First Day of School

Last Friday marked the end of an era and a new beginning. My baby, well little girl now, started her first day of pre-school. She's 3.

She's in a French Montessori program, a school that costs the equivalent of another mortgage and where hopeful parents who have mulled the decision over carefully have decided that this is indeed the 'best' school around and therefore warrants the cost. Apparently the head of child psychology at an Ottawa University also sends her child there so this must be 'the' place. I simply want her to learn French. If she does, I'll feel I've done my job as a parent, readying her for a promising bilingual future. But is this really the right move? Do we ever really know that we're making 'the' best decisions for our kids?

This investment I must add also buys you about 20 different forms to read and 20 more rules to adhere to: rules about parking, drop-offs and pick-up times, late fees (holy cow don't be 5 mins late!), nut allergies, acceptable lunches, inside clothes and shoes vs outside, sports gear and it goes on. You also must commit to preparing a snack for 19 children one day a month. So really, I feel like we've started school too all over again. I didn't much like it the first time around... so far not quite liking it the second either.

Parents all around us are making different decisions for theirs. Some have decided it's not worth the money, some don't have the money and some have made a conscious decision not to socialize their kids until the standard age of entry to public school. That was me, I was with my Mom till the age of 5 and she had taught me to read and write and count in both English and French by the time I went in as she was a stay-at-home Mom. That said, I was also surrounded by a large religious community and already had tremendous social and presentation skills. I was thinking of all of this as I got up today at a ridiculous (in Sam's world) time.

I dutifully got us up (did I mention much earlier than I think is humane?) this morning and shared breakfast with Ashiah at her kiddy table while we giggled together and cuddled. She picked out her own shirt (she's already at the 'no mummy I don't want to wear that, I don't look pretty' stage) god help us, but the rest went pretty smoothly... that is until it was time to leave with Daddy as it's understood that the parent who has the least trouble leaving their child should drop them during the first week. I finally extricated myself from her at the door as I handed Daddy her Dora lunch box, her favorite shiny black 'indoor' shoes and her water canteen. Daddy explained that they would have to look for 'water monsters' on the way to the car as it's pouring out which peaked her curious interest. I must admit that she looked ever cute in her strawberry covered raincoat and designer rain boots I happened to pick-up for a bargain the other day. But she looked sad and my oh so dutiful parenting suddenly felt pretty shitty.

I called Greg 30 mins later to get the update and sure enough, she ran back out of the school after Greg took her in and then tried a second escape. The teacher brought her in a 3rd time and Greg left as Ashiah kept a sad look on her face. I should point out that we went through this last Friday but when we picked her up, she was the happiest kid, so proud to have gone to school and "I spoke French Mummy!" She related the words she'd learned and the new friends she made and well, that felt much better than this morning...

Things went much smoother when she started daycare at 10 mths old. I'd given myself a month off work to acclimatize her and it took her a day. I cried last Thursday when I picked her up from there for the last time. Her provider, has been like a second mother to her and what more can you hope for when you leave what's most precious to you in someone else's care? Now she's in a class with 4 teachers and 18 other kids. A whole new world for her and for us. We've started school.

Camping and Bruises

Having returned Sunday from a family camping trip to Letchworth State Park in NY state, I feel renewed and more at peace with a new sense of self.

My new sense of self also seems to have brought out the klutz in me. I just walked my new sense of self into a slamming door and am now nursing a swollen nose and what will likely be a black eye. I also managed to fall on my bike on the last day of our trip causing an injury that no woman should ever have to deal with - I felt like quite the moron. If I were to see a doctor right now am sure they'd think Greg was beating me.

But back to the trip - it did me and us a world of good. Sometimes I think that this whole notion of not escaping your problems is crap. True, it doesn't take them away but it feels damn good to get some space from them sometimes. And there's nothing like fresh country air, marshmallows and Scrabble by a campfire and hikes along one of the most beautiful terrains I've ever seen (the park gorge) to free up some mental space to just 'be'. The park is worth seeing once in your life and if you're a hiker then definitely do the #1 trail along the gorge. Spectacular views and terrain. Lush diverse forest. Almost no other hikers on the trail... which btw, amazed me to see the number of obese people in this park driving up to lookouts in their SUV's and pick-ups. I've never seen the like anywhere in Canada from the Cabot Trail to the Johnston Strait.

