the jerk, the breeze and the cherub
I don’t look at those posts often, those NICU-era posts. But when I do he/she/it tends to pop up a lot—for lack of a better word, God.
That entity that some of us feel is a senselessly abandoning prick. Or delusion incarnate. Or the wind and the waves and the shadowing butterflies. Or Gandalf the White sitting on a cottonball throne, the bible in one hand and a slate of the ten commandments in the other, hurricanes and AIDS and salvation shooting out from the tips of his fingers just beyond the pearly gates of so many punchlines.
Souls travel in packs, I like to think—drifting in and out of lives, drawn magnetically to one another time and time again across dimensions and by what we think of as turns of fate. By that reckoning, the soul of my son knew I was there and loving him, and was not afraid even though the senses of his physical body were so desperately compromised.
By that reckoning he was all that he was supposed to be, and he was purposeful.
+++++
Driving in the car the other day Evan piped up from the backseat, “A long time ago mommy, you and me were married in a white church.”
“Really?” I smiled.
“Yes,” he said definitively. “We lived in a little house. We were married, a long time ago. You were my wife.”
The part of me closest to the surface chuckles Bill Cosby-style, thinking kids say the darndest things but underneath that I’m thinking you know, he’s probably right, and maybe when you’re that young the door to that knowing is still see-through, the knowing that age eventually hides behind slowly setting concrete.
+++++
In my circle of lostbaby mamas there is sometimes contempt for the notion of God’s Plan—I accept that my baby is not with us because she is with God and Jesus in heaven, and they must have needed her more than we did.
That contempt is not spiteful in nature but is born of residual anger, disbelief, trauma. How can you be okay with that? To any God who would choose another kid over mine I can only raise my middle finger and say EAT ME.
I stand in the middle of it with my head on a swivel, strangely indifferent.
Semantics are the boundaries on a map that divide the land masses of humanity. And by the vaster measures of shared interest and cooperation and community, semantics shouldn’t matter as much as they do.
We all yearn for proof of some greater force, some meaning to life beyond death and taxes. Not necessarily a white-bearded, prayer-answering/denying force that has us all by puppet strings, but a presence that simply stands with us, witnessing.
(It stood with me and I felt it physically, vividly, and I can tell you without the hint of an agenda aside from the cult of tempeh-love: something is out there.)
You may subscribe to ghosts or Jesus or angels or spirits or souls or God or guardians or energy or chakra or gospel or chi or serendipity or reincarnation or karma or molecules but really, what does it matter?
We all love, fiercely.
+++++
I was sitting here the other night and looked to see it was August 6 and it struck me that I’d forgotten entirely: Ben is now one year old, adjusted.
In that heartbeat I was transported to the parallel universe of double-strollers and I conjured a vision of the birthday party that might have been. But that vision felt forced, foreign, and every instinct replied
he never meant to stay.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Reader Comments (58)
How can you describe the universe so completely the way I see it as well, only I cannot find those perfect words?
When my children were small, they'd say things like Evan did too. It was eerie, funny, but then would stop me dead in my tracks and I'd think, "Of course! You can see it in your complete innocence, but I can't."
I think I'm soon to become an Inglis-ist. :)~
As I am learning again this week, some things just are, and are to be accepted. and maybe his not staying is one of those things, or means something different somewhere else.
I don't know. I don't have any right answers lately, because I've been on the cusp and seen nothing, but I wonder. Oh yes, I wonder.
I do not have contempt (or any negative emotion whatsoever) towards people who think their babies are with God/Jesus, and for whatever reason. We share this grief, and that's enough for me. I have all kinds of negative emotions towards those who presume to tell me where mine is or how I should feel about it. Or that they know the reason he is not here. I wrote before, too, that A wasn't staying, that I know that. But it doesn't mean anyone else gets to tell me why that is or where he went. You know?
"At times I almost dream
I too have spent a life the sages' way,
And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance
I perished in an arrogant self-reliance
Ages ago; and in that act a prayer
For one more chance went up so earnest, so
Instinct with better light let in by death,
That life was blotted out -- not so completely
But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,
Dim memories, as now, when once more seems
The goal in sight again."
---Robert Browning, Paracelsus
Word Kate.
Wow. Now I'm all excited for Swee'pea to get more sophisticated in his language so he can give me a glimpse through that door.
The whole heaven thing, I believe it in feircly, but, at times of loss I have literally wanted to slap people who say things like "He is in a better place" Honestly in the middle of my grief I don't care, I'm sad for myself and the not having. Where did Christian society pick up these tepid phrases. Read the Bible, grief has to do with sackcloth and ashes, sadness, and for heavens sake it says, "rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn." My best friends during my hardest losses are those that don't have any answers... sorry for my soapbox. :)
My past year has been full of moments thinking about god and destiny and what it all means and why and how and thinking I knew when I didn't know. A year of swirled thoughts, becoming coherent and in black and white once in a great while. My parallel life reaches a milestone tomorrow and the thoughts continue to swirl.
