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.