all that Love could do....

A new fog...another loss... And the word NO.

No. No. No.

Last week didn't happen.

I didn't.

----

There once was the sweetest little guy... who had a rough path in life.

His mom, my mother-in-law told me how much Gwen's baby photos looked like his.

It was so true. I noticed it last week - the thought entered my head while looking through his baby book before I remembered that I knew that - that it had been suggested to me before. I saw his baby pictures and thought of Gwen's.

Marie shared Gwen's middle name. Winship, you and Gwen had some "baby-looks" in common. So too your broken heart. The doctors could fix and repair hers. Yours was a different kind - and I suppose the hurt and ache just became to be all you knew and all you believed you would ever know - and ever be - I think you saw yourself as a problem.

But you weren't.

Winship. You were human. And you were so full of love and care (yet somehow I think you were still raw from your 1st grief...so you had no "stops" and you loved, too much...and when there, it is pain...)

Everything about you was okay to us. We loved you. We love you still, now and always.

How is it that you are gone to us now?

How did we blink long enough for you to leave - to decide to go - how did you slip through our fingers? I guess that is the illusion - that we ever had you in our hands. Hearts hold you and even that is not enough.... all that was inside you - it won and was something we could never touch, even with all the love in the world.

You were consumed by something that no one but you could tackle and that day, maybe the whole month, maybe ever since May, but by that day last week, for some reason - I'm sure the meds, recently adjusted, did not work in your favor, but the scales were tipped. Just as the virus overwhelmed my Gwen before we had a chance to know how to help her - so too you were overwhelmed by a type of virus that attacks the heart and mind - that the soul cannot carry - except to go to God. It was just a moment, but sometimes that is all it takes - or so now I've learned.

You were sick. You had a condition working against you. Just like Gwen. You were in recovery - from loosing your father, your home, your home again, and then, just as you were at last, working through all that from years past, your sister died...in a sudden and tragic manner. Gwens heart was a little thick - it worked against her in the end - as did your situation - you were overwhelmed by grief... losing Marie, your only little sister. The one you grew up with - through all the thick and thin. I know. I watched you. You guys were close.

Grief is a tidal wave that over takes you,
smashes down upon you with unimaginable force,
sweeps you up into its darkness,
where you tumble and crash against unidentifiable surfaces,
only to be thrown out on an unknown beach, bruised, reshaped...
Grief will make a new person out of you,
if it doesn't kill you in the making.

Stephanie Ericsson

Grief can kill. It can.

I write these words and yet I don't believe them for a second. Last week did not happen.
--

I bought a sympathy card...of all things for myself two weeks ago. I hadn't looked in the store at sympathy cards since May and was curious to do so having been now on this end of things. Would any of them really offer something to the grieving... really, I wondered from a critical point of view? I did find something and it spoke to me... now I think I bought it for Winship's Love, who is left here, stunned and alone and experiencing her own pain beyond pain... "He was the Love of my life" she said on Sunday at the service...she is so beautiful she was his light and his Love... and now this?? This for her?

Anyway...this card is for me. It is for her too. It is my mantra I'm trying to believe...and I think the words will resonate with her too...

----
Why?

That's what we ask.
The truth is,
we may never be able
to know for sure why.

But we do know
that there is no single
"should have done"
or "could have done"
or "did" or "didn't do"
that would have
changed that why.

All that love could do
was done.
---

(I liked this card because it spoke so much to what I've been tackling in my head...the idea that Love can do only so much - it is all we have - but it can only do so much. Human love, that is. Our weak human skin - our weak human state - it is what warps and twists our perfect Love the moment it leaves our heart into imperfection - it is love - but tinged with our humanness and things happen... horrible things happen even as we love... And then we are here. And we have to re-aquatint ourselves with the world and our new, and real understanding of love...and human skin, "body clothes" and the limitations - the God-forsaken limitations).
---

I'm back to some of my earlier thoughts...even as I'm truly in a fog... some thoughts do still penetrate....

"Faith. what is that again. I need a dictionary."

