Monday, November 10, 2014

A Mother's Memories to Her Child: LIfe Back Then

"The child grew and became strong in spirit." Luke 1:80


Joyce

An ice cream cone cost
Very little; Dad paid so not sure - maybe 10 cents

My favorite ice cream flavor
Strawberry

Our family car(s)
Ford wagon
Impala
Can't really remember as I wasn't into cars.
John had a '65 Chevy

The fashions of the day included
Bobby socks; mini skirts; high heel shoes; backless or peek-a-boo tops and cropped pants called pedal pushers.

My favorite thing to wear
Pajamas as they were so very comfortable. For day times I liked my shorts; only allowed to wear dresses to school.

The popular things to do
I don't really know about popular as I didn't do that! I was more to myself and always "out of style." It didn't mean anything to me.
I liked to watch TV (we had only 1) and dance or be with my best friends. 
I also read a great deal.
I would go to the library.
I liked going to the beach and listening to the waves.


Dawn

An ice cream cone cost
A dollar or two I guess. I wasn't paying :) My mom would take us to get frozen yogurt as a treat sometimes. I would always be the last one eating. The cold hurt my teeth, but it sure tasted yummy.

My favorite ice cream flavor
Chocolate chip cookie dough or Oreo

Our family car(s)
My dad had a green Oldsmobile when I was little. Then we had a station wagon and, later, a big van that we would travel to and from Florida in. My first car I shared with my mom. It was a red Ford Probe. My brother had a 1979 Mustang, then a 1989 Mustang. When he got married, he was driving a 1999 Mustang.

The fashions of the day included
When I was little, kids were wearing Guess jeans. We couldn't afford them, so I never did. We had slap bracelets and Hammer pants. 

In the grunge days, black nail polish and flannel shirts with jeans.


When I hit high school, I switched to wearing clothes from the 50's, 60's, and 70's, so I really am not sure what everyone else was wearing. I loved wearing old fashions. My friends' moms would see me and say, "I used to have a dress like that." I wore my mom's old platform shoes, bell bottoms. I wore Metallica shirts with these hideous brown bell bottoms from the thrift store, Cure shirts with ankle length black and gold patterned skirts, Red Hot Chili Peppers shirts with maroon velvet bells. The more outlandish the pattern, the better. My favorite dresses were a green Chinese silk dress, a pink empire waist cocktail dress, and a mauve peasant dress with cream lace details on the bodice and sleeves.

In my late teens, early twenties, I wore some raver clothes. I had this amazing plastic, green glitter heart ring that I lost in the Mediterranean Sea when I visited France. I loved shopping for little boys' shirts at the thrift store.

My favorite thing to wear
My band t-shirts 

The popular things to do
I have no idea what other kids did. I think they went to the mall a lot before they got cars. I hated the mall. I went to movies and the skating rink when I was a pre-teen. As a teenager, we mostly hung out at each other's houses. Sometimes, we'd sneak out and go to parties where older kids were getting drunk and doing drugs. One time, we took a hike through a "forest" in the middle of the night with two guys who were wasted. With my girlfriends, we'd stay up all night getting "wedged" which meant not sleeping and getting crazy. We toilet papered people's houses, mostly boys we liked. We took midnight drives to Galveston just to watch the sun rise over the Gulf.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

A Letter to My Friends

Dear friends,

Recently, I have suffered a devastating loss. I am grieving, and I will probably need months and even years to recover from my mother's passing.

I wanted to let you know that I will cry from time to time. I don't apologize for my tears since they are not a sign of weakness or a lack of faith. My tears are a gift for me to express the extent of my loss.

At times, I may be angry, irritable, or withdrawn for no apparent reason. Sometimes I'm not sure why I feel the way I do. All I know is that my emotions are intense because of my grief. If I don't always make sense to you, please be forgiving and patient with me.

More than anything, I need your understanding and your presence. You don't always have to respond. Your presence and a touch or hug lets me know you care. Please don't wait for me to call you since sometimes I am too emotional to do so. I need you to reach out to me.

If you have experienced a similar type of loss, please feel free to share it with me. It will help rather than cause me to feel worse. And don't stop sharing if I begin to cry. It's all right, and any tears you express as we talk are all right, too.

This loss is so painful, and right now it feels like the worst thing that ever could happen to me. But I will survive. I cling to that knowledge even though I have times when I don't believe it. I know that I will not always feel as I do now.

Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for listening. Your concern comforts me and is a gift for which I am thankful.

Sincerely,

Dawn

Adapted from a letter from Hospice Austin.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

I just love you

I attended a paint party at BlackFinn last Monday hosted by my friend Christiane Michaelis. She recently started her own business called the Dirty Easel. I took the opportunity to create a piece of art that would honor my relationship with my mother. The color scheme is half her favorites and half my own. Both the paint and the words are free flowing. I'm honestly not sure I even like it, but it came from my heart.

I've typed the poem below because it can be difficult to see since there are so many layers on the canvas itself.


This is my letter
for me and mama.

Maman; (Mommy)
la mère; (mother)
la reine. (queen)

I just love you
Time cannot erase the love I feel for you.
In spite of every selfish stupid thing I ever did
You alone are the largest part of me
The piece of me I cannot ignore

We are

This is not the end, mama.
I love you.

La mère se meure. (Mother is dying)

Vive la reine. (Long live the queen)

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

A Mother's Memories to Her Child: A Typical Day Growing Up

Joyce


Growing up, I usually spent my days
Helping out after I came home from my school. I loved school a lot. I was social there and made good grades. I had several best friends. Still have three to this day: Geri, Linda, and Barbara.

