This year was a really inspirational year, and I became aware of many organizations and groups and programs and other mothers that share my status as "Mommy of an angel". I have read many blogs and shared facebook posts with several people who share this heartbreak. But in talking to them and reading their stories, I have to wonder, is there something wrong with ME?
I know everyone deals with grief differently. But the mothers I have talked to/read about, they all seem to have died with their children. Many of them stopped functioning for days, weeks, months afterward. Many of them went directly into fighting for a cause or expressing their feelings artistically. Many of them have no "self" without their lost child.
I didn't do any of those things. I didn't seclude myself from family or friends or holidays. I didn't quit my job or stay in bed or cry all the time. I didn't get inspired immediately. I didn't lose myself or fall away from my husband.
I cried. Those first few days were the hardest I have ever been through. But I was on a mission to put the funeral together, so I didn't have time to sit and cry. After the funeral, I went back to my regular schedule of work and taking care of Xavier and going about my life. Yes, certain things did change. Some people were hard to deal with, awkward to be around, but I got past that. It took until this fall for me to get inspired enough to "do something" in Ian's honor.
So why am I so different than these other mothers? Did I love my son less than they love their children? No, I don't think so. Am I just cold and heartless? I really hope not. Am I in some form of denial, and one day all this grief that I don't know is there is going to jump out and smack me in the face and leave me in a helpless puddle on the ground? I really don't know.
What I know is that I loved Ian as much as I knew how and love him more every day. There is not one day that he doesn't cross my mind and that I don't miss him like crazy. And wish I knew what he would be like as he grew up. And there are times, like right now, where just the thought of him makes me cry. And I wish I could just hug him and tell him I love him one last time.
But I don't feel the urge to shut down; I guess it's just not the type of person I am. And everyone deals with things differently I suppose.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Favorite Christmas Stories
Here are two of my favorite Christmas stories of my kids:
Xavier
Christmas of 2004
Our family is attending the Candlelight Memorial Service that was held at the funeral home where we had Ian's service. They have a high school girl leading the group in Silent Night. The room is very quiet as everyone is singing very solemnly. We get to the end of the verse where it says "Christ, our Saviour, is born". Xavier, who is almost 4 says (in a very "four year old" voice - a.k.a LOUDLY) "Hey, that's MY name!"
Emma
Christmas of 2010
Every year we go to see Santa at the Children's Museum. My children are convinced that he is the REAL Santa; all the others at the mall/Wal-mart/etc. are helpers. Don't ask me, it's just what they came up with. So anyway, after seeing Santa, we usually go to see the Circle of Lights downtown. And we have told the kids that Santa (from the Museum) comes downtown to turn on the lights. When you are in the crowd of thousands of people, you don't really get to "see" Santa all that well when you are there. So up until now, this logic has worked out.
Well, this year, it was WAY cold and John is very little and I just don't really want to fight the crowds (because people are RUDE when they are in a crowd. Well, they are!), so we decide to watch the festivities from home. The program is nice, I can tell it was wise not to have been downtown, and all is well. That is, until Santa gets there. He arrives in a truck this year. The cameras zoom in so the TV audience can get a good look at the Jolly Ol' Man. And Emma says, "Mom, I don't think you are right." I respond, "About what?" Emma: "I'm pretty sure that's not the guy I talked to this morning."
I just responded, "Well, Santa must have been so tired from arriving at the museum and seeing all the excited children and eating all the cookies that he must have needed a helper to turn on the lights."
Hope this logic carries us through until she looks at all the pictures of herself with Santa (all taken at the museum, 'cuz THAT'S where we go) and notices he looks a bit different every year, too. :)
Xavier
Christmas of 2004
Our family is attending the Candlelight Memorial Service that was held at the funeral home where we had Ian's service. They have a high school girl leading the group in Silent Night. The room is very quiet as everyone is singing very solemnly. We get to the end of the verse where it says "Christ, our Saviour, is born". Xavier, who is almost 4 says (in a very "four year old" voice - a.k.a LOUDLY) "Hey, that's MY name!"