Thank you for your words. I really, really like reading them.
I choose to believe.
Julia and Jen, point taken, absolutely. No one ever said 'he's in a better place' to me.. that would put me on the offensive for sure.
jdg, I love that.
I want to say what a beautiful writing. What an insightful thinking. And I mean those things I really do. But they seem trite compared to the feeling that i am actually walking around in your head.
Faith, to me, isn't a Hallmark card answer that helpful people try to give. And although I hold a faith in God there is so much I just don't think I'm meant to truly understand.
Great post Kate. And Evan's revelation must have felt so warm to hear.
I have never believed. It just didn't seem right--even when my parents were taking me to Church (er, while my mom took us in and my dad stood outside smoking cigarettes with other dads). After what has happened to my son, I still do not believe. I know many have it so much better (they are so fortunate, I hope they know it) and many have it horribly worse. That is my mantra. It keeps me going--by putting me in the middle at the very least.
Some have said to me, "God does not give us what we can not handle" or "God gave this to you because you are great people/parents and you can handle it". This makes me want to chuck a fork in their eye. It does not comfort me and it is ridiculous sounding. They might as well say, "Flipzt ixnay upswat biddle baddle spo". Sounds just as useful.
you're killing me...
i think i'm stealing Michelle's "Flipzt ixnay upswat biddle" phrase next time i'm stuck gaping like a frog, unsure of how to comfort, because i'd rather pull my own lips off than ever utter one of those hideous cliches imposing my version of meaning (or, i suppose, lack thereof) on somebody else...and yet it is so hard not to fall back on the trite, i think, especially when one has not been where the sufferer is.
Beautifully written. The picture you paint of what you feel is astoundingly clear. You evoke feelings I'd rather not feel, but your words are just too powerful. I'm sorry for your pain and wish you nothing but peace. And thank you for continuing to share so openly and honestly so that we might try to understand some shred of your reality.
bon, this isn't meant to impose cliches or meaning - I hope it doesn't come across that way. My point here is only to say that perhaps different expressions of belief and spirituality aren't as far apart as we like to think, comfortable as we are in our camps.
The thoughtless platitudes and need for someone people to have their lips pulled off is another post entirely... haven't we already done that one at Glow in the Woods more than once? :)
this is my reality too.
everything i am feeling so strongly lately.
thank you, again.
You write so beautifully, expressing things I've thought, too.
What Evan said? Wow. When my Katie was little, she used to say things like that sometimes that would just take my breath away, she knew so much more than I. When my mom died, unexpectedly, she told me, "You know, you still have all the kisses your mommy ever gave you--right here." (reaching up to touch my face with soft pudgy baby hands) She was four.
About all the people who say the wrong things--I can only say that it's so hard to want to say or do something--it's hard to remember that "I love you" and "I'm so sorry" are sometimes enough--the need to give comfort and love in the face of profound grief...
As always, thank you for sharing yourself...
it would be the most amazing world if people all came together to realise just that.
we all love...
Isaac comes out with stories like that sometimes, too - all to do with when he was a big man and I was a little girl.
I don't know if it's past-life regression or just wishful thinking, for some reality where he gets to watch TV whenever he likes and eat Smarties for breakfast. :)
But endlessly entertaining, either way. And he does seem so damn sure about it...
Wow - this story about Evan was really goosebumpy!
I have another story for you, it goes something like this: I read a blog, oh about a year to 18 months ago, written by a woman whose 4 year-old was sitting in the backseat of the car and said something to the effect that her name used to be Mary something or other (I don't remember the actual name and though I've just spend the last 45 minutes trying to hunt down that blog, I can NOT find it for the life of me). And the little girl went on to say to her mother that she remembered her as a little girl with "yellow" hair and glasses and she remembered how her mother had gotten hurt while playing with her (the mother's) older brother. And how sad she was that she hadn't been able to say goodbye to her.
Turns out, the mom had indeed had blonde hair as a kid and had an older brother who was playing with her when she got hurt. This happened in the backyard while they were visiting their beloved grandma Mary who, years later, died suddenly.
The little girl had never met the Grandmother, had never heard the story and pulled this story out of her hat, completely unprompted. I'm sure I've gotten the details of the story wrong (18 months was a long time ago), but I'll tell ya - I got the same flippin goosebumps then as I got just now, reading your story.
Makes you think.
I love that you felt God, I've felt him too. Your journey on this life is so beautiful because you articulate so well.
I know you've been smacked around, and violated around here but please don't stop sharing. Your voice is too important.
Beautiful words...