My chores included
Dishes
Cooking
Keeping my room clean
Watching siblings

On winter days, I would
Read books a lot.
Visit girlfriends and dance, play jacks, or talk and make up stories.

On bright summer days, I liked to
Be outside
Go to the beach
Jump rope
Sit in the shade
Visit with friends

During the day, my mother
Worked odd jobs and part time jobs a lot when she wasn't at a lull and "just a housewife."

During the day, my father
Slept until noonish as he worked nite hours and needed rest. When he was up, he would spend time with us kids and do his chores.

Dawn


Growing up, I usually spent my days
Playing in my room or, later, hiding out in my room.

Going to school, which I did not like. Don't get me wrong, I loved learning, especially English and reading, but a lot of the other kids did not like me. I had a few friends, but I spent most of my time alone. Some of my friends thought I was a little weird because I had ideas. For example, I once asked my friend if she ever wanted to be a boy. She looked at me funny. I just thought I would be happier if I were a boy because I'd be able to do more things and would be stronger. Because I preferred to draw and write on the playground instead of play, other kids made fun of me. I was a little nerdy and very shy.

My chores included
Doing the dishes
Dusting the furniture
Washing, drying, and folding the laundry
Vacuuming
Cleaning my room

On winter days, I would
Read books
Play board games with my sister
Draw and do arts and crafts
Write stories

On bright summer days, I liked to
Read books
Play in the sprinkler or the neighbor's pool
Play outside with the neighborhood kids

During the day, my mother
Took care of us kids when my sister and I were little. We did arts and crafts together, but mostly my sister and I played in our room. When we fought, mom had us kneel in opposite corners of the hallway until we apologized to each other.

Then, she started teaching special education at a local middle school. My mom worked with emotionally disabled kids during the school year and physically disabled during the summer.

During the day, my father
Worked in Quality Control at an international power and automation technology firm. He is an electrical engineer.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Behave


My head
a lightning rod that
signals impending rain
days before it 
back-lights the clouds. 

Without lightning,
there is only static,
a silence that thrums the
synapses of my brain.

If thoughts have mass,
then I weigh a ton, and
I am counting the pounds
as they collect -
under my chin
around my middle
between my legs; finally,
stacking themselves above my feet
pressing me further to the ground so that
every step becomes
a burden. 

I am immovable
Unmoved by the
daily data that drives us,
forces us to the cliff of extinction, and says,
"You, there! 
You behave, 
or else."

When I see the outline of clouds
in the flickering of the sky;
When I feel the lightning 
behind my eyes,
I wonder,
'Who will die 
if I misbehave?'

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

A Mother's Memories to Her Child

In 2004, I gave my parents each a journal with prompts to fill out that would tell me about their lives. I started sharing my own responses to the same questions a couple years back, but I haven't kept up with it. I left off with my siblings last time.

I've decided to change my technique a bit, so I'll include my mom's responses as well as my own. Enjoy....

Joyce
My Hometown

As a child, I lived in
St. Petersburg, Florida


Mom's house on 39th Ave. No. The one in the middle, not the pink one.

Our street was
Patton Ave. No. then 39th Ave. No.

My favorite place in the neighborhood was
My home at 39th Ave. I grew up there. I was 21 when we moved. I loved the screen room on a rainy day. I was very happy there.

My favorite community event
Church festivals and school activities. We pretty much stayed to ourselves. Mom and dad had a few close friends but mostly it was family activities. Vicki and Gilda Lopa (friends)

Games my friends and I played
Hopscotch; hide and seek; jump rope; jacks and we loved to dance a lot. We listened to the Beatles and Elvis. We made up stories and plays.

Someone from my hometown whom I admire
Father Mulligan
Aunt Rose and Aunt Arna
And of course my parents Ezell and Eddie Colson

My Childhood Home
When I was growing up, our home was
Full of love; crowded as we had foster teens. We had up to 8 teens at one time in the house!! Busy with chores; did our schoolwork and played a lot. There was no air conditioning and only one bathroom.

My favorite place in our home
My room and the screened-in back porch. I loved when it rained and you could hear the sound on the aluminum roof. Always cool there. 

When I wanted to be alone
I would go to my room or walk around the neighborhood or go to the backyard under the tree. Sometimes go to the bathroom but not for long due to usage.

My favorite hiding place
Never really hid. I would just withdraw verbally and be quiet. My reading books was an escape. I liked silence.

My favorite place to play
Back porch or the yard. We were outside a lot. Played jacks a lot.

At home I could always
Be myself. I was relaxed but strong and bossy at times; like when I had to watch my little brothers or other kids.


Dawn
My Hometown

As a child, I lived in

Houston, Texas. More specifically, Alief, Texas.
My house on LaGranada

Our street was

La Granada

My favorite place in the neighborhood was

The park at the neighborhood pool and tennis court.
The playground at the elementary school. 

My favorite community event

Fall festivals at the churches we attended. First was Notre Dame where I won one of those totally 80s fuzzy piggy banks. Mine was a squirrel. Jean won a bunny. Another time, I won a jug of wine - ha ha! Then was St. Justin Martyr where they sell Filipino food, fried bananas, used books, and smoked meats.

Games my friends and I played

Cowboys and Indians. We played with almost all the neighbor kids. Our porch was huge,so it was the jail.
Dress up. One time, Jean, my friend, and I put on her mom's bras and filled them with socks, then proceeded to parade around with our "boobies."
Red Rover.
Marco Polo in the pool.
Truth or Dare. I was once dared to eat the leaf of a plant that everyone thought looked gross. I did.

