It All Fits Inside Each Other and Did I Mention Only Kindness Matters In the End

Begin today by putting your attention on your heart. Take time to connect with and feel how much your soul wants you to know that you are loved and appreciated. Look into your own eyes and see your timelessness. See everything—the joy, sadness, compassion, playfulness, and wisdom. You contain everything. You are whole. Each time you find yourself in front of a mirror today take a moment to witness yourself. As you look deeply into your own eyes, hold all aspects of yourself in loving awareness, silently repeat these words three times, “I see you, I accept you, I love you.” Carry this practice through your day and witness your heart gently open to yourself and others. https://chopracentermeditation.com

Most pregnant women have a partner to go with them to appointments, they have a person that checks in on them and takes care of them and overall sees over their well being. I had a Dr. Carmen. She was my Peace Corps doctor. She was also my friend. And she held my hand through my ultrasounds, she let me cry when I was scared and celebrated with me when I was happy. When I left to the U.S. she gave me gifts and promised to come hold my baby boy in Orlando.A couple of weeks a go, Peace Corps held their Doctors' conference at a resort near Disney. Dr. Carmen reached out to me and asked if she could still come and meet my baby boy, she wanted to visit his grave while here. It was a heartbreaking reunion for me. It was so good to see her and so sad all at the same time. Instead of going to the grave site, I asked if I could share my Mateo box with her instead. We sat and looked through his pictures, we held his little things, smelled his baby blanket. One by one we marveled over how little he was, how cute he was, never having to say but wishing that he still were here. She cried and I cried and it felt so good to cry with somebody. She apologized for crying, people always do. If you only knew how much it means to me to share in that human moment. People are comfortable sharing in your happiness, no one wants to share in your pain, but as a human, I need both. Because she was there from the beginning, because she knew how hard this choice was and the depths of depression I had to wade through. Because she knew how happy I was those last two months, especially that last month. Because as she cried she just kept saying over and over " It's not fair", the most comforting words anyone can share with me. Not that there is a plan, not that I will have more children, not that I will see him in heaven- but "It's not fair". Because it isn't. Because it's random and science and nature and God all in one. And it's hard. I am so grateful to have gotten the chance to see her and cry and laugh and spend time with my Mateo's other momma.

I have been thinking about identity . When loss of this magnitude happens in your life obviously you are changed but it is up to you how you are defined. One of the things I used to struggle with when I was pregnant was my identity and trying to understand how mother's find a balance between being their own person and being a mother. I didn't just want want to be Mateo's mother and give up on my hopes and my dreams. I know that I am meant to play many roles and be many things and while I want mother to be one of them, I don't want it to be the only role. Now I am faced with a similar identity challenge, for while I am a grieving mother, this is not my only role. I still have hopes and dreams for myself that are now intertwined with the shattered hopes and dreams of being Mateo's mother. My identity now runs parallel to itself, split into the person I am and the person I want to be. I want to be the mother of a Mateo who is alive and that can never be and so that identity hangs above me. It is the morning dew, the light mist that touches all things at the beginning of the day blessing it with its presence. It is ever present, this ache, this want, but I am finally starting to allow it to be a part of me instead of all of me. I am a grieving mother. It is one of the many layers to the person I become every day. Some days I am more of a grieving mother than I am anything else. Some days I am more of a daughter, other days I am mostly an activist but on all days I am all things. I give myself permission to be a multidimensional human being, one allowed to be all things when need be and nothing when it is called for.

