This is my best platform for processing my brother's death.  As each month passes, it feels more and more irrelevant to talk about it with friends and family.

I miss him terribly.  I am filled with regret that I wasn't kinder and more accepting of him.  I was judgmental and snobby.  I thought that I was better than he was, and if he would just listen to me I could make him cooler, a better dad, a more successful person.  My brother and I couldn't have been much different if we he were a fish and I were a bird, but we were part of a pair.  We were raised together, shared all the same stories, understood our family, and knew each other in the unique way of just spending 27 years together in that weird relationship we had.

I know that the reason I want a big family is because my own family is whittled away to just two.  When my Mom dies, I will have no immediate family left.  By then my grandparents will be long gone, my parents dead and my only sibling dead.  The thought is so isolating and terrifying to me that it gives me a tightness in my chest just writing it.  My family felt so big when I was younger; cousins everywhere, aunts and uncles, grandparents that were more like parents.  It's hard to marry how I went from that to this.  I know this is why it's so important for me to create my own big family.  I want a lot of kids.  I want those kids to grow up, find the loves of their life and create their own big families.  When I die, I want my kids to still feel like their holidays are full of people.  Full of drama, full of busy schedules trying to see everyone, but most importantly, full of people to love and love them.

I'm missing when my brother and I would have our obligatory, "What should we get mom?" conversations leading up to the holidays.  I'm wishing that I could go back in time and hug him and try and find some common ground.  I want to shake people that tell me that they don't really get along with their siblings.  I was the queen of that back before I didn't have one to say that about.  I even said, "My brother is an addict, he will probably die.  I don't even honestly know how I would feel if it happened." Those are some numb words right there. 

I want to talk about that night, because that's the heavy shit that's on my heart that no one wants to hear about.

The day it happened, I had sent my brother a 3 page text telling him that I loved him, that I didn't think he should leave for Arkansas the next day and that I wanted him to be well.  I said I wanted to have a real brother and sister relationship.  When he didn't write back, I turned my phone off.  We were at Jane's house (Cameron's mom).

Later, my mom called Cameron's phone and was hysterical.  I took the phone to calm her down.  She said my brother was on the way to the hospital, not breathing.  I told her we'd seen this before.  He was probably just breathing shallow.  I said, don't worry I'm sure everything is going to be fine.  I remember being mildly concerned, but I really felt that this was just going to be a charcoal in the stomach, hooked up to IVs for a couple of days overdose.  I was honestly so irritated that I didn't even make plans to go to the hospital.  I was so tired of my brother's antics.

When my Mom called back a couple minutes later, I heard her screaming through Cameron's phone.  We were laying in bed.  I put my face in the pillow and chanted, "God, don't let him die. Don't let him die.  Don't let him die."

Cameron got off the phone and tried to get my attention, but I wasn't talking.  "Babe?  Baby.  I need you to listen to me.  Are you listening to me?"  "Yes...", I said. 

"Your brother died."

I remember flashes of what happened next.  I remember trying to stand up, but then somehow being on the floor crying.  Cameron said I tried to walk out of the house.  I remember walking a few paces and then doubling over crying.  I remember Jane crying and hugging me from behind.  I remember Cameron lifting me off the floor and laying me on the bed.  I remember not knowing what to do.

On the way to the hospital, I remember getting calls from people.  I remember Aidan calling crying.  I remember getting texts that people loved me.  I remember the immediate crushing weight of knowing that I was the only person left for my Mom.  I knew how hard she would hug me when she saw me.  I was her only remaining child.  The weight of that responsibility made me dread going to the hospital, even more so than seeing my brother.  I felt like I couldn't carry that weight, her emotions were going to be too big for me to carry with my own.

At the hospital, my Mom surprised me by basically keeping it together.  She hugged me close, but not desperately like I'd thought.

The hospital was strange.  We went between the grief room and my brother's room.  It's so strange to me that we just sat around him in the room.  He still had the tube in his mouth.  I remember he looked like he was sleeping, just kind of ashen.  I looked at my brother in a way that I probably had never done before.  Examined his arm hair, his leg, the way his nose looked like mine, his hair.  I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that the body in front of me was no longer living.  The numbness had already crept in.  I remember looking at the room.  They must have had us in some sort of stock room, could that be?  There was medicine and machines everywhere.  Maybe that's what they do with dead people to save space for people that need rooms for treatment.  People came in and out.  I sat on Cameron's lap.  My mom touched my brother's body.  I remember thinking that I couldn't possibly do that.  I wish they'd taken out the intubation tube, it was a constant reminder that he was dead not sleeping.  I felt the anger creeping in that night.

