Ugly, Wonderful Feet

We've just returned from a few days away. As you may know, this is a hard time of year for me. Eight years ago, we sat with Katie as she traveled from this life into the next, right in the room above where I sit typing this now. I find that it's best for me to be out of the house on the anniversary of that day.

This year was one of the hardest, for a variety of reasons (which I'm not going to detail just now). Suffice it to say that I am grateful that August 16th has passed; grateful that we were able to go to a place where my heart knows it is safe, where body, mind and spirit can rest.

The wild west coast of Vancouver Island sings to my soul. My soul knows its song, as if I was born there, or arose from some of the same atoms of creation. It feels like home.

 David flew in to be with us. It was lovely to share a few days off with him.

We walked and walked the shores of the island. Most days, we walked more than eight miles, and one day, more than nine; nine miles of walking barefoot in the sand, in the salty air and sunshine, with a light breeze caressing me. Nothing separated me from the heartbeat of the earth. It was good therapy.

When we returned from that 9-mile walk, I saw that the bottoms of my feet were indigo. A deep, dark blue stained them, yet there had been no trace of blue in the sand. Last year, we saw a huge number of indigo-colored sea creatures which had blown onto the shore, and I wondered if this stain on my feet was a residue of their appearance. No answer to that; just blue feet for about 24 hours. After several washings, the blue disappeared.

My feet have never been beautiful; I have funny-looking, tiny pinky toes and odd, clumsily-shaped large ones. The nails must be painted or you'd never know they were "girls' feet." I have had mixed feelings about them for years, thinking that they are "ugly."

Today, though, I know that they are beautiful; they can carry me nine-plus miles, bare, feeling the sand underneath, the salt, the stones and shells and all that makes up the surface of Mother Earth. Thank you, "ugly," wonderful feet, for solidly supporting me through this life. May you be blessed and healthy, able to carry me through the rest of my days.

Things Literary

http://books.wwnorton.com/books/Knitting-Yarns/

We went to a superb event on Saturday evening, hosted by Field's End. New York Times best-selling author Ann Hood came to Bainbridge Island and gave a writing workshop in the afternoon. In the evening, we gathered to hear four excellent actors read from her wonderful book, Knitting Yarns (a collection of essays, edited by Ms. Hood). After the reading, she spoke about the book, about her life, and about how she came to be interested in knitting; she was gracious, funny, witty, and engaging. After that, we gathered in the bistro next door for a fun, informal reception and book-signing.

Ann Hood is also the author of Comfort, a memoir about her life after the passing of her daughter, Grace. I read it after Katie died; it was a deep, beautifully written, stirring book. Who could have guessed that I might have the privilege of meeting its author a few years later, of looking her in the eyes and telling her, mother to mother, that I had been moved by her work?

Knitting Yarns is about so much more than knitting - its stories include family, life-changes, pets, community, gender roles and more. Gregg and I laughed until we cried, nodded in agreement, and listened with pleasure as each actor brought to life the voice of a character who had something vital to say about the craft of knitting. Do check it out, even if you are not a knitter.

Being a new member of the Field's End Core Team is already enriching my life and stimulating my imagination. Everyone has been welcoming, and I am excited about the possibilities ahead. If you live locally, check out the upcoming offerings at www.fieldsend.org!

My grandfather, Morton, in the library

Meeting Ann Hood is one of many serendipitous things that have happened since I started working through The Artist's Way (serendipity is one of the effects predicted by Julia Cameron, author of AW). I have been busy writing, listening, studying, observing, and reflecting. My (waking and sleeping) dream-life is richer than it was before - another of Julia Cameron's predictions for those who are practicing The Artist's Way. 

Nana Emilie in the library

Memories swim up to the surface from deep down in the depths of consciousness. Perhaps this is why, today, I remembered a small item which used to sit on my grandfather's desk in his library. He and my grandmother were avid readers and book collectors.

