Various Readings - Dead Pets

I mentioned the recent death of our cat, Chicken, in my last post. I've gotten numerous messages of support on facebook - I didn't realize quite how many people had met her over the years, but what with the leg-licking thing I mentioned in the other post, she tended to make an impression - a wet, gross impression, but still (also, she was very sweet and cute and affectionate, so ... ). I also didn't realize how many folks had taken care of her for us, when we were out of town. We will probably get another cat sometime (Simon really wants a dog, but I am simply not up for it), but I think I will enjoy a break from scooping cat litter for awhile, and maybe I'll manage to get rid of some of the Chicken fur that has accumulated on every surface, before we make any moves toward another pet.

This is the first pet death that Simon has been through. We had another cat, Cat Stevens (we usually called him Steven), who died when Simon was about 18 months old, so he doesn't remember that. We've read a number of books and whatnot about it, so I hope this is helpful for other parents:

1. City Dog, Country Frog by Mo Willems. We know Willems from his books about Trixie and Knuffle Bunny, and this is definitely a different tone. This is a wonderful book, and it is about animals but you could use it to talk about any death. It made me cry the first couple of times we read it, when Simon was younger, and I definitely cried when we read it this time around, last week. It does have a good message about death being a part of life, not something to be afraid of, and that we miss people/animals when they're gone, but we go on living. Nice.

Matt is going to loan "our" copy (it's a library book) to another family at David's preschool, because their little boy evidently has had a lot of questions lately. The preschool is the basement of the Quaker meeting house with which it is affiliated, and the cemetery is just on the other side of the small parking lot. One day this kiddo and his mom were coming down the steps behind us, and I heard the boy asking his mom about the cemetery, and who is there, and when people die. His mom replied that most people die when they are quite old, and then the boy asked how "they" (the dead people) get to the cemetery. His mom replied that someone takes them there, and of course the boy then asked who, and his mom replied, "All the people who love them," which sounded just beautiful to me.

2. Goodbye, Mog by Judith Kerr. This is the last (obviously) in a series of books about Mog the Forgetful Cat. We had the original Mog book when we were growing up, I suppose I didn't realize there were any others until (this is one of Joanna's few "la-do-da" moments in life, so listen up) Matt and I were in Blackwell's Books in Oxford (yes, England, not Mississippi) and I saw several of them lined up on display. There's Mog's Bad Thing (which is yes, peeing in places other than the litter box), and Goodbye Mog, and I don't know how many others, but those are the two I bought. I was in the middle of this world-famous bookstore, nearly weeping in the children's section.

So we read this to the boys at bedtime, on the day Chicken died (she passed away early in the morning; she had been really really sick and I kind of thought she would die sometime that night, and ... yeah, she'd been coughing and hacking and making throwing-up sounds and I was trying to comfort her and not succeeding and then she just --- stopped). It is a little confusing, especially from our theological perspective, but I still really like it. The book starts off saying that Mog was old and tired, "dead tired," and that she wanted to go to sleep, so she did. That makes me slightly nervous because when a person dies you're not supposed to say "it's like they're sleeping" and when discussing plans for Chicken the day before, I'd been careful not to say that she might have to be "put to sleep" but used the big word "euthanized" instead. And then, most of Mog (leaves) but "a little bit stayed behind to see what would happen." This was a translucent sketch of Mog, that the family couldn't see, and at first I described it as "like a ghost" but then switched to "like an angel." Mog was really worried that the family would not be able to get along without her, and then when they got a new kitten it appeared to be the "wrong sort of kitten" that would not fit in. But the kitten can see the ghost/angel Mog, and so Mog teaches her what to do, and once the kitten gets the hang of it and Mog is convinced the family will be okay, she goes "up and up and up and straight into the sun."

Which brings us to the third story:

3. Rainbow Bridge - not a book, but a story, that was included with the little carved wooden box that came with Chicken's ashes. I'd never had a pet cremated before, and the whole experience was pretty nice. Now with a name like "Rainbow Bridge" there's no way this is not going to be the cheesiest, sappiest story in the world, and it was sort of, but I liked it. According to this little story, when a pet dies, they go to this sort of place of limbo, where they and all these other pets are frolicking about and having a great time, until their owner dies, and when the owner comes along, s/he and the pet go across this Rainbow Bridge together, to Heaven.

(Isn't that nice? I think it's a sweet idea). In our family I do tend to defer (but not submit, dammit) to Matt on most theological issues, as he is more, uh, learned. But on the subject of, "do pets go to heaven?" I laid down the law to Matt that our answer, when/if that question is asked, will be, "Yes." Because (a) who the hell knows? not me (I think that'a a Holden Caufield-ism), and (b) Simon is six (practically seven) and it is not going to hurt one tiny thing on earth if he (rightly or wrongly) believes that his dead cat is in heaven. Later in life he can make up his own mind, but I'm thinking that for now, this is a totally harmless thing to believe .... look, this kiddo already knows that all the little kids who died at Sandy Hook are in Heaven, and the people who died at the Boston Marathon bombing are in Heaven, etc. If he wants to think the cat is in Heaven, and it brings him some comfort, then by all means the cat is in Heaven.

Someone at our church, after reading my last post, recommended Will I See My Dog in Heaven?, written by a Franciscan friar who appears to believe the answer to that question is a resounding "Yes." My fellow (sister) church member says he backs this up pretty solidly, he's not just saying it because it feels good. I've not had a chance to check it out yet - maybe I'll make Pastor Matt read it first?

So I'm still thinking about Chicken the Cat just about every day, I'm still being reminded of her frequently, and when I do I'm sad and I miss her. She and I were together for a long time, and for a couple of years it was just the two of us. Simon is ready to get a new pet ... a parrot. I have actually always wanted a parrot, but I always had one or more cats, so ... but I am really hesitant to get anything that has a cage, because it stinks. I realize getting another cat means a stinky litter box (believe me, I know), but ... I don't know. We'll just have to see.

One more photo of Chicken. The white curve at the bottom of the photo is my pregnant-with-David belly; she's sitting on my lap and this are my blue pajama pant legs under her. All the Sesame Street figurines are from the Greatest Toy Ever, a Christmas present for Simon

when he was 1, maybe, from Aunt Tara, and either  Simon or David played with it Every.Single.Day for about four years straight.Unbelievable. And we still have just about all the "characters,"

as we have called them, which is even more unbelievable. 

