The ambush!

At the moment I should be doing a 1000 word essay on inequality in society, instead I decided to fill in a survey that just popped into my inbox from the MISS Foundation (a foundation that provides support for grieving parents and families). 

It's a gorgeous summer morning here, with a slight breeze.  My neighborhood dogs are barking in the background as I'm typing.  Ten minutes ago I completed the survey with tears pouring down my face to the point where I couldn't read what I was typing.

At the beginning of the survey there was a warning that the following questions may bring back feelings of pain and sadness.  I had no idea answering a few questions would take me back in time and have such a profound effect on me.  However, I hope I've helped give this doctor an insight into what it's like to lose a child and how the pain is still present and still manages to simmer under the surface of someone grieving, yes, even after six years.

And yesterday I had another doctor call me and ask if I was interested in participating in her study for grieving parents.  I briefly told her a small version of my losses, as brief as you can be when trying to describe how my life fell apart over the last few years.......she listened with compassion which I appreciated. Unfortunately she said I wouldn't qualify for the study because they are looking for people taking anti depressants or are prepared to do a trial with placebo's and anti depressant medication.

You see I haven't had to rely on the help of med's or a counsellor...maybe I should have or maybe I'm not really coping as well as I think I am. :) The doctor was fascinated as to how I cope on a daily basis, what some of my survival techniques are. The most important one I told her was that I was fortunate to have an amazing mother who instilled inside me that I could do anything in this world I put my mind to....that I would survive my losses, especially Savannah's. I also told her I have friends who have probably saved my life by being there for me, even at times they don't know it. That hugged me and listened, truly listened without judgement or silly meaningless advice. And as I was talking I had an out of body experience, like I was talking about someone else.

She told me she found it interesting, that at a grief conference she just attended recently, most, not all, but most, people who had to take medication didn't have that same wonderful closeness with a mother or have the amazing support network of friends that I described. I found this interesting and sad that others haven't experienced what I have.


So I've been thinking about her opinion and I know some people HAVE to rely on prescribed medication and that's okay too. When you are sludging your way through the depths of despair you need any crutch you can find to help you. And I think if people aren't fortunate enough to have that support system they can seek it out in the way of counselling or support groups...to which there are many.

I did go to a counsellor once, when I couldn't decide whether to try for another IVF baby or not...what an experience that was! The woman sat opposite me swinging on her swivel chair and talking about her problems to me! I know not all counsellors are like the one I saw and I think if you find a connection with one who can help you it would be priceless.

So today I'm having a blue day, a pity party as I call it, I'm feeling exhausted and drained after crying so much!  My university assignment is sitting next to me, staring at me, needing to be attended to.  There's a sink full of dirty breakfast dishes, coco pops on our rug next to me and a washing machine full of wet clothes!  But today I think I'll seize the day!  I need a little bit of TLC, Savannah's birthday is next Wednesday and already the pain of what I know lies ahead is lurking over me like a black cloud. 

But I'm thinking, forget all the unimportant stuff, I'm going to go take a hot shower, put on some pink lipstick and something pretty and go pick up Dempsey and take her to the local open air mall where they have unique fountains that shoot water into the air.  I'm going to grab a latte, chill at the fountain and soak in the atmosphere with Dempsey and hopefully some other mom's who are naive to grief!  Superficial yes, but hopefully this will cure my case of the blues today and put some sunshine in my blue cup! :)

         Demps at the fountain's last summer!

A different Father's Day!

Today's post is in honor of those who will spend Fathers Day without their Dad and for the Mom's who don't have their husband's here on Sunday....who have to be both Mom and Dad!  x


Father's Day is this Sunday....in America!  In Australia, we celebrate it on the first Sunday in September.  However, because we live in the USA for ten months of the year we recognize the holidays here too.  So my husband Peter gets two Father's Day's!

A few days ago as I stood at the stove stirring a bubbling pot of bolognese sauce, I asked Peter if he would contribute his thoughts to my blog on what his Father's Day will be like this year without our daughter.  How he will feel and what its like for him.  His answer was typical of some males grieving.  "No, I don't want to Dee," he told me.  I then asked if I could pick his brain so I could write for him. :)  He tilted his head, smiled and changed the subject.

