Life and Death, Honor and Glory

Today marks another sad day in the life of our home and school communities. We lost another of our colleagues. This year has been a difficult one.


Death has a way of making me reflect on life. When my father died, I was a child just 6 years old. I remember feeling as if I wouldn’t, couldn’t ever possibly understand why he was gone. Where did he go? Why didn’t he come back home? How would I spend my whole life not having him with me? I felt as if my heart was ripped free of my young body. The pain of that loss remains part of me still.

Later I discovered, he was not my biological father. It didn’t remove the pain, in fact, it added to my suffering. I then had to take in a new father. Feelings of betrayal spun with the feelings of loss. Could I love this new father? Would he be there for me? When would he die and leave me? Did loving him diminish the love I felt for my Daddy? It was not a long time until I discovered, you could grow to love a new person and mourn his loss as well. My father died when I was home from college my freshman year. Anger was the emotion I embraced…railing at God. How dare he take another man I loved out of my life? It was not fair; I had so little, why did he have to punish me in this way. I wanted to make it right, bring him back. There was no peace in my heart.

Later during that same year, a dear friend went home over the Easter break. He did not return, and it was during a class we learned that Pierre decided to take his life. He faced what he saw as a hopeless situation. Those same feelings of anger, loss, hopelessness, and fear boiled to the surface. How dare he do that to us? What gave him the right to take his life? Didn’t he know he was hurting us?

Life went on with its expected ups and downs. I continued to lose family members to this evil - death. Each one impacted me less and less. I sat at open caskets staring at the lifeless bodies of the people who once brimmed over with life, and humor. Tears stopped flowing and my anger waged at this death became complacency. Where did they go? Would I ever know their laughter again? Pervasive feelings of helplessness washed over me with each loss…but each hurt less. It is true that we can get numb to the worst things life has to offer.

After most of my family was gone, I began losing important in-laws; first Nana, then my wonderful father-in-law, Orion, Great Pop, and finally Uncle Jim. Each was a deeply felt loss, because each person brought something uniquely wonderful to life and was cherished in their own way. I stopped railing at God. It seemed like everywhere around me, death was winning the battle with life. It became expected, sad, but a part of the greater scheme of things in this life we are given.

Amidst all this loss, I dealt with perhaps the most difficult loss of all. It was my mother’s death that was the most profound in my life. We had shared a very rocky past. There was abuse resulting in hatred, and fortunately forgiveness which led to friendship. In our relationship, we grew as a result of new life, my twins. I could see my mother much more clearly through my eyes as a mother. She supported me through a period when I truly needed her. I learned that people never seek to harm, although it sometimes happens. It is often not their intention to destroy, although that is sometimes the result. I was blessed to have come to terms with our past before our future was cut short, again by the inevitability of death. My mother spent a year courageously battling lung cancer. She had a reason to live...her grandchildren and the love she found in them and for them. Enduring months of chemotherapy and radiation, a full surgery opening her stomach from chest to groin, Mom demonstrated almost super human courage and determination to life. She was fighting the good fight with this enemy death and was winning. When declared cancer free, we celebrated her return to her apartment and the life she had always led…independent and free. After all the battling she had gone through, death was not done with her and sent an ally to consume her and snuff out her bright light. Mom caught a cold just after Christmas. It turned quickly into pneumonia with her weakened lungs. She wanted no extraordinary measures to keep her alive, although if she could fight, she would. Given the fact that she was now a grandmother…a very coveted position…she agreed to have a ventilator to buy her some time in almost an overtime herculean attempt at a win. After seemingly good days, she experienced a bleed which signaled that death was in fact winning this battle too. I communicated the news to her from the doctors that she was not going to recover, that her time to fight was over, and that she needed to relax and welcome what was to be her journey on from this life. I was suffering the news, while Mom sat very calmly in acceptance of her fate. I bathed her. I caressed her hands and feet with lotion. I cried into her arm and I sat next to her holding her hand. It was a snowy Thursday night in January. The storm was going to grant us a snow day off school. I said, “I’ll come down tomorrow and be with you, Mom.”