:)

Surprising Joy, and Chicken

Part 1

I've meant to write this post for quite awhile, just haven't gotten around to much since I started my new job in January. I'm loving the job (part-time outpatient mental health therapist), but ever since I began working there has seemed to be one mini-crisis after another - mainly, lots of missed school days for the boys due to the weather. Pastor Matt has been wonderful in accommodating me being the "new kid" at work and making sure I could work if at all possible, which means he took care of the boys A LOT. Now that Spring finally seems to have really arrived, perhaps our family life will be a little calmer and I can get back to doing some writing - I have missed it, and it occurred to me last week that I've barely touched the "book" idea since we moved last summer.

We recently celebrated David's fourth birthday; I turn 39 (!) this weekend, then Simon will be 7 and Matt, 38, all in the next month. David continues to do quite well in his preschool; we're thinking we'll need to make a change for the summer and/or fall to something that offers a more full-day program, because we love his preschool but the fact that it lets out at 3:15 is a complicating factor for us. Simon will finish up the first grade soon; he has loved attending the after-school program since I started work, and he's signed up for the summer program that is basically 9 - 6 the entire summer, with lots of activities and field trips. I feel a little (   ) bad about having him in camp/school pretty much every day of summer break, but I recall that when we moved last summer and we didn't really have anything lined up for either boy ... it.was.a.nightmare.  I joked that once I found work, we were going to establish the Simon Dean Summer Camp 2014 Savings Fund and that he was going to go to camp Every Single Day, so I suppose I have gotten that wish. It's pricey, but to have it all worked out/arranged is worth it, I think. David will likely attend the summer program at his preschool, and we'll continue to work out picking him up every afternoon, but then maybe for the Fall we'll find a full-day daycare or preschool.

The title of this post comes from something that happened ... awhile back? A couple of months ago, probably? Is that how long I've been meaning to write this? ... There was some sort of mix-up with the child care provider for our Thursday night contemporary service at church, and so I ended up playing with David the whole time in the church nursery. He simply cannot be maintained in a church service, especially one when his Daddy is preaching, so I didn't even try. Normally this would be a stress-inducing experience, but we had so much fun - much more fun than I would've had sitting in the service without him. Here's some of what we did:

And here are some more (semi-) recent photos:

Part 2

One sad note - the cat I've had for about 15 years, Chicken, died a couple of weeks ago. She was old, obviously, and had been slowing down for awhile, slowing down more the past month and much

more so the last week. She seemed to have trouble walking and we were going to take her

to the vet, though I knew what the recommendation would be. But she died at home the 

morning before the appointment and we had her cremated. I've never done that before; growing up 

in the middle of the woods we always buried pets out in the woods, but it was a nice

experience. We got the ashes back in a nice little carved wooden box, and a card with a quote

and a little story professing that pets DO go to heaven, that dead pets exist in some sort of 

really nice pet limbo until their owners die and then you and the pet go to heaven together. 

I know Matt thinks this is total hooey, but it's a nice story.

This is Miss Chicken, as she was also known ("Pretty Girl" was another nickname)

at Christmas at our house in Cashiers. She was a very pretty cat, very soft fur, and her little face

was just always very clean and pretty and white. I got her when I lived alone in graduate

school, and for a couple of years it was she and I against the world, sort of. I've had her longer

than I've had Matt - when Matt & I met he was actually allergic to cats (I had two of them then, Cat 

Stevens died a few years ago) but I apparently made it clear they weren't going anywhere, and 

eventually the dander didn't bother him any more.

This is Chicken and Simon - how old was he, goodness? Maybe 18 months? If you are wondering

what Chicken is doing, she's not doing a routine bath. She was abandoned as a kitten and does

(did, frown) this wool-sucking thing that the vet called "wooling," that is common in kittens who

weren't weaned appropriately. A lot of cats do it to wool sweaters or broom straws, but as this girl

was abandoned near some train tracks there were neither of those things around, so she 

just sort of nursed on her thigh. Or, when she was younger it was her thigh, as you can see in this photo she has gotten on a bit in years, is less flexible, and is sort of doing it to her side. Most

cats outgrow it, but this one did not. She did it pretty much every single day of her life. You could predict that whenever she sat down in your lap and started to purr, she would do it, and

even I have to admit it was kind of ... gross. She'd do it for an hour if you let her

(and no, I never really tried to do much about it), and that's a lot of wet cat thigh

to then brush up against you. Ah, Miss Chicken. You were a wonderful

companion, and I miss you a lot.

Darkness and Light: Bittersweet and Incomplete, a Year Later

Note: This was supposed to be published around Christmastime, 

so when I say "now" or "last week" or whatever, that's the time frame. 

(This is lengthy. And sad. Probably not for the casual reader)

Part One: Some Backstory

The faithful readers among you (God bless you, even I get tired of reading my stuff after awhile) will recall that this time of year was not very good for me last year - the general joy of the season was overshadowed by the fact that I had miscarried a twin pregnancy in June (2012), and the due date had been Christmas Eve. I wrote about the miscarriage here and here; I talked about last Christmas Eve here, so I won't do that again, but feel free to read them if you'd like. In the Christmas Eve post, I wrote I expected that last year would be the worst, this one would be a little better and next year better than this, etc. I didn't anticipate that this year would be … what, exactly? … not as bad as last year, but worse than I thought it would be:

I don't know how common it is to talk about the contrast of light and dark during the season of Advent, and though I suppose there's a lot about Jesus being "the light of the world," I don't remember it being discussed as specifically as it has been this year, at our church - one Sunday it was back-to-back, Sunday School and then the sermon (not Matt's, our senior pastor's) on the same Bible verses without our SS class purposely following a curriculum that aligns with the pastor's. 

In Sunday School, we read some passages from Isaiah 60, John 1 and 2 Corinthians 11. The study materials asked if any of us had ever experienced complete and total darkness, like when you are deep in a cave and turn out your headlamp, or an interior room in a building with no windows or lights. I've never been in a cave at all, I don't believe, but the times I've been in the most (literal) darkness, my main feeling was one of disorientation - how in the world do you know where you are, when you have no idea where anything else is? When you can't even see your hand in front of your face, how do you find your way out? If you move, how do you know you won't fall off a cliff or something and be in even worse shape? Ah, metaphor. The phrase, "I was in a dark place" is somewhat overused in my circle of people, but I think it's accurate here - the miscarriage was about the darkest place I have ever been in, the worst I have ever felt, as if I was in that cave all by myself. I didn't know how to get out, I was so sad and scared out of my mind and really didn't understand anything or know what was going on. 

