Amy Undertakes Retail Therapy
I love cards. I think I singlehandedly keep several card shops in the area in business. I mean, with the Internet and email who really takes the time to send real mail any more? I probably don't write letters like I should, but I never just sign a card to send it--I find that rude. I always find something to write for a message, even if it's only a line or two.
So when someone in your family dies, it turns out that there are lots of cards to write. Thank you for this, thank you for that, thank you for loving my mother is what it mostly comes down to. I got out all of my thank you notes, but felt like some people deserved a "real" card bought at the card store. I didn't have the energy to go to the "good card store" so I went to the local Hallmark store.
I picked out quite a few cards. As I said, there are a lot of people to thank. Also, I was shopping without E., and for all of you moms who are out there and who have attempted to purchase a card with a toddler along, you know how excited I was to be in the card store alone. With time to actually read the cards. Wow. I even bought some cards for later, which I have no plans to send to anyone in particular. I was just browsing for the sake of browsing. Oh yes, I was enjoying those cards, even in Hallmark.
Well, even an avid card reader and sender is sometimes non-plussed when in Hallmark. I understand that their main source of revenue is cards, and that at $2-$3 a pop, they are undertaking a volume business. But still.
Amy Becomes Confused and Forgets Her Principles
I was perusing the Halloween cards to purchase one for my niece and nephew. I was already having some qualms at the thought of buying Halloween cards. For one thing, I hate Halloween. And correct me if I'm wrong, but as I understand it the main thrusts of Halloween are dress up in a costume and get a lot of candy that your parents really don't want you to have. Am I right? So why does a holiday based around costumes and candy get cards? Every holiday has cards these days, that's why. Don't ask, just buy the cards. You're a thoughtful person, and thoughtful people send cards. For. Every. Holiday. Known. To. Mankind.
Anyway, back to the Halloween cards. I was reading Halloween cards, trying to find a non-scary, funny to a three-year-old card, and I saw a section, albeit small, but a whole section of "Baby's First Halloween" cards. Now, I've always been suspicious of the whole industry devoted to "Baby's First ______" (Baby's First Haircut, Baby's First Christmas, Baby's First Snowstorm, Baby's First Stroller Mishap), but I think I actually snorted out loud in the card store, and then started talking to myself. "Baby's First Halloween? They have got to be kidding me. Who really celebrates Baby's First Halloween? With a card? Who are the people that are buying these cards? They need some help, I think I should start an online support group for them, beause that's really just pathetic."
And then I bought one.
I had a good reason. I wanted to share it with you. I would scan it, except that I was a librarian and would never knowingly trample the copyright laws of this fine country. But here is the sentiment which someone did get paid to write:
Things Continue to Go Downhill
When I went up to the register, Faith, the kindly lady who was waiting on me, said something to the effect of, "Boy, this is going to add up to more than the national debt." I was feeling a little miffed and also thought that perhaps Faith should be given some pointers on making sales, such as don't insult the customer by implying that she is spending way too much money on little bits of paper that are becoming obsolete. However, I was distracted by the following item, which sent me spiraling back into the gloomy place of mourning I had been inhabiting. When I first saw it, I think I gave a little gasp and I got a noticable look of horror on my face. Poor Faith glanced over at me and said, "Is anything wrong, dear?" I just muttered, "No, nothing," to her and wished that I could be anywhere else in the world at that moment.
The horror came from a little pewter ornament (although I think perhaps tchotchke, knickknack, or geegaw is probably more appropriate) with the sentiment "Merry Christmas From Heaven" and a verse:
Google has informed me that there is a semi-well-known poem that I had never encountered entitled "Merry Chirstmas from Heaven", by John Mooney and written in 1989. Perhaps this would seem comforting if my Mom had been dead a few years, but days after the funeral? I was appalled. At least now I know that it's out there. And if some well-meaning but misguided poor sap sends me the poem in one form or another this Christmas, I'll be slightly less horrified.
Amy Returns Home to Lick Her Wounds and Wonder What Went Wrong?
Who knew Hallmark could be so thought provoking? I'll be more careful next time I venture into the card store.
