I Remember

There is more power and meaning in the words "I remember" than you probably realize. I can clearly recall being very young, maybe elementary school age, and being impressed and touched when someone said to me "I remember" some fact about me. It takes interest to learn something about a person, and then of course you have to care enough to store that information and be able to recall it later on.

This power is more obvious in a new relationship. If a boyfriend gives you a movie, says "I remember you said you wanted this," you're happy that he paid attention and remembered. If a friend takes you to a new restaurant, says "I remember you like this type of food," it's also impressive.

As time goes on, you don't learn as many new facts about people. My husband knows my favorite color is blue, that I'm a vegetarian, that I love rocky road ice cream. So while it touches me if he brings me something blue, makes me a meatless meal, or eats rocky road with me, it's not quite the same as it was before. It's paying attention to new things--remembering that I have a meeting at work that I'm dreading, asking how my book club went--that impress me now.

I've been hearing "I remember" a lot lately. Some of it is "I remember the day after your daughter died, you were surrounded by people helping with the baby because we were all afraid you might collapse." Other people have repeated back to me things I've told them, some of the ideas I've been sorting through about free will and why bad things happen.

The strangest thing, in a way, is people telling me things they remember me doing years ago. One friend told me she remembered when I told her I was pregnant with my first baby. She had experienced miscarriages and I felt awful for her. I didn't want her to find out from someone else, as though as I was hiding the pregnancy, so I made it a point to tell her. She remembers that.

Another friend, someone I went to high school with, recently emailed and told me a lot of his good memories of growing up involve me. He seems concerned about how I'm doing, wants to check up on me. Just that simple phrase, expressing that he remembers me, really showed me he cares.

My point? I wish everyone would find something they care enough to pay attention to and commit to memory. I feel there's less and less of this as technology takes over. We can be in touch with 200 Facebook friends, but how much do you really know about them?

Living for our children?

Someone told me today, that basically I shouldn't live for my child because she may one day disappoint me. I can't stop thinking about it. It actually really annoys me, because first of all, I already know that, and second of all, it doesn't mean I should do any less for my daughter now.

As I've said, the need to take care of her, rather than leave her to the care of others, is what got me out of bed and literally gave me a reason to live after my older daughter died. And really, before she died, I lived for my firstborn. I scheduled my life around. What parent doesn't? At the very least, you need childcare before you can do anything else, and have to make sure your child is fed and gets enough sleep.

My goal is to raise my daughter to the best of my ability, show her that she has choices, try to teach her to make good ones, and then let her go. I wouldn't say my parents have done that. They STILL try to tell me what to do. My father, just a couple of weeks ago, said something to the effect of "You never what might happen!" I politely told him that I was the last person who needed to be reminded of the unexpected, that in losing my daughter, I've expected more of that than he has. Which for once stopped his lecture or whatever it was.

Still, can't get this out of my head. The man who said it to me reminded me that I have a life, and that I should live it. I think I have come to that feeling now, though after losing my daughter, I felt like my life didn't matter. I'm running my first 5K on Saturday. I've never been much of a runner, but I've gotten into it (OK, more of a jogger, really) and actually enjoy it now.

I'm doing another run next month. A coworker signed up to do it for me, though she initially said she doesn't like exercise. When I asked her why she changed her mind, she said she's doing it because she can. That really stuck with me, and is why I decided to run this other race. One day, I may not be able to. My body, my mind, my heart might give out on me someday, but today, they're all working, and I plan to use them.

I feel anyone who doesn't give their heart and soul to something is probably lost. Some people give their all to their jobs, others to their faith, and others to their families. I'm trying to give my all to my daughter, and to myself. And to the man who tried to point this out to me, thanks, but I'm already there.

Randomness

While I was traveling last week, I started reading Rabbi Kushner's When Bad Things Happen to Good People. He lost his son to progeria when the son was 14 years old. I've read about half the book now, and it seems his view is that contrary to popular belief, God does not control absolutely everything. There are random occurrences in this world, good and bad, and something like a child dying can be considered one of these.