In the Belasara song mentioned in last Xmas Eve's post, there's a line in the chorus that says, "and honestly, there's a part of me, that just wants to go to sleep" … when I saw my therapist about a month after the miscarriage, she asked if I had experienced any suicidal thoughts. I hadn't; I've been through a few bouts of major depression in the past 10 years but even at its worst, I cried a lot and felt hopeless a lot, but never considered anything like that. And that was still true even after the most physically and emotionally painful experience of my life - I told her I'd had some vague thoughts of, I want to be with the babies, but from what I'd read that's really typical so I wasn't worried about it, and she agreed … I believe there is a Heaven (not too big on the concept of Hell, though) and I suppose I basically believe we all go there when we die, but please don't press me for details on the "whether too-tiny-to-see miscarried fetuses go to heaven" issue - I still have no real, definite thoughts on that.

As far as moving from darkness to light, goodness knows there are tons of examples, but for whatever reason the first thing I thought about was the story Bedtime for Frances by Russell Hoban. We love all the Frances books, and so do the boys. Matt didn't read them growing up - I guess they are sort of more for girls, but now that he's met the little badger family he loves the parenting lessons they incidentally provide. Anyway, in Bedtime for Frances, as you can likely guess little Frances is coming up with every possible tactic to delay going to bed - forgot to brush her teeth, wants a drink of water, etc. At some point Frances sees what she believes to be a giant lurking in her room, and runs to tell her parents. After her parents send her back to her room, Frances confronts the giant and realizes it is only the silhouette of her bathrobe, tossed over a chair. So the light shows us that what we thought we were justified in being afraid of, isn't so bad after all. 

Part Two: The Scriptural References:

Isaiah chapter 60: (a vision of Israel's future): (1) Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you … (4) Life up your eyes and look around; they all gather together, they come to you; your sons shall come from far away, and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses' arms. (5) Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice … (8) Who are these that fly like a cloud, and like doves to their windows? (9) For the coastlands shall wait for me, the ships of Tarshish first, to bring your children from far away … (19) The sun shall no longer be your light by day, nor for brightness shall the moon give light to you by night; but the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory. (20) Your sun shall no more go down, or your moon withdraw itself; for the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your days of mourning shall be ended. 

(Gospel of) John chapter 1: (1) In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God (2) He was in the beginning with God (3) All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being (4) in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. (5) The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it … (9) The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world … (14) And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. 

2nd Corinthians chapter 4: (1) Therefore, since it is by God's mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart. (2) We have renounced the shameful things that one hides/ we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God's word; but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God. (3) And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. (4) In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God … (8) We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; (9) persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed … (16) So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. (17) For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen in temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. 

So (refer to the page, "Selfish Scriptural Interpretation" for more instances of me applying Bible verses that are really about Egypt or Israel or whatever and turning it into a personal message to me) … this makes me feel a little better. And it might help me refine my answer to the Heaven question. 

Part Three: Pretty Bird

So here's something - for all three pregnancies, Matt and I have used birds as a symbol. I think this started during my pregnancy with Simon, when Matt found some stickers in this really nice stationery store in DC, of birds and eggs and nests - no, Matt is just reminding me it started when he suggested referring to our as-yet-unborn awesome son as "Tweet" (this was before Twitter was, you know, everything). I did not care for Tweet (we went with my original idea, Little Person or LP, which I came up with about 2 minutes after I finished my positive pregnancy test - oh, there's a little person in there), but I did stick with the Mama Bird idea. Then we chose birth announcements with two parent birds and one baby bird, and a similar one for David's, as well as bird decals for Simon's nursery.

And when we found out about this pregnancy Matt got me this for my birthday:

When I put it up originally there was just one little birdie in the cage; we didn't know about the twin part until after the miscarriage had already started. The image shifted for me, from one birdie who was waiting to get out, to two that would never be getting out. I moved the decals upstairs to my desk and took them down when we moved - i haven't put them back up yet, partly because our spare room/office is in such disarray we don't know where everything will go yet. Matt got me some new ones for Christmas with the idea that I might not want to put the old ones back up; I get that but I haven't decided yet one way or another. I have a little memory box I made; there's not a whole lot in it except the little pajamas … I have resisted really doing much with it, like I was going to take the DVD of the ultrasound and print out a photo, but I haven't had the courage to actually look at the images yet. It's not …. it's not what you are likely thinking; the pregnancy technically lasted 12 weeks but all that was visible was the egg sacs (yolk sacs?) - one egg had been fertilized but then didn't grow or develop at all, and the other only developed a tiny bit and then stopped. So "nothing resembling a fetus" was what the ultrasound tech said; just tissue and blood (God, there was so much blood). 

Matt and I both love Jenny Lewis, and these are the lyrics to her song "Pretty Bird", on the album Acid Tongue. Take a listen here:

Pretty bird, pretty bird
why you so still?
pretty bird, pretty bird
we've been waiting on you

(chorus)

you go west for the black setting sun
you go south to the white spirit of earth
you go east for those real green eyes
you go for north, walk the good red road

pretty bird
there's a mirror in heaven
pretty bird, pretty bird
there's a window on earth

(chorus) 

some pity me
ooh pity me yeah
stars pity me for
the blood of the pretty
the blood of the pretty
the blood of the pretty
bird

pretty bird, pretty bird
we're starving you still

(chorus)

Disclaimer: I do not know what this song is actually supposed to be about. When I tried to find out, a commenter on the song lyrics page said she'd heard Jenny Lewis say that it was about a story she heart on public radio about a woman being raped on an Indian reservation … if that's the case I apologize for co-opting it for my own purposes, but if you know me I don't hesitate to use Bible verses to suit my own purposes (see above), so pretty much everything else is fair game too.

