Learning to Live Again
Posted by Mishi Methven on Nov 15, 2012
Learning to Live Again
The flowers from the funeral that sat on the hutch in our living room died a week ago and got thrown out.
The red toolbox that was once bursting to the seams with medications, instructions, labels, medical supplies has disappeared.
The visits from palliative care Doctors, nurses, physio have stopped.
The stack of brightly coloured children’s books that lay piled on the floor next to the couch is untouched and starting to get a thin layer of dust on top.
The folder with all the information from Sick Kids Hospital--- on call numbers, medical history, medication notes--- is filed neatly away.
The bottles have all been cleaned and are sitting on an unreachable kitchen shelf.
The clothing is freshly laundered, neatly laying in drawers that never get opened.
Stuffed animals stare blankly from the spots they were last dropped.
The couch looks empty.
The house feels empty.
My heart is empty.
It’s been over three weeks since Stella died. It feels like so much longer. Much of it feels like a dream. Did all that really happen? Did all the things neatly typed out on the pages of this blog really happen? The answer is yes, but it’s still hard to believe most days.
Saturday night our friends arranged a “Stella-bration” for Stella. A gathering in the park by moonlight, just outside the gates of her beloved Riverdale Farm where the pigs and the cows waited patiently to see a little girl that would never get to visit them again. There we told stories about Stella, lit candles in her honour, and sang her favourite songs. It was extremely powerful to see our community of friends working together, wearing bright green “Stella-bration” T-shirts, and pulling together to honour our girl. At the end, Stella’s Poppa and his friend Shawn played “Happy Birthday” on their trumpets and as the last chords reverberated through the cool air and everyone’s voices trailed off, a huge gust of wind came and blew out almost everyone’s candles with a great big “whoosh”. It was Stella. It was beautiful and magical, and over all too soon. The next morning Aimee and I woke up in our home with Sam and Hugo and looked at each other…what do we do now? All the formal stuff is over. The funeral is over, the death certificates are printed, Poppa’s morning Timbits are no more. Stella has been taken from our arms and transformed to ashes and memories.
The only thing we can do is wake up every morning and move forward. So we do. Even though it hurts. Even though some days we don’t want to.
The hardest part of this wasn’t letting go. It’s starting over.
I went to the local drop-in with Sam and Hugo on Tuesday morning. It’s the one I’ve been taking Stella to since she was 6 months old. I have a lot of memories of Stella there, and we were there just a couple of days before she slipped into the sleep she never quite woke up from. The staff have always been incredible to us, and greeted us with a loud and happy, “Stella!” whenever they saw us come in. So I found it a bit odd when I went there and the staff didn’t say anything to me about the fact she had died. I kept glancing at a few of the “regulars” and giving them half smiles, inviting them to come talk to me, so I could thank them for everything they had done, and they could offer their condolences. It took me a good half hour to realize something…the staff had no idea who I was. Without Stella, I was just a random, nameless, faceless mom coming to the drop-in with her kids. Once I went over and re-introduced my self, I saw the realization in all of their eyes and they were wonderful to me, as always, but it was still a shocking experience. Just as shocking as the lovely mom who casually asked me, “how many children do you have?”. I’ve been expecting this question. Been mulling over how to answer it for a long time, but it still caught me off guard. I had no response. I must’ve looked so confused as I stuttered through an answer that alluded to the fact I had three, but was vague about the one not with me. My identity has completely changed, and I feel like I’m having to start all over again. People need to get to know me as Sam and Hugo’s mom now. Stella is no longer my identity.
Hours later I took both boys to their regular check-ups. The pediatrician (who was never Stella’s Doctor), I hadn’t seen in a couple of months. As she was buzzing around weighing the boys and asking questions about how often they drink milk, and how much, she casually threw in a “and how’s Stella doing?” with a big grin. It took me off guard, but I stuttered something along the lines of, “Oh…um…actually…she died a couple of weeks ago”. The Doctor couldn’t conceal her shock and gave me a big hug. I realized as I was hugging her, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and my head was buried in her hair, that it was the first time I’d said the words, “my daughter died” out loud. It felt like I had just said something in a foreign language. It made me realize how very, very far I have to go before I get used to my new identity.
Somewhere along the way these last 16 months, I got used to being the mom of a dying child. But the mom of a child who died is still new to me. I’m still learning, still hurting, still confused.
Yet we continue to find great joy on a daily basis in small, unexpected places. Those moments of happiness that creep in are like tiny bursts of hope that push us to the next minute, and the next, and the next. Sometimes, before I know it, I’m smiling down at Hugo and Sam playing together in the bathtub and feeling Stella’s arms around me in a hug when her fuzzy green towel falls from the hook, landing on my shoulders. And then I remember, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” (Lao Tzu) and I plan on following Stella’s lead, and dancing with abandon through as many of those steps as possible.
Sam and Hugo play together in the bathtub:
Sam and Xavier, both over a year old now!
Getting some cuddle time with the big boys, Sam and Xavier:
Uncle Tristan celebrates his 17th birthday:
Family Photo:
Comments (28)
Elaine Lavallee:
Dec 11, 2012 at 05:00 PM
Just learned of your story last week, funny since we do not live far from you. A friend of ours, Kathy Howes is doing the ride for Cancer in Stella's name and we along with our many friends will be honoured to contribute. But want I wanted to say is THANK YOU for sharing your story. My eyes have not been dry since I've started it. I have a little hellion girl, born April 2011. She is a spit fire full of life and impossible to keep up with at times. Your story reminds me to enjoy every moment with her. It has made me a better, more patient and appreciative parent.