One day, maybe when Lil runs a fever as she did again the other day - one day maybe I won't only know that I can do everything and that I will make mistakes and or do everything right (and not see my mistakes) and none of it may matter... a virus, a simple little virus, one day could overwhelm her too... One day maybe when Lil is sick I won't find myself begging God, please, please, please let her stay. One day she may be full of sorrow and find her self falling by accident, to her death. One day, she may find her place in the world never fits, even as Love is screaming at her everywhere, to please stay - she fits with us - we need her and love her and want to walk with her - one day her heart and mind may suffocate her soul so that the only way it can breath again is to go to God (even as we beg and say that is wrong, she is supposed to be here, for now...that she can't choose when to leave). One day, she might. It has happened before. It happend in front of my eyes in five months time.

All that love could do was done.

I have to try to believe that. I will try. But it hurts.... and here in this fog, while raising a sweet and wonderful child, it is hard to navigate. So for now. I'm still. Back out of time - with tasks for Lillian keeping me doing her life - while me - I'm gone. Gone for a while. I can't touch the ground. I don't want the fog to lift. It is quiet. It hides all that I don't yet want to see.... It is warm and safe here in this fog, even though I know, I'm in hell and a new wing just opened up.

I also know, clearly and loudly how not alone here I am - Winship's "Love of his life," his brothers and sisters now twice hit with sibling loss -and his mother a second child; my husband with a third blow, and a harsh one... if you are reading, know, I'm not alone here - this is not just about me.... I wish it were - I want this for no one - and yet there is nothing I can do - it's been handed out, each person given their giant bag of grief upon grief - it is done. It is done. My heart watches it all feeling helpless and taking on more sadness simply by having to watch each in their own grief....
--

All that Love could do.

Was done.

That much I KNOW.

Now to get used to how little Love can do... and yet still know it is all there is... and the only guide through this, especially...

ugh.
---

And this is how it is now.

Again.

And. No.



--

Some tid-bits for here.


"We never fully come to grips with life until we are willing to wrestle with death... And the problem of death is posed most vividly in suicide."

Notes for people helping people who've lost someone this way:
"Survivors don't "get over it." Instead, with support and understanding they can come to reconcile themselves to its reality. Don't be surprised by the intensity of their feelings."

And for now, I think This is Faith (this quote below); for me here with Gwen, Marie and Winship...

I think this is my Faith and all I can have of it, for now...a passage I've loved for years which now, is new to me and everything;

"You are deep in the woods, and you think you are lost; stop, look at the trees, the rocks, rivers -they are not lost. They are here. You are not lost, you are here." (here. it is okay here. and here it is okay to feel numb, to be in a fog, to feel more pain than you can bear and then to stay in the fog for a while - this is what here looks like, this is what Love looks like, here...)"

I can't believe I'm writing to myself here (after re-reading Gwen's blog for a moment). I can't believe this. But here I am. Faith as a way of waiting has been really put on my heart and in my head these days...and I just read that thought now, back on Gwen's blog...apparently it struck me then too, just now, well, it is clearer as I know a little bit what I'm waiting for (Grace, little tiny bits to feed on in this stunned still place)...Yes, freakishly, I know where I am just a little - still, quiet, pained knowing the real pain will hit later- with nothing I can do but wait- wait- and look for beauty and love and truth to tug me along. So then echos the song again..."do we have Faith", as I go and read my own words, this time to myself - and sit and wait... as this new grief will unfold it's own darkness... and in that, reveal it's own light and Grace (even as I say NO -NO I don't want this, not again and NO - NO - he can't be gone, not like this, not now, not this way). But I'm a little more resigned - because I know my powerlessness over Time...over that day...over everything. I laugh at the idea of Faith right now. But I know I'll have to try again... because the Darkness offers noting. It is silent and offers nothing.)

"Do we have faith - in what we believe. The truest test is when we cannot...when we cannot see..."
It's hard to believe that love will prevail

---

(Winship we love you. If you can, from where you are, help us forward. I'm not supposed to be writing about you here. This is all wrong...all wrong....all wrong.)