Emma
Christmas of 2010
Every year we go to see Santa at the Children's Museum. My children are convinced that he is the REAL Santa; all the others at the mall/Wal-mart/etc. are helpers. Don't ask me, it's just what they came up with. So anyway, after seeing Santa, we usually go to see the Circle of Lights downtown. And we have told the kids that Santa (from the Museum) comes downtown to turn on the lights. When you are in the crowd of thousands of people, you don't really get to "see" Santa all that well when you are there. So up until now, this logic has worked out.
Well, this year, it was WAY cold and John is very little and I just don't really want to fight the crowds (because people are RUDE when they are in a crowd. Well, they are!), so we decide to watch the festivities from home. The program is nice, I can tell it was wise not to have been downtown, and all is well. That is, until Santa gets there. He arrives in a truck this year. The cameras zoom in so the TV audience can get a good look at the Jolly Ol' Man. And Emma says, "Mom, I don't think you are right." I respond, "About what?" Emma: "I'm pretty sure that's not the guy I talked to this morning."
I just responded, "Well, Santa must have been so tired from arriving at the museum and seeing all the excited children and eating all the cookies that he must have needed a helper to turn on the lights."
Hope this logic carries us through until she looks at all the pictures of herself with Santa (all taken at the museum, 'cuz THAT'S where we go) and notices he looks a bit different every year, too. :)
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Benefits of Walmart
Okay, so I know some people hate Walmart, think it is the root of all that is evil. But I admit that I love it.
I love the convenience, cost savings, entertainment value. Just about everything really.
I especially love it when you get extra surprises like this:
See this package? (Sorry, it wouldn't upload landscaped, don't know why)
How many biscuits do you get in this package?
Okay, see the baking sheet?
How many biscuits are there?
Yep, I had to count them a time or two to make sure I wasn't crazy.Guess I just got lucky this time :)
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Easy Candy Recipe to Make with Kids
Okay, so this is totally NOT my own recipe, but I got it from a friend and thought I would share, as it is a GREAT treat to make with your kids:
What you need is 24 oz (1 pkg) white almond bark, 2/3 cup creamy peanut butter (don't use crunchy; it doesn't turn out right), 2 cups rice krispies, 2 cups small marshmallows, 2 cups dry salted peanuts.
Break almond bark up into smaller pieces, and put half into microwave-safe bowl
Microwave for 1 minute to melt
Take out, and stir until melted throughout
Add remaining almond bark, and stir into first portion. Microwave in 30 second intervals and stir in between until completely melted. Be careful not to scorch!
Stir peanut butter into almond bark "soup"
Add krispies, mallows and nuts to peanut butter mixture and mix thoroughly
Drop by spoonful on to wax paper and let cool
Makes about 40 pieces
What you need is 24 oz (1 pkg) white almond bark, 2/3 cup creamy peanut butter (don't use crunchy; it doesn't turn out right), 2 cups rice krispies, 2 cups small marshmallows, 2 cups dry salted peanuts.
Break almond bark up into smaller pieces, and put half into microwave-safe bowl
Microwave for 1 minute to melt
Take out, and stir until melted throughout
Add remaining almond bark, and stir into first portion. Microwave in 30 second intervals and stir in between until completely melted. Be careful not to scorch!
Stir peanut butter into almond bark "soup"
Add krispies, mallows and nuts to peanut butter mixture and mix thoroughly
Drop by spoonful on to wax paper and let cool
Makes about 40 pieces
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
To Nana
This is the eulogy I wrote for my Nana:
The words I am about to say were both the easiest and hardest I have ever written. Easiest because honestly, I could stand here for days telling you about my Nana. Hardest because today I have to use the word "was" to tell you about someone who is so much a part of who I am.