LOIS GRACE (nee D.), September 16, 2004, age 59 years, formerly of Cherry Hill; beloved wife of Bruce, dear mother of Amy (K.) and Danielle (D.), loving grandmother of J., C., and E.; devoted sister of Betty, Helen, Harold, and Dorothy; also sadly missed by many cousins, nieces, nephews, and friends. She was an RN and worked for many years at the Baptist Home. Lois’ sweet spirit was cherished by all who loved her and whose lives were touched by her caring and generosity. Relatives and friends are kindly invited to the viewing and funeral at B. Funeral Home. In lieu of flowers, contributions in her memory to Faith Calvary Ministries or Liberty Godparent Home would be appreciated.
[Content edited slightly for the Web.]
Some of the best memories I have of my Mom revolve around travel, whether near or far. Most of her trips involved driving in the car, many times in Aunt Betty’s black Chrysler. There was the oft-remembered journey to Texas in the summer heat, the many drives to Pittsburgh, the ill-advised trip to Ohio, two roundtrips each year to Camp Sankanac, a wintery visit to me in Chicago, and the many vacations in Maine. Mom could be described as an inveterate car traveler, one whose program was planned and followed. Stops were kept to a minimum and were executed as quickly as possible. She would say to her sisters, “Girls, put on your shoes and button your pants. We’re going to stop.” My mother would park the car, use the ladies room, order food, and eat her meal, all while the sisters were still dithering and giggling and lagging far behind her.
Her most exotic adventure was the wonderful trip of a lifetime with her sister Betty to Australia to visit friends. That year my Mom and Aunt Betty ended up spending Mother’s Day in a rough bar in the Australian outback. She was asked to name her favorite beer among other questions posed to the two American ladies stranded in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday afternoon. [Both were lifelong teetotalers.]
The car was an important part of our family time. Driving around on Saturdays when Dana and I were kids, we would usually end up some place fun, whether it was the Berlin Mart, Long Beach Island, Batsto, Longwood Gardens, the Ocean City Boardwalk, or somewhere farther afield. Although our backseat squabbling sometimes drove our parents to distraction, we mostly had a good time, singing with the radio and laughing and observing the scenery. Most of our trips were local and repeated often, but that didn’t make them any less fun.
Most of my travels with my mom were mundane. My mother traversed Chapel Avenue each day, back and forth to the high school. She attended most of my field hockey games and track meets, and picked me up from school almost every day to save me from riding the late bus. Many, many more trips were made to Massachusetts to take me back and forth to college, and enable me to get home for holidays and special occasions. So many miles in the car—perhaps if we gathered all her miles up and strung them from end to end she may have reached Rebecca in India, her friends in Australia, or gone around the world.
Traveling with my mother was always fun because she was an interesting and entertaining person to be with. She was intelligent, well-informed and well read, and enjoyed watching the news, reading the newspaper, and staying abreast of current events. She had a good sense of humor and liked to laugh. One of her passions was quilting, and she blessed many relatives and friends with handmade quilts which she lovingly worked on for countless hours. Her interests were varied and some things she enjoyed were: playing with her grandchildren, email, singing in church, Kohr Brother’s custard, wrapping presents, the American flag, writing cards, lima beans, watching birds, Long Beach Island, walking, family parties, reading, Christmas trees, shopping in gift shops and antique stores, and exploring with Dad. Her favorite color was maroon, followed closely by navy. She hated to play games, shop for shoes, and cook. For years she was asked to bring soda or rolls to the family functions. Eventually she graduated to fruit salad, her specialty.
My mom disliked her middle name, which was Grace. I always thought it was a name befitting her. Her hands were graceful, whether sewing, knitting, crocheting, or quilting. Her frequent cards of encouragement were full of grace, written in her beautiful handwriting. She had a spirit of compassion which enabled her to minister lovingly to the many elderly patients she cared for. She generously supported many missionaries and causes. She introduced Dana and I to God’s grace, and was thankful for His grace in her own life.
For me, my Mother’s life was distinguished by a spirit of kindness and generosity. She was always kind to Dana and I, giving us unexpected gifts, listening to us, giving us each a good childhood. She was unfailingly kind to her patients and co-workers. She was kind to her relatives and friends, always willing to help out in any way. Her generosity is well known to many of you. She was generous with her time, abilities, and money. She taught me meaningful lessons about how to give generously and sacrificially.