She vehemently shook her head. Indicating the tablet and pen, she wrote that I needed to remain with my babies. They needed me. She was fine. Call if I needed to and do not worry. I left the hospital that night numb, helpless, so incredibly sad, and with knowledge in my heart that it was to be the last time I saw my mother alive. The next day, we did in fact not have school. I debated going to her, but knew that her words were wise. I left her the night before sitting up in her bed, knees bent…feet close to her bottom, with elbows on her knees looking like she was at the beach waiting to watch the waves roll in. I thought how peaceful she is...just waiting, knowing, and really ok with what was going to happen to her. With one last smile, I left my courageous Mother to engage in her last battle with death, with both of us knowing that this time, death would win.

As I reflect on the death of my colleague, I am touched by her courageous fight. Like my mother, she fought the good fight. She was determined to beat this enemy. In losses such as these, we all seek to find a positive. In my friend’s death and in my mother’s too, they both lived until they died…never giving in or giving up. I learn all the time that death is only sad for those of us left behind. It is understandable that we will miss those people we love. It is OUR grief. Death is the ultimate in terms of inevitable. The lesson I’ve come to learn that it is not about how we die, but how we choose to live that is important. These lessons are all around us. Do we give in to the negatives in our life, or do we seek to understand and forgive. Do we fold under pressure, or fortify ourselves with the love of friends and family so that we have the courage to fight our battles through this life.

Today, I experience sadness, but I know it is for me. I will miss my friend…and her bright light in all our lives. I grieve for her family, who has suffered so many losses of late. At the same time, I am learning about courage, determination, and fortitude. I am blessed to be able to have had my background of loss which allows me the numbness to stand back far enough to be able to see the beauty left behind after someone you love leaves you. Perhaps this is only my understanding, but I’m grateful for it. I thank God for the time I shared with each person I’ve lost. They were all special and unique and left deep impressions on my heart, a phrase I borrow from a dear friend of mine who knows this battle and who has fought with courage and a bit of luck. We never know what God’s plan is for us, but we must embrace what we do with this gift of life he gave each of us.

Debbie 1-13-10

i am popcorn

encapsulated in the warmth of your beginnings

promise of nurture and love


dawning of life, stark reality


a replacement for what was lost


there will be no legitimacy for you


         keeping secrets not your own


        lying to protect the guilty


        wanting and wishing and praying for more


        left with nothing and no answers


        there will be no security for you


                normalcy something experienced in media


                in large blended families and in song


                watching the lives of others with longing


                yet trapped in the life of your own


                there will be no family for you
 

                        a gift of thinking, one to exploit


                       used to plan and fulfill an escape


                        no resources to pursue the ultimate dream


                        resolved to settle for the expected


                        there will be no dreams for you
 

                                 with no understanding of unity


                                 no sense of feeling safe and secure


                                 reaching out to fill the hole in your soul


                                 used, abused, exploited, discarded


                                 there will be no honor for you


                                        hiding from a return to your past


                                        marriage full of hope, promises, fear


                                        aware too late the error of judgment


                                        ensnared in a life not willingly chosen


                                        there will be no fairy tale for you


                                               honesty shared becomes a barb


                                               meant to gore you through and through


                                               your heart’s blood spilled, wasted


                                               on a failed dream and promise


                                               there will be no romance for you


                                                          resentment turned against you


                                                          your soul under constant attack


                                                          verbal assaults meant to destroy you


                                                          in an attempt to control and manipulate


                                                          there will be no love for you


                                                                  in a life such as this


                                                                  where human needs for survival denied


                                                                  how does a spirit survive unscathed?


                                                                  how can hope and love still burn from within?


                                                                  there will be no peace for you 

 

 

 there will be none of these for you

 your life is forged in this fire

growth and expansion from this fire is

God’s gift bringing an understanding

There will be release for your spirit in the fire of God’s love.

I am popcorn.

Debbie 2010

What are YOU afraid of?

     There are many kinds of horror that one could fear, but one that bothers me is the thought of being trapped in a tight space.