During the next week while my family was flying in, I was hiding out with the Froments.  I believe that if someone had been watching through a window, they would have never noticed that girl sitting there just lost her brother.  Here is a picture of me holding one of my nieces during that time...

I'm so grateful for that distraction during that time.  It took me over a year to pass through the anger and move into acceptance and sadness.  I just couldn't have been surrounded by all of that emotion from my family.  Everyone talking about how great he was, and all the good stories. I was remembering the addict still.  Angry that he would be so stupid.  Furious that he did this to our family, his kids!  I wasn't ready for sweet stories about my brother.  I wanted to wake him up and yell at him.

I remember telling my kids, and it was kind of a non-event.  I planned out what I would say and how I would tell them so that I could be strong and set a good example of healthy emotion.  As if I am any kind of authority on that.  I had one tear fall down, but that was it.  I told them, we hugged and I asked them what they needed from me.  Then I switched tracks and we watched a movie. 

The funeral was a blur.  I wasn't going to say anything, but at the last minute decided to.  God only knows what I said.  I remember I was dressed so strangely.  A little black dress with like a black feathery flamboyant hair piece.  I didn't want to buy anything for "my brother's funeral" because I felt like I could never wear it again.  I'd hate it in my closet.  So my friend Karis brought over a bunch of dresses and I ended up wearing one of hers.  I distracted myself from the weirdness of what I was getting dressed for by dressing fabulous.  I remember everyone telling me how pretty I looked.  I'm sure people judged me for how I was dressed, but it's just how I had to do it.  To dress bland, or sad would have been to admit that I should be feeling something.

The last thing I want to talk about is how weird it is to me that he's cremated.  I think it would be so much easier for me if I had a place where I knew even his bones were.  Knowing that his ashes are in an urn at my mom's house does nothing for my sense of understanding.  For something physical to no longer exist in any way goes against my reality.  I think of his little details like his nose, his teeth, his hair and how they literally don't exist.  Souls leave, fine.  I get that.  But no physical part exists now either?  I just can't.  It's made me decide that I want to leave enough money for my kids to bury me.  I want them to have somewhere to go to talk to me.  This whole, "you can talk to them anywhere" concept is too abstract.  People need to feel like they are there with someone somehow.

So holidays are different for me now.  They bring up all of this shit and with each year it gets harder to talk about and easier to talk about all at once.  When I feel like I'm ready to really spill my guts, I feel like everyone else is ready to move on.

There's no good ending for this.  But go hug people today, even the ones you don't wanna.

My life with Andy for 7 years

Tomorrow is Andy's 7th birthday, holy crap.

I took the Love Languages for Kids quiz with Andy recently, and not surprisingly his love language is "Quality Time".  My heart squeezed with emotion every time he would chose things like "Let's go to a movie together" instead of "I've got a present for you!" in the quiz.  Notably, he also picked every single option that had to do with affection.  I made a mental note to remember this about my baby as I do my best each day to make him feel loved.

Andy is so different from his sister.  Raising the two of them so closely is a great illustration of how personalities can vary so sharply person to person, regardless of how they are raised equally.

There's so much to say about Andy that I'm not sure I could organize it fluidly in story form so I'm going to make a giant "About Andy" list for his 7th birthday.  Since I've never published this list before, we'll start from the beginning.

The very beginning.

David Andrew Vidal was born on October 9, 2006 via scheduled repeat cesarean.  He was only 6lbs and 14oz, a small stature for his big parents.  As it turns out, due dates were mistaken and he was taken out too early.  He spent the first week of his life in the NICU because he had trouble keeping his oxygen levels up.  After he was released, we never had any other issues.  He had just been slightly under-cooked when he came out.

