Feeling Needy

Needs.

We all have them. Some are basic: food, water, oxygen. Some are complex: a sense of belonging, happiness, satisfaction. Some are materialistic, some emotional, some realistic and some based in an abstract fantasy world of our own conceptualization.

Lately I've been feeling the need to write and yet I find myself without the words, the time, the energy, the patience.

I have the inspiration, but I'm not certain anyone would have the interest in the end result of my labors.

Trapped in my is a story of hope, joy, loss, pain, excruciating sorrow, devastation and, ultimately, strength and resolution.

I call the story "Reclaiming The Sun." It is a true story about my life and focuses on what I've been through since the death of our daughter Sonne.

I've started writing it a few different times. I first started writing around the second anniversary of her death. I felt compelled then because so many people kept telling me I was remarkable or strong or carried myself with "such grace."

Clearly I was putting on a good act.

I managed to get nine fairly sterilize pages written.

I tried again about six month later while pregnant with our third daughter. This time I managed to write 19 pages. They were a bit more honest. A bit more descriptive. Yet, after having just reread them this evening, they are still sterile.

I've come to the realization that I'm not sure that I know how to write this story. I don't know how to put those emotions onto the page because when I'm really thinking about and honest about it the tears flow without hesitation and without remorse. I lose that grace which others describe and become the absolute wreck people expected me to be four years ago.

And that's not how I want to honor Zo.

And yet I still have this *need* to tell her story. To share with the world all that she gave me and all that I lost when she was taken from us. How her death changed my perspective so drastically that I at times I cannot relate to most of the people around me and at other times I'm so filled with compassion that I believe there is no difference in the loss of life or the loss of a favorite toy.

I need to find the words.

And at the same time I feel like others need me to get over this. Like there is some unwritten rule which says grief can last only so long and then we have to get on with life.

To that I say grief is a part of life and I have not stopped living. Sonne lives through me. She lives through Eric and Morgen and Aurora. She lives on because we keep her memory alive. To suggest that we tuck her away for the comfort of everyone is simply unrealistic and cruel, and I don't have the time or energy for cruelty.

I barely have the time for my own needs.

Be Kind Whenever Possible.

I'm struggling with kindness today.  Not for others, but for myself.

I find myself feeling sorry for myself today.  I find myself feeling jealous of others.  I find myself being angry.

I find myself aching for something I likely cannot have -- another child.  Yes, we can always adopt, but part of what I'm aching for is to be pregnant again, to feel another being growing inside of me, to feel such a natural and complete connection to another being.

When I was pregnant with our twin girls, I always knew what they needed.  My body told me.  I took the time to really listen to my body those few months.  I rested when I felt tired.  I ate when I felt hungry.  I drank when I felt thirsty.  I gladly missed a concert early in the first trimester because I was too ill and exhausted to even think about seeing Roger Waters perform "The Wall."  I gladly let the vegetables in the garden go to seed because I was to big to bend over and tend to them.

I wasn't so eager for their birth two months early, but when that happened despite everyone's desires, I gladly sat by their incubators in the NICU hooked into the breast pump to get the milk flowing to nourish their tiny bodies.  I gladly held them close during sessions of skin-to-skin, singing to them, telling them stories about our home and dogs, making plans to take them to far off places and on adventures.

Yesterday I gladly took a sick Morgen to see her doctor.  She just has a bad head cold.  No flu.  No rhinovirus.  It will work its course in 7 - 10 days.  At the doctor's office they brought us into the same room where 19 months earlier I brought a sick Sonne.  My heart fluttered as I watched Erica put on the sensor to test Mo's blood oxygen level.  Everything checked out fine.

Sadly, I was reminded that Sonne's last time at the doctor's office wasn't so routine.  Her blood oxygen level was in the 50s.  Her skin was a bluish color. 

I bravely climbed into the ambulance to take Sonne from the doctor to the emergeny room at the nearby hospital.  I bravely handed Morgen and my car keys to Erica and Caroline so they could meet us at the ER.  I bravely recounted Zo's medical history to a new set of doctors and nurses while standing and nursing Mo.

