This morning, as I was running errands, I heard the song Everywhere by Michelle Branch. When the song was released in July 2001, I liked it. I even bought the CD (back before the days of downloading-I actually drove to the store and purchased it-I know, I know, the good old days!) Anyway, I enjoyed it, but it didn't change my life or sear my heart. But it has since become extremely meaningful to me.
While I was pregnant with Hart, I turned to music as a way to deal with all the emotions I was attempting to juggle. I would drive around for hours listening to music-very loud music. After Hart was born, I turned down the volume, but music was usually playing in the background of our lives. Soon after Hart died, the song, Everywhere came on. I was absolutely blown away. I got chills and was totally overcome with emotion. As I listened to the words, I felt like this song was written about Hart; it completely articulated what I could not. To this day, when I hear this song, I am blown away by how perfectly it expresses the huge emotions I feel about my amazing son!
Everywhere
Turn it inside out so I can see
The part of you that's drifting over me
And when I wake you're never there
But when I sleep you're everywhere
You're everywhere
Just tell me how I got this far
Just tell me why you're here and who you are
'Cause every time I look
You're never there
And every time I sleep
You're always there
'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I close my eyes it's you I see
You're everything I know
That makes me believe
I'm not alone
I'm not alone
I recognize the way you make me feel
It's hard to think that
You might not be real
I sense it now, the water's getting deep
I try to wash the pain away from me
Away from me
'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I close my eyes it's you I see
You're everything I know
That makes me believe
I'm not alone
I'm not alone
I am not alone
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
And when I touch your hand
It's then I understand
The beauty that's within
It's now that we begin
You always light my way
I hope there never comes a day
No matter where I go
I always feel you so
'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I close my eyes it's you I see
You're everything I know
That makes me believe
I'm not alone
'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I catch my breath
It's you I breathe
You're everything I know
That makes me believe
I'm not alone
You're in everyone I see
So tell me
Do you see me?
-Michelle Branch
As we were planning Hart's funeral, I realized that I wanted to have music playing during the receiving line after the service. I asked my dad to burn a CD with songs that were so meaningful to our family during my pregnancy and during Hart's life. Our beloved minister, Dr. Joan, arranged for the sound system and we were able to set it to replay when it reached the end of the CD.
Something happened that makes me smile every time I think about it. A little while after the music started playing, Dr. Joan came over to me and whispered, "I think there's been a mix-up. Is this the right music?" It was the right CD, but I can understand Dr. Joan's confusion. I have included the play list below, it didn't even occur to me that it might not be appropriate for church! All that mattered was that it was appropriate for our family and our celebration of an amazing life!
Accidentally in Love- Counting Crows
All For You-Sister Hazel
Angel Mine-Cowboy Junkies
Angels in Waiting-Tammy Cochran
Camera One-Josh Joplin Group
Everything Falls Apart-Dog's Eye View
Everywhere-Michelle Branch
Follow You, Follow Me-Genesis
Fool in the Rain-Led Zeppelin
Forever Young-Rod Stewart
Hanging by a Moment-Lifehouse
Hemorrhage-Fuel
I Bid You Goodnight-Aaron Neville
Tears in Heaven-Eric Clapton
Put Your Hand in the Hand-Ocean
Save Tonight-Eagle Eye Cherry
Boys of Summer-The Ataris
The Wind-Cat Stevens
What a Wonderful World-Louis Armstrong
You're Still the One-Shania Twain
Welcome to The Cottage! I hope you delight in the wacky exploits of our large, boisterous family. Our motley crew, a steadfast Dad, a sarcastic Mom, 6 fabulous children, 2 dogs, and 3 cats, lives in a charming cottage surrounded by way too much nature. Enjoy your visit!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Gingerbread village....Ta-da!
Our gingerbread village is complete! Well, like most things in our lives, it was complete, but the deterioration has already started! The moppets have decided that writing in powdered sugar is way more fun and less freezing than making snow angels in real snow! (It's also way messier, by the way, and the sticky residue is enough to make a person lose her mind-not to mention the fact that their graffiti is marring our pristine snow scape- but whatever!)
Anyway, here are the photos of our fabulous village! Please note that in addition to the 2 homes, there is a Target, a bakery, a train and a train station. This is my kind of village-2 families sharing 1 Target, 1 bakery and they can get out of town fast via public transport! 
Youngest Son's Train in front of Baby Girl's Train Station
Yippee, Moppets! Well done! Way to spread some Holiday cheer... and lots of powdered sugar!
Monday, December 19, 2011
Gingerbread fun!