Part Four: Finishing Up

I started this blog about our family to possibly help anyone out there who has a child (or has received a prenatal diagnosis) with Down syndrome or some other "special need" - when we initially learned this was a possibility for David, we sought as much information as we could, and hearing from parents who had faced similar issues was helpful for the most part. It also helped me to write everything - to try to order it in some logical way so that others might understand it, and so I might understand it better myself. The same has held true for my pregnancy loss - visiting sites like cafemom.com was mostly helpful; I didn't identify with everyone but generally it was good to know that many women had the same emotional struggle, some of them multiple times. So I hope that if you or someone you know has had a miscarriage and is looking for support, that at least some of what I'm saying makes sense and is perhaps of some comfort. 

I didn't share the feelings related to the light/dark issue with Matt immediately; I didn't bring it up until (some time? I don't remember how long) later. After I told him that I was feeling sad again ("sad" is really the best word, sometimes the simplest is the best), I asked him if he ever thinks about the miscarriage any more. His reply was to the effect of, "from time to time," and he seemed genuinely surprised when I said, "I think about it, to one degree or another, every day." I don't mean to make my dear husband sound insensitive; I think this is the individual/private nature or pregnancy loss, that no one can really understand how the woman feels, and there is a sex/gender gap that is likely impossible to bridge - guys don't know what it feels like to be pregnant in the first place, and though they can see you are going through physical agony and emotional hell, they simply can't grasp the helplessness you feel as you realize something is slipping away from you and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. 

I do still think about it every day, but as I said to Matt, some days it is truly a passing thought and it's usually only if there is a specific pregnancy/baby/miscarriage-related reminder on TV, in a magazine, or online I don't usually think about it in any great depth, and I rarely cry about it, though I am a little right now. 

I don't know if the due date of Christmas Eve means I am any more sad than I would be otherwise - any time late in the year would be the holiday season, and I'm sure I would feel about as bad if the due date were October 14th or November 8th or whatever. But at Christmas there sure is a lot of talk about the baby Jesus, and that Advent is a time of "Joyful Expectation." Last week we had a guest pastor at our midweek contemporary service, and she talked a lot (A LOT) about the baby the baby the baby that is coming. I happen to like this pastor a lot- she is young and smart and lovely and a great person, but I was REALLY READY FOR HER TO STOP TALKING ABOUT "THE BABY." I was ready for her to move to a more theological standpoint, that Christmas is not so much about The Baby, it is about the Incarnation of our Savior, about God coming to earth to live among us as a human being. But I suppose I'm not going to get very far with that wish - folks will talk about it, but Christmas is about the birth and Joseph/Mary/shepherds/Wise Men/star/etc., and there's no getting away from that. 

(General grumpiness Joanna really can't explain - I really don't like talking to 

kids about Christmas in terms of "Jesus' birthday." 

Yes, it is celebrating the day he was born and yes, 

that is your birthday, but I think singing Happy Birthday to Jesus 

and having birthday cake and all is a little too much. I know this is generally harmless

 and I get it - this is something kids can relate to. 

But kids can also apparently relate to SpongeBob, and that's not anything

 I want to spend a lot of time talking about, either).

As always I will try to end on a somewhat lighter note: Simon was talking about Jesus' birthday and what we could give him as presents. I was trying to bring us around to, hey why not behave as Jesus would want us to behave (unselfish, kind, yadda yadda) and say prayers for other people and not just ourselves and that's probably what Jesus would like best. Simon was still stuck on the idea of a physical present (see, this is what happens … ) and I said to Matt yeah, it always sucks when your birthday is on Christmas 'cause you get all the lousy presents that are "for both days." So, thinking about Jesus as the first victim of a Christmas birthday made me smile. Please note, this is Joanna's thought, not Pastor Matt's. 

I have, I think, seen only one episode of the HBO series Oz. It premiered when I was in college and I remember catching it when I was home on break or a weekend. One episode of a show, 16 years ago, and every time I hear Genesis chapter 1, this is what I think of: 

• Augustus Hill: "And God said, let there be light, and there was light. But, that's easy for God to say, he was God. But for the rest of us, finding the light takes time. A lifetime."

And looking it up to get it right, I came across tons of other Oz quotes that are relevant to the matter at hand (light/dark/seeing God) but this entry is already way too long so I'll just send you to the website: tv.com:  http://www.tv.com/shows/oz/gods-chillin-61317/

And I'm really okay, just sad right now. :)

Please Read This

This was posted on Scary Mommy yesterday; I think this woman was really brave to share her story and what she's going through currently: Moving Past a Loss. If you are not familiar with the emotional process of a miscarriage, the entry and the ensuing comments (mine's down at #120, I hope it helped) will probably help you understand more. Thanks.

Joanna Shares Some Feelings, Part 4

(Pretty sure it's Part 4. I think.)

[[[ PART 4-1 ]]]  I have felt slightly out of sorts lately, not really on top of things. I'm planning to talk with my family doctor about the dosage on my Adderall - I'm not noticing as much of a difference between when I take it and when I don't, as I used to. I think I remember when he started me on it (A year and a half ago? Is that possible?) he said this would happen at some point - it's a stimulant, so I'll need more. Matt's worried this means I'll have more increases in the future, so I'll ask about that too.


Matt and I had a discussion a few weeks ago, during a long car ride. He's read a lot from the Driven to Distraction book our pediatrician recommended when she diagnosed Simon with ADHD, and a fair amount of the book is dedicated to adults with ADD; there's an entire chapter about marriage and what both the "ADD partner" and the "non-ADD partner" might experience. Matt reminisced about the early days of our relationship, when he loved hearing from me, "I have a plan." I thought about this for a few minutes, and offered the following thoughts (stay with me, this may make little to no sense to anyone but me):

• Matt and I met a little less than a year after I finished graduate school. In both undergrad and grad school, I was pretty driven/ambitious and highly organized, with a plan and an outline for just about everything.

• This probably served Matt pretty well at the time - he was about a year out of undergrad and was not really sure what he was going to do with himself, so meeting up with someone at the beginning of a career and lots of plans for everything may have been helpful for him. So, he would likely remember it as a positive thing.

• This goes along with what the neuropsychologist said when she diagnosed with ADD, that to be as successful as I was in school, I probably had to work much harder than I otherwise would have, if not for the TBI. It took her bringing it to my attention to make me see how much work I put into making lists and plans for everything - she said I'd probably been doing it so long I didn't even notice it or think anything of it. However:

• My job in Washington DC (child welfare social worker) was about as exceptionally stressful as one might imagine, and I went for a few sessions with a therapist at the Employee Assistance Program. She was great - very supportive and helped me realize how much pressure I was putting myself under, and how I was trying to make the same organization methods and perfectionistic tendencies from school apply to the current job (and I guess I'd done the same at other jobs). She helped me to see/understand that hey, work is not the same as school. You may be thinking, well, obviously, but it was not obvious to me. 

