Trees in a Forest

The Death and Dying Resident seminar I was asked to be a part of was a very powerful afternoon.  As I guess it should have been.  It turned out, I was there as one of five families on the panel who unfortunately have lost a child.  And we all had such different stories, our children representing unique situations within Pediatric Medicine.  One, a premature baby, born at 23 weeks who lived for two days.  Another, an 8 month old who died of heart issues.  Also, a teen killed in a car crash.   And a boy who was born with serious medical issues, but defied expectations and lived to the age of 13.  And then us, the 2 year old who's life was ended by cancer.  As the stories were being shared, I was overwhelmed with the amount of pain sitting in that room.  How strong each of those mothers and grandmothers had to be to even be sitting in those chairs in the first place.  The life experience that each have inside of them, and how great a tragedy each one was.  Each life was so significant and important.

I was humbled.  And really felt for each of them. Who am I to think no one has grief like mine?  In light of some of their struggles, what do I have to complain about?  I felt almost embarrassed.  We had time with Drew. He was fully with us.  We got to know him and have wonderful memories to cherish.  Yes, we had hard times, and disappointments, but through those we were given the opportunity to prepare for his death.  We could savor each "last", even though it was heartbreaking, but they didn't pass by unnoticed.  How would it feel to have Christmas pass, not knowing it was your last one together?  Or even the last words you said to them being something trivial, or worse, harsh?  What if you never even got a first of any of those things?  And we got the privilege of having a say in how he died.  We got to make some decisions on how we wanted it to go down.  The illusion of control does wonders for your state of mine in situations like that.  What a gifts we were given. I left feeling very thankful. 

It felt like times last year when I'd feel so isolated at home, like we were the only one with serious problems, but then I'd come to St Mary's.  Walk around the hospital, the PICU, and see how very much we really did have to be thankful for.  Or when I'd meet other families in the play room, listen to their story, and walk back to our room with Drew and give him an extra hug.  Thankful for our own problems, and not theirs, as awful as that sounds.  But they probably thought the same thing after talking with me.  Its a peace, that you know what?  Life IS hard.  But I clearly have someone watching out for me, helping me out along the way.  What do I have to be afraid of?

Its all about perspective.  Yes, there are always some that have it better, easier, than us.  But there are also many that have it worse.  And if you can't see that, you aren't looking.  I think back to the 3 years that Drew was a part of our family here on Earth and am filled with gratitude for what we were given in him.  I think I haven't been as good lately about that being thankful part.  Letting my broken heart convince me that we are to be pitied.  It's a dangerous hole to start digging.  I need to be more mindful again. 

And maybe not even about our situation as a whole, but just daily---what am I thankful for today??  I'm thankful for this time while Molly's at school that I can have to myself, to my grief.  I'm thankful for the small gestures done by others, like cards and flowers dropped off for Mother's day last week by friends who care.  I'm thankful for other friends who listen when they're busy, entertain my thoughts, even if it seems I'm saying the same thing over and over, and overlook my bad moods or "off" days with understanding.  I'm thankful for the cooler temperatures--I'm not a fan of hot weather.  I'm thankful for Molly, for her childishly simple outlook on life that gets me through my hard days.  and the fact that I even have her!  I'm thankful for Josh.  For how hard he works at work and also at home.  When we first had Molly people would ask how it was going, "the baby is easy, it's HEIDI that's a lot of work right now!" he'd answer.  I'm sure it's probably what he thinks many times these days again.   I'm thankful that I have him to keep me focused and rational.

This experience showed me also how hard it can be to not get weighed down by other's sorrow.  Listening to these stories, how could you not feel sad for the suffering of the innocent children, and also their families?  I have to be careful not to give too much of the strength I have, my energy, to others.  Even with good intentions to help I have to make sure I leave enough for myself, and my own family, and develop good boundaries. Its true in a group setting like this one, or on a person-to-person basis with families still fighting that I may meet in our Wagon project.  Its a skill that I'll need to keep working on as I continue to work in this dark world, which I really feel called to do.  Remembering all that there is to be thankful for is a never fail way to lift yourself up.

Each family was given a gift at the end, a blown glass ball, that had a "tree" in the middle. 

The Tree of Enchantment the tag says.  "Like trees in a forest, no two are the same, and each is a symbol of growth, strength and the cycle of life."  None of our stories were the same on Wednesday, but we each represented the strength and resilience found in the human spirit.  We've weathered some pretty terrible storms, and have the scars to show for it.  But are still standing, still spreading our branches and leafing out once again in a new season.  Continuing on, the cycle of life, in a forest of other trees that have weathered similar storms.  And this tree, will continue to strive to be a very thankful tree.