The Encouragement of Light

Writing . . . A New Direction

2009-08-14T03:12:00.000-07:00

As you may have noticed, I have not been posting on The Encouragement of Light for a while, now. As my pregnancy has progressed, I have felt less inclined to write here, and as incredibly meaningful as this blog has been, I did not want to force myself to continue it if it did not feel right.

So, in the natural way of things, this blog seems to be winding down. Of course, my story of Sage and Dad does not end here. They continue to be part of my life and the lives of the many people who loved them. And, my journey of grieving and healing is not over, either. I imagine it will never truly be over as long as I am alive. It will simply keep changing, as all things do.

Dad, who was a writer himself, told me that he thought the best writers were not the ones who churned out lots of books, but the ones who didn't write - who waited - until what they had to say could not be contained, and they HAD to write. This blog was that way for me for the last year and a half. I HAD to write it... And now I don't.

What is inspiring me and driving me to write now, is my experience being pregnant with our second son, Mateo Kenika Carpenter, who is due in about a month. And although after he is born I will have less time to be on the computer, I would like to have a way to share him with friends and family. So, I have decided to begin another blog.

www.mateokenika.blogspot.com

My hope is to create an online baby book - the story of Mateo's life during these first years, which he will not remember, but which will shape who he becomes. I hope that reading his blog will someday nourish him as writing it will nourish me.

Blessings to you all.

Happy Birthday, Sage

2009-06-22T20:27:00.000-07:00

On this day, two years ago, Sage Sebastian Carpenter was born. I thought I would have a lot to write today, but I am feeling quiet. All there is to say is

"I miss you. I love you.
Your presence in our lives
was a precious gift."

The first two photos were taken just after he was born. The last was taken on my 31st birthday. Sage was 6 months old.

The End

It is time for me to go, mother;
I am going.
When in the paling darkness
of the lonely dawn
you stretch out your arms
for your baby in the bed,
I shall say, "Baby is not here!"
-mother, I am going.
I shall become a delicate draught of air
and caress you and I shall be ripples
in the water when you bathe,
and kiss you and
kiss you again.

In the gusty night
when the rain patters on the leaves
you will hear my whisper in your bed,
and my laughter will flash with the lightning
through the open window into your room.
If you lie awake, thinking of your baby
till late into the night,
I shall sing to you from the stars,
"Sleep, mother, sleep."

On the straying moonbeams
I shall steal over your bed, and
lie upon your bosom while you sleep.
I shall become a dream,
and through the little opening of your
eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep;
and when you wake up and look round startled,
like a twinkling firefly I shall
flit out into the darkness.

When, on the great festival of puja,
the neighbors' children
come and play about the house,
I shall melt into the music of the
flute and throb in your heart all day.
Dear auntie will come with puja-presents
and will ask,"Where is our baby, sister?"
Mother, you will tell her softly,
"He is in the pupils of my eyes,
he is in my body
and in my soul."

--Rabindranath Tagore

Goodbye to the Birth Center

2009-06-21T16:28:00.000-07:00

Michael and I attended the Peace Health Nurse Midwifery Birth Center farewell gathering today. The house that has seen the births of so many babies, including Sage, is closing, and the property is being sold. The midwives will continue to operate out of a hospital until the opening of a new birth center next spring.

It is sad for us to see the center close. We have had wonderful prenatal care there for both pregnancies, and Sage was born there. After his birth, I went there almost every week for the Well Baby Clinic, where I got to know other mom's and babies, had Sage weighed, and got breastfeeding advice from the lactation consultants.

Today, Michael and I were able to spend a little time in the room where Sage was born, just remembering and honoring how sacred this place is to us. We always imagined bringing our children there and saying, "This is the room where you were born."

Also, because we don't have a gravesite where we visit Sage, we saw the Birth Center as a place to connect with our memories of him. It is where we held him for the very first time.

Here is a photo of us with our extraordinary midwife, Chris Heritage. Chris has been a touchstone for us during the profound experiences of birth and death. Her compassion and genuine care go beyond anything we have ever experienced from a health care provider.

The one consolation we have as we say goodbye to the Birth Center is that we will be able to continue working with Chris and the other midwives, and even though our next birth will be in a hospital, we know they will provide us with the same high quality of care.

Blessings to all the parents, babies and professionals whose love and tears and courage gave the Birth Center its spirit.

Dad Flashes a Smile

2009-06-20T14:42:00.000-07:00

Baked Beans: A Word from the Dead
(A poem for Dad by his sister, Margie)

How I long for a voice to break
the long silence,
a country strange and vast without sustenance.
A word in dream or vision to say, "I'm safe home.
I'm happy.
I'm myself and more, the person you knew and loved
and didn't know."
Day and night I'm listening
but not a word
my brother as silent in death as he was
in life when his mother and sisters waited months or years
for a letter or a call
as he trudged West, shedding people and possessions.
Just at the end he turned and flashed a smile,
and then was gone.
Though he's in that new place where distance disappears
in the twinkling of an eye, or so they say,
he is as silent as god
withholding comfort
in the conspiracy of death.

But then from the friendly darkness of my recipe box
I hear his voice, laughing, defiant -- sandwiched between beets
and broccoli bake
his recipe for baked beans, sent just before he died:
"I use pinto beans but I suppose great Northern would work too. I
just don't trust anything that is white. Does that make me racist?"
"Mix in two tablespoons of mustard (make this stone ground not
that yellow crap that people put on hot dogs.)"
"Bake at 250 for 9 hours."
These are earthly words.
Like dreams and visions they tell me only what I know:
In a kitchen smelling of onions and molasses
feed each other food cooked slowly while you
laugh and talk
and do good work.

It isn't much.

People have lived on less.

-- Margie Faulkner

BabyLoss Eugene Website

2009-06-14T13:11:00.000-07:00

I just finished creating a simple website for our BabyLoss Group! It took most of the weekend, but I am happy with the result. Check it out, and please, let me know if you have any suggestions or feedback. I will be adding more to the links section as I have time, so if you know of any great links for bereaved parents, I would love to hear about them.

BabyLoss Eugene

Pregnancy After a Loss

2009-06-12T21:20:00.000-07:00

In the fall of 2008, two other women (Csilla Andor and Leslie Finley) and I created the BabyLoss Support Group of Eugene because there were no services of this kind in our community.

Recently, a couple of members and I have decided to branch off from the main support group to bring together parents who are pregnant or parenting after a loss.

The needs of parents who are are trying to conceive, are pregnant, or are parenting after a loss are unique, and it can be difficult to find others to relate to about aspects of this experience.

A typical prenatal class might not address the topic of previous losses at all, and a baby or child loss support group might not be a comfortable place to talk about pregnancy because pregnancy is a common and painful trigger for many parents who have lost a child.

We hope that with two groups, more people will be able to get their needs met. Anyone in the Eugene area who is interested in either the original BabyLoss Support Group or the Pregnancy and Parenting After a Loss group, can contact me at babyloss.eugene@gmail.com for more information.

Between Two Worlds

2009-06-10T21:17:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been going through a blogging identity crisis. I find that at this point there are topics in my life other than grief that I feel compelled to write about, the main one being the little boy growing inside me. And yet, I still have a lot of passion for the deeply important work of healing after a loss.

I have been unsure whether to turn The Encouragement of Light into a journal of my many varied thoughts, including those about my pregnancy, or if I should honor its original intention, which was to have it be about Sage, Dad, grief and healing.

I have finally come to some resolution about this . . . The Encouragement of Light will continue to be what it has been, a haven for me to explore my continued process of healing, and to share ideas, information and inspiration with those who have experienced a loss.

I will be creating a new blog for our second son. At some point, I may end up posting much more on that second blog and this one may come to completion. Right now, I am still immersed in both worlds.

When I have the new blog set up, I will post the address, so those who want to read about our second child will be able to. I am excited to create that blog because it will be my form of a baby book that our child will be able to read someday. It will also be a way to share him with our family members who live so far away.

In the meantime, I just want to acknowledge that what I post here is an important piece of my life, but it is not the only piece. I hope by defining my intention this way, it will be easier for me to write without feeling I have to give a complete picture on this one blog.

The Call of Courage and Love

2009-06-06T16:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, a friend told me about a family she is close to who had to take their newborn son off life support. My friend is pregnant, also, and although she has not lost a child herself, she is facing, with open eyes, the uncertainty of pregnancy, of life. My heart is filled for the baby and his parents, and also for my friend, who must walk forward, as we all must - with courage.

"Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body." - Elizabeth Stone

To face uncertainty without getting caught in fear is not just the task of parents who have lost a child, but of all humans. I remember when my dad was first hospitalized with cancer, I worried he would die, and I pleaded, "Wait! He hasn't had enough time! I haven't had enough time with him!" And then I realized that no amount of time would have ever felt like "enough."

It is the same with Sage. Of course, nine months wasn't "enough" time with him. And yet, when I hear about this family who had only a few days with their son, and he never opened his eyes . . . Well, I can't help but feel immeasurably grateful for the blessing of those 9 months.

Here is part of a John O'Donohue poem - posted here for baby Joshua and his parents, and also for Blair, who is serving the call of courage and love.

Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
As close to us as we are to ourselves.

May this dark grief flower with hope
In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:
To enter each day with a generous heart,
To serve the call of courage and love.

Walk to Remember

2009-05-25T16:06:00.000-07:00

For those who have lost a child . . .

The Compassionate Friends (an organization for bereaved parents and siblings), will be holding their national conference in Portland, Oregon this year, on August 7-9.

One aspect of the conference is an event called the Walk to Remember. "Volunteers will be carrying the names of thousands of children loved, missed and remembered." You can submit your child's name on their website at no charge: www.tcfwalktoremember.org

To Suffer is Not Enough

2009-05-15T07:18:00.000-07:00

Thich Nhat Hanh on suffering:

"Life is filled with suffering,
but it is also filled with many wonders,
like the blue sky,
the sunshine,
the eyes of a baby.
To suffer is not enough.
We must also be in touch
with the wonders of life.
They are within us and all around us,
everywhere, any time.

Journeying God

2009-05-02T16:46:00.000-07:00

Journeying god,
pitch your tent with mine
so that I may not become deterred
by hardship, strangeness, doubt.
Show me the movement I must make
toward a wealth not dependent on possessions,
toward a wisdom not based on books,
toward a strength not bolstered by might,
toward a god not confined to heaven.
Help me to find myself as I walk in other's shoes.

(Prayer song from Ghana, traditional, translator unknown)

Hip Monkey

2009-04-28T19:50:00.000-07:00

A while back, I wrote a post about the Kyle David Miller Foundation. This is a non-profit organization that promotes the use of 5-point harness car seats rather than booster seats for older children. The 5-point harness seats are available for children up to 80 pounds.

The Foundation was started by 3-year-old Kyle's family after he died in an auto accident. Kyle was sitting in a booster seat, but his seat belt failed, which caused him to be ejected from the vehicle. Kyle's death would have been prevented by a 5-point harness seat. The Foundation offers these seats at no cost to families who are unable to afford them.

Now, a sister non-profit, Hip Monkey, has been started which offers high quality car seats and other items for children, and 100% of the profits go to the Kyle David Miller Foundation. If you are needing a car seat, stroller, diaper bag, etc. . . please consider checking their site first. Their inventory is still fairly small, but you might find just what you are looking for. And you can know that your purchase is helping to support the safety of children.

www.hipmonkey.com

Inch by Inch

2009-04-19T16:39:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, Michael and I spent Sunday gardening, which is something I haven't done since I was a kid and Dad let me help push the seeds into the ground in even intervals.

He paid my brother and sister 5 cents for every cabbage moth they killed, but he taught us to revere earth worms and ladybugs. He told us that "a little dirt never hurt anyone," and so advised that we never actually wash carrots after pulling them, but rather brush them on our pant legs and eat them straight out of the dirt.

Dad grew up around gardening. His family ran Faulkner's Market in Mandan, North Dakota. His sister, Elaine, continues to run the market to this day.

In spite of this heritage, I have always felt a little hesitant about gardening. And I guess until now, I haven't ever lived in a place where gardening would make much sense. But last Sunday was really one of the most enjoyable days I can imagine. I loved picking out the flowers and herbs, choosing which spots to plant them, and putting my hands in the soil like I did as a child.

The last photo is of a plant called a Bleeding Heart. Dad had one in his yard, and I chose it for ours in remembrance of him.

Garden Song
by David Mallett

Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
Gonna mulch it deep and low
Gonna make it fertile ground

Inch by inch, row by row
Please bless these seeds I sow
Please keep them safe below
'Till the rain comes tumbling down

Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones
We are made of dreams and bones
Need a place to call my own
'Cause the time is close at hand

Grain for grain, sun and rain
Find my way in nature's chain
Till my body and my brain
Tell the music of the land

Plant your rows straight and long
Season with a prayer and song
Mother Earth will make you strong
If you give her loving care

Old crow watching from a tree
He's got his hungry eye on me
In my garden I'm as free
As that feathered thief up there.

And just for fun: The Anti-Garden Verses

Slug by slug, weed by weed
Boy this garden's got me t'd
All the insects come to feed
On my tomato plants

Sunburt face, skined up knees
The kitchen's chocked with zuchinis
I'm shopping at the A&P's
Next time I get the chance

What Changes and What Remains

2009-04-15T21:29:00.000-07:00

I was thinking today about how my blog will eventually change . . . that at some point what is real for me in the present will be less about my grief process and more about other things. This is inevitable. As long as I am healing and growing, I will be changing, and so will my blog.

