Never too late for THANKS!

 Ah yes, Thanksgiving...  It was a beautiful day~  Sunny, with a hint of warmth.  I had such high hopes for the beautiful day that would enfold.  I even helped my five year old son fall asleep the nights leading up to this big day by telling him stories of what Thanksgiving would be like.  "Oooooh, the sky is still dark and Mama is sitting in the dim light in her robe with a pot of hot water boiling for hot chocolate,"  I had whispered to his closing eyelids.  At the mention of hot chocolate his eyes pop wide open and a huge grin appears.  "Then you walk softly down the steps and crawl into my lap," I tell him, "and we are the only two awake in the house.  We bake cinnamon rolls as the sun starts to come up and we giggle while we wait for the parade to start on t.v."


  Yes, that was a beautiful dream... Not a single bit of it came true but it was a lovely thought.  In reality, we all stayed up late the night before and I didn't have any hope of waking before the sun did.  However, my eleven year old son woke about 6:30 a.m and banged his way around the kitchen to make my husband and I breakfast in bed (another wonderful idea!).  As he delivered our eggs and coffee he announced, "See Mom!  I told you I'd wake you up early!"  The day then took off at an alarming rate as the other five woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  I did remember to thank God that our 14 year old "hormonal tornado" had spent the night at a friends as his siblings kicked, yelled, cried, and grouched for the next two hours.  My husband croaked out that he was feeling horrible so it was on me to bring morale back to the troops.  Unfortunately, it's difficult to inspire others when your own crushed "cinnamon roll dreams" are laying in a tattered heap.


  Fresh air can bring about a total change in perspective!  I announced I was taking a walk and invited the whole surly crew to join me.  Two took me up on it...  Sure, I secretly craved alone time while I walked around our little triangle of a yard but I also know the endorphins could do my kids a world of good.  I'm sure chaos was still brewing and erupting inside as we lapped the yard (1 lap = 1/4 mile).  I began to process my bedtime story turned nightmare.  I'll be honest, I even despaired about what to write to inspire others to be thankful.  And then I remembered when I had called our parish priest a few years ago to wail, "Father, everything is going wrong in our lives!!"  I had a very legitimate list of complaints and had expected sympathy and a plan of action.  His first words to me brought me up short.  "First off Susan, not EVERYTHING, is wrong in your life.  Is your health gone?  Did your house burn down? Are your children still with you and well?"  He continued by telling me it's a deception to focus on all the things that are going bad because it takes our attention away from what is right.  "Susan,"  Fr. Larry said, "It's so important to start listing- OUT LOUD- the blessings in your life."  Never forget to focus on what is GOOD in your life was the message I got loud and clear.


  As I lapped my triangle I sifted through that conversation and started my new list.  The two children that went with me had trailed off to run and play with the neighbors dog and pogo stick ;)  The fresh air cleared more than their bad mood.  I was thankful for my new perspective.  I was thankful that the day wouldn't remain in the valley of fighting.  I was thankful for the TWO Thanksgiving feasts we'd be sharing with both sides of the family.  I was Thankful that we have such a large family (both immediate and extended). 


AND... I was thankful that I remembered to be THANKFUL!

So Cozy!

    I've always had an unusual fondness for cloudy, rainy, stormy, bad weather days.  I used to think it was because on these days I often found myself cuddled up with a cup of tea and a good book.  Of course after children started coming along in my life I am more partial to a steaming cup of coffee.  Somewhere over the years a "good book" has morphed into an interesting magazine article due to time restrictions. 

  Time has revealed the reason behind the enjoyment I receive from these inclement weather days.  A large part is due to the cancellation of my "To Do" list. 

  Oh darn... it's not sunny out, I guess I should break out the paints and a blank canvas.  Oh noooo... a snow storm...siiiigh, I guess we should light a fire and heat hot chocolate while we sift through family photos and create an album ;)

  Ultimately, ugly days provide the permission to "play indoors".  To dream the dreams and let creativity flow...