My Dad who I love so much is the same.  He never talks about the loss of his wife, daughter or grand daughter either.  He's old school and was taught at a young age that you don't talk about your emotions or death.  It seems even though my husband and father are generations apart their opinions on grief are the same.  Just bury it and deal with it.....it's like they have been conditioned from a young age that to show emotion or tears is a sign of weakness!  To me, men who can honor their loss and show vulnerability shows strength and helps with the healing process after the death of a loved one.

For a long time, months, I would get frustrated and angry at Peter that he wouldn't share his most intimate thoughts with me about the loss of Savannah. 

            Peter and Savannah taken on the beach at Surfers Paradise just after she got sick



On many special days like Savannah's birthday he wouldn't even acknowledge it, just kiss me goodbye on his way to work......as if it was like any other day, as I stood in the kitchen with tears pouring down my face, sobbing!  He seemed to be adjusting to life without Savannah fairly easily, leaving me feeling so alone and horribly isolated.  I wanted to witness his tears, to show some tangible evidence that he was feeling the same way as me.

I was afraid the widening gap, my obsession with how he didn't show any emotion over Savannah would swallow up our marriage....not realizing I was actually creating a gap that wouldn’t have existed, if I hadn’t been expecting him to be just like me, instead of accepting him as I knew him to be.

I have read that over seventy percent of marriages end after the loss of a child, scary statistics that made me reassess analyzing how Peter dealt in silence with the shared loss of our adored daughter.  I knew he loved her as much as I did and do. 

When Savannah was alive, every night when Peter got home, his face would light up when she would toddle, like a little doll into his arms.  Remembering those moments reminded me that just because NOW he wasn't crying and showing some sort of physical proof he was suffering the way I was, didn't mean his grief was any less....just that he had learned to hide it and ignore it...to deal with it differently.  But you can't ignore grief, if you don't acknowledge it and wrestle your way through it, it can come back in the form of anger and bitterness, and I see this happening occasionally with other men I know who have lost a loved one.

However, I've accepted Peter's way of coping, he will always be Savannah's Daddy and will always love her and miss her as much as me.  But that doesn't mean I'll stop trying to find opportunities to allow him to let me into his mindset and help him get through the hardest thing as a married couple we will ever have to face. 

So today I bought a lovely Father's Day card from Dempsey AND Savannah.  Dempsey will write inside it, probably something funny that will make Peter smile, and she'll sign her sisters name because she isn't here to do it.

                         One of my favorite photos of Peter and Dempsey


I know that Peter will be missing his other daughter on Sunday, even if he won't outwardly express it.  And, even though Savannah won't be with Peter physically on Father's Day, we'll make it extra special for him....he will always be a dad to TWO daughters, even though only one is here to spoil him.

Way's you can honor a loved one who has died.

(Note; today's post is for Sara.....I hope you can do something special in honor of your beautiful baby boy to ease your pain....even if its just a little. x)



Have you ever been on a roller coaster when all of a sudden you panic, you want to get off...but you can't....you feel scared, there's nothing you can do.....your body is engulfed in fear and it seems like YOU aren't in control anymore....that's what grief feels like to me!

One way that helped me control my grief was to find ways to honor those I've lost in a memorable way.  Doing this created some sense of purpose amongst the chaos that followed each of my losses.....that I was in control of at least something in my life. 

There are many ways you can remember a loved one, the following are just some I've done but may help give you some idea's to help bring you comfort and a feeling of purpose amid your suffering.

For Tarnia, my sister, I asked the funeral director to cut off four locks of her shiny brown hair....I tied each one in a blue satin ribbon for her children.  When they are older, they will have something physical of their mother....especially her twin girls, who never knew her.  I also cut Savannah's hair into a bob before they took her.  I have her golden curls carefully hidden away and don't have the courage to take it out and run my fingers through it....but I will one day....most importantly it's hers, and I'm glad I kept it.