Yet tonight, as I browsed through some photos of Sage, trying to pick just one to send to a friend who requested it for a project, I was able to revisit the power of my love and longing for that little boy. And that will never change.

Although the daily focus of my life will shift to other things, I imagine I will need to return periodically to the tender, aching place in my heart that belongs totally to Sage.

And now I am going to post some photos, because tonight I really just want to share my sweet baby with you all.

Sisterhood Award

2009-04-14T04:50:00.000-07:00

My blog was recently nominated for the "Sisterhood Award" by two of my fellow bloggers, Caitsmom at A Fifth Season and Amy at Surviving the Day, two articulate, creative, supportive women who have also lost children.

The rules of the award ask that I, in turn, choose 10 blogs to nominate. I don't know if you are supposed to nominate people who have already received the award, but Caitsmom and Amy are on my list because their blogs are two of my favorites.

Here are my nominations:
Amy at Surviving the Day - Amy writes about the loss of her son, Liam, and about the slow process of healing.

Caitsmom at A Fifth Season - This babyloss Mama has posted many beautiful poetry and songs inspired by her daughter, Caitlin.

Janis at Ferdinand's Gifts - A kindred spirit writing about life after the loss of her son, Ferdinand.

Beth at Amberlee's Story - Writing after the loss of her daughter Amberlee, Beth and her famlily are truly an inspiration in their commitment to each other and to healing.

Alyssa at Three Quarter Mom - Alyssa writes about her journey following the recent loss of her daughter Samantha.

Joanne at Becoming - Founder of the MISS Foundation for bereaved parents, and a beacon of light to the babyloss community.

Non-Babyloss Nominations:
Kristin at Kristin Collier - This is not a babyloss blog. Kristin is an incredible person, a mother, doula, non-violent communication teacher, and a blogger. I look forward to each post.

Victoria at Rumi's Secret - a great source of Rumi poetry and inspiring thoughts.

Bethie at Simply Blessed - Another poetry lover (especially Rumi, Mary Oliver, Hafiz, etc - a lot of my favorites).

Sara at SerineKat's Daily Drama - Mama to a 1-year-old, knitter, and animal-lover, straight-talker, one of my best friends since college.

Thanks to all of you for being who you are and for blogging.

For those nominated:
Put the logo on your blog or post.
Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude and/or gratitude.
Be sure to link to your nominees in your post.
Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a comment on their blog.
Be sure to link this post to the person who nominated you for the award.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

2009-04-12T19:31:00.000-07:00

I want to wish Happy Birthday to three special babies who are turning 1-year-old this month. Blake, Isaak and Dylan sometimes accompany their parents to work at the Relief Nursery. They bring a lot of joy to all the employees.

I am so glad that the founder of the Relief Nursery recognized that allowing parents to bring their babies to work creates a culture of support and cooperation.

Blake

Dylan

Isaak

A Son . . . And Another Son

2009-04-11T19:40:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, Michael and I went in for another ultrasound. We were given all good news. The hematoma on the placenta is shrinking. The placenta previa that was detected at our last ultrasound (and would have made a C-section necessary) seems to be resolving. The baby is growing at a perfect rate.

And . . . they were able to determine the gender. We are going to have a little boy!

I had pretty much convinced myself that we were having a girl, to the point that I actually bought a little pink baby kimono, and I had only looked at the girl section in the baby name book. Nearly everyone around me was guessing it was a girl too.

I wonder if maybe people thought it would be easier on me and Michael if we were to have a girl this time . . . if maybe the echoes of Sage would not be so powerful and painful. Maybe I thought that, too.

The 7-year-old daughter of one of my coworkers had the same thought when she found out I was pregnant. She said, "I hope it's a girl. Because . . . you know, there was Sage." I was so touched that a young child could have that kind of insight.

And yet, when I found out this little one was a boy, I felt overjoyed. I want a son. And I guess the truth is, boy or girl, it is going to be wonderful and heart-wrenching at the same time.

When I told Oceana (my 4-year-old niece) that the baby was a boy, she said with big, innocent eyes and a reverent voice, "We can call him Sage!" She has said this several times since I first told her I was pregnant. Even when we thought it was a girl, she insisted, "Sage can be a girl's name." I told her we will think of just the right name for this baby.

By the next day, Michael and I had, indeed, thought of just the right name. We aren't going to tell anyone what it is until he is born, but in quiet moments, we talk to him and whisper his name and savor the blessing of his existence.

One Year Later

2009-03-29T14:45:00.000-07:00

On March 27th, 2008, the truck I was riding in slid across the center line on an icy highway in Idaho, and was hit by a semi. My dad and my 9-month old son were killed. In the days following the accident, while I was in the hospital healing from my injuries, I began the journey of writing this blog.

The one-year anniversary of that day just passed.

Because this was also spring break week, I was able to spend the days leading up to the anniversary at a bed and breakfast, giving myself the gift of solitude and reflection. On the second day of my little retreat, March 25th, I took a long walk, thinking a lot about Dad and how he would have enjoyed this kind of walk. I remembered one of his favorite quotes, "All who wander are not lost" (J.R.R. Tolkien, I think).

Later, I went jogging and then stopped by a restaurant for lunch. While I was there, I realized in a rush of panic, that I was bleeding. I am three months pregnant, and I know so many people who have lost pregnancies . . . I can't begin to express the horror that washed over me. I called Michael, and he rushed over to take me to the hospital.

While I waited for him, I kept thinking, how can this be happening? Why is it happening now, two days before the anniversary of losing Sage? How can Michael and I possible withstand the loss of another child?

When we got to the hospital, I was terrified to see the ultrasound screen, not knowing whether the baby would be alive. Michael and I held hands, trembling. The tech didn't turn the screen toward us until she'd had a glimpse. She pointed out the baby's strong heartbeat, and we saw the baby moving.

A doctor explained that I have a hematoma, a blood clot. It was probably jarred by my jogging, which may be why it started bleeding. We were told that while there is some increased risk for miscarriage, most likely it will not affect our growing baby. I was told to "be a couch potato" and to see the doctor or the midwife weekly for the next few weeks.

After we left the hospital, as the reality that our baby is alive and healthy sunk in, I felt so full of gratitude that even the lingering fears had little sway over me. Since finding out that I was pregnant, I have been awash in such a tangle of emotions, that I was unable to settle into the expectant joy of pregnancy. Now, finally, in this week of remembrance, I find myself really able to embrace the gift of this new child.

On the morning of the anniversary, I awoke from a dream with the words, "The baby is dead," in my mind. I told myself, "No! Don't even think that. The baby is just fine." And then I realized the baby referred to was Sage. And in that moment I began to grasp the reality of two separate babies, one dead and one alive, both loved.

So, there is the horror of "The baby is dead," and the overwhelming gratitude of "The baby is alive." There is the longing to be able to walk with and talk to my dad, and then there is the gift of the other people who make my life full and rich.

Someone is writing something new in the ashes of my life. This is where I find myself one year later.

The Journey

Above the mountains
the geese turn into
the light again

Painting their
black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
inscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

small, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new
in the ashes of your life.

You are not leaving
you are arriving.

~ David Whyte ~

A Special Gift

2009-03-16T21:53:00.000-07:00

After my last post, a dear friend of mine left the following comment. I wanted to share it, because I know several bereaved parents who struggle with fears about how they will parent subsequent children, or their other living children. Thank you, George, for reminding me that while grief changes who I will be as a parent, it does not diminish me . . .

You are the exact perfect woman
that this baby needs to mother it.
Your loss will be this child's gain
even though it doesn't feel like it right now.
You are its "perfect mother."
With all of your woundedness and pain,
you will bring a special gift to this special child.

Heavy

2009-03-14T21:40:00.000-07:00

Heavy

The time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying

I went closer
and I did not die.
Surely God had His hand in this.

As well as friends,
still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel
(brave even among lions),
“It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it-
books, bricks, grief,-
it’s all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,
put it down.”
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?

Have you heard the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?

How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe

also troubled-
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep wave,
a love
to which there is no reply?

-Mary Oliver

I have hesitated to post this extraordinary poem. I have been waiting until it felt real to me, until I found myself once again lingering to admire the things of this world. After the accident, it seemed like beauty and sacredness were all around me, and as immense as my grief was, it was made more bearable by gratitude and awe.

Lately, I have felt mostly just the heaviness.

And maybe it is the same heaviness that I have carried all along, but now more than ever, I want to throw it off and just be happy. I want to celebrate my pregnancy and the existence of our precious second child. But when I go to my appointments at the Birth Center, I cry and cry.

This baby doesn't seem real to me yet. Or . . . the baby feels real, but my heart has not yet grasped the fact that I am really a mother again. Unlike all the babies that I hold each week at work, this one will stay with me . . . hopefully for 18 years or so.

Over the last year I have found great joy in holding other people's babies, and I have practiced releasing them, as I must, back to their parents. In some small way, each time I do this, I am recreating the experience of losing Sage - loving and letting go. And I guess I have done this instinctively, to heal myself.

How can I begin to trust that I won't have to let go again? And I don't mean all the small ways we as parents have to let go, but . . . let go of ever seeing my child again, of watching him grow up, of ever, ever hearing him say a word.

This is where I am. I am pregnant. The year anniversary of Sage's death is two weeks away. I think it was one of my BabyLoss friends who commented that her pregnancy after her loss involved not only bringing forth that baby, but also bringing forth herself as a mother - a new, different mother than she had been before.

So, I will practice carrying the weight, and one of these days, maybe sooner than I think, I will startle myself with laughter again.

Footloose

2009-03-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

Tonight my sister, Sarah, and her daughter, Oceana, and I had a Girls' Night Out. We went to Footloose, the spa where Sarah works, and we all got foot treatments (a foot soak and massage). Oceana helped by putting the flower petals in the foot bath, offering us foot-shaped chocolates, and just adding her sweet effervescence to every part of the evening.

After the official massage, Oceana gave both me and Sarah an extra foot massage. Her expression while she was rubbing our feet was serene and thoughtful.

Sarah and Oce reminded me tonight how good it feels to do something for pure pleasure. When I got home, Michael handed me his ukulele, which we both have been learning to play. I practiced a few chords and was thrilled to be able to play "Happy Birthday" and "Twinkle, Twinkle."

How is it that I forget sometimes that these simple things - laughter, human touch, a little imperfect music - these are the best things in life?

Swing on Down to Me

2009-03-01T11:29:00.000-08:00

When I walked outside Friday morning to go to work, I saw a star very near a beautiful crescent moon. The Internet has since informed me that the star is really a planet, either Venus or Mars. When I saw them, I thought of Dad and Sagey.

Then on Saturday night, Michael and I went with some friends to see a Donavon Frankenreiter concert, and he played the following song.

Swing on Down

In the morning when the sun's still shy
And the last star lingers and the pale blue sky
That's when I know you're around

And in the evening when the light comes to the trees
And the birds sing a song as if they're singing to me
That's when I know you're around

I want to know if you would
Swing on down, swing on down to me
Every time I see something like that
I want you to swing on down to me
Baby won't you just swing on down
Swing on down to me

Every time the rain comes out
But the sun still wants to shout
That's when I know you're around
And you know all the colors they just speak to me
Tell me stories of how it used to be
When you were still around,
I wish you were still around

I just want you to
Swing on down, swing on down to me
From the clouds won't you just swing on down to me
Baby won't you just swing on down to me.

Patient Weavers

2009-02-11T21:34:00.000-08:00

Love

Fragile as a spider's web
Hanging in space
Between tall grasses,
It is torn again and again.
A passing dog
Or simply the wind can do it.
Several times a day
I gather myself together
And spin it again.
Spiders are patient weavers.
They never give up.
And who knows
What keeps them at it?
Hunger, no doubt,
And hope.

- May Sarton

The Phoenix Again

2009-02-05T12:30:00.000-08:00

Thank you to Janis, author of Ferdinand's Gifts

for posting this poem of renewal.

The Phoenix Again

On the ashes of this nest
Love wove with deathly fire
The phoenix takes its rest
Forgetting all desire.

After the flame, a pause,
After the pain, rebirth.
Obeying nature’s laws
The phoenix goes to earth.

You cannot call it old
You cannot call it young.
No phoenix can be told,
This is the end of the song.

It struggles now alone
Against death and self-doubt,
But underneath the bone
The wings are pushing out.

And one cold starry night
Whatever your belief
The phoenix will take flight
Over the seas of grief

To sing her thrilling song
To stars and waves and sky
For neither old nor young
The phoenix does not die.

- May Sarton

Janis, who lost her son Ferdinand to a full term stillbirth in July of 2007, recently gave birth to her daughter, Lyra Phoenix. I appreciate that Janis continued to write her blog during her pregnancy. Being pregnant after the loss of a child is a unique experience, one that I am finding does not easily translate into words at this point. As this child grows inside me, I mostly feel quiet and watchful... immensely grateful, and at the same time, so very vulnerable.

I remember during my pregnancy with Sage, I felt really bothered when people would feel compelled to tell me the worst pregnancy horror story they could think of. This happened several times, and I really just did not want to hear it.

It is different now. So many of the people I have contact with have lost a child, and their stories are part of me now. The fragility of life is always in my awareness. I am not trying to hide from that reality anymore, and I guess there is some freedom in that. But some days I really wish for the innocence of not knowing grief.

