New Year, New Focus

I feel like a broken record. Not only am I tired of the repetitive thoughts my grief produces, but I feel my small readership is too. I am not a fan of resolutions, but this seems like a perfect time to start on a new journey. I can't promise I won't fall back into writing rambling posts, but focusing on something different will be good for me.

I've often thought about how historically and cross-culturally women have grieved over the loss of a child and how has society and family responded. Recently I even started to read an article about parental bereavement and sociobiology (how our "genes" respond).

I would also like to invite guest bloggers to post from time to time. My husband posted a while back and I know it helped him in his grief. Maybe a grandparent, sibling, or close friend would like to contribute...although I do not share this blog with my entire family. It is just easier for me if they think I am "moving on."

So, check back soon if you are a history and science geek like me, or if you just want to read something a little different. Happy New Year.

Where's the remote control?

Am I alone in wishing for a mute button? Or maybe a rewind/fast forward option to life? How about pause?

Last night I COULD NOT turn my brain off, no matter how many cognitive therapy exercises I tried. Those last few hours haunt me and the two weeks proceeding Ellie's death have traumatized and damaged me. Every moment of January 14, 2010, is burned into my brain. I live in constant fear that something will happen to my surviving children. Every time my husband drives off with them safely latched in their car seats, I panic. I hate that my first thought when I see their daycare's number pop up on my phone is that one of them has been badly hurt. I think about what we would do in a fire or home invasion. What if the car went into a lake? It's awful, irrational...and I don't know how to make it stop.

Her birthday is approaching. Three years. What would she look like? What adorable personality would she have? I cannot believe it has been three years. Today marks the day we went in for my 30 week check-up. I couldn't believe I had gained 12lbs in two weeks. We tried to get another face shot with the ultrasound tech to no avail. I felt off all day and was worried something was wrong. And it was. It wasn't a nightmare although I desperately tried to will it. Couldn't I just rewind? I'd do something different...anything, if it would save her. But it happened. Six days after she was born on January 8, I held her for the first time while she died listening to me singing a lullaby and her daddy holding her hand. Now all I have are these loud, repetitive thoughts and fears.

What will happen when three years turns into 30 years? Sometimes I think about how much more peaceful I will be then. I will, right?

No words…

My daughter died. I am a surviving parent. There is no score card for “who has it worse off” when it comes to losing a child. But I both sympathize and empathize with the families from Newtown, CT.

Like the rest of the country, and most of the world, I spent Friday in disbelief, followed by disgust, and remain in great sorrow after the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting. Saturday morning I awoke thinking about how those families were coping…coping. As if that is possible after the loss of a child, let alone a loss as horrific as what transpired. I woke up several times the night Ellie died, hysterical. I am not sure how much sleep I got, but it was either medically or alcohol induced. That morning I was on autopilot. In between the tears and shock, I went through the motions of going to the hospital to have her body released, calling funeral homes, cleaning our room at the Ronald McDonald House, and waiting. In between sobbing and staring in silence, I would look around. Partly because I just couldn’t believe what had happened. Was I dreaming? Where was I? I remember turning to my husband at one point as we waited for Ellie to be cremated (because neither of us wanted to drive the hour home without her) and asking him, “How can people go on with their lives when ours is crashing?” We drove through a busy shopping area in the state capital and I watched as cars passed; the drivers laughing or having conversations. Did they know? Did they know I was barely functioning? How I longed to be as oblivious.

The parents and families of those killed Friday don’t have the luxury of grieving out of the public eye. Whereas I could talk about it or not (after all, we rarely know what another person is going through or has experienced just by looking at them), these people are being bombarded by media outlets. Reporters are camping out. Even the crazies from the Westboro Baptist Church are showing up. Then there is his name. You know it. I sincerely feel for his family...what a burden. They have their own grief of loosing a son/brother/grandson/nephew and mother/ex-wife/daughter/sister in addition to the reality that their family member inflicted so much pain. But he is getting 10 times the coverage that the victims are getting. Try to figure out what made him tick, but it all boils down to a sick individual (either certifiably or just plain sick).

On top of the media and coverage of the shooter, these families are being thrown into the forefront of a political and religious storm. Not to say that some won’t get involved later…it helped me to find a cause or two to channel my grief. But gun rights activists, proponents for stricter gun laws, mental health advocates, and people who believe this needed, or was caused by, divine intervention are swarming upon the survivors. Some even think the President faked being upset for political show. I think I'll scream if another person says this could have been prevented if God was allowed in schools. It’s disgusting. On Facebook, I watched as some people I consider real friends didn’t even wait 24 hours before spewing hate, blame, defensiveness, and judgment.  Pray for the families. Think of them. Condemn the act. But don't you dare blame anything or anyone but that murderer.