Andy grew his first two teeth around 6 months but then didn't grow any more until after his 1st birthday.  He crawled around 11 months, walked around 14 months.  He was always SUCH a good baby.  I had learned my lesson with his sister about rocking children to sleep, so I put Andy in a co-sleeper next to our bed from the first night he was home until he transitioned into a crib.  He never had any problems being laid down for bed.  He was a quick learner, even then.  A sign of times to come.

Andy started barfing shortly after his 1st birthday.  It was the most puzzling thing.  He would barf almost every day at least once but never with any particular kind of food.  Sometimes he would barf with morning oatmeal, other times he would scarf it down just fine.  He seemed to always be nauseated.  Sometimes he would walk into the kitchen where I was cooking and violently gag. It was so weird.  For weeks I tried to track his food with no luck.  There was nothing that always made him barf or never made him barf.  He seemed willing to eat food but physically unable to sometimes.  We took him to the doctor and the doctor recommended we stop serving him dairy.  We started him on soy milk and removed all dairy from his diet and just like that, the vomiting stopped.  Over time we were able to work in dairy products but Andy still can't have too much "regular milk" (as he calls it) or he will barf.  So the official diagnosis is lactose intolerance.

I didn't potty train Andy, he just made the decision to start using the potty on his own.  I'm not kidding.  He asked me for "big boy chonies" one day and from that day forward used the potty like his sister.  He was less than 2 years old.

Andy lovedddddddd his binki.  Unlike Elyse who was always ambivalent about hers, Andy had a deep attachment.  It was a constant struggle to keep it out of his mouth.  One day when he was over 2 years old (shame on Mommy!) I tried to brush his teeth and noticed his eye teeth clinked together instead of settling next to each other in a regular bite. Certain I had ruined his teeth forever, I stole his binki that night while he was sleeping and he never saw it again.  His teeth straightened out in a few months and all has been well since.

Andy has always slept with his sister up until this year.  His crib was in her room until he transitioned into co-sleeping with her in their queen sized bed.  They both loved it.  I knew there would come a time when one of them (probably Elyse) would be over it but it took longer than I thought.  They are best friends and they were little snuggle buddies.  Elyse wanted to share a room with her step-sister this year, and it's the first time Andy has been on his own.  It was hard on him at first, but I think he's grown into it.  Every time I put him to bed he asks me to shut his closet door for him, and turn on his dream sleeper.  Speaking of, when he sleeps he grinds his teeth so loud I can hear it in my room.  It's horrific and he gets that from me.  He also has a weird habit of sleeping completely under the blanket, tucked in around all sides.  He's the heaviest sleeper of all my kids.  I could drag him out of bed and he would stay asleep.  He sleeps like a little rock.

Pretty quickly, Andy's quirky sense of humor and outright weirdness started to emerge.  He wasn't the social butterfly my daughter was.  I remember sitting at a family party on a barstool and looking around to find Andy.  I couldn't see him so I got up to look around and found him sitting directly under my barstool playing quietly with a toy.  Content to be by himself, he just wanted to be by his Mama.  He loved Buzz Lightyear early on and was always trying to do silly things to make us laugh.  He loves dress shoes and sweater vests.  He'd wear them year round if he could.  (Note the dress shoes with the buzz lightyear costume below.)

 

 

Andy has an engineer's brain.  I remember him declaring in the backseat at only 3 years old that they made pop tarts rectangular so that they could fit into toasters, "because that makes sense".  When things don't belong, it is very disruptive to Andy's Zen.  If I would drive David's car instead of my car, Andy would repeat over and over the whole way to daycare that I was driving Daddy's car, not mine.  I remember we were in a hurry walking on a sidewalk and I saw a hair bow laying on the sidewalk.  I knew if Andy saw it, he would have to stop and discuss how that hair bow got there.  Who left it there?  How do you think it got here?  Do I think the person knows it's missing?  Sure enough, we got three paces past the hair bow and Andy stopped abruptly, turned around and yelled "A HAIRBOW IS ON THE SIDEWALK MOM". I had to hear all about that bow all the way to wherever we were going.  He has a lot going on in his mind, and he's very in his head.

 

 

Andy taught himself how to read.  No kidding, it was JUST like the potty training incident.  We sat down shortly before kindergarten and I decided to let him try to put the sounds together that he'd been learning about in pre-school and that child READ the book to me.  I felt like calling the news.  Elyse is like her Mama, we struggled with reading early on.  I expected the same tears and challenges when working with Andy, but there he was reading me a book before he even started school.  I swelled with pride.