Someone from my hometown whom I admire 

Sharon Thomas, my adopted aunt, who taught with my mother for many, many years and continues to inspire me to teach with my heart and a good sense of humor. She is also one of the best storytellers I have ever known.

My Childhood Home
When I was growing up, our home was
Divided. Mom and the girls on one side; dad and brother on the other. Mom was very loving and enjoyable when she was in a good mood. We did crafts, danced in the living room, and played cards. When she was stressed or in a bad mood, or when she had a terrible migraine, she was not much fun to be around. Dad was busy with work a lot, did a lot of Boy Scouts stuff with my brother, and withdrew and got really quiet when mom and brother fought.

My favorite place in our home
My bedroom when I was a teen, mom's bed, the front porch, and the back of the couch in the living room that looked out onto the patio and backyard. 

When I wanted to be alone
As a teen, I closed the doors of my room. As a little kid, I think I went in the closet or bathroom to be alone since I shared the room with my sister. 

My favorite hiding place
Bathroom

My favorite place to play
Front porch and yard

At home I could always
Isolate myself from just about everything and everybody

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Mom's Obituary

Joyce Marie Ambuehl, resident of Richmond, Texas, died at the age of 67 years old on August 18, 2014 at OakBend Medical Center of a hemorrhagic stroke.

Joyce was born May 23, 1947 to Ezell and Edward Colson in St. Petersburg, Florida where she spent her childhood with her three best friends and her cousins. She married Ralph Ambuehl on February 22, 1969. They moved to Gainesville, Florida and stayed there for three years while Ralph finished both his bachelors and masters degrees. They moved to Houston with their 18 month old son Robert in the spring of 1973.

Joyce and Ralph set down their roots in Alief, Texas where they raised their three children. She worked in the Alief Independent School District for 18 years as a paraprofessional in a Special Education classroom with her best friend Sharon Thomas. During the summers, she worked tirelessly with physically handicapped children. She served as an officer and president of the Alief Paraprofessional Association. Later in life, she worked at the Fort Bend County Library in Richmond where she was able to share her passion for reading with her community.

Joyce was committed to her Catholic faith and was active as a Eucharistic minister and a member of the RCIA team at St. Justin Martyr Church for almost 20 years. More recently she had served as a member of the ACTS Core Team and Pastoral Council.

She is survived by her husband Ralph and their three children, Robert, Dawn, and Jean; her five grandchildren, Alexandra, Zachery, Anastasia, Maya, and Lila; as well as her brother John Colson. Edward Colson, Jr., her baby brother, preceded her in death 18 months ago.

Services for Joyce Ambuehl
Viewing & Funeral Vigil with the Rosary – Thursday, 8/21/2014
4:00 pm – 6:45 pm – Viewing
6:45Pm – 8:00pm Funeral Vigil with Rosary
Distinctive Life Funeral Home
5455 Dashwood St., Bellaire, TX 77401
(713) 933-0356

Funeral – Friday, 8/22/2014
10:00 am 11:30am
St Justin Martyr Catholic Community
13350 Ashford Point Dr., Houston, TX 77082
(281) 556-5116

Interment – Immediately following Funeral
12:30 – 1:00pm
Davis - Greenlawn Cemetery
3900 B.F. Terry Blvd
(FM 2218 & US 59)
Rosenberg, Texas 77471
(281) 341-8800

Reception Immediately following Interment (~1:30pm) at
St Justin Martyr Catholic Community
13350 Ashford Point Dr, Houston, TX 77082
(281) 556-5116

Note: The Ambuehl Family has requested that in Lieu of Flowers, donations be made to St. Justin or St. Faustina in that order of priority.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Eulogy for Joyce M. Ambuehl

Joyce Marie Ambuehl

Ages and Stages
On May 23, 1947, a two and a half pound fetus was pronounced stillborn before she ever entered the world. In the delivery room, her mother clutched her own mother's hand, pushed forth her infant who, to everyone's astonishment, she was alive. At the time, there was no medical technology to support such a premature baby, so the doctor sent my grandmother home with the stern warning to not expect her to live past a few weeks.

My mother spent the next few weeks sleeping in her father's shoebox with his handkerchief as her blanket.

It may be hard to reconcile this image of my infant mother with the woman we are here to say goodbye to. Her life was truly a miracle; thereby, all of our lives have been miracles. The child who by all means should not have lived did so and brought forth my life, the lives of my siblings, and the lives of my children. If she had not survived, none of us would ever have been born.

---

Mom and dad's wedding, Feb 22, 1969
"She was a saint," my brother in law said recently. My gut reaction was, "No, she wasn't!" I'm her daughter; I should know. In my mind it can be difficult to separate the mother I had growing up and the woman you knew in her later life.

As an adult and as a mother, I have come to understand the strain my mother was under as a young woman and what drove her to behave as she did. I've come to have more compassion for her, to understand that, just like me, she did the best she could with what she had.

Having moved from Florida - the only home she'd ever known - to Texas with only her infant and her husband, she was isolated and alone most of the time. This was particularly challenging for her because she is descended from the Colson clan, which includes about a hundred people all of whom live within a five mile radius of each other. Then she had me and two short years later, my sister.

As a child, ours was a house divided. Where my father was so silent at times as to seem comatose, my mom was so outspoken as to seem manic. At other times, especially around the times of her migraines, she would fall into deep depressions. I remember lying in bed at night and listening to her cry on the porch outside my window. Once, she went so far as to climb in her car and drive off without telling anyone where she was going.