Today, we began working on our gingerbread village. I know, that sounds fabulously elaborate, but in reality, it is the result of the desire to avoid teamwork. In an effort to make it through winter break with all the moppets in one piece, I opted for individual gingerbread creations, rather than endure the tension that comes from "working together" on one project.
When we moved to Virginia, we started making gingerbread houses. Like most things in our lives, it happened not by design, but by happenstance. We moved at the beginning of December and as I was making the rounds to the elementary school winter celebrations, Middle Son's teacher said to us, "I bet it's really hard to decide who does what on your family's gingerbread house, huh?" So, I mumbled, "Yes, we try to take turns." And I hurried everyone out the classroom door before my children could say, "what gingerbread house, Mom?" Mentally, I noted, "In Virginia, everyone makes gingerbread houses." So...when in Rome, er eh, Virginia. Baby girl was 6 weeks old, and I knew no one, so I was staying close to home and had few diversions! "Make Gingerbread Structures" was added to the Holiday To Do list.
When we moved to Virginia, we started making gingerbread houses. Like most things in our lives, it happened not by design, but by happenstance. We moved at the beginning of December and as I was making the rounds to the elementary school winter celebrations, Middle Son's teacher said to us, "I bet it's really hard to decide who does what on your family's gingerbread house, huh?" So, I mumbled, "Yes, we try to take turns." And I hurried everyone out the classroom door before my children could say, "what gingerbread house, Mom?" Mentally, I noted, "In Virginia, everyone makes gingerbread houses." So...when in Rome, er eh, Virginia. Baby girl was 6 weeks old, and I knew no one, so I was staying close to home and had few diversions! "Make Gingerbread Structures" was added to the Holiday To Do list.
The creations are looking fabulous! Lots of creativity-and interesting insight to what each of the moppets feels is an important component of a village. I can't wait to see the finished products! In the meantime, I was on Pinterest today, looking for inspiration (I mean losing 7 hours of my day) when I saw something so funny and true that I had to laugh at myself-out loud, for a long time.
In my mind's eye, our gingerbread creations will look like this:
Or even this!
But in reality-they will probably look more like this:
But I will still think they are FABULOUS! Ahhh, the beauty of love goggles!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Missing Hart
Today is the day. The day I dread each year. I wake up and feel heavy, gray, melancholy. It's not like some days, when you wake-up feeling fine and enjoy a few blissful, unaware moments before sadness washes over you. Today, there is no space between waking and feeling. I am sad today, I miss my baby. I just do. The things that make me grateful, and joyful when I think about Hart every other day of the year, just make me sad today.
Seven years ago today, my heart was shattered. I cannot even begin to describe the pain. Honestly, I was totally caught off-guard by the depth of the agony. I was prepared for Hart to die. I was prepared to be sad. We knew that he was going to live an abbreviated life. I had done everything that everyone (from experts to well-meaning "folks") told me to do in order to prepare for his death. Steadfast husband and I made a deal that we would live each day of his life without regret. We didn't want to have "should haves" or "would haves" cloud Hart's memory or create needless guilt. We tried to eliminate everything that makes death so, well- devastating. I was convinced that if the only thing I had to mourn was the days I would not have with my son, I could deal with it. I thought if my grief was pure sadness, not mired with regret and anger, that I would have an easier time losing Hart. But, there is no such thing. Losing your child is just ... indescribable.
There are two important things I learned when Hart died. First, there is no way to make the loss of a loved one easier-grief is all consuming-and for the person experiencing it, it's the worst grief there is. You cannot know the grief you do not feel, there really is no, "it could be worse" (despite the myriad of platitudes you hear)-when it comes to grieving, because it is the worst. You don't stop in the middle of your anguish and think, what a relief, I am only experiencing 82% grief-phew!
I also learned that it's easier to be angry than sad. When you are sad, you feel like the victim, as though you have no control over your own emotion. You cannot "work it out" or "set it aside" or "agree to disagree". You are in a vortex of darkness, at its mercy, waiting for it to tire of you and thrust you back into the light. When you are angry, you feel some power over your situation-a sense of control. You can work it out, resolve the situation, or take action. When Hart died, I longed for a reason to be angry, a cause to embrace, a wrong to make right. But there wasn't anything to fight against, I was just sad and had to find the momentum to make it through the day.
People told me, to just keep moving forward, continue putting one foot in front of the other, it will get better. And it is true, it does get "better", but there were so many days that I felt like I was on a treadmill, and no matter how hard I tried, I would be at the same spot at the end of the day that I was at the beginning. And to be honest, often, that felt like an enormous accomplishment.