 

Even now with school work, he just gets stuff.  He blows through Kindergarten and 1st grade homework like it's nothing, often doing all of his worksheets for the week in one night.  I was giving him a math quiz recently where he had to do as many of the problems in one minute as he could.  I got to the end of a minute and he still had a problem or two missing.  I said "Time's up!" he said, "Dang, I'm missing one problem but the others will be right."  He said it was such confidence, and they were.  It took him a second longer but he was certain that his work would be correct.

 

He often asks questions like ,"What is water?"  "What is air?"  "How do batteries work?"

"How big is space?"  My silly, weird little boy has a lot going on in that mind of his that he is trying to figure out.  I have no doubt he will have more answers than me in no time.

 

Andy relishes in being the class clown.  He has a handful of close friends, but when you observe him in class - everyone wants to be his friend.  The girls chase him and always want to hug him when he leaves.  He is used to everyone complimenting his pretty eyes (much to his sister's dismay).  He loves his teachers and just wants to be loved by others.

 

He loves video games and is a major Daddy's boy.  His favorite sport is soccer.  For the longest time he wanted to be Iron Man when he grew up.  Before Kindergarten started, he asked me what he should say when people asked him what he was going to be when he grew up because he wasn't ready for people to know he was Iron Man.  These days he says he wants to be a Police Officer.  When I asked him recently what he wanted to be when he grew up, he said "I want to know how to be funny with people, like Cameron".  It made my heart warm.

 

I will stand by the fact that Andy looks more like me than his Dad, forever.  Although I can see his Dad's body in Andy's little frame, Andy's face is mine.  He also has my stubbornness.  He is a sweet, tender-hearted, weirdo.

 

My favorite is that whenever I tell him that I love him, he says, "I love you more."  I let him win, even though I know that I love him biggest.

 

Behold my beautiful boy.  7 years into this life.  Full of wonder and loved by all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

Superfood Reminder

This is more a reminder for me than for you, but here they are anyway.  The supa-foods that help your body do what it's supposed-ta.

 

Kale: Its vitamin C has been shown to rev fat burning; plus, kale can turn on your natural detoxifying enzymes to help ward off lung and stomach cancers.

Cherries: They're like natural energy bombs: Anthocyanins help muscles use sugar for energy, and tart cherries have melatonin, a sleep-regulating hormone.

Yogurt: Probiotics—healthy bacteria in both regular and Greek yogurt—aid digestion. And the hit of calcium may fire up fat melting and discourage fat storage.

Almond Butter: Fiber in this nutty spread lowers the number of calories you absorb from meals, so they pass clean through your system.

Dark Chocolate: Antioxidants in the sweet stuff appear to lower levels of the stress hormone cortisol (linked with belly fat) and aid circulation. Result: glowing skin

Blueberries: Nature's miracle pill? They're full of fiber that helps pull fat through the digestive tract. Plus, blueberries contain antioxidants that speed fat burning

Olive Oil: Trading out the saturated fat in butter for the monounsaturated in olive oil may help you feel more energized and switch on fat-burning genes.

A New Project!

I am soooo excited to share that I have finally taken the first step in my Birth Project adventure.  I've created the site, a facebook group and an email address and now I just have to start gathering information to help it grow.

My plan is to build a go-to resource that women can use when planning their labor & delivery so that women can be prepared for the onslaught of choices, information and potential interventions that are thrown at them during their birth experience.  It can be so overwhelming and the right planning can help prevent some of that undue stress on laboring mamas.

Please check it out if you would be so kind.  And if you're feeling extra givey of your time, please take a moment to fill out the birth survey section if you are a mama.

Thanks!  www.birthproject.weebly.com 

I Made Elyse Cry

School is starting and we're proactively trying to get everything organized, planned out and in a routine.  When will we do homework?  Where will we do our homework?  How will we make sure our homework is done?  How long do we need to study?  What do we do if there's no homework? 

All that fun stuff.

We are currently in the pre-game.  The kids aren't getting a lot of homework, mostly practice pages they did during school and about 57 million things for parents to sign and return.  We also haven't had orientation yet so everything we see in their folder is up to interpretation and you only have to go by what the kid is saying, what you know to make sense about the world and how well organized your child is .