I feel myself getting stronger but I am not yet strong. Not like before. I know I can never go back but I can become a new kind of strong. Still, I am not there yet. My scars are still too fresh, my pain still too exposed. I am at a transitional place in my life and I have some important decisions to make about my future. I used to be brave. I used to be fearless. Now I revel in caution, I give gold medals to security, I function in familiarity. How long is it okay for me to stand still before I have to take a leap of faith? I do not trust life. How can I? Life does not guarantee that things will work out and I understand this in an intimate way. My cells can testify. Life is random and good things happen and bad things happen and some things just happen with no value at all and you cannot control any of it. You can control your reaction, some of the causes and effects, become an outlier to circumstances. You can create your life to the best of your ability to maximize your level of happiness but always, and I do mean always working within the confines of the reality that all the things you work so hard to control are subject to randomness of life with every passing moment. That life happens to you while you create life and like those Russian dolls that fit inside each other your reality fits inside your circumstances fits inside your perception fits inside karma fits inside whatever. All of it. One inside of the other. And that you control everything while at the same time not controlling anything at all. So I do not trust life because it is not reliable. It is not predictable. It follows no rules. It does not care about fair or right or wrong. It doesn't care that I do not trust it, it owes me nothing and does not aim to win me over. It does what it is created to do, exist. All of the other things just fit inside each other. 

Lantern Ceremony for Baby Mateo

Tonight the members from my HEAL Group and I had a lantern lighting Ceremony in memory of of our babies. As I watched his lantern go up into the sky and become more and distant, higher and higher into the sky I couldn't help but pry for it to reach heaven. I wanted the flame to never burn out. Up, up, up past the clouds and beyond the veil and into the arms of my son. I wanted his lantern to reach him in heaven. Because the small things matter, the ceremonies matter. The moments of honor matter. 

He matters to me and I love him.

                                       This was Baby Mateo's Lantern headed towards heaven

Dreams are just this, and death is just that, and the possibility of anything else is also true.

To be read. 

To be heard. 

To be seen.

 I want to be read, I want to be heard. 

I don't want to be seen.

 To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. 

Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, 

uncover, what is gnawing at your bones. -Terry Tempest Willaims

A couple of people have shared with me that they have had Baby Mateo dreams recently. Dreams where they see him, feel him, dreams where he tells them things. I have not had such dreams. What are dreams but a reflection of our psyches? The time when the brain sees an opportunity to process, to take advantage of your stillness and silence and filter through those thoughts you don't make time for. Those feelings that had to be rescheduled make a new appointment during your REM cycle where they will not be ignored. And so what is a dream but neurons and science and psychology? They are that. But only that? Because if you tell me that to your dream with Baby Mateo was a message for me from him who am I to say it wasn't? How do I know Angels don't also schedule appointments during the REM cycle where they will not be ignored? Dreams are just this and death is just that and the possibility of anything else is also true. So Baby Mateo appears to some people in my life and to some of them he shares messages to relay to me. Why doesn't he just come to me? Maybe all my REM time slots are booked until next year and he just couldn't wait. Maybe he just absolutely had to let me know he loves me even if it means going through someone else. Is it real? Who cares. It is real to the people who dream it and so I will honor their dreams and their messages with the kind of gratitude that only a mom who will never hear her child speak can have when someone tells her, your baby has something he wants to say to you.

Right after the Boston Marathon Bombing my mom made a comment about how the bomber's mother was defending her son and was on his way to come and see him. My mom was appalled that she would stand by such a monster. But to that woman that is still her child. Is he a terrorist? Yes. Is he a murderer? Yes. Is he her son whom she loves? Yes. I will not ask that woman to renounce her love for her son. This week with all the news about George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin I heard an interview that quoted George Zimmerman's parents. They said they were standing with their son and praying for Trayvon Martin's parents. I pictured George Zimmerman's mother, relieved that her son is free and probably scared of what his life will be like from now on. I pictured Trayvon Martin's mother, inconsolable inside, feeling as if she has now lost her son twice at the hands of injustice.No matter where your opinion falls on the case and the situation there are these two mothers who love their sons, no matter who they are and what they've done. They grieve and they cry and they love with permission only the person who gave you life can wear. I remember talking to Mateo when I was pregnant. I would rub my belly and assure him that I would do everything in my power to make sure he would grow up to be a good man. That I would teach him manners, and compassion and kindness. That I would raise him to be respectful and well educated and patient. I would tell him that I wasn't quite sure how to do all this but that I would try very hard, because he was my son. My son. And there was pride in that. I don't get to raise my son. But these women did and however their sons turned out they still love them. I understand that love. I may not understand their parenting but I understand that love. I may not understand their sons and their actions, but I understand that love. And so when they stand by their sons, I wont be the one to ask any less of them. I understand that love.