Monica Sue McHenry was born on July 29th, 1934. She was the fifth child of Otto Sr. and Ruth McHenry. She married Tommy Hinds on January 22nd, 1954, and their family tree grew one son, three daughters, five grandsons, four granddaughters, three great grandsons and three great granddaughters (so far).
Over the past week, those of us closest to her have spent time looking through pictures and reminiscing and as we prepared for this day, we realized we don't know much about the little details about Nana, things like her favorite song or color, because that was the type of person she was: it was always about the other person with her. She lived in the present and didn't share much about herself, so when she did, you hung onto those stories for dear life.
One of the stories she shared with me was about a meeting she went to as a child with a neighborhood friend. She asked her mother if she could go to this meeting on a Sunday morning with her friend and the friend's father. She got permission and went. When she returned, her mother wanted to know if she had a good time and what they did. Little six year old Monica was so excited about the parade she got to be in where the grown-ups wore long white robes and silly pointed hats. Turns out the meeting was for the KKK and little Monica didn't get to attend any more meetings with her friend.
Even though I don't know much about her childhood, I can tell you all about the thing she was born to be: a Nana.
What is a Nana, you may ask? While I did not give her the name, I spent many Fridays (and Tuesdays, Wednesdays and others thrown in there) over the past 29 years learning what that word means.
Nana is the first person to take care of you when you join her family. Nana buys you your first training bra and teaches you to shave when your mother won't because she thinks you are too young. She makes the best ice cream sundaes, is a miracle worker - she is like Jesus with the loaves and fishes because she can turn two pork chops in to a meal for everyone who stops by unexpectedly. Nana bought the best gifts, made the best forts in the front room, shared the coziest bubble baths, was the best listener, gave the best advice (even if she just let you figure it out for yourself), was NOT the best secret keeper, because everyone could go to Nana. You had to remember that when chatting with her because your mother WOULD find out what you said (but you also got to hear what your mom said about you too).
Nana is the reason my mom and I made it through the pre-teen/teenage years, because her's was the place I could go, when I didn't belong at mom's house. She gave the best hugs and had the most comfortable lap, and I am sure if her little body was able, she could still rock me to sleep today.
She loved unconditionally and would fight for you if she needed to. She was a lover of music and art, especially that done by a three year old.
She was your biggest supporter, your best friend. She was my best friend.
Over that 29 years of Fridays, she taught me many lessons. But three stand out the most.
First, she taught me that you don't have to have anything to have everything. She was not a high school graduate, she didn't have a prestigious career, didn't retire from anywhere. She never owned a car - never even learned to drive. She almost hit a barn and they quit trying to teach her. She didn't own a house, but always lived in a home. She didn't go on fancy trips or have diamonds, jewels or pearls. But what she did have was her family, and she was rarely without a baby in her arms. And that was all she needed to be truly happy.
She taught me that there is always room for family. There was never a time in her adult life where she didn't open her heart and home to extra family. It never mattered how many beds or rooms were available: if you needed a place to be, Nana's was always there.
And she taught me that life isn't fair, but you don't get to give up. Her life was full of hard times. She married a man that needed to be kept in line ALOT, but she loved him to the end. She was diagnosed with cancer and had radical surgeries that changed her life. And when they told her she would never talk again, she spent hours in her bathtub practicing the word hor'dourves to prove them wrong. She survived her parents, her siblings, her husband, several nieces and nephews, her son-in-law and her great grandson. And through it all, she kept a smile on her face.
Over the past two years, and certainly the past five months when her life was the hardest, we watched and prayed and did all we could to help her as she moved from friend to angel.
There are three types of healing: medical, where the doctors give you medicine or perform procedures to heal you; miracle, where God cures you; and spiritual, where you body is no longer able to be fixed, so your soul gets to move on.
