Perspective...

...so, we had a secret in our family. Well, lots of them, I guess, but one that I knew was touchy--iffy to talk about and really one of those events that happens in a family that once swept under the carpet, is not really talked about much.

My mother had four children. Only three are alive today.
Only three were ever really acknowledged; only three are thought of as her descendants. Even in a genealogy book my mother wrote, only three children are listed.

Before Matthew died, in honesty, that seemed pretty appropriate. I mean, she had three live births. She raised three of us as we lived and breathed. She took pictures of three of us. She reveled in the accomplishments of three of us. The three of us attended her funeral.

But there was a fourth. I am the oldest child and my sister is three years younger than I. When I was five, my mother went into labor at 39 and a half weeks. The baby she carried to full term died during delivery and my mother never got to see her or hold her. I don't really know the details of what happened, and as my mother is dead, I doubt I ever will. In asking my father, it's obvious that he's put on some kind of blinders to that whole time period--probably his way of dealing with his grief. My sister has told me that she had talked about what happened with my mom but it so greatly differs from what my dad 'remembers' that I'm just resigned to the fact that I'll never really know. I just know that my mom was devastated...HATED her doctor and often said her doctor killed her baby, and that it was some sort of cord incident (which is yet another reason I was always terrified about cord issues with Matthew) and she was never the same.

A lot of that, I believe, was because she was not allowed to grieve. At all. Angel was born still, and the doctor whisked her away from my mom and under direction from my dad and grandma (who felt it best my mother not see the baby), did not allow her to see or hold her daughter. Nor did my father or grandmother think it was in my mother's best interest to go to the funeral. I can recall one picture--with my dad looking anguished and aggravated by the camera in front of a casket.

In our family, Angel was more often known as 'that baby mom had who died.' Never talked about or acknowledged, and if so, always as 'that baby mom had who died.'

Yes, this obviously breaks my heart as I now realize what an unbelievably difficult situation my mother was in and with no help or support...and two little girls left living that needed to be raised.

Growing up, it was just accepted that we really didn't talk about her. Out of sight, out of mind. For my sister and me, and certainly for my brother, Angel wasn't even really real.

So, so, so not what my mother needed. I remember my mom taking my sister and me to the cemetery and taking pictures of us there in Babyland. I don't remember this happening more than once.

One of the very few conversations I remember having with my mom that involved Angel was so contentious and makes my heart just weep thinking about it right now.

As my mom was aware of the fact that she was dying, we one day were talking about her 'final wishes' and she told me that she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread over Angel's grave. This made me SO mad and I told her so...how could she DREAM of having her ashes spread over the grave of a dead baby when she had THREE living children...one of whom moved Heaven and Earth to try and please her and make her happy. How could she be SO disrespectful of us? Of me?

I'd give anything in the entire world to take those words back. I had no way of knowing how I was crushing her soul. She wanted that because her heart, still, 28 years later, grieved the loss of that precious baby--HER precious daughter and not *a* dead baby--and she FINALLY wanted to be able to be with her. It didn't mean she loved us any less...just showed how much she still loved her baby daughter.

I don't think my mother ever had any problems getting pregnant. Heck, NO one in my family ever had problems getting pregnant but me, and then in typical 'me' fashion, I have problems AND good. Two years after Angel was born still, my brother was born and I remember some of the mother I used to know coming back. She smiled more and laughed more and my mom and dad didn't argue as much.

Growing up, my brother was SPOILED ROTTEN. I'm talking REALLY spoiled...and it always drove me nuts. Not materialistically--but in treatment. He could do no wrong. Nothing was ever his fault. He was never, EVER made to take responsibility for anything and my mother hovered over him like nothing I've ever seen.

This childhood did not serve him well as an adult. Unfortunately, my brother has issues and demons that stem from not knowing what real consequences mean. To this day, he will still say stuff like, "It's not my fault my parents didn't raise me right." Many, many, MANY times did my sister and I have conversations with my mother about the need to show him 'tough love.'
She just couldn't do it.

The last words I had with my mother were angry. She had called me to ask me to borrow money. She said it was for her medicine (she was on a new type of chemo) but I knew the sound in her voice. It was yet.another.thing for my brother. After rifling through the details, the bottom line was that my brother's girlfriend had done something to land herself in jail and my mother needed to borrow the money to bail his girlfriend out because she was afraid HE'D do something crazy if his girlfriend had to stay in jail.

