Float Like A Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

I chose this quote from Muhammad Ali for two reasons. One - we love all things butterfly in this house. Two - it's a quote about competition and my topic today is competition.

You see, my living daughter is in competition with my dead one.

Ouch, huh?

Miranda is jealous that we have a picture of Allie's feet hanging up near our fireplace. The feet make an image of a heart, and it's the only photo of Allie that we have displayed. And yet Miranda feels threatened by it.

Miranda is jealous that we see butterflies and think of her sister. She wants to be the butterfly. She has even told me on more than one occasion that she wished we named her Butterfly, instead of Miranda. Um, no.

Is it that we talk to much about the daughter we lost? To be honest, I do not think we do. Is it that Miranda is envious that someone came before her? I could see that as she got older, but not at five. I do not care how precocious she is!

Where does this sense of envy come from? And why does she feel that there is a competition?

Last night at dinner, Miranda glanced over at the picture of Allie's feet and asked why we did not have a picture of her feet framed. I explained that we only had a limited time with Allie and that image was one of our favorites. I went on to say that we are lucky enough to have enough time with Miranda that we can take all the photos we want. We do not need to have an image of her feet. We have her face beaming back at us from pretty much every wall in this house.

She paused and then asked me why M gave her away? WHAT THE WHAT? I guess the adoption talk did resonate. Why, though, was it only talking about Allie's death that she questioned where she came from? I calmly explained that M did not give her away. She picked Gary and me to be her parents because she knew we could provide the kind of life for her that she deserved. A family with a mommy and a daddy. Her own room. The chance to go to preschool and meet friends and get a head-start on learning. Cousins. Extended family. Vacations. And so much more. That seemed to satisfy her for now.

I love that Miranda is so thirsty for knowledge, both in the classroom and out. I wonder, though, how much what happened before she was even born is going to shape her? And why is she in a competition with someone who clearly cannot compete back?

Both of my girls are so special to me. My heart is bursting with love for each one. Different love, of course. Allie's love is that of a proud parent who feels a surge when she gets the opportunity to talk about her. Miranda's love is that of an actively parenting adult who gets to see her daughter interact with new kittens, get her tiny ears pierced, and prepare for kindergarten. (And that was all just last week!).

I do not want to sell either of them short, and I want to make sure I am doing right by them both. In a way, I want them both to float and neither to ever sting.

Time will surely help me figure out how to keep explaining life to the one while remembering and honoring the other one in death.

What a tangled path I walk on every day. It's a wonder I don't trip more.

The Healing Cycle

I have been doing a lot of self-reflection lately. It could be because Miranda's starting kindergarten next month or it could be something that has nothing to do with her whatsoever. 

Usually, I do my best thinking with words. My writing is a therapy session, and for a long time, I needed a lot of therapy. 

It's been almost a month since I have blogged and I think that might be a record for me. 

I am not proud of that record, but I am pleased that I need less and less therapy if that makes sense?

I have a new "sister-in-loss" if you will. A friend who is now walking in my shoes and is brave enough to reach out to me and share some of her feelings. Many of our talks have spiraled me back to the Spring and Summer of 2011, and it's scary and daunting, but it needs to be done. The only reason I was able to heal was that I also found my tribe when I needed them most.

Going back seven years, I am reminded of how damn sad I was all the time. Every time we passed a pet store, I used to ask Gary if we could adopt a new kitten. His answer was always the same. No. But why? Zoe, the cat we had, would not have been a fan of a new roommate. And a kitten would not take the place of a baby. I so desperately wanted to take care of a living being, but a cat was not the answer. Not then.

Fast forward to now. Zoe has been chasing mice in heaven for over two years (ok, fine...she's been sleeping and ignoring the mice). My heart is healed, as much as it can be.  Miranda is five years old and able to help out. And I found a kitty that looks like just like a superhero. So it's finally time.

T'Challa (the one that looks like Black Panther) and his litter mate, Luke Cage (Miranda named this one), will hopefully soon be ours to take care of every day. To snuggle and love and cherish and play with and bring new life into our house. Not because we need it, but because we want it. That is a big difference.