My little Emma was by her Nana's side through many of the hardest days, and she has asked me about dying and how you get to Heaven. And I have explained to her that everyone has a special ticket and how you have to wait to get your ticket and it is one-way (when you go to Heaven, you can't come back), and I have explained that your soul is what goes to Heaven, and your soul is made of your happiness and love and that is what gets to be an angel.
And over the past five months, me and God have done a lot of talking. I may not have a traditional relationship with him, but we get through things together. Like my Nana, I have seen a lot of hard times, and after my son's death, a friend gave me the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It was written by a rabbi and talks about how free will is responsible for the things that happen on Earth, and how God is like Nana and just helps you get through those times. That he is the God of everyone, so he doesn't use bad times to punish us. And it says that it is okay to question him and get mad at him and even hate him at times. Because like any relationship, you can't praise him for all the good and not blame him for any of the bad. God's shoulders are big enough to carry your pain, and he loves you enough, like Nana, to be able to handle your anger. Those thoughts have been what have gotten me through my hard times, and certainly the past five months. And as you grieve this loss with me, I hope those words bring you comfort as well.
So now, we must take the lessons Nana's life gave us and carry on. We need to love our family unconditionally and never give up. To cry when we need to, laugh when we can, and love always!
I love you, Nana!
The words I am about to say were both the easiest and hardest I have ever written. Easiest because honestly, I could stand here for days telling you about my Nana. Hardest because today I have to use the word "was" to tell you about someone who is so much a part of who I am.
Monica Sue McHenry was born on July 29th, 1934. She was the fifth child of Otto Sr. and Ruth McHenry. She married Tommy Hinds on January 22nd, 1954, and their family tree grew one son, three daughters, five grandsons, four granddaughters, three great grandsons and three great granddaughters (so far).
Over the past week, those of us closest to her have spent time looking through pictures and reminiscing and as we prepared for this day, we realized we don't know much about the little details about Nana, things like her favorite song or color, because that was the type of person she was: it was always about the other person with her. She lived in the present and didn't share much about herself, so when she did, you hung onto those stories for dear life.
One of the stories she shared with me was about a meeting she went to as a child with a neighborhood friend. She asked her mother if she could go to this meeting on a Sunday morning with her friend and the friend's father. She got permission and went. When she returned, her mother wanted to know if she had a good time and what they did. Little six year old Monica was so excited about the parade she got to be in where the grown-ups wore long white robes and silly pointed hats. Turns out the meeting was for the KKK and little Monica didn't get to attend any more meetings with her friend.
Even though I don't know much about her childhood, I can tell you all about the thing she was born to be: a Nana.
What is a Nana, you may ask? While I did not give her the name, I spent many Fridays (and Tuesdays, Wednesdays and others thrown in there) over the past 29 years learning what that word means.
Nana is the first person to take care of you when you join her family. Nana buys you your first training bra and teaches you to shave when your mother won't because she thinks you are too young. She makes the best ice cream sundaes, is a miracle worker - she is like Jesus with the loaves and fishes because she can turn two pork chops in to a meal for everyone who stops by unexpectedly. Nana bought the best gifts, made the best forts in the front room, shared the coziest bubble baths, was the best listener, gave the best advice (even if she just let you figure it out for yourself), was NOT the best secret keeper, because everyone could go to Nana. You had to remember that when chatting with her because your mother WOULD find out what you said (but you also got to hear what your mom said about you too).
Nana is the reason my mom and I made it through the pre-teen/teenage years, because her's was the place I could go, when I didn't belong at mom's house. She gave the best hugs and had the most comfortable lap, and I am sure if her little body was able, she could still rock me to sleep today.
She loved unconditionally and would fight for you if she needed to. She was a lover of music and art, especially that done by a three year old.
She was your biggest supporter, your best friend. She was my best friend.
Over that 29 years of Fridays, she taught me many lessons. But three stand out the most.