We also planted a cherry blossom tree for Tarnia, one that would bloom around the time of her anniversary each year.

My favourite photo of Savannah taken two months before she died

For my adored Mom, I took her favorite lilac silk shirt and gave it to Dempsey as a security blanket.  Dempsey still has what remains of it today on her bedside table, its ragged and dirty but reminds me of Mom!  I wear her engagement ring with pride and her picture sits where I can see it everyday.....I am able to smile now when I look at it.

And for our angel Savannah, there are so many things I did, and do and will continue to as a legacy to her time here with us.  Because of her death, I'm an Ambassador to The Make A Wish Foundation and volunteer at The Let It Be Foundation....these are other things you can do.  But where to start with Savannah...I guess a few days after she died.......

Savannah's life...and death...had a profound effect on alot of our friends....one special family in particular honored her in such a unique way.  The day after she died a huge cardboard box was delivered to our door amongst all the floral bouquets.....inside were two golden frames from the International Star Registry.  Our friends named a star in Savannah's honour.....its impossible to describe in words the comfort that fills my heart when I look up in the heavens at night knowing there's a twinkling star named after our precious girl.

Savannah was cremated, I couldn't bear the thought of not having her in our home so as morbid as this may sound to some, she sits in a princess urn, on a special shelf Peter created in our family room, where I can pick her up and still hold her.......amongst Dempsey's toys and drawings and mess and noise and visitors that come into our home.

I searched everywhere for a special candle for her shelf, which is pink with rainbow glass.  I light it and it brings me peace as I feel her spirit is present......its almost buried now in angel figurines, cards and other special special gifts friends have kindly given me. 

However the thing that brings me the most comfort is my gold locket I wear everyday.  You see the locket to other people is just a piece of jewellery, but to me its healing and meaningful as it is a tiny urn that holds some of her ashes.  I feel that a part of her hangs over my heart always....she goes with Peter, Dempsey and me wherever we are.

                                                                  Savannah's shelf

As I mentioned in an earlier post, we planted a rose bush and other families I know have created glorious gardens where they can sit peacefully and contemplate.  A friend that lost her little girl had teddy bears sewn for her two daughters out of her angel's clothing....her remaining girls get so much comfort out of these.

There's quilts and cushions that can be made from clothing, special photo frames, scrapbooking, jewellery and plaster casts........all these wonderful treasures that can immortalize the person you miss so much.

And the final one I did for Savannah, that was so personal and hurt so much, one I also carry with me where nobody else can see it...its just for me in memory of our daughter...a tiny butterfly tattoo!

So I hope some of these things I've done can give you some ideas and bring you comfort and meaning as you travel on your journey and empower you to feel in control, somehow.  I know my collection isn't finished, and never will be........

Wishing you sunshine if your cup is blue today! :) x

Things that can help on your blue days!

Everyone has blue days.....the days when you feel like pulling the blankets over your head and not moving.  I call them my 'pity party' days.

If you are grieving or going through tough times, those days come on sometimes without warning, like a huge tidal wave that crash's down on you. 

Then there are the obvious ones....birthdays, anniversarys or just special ones that mean something to you.  Sometimes, I see a little girl that reminds me of Savannah, and thats enough to set me off!  Or like the day when I followed a lady around a store because she wore the same perfume as my MOM :)....crazy I know, but when hard days happen, sometimes its like you have no choice in being down. 

Anything can trigger a 'pity party' day......when mine happen I surround myself with my comfort collection.  I do whatever I need to to get through the day, sometimes taking things minute by minute if I have to....then I tell myself......"Tomorrow will be a better day!" Try and put a smile on my face and do what I need to do!


Above are my things, my survival kit on my blue days....what are yours?

Dempsey
My gold locket(whats inside is the special thing, which I'll talk about in another blog) on a chain, with my 'believe' charm and my dad's St Christopher medal
A phone call to a loved one
Chocolate
A crisp glass of wine
Loud Music that I can feel sad with
Peanut Butter....or any comfort food
Candles
Trashy magazines to escape reality :)
My pillow
And last and most importantly is one I couldn't photograph....but  that gives me the biggest comfort of all
LOVE!!