These kittens were rescued and need a forever home. I think that home is ours.

I have also been thinking about me. I have not been putting myself first lately. In the work that I do, we talk a lot about self-care. I really need to be in a good place before I can be of any good to someone else. And I am not. 

I can't remember the last time I laced up my sneakers or chose something healthy on a menu. What happened to me?

Life. Life happens. For me, it's easier to be "lazy' than smart. And it stinks because it's such hard work for me to be good to myself. By writing it down, I am hoping this action makes me more accountable. For my family, our new kitties, and for me!

I think we are all worth it.

The Trials and Tribulations of Being a Mom

Being a mom is HARD. It's more difficult than anything else I have ever done. It's being "on" 24/7. It's making sure someone else's needs are met before yours. It's walking around with chipped nail polish because you do not have the time or energy to find the nail polish remover. It's pretending your roots don't show because you do not have time to go to the salon. It's smiling when you want to cry, singing when you want to yell, and eating when you are standing up because if you show weakness and sit down, you will instantly just have to get up again.

However, for each sleepless night, each molar that took longer to come in than it should have taken, each projectile vomit incident, each visit to urgent care, each fight over hair brushing or teeth brushing, I silently exhale and know deep down that being a mom is who I was meant to be.

Yesterday, I was a flotation device in the pool. My main purpose was to keep Miranda buoyant. For hours, we just played and splashed and laughed in the cool waters. Every time I asked for a break or to get out, my stubborn charge pouted and refused to leave. Eventually, it clicked to me that one day (maybe soon!) she will not want me to be the one in the pool with her. So I stopped complaining and just enjoyed being with her.

When we finally did take a break, it was to use the restroom. For the first time ever, she walked in by herself and did not need me. I hovered in the foyer area in case she called for me, but she didn't. In some ways, she needs me less and less. When she came out of the stall, her suit was all twisted, and part of her tush was hanging out. In some ways, she needs me more.

I will never know what it would have been like to parent Allie the way I parent Miranda. I do not know what kind of child Allie would have been and that keeps me up some nights. I was supposed to be her mom every bit as much as I was supposed to be Miranda's mom and it guts me that I was robbed of that chance. 

I refuse to spend my life in a cloud of anger. That's not fair to anyone, including me. 

Going back to work has been such a gift for me. It has given me something to do and be, aside from Allie and Miranda's mom. Working has made me step outside of myself and my comfort zone and forced me to think about how I can help others. I am so grateful for the opportunity. And it shows. If you ask Miranda what I do when I go to work, she says, "You help people, mama." I guess I do. And they help me, too.

At 44, I still need my mom. So I know, in a way, Miranda will always need me. I look forward to a day when she lets me have some time and space back, but I also dread it. See? Being a mom is hard.

I am so lucky to have it so hard.

Adoption In My Heart

Today was the Adoptions From The Heart Annual Picnic. We love this event. It is close to our house, it is early enough in the summer that it's not too hot, and it is a wonderful place for Miranda to see other kids like her. Adopted kids.

We have never shied away from using the word adoption in our house. We have read books, colored pictures, and even "adopted" a toy puppy for Hanukkah one year. We have explained how adoption works and how families are formed by love first, and genetics second. She has never questioned anything we have told her about how families come to be, and I thought we were handling it very well.

Until Miranda asked me recently what it was like being in my belly.

Uh oh.

Then she put a ball up her dress and said, "Look! I am a mommy now, too!"

Yikes.

Then, the icing on the cake at lunch on Friday.  Miranda looked at me with a mouth of grilled cheese and asked, "Mommy, did I hurt you when I came out?"

Crap.

Gary and I decided it was time to have "the talk". We had been talking about it for months now. We knew the day of the AFTH picnic would be as good a time as any.

We sat Miranda on the couch and took a seat on either side of her. We began by telling her how much we loved her. Then we reminded her that we were going to a picnic today that celebrates adoption. We asked her if she remembered what adoption meant. She shook her head no. So we said it is a word that means families are formed in lots of ways. 