  Sometimes it's enough for me to watch as my children create sopping wet roses and poppies, big brown blobby puppies, and paintings that, in their eyes, clearly rival Michelangelo and Renoir. (I truly have these very works drying on my dining room table now...it was a gusty weekend with some showers).  Other times I too, must break out the crayons and clay and let myself play~ unhindered by adult "supposed to and shoulds"...

  The rain has always helped living things grow...I wonder why it's taken me this long to understand that meant creativity too! 

Testing is back...

  I wrote about my last pregnancy in Tiny Love... 

The genetic testing on our baby is back...  Our son's name is Lawrence Ignatius (named after Fr. Larry Richards, the amazing evangelist Priest who married us and continues to administer the Sacraments to us and our children) and St. Ignatius~ prolific writer.  Our son did have Trisomy 18.  This was the same genetic disorder which affects the 18th chromosome (three genes instead of two...hence the Tri)...which as they say in the medical world, "makes this child incompatible with life". 

  This is very rare to have two children with Trisomy 18.  They suspect my husband or I have a fragmented 18th chromosome.  Doctors reccomend we have genetic testing/counseling. 

Simply amazing that we have seven healthy, chromosomally sound children! 

Eyes Opened...

A man and his children were riding the public bus home one evening. The man appeared oblivious to his children's "over the top" misbehavior. A nearby passenger began clearing her throat to bring attention to his children as they ran wildly through the aisles. Her indignant sniffs became louder as they hollered and jumped over the seats. She was shocked and displeased with his lack of applied discipline to this unruly crew. Still, the man stared into nothing seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Finally,her patience worn thin she demanded, "won't you please get your children under control?" The man seemed to snap back to the reality of his surroundings. He quickly apologized for his children disturbing this woman. "You see," he tried explaining, "they are probably trying to get a little energy out. We've been at the hospital all day where their mother has just died. I will have them quiet down."

** I had heard this story (I believe true) years ago and have repeated it several times. The shock value comes in at the end when the justified irritation and self righteous anger at an apparent lack of parenting suddenly transforms into a horrible lack of compassion and passing judgement.

Just this past Friday my own children were exhibiting a lack of control as they fought among themselves. My eldest, a teenager, was working himself into a fury as he physically threatened his younger brother, told his sisters to "shut up," and even hurled insults my way. My response was just as shameful as I vented my utter frustration at him in the form of name calling and grounded him for a week...or maybe it was a month...(I was pretty upset). I was beside myself as I ordered everyone in and buckled. I slammed van doors while loudly reprimanding the lot of them especially my teen son. Once I was in the drivers seat , and backing up, I braked and demanded to know who's door was open... the lights were still on. A few seconds later I uttered, "oh." and sheepishly walked around to shut the rear doors I forgot I had opened while venting. I chose to ignore my children's giggling commentary filtering around me "then mom yelled who left the doors open... and then she was like, oh."

I drove in silence until I realized my eldest, in the passenger seat beside me, was still was not buckled. We were no longer yelling...or talking. "Please put your seat belt on." A minute later I repeated, "please put your seat belt on." I touched his arm and asked "what is going on with you?" Silence with a glare. I looked over at him and fearing the worst I asked, "why are your eyes all red and glossy?!?," allowing the accusation to seep into my voice. "Because I was crying Mom." What?!? That was unexpected. "Why?" "Because my friend just died an hour and a half ago!" Tears began to stream down his cheeks. I was in shock. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen my big boy cry. Slowly he filled me in on his classmate who had been life flighted after being overcome by Carbon Monoxide. I gasped when I recognized this as the boy I had been following on the news. A true tragedy.

I began to think back to the hug my son had tried to give me as I was hustling everyone out the door and barking orders. I reached over and squeezed his arm and told him, "I am so very sorry." It became clear to me that I was the self righteous woman on the bus...judging my son harshly (easy to do with a teen temper). Wrapped up in his horrible show of anger I became oblivious as to WHY he was so angry.

Compassion is a lesson that comes in a difficult tutorial... It takes giving up a sense of comfort to discover the source of what appears unappealing. Applying the balm of compassion may be as simple as cutting someone a little slack or even just listening. Either way, this is probably a lesson that will be repeated throughout life. I'm certain I have BEEN the occasional TEST for lifes' unsuspecting traveler as well...