Andrea & Trish:
Nov 19, 2012 at 01:57 PM
there is a hole in my daily life where time to check in on Stella used to be. i miss hearing about Stella and her daily adventures. my Stella Star is on my bed side table until I can take her somewhere fabulous. i often stare at it and think of everything Stella teaches me, since the lessons are still coming. you are on our minds, in our hearts and we think of you all daily. we do not know your specific pain but we both know what it is like to have to learn to live again after the loss of someone we dearly love. some days it feels like trying to swim through wet concrete. other days i can be positive and find meaning in my suffering. often we both have to push ourselves to move forward and carry on which is a painful way to live. some people believe that the pain never goes away, we just get better at coping with it. sadly we learn over time how to manage day to day simultaneously carrying this indescribable pain. how do you put words to a pain so emotionally intense that you can physically feel it?
we have both found that as time passes and our hearts heal the distance between those heart crushing, take-your-breath-away moments has increased. i know that i am able to carry those i have lost with me in a way that is comforting. it took a long time and there are still tough moments but they are balanced with equally intense moments of pure love, contentment, joy and comfort. learning to tolerate both extremes simultaneously is hard but incredible; the raw pain is somehow almost beautiful. i think you know what i mean by that, mishi.
our entire family are eagerly awaiting the arrival of their Stella Stars. oh the places she will go!
today is all we have. as trite as it sounds, it is true. this is something that Stella reinforced for both Trish and I.
keep writing, mishi. i don't think i am alone in saying that while we were all checking in on Stella we were also checking in on all of you!
Much love to all of you,
Andrea & Trish
(Hank and Pacey too)
Diane Taylor:
Nov 19, 2012 at 07:39 AM
Mishi - as this week of thanks approaches (actually here it is, in my face) - I have to admit that my heart has trouble being thankful for the many blessings in my life. And yes there are so many. It has left me anxious and a weepy mess! And I hate being so weepy. But I want to tell you that of all the blessings I have, getting to know and love your Stella and your family has been one HUGE blessing that I never expected. It gave me somewhere else to focus on - even for just the few moments I read each one of your posts. It pulled me back from the black hole I seem to fall into and let me know that I am not alone in my grief. So.....all that to say THANK YOU for sharing and letting me be a part of your journey thru grief. I will continue to pray for all of us grieving mothers as we look ahead to the road in front of us. One of the quotes on my wall at work reads" We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us". Like you and Aimee, I am moving ever so slowly towards letting go.
Thank you and big hus to you all,
Diane
Heather:
Nov 17, 2012 at 11:37 PM
I read this poem and thought of you. It is written by another Mom who lost her child. Very powerful.
http://exhaleliterarymagazine.stillstandingmag.com/2012/08/still-standings-poetry-sundays-let-me-tell-you-who-i-am-now-by-angela-miller/
All my love to you.
Summer Aiello:
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:38 PM
Oh Sweet Mishi, please know there are strangers you've never met in Florida who hate that you're having to re-adjust to this new life without your sweet baby girl. I too, re-read the blog and the love that just comes out of the words just envelopes me. Poor baby girl. My heart breaks thinking of those last few days and I pray my sweet friend London passes in peace. Love to you and yours.
This is London's story.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Love-for-London/414449851918019?ref=ts&fref=ts
Julie:
Nov 17, 2012 at 02:00 PM
I'm so sorry that you have to live a "new" life...one without Stella but I know that your many memories of her will give you strength for the moments that are hard to get through. She will always be a part of your life, just not in the way you would like...but you will both do a wonderful job I know of making sure that Sam and Hugo know all there is to know about their special sister.
I think of Stella always but was caught off guard at work this week when a little girl came to my counter with her grandma...she was about 3 or 4 and had bright red curls and blue eyes. I managed to keep from saying "you look like Stella!" and rushing to hug her. :0)
Keep moving forward, one step (or day, hour, minute) at a time. Grieving is not a race, though some think there is a set end time, it's a journey that has no end and no timeline and you just have to go at your own pace. I know that the smiles and laughter will come back and that will make Stella happy, but it never means you've forgotten about her or "gotten over it". You both are doing such a good job with your sweet little family and I'm praying for you and thinking about you.
marion kypreos:
Nov 17, 2012 at 01:11 PM
Thankyou so much for continuing your life with us, you both are so brave and my heart aches a million times for you,, God continue to watch over you and the boys,xoxo
Angela:
Nov 17, 2012 at 11:16 AM
You guys always know how to live each day so bravely and beautifully. Stella must be so proud and what a legacy for your two beautiful boys. Great family photo too!
Much love
Angelaxxx
Meredith:
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:36 AM
Hi Mishi,
Thank you for your update. I'm so glad you are continuing to write. Thinking of you and your family and your little Stella.
Sending lots of love and support your way.
M
IdaD:
Nov 16, 2012 at 10:35 PM
Hello Mishi
Even though we are strangers, I miss Stella. Everyday, I come to this blog to read and re-read your update and look at the pictures of your beautiful angel. My favourite is the butterfly on her cheek...such sweetness.
We are here for you and Stella will never be forgotten.
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