In a brief sentence or two, we told her that after Allie died, we couldn’t get another baby in my belly. So we found M who already had one, but was unable to do everything she wanted for her baby. So she picked us to be Miranda’s parents. We all met before Miranda was born and decided that mommy and daddy would be the ones to be the parents of this little baby. We brought her home from the hospital, and she’s been ours ever since. 

That was pretty much it. I said something about how M will always be in her life, and if she has any questions, she can ask her or she can ask us. And it did not have to be today - it can be whenever she thinks of them.

Exhale. 

Miranda simply smiled. Gary asked if we could all get hugs. Miranda happily complied. And that was that.

The foundation has been set. At the picnic, we made sure to point out that many of the children there were adopted. She seemed more interested in the ice cream truck, to be honest.

I think we are over one hurdle, but I am not sure what obstacles are still going to be in our way.

I hope that as long as we are open and honest with each other, we will be able to face anything.

I love being Miranda's mom. I know how lucky I am that I get to be the one she turns to, day in and day out. I know Gary loves being a dad - her dad - more than he ever thought possible. Here's to hoping that our love is enough to answer her questions and settle any fears. After all, love is all you need, right?

The Grief Bomb

For years after Allie died, I was worried about each and every pregnant person that I knew. Or read about. Or heard a story about. If I saw a pregnant woman walking down the street, I would walk the other way. If I had to talk to a pregnant woman, I would make eye contact only. I would never dare to look at her swollen belly.

When my sister-in-law was pregnant with my niece (and later my nephew), I changed my behavior slightly. I did this for her sake as well as mine. We both had to be comfortable around each other, and there are things you do for a family that you simply cannot do for others.

While I still do not attend baby showers or buy presents for babies until there are here, I have relaxed a little bit and not freaked out when I hear someone is pregnant. My cousin had the most adorable little boy last month so my mom, Miranda, and I took an almost 6-hour road trip (round trip) just to welcome him to the family, smell his delicious head, and feed him a bottle. It was more than worth it.

I let my guard down. I forgot to be scared. I felt almost normal.

And then a baby died.

There was a baby that was growing safe and sound in his mommy and was due in late June. I talked to his mom about his upcoming arrival. Not a lot, but more than I ever had before.

That mommy is having a funeral for her son this weekend. 

I do not know all the details. It's not my business to know. What I do know is that he was alive one day and then gone the next.

People were afraid to tell me. People were afraid for me to know.

It was like someone set off a grief bomb.

I took a minute to feel sorry for myself. "Why does this keep happening?" "Is there any way it's my fault?"

Then I realized it was not about me. It's not about the me that I used to be.

What I am now, since surviving the most horrendous tragedy ever, is a bit of a subject matter expert. Once I let the tears escape my eyes, I dried them off and got to business. I gathered information on grief counseling and support groups and a list of "do's and don'ts." I took the sadness from my past and used it to help make someone else's days less sad. 

I took on grief from the other side.

I do not believe that everything happens for a reason. I do not believe that baby is in a better place. I do believe in the power of love and compassion to get us through.

To Anthony - I am sorry we never got to meet. It's cruel. It's unfair. You were very much wanted and are very much loved. I remember you. I will make sure you are not forgotten, even by the people on the periphery of your life. That is my promise to you. 

Please say hi to my girl if you see her. I suspect you will. 

Leaving My Mark

For as long as I can remember, I have always had this fear of not being remembered. I do not know how or why it was so important to me, but I never wanted to be forgotten. Who does?

Yesterday, my mom and I took Miranda to the local high school to see their spring musical, Fiddler on the Roof. While that high school will not be the one that my daughter attends, it was the one that I went to many many years ago. 

Miranda was excited to see where her mommy and uncles used to go to school. It's much bigger than her school (after all, it has a pool and a planetarium), but she was not too overwhelmed. She liked walking the hallowed halls and looking at the lockers and was very worried about where the students ate their snacks. Then we walked her into the back of the auditorium where my name was displayed on a plaque stating that I was the "Best Actress" for my senior year. There it was. In wood and bronze. Proof that I was to be remembered.