My Mother’s life was sometimes marked by sadness and hardship. She was orphaned at a young age. She lost a daughter who was only hours old, and then saw her youngest child through a potentially life threatening illness. She battled various forms of cancer for many years. But through it all she lived her life with quiet dignity and strength. Her death is a great loss to her entire family and especially her grandchildren. Her love for E. and his enthusiastic response to it was clear and strong. She had a special bond with him which I will hold dear.
Finally I just want to say:
I love you Mom. I’m sorry that your illness was so devastating, so sudden and unexpected; your last days were so painful and arduous; your life ended so abruptly and too soon. Thank you for all of your gifts to me, both big and small. I am grateful that you are finally at peace, serving your Lord and rejoicing in His presence.
Writing an obituary for your mother while she is suffering and close to death is something you really shouldn't have to do. I say that, and think to myself, "Well, who else?" Perhaps what I mean to say is that I would hope by the time you sit down to write the obit, you can say of your parent, "He/She lived to a ripe old age, followed his/her dreams, enjoyed his/her life immensely, and died suddenly at home in bed with very few regrets."
I am having trouble believing that 59 is a ripe old age, although I know that there are many, many people in the world for whom 59 years would have been a gift. I am thankful that she saw both of her children settled and happily married, that she had time to spend with her grandchildren, and that she was relatively healthy and active for most of her life.
Sometimes the air seems thick, thick like honey, thick with dust, thick and close and wet. Sometimes the air is heavy, with aromas, or smog, or anticipation, or dread. Sometimes it takes energy to breathe, and you think to yourself, "In. Out. In. Out..." Sometimes it is an effort just to move through the air. It seems to push against you, to challenge your attempts to walk or make progress.
Somehow, we made it through the viewing, the funeral, and the internment. I had dreaded the internment, dreaded the finality of the casket, dreaded laying the flowers on my mother's coffin, dreaded walking away and leaving her there, alone in the cemetery. It was an effort to force my legs to push through the air, away from the gravesite, away from my mother.
Today I suppose that life is to go on. There are bills to pay, phone calls to make, people to thank, groceries to buy. There are fears to address, regrets to let go, losses to absorb. If only the air didn't push down with such force upon my head, making it hard to think, impossible to make decisions, difficult to breathe.
I don't know what to do with myself now that my mother has died. There is a strange limbo between the death and the funeral. You sit around, you cry a lot, and you wonder what to do with yourself. Time has stopped, life has changed irrevocably, and yet, there is also nothing to do.
So I made up things for myself to do. "Keep busy," I said to myself, "Keep busy so that you won't think so much."
The electrician was scheduled to come to install some lights outside for us. It didn't seem like there was a reason to reschedule, and so he came. We went and made the funeral arrangments, keeping an appointment I had made at the beginning of the week so as not to have to make arrangements while in the midst of a terrible grief. We fed E. breakfast, and lunch. We went to the police station and tried to get a "Certificate of Non Criminal Record" for our dossier. The nice policeman said, "We don't do those," and handed us a paper filled with stuff to prove that we had no "negative or criminal contact" with our local police department.
I suppose it's something like having sex after a tragedy, to chase away the demons and affirm life and have a few moments of anesthesia. In part I turned to the daughter who is coming, the daughter my mom will never meet, the daughter my mom was sewing a quilt for when she was taken ill, turned to the idea of her as a source of comfort. There is always more paperwork, always one more thing that needs to be done. Always a way to find something to do while waiting and waiting and waiting.
Still, what to do?
Around 7:05 pm EST yesterday time stopped for me. At least looking back that's the way it felt at the time. A bit earlier, I was on the phone, trying to decide if I should rush to my Aunt's house to be with my mom. My aunt lives an hour from my house, and I had an important meeting with the funeral director scheduled for the next morning. Could I wait to go to my Mom until the next day? My aunts, her caretakers, were becoming more and more certain that my mom was going to die soon, probably that night. Her decline was precipitous, all right, but I could not imagine that her body would give out so quickly.
The call came when I was sitting in the parking lot of a local restaurant. I guess you never get the call in a place that seems appropriate. I was glad that my aunt had called. My cousin who is a nurse was coming over and would assess the situation and give me her thoughts on how soon it would be. My aunt said, "She's gone," and it took a moment to register what she meant.
My Mom died peacefully in bed, surrounded by my aunts and cousins. There were many people in the room with her. They had been reading scripture, and were singing to my Mom. They told me she smiled and then stopped breathing.