I had some hateful words. I've worked hard my entire life and could not believe that I was being asked to bail my punk brother's girlfriend out of jail. That she would try to use my love and concern for her to get money for HIM. WHEN WAS MY MOM GOING TO MAKE HIM TAKE RESPONSIBILITY AND LET THE REAL WORLD HAPPEN?

The conversation was heated, she started to slur her words and I told her I'd call her later when her medicine wasn't making it so hard to understand her.

She died that night.

My point in this story is that I never, ever could understand what drove her to let him get away with any and everything EVER, while I'd always had such stringent rules and responsibilities.

When Matthew died, I finally could.

My brother was her hope restored. Her miracle who lived. She could not FATHOM anything happening to him in any way, shape or fashion. She fought his battles like a mama bear and hovered over all of us in a way that the term 'helicopter parent' can't even come close to matching.

And while I still believe that my brother would have been far better off in his adult life if he'd ever had to have any real consequences growing up, I can completely and totally understand why my mother was like she was. Why she was "THAT" mom--the crazy one who would tear anyone apart if they threatened her children and fought every thing from the school system to various church groups to her own family members--including my dad.

Their relationship was never, ever the same after Angel died. I don't think her relationship with anyone was ever the same.

I understand so, so much more about my mother now. I am heartbroken that our family was not one where that sweet little baby sister was remembered and honored and counted as a 'true' family member. I feel like memories and stories I SHOULD have were stolen in the name of 'moving on' and 'not dwelling'.

My baby sister was a week and a half younger than her nephew was. Those lives MATTER. They count. And they are part of our family's story.

I of course am just devastated that it took something like what is my life right now for me to gain this perspective. I wish I had more compassion and understanding for my mother when she was alive--it was just not the way in our family. I can't tell you how often I long to have a conversation with her now...knowing she knows what my heart feels like and that we could grieve together.

And through this perspective, I have insight into what I do and don't want MY family story to be...Matthew will NEVER be 'that baby mom had who died' nor will his brother or sister be so smothered with my fear of danger or responsibility for him or her that he or she is not able to have failures in life and learn from them. I know myself well enough to know that I have the tendency to hover anyway, and those feelings are SO innate and strong right now with my sweet little one.

We learn so much from our parents. While I am just brokenhearted that my mother's suffering is so rich in lessons, I am grateful for the perspective.

Dear pregnant friends...

I know you are being extremely thoughtful and considerate of our feelings right now and I cannot tell you how touched I am by this compassion.

The thing is--as much as I admit I am wistful when I see happy families and expectant moms just glowing with all the promise of pregnancy--I am GLAD for you!!! Pregnancy was wonderful--even with all the aches and pains of it. I want you to enjoy every second of it!

Most importantly, know this...I am hurting because I miss Matthew. I am broken-hearted because I miss Matthew. And your baby, or any other child I may have is not Matthew. I know if Matthew had survived, I wouldn't blink an eye when I see you with your baby bump. I may think, "I remember that, but BOY am I glad it's over!" I'd probably put cute little "What does sleep feel like?" remarks as my Facebook statuses, and I surely would laugh and joke about how I was glad I was able to wear normal clothes again....and that's EXACTLY what mommies-to-be and new mommies SHOULD be talking about.

We should NOT be talking about the heartache we feel when we realize, 6 weeks after, that our babies never heard the lullaby that is played on the Labor & Delivery floor when a new baby is born--I realized two nights ago that Matthew never got his song...all involved were far too concerned with saving his life. For some reason, it is just breaking my heart into pieces that my boy never got his song. I don't know why this hurts me so much right now, but it does...and should NOT be what I'm thinking or feeling.

Yet it is. And those are the cards I've been dealt and with which I am dealing. It's Matthew I'm missing and your pregnancy doesn't replace Matthew and neither will any future pregnancy I may be blessed to have. Your pregnancy and new baby are joyful things for which I am honored to know about--and I don't ever, ever, ever want you to think otherwise. I'm nothing but joyful and excited for you, for motherhood is the absolute BEST THING EVER--I promise!

What is Elvis trying to tell me?