Morton's desk

It was a ceramic paperweight, very simple, made in the shape of an open book. Someone had written these words in rough black letters on the white-glazed pages:

Do more than look; observe.
Do more than read; absorb.

I wish I had thought to keep this paperweight after my grandparents' passing. I read the words dozens of times, and yet forgot all about it - until today. Wondering where the quote originated, I looked online, and Google revealed the source:

Do more than exist; live.
Do more than touch; feel.
Do more than look; observe.
Do more than read; absorb.
Do more than hear; listen.
Do more than listen; understand.
Do more than think; ponder.
Do more than talk; say something. - John H. Rhoades

Wise words, suggesting an intentional approach to living - to move beyond the superficial and go a step farther, deeper.

This led to a search for photos of the home where my mother grew up. The house is still standing, but the property has been subdivided, so the orchard is gone.

My grandmother designed this house in every detail (with an architect's help), including the recycled brick

The entry hall, with portrait of my great-great grandmother

The staircase my mother descended on her way to her wedding in the garden

My brother and me with Nana Emilie on the south side of  the garden.

Living room

More living room

I loved this house for its exquisite, understated beauty; it informed and shaped my taste in furnishings and interior design, and inspired me to study the subject. 

And yet more living room

I'm grateful to my grandparents for their love of books, beauty, education, culture and their appreciation of all of the arts, which they freely shared with us. I'm thankful to have happy memories of this house - including the recently rediscovered wisdom of John H. Rhoades.

My Happy Place

We took a vacation. It was grand.

I'm taking longer than usual to get back to our "normal" life, because I have a pinched nerve in my neck. (If you know me well, or even know me on facebook, you'll be aware that I do NOT write about aches, pains, viruses or day-to-day illness, out of respect for others, particularly those who suffer from really serious conditions.)

This has been going on for several weeks, since before we left for Canada, and has prevented me from writing or reading for any length of time. That's why I've been absent from here, and from reading your blogs. All these weeks, I have been itching to read and write, so here I am, with my laptop perched on two large cushions so as not to irritate my neck.

It is good to be away from home on the anniversary of Katie's passing. As the day approaches, I worry that if I am in our house, I will walk by the door of her room, go in, and re-live her death, moment by moment. I realize that I don't have do that, but feel helpless to stop myself. It takes an annual effort to resist re-living the entire month preceding her passing. So I planned our vacation to take us away over the day it happened, and it went well.

The best way to tell you about it is in photographs...they really are worth a thousand words.

That's Gregg and David in the distance. We walked for hours and had a picnic lunch on this beach - my favorite place to hike

My friend Teri calls this a "God-circle" - shining on Incinerator Rock. I saw more than one of these on this trip

Surfers love this cove

David finally talked us into doing something we have been resisting (for reasons of economy) for several years: taking a seaplane trip to Hot Springs Cove. It was a blast.

My father used to fly a single-engine retractable (landing gear) plane called a Mooney 201, so I love small planes, but have never been in a seaplane before. Gregg has, but David and I had not. This trip included a hike out through old-growth forest on a beautifully-maintained boardwalk to three, natural hot spring pools. Gregg and David carried our lunch, water, towels and a change of clothes.

If you thought you saw this in the slideshow,

you did. 

We were stunned to come across it on our hike out to the cove. 

It felt like a love-message from our girl.

We saw thousands of these (known as "sail jellyfish," though they are not jellyfish), which rarely come ashore,

and we saw Spiderman's underpants, on the sidewalk in Victoria. If you see him, beware - he's going commando!

We stopped at a tiny winery to buy a couple of bottles of their excellent wines which are unavailable in the U.S. This is the Venturi-Schultze Brandenburg #3 dessert wine, and I highly recommend it - particularly if you accompany it with a serving of sticky date-toffee pudding.

We took beautiful walks through the countryside and city.

Community garden in James Bay neighborhood

We ate fabulous food and met interesting, fun, kindhearted people. We spent time together as a family, just the three of us. It was pure joy.

Spoiler alert: this might be our Christmas card.

