ran through my chart. I explained that I don't know which comes first, the anxiety, or the arrhythmia, as they seem to be one vicious cycle.
"Are you exercising?"
Dr. M checked me over, and showed me on the EKG all the premature beats. He discussed medications.
"I want to put you on a Beta Blocker," he said.
He scheduled me for a stress test, as well as some labs to check my cholesterol, thyroid, etc. Have I mentioned I am only 29 years old?
Dressing, I headed out to the desk to be checked out.
Behind the counter sat a very familiar face, and my heart stopped. We had worked together at my last job. Had been sort of buddies, waiting to walk out with each other at night so as to never navigate the parking lot alone. She looked up at me and offered a courteous smile.
"Please move to the next desk and she can help you," she said.
I have spent the last year wondering how I would handle running into someone from my old job. I was a different person then, perky, happy, upbeat. This interaction ripped me apart. I have changed THAT MUCH. I have changed so much that someone I spent two years working with, someone I, at the time, considered a "work friend", no longer recognized me after a year of grieving.
Feeling like complete crap, I made my stress test appointment, and headed out the door.
"Hey!" I yelled, "Hey! You!"
I met my cousin Erica this morning. We haven't seen each other in quite some time, maybe a month or so, and it was really great to catch up.
After leaving her, I had to head to a cardiologist appointment. I have been having some major arrhythmia for the past year, and in the last month or so it has really kicked into high gear.
The nurse ran down my chart, updating my files.
After leaving her, I had to head to a cardiologist appointment. I have been having some major arrhythmia for the past year, and in the last month or so it has really kicked into high gear.
The nurse ran down my chart, updating my files.
"Are you still on the Prenate DHA?" she asked
"Those were my prenatals. I was pregnant last time I was here."
"So you're not still on it?"
"No."
She hooked me up for an EKG, tore a print out from the machine, and informed me that the Doctor would be in with me shortly. A magazine boasted a picture of Katherine Heigle and her new adopted baby from China. Even at the cardiologist, babies seem to follow me.
Doctor M. entered the room and ran through my chart. I explained that I don't know which comes first, the anxiety, or the arrhythmia, as they seem to be one vicious cycle.
"Are you exercising?"
"Yes, regularly," I offered, feeling self conscious about my post baby body, "though you wouldn't know it by my size."
"There is nothing wrong with your size," he smiled, "I treated a six hundred pound man earlier today."
I wondered if I should take that as a compliment.
Dr. M checked me over, and showed me on the EKG all the premature beats. He discussed medications.
"I want to put you on a Beta Blocker," he said.
"Is that dangerous for a baby?"
I explained to him what had happened with Peyton, and how I wasn't willing to take anything that could jeopardize a future pregnancy or child. Through it all, Dr. M. never batted an eyelash. I guess mother's telling him about dead babies are not that rare.
He scheduled me for a stress test, as well as some labs to check my cholesterol, thyroid, etc. Have I mentioned I am only 29 years old?
Dressing, I headed out to the desk to be checked out.
Behind the counter sat a very familiar face, and my heart stopped. We had worked together at my last job. Had been sort of buddies, waiting to walk out with each other at night so as to never navigate the parking lot alone. She looked up at me and offered a courteous smile.
"Please move to the next desk and she can help you," she said.
"Hi," I said, "it's me."
No recognition crossed her face.
"We worked together at CompanyX"
"Oh, yeah, right. How are you?"
Still no recognition.
The situation was becoming embarrassing. I made a few small pleasantries and headed for counter two. Her eyes followed me as I moved. She was still trying to figure out who I was.
The situation was becoming embarrassing. I made a few small pleasantries and headed for counter two. Her eyes followed me as I moved. She was still trying to figure out who I was.
I have spent the last year wondering how I would handle running into someone from my old job. I was a different person then, perky, happy, upbeat. This interaction ripped me apart. I have changed THAT MUCH. I have changed so much that someone I spent two years working with, someone I, at the time, considered a "work friend", no longer recognized me after a year of grieving.
Feeling like complete crap, I made my stress test appointment, and headed out the door.
****
After my appointment, I drove to the cemetery for my daily visit with Peyton. It was nearly 4pm at this point, and I felt like it was a race against the sun to get there before it got dark.
Reaching her, I did some housekeeping things, straightening up her plot, and was just beginning to tell her about my day, when a dog came running towards me from the woods. He was alone, unleashed, and coming at me quickly, so I decided to play it safe, and headed for my car.
I have never owned a dog. I like them, but random dogs coming out of the woods towards me is a little beyond my comfort zone. I watched from the safety of my car, as the dog made his way through the cemetery, lifting his leg to pee on some of the graves near Peyton. A man called after him from the woods, and my blood began to boil. It was him, the jerk I wrote about here, who was allowing his dogs to use Peyton's grave as a toilet.
Something in me snapped, and before I knew it, I was charging across the hill after him.
Reaching her, I did some housekeeping things, straightening up her plot, and was just beginning to tell her about my day, when a dog came running towards me from the woods. He was alone, unleashed, and coming at me quickly, so I decided to play it safe, and headed for my car.