I hope you find some sunshine today to fill your blue cup if you need to!  :)

"Friends"

Dempsey with two of her best friends....my sister's twins Emerald and Charlotte.....Dempsey's cousins who adore her :)

You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. "Charlotte from Charlotte's Web"


So I'm sitting here with my laptop on my lap :)  I feel an overwhelming sense of being loved today! 

Friends, what does that word conjure up for you?  I looked it up in my online dictionary what the definition of a friend is...this is what they say:  a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.

What is a friend to you?  A friend to me is someone who is there for you 24/7, sometimes they just listen, or embrace you in a hug, make you laugh, or cry, and sometimes they offer advice, whether it be good or bad......and sometimes, they provide you with all you need to get through a day!

After Savannah died, I lost alot of 'friends', I think my grief and loss was too hard for some.  Before my daugther died, I was one of those girlfriends that you wanted to have around, when times were good and I would dance on an occasional table or be funny, ....but then the times set in when I needed a bit more than just laughter and light heartedness.....when I needed someone to ask three little words!  "How are you?"  Just a few words but so powerful and meaningful to someone who has lost their way.

My Dad has always said to me that you are very lucky if you can count your true friends on one hand!  I feel very lucky!  Now, today, I'm fortunate to have such very very special friends, who have become a lifeline, even when they don't know it.  They make me laugh out loud sometimes, and sometimes they fill me with such an overwhelming sense of grattitude at how lucky I am...it really is a physical feeling that causes a warm feeling in my soul.

Anyone going through a loss or challenge needs to surrounds themselves with true friends, energy givers I call them!  I've got rid of all my energy suckers, people that were in my life for the wrong reasons and who sucked the energy out of me....somedays when I had none.

So now I tell all those who help me survive, who put light in my life how important they are to me......maybe one day they'll need my ear to listen.  I'll feel so blessed to have been able to have helped them the way they have me!

On my blue days I know I have a handful of people that I can turn to who will make me feel better, make me feel loved and fill my blue cup with sunshine!  I hope you do to! :) x

PS; just as I hit the post button to publish this....a downy white feather floated down from the sky and landed a few feet away from me, my neighbor Renee who has just lost her cousin was with me...so we were fighting over who the feather was for :) ....they say feathers are a sign from a loved one in heaven(which I'll write about in another blog)....I can only imagine its one of my loved ones letting me know they are thinking of me :)

Savannah - Our angeL - Her Story

Savananh was born on a cold winter day in Sydney Australia, surrounded by love.  I don't think I've ever been happier than I was in that moment.  Here was this tiny bundle, a daughter, all I'd ever dreamed of, placed in my arms, a gift!  The night she was born I didn't want to go to sleep.  I just wanted to have her next to me and look at her!  June 30, 1999, everything was perfect in my world!

Fast forward to March 2002.

 

I was 14 weeks pregnant with our second child.  My husband Peter and I had moved from country Australia to the fast paced Los Angeles for Peter's work.  My days were filled with watching Savannah draw, devour books, swim and her favorite, collect pine cones in a little red wagon she would pull along behind her.  Somedays, I had to pinch myself at how lucky I was.  However, around this time my happy world was to be shattered....if I had've had a crystal ball back then I wouldn't have believed what was about to happen to my "perfect" little family.....my baby, my world..Savannah!

I had noticed Savannah's right eye appreared to have turned in towards her nose and her walking seemed to be getting a little on the wobbly side.  After visiting countless doctors, who assured us all she would need was a small operation to correct the turned eye, we met with one who was about to change everything!

The doctor at the L.A Childrens Hospital ordered an MRI immediately.  I wasn't concerned at all, it was just a precaution she told us.  I've had three phone calls in my life that have changed me, this one would change my life, my world, and everybody around me, forever.

