A Year in Reflection

September 1st has come and gone once again. I am amazed a year has passed since Ethan briefly entered this world and so quickly left it. It is interesting that such a brief existence could have such a lasting effect. I have become well acquainted with grief this past year. I have found it is such a natural emotion- to grieve. We all grieve on different levels for different reasons. Any kind of loss or letting go is a kind of grief. It's tough business, but part of our human experience and a natural, necessary process if we are to actually move forward in life.

At times I am taken back by how present the pain can still be as if no time has passed. It is a deeper well of sadness than I could have imagined prior to this experience. The past 12 months have been the most challenging in both Dan and my lives. We have walked through the depths of pain and sorrow. We have faced great disappointment and have had our faith tested in great measure. A few months ago we suffered another miscarriage which was in and of itself a difficult experience, but it also brought back so much emotion regarding Ethan. It felt like more dreams dashed and was a reminder of what we had lost months before.

In my experience a mother's love is instantaneous and constant. It overtakes logic and reason. Both miscarriages took a toll on my heart and having Ethan brought it to whole new level. Though I never got to know Ethan beyond holding his frail little frame in my arms, somehow that was enough to change my life. Ethan is a permanent mark on my heart which cannot be removed. He is ever a part of me. I have come to understand this kind of grief on a deeper level. I have thought much about it and about the many other women who carry this type of loss.

It is a quiet, often lonely pain to carry. It is simply impossible to explain or make tangible unless you carry that pain yourself or have been close enough to it in proximity to a loved one experiencing it. I often look around and wonder how many other women feel this pain, this emptiness which I was understandably so unaware of before. How many women around me have struggled with conceiving, holding pregnancies, loss of a child. How many faces I see in the supermarket carry that sadness behind their eyes? I am so acutely aware of it more than ever.

It suddenly hit me as I sat in the waiting room of the OBGYN waiting to see if my most recent miscarriage was going smoothly. I was seated next to a first time expectant mom beaming with excitement as she rubbed her round belly. From my position it was a pretty lousy feeling. I don't begrudge her that joy, but for me it sucked. I was there losing my child while she eagerly awaited the birth of hers. But I realized I was in her seat a few years ago. I was her when I was pregnant with Jaden. I wonder if there was ever a woman in my current position who sat next me then thinking the same things. But there was such a sense of familiarity sitting next to her. And you know what, at the time I couldn't see past my own hurt as I was in the midst of another painful loss. But now I can look back and see that I was so blessed to have had that experience with Jaden. And I am blessed to have a beautiful, healthy, happy son in my life every day. I cannot lose sight of that. If I do I have learned nothing in the past year because all of that pain has been coupled with the sheer joy of watching Jaden grow. Our little man is simply amazing.

I have learned a great deal about loss and disappointment but also about how blessed I truly am. I don't always see it because isn't it easy to focus on the negative sometimes. We can get so stuck there. But I have a wonderful life. I have so much to be thankful for. I have good days and bad days even still. Even after a year the wounds are fresh, but slowly healing. I am still living and laughing and loving through it all. That is all I can do as I continue this journey. Thanks for reading.

Below is a special keepsake my dad made for us in honor of Ethan's birthday. He wrote a scripture verse, then his own heartfelt message and placed Ethan's picture at the bottom. He laminated the whole thing together as a keepsake. Thanks so much dad.


Click on the picture to enlarge

A Lasting Tribute

On Saturday Ryan, Dan, and I went to Annapolis and paid a little visit to a tattoo parlor. That's right, you read correctly. A Tattoo parlor. I have been wanting to get a tattoo to memorialize Ethan for some time, but I wanted to wait until the time was right. I needed to be in a certain place in the healing process and I felt the time had come. I will never forget my son and I will always miss him but I wanted the tribute to be something special and positive. I didn't want it to represent the lasting pain I feel from the loss but rather be a symbol of my lasting love for Ethan and a way to always carry him with me. He will always be in my heart, but now a piece of him is tangibly with me always too if that makes sense. I was ready for it finally. It is my first and last tattoo. Dedicated to my precious little boy. I got an exact replica of Ethan's footprints tattooed on my ankle with him name below them.

As it turned out the owner of the shop had also lost a child. His daughter Stella would have been five years old had she survived. When he heard our story he plopped his leg up and pulled his pant leg up to reveal a rather large, lengthy tattoo of a baby footprint and her name. Below it was a poem about her. He gave me a big hug and began to cry. He apologized for "ruining" our day. But it was the exact opposite. I was initially feeling hesitant about how the people at the shop would treat my situation. I mean it is an emotional tattoo to get and I simply wanted them to "get it". I didn't want special treatment, I guess I just wanted the process to be respected. Well needless to say it was. He and the other tattoo artists were very touched. The girl who did mine was meticulous about getting it right and getting all the little details of Ethan's feet right, from the wrinkles to the heal prints to the areas where the ink was faded or dark. She did a great job.