Elyse is terrible at organization.  I got home from work and got the usual, "yeah, yeah, yeah - we did our homework" bit.  Then, cut to 8:45pm - time for bed - and suddenly Elyse needs me to sign something.  I open up her folder and it's complete chaos.  I'm totally hyper-organized with stuff like that, I label my labels and make lists for lists but if I'm on one side of the spectrum, Elyse is on the other.

So I'm trying to stay calm, on the left side of the folder I find several half done activity sheets.
 
"Are these supposed to be finished?" 
No, she says.  "We are just supposed to bring them home, Mom." 

"Why don't you have to finish them?" 
"We just don't, Mom.  Trust me.  This is our "take home" stuff."

So then I flip to the other side of the folder.  I find several half done activity sheets. 
"Are THESE supposed to be finished?" 
No, she says.  "We did these in class, they are already graded." 

"But why isn't it finished?" 
"We just didn't have to, Mom." 

"But why is it in this side of the folder instead of the other side with all of the other half-finished activity sheets that weren't homework?"
"It just was, Mom.  I remember what the teacher said, and I don't have to do these worksheets." "Trust me.", she says.

So then I find a homework check off sheet at the very bottom of the pile, which says "Check Math Homework".  At least one of the half done activity sheets that "didn't have to be finished at home" were math sheets.  I have no idea if I'm supposed to make her re-do the answers or just mark what's wrong?  Is she even supposed to bring it back tomorrow or am I just supposed to "check it"?

At this point, something in me snaps. 

I fall right into lecturing Elyse on organization, and the importance of having a place for her work.  I'm explaining that we have a lot of parents involved in her life that all have to know what's going on.  I remind her that she is a big girl and old enough to organize her work.  I'm trying to convince her it will help her, that everyone needs organization.  She is totally and completely resistant to everything I'm saying.

She starts crying, I can tell she's frustrated and something in me softens.

I say, "Why are you crying, Elyse?  I'm just trying to helpful?"  She tells me I seem mad.  I tell her I'm not mad, but the crying continues.  The crying gets worse.

She is crying because she doesn't want to change the [totally random] labels she's taken time to write in cursive in her folder.

She is crying because "what if she gets a lot more take home papers than homework papers and one side of the folder is wayyyyyyyyyyyyy bigger than the other!"

She is yelling at me to just do "WHATEVER YOU WANT!  You're the Mom!  JUST DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!"

Parenting is hard, man.  It's these moments where I have no idea where we are, how we got here and/or how to get out.  I literally had no idea what I had said to make her so emotional.

I put her to bed shortly after that, and she was still weepy.  I told her a stupid joke about a lion, zebra, giraffe and frog.  She laughed, I kissed her forehead and told her we would talk about a solution that will work for both of us tomorrow.

She came home from school the next day with an "incomplete" circle on her homework sheet for not completing one of the math sheets.  She prefaced telling me that with about one thousand don't-be-mad-at-me's.  The same worksheet that I held in my hand as she assured me she just didn't have to do it, and told me to just trust her. 

I felt the patience in me start to crumble, but this time instead of leaning in on the lecture I just asked her if she understood more about the importance of organization.  I thought to myself, "Look at you stay patient! *mental high-five* What a divine learning opportunity for her to see the light!".

She countered with, "No!  It's not my fault!"

"The teacher didn't tell us!"
"I didn't know"
"It was an accident!!"

Parenting is hard, man.

A totally different angle and she still hates organization.  And evidently she is mad at me again for even thinking about holding her responsible for not completing an assignment.  We were gifted a  perfect real world example of why a "take-home" and "homework" folder would be so beneficial and she still abhors the idea.

I don't have an answer, or a pretty resolution at the end of this post or an  "aha moment" that I had to share. 

I dropped my daughter off at school this morning and she was mad at me because in an unrelated argument, I told her she needed to stop making excuses and to just do what I say.  My sweet, sensitive daughter is turning into a big-for-her-britches time-bomb of emotions.  There are just so many feelings in there!  I thought I knew her so well and she is surprising me more and more, every single day.  I repeat, there are just SO many feelings in there!