There were wonderful times, though, too. I had terrible nightmares as a child. In the wee hours of the morning, I would run to her bedside and beg to get in. She pulled me close, comforted me by wrapping her arm around me, and kissed my head. In time, I could calm down and fall asleep to her rhythmic breathing.

Before school, she would lovingly plait my hair - the same hair she always wished she'd had. We held dance parties in the living room the three of us girls, flitting around to Strawberry Fields Forever, tromping around to Thriller, learning the jitterbug, cha-cha, and line dancing. She sang Que Sera to us in the morning and before we went to bed just as her mother did and as I do now for my girls.

All that changed 25 years ago when my dad finally embraced the faith he so admired and he and my mom got on the same page, to share their love of The Lord with their children.

When you read about the saints, many of them experienced similar conversions.

---

I have been trying all week to make sense of this.
Mom with her baby brother Ed before he died.

My dad has said that God prepared him in his thoughts and prayers throughout the past year. To be honest, God has done the same for me though I didn't know why it was happening. Every time I spoke to her recently, if I started to get annoyed with her, I would say to myself, 'One day, you're going to miss this.'

When my uncle died 18 months ago, I saw a side of my mother I had not seen in almost 20 years, not since my grandma died. For the first time in my selfish life, I saw my mother's weakness and asked, "What can I do to help?" I saw her depression and realized that she and I are the same.

When I got pregnant with Lila, My momma's 5th and final grandchild, I asked my mom to be by my side just like she was when Maya was born. Earlier this year, She missed Lila's birth by mere minutes, and I could see in her eyes immediately how sad and sorry she was. But in the five days to come while I was hooked up to machines in the hospital, my mom was the one I needed at my bedside. Though Lila may never remember her the way we will, her grandma is the one who helped form her earliest moments in the world. Her foundation. Grandma held her when mommy couldn't, comforted her while mommy slept, and became the rock upon whom We all trusted. My mother will forever be the model of motherhood I will try to live up to.

She was my confessor. She may not have been a priest, but I knew if anyone could ask God to forgive me, it had to be her. Like my sister, I have no regrets in regards to what I needed to say to my mom. I told her all in the last year. She did not judge me; she simply told me to use the rest of my life as atonement for my sins.

---

Look at that smile.
People love my mother for many reasons: Her smile, her compassion, her selflessness. She was the kind of woman who would take the vegetables her kids turned their noses up at and would feed to the poor. Her special ed students depended on her for hugs because they had no one at home to hug them. My friends told me over and over again they wished she were their mother.

She was mother to many; the rock upon whom we depended; our strength, our guide, counselor, teacher, wife, mother, sister, daughter, aunt, cousin, friend.

Perhaps to make sense of her death we must look inside ourselves and ask, "What have I learned from Joyce Marie Ambuehl and how can I share that with others so that I may carry on her legacy of compassion and perseverance?"

Was her life a miracle? There can be no doubt.

Was she a saint?

You knew her, too. What do you think?

Monday, August 4, 2014

Haiku

Last week, my summer campers and I studied haiku poetry together. It's definitely one of my favorite forms for its simplicity, concise phraseology, and adoration of Nature. We did a Nature walk, chalked out some rough drafts on pavement, and used word association to come up with unique poems. Here are some I crafted using several words the kids came up with. My prompt was Zoo Animals:

Zebra galloping
Ebony and ivory
Blurs across the plains

Monkeys are hyper
Whipping through the air on vines
Chattering loudly

Isolated fox
Roaming the woods, quiet, alone -
Where is his pack?

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

A Burden to Carry


A note: I wrote this just after the first year of Maya's life. It's the reason I was so worried about PPD after Lila was born this past January.

My daughter has caused me the most pain I have ever known; physical, mental, and spiritual anguish. She forced me to face my own humanity, to accept the burden I bear, and to love in the face of adversity.

After her birth on May 17, 2009, I suffered from postpartum depression (PPD). Statistics show that 8 in 10 women experience “baby blues,” but only 1 in 10 suffer from postpartum depression. Unfortunately, I am part of that 10%. The clinical definition is “a serious illness that can occur in the first few months after childbirth,” and it includes feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness. These words, and others like them, filled the multitude of brochures nurses gave me before I left the hospital with my little bundle of agony.

In fact, the mountain of information I received upon my daughter’s arrival overwhelmed and frightened me. She was preterm. Not premature, but preterm, so the hospital staff brought up a lot of concerns that I was completely unprepared for. In my hypersensitive, postpartum state, every breath she took, every small movement caused me alarm. I panicked when they took her away to run tests, but I couldn’t function if she was in the room with me either.

I never expected to have a baby. To be completely honest, the thought was abhorrent to me. I hated the thought of someone being totally dependent on me. Even more, I feared myself – my temper, my genes, my failures, my weaknesses. To have that kind of influence over any human being was too much to consider. My family has a longstanding history of depression, alcoholism, schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, diabetes, cancer… the list goes on and on.

My pregnancy was even more unexpected. I was surprised by how happy I was when I found out. Feeling a new life growing inside of me was an aphrodisiac. I had never in my 30 years of life experienced true clarity; my mind was cloudless and sunny for the first time. Then, Maya was born four weeks too early, and – I’m almost ashamed to say it – my joy ended in one tremendous push to bring her warm and wet into the world.

Don’t get me wrong – I felt great joy when Maya was placed on my chest for the first time; great joy when I nursed her the first time; great joy when she was given her first bath; and great joy when they wheeled the two of us to our hospital room. But, in that room, terror grew inside me and threatened to overpower the joy. It started small like the tiny twitches of her hands, the sudden intakes of breath while she slept in her bassinet beside me. In the 24 hours to follow, my fear escalated to all out hysteria and frightened my whole family. Even my little niece and nephew turned to my sister-in-law and said, “What’s wrong with Aunt Dawn?”

