Enough

There are many times as a single mother of three fatherless children that you feel like you are not enough.  You know that they deserve more.  And if you think about what you have on your hands in longer terms than simply day by day, you can become completely overwhelmed.  So it is best, really, to not think of things too far off, and just try to focus on one day, and then on to the next as it comes.  It is a lot to take on, three fatherless children, and it can overwhelm you if you let it.  It can be so overwhelming that at times you feel it will swallow you.  But then there are these small subtle rays of light that happen and give you hope and encouragement that everyone is doing okay.  And that they are going to be okay. 

For example, your middle son might lean in for a hug once in a while, instead of pulling a way.  And you can tell that he really needs it and wants it, even though he is a preteen boy and not supposed to be that into hugs from his mom.  He leans in and he takes it and he might even hug you back a little.  And there is also that thing he does where he sings things instead of saying them.  And you both try to keep a straight face when he does this, but neither of you can.  So you laugh together.

And then there is the way your daughter acts when she comes home from a long week away.  She is really genuinely happy to see all of you and each of you is equally as glad that she is back.  And you sit together in the living room and just soak each other in.  And there is also that thing she does, where even though she is very shy, she holds her head high and proud wherever she goes.   She may still be figuring things out, as many of us are, but still she holds her head high and proud as she goes.

And then there is that little ray of sunshine who is your youngest.  The one whom you have told every single day since he came into this world how lucky you are to be his mama.  And you thank him every single day for coming to you.  And even at four years old you see a quiet strength and resolve about him.  With his little freckled nose and a smile that lights up the room.  He tells you in his own quiet ways, that he too is okay.  When you drove past the city dump on Saturday, he noticed it.  And he reminded you from his seat behind you that he used to go there with his daddy.  But, he tells you, his daddy died, so he doesn’t go there anymore.  He says it very matter-of-factly, but you can tell as you look at him through the rear view mirror that he is really thinking hard about it. But then after a minute or two he is ready to talk about other things.  And you can see it in his face through the rear view mirror that he is okay.

So there are these little glimmers of light shining out from your kids:  the extra squeeze from your son, your daughter who is happy to be home, and a freckle-nosed smile...  And for a moment, or two, or three, your heart is a little less heavy.  And you lean into that feeling for as long as you can.  Because for one more day, you have been enough.

Not Yet

I miss you too much to write of you yet.  I need your love and your wisdom and your heart and your long tight hugs.  I need them every day and I just miss you so much.  I need you here, now, not to be writing of you here, now.  But I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the life you lived.  For the parts of it that you shared with me and with my children.  As far back as my memories go, you are there, too.  I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I am so grateful.  It’s just so impossibly hard and so unbelievably unfair that you are gone.   And missed by so many.

You know who you are.  And I am sorry, but I cannot bear to write of you yet…

The People

I am continually amazed at the people that are put into my life.  And at the ridiculous synchronicity in the timing of when they are put there.  Out of all of the billions of people in the world, exactly the right ones just so happen to be placed right in my way, exactly when they are needed the most.  It really is a beautiful thing.  And every time it happens I marvel at it and think about how lucky I am.  Sometimes I don’t even notice the person right away.  Sometimes they hardly even seem noticeable.  And sometimes I really don’t even think I want them there in the first place.  Until that thing happens where they are needed and they are exactly in the right place and time for it, where I may not have even noticed them the day before. 

Going through difficult things, over and over again, has really changed the way I look at life and especially at my relationships with other people.  That human connection thing is so very important to me these days.  And I preach it to my kids.  My oldest child is a pensive teenager.  She thinks about things a lot.  And she has been through a lot.  So, being a teenager and a thinker, and having been through a lot, she wonders, as many of us do, what it’s all about.  And even though I do not have those answers for her, I tell her to focus on the people.  I tell her that people are put into our lives for a reason, and what we put into our interactions and relationships with other people really matters.  Because sometimes the people may be all that you have to carry you.  And that matters.  And chances are, that if you are reading this, you are, or may have been one of those people to me.  And that matters.  A whole lot.

Out of the Woodwork

One of the unexpected and amazing things about experiencing a major tragedy is the people who come through for you.  And the immense outpouring of love.  Think about it this way.  Think about all of the relationships you put effort into over time, and think of all of the love you give along the way.  Well, then one day something horrifically bad happens to you.  But in the incomprehensible darkness of it all is the magnificent outpouring of love, all of that love you have built up in relationships over the years comes right back at you in one giant fell swoop, so hard and fast that you barely know what hit you. 