Since that day, seven years ago, when my heart shattered, it has mended-or at least come back together. But it's not like in a cartoon, it hasn't been suddenly rejuvenated and made whole again-throbbing with renewal. It feels more like it has been scotch-taped together. The parts war-torn and scarred, drifted back together over time. Most of it is held together like taped Saran wrap-it may not look good, but it is strong, secure, and protects-but there are parts that are like sandcastles-they look lovely, but are easily knocked down and the tape just doesn't stick very well.
So, on December 8 each year, I honor my sadness. I wallow in my grief. I miss my son and for one day each year, I allow myself to let the sadness of my loss outweigh everything else.
The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. ~John Vance Cheney
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Disappointment
There are moments in the life of a parent, when everything is just smoothly swimming along. There is no drama, no heartache, no injury or illness. No highs or lows- everything is just fine. These moments are few and far between for our crew, and for the most part, totally under appreciated. That pesky need we have to interact with others stifles our ability to live in a happy bubble of kindness and perpetual affirmation.
The thing is, for my moppets, over-reacting is just Tuesday night at The Cottage (evidently, being blessed with a flare for the dramatic is a dominate trait!) But there are times when my children suffer from true disappointment, sadness, fear or despair. These moments, that penetrate their surface emotions and burrow into their souls, make my heart feel like it is in a vice. My ability to function is impaired. I am no longer rational, and cannot separate myself from the emotion in order to cull the facts. I am consumed by a need to fix it. Right the wrong. Explain how something was misconstrued, misunderstood, or just missed. I want to point out all the fabulous things about my child that somehow weren't recognize or appreciated. I am consumed by the need to explain the good intent that was behind the action that turned out badly. And sometimes, I am just overwhelmed by the desire to punch someone right in the face. (I know that's not nice, but I can't help it-don't make my babies sad!)
It is our job to protect our children, and when they get hurt, in any way, it feels as though we haven't fulfilled our obligation adequately. Their pain causes us anguish, not only because they are hurting, but because we didn't prevent the injury!
I know, disappointment is part of life, it's a learning experience-I get it! But knowing that, doesn't make it easier to take. It doesn't take the sting out. It doesn't make things just or right. And honestly, I have found that the more disappointments you face, does not, in any way, make it easier to deal with the next one. You can't develop a resistance to sadness. There's no way to build-up a tolerance to hurt. Having to deal with great sadness (the loss of a loved one, for example) most certainly puts things in perspective, but it doesn't make you immune from all the rest of life's set-backs.
During this time of year, when we honor the memory of baby Hart, experiencing "everyday" disappointments also puts a perspective on things. Even after unimaginable loss, we can still be hurt by "small" slights. It is extremely comforting to know that we are capable of feeling so blue over things that are completely trivial in comparison. I still cannot protect my children's hearts from being broken or bruised. There was a time when fretting over such things wasn't even a possibility. But now, it really stinks! Isn't that great!?!
The thing is, for my moppets, over-reacting is just Tuesday night at The Cottage (evidently, being blessed with a flare for the dramatic is a dominate trait!) But there are times when my children suffer from true disappointment, sadness, fear or despair. These moments, that penetrate their surface emotions and burrow into their souls, make my heart feel like it is in a vice. My ability to function is impaired. I am no longer rational, and cannot separate myself from the emotion in order to cull the facts. I am consumed by a need to fix it. Right the wrong. Explain how something was misconstrued, misunderstood, or just missed. I want to point out all the fabulous things about my child that somehow weren't recognize or appreciated. I am consumed by the need to explain the good intent that was behind the action that turned out badly. And sometimes, I am just overwhelmed by the desire to punch someone right in the face. (I know that's not nice, but I can't help it-don't make my babies sad!)
It is our job to protect our children, and when they get hurt, in any way, it feels as though we haven't fulfilled our obligation adequately. Their pain causes us anguish, not only because they are hurting, but because we didn't prevent the injury!
I know, disappointment is part of life, it's a learning experience-I get it! But knowing that, doesn't make it easier to take. It doesn't take the sting out. It doesn't make things just or right. And honestly, I have found that the more disappointments you face, does not, in any way, make it easier to deal with the next one. You can't develop a resistance to sadness. There's no way to build-up a tolerance to hurt. Having to deal with great sadness (the loss of a loved one, for example) most certainly puts things in perspective, but it doesn't make you immune from all the rest of life's set-backs.
During this time of year, when we honor the memory of baby Hart, experiencing "everyday" disappointments also puts a perspective on things. Even after unimaginable loss, we can still be hurt by "small" slights. It is extremely comforting to know that we are capable of feeling so blue over things that are completely trivial in comparison. I still cannot protect my children's hearts from being broken or bruised. There was a time when fretting over such things wasn't even a possibility. But now, it really stinks! Isn't that great!?!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Happy Birthday Hart!