Whenever we visit, I feel as if I want to move to Vancouver Island - for good. It is my "happy place," so while we're always glad to be home, we had a heavenly vacation. And I felt Katie's presence in so many lovely ways that it was easy not to grieve for her - even on the 16th.

Thanks to all of you who sent messages, thoughts and love during this time. I deeply appreciate it, and want you to know that we are well...and happy.

Letting Go in Order to Comfort Others

Today, I went through our house and selected items to donate for the hundreds of people whose homes have been destroyed by wildfires in central Washington. I put toys, books and clothes into bags - four bags full. 

I'm also donating these items, which belonged to Katie.

 Breathe.

These are some of my favorites of Katie's clothes. I washed them before packing them. It was odd to wash her clothes again, especially items that I have laundered so many times for her. It felt odd because I wasn't doing it so that Katie could wear them. 

It was just odd.

I can't think of a better reason to part with these clothes than to give them to families who have lost every single thing they own...but it still takes my breath away.

I hope our clothes, books, toys and (especially) Katie's clothes will be a blessing to the families in need. They will probably never know what these items mean to me, but that is not important. This gift is to help comfort them in their loss, as so many people offered comfort to us in ours.

Education and Listening

Sitting in on classes at the University of Washington School of Medicine is a privilege which I could not have imagined 8 years ago - but then, 8 years ago, I would not have been interested in doing so.

After spending intense months with my family in a hospital setting, a piece of my heart has remained there, with the staff who so lovingly tended to Katie and to each one of us. I cannot forget them, nor what families like ours ask of them, day in and day out. They suffer when we suffer; though they have more experience and training, they are human, as we are.

I know that Katie's life and death impacted those who provided her with care.

Because I had over five years of training and experience in pastoral caregiving prior to the onset of Katie's illness, it is natural for me to think deeply about these dear caregivers and their feelings. As my own pain has become less like an elephant sitting on my chest - and more like a stone in my shoe - this concern for medical caregivers has grown. As the national discussion about the state of health care heats up, my concern centers upon a desire to improve conditions for both staff and patients - and questions about the best, most appropriate, effective ways to do that.

In considering those questions, I have been fortunate to meet staff of the U of W School of Medicine who are engaged in teaching, who are willing to share openly and generously, and to include me. Last week, I attended another session of "The Healer's Art" - this one about grief, loss and disappointment. The featured presenter is an experienced doctor who spoke eloquently on the topic, and guided us through personal reflection and sharing afterward. I found it illuminating.

I also had the privilege of participating in a "Values Clarification" exercise with 4th-year medical students. That was deep, interior work. We were invited to privately list 4 things in 5 categories that mean the most to us - categories such as relationships, possessions and so on. Then we were guided through an experience of facing our own critical illness and the loss of most of those 20 things. Eventually, we were faced with our imminent death. The scenario ran parallel to what Katie endured, and it dug deeply into my consciousness.

Though I have already personally encountered many of the issues that were raised, at one point the experience was so intense that I had to mentally withdraw. I came out of the guided imagery and studied my hands, centering myself back in the present moment. That is the hardest part about my desire to contribute in this field: not knowing when emotions may overwhelm me. Because of that uncertainty, I frequently wonder whether I am the best person for the job; yet I know that my experience has value to teach.

I am drawn to these physicians-in-training, and to their mentors and colleagues. I would love to minister to them in compassion - care of the soul - particularly as evidence of burnout and stress, disillusionment, unrealistic demands and the conflicts of cost vs. best-quality care become more and more prevalent in the field. Discerning whether this calling is real, is mine, and if so, how it is to be answered - how to do the work without injury to myself? - is the business of the moment.

I sit with students and staff, listening for answers, and offering the gifts of my heart.

Light, Refuge and Strength

I'm finding the practice of yoga two or three times a week to be highly therapeutic, physically, spiritually, mentally and emotionally. Practicing more often might be better yet, but I'm a beginner, and this is where I begin.