My first week back has been eventful. Have had to try and work in the evenings and at intervals during the day since we had no daycare this week. (My job has been ever patient with me.) The one daycare is on vacation and the other, a close friend of mine lost her father over the weekend. She fell into my arms and sobbed when I went to see her Monday, crying is something she seldom does. So I took her kids for the day and made her supper - I know that space and not having to cook were things that help even a little now.

Then headed to Lachute (2hrs north west from here) with Ashiah on Wednesday to the funeral. That ended up being a lot harder than expected.... it brought it all back for me... Zephyr's burial... not to mention we buried her father in the midst of a massive thunder storm, Ashiah tucked in my arms in her raincoat under an umbrella - all of the adults were drenched and it was miserable.

We returned home and to cheer us up a bit I took Ashiah to her friend Stella's house to visit their newborn puppies. I picked one up and as soon as it was in my hands I felt that it was going to die... it was a horrible yet very real feeling. I put him back and told our friends that I didn't think he was doing very well. Sure enough, he died yesterday... it really upset me, I mean what are the odds.... but Greg thinks that I was drawn to him for a reason and that it wasn't by chance. His words were comforting although I'm now afraid to go near babies or pregnant women... not logical but there it is.

On a brighter note, last night, we had dinner outside and as the sky became colorful the trees began to sway as a warm westerly wind blew in and it was as though Zephyr was with me again... just came by to say hi Mom & Dad. And I was filled with calm again.

Wilted flowers...

After the flowers have wilted, and the family has gone

The memory of you in my heart still lives on

Not a day goes by when my thoughts aren't of you

Of your tiny frail body that was once part of mine

That your life was but just a short moment in time

The smile on my face hides the hole in my heart

I go through the motions but I feel torn apart

The swell in my belly is no longer of you

But of spirits imbibed to numb the lingering ache

Appearance of self-possession and serenity is best for all sakes

Like a warm passing wind your name fit you well

That you were once in existence no one can tell

But for the photograph I look upon every night before bed

My thoughts are of all that we'll never share and won't be said

As I slip into slumber it's my dreams that I dread

Though brief was your life forever I am changed

For in random moments my thoughts call out your name

Zephyr my son

I shall never be the same

Neighbors & Differences

 I am lucky to be on this road right now. It is a road filled with many interesting and great people.  Despite it not being a hugely populated road, there have been several changes in just the last couple years: new babies, several losses, a new community garden, and many moves. Our neighbors are sensitive enough to care yet considerate enough not to pry or overstep boundaries. It is a good road.

I was discussing this perk with a neighbor I'm most fond of this evening named John. He lost his wife last fall and I have done my best to reach out without overstepping because he is just such a good man... now a lonely one. Together he and his wife were posted the world throughout as she was an ambassador to Canada, he an architect and they raised a beautiful family. Now he walks his dog Lucy alone and watches the birds and we occasionally have the loveliest chats... yet so far a distance are we in terms of life experience; he was born in Australia and brought up in South Africa, his children are grown and his family is mostly all gone. He is ever so proper and English in his way and I am so, well, not. And yet, in each other it is plain that we have found a kindred spirit... he so kindly brought me a Hibiscus and a card today, and how of course would he know that I am simply mad for flowers, let alone Hibiscus :) The flowers both in and outside have brought much needed life to the house... am most grateful to those who sent them.

I have come to find it strange that those you most expect to seek solace in during such a difficult time are not at all the ones who turn out to be your greatest support. I am re-learning the value of differences and how important it is to cherish such differences because all of our unique gifts shine when needed most.  I am grateful for the people in my life.

God, Faith & Belief

A woman who was pushed down the stairs when she was 28 weeks pregnant gave birth to a baby girl who later died. She wrote me a moving message today. She is only 19, the incident happened when she was 15. It made me think back to where I was at 19... just married, no children on the horizon and I had faith in God. I was part of a very religious community that I left 4 years later and with it, buried my life and everyone I had ever known. (it's complicated...)  2 days ago, I received a message of sympathy from one of those individuals who meant a great deal to me; she would be referred to today as my BFF -  it was as though she temporarily resurrected from the dead to tell me she was sorry for my loss and then was herself buried again... 