     I was talking to a friend who routinely goes caving. Underground caverns, waterfalls, and rock formations fascinate me. Stories I have read about underground worlds have captured my imagination. My friend described repelling down five different waterfalls, deep within the Earth, inside a ‘room’ almost too large to imagine. Beautiful formations and spaces to explore all intrigue my sense of wonder and adventure, but I will never see this place, nor will I experience its grandeur.

     You see, to access this cave, one needs to belly crawl for over one hundred yards through a very dark and narrow vent to gain entrance. I can barely entertain the thought of getting on my stomach to crawl into a space too tight for my body to fit through easily.

     If any part of me would touch the top or side of this entryway, I can sense the fear that would well up inside me, swelling my body, making me a human cork. Utter panic would rule my mind and body. I imagine myself dying in that vent before help could arrive.

     Drowning, burning to death in a fire, dying of a lengthy, painful illness might be inevitable ends impervious to one’s ability to avoid, but stuffing myself through a one hundred yard tube is a fate I’ll be sure to avoid.



Debbie 2009

Love Waits

Beyond tomorrow true love waits

Lost in space and circumstance

Hearts ajar and souls afire

Hard to wait even if just awhile

Bonds created by feelings shared

Love has grown beyond compare





Debbie

Supernatural Sally

     Some people seem to have an uncanny ability to touch a world beyond our own. Sally is just that kind of girl. From childhood, she communicated with wild animals. Rabbits would come and eat from her lap. Squirrels and birds would come when she called. She often talked about imaginary friends with names of long lost relatives that she would talk with for hours. Sally was always unique and frequently described as an ‘old soul’.


      On her 16th birthday, her friends joined her for a party at her home. Her birthday fell on a year shortly after the very frightening Exorcist movie was shown and all young people seemed fascinated by the Ouija Board. Many of her friends tried the board out while the party went on. Finally, it was Sally’s turn. She sat knee to knee with a friend who shared similar energy with Sally. Immediately upon touching the shuttle, it began to float, almost dance, across the board. Clearly, the board that worked for no one up until now turned on.

     There was a sense of lightness and joy as the shuttle danced over the board revealing answers to all the partygoers’ questions. Then, unexpectedly, a changed occurred in the room. The lights dimmed and the shuttle, which had been dancing, suddenly began dragging over the board. Sally, so serene and secure, now appeared fearful. She asked if they were talking to a good spirit, to which the shuttle responded with a resounding, “NO!” Many questions were answered with violent responses predicting doom to the asker. Sally and her friend, both fearful now, wanted this game to end. Sally lifted her fingers from the shuttle, but it kept moving toward her friend. It was visibly being pushed down on Sally’s side. Her friend shouted at Sally to return to the shuttle. She did not want to end up like Reagan from the Exorcist, possessed by evil and spitting in the face of their family priest. The girls asked repeatedly for the presence to leave to which it repeatedly replied, “NO! NO! NO!” The shuttle was digging into the cover of the new board making scratch marks even though the girls were barely in contact with it. When they began to pray the Lord’s Prayer, the shuttle and its possessor seemed to go crazy. Wild jerky motions cast the girls’ arms back and forth over the board. Repeating the prayer over and over seemed to infuriate the guest fueling his anger, but it was not enough to end this nightmare.

     Sally seemed to know that greater action needed to be taken. She asked everyone in the room to stand together and repeat the Apostle’s Creed…”I believe in God the father almighty, creator of heaven and Earth…”

     She shouted over their prayers, “In the name of God, our father, leave now!!!”

     The shuttle, made of mere plastic, shot out from under the girls’ fingers. Propelled fifteen feet across the room and the shuttle embedded in the plaster wall. One of the most remarkable facts about where that shuttle was stuck was it was higher on the wall than the location it left from. All objects loose altitude because gravity pulls them back to Earth. Not only was this shuttle not driven by human force, but also it actually flew higher with enough force to put plastic into plaster.

     Sally knew from that moment on, that to touch this board again would be a foolish and very dangerous thing to do. Although her friends will always remember that party, none will discuss it.

     Sally is older now and looks back on that experience with wonder and a healthy fear. She understands there are many things that happen in life with no real explanation. She smiles as she drives under traffic lights and several go out as she passes by.

