You Are Rooted

Orca is my Companion

I have always felt like animals are far more connected to us than what we understand. We have differences in communication style, but not in spirit. So my heart broke when I first saw a photo of a mama Orca whale carrying her passed calf. And she continues to do so, spreading support for her human companions and raising awareness about grief.

Like us human mamas, she doesn’t want to let go of that innate need to keep her baby close; no matter what form her baby takes. To keep the connection of the physical as long as possible before surrendering to the divine. To nurture this calf in the way she is programmed.

It’s a simple message, true for anyone: Grief has no timeline.

The toy whale and our Oak bear.

Shortly after we lost Oak we traveled to a wedding and stayed at a seaside hotel that happened to have an adorable toy whale. I instantly fell in love with this whale. Something about her made me smile during a challenging time of a wedding, kids; and what it means to define “family.”

Who knew a simple toy could hold space for so much love and support?

Thank you, dear orca, for lovingly carrying our babies too.

We’re not so different, after all.

Practices in Courage

This week I had the privilege of completing two important cycles of healing.

One of the most pivotal books I received in the hospital was Mark Nepo’s The Book of Awakening from my friend Becky.

Described as a spiritual daybook, it contains daily passages that bring presence and awareness of individual meaning to each day’s journey. I highly recommend it as an encyclopedia for heart-guided living.

Read to me by my sister or Ryan, the book offered pieces of courage that allowed me greet the days in the hospital as a path, rather than an end.

On Saturday, Becky and I joined a workshop with Mark Nepo, completing a cycle of healing that was once only a dream. The entire event felt like an out-of-body experience. Becky and I cried together, laughed together, and realized enlightening moments together. Mark read from his poetry, engaged the audience, and spoke about courage.

Courage, he explained, is made up of telling one’s mind by speaking through the heart. Cor – the word root – is Latin for heart. Which relates to the second cycle of healing. This week in nursing school I learned how to give blood transfusions. It was a special time as I thought of all the steps and careful practices it took to provide me the blood I needed. To now have the ability to do the same for others, well that is simply miraculous.

Our hearts are vehicles for blood, so every time your heart pumps is an exercise in courage. This means that life itself is courageous. And just like your heart sets an individual rhythm to providing your body life-sustaining blood, everyone finds courage in their own ways.

Speaking and living your truth
Entering the hospital unit again after losing a child
Offering a meal to someone overwhelmed with life
Standing up to an authority figure with inappropriate behaviors
Returning to a class that challenges you
Walking away from a bad situation
Calling on government to support its people
Mindfully breathing through nature
Expressing emotion and vulnerability
Loving a partner, friend, or family member
Loving yourself
Saying yes
Saying no
Picking up a pen, paintbrush, or musical instrument
Trusting in your body to grow and adapt to change
Trusting others to care for your body or the bodies of loved ones if need be
Falling asleep at night, and
Rooting and rising with the next day.

These actions are big or small, and happen once a day or ten times a day. They are what make us human. Courage is the reciprocal action of jumping into a relationship with our hearts.

How do you practice courage?

Gardens of Life

One sunny spring day we heard the thunder of a large trailer drop large bags of soil outside our condo. With hardly any delay, we spotted our 90-year old – yes you read that correctly – neighbor carrying 50-lb bags of soil back and forth to his yard. Ryan asked if he could help, to a resounding, “Nope, I’ve got it.”

And there he went. There was no stopping him. Preparing another abundant season of roses, mint, tomatoes, lettuces, peppers, and much more.

These ingredients graced our plates during the seven-course meals he served.

Nothing says summertime like mint juleps with fresh mint.

Being invited to a dinner at his house meant fasting all day to provide belly space, being cautious to limit the various appetizers, and preparing to do nothing else afterward. We anticipated a novel meal, as he kept detailed records of meals you’d enjoyed together and never repeated dishes. Unless it was Saint Patricks’ Day.

Zeus meditating in our garden.

As soon as he’d be out tending the garden, Zeus found his way over, well mostly to the compost, of his favorite neighbor and dogsitter. Zeus offered wags of his tail and received pats on the head in response.

