Oh, what I'd give for a hundred years, but the physical interferes...

This may be a little bleak, but I feel the need to write about this. Most of the time this feels like an echo anyway.

My father's father died last month. I am sadder than I can say that I only met him a handful of times in my life. I think I mildly charmed him as a little girl; when I was older I grew more aware of the disconnect and more appalled at the way he and my grandmother gnawed at one another's lonely bones. It hurt me to hear about how his cancer caused him to suffer terrible pain and indignities. I was humiliated on his behalf, I longed for him to go out whole and confident, be spared the idea of his "frail deeds danc[ing] in a green bay". He worked so hard, slaved for his humble noble business well into his eighties and then sold it to a crook. The idea that he might have left my grandmother with nothing crushed him. My dad started flying back east, back in time, now there was so little time left. When he passed away, my heart ached for the memories I never had with him; for the relationship that never existed between us. It was too late now to get to know him, and I mourned for that. I grieved the dreadful truth that I didn't know him well enough to miss him. It seemed so wrong. That my "loss" at his death was just the final loss of my never knowing him at all.

I feel like death has been slamming its fist all around me lately. I've felt the tremors, but people I know have been knocked off their feet. I am so sorry, so helpless when I see their bleeding pain. There are so many souls I have known that have gone. So many of them younger than I am. By their own hand, seized by a treacherous illness, strangled in the clutch of addiction, struck by a cruel accident, withered and weakened by years. I don't understand! I don't understand how a personality could be extinguished from the earth so completely that so that they only go on existing in our memories, when we are gone what shadow will remain of them? How dare we ever say that anyone is better off? Out of their suffering? Wouldn't it have been better to be spared the suffering and to go on living? I know I am going to lose someone close to me, and if I live long enough I may lose nearly everyone close to me. What is this life that we can be so vulnerable to falling out of it? Like we're living upside down and lucky if we can stay in our shoes long enough for the 80 years we hope for.

This is a journal entry that explores the feeling I have right now better than I can do tonight :(*names have been changed*)

July 15 2011

I have to write down what I’m feeling tonight…I feel so glowing peaceful and happy but I also feel stifled with fear? Respect? Trepidation? For the fragility of existence and the fleetingness of time (yes surprise surprise!). The other night Jonny and I went to an MSW reunion bbq at Lindy’s house. Nate was there and I told him I was so sorry to hear about his son’s problems. He mentioned to me that it was nice to hear my baby cry since his baby can’t make any noise with the trach (in case I’m reading this years later, their son was due after mine but was born 6-7 weeks early. He has some seriously compromising health problems).Natalie’s and my old roommate had her twin boys at 20 weeks and they both died within a few days, but not before having tubes and wires wound through their little bodies, tearing their fragile skin. That kind of suffering—both for the babies and for the parents—makes me feel a cold sick secret dread. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a child. Why was my baby born perfect and healthy and theirs were not? I talked with Jonny about that this morning. How cruel the world is to children! How ugly and beastly it is that there are people who torture and deliberately destroy little children’s bodies. I read blogs today of people whose lives are awash with loss—the woman whose husband is blind and her 2 year old brain damaged, another family whose little girl fell in a swimming pool and drowned. And Lindy the other night, when I remarked that her daughter had been so sweet with my baby, she said that Daisy loves babies, especially since she can’t have any of her own. That hurts so badly! Why? There is so much suffering, and even those losses one could argue are little more pale in light of children in Africa who starve, who are gang raped or watch their families murdered. The world is swarming with grief. I went on a little walk tonight and thought, what grief has really touched me? Pain for my family, my father’s loneliness. I worried all day that Dit was involved in some scam and was going to be either human trafficked or horrifically disappointed. And of course as you well know all my pain pain pain in the over all the lovestruck Romeos, but please. None of that is even in the same universe as holding your baby while its heart stops beating, or worse finding your child brutalized and murdered. Getting a call saying your husband passed away. I was walking and I saw the sunset and the mountains gently cradling this city, and I loved our rural street and was filled with joy at the beauty of what I was seeing, my happiness at my husband and son tucked away in my house with turquoise walls. I made dinner tonight and registered for the CSW exam, made plans to teach in young women’s and thought of ideas for Abby’s bridal shower. What lack I yet? Rather, I want for nothing! My life is SO good! And so part of me wonders, this searing finger of suffering, when is it going to touch us? I know I can do hard things, I’ve overcome anxiety and worked hard when I needed to, but I know I’ve never really felt it burn me as others have. But no one escapes life unscathed, right? So will it be my marriage? Will depression one day begin eating my brain and heart and turn me into a bitter marionette who makes my marriage sour? Who will I lose? Who will I NOT lose? Oh Lord, I know suffering hollows us out to be filled with good things, and I want those good things, but please protect my family! Please spare my children and my sweet husband. He is so dear to me. Let us not be part of the casualties scraped off the earth every day. I know there’s no guarantee of safety and protection—our bodies can turn on us at any time, or a car can turn into us, or we can be standing right at the wrong place. This last winter Jonathan and I would cuddle up together and admit that we were so happy, we were wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. But I’m not going to live in fear of fate. I’m not in charge of cutting the thread. So all I can do is appreciate what I have as much as I can, and try not to take it for granted. I want to stare at my beautiful son and love every day of his little life, for 6 weeks, 6 years, 16 years, as long as I am privileged to have him. Love my darling Jonny, the only only only one who required of me what I needed.

