Love in Verse

During my culling of love and remembrance for Hart's 10th Birthday, I received this beautiful letter in the mail (the USPS delivered kind) from Steadfast Husband's lovely Grandmother.

Dear Ones,
Hoping all's going well for you and yours.
As I am not into videos, Ipads, tweets and such, I'll respond in my own way.
I have had this verse for many years; while the tense is wrong, the words are so true. Hoping you find meaning in it for you.

                                  I love you so,

                                        Grandma

God's Child and Yours -Unknown

"I'll lend you for a little time

A child of mine" He said - 

For you to love the while he lives 

and mourn for when he's dead. 

It may be six or seven years 

or twenty two or three 

but will you, till I call him back, 

take care of him for me?

He'll bring his charms to gladden you 

and, should his stay be brief, 

you'll have his lovely memories 

as solace for his grief. 

I cannot promise he will stay, 

since all from earth return 

but, there are lessons taught down here, 

I want this child to learn.

I've looked the wide world over, 

in search of teachers true, 

and from the throngs that crowd life's lane 

I have decided you. 

Now will you give him all your love, 

not think the labor vain, 

nor hate me when I come to call

to take him back again?

I fancy that I heard them say, 

"Dear Lord Thy Will Be Done" 

for all the joy this child will bring 

the risk of grief we'll run. 

We'll shelter him with tenderness, 

we'll love him while we may, 

and for the happiness we've known 

forever grateful stay. 

And should thy Angels call for him 

much sooner than we planned, 

we'll brave the bitter grief that came 

and try to understand.

Poppy Love

For Hart's 10th Birthday, I asked members of our family to share special messages or memories about him.  I am posting their beautiful expressions of love and remembrance here (in random order).
 My dad (Poppy) is an artist, a graphic designer by profession, so he felt it was only fitting to pay tribute to Hart in illustration form. I didn't open or read most of what was sent to me before preparing to post it-I wanted it to be like opening a present. Moments ago I opened the file my dad sent and was completely enchanted by the beautiful "gift" he sent.

Accidentally in Love...

Today is my favorite day of the year. I don't always remember that. Actually, any other day of the year, I would say that today is one of the two days each year that I look forward to with great trepidation and anxiety. Throughout the year, I hear November 15 and a heavy feeling envelopes me.  But when it's here, I remember. I remember that today is a celebration of an "accidental" life. A beautiful, amazing, full life. A life with purpose, that had an everlasting impact on countless others. A life in which every moment was so very treasured and certainly warrants celebration...especially today!


Happy Birthday to my beautiful baby boy! Today, Hart would have turned 10 years old. When I think back, there are memories that are so clear, so close, that I can almost reach out and touch them. Other memories are so fuzzy, that I am unable to bring them into focus and the harder I try, the further they slip out of reach. But I'm completely okay with that-actually I think that's how it's supposed to be. Sometimes, these memories come back into full focus in that nirvana right between sleep and awake. When I try to grab these memories and carry them into my conscious, clear memories, they slip away again. But I know they'll be back and I love the feeling that brings.


It also encourages me to depend on the memories of others, to talk about Hart, reminisce and share in a way I would otherwise not.  As a way to celebrate Hart's 10th birthday, I asked family members to share memories and thoughts about Hart. Over the next several days, I will share their beautiful, poignant  recollections.

So Humbled.....

I kept trying to figure out a way to retell this exchange in my own words. Silly me! I realized that posting the following facebook message exchange as it happened was a much better idea. There was no way I could convey  my friend's heart better than her own words!