Today, Hart would have turned 7 years old. That is so hard to fathom. I can't really picture what our family snapshot would look like if he had lived. I cannot imagine the dynamics, the relationships, the dirt. But, I also cannot envision our lives had he not been born. He is a part of our daily lives, as a baby, an angel, a hero and completely dirt-free! We each have a relationship with him, he adds to the interactions of our family, but these are different than if he had survived.
Today isn't a sad day for us, but a day of celebration. We didn't think we would get a chance to celebrate Hart's life. We honestly thought his birthday and death day would be the same; that we would have one date to "contend" with. But what a blessing to be able to celebrate his life! That being said, I've already cried 3 times today (and it's only 7:30 am). But these are not tears of sadness, they are tears of gratitude, tears of happy memories, tears of remembering the kindness of others, tears of feeling love.
I had been warned by countless well-meaning folks, (folks are those people who open their mouths without turning their filters on first!) that Hart's first birthday would be unbearable. That the numbness that enveloped me from the moment of his death would begin to wain, and I would finally feel the true weight of my grief. Really, the truly unbearable part, was everyone telling me that. For weeks, I braced myself, waiting for the breaking point; waiting for the drop of water that would cause the flood walls to break. It never happened. (In the back of my mind, I wondered if I somehow had too much anesthetic and that my numbness wasn't wearing off on time-what on earth was wrong with me? I wasn't losing my mind like I was supposed to!)
Of course there were tears and moments of sadness on his first birthday, but mostly we rejoiced in knowing Hart. It was against all odds that we even got the chance to meet him, let alone create memories. A miracle that my children got to hold and touch and love him! Change his diapers, feed him! It was amazing, and we felt an indescribable joy in that! I finally understand what Alfred Lord Tennyson meant-
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
This poem has nothing to do with the teenage angst I always associated it with!
Each year for Hart's birthday, we buy a children's book published in the current year. The thought is one day, our children will move out, take their books with them and we will still possess a lovely collection of children's books.
This year we chose these two fabulous books!
Happy, happy birthday to my beautiful baby boy!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Significance of Butterflies
Last night, steadfast husband and I went to a charity event, during which I became the proud new owner of a gorgeous butterfly necklace. Because I am celebrating Hart's memory this week, the timing couldn't have been more perfect.
We belonged to the most fabulous church when we lived in Indiana. We loved our church. A lot. The people in it, the programs they offered, the ministers, everything. Our favorite minister, Dr. Joan, was the most amazing woman. While I'm sure having a favorite minister isn't uncommon, it is probably totally Christian-ly incorrect for me to flagrantly admit it-please forgive me...but she was our favorite! Dr. Joan exuded peace, intelligence, love and all good things. She baptized most of our children (including Hart). We started meeting with her while I was pregnant with Hart in order to help us emotionally and spiritually prepare for the loss of our son. We also started planning his funeral.
Dr. Joan asked for our input and we added songs and bible verses that were important to us. We told her who would speak during the service and our overall vision for the service. (Okay, I can’t believe that we had an "overall vision" for the funeral, and even worse that I uttered the words “overall vision” out loud, but-my journal tells me it is so.) She said she had a special idea for our children and, if it was okay with us, she would work on that. We talked to Dr. Joan often during my pregnancy, when Hart was born, and during his life. When the time came for his funeral, it was a relief having had the chance to make the preparations in advance.
The funeral was absolutely beautiful. Several days after his funeral, I received a letter from the mother of my childhood best friend telling me that his service was the most beautiful, moving church service, of any kind, that she had ever been to. It made me smile.
A funeral for a baby is so sad, but it is also so beautiful and pure. It is love and light and brightness (and incredibly difficult to describe). One of the most amazing things about Hart's funeral was the butterflies. During the service, Dr. Joan called my children up to the front of the church to sit beside her on the steps. She had a closed box on her lap. She told them it was filled with Monarch Butterflies. She spoke about the brief, but beautiful life of the butterflies and compared their lives to Hart’s. She asked my children if they wanted to keep them in the box or if they wanted her to open the lid to let them fly. They said to open the lid (thank you, God) and when she did, butterflies flew throughout the sanctuary.
It was such an incredible moment. Dr. Joan had another box of butterflies and asked if we would like to take them home with us. We let the butterflies fly around our house. Having butterflies fly around the house brought moments of joy to our family during very grim days. Since his funeral, whenever we see Monarch butterflies we think of Hart. They have come to represent such a special, beautiful memory.