Keep on Movin'

It's here! That feeling of mental clarity that makes all the difference in my day to day living AND understanding of what my greater purpose on this earth is...

Of course, I understand that I am wife and mother. Yes, I am aware that I am neighbor and friend... Somehow, what seems to keep slipping from my conciousness is that I was created with specific talents and desires. I need to keep up the process of excavation and keep bringing into light those things that help make up who I am.

This may seem like an abstract thought... however, I have heard that the tool of "free association" can help bring into clearer focus that central nugget of truth that can be so elusive. Who am I? What do I really want? Is it bad to ask these questions? I don't think so. I believe it It leads to greater self discovery. This in turn can be more freeing than captivating.

Am I afraid of failure...or success. What is my purpose...how can I achieve that purpose? Sometimes these questions hover around the perimeter of my consciousness...other times they shout so as to overcome the chaos my life has become.

In the still quiet-- when I have sought Him Who knows all and has created me with a specific purpose... that is when the focus becomes clear and answers are revealed. A certain Peace begins to slowly pervade my being and an odd type of energy radiates from my core out...often times I have the splotchy neck as witness this is happening.

I know it is important to work on this daily. I have found the key elements to remaining in this state of clarity is to first, spend time with the One Who created me. Second, remember that I have been created as an individual with separate talents and desires... seek those out. And finally, make and take the time to practice those skills and break down the desire into tiny steps that will ultimately lead to fulfillment of dreams.

Tiny Love

What an incredible time this has been. I have lost another baby to the sting of death…this time from within my womb. The pain was still very real. We are waiting on the D.N.A. results to learn if this child was a boy or girl and what the genetic defect was. Based on the 12 week sonogram, our midwife felt confident enough to tell Steve and I that our baby appeared to have a chromosomal defect. One that would make it incompatible with life. We were hearing this news for the second time and we were crushed. I immediately began to cry.

We were to come back within the week to repeat the sonogram and look for any changes. Those next few days seemed to drag until we were back in the doctor’s office hearing that not much had changed and actually the edema (swelling) of the baby was quite severe and perhaps even more pronounced around the head and abdomen. As the doctor conferred with the sonographer and set up an appt. in Pittsburgh we heard the whispers telling us our baby had severe edema throughout all of it’s tissue from head to rump.
We would have to wait until I was 16 weeks along to have the amniocentesis test in Pittsburgh which would confirm the actual condition our baby had.

Two weeks later I was concerned over a little bleeding and knew that I wanted to make sure our baby’s heart was beating before we made the two hour trip to Pittsburgh. Although I thought it, I wasn’t actually prepared to see my tiny one curled in my womb without a flutter in it’s chest. The sonographer gently let us know our baby was no longer living. I was surprised by the depth of emotion that sprang from somewhere deep in my heart. I was mourning this little child I had walked with for those last 16 weeks. Perhaps it was the combination of looking at the monitor screen and actually seeing such a tiny, well formed baby with it’s hands curled up by it’s head and it’s legs crossed while hearing that it no longer lived ~that cracked me somewhere deep in my core.

We were given three options. First, we could allow my body to spontaneously deliver the baby. This could take up to six weeks depending on how long ago our baby died. Second, we could go for and D and C in Pittsburgh because it was too large for our doctors here in Erie. However, it would be done in their abortion department. Thirdly, I could go into the local hospital and be given a medicine that would induce labor and I would deliver there.

I chose option three…and I wanted to do it that very afternoon. My midwife was calm as she let me know it is important to grieve the loss of this baby emotionally before letting go physically. She also let me know that once a mother knows her baby is no longer alive it can signal to her body it’s time to let the pregnancy go. I was scheduled to go to the hospital the next afternoon to be prepped for the delivery the following day. I then left to go home and grieve.

After the kids were tucked in for the night I curled up on the couch with a book. I couldn’t really get comfortable due to some mild cramping in my back. After a while I gave up and went to bed. I held my belly in the dark that night and knew this was my time to physically be with my child. I was literally wrapped around this baby. Yes, I knew I no longer communed with my child…but still it was present as I said goodbye.