A Secret Whispered in the Spanish Room

2009-02-01T20:33:00.001-08:00

I'm feeling pretty overcome with gratitude for the sweetness of life right now. We moved into our new house over the weekend, and it is wonderful. There are lots of fun details (a mermaid painted on the side of the claw-foot tub, for example).

The upstairs bedroom has a bunch of cubby spaces, which my niece (Oceana) enjoyed playing in today. She said that one was her "Spanish room," and one was her "English room," and one was her "thinking room."

I crawled into the "Spanish room" with her, closed the door, and told her (in the dark) that I am pregnant. She seemed pretty nonchalant about it, but asked if I was going to have the baby today. I told her she would be 5 years old before the baby is born. She patted my stomach (which is beginning to show a little) and then went on with her play.

Later, Oceana was amused when her mom told her that the baby is only about the size of a peanut. She laughed, and I wondered what image popped into her mind when she heard that.

As for my pregnancy, everything is going smoothly. The morning sickness has eased off a little, thank goodness. I find myself remembering my first pregnancy a lot, and remembering Sage. I am learning to hold my memories of him alongside my dreams of my second child.

My mom made this beautiful card for me for my birthday.

It says:

Let today--
embrace
the past with remembrance and the future with longing.

A Very Happy Announcement

2009-01-25T17:44:00.001-08:00

Michael and I are so happy to announce that I am pregnant! Several days ago, I started thinking I might be pregnant. I was feeling a deep fatigue that I have only felt one other time in my life - when I was pregnant with Sage. I also started craving grapefruit, which was my only pregnancy craving last time.

I waited to say anything to Michael, not wanting to raise his hopes for no reason. But then on Saturday morning, I woke up at 5:00, and I felt so sure that I told Michael right then. We took a test later that day, and it was positive.

I would like to write more, but I am going to nurture myself (and our little one) with a good night's sleep. Blessings to you all.

Looking Fear in the Face

2009-01-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

This is a story from my Aunt Coreen, shown here with my dad (Dennie). Coreen is a 4th grade teacher, totally devoted to her students, and a wise, intuitive woman. I love her story because it is about one of those beautiful, serendipitous moments that make teaching such an incredible life path. It is also a message of courage and hope in the face of loss.

___________

A year ago our school adopted a new reading program that took us back to reading groups. I try to mix mine up well, so we get a wide variety of ideas from both girls and boys. I have spent hours reading the books ahead of time, so I know how to direct the discussion. I consider it poor teaching practice to go in cold. By this year, I had read most of the books in the program.

When I started my reading groups this fall, I noticed a big discrepancy between what the boys were interested in and what the girls liked to read. I took a chance and decided to have at least one all boy group and one all girl group. I could always mix them up later. It worked well from the beginning. Even though we were discussing topics like branches of government, the constitution, etc., each group took the information in different directions. We were all happy.

One week my girls: Betsy, Abby, Ally, and Ella finished ahead of the other groups. In a hasty decision, I handed them a new set of books I had gotten. It was called Eleanor Roosevelt: A Life of Service. What could go wrong? It was a small book; I could have it read by the next time we met.

These four little girls are the gentlest, kindest, most sensitive students anyone could ever hope to have. They are funny, hardworking, and love to share their ideas and feelings. When we met, Betsy spoke up right away that it made her sad to read that Eleanor Roosevelt's mother had died when she was only eight, and that by the time she was ten, her oldest brother and the father she adored had died too. She was raised by her grandparents. Betsy looked sad, but concluded that her dad told her God has His reasons for things.

What I haven't told you is that Betsy's mother is dying of a terminal illness. It is progressing faster than expected. All the other girls know and let Betsy talk until she was finished. At the end, she concluded that her favorite part of the book was the quote by Eleanor Roosevelt at the end of the book. I agreed that that was one of my favorite quotes too. In fact, I've had the quote up on my refrigerator for years.

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." -Eleanor Roosevelt

That night I wondered if I had done the right thing to hand Betsy a book about a girl's mother dying. Had I read the book first, I doubt that I would have taken the chance. The next time we met, Betsy told us how she had shared the quote with her mother and told her I had it on my refrigerator. Her mother thought she'd like it on her fridge too. I asked all the girls if they wanted a copy. They did. I went at recess to make five copies - one for each girl and one to hang in the classroom. We have a new copy machine. I am a mechanical idiot. By mistake, I ended up with 50 copies instead of 5!

The next day, I handed out the copies to my girls. They saw I had a "few" extra. Ella asked for one for her great grandmother who had to go into a rest home. Betsy wanted to give one to her grandmother who was having a hard time with her daughter's illness. One by one, each girl thought of people all over the country that they were sure needed a copy on their refrigerator, including the rest of the class.

What amazed me was that these four nine-year-old girls realized they had survived things that scared them or that were painful, and now they saw a purpose for it - it would help them with tough lessons ahead. Granted, only Betsy has to face the death of her mother, but the stories they shared were big for nine-year-olds. They taught me far more than I taught them that week, not to mention all the people who now have this quote on their refrigerator.

Maybe there is room on your fridge or file cabinet for this quote. Maybe you will meet someone who needs a copy too.

I don't know how, but I keep feeling that in some way Dennie's death was connected to this experience. These little girls reminded me that I must "do the thing I think I cannot do." I pray that, in return, Dennie's death will help me better help Betsy and all my students as they "take the next thing that comes along." May your fears and horrors be few and your courage and strength be great.

Postscript

2009-01-07T21:43:00.000-08:00

Ever since I posted that last entry, the final line has been bothering me. I wrote: "How can I possibly nurture others until I "save the only life I can save," my own?"

The truth is, I don't believe that you have to "save" or heal yourself before you can nurture others. If I believed that, I would not be doing the work that I do with children and families. I don't even really think it is possible to reach some ultimate state of being healed. As my dad always said, "Life is a journey, not a destination." If I waited until I was healed to begin helping others, I would be waiting my whole life, because healing (like learning) never ends!

There are moments in my process that I feel lost or confused, even broken in some way. And those moments have something to offer me, and other people as well. I guess that is part of why I write this blog. I think experiencing and sharing my process authentically is more important that reaching some sort of endpoint.

What I was intending to say when I wrote that line was this: I want to remember to have balance between looking outward and looking inward, and I want to remember that there is no separation between nurturing myself and nurturing others. The more I nurture myself, the more I have to offer.

The Only Life You Could Save

2009-01-03T00:27:00.001-08:00

Tonight I am feeling so grateful for my day:
Thank you to Casey for sharing your
sweet little boy, Blake, with me.
Thank you to Blake for falling asleep in my arms.
Thank you to my friend, Mark, for taking me
to the Cedar Sangha meditation group.
Thank you to my husband for your tenderness and humor.
Thank you to my little cat for purring
so enthusiastically while snuggling on my lap.
And thank you to Mary Oliver
for poetry that speaks to my heart.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

This evening Mark told me that one way to think of meditation is to imagine a king or queen holding court. All the thoughts and feelings that arise are subjects who have come to court to be heard. If you send them away, imagining that the work of meditation is to make your mind be quiet, they will feel slighted and yell even louder. On the other hand, if you listen to them with understanding and empathy, they will soon quiet down and you will find your court very peaceful.

What I noticed while meditating was how foreign stillness felt. I move through my life with a lot of momentum, and that feels good most of the time . . . safe and purposeful, even powerful. But it is not sustainable. That momentum requires me to continually disregard those parts of myself that have come to court to be heard.

How can I possibly nurture others until I "save the only life I can save," my own?

Lo, I am With You Always

2008-12-27T11:17:00.000-08:00

This year, we spent Christmas at my sister's house. She and I cooked Christmas brunch, instead of the traditional dinner.

The wood stove kept us warm, while the snow fell in huge flakes outside. After the meal, we played a very long game of Taboo, laughing the whole time.

We sang Christmas songs while our friend, Mark, played the piano. Mom and I even played a few duets together that she taught me when I was a kid.

We exchanged a few simple gifts around the Christmas tree, which was a large house plant Sarah had put Christmas lights on.

It was such a happy day. And I found that while I thought about Sage and Dad, I was not overcome by sadness as I was on Thanksgiving.

Last night, though, the sadness was like a pressure in my heart, and I was awake until 4:00 in the morning. I spent most of that time doing what I could to push back the pain and avoid facing it. What exhausting and pointless work that is!

This morning, I have come down with a head cold, and I am depleted from lack of sleep, but I feel myself able to let the sadness be here. And there is some release in that.

I don't know if it is a coincident that I feel this way today, the 9-month anniversary of the accident. In 5 more days, Sage will have been gone as long as he was alive. I don't really intend to keep track of these dates. What are they but numbers? But I do find myself aware of them . . . So it is.

This is a photo of last Christmas. Sage is opening one of his gifts, a wooden xylophone, which he was quite interested in chewing on.

When I look at photos of Sage, I still feel so incredulous that he is gone. There is this extraordinary impotence - what in the world can I do? And, the real question - how can I be? How can I be with my experience of Sage, including his death?

Lo, I am with you always.

You promised that,

and when I realized it was true

my soul flared up.

Any unhappiness comes

from forgetting.

-Rumi

A Christmas Blessing

2008-12-24T09:20:00.000-08:00

May each one of us
perceive the vision
of love and peace
this season,
and have the trust,
fearlessness
and compassion
to manifest it
throughout the year.

May our thoughts
that obscure
the inherent beauty
be transmuted,
revealing the means
of right relationship.

May we come to know
ourselves with
loving-kindness,
while turning aside
aggression and fear,
calling forth harmony
and joy for all beings.

-Michael Carpenter

The Snow Light

2008-12-19T11:50:00.000-08:00

The Relief Nursery (my work) is closed today due to snow, kicking off our two week winter vacation a little early. We've had alternating snow and sleet and rain all week.

Some mornings everything is covered by a pristine blanket of white. Other mornings the roads are layered with grimy brownish ice. Last night we had a fresh snowfall, so it is beautiful out there.

I am not feeling sad, as this poem might imply, but I really wanted to post it because it is so lovely.

The Snow Light

In the snow light,
In the swan light,
In the white-on-white light
Of a winter storm,
My delight and your delight
Kept each other warm.

The next afternoon
And love gone so soon!—
I met myself alone
In a windless calm,
Silenced at the bone
After the white storm.

What more was to come?
Out from the cocoon,
In the silent room,
Pouring out white light,
Amaryllis bloom
Opened in the night.

The cool petals shone
Like some winter moon
Or shadow of a swan,
Echoing the light
After you were gone
Of our white-on-white.

-May Sarton

Home Sweet Home

2008-12-15T10:25:00.000-08:00

Michael and I have decided to buy a house! I can't begin to express how excited we are about this.

The house is perfect. It was built in the 40's. The previous owners remodeled it, adding many unique and beautiful details. It has wood floors, a claw-foot bathtub, a "mother-in-law suite" that my mom might choose to live in, a workshop for Michael, an extra bedroom that I can use for . . . whatever I want (and hopefully someday it will be a child's room).

We will definitely have a house-warming party when we get moved in (which we expect to happen within 30 days or so). Here are some photos:

THE HOUSE

THE BACKYARD

THE KITCHEN

THE DINING ROOM

THE MASTER BEDROOM

THE LIVING ROOM

THE UPSTAIRS BEDROOM

Sister

2008-12-06T23:22:00.000-08:00

I am waiting for the words
I have been unable to say
since that day when I was five years old
and you came into my life.

Being older,
I thought it was my job
to know.
But I never did,
and that felt
like failure.

And you always seemed so
self-contained
and bright and
lovely,
extraordinary.
Of course I was jealous!

I didn't know how
to hold you.
I didn't know
if I was
worthy.

And now
we are adults,
and on Thanksgiving morning,
I cry like a child,
and you hold me.
And I wonder what it means
to be a big sister.

I guess it means
saying "I don't know"
when I don't know,
and saying
"I love you,"
because
I
do.

Sarah, you are the poet of my heart . . .

All I ever wanted was to know that you were dreaming.
-Fleetwood Mac

Love will Endure

2008-11-24T22:41:00.000-08:00

If I can let you go as trees let go
Their leaves, so casually, one by one;
If I can come to know what they do know,
That fall is the release, the consummation...
If I can take the dark with open eyes
And call it seasonal, not harsh or strange
(For love itself may need a time of sleep),
And, treelike, stand unmoved before the change,
Lose what I lose to keep what I can keep,
The strong root still alive under the snow,
Love will endure - if I can let you go.

--May Sarton

Things keep shifting, yes? I want to write about the epiphany I had a few weeks ago when I finally found I could put the co-sleeper and the Jumperoo in the closet, and how happy I was to find that my connection with Sage is not about these things.

I want to write about the kindness of friends who have looked tenderly at Sage's photo album or gently touched the memory quilt, or who sat with me while I cried... or cried with me.

I want to write about gratitude, but in this moment all I can think is . . . LOOK at him! Look at how he stuck out his tongue, and how his hand rested so casually on mine. Look at how much I loved being his mama!

Thanksgiving is the 8-month anniversary of the accident.

I hold on AND I let go . . .
and love endures.

What We Need Is Here

2008-11-18T17:26:00.000-08:00

Geese appear high over us,

pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.

-- Wendell Berry

Where to Go

2008-11-13T21:58:00.000-08:00

Since losing Sage, I have encountered quite a few women who have experienced pregnancy loss, and one thing I have heard over and over is how the baby, which was so very real to them, was not exactly real to most people around them, and so there is sometimes less acknowledgment of the loss. It is almost invisible.