I love Chai, I want him to exist forever. Sometimes I worry that people made up the idea of heaven just to make themselves feel better. Despite people saying they “know” I hope it’s true, I’ve never hoped more that it’s true. I think of Robin telling Jason that people don’t come back to life and I think, how can she have a little boy and tell him that? How can she not WANT WITH ALL HER BEING for it to be real, at least for him? If it’s not true, he’s just dead in the ground and his body will rot away and he won’t Be anymore. I want my little boy to go on being forever. I was just looking at his perfect little fingers, miniatures of my own and I started to cry. Oh my darling! My darling! I cradle him over my shoulder and he snuggles his head by my neck and I rock him and his shifts his little arm around my neck and what could be sweeter than this? And I need to love it now and know it so deeply now because it will not always be this way. His little hand will get bigger like his father’s and it is so beautiful but so painful, too. He was made of love. Jonny says the Universe was made out of love, so we have nothing to be afraid of. I need to remember that every day I get a little bit closer.

Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skyward.

Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skyward.

Higher and higher did it rise, yet larger and larger did it grow.

At first it was but like a swallow, then a lark, then an eagle, then as vast as a spring cloud, and then it filled the starry heavens.

Out of my heart a bird flew skyward. And it waxed larger as it flew. Yet it left not my heart.

~ Kahlil Gibran

One year ago this weekend was the first I heard of Chai...although I had no idea he would be Chai back then. I wanted a little boy so much, we were both sure it was a little girl (Houston really gave me a complex about things like that). It seems like a thousand years ago, was that really us? I remember looking in the mirror and wondering how anyone ever look at me and see their mother and just reeling with glee that science was actually real, I guess. ("Bingo! Dino DNA!") I never actually believed I would have children, even though for awhile I thought the yellow bird might be a baby. I made Jonathan a cute little presentation involving cereal and a scripture and an inside joke and put it all together like I was asking him to prom, and I got it all wrong. He wanted us to be alone, for me to just tell him clearly without all the fanfare. I regret that now, but I didn't understand. I always want everything to be a party. I felt impatient...I wanted to feel the baby kicking, I wanted a tight watermelon of a pregnant stomach right then. I remember also feeling a little alarmed..."boarded the train there's no getting off," that's it exactly, thank you Sylvia.

And now we're on the edge of another October and that little almost imaginary good-news salamander will be four months old this week! It’s incredible how much I love my Chai. When I hold him I have the softest feelings imaginable. This other afternoon I had him on my lap while we were watching Intervention and every time they showed the protagonist as a child and told their backstory my heart squeezed with pain and I thought—please no, not my baby. I’m so glad he will remain little for the next few years because I can’t think too far beyond that, of his suffering. No one makes it through this life without suffering, but I hope he will always know that his mama loves him, and that I can teach him things that will help him be resilient. That sword hasn't pierced my own soul yet; I fully understand that we’re existing in Neverland with our perfect, merry baby. He is SO beautiful and amazing! These are some thing I want to remember about my Chai:

*He is marvelously happy and content. When he was very tiny he used to wail in the evenings, but now he almost never cries. People always comment on that, "I forgot there was a baby here!" or "I didn't hear him make a sound the whole time!"

*When he does "cry" it's almost like a bird squawking--not a prolonged noise, but little short cries to let me know he is awake or needs something.

*Chai has become very verbal and talkative...he is always so excited to tell us things in the morning! Sometimes it really sounds like he is making words. I know he thinks he is. We'll have whole conversations with him where he'll make his sounds ("Gah! Ahhhahhyaaa!") and we'll make them back or say affirming things like "I know...I know! Tell me more, baby!" It's my favorite.thing.in.the.world.

*I love how Chai croons along with us when we sing to him, he makes a melodic noise like he is trying to sing, too.

