The Wound of Motherhood

This post is dedicated to all the moms who have lost a child (may God comfort you in your sorrow), to all the new moms (may you forever keep warm the love you hold for your child), and to all the moms who are brave enough to love their children fiercely no matter what.

"Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you."
From Kahlil Gibran - On Children

The Wound of Motherhood - @2015 Jennifer L Byrnes

I woke up this morning with an ache in my chest. This is the same ache that I woke up with yesterday morning and the morning before and the morning before and over 4,000 mornings before. It stretches back 12 years to when I had my first child. It is called the wound of motherhood.

The wound of motherhood - an ache that waxes and wanes as your children shift and grow and mature. An ache that contains all of your successes and failures, your proudest moments and your deepest love as you walk on the path that we call motherhood. An ache that, I am sure, never leaves even when the children are grown and gone, for a mother's love is eternal.

I have always felt things deeply but never as deeply as after I became a mother. I know I am not alone - I think a physical/mental/emotional/spiritual change comes over us when that tiny bundle of pure love is placed into our hands for the very first time. It is as if the capacity of our hearts is multiplied by infinity all at once as we gaze down on the creature that we co-created yet birthed from our own body - a tiny miracle to behold.

We all at once feel a fierce need to protect any and all harms that may come our child's way. We place our hopes and dreams inside our children. We gratefully feel their joys, frustrations, even their sadness and pain. When they are ill we are quick to hold their hands as they vomit at 4 am or to hover over them like a hawk as they lie on the couch red and feverish.

Some days I feel this wound more - every first day of school (especially kindergarten, middle school, and, when the time comes, probably high school and college too); every birthday and every lost tooth; and lately. as perimenopause gives way to menopause and I realize that yes, I really am done bearing children.

This wound of motherhood contains not only all the trials and tribulations of our time as mothers, but also all the I-can-do-its, frustrations, broken hearts, scraped knees, nightmares, and daydreams of our children. Their pain is our pain.

We want to be there for them always, but sometimes that is to our detriment when we constantly put our children before ourselves while our soul withers and thirsts for the nourishment of fulfilled dreams and its very own place in the world. This too is the wound of motherhood - of finding a place for oneself amidst the role of caretaker, lunch maker, boo boo kisser, and tucker-inner.

The crux of the wound is the fact that we know our children are not our own, they are only a gift from God that we have in our care for 18 or so years to nurture and provide guidance to. After that we have to set them free upon the world to make their own mark. This does not mean that we stop loving them, just that we have to stop holding onto that love so tightly.

And therein lies the rub - that someday we have to learn to let our children go. Many times I have heard people say "If only I could stop time and keep them little." But would you really want your kids to be forever newborn? Sure they are cute and full of peace and you could spend lifetimes just watching them sleep (because you certainly aren't getting any) but if they were that little forever you would never know what his little voice sounded like or what her very favorite song was. If they were stuck at age 4 you would indeed know what their voice sounded like (and sometimes probably would pray for earmuffs), but you wouldn't know if he would grow up to be a baseball player like he wanted or if her love of drawing with crayons blossomed into a career as a graphic designer.

We are mothers and our love never dies, it just increases. It can be seen everywhere - on earth in the beauty of a flower picked to help create cheer on a sad day, or in a blood-red lunar eclipse that has to be shared at 4 am. A mother's love is in every seed, waiting to sprout and grow.

This wound of motherhood is our very own battle scar. It shows that we risked everything to take a walk along the mothering path.  With risk comes hurt and pain, for nothing is certain and life is often fleeting and cut short.

This wound is not mine alone. I feel it for all the mothers of the world. It is home to the aches of the moms in the armed forces overseas, battling for our country while they send breast milk home to their babies. This ache is shared with the single mother who barely gets to spend time with her children because she works two jobs in order to put food on the table. It especially resides with the warrior moms of special needs children.

Today I feel my wound a little more, as I mourn along with a cousin I have never met who recently lost her daughter, a woman my age who was a mother herself. This ache shares compassion with a friend who is apart from her daughter as she prepares for an ugly custody battle, and for the extra inner and outer strength my cousin has had to foster so she can take care of her 7 year old son who has diabetes.

If my heart could talk this is what she would say, to me and to all the mothers out there who are brave enough to feel the wound of motherhood:

"Feel your wound, feel its ache, feel its power.

Carry it and display it proudly. This ache is what keeps you connected, both to your children and to yourself. The ability to feel is what keeps us alive.

Let it make you both strong and vulnerable. Without feeling we are nothing.

Love this wound, even when it hurts so bad you want to rip it out of your chest. Cherish it and nurture it and let it grow.

Love your children deeply and dearly, but love yourself the most so you have some left to give back to them."

I love you mother warriors! Please feel free to share in the comments about your wounds. We are all in this together and each of us is doing the very best that she can. Support is what gets us through!