Dawn. My name means daybreak; it’s a metaphor for birth. Because my mom has told me many times that I wasn’t named for anyone in my family, I wonder if my name was symbolic to her. She and I are very alike. She’s never been diagnosed, but I’d be willing to bet money my mother is also bi-polar. Growing up with her was an exercise in futility. Reason number 5,732 that I didn’t want to have children.

My baby’s name is Maya, and it means water in Arabic. Perhaps foolishly, I had painted my toenails aqua so the first color she saw as she came into the light would be the color of the sea. To a recovering Catholic like me, water is synonymous with baptism. I hoped Maya’s birth would cleanse me of my past – my bi-polar disorder, drug abuse, broken relationships, and, most of all, despair. Instead, I was crushed by her birth – the waves of terror blindsided me.

Postpartum depression felt just like that – like my own emotions would blindside me at any given moment, and there was no way for me to predict it. There were good moments, there were bad moments, and then there were the worst moments. The illness was like manic depression on steroids. I loved my baby so much, but I could barely stand to be with her. I also couldn’t stand to be without her.

Another thing the brochures say: “You may have trouble caring for and bonding with your baby.” Take it from me – that is an understatement! Breastfeeding was a nightmare. I wanted to so badly that I nursed until my nipples bled. I visited two lactation consultants to try to solve my difficulty, but to no avail. Compounding the problem were my violent mood swings. When Maya was with me, I couldn’t stand to look at her, and, when I did, it would only make me cry. When I was alone, I wanted to hear, see, or touch her just to reassure myself of her existence. One moment, I felt ridiculous joy holding her in the kangaroo position. The next, I was handing her off to a family member and running to hide in my dark bedroom.

My own mother held me and stayed at my bedside as I sobbed hysterically. My niece and nephew drew pictures for me. My sister-in-law told me that I didn’t have to be perfect, that I would be a good mommy no matter what. My husband did everything he could to console me – he took our daughter out of the room so I could sleep; he brought her back when I wept for her. He made sure I ate; he rubbed my shoulders and gave me words of encouragement – not just in the hospital, but also in the following days, weeks, and months after we brought her home. He took on every detail of our lives because I was incapable.

After five weeks in this manic state, I was suicidal. I told my husband, “If this is my life, then I don’t want to live.” My loving husband was the voice of sanity; he told me to call my doctor.

With Maya in the care of my father, I jumped in the car. On the highway, I contemplated just driving away and never coming back. But love forces you to do things you don’t want to do, to be brave when you feel like a coward. In the doctor’s office, I sat reading the pamphlets once again, noting the words that described exactly how I felt. When my doctor entered the room, I broke down crying (again!). She told me that every person has a burden to bear, and at least I knew what mine was. Most people, she said, go their whole lives not knowing. She recommended a combination of medication and a support group.

In the support group, I met women who were just like me and not at all like me. Some had much more tragic stories to tell and some much less. But we all had PPD in common. We were all drowning in a similar ocean and needed each other’s hands to pull us to safety.

It took about six months for me to finally feel “normal” again. At six months postpartum, the burgeoning love I now feel for my daughter was inescapable. I started to truly appreciate the love surrounding me – the love of my family and friends – but also my love for myself. It took courage and bravery to get me out of the darkness I was in, and, for that, I am proud of myself. I could easily have succumbed to the depression I felt, but I fought it tooth and nail.

In the first months of my daughter’s life, my family rallied to support me. They listened to me. They gave me encouragement. They pampered me. Most importantly, they held me up when I could not go on. I learned to see myself in my daughter’s eyes. I was like God to her, and she was me; frail, small, helpless, entirely dependent, but also strong and resilient.

The sacrifice of motherhood has taught me the meaning of love, but not in the way I expected it to. By forcing me to work through the debilitating pain of postpartum depression, I learned to be grateful for everything my parents had sacrificed for me, to appreciate the sacrifices my husband made to compensate for my frequent inability to act, and to know my own strength and resolve.

When Maya was born, my whole world seemed to collapse in upon itself. For a split second, everything ended and everything began. Her birth was my death… and my rebirth. Her life is proof that my life has meaning. Though I hope to never suffer through PPD again, the experience taught me that love is about knowing what your burden is and carrying it anyway.

Monday, July 14, 2014

I Quit

I quit.
Simple words that form a simple sentence. [Fragment.]
The sentiment is not simple. It is complex.
It’s complicated.
An overused, disabused articulation. [Fragment.]
Problematic in that, when I choose to use it 
Appropriately
I am misunderstood by the majority.
And the minority is oh-so-quiet
These days. 
Until they’re not.
Let’s go back to the original thought that provoked such a statement as:
I quit.
I quit my job. [Positive.]
I quit drinking. [Positive?]
I quit caring. [Negative.]
I care. [Positive.]
I am walking a tight rope of caring and not-caring
I am in no fit condition to do so
My balance is off due to the ever increasing girth of
My middle.
My hormones are playing tricks on an already
Tricky mind.
Insomnia is not responding to my defiance.
Her scorn is bitter tannins after I imbibe.
I quit trying to defy
That which is not susceptible to insolence
And so, 
I write.



