My Beautiful Little Boy

Christmas

2011-12-16T21:19:00.000-08:00

At Christmas we miss you so much.
We get your ornaments out from the box. And put them up on the tree. We buy you one every year.

We love you as much as we love each other, but you aren't here.
Our boy, our son, brother. We miss you so much.
I love being together with family this time of year, the baking of cookies and old traditions being brought to present, celebrating love and being inside when it's dark, drinking warm drinks, being cozy. I just wish you were here.

My mom buys you a coat every Christmas. She buys a coat your size and donates it to a little boy who needs it. The coat looked so big this year. I so wish I could see you wearing it. But I'm glad that another little boy will wear it. He deserves it and I wish him so well in his life.

This year I feel even more a need to draw you into our traditions. I'm getting you a stocking tomorrow and we will fill it with poems and notes and donations we will give to another child in your honor. I want to say your name at Christmas meals, and love you at family gatherings, light candles for you, include your name in cards. And do it without shame or worry of what people will think. This is what I feel to do this year. You are part of our Christmas, so I will include you. Your spirit.

Most people miss someone at Christmas, I know we are not alone. Loving and missing are an honor. I am glad to have loved your beautiful golden self the way I got to, to feel you move, to have you so close to my body, to kiss you and sing to you, to have my first baby. To get to have more. To miss you the rest of my life. It IS better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved.

But the tears are there. And the wondering why it had to be you. But it was you.

Anyway, I want to say I love you, my boy. It feels good to tell you. I wish I could hug your 3 year old body and kiss your face till it bugged you! You're my darling.

mama

Thank You

2011-11-04T14:04:00.000-07:00

Just put Luna to sleep for her nap. She fell asleep in my arms, which is one of the best things in the world. We love each other so much. So wonderful to feel that, to know it and not question, to just revel in it. I stare at her for a while before I walk her to her bed. And lay her down to sleep by herself for a little while. So beautiful. Hard to walk away. Each day is so precious. And she is changing and getting so tall and saying so much.

I look at Otto's pictures on the windowsill as she is sleeping in my arms and feel my love for him, our boy. Accepting our big love for him, out in the open, telling people openly, "no, don't be sorry that you asked if she has an older sibling, because I like to talk about him." I love him, still love him, and I am so happy to talk about my son too. Luna knows him.

We are at an easier place. The heartache doesn't take over everything as it does at first. But the missing is always there, and sometimes comes over bigger. I missed him a lot at Halloween, felt dizzy by seeing all the kids, remembering Halloweens when we were so devastated to be without our child. He is always in my heart, the tenderness that filled me when I got to hold him was something I had never felt so strongly and meltingly before. He gave that to me. He made me a mama. And he gave me the gratefulness I have with Luna, knowing the preciousness of moments, of the love between mama and child, that nothing could ever replace it.

And the moment I just had, hearing the whir of the wall heater in our small house, the spin of the drier, the sunlight coming into the living room between tree branch shadows and the bleeps of the parakeet in the other room as my beautiful girl slept happily in my lap, I said Thank You. Thank you for this perfectly peaceful moment, when all is well. This was my greatest dream and it is here. Thank you.

Fall Equinox

2011-09-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

I miss you, baby.
I remember holding you and the softness of your brown hair on my chin,
How you nestled in
Your yawn that went back and forth
Your feet, wide and thick,
Your long legs
The veins in your forehead,
their winding ways,
how they made me think of all of the tributaries of arteries and veins
that wound around and through to your heart,
to your organs,
your fingers,
the amazing universe of you,
And how you were mine.

The first face I saw as my child,
A merging of me and my love,
the wonder of that.
I wish I had so many more days to stare at you,
To learn you
and take you in.
To touch you and caress your head,
to sing to you and talk to you.

I look at the stars to see you now
I look outside and see if the skies are clear
or if there are clouds,
and if I see the specks of silver in the black,
I take comfort in the great expansion
of this universe,
of all the mysteries that I don't know,
of the way the earth moves around our star,
of the way things move so far away,
there is so much room for you to be
Somewhere.
I already know you are here with me
Somehow
And that you love me. I know and know that you love me.
That if you could you would put your small 3 year old hands
on your mommy's head,
just to feel her hair.
I love you too baby.

On this first day of fall,
the holy equinox,
I celebrate the veil thinning,
spirit seeming closer,
the elk and the deer coming out
a time when we see you more clearly.

I love you so much, my sweet little boy. and miss you.

He Was Here 3 Years Ago

2011-08-25T20:08:00.000-07:00

This has been heavy. I wasn't expecting such heaviness. Maybe because the rest of life has been lightening up, around the year, that it is more shocking to go back into the rounds of the anniversary, the re-living of it all.

On the days it hits hard my legs are heavy, like right after Otto died. They feel like they are made of something else, a heavier earth than flesh. My hands don't work, I can't open anything, the toys or drinks that I usually can. I have anxiety, my stomach tightens up, life feels daunting and big and like, at any moment, something terrible can happen.

When you're not in this state it seems silly, it's easy to comfort someone with anxiety and say, no, the chances are so slim. You think that nothing bad can REALLY happen to you, not if you make no mistakes.

But we all make them. Not even mistakes, really, just being slightly off with your timing... A little boy in our town was killed this week in a crosswalk, going back to his car from soccer practice, with his family, and he was just walking a second or two behind them, and a driver didn't see him, and now he is gone. Four years old. This story is sunk in my stomach like a rock. Every crosswalk I see is a moment to gear up, get my senses sharp, whether I'm driving or walking. I think of this little boy, how his parents are feeling, how horrible it is.

We really are vulnerable. So the other side of it is, that right now is really good. Even though we are tired and hungry, or wish we had more money to cover the bills, or wish for more success or a bigger house, or whatever it is, the other side of this vulnerability is realizing that, since it can all be taken so suddenly, I might as well enjoy this really good moment right now, like the walk we had yesterday at dusk around the neighborhood park. "We are all alive," I told myself. "I am with my husband, my daughter, my dog, we are walking down the street to our house, and we are happy." And it becomes warm and covers my soreness and I sink into my life, into the trueness of it.

But this month has a deep darkness to it too, a deep missing, a deep tearing, I truly miss my son, my little boy, I cry really hard, my ribs constrict my lungs, knowing that, in this body, in this life, I will never see him again. It seems too hard. My whole being feels off, I can't return calls, I can hardly get the dishes done, a big part of me is gone with him. I love him and he's gone. He's my little boy, my first child, and he's gone. I want so badly to see him on the swings, hitting a tree with a stick, laughing with other little boys. Seeing how much he looks like his daddy.

This is my month to be more soundly WITH him, and part of it means that I hurt a lot. It's not a choice I make - well, part of it is. I could choose to ignore all these feelings and go crazy trying to be normal, or I could be fairly sane but really sad. It seems like it should be the opposite, but it's not. And it's much easier to choose the sad route. The feeling route.

It's beautiful to go to his grave and cover it with rose petals from his rose bush, with the leaves from the tree where we sat with him, to burn sage and kiss the stone and talk to him, to feel my body evaporating and sitting in the world of spirit, to feel my prayers to him rise up with the smoke from the sacred sage. This is the other side of the pain, the extreme beauty of love and being carried over to a big peace with the surrender to grief. The quietness of my heart after a good cry with him.

This year, in short, is no easier than others. It almost feels harder. There is some sort of realization in this triad, this 3rd year, that his time here is really over, it's not coming back, there is no way he can come back. It takes a long time for a body and soul to really sink this in.

We look at his pictures, his beauty, his soft, strong, sweet body, the comfort he took in cuddling up to his mom and dad, the love, and it is beautiful, but, let's be honest, it's horribly tragic too. This year the tragedy is in first place.

This too is part of life. Many have tragedy. I don't feel like glossing it over with anything to sweeten the story. Or make anyone feel better.

But there are things that are easier: I don't blame myself. This is pretty huge. To let that burden slide off. And I don't feel embarrassed when it comes up with strangers. I just tell them what happened. I don't worry about how they'll take it, I just tell them. I don't need them to understand or have the right reaction as much. He's my child, not theirs. Also, I know he is here, and that he loves us. He seems to let me know all the time, in ways that are special for me.

This is a long road, my friends. We are just at the beginning.

August

2011-08-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

Oh, I miss my boy so much. I miss his smell, the dear and kind expression of his face, the back of his head, my son, my first child.

The one that made me know the hugeness of endless love, that opened my heart so big.

I miss my child. You see, he wasn't just A child, it was not a matter of getting pregnant again and having another one and making everything better that way. He was Otto. Singular. A person all his own, and my boy. He grew and moved in my belly, I loved being pregnant and holding his life. I loved that amazing closeness, that constant hug and love, the honor of being a mama.

I loved seeing him in the ICU, tape and cords everywhere, I loved looking in on him in the middle of the night and seeing his nose, and seeing his hands and feet and touching him and knowing he was mine, this beautiful boy I could never have imagined. How big he was, how strong and tall, I knew he would be a beautiful man one day.

I miss HIM.

So darling friends, I want to tell you something. Something that will be interesting to you because it doesn't come naturally. When I am sad about Otto, and missing him, I only need you to miss him with me, or to hear me missing him. I don't want you to make it better.

I don't want you to remind me that I have Luna now because I know, Luna is the light in my days and my laugh and my amazement. I need to talk about just Otto sometimes.

I need him to have a place of honor, a place of his own, and I need to feel the pain of missing him. Especially this month. This is my month with him, the one where I want to sit in a dark room and cry and talk to him. The one where I remember the saddest of days, the one where I remember the bliss of holding him for the first time, of loving him so much, of getting to rock him to sleep. Of changing his diaper. Of kissing him. I need to feel all of this, and it naturally comes to the surface this month. It is an intimate and hard and amazing thing. It is mine and I need to have it. And sometimes I need it to be witnessed and seen. And it will hurt for you too. Hurt is just part of joy. The other part.

I feel so much love from my friends this month, from people I hardly know, that remember that August is his month. This means so much to me. He is such a part of our family.

Today Luna got out a photo album of her brother, closed the cabinet, threw the album on the couch, climbed up onto the couch, and looked through it, naming all the people in the pictures. "Mommy, Daddy, Otto," making sweet, soft sounds of her own words too, and when she was done, she got down and put it back in the cabinet. She doesn't normally put things away. She knows this is special. She has a sweet love for this baby Otto that her Mommy and Daddy loves so much in the pictures. Sometimes she kisses his picture. She calls him budder. (brother.) What a darling girl. He is part of our family, I feel him here so much, he is mostly in my heart, and he loves Luna, and Luna loves him, and we will find our way through this family shape.

I am grateful for my son. I am so grateful to be his mama. I would rather have this pain than not have him at all, because he is mine and I am his and it will never be broken.

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T22:39:00.000-07:00

It was supposed to rain but instead it was sunny with a clean breeze, the air smelled full of flowers and water and green grass. The roses are blooming and there is so much color. We spent the afternoon at Dragonfly Farms, an organic flower farm in Healdsburg where Ryan and I picked out our wedding flowers 12 years ago. Roses of the lightest color, and deep deep red and purple.

Luna loved the ducks and chickens. If she took your hand, you knew that was where you were headed. She loves animals. She learns so much all the time, animal sounds, words, she says "yah" or "no" if you ask her a question. She is full of wanting to learn. And lots of squeals of laughter. Especially if Bo eats out of her hand.

In our backyard, Ottos' rose bush is full of flowers. It was easy to pick a bouquet today to bring to his headstone, of red and orange roses, of calla lilies, of pink carnations from our yard. My mom and Josef and Ryan's parents were all there. It felt good to hear their voices around.

I am just happy at first to see the beautiful headstone, to put the bright flowers in the vase at the base of the stone. I clear it off. I have always seen people do this in movies, and now it's interesting to do it myself, it is like making his bed and smoothing the sheets, natural to want the stone to look polished and dignified, to wipe off any smears of dirt, brush away the pine needles. To care for my son in a small way.

At first I am pleased to see it and then Ryan gives me a hug and the tears come from my belly. I hug him for a long time and cry. I don't want Otto to be down there. I feel the weight of the stone on top of him, the weight on my heart of accepting how things are and not wanting to. The weight of love. The weight of being brave. It makes me feel tired. So I keep crying, letting myself feel all of this, all of how things are. My sweet little girl running around, my sweet little boy, watching his family around his grave, placing flowers, missing him.

I love being able to have this ceremony, have the family around to give him kisses on the the earth above him with our fingers, in this beautiful piece of country surrounded by apple trees and blue skies with white clouds. This is life. Life is getting more and more beautiful as time goes by, more full, I see how it includes dying. But it is not less painful. The pain is part of it too.

We stop at the frozen yogurt place in Sebastopol on our way out of town. It reminds me of all of our counseling sessions after Otto left, just barely walking up the hill, a block from our therapist's office, to this place, to have a treat and process a little. It is the best yogurt place.

Eating my yogurt I feel ghosts of the huge rifts we have had to find our way across, the kindness of the people who slowly walked us through, the sound of a soft voice that let us cry and cry. And here we are, a little bit later, here we are, still alive, humbly on the earth as it turns again and again, small creatures soaking up the spring. Visiting the small grave of such a beautiful, wise, big soul.

Fantasy

2011-03-23T13:47:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in the past 2 years I had developed a fantasy. It was a story in my being that I had to play out, I had a compulsion to complete. It was as though I were there.

Losing Otto has made every story of children's deaths real. And one that kept playing in my head was one from the Holocaust. I had heard a story sometime in my life of soldiers taking babies from mother's arms and throwing them off bridges.

This story is too hard for me to process, that instant of life changing to death, without need, with such shock.

So, in my story,

I am in line, on a bridge, being taken to a camp among my family and people from my town, my baby in my arms. A soldier takes my baby, we are over a river, the bridge 30 feet or so above the water, and it's cold, it's fall. It's twilight.

He throws my baby over the railing and without a hesitation I rush over the rail too. Into the cold cold water. The baby's blanket is white, so I can see it even in the last light of day, 10 feet below the surface. I grab him. Bullets come into the water, but they don't find us. I swim out towards the edge of the river, and there are trees there, making dark, making shade. We are hidden.