Peony.

Every year we’d take him to see the peonies at the local university gardens. Being hard of hearing prevented him from enjoying music anymore. Yet the colors of the peonies opened up the ears of his soul and played melodically along his heart.

He was there for us to celebrate our one and only pregnancy. I do not often share photos of my pregnancy because it is tough and we do not have many because we always planned to take more “tomorrow.” It is a huge step for me to share. Yet I choose to open to this vulnerable space in memory of our sacred bond and the knowledge that he is able to be with Oak.

And yet remains one while the others dance among the stars.

After everything happened to us, he opened up about suffering from tuberculosis as a young adult, spending months in an iron lung with little hope of survival. Yet he persevered with accomplishments large and small. And even more importantly he was healthy of mind, body, and spirit until his recent transition at 95 years of age.

While providing sage advice he said, “In every life a little rain must fall.” True of every life and immensely significant – for every garden.

Neighbors. Happy in our connected gardens of life.

The process of tending our roots is lifelong. Doing the work of the earth provides physiological benefits yet also bears the seeds of connection to our greater selves.

Elements of the garden balance us.

Soil – earth – is a habitat for peace. Digging within the soil creates a healing vibration – a sort of hug – from the earth mother.

Water is cleansing and nourishing. It is in every part of our body, and in the foods we eat, and flows interconnected.

Air is the fluid that we and the garden both breathe together in a cyclical pattern.

Sun rays warm us with the love and protection of all of our angels.

Thank you neighbor, for everything we enjoyed together, bread we broke, losses we endured, football games we cheered, stories we laughed at, dogs we treated, Manhattans we toasted, Derbies we bet nickels on, gardening education with our desert nephews shared, and on and on. And thank you for finding the habitat to garden next door to us and forever into our hearts.

The Grief Bill of Rights by Center for Loss & Life Transition

Recently I found out about the Center for Loss and Life Transition. They are based in northern Colorado and do amazing things for those moving with grief or affected by grief. This is one piece by Dr. Wolfelt that is particularly brilliant.

The Mourner’s Bill of Rights
by Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D.

Though you should reach out to others as you do the work of mourning, you should not feel obligated to accept the unhelpful responses you may receive from some people. You are the one who is grieving, and as such, you have certain “rights” no one should try to take away from you.

The following list is intended both to empower you to heal and to decide how others can and cannot help. This is not to discourage you from reaching out to others for help, but rather to assist you in distinguishing useful responses from hurtful ones.

1. You have the right to experience your own unique grief.
No one else will grieve in exactly the same way you do. So, when you turn to others for help, don’t allow them to tell what you should or should not be feeling.
2. You have the right to talk about your grief.
Talking about your grief will help you heal. Seek out others who will allow you to talk as much as you want, as often as you want, about your grief. If at times you don’t feel like talking, you also have the right to be silent.
3. You have the right to feel a multitude of emotions.
Confusion, disorientation, fear, guilt and relief are just a few of the emotions you might feel as part of your grief journey. Others may try to tell you that feeling angry, for example, is wrong. Don’t take these judgmental responses to heart. Instead, find listeners who will accept your feelings without condition.
4. You have the right to be tolerant of your physical and emotional limits.
Your feelings of loss and sadness will probably leave you feeling fatigued. Respect what your body and mind are telling you. Get daily rest. Eat balanced meals. And don’t allow others to push you into doing things you don’t feel ready to do.
5. You have the right to experience “griefbursts.”
Sometimes, out of nowhere, a powerful surge of grief may overcome you. This can be frightening, but is normal and natural. Find someone who understands and will let you talk it out.
6. You have the right to make use of ritual.
The funeral ritual does more than acknowledge the death of someone loved. It helps provide you with the support of caring people. More importantly, the funeral is a way for you to mourn. If others tell you the funeral or other healing rituals such as these are silly or unnecessary, don’t listen.

Pink and blue sunrise appropriately during Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. Spotted on a flight back from saying goodbye to my chosen grandpa.

