With(out) An Older Sister

When you have an older sister that you've never held or touched, that's never cried or screamed or laughed in your presence, it's hard to understand that she was ever real.

When you have an older sister who will forever be younger than you, it's confusing to know how she fits in the family.  Or how you do.

When your older sister is just a small black and white picture next to an even smaller white box in your room that you say good night to every day, it's hard to understand she was a person.

And when you are two and your older sister is dead, all you really know is that Mommy keeps talking about this nebulous thing called "your sister Anna".    You know that baby Anna is that picture on the shelf.  And you know that for some reason that picture makes Mommy sad, because when you see Mommy cry and ask her why, she says, "Mommy is sad because she misses your sister Anna."

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Having Cate understand who Anna is in our family is harder than I thought it would be.   I'm not very good at consistently saying good morning or good night to Anna's picture and ashes with Cate every day, and the other day when I asked her what her sister's name was, she couldn't tell me.  Didn't know.  Didn't truly associate the picture and any talk about Anna with Anna actually being her sister.
Yet Cate understands what it is to HAVE a sibling.   I know she does, because a few weeks ago I told her I was looking at papers that would hopefully get her a sibling (adoption paperwork).  I asked her if she'd like a brother or sister and she looked at me for several seconds, squinted her eyes just a little and then stated with confidence, "Broder!"

I hate that Anna is such a wispy, misunderstood figment for her.  My heart aches that she hasn't yet associated the name "Anna" with "sister".  I feel like I'm failing my role in making sure Anna is recognized as a valid, real member of our family.  Failing Anna, failing Cate.  Mostly I hate that Anna is such a wispy, severed part of our family.  I want Cate to claim Anna as her sister and yet don't want her to try and understand what "died" means.
Cate is a smart cookie, she grasps most concepts quickly.   If I say, "Anna died when she was a baby" or "…when she was born", I seriously think she may quickly understand the gross concept of 'dead' and become afraid she or any other baby she knows might die too.
So how do I promote the idea of having a sister who isn't physically here without introducing the concept of death?

I welcome input.

How are you other mamas doing this??

5/12/13 Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.

Not to state the obvious, but I’ve waited a long time for this.

Thanks to my husband and my sweet girl, today was everything I ever wanted.  

Except for the girl I can’t have.  Again, obvious.

Still, it was the best Mother’s Day.  I got to sleep until 10:00 (not as glorious as it sounds because I was up at 4:00 and 6:00 and 8:00 with Cate, but I’ll still take it!!); Brad make me cinnamon french toast, turkey bacon, coffee and mimosas - AND cleaned up; gave me wonderful cards from himself and Cate (complete with her unique signature); and several hours to work outside in the sunshine pulling weeds, cleaning up the patio, fertilizing some plants, moving some others, etc.  Felt so good to be out there again knowing I had a wonderful little body and personality waiting for me inside with Daddy.   They came out to watch a few times and I was rewarded with giggles and waves and grins when I called to her from the grass.  The Best.

AND my fab husband completely surprised me with a brand new Burley biking baby trailer!  We took it out for a spin tonight and it’s super fun.  Fun for me to be “that mom” who’s (supposedly) active enough to warrant a bike trailer to haul her kids around while she gets her exercise AND cool enough to expose her kids to the outdoors and parks and picnics and all that comes with destination bike riding from time to time.   

I haven’t written here in ages, I know.  At least 100 times I’ve wanted to.  It’s a minor miracle I’m doing it now.  I don’t know if it’s my make-up, how I spend my time, or if being 44 really does mean I’m that much more tired than the Mom’s 10+ years younger than I, but I’m exhausted-amundo by the end of the day.  Blogging gets pushed off of the priority list, which is too bad, because I miss it.

Anyway.  There were teary eyes a few times this morning, as much for the girl I haven’t gotten to Mommy the last 3 years as for the glory of the girl I do, and the pure celebration that was My First Real Mother’s Day.  I didn’t go out to Anna’s bench.  Thought about it.  But there are soooooo many days I’ve done that in sadness, in melancholy, in missing her, in grief, in anger, in remembrance, to make a statement to Anyone taking note that she still matters and she’s still mine and I haven’t forgotten.   But today I didn’t want to be mad.  Or hurting and crying.   I think of Anna everyday, look at her pictures every day, wonder who she’d be every day.  Sometimes I let myself go farther and Feel.  It’s hard.  It hurts.  Today, I just wanted to... relish.  And I did.  I did, and I felt like a queen and we celebrated our beautiful and delicious Cate, who makes us laugh all the time.   She’s perfection and I’m so lucky to be her Mama.