And now the world feels much larger and scarier than it did a few days ago. I feel like an orphan, adrift in the world, without an anchor. Your mother is certainly a central person in your life. To be without one seems unnatural.
The death of my mother makes me want to be a better mother for E. and the daughter we await. It makes me want to leave a good legacy for my children. It makes me want to fill this big hole left in me with something, but there really isn't anything to replace your mother.
When I was in college I had a particular attachment to the poem by Dylan Thomas Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. I particularly liked the following lines, which seemed moving and loving and strong and powerful in just the right way:
When I think of it, I had an affection for lots of poetry which dealt with death. For example, I loved A.E. Housman's To An Athlete Dying Young. The poem seemed so bittersweet, so sad and yet so fitting and appropriate:
And the following lines from Emily Dickinson seemed so calm and measured, so pleasant and peaceful:
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
And now my sweet mother is close to death. And it is not the beautiful death of the poets, but a slow agonizing death, a death where cancer chokes her, stealing her breath, shrinking her stature, paralyzing her. It is not calm, it is not peaceful, it is not beautiful or glorious or fitting. And there is no rage or ferocity to be had, no fighting the inevitable.
It is simply terrible.
There are some small comforts to be found, from other who have suffered the same losses, from loving friends, from scripture, from my belief system. It helps to know that life will go on, like it or not. It helps to have K. and E., and the promise of good days ahead. It helps to sit and gaze out on the water and feel the peace that comes from beauty and nature.
But comfort does not come from the poets and their stylized views of death, as I once mistakenly believed it might. All I hear now, as we wait for the end, longing for it and dreading it at the same time, are the words of T. S. Eliot, repeated over and over in my head:
Today I said to myself, sit down and get through all of the paperwork that is left to be done. Mostly I have to gather the documents and get the various state seals on them. And I said to myself, read through everything one more time and make sure that you aren't missing anything before you send off these packets of documents. And then I realized that we don't have the Criminal Clearance whatever paperwork even though we were fingerprinted and checked out by the grand state of New Jersey for our Home Study. And I called around and we do have to go to the local police station I believe and get yet another piece of paper. I was just assuming that the fingerprinting for the Home Study covered this, and I was assuming wrongly. Hmmmm.... So perhaps yet ANOTHER fingerprinting session is in our future. It's really hard to believe.
We had a nice weekend planned, just the two of us. E. would stay home and play with various cousins, being watched by various loving and responsible relatives. We would go away alone and have a nice relaxing weekend, perhaps one of the last before the new child arrives. (How many opportunities do come along to be alone together when there is a child in the house? For us, not many.)
So after the fingerprinting we headed off to NY, one of our favorite cities. I had lots of things planned. We went to the tennis matches on Friday, got checked into our hotel and wandered around until we found a small, romantic restaurant for dinner. (Almost anything is romantic when most of your meals are accompanied by a 21 month old who makes an embarrassing mess wherever we go.)
And then we woke up the next day and I was terribly sick and didn't leave the hotel room all day. Ugh. Oh well. I have been pushing myself and working hard and doing too much and not sleeping well. So I guess I could have seen it coming.
The weekend wasn't totally ruined, but it wasn't the weekend I had dreamed about either. No trip to Chinatown to get a little something for our daughter. No shopping downtown, no stroll through the park, none of that. I was disappointed and I cried and apologized for ruining the weekend. Sweetie that he is, K. said, "Don't worry. We both need the rest." Expensive rest in a nice hotel on the upper east side, but ok.
Now I'm home and trying to cope with being sick and caring for E. We will try to get to glorious NY another weekend this fall and just take E. along this time to minimize the arrangments that need to be made, and also minimize my motherly guilt over leaving him too many times.
We elected to go on our scheduled day to our scheduled appointment and not play Russian Roulette and try to reschedule. It just seemed too risky. We don't need any more delays!
The fingerprinting wasn's so exciting this time around. I knew what to expect, and I expected it and that's what happened. Although one of my fingers was being recalcitrant and didn't want to cooperate with the fingerprinting and on one of the tries the computer said "Possible Match" and I thought to myself "That can't be good..." while perfectly maintaining my calm demeanor of course.
Recommendations:
When the CIS says that you have an "appoinment" at a certain time, don't believe them. You are just getting in line with everyone else. Do yourself a favor and go early.
