Grieving

As many of you know, last week we found out that our little baby didn't have a heart beat. Because I was already almost 5 months, I had to deliver the tiny body - only confirming my belief that life starts at conception. Holding this fully formed little being, I had to face the extent of our loss - a little boy, who Bobby says resembled me.

When I first learned that the baby had died, I wanted to run away. I wanted to magically return to the time last summer before I got pregnant - and pretend like this whole sad time hadn't occurred. The D and E procedure that the hospital offered almost made this seem possible.

But I have to tell you (and really my willingness to experience the birth so fully came from my dear friends Matushka Jenny and Matushka Stephanie) that delivering that precious boy brought me joy. Oh don't get me wrong - it brought me sadness, too. And certainly the medical crap that followed was far from enjoyable. But I truly realized in that moment that the veil between life here and eternal life is thin.

Thank you all for your many emails, facebook comments, flowers, meals, calls and tears. Thank you for keeping my children, keeping friends updated when I couldn't, for calling funeral homes, for flying in, for sending comfy sweats and cozy socks, for physically constructing a coffin (wow, Fr. John!!!). Thank you for experiencing this with us - for validating our grief and participating in our little one's departure from this life to the next. The Church is real and Christ is risen. I love you all, Paige

The Flu

Well, we've reached day 10 of this ridiculous flu. Not trying to be overly optimistic, but I believe we've turned a corner! Fevers are normal, coughs are decreasing, and the girls are actually starting to play around (ie move off the sofa)!

Community

"What are you doing today?"

"Oh, I'm just going to pick up Mom - we're meeting Nancy (a precious relative) for lunch. Then tonight I guess we'll just rent a movie or something."

"Hmm...you and Grant?"

"No, I'm going to stay at Mom and Dad's. Bethany and Erin are coming over."

"Hmmm."

This is an example of a typical phone conversation between me and one of my sisters. I live far away - in Chesterton, Indiana, they all live in Austin, Tx. They see each other - not every day - but regularly - and certainly more than I am able to see them. It seems they're always doing wonderfully fun things together - shopping, lunch out, wine and dinner with Mom and Dad. But it's not the activities I miss (although they do sound dreamy) it's them. It's the feeling of belonging that is so wonderful and intoxicating. Growing up in a family of 6 kids meant that you were rarely alone. Frustrating at times, but incredibly comforting. It was one thing to be away when we were all teenagers and young adults - struggling to find our paths - but now that we are putting down roots and having kids, it's painful.

This week, on The Orthdox Moviegoer, Bobby talks about community He discusses the film, Into the Wild, and beautifully describes the importance of other people to our lives and our faith. He talks lovingly of our own parish and how much he cares for the people in it. I got teary listening to him.

This weekend, I attended the second annual girls getaway with my dearest friends - most of whom live just a couple hours away. See Molly's blog for beautiful pictures and a more thorough description. It was wonderful and considering those dear friends combined with the community we have in Chesterton has left me feeling richly blessed. I mean, I can walk to Molly's, to my priest's, to our church, to my friend, Kris's, drive 2 minutes to my in-laws, and have my precious brother around - I'm really lucky. And while my heart will always ache to be a part from my sisters and parents, I am so grateful for those around me and my little family. Bobby's right, we need people.

Here are some pictures of us having fun with our friends:

Birthday Girl

Someone in my house loves birthdays almost as much as her Daddy! Jane giggled and sparkled all day on Saturday, September 26th. And who could blame her? It's big stuff, turning 3 - punctuated by many, many cinderella type presents. We now own enough polly pockets to start our own ebay store - but I'm finding it practical to have spares (especially with our dog, Lola sneaking tiny shoes and dresses for snacks).

We started off the day with Fruitloops, headed to the county line apple orchard and ended the day with pizza at Nuni and Pappy's. My mom sent her a special birthday tutu - to celebrate in style - and we let her open presents all day long. What more could a 3 year old ask for? Apparently nothing, as jane declared more than once that this was, "her best birthday ever!"

p.s. molly took this amazing photo!

Bobby

I'm not a mushy, romantic sort of girl. I'm just not. My sister-in-law can gush about the crush she had on her husband when they first met and continue to explain how her love has grown into a beautiful whatever - and I can't do that. My sister can speak so purely about the love she has for her husband - and how she misses him so when he works long hours. Again - not me. I used to wonder if the romantic part of me was broken or missing or just covered up by plans and to do lists. All I knew was that romantic talk made me feel strange and false and mostly just really embarrassed.