We move a little farther down, into the trees, into the woods, in the water. The soldiers give up, they move on, I hear people crying.

We get out of the water, very cold. I hold him close to get any heat I have.

A little ways into the woods there is a small cabin.

And in the end, I am by the fire, holding my baby, warming.

I don't know if he survives the cold from the icy water. Sometimes he does and sometimes not. But I get those few days with him, at least, I saved him, I saved us.

In this version today, we get warm, we get food, we get hidden, we get well, we survive.

Because: Miracles Happen

And a 4 month old baby survived the flood of the tsunami after being washed out of her parents arms. Rescue workers found her in rubble, 3 days later, and returned her to her parents.

I don't know why this story played in my head, why I needed to construct it, why I had to save Otto in this way. But it gave my heart some kind of strength. And I'm so happy to hear of THIS true story. Among all of the untold ones about the children who are gone from their parents arms forever.

I cry for them too.

Headstone

2011-01-14T12:10:00.000-08:00

We have finally gotten around to designing Otto's headstone. Choosing the color is the hardest. Because it's gonna be there for a long time.

It feels good to put such care into it. It will be nice to go to the cemetery and be proud of it instead of the little plastic marker that is there now.

We put flowers and totems around it. Hummingbirds and turtles, but it needs an honorable marker. And something about the new year this year, I was ready to go and just make it happen.

Just made the down payment.

Would it suck to work at a place that makes headstones? Most people are sad that you work with. Would you have to stifle your good mood? It's probably satisfying too. The guy I talked to today reminded me of Dan Akroyd with a mid-western accent and said he missed the birds in the winter up there (in Washington). He liked my parakeets over the phone.

We chose a graphic with a hummingbird and flowers. They'll start designing some mocks for us and we'll get to see them next week. I can't wait. It feels WONDERFUL to do something for Otto.

I miss him so much. Two close people to me have lost loved ones lately. A husband, a brother. I grieve for them and then I grieve for Otto. I grieve for his big earlobes. Like my mom's and my sister's. I miss those earlobes so much. I miss the kisses I would have logged on them by now.

But for a couple more weeks I think seriously about granite. Granite with green flecks, blue flecks, light, dark. What do I want to see when we go there? I always thought I'd want it to be the grey that looks so nice and stately. But with all the options this headstone place offers, we feel like taking a chance and going with something like "evergreen."

I'll post a picture when it's done.

Ambulance

2011-01-07T21:46:00.000-08:00

Love and death.
Life and death.
Life and love.

I saw an ambulance by the coffee shop today, pushing Luna by in the stroller.

Are you a person who sees and ambulance with lights on and thinks about that time when...

For me it is this:

I gave birth
On the floor of my living room by the heater.
After 26 hours, I gave all that I had,
and gave birth to my first child.
And turned around to look at him
And I couldn't see him
Because the midwives were around him.
And I said, Why aren't you giving him to me,
And they said, Are you on the cord? Move off the cord,
And I found the thin and rubbery cord on the floor
And lifted my body away from it,
Sitting on the wood floor, stunned and confused,
Out of breath and still,
And moved to where I could see him.
I put my fingers on his body,
Wet and new.
They said, Does this baby have a name?
And I said Otto
We said his name,
and told him about the stars and the trees
And all the things he needed to be here for
And a tall man with a black uniform came in
And took him away in his big hands
To an ambulance with flashing lights
A tall man in a black uniform
Held my son
He was gentle and soft with my little baby,
Rushing outside into the cool summer night
And we followed behind in the car.

Christmastime

2010-12-12T22:32:00.000-08:00

Oh, the dark and the light
The lights on the tree, the softness.
The memories of cookies on a plate and Nat King Cole singing from our record player. Now he sings from the ipod.
Oh, the darkness inside me.
Darkness can be warm and soft, the darkness that makes the Christmas tree beautiful, that allows it to be so special. The darkness of my sad heart, the part that just misses Otto. I don't think about it being Christmas and how he should be here, it is a matter of my body, my belly, my lungs, I feel it wash over, I feel his absence, I feel my love for him, I feel the hole. I just want to cry.

Maybe because Christmas is about children, sweet little kid memories with sisters, it's about a mama and baby, the child coming to the world. This may sound strange, but all the songs about baby Jesus seem like they're about Otto. Especially the first Christmas after he left. To me he was this glowing, perfect, loving soul. He was a prince. He was everything. He brought so much to us. And every day now I cry again, I grieve a little more.

And then there is the light. The light of our love for him, our strong, bright love, our gratefulness for his making us parents, gratefulness to have ever felt that love. There is the joy of Luna, of her laugh, her amazing habits. Like stirring a fake pot of soup and giving us sips of it. Of putting little pieces of paper in pockets that she makes in her shirt, or my shirt, of crawling as fast as she can to her Daddy's office door and banging on it, watching her put pieces of bread in her mouth, of jumping on her knees naked in our bed, her glee, her bigness. I have so much joy every day in her. Radiating joy.

I am so grateful for all of this love. From all of our family.

Life, the structures of it, can fall apart so fast. There is so little control. But the simplest being together, the talks around a kitchen table, preparing food, these are such beautiful things to love as we have them.

It is nice to be at peace with both of these things, my sadness and my joy. Christmas holds them both. We sing about the cheer and merriment, and more modern songs about the difficult times, missing home, missing a love. Really, we all have SOMEONE we miss at Christmas.

I am enjoying it this year, unwrapping our ornaments; those from childhood, from 11 years of marriage, 3 years of Otto's ormaments, Luna's 2nd year, these gifts that mark togetherness, love, tradition, sweetness. I am enjoying the bells, the cookies, the love. And I usually don't want to go to bed at night because of the heaviness of pain.

This is Christmas! All of it is beautiful. Not easy, but beautiful.

Dia de Los Muertos

2010-11-01T21:03:00.000-07:00

Today is the Day of the Dead in Mexico, Dia de Los Muertos. People celebrate children who have died today.

They put marigolds, favorite foods, candles, on altars and go put flowers on graves and clean them up. It's a day in many traditions where people feel the veil between worlds growing thinner, where those who have gone on draw closer to our realm. The Fall is seen as such a time.

And I like this. It's supposed to be happy, not sad. Celebrating our love for our families and friends. But for children, I don't see how there is not some sadness included.

I wrote about this in my breath email today and just started crying as I typed. My son, my son it is still so hard to believe. Writing to people about him brings the tears. I celebrate him through tears. I wanted to put marigolds on his grave but it is too cold for the nurseries to sell them this time of year. Next year I'll grow them myself. So I bought some red mums and a nice bright green pot to plant them in and brought a ceramic hummingbird that's been in the family a long time, and we drove down to the cemetery in Sebastopol. Luna was tired and she cried the whole way there.

Sun was going down on such a fiery, clear autumn day with warm blue skies. We got out of the car and walked toward the Garden of Angels where the children are buried. A family was there at their baby's grave, putting flowers down, 2 little boys running around.

We put Otto's flower pot and hummingbird down on his grave. We spread the petals from his rose bush at our house. We put our hands down on it and talked to him. Luna sat down too, and played with pine needles. We miss you, baby, we love you. I imagine his ashes down there, under the earth, the earth holding them. A place for us to convene, to do this, though I know he is always with me, I can always talk to him. It is beautiful to drive out to the country, through apple orchards and into sweet smells and hills, and be with him and his memory, his meaning.

Another family came to put flowers down for their child. I heard the mama's tender voice as she talked to her baby, soft, high tones, sad. They bent down and cleared his stone, and little boys ran around.

Other families do this too. Other families have big holes in them. We are there together, putting flowers down. Holes filled with love, but love leaves the holes there. They make us interesting, they make us who we are, we grow around them, we are strong, we remember.

And how I love Luna. My love for her makes the whole world seem better. That love, such love, began in full when they put Otto on my chest for the first time, when I held my warm, soft child for the first time, knowing he would die, but Oh, he was with me then, he was MINE, my sweet, soft darling boy, and those moments will always be strong with me, those NOWS of then. I have never been the same. And when Luna came, that love just carried on with her, it got to live longer in my arms with her, and it grows and grows. For both of them. That is the part we celebrate.

So, my sweet boy, let me keep being your mama. And put flowers down for you on special days. Let your dad keep being your papa. It is so important to us. We hold you so close. We love you so much. We are so glad you are our boy.

Fall and Love

2010-10-23T21:58:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I wrote. Crawling girl makes it hard to type now, she can get anywhere fast and I can't look away! And I'm sleeping during her naps too, so bye bye free time.

But there has been a wonderful glow from within lately. Happiness. Contentment.

I sink into the outside in the Fall. The rain. The leaves. The sounds. Everything is getting more saturated with color and feeling and smell. It's been over two years since Otto passed over, and 2 years seems to be a marking of a change in grief work, the walk, the experience. I'm less heavy. I'm more in my heart.

I cry often, I feel his love and loss, and in many ways I feel more a part of the universe. I'd say more alive, but it's even more than that - like even when I die, I'll still be a part of it. I feel at home. Part of a big, cozy, beautiful family that extends out all around.

I look up at the stars and am glad that I will be a part of them still after I die. I want to know more about the cycles of the moon. I want to know about making bread and I enjoy taking the seeds out of the pumpkin before I bake it. I feel love for dirt and trees and sky. For my husband and my child. Otto brought that deep love to the surface, a shattering surfacing. A rearranging. Love that makes you know that it is what we are here for.

I am still flabbergasted that Otto came and left. There is a part of his story that I go through every day. A different part every day, a little piece. A room in the hospital, the lactation nurse, the fridge where I stored the milk with his name on it. I found a little bottle from UCSF yesterday, his name still on the label. I will keep it. It is a precious thing.

I have been here for his conception and growing in belly, and his birth, and his death. I know death a little more. I know the permanence of it, and yet the fluidity of it. The feeling like it is not an ending even though it is so complete and sudden. I am a little less afraid of it. And more grateful that I have this day. A day I get to be with a man I love and a child I get to care for. Who gives me smiles of total joy when dad brings her in from her nap. I have not know such complete love in a face. She melts me.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing things right as a mom, feeding her the right things, getting sleep right, yada yada, but I know that I do love her enough. And that is basically the key. Everything else works itself out.

When I can really accept that this love is the most important thing in life, it's easier to let things go like the dishes being undone, an email I forgot to send, a form I forgot to fill out. Instead of going into the vortex of everything I do wrong right away, it's easier to slip that off and just say, Oh well, and look, I'm alive. I'm alive. I don't know how long I get, but right now is a pretty good moment. Pretty great when you think about it.

Rain is falling. The Giants won and will go to the world series! My baby is sleeping. The moon is almost full. The earth is soaking in long awaited water. Who am I to judge my life and if I've done it well, if I've done it right? I am here. I am here and breathing, my heart is beating, I live in a house of love and undone dishes and piles of laundry.

On Your Anniversary

2010-08-30T22:14:00.000-07:00

I made a slideshow of the time we had with you.
A beautiful pregnancy,
A strong birth,
And so much love while you were in our arms.
It was a sacred time,
And deserves to be remembered as beautiful.
We love you so.
We are learning what love means
More
All the time.
I love you, my little boy.

Otto from Jessica Malmberg on Vimeo.

2010-08-30T21:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes
I will have this moment.
When it all comes rushing down on me.
And I put my head in my hands and think
I can't believe this is my life.
MY life.
I can't believe my boy is gone and I will never hold him again in this life. My beautiful, sweet, perfect boy, mine.
My son.
My first.
So much dearness and love. Soft earlobes and dark hair and the tilt to his head on my chest that said mama, you are my mama.

And I feel so angry I want to scream and break something.
But what is there to break? How can I carry on like that in the house with a little girl? A little girl I want to love and protect.

I try to imagine where I could go and what I could break.
I could throw rocks, or logs, but they don't really break.
I want to destroy something. Like glass.
In this moments it's like I'll wake up and think, "What are you doing, living your life like everything is fine, being happy, do you REALIZE what has happened?"

And I deserve happiness, and I deserve good moments and life does keep going. But I'm just telling you, there are these times when I can see and feel very clearly
that the most precious thing
that had ever come into my life
the baby I most wanted to preserve, to take care of and love
had to die.
And I helped him die, with love and tears and sweetness
And then
He was gone.

And then the house was empty
And it was the truest, most sickening emptiness
That ever was.

And that anniversary was today. The anniversary of his passing, of our family coming in around Him to love him and say goodbye, to hold us up,
And then they left to let us rest.
We laid down in the bedroom, listening to mariachi music from the neighbor's,
And I woke up
And walked to the place in the living room where you were born
And wailed.
Nothing nothing
Could make this better, could give him back to me, could take this from me.
Not drinking, not movies, not chocolate, not love.
Only walking into the deep pain,
One small step, another small step,
looking at the light change,
and crying and crying.

I had other precious things too. My husband who walked these small steps with me, who cried lakes of salty tears, whose heart was broken, who was willing to go into this darkness too so that we could come out together. Not knowing, not seeing, how it would ever change, but he laid next to me and held my hand and we went one step at a time. We laughed one laugh at a time. We ate one meal at a time. Opened one piece of mail, wrote one check, answered one phone call, made eye contact when we both knew we were hurting at a friend's dinner party and wanted to go home and light his candle. At some point we surfaced. And sometimes we need to go back down again, deep down, to the weeping place. And be there for a while. We miss him so much. I have someone who misses Otto just as much as I do. It was our love that made him in the first place. Just love. And love he remains. Up in the stars, down in my heart. All through the house.

Happy Birthday Darling

2010-08-22T21:03:00.000-07:00

Happy 2nd birthday my Otto, our Otto, our baby boy. I had things to say and I can't remember them now. There is just a welling up feeling in my chest, and a tiredness and not-sureness of how to do this.

We had a beautiful day at the beach to celebrate you. A day of sun, a rarity this summer, especially for the beach. At Nana's house we gathered beautiful rose petals of all colors in a bag and we set them in the foamy waves, and watched them gather on the beach in wave shaped s-curves and swirl around in the water. Yellow and red and purple and pink, so brilliant together.

