Having Nathaniel

I have a difficult story to tell. But it is one that I feel very strongly needs to be shared with others. It is a story that is going to lay bare very grieving wounds for me, and for those who read it who share in our sorrow. It will also open wounds in those who have experienced something similar. My hope is that Nathaniel's story can help heal both our wounds and perhaps begin a path of healing for those who still carry deep grief within them from the loss of a child. This is part one of our journey.


My
sweet
little
boy,

I am so very grateful for the courage I was given to make the choice that Monday in November to bring you forth naturally. I desperately want to know what happened to you, and needed to see your beautiful little face and hold you in my arms. I was afraid- so afraid I would not be up to being strong and facing my grief for your loss. I needn't have worried. From the moment I went into labor and delivery, I knew it should be this way and no other. Most importantly, I was selfish. I wanted more than anything else to have stolen moments with you that we could only have in this way. I was so aware of the fact that I was caught between two worlds. Your life had gone out within my body perhaps weeks ago. Though I knew your soul could no longer be found within my body, your body was my Earthly connection to you. When they found my cervix to be en tact I was again happy to have been granted a few more precious hours to carry you within my womb. Daddy and I rested with you knowing the long emotional hours that lay ahead of us. I placed my hands over my belly most of those hours just trying to memorize and feel your presence. I knew only too quickly the time would come for us to be separated and I just wasn't ready for you to leave me physically. Being pregnant with two small children in our house isn't the same as being pregnant with your first- or even second. Time flies much too quickly and it is difficult to be aware of every detail- and in a lot of ways, I resented, or more accurately lamented, this truth. In so many ways, I knew you would be my last time to carry a baby and I so wanted to relish every moment. The reality is that you struggle to get through the day- but you do because you know that incomprehensible prize of joy is waiting at the end. All the while you worry that you are taking too much on, you remember to eat healthy, and you cradle your belly at those precious times of rest when you can be alone with your thoughts of the new little person growing inside of you. You worry about the economy, the state of the world, the state of your house- and then you realize all you have to do is love and care for this little one, and that, my son, is so easy.

When the doctor gave me the medicine to start my contractions I was so sad. I was still so excited to see you but this was happening in a way that I had never imagined it ever would and I was struggling with that truth. As I was trying to come to terms with your leaving my body four months too soon, I was well aware of the next phase of my grief and that was having to give your precious little body away. I prayed for some time to calmly sit with you inside me before my contractions began and we were so graciously given that time. It gave me the courage to shun the epidural. I wanted to experience this birth to the fullest I possibly could- even the pain. When I recognized the contractions, I began to summon up the strength to do the most difficult thing I have ever done. Whatever time has been stolen from our future, I wanted to have these hours with you- in the only way that was given to us. When the pain began to get really hard to handle, they gave me something that took off the edge. By some miracle, it wore off before the last three or four violent contractions. A short time of peace then occurred and one of intense clarity. My waters ran forth, and I felt your little body drop into position. And then, there you were.

Irrelevant

It's

just

one

of

the

words

I'd

like

to

see

stricken

from

the

English

language.

There must be days that Susy Smith does not relish opening her mail- electronic, paper, or otherwise. I imagine that being an editor is a difficult job and one that requires complete focus and precision. After following Susy at Country Living in Britain for some years now, I would say she does very very well in her career. She mentioned in her November letter that she receives quite a few harsh comments about the fashion pages which are presented every month in some form or another. They have been tweaking these presentations for years now, trying to make them "relevant". Susy states quite matter of fact that these are the reader's words, not hers. I find this quandary the magazine is in all together fascinating. For one, that a reader would take the time to complain about some of the most beautiful shots in the pages of the magazine- but more so that the minds of many are so closed. The fashion pages have always been absent from this side of the pond's sister publication and this has always puzzled me. The Americas have some of the most incredible lines of outdoor provisions in the world. Outdoor living is so dramatically woven into the lives of the British that it's difficult to understand the reason for the disdain of the fashion pages. Susy goes on to say that the companies whose wares they put into print have nothing but high praise to say once the issue hits the news stands. This I find not surprising in the least. We humans are a strange lot. The many forms of media which we assail ourselves with each day is daunting. But the Country Living reader is truly a lifestyle personality. That same reader who scoffed at the clothing pages may find themselves in the market for new riding boots a few days later. If they just so happen to purchase the pair of $400 boots pictured in this months issue, that fact may have very well been lost on them. It wasn't, however, lost on the company that produced them. You never know where inspiration will come from. If you are an artist, writer, or designer you are aware of this, and your left brain soaks in everything you see, smell, and touch quite well. Even more amazing is that the end result of your creation may not resemble the original inspiration at all- at least to other people. None the less, something moved and stirred in you the urge to create. Taken in this context very little in the world is "irrelevant". In the words of some very talented designer friends of mine who create warmth and beauty in the form of handmade clothing, "We are all knit together". Just remember this the next time you are looking upon something that seems irrelevant.