• My previous jobs likely had been more like school; I was the only social worker on a psychiatric unit at a hospital, and then a case manager at a county health department. In both jobs I was fairly independent; in charge of my own duties and workload and while I made plenty of referrals in each setting, it was different. The child welfare job depending on so much interaction among various levels of services, red tape and people, especially the cases that were involved in the Family Court system and you had to explain everything you did to a dozen different people and the interplay among families, schools, law enforcement, social services, and mental health services was so complex it really defies description. So, I had way less control over things (to the extent I had previously deluded myself into thinking I had lots of control at the other jobs), though I and plenty of other folks (like the attorneys) were more than happy to let me assume responsibility for everything. 

• So anyway, I explained to Matt during this conversation, I may have let the pendulum swing too far in the other direction. Again, the dosage on my Adderall may have something to do with this, because I felt pretty hyper-organized when I first started it. But I would agree that here lately, it is hard for me to do much in a timely manner, or in some instances what seems to Matt like a timely manner. :) It takes forever for me to make a simple phone call, or accomplish relatively simple tasks, because I don't devote as much time to thinking about what it will take to actually finish each thing, and I'm easily derailed when I don't have something I need. 

• Yeah, Adderall. 

• I tried for a long time to be a much more laid-back, peaceful, go-with-the-flow type of person than I finally concluded I actually am.

[[[ PART 4-2 ]]]  Along with the distraction is a mild, but definite melancholy here lately. I think it started a couple of weeks ago when I took Simon to visit my undergrad campus, which is about 30 minutes away. I've taken him for several visits and he loves seeing the "college kids." I usually enjoy taking him, and talking about what things were like when I was a student. This time we were sitting on a couch in the University Center ("UC," I think I went in there once when I was a student but it looks a lot better now), and for some reason I chose to tell him that although I liked going to school here, I was often lonely and sad, especially after "Grandma Jean" - my mom - died when I was a sophomore. It turned out to be a good thing to share, because he asked if I ever felt shy when I went to a new class for the first time. This is about the move we have to make this summer, so I acknowledged that often I was shy and nervous at first, but that everyone was nice and pretty soon I made friends. That is a much rosier picture than the experience I actually recall, but what else are you going to say to a 5 y.o., when you want him to get on board with the plan?

Since that day I've been thinking a lot about another emotion that predominated, though I didn't realize it for a long time, at that time. Anger. This was after my mom died, and of course I know the Kubler-Ross death/dying Denial Anger Bargaining Depression Acceptance thing by heart. And I know that anger is generally secondary to grief, fear, etc. I have not really ever thought about the way in which I grieved this loss; at the time I totally acknowledged all the primary emotions but never got around to directly expressing the anger. Most of my classmates and other friends knew about my mom's death, and I would say to them that it was tough, or some other general statement that put out there that I was not doing the Denial thing. I never really talked to anyone else about it, not in any depth. I even saw a guy at the student counseling center for awhile and I remember talking a lot about the grief and sadness, but not a whole lot else. Of course that doesn't mean we didn't talk about it, but I don't remember it.

The other thing I think I did was to be sad for awhile, then sort of think I was concentrating on class or homework for a bit, then flip the sadness switch on and off again later. Does that make any sense? I would acknowledge the loss for awhile, like in the afternoon, and it's not that I would have denied it if you'd asked me about any other time that day, but I just didn't realize or acknowledge how all-encompassing, all-permeating (is that even a term?) it was. And of course you never realize it all at the time, it's only later looking back, but it's simply odd to me as a mental health person that I haven't really thought about the process that much since it happened. And I suppose doing it the way I did helped me accomplish my main goal at the time, which was outstanding academic achievement. I talked to the counselor some, and I talked to some other humans some, but otherwise I buried myself in work, with the idea that I had to go even more above-and-beyond than I had previously in order to make my (dead) mom proud of me, when I knew full well, even at the time, that my mom would not have cared less whether I graduated summa cum laude or not. So why am I talking about all this right now?

Since that last visit to campus, I've been thinking back to a couple of years ago, when I read through a bunch of my journals from those days. I was surprised to find all the anger there, but again never about the loss, which I'm assuming now is what was behind it. It was always directed at other people, and especially whatever guy I was with at the time. I never felt happy or secure in any relationship for more than a day or so, and my neurosis about "Is he going to call? When is he going to call?" went way beyond any normal insecurity. The worst thing I discovered was all the time and thought I devoted to wanting to hurt other people - whenever I felt mistreated in the slightest, my reflex was to lash out/strike back. Not physically; I suppose I wanted them to feel really bad/sad/guilty/ashamed, and I suppose the logical extension of that is, I wanted them to hurt as much as I was hurting. "Some" of just about any emotion is expected after a loss of this magnitude, but ... it was way more than "some."

If you are wondering, I'm not beating myself up too much currently about this whole thing; I was only 20 when my mom died and I think of college as a great time to not know what the hell you are doing, most of the time. It's more that I'm ... interested in examining the process, in a slightly-but-not-too-much detached way.  

So what was I so angry about? Who was I angry at?

(1) My dad, who in his profound grief and loneliness got engaged to someone else less than a year after my mom died. I really hated her and they eventually broke up, thank goodness. Even at that time, I was able to recognize my dad's loneliness and need for companionship, but it wasn't enough to overcome my own feelings about it.

(2) The rest of my immediate family, which would be my older brother and younger sister, because we were all in different places and we weren't really talking about it and we were all dealing with it in our own way but there was never a good, real talk about it. I was at my college, my sister was a freshman at hers, my brother was married with a kid and my dad was all alone and we were falling apart. My exact thought is, if it had been my dad who died, my mom would've held us all together. She would've made sure everything was okay, that we were all doing okay and our family still existed for more than Thanksgiving dinner.

(3) My mom, I guess, for (a) leaving me/us, and (b) leaving us in this mess.