I woke the next morning to the sound of my husband trying to get our eldest out the door in time for his bus and welcome our second to his day. All of a sudden there was a warm gush as I tried to move out of bed. I was so startled I hopped out and felt a second gush. I called Steve’s name several times and tried to keep my legs pressed tightly together to staunch what I believed to be a flow of blood. I thought I was hemorrhaging. The next few minutes were a whir. Steve came rushing in and closed the door. I was afraid and was crying as I told him I was bleeding. I gently tried to get changed to get to the hospital when there was another sudden gush and we both knew I had just delivered our baby. Steve called out “there’s the baby!” I just kept repeating, “Oh God, Oh God,” as he went to pick our little one off the towel on the floor. He was adamant about me not looking since we didn’t know how long our baby had been decomposing. I was crying and trying to get to him as my placenta was delivered and I heard him whisper, “it’s not gruesome at all.” There was genuine awe in his voice. I moved to look at the miniature baby he held cupped in his one palm with it’s umbilical chord still attached. We marveled at the sweet little fingers and the perfect heels on the other end of the ten tiny toes. I could see eyes and tiny ear buds…we were witnessing a beautiful revelation of one interrupted in the midst of it’s formation.

It was all so crazy and fast and the children (all seven were now awake) were huddled outside our bedroom door. Concern in their voice and impatience in their questions brought Steve out of our room while I tried to get ready to leave for the hospital without losing too much blood. The reality of this awkward unknown experience meant the baby was placed in a plastic container and wrapped in a special towel our son had sewn onto to memorialize his brother who had died two years earlier. Steve kept poking his head in the room to ask if he should show the baby to the kids. Stevie Jr. our second was adamant about wanting to see. I was torn between distraction of my physical condition and fear of scarring our children. Ultimately I figured if they want to see so badly, let them.

I was curious about their reaction…but a little afraid too. I had determined this latest child was beautiful no matter what. I also knew that children can be blunt and uncensored. I peeked around the corner of the door ready to dive back in the room to protect my vulnerable heart. I saw Steve in the midst of all but our eldest who was the only one who did not want to see this sibling. Gently he uncovered the baby and there was a collective gasp followed by a unanimous “aaaawwww.” The children began to blurt out their observances. “I can see a leg!” “Look! There are his fingers!” Our four year old peeked over Daddy’s hands and exclaimed, “he’s soooo cute!” They peppered Steve with “is it a boy or a girl?” And Steve was honest in telling them it was too early for us to know. He then said to the clustered group, “this is why we don’t believe abortion is right. This is a baby…not just a bunch of tissue in your Mommy.”

I can confidently say I think that’s a lesson they will never forget.

Though I chose not to hold the baby at that time I was given an opportunity to hold him or her later that afternoon in the quiet calm of my hospital room. The nurse had done her best to take photographs that would honor our child and there was even the tiniest bit of ink on the edge of an even tinier foot from attempted footprints at my request. We marveled at the intricacy of a 16 week formed human being cupped in the palm of my hand. Yes, we were saddened by the telltale sign of abnormality shown by the distended abdominal wall. And we trusted that this child’s Creator called him or her home when He knew it was the right time. But we also knew we were experiencing some part of wonderment that accompanies any great creation. We were viewing a miraculous sight that very few will ever have the privilege to see in the flesh.

Little one, how honored I am to have been chosen to house you as your fingers, toes, arms, and nose began to take shape. You are of my flesh and blood and that tie is no less real in death as it would be in life. I love you and long for the day when, perhaps unexpectedly, you rush up and lift me off my feet that were walking the golden streets of Heaven. The alarm of being grabbed by a stranger melts into pure delight as my heart is filled with the recognition of you. I imagine my tears will burst forth as you wrap your arms around me with the vigor of a ruddy youth. Tears of gratitude and inexpressible mirth slide down the curve of your cheek as we both begin to understand that your short life on earth has been rewarded with an eternity of joyful discovery within each others company. Lord, Your ways are far above our own!