I calmly called my husband who had just arrived in Massachusetts to tell him what was happening.  I honestly told him that everything was fine.  I believed it was just Zo's reflux causing a problem, or perhaps a respiratory infection.  Even her cardiologist believed the latter to be the culprit.

Two weeks later we would learn that the surgery to correct her heart defects was a failure.  It hadn't gone as planned.  Two days post-op and we took our sweet Sonne off life support and she passed away in our arms.  We lovingly held her close and told her it was okay.  We would always love her.

And we do.  Not a day has passed that we haven't thought of our sweet little, little and sent love in her direction, wherever that direction may be.

But there are those days where remembering her smile and the feeling of her tiny head against my chest don't console me.  Those are days like today.  Where I ache to reclaim something which was lost, something which can never be replaced.  That connection to the unborn soul growing inside of me, the little person who danced and kicked and tickled me from inside.  To that precious baby who smiled and struggled and fought and ultimately lost, but did so with such grace because she knew no better.  Sonne only lived in the moment and knowing that is wonderful.

So I'll try to hold onto that today as I struggle to be kind to myself.

As the Dalai Lama has said, "Be kind whenever possible.  It is always possible."

On The Eve of our Fourth Anniversary

Dearest Eric --

I'm feeling especially emotional and nostalgic at the moment.  Four year ago today was my last as a bachelorette.  And while we had already been together for over four years and living together for two of those years, I felt the change like none before and it is one that I still cannot quite articulate.  Things changed when we were married.  Things became brighter, more hopeful.

It has been quite the ride, these past four years.

Stresses and successes at work for both of us.  Good days and bad days.  Joys.  Laughter.  Tears.  Sorrows.

Finding out on election day in 2010 that I was pregnant.  Finding out two weeks later that we were having twins.  Our girls arriving eight weeks early and Sonne leaving us after only 109 days. 

Every moment with Morgen.

I cannot imagine a better partner to stand by my side during all of these moments.  I'm so looking forward to our weekend away.  In my mind I'm already there.

Thank you for the everything.

I love you....me.

Sour Grapes

Yes.  I know it's a case of sour grapes, but that doesn't mean I should bottle up these feelings.  I need to acknowledge them in a sort of "open letter" to NPR.

Dear NPR:

I understand that Max Page is a bit of a celebrity after portraying a mini-Darth Vader in a Super Bowl commercial in 2011.  I am also aware that he was born with the same heart defects as my daughter Sonne.  I also know that his corrective surgery (and the 7 procedures since) were successfully completed at Children's Hospital Los Angeles by the same surgeon who operated on Sonne.

What you do not know is that my daughter's surgery was not successful.  She died.  A mere 48 hours after the attempt to correct her defects, we removed her from the heart and lung machine and said goodbye.  She was 109 days old.

You cannot possibly understand how devastating it is for me to hear your coverage of Max's most recent valve replacement.  I heard that he was to undergo the procedure while driving home from work last Wednesday.  I couldn't help but think that had Sonne lived, she would have been having valve replacement surgery around his age.

Last night as I pulled into my driveway I heard the sound byte of Max telling reporters that he was looking forward to having a milk shake.  He was being discharged.  He was going home.  And while I am thrilled that his surgeries have been successful, it is agonizing to listen to this news coverage.  My daughter didn't get to come home.

I think what upsets me the most is that there are countless other families whose children are undergoing procedures such as these who aren't receiving any news coverage.  There are families who have suffered the loss of a child while in the care of the same surgeon.  For us, there is no news coverage.  And had Max Page not been in that commercial, there would be no news coverage for him.  I wouldn't have to hear the sound bytes of his pre and post-op comments to reporters.  I wouldn't have to relive the awful loss of my child -- a child who never learned to speak, but somehow spoke to my very soul.

I know you covered Max's latest procedure as it was a human interest story.  And it had a happy ending, so all the more reason to touch upon it as the news is often dark and dreary.  Please simply understand that there are those of us listening who, try as we might, cannot help but wonder why our child isn't the one talking to reporters and looking forward to having a milk shake.

Thank you...Alison.

The Most Valuable Commodity

Time.  


It seems to pass so quickly these days.  This perception is only heightened by how quickly Morgen is changing.  Every day she seems bigger, more grown-up.  She is learning new things at what seems an alarming pace.  New shades of her personality are coming into view and we only fall in love with her more.