Yoga is helping me to recognize my less-than-gentle thought patterns. It doesn't stop them altogether, but helps me notice them, and once recognized, I can choose whether or not to continue thinking that way.

At Rancho La Puerta, I heard afresh how unkind my inner-critic is, about my body and about all of the mistakes I make in daily living. The harshness of that voice stood out loudly, because I was in a space where everyone treated me with gentleness, kindness and encouragement. I began to wonder: maybe God isn't a taskmaster.

For someone who believes that "God is Love" - who has heard and believed those words since childhood - I realized that I don't always live as if I truly know it. Unconditional love is a wonderful concept, but at times, I have a functionally different image of God: God as an irritable, impatient parent. Intellectually, that doesn't make sense, but emotionally, there it is.

Recently, I saw this in action, when a friend shared her story of a family crisis. I listened with deep compassion and concern, but felt powerless to help. That powerless feeling was extremely uncomfortable. It was hard to bear, knowing that I could not make this better for her.

After more than seven years of walking in the world of cancer and grief, I found myself as lost for words as the most clueless novice imaginable. I stumbled over my words, and later, silently raked myself over the coals.

It's important to be aware of this, because there were times when I was unhappy to be on the receiving end of the things that people said to us when Katie was ill, and after her passing. Though well-meaning, some said banal, inappropriate or unhelpful things. Listening to my friend's difficulty, I felt just like one of those people.

Eventually, I noticed how savage I was being about my ineptness, and thought, "This conversation is not the most important thing in her day; let it go." I prayed for her and her family. I prayed over my clumsy words - prayed that God would communicate to her my loving intention, and allow only blessing to come from those words. I remembered yoga, and mindfulness, and made an effort to be gentle and kind to myself.

And then, this happened: a periwinkle blue (lavender) butterfly appeared.

I kid you not. 

I have never seen a butterfly of this color in my life. 

It flew right in front of me and landed on a branch. I tried to just be present to it, but I had to take a photo - the color was so rare! Then I looked deeply at this gentle creature, and knew that it was a message of love from God (and Katie), that "the Light shines in darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it."

"At the beginning God expressed himself. That personal expression, that word, was with God, and was God, and he existed with God from the beginning. All creation took place through him, and none took place without him. In him appeared life and this life was the light of mankind. The light still shines in the darkness and the darkness has never put it out." - John 1:1-5, J.B. Phillips New Testament

My personal ineptness - my humanity-  cannot muffle or put out the Light that is in this world, in each one of us. That Light is Life, and it is Love. God made us human, including love AND awkwardness.

The next morning, reading devotionals, I decided to look for all of the qualities of God that were listed in the texts of the day. Here is what I found:

• Love
• gracious
• merciful
• slow to anger (patient)
• kind
• good to all
• compassionate toward all
• faithful in all His words
• holy in all His works
• lifts up the falling
• raises up the bowed
• just in all His ways
• near to all who call on Him
• all-sufficient
• generous giver
• healer
• restorer
• Life
• Spirit
• seeker
• finder
• forgiving

That doesn't sound like a taskmaster to me; it sounds like a loving, understanding parent - one whose promises we can trust.

"God is our refuge and strength; an ever-present help in trouble." Ps. 46

The SFDWG (Sh*tty First Draft Writing Group)

A few years ago, I met a group of bereaved mothers online. Each one of us had recently suffered the death of our child, all due to completely different causes. We are bloggers who live in Ohio, Virginia and Washington state. Robin, Karen, Chris & I had never met in the flesh, but we felt akin to one another once we began to correspond. One of our group suggested that we start a book group using a private blog where we could reflect and discuss what we were reading. That is exactly what we did - except (of course), much more than that happened.

We chose a book by wonderful author Joyce Rupp called "Open the Door." As we read and responded to the questions for each chapter, we walked together through our grief, our deepest thoughts and spiritual issues, family difficulties, anniversaries, and more. We got to know each other intimately...and some of us have now met in person. These relationships are a tremendous gift of solace to me.