Don't try to take coffee into the fingerprinting office with you. A big no-no.
This paperchase is nearing the end.
After a couple of agonizing days and long conversations, K. and I decided that all along we had wanted E. to be the eldest child. Our reasons for this are not perfectly clear. But it just seems so important to us, and I have never considered nor visualized another scenario. A good friend said, "When your judgement wasn't clouded by emotion, you wanted E. to be the oldest. That was your decision at the time, and is still probably the right decision for you." You know what? He was right. It's hard to "reject" a child that you know you could love, a child that could become a part of your family. Especially when this is a real child, and not just a decision that you are making. But in this case, it seemed pretty clear to us that lovely child or not, the right thing to do was to say "No thank you" and hope for the best.
So that's what we did.
Adopting from China is pretty straightforward. Once you understand the peculiarities of the paperchase process, you do your paperwork, you submit it, and then you wait and wait and wait. I was fully expecting to have another whole year to myself with E., time to get ready mentally and physically (as in, where will both of the children sleep? How do I make formula? Should we get shots before we go to China?), time to read and reflect, time to buy some good girly stuff.
Oh yeah, we did apply to the Waiting Children Program, wherein you are matched in a different way (not by the Chinese government) with adoptable children who have medical issues. But I had myself pretty convinced that we wouldn't be matched within the time it would take us to go through the regular adoption process, and so we would go the regular route and get our baby girl. In about a year from now.
That was, until today. Oh be still my beating heart. Today the director of the program called to offer us a file to look at. She told me the particulars about this child. And I started panicking. I didn't expect to, but I did. Because you see, I'm not ready for this yet. My baby is still supposed to be percolating in her mother's tummy, and I really shouldn't be invited to meet her for about 8-9 more months at the earliest. And you see, I don't feel ready mentally or physically yet, and this really just came at us out of left field and I can't think what to do with it!
Now I know what it is like when you adopt in some other ways, especially domestically, and you get the call that there is a baby and that baby belongs to you. My sister and BIL were in England when they got the call for their first, and they really truly weren't ready as it came as a complete surprise and so they rushed home to meet their son. And buy a crib and some diapers.
Since I already have one child, I didn't expect to have those panicky leaving-the-hospital-but-I'm-not-really-prepared-for-all-of-this- and-what-if-I-drop-him-or-forget-to-feed-him-or-something-worse-than-that feelings. I thought you only got those once, and then after that you were a pro and nothing, but nothing, could throw you for a loop.
It turns out I'm still playing in the minor leagues, I'm destined to be dumbfounded every time I hear that a child is to join our family, and nothing ever does go according to plan, so why plan?
This child does not meet our criteria exactly. It is not the medical condition that concerns us, because that is fine. She is just much older than we had planned on, older than E., which we didn't really want. So I don't know what we will do. I just know that I am shocked right out of my shoes.
Happy Labor Day weekend!
The good news is...(drumroll please)...we got our letter from the USCIS/Department of Homeland Security to go and get our fingerprints taken. This is exciting news. I am assuming that this means that they have our home study and our file is almost complete, after we have the fingerprinting done.
The bad news is... (no drumroll necessary, how about some sad mood music)...the fingerprinting is scheduled for next Friday, and we are supposed to be out of town, away for the weekend without E. From what I've read, you just don't miss the fingerprinting scheduled for you by the CIS. If you want your baby, that is, and we do.
So here is the big question: Has anyone ever asked to reschedule their fingerprinting, specifically in the Philadelphia area, and when they reschedule is it two long months later, or in a reasonable amount of time? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.
We are planning on being in New York to go to the US Open (it's tennis). We could go later on Friday, and miss some of the matches, thereby wasting precious money that we shelled out for the tickets. But of course we do NOT want to delay this process any further. (If you haven't read the whining about our home study, the short version is that it took a LONG, LONG time to complete.) Because this is a little scary:
"RESCHEDULING YOUR (sic) APPOINMENT WILL DELAY YOUR APPLICATION. IF YOU FAIL TO APPEAR AS SCHEDULED BELOW OR FAIL TO REQUEST RESCHEDULING, YOUR APPLICATION WILL BE CONSIDERED ABANDONED."
We certainly do not want to reschedule our appoinment, or abandon this application. We really want to follow The Rules and complete The Paperwork and meet our girl.