Here’s to all my Mommy friends, may you have had a day worthy of all the work, exhaustion, trials and tribulations of parenting you’ve experiences the last year.  Here’s to all the women who want so badly to be Mommies - to living children, to any children.  I pray you get to have a Mother’s Day like mine as soon as possible.  

It doesn’t disappoint. 

1/11/13 Better, squared

I know, it’s been forever.  Same old story - I think of things I’d like to write here at least every couple of days, but if there’s an evening I would have a chance after dishes and straightening and all the responsibilities, all I want to do is NOT use my brain.  Is it because I’m 44, a new-ish mom, or both?  Whatever...it is what it is, as the overused phrase goes.

Cate is napping now, for two more minutes, for thirty, hard to say.  So I’m pressed to convey what I really want to - quickly.  Which is...this girl makes everything else better, richer, deeper, brighter.  Going to work is rather exciting and frought a little bit with anxiety being away from her all day, my impetus to get out on time suddenly turned On, my entire mood upon leaving work dramatically altered from what it used to be.  What used to be a certain amount of drudgery, heaving myself one place to the next and sort of an overall bleakness, is now brilliant anticipation to get home to see her.  Hold her.   Glory in her.   Her squeals, smiles, uncoordinated jumping, wondering if Dad ever changed her out of her jammies and did she poop today?   A few months ago I went to a movie with a friend while Daddy stayed home with her, and was struck by how even this felt so much different, knowing I had a baby to go home to.

I know of one woman who has traveled a very similar path to ours, and she has not yet had success in bringing a child home.  I wish I could tell her that life can still be good and rich without a child.  I know it can, for some.  But I think there are others of us who truly have children as our heart’s very desire, and nothing else comes close to filling us the same way.   Maybe it’s because I appreciate her so very much.  But if anyone’s asking, I’ll say it’s because I was built to be a Mommy.  Going through life without it would have been like being a bowl without fruit.  Intact, functional, maybe even pretty, but essentially useless and taking up space.   Or maybe it’s the other analogy, the Wizard of Oz one where now life is in technicolor.  

Either way, I love it.

10/20/12 Her Gloriousness

There are many things I want to write about, many posts I’ve written in my head while feeding Cate or in the car.  But those will have to wait, as we are long past due for The Reveling.

Cate.  She is every good thing.  Her voice is by far the sweetest sound in my life, maybe of my life.  I already want a rewind button to be able to go back to the squishy lumpy uncoordinated noodle-neck tiny body of her youth.  How can she already be so very big??  She’s only 4 months old!  Yet there she is, fully into 6 month wear, long and slender as spaghetti, still managing to have plump little cellulite baby thighs.  With every new skill I think we’ll have time to soak in this phase for awhile, but the phase seems to last only hours before it has developed into something further.  There is no pause button with her - it is exhilerating, shocking, frightening, beautiful and truly amazing to watch this little human take shape.  Once again, you don’t fully understand ‘til you’ve walked the path yourself.

People ask me about her personality.  I know her but am challenged to put her into words.  She’s a happy girl.  When she’s slept well (and long enough), she wakes up calm, looking around, sqwaking, and, when she sees you, full of delicious life-changing smiles.  When she hasn’t slept long enough, she whines and cries as if someone is poking her in the back with a needle, but won’t open her eyes to see that she’s back in the world and it’s okay.  She doesn’t like car trips in the dark.  She’s not yet a Mommy or Daddy’s girl, but goes to others with curiosity and an openness to accept them.  Sometimes she’ll get a vibe that says “I’m not really okay with this person”, but for the most part, she’s good to go with the rest of the human race.  

She’s recently taken an interest in our pets.  Reaching out to touch them for the first time (and grab their fur, which they obviously adore).  She’s also exploring our faces with her hands, which WE absolutely do adore.  It feels like her way of saying she’s loves us too, that we are hers, and she can do with us what she will (which of course she can).  