Debbie 2008

Forever One

     Some relationships are forged through shared life experiences, but others are begun at one’s beginning. This was true of my mother and her sister Amelia’s bond. They were the last born of seven children during the hard times of the depression. They were born thirteen months apart and shared everything from their clothes to their bed. Amelia was known as “Millie” and my mother was always called “Fattie.” I believe she was given this moniker due to the chubby little body she had as a baby. The name simply stuck.


     Throughout their lives they certainly had their ups and downs as most relationships do, but there was a prevailing bond that was unquestioned by both.

     As they grew older, they spent time shopping, going to bingo, and visiting friends and family as a team. They were hardly ever apart and often spent their time alone chatting on the phone with each other.

     My mother, Fattie, began to experience serious health issues in her mid-60s. Millie was always there for her even though her rheumatory arthritis nearly left her disabled. Mom developed lung cancer in January of 1997. She had to undergo six devastating rounds of chemotherapy and then over thirty radiation treatments. Aunt Millie spent time with her in the hospital and at my home where Mom was staying. They shared memories and laughed even though each was suffering her own health concerns.

     When my mother was told she was cancer free, it was almost Christmas of 1997. Mom was able to return to her apartment and she and Millie were back on the road to adventure again.

     They had a great deal of fun shopping that year. My twins, my mother’s only grandchildren, were three years old and she wanted to make sure they had a great Christmas. Around the holiday, Mom developed a cold. She rested and took good care of herself, but the cold fought back. She began to experience serious breathing complications. In Mid-January, she finally agreed that she needed to go to the hospital where she was admitted. Her lungs, although cancer free, were weakened from the year of treatment. Her cold had morphed into pneumonia. She fought for nearly nine days, but lost her battle and passed away on January 23, 1998. My aunt was there for me throughout the days that followed and supported me while I completed the necessary duties of an oldest child. She, too, looked very weak and fragile and I wondered about her health.

     My cousin shared with me that Aunt Millie was sick too, but didn’t want to pursue treatment. After mom’s death, Millie spent her days sitting in a chair at her daughter’s home. Her stamina got weaker by the day.

     Time passes quickly in the hustle-bustle of things that need to get done. I managed a few visits to my aunt, but it was very painful to see someone else you love dying so close on the heels of my own mother’s death.

     Two months after Mom passed away, I had a very vivid dream where Mom came to me while I was driving. I had just passed Waste Management on Pen Argyl Road in the 1962 Ford Falcon which was our family car as I grew up. I recognized this as strange even in my dream since it had been years since I’d driven that car. Suddenly, I became aware of Mom’s presence next to me. She wasn’t in her physical body, but more a ball of energy that spoke with her voice as it bounced around the car. This energy sat next to me, in my lap, and even on the dash as she joked and chatted. I finally asked, “Mom, what’s going on?”

     She replied, “You have to take me to Millie. If she sees me when we walk in, I’ll know she’s ready to go with me.” Her purpose seemed clear, but I doubted this whole experience. She smiled through the energy and said, “Just get me there and we’ll see.”

     The drive seemed short after that with my next dream thought being the approach to my cousin’s front door. I knocked and entered, spoke to my cousin briefly before approaching my aunt. My mom’s energy was bouncing around me waiting for something. When I got to my aunt, I reached out and touched her gently on the leg. Her eyes slowly opened and fixed on the spot where my mom’s energy was. She said very faintly, “Fattie, what are you doing here?” as she smiled in my Mom’s direction.

   Mom seemed to speak to her, but I couldn’t hear what she said. The dream ended when Mom turned her attention my way, smiled, winked and said, “See, she’s ready.”

    I awoke feeling somewhat strangely. It was a wonderful feeling having my mom near me again, but the dream was also unnerving. What did it mean? Was I just wishing for her to be back with me while at the same time expressing my worry for Aunt Millie?

     Later that very same day, I got a phone call from my cousin. She told me that in the early part of the day, Aunt Millie passed away. She said she died peacefully in her sleep, but she went on to say the strangest thing occurred just before she died. She opened her eyes and said, “Fattie, what are you doing here?” She then smiled and was gone.