Message from my friend:
Hi sweet girl! I wanted to send you a message because you need to know something very cool I am a part of because I was inspired by Hart. I have begun a photography business on the side and recently began volunteering for a national group called "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep". This group takes photographs for families who have suffered the loss of a new born child. I was so moved at Hart's service by the beautiful pictures it planted a seed and I knew that some day I would do this. Today (March 2013) was my first chance to shadow one of the volunteers. Such a powerful experience. I just wanted to let you know that your son influenced me and who knows how many lives I will be able to touch as a result. Even though his time on this earth was a sprint and you so wanted it to be a marathon, God still used him to make a difference. I hope you and all of your littles ones are doing well!! Love, Mari
https://www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/

My response:
Wow! I am so overwhelmed! What a beautiful thing to do and what an honor to Hart! Do you care if I share this with others? I am feeling so humbled and touched right now-you have no idea!! Everyone should be so fortunate to touch others in such a special, what a blessing Hart was and continues to be and what a tremendous blessing you are and will be to these amazing families!

Response from my friend:
I would be honored if this would move anyone else. Share freely as you see fit! I enjoy seeing you and your beautiful family on FB and the cottage cheese! :)

All the words I know feel much too small to describe the awe and gratitude I felt when I read this...

property of Mari Hammond Sandifer

Celebrating 10 Years: Remember to Use Your Words

This November 15 would have been my son, Hart's, 10th birthday. As the day approaches, I am struck by a myriad of polarizing (sometimes paralyzing) emotions.  I feel sad that he is not here to celebrate, to lavish with gifts, cake and birthday magic, I feel overwhelmed with joy for having known him, I feel sentimental recollecting all my memories of his life and I feel resolved to honor his amazing life.


A couple of years ago, I decided that we needed to honor Hart's 10th birthday in a meaningful way.  That it needed to be bigger than just our immediate family. I initially thought that we were going to ask people to perform 10 random acts of kindness, in his memory. Then a few months later I thought, "Oh my gosh, everyone does that, and it's lovely, but it no longer feels like the right way to honor Hart."


In quick succession I contemplated and then dismissed the following (really awesome and completely practical) ideas:

• Hire a skywriter to write "Happy 10th Birthday Baby Hart" across the clouds
• Scatter billions of paper "Harts" across the world
• Go BASE jumping (in a really cute Hart-themed base-jumping outfit)
• Build a memorial pyramid

 

Then, over the summer, it came to me. During Hart's life and after his death, there was an urgency, a familiarity that erased the distance that often prevents people from sharing such affections. It was so beautiful and unbelievably comforting. So in honor of Hart's 10th birthday, I am asking everyone to say 10 beautiful, encouraging things to others. Things that you think, but are often too reticent to say. Things that may feel gushing or unrestrained, enthusiastic, extravagantly demonstrative or completely effusive. The idea is that people walk away feeling a little taller, a little more confident, with a clearer picture of the best that other's find in them. Empowered with the knowledge that others recognize the value in their character, accomplishments or tenacity.


Recently, I went to NYC with a friend for a whirlwind 24 hours. She was going to see a friend she hadn't seen in 27 years. Her friend and his wife were in the country for business (he, for the first time since high school), and it was the only chance for these old friends to get together. At the end of their visit, he told my friend how important she was in his life. That her (brief, high-school) friendship had changed the trajectory of his life. I was so overwhelmed by their reunion (even as a bystander trying to blend into the scenery) it was such beautiful, meaningful moment and cemented my idea for celebrating Hart's birthday! It is a rare and precious gift when someone gets to hear that they made an imprint on another's life, and how awesome if it happened more often!


At Hart's memorial service, a friend told us that, although Hart wasn't a survivor, he was a warrior. And while a warrior doesn't necessarily win the battle, he fights with honor, integrity, courage, compassion, and discipline. Honestly, I was caught off guard by his words. I would have preferred a survivor, even a dishonorable, scaredy-cat one with a bad attitude. But he said these words from a place of so much love and admiration, that I knew after I digested them, I would agree. It is in that spirit that I want people to pass on words from a loving place and honor what they see in others.


So, please help us celebrate Hart's 10th Birthday by telling 10 encouraging, meaningful, grateful truths to others and celebrate having such amazing people in your life!

