Everywhere... love and memories

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

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!

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.

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!

                              

http://www.marthastewart.com/285839/your-best-gingerbread-houses/@center/307034/christmas-workshop#/280745

But in reality-they will probably look more like this:

http://www.delish.com/food/recalls-reviews/gingerbread-house-disasters

But I will still think they are FABULOUS! Ahhh, the beauty of love goggles!

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

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!?!