I couldn’t talk about Hart’s funeral without adding the beautiful words my sister spoke that day! She wrote the following on her flight from Beijing to Indianapolis following Hart’s death.
I am finally alone, I have a sixteen hour trip ahead of me. Lord, I really need this time... solitude to think, time to talk with You.
You know how hard it's been for me to be away from Erin and her family, halfway around the world. I can't get there fast enough...but I am also staring my complete inability to make it better right in the face.
I want to fix it. I want to bring Your peace and comfort to them. Sometimes the pain seems more than we can bear. I thank you, Lord for those moments of joy, in spite of our broken hearts.
The psalmist writes "I cried out-I'm slipping, and your unfailing love, o Lord, supported me. When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope."
So we come to you, Lord, as Paul writes in Hebrews: "let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God, there we will receive his mercy and we find grace to help us when we need it."
We thank you that we can come to you, Lord, unafraid, raw honest....and lay it all down before you. Thank you that we can say: this hurts, we don't understand, this stinks! We can scream, cry out and this doesn't change how much you love us. Nothing can ever separate us from your love. You will never leave us, You will never forsake us.
Thank you, Father., for the miracle of Hart. Thank you for choosing Erin and John to be his parents and his brothers and sisters to be his siblings. You knew from the beginning that they would love him unconditionally and not hold anything back, even though they knew his time here would be short and how hard it would be to say good-bye.
Against all odds, he survived the pregnancy, he made it through labor and delivery, and lived with his family for 24 days. We thank you for his 24 strong, healthy and joyous days.
I love Psalm 139 where David says, "You saw me before I was born, every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed."
So many of the truths we know, Lord. But sometimes we need to convince our broken hearts to embrace them. Our hands ache to hold, our arms feel empty.
Give us your grace in full measure. Let us feel Your hand on the small of our backs and help us console each other. Take us through this as only You can, to embrace our pain and Hart's death and still embrace life, to go on trusting and loving, knowing that You are faithfully meeting our every need. Amen
Beautiful!
We belonged to the most fabulous church when we lived in Indiana. We loved our church. A lot. The people in it, the programs they offered, the ministers, everything. Our favorite minister, Dr. Joan, was the most amazing woman. While I'm sure having a favorite minister isn't uncommon, it is probably totally Christian-ly incorrect for me to flagrantly admit it-please forgive me...but she was our favorite! Dr. Joan exuded peace, intelligence, love and all good things. She baptized most of our children (including Hart). We started meeting with her while I was pregnant with Hart in order to help us emotionally and spiritually prepare for the loss of our son. We also started planning his funeral.
Dr. Joan asked for our input and we added songs and bible verses that were important to us. We told her who would speak during the service and our overall vision for the service. (Okay, I can’t believe that we had an "overall vision" for the funeral, and even worse that I uttered the words “overall vision” out loud, but-my journal tells me it is so.) She said she had a special idea for our children and, if it was okay with us, she would work on that. We talked to Dr. Joan often during my pregnancy, when Hart was born, and during his life. When the time came for his funeral, it was a relief having had the chance to make the preparations in advance.
The funeral was absolutely beautiful. Several days after his funeral, I received a letter from the mother of my childhood best friend telling me that his service was the most beautiful, moving church service, of any kind, that she had ever been to. It made me smile.
A funeral for a baby is so sad, but it is also so beautiful and pure. It is love and light and brightness (and incredibly difficult to describe). One of the most amazing things about Hart's funeral was the butterflies. During the service, Dr. Joan called my children up to the front of the church to sit beside her on the steps. She had a closed box on her lap. She told them it was filled with Monarch Butterflies. She spoke about the brief, but beautiful life of the butterflies and compared their lives to Hart’s. She asked my children if they wanted to keep them in the box or if they wanted her to open the lid to let them fly. They said to open the lid (thank you, God) and when she did, butterflies flew throughout the sanctuary.
It was such an incredible moment. Dr. Joan had another box of butterflies and asked if we would like to take them home with us. We let the butterflies fly around our house. Having butterflies fly around the house brought moments of joy to our family during very grim days. Since his funeral, whenever we see Monarch butterflies we think of Hart. They have come to represent such a special, beautiful memory.
I couldn’t talk about Hart’s funeral without adding the beautiful words my sister spoke that day! She wrote the following on her flight from Beijing to Indianapolis following Hart’s death.
I am finally alone, I have a sixteen hour trip ahead of me. Lord, I really need this time... solitude to think, time to talk with You.
You know how hard it's been for me to be away from Erin and her family, halfway around the world. I can't get there fast enough...but I am also staring my complete inability to make it better right in the face.