*Chai is tall and slender. He weighs 13.14 lbs (50th percentile) and is 25 1/2 inches tall (80th percentile). He has a "big alien head" like his Dad. :)

*As you may have noticed in the pictures, Chai has become a baldie. I was excited that he had so much hair when he was born, but it's mostly gone now. It's okay though, he's still the handsomest ever.

*Chai is much more portable than I imagined a baby being. It's pretty easy to take him anywhere--I ditched keeping him in a car seat pretty early on--they are so heavy and unwieldy, and besides, I love holding him--I always think about him getting bigger and not being able to carry him everywhere. We can go out to dinner with friends and he just sits on my lap. I need to get a Moby wrap because he's getting heavier.

*Chai is not your regularly scheduled baby. He takes naps at random times, or not at all. I've never known a baby who seemed to need less sleep. Jonathan's mother told me that Jonny was like that, too. He usually falls asleep around 10 or 11; a couple of times he has stayed up until one--not upset or anything, just looking around very wide-eyed and interested in everything.

*When people ask if he's sleeping through the night and I tell them he sleeps with us, so waking up a couple of times or not at all doesn't really matter or make a difference, they look at me baffled/disgusted (disgaffled!) but that's okay. They have to decide what's right for their own lives. But for me, I LOOOVE co-sleeping. I think it's excellent for attachment. It's also super easy to move him briefly if we need the bed for anything--once he commits to going to sleep at night, he is out. I love how Chai gradually moves closer to me during the night and how his breathing matches mine; most of the time he likes to rest one arm on my chest. I also love knowing he's there and that he's safe.

*It's getting a little tougher since he's been rolling from side to side and sleeps kind of like an eggbeater. Lately since we're sleeping on an air mattress he winds up perpendicular to me and likes to kick me in the side (like back in the day when he was in utero!).

*We're still nursing on demand and going strong! (I pump for when I have to work and he does fine with a bottle too). I'm not planning on introducing other food until he gets a little older and shows interest. I LOVE nursing him and I wish I could explain the thoughts I have when I look at him laying so sweetly there with his eyes closed and making the dearest motions with his hands. I just tell him over and over again how beautiful he is and how much I love him. He often rests his arm on my chest and it melts my heart.

*Chai is not a winner at nursing in public ("Who told you you could cover up?") and is agitated if I try to nurse him under a blanket, etc. I think he resents the absurdity of the social stigma against BF in public. Good Chai!

*He is pure. It's humbling and healing to spend so much time with someone who is not capable of lying or deception. I want to be like him. He can't hide what he's experiencing and it's beautiful. Joy--fear--curiosity all flash on his face in the most innocent sincerity.

*Chai expresses himself a lot with his legs...kicking when he gets excited or anxious, or during Dancey-Dance time :). It always makes us laugh. He also tries to "run away" when he gets frustrated by kicking and pushing off against the wall or furniture.

*He loves to "stand" and has very strong legs. He also loves being "danced" or "jumped" around by us or my brothers (see picture second from the top). He also wants to be held facing outwards almost all the time, I say it's because he likes to think he's "driving."

*Chai is still a local fan favorite in Ogden. There are practically wars and bloodshed over who gets to hold him. Sometimes I start to miss him because no one wants to give him back! He interacts with everyone and is very charming and responsive. I think--I hope--he knows how very much he is loved. A typical scene is for someone to be holding him on their lap, while someone else plays with his feet, a third person holds his hand, and a fourth person strokes his head or face. All of them talking to him at once. It must be overstimulating, but Chai is very patient.

*I'm obsessed with how cute he is when he is sleeping. He either sleeps on his side with his hands tenderly clasped under his chin (adorable!) or on his back with his arms spread out wide and his legs drawn up like a little frog. I can't stand it.

*My little boy loves me, I think maybe! It means so much to me when I make eye contact with him and talk to him and he just bursts into sunbeams and smiles. I took Chai to a work retreat with me and we were talking/beaming at each other, and two of the therapists I work with commented, "That's relationship enhancement right there" (what they teach clients to do with their children to strengthen attachment.) I thought about that all day, it made me feel so good!

*His neck is the most ticklish and he loves it when Jonathan blows raspberries in his neck or stomach. And he laughs--this little grunty "heh" noise--and it's amazing and so exciting and beautiful, and sure that's cheesy but really what else could be more beautiful than the sound of your baby's laugh?

*During the last few days he discovered he could stick his tongue out and he seems to like the way it feels...he keeps poking it out and blowing spit bubbles. "Like a boss" as Jonny would say.