The blog is still private. We tried to study another book after finishing "Open the Door," but everyone's life got busier and the book study disbanded. We keep in touch through our blogs, facebook and private email communications, but have allowed the group activity around a book to go away.

I found I missed the regular exchanges and camaraderie with such women; though I don't seek them out, bereaved mothers do tend to find each other. But it can't be just ANY bereaved mother: she has to have a deep (and preferably dark) sense of humor and irony; she needs some kind of spiritual sense, and she has to be determined to live a full life, while facing the fact that there is one part of her life that will never, ever be filled again.

A little over a year ago, I attended the Field's End Writer's Conference with my friend, Reba (Hannah's mom). That event inspired us to found a writing group, and invite other fledgling writers to join in for accountability and encouragement. Enter the Sh*tty First Draft Writing Group. It just happened that the members of this group are all bereaved mothers -  most of the credit for this miracle goes to Reba, Hannah's mom; she knows all of us, and introduced us to one another. Credit for the name of the group goes to Anne Lamott, who encourages her students to write "shitty first drafts," and not to edit prematurely - just get it out, get it down - go for it.

We meet every two weeks at one home or other, share what we are working on, offer commentary and encouragement, laugh, cry, eat, drink and generally support each other creatively in a space which no one but a bereaved parent understands. No one but a mother who has had to say "goodbye" to her child knows the gnawing space left in the heart and gut; the difficulties of living each day, facing the future without that child's presence; the existential questions and challenges to faith, the search for meaning - and meaningful work, - the panic attacks, doubt and the harsh reality of a life changed, permanently, forever, stretching out before us - a life without that child's laughter, love, touch, smell, sensibility, contributions and need for our care. We also share our joys in day-to-day living, our families, progress, growth and inspiration.

In the presence of such understanding, I do not feel "alien;" without that fellowship, my loss looms even greater. I'm thankful for these beautiful, talented, generous women and each of their precious children.

Robin, Stefanie, Reba and Teri

"Leonard Cohen’s song, 'Anthem,' states in the refrain: 'There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.' It sounds a lot like Paul’s statement about carrying 'the treasure in earthen vessels' (2 Corinthians 4:7). These are both much more poetic ways of naming what we unfortunately called 'original sin' —a poor choice of words because the word sin implies fault and culpability, and that is precisely not the point! Original sin was trying to warn us that the flaw at the heart of all reality is nothing we did personally, but that there is simply 'a crack in everything' and so we should not be surprised when it shows itself in us or in everything else." - Richard Rohr

 Thank God for good company on a hard road. That's another example of "how the light gets in."

Encouragement from Dorothy

The original "Katie's Comforter"

 "I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall be ever in my mouth.
Let my soul glory in the LORD; the lowly will hear me and be glad. 

Glorify the LORD with me, let us together extol his name.
I sought the LORD, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

Look to him that you may be radiant with joy, and your faces may not blush with shame.
When the poor one called out, the LORD heard, and from all his distress he saved him. 

The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them.
Taste and see how good the LORD is; blessed the man who takes refuge in him." - Psalm 34

Our family was blessed and comforted by many excellent caregivers during Katie's illness. One of these, about whom I have written in "Because of Katie," is Linda, a gifted physical therapist. Linda was able to see Katie as a person, beyond her diagnosis. She was able to develop trust and cooperation with Katie in the most frightening and painful period of her life - no small feat, when you think about how many strangers had entered Katie's 11-year old world, and were compelling her to do things she did not want to do.

Linda learned what was important to Katie, and worked within that frame to get her sitting up, out of bed, walking and even preparing a gift of cookies for her brother's birthday - all of this from the starting point of a bed in a cancer ward, and often with an IV pole in tow.

Since Katie's passing, I have stayed in contact with Linda. She has introduced me to others in her field. As a teacher, Linda has invited me to address students. She introduced me to the University of Washington's Doctoral Physical Therapy program, where I have been privileged to address students. She allowed me to interview her for the video. We have visited each other just for fun - Linda has many, varied interests and talents, and is good company. 

