Thank you for all your kind words, prayers and support. It’s nice to know that if you’re going to fall apart for the whole internet to see, that people will be understanding.
But like the song says, morning has broken, and spring has arrived and I’m doing much better. It seems like I should get rid of my notebook, but I can’t. It’s a snapshot of how my life once was and to throw it away would be to throw out a huge part of me. But it needs to find a home. After some thought, I know where to put it, and it’ll be safe and I won’t ever stumble upon it accidentally.
So…the shamrock cookies turned out well! Rolling them out thicker definitely helped and so did using a dough board. I’ve got yucky linoleum counters, so I use a dough board with a cloth for pie crusts, it just never occurred to me to use it with cookie dough. Duh. The combination was a winner and I was able to roll out all the dough, cut out and bake all the cookies in under an hour.
And I promise to finish the rest of my Rite of Election story this weekend!!!
I was going to tell you how my shamrock cookies turned out. And about what happend after the Rite of Election all those days ago. And about how one of my friends is moving away in a couple of weeks, and we’re moving in a few months, but I can’t because I’ve been laid out flat.
I’ve been sorting through the house, getting ready for that move because it’ll be here before you know it, and that’s how I got hit upside the head and had to send the kids out to play and started typing in run-on sentences.
I found The Notebook. No, not the novel, but The Notebook I had to start keeping when Rebecca died. I couldn’t remember anything at all and there were just so many details to keep track of, so I had to write it all down. And I kept that notebook with me always, so it became a journal when I had too many thoughts in my head. The worst sorts of memories are in this notebook, funeral details, the wording of the memorial service invitation, notes and questions for the hospital’s attempt to stonewall explain the situation.
It’s a generic, green steno notepad, but when I picked it up I was pretty sure what was inside. I should not have read past the first page. I should have closed it and moved on. Instead, I skimmed through it. It was like breaking my heart all over again.
So here I am again, feeling like I’m going to fly apart into a million pieces and trying not to throw my shoe across the room because I’m really angry and I can’t fix it and nobody can and death sucks and the only reason I’m not going to throw my shoe isn’t out of a maturity I’ve gained through life’s experience, but because it is a wooden Hannah Andersson clog and it would break whatever it hit.
And now I have no good ending for this post, because really, what else is there to say?
No doubt you’ve heard of the death of John Travolta’s son. I won’t even bother to link to a story, it’s everywhere. You know what I think is so sad, beyond the tragic loss of life? The way this story is played out in the media. All the details are being broadcast, from the desperate father’s plea for his son to wake up, to who is going to do the autopsy. The EMT who responded to the call has done an interview and people are even speculating about whether the boy was allowed anti-seizure meds.
John Travolta is a big star, I know. But can’t we leave these people alone? Is the death of his teenage son newsworthy? Yes. Are all the agonizing details our right to know? Absolutely not.
When Rebecca died, there was a standard investigation. Philip and I gave separate, sworn statements. They came to our home and took pictures. Word spread quickly through our small community. But none of it was published for the world to read and comment and pass judgement on. Things that needed to stay private stayed private.
When a child dies, life is never the same. Even the most ordinary things change, things you wouldn’t even think mattered. I cannot imagine having this played out on a world stage. I guess in some way, being a celebrity at a time like this might bring comfort – knowing that strangers care about you. But there is just not enough money in the world that would make me want to share my grief with the world like that. What the world knows is only what I’ve chosen to share.
I don’t know what my point is exactly. I feel badly for John Travolta and Kelly Preston and their surviving daughter. Such a long road stretches in front of them and the world gets to come along to watch.
However good this life gets, it pales in comparison to heaven. Five years ago today, we were given a glimpse, just a glimpse of heaven, as our daughter, Rebecca was born. For just 8 short months, everything was perfect. We honestly couldn’t ask for anything more. She was all toothless grins, fat little legs, big brown eyes and deep dimples. Life just didn’t get better than that.
If life could be that good, imagine what heaven is like.
But we don’t have to just imagine, we’ve already seen a glimpse.
Happy Birthday, dear sweet baby. Eternity won’t be enough time to hold you again.
Well, it looks like our PC may need a reformatted hard drive. Alas, poor computer, I knew it well. At least we’d been doing daily online backups, so if I really wanted, I could restore all our files right to the laptop. Except that I have a love-hate relationship with Windows Vista (WHERE is “my computer” already?!?!).
I was all set to tell you how Philip and I get to sponsor our neighbors and friends into the Catholic church. We had a very interesting Rite of Initiation at mass today. But later in the day, we lit our candle for Becca during the World Wide Candle Lighting. In doing so,we unleashed the proverbial flood of tears in Boo.