7. You have the right to embrace your spirituality.
If faith is a part of your life, express it in ways that seem appropriate to you. Allow yourself to be around people who understand and support your religious beliefs. If you feel angry at God, find someone to talk with who won’t be critical of your feelings of hurt and abandonment.
8. You have the right to search for meaning.
You may find yourself asking, “Why did he or she die? Why this way? Why now?” Some of your questions may have answers, but some may not. And watch out for the clichéd responses some people may give you. Comments like, “It was God’s will” or “Think of what you have to be thankful for” are not helpful and you do not have to accept them.
9. You have the right to treasure your memories.
Memories are one of the best legacies that exist after the death of someone loved. You will always remember. Instead of ignoring your memories, find others with whom you can share them.
10. You have the right to move toward your grief and heal.
Reconciling your grief will not happen quickly. Remember, grief is a process, not an event. Be patient and tolerant with yourself and avoid people who are impatient and intolerant with you. Neither you nor those around you must forget that the death of someone loved changes your life forever.
Copyright 2007-2013, Center for Loss and Life Transition

What Makes You Stand Tall

Everything changed that day. What we knew as safe and expected; transformed into an era of confusion and fear. We didn’t know which way was up. We felt a unity we’ve never felt before, yet also a feeling of helplessness in our lack of individual power.

My sister was working for American Airlines. I had just returned from New York the Tuesday prior, spending Labor Day trouncing around like a know-it-all 21 year old in a city of endless experience. I awoke in my college house to a call from my then boyfriend, saying American Airlines had had some kind of “accident.” I turned the TV on in my room and overheard my roommates waking up and turning on the main TV. It was then we all witnessed the second plane. We had no idea what to do or what was happening. In a complete haze, I walked up the hill to class and saw my professor there, crying. She shook her head…there will be no class today. We embraced. The rest of the day is a blur as more and more happened and more was revealed.

In memory of all who passed, helpers who have since passed – humans and dogs, first responders and general public – and those families and friends still mourning. It’s not a cliché to say we won’t forget. Because we won’t.

What makes you stand tall?

Whether you are physically able to stand or not, on this 15th anniversary, think about what makes you stand tall. Consider those people who raise you up. Consider the ways you raise yourself up. Consider the trees, skyscrapers or skies that make you stretch a little higher.

Relish in your abilities and embrace this moment. With honor for those unable.

What makes YOU stand tall?

Flying After Baby Loss: The Trauma of Travel

Reposted from Still Mothers. Thank you to Still Mothers for posting! I am honored to have the opportunity.

When I worked as a flight attendant I spent many flights doting over baby travelers. I walked them up and down the aisle while they cried, I held them as their mothers fit their seat belts, and I defended them from angry business passengers.

I’ll never forget the time when, somewhere over Missouri, a passenger asked me to “shove a cookie” in the mouth of a crying baby. I was horrified at their rudeness.

Fast forward to today. Here I am, a loss mama with no ability to have other children on my own. Though I don’t work for the airline anymore, I am an avid traveler for both work and play. I am sure my son Oak would have been flying on my lap to great lands. Smiling or crying, and delighting or upsetting other passengers like every other flying baby. Now I understand another reason why some people don’t like babies on flights; their baby is gone.

Flying2 Now that I’m a loss mom, all parts of traveling affect me: the families organizing in the airport, the noise of babies on the airplanes, scenes of lap babies, and random people falling to mush over that “adorable baby in 12C.” This should be us. We should be enjoying our lap children. We should be complaining about rude passengers who judge our crying child.

There’s no emergency exit for the loss of a baby.

If you are like me and experience the trauma of travel, here are some tips for flying after baby loss. You can also apply some of these tips to other methods of travel: train, bus, ferry, etc.

1. Fly in the middle of the day. People with young children often opt for early or late flights in the hopes that their child will sleep. If you fly in the middle of the day you reduce the chances of seeing lap babies. You’ll also want to avoid flying on the weekend.