Luna loved playing in the sand, and looked at seagulls and the waves.

The waves, the pounding, rumbling, singing, vibration of so much power and so much force and blue beauty, it can handle all the emotions we carry for you. And once we were there we were free to enjoy your birthday. The day you made us parents, the day we were honored to call you ours and perfect. Oh, how blissful to know that full of a love.

When we took you to Memorial Emergency Room, and saw your name we had just uttered for the first time to the world in print on your bed, we smiled to each other and pointed at it - look! his name! Officially! We hadn't told anyone about Otto Charles and here you were, and your name carried a magic. How innocent, holding out so much hope, so awed about your existence.

I found your hospital wrist band with your name recently. So tiny. I held it for a while, this was around your wrist. How can you be so near and so far?

Darling, on your second birthday, I want you to know how much we love you, how much of our family you are, how much you have given us, how much is gone with you. That we nurture your place, we keep it fresh, we are open to its changes, it is alive.

Thank you for the honor of being your mama, of singing to you when you were here, I sang from the easiest, tenderest place of my heart. I sang to you today, one hand on your grave. I felt the hum of you there, it was easy to sing. I find you with my hand on the ground, on a tree, when I am easy in my heart, when I am easy on myself. But oh, I wish I didn't have to wait till the end of my life to hold you again. oh, this part hurts.

Please, take my kisses tonight. Feel the love of your family. Let the orange balloon that Nona brought you make you giggle and the cupcakes with blackberry frosting make you smile with delight. Let your little sister make you laugh when she squeezes Poppi's nose and makes him howl. Feel our love. You have given us so much. You have melted us.

You are our child and we hold you, wrapped up and warm, in the arms of our hearts. Happy Birthday, my sweet boy. And many more. Blow out the candles!

Miracle

2010-08-20T10:14:00.000-07:00

I still find it so amazing that our children are a combination of both of us, both parents, mingling and mixing in the form of a new person, with a new personality and being and outlook. On the way home from the show last night I was looking at Luna, asleep, and amazed that she is my daughter, she came from my body, and is Ryan and I together.

I can't help but still think that it is a miracle. So what if it happens all the time, it happened with all of us, it is still a wonder.

I'm remembering our time with Otto in the hospital, the wonder he was to us. How much love we felt looking at him, head wrapped up in gauze, under which were tiny needles monitoring his brain waves, a line into a hand, into an arm, a catheter, bruises on his ankles from blood being drawn, but we saw HIM. He was just glowing with love and life for me. Being a first time mom probably made it easier because I had nothing to compare the experience to, I could be open to this one as mine and this baby as himself. He was a miracle.

His little nose, his skin. I wish I had touched him more in there. I wish I had held his hands in my whole hands for longer, held his feet. They were cooling him and I was afraid to mess up the process, the hospital had him, I wish I had been more of a bitch about it, and taken more ownership, known that he would have loved more touch. But we were there, and singing and talking to him, touching him lightly.

And once the MRI was over and we knew there was no longer any hope, we could hold him and hold him all we wanted. No more needles, no more blood work no more noodling and poking and prodding and discussing of MY son. He's mine, damn it, stop bothering him, he's mine now and I will hold him and sing to him and we will make all of the decisions now, and we will take him home so we won't have to hear any more beeps and light nurses conversations as their lives go on, no, we will take him home to the sun and trees and the whir of the fan and only people who adore him surrounding him. And now I will be his mama, his full mama, and my heart will open bigger than ever before and he will fill it up and I will feel his skin and his heart and he will hear my heart again and we will find so much healing. He will know our love.

He is my miracle, such an amazing combination of all the people who love him so much. Such a tender and sweet soft soul, velvet and moss but golden like the orange flowers outside at this time of year, his time of year. Oh my baby Otto. I miss you so much. I miss my sweet son.

He was not just a baby, he was his own person that we uniquely love. I like the idea of death being just another room, next door, that he is in, or another world, parallel to ours, that is beautiful and full of wonder and mystery and love, that I can send him love and he feels it and loves it. That he can send us love too.

I wish I could have known you more and longer and deeper in this world. Seen you on this coming Sunday, your 2nd birthday. Two. The terrible twos. The terribly wonderful twos, my sweet boy. I am so proud of you.

Otto and I about 2 years ago

2010-08-08T21:55:00.000-07:00

We are happy here.
In my belly.
Swimming
And dancing.
You are well. And I am well.
A mama holding her baby inside.
We are in harmony and happy.

I've loved being your mama.
I loved being pregnant with you.
Let's remember the joy of it.
Let's remember how much we loved you, the thought of you, the dream of you, the kicks of you, the food we shared, the sleep, the feelings. Our first child, you made us parents. You made us know that love that can't be described, of wanting to care for and give to and endlessly give love to.

And we will never stop.

Otto's month

2010-08-06T22:06:00.000-07:00

My sweet girl fell asleep in my arms this evening as we sat under the maple tree in the backyard. A cool summer evening on the blanket on our tiny lawn, we listened to the leaves in the breeze and the hummingbird chirp, the golden sun in pockets between branches. So so sweet. I picked her up and put her to bed for a nap.

We sat under this tree with baby Otto, talking to him in the hot August afternoon, the sun in pockets, I blocked his eyes from its brightness. He got to feel the warm summer air on his skin, the easiness of this time of year. My mom was in the kitchen doing dishes. She fixed us quesadillas to eat while we were out there. She seemed happy. She was able to let it be a happy afternoon, like any family would have. Out on the lawn with our baby. Those days are so monumentous to me. I can't believe I had to let you take a final breath.

And now it's August again. And your birthday is coming close. I can feel it in my body, in my heart. The welling up of love and despair mixed together. I am so proud of you, such a beautiful boy, my son.

August is already about letting go, letting go of summer, the freest and most fun time of the year. August is the end of it, the first hint of things fading. This year has been so cool that my plants are still green and thriving. But we brought you home on such a hot week in 2008 that things were wilting and drying, and it squeezed my heart even more, to see that it seemed the whole world was dying too. Let go of everything. Everything is lost.

We have survived and managed to let things grow again. Plant things, plant seeds, take risks, have another beautiful child. But always, always, there will be August and your birthday and your heaven day. We live in cycles and August comes right around again. I'm glad. I don't want to avoid the grief and the pain, I need them, they are part of us, us as a family. I love to say your name and to read it, I love when people talk about you and know you. I love this month and I fear it but I know how to keep walking, one step, another step, another step.

Just don't be afraid of my crying, my friends. Don't worry if you say something that makes me cry. I need it. I need the sadness of this month. I need the great and terrible memories. Let me talk about it. And tell you the things I remember. Let me fall apart. Because always I get put back together with more softness, more moss and cracks full of shadow that let light in, more understanding.

I miss you, my little boy. I so wish that you were still here, that you didn't die, that i could see you jumping and waving sticks and talking. Your leaving gave me my Luna, my sweetest girl. I love you both so much.

Luna Movin' All About

2010-07-14T21:40:00.000-07:00

She is so amazing. So funny, full of life. She can now pick up a wooden stick and hit the woodblock and the tambourine, and loves doing it! She can hold herself up on all fours (knees and hands) and laugh and scream and roll around. She amazes us. It amazes me how much love we can have, how much our hearts can swell.

It's summer and the summer makes me miss my little boy so much too. It hit me the other day, seeing some sweet boys, that I am a mom of a BOY, and I wish so much to see how he would have banged into things and made trucks move with roaring sounds and jumped in the mud, or not, what would he have done? Different things will strike me about him, here and gone, all the rest of my life I think. And today I especially ache for him. And I especially melt with love for my little girl, as she falls asleep in my arms.

When making this video of her, I didn't want to stop it, didn't want to let it end. I think a part of me thought, if she goes, if she leaves us, we'll just want to keep watching, every second precious, like the videos of Otto. I realized this and wanted to comfort that part of myself, have compassion for her, for the sadness of knowing what it's like to say goodbye to a child, to that deepest part of your love. I am so glad she is here, now, here now. Now is all there is, and she is here and we love her so much, love each other so much, in our nest of a bed in the cool summer night. We have everything.

Welcome

2010-07-01T13:20:00.001-07:00

Welcome little babe. Born to my dearest friend Julianne. Little Ryan at 6:16pm yesterday. Welcome new life, new love, new heart.
We are so glad you are here.

2010-06-06T21:59:00.000-07:00

Such a beautiful day with your sister today. She saw the ocean for the first time. She gives us so much love, so much joy, it's so easy to love her.

We miss you.

There is a little boy down the street born only 3 weeks after you. We see him and know what you would be doing now. He ran into our driveway with his mom today, with a big stick, so thrilled with this big stick, jumping and running, and your Dad and I were just thrown into heartache. I don't know if his mom knows our story, but she says hi to us and to Luna, and we watch her little boy with smiles and hidden tears.

I wish I knew what this was all about.

I don't understand life.

I love my baby Luna, I love you, I wish you were still here. I'm so glad there are toys all over our house and a high chair at the table and diapers in the drier. I am so grateful for our blessings. And my heart aches too.

2010-06-03T14:06:00.000-07:00

My friend had a baby last night here at Kaiser. A brand new little being, so sweet, so full of spirit, I still feel glowing from holding him.

And it makes me long for Otto. It's their first baby, a boy, and seeing them holding him and taking him in, and realizing, they get to keep him, they get to keep getting to know him. And I want that still, with Otto, I want to go back and make it all right, make it all come out the way it was supposed to. I miss you, my little boy. I look at all your pictures, your sweet fat belly, your arms and legs, your cheeks and I want to kiss them. I want to kiss them over and over like I get to do with baby Luna.

She smells so good, and I am so amazed at all the love I get back from her, the sweet looks up, the smiles, the wet kisses on my cheeks, the jokes. It makes me so happy and it makes me know all the more what I've missed with you, what I am missing. It is odd to think you were only here, outside the belly for a week. Our relationship to you seems timeless, ongoing, here and now. You are not something that happened and that we got over, you are alive now, to us.

I ache for those moments of laying in bed, with my first baby, examining him, in wonder of him, all being well. I still can't believe it. I still can't believe that he came and went, I still have a part of me that thinks I can DO something about it, a deep, unconscious little person that still wants to act to save him. It goes against every cell in a mama's body to let her baby die, to let him go, to let him fade and go on without you. When you love this being in a way you've never loved before. And I still love him that way, but without him here to smile back.

I Am the Mother of Two Children

2010-05-09T10:03:00.000-07:00

Baby Otto

Baby Luna

I am the Mother of two children.
My son and my daughter.
My golden boy and my strawberry girl.
I love the day, mother's day,
When I get to write both their names
When both their names appear on cards
When I can write:
Love, Ryan, Jess, Otto and Luna
Because that is always how I feel.
Because I carried and gave birth
to a big bouncing beautiful boy
who had an accident
and had to leave so early...
and his name is always missing where I want to put it
But I don't want to seem maudlin or weird
Writing the name of my dead little boy on every card.
But I can do it today, because no one can say today,
That he isn't with me.
This is my second mother's day without him.
Last year on this day, my mama and I went to pick a rosebush for him.
We searched and searched for the right colors.
And chose a rose called Josef's Coat, with brilliant sunny colors
With creamy oranges and bright pinks, yellows and creams,
each finding different expression on each flower,
the petals works of watercolors themselves,
magenta bleeding into sunrise,
a lift for the spirit to just look at it.
Why does a boy with such a sad story
Inspire such wonderful colors?
I don't know! But we loved him so much!
And I love him now, just as much as my Luna,
My funny, sweet, velvety voiced, happy eyed girl,
The baby I get to hold, whose weight I get to feel,
Whose diaper I get to change, whose hair I get to wash,
Whose feet I get to kiss and bite softly,
Little sister. Little sister gets enough love for the both of them,
And she send's Otto's portion
Straight up to him, and he's somewhere, everywhere,
Soaking it up and glowing and with happy eyes.
It is easier for me to send him love lately,
Luna's realness, her weight, makes him real again,
Makes me know more what I lost,
Makes me miss him more, but love him more too.
Makes me know how much he loved me here,
And loves me now.
I am the mama of two children,
one here and one gone,
a boy and a girl,
one in the ground and sky, one in my arms,
My heart aches with this love
The love of light and shadow,
and knowing that I can't control which one I will walk in,
Any day, any hour, we are subject to all things,
And love covers them all, the disappointments, the surprises,
The loss, the gain, in sickness and in health,
for rich or for poor,
Love is love is love is love
and it's really all we live for.
So, my two children,
It is such an honor to be your mama.
I love you both so much.
You are so perfect and I am so lucky.
I love this day, when I can write both your names
And call you my own,
And be in the wonder
Of being a mama
Of two beautiful children.

luna 5 months

2010-05-04T17:11:00.000-07:00

Things I want to remember:

2010-05-04T17:05:00.001-07:00

Her hands holding my fingers as she falls asleep nursing
The smell on the top of her head, sweet and a little sweaty
The puffy cool cheeks as I kiss them
When she puts her hands slowly on my face
Her experimental screams
her words like "bwa" and "mmmmmmommmmommmomm"
Her giggles at things we have no idea about
Her peals of laughter when we kiss her belly
her little feet on my legs as we sleep, warm and cozy
Comforting her when we FINALLY get home and I can pull her out of the carseat with big tears on her cheeks, and she stops crying and sighs
Her wonder at everything in the world
Her beautiful eyes that seem too liquid to be of this plane
Dancing and singing for her as I make lunch to make her smile
So much
so many things
make my heart so full

Luna Love 4 months

2010-03-24T21:21:00.000-07:00

Sweet Luna girl, 4 months now! 15 pounds, 9 ounces, and 25 inches long. She grew 4 inches last 2 months! She's amazingly wonderful. Smiles and sings, she's taken with the world. Laughing at Bo, and at Daddy. We're so so proud of her!