People crawl out of the woodwork for you.  They crawl out of the woodwork for you and they care for you.  They hug you and they feed you, and they clean your house and do your laundry for you.  And they help you make funeral plans and go to the mortuary with you.  And they listen to you and they cry with you.  And they call people for you and they clean out his house for you.  And they hug you and feed you some more and they watch out for your children and they hug them and feed them too.  And they bring you coffee and take time off of work for you.  And they sit with you and they hold you.  And they stop their cancer treatment so they can be with you.  And they act as buffers for you and they stand guard for you and they put together photo albums for you.  And they ride buses across the state for you and they plant gardens for you.   And they re-pot your plants for you.  And they listen to you and cry with you some more.  And they hug you and feed you some more. 

Unfortunately I don’t know if there is any other way to experience love all coming back at you at once like this except through tragedy, but oh my God, it is such an amazing thing to experience.  To feel the love that people have for you, and to feel how much they care for you and especially for your kids, to feel all of that love and caring all at once.  I just can’t even put it into words.  But it is incredible.  Through that incomprehensible darkness comes the brightest light ever.

The Truth

Suicide is an ugly, ugly word.  And even more ugly than the word is the act itself.  And even uglier than the act itself is the cruel and nasty aftermath that suicide leaves in its wake.  Especially when children are involved. 

Especially when the children involved are your children and the nasty wake was left by their father.  And part of the nasty wake left by their father is that you have to tell them yourself that he chose to end his own life.  Because you know what they will think.  You know your own children and you know the horrible thoughts that will go through their heads when you have to explain to them that no, his death was not accidental.  You know they will think it could have been their fault.  You know they will wonder if only they had been better kids.  You know they will wonder, “If only I had texted him on Valentine’s Day.”  You know that they will wonder what they could have done and wish that they had done. 

And because you know this about your children your heart will break into a million little pieces just at the mere thought of having to present them with this news.  And once again, that job is left to you.  Because you are their mother.  It is your job to tell them that their father put a bag over his head.  He put a bag over his head and rubber band around it and a tube of nitrous oxide stuck up in there.  You, as their mother, have to tell them this.  Presenting them with this news is your job because you are their mother.  And once again, you find yourself wondering how in the world you can do such a thing as to tell your children such ugly, ugly news.  But you must.  Because even though you don’t think you can, the counselor tells you that they must know the truth.  And, of course, as their mother, your heart breaks into a million tiny pieces just at the thought of having to do so. 

And so you do.  And let me tell you.  It is never easy to watch your children’s hearts break into a million tiny pieces.  But of course they do.  Because wouldn’t your heart break too if your mother told you this?

The Shit

This is a short essay to all of those very bad women out there who have ever had the shit beat out of them by their husbands.  And even though you are intelligent women, and strong women, and educated, independent women, he might still be able to make you feel like it is completely your fault that he beat the shit out of you.  You might really truly believe that it is your fault.  And he is so sure that the beating was your fault that he may threaten to just up and leave in the morning, because you are such a bad person.  So then you apologize vehemently for whatever it was that you did that caused the beating because you just want things to be okay. 

And you probably won’t tell a single soul about it.  Because it is very embarrassing to you that you are such a bad person that you made your husband so upset that he beat the shit out of you.  And you might find it very curious that nobody mentions your black eye or the cut across your nose or the bruises on your arms and legs. And that makes it even more embarrassing because you can tell that they are embarrassed for you.  So even if it only happens once, or maybe even only twice over a number of years, you might want to take a look at things.  Things may not be okay.  And you may want to stop kidding yourself that they are.  And believe me, I know as well as you do that we all just want things to be okay.  And because we want things to be okay we may go way out of our way to make them seem like they are okay.  To ourselves and to everyone else as well. 

But I’m just saying, you may want to reevaluate things because this type of behavior should get your Spidey Senses tingling.  And you just may want to talk to a trusted friend about it.  Or find a counselor who will listen.  Because you listen to me all you smart, strong, kind, intelligent women.  It is not okay for anyone to ever beat the shit out of you.  Not even your husband.