Initially, I liked his idea. I hate thinking that my daughter was supposed to die young. I can't stand believing that God meant for her to die in a horrible accident, or that I was always meant to live my life without her. But I'm a bit unsettled by the idea of a God who is not all-powerful.

If you watched Star Trek: The Next Generation, then you're familiar with the character called Q. He is omnipotent, can be anywhere, anytime, and do anything. I always thought of Q as sort of a god. He is, however, not always benevolent in the way we believe God to be.

All I can think of now is that we are supposedly created in God's image. Well, which part of his image is that? Is God sometimes mean? Is he not omnipotent? Is he forgetful? I don't know. I guess I need to read the rest of the book. I'm curious to see how the rest of Rabbi Kushner's explanation is laid out.

It does in some way agree with the few things I've come to realize on my own. That we do have free will, that some things do happen which probably aren't according to any plan but are instead the result of that free will, or circumstance. The part I have trouble with though is that then what role does God play? What am I supposed to have faith in? A God who keeps me strong through any horrible thing that happens?

I saw a wall hanging recently that said something like "Grace is not getting what we deserve, and getting that which we do not deserve." It made me angry. Did I deserve to lose my daughter? What part of that whole tragedy did I not deserve? Faith, grace, these are ideas I continue to struggle with.

Reboot

I've known a couple of people who've lost children, one just before and one just after I did. Both couples went to Europe just afterward. That wasn't an option for us, but we did travel cross-country and stayed with my family for a couple of weeks.

After my daughter's memorial, we had visitors for a few weeks. My brother stayed with us a few extra days, then we went and stayed at a vacation home owned by some friends for a few days. Then my college roomate came to visit. She had planned the visit months before, intending to see the new baby and help with my older daughter. She extended her stay by a few days and got us through that tough period. All of these activities helped fill up time, keep us from sinking into dispair.

Then for a couple of weeks, it was just us. In our now-quiet house. My younger daughter was about 3 months old, and still slept a lot. We were so used to having a 2 and a half year old around, taking her to the park, to see friends, we didn't know what to do with ourselves in our empty, quiet house. So we went to visit my family, and when we came back, I started work again. I had been off for 12 weeks--6 before her death, and 6 after--all technically maternity leave. It was a strange few months, but somehow traveling helped make the adjustment.

As I've posted before, losing my daughter was like being swept off the path I was on and being dumped on another, with no way to even look back at the old one. Getting away was, for me and maybe for the other couples I mentioned, sort of a reboot. It cleaned the slate in some tiny way, allowing me to stand up on the new path and continue on.

Four days from now, my daughter will have been gone for 16 months. I'm feeling weary. I haven't cried, had any flashbacks, or felt the rage I had a few months ago. I'm just tired. I do all the "normal" things--work, participate in social activities, take care of my toddler, and so on. But I know I have a diminished capacity. I'm a little slower at seemingly everything, and there are many things I just let slip by that I wouldn't otherwise.

I'm wishing for another reboot, something that will give me a new burst of energy. After my daughter died, and the business of her death (memorial, people in our house, etc.) was over, I felt like I almost literally had to pick up my family and keep moving. I feared if I didn't, I, maybe we, would all break down and never recover.

So in a way, I have been running, carrying at least my child and perhaps my husband with me for a long time now. Through it all, I've had this feeling of disbelief (denial, I suppose) that I know just can't go on forever. The disbelief of losing my daughter has changed into disbelief that I am living without her, but it's almost equally exhausting.

Outwardly, I doubt anyone who knows me or sees me would know I'm exhausted. Honestly, even finding time for me (working full-time, with a toddler and a husband who's in school and working) is a bit of a task. And of course I do EVERYTHING with the shadow of her death over me, over every thought I have. How do I escape it? I don't know that I can. I suppose it's like a diabetic who is always diabetic. Medicine helps ease the symptoms, but they're always there.

I could use some rest. Any ideas?