Anyway - Bobby has always accepted and loved me for who I am. Romantic and sweet - or not. Lately, though, I have not even been kind. Granted, I am 11 weeks pregnant and sicker than ever. I feel like I've just gotten off that centrifuge ride at 6 flags - all of the time. But it's no excuse. Cognitively I know that, but emotionally I just want to be mean to someone and I'm fairly certain after 15 years, he's going to stick around regardless.

It's not that he's doing anything "wrong," either. To the contrary, he's making dinners, taking Isabelle to the bus, and folding laundry. I would have been stunned by such behavior 6 years ago. But it's never enough for me. It's never the exact way I'd do it - plus It's not giving me my energy back and that's all I really want anyway.

So this past week, i've just sort of given up. I met with the doctor - heard my little baby's heartbeat and was told to just lay low for the next couple of weeks. "The nausea will pass," everyone including the doctor keep telling me. And one of my sisters (not the mushy one) has advised me to just keep my mouth shut until it does. Good advice, actually.

So I'm just sitting in my sick chair - the one in the living room that has my computer/phone/book/ice water/&snacks placed conveniently beside it so that I do not have move and thus jar the nausea into action. Anyway, so I'm sitting here - being still and quiet, when Bobby brings me a cd.

He has used his i-tunes gift card to make me a cd. A cd of all of my favorite girly folk songs that are hard to find on lala - and whose cd's and tapes we have lost several moves past. As he plays it - Dar Williams, Shawn Colvin (pre- sunny comes home), Nancy Griffith, and obscure Indigo Girls come tumbling out of the speakers reminding us both of hours spent in used music stores in Charlottesville, DC, Chicago and Austin. And of still more hours harmonizing with Amy and Emily while road tripping.

Bobby has moved way past such 90s girly folk music. The Deadweather, Yacht, and the Woods are more his scene. I'm sure there were a million songs he wanted to spend his gift card on. Yet he made this for me. To cheer me up. It made me teary - I love him so much.

A Colorado Girl

There's just something magical about the Colorado Rockies - and my family's ties with this colorful state run deep. I know my great grandmother, Grandmom Ivy had a ranch in Colorado and I can remember visiting it - well after it had been sold - the new owners more than willing to let my mom tour the place that held so many of her childhood memories.


Some years after the ranch - mid to late 50s - my grandfather, Robert Escar, discovered a mountain lake perfect for catching Rainbow Trout and surrounded by the majestic collegiate Peaks. He began routinely taking his sweet little family to Taylor Reservoir during the summers. As newlyweds my parents continued his tradition easily enough, as they lived in Denver, and could escape to the mountains on the weekends.



Visiting the Rockies proved more of a challenge for my parents, however, once they moved back to Texas and began having children. They had lots of children (6) and car space - even in a Suburban - proved scarce. But the challenge intensified the joy - and Christmas morning presents couldn't compete with the excitement my sister and I felt the night before a trip to Colorado. We would stuff our pillowcases full of dolls/doll clothes, books, and stuffed animals (and later tapes, headphones and magazines), totally breaking the "one toy" rule set by my parents earlier that day. We would wake up unbelievably early - the Texas air already thick with heat and humidity - and try to help my poor outnumbered parents pack 6 kids, a huge cooler, bags of whole foods snacks and a million suitcases in the car before sunrise. That was our goal - to leave while it was still dark. Somehow, my parents did it though, every summer. And Colorado would lay before us, promising relief from the stifling heat, and from the stress that accompanies trying to provide for and raise a large family.



I introduced my husband to Colorado the year we married. We went in the winter this time, and although Bobby is incredibly athletic, he had had limited skiing/snowboarding experience. His approach was to tackle these new endeavors head on, full force. We laugh to this day at a video of him crashing into a grove of trees on a sled. A couple of years later, Bobby and I drove to the mountains from Chicago. I was a bit disappointed - the drive was different. From Tx, you drive up from the base of the Rockies - small foothills becoming bigger and more beautiful as you approach Ra ton Pass. From Chicago you drive through Iowa - which is sort of hilly and really green - and then through miles and miles of flat cornfields being drenched in pesticides. The mountains don't start until you reach Denver - which really doesn't lend itself to the same type of build up as the TX trek. But it still proved a wonderful trip - the perfect anecdote to city life.