The woman who wrote me today referred to us as 'Angel Mothers', a reference I tenderly associated with babies being innocent and angelic-like. I realized later however, that I am one of the few Mummies on the forum who doesn't think that Zephyr is an actual angel, now looking down upon in me heaven, awaiting a reunion... Nor do I believe that he will magically be resurrected one day and return to my womb. Although I do believe in a God or Creator who put everything into motion, I have come to believe that he/it does not have any sort of involvement in our daily lives. First of all, I would like to have nothing to do with any sort of God who takes babies and runs some sort of heavenly daycare. On earth, a person who takes someone else's child is called a kidnapper. Why would anyone want to pray to a kidnapper?

So no, I don't think God has anything to do with it. I think that the belief in heaven or resurrection is something for us to hold onto as a viable hope of explaining the unthinkable; that random bad things happen all the time and that there's nothing we can do about it nor is there any hope of seeing loved ones again, period. Don't get me wrong, I wish I did believe, wish I did have this faith because it would make things much easier right now... to think I could touch, feel and see my Zephyr again...

I think that prayer unto itself is sustaining. The belief that someone with the power to make it all better is actually listening and may intervene in our lives or give us strength - that very notion is powerful stuff. Meaning no disrespect, I have come to believe that it's the belief itself that carries the faithful through, not God. Although I have great admiration for people of faith, I have become a rather apathetic realist I suppose in that plenty of people all over the world pray for various things, all good of course; I mean who prays for something terrible to happen? And yet terrible things happen all the time, to good people, often of faith, caring, loving, wise, talented, funny, wonderful, young and old people without any sense of logic or reason. Think Haiti...

Greg and I watch a show called Lost. It is about a plane that crashes on an island and it's the story of the survivors and the rather strange occurrences that befall them. We are nearing the end of the series now and several pieces of the puzzle that have spanned several seasons are falling into place. It was the second last show we watched a few nights ago that stuck with me for some reason. (Potential spoiler here to anyone still watching this show...) It appears that a man named Jacob who has powers is a sort of keeper of the island and he prevents the evil, also a man on the island, from leaving so as not to exterminate the whole earth. The evil man is actually fairly likable as well and it is often difficult to decipher if he is really actually evil. Jacob orchestrates events to bring people to the island where they are left to their own devices to see if they can actually survive and remain good. He only protects a select few from actual death even though they still go through terrible suffering. The whole plot a rather biblical premise I thought to myself... One of the survivors who has come to the island after a terrible injustice has been done to him asks Jacob why he doesn't just tell people about the evil on the island and why doesn't he intervene in the events to help people? And Jacob says something like "that's not my job, I expect them to sort it out without my intervention."

Train Day

Ashiah has a friend named Stella who's birthday is the 13th of July while Ashiah's is on the 15th. The local steam train that comes by our road 4 times daily en-route to a quaint village named Wakefield is free for kids under 3, so there was a small window to take the girls before their birthdays. Stella's parents invited Ashiah to join them today and although I am not much up for company, I did not want to miss Ashiah's excitement of being able to ride the train that is so much a part of her life. So I joined them.

The girls had a wonderful time and we bought them toy engines that whistle, ate bad muffins and learned interesting tidbits about our area in the 1800's. There were musicians that played from car to car and Sarah (Stella's Mum) suggested they might play Happy Birthday for the girls on the fiddle which they did, and the whole car sang along. Stella was thrilled and Ashiah had a "this is so lame" look on her face. It was priceless.