Note: If you care to exercise your subconscious shopper the boots above can be had at Toggi.com

The Match Stick

This

has

been

a

difficult

time,

for

us

and

for

so

many

others.

There are some things that you have control over, and others that are so overwhelmingly out of your own hands that all you can do is have faith that you will pull through. For us, the difficulty is heartbreak like that which we have never known. We lost our baby boy, five months into the pregnancy. I am working through the grief day by day, writing about him, and learning to live with a sense of loss which I now fully realize may never dim. My family have been the legs on which I have stood for the past four weeks, and for this I will forever be grateful.

For others, the recession in which we find ourselves in has been like being placed in a deep pool of water and told to tread. We have no idea how long we are going to have to tread water because no one knows when this thing will end. We just know that if we are to survive, we have to keep treading. The recession hit us personally too, but I think we have reached a point where we are used to it. I say this because I have found myself in a position where I worry about others more so than ourselves. We are struggling too, but not in the sense that I have witnessed others. So many others have already lost their jobs, their homes, and in some cases their family due to the pressure of the struggle. This last loss is the one that bothers me most.

A few months back I was reviewing a Scandinavian cookbook and the Hans Christian Anderson tale of The Little Match Stick Girl was mentioned in the book. I had not heard the tale in quite some time. Later that day, when the children were napping, I pulled the book off the shelf and read the story in its original form. It was heart wrenching. In it is the story of how a child is sent into the streets in the middle of a snowy winter with ragged clothes and no shoes to sell match sticks. She sells none and is met with a city of apathy. In vain she tries to one by one light the matches to keep herself warm. She envisions a stove, a magnificent dinner of Holiday goose, a beautiful soaring Christmas tree, and at long last her loving Grandmother- who is seen only as the little girl lights all of the remaining matches in an attempt to hold onto the vision of her loved one. The little girl dies of exposure in the streets. This is no Cinderella fairy tale with a happy ending.

I think this story struck me especially hard this year because of the plight so many families find themselves in this Holiday season. The dire situation in Wilmington, Ohio was aired for the world to see on 60 Minutes last night. This town is in our backyard here in Ohio and it has been especially hard to watch these hard working people struggle to maintain some sense of home the past year. Ten thousand lost jobs is going to take a long time to recover- if recovery is possible in Wilmington at all. I think to myself, despite all of our struggle, we have so much. I cannot help but think that this Christmas morning will be a difficult one for me to really enjoy- knowing in my heart that for so many this one will only exemplify how dire the situation is. It is awfully difficult to explain to a child why Santa did not come.

I urge you to do two things, and do them soon. Go through your home, each and every nook, and donate whatever you have that you do not need. It is best if you can put things directly into someone's hands that need them, but if you cannot, a local shelter is a good place to contact. Second, read the story of The Little Match Stick Girl. Tell it to your children and explain how difficult things are for some families even today. What this world needs most right now is a strong dose of anti- apathy. Children are the most giving of souls and if we can start with them there is always hope for our future.

Note: The illustration above is from a children's book by Debbie Lavreys and it tells the story of The Little Match Stick Girl in a way children can understand.

We are all Christopher Columbus

Imagine
you
are
Christopher
Columbus
and
it
is
the
late
1400's.
You are preparing to set sail with your three ships and all of your crew. You are the lead and the one responsible for all of their welfare. What you know is that you are setting sail from Spain and the goal is to reach India. Most of the population, contrary to today's popular belief, know with some level of certainty that the Earth is round. Aristotle, way back in the third century BC has explained this to the world after observing an eclipse. Yet the belief in some circles still persists that the sailors would at some point fall off the planet into unknown oblivion. What if Columbus himself secretly harboured doubts about the roundness of the Earth? What if he would have had a tether to the dock in Spain on some mystical level, or a self imposed limit that "I will go this far but not any further" just in case? What if he had secretly thought they might all be wrong?