This summer our Colorado trip was scheduled for August. We live in a small town now - surrounded by farms - and the weather this July has been unseasonably cool. I was excited to see my family - but wasn't feeling the desperate pull to get to the mountains that I had in years past. Plus, I had just found out that was (am) pregnant. I found out because of a pervasive nausea. The thought of driving 1000 miles seemed daunting. But I did it - to see my dear family - and in to continue a 50 year tradition. To be honest, I wasn't expecting much.


We took I-70 west from Denver, however, and I became giddy. Bobby and I could smell the pine trees and caught a bit of a passing mountain rain. The temperature dropped, huge peaks loomed ahead, and we could feel our ears pop as we climbed. It was magical.

By the time we got to the cabin - I was transformed. There's just something about the mountain air that makes you feel alive. The people in the mountain towns know it - and have moved there because of it. In addition (or intead of) their day jobs, they rock climb, bike, hike, raft, ski - they're all fit and tan and you know their toddlers wear merrils and can snowboard. Organic food stores abound and you can almost see that healthier version of yourself hiking one of those 14,000 footers.

And then we get there - the last to arrive - welcomed at the driveway by a huge crowd. My siblings have families and busy lives now - the fact that we are all there, together is amazing in and of itself. And so the week progressed - too quickly. We slept in, read on the deck, swam in the natural springs, biked, took walks and shared many lovely meals together. At night we played games and laughed until we couldn't see straight. Magical, indeed.

GO JANIE, GO!

When I was a little girl, I was pretty confident. I was first to raise my hand in class, introduced myself and my siblings to "new people", and even challenged babysitters on their competency. By fifth grade, I had written a letter to president Reagan, contacted Yale university about their entrance requirements and started a little business doing neighborhood chores that payed for my first puppy.

My weak point was athletics. More specifically, it was running relay races. I LOATHED them. Inevitably some annoying red head boy with freckles and a stopped up nose would observe loudly, "that girl is SOOO SLOW!"

It seemed to me, like some mean prank. I talked fast, thought fast, had big fast plans, even bordered on hyperactive, yet as my sister later joked, "was at odds with the physical world." I clearly remember entering a new school and having to do relay races on the first day as an "icebreaker." It was a private school and we raced down this weird carpeted hallway (I promise this was not a dream). I was on the purple team and the races last all week during recess. Each night before school I would pray that I could somehow, miraculously find SPEED. I never did. I found that feigning a fall sometimes helped (although other times it would look obvious and make matters way worse).

Anyway, I'm older now - more sure of myself and my body - I've had two babies and now take a class at the Y (ymca) called "ZUMBA." I just adore Zumba. It's like Jane Fonda meets the club scene - in Miami. So I've been going to this crazy Latina dance party aerobics class for about 8 months now. Some weeks I get there more than others, but recently I've been going a lot - 3 to 5 times a week. I've even started dressing a little more Zumba-ish (tighter, tankier clothes) and feeling pretty good.

So anyway, I'm dancing my heart out one morning - neither my sister-in-law or good friend were there, so I was really givin' it all I got. "Wow, I look good," I was secretly thinking to myself. I mean, granted, it was a skinny mirror, but heck, I was really getting the hang of this.

Then I went to get a drink in between songs. I was pouring sweat from my efforts and a bit had gotten into my eye. "Is this your first time at Zumba," a voice asked. I wiped my eye and could see that it was the girl who had been standing behind me. My first time? What?

I'm not kidding, I nearly hit her. That would have been bad. A sad ending to my family's Y membership. And then I realized: dang, I've been coming for 8 months, that really stinks that you thought that. What a reality check - I mean I truly thought that I was co-teaching that girl. Visions of the purple team relay race came swirling into focus. My sister-in-law told me later that that girl was probably just making small talk. Sure.


Needless to say, it has been pure joy watching my oldest daughter Isabelle conquer the physical world. From the time she was teeny tiny, she has attempted to lift, climb, race just about anything that has entered her path.

My daughter Jane has been a different story. Softer, slower, she entered the world verbally rather than physically. I thought she was a girl after my own heart - or body, rather.

Well...getting to the point, this Sunday, Jane surpassed my athletic ability, shattering a box I had put her in. At the church carnival, she raced (gleefully, willingly) and BEAT her opponent (a stunning 2 year old male). Yes, Gabe may have been distracted by the toy whistle or lollipop that he had in his mouth. He may have misunderstood the object of a relay race (since he is only two). However, my daughter won the race. And instead of murmurs of, "wow, that girl is really slow " there was a soft, continuous chanting, " Go, Janie, Go."