I was taking a bath when I heard the crash from the master bedroom. “Quentin? What happened?” Pause. “Something fell,” was the response. He came in the bathroom with tears in his eyes. “Something fell on my head.” Continue reading
There is a small white box in my closet. It held Iris’s ashes before we scattered then. I don’t need the box; it was only a delivery mechanism, a transportation method to her final resting place. I did not keep Nelle’s box. But I have been unable to throw away Iris’s box. It is one of the few things I have. Continue reading
Anne Lamott often recounts words that a priest said to her once: “Sometimes Heaven is just a new pair of glasses.” A change in perspective.
How many words and phrases flow easily from the lips of our culture when it comes to death and dying? All of which are fairly presumptuous that those on the receiving end share the beliefs. Words so much more easily given than received. Or comforting only to the giver: a singular perspective. Continue reading
My healing might include laughter, tears, throwing something, creating something, talking, not talking. In other words, it will be as unique as my fingerprints and DNA. And my grieving process will be as predictable as the weather – a completely frustrating mystery. -Unknown
I lack any sort of “green thumb.” At best, I can keep succulents alive since, since as long as I manage to remember to water them every few weeks, they seem to do ok. I have had to fill my yard with hardy hostas that require little attention. When we lost Nelle, we were given a plant that I have more dutifully taken care of, but every once in awhile it droops and I realize that I have neglected it. It always manages to perk up though. Continue reading
I have a small tribute to my daughters on a silver tray in our master bedroom.
- A box containing ultrasound photos, cards, the program from the Walk to Remember we did last year, and other small items.
- A picture of the tree where their ashes are scattered, drawn by my aunt
- A Japanese Jizo statue, guardian of unborn, miscarried, and stillborn babies
- Three tiny, silver photo frames; two have their footprints and one has a picture of Theo and Quentin together.
- Two candles from a bereaved parents’ workshop I attended
- Over the tray is hanging a framed print that says “I will always wonder who you would have been.”
- Another framed print is nearby, a beach scene with two starfish and the names “Nelle + Iris” scrolled in the sky.