The Last Day

I can't believe it's finally here. My firstborn son's last day of elementary school. Please let me pause for a big sigh and a tear or two. It seems like just yesterday I was putting him on the bus for the first time and waiting anxiously for him to come home from Kindergarten and tell me he was ok. He was, and, 6 years later, still is.

In my 2008 post The End of the Innocence I wrote about how I was worried that Michael would be all alone at school, that no one would watch over him as I did. I needn't have worried. Not only did Michael have a slew of great teachers (art, music, and gym teachers included) who helped him learn and grow, but they were all guardian angels to him too. It was such a comfort to know that if Michael was having a problem in school (with friends or bullies) that I could e-mail or call his teacher and he/she would help us sort it out.

One of Michael's last writing assignments was to write a letter to a teacher that made an impression on him. He chose to write to one of the lunch ladies who was particularly nice to him throughout the years. When he first told me this was who he wrote his letter for I was kind of confused because there were so many excellent teachers he could have written to. But when he told me why he wrote to her it made sense. She may have been one of his most important guardian angels. She was the one who gave him a free cookie when he turned in $10 that he found on the playground; she let him have hot lunch when he forgot his; and, most importantly, she stuck up for him when he was being bullied at lunch. I'm sure she doesn't get much recognition from the students - kudos to Michael for stepping up.

And now he is on his way to middle school. How is that possible? I am glad (and relieved) that the same sensitive soul that I sent to Kindergarten is still there, even though he is housed in a much larger package and has a much bigger mouth. Yet, he still feels all the feelings and (most of the time) still shares them with me or his father. His formative years in elementary school molded and shaped him into a budding young man that I am proud to call my son. He not only learned to excel in reading, math, science, and writing, but became an expert in how to be a good friend to others and how to be a leader. At his 5th grade completion ceremony he was one of two kids in the 5th grade class to write and read a speech. He did a stellar job - much later he admitted that he was very nervous, but you never would have known it while watching him.

Michael at 5

When he started Kindergarten the cords between us were bound tightly. They have loosened a lot in the past 6 years. While I still wake him up in the morning and make his breakfast, he is now capable of picking out his clothes (I have learned to let go of his style of putting together green and blue plaid shorts and a yellow shirt) and getting his backpack ready and tying his own shoes. I still walk him and his brother to the bus stop but let them to make their own way home in the afternoon. Michael has developed his own sense of independence and I often struggle with my own growing pains while the cord stretches yet again. (Yes, I know it will keep stretching in the years to come.)

While I don't sleep with him very often at night and he doesn't kiss me goodnight anymore, he lets me tuck him in and kiss him on the cheek or forehead. And while we were in Florida this February he was very affectionate, holding my hand as we walked through Legoland or putting his arm around me through Harry Potter World in Universal Studios.

Michael at 11

I'll take it cause I know it won't last forever. One of his friends just turned 11 and told his mom that she was no longer allowed to snuggle with him because he was too old. Michael will someday inform me of this fact too, but I hope that day is far away.

Yesterday I made the mistake of making a list of lasts for him - "Michael today you had your last recess, your last music class, your last lunch at elementary school." By the time he went to bed he was emotionally spent. I should have known this would upset him. We spent a tearful yet cathartic moment lying next to each other in the top bunk of his bed talking about what a great experience elementary school was and what he was going to miss most about it. Then I told him about how his life is a book that is full of chapters and that this was only the end of one of those chapters.



"When you turn the page Michael," I told him, "the next page is blank. It is the beginning of the next chapter of your life and you have the power to make it what you want."

I hope it is full of watercolor paintings and lots of words, full of friendships old and new, packed with experiences and discoveries and learning, and that it overflows with smiles and laughter.

The Meeting

This is the final post in my three-part series about finding family

As the day grew nearer, we were all buzzing with excitement. Facebook messages and postings were flying back and forth like crazy. "I've never been more excited for anything in my whole life," posted June about the meeting.

It seemed like something out of a movie or a book and surely didn't feel like it was happening to us. But it was. And, like June said, we all couldn't be more excited to meet.

We were thrilled to hear that Celena (June's daughter), James (June's son) and his wife Sheila were going to be there too, as was my brother Jon. Joe, June's other son, and his wife Val, couldn't make it as they lived in New York, but they would be waiting for a full report with pictures afterward. 

The morning of the meeting was bright with sunshine, a clear relief from the cloudy, overcast gloom of winter. As the kids were at school and my husband was at work. I was the sole member of my family to be picked up by Mom and Dad. When I entered their van I saw that Dad had bought bouquets of flowers for both of his sisters. That's my dad, I thought. Always the gentleman.

We arrived early to the restaurant. I was a little bit nervous and my palms were sweaty, so I could only imagine what Dad was feeling. I felt the enormity of the moment. For 66 years my dad had lived his life as an only child, making surrogate brothers and sisters out of cousins and friends and brothers- and sisters-in-law. Now he was going to meet a family that, until only a week prior, he had no idea existed. Who wouldn't be nervous?