She rolled over for the first time on October 19th.  I couldn’t tell you the last time I was so unequivocally revved up on Life as that afternoon.  She was a wondrous thing to watch, her surprise to find herself in a new position, her keen interest and focus in trying again, her voracity in doing it over and over as she perfected the skill - like getting right back in line for your new favorite roller coaster and familiarizing yourself with the curves.  She seemed both happy with herself and determined.  OH, it was so wild.  Giddy I was!! Unabashedly giddy.  

Watching Brad with her is pure heaven.  When she smiles at him, I’m telling you, the ice caps melt faster.  You can see his soul brighten and his body fill with delight.  His face...well, it’s everything we ever wanted for each other, let’s just say that.   He loves coming home to her, loves changing her diaper, loves the squeals of her finding her voice and her “conversations”.  The number of times I’ve heard “Honey, she’s doing _____ now!!”  It’s so fun to watch him be amazed by her.

As for me, well.... there isn’t one piece that I’m disillusioned over or am not relishing.   3 AM isn’t my favorite time of day, but I’ll take it with gratitude.  There are times when sleep simply must happen or this nearly 44 year old body won’t be able to function anymore, when I’m nauseous from fatigue.  But I’ve never been happier to be sick to my stomach.  I’m loathe to leave her when I go to work just two days a month - how pathetic yet wonderful is that?!  Brad watches her all day which is great for them both, I just...miss them!  I get next to nothing done because when she’s awake I want to interact with her; when she’s asleep I want to watch her; and when she’s eating I want to imprint it in my body and mind and heart, because nursing is my very very favorite thing and it’s going to be gone all too soon.  (Can you BELIEVE my body is sustaining her?  I can’t get over the brilliance and miraculousness of breastfeeding.  I’ve wanted to do it since I can remember, for the wonderment of it, but I couldn’t have imagined the incredulity that comes with knowing this old body that I’ve treated as if it were mine to ruin is responsible for actually giving my child the nutrients to live.  It’s The. Coolest.  (For me, not to knock anyone who has chosen not to or can’t for one reason or another.  No bones about that whatsoever.)  I can’t kiss her enough, cuddle her enough, feel her enough, HAVE her enough.  

She is our sunshine...our joy….our wonder….our completion. 

9/6/12 Feedback, Perspective

(Anna)        Equally precious….

(Cate)   ….Agonizingly different

So I just have to bring attention to this, because it feels significant.  Maybe to no one but me, but...

The emails I have received from my announcement that the website is back up and running have fallen into two distinct groups.   Most people like the zoo entry.   Then there are those who have commented on, and only on, “It’s the little things” post which refers to a certain section of Target.  These are all women who’ve had a child die.   

Interesting, don’t you think?  It just speaks to me about what people can relate to, what turns them on, and what things...don’t.  Or can’t.   

The responses from BLMs were emotional, so very genuinely happy for me, and yet full of pain at the same time.   All said they cried as they read it and I could feel the experiential recognition in their words.  One woman who also suffered infertility said she hadn’t set foot in Target since her daughter died.  

This morning I was thinking that I need to edit that post.  I started it by referring only to women who’ve lost a child.  I changed it a day or so later to people who’ve had infertility OR lost a child.  Today I realized I need to include everyone whose suffered.  Which is to say, everyone.  (If they haven’t yet, they will.  Life is like that.)  The world is a mine field to most for one reason or another.  Those whose mother has died is constantly and often unexpectedly reminded of the loss when talking to others whose mothers live, when passing the women’s clothing section (particularly the styles representing the age they were when they died or would be now), when Mother’s Day comes around, every holiday and every significant family event from which they are absent.  A woman whose son died this summer is affected by all the back-to-school hullabaloo.  Those whom have lost limbs or senses are constantly reminded of the things others can do that they can’t.   Those who have moved for whatever reason and left families behind, those who want to be one half of a loving couple but can’t find the partner to fill the other half, those who want a home or simple vacation but can’t afford one, and on and on it goes.  

Everyone’s struggle or loss is significant.  At the very least significant to them.   The world is largely insensitive and cruel to such losses.   It’s only Us that can help us, save us.  Only through loss or struggle does Humanity have meaning.   It’s what has sown my humanity, anyway.