I want to fix it. I want to bring Your peace and comfort to them. Sometimes the pain seems more than we can bear. I thank you, Lord for those moments of joy, in spite of our broken hearts.
The psalmist writes "I cried out-I'm slipping, and your unfailing love, o Lord, supported me. When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope."
So we come to you, Lord, as Paul writes in Hebrews: "let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God, there we will receive his mercy and we find grace to help us when we need it."
We thank you that we can come to you, Lord, unafraid, raw honest....and lay it all down before you. Thank you that we can say: this hurts, we don't understand, this stinks! We can scream, cry out and this doesn't change how much you love us. Nothing can ever separate us from your love. You will never leave us, You will never forsake us.
Thank you, Father., for the miracle of Hart. Thank you for choosing Erin and John to be his parents and his brothers and sisters to be his siblings. You knew from the beginning that they would love him unconditionally and not hold anything back, even though they knew his time here would be short and how hard it would be to say good-bye.
Against all odds, he survived the pregnancy, he made it through labor and delivery, and lived with his family for 24 days. We thank you for his 24 strong, healthy and joyous days.
I love Psalm 139 where David says, "You saw me before I was born, every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed."
So many of the truths we know, Lord. But sometimes we need to convince our broken hearts to embrace them. Our hands ache to hold, our arms feel empty.
Give us your grace in full measure. Let us feel Your hand on the small of our backs and help us console each other. Take us through this as only You can, to embrace our pain and Hart's death and still embrace life, to go on trusting and loving, knowing that You are faithfully meeting our every need. Amen
Beautiful!
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Remembering Hart
Each year, as the anniversary of our beloved baby, Hart's birthday approaches, awareness of my emotions and those of my family, becomes heightened. A type of fear hovers over my existence as I wonder how we will manage this year. But for the 6 years we have celebrated his birthday and his brief life, it has never been bad. Don't get me wrong, it has been incredibly sad, we miss Hart terribly, but it has also been filled with celebration, reflection, memories and love. As Dolly Parton said in the movie Steel Magnolias, "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion"-we have a lot of that! I just feel that it is my duty to be on the look-out for the day that we can no longer pull the joy from the tragedy; the day we give in and wallow in our heartache.
Hart would have been 7 years old on November 15. I can't believe it has been 7 years since I gave birth to this amazing little boy. It truly seems like a lifetime ago, I don't even remember the person I was before I knew Hart. I hope that there is some core part of me that remains, but when your life changes in such a profound way, you change along with it. There are times when I feel heavier than I'd like, that my grief weighs down my spirit, that my laughter has to work harder to take flight, that my joy has to shake off a layer of sludge before it surfaces, that my insouciant essence is like a balloon, low on helium, floating just above the carpet.
There are times when the burden of these ever-present feelings gets in my way, drains me, annoys me, makes me long for a time when I was weightless. But fortunately those times are rare. Would I trade knowing and losing Hart in order to purge the grief on my heart? Not for a second. The love that grew in this darkness knows no bounds-I have gained so much more than I could ever lose.
7 years ago, I was a small part of something that was so much greater than the sum of its parts. Our little boy, who wasn't supposed to live outside the womb, lived for almost a month. In that month's time (and beyond) we were enveloped in prayers from across the world, were eye-witnesses to unexpected grace, were recipients to anonymous acts of kindness, we experienced unimaginable amounts of love and support from our friends and family. Strangers reached out to us and became our friends. We felt peace-not an easy thing to feel when you are anticipating the loss of your child, but that is what we prayed for, and that is what God gave us. I have never seen anything like it, let alone lived it.
When I was pregnant, we were told Hart wouldn't survive the pregnancy-he did. When I was in labor-we were told he wouldn't survive labor-he did. When I delivered him, we were told he wouldn't survive delivery-he did. On and on it went-an hour, a day, a week. Hart lived for almost a month. Although he was terminally ill, he was able to live with our family, in our home as any other newborn would. It was such an unexpected blessing, an amazing gift. One that I must admit, I was a bit reluctant to accept. We had completely prepared for an alternate ending! I didn't feel equipped to take a baby home, a baby who I knew was going to die. I felt like I needed some books, courses, a support staff, even some well placed stickers with helpful tips-anything! But thanks to the wise words of a friend of mine, (who also happens to be a fabulous neonatologist), who incredulously said "What do you mean you've never done this before? You've done it 5 times! You guys are going home!" I was able to switch gears psychologically, letting go of the idea that "I have never done this before" and starting to celebrate and rejoice in our baby!
