We’ve all heard the phrase “it takes a village to raise a child”. Well, it took becoming a mother before I realized just how true that statement is. Whether it’s carpooling to school events, lifting each other up with funny meme’s, or stepping in as the reliever when you witness your friend on their last nerve with their melting down toddler – it sooo takes a village. What I’m understanding now is how grieving a child takes a village as well.
Last week’s post got me thinking about exposing death to children and how those experiences mold them as they grow. Perhaps this was a bit more front of mind because Hayden’s House, the retreat home I attended several years ago that, “provides a safe, tranquil space for bereaved mothers, fathers, couples, children and families to heal and connect together through a variety of methods…” was forced to put their retreat home on the market by their HOA.
“Mommy! Mommy! Can you put your lipstip on me ?!” I put tinted lip gloss on Strawbaby once and have been regretting it ever since.
“When I’m done with my work, ok? Why don’t you draw a picture?”
Two minutes later…
“Mommy, look at my picture! It’s for baby Adelaide! Can I give it to her?”
And there it was. The conversation I knew we would have sooner or later was happening today at this very moment.
Welp, that springtime induced calm and happiness lasted a whole week before the storm clouds rolled in hot and heavy. By Monday morning I was answering for that week of fair weather motivated procrastination. Seriously, how does one family produce so much laundry? And why does sending my children to school result in me having to read and respond to a bajillion emails per week concerning said school?
It’s hard to not be in a good mood during those first warm days of spring, when the sky is clear, the flowers are blooming, and the trees start to bud. I feel (self-imposed) pressure to maintain a state of happiness like it’s an achievement to be unlocked in a video game. But what I am coming to understand is that life, our emotions, our state of mind is always going to be in flux. That pure unfiltered joy is not the status quo - and that's not only ok it is healthy and normal.
For those of us well-versed in epilepsy, the connection between seizures and their psychological effects is a no-brainer (pun intended). However, the lack of available providers and treatments is all at once infuriating and devastating. This is a topic that comes up all too often during my interviews for CURE Epilepsy’s Seizing Life podcast. It is also one that this week’s guest blogger, Yarrow Rubin beautifully describes in a powerful essay.
Inchstone celebration coming at you! I’m not entirely sure when I reached it exactly, it sort of snuck up on me, but at some point I started thinking about the future again. And not just thinking about it, but actually looking forward to it – even planning for it. Some future thought is inevitable: schedules must be made, kids activities signed up for, babysitters booked. The kind of future thought I’ve caught myself engaging in is more like daydreaming or borderline manifesting. It is equally hopeful and utterly terrifying.
“Pause it.” I told Miguel. We were on our couch watching The Last of Us. “I’ve had a realization and I need to say out loud so I don’t forget it.” Miguel acquiesced accustomed to my sporadic needs to verbalize my revelations. “Why is it that most of the time when a tv or movie character experiences deep loss, especially the loss of a child, they are forever depressed, sulking and generally unlikable? I mean its no wonder that people struggle as much as they do in grief and guilt when their main entertainment examples are so miserable!”
It dawned on me this week that I am real-time witnessing Jackson’s gradual shift from childhood to pre-teen teendom. That we only have years (months?) of childhood left. And we are all clinging to his vanishing childhood like Strawbaby to a piece of cake.
In honor of Rare Disease Day (which was this past Tuesday), I am highlighting the story of a fellow rare disease zebra: Fiona Wilson, who was born with Turner Syndrome. Rare diseases can be so very isolating because they are, by definition, rare. It makes finding a community that understands imperative. Fiona’s diagnosis may be rare, but her experience is far from it. And her lessons are universal. Just ask Stephen Sondheim (“Alexa: play ‘You Are Not Alone’ from Into the Woods”).
Strawbaby is officially older than Adelaide ever was. I thought that milestone would hit harder than it did - but the day came and went. So I hoped I might also make it through Strawbaby’s fourth birthday unscathed. And I almost did, until we sat down at the nail salon - or the nail salam as Strawbaby called it. Still, I was proud of myself for how I managed the day even if I slipped a little at the end.
This is not a drill. It’s happening. It really freaking happening.
My publisher let me know that Normal Broken would be available for online presale at some point in February. Sooo… I may or may not have been stalking Amazon and Barnes & Noble each day to see if it was listed yet. Then as I refreshed my search, there it was: a close up of a large green palm-style leaf with a little red ladybug crawling along. Normal Broken: The Grief Companion for When it’s Time to Heal But You’re Not Sure You Want To is available for purchase.
