Category - Grief, Love and Survival

This is a difficult week for our family. Every year I think it’ll be easier and every year it almost is. But this year, 6 now since Rebecca has been gone, the days and dates are the same. What I mean is, the 11th was on a Sunday, this year and then. The 15th is, this year and was then, a Wednesday.

I wanted to tell you Rebecca’s story this year. Whenever I read about child’s death, I want to find out what happened. Not so much morbid curiosity, but…I don’t know what really. Maybe I just need to understand. Maybe I just want to share the grief. So I wanted to share with you, and anyone coming here looking for comfort after the death of a child, just how and why Rebecca died. There are lessons to be learned, because her death was completely preventable. Except that it was her time. Sweet little baby.

But it is just too much still. Maybe another time.

This week we will just do those little every day things that need to be done and try, TRY not to think of what wasn’t done and what should have been done differently all those years ago. We will run and not grow weary, we will walk and not grow faint.

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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!!!

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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?

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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.

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