Imagine now you are a few miles from the New Continent but you cannot see it. You do not even know it is there. India's out there somewhere but your crew is anxious and worn out. You have secret moments of panic. What is out there? What do you do? What do you tell your crew?

We all know how the story ends. But I confess I have found myself in the shoes of Christopher Columbus for the greater portion of my life...only the stake was much higher than finding India, or a few unknown continents. My struggle was with God Himself. I was educated in religion quite thoroughly, from the time I was small straight through University and into my adult life through my own studies. And yet knowing all these things about religion still left a gaping hole. I harboured a fear somewhere deep inside that at my core I was an atheist. It was unthinkable and horrifying to finally acknowledge. It was not the thought of a non existent Afterlife that bothered me, it was much more profound than that. It was a bigger fear of losing all that was Good in the world as I had known it. These things that are Good, if you will, are our very own Markers- those things that bring you back into Belief that there is something Greater out there in the Universe. Seeing a living creature being born or going through the stages of death are two of these Markers that can serve to make you a Believer very quickly. Nature in all of its beauty is another. So are moments of Enlightenment between you and someone you love. But as much as I Knew, I could not shake the fear that I was deceiving myself. It was much easier to Believe than not Believe. Until I ran into a brick wall in the form of a four year old.

Death is hard. No two ways about it. Wren, who is now four, had to learn about death way before I was ready to have the conversation. We were faced with having to put one of our cats to sleep. I did not have the faintest idea how to explain this to such a young child. I did the unthinkable- I allowed her to be in the room as Gaston passed away. It may prove to be one of the best things I have ever done as a parent. It introduced very tough concepts into her world at an early age. Death. God. The Soul. Heaven. Permanence. Infinity. And there were very little worlds I could rely on to help me explain all of it to her. Over the past few years the topics have come up regularly. She is coming into full realization what the concept of imagination is and I knew this would be a struggle for her to reconcile with her view of what God, Heaven, and Afterlife are because she cannot "See" any of those. I kept saying to myself that if only I was not so limited by my words. And it was after thinking this a few dozen times that I had a moment of Enlightenment myself. It was not that I was a secret atheist... it was that I would not allow myself to acknowledge that a great part of my Faith I would never be able to put into words. I would never be able to rationalize it to anyone else, or myself for that matter. It was out of my Realm. It was God. It was all that was Good. A lot of it is beyond my scope- there, but I just cannot see it from where I stand.

Wren asked me tonight if God Himself comes to get you when you die. Minefield. I want to choose my words so carefully now that I realize how entangling they can be. I answered her in the only way I knew how- that it was a Surprise. A big one- perhaps the biggest one she will ever have. She is fully aware that parents sometimes die very young and leave small children behind, and this worries her. But she also knows that there is usually a natural progression where people grow old and die after raising their families. I explained it might be God, but there was also a very good chance it could be a Great Grandparent, Grandparent, or Daddy or myself. It all depended on the "when" part of the question. How do I know this I asked myself tonight? I just do. I know it enough to realize that I do not need the tether, real or imaginary, to guard me "just in case". Sometimes, like Columbus, you just have to set sail.

Note: The painting above is by Graeme Wilkinson. Acrylic on canvas.

Our Little House

We
spent
the
past
summer
reading
the
Little
House
series
of
books.

Wren has adored the first four and we are saving the rest for Christmastime. Over the years I have stashed 1/4 scale dolls and accessories away in hopes of someday building a replica of the Little House home on the prairie. Finding things in this scale is quite difficult but I have found salesman's samples of household goods to work very well. Most are old, however I am always surprised to find that they arrive in good condition. Our plan is to gather all the items first- which may take years, and then build the house around the three rooms we complete. The original Little House had just a Keeping Room separated with a quilt for the parents sleeping area, a loft for the girls, and a lean to off the back of the house.


A lot of detail is given in the books about what the Ingalls had and did not have. Originally, I had planned to do a dollhouse a lot like that of Tasha Tudor's, but I feel now that there is a very valuable lesson to be learned from recreating the simplicity of a pioneer's life. It is a dual lesson in make-do along with a reality of how hard life was for people back then. Since we use wood stoves to heat our home, Wren is very familiar with the cast iron beauties, but learning that they also were responsible for heating all the Ingalls food and baking has been an eye opener for her.