Again, feeling lonely without my baby daddy here. He's in Minnesota, getting ready to go an an awesome (by his standards, not mine!) trip with Uncle Brad. They will be dropped off in the middle-of-nowhere, Minnesota. They will be given a canoe, some food and some good luck. Then they will rough it for 5 days. Now, knowing John's penchant for treating his stomach well, I'm curious to see the true extent of 'rough it'....knowing him, it won't be that rough unless they don't catch stuff. In any event, in no way, shape or form does that sound appealing to me at all, so THANK YOU, Uncle Brad for being interested in this and taking one for the team. John can't wait until Matthew is old enough to do that. Hmm. I can. Last thing I can think of wanting is my two dearest loves in the middle of nowhere and something happen to them. John assures me he has some device that should life or limb be at risk, he can push a button and get help. Here's hoping they don't need that.

In any event, as loneliness often leads me to internet searches for who knows what, I decided to google my mom. It's been a while since she died, so there wasn't much in the first few pages and I wasn't up for going further. I did go to her old Xanga site, though, which is comfortingly still up. I went to August 22, 2002 (the last August post she had) to see what she was thinking. August 22 was a fairly benign post, but I kept reading and found her August 17 post to be interesting. Remember my August 16 post about missing my mom and Elvis? Well, her August 17, 2002 post was about Elvis too. Now, finding this a lovely coincidence at first, I then realized he passed on August 16, 1977, and the coincidence was more timing, but anyway...

This is what she had to say:
"If Elvis hadn't died....
I wouldn't be watching his stacked up movies on the movie channel. Blue Hawaii was the only one that really appealed to me, although I may have enjoyed Love Me Tender if I had seen it all the way through. I was small when the latter movie hit the screens, although, as I reflected today, I am only thirteen years younger than El, had he kept on living.
If Elvis hadn't died, he'd be alive. (DUH!) He'd be an aging faded, star. Maybe. I think newer generations will be spared the idolatry we of the Elvis generation have to tolerate. It's time to leave him alone. Wouldn't have said that a year ago, but I certainly now have my fill of hero worship. He left this world in an undesirable fashion but, despite the narcotics and quirks, he did it his way. That's important, when you can .... do it your way. I have no other news. I woke up with a sense of foreboding which I don't care to go on about and will probably head back to the sack for my . . . Elvis movies?
~NOOOOOOOO!~"

How funny. And, as much as I knew about my mom and her love of Elvis, I didn't know that Blue Hawaii was her favorite. There's nothing like learning things about your parents, even if they aren't here any more.

Sadly, while reading her couple of days worth of August posts, she commented about how she was feeling regarding her cancer and her chemo...."What makes me a more likely candidate for the five-year-survival rate? It's scary. Downright frightening. BUT, as hubby says, "We have to give it all we've got." So off I go to the research pages, leaving a few links that will encourage me, and others, to put every effort into conquering the beast. Should I lose, I hope that I will be remembered as highly as Diane whose tribute by notforprophet almost made me cry."

This made me mad--my dad telling her they have to give it all they've got and 7 years later he can't even be bothered to remember she lived and was his wife and my mother. It also made me sad that she was worried about how she'd be remembered. I remember her every day, and though I don't know how highly this Diane she speaks of is remembered, I can guarantee that my mom's memory is right up there as she would have wanted.

Whew...what a day!

I won't even bother to ask if you've ever had one of those days where you just wonder at the end of the day how you survived (and even laughed at) it because I know EVERYONE has...I did today!

I was soooo tired last night and even more tired (and sore--horrible crick in my neck) this morning when the alarm went off. I even contemplated missing church because I was just that tired and sore. I got up and got moving, though, had a lovely morning in church (even though I have succumbed to taking my lumbar roll everywhere I have to sit for more than five minutes and sort of felt like a dork, but whatever....). Then I drove home.