STEADFAST

Steadfast Definition

dictionary.search.yahoo.com

adj. adjective

1. Fixed or unchanging; steady.
2. Firmly loyal or constant; unswerving.

My go-to description of my husband is that he is steadfast. Sometimes, I feel bad that this is how I describe him. I mean it as the highest of all compliments, but the word itself sounds boring and sans flair.  It is within its meaning that I find love every day and, admittedly, a soupçon of envy-I wish that I was more steadfast. I try, but to paraphrase that old saying -the only thing consistent about me is my inconsistency.

Because Steadfast Husband is so steady, he allows me to close my eyes waiting for the "all clear" while he assesses a situation. This has pretty much been the way it's been since we met. He encourages me to stand on a chair/sofa/table until he catches the wayward lizard, spider, bug, fuzzy hairball (that I swear was smirking at me as it crept across the floor), he vets moppet injuries and describes them to me allowing me to decide if I am brave enough to take a peek, (we laugh/cringe that I was a science major with an eye on medical school when we met in college) and pretty much "allows" me to completely over-react to any and all situations while he remains...well, steadfast.

He is also the best gift giver in the world (and I am not just saying this because our anniversary is coming up and I'm trying to solicit a good gift!) When the occasion calls for a gift, he puts so much thought and effort into getting the recipient something they will treasure. He also has a file folder in his brain labeled "gifts" or "what someone said they liked once which will make a good gift sometime". I must admit that a person has to be very careful about what they say they like in front of him. It took me 20 years to realize that I should say, "I like it, but I don't want it" or I am likely to find it presented to me, wrapped with a bow. Or comment with precision, "I like the lines of that chair, but the color is hideous and I don't want one-or anything in that color. Ever." It runs in his family, my in-laws are very thoughtful gift-givers as well. For Christmas one year, my father-in-law picked out a vase for me because it had my sorority flowers painted on it. My mother-in-law never makes you feel like buying you a gift is on her "to do" list and she was just trying to get it checked off. It makes a person feel very special and celebrated. He has also passed it on to the moppets, which is awesome! (I am working on this too, but I think perhaps my procrastinating nature serves as a bit of a roadblock!)

One of my favorite things about him is that he does not judge others, not about "big" things or small (I honestly can't even get him to "dish" after a party about the person who walked around unaware of the pickled yam stuck to their face -it's a little annoying, but mostly sweet). He also loves unconditionally-not necessarily easily, but once he does love someone, it's without condition.

So when I say he is steadfast, these are the things I mean. But I've decided to spice it up a bit and next time someone asked me to describe my husband, I'm going to say he's steadfast... and hot! (and I hope that the moppets are within earshot because their embarrassment=priceless!)

Hidden Treasure

The other night the moppets suggested that we watch home movies. I've got to be honest, watching hours of recorded school projects, Steadfast Husband telling everyone to, "Say, 'Hi'," and various moppets' firsts* is not my favorite thing to do.  But the other night watching reenacted memories just felt right. So when they asked, I agree, née encouraged the home video bender to commence. (*To be clear, we have never caught an actual first on camera, but have done an awesomely mediocre job of enthusiastically recording recreated firsts).

At The Cottage, watching home movies is quite an ordeal and truly requires perseverance. We still haven't converted our VHS tapes to DVDs and our VCR is 138 years old...so after 45 minutes of finagling (by Steadfast Husband), hundreds of queries of "is it ready, yet?" (by the moppets), lots of unsolicited advice "just hit play!" (also the moppets) and endless heckling (by me- I believe in the motivational powers of heckling), Fall of 2004 came to life in full blurry black and white.

Snippets of Oldest Son, at age 13, skateboarding, Oldest Daughter, then 10, doing an interview-style book review, with her 7 year-old sister serving as the hard-hitting interviewer and middle and youngest sons showing true brotherly love as only a 4 year-old and 2 year-old can- hugging each other- with the acumen of professional wrestlers, with huge teeth-gritting smiles on their little faces, (there may have been some mooning as well, but I don't want to embarrass anyone).

