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Monday, March 26, 2012


The children requested that we pull out an old Blues Clues video the other day. They hadn't watched one in many years, so we indulged them. Amira watched for some time and finally remarked that she didn't think that Steve was that smart.

We had snow on March 22. March 22. I looked outside and remarked to Rich that Jack Frost was no artist, he was a vandal. Rich seemed to find that particularly funny.

I am beginning to understand why people didn't tell children about deaths or difficult times. Having them all know about our loss has in many ways made it harder to cope. We have to manage their grief along with our own as well as deal with innocent, but painful comments from them. There are many days that I wish this was only known to Rich and me. On the other hand, we'd have to work hard to keep it a secret from them, as others would know, and our own grief would be even more inexplicable to them. Again, it seems there is no real way to make this easier or better.

Rich knows me well enough to know that I really don't want our last child to be our dead child, so when asked by a colleague if we were going to try again, he answered that we would. This will be the first even year in 14 years that we don't have a baby at home. We have thought about trying again at the end of the summer or beginning of the fall, since we have to think about being snowed in and not being able to get to the hospital, so we now actively try to avoid having a baby in winter. If we do succeed, that will mean that we have an odd year baby. If we wait longer, and try for a baby in 2014, it will mean a four year gap between our youngest children. Either way will elicit comments or questions about the change in pattern or the longer interval between births. Yet again, there seems no easier way.

This past week, as we did our normal bedtime prayers, Mariam insisted on getting "up" (she meant down) from her father's lap as we began the Lord's Prayer. She got on her knees and knelt at the table with her hands clasped together as we prayed. It was stunning to see her make the connection between our words of prayer and the actions and physical prayers that we do. It made our night and sweetened our week. She is living up to her namesake.


16 months have passed since my mother's death, and my children still say things innocently in passing that open the wound. I will be somewhat glad when Liam outgrows the owl sweater that she made for Bridget, as people compliment him on it, which leads him to tell perfect strangers "My grandma made this, but now she's dead." Always a fun conversation in the grocery store.

{{{hugs}}} to all of you.
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