Birth Stories

What is your earliest memory? Mine is not my birth, but I have a sense of what it was like from the family stories I have heard.  It seems important to have a sense of the surroundings, who was present, what the weather was like, the phase of the moon, current events. In other words, what the world was like when we arrived.

I was fortunate to be present at Fern's birth--my first grand-daughter; which was also my birthday. My son-in-law coached my  daughter for several hours.  Fern was not in the ideal position for delivery--face-up, which causes painful back labor.  When she was born the doctor said  "A stargazer girl!...that's what we call these baby who arrive face up".

Fern is eight now.  For the past five years she has waited for me to write her a bedtime song.  Every time I tuck her in and sing "You Are My Sunshine", she reminds me that I always sang that one to her mother. She wants her own song now.

The ceiling above her bed is a starry night sky.   She is a StarGazer Girl.

What is your birth story?  Has it shaped you? Informed you?  If you don't know what was happening in the world when you arrived, go on a search. Celebrate your arrival and the ways the world welcomed you.

Without You

I was alone on a cruise ship in a foreign country and found a leather-bound book of poems on a table.  In the lower corner of the soft red cover, I read the author’s name, in faint gold script.

The gilded pages felt fragile and sacred. Silently I touched the columns of short poems and noticed each poem contained the words "without you", in bold print.  My tears dropped onto the pages and the dark ink began to run and smear the words.  

“This poet has the same name as my sister. How can that be?”  I asked.

“She is well-known in this world” a voice answered.

I woke up crying; my empty hands clinging to the book of poems.  It had been a long time since I wept for my sister and it felt right to surrender to the sorrow and let my tears continue to flow.  I don’t think of her every day now, but when I hear Love Me Tender, catch a whiff of Channel No. 5, or when she visits me in a dream, I am reminded that she still lives  in my heart and in my life. 

I recorded the dream by candlelight and encouraged the pleasant feeling of being together again to linger.  Thanks for stopping by Kat I whispered. What does “without you” mean?  What am I supposed to do with that? Did you write poetry in this life that I didn’t know about?  Does time have any meaning where you are?  I continued to pose questions and wait for responses from somewhere in the darkness.  I struggled to visualize her before cancer:  clear, dark brown eyes; long, curly dark hair; devilish smile; perfectly manicured nails; flawless make-up.  The healthy image of her faded, replaced by the night she died, small and frail.

When she took her last breath twelve years ago, I struggled to breathe for the first time in my life without her in my world, as I held her lifeless hand. 

During the year of her illness, my multiple roles—researcher, caregiver, organizer, listener—swallowed me whole.  If I just worked harder, maybe the inevitable would go away.    After she died I attempted to resume other roles—daughter, sister, wife, mother-- and promptly discovered I felt vulnerable to lose every precious relationship in my world.  I wanted everyone I loved to be within my eyesight.

I was paralyzed by exhaustion, fear and anxiety; all normal reactions to loss. 

When I left Missouri and returned to my home in Michigan, the harsh winter added to my sadness.  I curled up beside the wood-burning stove and didn’t leave our farm house willingly until the earth began to warm again.  

Each spring Kathe, Kristy, Kelli and I watched for dandelions to surface, shining like miniature suns.  A fistful was usually the first bouquet of the season we picked for our mother.

When dandelions appeared in the spring after Kathe’s death, I sat on the grass in the backyard wrapped in an old wool blanket, and asked the sun warm my heart and soul.  I picked a bouquet of four flowers and spread them in front of me; the stems joined to create a pinwheel.  

My naturalist daughter taught me each part of the dandelion is edible and useful.  During its life cycle-- from seeds sprouting to seeds flying free— it is both a fetching spring flower and a gangly weed. Each stage is valuable in different ways; each stage is necessary.

When the expression of grief is rushed, emotional well-being and the journey back to wholeness is short-changed.  A three day funeral leave provides an opportunity to participate in death related rituals, but does not allow time to grieve.    Well-intentioned friends often encourage returning to usual activities immediately.

Klara, Kelli, Luci (mother), Kristy, Kathe
Thanksgiving 1999....one month before Kat's death

Unexpressed grief—even years after a loss--can become the force behind disabling depression. 

Healthy grieving takes time and patience.  Acceptance that it is essential and the willingness to abandon notions that it is a linear event helps.   

The raw, overwhelming ache of loss lasted only a few moments after the dream. Followed by peaceful memories and new insights.

I am always grateful when you when you return to remind of  the stages of life, death and grief.

Without you…I am whole, though forever changed by your life and your death.