I was reading an article about First Lady Jackie Kennedy this week. I grew up learning about her here and there. People thought she was beautiful. Her husband cheated on her very publicly. She had a very tragic life. She was a good mother. What I didn't know is that she experienced child loss, twice. She had a miscarriage earlier in her marriage and gave birth to a baby girl who was still born. When she gave birth to this little girl she was around 36 weeks pregnant and her husband was allegedly off skiing with some friends and his latest mistress. What a sad story. I can't imagine being such a public figure and experiencing such a personal loss. Not a private loss, because I feel like friends and family are the key towards healing so it is not meant to be private, but personal. And then I took a moment to check myself- was I pitying her? Because not too long a go a friend commented on how she and another mutual friend were catching up and my name came up. The conversation went something along the lines of " I heard about Ana" "Yea, how awful". And so when my name is brought up in conversation between my friends now, it is done with pity. And sadness. Poor Ana. Forever marked by this loss as someone no one wants to be. Let's pity her from a safe distance. And now here I was possibly doing it to Mrs. Kennedy. But then I realized that I sympathize with Jackie Kennedy. The word sympathize literally means "to suffer together". When I heard her about her loss I ached with her. I do not pity her. We suffer together. And so when my name comes up in conversation do not pity me. If you are commenting on my loss, sympathize with me. Not  "poor Ana" but, rather "my dear friend Ana". Own me and my pain in sympathy.Not Pity.

I am meeting up with some of the members of my HEAL support group later tonight. It has been about a month since we last saw each other and it will be nice to check in. I am trying to make sure I stay connected. It is so easy to isolate myself. To disappear and become so busy in my own head that even the angels have to make appointments to reach me in my sleep only to end up wait listed. So I am trying to create space for people and sharing and angels and healing. Feel free to reach out to me and ask me how I am doing with my grief. It gives me a chance to have to be present with someone else and answer honestly. I appreciate the sympathy and the friendship through this loss and into my healing.

This Started One Million Years Ago But Still Goes On Today

I got pregnant a year ago this week. It feels like a million years ago. I was pregnant a millennial ago. One million years ago this young girl became pregnant. A little life formed inside of her and grew. As it grew so did her love. Then just as quickly as this little life came, it went. But the love did not stop. It continued to grow. It still grows in all the places in her body where a child should have been, should be, could be, but isn't. This started one million years ago but still goes on today.

Feeling is exhausting. I do not judge people for all the ways they have created to escape feeling. People escape with food, entertainment, drugs, alcohol, music, sleep. These things can either take us into feeling and through it or they can numb us from it. I find myself wanting to run from feeling. Coming home and turning on Netflix and staring at the screen. I am not always sure what I am even watching. I am everywhere but here with my feelings. I do some proactive things, like my support group, heart to heart with Penny's group, therapy some times. Sometimes I call friends or I journal. Every now and then I blog ;) But still I find myself resisting. The feeling that prevails  mostly these days is sadness. I wear a blanket of sadness at all times. Can't the world just see how sad I am? How incredibly heartbroken I am? I feel like it is obvious until someone asks me how I am doing. Oh- they can't tell? How am I? I am dripping with sadness. Like a wet blanket thrown over me. I am heavy with it. 

It is hard to not be overwhelmed with expectations. My own expectations. "I should be... " this or that. I remind myself to breathe. How do I merge who I want to be with who I am while taking into account who I have been? Other people expect things from me. Work expects me to be invested. Friends expect me to call. Some people expect me to give more of me than I am willing to or ready to. Sorry I can't get out of bed right now, I am exhausted from spending all day picking up the pieces of my broken heart. That is what I do all day. Pain management. Life management. Piece by Piece. Yea, I can't go out dancing. Not any night this week. I have to sit at home and rest, I had another long hard day of heartbreak.