Posting on Gwen's blog (a big giant ramble)

I'm over here today:

Big Day for the Wolves

No.

Gwen.

I'm sorry about -

I have disconnected your ashes from you. I fight in my head with wanting to keep them near... I don't even know what is "holding"...well, the ashes, right now.

I went to the funeral home with Daddy. And I left. I turned and left when I saw them walk to us in the dingy old office with a shopping bag. It was completely screwed up. A shopping bag. It was at least, a "funeral-themed" shopping bag - blue with a angel or a bird or something. But it was a bag you would carry around the mall with a new pair or shoes inside.

I didn't know what to expect when we went to...I don't know, I find it hard to say "pick you up" or "get you" or "retrieve your remains." ... so I'll just say I didn't know what to expect when we went back to the funeral home that day, because I didn't spend a millisecond thinking about it ahead of time. They didn't tell us anything about "that part" so it was all blank. No worries on my part there.

We were just following along a task list. Doing what was expected. They called to tell us to come. We, the clients, did our part.

Anyway - that did it. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered what they brought out...shopping bag or box of gold...

But your mommy turned on her heals and left your poor daddy to be the strong one.

Then I let him put the blue bag in our basement. I guess we were both disconnected. Neither of us seemed to think anything wrong about it. Yet, I don't think I ever even had you down there while you were here with me. But, this was just a shopping bag with something we had to pick up. My child and that bag have nothing to do with each other...

Tonite - after a fairly good day (of what I realize now was only just a fun refuge of denial - which, by the way, is not an "stage" or "aspect" of grief and its circular-pattern forward - but rather a coping mechanism - an escape from all the other real, actualities of grief, of the hell of loss... I'm holding you tight and close with both arms and time is the cruel thing prying my arms open - ha, Gwen, can you believe some like to call that "healing" ...anyway, all the while I know you are not there. But I'm still holding you. I have to. You are my baby. You are my child.)

Tonite I was shattered from my haven of survivalist-denial that I didn't know I was in (you see, it hides as some version of "acceptance" - not the one they talk about that happens later in this "course of grief," which by the way, never really happens anyway, or, at least is not what people "on the other side" think it is... but, today's "acceptance/denial" that I speak of was a confident "I will deal with this and I will focus more on the connection I still have and all that remains..." sneaky little voice in my head. And today, I bought it - I had to. Survival. Denial not so cleverly disguised as a type of a sort of "acceptance-hiatus").
---

It started off simply enough.

I got a phone call from my other life. I used to be an art teacher. I still had a needed supply in my possession, and could she pick it up in the morning. Sure, no problem I know right where it is... (it's in the basement.)

I put it off all night. I knew why.

So I asked Myers even as I hate myself for having requested it earlier - did he move the bag or was it still in plain sight?

He responded, "Gwen's ashes are moved to another spot."

Hearing your name in that sentence physically ripped through me... the sudden connection in my head that this child I carry in my heart and that bag and what is inside are one and the same (or is what was of that sweet little body, actually, that baby I held all night long, every single night after we left the hospital).

Ripped.

The most awful feelings and energy are flying around inside me now...and I want to go running and screaming through the streets... because I can't handle this.

I held you. I loved you. I love you still... I don't want this for you...and that, that is in our basement shouldn't be down there... how could we have put the blue bag, there? and I am so sorry and ashamed - but I can't handle it yet.

No. I'm still looking for you. You here. And that can't be... because then, you aren't.

--

I went down there to get the supplies. I forgot about all the pictures from the beautiful service (yes, your sweet service...where we seemed to inspire the world that they too could loose a baby and maybe be okay, because look at us...we were able to stand up and speak.) The pictures are just laying on the tables where all my old teaching stuff is strewn about.

I saw the little lamb blanket which we also displayed at the service. I barely got to use it with you - I was saving it for your hospital stays...so I didn't pull it out much besides getting a picture of the blanket with you. It was a gift from Aunt Nelly and Uncle Bob...I had to get a picture. Now it is just that blanket who never was needed in the end...whos assignment was canceled. I can't even really look at it and remember it and you... it never served its purpose. That damn blanket doesn't offer a memory that I can cling to... it's just another thing that was supposed to...

