Archives for April 2012

Today was the 9th annual butterfly release that Nathan Adelson Hospice, Hannah’s hospice group, puts together.   We were invited because a butterfly in Hannah’s name was purchased for this event by her social worker and lead nurse.   It touched us so much that they cared about her so much that they wanted her included in this event.

I have to admit that I have never been to a butterfly release before – for weddings, memorials…nothing.  I had an idea of what to expect, but I didn’t realize how beautiful it really was.

There were a few heartwarming speeches before the release.  Then one of the chaplains for Nathan Adelson brought all the children to the front, had them sit down, and shared a children’s blessing and shared the importance of the butterfly release.

Leave it to Ethan and Abby to be right there in front! (see video of release!)

One the chaplain gave the word to release the butterflies, hundreds of butterflies flew into the air!   I loved seeing Ethan and Abby’s reaction to all the butterflies giving flight into the wind!

After most of the butterflies were released, Daddy and I released the one we had for Hannah.   It was nice having a moment with all of us together with our Nathan Adelson social worker.

Seeing all those butterflies today, all in memory of people who have passed, was just so touching.  I loved that Hannah was flying there, among the others, spreading her wings and flying free.

Tonight we were invited to a book reading at Hannah’s infusion center.  I was iffy about going because I didn’t want to force the kids to go to an event that was mostly for patients and their families.

I keep questioning whether we belong at these type of events now that Hannah is gone.  I mean, Hannah is technically no longer a patient or is she considered forever a patient?  I don’t know what the “etiquette” is on this.

Am I even considered a “special needs” mom anymore?

I left it up to the kids if they wanted to go to the event.  It was a resounding yes, so we went.  It was hosted by Circus Couture, and Abby and Ethan were front and center next to Dawn Marie, the enthusiastic and fun book reader.

After the event, we headed home.  About halfway home, Ethan asked if we could go visit Hannah.  It was a strange request coming from him because 1] he has never initiated and asked to go to the cemetery, and 2] he was so adamant about going.  “Please, we have to go!”   Of course, Abby joined in pleading us to go as well.  Daddy and I looked at each other, not understanding why they were both begging us to go.

We get to the cemetery right before sunset (closing time), and the kids sat down on either side of Hannah’s grave.  They took turns reading the book to her.   (They had never read a book to her at the cemetery before).

That was their plan.  They worked it out in the car together.  My two kids, who spend most of their waking time annoying the heck out of each other, came together to do this … on their own.

After they finished reading Hannah the story, I asked Ethan casually why it was so important to him that they read the book to her.  He said, “Because it was her doctor’s office, and she should have been there.  Since she couldn’t, I wanted to make sure she heard the story because she really would have liked to have been there and heard it.”

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein.  It gave me something very, very special tonight.

Before Hannah passed away, I was very skeptical about the world of spirits and interpreting coincidences as “signs.”   But since then, I find myself questioning my skepticism.

There are various signs that I see that make me think that just maybe Hannah’s spirit is truly around me.  The entrails from the fighter planes, the little purple colored hummingbirds that hang out in our backyard that I had never seen before, etc.  Just here and there, but nothing really stood out to me and said “Whoa!”

Until this past Saturday night.  Ethan was at his grandparents that night to spend boy-time with his cousin, so we decided to have a very Abby-centric day.  Just me, Daddy, and Abby.   I coached her volleyball game earlier that day, and then she and Daddy had gone to the movies.  We wanted to do something fun and difference so we decided to go down to the Vegas strip to the Fashion Show Mall and walk around.  You know, play tourist – this mall is HUGE!

She loved it because she was able to spend her birthday money at the Hello Kitty store, and got to walk down the fashion runway and pretend to be a model  (there was no show on, just the walkway was out).

The three of us went to California Pizza Kitchen for dinner.  While there, Daddy posted a check-in on Facebook that he was there for dinner “with his girls.”  Usually, he would say me and Abby specifically, but not this time.  Didn’t think anything of it.   We did end up talking about Hannah a lot during that dinner because Abby kept bringing her up in a lot of conversations.

After dinner, we walked about 200 feet and saw a vendor along the glass balcony.  All three of us stopped in our tracks.  It was a booth that sold personalized gift items.  Most of them were facing the other way towards where the most people are, but the closest one to us faced directly to us.

The name on the CD was “Hannah.”   It was a Mickey and Minnie Disney personalized Disney song CD.

Oh-my-friggin’-you-know-what!   We all just freaked out, and Daddy took this picture.  Looking more closely at the booth, there were no other Disney CD examples.  Just that one – with Hannah’s name on it, spelled our way!

Then, to top it off, Abby wanted Jamba Juice for dessert.  Weird request, all the way at the other side of the mall.  But it was Abby’s night, so we were off for Jamba juice.  We get there, and Abby immediately recognizes a bag of white cheddar Pirate’s Booty – this was Hannah’s favorite snack, favorite flavor even, when she was eating by hand!   Abby wanted a picture with her and the bag.

This one was really hard to believe it was all coincidence.

 

I belong to this group on Facebook for moms who have lost their children.   A large majority of these women lost their child due to something unexpected (suicide, accident, murder) or had a miscarriage or stillborn birth.

They share their stories, how they are feeling, how they deal with grief…it is very sobering and honest.  There are those that have a feeling of desperation, not wanting to live anymore even though they have other children, almost like a deep depression sometimes years after their child’s passing.

Then I think that there must be something wrong with me.   Why have I never felt such grief that I felt that I couldn’t continue to live life?  I mean, I never once felt that life wasn’t worth living anymore, even though Hannah was no longer here.

I have felt lost (still do), not sure what to do with myself.   I have been so sad that I would spend a few hours in bed just crying and just missing her like crazy, just like I did yesterday when I heard the new Danny Gokey song.  I still question if there was something different I should have done that maybe could have given us more time with her.   I still get moments of a crushing feeling in my chest because my heart hurts so much.

But I never fallen that deep where I would rather just not be, you know?   I don’t know why this bothers me, why it has me questioning my feelings now.  SHOULD I feel that depressed that I should sometimes feel this way?  Am I subconsciously hiding my grief somehow and now realizing it?

Or perhaps our situation with Hannah was so unique from most moms who lost children in that we knew what was going to happen.  We knew that we were going to lose her, especially once we made the decision to bring her home with hospice care.  We were able to prepare ourselves, as much as we could anyway, that this was our inevitability.   We were able to love on Hannah unconditionally, every moment, until that last breath she took in my arms that night.  We were able to say “goodbye” to her, and she was surrounded by so many people that loved her when she passed.

I can’t imagine how I would feel if her passing was in a different situation – in a hospital, en route in ambulance, while I was asleep and she was being cared for by her nurse who loved her…

Maybe that is the difference.  We were able to say “goodbye” to her when she was still here, and she was loved, cuddled, and kissed until her body finally gave up fighting.

Or maybe my heart (or my head) is just not letting me feel that much pain.  Does this mean that sometime down the line I’m going to get hit really hard?

Ugh…