*I should mention that Jonathan is constantly saying Chai does things like a boss. "He holds his head up like a BOSS!" "He rolled over like a BOSS!"

*Chai likes most everyone and is generous with his smile. But he definitely loves his Dad the most. When he sees Jonathan his smile lights up the sky. They are very loving and attuned to each other. Jonathan has incredible instincts about what Chai is feeling and experiencing, it amazes me and I've learned a lot from him. I'm so, so happy they get to spend time together a few times a week when I go to work, even though it makes me jealous. I always feel a little left out when I drive away, but I'm happy for both of them that they get time together that they might not otherwise have. They love each other so much.

*I am so proud of my little buddy for being so adaptable and easy-going with all the troubles we've been having in our house. A more high-strung baby could contribute a lot of stress to this situation, but Chai continues to be patient, good and kind. Every baby deserves to feel adored, and I hope he can feel even a little bit of how very much we love him. He is my Happiness Boy.

...the earth is warmer when you laugh

These last few weeks have been a healthy dose of misery of remind us of what buttery bliss we’re used to tasting. I should explain that we live in an old house, with the small inconveniences that accompany that, but since we are pretty chill and have no aspirations to interior design or meticulous cleanliness, we were more than happy to deal with double-paned windows that are never clean, no washer or dryer, and an abundance of bugs, for the super cheap rent. However, the night of Labor Day our house suddenly erupted into the epicenter of horror.

We came home from a fun weekend in Ogden to a kitchen full of boutilous gas. We’d been having some mysterious leaks in the basement and when we tried to drain the filthy mold water out of the sink we discovered that the pipes had wrenched completely apart exposing the fetid contents of the interior and the poison water flooded our floor. It was pretty gross, but Jonathan was more grossed out than I was, so I remained cheerful (at this point). We wore face masks while we cleaned up because he said the gas could be dangerous. We had to clean everything that had been under our sink and at that point it was completely unusable, and so was the dishwasher. I remember putting on a bright face and saying I could use the bathroom sink or the hose out in the yard to do dishes, and then I went in to check on baby Chai and (this part makes me want to scream even now) I found him asleep on our bed with BED BUGS crawling all over his body. It was horrible, so horrible! I'd never actually seen a bed bug before and they are awful flat, nasty brown bugs and they were biting my sweet baby! I can't explain the helpless rage that I felt; I lost it and cried and I wanted to kill someone/something, it just felt so vile and intrusive and dirty. We slept out in the living room that night and made plans to deal with the infestation. How did we not know we had an infestation? Bites only show up on 40% of people, which means you can get bitten and not know it..I thought I was crazy the few weeks before this since I would wake up with itchy bites but couldn't see any on Jonathan or Chai. I'll spare you the rest of the details, but basically the problem is more complicated than we thought. I have no idea how we got them...we must have brought a stowaway home during some of our travels. They can live up to 18 months without ever eating and hide in really sneaky places like inside your light sockets. I found one in a pair of shoes I had on the top shelf of our closet.

At first sleeping on the couch/floor was kind of exciting, like we were camping out, but the excitement started to wear off when I found a black widow a few feet away from us one morning (I have a very healthy respect for the formidable arachnid) and freaked out again (see? no longer cheerful). We finally left our house and started staying with friends and family until we could get the plumbing fixed and do something about the bedbugs. Around that time Chai and I had thrush and it was re-e-ally painful, plus I also had my annual eye infection from my contacts and was walking around blind most of the time. Also trying to get used to working and getting the rhythm down with pumping and exchanging the car...we are now back in our house with a functional sink again but haven't slept in our bedroom since before Labor Day. Honestly, it’s been rough.

The low point was probably the day I ruined my mother in law’s microwave by (this makes me want to die to even write it) setting a bra on fire inside it. I was reading about cures for thrush with a frantic desperation since nursing my wee one had suddenly become agonizing and someone suggested that heating up your underwear kills yeast. The article offered the sage reminder to make sure your bra was not underwire, so I stupidly thought I was safe. It was maybe the most humiliating moment of my life, including everything that happened on my mission and puking in line at the airport and my father in law finding some gifts from my bachelorette party in the glovebox of his truck some months later. Jonathan was delighted because now he could with veracity call me a “bra-burning feminist.” Heh. So it's been a tough month, emotionally. I've been spitting negativity more than I want to. There is something demoralizing about not having a functional "home" when you have a baby. I've certainly been "homeless," (probably disrespectful to use that term, but you know what I mean hopefully) many times before; transient and sleeping on people's couches, when I only belonged to myself and didn't have a little one clinging to me in the night. I have felt surprised with how protective I feel of Chai. There are so many things that I don't think would be a big deal for myself but when I think of them happening to Chai is just crushes me. We'll be okay, though. And I still know we haven't really been through anything. Sorrow is floating thick around people I know and I'm so sorry...What’s going to happen? I cuddle up to my little boy, he’s everything, his gracefully folded hands while he nurses, his dear powerful smiles. He sleeps early enough so that we have a lot of time together. Jonathan is handsome and funny and good. I still want to make him like me, hope he has a crush on me. I could stand forever holding him. He has tender hands and glances for me always. I love him and I know we'll be okay as long as we're together...I have so much more I wanted to share but this is a pretty good update for now. Hasta ver!

