HOPE FOR JULIA

"Those who give love, gather love."

Journal

Wednesday, March 7, 2007 9:03 PM CST

Dear Friends,

I have been hesitant to write here on this website anymore. I have been afraid that anything I say might get me fingers pointed at me for "not moving forward", for being "over the top" or for perhaps “not doing well.” I know these are my own personal fears, perhaps totally unfounded but insecurities, just the same. I also realize that I do have something to say. I realize that the best thing I can possibly do is to take the risk of having fingers pointed because in the end I will have spoken the truth about the last year in the half. In the end, somewhere, someone will identify with my words and be free from their own fears, to know and understand that they are far more normal than strange. And perhaps, I might just be able to break open misconceptions about death, about grieving.

I have been listening to “Saving Graces” by Elizabeth Edwards, wife of Senator John Edwards. Aside from loving the title it has prompted me to consider who or what are my own saving graces. Recently, when I read a magazine article about their experience with the death of their 16 year old son I knew I identified with Elizabeth Edwards and had to read her book. I have been deeply touched by her words. Simply, and yet profoundly she describes her experience with the death of her child. It is an experience entirely different from our own and yet the essence is one and the same. Loneliness. Emptiness. The darkness that death bestows on those left behind. The gifts. The grace. It is not the first book I have read about a mother’s grief, yet I am struck by the similarities of grief. I have never met Elizabeth Edwards and yet I instinctively know that if we did meet there would be an intuitive understanding of the other.

One and one half years later we still grieve. Though the intensity has changed, our hearts remain broken. It doesn’t just go away after “x” number of months. It is a process and a reprocessing of information. It is reliving and reexamining and seeking to understand, over and over again. Death is too big for us to “get”. The questions without answers can give way to an avalanche of emotion. Some may go through the process quicker than others and the truth is that we all go through the process differently. But don’t be surprised if that co worker that lost her father three months ago and appears fine goes home and cries every night. Don’t be surprised if that guy who lost his sister two years ago still wants to talk about it. This may sound indulgent. But don’t be so sure. It is not that we are anxious to be the center of attention or to continually talk about our experience. It is something much more primitive. It is a human need. The way we begin to understand, or at the very least begin to accept, is to talk about our experience, to share our experience and as such, break open the experience. If you have ever been the one to listen know that you have been a huge part of the healing for that person. Thank you.

Going to the cemetery is not creepy. It is holy. It is prayerful. It helps us to be close to the one we’ve lost. When I return to that sacred spot I see this huge circle of people who circle us, who circle Jules. Julia is still a part of our family. Because she has died does not mean she is no longer part of our family. In fact, our relationship continues. Changed, yes, but it goes on. The pumpkin at Halloween, the pine cone bird feeder, the Cheerios, the flowers and the little snowman are all small ways we get to make her part of our days. We go when we can. We leave flowers at the graves of other children. We say a prayer for their families. If there is a time when we cannot get there I am hopeful that some kind stranger, perhaps another mom will say a prayer for Our Jules. We share some strange sense of community with all those others buried there. I do not know if that is weird, I only know that it is what it is. Perhaps, this is not right for someone else and that’s okay too. For us, that sacred space will be honored.

One does not know when one will be struck by some moment of grief. This perhaps is one of the more difficult pieces of grief. For me, I have tried to do my grief work alone, privately, controlled but grief is not to be controlled. Ahh, it can be hard when you feel your knees buckle and throat swell with emotion amid a crowd, unexpectedly. I have learned to let it happen, quietly, hopefully, unnoticed. I have learned to let the tears quietly trickle if that is what I really need to be doing at that moment. Because holding it in denies the grief that I need to let out. It isn’t all the time but it is some of the time.

We’ve come so far since that late September afternoon when Jules lay dying in my arms That lonely space in our hearts continues but somehow between the grace of time and a willingness to respect our grief, combined with the patience of family and friends, we are actually in a blessed place in our lives. Our home is filled with laughter and life. I cannot express how grateful I am for that. To be in this place a year and half later and to actually know life will be okay, that life is okay. It is filled with the excitement of Kristen being invited to her first prom and Elizabeth having a group of friends over. Boyhood humor and mischievousness flow from Jamie as he finds new material to tease his oldest sister. They talk and they tease. They fight and argue. They love one another. And they love Jules. Our home is filled with pictures and signs and symbols. She is with us. She remains a part of us.

Sharing that right now on paper is the easy part. The harder part is transferring her presence in our lives to others. How do I sign a card? I have settled on “The Moran Fam.” Somehow that seems to embrace all of us, without compromising the “us.” Or what is the correct answer to, “How many children do you have?” I have tried to answer. Sometimes a simple “four” is enough but sometimes it is more complicated when the next question is, “What are their ages?” I do not want to make someone squirm and uncomfortable. I do not necessarily want to share a story that doesn’t need to be shared. But when I answer that I have three children I have been diminished, knowing I have somehow just denied my precious child to another human being. This is the psychology of those left behind. Certainties have become uncertainties. We have to relearn how to do these very simple things in a way that doesn’t leave our own hearts bruised or our minds confused.

For you, I will pray that you are patient with that person or the persons who know loss. I hope that you may at some point after their initial loss ask them how they are doing. Or send a note letting them know that you are thinking of them or that you still remember the one they miss so. Why? Because it is the right thing to do. It is as simple as that. It may be uncomfortable. You may not know what to say but say something. We have had the blessings of friends and family who have been able to do just that, for the most part. This is the gentle salve that allows one to heal. It is healing. It is sprinkled with kindness, compassion and love. And when that is in the mix you are assuring the overall health of the one you care for.

Jay and I are so grateful for so much in our life. As the weeks and months have gone by we have both found our lives changing and budding with hope. Make no mistake, at times our grief resembled something more akin to anger, desperation, hopelessness. But I think… No, I believe, we have moved past that. I believe we have begun to move towards joy, to let joy embrace us. There is nothing better than that embrace of warmth and love and hopefulness. It is good to be with my husband who is no longer physically beaten by the death of his daughter. The shoulder pain is gone. The heaviness of getting up and going to work each morning has dissipated. He greets the challenges at work, and contemplates the future of his career. A year ago that was asking too much. For me, it has been taking on a tutoring job. Of being able to reach out beyond our own immediate needs, of becoming more fully integrated into the community once again. It is being able to give. It is welcoming people into our home and truly enjoying the laughter and the company. It is the welcome of a puppy into our lives. As if we are ready to feel love without fear, without reservation.

Friends, our journey continues. I know Jules will continue to make herself known in our lives. I imagine there will still be moments of great sadness. But we are grateful for that. It lets us know how deeply she touched our lives and continues to touch us. This story does not really end. The circle remains; Faith, Hope, Love.

With Love,
The Moran Fam

PS…This is where this journal will end. I hope that you might keep in your prayer the multitude who face illness, for their families or for those who care for them. With unending gratitude.

Read Journal History

Hospital Information:

Patient Room: Home Sweet Home

Links:

E-mail Author: moranfam6@cox.net or jmoran@bridgeport.edu

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