(4) It's common to be mad at God or whatever your higher power might be, and I supposed I never expressed or even let myself think about that too much because logically I looked at it as irrational and a waste of time - it happened, there was nothing that could've been done to prevent it (brain aneurysm), God didn't "make" it happen so why even talk about it? Logic still rules a lot of my thought these days (again, not the free spirit I would've once wanted to be), but back then it was about the only way I knew how to do anything.

(5) My dad my dad my dad my dad - he was the parent, he was supposed to either prevent this from happening or make it less terrible, he was supposed to check on us and us real questions about how we were doing. This even though we were all adults now and none of us lived at home and I tended to push him away because of some other issues in the past - we needed a parent and Mom was gone and Dad wasn't stepping up and he should have made everything okay, dammit, because he's the parent.

(6) I was lonely and sad and I felt completely untethered to the world - I felt like a balloon someone had snipped the string to and I was just floating off into space by myself and nobody knew and nobody cared and I was all by myself. I felt as if my Mom was not only my main cheerleader but my only cheerleader, that I didn't really matter to anyone else in the world, not really. 

That last one made me cry to type it, though I've made that exact 'balloon' image in my head before with no real problems. 

Maybe that's why I never thought about all this being connected before, huh? Difficult, yes. 

Once again, not judging myself too harshly on any of these thoughts, either the ones now or the ones then, but it is painful to think about all of this at the same time. Writing this out, though, with the idea of sharing it with other people, is forcing me to think about it in a different way, to organize it a little differently in my brain, is helpful.

I'd also never linked the loss and resulting anger to an overall feeling of helplessness and powerlessness, along with a complete inability to deal with or express the anger in any productive way. Not that I'm alone in "not being able to deal effectively with anger." It's more that I'm not sure I'm much better at it now than I was then, even knowing and verbalizing/acknowledging all the other crap that comes tied up with the anger. The anger and powerlessness fed each other in this unending loop of being able to write or say anything that made the anger mean anything to anyone else

... As a social worker who has worked with a lot of teenage girls, I have heard the term "self-esteem" so much that I almost laugh out loud when I hear it now. The general concept is okay, it just gets generalized as the reason why girls do anything. And as I read somewhere, sometime, prisons are full of guys with great self-esteem, who hold themselves in plenty high regard. "Plenty high regard," did I really just say that?

... I prefer the idea of self-efficacy, the idea that you are in control of your life, and what you do and say makes a difference in your life and in the world. Not so much that you think you are fat because of the models in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, but more that you are capable of determining what is really important/relevant in your life, what your goals are, and your ability to make changes in your life and in the systems that surround you in order to meet your goals. And, the ability to sort out the things over which you do not have control - you don't have to feel good about them, you just have to recognize your own limitations and work within them.

[[[ CONCLUSION ]]] The family stuff (with Dad and sibs) has more or less straightened itself out over the years, and the family system has survived more or less intact. I have gone on to establish a pretty good life, with a beautiful family and a career I love, though each job setting is a lot easier to look back on and love once I've been out of it for a year or so. Mood issues are variable; there is other, ah, pharmaceutical assistance than the Adderall so maybe those can be looked at too. Things are generally cool; I think this piece was something I needed to write in order to understand it better myself. This is not tied up as neatly as I would've like, but for goodness' sake I need to do other things. If you've hung in here until this point, thank you and may God bless you. You are awesome. 

Hey There, Mama

(no scanner yet, so this is
the only digital photo I have)

Quick post on the 17th anniversary of the death of my mom, Jean. She passed away January 23, 1996, following a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. Most people's response to that is, oh so it was quick. And my response to that is, not really. The initial rupture was quick, in November 1995; she went from having a bad headache to having a seizure in a couple of minutes. I was away at college; my dad, sister, and her (then) boyfriend got her to the local hospital and she was immediately transferred to NC Baptist Hospital in Winston-Salem. She had surgery the next day, but it was a major rupture and she continued to have small strokes, until she was in a persistent vegetative state. My dad made the decision to disconnect her feeding tube; I didn't understand this initially but a nurse who is a friend of the family explained this was not something she was going to recover from, she was not going to wake up. I realized this was the best decision. She died about 2 months after the initial rupture.

postscript

It's 10:00 on Christmas Eve night. The candlelight service at church was difficult right at the end; we did the traditional holding the little candles with the plastic base to "Silent Night." This is one of my favorite few minutes of the whole year, looking out into the dark church and realizing how many people are there. Tonight the church was packed, more than overflowing, we ran out of candles and bulletins. So that was a positive development, but this year after the last (sung) verse of the song, a violinist did a solo of an additional verse. ... I was holding David and for the first time in the service, he was being still and quiet and cuddly; I think he was impressed by the scene, as well. I began crying, the music was so lovely. Matt was right beside me and we held hands tightly; I was glad for the darkness so I could wipe away tears. ... I have not been overwhelmed by sadness today, but I have cried a little, and my overall mood has definitely been down. I was afraid the whole holiday season would be like this, and I've been pleasantly surprised that Simon's enthusiasm has carried me through, until today. Today I haven't felt like doing much, and of course there is still plenty to do, mostly to get ready to go out of town tomorrow after lunch, to spend the rest of the week visiting family. ... Now that the day is here I don't want it to end; it feels as though once this day has passed, that's officially the end. I've thought about this date every day since I found out I was pregnant; it never occurred to me to think about what it means, for me, when the day is over. Obviously, logically nothing changes at the stroke of midnight - there is still sadness and crying and grieving. But my instinct is, I don't want the day to be over, not yet. I'm interested to see how I'll feel tomorrow - we may actually have to peel Simon off the ceiling, so I'll be pretty busy during the morning, but then we have a 2.5-hour car ride so I'll have plenty of time to think and over-think.

Incomplete – Please Come Back

Those of you who are regular followers know today holds a lot of conflicting emotions for me. Simon has dragged us all along on his joyous countdown to Christmas, and I am truly excited about both the secular and religious aspects of the holiday. But today (12/24) was also my due date, before my miscarriage this summer.

I’ve talked about all this a lot – on this site, to friends and family, to a therapist, in a journal. I’m doing a lot better but this day is hard, as I anticipated it would be. I wrote in the above entry, that my brain is not allowing me to think too much about the details of the Newtown school shooting, and I think it is doing the same thing here. I can talk about the loss superficially, and I’ve processed many different aspects of it, but over the past few weeks, I can’t get very far in terms of imagining what life would be like, “if only.” The thoughts about what should have been are still too painful – the last couple of months I should have been huge and uncomfortable and exhausted because I’ve been making all these preparations for not only one, but two babies to arrive. And as of today, I should be holding them in my arms.