First, she taught me that you don't have to have anything to have everything. She was not a high school graduate, she didn't have a prestigious career, didn't retire from anywhere. She never owned a car - never even learned to drive. She almost hit a barn and they quit trying to teach her. She didn't own a house, but always lived in a home. She didn't go on fancy trips or have diamonds, jewels or pearls. But what she did have was her family, and she was rarely without a baby in her arms. And that was all she needed to be truly happy.
She taught me that there is always room for family. There was never a time in her adult life where she didn't open her heart and home to extra family. It never mattered how many beds or rooms were available: if you needed a place to be, Nana's was always there.
And she taught me that life isn't fair, but you don't get to give up. Her life was full of hard times. She married a man that needed to be kept in line ALOT, but she loved him to the end. She was diagnosed with cancer and had radical surgeries that changed her life. And when they told her she would never talk again, she spent hours in her bathtub practicing the word hor'dourves to prove them wrong. She survived her parents, her siblings, her husband, several nieces and nephews, her son-in-law and her great grandson. And through it all, she kept a smile on her face.
Over the past two years, and certainly the past five months when her life was the hardest, we watched and prayed and did all we could to help her as she moved from friend to angel.
There are three types of healing: medical, where the doctors give you medicine or perform procedures to heal you; miracle, where God cures you; and spiritual, where you body is no longer able to be fixed, so your soul gets to move on.
My little Emma was by her Nana's side through many of the hardest days, and she has asked me about dying and how you get to Heaven. And I have explained to her that everyone has a special ticket and how you have to wait to get your ticket and it is one-way (when you go to Heaven, you can't come back), and I have explained that your soul is what goes to Heaven, and your soul is made of your happiness and love and that is what gets to be an angel.
And over the past five months, me and God have done a lot of talking. I may not have a traditional relationship with him, but we get through things together. Like my Nana, I have seen a lot of hard times, and after my son's death, a friend gave me the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It was written by a rabbi and talks about how free will is responsible for the things that happen on Earth, and how God is like Nana and just helps you get through those times. That he is the God of everyone, so he doesn't use bad times to punish us. And it says that it is okay to question him and get mad at him and even hate him at times. Because like any relationship, you can't praise him for all the good and not blame him for any of the bad. God's shoulders are big enough to carry your pain, and he loves you enough, like Nana, to be able to handle your anger. Those thoughts have been what have gotten me through my hard times, and certainly the past five months. And as you grieve this loss with me, I hope those words bring you comfort as well.
So now, we must take the lessons Nana's life gave us and carry on. We need to love our family unconditionally and never give up. To cry when we need to, laugh when we can, and love always!
I love you, Nana!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Who Popped My Bubble?
Okay, so all you dream interpreters out there read this:
Last night I had a dream that I dived (?dove?) into a body of water. I swam all the way to the bottom and when I got there, it was dry, like I was in a bubble. I then laid there and rested on the bottom of the pool/tank/whatever on my belly. It was really peaceful.
But after a while, I decided to move and couldn't get up or move any part of me, like there was all of a sudden tons of pressure pushing down on my entire body. I struggled for a bit and then the "bubble" "popped" and all the water came rushing down towards me. I fought to get up or move without success, and I woke up before the water got to me.
What does it mean?
Last night I had a dream that I dived (?dove?) into a body of water. I swam all the way to the bottom and when I got there, it was dry, like I was in a bubble. I then laid there and rested on the bottom of the pool/tank/whatever on my belly. It was really peaceful.
But after a while, I decided to move and couldn't get up or move any part of me, like there was all of a sudden tons of pressure pushing down on my entire body. I struggled for a bit and then the "bubble" "popped" and all the water came rushing down towards me. I fought to get up or move without success, and I woke up before the water got to me.
What does it mean?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Hot Mess
Emma comes downstairs in this outfit as we are headed out to dinner. She stops and says "Pretty much, I'm a Hot Mess today"
Jim is trying to teach her to not use her middle ("bad") finger for pointing and other things. She says "It's not bad if I point it at myself"
She's a riot!
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