If the loss was early on, there may be a question of whether or not to have a memorial service, and so often parents miss out on that communal ritual. With late-term losses sometimes the hospital will whisk away the baby without giving the parents time to see, hold and connect with their child. Thankfully, this is changing. Now many (but not all) hospitals offer parents time to be with their child.

There is also a network of volunteer photographers who are part of an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, that does bereavement photography - photos of the parents and child together, documenting the bond that would have otherwise remained unseen and unshared.

Another thing I have heard from mothers who have experienced pregnancy loss, is that many people assume that the words "You are young. You'll get pregnant again," are comforting. For many mothers, these words utterly miss the point. Yes, maybe she will have another child, but that doesn't lessen the loss of this unique and precious child.

And in addition to losing a child, parents lose the dreams, hopes, and wishes for that child. They go home to a thoughtfully decorated nursery with empty arms.

I want to share a poem written by my friend, Liz, after she miscarried her baby. I am so touched by the simple, beautiful honesty of this poem, and of Liz herself, whose heart is very tender and open to life.

Where to go
(For our unknown love)

You grow and grow

You hope and wish

You plan and question

You grow and grow

You kiss and talk

You love and look

You grow and grow

You pray and sing

You rub and comfort

You grow and grow

And love grows and grows

And each day all of it multiplies by hundreds and thousands

And then one day it's all gone except love and prayers

Your hopes and wishes

And planning and questioning

And kissing and talking and looking

And singing and rubbing

And comforting and growing

And all that is left is tons of love with no where to go but in prayers

The Unknown Between Us

2008-11-06T22:45:00.000-08:00

A message of love to my husband, who is on
retreat in Maui for the next three weeks.

With respect
And reverence
That the unknown
Between us
Might flower
Into discovery
And lead us
Beyond
The familiar field
Blind with the weed
Of weariness
And the old walls
Of habit.

-John O'Donohue

A Strange Conviction

2008-11-01T01:06:00.000-07:00

Sarah and Jessie

I haven't written about Dad for a while. Yet, I think of him daily, especially now that it is autumn, his favorite time of year. So many small things remind me of him. A few days ago, my teaching partner and I took the kids out to the field behind the school and we played beneath the trees, throwing handfuls of yellow leaves in the air. As the leaves rained down on my head, I thought of Dad.

I remember when we were kids, Levi and Sarah and I would help rake all the leaves from the giant maple tree in front of our house. Dad would give us rides in the wheelbarrow on top of a mound of leaves. We had leaf fights, buried ourselves in leaves, stuffed leaves in our clothes. And that scent of sweet decay, that crinkly sound, the richness of color - these things make me think of him.

Sarah, Levi and Jessie stuffed with leaves

In October of 2000, Dad wrote me an email saying "I begin each day with an overwhelming sense of expectation and excitement. I simply sense that I am leaving one plain behind and moving onto the next." That was one of Dad's amazing gifts - the ability to see possibility, not just in the obvious blossoming of spring, but in the necessary decay of autumn. He ended his email with the following poem.

It is autumn here.
The defoliated trees look frightened
at the edge of town,

as if the train they missed
had taken all their clothes.
The whole world in unison is turning
toward a zone of nakedness and cold.

But me, I have this strange conviction
that I am going to be born.

-Tony Hoagland

Before You Know Kindness

2008-10-29T01:46:00.000-07:00

One thing I have always loved about my husband, Michael, is his appreciation of beautiful poetry. We began exchanging poems literally within hours of meeting each other, and in that first year there was a flurry of Rilke and Rumi and Hafiz and cummings.

We have been together for almost 7 years, and we send fewer poems now, but occasionally I find one in my inbox, or I send one to him. As I was sorting through some old emails, I found this one, "Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye. Michael sent it to me over a year ago. As I read it now, it resonates with me in a way it couldn't have back then.

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

I have to say, even having known sorrow, I am still so forgetful of kindness at times! I still grasp after my own comfort and security. At times I find myself angry. And then, something startles me awake, and I have to laugh. Security? This is all so fleeting. Anger? Ah, yes, sometimes I suffer that way. Sometimes I forget that I always have the choice to soften my heart.

Thich Naht Hanh recommends a meditation when you are angry with someone you love:

I close my eyes and look deeply.
Three hundred years from now
Where will you be and where shall I be?
How wonderful, you are still alive!
I am so happy!
How could I be angry with you?
Both of us have to die someday
and while we are still alive and together
it is foolish to be angry at each other.

May kindness go with us everywhere, like a shadow or a friend.

Pilgrimage

2008-10-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

Michael and I recently celebrated our 2-year anniversary. We spent the day at Waldo Lake. This is the third year in a row that we have gone there in October. The first time, we said our wedding vows. Then, last year, we took Sage there. Both times, we enjoyed beautiful autumn weather.

This time, the closer we got to the lake, which is in the Cascade Mountains, the more icy patches we saw on the road, and soon we were driving through a snowy winter landscape. I felt really nervous, so I just focused on breathing and tried to stay calm. Icy mountain roads will probably always remind me of the accident. Michael drove slowly and carefully and offered me lots of reassurance, but I wasn't really able to relax until we reached the lake.

Michael and I had brought some food for the little gray birds we always see there. They swooped down from the trees to perch on our hands and fill their small mouths with pine nuts.

After feeding the birds and eating a picnic lunch, we hiked through the snow to the point where we got married. I kept thinking, as I do in so many situations, 'the last time we were here, Sage was with us.'

We sat on the rocks near where we got married and where Sage's placenta is buried, and Michael brought out the box that holds Sage's ashes. We have talked about releasing his ashes here, and maybe some day we will, but we agreed that we are not ready yet.

Michael then brought out the Native American flute that his father gave to us after Sage's death, and we each played a little music for Sage and Dad. The following is a short video that Michael created of our trip.

Kyle David Miller's Legacy

2008-10-18T12:04:00.000-07:00

This is a four minute video offered by the Kyle David Miller Foundation to share 3-year-old Kyle's story and to educate people about car seats. I work with kids and parents every day, and I did not know the information in this video. Please take a moment to watch it.

The main points to consider are:

- Keep your children in a 5-point harness as long as possible. Booster seats rely on seatbelts, which do not always work, especially in roll-overs. Also, children often pull the seatbelt off their shoulder. It takes a certain level of maturity for a child to correctly use a booster seat.

5-point harness seats are available for kids up to 80 pounds

- Keep your child rear-facing as long as possible. Because 96% of accidents are front or side impacts, rear-facing seats provide a huge advantage in supporting your child's body during an accident. Children in Sweden ride rear facing until they are three to five years old or as much as 55lbs, lowering traffic death and injury rates in Sweden considerably. It is uncommon to turn a child to forward-facing before these ages.

"From 1992 through June 1997, only 9 children properly restrained rear-facing died in motor vehicle crashes in Sweden, and all of these involved catastrophic crashes with severe intrusion and few other survivors."
(source: CPSAFETY).

Please, check out the Foundation's website for more information. It is possible to offer a donation to help the foundation provide free 5-point harness car seats to needy families. The seats are often quite expensive, and as their brochure says,

"We believe that keeping our children safe
should not be a privilege."

http://www.kyledavidmiller.org/

If you would like to help spread this information,
please feel free to copy and paste
this post into your own blog.

Wave of Light

2008-10-14T20:04:00.000-07:00

I stumbled upon this on another blog and wanted to spread the word. Imagine the collective energy of all the people in the world who have experienced the loss of a child. Imagine thousands of candles glowing in remembrance and the invisible connections that link us all.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Evolution

2008-10-13T19:51:00.000-07:00

As you can see, I have made some changes to my blog. The title, "Our Loss," seemed so appropriate in the beginning. I was consumed by the loss of Sage and Dad, and that is what I wrote about. My grief and my writing have changed since then, and I want to let this blog reflect my evolving experience.

The new title is from the Hafiz poem, "It Felt Love" (posted on the side bar). Dad and Sage both offered me the encouragement of their love, and each in his own way helped me open my heart more to life. The title also refers to the encouragement I have received from my family, friends and even people whom I have never met but who have connected with me through this blog.

Finally, I hope that in some small way, this blog can offer the encouragement of light to others who have experienced loss and are journeying (as I am) toward a deeper sense of meaning and connection.

Sage's Quilt

2008-10-10T22:07:00.000-07:00

A few months after Sage was born, Michael and I joined a parents' group called Birth to Three. We met once a week with 9 other families with babies around the same age as Sage. While we met and shared our new parent triumphs and woes, the babies snuggled, nursed, slept and played. We watched them grow and gain new skills, and we as parents gained skills as well.

Becoming a parent is like finding yourself in a foreign land. How grateful we were to have people to share our experience with, hear our stories, comfort us and laugh with us. We could talk endlessly about whether our babies were rolling over, crawling, eating solids, or sleeping "through the night" (which in babyland means more than 4 hours at a stretch).

When Sage died, our Birth to Three group stood by us, continued to care for us. They prepared all the food for Sage's memorial. And one of the mothers, Caye, began working on a memory quilt for us. When she asked us for pieces of Sage's clothing in early June, we looked through what we had, and in the end could only part with a few things . . . a jumper, some onesies, a flannel shirt, a special blankie. She asked us about Sage's nicknames and what animals, colors and themes made us think of him. We had no idea what Caye would create with all of this.

Yesterday, Caye met me and Michael in the baby room at the Relief Nursery and presented the quilt to us. This is by far the most incredible piece of fabric art I have ever seen. I was so in awe, I could barely speak. Michael and I stared at it and ran our hands over the lusciously soft material.

One side is an ocean scene with fish, dolphins, coral, and three turtles, two large and one small. On the other side are squares, one from each of the Birth to Three families, and a myriad of photos of Sage's life. There are also some photos of Dad. The quilt is large, soft and inviting. It is a tangible expression of warmth and comfort. We will treasure it always.

To see more detailed photos, please click on the link below.
Sage's Quilt Photo Album

BabyLoss Blog Directory

2008-10-04T08:47:00.000-07:00

Here is a resource for my babyloss / childloss friends. It is a directory of blogs by parents who have lost children. You can read other people's blogs and you can also add your own to the directory if you have one.

http://babylossdirectory.blogspot.com/

The categories in this directory are:

Miscarriage and other losses, up to 20 weeks
Stillbirth and other losses, 20 weeks to term
Medical Termination
Loss at Birth and Beyond
Multiple Losses
Related Topics
Films
Recommended Reading
Recommended Online Links
Recommended Online Articles

Tattoos, Tears and a Ritual

2008-09-28T16:06:00.000-07:00

One of the other parents at the MISS Conference is a talented henna tattoo artist. She offered memorial tattoos for anyone who asked. I got this sweet little turtle and Sage's name on my leg.

The conference is officially over now. I have the rest of today to relax, and I leave for Eugene tomorrow morning. I am so glad I came here, and I have no doubt that I will come back next year.

The first two days were pretty exhausting. Imagine the intensity of emotion present in a room full of parents who have experienced the death of their children. At first I felt on the verge of tears almost constantly.

Then on Saturday morning, I woke up feeling strong and happy. I think maybe I felt so good because I was able to cry the day before. I always imagine that if I give into the urge to cry, I'll just never stop. But really it only takes a few minutes of good solid crying to release a heck of a lot of tension, and then I feel so much better.

Saturday was the 6 month anniversary of the accident. What a gift to be able to feel happy on that day! And what was really amazing was that Saturday evening all of the parents at the conference joined together for a candle-light memorial service for all our kids.

So, exactly 6 months after Sage's death, I was able to see his name on a giant projection screen, knowing his life was being honored along with those of so many other children. Like all the other parents, I lit a candle and said his name aloud for all to hear. I lit a candle for Dad, too. This ritual meant more to me than I realized it would.

A special thank you to my new amiga, Alejandra, who took the time to look at all of Sage's photos and held my hand when his name came on the screen.

And thank you to the parents who shared their children's stories with me. I carry the memory of your courage and kindness.

Selah

2008-09-26T17:07:00.000-07:00

Surrendering, Freydoon Rassouli

The layers of my protection are slowly being peeled away, leaving me vulnerable and trembling, my heart slightly more open. This is what I came here for. This is what I long for . . . to be released from my coping mechanisms enough to FEEL.

Right after the accident, feeling was all I had. And as painful as it was, there was also the experience of ALIVENESS. And lately that has been missing for me. I have felt detatched, contained, frozen, except in those rare moments when I don't have the strength to maintain composure, and then there is a little unwitting release.

I don't intend to do this, don't want to. I don't think anyone expects me to be composed.

I have so many ideas. And these get in the way. I have ideas about what my grief should look like, what my life should look like, and who I should be. And these are the senseless prison walls that I construct.

But here, surrounded by stories of unimaginable loss and courage, I am finding it harder to contain my Self, my idea of myself. I am beginning to loosen my grip on the choking safety of certainty and remember that I don't know.

I don't know who I am,
I don't know what to do,
I don't know how to heal,
Except in each moment.

Joanne Cacciatore, the founder of the MISS Foundation, talked today about "selah," a word from the Bible which means to pause, relflect and find meaning. What I see is that I work very hard on reflecting and finding meaning, but those attempts will never be fruitful until I remember to PAUSE.

Being here, for me, is an opportunity to pause.

Miss Foundation Conference

2008-09-25T13:25:00.000-07:00

Where Heavens Meet, by Freydoon Rassouli

Yesterday I arrived in Phoenix for a four-day conference put on by the MISS Foundation (Mothers in Sympathy and Support) for bereaved parents and the professionals who encounter them (doctors, nurses, therapists, etc).