2010-03-11T18:45:00.000-08:00

The light at the very end of the day,
Blue wateriness coming through the windows,
I hold my child in my arms,
Wrapped in a blanket,
Sleepy head in the crook of my arm
I bounce on the red yoga ball
As I do every time
She goes down for a nap.
On the edge of dreams,
She waits with me
As it takes her over.
Sometimes I start out tired,
A little complainy,
And then realize what I am holding,
What I am doing:
Holding my own babe
As she drifts.
She trusts me;
I love her.
Holding her in my arms
I say Thank You.
Thank you for this gift,
This gift of all I wanted
This precious moment
Of bouncing
Of almost sleep
Of my baby.
Thank you for hearing me
And giving her to me
Thank you that I get to do this.
And I realize
I've been bouncing
Long after she has fallen asleep,
It's just you and me, kid.
Do you mind
If I keep you here a moment longer
before I lay you in your bed,
So content to rest?

I can't believe she's 10 weeks

2010-02-01T11:40:00.000-08:00

I can't believe she's already twice as big as she was when born. Almost.

In the morning we get up and she sits in her bouncy chair and we just make each other laugh for about an hour. It's part of my schedule now, and every little sound she makes, every joyful smirk, is like cleaning out some soot from my heart. It's so wonderful to love her.

I love Otto when I love her. When I see the beautiful blue veins under the skin of her forehead, I think of him and the wonderous veins I followed with my fingers, trying to memorize them. I tell him I love him too.

There is a beautiful painting in an article I read in Mothering Magazine, and a memorable day when I bought it because I decided to let myself be excited about wanting to be a mom, let myself prepare and plan, and it felt so freeing and satisfying. It was January 2007.

She was a first time mama and noticed her baby stopped moving after the water broke. They did an ultrasound at the hospital and found that the baby's heart had stopped beating, and she had died. She was in labor and gave birth to her daughter, knowing it was the hardest thing she'd ever have to do, push out a baby who had already gone. She and her husband spent the day holding this baby, talking to her, singing to her, and then had to let her go. I cried and cried reading this article.

It seems strange now that it was part of my decision to open my heart to really being a mom, this article. She had gone on to have 2 more children by the time it was published, and I read it over and over again after Otto left.

The painting that opened the article is of a mama nursing a baby in one arm, and in the other arm, under the ground, she holds another baby, and a tear falls down for that one, a drop of milk falls for the baby who is alive. She holds them both at once, and doesn't let them go, and it means so much to me that someone painted this, someone understood this, that the mothering keeps going for this baby that has gone to heaven.

I've been feeling this lately, that I hold both babies, that I love both of them so much. Luna brings up my love for both of them, and her sweet body makes Otto real again, and makes me love him and miss him so so much.

At night I need to go outside to the tree by our bedroom window and talk to him, talk to the moon, feel the earth, my connection to a deeper place, a place to give my grief to. My friend Jula reminded me of my need to do this, and it is so necessary, so helpful.

And in the morning, I will get a straight hour of laughter and silliness. I am so excited of the months and years to come of this love. And I will always miss doing these very things with Otto, taking care of him, seeing who he would be. I hope and hope and hope that in some way and realm, I will get to talk to him and hold him and see him again. Maybe that includes now.

2010-01-08T16:19:00.000-08:00

baby Otto

Baby Luna

The weeks after you died I would wake up so lonely. A scared, homesick kind of lonely, clutching my belly, in a panic, like I'd misplaced you, where did you go?

After being in my belly so big, taking up so much of me, of my body and my heart and mind, it was a shock to have you gone from there, and gone from the room, gone from the house, from everywhere.

Wake up crying and confused, so lonely.

And now I get to lay on the bed on a sunny winter afternoon with my baby girl at my belly. Baby gone from my belly but just outside of it, warming me, right where she should be, both of us needing the other, doing our job for the other. Some call the first 3 months of the baby's life the 4th trimester, and it feels that way. We are still so connected after those long months of love through the cord, sharing heartbeats and breaths, my body still needs to feel her close, needs to mother her.

When we decided to be open to conceiving again I was surprised by a deep new sadness that came, of letting go of my baby Otto as my one and only, of that pure love, giving that to another baby, it was hard for my heart. We waited a little longer to honor those tears, to keep him as my child a little longer, to feel the fullness of only him.

But my body yearned for this mothering, for this 4th trimester and then years and years of care and love. And so came Luna, our rising moon, to carry on the love born with Otto and yet shaped just for her, just for her dear life, her coming.

And I still wish I could do that for my sweet Otto, and part of me still wants him to come back in some bending of the rules of nature. But I have now such a healing little bundle at my belly, lying and sleeping and making the best baby sounds. How a body can conceive so quickly after one pregnancy, after a deep tearing sadness, is to complete the love it was made for. I am an animal, a mama, who needs to mother, and my womb is so happy now, as it goes back down to it's smaller shape, its job done, and now sending love to this baby from the inside out, a job just as important as growing the baby.

She sends it to Otto too, up there in the stars, the Venus I still say hello to as day shifts to night.

In Good Hope

2010-01-03T08:50:00.000-08:00

When Josef's (my stepdad) sister and husband came to visit from Switzerland this summer they told us that a phrase there for expecting a child is translated as "in good hope."

I thought this was perfect. Because there are no guarantees, but you're staying in the goodness of hope, knowing the fragility of this little one's life, of life in general.

I can't believe that now she's here! It kept hitting me last night, looking down at her sleeping on my lap after nursing. This is my daughter! This baby is mine! I get to be her mommy, the one who feeds her, the mommy who will comfort her, sing to her, raise her. What an honor.

It was hitting me last night also, how much I love Otto, how I don't know how to place him in our family. And then, the feeling that it hasn't been very long, and I will always be learning this.

Luna and I had our first outing to the grocery store alone together the other day. I had her in a sling, and people all smiled at us, and seemed delighted to see this baby. Especially older men were smiling, and 3 of them have said, "Oh, to be that baby." To have the nurturing and closeness and rest.

One woman asked me if Luna was my first. This question is not as hard to answer now that Luna is here and I don't have to worry if the same thing will happen as it did with Otto. But it's still sad to tell people no, she has an older brother who passed away a week after he was born. This woman looked sad, and said she was sorry. She said, "the same thing happened to my grandmother. She tells me that she still cries about it sometimes."

This made me warm inside. To know that this woman, of a generation where hardship was more common, where babies died more often, still holds this little one close, still mourns this baby.

I'm thinking about if I should change the name of my blog to include Luna. My Beautiful Little Boy and Girl, or Children. It seems like I should. And part of me thinks maybe I should keep this one just for him, since it's hard to keep places that are just his. But then I think, were he to have lived he would be sharing the family space with his brothers or sisters. Maybe it's more of an honor to him to leave this blog for the thoughts of all my children equally.

I'm afraid sometimes I will forget him. Luna is so full and warm and present, how will he compete with that in my heart? I still have hope that in some place and dimension I will hold him again, and know him fully. My oldest child, my son.

And till then, I will be finding my way, one step at a time, paartly through this blog. And now, I have thissweet warm milky baby to hold and love with all my heart.

My Little Girl

2010-01-01T13:43:00.000-08:00

Luna Rowan Malmberg was born under a beautiful crescent moon on November 18th, 2009.

That morning Ryan and I walked through our neighborhood park, a winding sidewalk through grass and big oak trees, overlooking the East Santa Rosa hills. It was a fall day of blue skies, white clouds, brilliant yellow and reds and oranges on trees. I felt good contractions, and hoped that it would be the day.

I had a Non-stress test scheduled that day, and spent the afternoon waiting to go to it, on the couch, feeling pressure waves in my abdomen, calm, not painful, but a little dizzy with the hormones and feeling hopeful. My mom volunteered to drive me there since we didn't know if the contractions would keep coming, deepen or fade away as they had been for the past weeks.

When I got in her car the weather had completely changed, it was a low and full mist, enveloping the neighborhood in a pure white, low feeling. It felt beautiful. I thought, "baby if you're coming, this is such a wonderful day to be born, the skies are coming down to you."

Mom and I arrived at the hospital for the test, listening to her heartbeat, looking at the amniotic fluid. We scheduled these tests since 32 weeks to be extra careful with this little one. Meanwhile, the contractions are getting longer and stronger, showing up on the monitor. The nurse comes in, and says, if we want, we can stay and have the baby - her waters are a little low, I'm 4 cm dilated, let's go for it! It is now! I think, this is the room I will have my baby in.

I call Ryan and send him into a tizzy, getting our things together, he'll have to drive to hospital by himself! On his way over the skies fully open up and it's pouring down rain, shifting once again, bringing our baby in. This baby comes in with water, with the heavens to the earth.

Kath Ryn our doula arrives. She was one of our midwives during Otto's birth, and became a good friend this year, helping us with our grief. With us in this birth, we trust her so much to know what is going on, to know where our hearts will be, with two babies. When she comes in, she is full of smiles and light, so excited. We feel calm considering this is the time, this is the moment.

Contractions were about 5 minutes apart. It got harder. I talked, laughed, joked. Then it got harder. I laid down, breathed. It got harder still. Till the point where I truly believed, I cannot do this. It's too much, too hard, I want to be safe and have this stop! I yelled it out. Plus some other colorful words. My body can't take this, my mind can't take this. I missed Otto, I thought of the hospital he was in.

20 minutes later, and only 15 minutes of pushing, I heard my baby criy. She cried loud just like we wanted! She was in my arms, a little fish, I could hardly hold her, she was so fluid. Her eyes open, real, with me, and it all seemed as it should. It was real. I couldn't believe it, but it was. 1:31 am. 7 1/2 pounds, 19 3/4 inches. And perfect.

The grandparents had all arrived, all 6 of them in the waiting room, Ryan's parents all the way from Etna, CA, 6 hour drive. Pretty amazing considering I was in hard labor for about 7 hours, they came as soon as we called them.

After about a half hour of holding her, of having my baby find my breast and nurse, of touching her, unbelieving and yet completely natural, the grandparents walked in, a line of love and tears, men and women, glowing with love for this baby, our girl, Otto's sister, their grandaughter. They stood around the bed and peeked in, cooed, and when they'd given love and kisses enough, went home and celebrated - at 3:30am!

The hours and days following were intense with love and amazement, with tears for Otto, with seeing how things should have been with him, with seeing how she looked like him, how she was different. My baby was put straight into my arms, healthy, no problems. No problems. No problems.

And this is how it has been. She is pink and gaining weight, the doctor compeletely happy with her development, with everything about her. When she cries we want to know what's wrong, it is slowly ebbing from fearing the worst to realizing she is a baby and babies cry, and you can't always know what's wrong. The long learning of letting go, but being completely there.

The first eight days we had her were full of amazement and also heavy with aching for her brother, with remembering his eight days here. And the 8th day was Thanksgiving. All our family around, all our family pouring out love, everyone here for the roundness of our lives, to hold and kiss our beautiful baby girl. To hold us in our pain, to let us feel everything, in any order.

There has been so much I've wanted to write and can't quite get to the computer. This baby loves to be held, and we hold her, and there is not much more important than that. Than this milky love, pure love, that grows each night. My little one, I want the best for her. I want to love myself more so she will know how to love herself. I see how perfect she is and realize that I was that baby too, that I am perfect.

I will fill more in as I get time, many thoughts, and some will be forgotten. I want to BE with her. And let the time pass slow, let the days come and go and love her, fill her up with this cuddling, with being always near her, showing her that now, life is just about being near to each other. What a glorious way to be.

whoopsie doo

2009-11-11T23:34:00.001-08:00

Almost each night
The waves start
I go into myself
I talk to my baby
I wonder if I will get to meet her,
I don't let myself believe it will be that night, then
But bit by bit, I start to hope,
I picture, I want, my heart opens,
And each night,
they fade away, farther and farther,
Like a whale song
Swimming far and deep
Far from me
Until it is silent, underwater stillness.
I wake up sad or angry
I know, I'm still early,
But this feels like being left. Alone.
I saw this ad on Facebook tonight
And think the vicious thought,
Maybe that's what I'll be left with.
A doll that pees and poops
Just like a real baby,
And you can change her diaper.
Ages 3 and up.
I'm 33.
And feel like I won't get the real thing.

Goodnight little one

2009-11-09T22:15:00.001-08:00

Goodnight little baby, kicking and moving.
Getting ready for the big day.
We love you so much already.
We imagine holding you in our arms and giving you kisses.
I wish you a safe night and good sleep,
Store up lots of energy
And feel comforted
And know we are here with you
Through everything.
Don't be afraid, be excited!
A beautiful life is ahead of you,
The big oak tree outside full of stars,
Smokey November air,
Pumpkin bread and the voices of aunties and uncles
Grandparents and friends,
Gathered around you for this coming.
Enjoy these last days in the warm dark,
And then,
Want to be out of it,
Be ready for the next part,
Out in the open
But surrounded by love.

Oh pizza

2009-10-30T22:20:00.000-07:00

So we go to our favorite NY Pizza Pie place, where Ralph speaks with a good Bronx accent, and the pizza is pretty damn close to the real East Coast thing, slightly adapted for Californians. Everyone loves to talk to Ralph about their piece of back East, including me.

Tonight someone asks Ralph, "I wanna order a do-it-yourself pizza" ( meaning he wants to pick the toppings). Ralph says, "oh yah? You know how to make a pizza? You wanna go back there and make it? How bout I make the pizza."

Someone else asks him, "hey, you know Pork Rollers? Like they have in New York?" Ralph says, "Do you put it on a pizza? Then no." It's awesome.

So we're in there and his wife is there too. And I'm big, my belly runs into things. She asks me if I want a beer. I love it. Tells me how she thinks it's fine to drink a little during pregnancy. I say I'll just have a sip of Ryan's, don't want to draw attention in public, we are still in California.

And then comes the usual conversation, all about the baby, and is this our first, I say no. I like leaving it at that because Otto isn't just defined as having died a week into his life. For me he is so present, he is my son, and if they need to know more, I'll tell them more about him. It's always kind of painful and awkward though. So I tell her. When she asks how old my son is.

Later she comes back, and says, "You know, your son is with the Lord." It was so strange, I had no idea what to say, it wasn't a question, it was a statement. How God loves children and takes care of them, and when I die I'll go to heaven and see him as a child.