Sarah is a calm, peaceful and sweet friend and her company was lovely. All went well till we reached Wakefield. As we disembarked it began to rain fairly hard and we waited for Stella's dad to pick us up. After Ashiah and I walked half way to the cafe in the rain we were then picked up but were very wet and muddy when we got to the cafe. Ashiah and I went to the bathroom to clean the water out of our shoes and when we got out there was too long a lineup to order food as our friends had ordered drinks and weren't eating and would have had to wait for us. I began to feel fairly anxious at this (silly I know) and took the kids to the play area to wait. Once there, the area was blocked by a mother and her cute baby boy who was in a high chair. My heart seemed to stop for a moment and I suddenly felt very trapped and couldn't seem to catch my breath. Will it always be this way... The girls went under the baby's chair and I sat at a nearby table with our friends. We were soon distracted by a Dalmation on the deck that Ashiah named 'Pongo' and the girls went to play with the dog and I busied myself taking pictures. I then remembered that I needed napkins at the front of the cafe to clean the mud Ashiah had left on the car seats and left the girls with the dog to play for a moment as Stella's parents were looking on. But when I returned Ashiah was nowhere to be found.



I have to say that this was the most panicked I've ever been since I've become a mother. I'm usually considered a fairly laid back mom but I became unraveled today. I began to run through the restaurant yelling her name, ran outside, knocked over 3 old women (I'm so sorry) and was now screaming Ashiah's name. What was maybe a minute and a half felt like 20 and when Sarah saw me freaking out she said that she'd seen Ashiah run up the stairs. Sure enough there she was walking down. My heart was racing so fast and I was shaking and felt like I was going to throw up. I hugged Ashiah so tight and told her to please never leave me again and promptly asked our friends to drive me home. I was an embarrassed mess.

Once home I fell into Greg's arms and cried and said that I clearly wasn't ready to be out in the world yet. I can't believe I lost it the way I did today and although I feel safe and good again at home, I wonder when I will be able to go out there and face the world in a rational, normal way again... or is this my new normal?

This aside, I am still proud that I was able to share the train experience with Ashiah and hope to be the kind of parent who won't look back one day with regrets that I missed out. I don't wanna miss a thing.

I will post more pics of Ashiah and Stella's train day here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/99049415@N00/

Zephyr Glen - April 3 - July 2, 2010

To bury your child is to bury your heart.

A piece of me was buried today in a little box wrapped in blue velvet in a plot in an old growth cemetery under a tree, along with my grandfather and uncle. To watch my beautiful daughter walk with my tiny son's coffin to his grave was surreal. Ashiah did so well today as we explained that he was too small and therefore he had to sleep for a very long time, there in the ground where it was peaceful. She seemed to accept this, although she wanted to see him...

A kind woman from the funeral home met us with Zephyr today. I requested that she open the box as I wanted to lay eyes on my son... I was not able to hold him after the delivery, I was too weak, too distraught, drugged and exhausted. But today, I knew that I had to see him, to hold him close to me just one last time... The woman was obviously unprepared for this and very nervous as she spent much time preparing me for what I was about to see. And yet when I opened the lid, I laid eyes on the second most beautiful site of my life, next to my daughter. There he lay, so small, so fragile, curled up... he could fit in the palms of my hands. I counted his tiny toes, I examined the contour of his head, of his spine, of his small legs... it was like looking at my broken heart.

Greg and I both broke down as we held each other by the grave. Ashiah found a nearby feather and put it in the ground and then she and I lowered Zephyr together. Greg and Ashiah both threw in some dirt and then we waited for a man to come and cover the grave completely. I struggled to not uncover him and take him with us, it was heart-wrenching...

The emptiness I feel today is so great that I can not possibly imagine what some of the other mothers who have been so supportive of me online have felt when they lost their babies... some to term. It is a suffering like no other I have felt, and I have had my fair share of tremendous loss. He was so active... like Ashiah, he moved a tremendous amount, somersaulting so much that I felt him move at 3.5 mths. And strangely enough, although it took us 9 months to name Ashiah, it took me only 3 to name my son.. I was driving along and it came to me, Zephyr Glen. I named a boy before the girl - it was the opposite for Ashiah, it took us longer to find a boy's name.

Although my head knows why he left my body so early, I am haunted by what I might have done differently, how I might have saved him... I will forever miss my Zephyr, our son.

Rest in peace my baby and know that Mommy and Daddy loved you very much. You will always be with us.