Making It Meaningful

After losing Liza, one of the things I struggled with was the feeling that all the meaning had drained out of my life. This is a common feeling for parents who have lost a child, or so they tell me. But during the first year or so, I really struggled on many days to think of a good reason to keep going.

My stomach hurts a little bit just writing this, because I remember the intensity of the void that was left when she was gone. I physically felt the grief in my core as I groped blindly for a way to move ahead. Sometimes this feeling comes back even now, almost two years after her death, but it is less painful now. Time and working through the grief process does ease the sharp edges after a while.

Where was I going with this? Ahh yes... the struggle to find meaning. The experience with Liza taught both Luke and me to look very, very hard for meaning, at a time when meaning was less than a faint glimmer on the horizon. It taught us that we can carve meaning out of the darkness. We can create meaning in our lives, and when we do, it builds layers of richness and memories into this journey.

For me, meaning comes from the small things, many intentional acts that begin to weave a beautiful tapestry. Meaning for me comes from baking things from scratch, using recipes and techniques that have stood the test of time. Meaning comes from doing things to make holidays extra special. Every day we have is so fleeting, the time passes too quickly. I believe in living every day, every moment, to the fullest. My experience with Liza taught me this, as we tried to savor every second that she was breathing and alive.

It is my hope going into this holiday season that I will be able to weave more meaning into the path of my life, and that I will be able to savor the special moments that occur every day along the way. Now it's your turn: What adds meaning to your life? 

Two

Today, Liza Jane would have turned two years old. I woke up this morning almost exactly at the time she was born. We've had a weekend full of remembering her, crying for her, wishing we could will her back to this earth.

I'm so thankful to family members who spent time having a birthday rememberance with us on Friday night. Among other things, we made sweet heart-shaped ornaments in memory of her. My sister made a birthday cake. My almost-3-year-old niece offered to blow out the candles for Liza since she was in heaven and couldn't come to her party.

The whole night, I felt like I was seeing a shadow of a tiny two year old in the room. Since she had Down syndrome, she may or may not have been walking by this time. The low muscle tone that comes with the condition means everything takes a little bit longer. I would have been okay with her not walking yet. I love the soft, cuddly baby stage.

It's been a hard few days leading up to this. Today I think I'm just glad it's almost over. Anyone who has lost a child knows you spend a lot of time dreading the special milestones.

And now, I'm drained and ready to think about something else. So I'm signing off and saying happy birthday, dear Liza, happy birthday to you. I still love you, baby girl. And I'm glad that you are not struggling anymore.

Time to slow down... and give thanks.

Winter is the time of year to slow down. I'm more acutely aware of this as we were without power for almost a week due to the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Without electric lighting, our house was much darker than usual, and it reminded me that we are built to take a break during the winter months. We take more time to rest and stay warm. Summer is full of busy activities, but winter is the time to step back, take inventory, and assess where our lives are going.

Thanksgiving will be a different holiday for so many this year. In the mid-Atlantic states, we are mindful of the simple blessings of modern life. Running water, a warm house, access to roads, food preserved in our refrigerators... all of these will be on my list. And more importantly, I'm thankful that friends and family have weathered the storm without injury, and that we are starting to get back into our routines.

This is a perfect parallel for all the thoughts that fill my mind this time of year. Just a week from today is the anniversary of my daughter's birth. I remember how thankful I was that she (and her fragile heart) survived the labor and delivery process. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I held her in my arms for the first time. I thought -- no, I knew -- that she would be okay in those first few moments, that she would survive the difficult path of surgery and hospitilization. Those memories of unquenchable hope still haunt me today, as that hope proceeded to be shattered repeatedly by bad news, and my heart still has not recovered from the damage.

But I am thankful for her still. Thankful that she taught me how we have live each day to the fullest, as we never know which one will be our last. Thankful that she taught me to appreciate my loved ones, for they will not be with us forever.

She taught me to refuse to take the little things for granted. This time of year is the perfect for that - a time to reflect, to remember, to be mindful and be present. That's my aspiration for the holidays this year. I want to take this time to slow down and truly give thanks.