Last summer, Linda brought her mother, Dorothy, to spend the day in Poulsbo. We formed an immediate friendship, and found out that we share a love of fabric, among other things. Dorothy surprised me with a particularly generous offer: to make a quilt for us out of Katie's clothes. I have seen such quilts: my friend Robin has a gorgeous one, made of her son Matthew's t-shirt collection. Dorothy sent photos of quilts she has made for bereaved friends; each one is unique, and honors the spirit of the beloved who has gone on ahead of us.

Though I was intrigued by the idea, going through Katie's clothes and sending them away to be cut up was simply not possible for me. I could not let them go - couldn't even sort them out without being stunned and stuck in grief. So I thought about this beautiful offer, but couldn't make a move toward accepting it...until a few weeks ago.

One day, I could do it. I don't know why it was that day, but I had waited, honored my feelings, and suddenly, knew it was time. I went through Katie's dresser and closet, chose the garments that were particular favorites of hers (and mine), handled them with loving memories (and some pangs), visualized her wearing them, and then folded them into a box for shipping to Dorothy.

When I awoke this morning, this message was in my inbox: 

"Dear Karen;
Your package arrived yesterday afternoon, opening that box was like meeting Katie, can see why it took time for you to get to this point.  So many colors to work with, I  will enjoy this more than you can imagine!!! After looking at everything there is to work with,  I can see the quilt completed in my mind.  I'm not going to tell you ANYTHING about it until you open the package when it arrives!...Will get started on the creation tomorrow,  Katie and I have WORK to do!! Do take care and God bless. Love, Dot"

This message warmed my heart; I know that Katie's things are in the most tender, understanding and skilled hands. What a gracious gift - what a gracious lady! This is another example of the generosity and goodness of God, seen through the love of His people. Noticing, receiving and giving thanks for such goodness is a key to my survival, day by day. Doing my best to offer that kind of goodness into the world is another key. 

May this true story of goodness and kindness encourage you today.

"...Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion and the God of all encouragement,
who encourages us in our every affliction,
so that we may be able to encourage
those who are in any affliction
with the encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged by God.
For as Christ’s sufferings overflow to us,
so through Christ does our encouragement also overflow.
If we are afflicted,
it is for your encouragement and salvation;
if we are encouraged,
it is for your encouragement,
which enables you to endure the same sufferings that we suffer.
Our hope for you is firm,
for we know that as you share in the sufferings,
you also share in the encouragement."- 2 Corinthians 1

18

Our beautiful daughter would be turning 18 years old today

 if she had not died of cancer at the age of 12 and a half.

Sometimes, I try to imagine what she would look like today:  

She would have green eyes, golden skin, long legs and fingers, and beauty marks. 

How would her features have developed? 

What would her character be like? 

She would still be funny, courageous, intuitive, sassy and creative - I know that for sure.

Would she be awaiting college acceptance letters, or would she already know her plans for next year?
There are no answers to these questions.
What we have
is the gift
of 12 and a half years
of knowing Katie,
and the hope of a reunion in the future.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart!

We love you and miss you every.single.day. 

We are grateful that you are our daughter forever.

We will honor your memory together and  
celebrate your birth today! 

"All sorrows can be borne if you tell a story about them."

- Karen Blixen (a.k.a. Isak Dinesen)

As Jackson Browne Says, "I'm Alive"

“LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. Amen.” - Thomas Merton

I have been on a blog-sabbatical, because the year 2012 ended with huge work-related difficulties. Certain events knocked my feet out from under me for a couple of months; I feel as if I'm recovering from a debilitating illness, but have renewed hope that "all shall be well."

David came home safely & happily from his semester in Italy, and is now back at school. During his vacation, we celebrated Christmas with my parents. 

I am deeply thankful that both of my parents are alive and well, at the ages of 80 and 85 years. Not only do we enjoy each other's company, but their love and support means the world to me; they helped me enormously through this difficult time. No matter how old you are, you still need your mom's and dad's love, support, understanding, strength and wisdom!