To sit there with Ryan and try to take it gracefully was a challenge. She asks me "Do you believe this?" And I'm just thinking, why do I need to tell you what I believe? It is so vast and misty, of my heart, not something I go around defining in pizza parlors to people I just met. I know my baby is with me, I know he's in a good place, but to define heaven and God and how it all works?
This is my child, so close to my heart, and words don't need to be spoken here about the BEYOND.

She leaves and Ryan and I are both fighting back tears. Not sure exactly why. Partly because she gave me a hug, partly because we didn't know what to say. And we miss him so much. And making him an angel makes him not real.

Don't worry, we left in good spirits because the pizza is so good. And we went to gelato and got the BEST flavors - I got pumpkin and vanilla, it was the best dessert I've had for a while. Then we got coffee (for Ryan) and then a nice turn around the used book store, and it was FUN! We had a fun night. Indulgent. Strange. Good.

The moon is almost full. My belly is definitely full. And it was so nice to have fun! We're learning this. Tragedy, fun, laughing at yourself, laughing at other people, it's all part of this short/long life. We ended by taking pictures of my belly from angles that make it look huge, and Bo trying to kiss Ryan the whole time because he was on the floor. I laughed and laughed.

Moments of the moment

2009-10-29T17:50:00.000-07:00

Just the last couple days
I've had moments of the moment
Excited about a small thing
Like planting sweet peas for the spring
Or laying down for a nap in the golden times of afternoon

Of letting myself feel the freedom
Of not having much to do
Except grow this baby,
Lie down with my hand on her,
We are separated on this side
By a quarter inch of skin and muscle.

She moves a knee against my palm,
And then gets all the love
that my body makes in chemicals
surrounding her,
The love of my heart expanding down to her.

The more I nap the more she moves,
The more I rest the more energy she gets
I rest to not get a cold,
I rest to save up my energy
For a labor rapidly approaching

and with every contraction I smile
Thinking how close I am
To holding you in my arms
And for that first look into each other's eyes.
If I survive that gloriousness
and don't explode into sparks
I will be a changed woman.

Facebook Babies

2009-10-23T12:02:00.000-07:00

One thing about Facebook is that I see all the pictures of EVERYONE having babies. It seems like everyone. A lot of people. So many people seem to be due before me! I've waited so long for this moment.

I see them, gazing down at the newborn infant, with a deeply warm smile on their face. And it's usually their 3rd child now, they've gotten this moment before, and each time, things have gone well. The baby comes out, they get to hold it, they go home. In love.

I want that so bad.

I want it more than anything.

And it is so close, just weeks away.

But the question is still in my mind, will that be for me? Will I get to hold her and keep her? Will I get to, after the intense, loving work, hold my baby and love her? That was stolen before.

The most joyful moment is about to come.

We talk to her, sing to her, every night, we love her, we wait. These days, when she is so close, the waiting is long.

The night is a big yawning black to settle into.

We both have our rituals we need to do now before bed. Light the candle, light the sage, rub the rose oil over the heart, look at the stars, breathe, pray, love Otto, love Lima, be brave.

Morning light

2009-10-20T12:25:00.001-07:00

After my walk with Bo this morning through sidewalks with distilled, slanting, whiteFall light, and leaves of every color on maples, and the woodiness of the oaks, and water from rain on the grass, I came home and walked into the bedroom and saw the co-sleeper we have set up, and felt peaceful about her coming.

There is her bed. With some of her clothes stacked in it. And she will be in it soon. And she is safe in my belly.

I pray for her safety. I pray to my grandmothers, and to angels, to GOD, to all the mothers who have ever been, to make my baby safe.

Fall, coming and going

2009-10-19T04:44:00.000-07:00

A time of such beauty, the leaves on trees fiery and deep, a time of things going to sleep.

So much love and so much heartache.

I look forward to getting the baby dresser back in our home, and as soon as it's here, I want to break down. Our baby is coming so soon, and I welcome her with these preparations. And yet, once the dresser is in our room again, the mama in me who misses her son is so sad. "We picked this out for you, darling," I think. We went to the antique store, and decided it was right, we bargained for it, and then your Dad picked out the color and painted it, we put it in our room, and touched it every time we walked by. This one piece of furniture that showed our baby was coming.

My mom comes over and brings the bins of clothes that I had laid out and washed and folded and organized getting ready for Otto. I am so excited to be getting ready for a baby again, for my little girl. I can't believe I get to pull them out again, these things that hurt so much to put away. My mom helped me put them away, that impossible task, and here she is again, as we take them out.

And in order to get them out, I must pass through the hurt again. I have to remember going to the stores where we chose things for our little boy (who we didn't KNOW was a boy yet, but had a good feeling). Our first child, all the hope, all the faith and belief of those months, the decisions of what kind of diaper to get and how many, thinking of what kind of parents we wanted to be through the THINGS that we accumulated, I took it all so seriously. Finding the Moses basket, Ryan's mom making the liner for it, just for him, the gifts given, the blessings people wrote that we tucked inside the liner.

It's still so hard to believe and accept that you won't wear these things. That all our love and care was compounded into one week, one week to see you and hold you. It is hard to touch these sweet little things again, and let you go from them again.

We learn to love you from our hearts, to carry your heart, to let you carry ours. But I miss my son. I miss the boy that won't grow up with me, who I won't have laughter with, or first words or tantrums or all the beautiful and difficult things that we would go through together. The amazing person that I know you were and would become.

And your sister, your beautiful sister, is about to come into the realm of our arms. She is here with us now, sleeping between us, hearing our conversations, sleeping and waking, taking up so much of our conversation.

"How is Lima today?" your daddy asks all the time. We talk about how you're moving, how often, how I'm feeling, any contractions, emotions, we circle around you. You are coming and you are here already. I am so happy to be pregnant, so pregnant with you. I look at my belly every day with wonder at the shape and the grace of the lines of roundness. I am so grateful that we've gotten to create another little being.

And we go through these months, from September to November, a year from when Otto died, in that silent tunnel of space when he didn't exist on this earth, not yet conceived, not yet in my belly, and then a year later, gone, back to the earth, back to the heavens. The year anniversary of the saddest months of our lives, the most quiet, the most insane, the most heartful. I couldn't remember the leaves of last year, I was blind to the Fall. I thought it was a little insulting actually, I couldn't get inspiration from the way things looked or felt, it just wasn't enough, I wasn't part of it, nothing could compare to my little boy.

And somehow, a year has passed. And we see the leaves every day, we point them out and take them in, because this time, they mean that our daughter is coming. The air cools, the earth is fragrant, the birds change, we welcome all of it.

How can we hold so much? How can the Fall be the time of such excitement and such disappointment, hope and devastation, so much love? It is why I'm up at 4:30am, my mind full of strange chatter and dreams, because it is really hard to hold both.

I feel slightly crazy. So any phone calls and emails and cards are so welcome, any coffee dates or short walks, any candles lit and poems read and prayers sent off really do help. We need help. I need people now. I also need a lot of sleep and naps and quiet. And reassurance.

Thank you for reading and for the love sent.

First Rain

2009-09-13T16:22:00.001-07:00

First rain is early this year. We had a thunderstorm late Friday night, lightening, thunder, then the rain. And today we walked out the door to run errands and that amazing smell was all around - water in the air, the first drops on warm pavement. It reminds me of the Jersey Shore, the warm rain, it smells like summer. Even though here it means fall is coming.

I like an early first rain. Quell the fires, let softness come home, light some candles, take a nap, may we get enough water for the season, may the crops get their drink, may the earth be calmed.

Living in California my whole life, rain is always a blessing, something I'm grateful for, something we can't control but hope that we get.

Little baby girl is moving well. I keep feeling a little knee or elbow passing on my left side, and it makes me so happy. I'm practicing visualizations fo the birth, how each "birthing wave" as we will call them, will bring me closer to her, I imagine holding her, it swells my heart. And then a few hours later I have a surge of missing my boy so deeply. At this point the two births are walking together, parallel paths, both full of love, such a deeply bonding experience between mama and baby.

It is a very intense time for me, these last weeks before Lima comes, walking a tightrope of trust over a big empty unknown. That is how it feels. Most of me knows she will be in my arms soon, easily, and we will wonder at her.

The early first rain is a good sign, of home, of peace, of the heavens coming down softly to meet us.

My belly is big

2009-09-06T15:58:00.000-07:00

I need to find my camera so I can post a picture of it. I tell people I'm due in November and they always seem surprised! I sit like a man now, legs out, to leave room for the belly and baby.

I feel pretty with my big round belly. I wore a blue dress today that Catherine, my step mom, let me borrow for my pregnant time, it's cotton and flowy. I like dresses.

Oh baby Lima, we head into fall and I imagine the soups I will make and the smell of woodsmoke at night, Halloween and being as big as a pumpkin. I imagine you getting bigger and fatter in there. I imagine you deciding to come out, and an easy labor, and hearing you cry your big cry and how your daddy will cry too with a big smile on his face when he holds you for the first time. I can't imagine past that, it's all I got right now. But nothing else is as fun to imagine as that anyway.

Baby Otto, I saw a little boy your age today, my friend's boy, born about 2 weeks after you. I felt his feet and legs and arms, gauged how you would be, how you would feel, felt so much love for my pudgy one year old boy. I miss you so much.

I listened to a song on the way home, remember that song, "I'm a bitch I'm a lover I'm a child I'm a mother," and for a moment I felt like I was just right, a picture of perfection, in my dusty Subaru with a big hole in the lining where Bo chewed it up in a distressed moment, with my big belly and broken heart and new haircut, it was like a pattern of lace carefully woven, all these things in my life are me, a pattern that no one else is, I'm driving home with a latte and cookie for Ryan, on a sunny Sunday, with music playing, a baby in my belly, another baby in my heart, and so much love around.

I am in a daze of perfect blue skies with whispy clouds, warm sun, a breeze, leaves falling in droves from our backyard tree, slow mind, slow legs, sore hips, and love for Otto and Lima, and myself. and Ryan. and maybe even....life.

2009-09-03T08:11:00.000-07:00

Heartache heartache. Like after you've swum in the ocean and got water up your nose and can feel it the rest of the day, it feels watery. Probably from crying.

Yesterday I went back to my good ol' prenatal water aerobics class, I went a couple times a week with Otto in my belly. It really helps me feel good, and I made some good friends there last time. Going back, to the same teacher, same routine, all different people, knowing I'd tell them my story at some point, it's hard. I missed my old friends, I missed being normal and I missed Otto.

I told myself, this is Lima's turn now, it's different. These are HER friends, this is her time.

But there is just heartache to go through. I got home to a card from Memorial Hospice, saying that they remembered that Otto died a year ago, and some nice things, but that triggered something and I just longed for him. I looked at his pictures and couldn't believe I would never hold him again. I don't know if this will ultimately sink in ever. And when I tap into that longing it seems endless.

I look at pictures of babies in the belly and I touch my baby through my skin, I am with her. I tell her I cry for her brother, it's not about her, I just miss our boy. But she must feel it. I fall asleep on the couch, finally, with my hands on my belly, just listening to her movements, enjoying my baby, the baby that is here now, so close to me. Ryan made dinner, took over. I know he has heartache too but he takes care of me.

These last weeks are full. Full belly, full love, full fear, depending on the moment. Part of me would like to go into cloister and not see anyone till she comes. I don't want to act normal because I don't feel normal.

To lose a child is heartache. I miss him. I long for my babies so much that I can't get to pictures of deliveries without a waterfall of longing, hope, sadness. And I'm starting to think about my own, preparing, and wondering how I will do it. I know I am strong and will do it but my heart knows the wonder of meeting a baby, and it is so ready! To wait and trust! at least it's September now! yay for September.

Pre-natal yoga

2009-08-26T22:21:00.000-07:00

I write with little legs and arms moving like popcorn popping in my low abdomen. Little girl has a lot to say. I think she might be a dancer. Or a talker. Or a singer. Whatever she is it is wonderful.

I hold her and I hold my baby boy. I hold grief and love, I hold warmth and tears all at once. It makes no sense but it is life.

Today we went to cemeteries to find a place to bury Otto's ashes. It has been harder than I thought, even a year later, this finalizing, another step of reality of death. I don't want my baby to be ashes. I want him to be a baby. But as my dad said when I was telling him about it, it just shows us that we return to Source. Otto didn't just turn to ashes but he came from the earth too, we are always on some part of this journey, it is constantly moving and beautiful if you can see it from the right place. He wasn't born and didn't die in some senses, he always has been.

I went to my pre-natal yoga class tonight. We check in first, say our names and how many weeks we are and how we are doing. The women say things like how big they're getting, how strange it is to see the scale go up, how the crib is coming this week, and I sit there waiting my turn and thinking, "Well today I picked the plot where I will lay my baby to rest. Today I carried his ashes around in my purse. Today my husband signed more papers for a permit to bury our baby."

Part of me thought, how can I tell them about my week? How can I tell them where I am at? How different this pregancy is for me. These are their first babies, and like I was last time, they think about the stuff for the baby and the weight they're gaining. But I ended up with, how can I not tell them? This pregnancy for me, is blasted to a different universe of intense love and life and death that leaves the stuff so far behind, leaves the baby books and the parenting style choice and the concern about how I look many miles away. I have held my baby and sang him to sleep, I have birthed him and helped him die, I know that in the ancient codes of my body, mothering is there and will be blissful and wise as I bring little Lima into the world. As I bring her up. I don't doubt my ability, I know I am a good mama. I know Ryan is a good papa.

I told them that this week is the anniversary of my son's birth and death, how much I miss him, how much I put all the love for him into Lima too, how much I love her. And they didn't look away or feel awkward, they said, we're glad you came tonight and talked about it. I didn't scare them away. It is just my story. It is just my life.

I have no mind for calling people back or keeping up with music promotion or anything extra this week besides doing a couple massages and being with Ryan and Otto and Lima. And Bo.

