At least one thing is getting easier!

Well, I wasn't sure if it was going to be possible, but donating blood is getting so much easier. The hardest part was locating a blood drive happening in the area (and I hate the finger stick to check my iron level - I always jump). Kali got to come along and sit right beside me this time, and she was happy with that (also happy to get to have the snack AND to get a t-shirt without having donated). It also helped that we went to a blood drive at JMU, which is where she plans to work when she grows up since one of the school colors is purple. If only all life decisions could be made so easily!

Something has shifted in me that I actually find myself anticipating with eagerness the 8 weeks coming to an end so I can engage once again in this simple act of giving of myself, in such a real and very tangible way. It is not just life giving for the person on the receiving end of my blood, but life giving for me as well. Today I found myself craving it mostly so that I would be sitting (unable to move or do anything else for 15 or so minutes) and doing something which takes my mind so easily and naturally to Nora. It felt good for Jason, Kali and I to be there together. I was grateful for that time and that connection to Nora's memory and to the ways she inspired me and helped me learn new things about myself.

It's not that there aren't so many other times each day that she comes to mind. There are the fleeting thoughts, the moments where I pause at work to soak up the picture of Kali holding Nora that is on my desk, or when Kali finds again on her shelf the children's book "Noisy Nora" for us to read. And then there are the more poignant moments. When we lost one of our chicks early on (it was just too weak and tiny to keep going - the runt of the group). I'm quite sure my tears were more about Nora than the chick. Or while preparing to share part of the welcome at this year's CJP graduation celebration, in which I could not help but weave some of the ways our journey with Nora was so connected to this cohort's time in the graduation program (I had just finished orienting them when I learned that Nora was not growing well in utero). And then just this week when we took Phoebe with us (without her parents) to a community potluck where someone said to Kali, "I didn't know you had a little sister..."

For me the coming month at work will be very reminiscent of the happenings of last year. As the Summer Peacebuilding Institute got underway last year we were holding out hope that the feeding tube was going to provide some relief to all four of us. And then as each session went by, we found the journey becoming more and more uncertain and scary. I look forward to being able to be more physically present at this year's SPI, but realize too that my emotions will likely be closer to the surface than at some other points in this year. At the same time, I feel I will be able to be, because of our journey with Nora, more fully present to the stories of joy and of loss that the many coming from all around the globe will bring with them. For that I'm grateful!

Empty jogger

Sometimes rubbing salt in the wound is one hundred percent innocent and unavoidable.

Yesterday we took part in the March of Dimes March for Babies that took place in Harrisonburg. We were walking on the "Tres Milagros" team, which was formed in honor of the triplets who benefited from Janelle's extra breastmilk during Nora's life and for some time thereafter. They and their parents have become our friends, and we enjoyed the morning together. Of course with the emphasis of the event being on supporting babies in their health challenges at the beginning of life, we had Nora on our minds a lot.

Kali, even with all her energy, couldn't be expected to walk even the "short route" unassisted, so we transported her in our jogger stroller, the weight limit on which she has almost certainly surpassed. But after the walk we all milled around for a while, munching the provided pizza and hot dogs, playing with the toys from the kids' toys and bubbles table, and generally goofing off. For some reason at one point I was following Kali around at some distance, but still pushing the jogger.

And that's when the unfortunate coincidence occurred, as a friendly crowd member saw me pushing the empty jogger and quipped, "Where's your baby?" This jolted me in ways I couldn't have predicted. It was like a nightmare that lasted for half a second. I think I was able to recover quickly enough to smile at the woman and avoid letting her know there was anything hurtful about her innocent joke. The general public should not be obliged to tiptoe around every little comment that could possibly abbraid the sensitive emotional nerve endings of a grieving parent. It's nobody's fault, and it's nobody's responsibility. It just happened, and it just hurts. And then it doesn't as much, and the ruffled feathers soothe back down, and I can go back to paying attention to the beautiful day.

Chicks

A portion of a longer letter written by Jason to family and closer friends: Today is a big day around here…the chicks have arrived! This morning at around 6:45 I got the call that the Penn Laird post office had our chicks, and I could retrieve them at my convenience. I found it convenient to be there by 7:08. I realized as I drove out our drive that I’d forgotten to brush my teeth.

Upon my returning home with the peeping box, Janelle and I decided to wake Kali so she could bond with the chicks for a few minutes before needing to head off to school. I sat on her bed with the box in hand, while Janelle woke her with a gentle “What’s that sound, Kali?” Kali’s first words of the day were “peep, peep,” spoken with eyes still closed, but through a broad smile...

As with so many aspects of my life since Nora entered it a little over a year and five months ago, feelings of excitement and promise come with other feelings mixed in. In this case, the “other feelings” are hard to describe, but what I’m thinking about when I feel them is that this brood of chicks signals a resumption of plans we’ve been working on since before Nora was even a twinkle in our eyes. When it became clear that Nora’s condition was stagnating right around this time last year, we made the decision to get rid of our last hens and rooster (we had already downsized) and focus on caring for her and the rest of us through that trying time. In addition to the sadness of Nora’s decline, we knew that there was no guarantee that the demands created by Nora’s particular needs would ever subside, and that the adjustments we would have to make to our dreams were possibly quite drastic. We were prepared to make those adjustments, however, if that was what it took to provide for her. Now I feel us, piece by piece, re-engaging with our former aspirations, and the place I find myself in with regard to that reality defies my descriptive abilities. How do I say four things at once? I want to reassure you that I’m incredibly grateful for our opportunity to explore a somewhat self-reliant lifestyle. Simultaneously I know grief: Nora is not here to share it with us...