Thursday, July 3, 2014

Intimate Embrace

Smoothly
We lie skin to skin, our
Bodies entangled, our
Breath mingled

You feast to your desire
While my eyes enjoy the feast
The exquisite
Suck/swallow
The ecstasy in your eyes

Your hands clench, unclench, and
Clench again
My hands stroke your supple hair
My nose inhales deeply
Gathering your scent

My arm curls around your back
Pressing you closer
Engaging your eyes until
Your eyelids flutter
You expel a gentle sigh to
Indicate your appetite is sated

Your dainty hand now rests
On the plumpness of my breast
As we both succumb to the tide of
Tender sleep
We relent
Give in to its tide
We slide into unconsciousness and
Dream of each other

My babe,
I am yours
You are mine
We are unconditionally inseparable
Connected by the most basic bond
Of mother and child.



Saturday, June 28, 2014

Nightly Ritual

Morning comes too soon
With tiny frigid fingers
Dragging me from my dreams. 

Inside the recesses of my consciousness
The language of ballet -
A dancer's feet 
Toes curled under
Poised on blocks of wood
Enrobed in pale pink leather
Satin snakes curling up her calves;
Muscled arms gracefully imitating the
Shape of the sunlight until they
Pour like its rays upon the earth -
The perfect choreography for the 
Images in my head. 

Night comes too late
With a vice grip
Pulling me down into a headlock. 
Into the landscape of madness and
Frustration. 
Winged demons floating 
Just beyond 
The screen door of my brain.

Seamless
Dreamless
Neither of which describes me.

Friday, May 30, 2014

Dear Diary...

This is not my diary.
You will not find the dirty laundry of my life etched out on your computer screen.
You will only see what I want you to see.

I have the power to shape your perception of me.
I give you glimpses into the world I have constructed for myself -
The life that springs from my imagination and my reality.

Here in the depth of my consciousness, I create the tapestry
Of hidden emotions, earth-shaking truths, and self delusions.
This is not my diary.

It is really that simple.


Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Spring Cleaning

Connected like
Dust particles to the surface of a
Coffee table -
easily disturbed.


We are tiny fragments
We are friends
Acquaintances

We perform acts of solicitude
Absolution and sometimes

Persecution

None of which is enough to quench the
Thirst for more - the desire for closeness;
A Kindred.
Someone to call my own
My confidant and confider


Commiseration becomes
Obligation -
Obligatory consolation
Until it becomes inconvenient and
Somebody settles

The thirst turns to
Dust in my throat and
I choke
Lightly and loudly

Lives connect
Intersect
Blown by a breeze or
Gently waxed over
Tossed with the towel in the trash

In the end you must
Separate your lives from one another.
Be honest with yourselves and each other
Never overestimate the pull of Life itself

Recognize that one of you is hair
The other skin
And both will be swept away in the end

Friday, March 28, 2014

Grief and Parenthood

There is no solution to grief.

Grief never actually goes away. It does not diminish.

Why am I talking about grief?

Because I have a new baby.

---

Before Lila, Maya and I had ample time alone together. We made many memories building a doll house out of cardboard boxes, chasing after peacocks and chickens at the zoo, visiting the aquarium with friends and marveling at the exotic fish. We attended story time at the library together, sang songs, played hide and seek around the house, blew bubbles in the yard, spent hours working on find-it activities, made goop and play dough and bath salts. I watched her learn ballet at her dance class; watched her practicing gymnastics for the first time; saw her learn how to swim; saw her proud, little face when she accomplished something new.

And now, there's someone else there; someone who takes my attention, my time, my affection, my love away from my beloved first daughter. A usurper. An interloper.

I resent her. Then, other times, I resent Maya for begging me for the attention I was formerly able to dedicate solely to her. I cry, scream, blame myself, think hateful thoughts, then I try to make up for all that silent anger with guilt gifts, usually frozen yogurt or a lollipop.

Today, I considered going to Hobby Lobby on my own, but I couldn't do it because that's where we spent so many hours looking up and down the aisles at all the pretty things and talking about the crafts we were going to do.

When she persistently asks me to push her on the swing or pretend she's a baby "one more time" or read her books while the baby is sucking the milk out of me at an alarmingly quick rate, I can feel myself losing my patience and wanting to snap hateful things at her.

I resent Maya for stealing that individual attention Lila may never know because she is not number one. My tiny, innocent baby who depends on me for life, whose needs I cannot ignore or postpone. She cannot make a sandwich for herself, or go to the bathroom without me, control her limbs or even lift her own head without help.

---

So, I grieve. I love, and I grieve, and I grieve and I love. I try to make sense of all this, to find balance and give each of my children their due while trying to maintain my own sanity and take care of myself.

Each day, we do something to help us return to "normal;" to do something that we did "before." It takes so much more intention and energy now. I have to carry so much more gear!

These are our baby steps, and we take them together, me and my girls.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

The After-Birth

Part 3

Wednesday, January 8 through Thursday, January 9

You would think that delivering Lila would be the end of the story. Most of us want our stories to have a happy ending, And we did have a happy ending, however, there is much more that goes into Lila's birth story than her birth alone. 

In between the time the nurses took Lila to be weighed and measured and when they brought her back to me to be breastfed for the first time, my doctor was working to deliver the placenta.

Maya's placenta was beautiful as I recall. It glistened with rainbows in the light.

Lila's placenta is a long time coming. My doctor seems concerned, but I'm too busy shifting my gaze from her work to my baby. When the placenta is finally delivered, I ask to see it. My doctor and the nurse both seem a little surprised, but they show it to me and explain how it encapsulated my sweet baby. They show me the hole where her tiny body broke through.