Sweet Bo has been there every step of the way, licking off tears, offering hugs, and I am so grateful for his presence, a warm body to nap with, someone to tell them I love them who never gets tired of being pet. I think that part of his purpose in being our dog was to be here with us in this time. We rescued him and he is offering his sweet dog heart to us too, in the pain and in the great ball-throwing times. He is sensitive too, and upset when we are, and that is part of his life. But he has a good life, like we do too. Pain is part of the joy sometimes.

the week you were here, a year later

2009-08-26T22:06:00.000-07:00

Your birthday, Otto, was sweet and tender, the week leading up to it hard. Nights up at 4am in the rocking chair, a candle by your picture, missing you so deeply, crying, writing.

The day came and it was about your coming, your sweetness.

I sit in the rocker now, so grateful that I got to rock you to sleep, and sing to you, and touch your hair and change your diaper, all those wonderful things I got to do as a mama. When we brought you home, and i got to open the closet full of things we had prepared for you, and get out the thermometer and the soft pink wash cloths, this warm rush came over me, this feeling that all was well, I got to live out the dream, I didn't want to think it was just for a couple nights, it felt like it would be mine. I thought, maybe they're wrong, maybe he'll stay. It must be what heroin feels like, this rush of love and peace and well-ness through my body, enough to make me long for it again.

I remember the night we got to room in with you at the hospital. All the cells in my body wanted this more than anything, and even if I just had one night with you, everything in me wanted it, no thought for the void ahead, I had you now, I had you in my arms. I felt like I'd have everything with those glorious words "rooming in". And it was true, I did. I didn't have to leave you all night long. I could hold you and hold you, and wish the morning would stay far away. It's good to remember that now, now that those nights are gone, how I knew their precious-ness, and planned to savor them the rest of my life.

And this week, with all the pain of your being gone, I can remember that closeness, first thing when I wake up, I can remember just how your feet felt in my hands, your warm body on my chest, the cool little bump of your nose, the unfathomable softness of your skin and hair. I remember in my body, not just pictures or stories, but I know them.

The hospital to us is such a mixture of memories, but it is mostly sacred. People would tell us we needed to get away, get a break, that it was stuffy in there, get some air, but every time we did get out it was like torture, we couldn't wait to get back to you. It was where YOU lived, it was your house, and all of it, the swinging door to your ward, washing our hands, the smell of tape and new plastic, all of it meant you and we loved it because it was you. It glowed because of you. Our baby, our brand new son, how much wonder you held for us. For parents to look on their child for the first times and wonder at how it happened at all; it is such a mystery and miracle, we could look at you constantly, hold your hands, hold your feet, talk to you, be with you. So brave in there, so brave.

your due date

2009-08-17T14:11:00.001-07:00

Your due date was a year ago today, baby. It is an amazing thing to sit and be here in the moment a t this time of the year, when the squash plants are fading, the tomatoes ripening but the leaves getting dry, the gladiola stalks brown, the leaves starting to dry and fall from the maple in the back yard, the time when you came last year, or were coming, we were waiting.

To be here now, and remember how clean the house was, your toys out, all of us waiting, calls coming in, emails, is the baby come yet?

you are so close to our hearts, so close now, as your birthday comes, your first birthday. this love that was born when you were born, that came to fruition, will always be strong in us for you.

And as I write this, your little sister gets comfortable in my belly, moves little hands and feet, she lets me know she is there, she always says hello. After I woke up scared the other night I asked her mentally, "are you ok?"...kick. Good, thank you. a few minutes later, I ask again, "still there?"... kick. thank you. Thank you for being a little active one who always says hello.

Almost the 3rd trimester. nesting, growing, loving, dreaming, hips aching, legs stiff, glowing, people asking every question in the grocery store, reading, breathing, practicing for birth.

All these tings are here with me in this moment, my babies, waiting, hoping, crying, feeling reassured, feeling afraid, knowing there is no way to speed it up. For the first time ever, the changing of a leaf to red in August makes my heart beat faster. Fall means you are coming. usually I avoid those leaves, I pretend they are not there, I want summer to last forever, every year. And this year, I can float on these days, suspended. In love for my son who is so close, in love for this baby girl who is in my belly. I keep reminding myself this is the closest she will ever be, it is a precious time, soak it up, don't wish it past.

The tears get thicker as Otto's birthday comes close. What does this day mean? The day you came to us, it is full of so much love, we can't believe it. It carries so much loss. We don't know what it will be, we just have to wake up and be in it, all four of us, together.

10 year anniversary

2009-07-16T21:51:00.000-07:00

So after you've been together a long time you start to look the same. We got our new shirts in today! Designed and picked out by Ryan, I love them, and it shows off Lima's little house that's getting bigger.

I can't believe it's been 10 years, how young we were when we gave our vows, how comfortable we are together now, how much we've been through this year. I'm so grateful for the daddy of Otto and Lima, for such a tender, wise heart, such a good laugher.

We head to Tahoe tomorrow for a couple days away, to be together, to see a beautiful place, to relax. In the midst of planning this tour and having so much to do, I'll have these moments of realizing that this is nothing to get worked up about. My life is safe, right now, we are healthy and we love each other, and that is ALL that matters. It is nice thinking that way. Realizing what we have.

I feel little Lima moving her arms and legs, she lets me know she is there all the time, keeps me from worrying. She likes to move down low, I feel slow swirls and squirms and then a good firm kick. We're 22 weeks tomorrow. Wow. Really getting there.

I walked through a baby store with my mom today and we looked at the girl side of the store this time. I showed her the outfits that I liked and the ones I didn't and we paused at the boy side and tried not to cry, tried not to live in the hurt too much. But I sure miss him when I see that, and on Thursdays when the garbage trucks come by and I think how much he would love that probably. I love you, Otto, you are always with us. I love you, Lima, thank you for your kicks.

19 week sonogram

2009-07-08T08:54:00.000-07:00

The day before our sonogram felt like Christmas Eve. I'd been counting down the days for weeks, like a kid before Christmas, that wonderful excitement that I don't feel as much as an adult. We were going to get to meet our little one in a new way. Ryan and I took a walk that Sunday, the day before, and were smiling and saying, " it's tomorrow! It's happening!". And we were both trying to focus on the happiness of it more than on the possibility of bad news. We walked by the little playground that I've been looking at the past 3 years knowing our children would play there. And we've had to wait longer than expected. Without thinking I went and sat on one of the swings and went lightly back and forth.

A group of kids was playing nearby, around 8 years old. A little girl got up suddenly and said she had to go to the bathroom, but saw the swings and changed coarse. There are only 2 swings. And she sat down on the one next to me and smiled and started to swing, just looking at me. It was sweetly awkward, and I admit I was honored. But I had no idea what to say. Examples of possibilities that popped in my head, "What's your name," ...no, that felt a little creepy for a stranger in a park. Then came the idea, "So, do you come here often? " which made me laugh out loud. So I decided just to smile back and say nothing let myself swing with her. Ryan was watching with a big smile on his face.

She got a good arc coing and suddenly jumped off, with great flare, and then got back on and swung some more. "Good jump" I said, glad to have something to reference. She said thanks. "I'm not going to jump off." I said, and she looked at my belly and said " I can see why," which made me really happy that she knew I was pregnant. We swung a while longer and then I stopped and said I was going, and nice swinging with you.

I walked up to Ryan, all happy, and said, "I'm gonna be a mom again," and he said, "I was thinking the same thing." It was a small answer, I could feel it in my body, that those swings would still get to bring that joy to me, and that little girl who sat next to me and wanted to swing with me was a healer in her right, she brought reassurance. I thought, "this little baby must be a girl."

We know it is best to focus on the large percentages that all will be well, that this will go well, that she will come, that we will be incredibly happy.

But going to the doctor for results on a test for our child will not be an easy task for us for a long time. If you have never stood in an elevator, slowly going up, and felt your knees buckle beneath you as the door opens because you will have to walk down a long hallway to a small meeting room filled with 9 doctors with an answer, then it will be hard for you to understand our fear. If you haven't sat in this room with your husband and parents while everyone tried to act normal before they told you the news like they were reading a story, "Otto has severe brain damage, and will not live long, " and felt your precious son float away from you, when you were hoping the answer would be that maybe he would have some learning disabilities or some challenges, but he'd have a life, if you haven't felt the world fade away from you in a single moment, then you won't know what it feels like. If that hasn't been your experience, then it might not make sense how our hearts pound as we wait for a result.

We are learning to let this baby have a life of her own, a pregnancy all her own, a birth all her own. She has her own life to live, and it is not Otto's life, she is a new person. But driving to the hospital, my primal self took over and I found it hard to breathe. I was excited and yet I felt like my lungs were sore, and I hoped they wouldn't take my blood pressure! Long, loud breaths in the car, 10 minute drive. Once we were there, waiting, on time even, I felt much better. And they called my name, and I went in and the tech got right to business. And all of a sudden, there was our baby, looking right up at us.

Our baby is indeed a little girl. Or they're pretty sure she's a girl. Like we thought! The ultrasound was amazing, to see her hands in little fists, moving around, in front of her face, off to the side, to see her legs, stretched out and curled up, my heart was sore from so much love and longing to hold her. The technician said all the measurements look good and we just got confirmation from the head nurse that all is well. Elation. Love.

This is such good news.

The week after the sonogram was heavy - lots of crying, lots of release, of missing our boy, the reality of this new little girl coming, she's really coming. Feeling her move, feeling her not move and having a small panic till I look up "fetal movement 20 weeks" on google and see that everyone has the exact same post, and that it's normal for movement to be inconsistent now since baby is still small and won't always kick where you can feel it. Sigh of relief.

She is well and active and we're halfway there. I imagine holding her for the first time, so sweet, so warm, my baby, in my arms. Keep imagining this image. We don't have a name yet but we have the same conversation all the time, going through the list and liking different names on different days. These beautiful cool July days with roses all over sidewalks and a full moon and green tomatoes and a hummingbird on his favorite branch in our backyard tree. Our family, all four of us.

kisses

2009-06-16T23:34:00.001-07:00

The kicks I feel from this little baby feel like kisses. They're getting more defined and I love them so much, I could just sit all day with my hand on my belly and wait for them. They make me so happy. It is nice to feel a joy that starts from the inside out.

I had a good cry tonight, missing my Otto so much and needing to look at his pictures, to really remember, to bond again. Amazing how much love is there. Love that makes the rest of the world seem silly. Like degrees and sales and other things. I am grateful for that perspective of love being really the greatest thing there is.

My little boy is with me, and my little baby is here in my belly. I just want to be a mama. I don't want to think about careers or how things will work out, I want to walk around the house singing to my baby. Sometimes I think of that me, the one that has a 10 month old boy now, I feel her in the house, talking to him, walking down the hall with a dirty diaper in hand, I long for that reality. I think, that's why I'm so disoriented, because that is the life that my heart is in, and nothing else I do right now makes up for that one.

All these realities overlapping, sometimes they are louder than others. And this reality here, at the computer typing before bed, is precious too because there is so much love. And confusion. But mostly love.

Goodnight my babies, goodnight my friends, goodnight cricket outside and the moon getting smaller, it's time to go to bed.

2009-06-09T07:34:00.000-07:00

I feel afraid. Hearing my baby's heartbeat yesterday was beautiful, we got to hear it for a long time, nice and strong, everything looks good.

But it hit me yesterday that we have no control. We don't know what happened with precious Otto, and that is so hard for me to live with right now. I have faith and love, and also I don't want to feel foolish again about planning for a baby if it doesn't stay. I know it's not really foolish, but it feels really bad.

I need help. I need prayers. I want this baby to live.I want to give baths and and change diapers and sing and hold and sway and love. I want to have a happy Thanksgiving.

I know you are here Otto. How do I work through this? I feel sad, the sadness right after you died where we were just shocked and devastated.

But I feel the little bump on my belly and know that this baby is here now, I can love her now, I can only be grateful for what is now. And try to trust. The odds are in our favor. And we want you so much, it is worth the risk. I'll just focus on that.

In the days after you died

2009-06-01T16:18:00.001-07:00

They came around me like kind bees. They wrapped my hard, engorged breasts in cabbages and ace bandages. They brought me sage tea. Drink this, to stop the milk. Bitter.

They came and put food in my mouth. Every two hours they brought vitamins, C and echinacia and other things to keep my immune system going, because they knew that the rest of me would be shutting down, going to sleep, stop trying. These wise, wise women. My sisters, my moms, my midwives.

They chopped fresh potatoes and parsley as a poultice to help the ache of my breasts, their swollen fight, making so much, so ready, so loving, not wanting to take this answer that you were gone. That you wouldn't be eating.

Lay on the bed, wilted parsley and cabbage, I am cooking it, it looks ready for soup.

To dry up, to flatten out, to say no to the life and force so joyfully pouring out, mama for the first time, mama from here on out, to say no to that...

I send love to that me, that me that was round and full, and so happy to be your mom, to that part of me that had to go back to sleep, and pack up your clothes and the diapers I had washed and layed out, all ready for you, and the little bath tub and dresser, and take them away. I send her love because she was glorious and beautiful. And so brave.

2009-06-01T15:56:00.000-07:00

I look with longing at your picture. Every day. I feel love, I feel heartache. I don't know or understand what happened.

Depression is a blanket sometimes light and thin and sometimes heavy. But always always there.

Today it's heavy. But it's weird because I can still have moments of happiness, of good, of appreciation.

I don't want to get "work" done. I just want to write. I just want to play. I just want to read. Can I do this? Should I?

I see pictures of myself holding you and try to get that I was a mama, I know you will all say I am a mama, and I know that, i feel that, but I don't ever get to hold my baby. So I see when I was an on-duty mama, when you were MY baby. I miss it so much. I just want to fall apart.

What is life about? Not what I try so hard to achieve I think. I wish I could say that since you died I've become a very wise person, that everything is in perspective, that I know what life is about. That I want to live fully. I'm not there yet. I still want my music to do well, I get depressed about the tour not getting booked the way I want it to, that the album isn't perfect, that I'm not getting somewhere with it, all ego, all an excuse for not being content with life, with myself.