Predestination and forgiveness

I've often believed things happen for a reason, that there are no coincidences. People will tell you so, especially when it's something BAD that happens--a promotion you didn't get, first date who never calls again, a house you make an offer on and lose to a higher bidder. The intent usually is to convince you that it wasn't within your power to stop the bad thing from happening.

It is true that in life there are many things humans can't control. But if there is such a thing as predestination, God is a cold, cruel entity. This isn't the exact line, but captures the basic meaning of a passage from The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society. It captured my eye right away. I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that. I tend to agree with the idea.

If you believe things happen according to some sort of divine plan, then it is easy to let go of things you can't control, to forgive yourself when things go wrong. But to me it's impossible then to believe in a kind, loving God. It doesn't matter if somehow my daughter's death results in some sort of good. There is to me no personal evil worse than what I felt the day she died.

I have managed to forgive myself for the things I could have done to prevent her death. It was an accident, and like any other accident, the result of a series of random occurrences and circumstances that if minutely altered could have meant a different ending. In a similar vein, it's difficult for me to believe that losing her and all the pain my family has suffered in the months since was someone's intent.

It's easier for me to believe that there are forces in this world that we can't know or understand. Various things happen for various reasons. Maybe there is a partial plan, but there are also free will, circumstances, and the actions of others. The butterfly effect--one little thing done differently here in the U.S. can change what happens to a random person somewhere in China. I tend to believe that's true.

So, maybe some things happen for a reason. Other things just happen. We have to release and forgive ourselves.

About God--I've never believed in God as sort of an elevated human (in accordance with many religious traditions). I can't imagine anything resembling a person actually controlling things, holding the reins of all of our lives. I tend to believe in some sort of energy that exists in the world, something we can't see, hold, or describe.

My ideas about how and why things happen, randomness plus plans, I suppose they fit with my idea of "God." Which apparently I know feel the need to put in quotes, because many people might read this and object to my...blasphemy? Not sure. It seems those of strong faith can manage to renew it even upon experiencing evil. Some lose their faith completely. I'm somewhere in the middle--my faith was vague at best, and while it's somewhat clearer now (as far as my ideas about how/why things happen) it's also even more vague with respect to the details.

Forgiveness--you have to forgive yourself. And to me, part of that is realizing that I really can't control everything, can't control MOST things.

Death goes on

'"Life goes on. What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn't...dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and forever. There's no end to that. But perhaps there's an end to the sorrow of it. Sorrow has rushed over the world like the waters of the Deluge, and it will take time to recede. But already, there are small islands of--hope? Happiness? Something like them, at any rate.'

I just finished reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. It's a nice little book, nothing I'm overly excited about, but the passage above really caught my eye. It describes exactly how I feel. I believe in an earlier post, I mentioned that losing my daughter is like being on one path, and then suddenly being dropped off a cliff onto other. There's no way to climb back to my previous path, I can't turn around, and don't know where I'm going. I've had to let go off what I had already seen on that path (to some extent) and what I thought I would see as I kept walking.

I do think the waters have receded a bit. I remember telling a friend in those days between my daughter's death and the memorial that while sadness overshadows everything, it doesn't mean that the good things aren't good. My baby girl's first time rolling over, the first time she said Mama, all of it is still so good. I only wish her big sister could be here to see it all too.

Early on, I remember a few people using the word "heal." I considered that word for a long time. Other people said "move on" but I knew that wasn't right. Move forward was somewhat better, but both reminds me of the idea that "life goes on." Healing means that you get better. You're never exactly as you were before.

I have scars and stretch marks from my two pregnancies and c-sections. Most people have never seen them and never will. Just as most people never met my daughter and never will. Is that healing? A slight amoung of sadness that exists as some sort of physical manifestation that I can live with. That's how I think of it for now. The scar is still not formed--I still have open wounds, raw emotion, and it can all be irritated at any time, by the oddest of things.

Still working on healing. Death goes on, hopefully eventually the waters DO recede.