As much as I appreciate what the placenta has done, it appears swollen and excessively red to me. Honestly, it seems as swollen to me as my belly was while I was pregnant. My belly with Lila was significantly larger and more distended than with Maya. Everyone said it was because she was my second and my muscles had already stretched with the first.

--

All the family is getting their pictures taken holding Lila including my sweet Maya, her big sister. My new nurse has begun her shift and is monitoring my vitals. She tells everyone I'll be moved to the maternity wing shortly, and they may go hang out in my room until I get there. Everyone except James and Lila go upstairs.

The nurse gives Lila her first bath wrapped in a blanket. Lila is still quiet. She seems to enjoy having her head scrubbed. She's so contemplative of the new world around her.

After her bath, the nurse continues checking my vitals. She takes my blood pressure over and over. It keeps rising, but I feel fine, possibly because I'm still high on the excitement of giving birth and seeing my baby for the first time.

The nurse leaves the room. She says she'll be back in a minute. She comes back half an hour later and checks my blood pressure again. Again, she starts to leave the room without communicating with me, so I ask her what is going on.

"Your blood pressure is high. I'm going to call your doctor. I'll be back in a minute."

I'm getting frustrated now because I don't understand why I haven't been moved upstairs. I text my mother and my sister-in-law that it may be a while before we get to come up. Of course, no sooner does my sister-in-law show up and I start to complain than the nurse finally returns and says I'm clear to go upstairs.

--

They put me in a wheelchair with Lila in my arms and take me to my new room. I am so glad to see everyone there waiting for us. Maya is hanging out on her blanket on the floor watching cartoons and playing while everyone else is chatting.

My maternity nurse comes in to introduce herself and check on me. James and I say goodbye to our visitors, kiss our big girl goodnight, and watch them leave.

It's time for my nurse to check my uterus. My bladder is so full that it has pushed my uterus clear to the right. She asks me to get up and use the bathroom. She and James help me walk since my legs are still really numb. I sit on the toilet for the longest time, but nothing happens.

I half-walk and am half-carried by these two people back to the bed. The nurse asks if I want a catheter instead. I still can't feel my lower half, so it seems like a good idea.

She ends up emptying two liters of urine from my bladder. That's equivalent to two bottles of soda!

My head begins to ache, and I take a couple of Ibuprofen.

Again, the nurse is checking my blood pressure. It is entirely too high, but I don't feel ill. My doctor is once again consulted, and I am escorted back up to Labor and Delivery, hooked up to a magnesium drip and a continuous blood pressure monitor, and told that I am to remain on bed rest for 12-24 hours.

--

When my doctor arrives, she explains that I have had pre-eclampsia. We never detected it because my hands and feet never swelled and my blood pressure was normal across all of my appointments. She explains how my liver and some other internal organs were swollen instead, but we couldn't see them without an ultrasound, which I had not had since 20 weeks.

--

Pre-eclampsia. The word terrifies me. The only thing I know about it is that Lady Sybil died from it on Downton Abbey.

I don't want to die.

--

Over the course of the ensuing 24 hours, my headache increases to a blinding, throbbing, "my brain is about to explode" migraine. We try numerous different types of pain medications to keep it in check, but nothing seems to work.

The day becomes a blur of pain medication, barely conscious breastfeeding, continuous check-ups, blood pressure measurements every hour on the hour, numerous attempts to reassure Maya that mommy's okay, she's just sick, and doctors from anesthesia and internal medicine trying to figure out how to help me.

Then, a major panic attack. My visitors are told they need to leave. Sharon returns to check on me even though she isn't my assigned nurse. She gives me a sincere pep talk while I'm midway through hyperventilating and nearly choking on my anxiety. I vaguely recall what she said, but I distinctly remember her looking straight into my eyes and saying, "You and me, we go way back."

Everyone is shooed from the room, and I am instructed to rest quietly in my bed, eyes closed, no talking. My mind is racing no matter how long I lay there. My mom is at my bedside stroking my head, encouraging me to be quiet, but I cannot calm down and every tiny thing grates on my nerves.

If you have never had a manic episode, it is difficult for me to describe it to you, but it is agony to be trapped inside your own head with no way to communicate that agony to anyone who might actually be able to help you. In other words, it's torture.

Nobody seems to understand me, and this frustrates me more than anything. So, I decide to write out some rules for my own postpartum care:

  • Bring Lila to me every 2.5-3 hours to eat and no sooner unless I specifically request her. This is during daytime hours until 11 PM.
  • Do not allow Maya to disturb me if I'm sleeping. We will schedule specific times thru the day for her to be with me.  
  • If Maya appears to be misbehaving and I seem to be handling it calmly, do not step in. If I am visibly upset or losing patience/energy, step in and redirect her even if you have to do so physically (i.e. Pick her up and move her).
  • Do not question what I'm doing unless you can see that I clearly intend to harm myself or someone else.
  • If I have a panic attack/manic attack, look me in the eyes and tell me to breathe slowly and deeply. Remain calm and nonjudgmental. Tell me what steps you think I can take.
  • If I am depressive, let me talk as long as I am able. Do not interrupt me. Remain nonjudgmental. Reassure me things will work out. Tell me specific success stories from your own experience. Resist the urge to say everything will be ok.
I hope and pray that this will be enough to help my family help me.

--

As the nightmare that was Thursday, January 9 comes to a close, I am told that my 24 hours on the mag drip are up and I can finally move upstairs and hopefully be at peace enjoying my newly expanded family.

I leave Labor and Delivery this time feeling not so much the smiling glory of giving birth to a unique and amazing new life, but more like a baggy-eyed, sickly invalid.