Ryan also decided to get a tattoo. He has one for our Grandma, Lance and myself. It was time to get one for mom. He got a bear paw print on his back. Many people know my mom is known as "Mama Bear" in our family, a name and an image she carries proudly. So Ryan wanted the bear paw to represent my mom's hand on his shoulder. It came out great.

All in all it was a great experience. I wasn't planning on getting any more tattoos anyway, but let me say the pain of it reinforced that idea. I have to admit I felt a little wimpy about how much it hurt. I mean I kept it together and took it like a champ but inwardly I was like, crap this hurts A LOT!! Ouchy! I thought well nothing's worse than childbirth. And it wasn't but so what? It still hurt like the Dickens. Here are some pics of the experience.



getting my paper work in order


no one under age, drunk, or cheap


Ryan's done but he gives me support


It took about an hour


beautiful

Time Heals All Wounds?

I thought I'd share another update on how I am currently coping six months after the loss of our son Ethan. Wow, six months. In some ways I cannot believe so much time has passed because part of me still feels as though it all just happened. So has time healed our wounds? Of course not. Time is simply a way of marking where we are in the chronological spectrum of life or if you want to be all philosophical and look at the bigger picture- the spectrum of all existence. Or in this case time acts as continual place marker that we first set beginning with the tragic event and then count forward. And it doesn't heal anything, it simply passes. Every first of the month we place another marker and on we count. The healing is somewhat of a cooperative effort on our part. It doesn't simply happen because a certain amount of days have come and gone. Maybe with some physical wounds that's true, but deep emotional wounds require a lot of participation if we want to see them healed. So how cooperative have I been? Well.....here and there I've done my part.

I don't know if I so much thought I'd be in a different place by now, but I certainly hoped to be. I know I cannot rush the process, but I can hinder it and I feel as though I have to a certain degree. You see, it is an odd place I find myself in. I so desperately want to move forward, to embrace the now and even the future. And to let go a little of what has passed. What is hard about that is I feel all I have left of Ethan that is tangible (besides his ashes) is the pain I feel for the loss of him. And if I lay that pain down, if I leave it behind, I will have forsaken him. Well, that is my fear anyway. I know he will always be a part of me, but the pain keeps him so close and still feeling so present. I don't want to lose that, but I don't want to be weighed down by the pain either. And it has become quite a heavy burden for me.

Initially we freely grieved and cried. As time passed it became harder because we had to continue on in our lives. The tears we had so freely cried became welled up behind a dam of self-preservation. It no longer seemed appropriate to break down in a public place or seemingly without reason. So a little here and a little there I began to squelch the urge to cry thinking well, now is not the time or place. I'll cry later. But then later never came. Or when wanting to share what I was going through at times I thought now is not the time or place. I'll share later. But later never came. The more time passed the harder it became because that was a door I dared not open for fear it would unleash a fury of pent up pain. I even feared that Dan would get healed and move on without me and I'd be all alone in my grief and sorrow. The longer I kept the door closed, the more it simply weighed me down, numbing me to a certain extent and causing me to withdraw emotionally and at times physically avoiding situations. A dark cloud slowly moved in and a lingering sadness enveloped me.

That kind of thing is difficult because while yes it is normal to grieve and be sad and many have assured me it has only been a short time since the loss. But to be consumed is never good, not when it begins to rob you of other joys. I began to feel dead inside; as if nothing made me feel except the pain. I lived from that place because it was all I could feel. I was functioning in life, but not really experiencing it. That has effected my relationships and my overall attitude about life. I don't want to become a negative person - cranky and nit-picky. That's not me. I don't want to walk around expecting bad things to happen to me from here on in. I think it is so important to release things either by talking about it, crying, having conversation with God about it, or writing it down and allowing everyone to read my deepest innermost thoughts :) The point is it HAS to come out if your heart is ever going to be exposed to healing.

So where does all of that leave me? Well awareness is a great first step. I see the place where I've come to and the next step is to make a choice. Do I want to stay here or keep moving forward? That is the step I currently find myself attempting to manage. I am trying hard to keep moving and not remain stuck. The pain may always be a part of me for I will always miss my son and want him here, but life does go on. I want to appreciate and experience to the fullest the other aspects of my life - my wonderful husband, my beautiful Jaden, my family and good friends. I have been so greatly blessed which I have known all along, but I want to breathe that in and feel that in my core once again. So that is where I am - no miraculous healing yet, not all fixed up and mended, but desiring to be and getting there one small step at a time.

Just one more thing. I want to thank my parents for having a memorial tree planted for Ethan in Israel as part of a restoration program over there. You can purchase and dedicate a tree which is what they did in memory of Ethan.