     I was in a state of shock. She asked me if I though my mom could have come back for Millie? Was their bond that strong? All I could do was say that I definitely believed it and that someday I’d tell her how I knew for sure.


Debbie 2008   Ten years after Mom's death

A Poppy from Boppy

     A warm spring day is a gift to the soul. Gentle warm breezes float through the newly sprouted limey green leaves making a quiet hush audible to those silent enough to hear. Sitting under the old weathered pines in a newly cleared ivy bed, I hear the squawking of those birds who feel I’m far too near their hard-worked for homes. My intention is not to disturb but to simply become one with their place. What must it be like to hear the silent movement of the moon as it passes across their bedroom window? I can imagine them feeling the air move over and around them as they snuggle down to remain warm. To be a part of the total darkness of the night is an experience of many of the animals, but not always the human. As I ponder the environment I’m seeking to adjust with my new plantings and winter plans, I hear off in the distance the not so pleasant sounds of my own children as they are fighting over the ownership of the hose.


     The first watering of the season is a time of great delight but utter dismay to the one who gets to use it second. My son has control and is not only spraying the flowers, but the trees, the ground, and the fence. After repeated warnings, ownership of the sought after tool is passed to his sister, leaving him wailing into the late afternoon setting sun. When his machinations produce no reward, he begins a search for new adventure. He finds the leaf blower, starts it and begins to blow anything that can be moved by it. It is loud and profoundly breaks the peaceful moment I had been having contemplating my own piece of the earth. Being addressed about his behavior by the entire family, further frustrated his attempts at some very boy-like fun. The leaf blower being off-limits meant that he was off again searching for something new to get involved with.


     This behavior has always been an abiding part of who my son is. From his birth, he was strong of will, mind and body. The moment of his birth he was able to raise his head and look around to begin the process of exploring his world. His little head would ‘bop’ about; hence the nickname Boppy became my pet name for him. He has always felt his world was an enormous opportunity for experimentation. This day was no different. The world of his yard was an ever-present laboratory. Another thing I have always counted on has been my son’s absolute kindness and consideration. He is thoughtful and sensitive. From the time he was a very little boy, he always would bring me flowers. They may have been weeds or long grass or perhaps some cherished blossom of a neighbor, but it was his desire to please and do something nice for me that has so touched my heart.


     After the turmoil of the hose and leaf blower, we had all had enough of his experiments for one day. My ability to feel so short-tempered in such serene surroundings amazed me. I turned to continue my restructuring of the gardens when I saw from the corner of my eye, a flash in the other bed near me. It was Boppy, of course in fast pursuit of some new excitement. The weeds were fighting back with vigor as I attempted to remove them from their cozy spot in the ivy. I heard a pained scream and looked to see my son holding his leg. He was wailing to the heavens, which is also his style! I shouted over to him,” Stop the dramatics and come here,” only to hear him crying more loudly. Dad came to his rescue to find that he actually was hurt. He had been running through dense growth and had fallen on a very sharp tree stump. His shin was torn almost to the bone. I can’t imagine feeling worse than I did for doubting his anguish; however, I learned it was possible to be taken even lower. In his hand was a freshly opened, bright orange poppy that was growing in the flowerbed he was trailblazing. He had gone to pick the flower for me. I felt about as horrible as a parent can feel. I asked him if I could help him to fix it up and he replied, “If you want too.” Of course, a mother always wants to be needed, to nurture, and to love. I took him in and sat him on the counter so I could clean him up and bandage his wound. Being the boy he is, he was very dramatic as I repaired him. He wanted a big bandage over his Band-Aids to protect him from further harm and wondered if we had enough of the wrap that he could be bandaged for school the next day as well. Once he was fixed up, he wanted to rest inside for a bit but watched as I lovingly found a container for my flower, such a precious gift from a loving son. I returned to my weeding as he rested, reflecting on the message I was just taught. He came outside eventually and came to me asking if he could cuddle with me on the couch after we had dinner. At that moment, I was so full of the love I felt for my son.