Life With Baby

Rachel recently stated working as a part time therapist so now 4 days a week I get to spend 4 1/2 to 5 hours with Chai. I love spending so much time with him! On days where I go in and work the full day, I feel a huge pit in my life. It is amazing how much you can miss someone who just smiles at you and coos at you for interaction. My life has changed...for the better. I feel like sometimes we're having conversations, even though hes just saying a bunch of goos and crap. He'll just continue making sound for a long time. He especially will do this if you sing to him. I think hes trying to mimic the sound. He is a little person with a big personality.

I think our Chai is very very calm. I heard a lot of horror stories about babies crying and crying. Chai rarely cries and when he does it isn't prolonged. Perhaps this is why I love staying home with him! I feel like we lucked out because of how easy he is. I hope this doesn't mean he'll be harder as he grows up, though quite a few parents have told me that their experience was that if they were calm, then they stay calm. Who knows.

Rachel and I are still adjusting to the change. It is different having someone else included in our relationship. There are some adjustments that have been difficult. But there is a certain sweetness our relationship has now that it did not have before. For example, I never knew how beautiful Rachel really was till I saw her asleep feeding Chai. Seeing them together has meant everything to me lately. I'm sure she'd tell you the same thing. I know Rachel much better now than I did before.

This could all just be because we've only been married a little over a year now. But I'm sure most of it has to do with the situation we've chosen to be in. It was unpredictable. But it is very pretty. Though more difficult, I love the new life that we have. There are ups and down, just like before. Only now at the end of the day I can look at my little sleeping boy and just wonder at life and its power. I feel like I didn't know what life was until I looked into his eyes. He is full of possibility and light. That type of beauty grows on you.

My pessimism about this world is at an all time low. Chai's relationship with Rachel is its living refutation. As hard as being a parent can be occasionally (so far), it is undoubtedly worth it.

Be a little sheep learning who'll shear and who'll feed

There is so much I don't understand and where I once felt isolated and bewildered in my doubts, I have now heard many voices who echo them. I have found validation in that, but I don't want to live my life defined by what has hurt me and by what is wrong. I am marked with biases and scarred with selfishness just like any other human being and what I realized tonight when I sent up a short, desperate prayer is that I have found happiness when I have put others' needs before my own, when I have had compassion, when I have been humble. These times have been embarrassingly few and far between in my life. Nevertheless, I know in whom I should place my trust. The truth I've found is that when I do anything to help lift the weight of the suffering of humanity I am filled with gladness and with the kind of sorrow that moves me to good works. I need to live a Christlike life whether or not He is who the Mormon church says He is. I believe in Him, I want to believe in Him. I want to believe that the falling sparrow matters and that children who die alone, cold, lonely and in terrible pain are encircled at last in loving arms, met with a warm smile by a bright face. I want to believe there is joy over the horizon. Maybe it is just an opiate for the masses and a nice story we tell ourselves when the wind is cold outside, but it's a story that matters, that causes man to aspire for greater things than the baseness that we default to when we don't replace it with anything else. I want to believe that people have the power to change, that I do. When I focus on negativity, inconsistencies, wrongness and abuse I feel a sort of energy brewing in me, but it does not move me towards anything good. I want to be a person who is moving. I know I have a lot to change. When I think of my husband praying for two hours every night on his mission, I think of how wrong we were then, how young and naive, but also how earnest and right. We can both do better. I want to utilize my time with him and with my tiny one who is next to me right now. I can say for certain tonight, even if I knew absolutely that there is nothing After, I would not want to live any differently, wouldn't snuff out my life with selfishness. Whether or not we are "earning a great reward," I want to keep peeling back my weaker shell to my pure self who is good, who is made of love. Jonathan told me, if the universe was made with Love, what do you have to be afraid of? I keep thinking of this quote from The Silver Chair:

“One word, Ma’am,” he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. “One word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things–trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.”