The rope bed is not an unfamiliar concept as most of our beds have been on slats, one of them being a reproduction where the holes are visible where the ropes would have been. We used a sewing machine to make a burlap hemp tufted mattress, surely an extravagance in Laura and Mary's day as they would have most certainly slept on hay stuffed mattresses. A gingham sheet and handmade patchwork quilt provide the dolls with snug evenings. We have yet to find a sixteen inch Laura doll and hope to find one in blue. We will simply switch out the girls clothes to have Laura in red and Mary in blue, just like the books. These are the details that Wren picks up on. One of the neat things about our Mary is that she is wearing a simple bead necklace, just like the one the girls make for Carrie from the Indian beads they find with Pa when walking to the deserted Indian camp.

The girls have a pair of snowshoes and old wooden skis, both familiar concepts to Wren as we love winter sports. We sometimes snowshoe up the half mile to retrieve the mail at the road, and there are a lot of times that I would much rather shoe our way out than risk sliding off the road into the ravine or lake. Winter in the country can be a hair raising affair.
So our next book in the series is A Long Winter as we saved Farmer Boy for next summer. I think this will be a good story for the coming winter, as I do believe we are in for a long winter ourselves.

Handprints

I

have

wanted

to

do

this

project

for

a

while

now...

and

there

is

no

time

like

the

present.

There is something incredibly precious about little hands and little feet. I have wanted to document our children's' hands for some time now but did not want to do the traditional print in plaster. I also wanted to be able to show them how tiny they were in both the relation to each other and to us, their parents. We had fun doing simple paper outlines and had to rework them a few times to get them to nestle inside of one another. Then Wren picked out the embroidery colors for each of us, and an extra one for little brother or sister who is on the way. We stitched our outlines on to a hemp burlap and left the cloth in a painted embroidery hoop. The children liked to watch me stitch this up before bedtime- it was the same effect as knitting for them, calming and interesting to watch all at the same time. We will place the other little hand inside of Dane's sometime this Spring and then it will be complete. I have been using my 1960's sewing machine a little more as of late, but still find the method of hand stitching to be more soothing to the hands.

An Apple a Day

As

if

we

didn't

have

enough

to

contend

with

here

in

the

country...

Mother Nature has seen to it that we are being kept on our toes. What was a leisurely day a few weeks ago turned into an all out fiasco that had my six foot five husband and yours truly doing a jig dance of some sort while trying to catch a Brown Recluse before it sprinted into the plank flooring. My husband was lying on the couch and casually glanced toward the southeast window in the great room saying there was a spider web behind the curtain. I got up to examine the situation and knew immediately this was trouble. It was huge, tornado shaped, and disappeared into the hemp curtain. What was worse, it was just inches from our daughter's play kitchen. I motioned for some help and watched my husband's eyes grow big as he saw the full view of the structure. He pulled the curtain down from its place in one swoop because we weren't going to take any chances of this thing biting us as we fiddled with the web. Now the problem was coaxing it out, which was no problem at all as the thing sprinted immediately across the floor. I screamed scaring the tar out of both Wren and my husband. We threw the curtain back over the spider and my husband's size fourteen shoes called an end to the saga. The thought of that thing getting away was hair raising. I spent the next few hours looking for more webs. We found three on the back porch last week. I nabbed one in a beautiful Red Ware paper towel holder just this afternoon. I am over the spiders already. We have Wolf spiders the size of small rodents... this is the last thing I need. We began a quest to find a friend with Hedge Apples. We found a lucky owner and brought home a paper sack full. I was so reluctant to call an exterminator- I just hate the thought of chemicals. But I wondered about the Old Wives Tale of the Osage Orange. Would it really work? Well, let me tell you, after today's encounter in the paper towel holder, I dug into that paper bag faster than lightening. So I am about to find out. The fruits are hard and bumpy and it took a very large steak knife to do the job of getting one into six slices. They bleed a milky substance that is like glue, though they do not have a very pungent odor. If the scent can be described at all, it is like that of orange cleaning solution. The slices are resting happily in the tops of the windows on the main floor. We shall see how accurate the Old Wives really are. All I know is that if I have just a few more heart stopping encounters like the ones I have had recently, I am going to be sporting some Old Wives white hair! Just in time for Halloween...