I must admit to losing interest- a little (and by a little, I mean just a smidgen shy of completely), and was weighing my desire to flee with my lack of desire to move, when the sound of my nasally narrative roused me from my debate. "Okay, let me finish changing him, then you can hold him," I heard. I looked up at the screen to discover the most precious treasure ever! Crackling video footage of sweet baby Hart, he was lying on a blanket on the floor and I was zipping up his romper. I had never seen this footage before! I felt like one of those people who discovers an original Picasso hidden behind a painting of a leprechaun.

Watching the video, it is clear that we were aware that it was being filmed, but none of us had any memory of it, nor could anyone recall ever watching it. We all sat there and watched in silent awe. It was so amazing. And beautiful. And mundane-a diaper change, youngest son patiently waiting, then holding his baby brother-which held his interest for exactly 17 seconds, after which he scooted out from underneath our tandem baby holding fun and started climbing on the furniture. The beauty of the moment was in its complete ordinariness.

“I've seen and met angels wearing the disguise of ordinary people living ordinary lives”
                                                                                                                    -Tracy Chapman

It was the best feeling ever! Like that one perfectly magical Christmas morning that you experience once (even if it only exists in rewritten memories) and hold as the standard for every Christmas morning after!

I might still be sitting there now, lost in my reverie if I wasn't olfactively snapped out of it twenty minutes later when one of our adorable dogs had a smack-down with a skunk.

In my heart it still feels like Christmas morning! (Like an old-fashioned Christmas morning 'round the rendering plant, but Christmas morning all the same!)

“Oh, Please Don't Go! I'll Eat You Up, I Love You So!”

I feel like only parents and monsters can possibly understand the kind of love that is so strong (or maniacal) for which I'll "eat you up" seems appropriate. In addition to the threat of cannibalism, I've told the moppets that I love them so much that it hurts my heart sometimes, which they found insulting, but I find beautiful. It is one of the best feelings in the world. Completely different from my love for my husband, not stronger, just different. Perhaps it is the lopsided dynamic that makes it so different, perhaps it is all the wiping, (noses, faces, boo-boos, bottoms), or the responsibility, I'm not sure what it is exactly, but it is big and it is powerful.  God help the person who comes between a Mama and her baby. We love our children with the objective of creating loving, productive, thoughtful people who we will send out into the world to share their gifts and what they have learned with others. (Although I must admit that sometimes I wish the goal was figuring out a way to fold them up and put them in my pocket to in order to keep them near me at all times, but I realize that would be wrong and probably more than a little cumbersome!)

Oldest Daughter is home for the "summer" (only until mid-July, which is when summer is just getting started in my book). She recently graduated from an acting conservatory and is now preparing for her next adventure on the road to the World of Real.

I don't spend a lot of time fretting about her ability to navigate life. She is ridiculously responsible. She is kind and adroit, expressive and intuitive. She isn't afraid of hard work. She is also an amazing writer and story teller. (Her attention to detail is uncanny-she used to tell me all about her day. In. Real. Time.) She is willing to take risks and explore new things. She has a gift for communicating her point of view in a way that evokes contemplation rather than confrontation (causing me to reexamine some subjects that I thought I had already completely vetted.)  Spending time with OD is one of my favorite things to do!

Some other things I dig about OD: She purposely throws words I love, like penultimate and discombobulation, into every day conversations. She humors me when I say things like "there really should be an eye-rolling app. Seriously. Isn't that brilliant? an eye rolling app? Then you could roll your eyes, but no one could see. Or everyone could see. Either way-it's genius."  She doesn't roll her eyes at me when I hit repeat for the 14th time when I want to hear a song again or when I proclaim there should be a musical of That Thing You Do. (But if there was an app for that, she could virtually roll her eyes at me, and I wouldn't even know!) She thinks I'm hysterically funny (or at least has the good sense to act like she does).