In celebration of Hart's 7th birthday, I will be honoring his memory by sharing stories from his amazing life. Over the next week, I will share several special stories that illustrate the impact his short life had on so many people.
Thank you for sharing this special time.
Hart would have been 7 years old on November 15. I can't believe it has been 7 years since I gave birth to this amazing little boy. It truly seems like a lifetime ago, I don't even remember the person I was before I knew Hart. I hope that there is some core part of me that remains, but when your life changes in such a profound way, you change along with it. There are times when I feel heavier than I'd like, that my grief weighs down my spirit, that my laughter has to work harder to take flight, that my joy has to shake off a layer of sludge before it surfaces, that my insouciant essence is like a balloon, low on helium, floating just above the carpet.
There are times when the burden of these ever-present feelings gets in my way, drains me, annoys me, makes me long for a time when I was weightless. But fortunately those times are rare. Would I trade knowing and losing Hart in order to purge the grief on my heart? Not for a second. The love that grew in this darkness knows no bounds-I have gained so much more than I could ever lose.
7 years ago, I was a small part of something that was so much greater than the sum of its parts. Our little boy, who wasn't supposed to live outside the womb, lived for almost a month. In that month's time (and beyond) we were enveloped in prayers from across the world, were eye-witnesses to unexpected grace, were recipients to anonymous acts of kindness, we experienced unimaginable amounts of love and support from our friends and family. Strangers reached out to us and became our friends. We felt peace-not an easy thing to feel when you are anticipating the loss of your child, but that is what we prayed for, and that is what God gave us. I have never seen anything like it, let alone lived it.
When I was pregnant, we were told Hart wouldn't survive the pregnancy-he did. When I was in labor-we were told he wouldn't survive labor-he did. When I delivered him, we were told he wouldn't survive delivery-he did. On and on it went-an hour, a day, a week. Hart lived for almost a month. Although he was terminally ill, he was able to live with our family, in our home as any other newborn would. It was such an unexpected blessing, an amazing gift. One that I must admit, I was a bit reluctant to accept. We had completely prepared for an alternate ending! I didn't feel equipped to take a baby home, a baby who I knew was going to die. I felt like I needed some books, courses, a support staff, even some well placed stickers with helpful tips-anything! But thanks to the wise words of a friend of mine, (who also happens to be a fabulous neonatologist), who incredulously said "What do you mean you've never done this before? You've done it 5 times! You guys are going home!" I was able to switch gears psychologically, letting go of the idea that "I have never done this before" and starting to celebrate and rejoice in our baby!
In celebration of Hart's 7th birthday, I will be honoring his memory by sharing stories from his amazing life. Over the next week, I will share several special stories that illustrate the impact his short life had on so many people.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Baby Girl Turns 5
Five seems so much older than four, and I am really having a hard time accepting it! Not only for Baby Girl, but for our entire family. As much as I have resisted it, our family has turned a page. I feel a little like Grover in "The Monster at the End of This Book." I, too, have tried rope, nails, and bricklaying as means of preventing the pages from being turned!
By virtue of being the youngest of a large family, Baby Girl has been a "baby" for longer than any of her siblings. When First Born was 5, he was practically driving the car and doing our taxes, Oldest Daughter was putting laundry away when she was 4 and Middle Daughter was making pancakes at age 3. The next two changed their own diapers, mixed their own formula and read themselves bedtime stories. But not Baby Girl. I have learned that children don't go to college with diapers and pacifiers (well, usually) and that there is no need to rush things-it goes too fast as it is! I have also confirmed a long held belief that being the youngest rules!
Lately, when I look at the landscape of our family, I hardly recognize it! I grudgingly acknowledge that we are no longer a family with children that are "free with the price of admission". As we celebrate Baby Girl's 5th birthday, (and she no longer lets me buckle her in to the infant seat on the top of the carts at Target) I am starting to accept, even look forward to, the next page in our book!
Monday, October 17, 2011
The Secret of the Universe or How I Accidentally Made the Most Amazing Chocolate Chip Cookies!
Many of the fabulous things in my life happen by complete accident. I will paint a wall and when I realize it's a bad color, I'll paint over it and paint over it again until it turns out that the layers of colors have created an accidentally beautiful effect! Hurray, happy happenstance! I'd say my gift is knowing what doesn't work, and in undoing, or covering my mistakes, something fabulous sometimes occurs. So I can't really take credit for these things (although I often do).