I have never owned a dog. I like them, but random dogs coming out of the woods towards me is a little beyond my comfort zone. I watched from the safety of my car, as the dog made his way through the cemetery, lifting his leg to pee on some of the graves near Peyton. A man called after him from the woods, and my blood began to boil. It was him, the jerk I wrote about here, who was allowing his dogs to use Peyton's grave as a toilet.
Something in me snapped, and before I knew it, I was charging across the hill after him.
"Hey!" I yelled, "Hey! You!"
He was walking with three dogs, only one of which was on a leash. He looked at me startled.
"What do you think this is?"
"Excuse me?" He asked.
I was on a tyrade now. Uncontrollable.
"This place is not here for your personal use! This is no dog park, it is sacred ground!" My voice was growing louder with every word. We were nearly nose to nose. "I don't appreciate you letting your dogs pee on my daughter's grave, do you know how that makes me feel to have to come here and find her grave violated like that? There are trees all around here, take them to walk through the woods to pee, not here! There are leash laws you know!"
"I'm sorry," he offered, "I have this one leashed because I have seen him do it before, I didn't know the other ones would."
It was a lie and he knew it.
"They all have to be leashed! I catch you letting your dogs pee on a grave here again and I am going straight to the cops!"
Startled in reaction at the wild woman screaming at him, the man offered a weak "It won't happen again, I promise."
"Better not!" I screamed. "Hrmph!" And with that I stomped away.
Hell hath no fury...
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
No Respect
To the man who has twice in the last week allowed his dogs to roam free and treat the cemetery like their personal bathroom... what is wrong with you? Where is your respect? Can't you see the love and care that people have put into these grave sites? Don't you feel the holiness of this ground?
I yelled at your dog. I called after you. You coward, you kept walking in the distance. You pretended that you didn't even hear me.
This isn't a dog park. It's not open space for your personal use. It deserves to be honored for what it is.
This is where you will find the woman whose husband brings flowers after mass every week. Did you know about her, before you let your dog ruin this week's bouquet? It is where the young mother, barely thirty, tragically lays. And home to infant triplets, to veterans, to a female Marine from WWII. This is a sacred place to come and just be, and most importantly to me, it is my daughter's home.
I know you saw me sitting there before you let your dogs loose. I know you saw me talking to her, and even that, the image of a grieving mother over her child's grave wasn't enough to instill understanding in your heart.
Can't you see that your actions have violated the only place in this world, where I can sit near my child? A place whose space allows me to feel her close. Nature that has inspired my thoughts. Ground that has absorbed my countless tears.
Do you even care about the pain that your carelessness has caused me?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Forever Young - Mels Show & Tell
It has been over a year since Peyton went to rest on her hill, and last week came a truly bittersweet milestone, the laying of her stone.
The old me could never have imagined having to do this. The old me could never have imagined being in a place so unfair and unnatural that I would have to design my child's gravestone. As much as the old me couldn't have imagined it, the task was before us, and as truly painful an obstacle as it was to face, as Peyton's parents, Dru and I were committed to doing it together, and committed to doing it right.
After many, many months of designing, scrutinizing, and redesigning, we finally reached a place where we felt in our hearts that our objective had been accomplished, we had captured Peyton's beautiful spirit in stone.
Today, for show and tell, I share this newest addition to Peyton's Hill with all of you.
Here is the full view. For those who cannot see it, the inscription along the bottom reads :
We also had them engrave her little hat. This hat was blue with a green pom on top. It is a hat that my mother in law made for her, and also the hat we chose to have her buried in.
I know it was a long time coming, our little girl has waited thirteen months now for her stone, but we feel in looking at it, that it was well worth the wait.
To see what others are showing click here.
The old me could never have imagined having to do this. The old me could never have imagined being in a place so unfair and unnatural that I would have to design my child's gravestone. As much as the old me couldn't have imagined it, the task was before us, and as truly painful an obstacle as it was to face, as Peyton's parents, Dru and I were committed to doing it together, and committed to doing it right.
After many, many months of designing, scrutinizing, and redesigning, we finally reached a place where we felt in our hearts that our objective had been accomplished, we had captured Peyton's beautiful spirit in stone.
Today, for show and tell, I share this newest addition to Peyton's Hill with all of you.
An angel in the book of life wrote down our baby's birth, and whispered as she closed the book, "too beautiful for earth."
Our baby girl. This picture doesn't do justice to just how beautiful she looks here.
The engraving really captures her spirit; the sparkle in her eye, and the sweet smile on her face.
In Peyton's honor, we included butterflies on her stone. We have always associated Peyton with butterflies, feeling her spirit in them as they fly all around us. If you look very closely to the top picture, there is even a little butterfly sitting on her name.
We also had them engrave her little hat. This hat was blue with a green pom on top. It is a hat that my mother in law made for her, and also the hat we chose to have her buried in.
I know it was a long time coming, our little girl has waited thirteen months now for her stone, but we feel in looking at it, that it was well worth the wait.
To see what others are showing click here.
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