I have heard stories from some of the other parents, and shared my story with them. I've participated in a workshop about processing grief through drawing, and another called "Please Say Her Name," in which a woman who lost her grand-daughter talked about the sometimes invisible or marginalized grief of grandparents.

I also heard a panel of parents speak about how professionals did or did not support them during the death of their child. It seems clear that often times hospital staff are ill-prepared to encounter grief and death. Part of the purpose of this conference is to begin to educate people about death and grief so we as a society can better support each other.

I am about to go to another workshop, so I will need to sign off for now.

Here is the MISS web site if anyone would like to check it out: http://www.missfoundation.org/

After the Death of a Son

2008-09-22T16:12:00.001-07:00

Ghazal After the Death of a Son

by Jean Hallingstad

Crossing this endless tundra, wanting you,

And my poor heart stumbles, wanting you.

The last moon of summer holds its face

Between still hands, penumbral, wanting you.

Wolves with their hungry kinship follow near,

Nights without voice, unnumbered, wanting you.

Four chambers within the heart lie hidden

Filled with ashes and wonder, wanting you.

We pitch our tent in the blind of night

And wake by fear encumbered, wanting you.

So this my name foretold, God's bitter gift

Of sharpest love all sundered, wanting you.

A Language of Life

2008-09-17T21:29:00.000-07:00

About four years ago I went to a workshop by Marshall Rosenberg called "Speak Peace in a World of Conflict." Rosenberg developed a practice and understanding of communication and conflict resolution known as Non-Violent Communication. Hearing his presentation was one of those times in my life that I really felt a new door open.

Rosenberg has offered his teachings to such a variety of people - those caught in tribal warfare, gang members, penitentiary inmates, survivors of domestic violence, and many average people with the everyday struggles of relationship (ie. anyone who is married, has kids, has parents, has friends, or interacts with other people :-). What he teaches really works at all those different levels.

This weekend I had the chance to hear him speak again at the U of O Peace Conference, which led me to a 6-week workshop that started tonight on Non-Violent Communication and Parenting. Michael and I went together. We went knowing that at some point we hope to parent together again, and because we both find meaning in learning about communication and about children.

I don't know if I could adequately sum up the content of what we are learning, but I do want to mention a few books in case anyone is curious.

These three books are by M. Rosenberg:
Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life
Raising Children Compassionately
Teaching Children Compassionately

And this one is by Inbal Kashtan :
Parenting from Your Heart

Tonight Michael and I left the class feeling hopeful and excited. I can see that what I am learning has the potential to enrich my experience working with kids and with parents. And I could feel the potential for me and Michael to be united and supportive in our approach to parenting.

What I love about Nonviolent Communication is that it is incredibly practical while still being profoundly spiritual (in the sense that it asks us to deepen our awareness of ourselves and others and to choose life-enriching ways of interacting). If any of you out there find yourselves interested in this, I would love to hear from you.

Fully Alive

2008-09-15T20:35:00.000-07:00

I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible,
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance;
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.

-Dawna Markova

Happy Birthday!

2008-09-12T23:05:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday

to our nephew,
River Takota,
who is
1 year old!

Dancing In The Wind

2008-09-12T07:26:00.000-07:00

To A Child Dancing In The Wind

Dance there upon the shore;

What need have you to care

For wind or water's roar?

And tumble out your hair

That the salt drops have wet;

Being young you have not known

The fool's triumph, nor yet

Love lost as soon as won,

Nor the best labourer dead

And all the sheaves to bind.

What need have you to dread

The monstrous crying of wind?

William Butler Yeats, 1916.

http://scienceblogs.com/strangerfruit/2006/08/to_a_child_dancing_in_the_wind.php

Happiness Runs in a Circular Motion

2008-09-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

When Michael and I were boarding our return flight from Maui, we talked about what we thought was the best part of our trip. Without hesitation, we both said it was meeting Liz and Sage (who own Hawaiian Sailing Canoe Adventures), and their son, Cru (5 months) and daughter, Kira (3 1/2 years). It was their aloha spirit, more than anything else, that made our trip magical. I hope we can circle back to see them soon!

Our new Hawaiian friend, Cru and his Mama, Liz.

Michael with his little buddy.

Liz, Kira and Sage swimming in the sea.

Our last day in Maui. Enjoying Cru as long as we can.

Happiness . . .

Little pebble upon the sand
Now you're lying here in my hand,
How many years have you been here?

Little human upon the sand
From where I'm lying here in your hand,
You to me are but a passing breeze.

The sun will always shine where you stand
Depending in which land
You may find yourself.
Now you have my blessing, go your way.

Happiness runs in a circular motion
Thought is like a little boat upon the sea.
Everybody is a part of everything anyway,
You can have everything if you let yourself be.

-Donovan Leitch

Photos from Our Trip

2008-08-26T13:38:00.000-07:00

This place is amazing. Every day is an adventure. I'm not going to try to write it all down at this point, but here are some photos!

Our cottage.

The sailing canoe we went on (called the Hina).

Michael paddle boarding.

The giant Banyan Tree in Lahaina.

A wind surfer at Hookipa.

Red sand beach near Hana where we went swimming.

Fire dancer at Little Beach (thank you Gretchen for the tip. It was awesome!!).

Iao Valley, where we went hiking.

Jelly fish at the aquarium.

The Buddhist Peace Stupa in Paia.

Michael at the stupa.

Turtle paintings inside the stupa.

Michael.

Me, looking pretty.

Maui, looking pretty.

Aloha!

Love Letters

2008-08-22T13:35:00.000-07:00

Every morning since we arrived, I have taken a walk on the beach. The water washes over my feet, and the sand slips away beneath them. The light morning sun warms me without burning.

The first day I did this, I reached the end of our section of beach and I sat down on the sand and stared at the ocean. There were several small sticks lying around, so I picked one up and started drawing designs on the sand.

The design turned into Sage's name. I wrote underneath it, "I love you, my son." And this is how I started writing love letters to my little boy. Every morning my note is gone, washed smooth by the sea, so every morning I write it again.

I think I will always be writing love notes to Sage. And they will always be washed away.

I don't know why, but it helps me somehow to repeat this little ritual. I open my heart to love and then I accept loss - over and over.

What choice do any of us have but to make our lives a beautiful love letter?

Paradise

2008-08-19T15:26:00.000-07:00

The day before Michael and I left on our Maui trip, my friend, AJ looked at me with a little smile, like a kid with a secret, and said something to the effect of, "You don't understand. You are going to paradise."

I understand now, AJ!

We arrived in Maui at 12:30 pm local time on Sunday. we were jostled around quite a bit as the plane landed because of strong winds. We made the short drive to Kihei (key-hay) and checked into our cottage.

We are in one of eight cottages right across the road from the beach. We have a small living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, a lanai (patio), and a hammock in the yard, surrounded by beautiful trees with twisting branches, bright-colored flowers, and the constant chatter of small birds.

The only downside is the amount of traffic that goes by on South Kihei Road, pretty much 24-hours a day, but still, during lulls in the traffic, we can hear the mesmerizing, rhythmic sound of the surf.

Yesterday was one of the most perfect mornings of my entire life. We woke early and walked on the beach as the sun was just starting to rise. A full moon shone in the delicately blue sky over the glassy ocean. I did tai chi barefoot in the sand with warm water lapping at my toes.

We ate breakfast at home - fresh fruit, granola and yogurt from the local natural food store. Then Michael drove me south to Wailea for a surprise which he planned before we left home.

He took me to a beach where I saw kids splashing in the surf, people sun bathing and kayaking and snorkling. And at the far end of the beach sat a beautiful yellow outrigger sailing canoe with a red sail, and this was the surprise - two hours of sailing and snorkling over a coral reef.

I can't begin to describe how amazing this was. Our guide, whose name was Sage, was raised on Oahu, and his canoe is one of only 30 of its kind in the world - a traditional Hawaiian design. While we sailed, he told us about the history of the islands.

Soon after we started sailing, a large sea turtle swam right by us. Later, our snorkling guide, Chris, took us around the reef, and we saw another turtle. This one was smaller. It rose to the surface and just hung out there for a while, watching us.

Our guide also dove down to the reef and brought up a sea star, a red pencil urchin and another type of urchin. The sea star crawled around on my hand and arm.

I could have stayed out there all day. It is a good thing I didn't, though, because even just two hours, in the morning, left me with a bit of a sunburn on my back.

I wish I could upload some of my photos from my camera, but this internet cafe doesn't allow that. Hopefully I will get a chance soon.

For the Traveler

2008-08-16T09:59:00.000-07:00

In a couple of hours, Michael and I will begin our journey to Portland and then on to Maui. I find that I am filled with hopeful anticipation. I like the unpredictability of traveling, the way it stirs things up. I am surprised that I still feel this way in spite of all that happened the last time we ventured out into the wide world.

This morning, Oceana and Grammy stopped by to say goodbye. Oceana gave me and Michael lots of hugs and kisses and an impromptu dance performance. She also gave me a rainbow colored fairy headband so I will remember her while I am gone. She said I could give it back when we get back. I gave her a silver anklet with dolphins on it so she will remember me, too.

Here is a blessing for us and for all of you who are making journeys, near and far.

For the Traveler

Every time you leave home,
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.

New strangers on other paths await.
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit.

When you travel, you find yourself
Alone in a different way,
More attentive now
To the self you bring along,
Your more subtle eye watching
You abroad; and how what meets you
Touches that part of the heart
That lies low at home.

When you travel,
A new silence
Goes with you,
And if you listen,
You will hear
What your heart would
Love to say.

May you travel in an awakened way,
Gathered wisely into your inner ground;
That you may not waste the invitations
Which wait along the way to transform you.

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed,
And live your time away to its fullest;
Return home more enriched, and free
To balance the gift of days which call you.

-John O'Donohue

The Heart's Hidden Vault

2008-08-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, my coworker, Lorena, brought her son Isaak to work. Usually when he is there, I take a short turn holding him and then pass him on to one of my coworkers.

Yesterday, I was feeling a strong need for some "Isaak Time," so I took him to one of the classrooms and talked to him and played with him. He started rubbing his eyes, so I rocked him in a rocking chair.

I sang to Isaak - children's songs and Paul Simon songs. I sang "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes," and "Cecelia." I tried to remember the words to "Feelin' Groovy." Isaak seemed to like my singing. He soon fell into a peaceful sleep, both hands clutching one of my fingers. It felt so good that he sensed he was safe with me.

I thought about taking him back to his mama, but I told myself, just a few more minutes. I sat there, rocking him . . . for an hour and a half. I sang even after he fell asleep.

The chair was positioned in front of a mirror, and sometimes I glanced up at the image of myself cradling this baby. I let my eyes blur a little, and I could almost see myself holding Sage. I rocked and cried and imagined that I was singing to Isaak AND Sage.

When Isaak woke up, I took him outside and showed him things - a bright orange flower, the slide, the sandbox, the rough, wooden fence. Isaak likes to be held facing outward so he can see everything. He gets a very serious look on his face when he is concentrating. Sage had a similar expression.

Eventually, I gave Isaak to another coworker, and I went back to work. Once I heard him crying, and I stood up to go find him, and then I sat down, knowing that his mama would comfort him and that is who he would want to see. I felt a little aimless, and I was glad when it was time to leave.

Last night, at home, grief washed over me like the tide coming in, rising higher and higher until I was submerged. My response to this intensity was to hold very still and not say anything in the hopes that it would pass. But sometimes it cannot be contained. So at Michael's gentle request, I shared with him the experiences of my day and the emotions that arose, and Michael's response was so balanced and loving that the sharp edges of my pain began to soften.

He breathed deeply, which reminded me to breathe as well. I was amazed by his courage and his ability to hear me. He didn't try to pacify me with advice. And somehow he understood that in spite of the pain (or including the pain) holding Isaak was an immense gift for me.

Since the accident, my relationship with Michael has felt both sacred and fragile. I want to protect us from the tendency to draw conclusions about each other or our marriage, which is one reason I rarely write about him on this blog. There are so many fluctuations. We have witnessed each other's pain, expressed in its many unpredictable forms. The ground we used to stand on has shifted and continues to shift.

We are intertwined by our shared loss, as well as the process of healing and the hope of having another child. This is a lot for us to carry, within ourselves, and for each other, and sometimes it all seems so heavy. Last night, though, Michael found the strength to hold me until the storm passed and I could sleep.

For Michael, for Isaak . . . and for Sage
a quote from Bibi Hiyati:

"From the moment of time's first-drawn breath,
Love resides in us.
A treasure locked into the heart's hidden vault.

What can I do but thank you,
one hundred times?"

Baby Mania

2008-08-07T07:56:00.000-07:00

And now, by request . . . FINALLY . . . the photos from last Friday's party.

There was a going away party for two Relief Nursery staff, Kristen and Sarah, and our three youngest interventionists (Dylan, Isaak and Benjamin) were there to charm and entertain us all.

Benjamin is only 2 weeks old, and this was his first major public appearance. He slept and ate and snuggled, and seemed to enjoy himself. Isaak and Dylan are old hats at socializing with Relief Nursery staff, and they seemed very wise and sophisticated next to a newborn.

The Girl Who Silenced the World

2008-08-06T06:57:00.000-07:00

I came across this video of a 12-year-old speaking at the UN Earth Summit. It is pretty powerful, and I thought I'd share it with you. Here is a description from KarmaTube, which is kind of like YouTube but with videos of social and environmental change.