These families have it hard enough. Can you imagine? If you regularly read my blog, then you are probably a bereaved parent, so you can imagine the pain these families are experiencing (I speak about the courageous teachers who gave their lives too).  What these families need is support…something I yearned for and what prompted me to start this blog. The media attention will hopefully help these families get the support they need through groups such as The Compassionate Friends.

I want to conclude by listing the names of those killed Friday. In my experience, the support, acceptance, and patience has faded, and did pretty soon after Ellie died. People move on and that is natural. But my heart, like the parents in Newton, will never heal. They will never be the same and will need compassion for some time. I will light a candle for the below individuals and hope you will join me. Let us not forget the victims and offer support and love to the surviving families.

Charlotte Bacon (2/22/06), 6 years old, female
Daniel Barden (9/25/05), 7 years old, male
Rachel Davino (7/17/83), Staff member, 29 years old, female
Olivia Engel (7/18/06), 6 years old, female
Josephine Gay (12/11/05), 7 years old, female
Ana M. Marquez-Greene (4/4/06), 6 years old, female
Dylan Hockley (3/8/06), 6 years old, male
Dawn Hochsprung (6/28/65), Principal, 47 years old, female
Madeleine F. Hsu (7/10/06), 6 years old, female
Catherine V. Hubbard (6/8/06), 6 years old, female
Chase Kowalski (10/31/05), 7 years old, male
Nancy Lanza, 52 years old, female (mother of shooter Adam Lanza)
Jesse Lewis (6/30/06), 6 years old, male
James Mattioli (03/22/06), 6 years old, male
Grace McDonnell (11/4/05), 7 years old, female
Anne Marie Murphy (7/25/60), Staff member, 52 years old, female
Emilie Parker (05/12/06), 6 years old, female
Jack Pinto (05/05/06), 6 years old, male
Noah Pozner (11/20/06), 6 years old, male
Caroline Previdi (9/07/06), 6 years old, female
Jessica Rekos (5/10/06), 6 years old, female
Avielle Richman (11/17/06) 6 years old, female
Lauren Rousseau (June 1982), Staff member, 30 years old, female
Mary Sherlach (2/11/56), Staff member, 56 years old, female
Victoria Soto (11/04/85), Staff member, 27 years old, female
Benjamin Wheeler (09/12/06), 6 years old, male
Allison N. Wyatt (07/03/06), 6 years old, female

Bah Humbug!

I just CANNOT get into the holidays this year. Halloween is our favorite holiday, much to the chagrin of our neighbors. We normally decorate the hell out of our house, pun intended, and have an adult costume party. Halloween came and went and we only managed to get a spider on the roof, string up a few orange lights, and set the little Halloween tree on the table. Disgraceful!

Thanksgiving is usually fueled by my husband's obsession with the perfect turkey recipe. It helps to sort of get me in the mood since I make all the sides and I am amused at his primitive need to play with meat. My 4.5 year old is old enough now to talk about what he is thankful for and to make a beautiful pipecleaner centerpiece. His excitement and sweet answers to what he is thankful for ("I'm thankful that you grew me, mommy." And "My mommy and daddy, the President, those scientists that make the big robots, the police and firemen that save you, Ironman and Captain America.")  melted my heart this year.

As with most families, Thanksgiving weekend is followed by dragging out the Christmas tree and decorating the house. Although we are not religious, we still celebrate Christmas. (I think of the tree as a way to honor my ancestry since Germans brought the tradition to this country!) I bought a few supplies to make ornaments with the kids. I could put their pictures in the little plastic balls and helped them stuff tinsel inside and put stickers on the outside. But I had only a small plastic butterfly to put in Ellie's. Her stocking hangs empty next to her siblings, never to be filled or opened. I know that I will watch the children open their gifts in their Christmas PJs and laugh at their excitement. And I know I will have to excuse myself for a few minutes to hide my tears for what will never be.

This is the third holiday season since Ellie's death and the first year we are traveling to see family. The fear that they will not mention her, or worse, make me feel awful for mentioning her or tearing up, makes my stomach hurt. While the grandparents get to see all their living children and grandchildren, I will be expected to be thankful for what I have (which of course I am) and to not "bring the mood down". So, like almost every other day in the year, I will have to stay quiet because conflict on top of grief is no winter wonderland.