This is exactly what happened the other evening when we decided to make chocolate chip cookies at 8:30. Steadfast Husband was out of town, and we were all in our pajamas, preparing to bid our day adieu. That's when it hit. I was totally jonesing for a sweet treat. I could hear the siren call of the recently purchased 5 pound (thank you, Costco) bag of chocolate chips in the pantry. I summoned my sweet 14-year-old (the chef/baker of the bunch) and oh, so sweetly asked if she thought chocolate chip cookies sounded good. She wholeheartedly assented, and generously offered to make them! Okay, I may be a little foggy on this point. It is very possible that I suggested that she make them, (please, because she is the best baker in the whole wide world) as I pulled mixing bowls, measuring cups, and the mixer out onto the counter. Either way, she started pouring, cracking, mixing, and sampling. The recipe doesn't even mention eggs until near the end, and with the impromptu nature of our cookie making, we didn't set the ingredients before we started. Oops! We were out of eggs-and frankly, no amount of cookie desire was getting me out of my pajamas and into the grocery store!
We were too far in to abort operation sweet treat, so for the 42nd time this week, I said thank you to Al Gore (he invented the Internet, right?!) and hopped online to search "egg substitute baking". Actually, I initially googled "egg substitute", but quickly saw the need to narrow the search parameters. We were out of applesauce, the most commonly suggested substitute. Then, I stumbled onto the suggestion of a mixture of baking powder, oil and water. I must admit, I doubted that the cookies would taste the same and I was right! They tasted even better! They were the best chocolate chip cookies we have ever had. They were a little crispy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. Scrumptious!!!!
I baked another batch when Steadfast Husband returned from his trip. He couldn't believe how delicious they were either! Really! So here is the recipe for these amazing treats! Enjoy!
Chocolate Chip Cookies without eggs
2 1/4 Cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 Cup (2 sticks) butter
3/4 Cup sugar
3/4 Cup brown sugar (packed)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
eggs substitution-mix together 4 Tablespoons water, 2 Tablespoons vegetable oil, 4 teaspoons baking
powder-mix well. This is amount is the equivalent of 2 eggs.
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
Mix flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside
Beat butter, sugars, and vanilla extract. Slowing add egg substitute mixture. Beat well.
Add flour mixture. Mix well.
Stir in chocolate chips.
drop tablespoon-size dollops onto baking sheet
Bake at 375 degrees for 9-11 minutes (until golden)
Enjoy!
This is exactly what happened the other evening when we decided to make chocolate chip cookies at 8:30. Steadfast Husband was out of town, and we were all in our pajamas, preparing to bid our day adieu. That's when it hit. I was totally jonesing for a sweet treat. I could hear the siren call of the recently purchased 5 pound (thank you, Costco) bag of chocolate chips in the pantry. I summoned my sweet 14-year-old (the chef/baker of the bunch) and oh, so sweetly asked if she thought chocolate chip cookies sounded good. She wholeheartedly assented, and generously offered to make them! Okay, I may be a little foggy on this point. It is very possible that I suggested that she make them, (please, because she is the best baker in the whole wide world) as I pulled mixing bowls, measuring cups, and the mixer out onto the counter. Either way, she started pouring, cracking, mixing, and sampling. The recipe doesn't even mention eggs until near the end, and with the impromptu nature of our cookie making, we didn't set the ingredients before we started. Oops! We were out of eggs-and frankly, no amount of cookie desire was getting me out of my pajamas and into the grocery store!
We were too far in to abort operation sweet treat, so for the 42nd time this week, I said thank you to Al Gore (he invented the Internet, right?!) and hopped online to search "egg substitute baking". Actually, I initially googled "egg substitute", but quickly saw the need to narrow the search parameters. We were out of applesauce, the most commonly suggested substitute. Then, I stumbled onto the suggestion of a mixture of baking powder, oil and water. I must admit, I doubted that the cookies would taste the same and I was right! They tasted even better! They were the best chocolate chip cookies we have ever had. They were a little crispy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. Scrumptious!!!!
I baked another batch when Steadfast Husband returned from his trip. He couldn't believe how delicious they were either! Really! So here is the recipe for these amazing treats! Enjoy!
Chocolate Chip Cookies without eggs
2 1/4 Cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 Cup (2 sticks) butter
3/4 Cup sugar
3/4 Cup brown sugar (packed)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
eggs substitution-mix together 4 Tablespoons water, 2 Tablespoons vegetable oil, 4 teaspoons baking
powder-mix well. This is amount is the equivalent of 2 eggs.
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
Mix flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside
Beat butter, sugars, and vanilla extract. Slowing add egg substitute mixture. Beat well.
Add flour mixture. Mix well.
Stir in chocolate chips.
drop tablespoon-size dollops onto baking sheet
Bake at 375 degrees for 9-11 minutes (until golden)
Enjoy!
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