Born and raised in Vancouver, Severn Suzuki has been working on environmental and social justice issues since kindergarten. At age 9, she and some friends started the Environmental Children's Organization (ECO), a small group of children committed to learning and teaching other kids about environmental issues. They traveled to 1992's UN Earth Summit, where 12 year-old Severn gave this powerful speech that deeply affected (and silenced) some of the most prominent world leaders. The speech had such an impact that she has become a frequent invitee to many UN conferences.

I am noticing that some computers will not play this video. . . There is nothing wrong with the link. I think it has something to do with whether java is enabled or possibly what version of Adobe Flash Player you have. . . I hope it works for you all.

All I Know of Spirit

2008-08-04T18:18:00.000-07:00

The cure for the pain is in the pain.

Dance when you're broken open.

Dance if you've torn the bandage off.

Dance in the middle of the fighting.

Dance when you're perfectly free.

All I know of spirit

is this Love . . .

-Rumi

Maui!

2008-08-03T06:25:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, one of my coworkers, Kevin, told me about snorkeling with sea turtles in Maui. I couldn't get the thought out of my mind. Michael and I talked it over, and we have decided to go there for the two week break I have before the next school term starts. Michael will be finished with his CNA training by then, so the timing is perfect.

We'll leave here on the 16th of August and fly back on the 29th. We have made a reservation at Nona Lani Cottages in Kihei on the South Shore.

We are so excited about this trip. We didn't go on a honeymoon when we got married, and we've really never taken a vacation together other than to visit family. It's never been just the two of us exploring a place we've never been. I think it will be very healing for us to get away for a while.

Have Your Best Day

2008-07-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

I had the most amazing day today! The interesting thing is that I actually only slept 3 1/2 hours last night. I was probably on some sort of sleep deprivation high.

At any rate, I woke up this morning thinking about a phrase that my family uses to close letters: "Have your best day." My brother started signing off this way when he was in college. Then my dad picked it up. Several of my aunts use it now, too.

In my mind, this phrase doesn't seem to be saying "good luck" or "I hope good things happen today for you." Rather it seems to say, "I hope you are able to meet this day with passion and awareness," or, "Be your best self."

So, I took the energy of that phrase into my day, and here is what happened.

My co-teacher, Lane, and I spent most of our three hours in the classroom dancing with the babies to a CD of upbeat world music. We put flour in the sensory table, and the kids made white footprints all over the carpet. We finger painted with pink and orange paint, and the kids marked their faces like tribal warriors.

Maybe it wasn't that different from other days, but somehow I felt more available to the crazy, wonderful fact that it is my job to nurture and play with and laugh with these beautiful kids.

Tonight, after dinner, I took a walk and sat on a rock in the glow of the setting sun. I couldn't stop smiling, which is a good sign that I have, indeed, had my best day.

Lift Me Nearer

2008-07-29T22:40:00.000-07:00

Awake, my dear.
Be kind to your sleeping heart.
Take it out into the vast fields of light
And let it breathe.

Say,
"Love,
Give me back my wings,
Lift me,
Lift me nearer."

Say to the sun and the moon,
Say to our dear Friend,
"I will take you up now, Beloved,
On that wonderful Dance you promised!"

-Hafiz

I would like to share something tonight besides other people's poetry. For days, though, I have been so tangled up in my thoughts that I have not had the clarity to write. I share this Hafiz poem because I need the reminder to take my heart out into the vast fields of light and let it breathe.

Sometimes I stay up late at night and pace and cry and long for comfort. And I forget again and again that comfort (or better yet, joy!) does not come from getting what I want, but from appreciating deeply what is offered.

A Cushion for Your Head

2008-07-28T06:52:00.000-07:00

For V, with love...

A Cushion For Your Head

Just sit there right now

Don't do a thing

Just rest.

For your separation from God,

From love,
Is the hardest work

In this

World.

Let me bring you trays of food

And something

That you like to

Drink.

You can use my soft words

As a cushion

For your

Head.

-Hafiz

For the Sake of Strangers

2008-07-24T07:28:00.000-07:00

No matter what the grief, its weight,
we are obliged to carry it.
We rise and gather moments, the dull strength
that pushes us through crowds.
And then the young boy gives me directions
so avidly. A woman holds the glass door open,
waits patiently for my empty body to pass through.
All day it continues, each kindness
reaching toward another- a stranger
singing to no one as I pass on the path, trees
offering their blossoms . . .

-Dorianna Laux

Cast All Your Votes For Dancing

2008-07-22T07:15:00.000-07:00

Cast All Your Votes For Dancing

I know the voice of depression
Still calls to you.

I know those habits that can ruin your life
Still send their invitations.

But you are with the Friend now

And look so much stronger.

You can stay that way
And even bloom!

O keep squeezing drops of the Sun
From your prayers and work and music

And from your companions' beautiful laughter

And from the most insignificant movements
Of your own holy body.

Now, sweet one,
Be wise.
Cast all your votes for Dancing!

-Hafiz

My sister and I went to a belly dance class last night. The class focused on fitness and a few basic moves. It was fun, and a good workout. I find myself wishing I had the fitness level I did when I first started dancing. I was 25, and dancing seemed to come pretty easily to me. I had a really extraordinary teacher, and I guess my base fitness level was pretty good. Now I have to work harder! My body doesn't have the strength or flexibility that it used to. But if there is any way to gain that back, it is through belly dancing!

Missing Michael, and Picking Blueberries

2008-07-20T21:17:00.000-07:00

I love it when my husband goes away for a few days. I love it because it gives me the chance to miss him, and then he comes home. It's such a good feeling to find yourself jogging toward your spouse because you're just so glad it is him standing there, tired and sweaty and smiling.

Michael was paddle boarding at the Gorge Games (on the Columbia River) for the last three days. While he was battling the wind and waves, I spent my time doing Ai Chi, picking blueberries with Oceana, and voraciously reading a Jodi Picoult novel (My Sister's Keeper).

I had never been blueberry picking before. It's a really peaceful way to spend a couple of hours, and we ended up with 2 quarts of blueberries for $4. We also ate our fill of them while we were picking.

Oceana chatted the whole time. She pointed out the turkey vultures overhead, a tiny ladybug on a leaf, and a water bottle someone had left behind. She told me "That's littering."

She also asked me if I was pregnant. My answer was, "no." And why not? I wasn't sure what to say, so I told her "Because there isn't a baby growing in my tummy yet, but I hope someday there will be." Then she asked if we would name our next baby Sage. I told her that was Sage's special name, and the new baby would have its own name.

The next morning, Oceana called me to invite me to breakfast at her house. Sarah (my sister) made blueberry pancakes, veggie sausage, and fruit salad for us. We listened to Jack Johnson's Curious George CD, which Oceana calls "Sage and Grandpa Faulkner's music," and somehow it didn't seem sad listening to it this time.

Oce ate her food with chopsticks, and at one point she got us all laughing by pinching her nose with them. She then insisted that Grammy and I try it out, so . . . here are the photos. If my curse in life is taking it all too seriously, then Oceana is the perfect antidote.

Oceana Turns Four

2008-07-18T07:10:00.000-07:00

Oceana's fourth birthday was this week. We haven't had her party yet, but she did get some gifts from her Grammy (a kite, a puzzle and a tape measure). Grammy is teaching her how to measure things around the house.

When I stopped by to see them last night, Grammy had band-aids on the knees of her pants, gauze stuck to her elbow, and a blue sticker on her face. She and Oce had
been playing doctor, which is one of Oce's all time favorite things to do.

Oce will heal anyone who comes near her (including stuffed animals). She even gave me a physical therapy regimen, insisting that I was not "normal" until I could jump with her, and roll on the floor, and stand on one leg. Almost every time I see her, she asks "Are you almost normal yet?"

Grammy (my mom) is one of Dr. Oce's most frequent patients. They are quite a pair. A few days ago, Oceana said, "Grammy, you and me are buddies."

Grammy is a natural teacher. So many of the "therapeutic principles" that we follow at the Relief Nursery are things that my mom does instinctively and effortlessly. I love to watch her with kids. I am thankful that Sage got to spend so much time with her.

I will always remember how she talked to Sage. She had whole conversations with him, listening to his sounds like they were the most fascinating story. And he LOVED talking to her! He may not have understood her words, but he understood that she thought what he was saying was important.

Sharing Sage with Mom made me feel so close to her. I was able to see her doing what she does best. And it deepened my appreciation of my own childhood. I know Mom listened to me and Levi and Sarah the same way she listened to Sage and Oce. Some of the most valuable gifts Mom gave me when I was a child are things I have no memory of, but they are part of who I have become.

The Invitation

2008-07-17T07:15:00.000-07:00

THE INVITATION
Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself, if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God's presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout in the silver of the full moon, "Yes"!

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

THE SUN NEVER SAYS

2008-07-13T21:47:00.000-07:00

Even after all this time
The Sun never says to the Earth
"You owe me"

Look what happens
With a love like that
It lights
The Whole Sky...

-Hafiz

Learning to Fall

2008-07-11T20:59:00.000-07:00

This last week has been pretty powerful. I felt a weight on my shoulders, the heaviness that comes with the build up of unshed tears, maybe. And then the dam broke.

It started with a visit to one of the families I have been working with all year, a family whose home I never once visited without Sage. I felt an upwelling of sadness for myself and for the circumstances of the family and for the little girl who is in my class, who seems so vulnerable to me.

So, as I was driving home, I was processing this experience, and I was stopped by a police officer for speeding. He asked me if I had any reason or excuse, and I told him that I was distracted and did not realize I was speeding. He told me that he was writing me a ticket, and that he just wanted me to be safe.

He was so kind and sincere, and something in me released, and I started to cry - hard. I told him I wasn't crying about the ticket, and I would be okay. I cried all the way home.

I can't separate out one reason. Part of it was that I couldn't believe I had been speeding, driving in a way that might be unsafe, after knowing first-hand how quickly and unexpectedly an accident can occur. That really was just part of it, though, and the rest is a jumble of feelings that I have not begun to sort out.

And maybe there was not a particular reason, just a build up of energy that had to go somewhere. When I was in the hospital, one of the chaplains told me that grief will be released, either through crying or a creative outlet or exercise . . . or if it gets pent up enough, it will come out sideways and hit anything nearby - like a spouse, a coworker, a friendly police officer doing his job.

I continued to feel shaken and weepy for the rest of the evening and on into the next day, but Saturday I woke up feeling renewed and hopeful. It amazes me - the way life flows on whether we bob along like driftwood or we fight it the whole way.

Today, Michael and I went paddle boarding again, and just after I stood up on the board, a speed boat zipped by, creating a wake that rocked me and pushed me forward. I felt my whole body tense in an attempt to stay balanced.

Later, Michael told me that when he is on the board in rough conditions, he has a practice of relaxing into the motion of the water and the board. He said it is actually easier to stay on that way than if you try really hard to keep your balance.

He also told me that it is important to always be ready to fall in. If you feel ready to fall in, you don't waste your energy on the fear of falling. Later, he walked to the back of his board and fell into the water. He came up smiling, happy to be cooled off on a hot day.

I think sometimes I walk through my life a little scared of falling in the water. I want to stay balanced - always. And really, what is the point of that? Even if I could stay balanced all the time, it just means I miss out on the refreshing experience of falling in.

How surely gravity's law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of even the strongest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.

Each thing -
each stone, blossom, child -
is held in place.

Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we belong to
for some empty freedom.

If we surrendered
to earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.

So, like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God's heart'
they have never left him.

This is what the things can teach us:
to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.

-Rilke

Inspiration

2008-07-05T14:22:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, but I have felt unable to write lately. I miss posting blogs and the effortless way the thoughts and words poured from me these last few months. Now I feel so quiet. Not in a bad way, not shut down. Just quiet. Maybe in a rejuvenating phase. I suppose it is a cycle. Like sleep, like hibernating.

Here is another gem from the Book of Qualities.

Inspiration

Inspiration is disturbing. She does not believe in guarantees or insurance or strict schedules. She is not interested in how well you write your grant proposal or what you do for a living or why you are too busy to see her. She will be there when you need her but you have to take it on trust. Surrender. She knows when you need her better than you do.

Okay, Inspiration. I surrender. I know you will come back when I need you the most.
I will leave you with a Rumi poem, and hopefully I will post again soon.

Close the Language-Door

There is some kiss we want
with our whole lives,
the touch of Spirit on the body.

Seawater begs the pearl
to break its shell.

And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild Darling!

At night, I open the window
and ask the moon to come
and press its face against mine.
Breathe into me.

Close the language-door,
and open the love-window

The moon won't use the door,
only the window.

- Rumi

Love Song

2008-07-02T12:10:00.000-07:00

Love Song

How can I keep my soul in me, so that
it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow,
which draws one voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh, sweetest song.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Watering Seeds of Compassion

2008-06-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I went to a meeting at work, and a child psychologist (Charlotte Peterson) presented her experience of going to the Seeds of Compassion gathering in Seattle in April. The gathering hosted speakers from many faith communities (most notably, the Dalai Lama), as well as brain researchers who presented on the science of compassion and how the capacity for it can be developed in children.

Charlotte explained that 80% of the brain is developed by the time a child is 5 years old, and depending on the child's experiences, more growth will happen in different parts of the brain. If a child experiences compassion from caregivers and feels safe in their world, their pre-frontal lobe will grow more, and that is where our capacity for compassion develops. If a child experiences a lot of stress and anxiety because they do not feel safe (physically or emotionally), their hind-brain will develop more, and that is where our primitive, fight or flight responses come from. So, by the time a child is 5, their ability to feel compassion has been shaped considerably.

