Musings of a Middle-Aged Woman

It's been a hectic few days here in my little corner of the world. I watched my friends bury their father, watched my niece take her first communion, and watched a young mother as she shared with me the agony she just experienced of burying her daughter who was born still.

For all the highs, there are the lows.

For all the lows, there are the highs.

What is in-between is the "stuff" that makes us who we are.

I was a pallbearer on Friday. I have never done that before. I was honored (and scared) to help carry the casket of a man I knew for most of my life to his final resting place. I grew up with his twin daughters and his son, and it was a freeing feeling to be able to do something for him as a way to almost repay for the years of memories his family gave me. A safe place to play. A father figure I could admire. A family unit that remained intact until the end.

On Saturday, I watched my niece participate in one of the biggest blessings of the Catholic church. She was bursting with pride at her accomplishment, and it was a joy to see her happiness. I am a firm believer that religion is essential to children as it gives them something to believe in, aside from their family. The traditions and prayers of the Catholic church were soothing and comforting and apart from Miranda in a LOUD whisper asking me why there was a guy on a cross hanging on the wall, it was a lovely day.  There are so similarities in Catholicism and Judaism, and I think Miranda and her cousins will grow up very well rounded having experienced both. We support them, and they support us. It's really amazing.

Yesterday was a shiva call, and it was so cathartic to sit around and tell stories and share anecdotes about the deceased. It does not help that he passed before anyone was ready. It does not help that my friends will never again hear their dad's voice, but the sense of community and the prayers sung in unison do give comfort that is unlike any other.

And then just when I thought the weekend was about to come to a close, I met a grieving mom and my heart burst wide open again. We went outside, amongst the kids playing frisbee in the yard and the clouds rolling in, and talking about what it is like to lose a child. What it is like to hold a baby in your arms that never cried. What it is like to want to shout to the world that you have two children, even if there is only one in the stroller. The agony and despair and love that was seeping out of this mother who had a due date of May 15th (and mine was May 11th). You never forget those dates as that is all you have. There are no dates of first teeth and first steps and first days of school. Just dates that were created before you knew that your world could shatter.

I stood before this mom as proof, though, that life goes on. I do not know how, but it does. She will smile again. She will laugh again. She will heal and take the memory of her baby with her as she grows into a different person than she ever thought she could be.

In spite of all the loss and tears of the weekend, I felt good when the sun peeked through my blinds and woke me up this morning. In reality, it was the sun as well as a perfectly timed pounce by one of my cats that woke me.

Time marches on. We all move on. Death is something I see far too much of in my opinion, so I try to see the joy in the life that is all around me. The giggle of my daughter which can make my heart soar. The pride of watching my family and friends succeed and do great things. The beauty in a sunset. The excitement of new connections and new friends. 

The way I look at it, I have lived half of my life, and I have about half left to live. I do not want to waste a moment!

Wishes For Everyone

Miranda, like any five-year-old, makes wishes all the time. She whispers her dreams when we throw a penny into a fountain or when she blows on a dandelion freshly plucked from the grass.

Up until recently, her wishes have been for a "real live unicorn" and "a pet jaguar." In the last few weeks, her wishes have changed.

Now my daughter wishes for Allie to come back to life. She thinks if Allie was here with us, she would like Miranda the best. She's probably right.

Lately, she also wishes for all the people that have died to come back to life and to never again die.

At five, she is just as comfortable talking about death as she is life.

Honestly, she talks about her sister more than we do. Today she wanted to go to her creek to bring her a fresh flower. The other day she asked me what grade she would be in this year if she were here. She also asks me often when we are celebrating her birthday.

I wish I had two daughters starting school next week. Not just one.

I wish I had two daughters sitting in the tub right now. Not just one.

By definition, a wish is to feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; want something that cannot or probably will not happen.

Well you can guess what I think about that!

And yet, it's ok to wish. It's good to dream. I think it's healthy to want something that's unattainable. It's a good lesson. I just wish that lesson was not at the expense of my first child.

A rainbow baby was born to a friend of mine a few short days ago. I was miles away when I heard the news, and yet I broke down in tears. Happy tears. Tears of relief. To have a rainbow baby is so so sweet. I am thrilled my friend will be able to experience that joy.

I am going to take this opportunity to wish for a few things that I think can come true. An easy transition to kindergarten for Miranda and her friends next week. A happy and joyous start to the school year for all the kids. More rainbow babies for the moms and dads that so desperately want them.  Blessed memories of the babies that wear wings. 

Maybe some wishes can come true after all. But so help me if I wake up to a real live unicorn in my house tomorrow!!