The car was pulling up to where she would get out and I told her, "I know you're frustrated with me, but I still love you.  I love all the feelings you have in your heart, and all the opinions you have in your head - even the ones that are different from mine.  You're in charge of those and I don't want to take them from you.  I just want to help you be the best person you can.  Do you understand?"

"I do."

I told her I loved her.

"I love you too, mama." she said.

"At Least Your Baby is Healthy."

A woman sits in her hospital bed, recovering from a difficult birth.  She is holding her beautiful healthy baby, overcome with joy at this perfect and healthy child brought into this world.  Despite the joy, there is this nagging feeling of disappointment over her birth.  She is exhausted, hormonal and overwhelmed with emotions.  She collects her courage and tells a friend that it feels like she lost something important to her, that she feels like she failed.  She explains how she feels weak and powerless because she couldn't even do something as natural as have a baby.

The good-intentioned friend tries to assure her, "at least your baby is healthy..."

It's an innocent statement.  We've all heard it a million times.  There is certainly an undeniable truth to it.  It is also terribly damaging to a woman who is mourning a birth experience.

Realistically, a healthy baby is always something to praise God for, probably especially so if there was a difficult birth or life threatening emergency involved.  The problem with pointing out something so obvious though is that it's often used to indirectly tell someone, "You shouldn't feel anything but grateful that your baby is healthy."  So what happens when we still feel disappointed?

Women who prepare themselves for a certain birth experience can feel devastated when things don't go as planned.  I mean that word with all the weight it comes with.  It can be devastating.  When we tell these women, "At least, your baby is healthy...", are we hoping this masked statement of positivity will banish feelings of disappointment and inadequacy?  I assume so.  Is that how feelings work?  Not usually.

When we tell someone to look at the bright side or to focus on the good stuff, we are not giving them the space to process their negative feelings.  Negative feelings rarely go away because we tell them to, or because we're told we shouldn't feel them.  Often, when we're told "At least your baby is healthy", our feelings of guilt and inadequacy are compounded by feelings of shame and perceived selfishness for mourning a birth experience while holding our perfect, healthy baby.  We feel confused about why we're not overcome with joy, like we should be.  We feel like terrible mothers for focusing on the negative when all that should matter is our healthy baby.  We feel depressed, inadequate, guilty, broken, selfish and like a bad mother.  And then we're told through so many words that all that matters is our healthy baby.  Our feelings don't matter.  With no safe place to go, our feelings have nowhere to go but down deep inside of us.

Birth is an intensely emotional process for a woman.  I believe that if a woman doesn't recognize the power birth has in her life, there are probably other bigger things she has numbed herself to.  It is the essence of our womanhood.  The birth experience can shape our deepest core perception of who we are, our power as a woman; carrier of life.  It's not to say that cesareans, inductions, hospital births, car births or any kind of unplanned birth experience should change our sense of self, it's simply acknowledging that it is easy to feel like our power and capabilities as a woman are reflected in our birth experience.  It's as real as feelings are, right or wrong.

So what do you say to a woman that is mourning a birth while holding a perfectly healthy baby? 

Maybe you don't say anything.  Maybe you just love that mama, and give her a safe place to cry or even yell about how unfair it was.  Maybe you ask her what about her birth she would do differently next time?  Maybe you ask her if there was any part of her birth she feels proud of? 

At most, we can help these women, these all-powerful carriers of life, remember their strength.  We can remind them that they did their best and we can help them process their birth as an experience they can learn from.

At least, we can love these women, these all-powerful carriers of life, and we can cry with them that their birth was totally disappointing and it really sucks when things don't go as planned.  Tell them we understand.  Sometimes that's all anyone needs.

Two Years Since Becoming an Only Child

It's been two years since my brother died.  Well, the actual anniversary was June 19th.  We call that whole week "hell week" in my family because Father's Day (the day he died in 2011), the 19th (the actual day he died) and his birthday (the 25th) all happen within a week.  On one hand, it's nice that we get it all over with at once but it makes for a pretty heavy time emotionally.