Although much is influenced by these early experiences, we still have the ability as adults to continue "growing our own brain" by choosing what experiences, sensory input and thoughts we engage in.

Brain researchers at the Seeds of Compassion gathering talked about the types of practices that physically change the brain by increasing its capacity for compassion. One of the suggestions was to have a meditative morning ritual like the one below.

A Precious Human Life

Every day, think as you wake up,
Today I am fortunate to have woken up.
I am alive, I have a precious human life.
I am not going to waste it.
I am going to use all my energies to develop myself,
To expand my heart out to others,
To achieve enlightenment for
The benefit of all beings.
I am going to have kind
Thoughts toward others.
I am not going to get angry,
Or think badly about others.
I am going to benefit others
As much as I can.

-The Dalia Lama

For more suggestions on cultivating compassion, check out www.seedsofcompassion.net/why/

Confidence

2008-06-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

At Dad's memorial, my cousin, Molly read from The Book of Qualities, by Ruth Gendler. This is a beautiful book. My dad gave me a copy when I was 13 years old. It has been well-loved. The binding is broken, and there is a stain on the top of the pages from where the book leaned against some purple irises I picked from our yard.

Dad also gave Molly a copy, and he told her to read the section called Confidence and think of him.

Confidence

Confidence ignores "No Trespassing" signs. It is as if he does not see them. He is an explorer, committed to following his own direction. He studied mathematics in France and still views his life as a series of experiments. The only limits he respects are his own. He is honest and humble and very funny. After all these years, his sister doesn't understand why he still ice skates with Doubt.

This is such a great description of some aspects of my dad. Of course there was more to him than this. I know he prided himself on being a free-thinker, not taken in by dogma, and willing to stand alone if that is what it meant to stay true to himself. That is why he opposed the Vietnam War before it was popular to do so, and that is why he pursued alternative therapies when he was diagnosed with brain cancer.

I really admired that Dad had an internal compass for ethics, spirituality, and health. He trusted his own sense of things, and he found his own path. When I think of Dad, I think of that confidence, but I also think of his incredible vulnerability. I know when he got cancer, some part of him was absolutely terrified. Yet he made the decision over and over to not give in to despair and fear.

I keep having this phrase go through my mind: "You just do the best you can with what you have." I know this might sound simplistic, but what else is there, really? There are things you can control and things you can't, but in all cases you can choose to invest yourself fully in life. I don't know if Dad ever said that to me explicitly, but he certainly demonstrated it with the way he lived and they way he faced challenges.

A Little Parenthesis in Eternity

2008-06-24T20:57:00.000-07:00

At Dad's memorial, my cousin, Jeb, read this passage from Deepak Chopra's book, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, a book my dad reread many times and often referred to.

We are travelers on a cosmic journey -- stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. but the expressions of life are ephemeral, momentary, transient. Gautama Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, once said,
To watch the birth and death of beings
is like looking at
the movements of a dance.
A lifetime is like a flash
of lightening in the sky,
Rushing by like a torrent
down a steep mountain.
We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment, but it is transient. It is a little parenthesis in eternity. If we share with caring, lightheartedness, and love, we will create abundance and joy for each other. And then this moment will have been worthwhile.

My Cousin Jeb

No-Coming, No-Going

2008-06-23T22:51:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 21st, the day of the summer solstice, I met Michael's dad (Ben), two brothers (Dan and Franz), and sister-in-law (Mary) for the first time.

We took a picnic to Fall Creek Reservoir, and while Dan and Franz raced to see who could catch the first fish, Michael showed me how to use his paddle board.

Getting on the board was a little hard, but once I was up, I felt pretty stable. I started paddling out into the lake, keeping an eye on the few speed boats that could send a wake my way and possibly knock me off the board.

Once I got a good rhythm down, paddling first on one side, and then on the other, the board skimmed easily across the water, and I felt an expansive sense of freedom and joy. I really didn't want to stop paddling. Eventually, I got tired (especially after paddling into the wind), and I knew Michael would want a turn, but I felt reluctant to step back on land!

The next day, Sunday, June 22nd, was Sage's 1st birthday. Michael and I took my mom and his family to the coast and had a simple ceremony on the beach. Michael and I shared some poetry and blessings, and then we each took a handful of rose petals and scattered them into the ocean.

I want to thank Michaels family and my mom for helping making this day very peaceful and sacred. I've read that the child's birthday can be one of the most painful days of the year for bereaved parents, but that was not my experience. It seems to help to be with people you feel close to, and to do some small symbolic act that honors the child.

We had intended to scatter Sage's ashes that day, but in the end we decided to wait until Waldo Lake is open for the season and we can take the ashes there. The lake is still closed due to snow. Michael and I were married at that lake, and Sage's placenta is buried there. We can't imagine scattering his ashes anywhere else.

Here is one of the poems that Michael shared with us on that day - a year after we held Sage for the first time:

Contemplation on
No-Coming and No-Going
by Thich Naht Hanh

This body is not me
I am not limited by this body.
I am life without boundaries
I have never been born,
And I have never died.

Look at the ocean and the sky filled with stars,
Manifestations from my wondrous mind.
Since before time, I have been free

Birth and death are only doors through which we pass
Sacred thresholds on our journey
Birth and death are a game of hide and seek

So laugh with me,
Hold my hand,
Let us say goodbye
Say goodbye to meet again soon.
We meet today
We will meet again tomorrow
We meet at the source every moment.
We meet each other in all forms of life.

Happy Birthday, Sage

2008-06-22T22:21:00.000-07:00

Heceta Head, Oregon Coast

Today was Sage's birthday. We spent the day at Heceta Head with my mom and some of Michael's family members. I want to take some time to write about this day and post some photos, but it has gotten late, and I need to get some sleep, so I'll have to postpone writing. I'll say goodnight and leave you with a short poem:

Very little grows on jagged rock
Be ground
Be crumbled
So wildflowers can come up
where you are,
You've been stony all these years
Try something different
Surrender!

-Rumi

The Way Wings Should

2008-06-20T22:35:00.000-07:00

Today my coworkers at the Relief Nursery gathered together and planted a dogwood tree on the school grounds in honor of Sage. This offering was organized by the Relief Nursery Board of Directors. The tree will produce white flowers, and in the fall its leaves will turn scarlet.

Lupe and A.J. plant the tree.

Everyone helps.

R.N. staff with the beautiful little tree.

While we were gathered to plant the tree, my friend, Gretchen, read the following Rumi poem. It reminds me that children, not just our own, but all the children we encounter, need us to show them it is possible to live joyfully, passionately, and with fully open hearts. In my mind, this poem expresses the purpose and spirit of the Relief Nursery - to help the children (and the adults) in our community endure their struggles and wake with their hearts wanting to play . . . the way wings should.

The Way Wings Should

What will
our children do in the morning?
Will they wake with their hearts wanting to play,
the way wings
should?

Will they have dreamed the needed flights and gathered
the strength from the planets
that all men and women need
to balance the wonderful charms of
the earth
so that her power and beauty
does not make us forget our own?

I know all about the ways of the heart - how it wants to be alive.

Love so needs to love
that it will endure almost anything, even abuse,
just to flicker for a moment.
But the sky's mouth is kind,
its song will never hurt you,
for I sing those words.

What will our children do in the morning
if they do not see us
fly?

~ Rumi ~

A hug from Gretchen.

Accepting with Grace

2008-06-19T23:54:00.001-07:00

Sagey and his friend Maya

I've been feeling a little fragile these last few days, probably because I felt so much build up to the memorials, and now they are over, and life . . . goes . . . on.

Wednesday was the hardest. I took our jars of baby food into work to donate them. I threw away an opened box of rice cereal. I cried. And then the kids got there, and the day moved forward.

There is something in me that wants to fight against the vulnerability of this frequent, sudden crying. It is frustrating because there is nothing to DO about it. I guess I am learning to BE with these feelings, because that is really the only option.

In my Ai Chi class, we do a movement called "Accepting with Grace." This is the hardest of the series for me. It requires both balance and a willingness to let go and trust that the water will support me. I mentioned my difficulty to the teacher, Teresa, and she said that sometimes the first step is the acceptance that I am not in acceptance. So this is what I am working on . . . not resisting or judging my struggle to accept with grace.

Small Things with Great Love

2008-06-18T23:40:00.000-07:00

This is what I read at Sage's memorial. I want to share it here for those of you who were unable to attend.
____________________________________________________________

When I was in the hospital, I was offered some words of wisdom that have served as a touchstone for me ever since. My husband, Michael, looked at me and said, “We have to live in the light that Sage brought to our lives, and share that light with others.”

By asking you to join us today, that is what we are hoping to do - share the beautiful, loving energy of our son so that it can nurture the beautiful, loving energy in each of you.

In this way, we offer our little boy to all of you. Please help us carry his life energy forward.

We know you will help us with this because you’ve been doing it all along, holding our little family in your hearts since before Sage was even born.

You were with us through the sweet anticipation of pregnancy, the enormous joys and challenges of being new parents, the delight of watching our baby grow, and the devastation of losing him.

Thank you all for helping us give Sage a happy life.

If we could ask you for anything now, it would be that you take those Random Acts of Kindness Cards out into the world and do something amazing with them.

Mother Teresa said, “We cannot do great things in this life. We can only do small things with great love.” And that is the spirit of those cards.

When Sage was born, the first thing I said was, “I have a baby!” I said this with some surprise, as though through the course of labor I forgot exactly what the outcome would be.

The second thing I said was, “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” And without a doubt, knowing Sage was, by far, the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Blessing for a Long Journey

2008-06-17T17:15:00.000-07:00

I got an email today saying that the other parents in our Birth to Three group would like to adopt a sea turtle for Sage's 1-year Birthday gift. What a wonderful idea! If you want to learn more about adopting turtles and turtle conservation, here is the website: www.cccturtle.org/

These turtles have amazingly long migration routes, as you can see on the map below.
Here is a little blessing for the turtles and for us all. My friend from work, Gretchen, sang it at Sage's memorial.

May the long time sun shine upon you,
All love surround you,
And the pure light within you,
Guide your way on.

Threshold

2008-06-16T07:44:00.000-07:00

Oceana (age 2) on the horsey that
Grandpa Faulkner made for her.

I have only a few minutes to write before work, but I wanted to say that the memorials were wonderful, better than I could have imagined. So many people got up to speak (and sing) at Sage's. Michael and I were amazed by the powerful love of our community and family. We both cried, but it was that good, healing type of crying.

Dad's memorial, on Sunday was just as moving and beautiful. Everyone who attended contributed something. I know Dad would have liked how it turned out - lots of laughter, lots of stories, lots of good food, and a walk through the orchard when it was over.

This weekend was a threshold for us, and we walk forward with new gifts.
Dad always liked to say,
"This is the first day of the rest of your life!"
How true.

Dwelling in the Present Moment

2008-06-13T17:51:00.000-07:00

My sister, Sarah, and Sage

It has been nearly a week since my last post. With Sage's memorial today, and Dad's tomorrow, there have been a lot of preparations to take care of, and I have not had the mental energy to write. At this point, though, most of the planning and preparing that can be done has been done, and the only thing left is to relax into the experience.

Thich Naht Hanh offers the following meditations:

Feelings come and go
Like clouds in a windy sky.
Conscious breathing
is my anchor.

Breathing in, I calm my body,
Breathing out, I smile.
Dwelling in the present moment,
I know this is a wonderful moment.

Unending Love

2008-06-08T17:02:00.000-07:00

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms,
numberless times...
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade
the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck
in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love,
it's age old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past,
in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star,
piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image
of what is remembered forever.

~Rabindranath Tagore

Treasure Hunt

2008-06-05T20:29:00.001-07:00

Dad and Oceana

In the back of Dad's address book, in tiny, scribbled writing that was barely legible, I found this poem by Mark Nepo (also a cancer survivor).

ENDGAME

Death pushed me to the edge.
Nowhere to back off.
And to the shame of my fears,
I danced with abandon in his face.
I never danced as free.

And Death backed off,
the way dark backs off
in a sudden burst of of flame.
Now there’s nothing left
but to keep dancing.

It is the way
I would have chosen
had I been born
three times
as brave.

-Mark Nepo

I imagine that when I am able to return to Dad's house, I will find things like this, artifacts of his life and his thoughts tucked away in unexpected places. Poems, letters, photos, drawings we kids gave him 20 years ago. Dad would have liked this - surprises, unanticipated treasures. I am reminded of when we kids were little and one of us lost a tooth. The next morning, under our pillow, we'd find a little note with a clue on it. Dad sent us on treasure hunts that lasted all morning. Each clue would lead to another clue, until at the end was some surprise. I don't remember any of the surprises, but I do remember the search for clues. Maybe that was Dad's way of teaching us to enjoy the process as much as the prize.

Arriving Where We Started

2008-06-03T21:01:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the Birth Center where Sage was born. I was able to see Chris, the midwife who delivered him, as well as the lactation consultant, Hope, who offered me support and encouragement during the first (very difficult) weeks of breastfeeding.

I sat for a time in a rocking chair in the room where Sage was born, thinking: This is where I first saw you, first held you. This is where I willingly experienced the most intense physical pain of my life in order to experience the happiest moment of my life.