I have a lot of happy high school memories. Many of them were on that stage. I can close my eyes and still smell the costumes, the paint from the sets, the blisters on my feet and the nervousness in my stomach. I can feel the stage lights on my face and the feeling that washed over me when the audience responded to my different characters.

Some nights, before the curtain would open, I would reach up as high as I could and put my fingerprint on something that I thought might not get wiped down right away and therefore serve as proof that I was there. That became something I did whenever I would go somewhere new. I used to try to leave my invisible mark as a sign that I was there. In my old dorm rooms. In the house I lived in during my college years. In my first apartment. Before selling my first car. I never used ink or anything permanent. I just had hopes that if someone wanted to know I was there, they could somehow see my fingerprint and know.

I did not do it in the hospital after I delivered Allie. I am not sure I ever did it after she was born. I have often said that her death changed me. Not all of the change was good. Her death took away my innocence and naivete, and it was not until I was in my old high school yesterday that my old tradition came back to me.

The thing is, I have finally come to terms with the fact that I will be remembered. I have been fortunate enough to impact and be impacted by so many people. Most recently, I have chosen to go back to work in a field that directly lets me help others, thereby solidifying that I will not be forgotten.

So if you see me reaching up high and pressing my index finger upon a surface, simply smile and let me be me. 

Here's to leaving our mark!

4 Days Till 7

My Dearest Allie,

Your birthday is this weekend, and yet we have no party planned, no presents purchased, no outfits picked out. Somehow, you would be seven years old on Sunday. I cannot wrap my brain around that. 

I just witnessed your cousin Ella turn the same age. She was born two weeks before you, you know. You two were supposed to be the best of friends. Well, your sister has made sure that the strong bond of friendship is there so don't you worry about that! They are adorably close, and Miranda idolizes her.

Speaking of Miranda, I like to think that you are someplace watching over her, but I will fill you in on her activities nonetheless. She just turned five, and we had a super fun party at Chuck E. Cheese. Miranda was glowing with all the attention that she got, and there was so much love in that room. Many of our family and friends were there to celebrate her, and she loved every second.

Your little sister is heading to kindergarten in the Fall! How can that be? I was not my best when I went to register her. I was feeling your absence pretty strongly, and kind of yelled and huffed and puffed when they told me I needed forms I didn't have. Oops. I guess even at my age, I am still learning appropriate versus inappropriate behavior. 
 
We are gearing up for the "adoption" talk. Miranda commented Grammy last weekend about growing in my belly, so we know it's time to really explain what adoption is and not just use the word here and there. I do not anticipate that it will be a hard conversation. The bottom line is that after you died, we knew we still wanted to be parents, and so we found the best way to do that. It's remarkable if you think about it.

Selfishly, I wish you were here to help us tell her. But then I wonder if she would be here at all if you were still here?

Daddy is doing well. He was traveling a lot for work, but that seems to have slowed down a bit. I am glad because we work well as a trifecta and I do not like it when he is not here. Your daddy thinks I am strong, but truth be told, he is what keeps me going some days. Lots of days.

Everyone else is also good. But I suspect you know that.

My new job is not so new anymore, but Allie, it's great! It's super fulfilling, and I feel like I am making a difference. It's nice to be in the non-profit sector again. For me, if feels more about the work than the bottom line. I fit in there, and I look forward to going in three days a week. I know, crazy, huh?

Well, the weather around here has been really off for April, so I am not sure how we are going to celebrate you on Sunday. If the rain and cold stay away, we will visit your tree. Miranda wanted to go to a playground and laugh and have fun on your birthday, and I have no issue with that! Maybe we will pack a picnic lunch. We will probably also release some balloons at the end of the day so be sure to look for them.

Alright, my sweet girl. It's time for me to go. I do not talk directly to you too much anymore because it hurts my heart, even after all this time. Today, though, you were exactly what I needed.

Allie, I love you more. I always will.

Love,
Mama