I long to be home with her to be an active part of her daily growth, but that isn't in the cards at this moment in time.


I don't think I fully appreciated the preciousness of time until the girls were born.  I had a sense of it when my father passed away from cancer nearly 14 years ago, but the loss of Sonne intensified this feeling.  I had no idea that time could be so valuable and so fleeting.


Eric is heading back to Toronto tomorrow for almost three weeks.  I hate his absences.  The time passes by in an instant, but I'm so cognizant of him being away.  I know he dreads being gone as well.  I know he misses me, that he aches to be with Morgen.  The two of them have gotten wonderfully close since he came back from his last Toronto trip in late January.  She is going to miss her daddy.  And while we will Skype every day, he knows there will be a set back.  Morgen will go back to her "only mommy will do" phase.  It will be brief, but I know it will be difficult for him.


Eric so loves his baby girl.


I'll make sure to tell Morgen that daily.  I will give her kisses and hugs from her daddy and, hopefully by the time he returns, "dada" will be a firm part of her vocabulary.  Of course, there aren't any firm words in her vocabulary...yet.


Before we know it she will be turning one.  I can only imagine what new things she will be doing by the time her birthday rolls around.  Will she be talking?  Will she be walking?  Will she like taking baths?  Will she be sleeping in her crib?


And then before we know it, Eric and I will be celebrating our 40th birthdays.


40 feels like this ominous number lurking just around the corner.  It's not that I have a problem turning 40.  In many ways it is just a number.  But it is a number with consequences when it comes to whether or not we decide to have more biological children.


Science has shown that a woman's fertility drops off significantly around age 40.


Sigh...


If only we had been ready sooner.  Not just to be parents, but to be in a relationship.  If only we had gotten our acts together 10 years earlier.


Of course, there is no way for us to know how being so much younger would have impacted our relationship or our children.  Morgen very likely would be a completely different baby.  Sonne might have never been conceived.  The stress of trying to get our lives together in so many other ways might have caused a rift between us.  We might not be settled and happy, despite the devastation of losing a child.


And had everything transpired the same with needing IVF, having twins, and losing a child, who knows if we would have weathered such trials in the same manner.


Clearly things happen in their own good time.  Things happen when they are meant to happen -- even if finding "meaning" isn't possible or even rational.


And yet the older I get, the more fleeting time becomes.  In the blink of an eye everything can change and it is up to each of us, as individuals, to determine if that change will be beneficial in the long run.


For now, I will try to stop focussing on time slipping away and instead try to enjoy each moment and treasure it for what it is -- a once in a lifetime opportunity.  A gift.

Pondering

I feel an incredible need to be more focused. Things are getting more and more hectic at every turn and I can't help but think if I could just focus things would be different, better.


I feel so disorganized as of late.  I'm sure part of it is the clutter -- at home and at work.


There are piles of filing in my office that I don't ever seem to have the time to address.  I managed to get everything sorted a while back and now those piles are languishing in file sorters.  They mock me on a daily basis and yet I have no time to get the papers properly filed away.  And, given how packed those accordion files are, I cannot add anything else to them and new files are beginning to grow along the edge of this little room.


At home it's the never ending battle of trying to get things put away.  We've begun throwing things out.  No longer am I holding onto every last thing with the thought that I might one day need it.  Nope.  Things that are broken and have no honest hope of repair -- trash.  Things that are superfluous -- trash.  Things that I just don't like, but have kept because they were a gift -- trash.


But it's not enough.  The clutter is a strange mythological creature.  You cut off one limb, it grows two more in its place.  One area is cleaned and suddenly two others seem exponentially messier.  We start one project only to have it not get completed and have no time available to change this fact.  


Our dog run remains only 20% completed.  Two panels installed with 6 more and a gate to go.  I have no idea when this will change.  It needs to get finished soon.  My garden beds are in upheaval as a result and I'm buying my tomato plants in a little over one week and every time I step outside I'm reminded of the incomplete job.  The hated project that we probably shouldn't have undertaken -- once again biting off more than we could possibly chew, despite the help of friends.  I actually tried to throw money at the project to make it go away (e.g., I offered the job to our gardener, but he's too busy to take on the extra work...damn).  So, in our desire to have a nice lawn for Morgen to play upon, we've created a massive eyesore.