I ran my hand over the wooden bed frame and the quilt covered with dragonflies. I noticed the details of the room that I had no awareness of the last time I was there. There is a black and white photo of a baby nursing. He has a wonderful grin on his face, like he can't imagine life getting any better. Sage often smiled like that while nursing, and I remember thinking there couldn't be a sweeter feeling than seeing my child so satisfied and content.

As I received the hugs and care of those women who walked with me on my journey of birth and motherhood, I cried. And I realized then that my return to this place was one of the many gates through which I have to pass. The building is so full of the memories of mothers, fathers and infants. It echoes with screams, sobs, and groans . . . and the speechless joy of holding a newborn. Sage, Michael and I are part of that place.

We shall not cease from exploration,
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time.
--T.S. Elliot

Live the Questions

2008-06-01T21:42:00.000-07:00

... have patience with everything
unresolved in your heart

and to try to love the questions themselves
as if they were locked rooms or books written
in a very foreign language.

Don't search for the answers,
which could not be given to you now,
because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is, to live everything.

Live the questions now.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

The Story of Sage - Part III

2008-05-29T17:50:00.001-07:00

Here are a few journal entries I wrote when Sage was just over a month old. Everything was new. Everyday Sage experienced something for the first time, and I did as well. I have to remember that I still have the option to approach life that way - with my eyes open, with my heart open.

August 5 - Sage's first stroller ride through the park. The sweet perfume of a giant white lily warmed by the sun. As we walk by, a row of ducks splashes into the water, one-by-one.

August 6 - This morning, I laid Sage on a blanket and showed him a sunflower. He stared at it and made excited squeally sounds. This is the first time I've really heard his voice.

August 7 - Sage and I took a bath together this morning. He didn't cry, but he did cling to me like a little monkey, and he nursed the whole time.

August 8 - Last night, watching Michael's playfulness with Sage, has reminded me to be silly more, to make funny faces and make up songs, to really let myself enjoy these fleeting moments of Sage's babyhood.

August 9 - Met with supervisors at work to discuss my return. I have the option of part or full time. I feel the weight of the decision. Can we afford it if I take part time? Could I even handle full time right now? I know what is best for Sage, and I am relieved when Michael agrees.

August 10 - Long walk with Sarah, both of us pushing our babies in strollers. We talk about to what extent our thoughts / beliefs create our reality. We stop at a park to rest in the shade of a small tree. Oceana runs up a hill, dances, and runs back down bearing flowers.

August 11 - Walked the labyrinth at Tamarack while nursing Sage, warmed by the sun, peaceful. Later, in the library courtyard, I nursed him while sitting on a beautiful stone bench decorated with mosaic flowers and birds. Nursing has become a sweet pleasure, a meditation, so different from the early days when it was awkward and painful.

August 21 - Sage weighs 11 pounds, 12 ounces. I love taking him to baby clinic, talking to other moms, and seeing their babies. It is a weekly touchstone for me.

August 22 - Sometimes Sage smiles and laughs in his sleep. I wonder what he dreams of. He is so amazingly beautiful.

The Story of Sage - Part II

2008-05-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

Here are some journal entries from my pregnancy and shortly after. I have so few, and I only wrote two or three lines to sum up a day.

When I see our baby for the first time on the ultrasound screen, I cry. He moves a lot, and I can see him and feel him at the same time. I am in awe of the mystery and miracle of his existence.

Driving home from work. My son is awake and very active. I gently push his foot away from my sore ribs. I sing lullabies and even make up a song. His movements slow down as though he is listening.

The touchstone of my son's movements inside me. Quick kicks and long, slow stretches. I do not tire of sitting quietly with my hand on my belly, feeling you.

And here is a brief letter I wrote to him after he was born:

Dear Sage,
Tomorrow is your two week birthday. As I write this, you are sleeping, curled against your papa in our big bed. So much has happened in this short time since your birth that I hardly know where to begin. I want to try, though, to record these days for you because you will have no memory of them, and someday you may wonder.
You were born on Friday, June 22, 2007 at 3:50 p.m. The night before you were born, Papa and I were visiting with Aunt Sarah, and she said, "Tomorrow would be a good day to give birth." She gave me a knowing smile.

Unfortunately, I never finished that letter. I imagined I was writing these things for him to read when he was older. I never imagined I might be rereading them myself under these circumstances.

This sweet photo was taken during the first few days of his life. We had a little photo shoot going, and I guess it made him sleepy.

The Story of Sage - Part I

2008-05-29T00:25:00.000-07:00

I am feeling strongly that I want to share Sage's story . . . and my story of being a mother. The 9 months of my pregnancy, and the 9 months of Sage's life, brought me more joy and more growth than any other time in my life.

I wrote very little during my pregnancy and after. I wish now that I had written more. I do have a few journal entries and a few letters that I wrote to Sage. I think Sage's story really begins with my and Michael's decision to get married. We sent out the following letter for Thanksgiving of 2006. This letter is how we announced to everyone we knew that we were expecting a child.

To all our family and friends,

On Sunday, the 22nd of October, on a rocky peninsula extending into a high alpine lake in the Cascade Range, Michael and I exchanged rings in our own spontaneous ritual acknowledging the ongoing lifelong commitment we continue to share with one another. Having been enchanted by the reds and golds among the dwarf alpine flora alight by a brilliant late afternoon autumn sun, there could have been no better time or place for our wedding ceremony.

Several months ago we began discussing the idea of marrying on the fifth anniversary of our relationship in early December. We ordered our wedding bands from a jewelry designer in Santa Fe, New Mexico, but being so excited upon receiving them we began to wear them right away.

Our feeling was to have a ceremony between the two of us this winter and then share in a celebration with all of you next summer. Upon finding ourselves so moved there by the lake that day, we shared the realization that nothing we could plan in the future would have been any more profound than where we found ourselves in that moment. We then washed each others’ rings in the crystal clear water, said our simple spontaneous vows, and placed the rings on each others’ hands.

The day after our wedding, I awoke feeling a bit queasy. I felt strongly that I might be pregnant. That afternoon, on my lunch break, I jogged a few blocks to a clinic and asked for a pregnancy test. As the nurse was explaining how the test works, I was watching intently as two blue lines appeared before me - a positive result! I said, “Oh, my gosh! I’m really pregnant! I can’t believe I’m really pregnant!” I was so happy, I almost hugged the nurse.

I waited until that evening, after dinner, to tell Michael. Before I told him, I was lying on the bed, resting, and he walked in and gently laid his hands on my belly. I wondered if somehow he already knew. When I took both his hands and told him we are going to have a baby, he responded with the same joy and astonishment that I was feeling.

We are both truly delighted by the gift of this child. We are now beginning our 9th week, which means the baby is only about the size of a grape, but it already has a beating heart, and its spine and brain have begun to form! We have had one prenatal visit, and we will be getting our first ultrasound in a couple of weeks.

Michael and I send you warm wishes for Thanksgiving.
Love,
Jessie

It is incredible to me how much has changed since we wrote this letter. As I reread it, though, I am struck by the two things that have stayed the same - my adoration of Sage, and my commitment to Michael. As is often the case, I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of what I have lost, but also the magnitude of what I have been given.

Find a Better Job

2008-05-26T12:56:00.000-07:00

Now
That
All your worry
Has proved such an
Unlucrative
Business,
Why
Not
Find a better
Job?
-Hafiz

This is such a funny little poem. I need to read it often to remind myself that worry really doesn't help anything. You know, the skill of meditation, of clearing the mind of thoughts - I used to think it was interesting, a fun experiment. But now . . . now it seems absolutely necessary for a happy life. When I think of how much of my energy is wasted by repetitive worry and projection, I feel very motivated to find out what it feels like to have a quiet mind. I am usually so far from that! I find that the time I spend doing Ai Chi (Tai Chi in the pool), I am a little closer to quietude. Maybe someday I will step out of the pool and take that peace with me. Until then . . . I'll need Hafiz to remind me.

A Strange Paradox

2008-05-25T13:01:00.000-07:00

I spent some time today reading more of Dad's letters. Here is an excerpt of one that he wrote to me after his and my mother's marriage ended in divorce. I think that was one of the hardest experiences of Dad's life, and yet he made a conscious choice to stay open and loving .

"I was thinking the other day how life goes along at a certain plateau for years and years but all the while, deep beneath the surface, pressure is building until finally the earth's plates shift, causing earthquakes and eruptions, altering the landscape forever, and nothing can ever be quite the same again. But out of the rubble, something new and beautiful and amazing always begins to grow. It is nature's way. It is evolution and renewal, epiphany and resurrection. It reminds me of a poem from the play The Fantastics:

There is a strange paradox
Which no one can explain.
Who understands the secret
In the reaping of the grain?
Who understands why Spring is born
Out of Winter's laboring pain?
Or why we all must die a bit
Before we grow again?

Fortunately there are some formations and some people that not even an earthquake can destroy. You still make my day by calling, and we can talk forever. Sarah still races through the house laughing at life, and Levi's eyes still burn with intensity as he paces the floor trying to explain the curvature of space in a way I can understand. So, life goes on, and we look around at the destruction to realize that we can survive and will be stronger people for it."

I think about this a lot - about being a stronger person after this sort of loss, about something beautiful growing out of a tragedy. Dad was able to do this, not just with the divorce, but with a brain tumor! And there were probably other losses in his life as well, that I don't even know about. But through it all, he was able to embrace life, to look at it with curiosity, and to laugh at its absurdities.

I have the following quote hanging on my refrigerator. It has always reminded me of Dad:

The aim of life is to live,
and to live means to be aware,
joyously, drunkenly,
serenely, divinely
aware.
-Henry Miller

You Dance Inside My Chest

2008-05-23T03:18:00.000-07:00

This photo of Sage was taken at the Birth Center just before we took him home. I remember being so amazed by his beauty, his little features so proportional, his skin so unbelievably soft. I couldn't stop looking at him. I remember thinking I finally understood what the word 'miracle' meant.

In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,
but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.
- Rumi

Busy Being Born

2008-05-20T17:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was told a most beautiful story by my friend Ann. She told me the story of the goddess-queen, Inana, who hears a calling and abandons the comfort of heaven and earth where she rules, to travel to the underworld, which is ruled by her sister. During her descent through the passageways of the underworld, all of her protections are taken from her - her staff, her cloak, her shoes, her breastplate, her food. By the time she reaches her sister's lair, she has nothing, not even the certainty of her own identity. Her sister kills her.

Back on the surface, one of her father figures sends two creatures to bring Inana back. They find her corpse and bring her back to life. As Inana ascends through the passageways back to the surface, she finds each of her protection items. Some of them no longer seem useful, no longer fit her. Some of them are like old friends that she readily picks up. When she reaches the surface, she is forever changed. She has heeded the calling of her own growth, and she has left behind those things which no longer serve her. When she reemerges, she is still queen, but a different kind of queen than she was before.

There is much more to this story, and it is very powerful told aloud, as Ann told it to me. This story offered me a new metaphor for my current life experience. I am being called to grow. That means leaving behind some things that I have thought I could not live without - images of myself, patterns, beliefs, fears. Who I have been is dead, in a sense, and I no longer know myself. But as I rise up again, and I do feel certain that I will, I will be a different kind of queen than I was before. This story offers meaning to the dark, fearful, annihilating journey of grief.

My dad loved the following quote from Bob Dylan:

"Who's not busy
being born,
Is busy dying."

Well, I am busy being born.

When Someone Deeply Listens to You

2008-05-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

When Someone Deeply Listens to You

When someone deeply listens to you
it is like holding out a dented cup
you've had since childhood
and watching it fill up with
cold, fresh water.
When it balances on top of the brim,
you are understood.
When it overflows and touches your skin,
you are loved.

When someone deeply listens to you,
the room where you stay
starts a new life
and the place where you wrote
your first poem
begins to glow in your mind's eye.
It is as if gold has been discovered!

When someone deeply listens to you,
your bare feet are on the earth
and a beloved land that seemed distant
is now at home within you.

--John Fox

Offering

2008-05-16T09:38:00.000-07:00

I drew this picture in one of the birthing classes that Michael and I attended before Sage's birth. The assignment was to draw what we were afraid of. The intention was to help us get in touch with some of the things that could inhibit our trust of the natural process of birth. I found this to be very helpful and meaningful. My fear was that he would be blue, not breathing - stillborn. I was afraid that I would lose him.

As part of the exercise, we were asked to write on the paper what wisdom our higher / deeper / wiser self could provide us. I called the drawing "Offering," and I wrote on the top, "I trust the process of this life." On the side, I wrote to Sage:

"There will be so many times in your life that I will have to release you. You will have experiences, and some of them will bring you pain. I offer you to the process of your own life. At the same time, I hold you in my love."

I think one of the reasons I was able to write this was because I watched Dad struggle to release me into my life at various points. I know he experienced a lot of pain watching me go through the confusion of my teenage years. I remember wanting him to trust the process of my life. What a profoundly difficult thing that is to do as a parent!

And there are so many steps of letting go. Giving birth is the first. I remember being very surprised that along with my utter joy at holding Sage after he was born, there was also a subtle feeling of loss at no longer having him inside me, safe in my womb. He seemed so vulnerable. And then there was the letting go that came with handing him to other people to hold, of leaving him at Mom's house when I went to work, of leaving him with a friend so Michael and I could go on a "date." It felt good to release him in these small ways. It seemed very important to allow him to experience other people, to explore his world, in the small ways that a baby can. And at the end of each exploration, I was there to embrace him.

And now, too, I am being asked to release him, to trust the process of his life, and the process of my own life as well. What can I say about this, other than it is difficult beyond words, and I am not there yet.