My life might not be what I want it to be but it is what I need it to be right now. I spend a lot of time alone. I walk my dog. I go to Zumba. I find myself wishing I did more, that I were more than a grieving mother. That I were fun again and alive again. I want to be perky. Instead I am wiser. Patient. Calm. I do not speed while driving anymore. Places will still be there when I get there. If I miss something, I missed something. Nothing is a matter of life and death until it actually is a matter of life and death. When you have been faced with an actual matter of life and death it is hard to fill your day with things that simply disguise themselves as important. I am important. And so I am where I need to be right now. I read and I am quiet and I am lonely even when I am not alone. And I take all this in and say this is my life. The one I have created right now so that I can get through right now. The one I need.

Getting Closer

Go on, the voices say, part the veil.

Not with your hands. Hands will only

tangle the hours like a net. Get closer.

So you can part the veil with your breath.

The world keeps moving in on itself. It's

what it does. Cobwebs. Opinions. Moss.

Worries. Dirt. Leaves. History. Go on. Put

them down and get real close. Open your

mouth and inhale all the way to the begin-

ning, which lives within us, not behind us.

Then wait. When something ordinary starts

to glow, life is opening. When the light off

the river paints the roots of an old willow

just as you pass, the world is telling you to

stop running. Forget what it means, just

stop running. When the moon makes you

finger the wet grass, the veil is parting.

When the knot you carry is loosened,

the veil is parting. When you can't help

but say yes to all that is waiting, the veil

is parting.

Coincidences Within Reach and the Other Shit That Just Happens

I am not always sure if I believe in coincidences. Most things feel intertwined, it feels as though events are interconnected and fueled through Karmic energy. And sometimes shit just happens. I have been having a very hard time managing my grief this last week or so. Usually that makes me more of a shut in than usual but tonight I decided to go with a friend to a showing of the movie Within Reach. The movie is about a couple that sells everything in order to ride their bikes around the U.S. in the search for a new home in an eco-community in order to pursue a sustainable lifestyle. Is it a coincidence that it touched on so many of the things I needed to hear? Maybe. What I do know is that I walked away with a renewed sense of purpose.

Because my coming home from the Peace Corps went hand in had with my losing Mateo, I have not really had the chance to process that experience or my transition back into the U.S. I really struggle with feeling sucked back into the American way of life and feeling I am betraying the valuable things I learned. For 2 years I went with so little and so I struggle with being here and seeing Americans have so much. I struggle with being one of those Americans. So what do I do? Sell everything I own and bike around the U.S. in hopes of finding something that meets my needs of Peace Corps sacrifice and living? I probably won't do that. What I will do is dedicate year 29 of my life to Sustainable Living and Consciousness.

I have been battling with the idea of my future. What does my life means now post child loss? I get overwhelmed at a lifetime of heartbreak. I have not been looking forward to my 29th birthday. Well it is all still overwhelming and heartbreaking and 29 will be blanketed with grief- but I can also set an intention for this year that is unrelated to my grief. I can create space in my life for fulfilling that desire to become a person of conscious in the way that I consume.

Therefore I declare year 29 The Year of Sustainability and Social Consciousness! What does that mean?
For one whole year, 365 days, 12 months I will make conscious decisions about where I spend my money and what I put in my body. I have created some guidelines to help me come to this place...

* I will not buy anything new- at all-ever

* I will not buy anything I do not need

* The $10.00 Spending Rule

* I will shop local and organic

* I will be kind to myself and to my body

* I will be creative this year- trade, bargain, beg, and wish my way through situations

Of course there will be things I will have to spend money on like Utilities, Gas, and toilet paper and charities. I have made a list of the necessities. The only exception to the rule is my vacation at the end of the year- which I have been planning for and is part of another goal and promise to a friend. We will see all 7 Wonders of the World in 7 years. So beside the week I will spend in Italy later this year I will go back to my Peace Corps roots. Can I do this? Can I really pass up the Victoria Secret semi annual sale? Will I have to deactivate my Amazon account? How the hell am I going to do Christmas? It is going to be a real test of my willingness to recreate my life in a way that turns its back on the excesses of consumerism and embraces sustainability and creativity. I know the kind of person I want to be and the kind of life I want to have. The time is now.

Sad People Will Say. Tragic. Beautiful. Raw. And Broken.