     Later as we snuggled on the couch, I thought how very much like those squawking birds I truly was. We were in our home, cuddling to keep warm, and content to just be together. I guess protecting something like that is really something to squawk about. I know as I experience more of my life as a parent, I’ll remember this day as one significant for so many reasons.














This story was written when my son was about 6. As a 15 year old, he still makes sure I get the first and last rose blooming on the fence each summer. Some of the beauty inside a person shines through them for their entire life. I am very proud of the young man he is becoming…still strong, noisy, active, exasperating, and oh so loving.

Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun

Two, Two, Two Births In One



My daughter just cut her bangs off, completely off. My son can’t write his letters, but is fully capable of dismantling the bathroom sink. It’s moments like these that it’s good to remember . .



To have children or not was never a question in my mind. The timing just never seemed right. We were either moving, changing jobs, going back to school, or just believed that there would always be time. At thirty-five, it seemed to me that we better start trying soon, or it may be too late. Of course, nothing is that easy. My body, apparently functional in every way, just didn’t produce eggs. Since eggs are a necessary component of the conception process, we had trouble.


At first, our doctor, a very fine reproductive expert, felt that we should try six months of a chemical protocol. Having done some reading on the subject, I wanted reassurance that my plumbing was up and flowing smoothly. I certainly didn’t want an abundance of eggs with nowhere to go. After poking and prodding and a surgical opening in my belly button, we were told the pathway was clear.


Onto the chemical protocol we proceeded. I had heard horror stories about being involved in this procedure for months without even a nibble. Even the most secure fisherman wouldn’t like the odds. At this time, I began to feel like a machine. Dump in enough high performance additives and I’d certainly improve my output. I figured any output was definitely an improvement. Our first month without success led to stepping up the volume and delivery system of the additives. After viewing a how-to video on administering injections, we were sent home with a bag of needles and a prescription for what appeared to be liquid plastic. I felt quite nervous about this procedure since any air in the vial could lead to dire consequences. This really was the perfect opportunity for my husband to do me in. With dedication, and I’m sure a big smile on his face, he injected me twice a day. With great finesse, my husband was so skilled with the needle, he could have an after-work drink, watch TV, talk to a friend on the phone, and strategically locate a site on my bottom that had not been abused yet that day. At this time, I learned that harvesting was not an exclusive term reserved for farmers. We were now in the harvesting stage of the conception process, watching diligently as a nice crop of follicles developed. More chemicals were needed to complete this phase. Thankfully for my bottom, it came in pill form. The next day was the most beloved of all days for teachers, a snow day. A free day at home to do all the relaxing one could wish for in the long January stretch. That day brought to mind Francis Scott Key’s words,”bombs bursting in air”, except the bombs were bursting in my belly. I phoned my doctor saying I had severe pain in my abdomen. He announced,”The time is right. Have fun.” I couldn’t walk upright like other members of my species, and I was supposed to ‘have fun.’ Dutifully, on a lunch break from work, my children were conceived. Of course, we didn’t know it then, so the wait began.


Two weeks later brought us the news from the blood test. I phoned the doctor’s office from school. When the nurse confirmed the fact that we had been successful and had managed to get pregnant, I excitedly hung up the phone to call my husband. His first question was, “How many?” That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but it certainly took residence there quickly. Is there one or are there eight? Will I proceed with a private birth or will I be appearing on ABC’s 20/20? I attempted to put these thoughts in some safe corner of my mind strutting around as proud as could be of the great feat we had accomplished. After a few weeks more, we went for the ultrasound that would reveal how many new members of our family were residing inside me. To our utter delight, we were told that we were going to be the parents of two very finely developing embryos.


The weeks passed slowly. I made sure to let nothing pass my lips that the food and drug administration wouldn’t unanimously approve of. Even carrying twins, I lost weight. That too was a major event in my life. There’s probably a lesson to be learned from this eating regimen.


At the midway point in the pregnancy, twenty weeks, we had a marvelous surprise. During yet another ultrasound, of which there were at least thirty, we saw our children for the first time. What excitement filled the air as the technician lubed my ever-growing belly with a solution of what appeared to be liquid Vaseline. Since we wanted to know the sex of our unborn, we waited anxiously for the announcement of gender. She asked casually, “Oh, do you really want to Know?”