I have always struggled with the concept of faith, and belief, having been raised Catholic and tolerated 13 years of Catholic school. As I've grown older, and also lost a child (early miscarriage), and had a healthy boy a couple years later, I've realized that it's not so important for me to figure it all out. It's a process; over time I add to my beliefs, refine them, and at the end of the day I know that I've figured out the important stuff - how to love, how to appreciate the world around me, and how to appreciate the things that truly matter.
sometimes reading what you write here makes me feel like i did when i was a young girl at church and felt close to that presence. before i lost that feeling as it was immersed in doubt/disbelief. thank you for restoring it when you do. it is a gift, the power of your words.
Thanks again, Kate, for everything you share about grieving, loss and living. It has been four years today since I lost my son and your writing has helped me explore and understand parts of myself and my own loss in such a healing way.
Kate,
I read something once in a sappy novel ... something along the lines of " ... God's heart is the first to break when a child dies ..." It struck me as true.
I think I do believe that.
Dear Kate,
Thank you for your honesty. It is refreshing to hear such honest words.I am probably one of those people that some of your readers would like to throw forks at or just give a hard slap in the face.
I believe in God with my whole heart, but only since I lost my son. I never went to church, and to be honest I don't go much now either, but I trust that God has a plan for me and losing my son was a part of that plan. Don't get me wrong I am dirty that he is not in my arms right now. . . I am not okay with it, but I do accept it. I am angry, but I am angry for myself, I am heart broken for myself.
I know people may cringe when they read this part but I believe my son 'Is in a better place' because that is what I hope. It helps me in my grieving process. I am thankful for the experience, I know that sounds wrong, but for me I have learnt so many heart wrenching, yet beautiful lessons in life and its now so rich because I appreciate my children and I feel so lucky to have them. I love life!
There was a quote that resonated through my body at the time of my son's death...
"Faith gives us the courage to face the uncertanties of the future" - Martin Luther King Jr
I now have another healthy daughter in my arms.
I wish you all the love, health and happiness in the world. Thank you for your post :)
Much Love,
Carly x
'By that reckoning he was all that he was supposed to be, and he was purposeful.'
How beautiful.
Beautiful post.
(PS - your previous post was a relief!)
I think that I have said those things to those who grieve, though in a slightly more New Agey way. "He is in the air, growing with the trees, dispersed and babbling in the mountain stream, he is in your heart," blah blah blah. It's because it's what I would want to believe, were I in your iron shoes.
A clumsy offering of comfort, however it's worded, but sometimes all we have to give, right? And if the recipient of my platitude is prodded to anger by my weak offering, I say - OK. Beat my chest and call me stupid, unknowing. Scream at me. If my body-as-punching-bag is the salve I can offer you, take it. You can't hurt me, and I won't mind. Whatever I can do for you. Anything I can do.
Where do you get all of this beautiful clarity, Kate?
I'm not sure what my adjusted age is, (maybe 21?) but I think I will never be able to embrace this wild world and with your grace and understanding.
I'm thinking about you and your boys today, with love,
Eve
I'm more in awe of this belief, rather than full of contempt for it. I would like it for myself, to believe he was needed more somewhere else, by someone else. I just can't seem to shake my own personal belief that there is no one who needed him more than I.
he never meant so stay
Sometimes, I believe this, too.
Yes, we all do love fiercly. Thank you for reminding me of that.
Love connect us. So does grief. And I think the coming together of both is the most powerful force on this earth.
Beautifully said. I believe you are right. Your son made an impact on your life like a giant volcano. He must be an old soul.
Meant to add....sometimes I see my son (6 months) look in another direction and either smile or laugh...he sees something/someone. I like to think it's my grandmother making faces at him or my grandfather playing peek-a-boo.
Five years out and I am still sticking my middle finger out to God (although it is with much less intensity).
In the grand scheme? I feel that this is a much better option than taking my anger out on those around me. He can take it.
And that's why thinking of God in terms of "God is love" works well for me. Love doesn't decide who lives/dies/suffers. Love just loves, no matter what.
I hope I never utter hoary old cliche's when a simple hug or "can I do anything to help," will suffice.
As you say, in the end it's all about love. If you want to see the face of God, simply look at those you love.
This is exactly what I understood in your post.
I experienced a beautiful moment yesterday when my 7th Day Adventist friends where telling my Christian family about a Muslim father's wise words about life after death, following his son's death. My Christian family commented on what a wise father this Muslim man was. Is there a greater heaven than this??
It's when I have stories like this that I wish I had your ability to tell the story well.
I think you are a soul that a lot of us were meant to bump against.
Kate, I've read your blog for some time now and I've sat back reading, commenting and watching so many people throw you so many compliments and now it's time for mine. You are truly one hell of a writer, and you have such a powerful gift. The fact that you are using it this way helps to make me a better person. Thank you.
xo
b.
But I manage to maintain the two concepts in my head.
P.S. I've included you in a linky post at my place about people with whom I'd like to have dinner. It's http://littlebalddoctors.wordpress.com/2008/08/11/party-of-eleven-youre-table-is-available/ if you're interested.