I've been listening to Elvis Radio (channel 18 if you have Xm/Sirius) on Sundays to and from church because it reminds me so much of my mom and my grandma...two ALL-TIME Elvis lovers. I know Elvis's versions of old gospel hymns like the back of my hand, and I totally take advantage of listening to what *I* want to when John's gone. So, on the way home, the Elvis American trilogy song comes on...if you are (gasp) not an Elvis fan, it is a compilation of three songs--Dixie, All My Trials and The Battle Hymn of the Republic. And the tears just start POURING. Now I realize that I am hormonal (ya think?) but I also still miss my mom very much, especially being pregnant. And this was one of her favorite medleys of Elvis's and brought back soooo many memories for me of growing up. Then I started throwing myself a pity party about being lonely and missing my mom, my grandma, John, Elvis, Ed McMahon and an assortment of others...*THEN* as I continued listening, I started to get VERY mad at my dad and was contemplating the letter I was going to write to him...a plethora of emotions just overtook me. Thankfully, the song stopped, I wiped my tears, laughed at the ludicrousness of crying like that as I drove and took a deep breath.

Only to hear the trilogy START ALL OVER. AGAIN. Seriously, it started all over again. First I laughed. Then I cried more. Then I started laughing and thinking that even though my mom wasn't here, she was obviously, in a sense. I loved it. I even started thinking about all the old Elvis movies I remember watching on tv when I was growing up and how I missed them and never saw them anymore...

I finally got home and played with Dixie a bit, calmed down and laughed a bit more and then headed to pick a friend up to see The Time Traveler's Wife. As we got to the movie theater, I reached into my purse to get my wallet and guess what? It wasn't there! It wasn't in my purse, it wasn't in my car and I started to freak out. I tried to tell myself that it was at home, on the table and I should just enjoy the movie. Which, by the way, I didn't. At least in my hyper-hormonal state of mind, that is! If you go, take tissues. Anyway, when I got home, I could not find my wallet anywhere. I then started to retrace steps and they went back to me working at school yesterday (yes, a Saturday...and I probably overdid it but had no choice) and being in Annapolis the day before. While my sweet school secretary offered to go in my room and see if it was there, I went back over every store or place I was Friday in Annapolis...with the last place being Babies R Us. So, I called them, thinking it was probably not there since I had used gift cards. Well, guess what? After initially being told, "No, we don't have any wallets," the girl then said, "Wait, what does it look like?" I described it again and she asked, "Is your name Lo--" and didn't finish. I squealed, "Yes, I'm Lori! Lori Ennis," and proceeded to tell her all about my wallet.
"Yep, we have it." THANK YOU GOD!

The fun part is that Annapolis is about an hour and a half away. And Babies R Us was closing in about two hours from the time I called. So, I raced into my car and headed up there...they would only give it to me in person, which I can appreciate, but was dreadfully inconvenient. Thankful they had it, though, I was just glad to be on my way. Until, about 40 minutes into the drive, I realize I only have 13 miles of gas left in my tank and pulled over to get gas. The problem THERE was that these days, gas stations expect payment. Which I could not offer. I started to freak out. I begged the cashier to allow me to just give my credit card number (which I know by memory due to my online shopping prowess) but he said his manager wouldn't allow it. I then offered to call my sister or mom and have them give a credit card number. No go. Finally, the manager actually came out of the back room, saw I was basically an unassuming, crazy little pregnant lady and let me give my number. Again, THANK YOU GOD!

The rest of the trip there and back were thankfully uneventful. Three + hours later I am home and thankful that they had my wallet (though we are registered there and they've had it since Friday and I can't imagine why they wouldn't at least check and see if they could find a phone number, but again, whatever!), I had the opportunity to get it and I didn't drive away from the gas pump with the hose still attached. (Um, I guess I should add, again.)

But as I sit down and turn the tv on to just veg a minute while I eat my nightly Magically Delicious Snack, what in the WORLD do you think is on tv? It Happened At The World's Fair. Not one of Elvis's best, in my opinion, but lots of cute songs I liked and for Pete's sake--an ELVIS movie! I haven't seen any on tv in probably years...and guess what the TCM channel is doing? Showing Elvis movies for hours...and hours....King Creole, GI Blues (one of my favorites!), Roustabout and The Trouble With Girls. SERIOUSLY? Call it what you want, but when I see rainbows, I think of John's dad...when I see butterflies (my mom had a bumper sticker that read, "I brake for butterflies" and the day of her funeral, we saw more butterflies than I can ever remember) or hear Elvis, I think of my mom. And those times we pray to God for little pieces of comfort and assurance come to us in this way. Thank you, yet AGAIN, Lord.

Matthew...just wait until you hear Elvis. And trust me, you will.