You see what I mean, right? Today is sort of awful. I suppose I’m thinking that if I can get this official mourning out of the way early on, I can spend the rest of the day baking cookies and saying for the 138^th time, “No, Simon, you may not open one early.” This is actually the most I’ve thought about it in quite awhile, and it’s hitting hard.

Matt gets me a new Christmas CD every year, and I’ve built up quite a collection. This year’s is a “various artists” compilation titled Maybe This Christmas Tree, and yesterday I listened to it for the first time. The song “Bittersweet Eve” by Belasana really stood out for me, although it’s about New Year’s Eve, not Christmas Eve. Other than that tiny detail, it’s just about perfect:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BH44RBQ6MSQ

(first verse & chorus)

And your eyes are like a waterfall tonight

I could dive right in

But I'd soon drown and die

I'm not gonna make it

I'm not gonna last

The current’s too strong

And The river’s too fast

So I'm letting go

All right?

What's the point of holding on

When logic fails

I'm the captain of a ship beyond repair

I've given up slowly

Swimming upstream

I'm tired of being tired and lonely

I'm yours for the taking

Well it's bittersweet

To be incomplete

On New Years Eve

I guess honestly

There's a part of me

That just wants to go to sleep

It's a tragedy

To be incomplete

On New Years Eve

I'd have everything

I could ever need

If you'd just come back to me

Come back to me

This reminds me of an entry I read on cafemom.com, not too long after I miscarried. They have an online support network for pregnancy loss, and a young woman posted a photo of her twin boys who had recently been stillborn at 20 weeks. In the photo they looked like any other tiny sleeping babies, in the little hospital-issue knit caps and blankets. I think this was probably her first pregnancy, and judging by her profile picture she was probably in her early twenties. She said her overriding thought was, “I just want them to come back. I just want them to come back.”

I could basically understand what she meant then, but more so today, I know exactly what she means.

This entry marked the end of my going to cafemom, by the way. It’s helpful up to a point to realize other people are experiencing the same thing as you, and this marked that point. I don’t normally pity anyone, but I pitied this poor girl and her little babies – I felt so bad for her, and without discounting my own loss I felt her loss was so much worse.

Incomplete, yes.

That awful Wednesday, June 6, when the pain was so bad I finally had Matt take me to the doctor: we were sitting in some random spare office, talking with one of the nurses while we waited for the doctor. Simon was in daycare but David was with us; Matt had called his mom to come get him but she was still an hour or so away. David is always a huge hit with any group of female medical providers, and this nurse was no different. She was fawning all over him and he was making the most of it, giving her fabulous grins and making little super-cute David noises. I remember a specific instance of looking at him and thinking, “You know, this is good. Maybe this is enough. Maybe this should be enough.” Matt and I have discussed the mutual feeling that we had Simon and he was so great and wonderful, then we pushed our luck with David and he had so many problems at birth. Then he got healthy and strong and awesome, and we got greedy again, and tempted fate again, and look what happened, so maybe this should just be enough. … of course we both understand that’s not how these things work, but it was a strong feeling at the time.

So this Christmas Eve is difficult, and the sense of incompleteness is pretty raw. Probably the next several Christmas Eves will be difficult to some degree, but each one will hurt less, until it is more of a pang of sadness. At the same time, my life is pretty full and I’m reminded of just how fortunate I am to have my two happy, healthy boys, my loving husband, a warm safe house, and all the other good things in my life.

I’m so sorry, little babies. I’m sorry I never got to hold you or know you. But I will never forget you. I love you and I miss you. Today I am missing you a lot.

That took about half an hour to type, those five sentences, there was a lot of crying. 

So maybe that’s all for now.

When I was in Target last night, lots of thinking about things that come in pairs – mittens, gloves, socks.

Yeah I think that’s all for now.

Merry Christmas, everyone. I’m okay, really, just sad right now. 

November 6, Part II

There are a lot of those, what do you call them? Oh, right, feelings. There are a lot of feelings in this one. It is probably pretty difficult to read. And,

(b) On a “globalization of emotions” note – this has brought up other feelings of powerlessness, miscarriage-related. That’s not something I’ve talked about here before, I don’t believe. That first week in June when everything happened, I probably experienced every negative emotion ever felt by a human being. Fear anger sadness grief confusion everything. And the physical pain. Next to (or maybe even tied with) the grief, the inability to do anything to change the outcome was the worst. When I initially called the OB office when the bleeding first began, the nurse said to just wait and watch, but “You know, if your body is going to reject this pregnancy then it’s going to happen and there’s not really anything you can do about it.” That looks pretty harsh written out, but it was said with care and concern.

When we went to the ER at our local hospital that Saturday, we waited in the ER for two hours and while we were triaged we were never actually seen, and we finally left because it was about midnight. I cried in the parking lot outside, feeling I was not doing the right thing, not doing everything I could. But I knew in my heart that really, nothing could be done. I could’ve complained loudly until I was seen, then waited probably another 2 hours to have an ultrasound, all to be told what I already knew, deep down inside: the pregnancy was going to end and there was not a thing anyone could do about it. That was a horrible feeling (some tears as I write this) – to feel on the one hand that I was giving up on the baby, abandoning it (we didn’t know yet there had been two), and on the other hand knowing the truth (I did used to work in an OB clinic) that if it was over, it was over. …

Pregnancy, and especially miscarriage, are really private, solitary matters. You (the pregnant woman) are the only one who really knows the baby. The majority of miscarriages happen long before you ever feel the baby kick, perhaps before you even really see anything on the ultrasound. You listen to the doctors and your brain accepts that it’s not your fault, there was nothing you could have done, but you don’t really believe it. It’s your body, you are the only one who has control, and if you didn’t do something to cause it then there’s nothing you can do now, no behavior you can change, that will make it better. And there’s nothing you can do to make sure it doesn’t happen again. It’s awful.