I like to think that if you were here my heart would have more of an anchor of love, that you would be the center, that music would have more love and less frustration. It did for a while, after you died, I could play and feel the center of the notes, every one affected me so, and now I'm a stress case. I feel like there isn't time to just play.

The moment the doctors told us that you had suffered major brain damage and a wash of whiteness came over me, an absence, a swoosh of air, a big, deep breath, I thought, no more Petracovich. There was no room for that. I thought, I knew, the most precious thing was to be lost in a few days, that the strain for accomplishing would die.

And it did for a while, and now I have an album to release to the world and I'm tying myself in knots over it.

I need your advice, your knowing, my baby. What would you tell me about this?

You say:
That you think I'm wonderful, the most wonderful. That you know my heart and it's beautiful. That I'm already there. That I am allowed to have joy.

And I think you are wise, my baby. I want to be a good mama for this little one. I want her to think that life is good, not just sad, not just angry. I'm angry all the time. I want to be a good mama for her. There is love too. There is tenderness. Today I sent blessings to all of her little parts, her heart, lungs, stomach, pancreas, eyes, brain, legs, hands, it is lovely to send love.

Monica

2009-05-12T15:15:00.000-07:00

My friend Monica died today. I didn't know how serious her condition was.

She was my childhood friend, we went to church together and junior high and high school. She was always smiling. She taught me how to set the volleyball, and she was really good at it, smooth as can be.

I remember kids in junior high being mean to her. I know their names, they're on facebook. I want to write them now and chew them out. I don't care if you were 12, you were mean, and she never gave it back to you. She was kind, she was happy. She was probably happier than they were. I'm mad at them today. I'm mad that they get to be parents when she doesn't.

I 'm crying that she had to leave her babies. She wrote me last year after Otto that she had lost a little girl, and when I asked her what happened, she said it was because of cancer. And being in the state I was, I didn't look into further, just looked at the picture of she and her husband and little boy and thought she looked so happy. She lost her little girl, and now she had to leave her family.

Already having a day of "what does it all mean?", this pushes it further. Her little boy's name is Kai. I have another friend who's little boy died when he was 10, and his name was Cai also. I know someone who feels the pain of never meeting her mother, who gave her up for adoption, and now in her 40's she feels this so deeply. And she feels my pain, the pain of losing my son, my little one.

I feel like we are just here, breathing, and that's all I know. All I know is to breathe and feel the earth, and I feel something of love in that, something of God, but are we here just to be? Like the grass? Like the trees? And then to die? Am I making it so much more complicated than that? It is so hard to leave love. And I know, love never dies, love always is, but the act of giving love is not the same, the act of receiving, is not as easy.

My friend, I send you love, I send you peace, you are so brave. I send love to your son, to your husband who is being so brave right now. I send him so many angels to hold him up.

And I wish you joy in the moments when you finally get to hold your baby girl, and be with her as spirits together, in pure love. I love you.

Flowers

2009-05-08T17:05:00.000-07:00

There is a plant outside that I put in the ground last year, and I waited a little too long to plant it and it kind of shriveled, and didn't do too well through the summer and then REALLy didn't look good with all the frost this winter. It died. It looked thoroughly dead.

It was a clematis, a pretty climbing vine, and I was bummed because it was twenty bucks and I wanted to see it bloom on the trellis.

And this spring, without us even noticing, it was green and climbing up the pole, it had come back, regenerated.

So nice to get a surprise, a good surprise. Its broad pink flowers are all over the place now. Sometimes things grow better when you don't obsess over them.

There are second chances and there is new life. And you never know where it will pop up, and you can't predict it, or expect it really.

That plant is full of good future stories for us.

And so, now, after 12 weeks, I can finally include our little Lima Bean in this blog. It's been hard to not write about her ( I call her her because I need a personal name, not it, and who knows?) so I just haven't written much.

We have a new baby growing, due around Thanksgiving. I feel Otto and I feel her, I take walks with two invisible children. They are always with me. I weep for the loss of Otto, I celebrate little fingers and toes growing, I talk to them both. I walk the fine balance of life.

Hello Baby

2009-03-31T16:10:00.000-07:00

Thank you for being so close.

Thank you for the sweet sounds you made with your mouth when I was holding you for the first time, little suckling sounds.

Thank you for nuzzling into me when I held you.

All of these things stay with me, and I will always have them.

Sometimes my life seems so long when I think of how much time there is left without you. So long for you to not be here as my son, my baby, a grown man.

I heard an interview with John Mellencamp today and he said when he was born he had a disease or problem that usually killed the babies who had it, and they operated on him, at the neck, which usually caused paralyzation from the incision down. But somehow, he was fine, had a normal childhood and life.

And I listened to him singing and wondered what you would have been like in your life, what you would have done with it if you had the chance. Would you be a songwriter? Would you write poetry? This baby almost died, but didn't and grew up to sing for people. I wish I could know what you would have been like.

And I am still here. And my life is still here, and I should cherish it.

2009-03-23T18:31:00.001-07:00

Hello my darling boy. Thank you for being close to me. With the new life of spring, I find myself missing you so much, even as I feel all the hope of blossoms and little green leaves all around us.

Last night when I was crying, you reminded me that I can hold you now too. So I closed my eyes and put my hands on my heart and belly, and imagined you there. Your spirit is here, and I can hold you any time. Thank you for reminding me.

Last night Bo cut his foot and had to get stitches. It was very hard to go to the vet - where they tell us what they'll do to our little dog, needles and how much time we need to leave him there, and I always sob when I leave because it puts us right back in the hospital with you. I look at other people looking distraught in the vet's office and I think, "well, I lost my BABY!" that's different than a dog.

Still, I was so glad to get him back and we let him sleep in bed with us because he was so disoriented, and because I needed to cuddle with him. He's warm.

Yesterday you turned 7 months old. You'd be sitting up now and smiling and giving so much love. It's hard to know that, and it's beautiful too in some way. Happy 7 months birthday my darling boy. I miss you so much.

Mama

Safe Place

2009-03-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

One of the safest memories I have is sleeping outside with my Dad and sisters. We're in heavy black cotton sleeping bags with pictures of deer with antlers on the inside, a red background. We're under the stars, we can hear the night, the trees creaking, animals walking in the woods, frogs, crickets, we can hear the creek. The sky seems to breathe on me like a mother watching over, and I know my dad is there to protect us. I have no fear of the night. I feel like I am cradled and warm, laying on GOD.

I don't like the sound of a room. There's a high pitch to it that I remember as a toddler, even before computers were always on and before cell phone signals, something about containing a space in walls? It's a dead sound.

There is a part of me that always misses hearing the outside, that is frightened by such unnatural silence plus refrigerator hum. Open a window, and I feel much better.

I talked to you, Otto under a big oak tree this morning. I was hitting the ball for Bo because he was distraught from being left outside as we went to our BNI meeting at 7am! Two hours outside by himself, this was a major deal to get through. So we ran it out. (something people should do as well after stressful situations).

And this massive oak, with a big roundish trunk and branches swirling in a big globe around it, was listening to me. And he heard me. (I think this one is male). And I started to sob to feel that the earth was so tender and loving, my grief for your welled up and I felt it hard.

To think that the same forces that make that tree wind its roots through the earth and creates the graceful pattern of its branches toward the sky, are the same forces that create our lives, the paths, the openings and closings. Your branch was short, and it will have no branches off of it that keep going. Who knows why. But it feels easier to know that there are forces that bind us all together, that have some sense, some beauty, we are all subject to them, every cell in our body.

I just miss you so much. And I love you so much. I know you are there but it's harder to feel when I have the pain. I'll have to see you in the little dandelions blooming all over the grass.

2009-03-10T20:29:00.000-07:00

This morning we got up at 6 which is really 5, and went to a networking meeting. We saw the moonset over the north western hills, big and orange. I've never seen a big moonset like that in the early morning. It was beautiful and eery. Like a sign. Of beginnings and endings being so close together, the moonset and sunrise within minutes of each other.

happy full moon.

I'm not crying much these last few days. I feel a little strange about that. To let love for you shift from so much pain to a lighter one, a smile, then anger and disappointment, and love for your baby hands and holding you. It all comes around and around, all the cycles. I am glad for sunny days when they come.

I look at pictures of myself holding you so I can see me being a mom. Being your mom. It just seems so good, too good to be true, an ancient universe that once was that is a story now. I know it wasn't that long ago, but it just is soo good was sooo hard afterwards for so long, that it's all out of dimension.

But my heart is a mama's heart, even though most people can't see you. And they don't know. It doesn't matter.

I sang your hummingbird song at the show, and cried, and everyone cried with me. They all heard about you and longed for you. I missed you as I went up to play, remembered that tear I cried as I finished the last note of the last show before I took a break for the 3rd trimester, not knowing when I'd come back. That tear seems so silly now. You are so much better than a stage. But I still love singing, I still love the smell of a bar. Isn't that funny? Stale beer on the floor and the old walls hinting of past cigarettes. It's the smell of my songs.

Well, Otto, I know you have a sense of humor, that you are with me on sad days and happy days, I miss you so much.

I love you.

Mom

2009-03-02T19:08:00.000-08:00

I am quiet. I haven't had as much to say lately. But you are always with me. Looked at pictures of you all weekend with Julianne. We cried for you and kissed your photos. We wondered why and sent love.

I am right here. Not knowing if I should hope or just not think. I am here, on this March Monday, the night has come, the winds are strong outside and it's cold. Its' rained a lot. You knew only summer and heat while you were here. You didn't know winter.

I know there are joyful times ahead. I accept my sadness. I don't feel like hoping right now. I want to sit and write small thoughts and meditate in front of candles and accept this cold winter wind. There are a few flowers, there are bulbs of gladiolas and dahlias to plant that your dad helped me pick out from the nursery this weekend.

That gives me hope. That we stood in front of the stand of bulbs and pointed to our favorite colors, and took them home for planting.

2009-02-24T07:27:00.001-08:00

9 months of loving you while you grew in my belly. Of wonder and wondering and quiet dreaming. Of sitting on the patio and meditating with hands over big round belly where you lived and moved and we talked to each other. Watching the garden and the birds. 26 hours of breathing and mental balancing, of deep muscle pain and no escape, of focus and knowing that it would end in happiness and holding you and rest. Hard hard work, sweat, exhaustion. and then the moment came, you emerged, you made your descent. And we lost you.

Instead of my baby they gave me this basket full of metal objects to carry around everywhere I go. It is very heavy. I drag it behind me. When I wait in line at the post office, when I go to work, when I go to bed. When I get up. Especially when I get up. Rusty, random loveless things instead of you, instead of my soft, beautiful child.

Love Poem

2009-02-16T08:55:00.000-08:00

Love Poem

by Donald Hall

When you fall in love,
you jockey your horse
into the flaming barn.
You hire a cabin
on the shiny Titanic.
You tease the black bear.
Reading the Monitor,
you scan the obituaries
looking for your name.

_____________________________________

It is all a glorious risk. I know it's all worth it. Love love love.
Jess

Valentines

2009-02-14T11:46:00.001-08:00

Hello darling.

There are so many things I have wanted to say this week. I go back and forth between hope and joy and fear and despair. Sometimes I want to sell everything and live on a yurt. I keep telling people about this yurt and how good it sounds. It's hard to get my mind straight. It's hard to get it quiet. What am I about? I want to get beyond the news and the fear. Every time I'm with people I love and we laugh I remember the point of being human, which is of coarse, to tell jokes. To laugh at things that happen in life, to find humor. There is usually humor around, even in the most dire of situations. My family seems particularly good at finding this, to the point of sacreligion. Yes, I'll coin that, it has a red line under it as I type saying it's not really a word but who cares. I know you are with me, I know you love us, you are just sooo missed. Going to the Y has gotten hard, so many mommies with little babies, so many of them my friends, old high school friends. I have to decide, will I give it a break for a while to just heal up the old heart or just tell myself to deal with it so I can go swimming, not be so surprised every time.

I love your dad. It's valentine's day and I'm trying to be up but I'm just sad. I love him and I'm sad. I am so grateful for him, for our almost 10 years of marriage, for our friendship, for our sharing of you, the knowing together of this love and heartache, and learning to love and be sad. To be sad and make jokes. To be sad with moments of long and deep laughs. Life, I'm here, I might as well see what you've got.

I love you my child.

And just a note to all those we love, and all interested, I just want to share that it's hard to hear the phrase "try again." It's not because we don't want more children or don't want to talk about them, but because Otto was not a try. He is who he is. He is my firstborn, my oldest child, and though I understand that there aren't really other words to use that easily come to mind when asking this question, I'm sure that there are creative ways to ask it without the word "try". We have a son. He isn't here, but he is real and always. And there will be more. My friend Maria asked me the other day in spanish if we were applying. I asked, for what, insurance? And she laughed, and said, no, a baby! I loved it. "Is that really how you say it in spanish?" I asked? And she laughed and said yes. I love the idea of applying for a baby. You just turn in the application to the angels and see what happens.

Happy day of love to everyone. We have each other today. It's a good celebration.

Bitter Blog

2009-02-06T11:21:00.001-08:00

I have something to say about my eyes being opened. I get why people end up drugged out and on welfare and feeling hopeless in life. Did you think it was because they were lazy and just didn't have any dreams?

Our insurance paid 10 times less than we would have had to pay if we had no insurance. So the people who can't afford it end up in major major major debt. Debt that takes everything from you. Doesn't matter that our baby died, we would have been liable for $200,000 if we didn't have insurance at that moment.

I take time off work to heal my body, to heal my heart, but the bills keep coming, the expectations don't shift at all for the soft body and heart that is me. That is everyone at some point or another in life. But if you don't have family to support you, to gather round you and help ward off all the craziness, you can get smashed.

It's easy to see how anyone could end up in a desperate situation and just spiral down. There is so little care and protection for people who need time to grieve, recover, feel, get it together. We like to think that we get ahead by being "good". Good people don't commit crimes, don't do drugs, don't act irresponsibly. And with losing our baby, it's so easy for me to see how you can feel crushed by this huge machine of systems that doesn't care if you're there and needing some time to exist in and get used to the alternate reality that is now your life. Instead you get run over by the big riding lawnmower like a little gopher in the grass.