The Hard Human Spring

We are each born with a gift hidden in

a wound, and many years to birth it, each

given a heat to carry and rough seas to calm

it, each seeded with a worthiness, and love after

love through which to accept it, each called to

enter sorrow like an underwater cave, with the

breathless chance to break surface in the same

world with everything aglow. If we make it this

far, we can, on any given day, marvel that clouds

are clouds, and name ourselves. We can use the

gift born of our wound to find an unmarked spot

from which to live. If we settle there, giving our

all without giving ourselves away, the heart

within our heart will flower and the whole

world will eat of its nectar.

I am a couple of days from my 29th birthday. A spring chicken someone called me this week. Funny- I have never felt so old in my life but then again technically I have never been so old in my life. I didn't anticipate my birthday being a trigger but a week after my birthday- exactly one year ago from my birthday, I got pregnant. I spent the whole time I was 28 either pregnant or grieving. That whole year of my life is dedicated to that life changing event. So 29- what does 29 bring? Pain management. This year, like many years to come, maybe every year to come is about managing the heartbreak. Learning to parent a child who isn't here. Figuring out how to be born out of the ashes my child's body has become. At first I was overwhelmed with the life sentence- this heartbreak is a life sentence. Now I am more accepting of it- acknowledging the role it plays in my life. I do not fight it but I do not want it. I can't describe what it feels like to succumb to the reality that for the rest of your life there is this part of you that is missing. And nothing- and there is absolutely nothing that will fill that space. To have lost so much in that one moment. What do I have left? Time. Minutes, days, months, years, if I am lucky. Birthday after birthday with heartbreak managed in between for which I am supposed to be grateful. Thank the heavens that have my child to have lived another day without him? I wont be blowing out any birthday candles anytime soon.

My 7 week grief support group came to an end and this was the first week I did not find myself  going to it on a Thursday night. I have really learned the value of sharing in this with people who understand. For no other purpose but to be emotionally held. I do not have anyone to hold me physically. When I cry in my room, I cry alone.  There is no one to say there, there. No pat on the back, no one to cuddle me. No one should have to do this alone.  And so since I do not have that physical option, I yearn for the emotional alternative. Anyone who will listen to me. Who will let me cry and will cry with me. It is like hugging my soul when someone wants to talk about Mateo with me. I feel so completely alone. I was prepared to raise him on my own. I was not prepared to lose him on my own. 

There are days. Some of them have good moments, some of them bad. I have entire days that are bad days. There are no good days. No 24 hour period of happiness. I do not go to bed ever- ever thinking this was a great day. I think -this day had good moments but event then this is till my life and that is ever present in my consciousness. Today was a hard day. All day. Hopefully tomorrow will have some good moments. Someone reminded me that grief does not change you, it reveals you. What if all it does is reveal how broken you are? How fragmented you have become? Then after grief will have served its purpose of revealing you, you are left to find the shattered pieces in the hidden corners of your life? It is Impossible to put you back together and now revealed to the world as your own broken piece of art. Sad people will say. Tragic. Beautiful. Raw. And Broken.

To Be Born Again and Other Things of Consequences

"The other thing we often would rather not hear when we are dealing with intense sadness is that the only way out of it is through it. Sitting with our sadness takes the courage to believe that we can bear the pain and the faith that we will come out the other side. With courage, we can allow ourselves to cycle through the grieving process with full inner permission to experience it. This is a powerful teaching that sadness has to offer us—the ability to surrender and the acceptance of change go hand in hand."

On Mother's Day I got an email from a friend that said " I would have sent you a card but I couldn't find any that said Crappy Mother's Day, Life Sucks." I would have loved that card. I definitely appreciated the email. I am really touched by all the people who reached out to me that day in kindness and wished me a mother's day. No one said it in a celebratory way, but in a we love you and acknowledge you are the saddest kind of mother way. Thank You.