“Of course!” came our duet in reply.


“Then take a look at your little boy.” Moments like this are difficult to express with clarity, because words do no justice to the feelings you have in your heart. Over my belly and through the goo to my other baby she went. I asked what the half moon shape was that appeared on the screen. She explained that what we were seeing was our daughter’s developing tooth buds. It was as if my sweet daughter was smiling at me from somewhere deep inside. We left that building, but I’m sure our feet weren’t on the ground. That day, we knew our life was taking a wonderful turn. We had beautiful, well-developing children. We just needed to find enough patience to wait until we could meet them face-to-face.


Labor Day approached, but it was not my Labor Day. All my friends that have gone through a childbirth experience expressed what a remarkable job I had done with controlling how much weight I had gained. I never heard this kind of praise, not once, in my whole life. I too was pleased that at thirty-four weeks of pregnancy with twins, I had only gained eighteen pounds. That was about to change as we quickly approached the home stretch. During my last three weeks, I had an almost inhuman growth spurt. Even experienced ob/gyn nurses came to visit my room during exams to take a peek at the colossal appendage I toted with me to all my appointments.


The end of September was looming, as was the kindergarten cutoff date. Thankfully, at my visit on the twenty-ninth, the doctor said I needed to have my labor induced. I was admitted and early the next morning, I was introduced to Pitocin. This drug is the chemical equivalent of a high powered vice grip. I remained calm, practiced my rhythmic breathing, and listened to the solo being sung by the poor girl next door. She was having a very different experience than me. Noon came, and with it, and internal eruption. My water had broken with such force, that my mother and aunt leapt from their chairs. I announced that I was leaving, to which the nurse responded, you’re committed now, you’re going nowhere!


The afternoon passed with out much event. Calm, still breathing, I waited for a nurse to tell me my time had come. After the change of shifts, my husband not-so-gently encouraged someone to check me. The moment had arrived to meet my babies. There is a very tangible moment when there is no other option but to PUSH. Some sweet nurse says very delicately, “Sorry dear, not yet.” Don’t they realize your body is turning itself inside out !!


After a frantic ride to the delivery room, all calm abandoned at the door of my room, I decided I might want some pain relief. “Too late!” was their cry. They finally did offer me a spinal block, which I willingly accepted. At least six needle sticks in my spine later, I was numb from the waist down. ‘Push’ they shriekd. I pushed even though could feel nothing, and my son very abruptly entered the world. Placed of my chest, the only words I could find were a reverent, “Oh, my God!” He was quickly whisked away to allow room for two very large people to apply pressure to my belly. My daughter having been cramped for space, decided to revel in all the new room she had.


“She’s stuck! I can’t reach her!!”, I heard my doctor shout. All the fears I so skillfully kept at bay entered my head with tornado like speed, spinning and tearing at the joy of the moment. My husband, witness to the whole event, said the doctor really, really tried to reach her. Later description of the ringside seat left me wondering how one ever recovers from such and event.


“Put her out!” Clearly an emergency was transpiring and they dared try to put me asleep. Needless to say, I resisted. They were successful; however, as they are experts at administering drugs.


Upon waking, my first question was what Apgar my baby girl achieved. The neonatologist asked my profession. She was understanding of the fears all Special Education teachers must have during a pregnancy and she assured me, that although her delivery was less that ideal, my daughter would be just fine. I was given a picture of a tiny, very beautiful baby in an incubator. I would get to see her the next day, because frankly, neither of us was in much shape for a visit at that point.


Since our children’s birth, we have had the usual moments of bonding, of insecurity, and of wondering just what we had done. There have been times of utter panic, and outrageous laughter. Our children have been a gift from God. They have defined us, inspired us, and pushed us to examine what is good and right with the world. As for me, these children are the world.


This entry was written the summer before my children began kindergarten.  They are now healthy, active 15 year old high school sophomores.  How blessed I've been to know these two wonderful human beings and to have to job of nurturing them into their adulthood.  Time has passed so quickly.  To those of you who read this, appreciate ALL the moments of your life because they are so fleeting.