The impetus to start blogging again came in the form of a newsletter from www.griefHaven.org. I wrote an article for their "Parent Journey" newsletter last summer, and it was recently published; you can read it by clicking on the link below the picture. 

 

The Parent Journey

griefHaven Newsletters

There is always inspiration and support at griefHaven. Susan Whitmore, the founder, understands this journey as no outsider can, because she is on this journey herself; her only daughter, Erika, passed away from cancer as a young adult. Susan is compassionate, sparky, strong, tender, encouraging, intelligent and a good communicator. I am thankful that she was inspired to found griefHaven in Erika’s memory, and to share her wisdom and experience with others.

I am beginning to believe that, no matter how empathetic people are, no matter how caring and compassionate, no matter how well-meaning or how much they think they understand what we are going through, no one understands what this experience is really like unless they have been through it. 

No one else can understand the landscape through which we walk - the vulnerability, the longing, the daily ache of missing our child, the frequent reminders, the life-long series of “no, not ever” and “never-again,” the unseen hazards that lie in wait for us like buried land mines. Panic attacks, PTSD, memory triggers,  the excruciating, debilitating pain of trauma-recall (like a punch to the gut) which we experience in the grocery store, on vacation, while driving a car, listening to the radio, surfing the internet – anytime, anywhere - these are not a part of the average person's daily life. You may work with us or socialize with us, but unless you are one of us, you cannot possibly truly know how we feel, and we hope that you never do, for your sake. 

Because of this, please consider us and our idiosyncrasies with a bit of extra compassion, for you do not know what we are seeing and experiencing. We may be standing right in front of you, yet not present with you at all. Though looking at you, we may have dropped through an invisible trap-door to the past, and be re-living the moment of our child’s diagnosis, or his death in our arms, handling her ashes, or that telephone call – the one which gave us the news which ended our life as we knew it. That phone call which started us on our journey, down the path which no parent wants to take.

Though it may sound morbid, there is comfort in the company of bereaved mothers, comfort which I don't find elsewhere. Of course, there are also those with whom I have nothing in common other than our child's death, and those relationships do not develop. I recently joined a small writing group whose members are bereaved moms, and it is encouraging, stimulating, and fun. I have hope for each one of us as writers, and as women, making our way in the world, each of us carrying (as one of them said) "a brick in her pocket."

I was speaking with another dear friend and fellow-traveler on this road, and we both find that the certainty, clarity and authority which came to us during our child’s illness, and after her death, has faded somewhat over the years, and is not as strong now as it was then. We are both saddened by this additional loss. That clarity and sureness was one of the gifts I felt that Katie had left to me: “Mom, you need to stop apologizing.” Of course, I will apologize when I know that I am wrong; Katie was saying that I needed to stop apologizing for being fully, truly myself…and she was absolutely right. I have not had difficulty advocating for my children; however, doing so for myself has proven to be more problematic. By grace, I can ask for help in this area, and receive it.

Here are a few ideas which have been helpful recently:

"Suffering is the sandpaper of our life. It does its work of shaping us. Suffering is part of our training program for becoming wise."   -Ram Dass

"Those who love you are not fooled by mistakes you have made or dark images you hold about yourself. They remember your beauty when you feel ugly; your wholeness when you are broken; 

your innocence when you feel guilty; and your purpose when you are confused." -African saying

 

"God doesn't lose heart! Beginning with creation God keeps coming up with creative, imaginative ways to respond to our destruction, our refusals, our ignorance and stubbornness and sin. God comes after us and will never stop. Jesus keeps saying this: that he has come to search out what is lost, to find and heal the broken-hearted, to bring good news to the poor. That is what Jesus is here for - unconditional love!  God just keeps devising more and more mysterious and humble and spirit-filled ways to get us to be human and love back."  - Megan McKenna, from Parables – sent via email in A Daily Spiritual Seed

"I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable...but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing." - Agatha Christie