Sarah Kate

There was a lot of light in the hospital on the very dark night that Sarah Kate was born. There was light in the nurses who quietly and respectfully cared for us.  There was light in the doctor who delivered her when he quietly but adamantly shooed away the medical students who crowded in through the door to witness the birth.  There was light in the friend who stayed by our side until she was born and acted as her nurse, and congratulated us on our beautiful baby girl as she placed her into my arms. There was light in the lullabies we sang to her.   There was light in my baby’s eyes as she looked at us knowingly. There was light in her tiny squeaky breath that sounded like the mews of a newborn kitten.  There was light in the blanket we wrapped around her that my mother had made for her.   There was light in the three hours of life she bravely gave to us.  There was light in the delivery nurse who brought a tub of water and soap and a sponge, and then quietly slipped out so I could bathe her privately after she passed. There was light in the love we felt for her and in her beauty and in her chubby fingers and toes and in her head covered in blond-tipped dark hair.  So much light that night.   I still stand in awe at the stark contrast of all the light on that very very dark night.

Lost and Found

Last night I dreamed that he was alive again.  He was alive again and I couldn’t get away from him.  And in my dream I had to pretend that I was okay with it all.  And that I was happy that he was back.  In my dream I was smiling and pretending and trying to feel happy that he was back. 

But I couldn’t speak.  Not to him. I could talk to our children but I could not talk to him.  So I just kept smiling and talking to our children and pretending I was okay with him being back.  But I could not use my voice at all.  And my writing was in my dream and I wanted to read it to him for his approval, because I knew that others really liked the words I had written.  But when I tried to read it the words would not come out.  And the words that did come out didn’t sound right.  And it was so strange to me that in my dream I knew that many people really liked my writing and that my writing was powerful and good and true, but I couldn’t read it to him.

 The brilliance of my subconscious never ceases to amaze me.  It is so smart.  It knows what is right and true.  It knows that I can speak now that he is gone.  And not that I would have ever have chosen for it to be this way, but my subconcious knows that I have found my voice again.  A voice that was lost for so long…

Love

I remember the moment distinctly when I made the decision to let my baby go.  And even though it was nearly eleven years ago, I can still feel it like it was yesterday.  You don’t easily forget the moments that change you completely; the moments in which you give up a chunk of yourself out of love for another.  I was drying my hair.  It had been 4 weeks since we learned our baby was very sick.  And three weeks after the initial diagnosis, we had learned from the doctor that not only was she very sick, but she was going to die.  And not only was she going to die, but she was fated to die a broken death.  Yes, that’s right:  death by broken bones.  The doctors told us she might survive gestation, but if and when she did, she would die shortly after birth.  But either way, she would die of broken bones. 

So sit with that out there.  All you mothers or lovers of others.  Sit with that one…  If you have ever loved a child I’m sure you can understand the ridiculous, unimaginable pain of this situation. You could see her little broken bones, even in the sonograms.  Her tiny little bones with breaks all over.  Tell me, mothers, how do you sit with that?  With knowing that every movement your child makes within you could mean another broken bone?  And the irony lies in the decision I had to make.  Because it broke me, too. 

Yes, I remember the moment distinctly.  I was drying my hair and crying and loving the baby girl who was living inside of me.  And it came to me in a single instant, that I would give her this gift.  That I could, as her mother, allow her suffering to end.  And that I would do that for her.  And so I did.

I wrote this letter to her on June 1, 2003:

To Jillian

Tomorrow we bury your tiny, frail, perfect body in a wooden box under the soil.  How cruel and unfair that I don’t get to keep you—for you are mine and will always be.  How can I give you up so soon when all that I know of you comes from the gentle and rhythmic thumps I felt from within.  When you were born I couldn’t stop looking at you—more perfect than I could have ever imagined.  And still, I reach for you.  I held you and held you and then I had to let them take you away—how could they when you are mine and I never even got to know your smell?  I love you, Jillian, and my heart aches for you and my body cries milk for you.  Carrying you wreaked havoc upon me as my body fought to give you all you needed until I didn’t think I could be sick anymore.  But I would do it all over again for you—to have that time with you again—as your mother.  I would do it all again.

 I had to let you go because I couldn’t bear to let you suffer.  How unfair that I had to worry about what people would think when, for you, I made a decision that killed me inside so that I will never be me again.  How unfair to have to worry about what people would think when letting you go was for me, the ultimate sacrifice—my gift to you.  Now you can be at peace, but still, and always, I am reaching for you. 

My Jillian.  My baby.

So, where is the Light in Between on this one, you might ask?  The light is in the love.  And in truly realizing and understanding the depth of love…