2. Sit in a middle seat on the right side of the airplane. I know it’s less desirable to sit in the middle. But if you take the middle seat it reduces the chance that you’ll sit next to a baby. If a couple and a baby are traveling, for example, they will need the middle seat and you could be stuck by the window seat as a baby drools on you. If a mother or father travel alone with a lap infant they are likely to be in the middle or window seats for safety reasons. If you can get the emergency exit row, that is your best option. Passengers under age 15 are not allowed in the exit rows. Also, avoid the bulkhead seats or left side (if your back is to the pilots). Lap babies are often seated in these areas due to the extra oxygen masks. However, location of the extra masks depends on the type of aircraft.

3. Wear earplugs, find a white noise app, download a meditation, or plan a travel playlist. If I want quiet, I use earplugs or the Simply Noise app because of the pink, white, or brown noise options. If I want music, I plan a travel playlist. I include a mix of music that is both inspiring and comforting. Meditations – both paid and free – are easy to download. The breathing exercises and mantras from a meditation provide focus and relaxation.

4. Journal. Planes offer good solo time. Use it to write.

5. Don’t be afraid to cry. Airports are emotional places. Lots of people cry. Cry it out.

6. Bring snacks that contain B vitamins and drink plenty of water. Travel dehydrates. Some studies show that dehydration can cause anxiety and stress. B vitamins are helpful in calming emotions and nerves. Nuts like almonds and pecans, dry fortified whole-grain cereals, and peas make good B-vitamin rich snacks.

7. Move. Doing laps around the airport, stretching, and doing foot exercises while flying are all great ways to move. I find that practicing bits of yoga in public places is becoming more acceptable. Some airports even have small gyms or places for yoga.

8. Fly with an emotional support animal. In order to fly with an emotional support animal you must have a psychological reason (e.g. trauma, PTSD) and a letter from a medical care provider. Emotional support animals are usually well-behaved dogs, but can be cats, monkeys, or even miniature horses. If an emotional support animal is not possible, travel with a stuffed animal. Take your Molly Bear or other stuffed animal on travel. Hold that animal on your lap. The feeling of weight on your lap is no replacement for your baby, but makes a difference.

9. Leave the situation. If you become triggered from a baby at the airport restaurant or in the seat next to you, leave. Don’t be shy about asking for another seat. People move seats for a whole host of reasons. Flight attendants are generally very accommodating, especially if you feel up to explaining. I’d say something like, “I recently lost my son/daughter, could I sit somewhere more comfortable?” They will likely offer condolences, help you move, and then leave you alone. They are usually too busy to follow up with a bunch of uncomfortable questions.

10. Talk to your baby. I feel closer to Oak in the sky amongst the clouds and stars. I say hello to him. I tell him about my travels. I look for shapes in the clouds. I feel his presence all around me.

I hope that these tips help you move through the trauma of travel. Remember that you are not alone.

See you in the skies.

Remembering the Orlando Pulse Babies

Whenever an unthinkable tragedy happens I cannot help but think of the people who died – as babies. As a loss mama time stands still, forever imprinting everyone as a baby.

A lot of parents lost their babies that horrific night.

We are adults for most of our lives yet the memory of our innocence as tiny babies is etched in time. Ask any parent, aunt, uncle, grandparent, older sibling or cousin. Those Orlando babies started out vulnerable, observant, and thriving on love. Every giggle, clutch of the hand, coo, and eye flutter is easily recalled by those who love them.

I don’t need to go into detail about what a heinous, horrendous, and preventable attack happened in Orlando. What I do need to express is that, like losing a baby, this crime rips people from their lives against the natural order of things.

We are born with a manuscript for expression of eye color, race, gender, and sexual orientation. Until we get older, we are unaware that this expression places us into specific groups. These groups are sometimes admired and sometimes hated.

We grow and become supported, or bullied, or often times both. It is awfully confusing and starts to wear us down.

In loss and grief the only way forward is through. Grief causes us to become raw versions of ourselves and we begin to require love – and only love – to ever thrive again.

In this time of sadness let’s allow ourselves to receive nourishing love.