Gearing up to that week, I felt more than I have in the last two years.  I think I've finally resolved the anger part of grieving and moved into sadness.  The finality is also hitting me hard this year.  The fact that I've had so much life transpire since that time that my brother never saw just escapes my ability to comprehend.  He never met Milo.  He never really met Cameron beyond a drive by hello once.  Another thing I find myself fixated on is that he was cremated, thus no part of him physically exists anymore.  I find myself thinking about the same details: his nose, his mouth, his teeth, his saggy jeans on his butt, and when his hair was long and would get the back of his shirt wet after a shower.  The weirdest little details.  And then I challenge my brain to comprehend that those things are no more.  I think it would have been marginally easier for me if I knew that his body was in a grave somewhere; even with the understanding that it would be decomposing.  At least it would help my brain process "death" with the comprehension that the body still exists, just the soul is gone.  The fact that no physical part of him exists any longer is just more than my mind can wrap it's arms around. 

There is also a shift in reality for me in that I'm going from the "Yeah, my brother just died" phase to the "My brother died a long time ago" chapter.  I think about how that is wrapped up in who I am now.  My kids will tell their friends our scandalous family secret when they're older.  I think of what I would have said as a child; elaborating the story to make it as interesting as possible.  I guess I just imagine what other people would say about me, "Her brother died of an over-dose when she was 27.  Her kids never really had an uncle.  She grew close to her in-laws, and had close cousins but isn't it sad that she has no remaining siblings?"  Maybe no one says that, but it's just a weird processing thing my brain does.

There is also the severe isolation that the span of time creates when you're dealing with loss.  I feel like I don't want to burden anyone with my feelings.  There is nothing they can say that hasn't already been said, and it would just make them worry about me - or worse, uncomfortable.  I come from a mother who is very in-your-face with her emotions; very "I'm sad.  I'm going to cry.  My son died, and I am going to cry if I feel like it, and you can't stop me."  Her style of handling emotions has had a huge impact on my own emotional processing.  I know that it's the reason I don't want to burden others with my feelings, because I grew up feeling burdened by hers.  That worried, out-of-control feeling of knowing that someone you love is hurting and not knowing how to fix it.  Ugh, it's the worst feeling in the world for me.  I would never want to risk making someone else feel that way, which makes for a very trapped grieving process.  I get so good at compartmentalizing my feelings as to not raise any red flags that it becomes impossible for me to tear down those walls and open up.  Even the thought of talking to a counselor repels me emotionally.  Driving is a common time for me to get sad about Tom because it's one of the only times I'm ever alone and just thinking.  I have all this yuck feeling inside of me - this heaviness - and I just feel sad about my brother.  And I think, "Maybe I should tell someone, and get it out?".  Then I start thinking of what that process will look like, I imagine starting off the conversation light-hearted, "Hey!  How are you?  Oh good, good.  Just got off work.  Yeah, kids are great.  How's blah-blah-blah?  So anyway, I'm really sad about my brother."  How awkward is that?  Or I start thinking, they are just going to say "I'm sorry, Jenni.  You have a right to be sad.  It hasn't been that long, it's okay to feel this way.  Maybe you should talk to someone?" And then I imagine the discomfort I will feel when they run out of things to tell me to fix it.  I'll immediately over-compensate and assure them I feel better, thank them for the great advice and let them off the hook for this horrific conversation. 

It really feels like I am on my own with this one.  No one understands how I feel.  Not even my mom.  She lost a child, but she still has a child.  She is still a mother.  I lost my only brother, I am no longer a sister.  That identity has been taken from me. 

Add to that the child's burden of dealing with the grief of their parents.  I know for certain I'm not alone in this.  I've read about sibling loss and "dealing with your parents grief" right up there with, "dealing with the fact you don't have your parents to support you through this".  It's such a unique situation where the people that would normally help you through something so traumatic, simply aren't there.  They are unavailable.  Spiraling in their own grief cycle.

I called my Mom a couple Fridays ago, and she was obviously drinking.  My mom is an alcoholic.  I debated whether or not to put that on my blog, but I don't see the benefit in keeping it a secret.  I "outed" my Mom's drinking habit as a teenager after years of watching her change from my loving mom to someone else, someone who was mean and lied and made shitty decisions.  I promised myself that I would never let anyone pull me down with them emotionally like that, ever again.  I had exhausted my "dealing with addiction" account around age 16; which is a huge reason my brother didn't get the benefit of any sympathy from me.  I was all used up, tired of that story.  I have a family full of addicts; it's exhausting.