And it's not something I can tackle on my own, so I really should move onto more manageable projects, but I fear that I'll once again start something which I cannot finish and there will be another area of our home which I dread.


Sigh...


In our attempts to make our home a more ideal place to live and raise our child, it's only getting more chaotic and disheveled.


I suppose no good deed goes unpunished.

Feeling Needy

I need to commit to a yoga practice.  The occasional sun salutation and tree pose performed sporadically every few weeks does not count as a yoga practice.  I need the balance and calm that comes from a daily practice.  I need to release of endorphins.  I need the boost in my sex drive.  Even if it's just for ten or fifteen minutes a day.  I *need* this.


And yet, I cannot seem to find the time for this.  Such a tiny fraction of time out of every given day.  Ten minutes out of 1,440 minutes.  We are talking about less than 1% of the day devoted to calming and centering myself so I can be a better and happier person.  A better and happier mother.  A better and happier wife.


Less than 1% of a day dedicated to myself so I can be more fulfilled in connecting with those around me.


Less than 1% of a day to simply...breathe.


I need to clean my house.  I need to get rid of the clutter.  Eric and I have committed to getting rid of 1/3 of all our stuff.  This should be easy.  On any given day I hardly use any of my possessions.  


I own far too  many clothes of which I wear a small and select few items.  The fact that I even own high heeled shoes is ridiculous!  I do not imagine I am *ever* going to wear those mauve, open-toed, sling-back heels ever again in my life.  They match one dress that I may not even own anymore and they are not comfortable.  The thought of wearing them, even for an event if I even still own that dress, is ludicrous!  My bunions scream "Hell NO!"


I used to purge my closet annually.  If I hadn't worn an item in the past year it either went into the trash or to Goodwill.  I fell out of that habit a few years ago.  Last year, while pregnant, I didn't feel the need to do this ritual.  I didn't know what clothes I may be wearing in the months or year to come, so to get rid of things I might wear wasn't logical.  This year the purge will happen.  And I'm sure I can get rid of at least 5% of my clothes and shoes.


I have two massive CD racks.  Each holds close to 1,000 CDs.  After 16 years in the music business, I have amassed a grand music collection (which is certainly far smaller than the collections of most other industry veterans I work alongside). But here's the truth -- I don't listen to the vast majority of this music.  There have to be at least 100 - 200 CDs that are still shrink-wrapped.  What's the point of even owning these?  And yet, I don't want to get rid of them.  Not until I have gone through the collection and incorporated them into my digital music collection.  And even then, do I get rid of the physical product or find a way to store them?


Mind you, the racks are against one wall in the living room which would really have no other purpose, except for possibly hanging artwork.  The wall runs perpendicular to our front door and putting furniture against it would impede entry into our home.  They may not serve a greater purpose, but at least they are neat and orderly.  To me, they are not clutter.  And yet, when the time comes that I do purge this collection, I will likely only keep 10% of the actual CDs.  


I also own a fair number of LPs.  Getting rid of the vinyl is a non-starter.  I'm keeping that collection.


But therein lies part of my problem.  I like my collections.  I like my lunch boxes and Pez machines.  They are arranged atop our kitchen cabinets.  They are not in the way or occupying otherwise useful space.  I like the tangible throwback to childhood in these items.  Yes.  I am an adult who likes her toys.  But do I need them?  They are an easy target in the 33.33% purge process.  They are not needed.  So what's a girl to do?


We do have too much "stuff" for the sake of having "Stuff" and life would be simpler without so much Stuff.  We wouldn't have to constantly be cleaning up Stuff and trying to find homes for Stuff.  We would have things of use and value and logical homes for such things.


Yes.  Life would be simpler.


And perhaps I wouldn't be so stressed about the Stuff.


Perhaps I would be able to find that 1% of my day to deal with the important things.  To tend to my needs. To relax.  To find calm within to allow me to be a petter person.


And I really need to find the calm within.


Breathe...


I really need to commit to a yoga practice.