 At four a.m. the morning after Savannah's MRI, I woke to the soothing sound of the shower running, reminding me that Peter would be leaving early, for work in Atlanta. With an hour or more for sleep, before he’d go, hard as I tried, my anxious mind wouldn’t let me back into my dreams. I couldn’t wait to call the doctor and get the MRI test results. At nine a.m., before I had the courage to call, the phone rang.

“The good news is there is no tumor in Savannah's brain,” Dr. Buffen said.


“Oh, Thank God!” I mumbled, slumping into the nearest chair.


“But,” she went on, “there are some changes in the white matter of Savannah’s brain.”


“What does that mean?” I asked, while shaking my head in adamant denial of whatever she would say.


“I’m not quite sure,” she continued, “but I don’t think there should be any changes. I’ll check with the radiologist and call you back.”

Not too alarmed yet, I really wanted my Mom at that point, so I called her in Australia, telling her the findings. Her always-positive attitude usually made me feel better straight away and sure enough, she pointed out that Savannah was an active little two year old, certainly not a sick one. Like me, she couldn’t imagine there was anything too seriously wrong and encouraged me to not worry and just wait for the doctor’s next call. At mid-afternoon, misplaced hope faded, when the call came in.....

Savannah was engrossed in the TV then, watching “Winnie the Pooh.” I was standing on a chair in the kitchen, scrubbing out the cupboards, trying to keep at least my body occupied, while I awaited the doctor’s next phone call. The telephone rang and I raced to answer it. Dr. Buffen had spoken with the radiologist. What she said next was devastating--worse than even my rampant imagination had come up with.

“This is very, very serious,” she said. “You and your husband need to come in to Los Angeles Children’s Hospital tomorrow, to discuss the findings of Savannah’s MRI.”


I could hear my heart thumping, as I asked her what they’d found. I could hardly breathe, barely got the words out.


“Savannah appears to have some form of leukodystrophy, a genetic condition which affects the white matter of her brain.”


I wrote the word down. Such a foreign and ugly word to have anything to do with our beautiful, precious child! I could hardly pronounce it, let alone spell it. I had the doctor spell it out for me, so I could look it up and not mistake it for anything else. Her next sentence was the worst blow of all.


“In most cases the condition is fatal.”

There was that awful word--“fatal”! I could not comprehend that one. Mind and body were reeling, could not cope with the implications of that word. I kept repeating over and over, that there must have been a mistake. Some mix-up of her test results. By then, I was too afraid to breathe, to think, or speak another word. Anything I said would have to only make things worse, I thought, so better to keep quiet and let the doctor apologize for their mistake. Which of course, it wasn’t.

After I’d said goodbye, my hands were shaking so hard, I almost couldn’t type the ugly “l” word into the computer’s search engine. And, as bad as I already thought things were, I was totally unprepared for what I was about to learn. When I saw what came up, my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. What I couldn’t avoid reading was that there are at least thirty-seven forms of leukodystrophy. With each line I read, more tears poured out, threatening to drown the keyboard. Savannah was right by my side, still in her flannel jammies, and I stared at her, shaking my head in stubborn disbelief. How could this be happening to our beautiful little girl? It had to be wrong! There had to have been a mistake.

The first form I read about was called MLD--metachromatic leukodystrophy. The entry described how patients would lose all of their physical abilities, one by one, becoming bedridden, unable to speak and eat, with blindness following. Seizures and paralysis would then occur, with death the certain outcome, within three to five years after onset. It was too shocking for me to grasp, but one symptom described was an unsteady gait, which I swear made my heart stop. I didn’t want to believe I’d read that, but deep down I knew that article was describing my little girl and what she’d been doomed to, by some disgustingly unfair fate. At that moment, I knew the doctor was going to be right. I had to call Peter.

My fingers barely working, I tried to phone Peter who was in Atlanta, a half-day’s flight away. Once I heard his voice, my sobbing was unstoppable. I’m sure I was totally incoherent, trying to repeat what the doctor had told me. Peter was speechless. Like me, he was not prepared for such unbearable news.

“We’ll see Dee, maybe it’s a mistake,” he said, trying to believe that.

And so began our journey of hope........................