--

I spent two more days in the hospital. Suffice it to say that they were not very pleasant. I was finally released on Saturday night despite the hospital staff's preferences. I knew I needed to get home to my family and my bed if I ever wanted to fully recover.

Today is the three week point. Lila is three weeks old today, and she grows cuter and more precious to me every day. The further distance I can put between the pain of her pregnancy and the events after her birth, the stronger my bond to her becomes. It's not her fault what I went through, and, yes, it was totally worth it because I love her so very much.

It may sound trite, but it's true. There is no bond stronger in the world than the bond between a mother and child.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Delivering Lila

Part 2

Wednesday, January 8

Sharon, my nurse, is an African-American woman with medium length hair curled up at the ends and deep brown eyes. She stands to my right monitoring fetal heart rate and contractions after all the machines have been hooked up to me. Each time a contraction hits and I cry out in pain, she reminds me to breathe: “Use your breathing, Dawn.”

I count in my head like I do when I am going to sleep. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.
Ach! It still hurts!
James is out of the room filling out paperwork and getting me into the system. Apparently, despite the fact that I filled out every single piece of paper they gave me back in June, and despite the fact that I registered with the hospital at that time, I still have not officially been admitted to the hospital.
So, when Sharon is sitting to my left and asks me how I feel about pain management, whether or not I want the epidural, I immediately say, “Yes!” She laughs and says, “You didn’t even have to think about that!”
I start to go into cold sweats lying in bed. Sharon is holding my hand and still monitoring my vitals. James and Maya come in, and Maya says she is scared for mommy.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with mommy?”
“Having a baby is hard work, Maya. But mommy will be okay. Here, play with these toys/the iPad/your books.”
My good friend Brendalyn comes to the hospital to pick Maya up for a couple of hours so she can play with her friends. I'm relieved she won't be traumatized with the full scale birth of her baby sister, and happy that she will be with people who love her. I know she'll be back with us soon.

--
 
Alone with my nurse, as the contractions come faster and stronger, I start pleading with God to take the pain away. “Please,” is about all I can say.
To Sharon, I say, “How much longer?"
She reassures me my epidural is coming. She asks if I want some Fentanyl to “take the edge off?”
Yes, please!
I've never taken this drug before, so I don't know what to expect. It does help, but I’m still tremendously relieved when a man comes in wheeling a cart and introduces himself as the anesthesiologist.

It takes three tries to get the epidural into my spine. Sharon is holding my hands and telling me to stay still, you have to be really still.

On the third try, as I bear down through a contraction, it finally goes in. They tell me it will kick in shortly, and I will finally have relief.
--
Finally relaxed enough to focus on something other than pain, I can feel Lila move down the birth canal. It feels like pressure, not pain, but I can tell her head is right at the end.
Unfortunately, at my last check up, I tested positive for Strep B, so they had to administer antibiotics prior to delivery, and it takes 4 hours to kick in. So the last two hours of my labor is spent drifting on a high of pain meds knowing any second Lila will come into the world. The nurses keep telling me to resist the urge to push.

Not a problem!
--
Finally, the time has come. My entourage of nurses and my doctor enter the room. James is there, too. Together, we watch them set up the room. James asks if I am ready.
“I’m scared.”

I fear the pain. I fear the inevitable shift in our life together. I fear for my firstborn daughter. I fear for my second. I fear for myself.
The bottom half of my bed is removed, and up come the stirrups. I can’t feel my legs at all, so the nurses have to lift each one to get me into position.
My doctor is there cracking jokes to distract me, telling me about her two children and the difference between her labors, their personalities, her ability to breastfeed them.
“Don’t those women with refrigerators full of breast milk piss you off?” she asks me.
I chuckle at that. Apparently, she and I have that in common from our first babies.
Then,
“Push.”
I do, but I can’t feel a thing. I have no idea if this is working, but I bear down as much as I can.
We wait a few minutes, then,
“Push.”
Still can’t feel a thing.
We wait a few more minutes, then
“Push.”
And there she is – Lila Olivia Sadek. Just three pushes, and I can see her for the first time. She never cries, she doesn’t make a peep. At first, I am terrified she is dead, but they put her on my chest and suction, suction, suction her nose and throat.
 Her eyes are open, and she is observing me. How amazing she is. In my opinion, she isn’t as pretty as her sister, but she is definitely mine. Her hair and eyes are lighter than Maya's. Her head seems misshapen, so I ask James if my doctor used forceps because I think I saw something metal earlier between my legs.

No.
The nurses take Lila to weigh her and perform the necessary duties. She never cries. She only observes. James is with her snapping photos. I am trying to see her beyond all the bustle and commotion.
They bring her back to me and ask if I want to feed her.
Duh! I want this to work so badly.
She’s a natural! She latches on immediately. Even Sharon remarks her ability.
My Lila could not be more opposite of her sister if she tried, and, yet, they are both wonderful and amazing girls.
--
Maya is finally back, and I am so glad to see her. She brings me a present from Brendalyn.
Then my sister-in-law and my eldest niece arrive. My big sister! I couldn't love her more than in this moment. She holds my hand and looks into my eyes.

My mom and dad arrive shortly after. My mom is visibly upset that she missed Lila's birth. She had doctor appointments that day, though, and I had told James to delay calling her until we were at the hospital and knew for sure this was not a false alarm.

--

For me, the best thing about Lila's birth - other than the fact that Lila is alive and in my arms - is that I delivered her on my own terms. Even she seemed to know that, waiting at the bottom of the birth canal as she did for several hours. After such a difficult pregnancy, I am so grateful to finally have my reward - my clever new baby and the one who will round out our precious little family.