I'm about to write a letter to the credit bureau explaining why a bill was late being paid that a collection company called us for, one of dozens that came separately for all the different shots, x rays, and services Otto was given, because we were trying to figure out which insurance was paying it, if it was billed correctly, all the while having not enough desire to even eat much less pay attention to all this. In this society, it just feels like you get punished for things not going your way. and it's easy to ignore till it happens to you.

That is the only reason I care, I'm guilty of it, because it did happen to me. I now am aware that the little ways I can help someone when they're struggling don't make me a great person, it makes me part of a community, a village. It's part of my job as a human to be there for my fellow humans when they're feeling crushed. I think that must be part of why everything seems to be falling apart right now with our market, our country. Too long fending for ourselves, not looking around at the results. It's a nicer way to live, helping out. It feels better.

This is a rant, a feeling, just like all the others with a hint of anger and disgust. Money is good, it's constructive. Greed and compassion-lessness is gonna rip us up. I can't wait to be done with insurance and bills and credit bureaus, but it's likely to last a couple years. lame.

Rain

2009-02-05T17:38:00.000-08:00

It rains outside. Rain that we need. The air is clean. One daffodil bloomed, bright deep gold against the dark earth and the gray sky. I think of you all day. In some ways you seem more real, and I feel more deeply what I have lost. It seems like I should be able to pick you up and kiss you today, like I should hold you and have you so close. I miss being a mama with her baby. It really hurts. But I have to accept it too, that you are not here, not in body. You are here in some other way, and I imagine you as pure energy, around me, as an angel, as an invisible baby, and I don't know what you are now. I'm letting myself believe in the times that we will have more babies, and it will be so normal to smell them and kiss them and clean up for them and cook dinner. In the gym last night a mom with two kids was leaving the locker room as I was going in, having a casual conversation with a stranger she said, "yah, it's a lot of work but it's worth it." So casual, like it was nothing, just life to have these beautiful children to put yourself into. And I remember the times when I was afraid of the commitment, of the work, of losing myself in children, and now I think, that is such a gift, that work, that time, that sleeplessness, that love. There is nothing like it. As I try to recover from the searing burn of letting go of you that last time, from my arms, there is nothing I can think of that would be just as good. So I'll remember my good dream from last night, two children in strollers, one seemed like you, with warm, fat feet, and I touched them and was filled with joy and family.

What it all means

2009-01-30T10:47:00.000-08:00

Of coarse, losing someone I love so much makes me ask the endless question, what does life mean? What is the point of coming here and loving when we will all die? Everything will die? I wonder if I will ever come to terms with this, if I will see the beauty in it like the masters who accept the leaves falling from the tree and going back to the soil as a metaphor for their lives as well.

So beautiful to have been the dark, warm space for you to grow, one cell at a time, to make a heart that started beating and blood running in beautiful, branching arteries and veins all through you, the bones of your fingers, your toes, your legs, your eyes, all coming to be, all perfect, and then to have it all stop. And die. After all that mysterious creation, you go back to the earth, you become ash.

These words from a Blackfoot Indian Chief, Isapwo Mukisika Crowfoot, eases my heart and my thoughts. He whispered this as he lay dying,

What is life?

It is the flash of a firefly in the night,

It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time,

It is the little shadow that runs across the grass

And loses itself in the sunset.

And so you are my love, and so am I.

the days you were here

2009-01-25T18:33:00.000-08:00

The days you were here at home with us are a warm and golden blur. Yes, I knew what was ahead, but you filled me with joy. With a happiness I hadn't known before. I knew it was only a matter of hours, so I decided to let them be golden, so could remember them that way. Everyone said I was doing so well, and that was because I was filled by you, by the existence of you, our son. By the love we had flowing between the three of us, our partnership so strong. I know now that it won't end, that it is as normal as the blood in my veins. But also, I mourn. I grieve and it is work. I feel lonely for you. I feel like my best friend has died.

But the time you were here, your sweet 9 pounds, your golden heart, the sounds of your breath, was beautiful. Thank you for being here for that time, for not checking out right after you were born, for the week you stayed. thank you for letting us feel your warm, softest skin, the silkiness of your hair, the scent of you.

I always ask for your help. Funny to ask your own little baby for help, but you are in that position now I think. Help me trust that more babies will come. That we will be parents for healthy children. Get them ready for us, take care of them, big brother. I feel your love for them too. Guardian. Sweet little boy. Help me be strong enough to keep going. We love you.

I walked

2009-01-20T19:21:00.001-08:00

I walked with Tessa yesterday in the woods and hills of Point Reyes. The dark underneath of the world. The sour, wet earth, a running creek, trunks with caverns in them, great mothers. It comforts me, to know there is a great mother who holds the dark places, the wombs, who knows the darkness that I walk, the path of loss, of wanting to go down down. Not that I want to die, no. But I want to be in the dark. The trees held that for me. Gnarled and old and crouching by the water, sprawled out toward the places of light, winding to get a piece of the sun. I felt just like them. They are covered in moss, and when their turn comes for the sun to hit them, they glow, all around, the moss radiates the light. Tessa said, "mind, remember this." A glowing tree.

Since I grew up in the woods I know about shadow and light. I know that it is mostly shadow, and that the light wavers. But you notice it more, it has a shape and a heart, you move toward it, you feel it on you. It encases things, it loves them. I need both. I need the mother who understands the dark, who isn't afraid of it, who knows that it is a part of us, a part of the earth, not to shy away from it, be big enough to take it in, to be it. This is a part of what we have lost in putting women into a smaller place, this big mama holding of the shadow. Women hold this in their hearts. To be the place where your child grows, to talk to your baby, sing to him, eat for him, and know him, to give birth to him, to then let him go, back into the arms of the earth, the arms of GOD, this takes a heart with a dark forest and a little creek and a floor where things die and rot and then become fertile again, fertile for another life. I am proud of this dark place.

I am grateful for the father sun also, to shine on my skin and make me look up. We walked into the meadow, into the sun, the trees where on a hill, to the west. Their branches moved up and down, just a little. They said, "that is the mother of Otto. She brought him here." And they knew you. They knew who you were and that you came. I love you baby. I am glad you came here, to me, to my belly, to my heart. It is hard to keep taking steps but I am getting braver. And I will keep visiting that place with the trees with the caverns in them, with their openings into the black, because they know what this is.

2009-01-14T22:56:00.000-08:00

I love this picture of us. I need to look at pictures a lot. To feel your weight and know that you are our baby, we are your parents. We miss you so much. Days are very long. A search for what it is all about. It is hurtful to have you gone. I was really angry today. To unravel these feelings seems impossible. But slowly I unraveled. I hugged my friends. I told your dad I was sorry for exploding so much. People want to hang out and I just don't think they know how much hurt is in me. It can be really lonely.

I hold the blanket you are wrapped in here at night. I hold it close to my chest and belly like it's you. I smell it. You are my precious one and you are gone. And I don't understand. Why the world goes on. Why other people get pregnant with their babies and have their families and their joy and I watch them go on, without me. With their joy.I tell you every day that I miss you. I write it down. I will write it down and say it to you for a long time. And it will always be true. I love you and I miss you, my sweet son. i send you a kiss to heaven.

2009-01-12T17:12:00.001-08:00

Hello my baby. Today is warm, strangely warm for January. In the 80's here. Like a summer day. The plants are all confused because they were just freezing and now they're dry. And the full moon has come and gone again. I like looking at our pictures together, me holding you.

Our little friend Chester died yesterday afternoon, our sweet little yellow bird we've had for 5 years. It brings up all the pain of losing you, losing another part of our family. We brought him to the vet to see what was wrong, he was puffy, and we knew he had some organ problems, and they wanted to keep him for tests. I didn't want to leave him, but I was so upset by being at a medical place again, having to make decisions again, I just left him and went to the car and cried and cried. He died at the vet. I was so mad at myself, that I didn't have the clarity to just bring him home, to let him be at home to die. I didn't know he was that sick, but I had a feeling.

I am so glad, my baby, that we took you home. This makes it all so clear. You were home in the quiet with just the whirr of the fan overhead, no beeps, no loud, laughing conversations of doctors and nurses who seem so clued out to our last hours with our son, no machines to watch, no needles in you, just you. Just a baby, just our little boy, where you were conceived, where you grew, in the same bed, in our arms. I am so glad that we had you to ourselves, to ease to the other side. We were such a team, I wish there were a more graceful word for it, but we all three worked together, our souls enmeshed, as you let go, bit by bit, as you shut down, bit by bit, we were with you, over you, guiding you. Never alone, covered in love.

I hope Chester had some comfort as he died, I hope he felt our hearts with him. I think part of his dying there was to show us that we did the right thing with you. So Chester, thank you for your brave gift. We miss you. We hope you are flying free with your friend Clarence up there, I hope you fly over our sweet Otto.

2009-01-08T11:25:00.000-08:00

I realize sometimes that I don't feel as valuable a person without my little boy to take care of. To eat for, to sleep for, to watch everything for. It's easy to feel like it's not as important to eat, to eat well, without this little body and spirit who was also partaking. I just read something that reminded me that I am worth feeding, body and soul, as just me.

I don't feel as important, not being a mom. I am waiting for the day I am a mom again to be important again. And, as hard as it is to live it out, this is not true. I am still important, I am still a soul, just like Otto, I am as important as him. This part of my life is real too. This part that is so hard and dark and gets so old, and I see it stretching out in front of me for long miles and it just doesn't seem worth it sometimes. But I have a garden in the back yard and it makes me happy to work out there. To put my hands in the dirt. To care and tend it. The sun came out as I was doing breathing and stretching in the living room and it shines on me as I breathe, and I am alive now. I don't just want to wait till I'm pregnant or have a baby to feel good again. I know Otto wants me to feel good things, I know he loves me. I just can't stop crying.

New Moon

2008-12-27T16:06:00.000-08:00

The moon is dark tonight. The light is snuffed out, and we are in a cocoon, gray sky, warm heater, damp and cold outside. Our friends Nate and Katie visited this afternoon with their 6 month old Selah and little Finn, almost 3. It felt so good to hold this baby. She smelled so good, she smiled big, and felt so good against my chest, in my arms. I have been aching for this. And I hope that it will just be a happiness, a relief, rather than a downer later when I realize i won't be holding my own baby again, no baby of mine anytime soon. Not soon enough for me. I have decided that I am done with trying to understand life or say anything wise or poetic about it. At least for now, I'd like to be neutral and just here. Because nothing else makes sense. I am alive, I get up, I eat, I hug Ryan, I sleep, I enjoy walks, I am. I am noticing things and passing the time. That is all there is. The new year approaches. I am not brave enough to hope for anything right now. The hour passes and the next passes.My sisters will come over and I will make them cookies and we will pass time together. And then I'll sleep again. Here I am.

Christmas Eve

2008-12-24T08:54:00.000-08:00

I wish you were here, baby. It's raining outside and was dark still at 7am this morning. I know you're here, I know you want us to be happy. Life is different than it ever was, each moment a new stepping into the void of unknown things. Just being here, being alive. We got you a pretty ornament of a golden bird with it's wings spread wide. Your dad picked it out for you. It reminds me of you, golden and sacred and full of joy. I know I never saw you smile but in my memory I did, I can see it, and it feels like you did. I love you so much. I know you'll help us get through the next couple of days. I don't want to move. I want the world to be as still and heavy as I feel. But we will get up and drive and be with our families and be still in the midst of festivity, and give hugs and get love and hope that we're not too much of a spectacle of sad things. Life does go on, but we take you with us. And your dad can really make me laugh and he knows how and thank god, he helps me over my stuck moments that way.

Merry Christmas, baby. We love you.
Love,
your mama

I carry your heart with me

2008-12-15T21:39:00.000-08:00

I carry it in my heart. The e.e. cummings poem says everything perfectly. I am getting better at learning how to drive and talk to you, Otto. How to work and be with you. How to do the dishes, and lay in bed in the morning, and have you so close to me. It is not the same as your soft warm skin, but I can remember it. On some days, on days like this, I feel your peace, I feel so grateful to have met you, to have this seed planted in me that will grow more and more substantial with every day, for the rest of my life. Into a great tree. Even though you were a newborn baby when you died, you will have roots and branches and a big trunk for me. I will always have you as my son, I will always mourn you. Till the end of my days. I will always love you. And learning how to love like this is work, and it is worth it. I look at your picture and my heart aches, and I cannot tell if I want to sing for joy or pain. I cannot tell them apart. It is one big scream that wants to come out. A yell. A note. I am so glad you are with me. I am so glad you are my baby. I miss you but I have you. I am so glad you are here.

Day After the Full Moon

2008-11-14T17:49:00.002-08:00

The full moon was last night and the patio was white with light in the night. Tonight we walked Bo at twilight, when I feel closest to you, and saw the sky light up - the clouds to the west first gold and then pink and all glowing before fading into night. At twilight we know everything changes quickly, to me it is the most beautiful and light has a roundness and a fullness, right before the dark. And the first star comes out and I say, "hello, my boy." To me, you are the first star, which is really Venus, it is a sweet and poignant point of white in the sky, it is the beauty of night, hope in the dark, and it is you. Our lives are like this now, your dad and mine. We know that everything will change. We know the night comes. We know, somewhere in us, that the next day comes too. We know that even though we can't see you, you are there. And you are clear, between the night and day, in the holy moments when the veil is thinned and the bats come out and the fragrance of the earth is strong. It is your time, it is our time with you.

Everyday we let go of the sun, the warmth, every year we let go of summer and go into the darker season, and every so often in life we let go of something as wonderful as you, something that will not come back again, that will never be replaced as it was. That will not hold the same place in us. And it is terrible. And everything keeps turning anyway, everything keeps changing. And I see the first star, I see Venus, and for a small instant, an old ancient part of me knows that you are there, my boy, that you never left, that we will always have you. And so I say hello to you, out loud, every night. And I know you hear me.

Day

2008-11-14T17:49:00.001-08:00