I cry whenever she leaves home to return to NYC. I told her friend that once and she said her mom does the same thing, then she said, "It's terrible, I feel completely responsible." Which was a good reminder to tell OD that I miss her terribly, but that's the way it's supposed to be. I also said, "I can't miss you if you don't go away." Although it may have sounded more like, "I would rather miss you than throw objects at you-which wouldn't miss you- to motivate you to get the heck out of my house."

I feel so fortunate to be her Mama, but the truth is, if I met OD out in the World of Real, I would still feel all these things.

“The days are long, but the years are short.” ― Gretchen Rubin

The Shame of my 11 Year Old Self and Possible Redemption...ummm-kinda?

Something I did when I was in fifth grade still haunts me to this day. So embarrassing, that just thinking about thinking about it, causes me to blush and feel sick to my stomach. I would call it the most horrible thing that I've ever done except that I feel like that's an invitation for my friends and family to point out the myriad of other terrible things I've done throughout my life-and I'm just not excited to open up that can of worms.

I try really, really hard to be kind and giving. Is this really just an attempt to make up for an utterly unkind, selfish act of my 5th grade self?

This is what happened. I was invited by my friend, Amy, to go see a play. I don't remember what the play was, but I remember what I wore (yes, I know-insert eye-roll here.) I wore my fabulous new Chinos and an adorable striped blazer over a white cotton shell. It is important to note that I was awkwardly trying to navigate prepubescent-hood and was grateful for the camouflage provided by my blazer. (I was completely confident in the fabulous-ness of my outfit and oblivious to the fact that it actually caused me to look more like a 10 year old boy, not less.)

Amy, her mom and I took our seats in the theater and were eagerly awaiting the commencement of the play when we heard a loud BOOM, followed by a scream and smoke wafting from behind the curtain. We were quickly evacuated from the theater and ushered into the lobby.

According to my parents, I have been terrified of fire since birth. I would cry at the strike of a match, my birthday candles remained unlit and I cut a wide berth around anything with a flame.I spent many sleepless nights waiting for our house to catch on fire- I was an exhausted, but well-prepared child. So, the explosion followed by the plume of smoke, sent me into a state of hyper-awareness enveloped in a bubble of distorted time and exaggerated emotion. I was completely appalled by the laissez faire attitude of the theater powers-that-be. Obviously the whole building was about to burst into flames, and they asked us to wait in the lobby? Seriously? A full evacuation was clearly in order.

I tried to convince Amy's mom that we should wait in the car. She tried to convince me to mind my own business (I'm just kidding-kinda)-obviously I needed another plan. As I was trying to plot the most expedient exit route (contemplating the application of emergency door rules in what seemed to me extenuating circumstances-on the one hand, there was an explosion-on the other hand, we had been told to wait in the lobby-curses to my rule-following self!) a woman rushed up to me and asked for my jacket.

 I said, "Pardon me?" (Actually, I probably said "huh?")

"Can I have your shirt?" she asked as she tugged on my jacket, "I need it. To wrap around Tony's burns."

Blank stare.

"Tony, the man who was burned! You have another shirt on."

I said, and here it is, my moment of shame, "Ummm, no."

She said, "WHAT!?!" (I swear her eyes popped out of her head-just like in a cartoon.)

I said, "I'm sorry, it's actually a jacket and it goes with this shirt." Before the words were out of my mouth, I knew how ridiculously selfish I sounded. The woman looked at me for a moment-I'm not sure if she was trying to digest what I had said or if she was contemplating punching me in the face. Either way, she pushed past me in search of a less-selfish, more caring, patron-someone more (at all) concerned with the medical well-being of another human being.