I am inspired by my sister. She provided sustaining love to me as a baby. She supported me in very raw times. Literally spoon feeding me in a high chair and again two years ago in the hospital. Love got me through during very raw, vulnerable moments. She is returning to her true self; freeing herself from the exhaustion of pretending and from the grief of hiding. Shining a full expression of her gay DNA. And the response is mountainous love. She is again thriving on love.

Many different expressions of phenotype enjoyed a night turned horrid at Pulse. We will never get those babies back again.

My wish is for those 49 lives and the hundreds of others touched by those 49 lives will inspire us to grieve raw and vulnerable, and to allow a deluge of love in response.

In honor of these lives, my sister, and others fully expressing their DNA, I plan to write a list of 49 ways that I can allow my true self to shine, even if it appears complicated and insurmountable. Even if I don’t yet know how or what a true self requires or who might react crudely.

All I can do is aspire forward and allow love to find its way.

It takes courage to grow up and turn out to be who you really are.

Change The Question: An Invisible Mother’s Day Wish

We’ve all been asked. You first meet someone and they ask the seemingly innocuous questions of small talk. Then there’s this one:

Do you have kids?

To a loss mama or father, or someone dealing with infertility, this question instantly sets the sympathetic nervous system into overdrive. Instantly, our heart rate speeds up and we fumble over words trying to decide how to answer. Or, sometimes I run away when I feel the question is coming. My bladder sometimes needs to empty at just the right time. 😉

If we say, “Yes, but she/he passed,” we run the risk of making the other person nervous causing a change of subject – further isolating our journey – or we run the risk of hearing the useless platitudes or ‘fix-its’ (take your choice:…are you having another?, at least you can have another, at least you already have one, you can always adopt…) I feel like vomiting simply writing about these. If we say no, we feel less authentic to our journey as loss parents or as future parents. We always want to talk about him or her, and are never ashamed, but there are times we don’t want to get into the story with someone we just met. We need space to find comfort with that new person first.

This isolating question can also affect people who may not be able to have children for legal reasons or biological reasons because of who they love, or could even deeply hurt someone who is newly bereaved.

Additionally, there are many families or situations that still matter – many that do not include the traditional idea of children. Maybe you care for your aging parents? Maybe you are single and your best friend is your family? Maybe you care for multiple foster children? Maybe you consider your nieces/nephews as close to you as your own children? Maybe you have a neighbor who is as close as a grandfather? Maybe you chose to live a life without children and this question directs the conversation away from talking about your wonderful partner or husband? There’s got to be a way to include all of these situations in traditional small talk instead of isolating each other. Or from impeding the chance to talk about these family situations that mean the world to you.

I understand that most people who ask this questions have the best intentions at heart. We’ve all asked it, and we aren’t sinister beings. I am simply proposing that a better question exists. We can do better.

There are many layers of who makes up our family. And sometimes it’s less obvious.

This Mother’s Day, my wish is that we CHANGE THE QUESTION. Yes, that’s right, change the question!

Let’s replace, “Do you have kids?” With… “Who makes up your family?”

My Invisible Mother’s Day wish is for everyone reading this to try to change the question with at least one new person in the next week/month/year.

As soon as you feel that urge to ask about kids, ask about their family instead. Leave it open ended enough for them to include who matters most to them. Friends, extended family, passed children, pets… Believe me, the conversation will be more authentic. And you might even learn a little something about the person you just met!

Try it, and let me know what happens! I might feature your story on a future blog.

Do you like “Who makes up your family?” What are the ways you could change the question? Please comment or tag #changethequestion or #youarerooted.

A Heartbroken Thank You to Prince

Whenever a legendary superstar passes, like Prince, it hits us hard. Even if we wonder why we grieve someone we don’t personally know, I’m telling you, we do. Music is an expressive form of communication. By sharing his artistry, he was telling us about himself in more ways than we can even understand. By communicating through music, we know him on a very deep level. This is why we grieve.

Music is healing, It is therapy. It is emotional, and fun, and is there for us at the most important times of our life. It’s a common language of intention and interpretation. It’s heartbeat. In Prince’s case: it’s funky.