Yea. Plans.

--

--

--

Gwen. I love you. Lillian will know you. She still remembers enough and I'm so grateful for that. This week I was even strong enough to put your photo (or desperate enough to make sure Lil knows your face as well as I do) - I put up the one of the two of you, in her room with all the family photos. Marie, you are there too... the recent one from your visit last summer (you've always been there, but I traded up. I needed a more recent shot).

Lillian, I can tell - she is sad that she never quite got to figure out what the whole "big sister" thing was all about. I'm glad I got her to say "I love you" once - even it was awfully forced outta her. She is two...and not a little bit stubborn. But I know that she will love you with us. We'll talk often about how happy we are for having you in our life. She won't always see our tears. But, I don't mind letting her know how much I love my babies.

--
Gwyneth. You are loved. Marie - you know it!
--

--

And while I'm here...I've been needing to post more about some more items for my burn pile. I found out that UVA sent us a duplicate letter, exactly the same regarding the autopsy "of my loved one" the day before I blogged and quoted the first mailing. With the same August "due-date". What in the &*$#!&* is up with that? Myers hid it - what a sweet guy...he's so awesome. When I told him about my blog post and the subject matter he disclosed to me the details.

Then after I couldn't imagine having anymore to say on the subject, the next day - the very next day, Anthem sent us a mailing. It was a brochure-like thing, pictures and chart and all that jazz - inquiring "is your baby up-to date on all her shots?"

Anthem. You, as far as I know, have not returned our call. Thanks. I know my husband left you a slightly-heated message about needing to get your ducks in a row and something to the tune of, "in the name of GOD what is wrong with you people?" Could you maybe call back - to let us know you got the message at least?

And, really. Anthem. No. I'm sure my baby is NOT up-to-date on her shots. Thanks for the reminder. And seriously - you paid for her above for-mentioned autopsy - the thing that included, as I understand, a microscopic analysis no less. How did you miss that?

The only thing I can say is there will be a burn pile. It probably won't happen for a while - it is not easy going through this kind of paper work to sort the stuff I want to see go up in flames from the items I do find important to save. But, I really, really hope this is it - that I do not have anymore new paperwork to torch.

---

And as I kindly tell myself to get the heck off of here so I can get some rest - I can't help but notice the irony. I can't seem to deal with the reality in the shopping bag yet I'm expecting impersonal institutions to acknowledge she is gone.

Maybe that is really the problem... I'm not so much offended as I am upset at being fed information I don't want, reminders that she is gone - these mailings aren't really helping me stay in my little oasis where I can, in the end figure out how this didn't really happen. That goes for you too Marie - you are not off the hook there either. When I get a chance I know I can go grab your arms and pull you back up...

--

(I never said there logic here where I am. I even know where I am at the moment. Hmmmm. Can I even be "in denial" if I call it? Please, I hope so. The pain is too much. It is too much.

I am not really waiting to hear the results of an autopsy. No - who said that? Where in the world did you hear that.

No. Look. See? I just posted some photos of Gwen on her blog...I haven't been there in a while, two kids you know...and she is a "hold me" baby. But, it was time for pictures. So many people prayed her along during her birth and surgery. I want everyone to see how she is growing - this miracle baby that they all prayed for... See:

Gwen - posted on May 13

See how beautiful she is...any day now she is going to smile...her face brightens up, she smiles with her face and so soon we are going to see her really grin, that sweet little mouth giving us a smile, letting us know, she's our happy little baby...

What's this talk about some bag? A blue bag with handles is something you carry around the mall, with a pair of new shoes in it or something... we have a baby named Gwenyth, not a blue bag somewhere...

"She's a tiny little baby" says Lil. She says it all the time and touches her with one finger and says "I touched her" - and Lil can barely wait for her little sister to do more - she really wants her walking and talking, but I think she'll be really pleased just to see her smile and laugh...to see that she can make her baby sis smile and laugh. I think she'll love it. I can't wait to see...)