Keep reading, please: 

Marriage Advice, Somali Warlords, and I'll Have Some Ambivalence, Maybe

I’ve just started reading two different books – this usually doesn’t work out too well, as I typically don’t finish at least one of them, but the first is so dense that I need the other to balance it out:

1. God and Human Dignity, edited by R. Kendall Soulen and Linda Woodhead. This is one of the more scholarly books I have tried in quite awhile. There are 18 chapters written by various theologians and ethicists; right now I’m planning to read just two, “Human Dignity in the Absence of Agency” by Hans Reinders (about severe disability) and “Cruising Toward Bethlehem: Human Dignity and the New Eugenics” by Kendall Soulen, the editor (discusses prenatal testing).

Thus far I am two pages into the Introduction and have had to stop to look up two words already: elide (to leave out of consideration, OMIT, CURTAIL, ABRIDGE) and eschatological (a belief concerning death, the end of the world, or the ultimate destiny of mankind). False modesty aside, I have a huge vocabulary, so I’m thinking this is not a good sign for the rest of the book.

Pajamas

** Fair Warning: This is a pretty serious, sad post. If you are just a casual reader you may want to skip it **

Under the separate headings of “Boy, this Sucks,” and “Not What I Expected” – Last week, I had planned to announce (in church, on this blog and facebook, to any other family that didn’t know) that Matt and I are expecting another baby, due date of Christmas Eve. It was going to be quite joyful, with a picture from our first scheduled ultrasound, and a caption reading something like, Check out the cool Christmas present we are getting.

But.

Three weeks ago I began having some bleeding off and on. For about 10 days I was on the phone with the obstetrician’s office, had two office visits and two ER visits, and had more bleeding and cramping (some mild, some severe, some excruciating). On June 8 the miscarriage was complete. I am now fine physically but Matt and I are heartbroken; this is about the saddest I can remember being, in quite some time. The journey from “it’s probably nothing but let’s get it checked,” to realizing and accepting what the ultrasound showed (development simply stopped, at some really early point) has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. … For a couple of years I was the social worker in a high-risk OB clinic, so I know this happens frequently, to a lot of women, at various points in the pregnancy. I also know (in my head, at least) that there is nothing I did wrong, and nothing that could have been done to prevent it. I know all that, but it hasn’t quite sunk in, yet.

The “Pajamas” title is because a few days after the problems started, everything seemed okay for about 2 whole days and as a vote of confidence, I bought a set of 3-month footie pajamas, non-gender-specific (yellow/green/gray with giraffes) at Target, as well as a new maternity shirt. For several days I kept one of the pairs with me in my purse, the other under my pillow, so one was always nearby. I held the pajamas tightly when I experienced bad cramps, and other times I just randomly hugged them. I am planning to find a nice box to keep them in, along with my hospital bracelet, ultrasound pictures, etc.

My current emotional state is one of realizing how quickly, even at that early point in the pregnancy (11 weeks) I had already begun the pregnancy state of mind. The one where I was already thinking about Christmas shopping and decorating, because we were going to have a baby on Christmas Eve and I wanted everything to be ready for the boys. The one where we needed to get a car with 3rd row seating sometime in the fall, because we were going to have a 3rd car seat by Christmas Eve. So now I am trying to get accustomed to the not-pregnant state. The one where I no longer need to get my maternity clothes down from the attic, and I can return to being the main litter-box scooper, because I am not-pregnant any more. Coming out of the grocery store one day last week and watching all the cars and shopping carts and people, I was hit hard by the fact that life is going on completely uninterrupted for everyone else – these people are just walking around as if this terrible thing has not happened. It’s an odd situation – so few people knew I was pregnant to begin with, and it’s not something you can casually offer as an explanation to, “what’s wrong?”

(( Don’t worry too much about my emotional state. I have lots of support and know that at this point, nearly everything I’m thinking/feeling is pretty much normal, and that it will take time and crying and talking and writing but that it will eventually feel better. Also I’m a licensed mental health person so I know how to get more help if I need it ))

We are thankful for many things about the life of our little family, especially our two boys and everything that comes with them. We are also grateful for what went well during this awful experience – the support we’ve received from family, church and friends, help with care for Simon and David, and the medical care we’ve received. We are particularly thankful to the midwife, Anne, who supported us in following this process the way we needed to, rather than rushing us to make a decision we wouldn’t have felt comfortable with. But I am most grateful that Matt and I were able to be together for most of the experience – I can’t imagine going through something like this alone.

Simon loves Nat King Cole, and we paid special attention to the song “Smile” the other day. Matt says that while Cole’s lyrics could sound pretty trite at first listen, he (Matt) thinks it’s a deliberate choice to focus on the good things in life – not to deny or forget the bad stuff is there, but just to focus on the good. Partial lyrics:

Smile though your heart is breaking / Smile even though it's aching
Light up your face with gladness / Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near …
That's the time you must keep on trying / Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile / If you just smile

And, from Isaiah:

Chapter 25, Verses 6 -8 (in part): On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines,
of rich food filled with marrow, of well-matured wines strained clear. 
And he will destroy on this mountain
the shroud that is cast over all peoples,
the sheet that is spread over all nations; 
he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces …

Chapter 65, Verses 17 - 20 For I am about to create new heavens
and a new earth;
the former things shall not be remembered
or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever
in what I am creating;
for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy,
and its people as a delight. 
I will rejoice in Jerusalem,
and delight in my people;
no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it
an infant that lives but a few days,
or an old person who does not live out a lifetime;
for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth,
and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To end on a slightly lighter note: This may be an odd thing to be thankful for, but I keep thinking about one of our ER trips, to our local hospital. The ER itself was frustrating (not one of the “excellent medical care”s mentioned above), but in the waiting room was a group of late-teens/early-20s guys, none of whom were patients but they were all waiting to hear about their buddy who was the patient. They had all been riding dirt bikes or motorcycles earlier that day and the friend wrecked and suffered a compound fracture to his ankle (eeeeeek). Normally this would’ve made me kind of queasy, but listening to them describe this accident over and over, and talk about the various classes they were taking at the community college, and other young-guy-life stuff – it was sort of a relief, and we joked around with them a little about how long we were all having to wait. They were nice, you know? And I was glad to have them there, rather than someone who was really in pain and/or having some sort of psychiatric issues. I have also worked in the psychiatric unit of a hospital, so I’m empathetic to that situation, but I’m glad it was not sitting next to me in the ER that night. So thanks, guys, whoever you are.