Boo had a tough time when Rebecca died. He has always loved babies and he was very close with her. He was only 5 years old when she left us, old enough to remember. He surprised me tonight with the amount of details he recalled and with the level of grief he is still experiencing. It’s hard to guide a child through that kind of grief, you just don’t know how they’re truly doing.
We watched a lot of TV that first year. I was pregnant with Bip, wading through my own grief, still schooling Boo and Pumpkin and overall trying to survive. We watched Oprah and Dr. Phil whenever the subjects were OK for the children to see and Boo wanted to go talk to Dr. Phil. We did see a family counselor during this time, but he had wanted to work with just Philip and I at first, then we moved before he got a chance to talk to Boo.
Boo doesn’t like to think about Rebecca because it hurts too much. That makes me so sad, because they loved each other very much. All three of my oldest children had such happy times together and those times are worth cherishing. Boo needs to reach a place where he can remember her for the blessing that she was. He says that he would like to go talk to someone who can help him, as long as that person is nice like Dr. Phil.
It’s been 4 years now and Boo needs to heal. I don’t know what sort of stuff Boo has been bottling up this whole time, but he needs to set himself free. He needs to grieve completely and get to that place – I guess it would be “acceptance” on the grief chart- where he can be at peace. Though none of us will really accept Rebecca being gone. We just learn to live with it.
My boy has much work to be done. Please pray for him as we start this new journey together.
It’s been four years.
Four years since the Athens Olympics.
Four years since the last presidential election.
Four years since Rebecca has been gone.
“Dear Rebecca,
I miss you. I wish you would come back but your happy. (sigh) Tell me what heaven is like pleas. I bet it is great, full of never ending happynis and beuty and love. (sigh) Not like here, ugh. Some beuty, some happynis, some tears. I want to be with you. One of the worst things is mosketos (mosquitoes). Aghagah. I am running out of room (on the card) so…
Love, Pumpkin Girl”
sigh
(edited by me only for clarity)
Grief is funny. There you are, minding your own business, doing your thing and then it hits you – a piece of you is gone forever and not coming back and there is nothing you can do about it. It really hurts. Sometimes it’s just a little hurt, like seeing the pretty Easter dresses in a store which are available in multiple sizes. How cute my little girls would look, all matching for Easter. Would, being the key word.
Or walking along the ship’s deck on a Disney Cruise. I know she would love the princesses. She should be here. Should.
And then the moment passes and it’s ok again.
Sometimes though – wow, it just hits full force and knocks you down and you don’t think you’ll ever get up. You may not even see it coming.
A few times a year, we sing a song at church that we sang at Rebecca’s funeral. Sometimes we all make it through, sometimes we get a little teary and some days it is all too much.
Today was such a day.
I fell out first. I couldn’t even manage the first verse. By the chorus I had tears streaming down my face. At some point Philip stopped singing and then I saw Boo was fighting tears. By the end of the song, the four of us were a sobbing mess, shaking and holding on to each other. Poor Bip was the only dry eye in our family, the only one not bobbing in the wake of such an intense loss.
We sit in the front row of course, our grief on display for the whole congregation.
We are all lucky to have experienced such a deep, long lasting love. When we were parted from the one we loved so dearly, we were left with pain so intense that sometimes it comes bubbling out. There’s nothing to do but let it go. I’d like to say it makes you feel better, but it doesn’t. Nothing does, really. Except the promise of heaven.
In the immortal words of INXS, “Sometimes you kick, sometimes you get kicked.”
…winter is here. And so is your birthday! I remember that day, just 4 years ago. I was hoping you would arrive in time for us both to home for Christmas. I thought it would be particularly special if you arrived on the first day of winter.
And you did! How fun to have my little girls born 3 days before and 3 days after Christmas. And both of you were born at 8 pm! You, however, outweighed your sister at birth by 2 pounds!
I remember seeing that you were a girl and being so happy! We hadn’t really decided on a boy’s name. Then Daddy made the announcement that you had two deep dimples. Oh no, we were going to be in so much trouble as you grew up!
We talked the doctor into letting us come home on Christmas Eve. It was our Best Christmas Ever.
I remember Christmas Night and your brother and sister were asleep. Daddy was working on assembling more of the castle. I sat on the couch and snuggled you. You looked deep into my eyes and I fell in love.
So Rebecca, winter is here again and so is your birthday. We miss you so terribly, sweet baby and it hurts worse than anything we’ve ever known. We’ve already cried today, so we’ll try to rejoice now. Because today is the day that you arrived and brought us more joy than you could imagine.
Happy Birthday, Rebecca.
(the book Dear Rebecca, Winter is Here is available at amazon.com)
Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also. Luke 2:35
Rebecca Maria
December 22, 2003-September 15, 2004
Winter Solstice to the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows
She was good as she was fair
None, none on earth above her!
As pure in thoughts as angels are:
To know her was to love her
-Samuel Rogers
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