So this isn't any kind of post that can wrap up with a nice little resolution.  I'm still trying to navigate my feelings that I've effectively buried deep.  A good friend of mine recommended an awesome book called, "Everything you do is everything you are." and it's basically a soul workbook.  You draw pictures and answer questions, write letters to yourself and others - it's super hippy and I love it.  I've been trying to do artsy creative stuff.  I'm baking again.  I'm trying to talk about my feelings to people I trust.  I've taken a step back from anything and anyone that doesn't perpetuate peace in my life. I'm trying to focus on my strong core - Jesus, my husband, my kids.  Everything else is just details.

As always, my favorite quotes that get me through everything:

I crossed the street to walk in the sunshine.

I've woven a parachute out of everything broken.

A Sad but True Story in Pictures - January 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Child Turned 8

As in eight YEARS old.  As in, I have an 8 year old child, masquerading around as a woman, living in my house, that I grew in my belly - EIGHT YEARS AGO.

We spent the weekend celebrating her birthday, because I'm me and she's her and we both love birthdays.  The problem is that some sort of mathmatical parenting formula including one birthday monster raising another birthday monster means that certain people equal birthday divas if left unchecked.  Certain people named Elyse that is.  So I had do some minor birthday diva checking like "No you cannot paint a $50 puppy statue at As You Wish."  "No, I will not take you to dessert somewhere else when you just had dessert."  "Yes, you must pay for your own toys using your gift cards."  But by and large, she was a good and gracious birthday girl.  She had an ice skating party and did awesome learning to skate.  She went swimming with her (bonus) sister all evening Saturday.  We took a painting class Sunday morning.  We went shopping, had lunch, colored official oil painting portraits of each other and swam some more.  It was a good 8th birthday if I do say so myself.  Here are some snaps from the big day.



And I love her a lot.  A lot, a lot. 

At 8, she is standing around 5ft tall.  Tall like her mama - I wouldn't be surprised if she grew even taller.  She wears a size 6 in women's shoes.  She showed her true maternal spirit this year when her brother was born, proving that she really is the fruit of my belly.  She shows glimpses now of big girl with eyes rolling and independance where there was previously pure dependance and blind loyalty to her mama.  She'll ignore me when I make her mad.  She'll argue if she disagrees.  I try and remind myself that no now means no later to bad boys and mean girls.  She loves fashion and art.  She likes to wear crazy things and is fearless when she does it.  I ask her, "What will you say when someone tells you that you don't match?" she'll say, "I'll tell them they don't match, and ask them why they care what I'm wearing."  We had our first conversation about body image.  I told her all that matters is that she loves herself and that her body is strong.  She understands more and more about God, telling me that my brother died so that things that we haven't seen yet will happen one day for our good.  In her first practice running in volleyball, she got last place and I could tell she gave up.  I told her she had to run fast, and harder when she saw other people beating her.  I told her she should feel like her lungs are on fire and that her heart is beating out of her chest and to just keep trying harder and harder.  The next practice she got 2nd place.  The kids in her class love her and everyone wants to be her friend.  Her teachers want a 100 children like her in their classroom.  She is lazy at reading, but she catches on to learning concepts easily.  She still rocks at art.  She can fit into some of my smaller clothes barely, and this delights her.  She sneaks into my jewelry and asks to borrow my dangley earrings.  She loves when I put make up on her for special occassions.  She still likes to cuddle on the couch.  She nearly never cries and when she does cry, she hates to do it front of other people.  When she wrote me a mushy card for mother's day, she didn't want anyone else to read it.  Things like that are so clearly me in her.  She bosses her brother around but also scolds him and pulls him back if he walks into a street without looking first.  She is still a terribly picky eater and gags if Milo spits up on her.  She will help me willingly with anything I ask her to help me with.  She has a terrible habit of saying anything and everything that comes to mind to say like telling the Nanny that we "spy" on her (which we do with the camera), or telling me I have a pimple on my face, or telling my Grandma that the flowers she gave us died already.  She still holds my hands sometimes when we are walking, but she always hugs me when I see her.  She hates when I do her hair, but likes when I help her pick out an outfit.  She is still more child than big girl, thank God for that.

Here are some pages from the birthday book I made her about her life.