I recently got back from a trip to New York. I went into the trip aware of all the potential triggers since New York was one of the last places I was in when I was pregnant, and I stayed in the same apartment with the same people. Never would I have imagined going back there without my baby. Overall I think I did pretty well. It helped that I talked about it before hand with my support group and with my therapist and with some friends. I understand why people move away from places where traumatic events happened to them. I never drive by the hospital where I gave birth. I never sit in the same restaurants I ate when I was pregnant. Because those things didn't happen in Orlando. I am not triggered in the same way many of the women in my group are. I knew that going up to New York would be hard but I really wanted to be there for my best friend's graduation. The trick was honoring the joy I felt for her while simultaneously grieving. It helped that my other friend who lives in New York, in the same apartment wanted to talk about Mateo. She asked questions and since she is a labor and delivery nurse she had some insight. I don't like pretending he isn't on my mind. I don't like actively not talking about him when all I want to do is shout I miss my baby over and over for hours. I don't like not having the space to cry. Sometimes I want to cry. Sometimes I need to. So I think I did pretty well on this trip, I celebrated when I needed to and I cried when I needed to. By the last day I was ready to teleport into my bed and hold my Mateo 's blanket I usually sleep with. Still, I am glad I went and witnessed such an important moment in my best friend's life. It wasn't about pushing my feelings to be there for her, with grief- that's impossible. It was about stepping out of the narrowness of my pain and being able to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be alive. Just as I weep in sorrow, I weep with pride. I am allowed to feel all of the things I do with reverence instead of judgement.

I am becoming painfully aware of the cycles my grief manifests itself through. Sometimes I feel like I will have worked through one specific area only to find myself needing to process it again months later. Sometimes I miss who Mateo would be today. How old he would be. What those cute little toes would like. I'll spend days, sometimes weeks wishing I could see what he would look like today. Then at other times I miss future Mateo. All the things we would have done. The trips we were supposed to take. The milestones. Graduations and Weddings. The pride of raising a baby into a man. I'll spend weeks mourning that. Sometimes I miss my pregnancy. The kicking and the round belly. The glow. Even the heartburn. And times like right now I miss the Mateo I knew. The little guy I got to hold. The baby I stood next to in the NICU for those couple of days. He had the sweetest face. And my nose. He was so little and soft. That's the only version of him I'll ever get to touch. I can't describe what it feels like to want to touch somebody with every cell in your body. I want to touch him, to hold him more than I want absolutely anything else in life. I don't usually use absolutes because I feel that there are exceptions to most things. But I can say with all certainty that I would do anything to hold his little hand again. To kiss his little face. And not even in heaven would I get a chance to do that because that would be then a different experience. Time does not go back. No matter how much I want it to. If sheer heartbreak and desire could take me back there I'd live in that moment. Holding him in my arms and kissing his face. I'd create some sort of Groundhog's day time warp, where every day I would wake up to the one time I got to hold him. I often wish that I would have held him longer. That they would have had to pry him out of my hands. But I was just so tired. And so sad. And his little body was cold and I knew it was time to wrap him up in his little blanket and let go. But now I am so sad that I didn't spend more time with his body because it was the one and only time I ever got to hold my son. What an awful thing to know and not be able to fully understand in the moment. This is the one and only time you will ever hold your baby- here you go. What an awful thing to do to a person's heart.

How do you ever come back from that? I don't think you do. A new version of you is born the moment your child dies. I will never love with reckless abandonment. I will never have a future pregnancy free of stress and heartbreak. I will never not expect the worst, because sometimes the worst happens and sometimes it happens to me. The day the new me was born at the mercy of my child's death I lost all innocence. I can't tell you what it is like to look at the world through this lens. It as though I have sobered up and now I see that there is no limit to the pain one can endure. There is no limit to the love one can feel. I am now a little more serious, a little more dark. I am sadder behind the eyes. I fear I'll always be. I am tainted by my heartbreak and it is though I leave a small stain on everything I experience. Nothing goes through me without being touched by my loss. It is the filter of my life. I hear it becomes less intense. That the pain dulls some. But the changes are permanent. I was born again the day my baby died and now this is the life I live.

“So listen to this fleeting world, a star at dawn, a bubble in a stream, a flash of lightning in a summer cloud, a flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream.”- Diamond Sutra Gatha