I grew up in Minnesota like Prince. He brought a whole new level of dance, glory, color and freedom to my fellow Minnesotans. He shook up a quiet somewhat monotone land with jaw-dropping creativity. He made it acceptable to be different. I looked up to him as a role model of mixed ethnicity in the blond land of lakes. And yes, I ABSOLUTELY bathed in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.

See any resemblance?

Albums like Controversy, Purple Rain, 1999 and Prince’s production group Vanity 6 adorned my eardrums from my sister’s room. She had more purple scarfs, headbands and press on nails than I can count. I remember her conversations about dancing at First Avenue and waiting outside Paisley Park hoping one day I would do the same.

Remember dancing to 1999 imagining what 1999 would really be like? I do.

Our ticket to the show at Madison Square Garden. They lit up the Empire State Building in purple.

I have seen him in Denver, Las Vegas and New York. My husband Ryan passed the test when I told him we are flying from Michigan to New York to see him in concert. Yep, I pretty much ordered it. And he responded… when are we leaving? I purchased the tickets right before our wedding in October. Any man who will embrace the purple one is one I want in my life forever.

My best girlfriends and I even spent my bachelorette party in Vegas, shaking it to the Prince cover band, Purple Reign.

Sadly, I also remember when his infant son died. Our Minnesotan hearts broke for him. Never imagined I might experience this also. Unlike First Avenue, it’s a club you never want to enter.

His son passed from a rare genetic disorder at their home. Those of us touched by baby/infant loss know what it’s like when ‘the world is so cold.’ And this was long before baby loss was openly discussed (…of course we still have a ways to go..). I cannot imagine going through this disenfranchised grief in the public eye.

So he communicated the best way he knew how, incorporating his son’s heartbeat on the track Sex in the Summer. I hope he knows that along with his music, he gave baby/infant loss parents the gift of feeling a tiny bit less alone.

This is all I can say. What can I say?!

Thank you, Prince. I will continue to jam out and get funky. And I will look for your purple star in the sky, missing you terribly.

Love is like the sky, U know it never stops
From the abudance of the heart the mouth speaks
Love is whatever… whatever… U want it 2 b

March Madness

One thing about being in the hospital the whole month of March is, well, March Madness. I remember Ryan asking me whether or not we wanted to play in a bracket pool. I could barely speak so I simply nodded my head. I wanted to feel ‘normal’ again and I believed a bracket would put me on that course.

Our 2014 bracket. Ryan let me take the Buffs all the way to the championship. With Arizona winning, though? My family’s influence I suppose…

“If you’re gonna be in the hospital, this is the time…” joked multiple people.

One day, when my family went to get food from one of Fort Collins’ best secret lunch spots – no joke – the hospital cafeteria, I turned on the game as I sat quietly with myself. I couldn’t walk or even sit up yet. It was a chance to do something that I enjoy. The Michigan Wolverines were playing someone and I was following the game the best I could. Quite frankly, the roar of the crowd and the announcers’ voices were entertainment enough.

I heard a faint knock on the door. It was the hospital chaplain checking in. He is incredibly caring and wise. He sat with me and turned to the television and cheered with me. We talked about Oak. We prayed together. It was such a nice afternoon.

He shared that story months later at a ceremony we held at the hospital. He mentioned how he held Ryan’s hand the night they were sure I would die and how blown away he was to experience a game with me, alive, and working so hard to come back to life. I wanted to make the tournament. As he shed a tear, he said he will never look at March Madness the same way again.

Sometimes we need bracket pools. Somewhere, somehow, an upset happens and a 16 seed gets its victory. Even a loss for the big guys is a tremendous triumph for those unexpected to thrive.

Whether you pick teams based on colors, mascots, raw emotion or even create a computer program to pick (like Ryan), March Madness is a friendly reminder that we cannot predict the future. As much as statistics or rankings point in one direction, statistics cannot account for the “life happens” factor.

So rally behind your team. Enjoy the camaraderie of the moment. As my nephew says, go for the three (tres). Win or lose, your fans will cheer or cry right by your side. And that’s what counts.

In rehab working on standing. My own sweet victory.