So between discovering I was the most selfish person on the planet and the trauma caused by the explosion, I was completely discombobulated. For the rest of the day I was in a fog of trauma, shame and fear. I do not remember the show (although I vaguely remember someone saying something like, "Sorry for all the excitement folks. We had a bit of a mishap with one of the special effects. Tony is on his way to the ER and they think he's going to be just fine-in spite of the selfish acts of one selfish girl who selfishly refused to give him her jacket," then shooting me the stink eye-okay I may have been imagining that last part, but maybe not.)

At random moments, I am reminded of this "incident" and get all inwardly embarrassed, turn outwardly red and try desperately to purge the thoughts from my mind. But recently, I was in NYC visiting Oldest Daughter, when this memory invaded my thoughts and I decided it was time to do something about it. So, since I can't undo the past, I was trying to figure out what I could do now that would feel like I was making ammends for not doing the right thing when I was 11. So, I set out to give away my coat. Walk. Walk. Walk. Look. Look. Look. I couldn't find anyone who was out without a coat. Initially I was disappointed, then I was happy, because it was cold and it was good that no one was out without a coat. So I got online and looked for a coat drive. I found this New York Cares Coat Drive and there was a drop-off place right around the corner! Serendipity!

NYPD 10th Precinct was a drop-off location (although the Desk Sargent seemed a little confused by the whole thing-I could sense he wasn't completely mesmerized from, "When I was 11," but I felt like I really lost him at "but, you see, it was actually a jacket, not a shirt at all.") So, I said, "Here," and thrust my coat at him. Then I decided that his disinterest was actually reverie and walked out feeling all warm and tingly.

PS If you walk into a police station, hand them something, walk out onto the street, turn and take a picture with your cell phone, they may watch you. For a long time. Until you're off their street. 

HARTbroken

This morning when I woke up, I was already crying. When I opened my eyes, thimbles worth of tears fell onto my pillow. Usually, there is the "honeymoon" period after I wake-up, that moment just before I remember, when all is right with the world, before feelings wash over me. Before emotion, like a wave when you're facing the shore, takes me completely off guard and envelopes me wholly. Not today. Today, I was feeling before I woke up. Mourning before the shackles of sleep began to loosen their grip.

Nine years ago today, Hart died. There are so many emotions-all flooding to the surface, competing for my attention.  Pain, emptiness, sadness and gratitude. Gratitude may seem like an odd emotion to feel in association with the loss of a child, but I am so grateful that I got to spend time and get to know my little boy. This is what I feel most strongly. Today, gratitude wins. Without gratitude, the other feelings would be irrelevant. I wouldn't ache for my child, my arms wouldn't feel empty, my heart wouldn't feel like a chunk of it is missing. It was the cost of admission to loving Hart and was such a small price to pay. And I would pay it all over again, plus everything I have and am to have one more day, hour, minute with him.

Yet, I remember, at the time, saying to God "I don't know how much longer I can do this." I couldn't continue to watch him die, it was excruciating. I was grateful that he died (relatively) quickly. That his suffering was short. I try not to feel guilty, especially now, when I am not emotionally empty and physically exhausted. When I am not completely depleted of everything that gives me life. But, at the time, I felt like I was on the verge of disintegrating, melting, imploding or just running full speed through the plate glass window.

I believe the passage of time is a beautiful gift. It allows the acute awareness of details fade, the sharp pain of hurt to dull. It enables us to polish memories, and to even completely rewrite history. Today I say that I would do anything to have one more minute-and I mean that, I would. But I know that it is my revisionist version and not how I felt at the time. I remember telling my husband, I truly cannot go on like this, and I know I meant it. I feel embarrassed and ashamed to admit that now, but I know that's how I felt and it wasn't until more than a year after he died that I felt differently.

My husband and I made a deal when Hart was born that we would live his life with no regrets. That whatever we did, we would know that we were doing the best we could, that there would be no second guessing. At the time, and for a long time after, that was easy to do, but as time passes, moments of "I wish we would have...," or "if only we...," creep into my being. More pictures (there were hundreds) less worry, more videos, less conversation, one more kiss...