I believe, however, that Facebook softened our nerves. Not that you can tell who a person really is through their Facebook pictures or posts, but you can get a general idea. I felt that we had already met through the computer and this in-person meeting was the icing on the cake. I was excited to be able to have real-time conversations.

Mom, Dad, and I were all seated at the table when we saw June, Carol, and Celena approaching from outside. 

"I think that's them," I said as I stood up to see better.

As they entered the restaurant, Dad got up and walked over to them with his arms outstretched and a wide smile lighting up his face. First he wrapped his arms around Celena in a giant bear hug, giant because Celena is shorter than I am (about 4'10", the same as my mom). 

June took one look at Dad and her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"So nice to meet you," Dad said as he gave her a hug. Then it was Carol's turn.

"After all this time!!" she exclaimed. "Here, let me see you."

"This is really neat isn't it?" he asked as they hugged.

As we all got acquainted and hugs were passed around like candy, I became caught up in the emotion of the moment and began to tear up. I marveled at the fact that this "union" (for it was not really a "reunion" as we had never met) of siblings and cousins had generated such excitement and joy on both sides. You never know about meetings that reunite birth families - sometimes one side is overjoyed at the reunion while the other side is not; others may have ulterior motives for meeting. I was pleased that neither of these scenarios played out for us. 

Siblings Jeff, June, and Carol

It was easy to tell from the look of true delight on Carol's face and the sound of pure awe in June's voice as they looked at and listened to their brother for the first time that they were having a wonderful experience without any reservations. I could also tell from the way my dad's eyes sparkled and the perma-smile that was plastered across his face that he felt the same way. Each sibling had lived his/her life never knowing about the other, but that was about to change. 



As for me - I just went with the flow and felt everything - pleasure at meeting these "new relatives", joy in seeing how happy they were to meet us and in being able to reflect back to them the same joy we felt in meeting them.

As we finally sat down at our table, Dad gave June and Carol their flowers. I could tell they were pleased. They had something for us also: two huge photo albums that contained pictures of Marcella and Joyce, as well as June and Carol and their families when they were younger. It was a treasure trove of history, one which we would pore over multiple times. My dad was speechless. It was such a gesture of love and caring. Many of the pictures were very old - the fact that they were willing to part with some of these pictures spoke volumes.

"We spent all week working on these," Celena said.

"We had so much fun putting them together for you," added June.

"This is great," said Dad. "I truly don't know what to say but thank you. I'm getting verklempt," he added, using one of his favorite quotes from the SNL skit "Coffee Talk" with Mike Myers.

"These are for you to keep," said Carol. "We have many many more pictures at home."

The cousins: Celena, Jen, James, Jon

At that moment James and his wife Sheila showed up. Once again hugs were given out and introductions were made. Then Roy, Celena's fiance, and my brother Jon arrived. Now we were all here. Carol, the eldest sister, sat at the head of the table with June to her left and Dad to her right. Celena sat next to June, and Roy, James and Sheila sat next to her. I was next to Dad, with Mom and Jon to my right. 





For the next two hours we hardly stopped talking. I tried hard to listen to all the conversations that were floating around the table. There was so much to soak in. We learned that Marcella had become a widow in 1970 and had never remarried, that she liked to dance and sing and play the piano. We learned that she loved to cook and was famous for her pies. We learned that Carol was a four-year cancer survivor of some rare form of blood cancer that is usually fatal. We learned that the family roots stemmed from Germany and Ireland and that the family name Wolgast wasn't too different from our last name of Wurges, which was also German. 

We learned that we had a famous great-uncle, Ad Wolgast (also known as the Michigan Wildcat), who was a world lightweight boxing champion in the early 1900's. We learned that June liked to sing and was a soprano in her church choir. We learned that Celena had a daughter who was a gymnast with her sights set on the 2016 Olympics in Brazil. And then James started telling stories from his youth, and I couldn't help thinking of my brother. The two seemed like two peas in a pod. 

The best part for me, though, was to watch everyone and notice the similarities in looks and mannerisms, something you just can't obtain from Facebook. I didn't get a chance to talk to Sheila because she was down at the other end of the table, but she commented to me later that she couldn't keep her eyes off Dad because he looked so much like Marcella. I kept watching June because I noticed so many similarities between her and myself and Dad.



We could have sat there all day, but the men had to get back to work. First, though, we had to have pictures! Here's when the best example of genes at work occurred. Dad and June were trying to take a picture of the cousins with Celena's phone when they accidentally took a selfie! (Dad is often technically challenged, as am I, I freely admit, and now we know it runs in the family!)

I don't think anyone really wanted to leave, but we made plans to meet again soon. Hugs were dispersed and Dad walked his sisters out to their car. It had been a magical afternoon. I can't speak for everyone but I left with the feeling that time is, indeed, precious. While we are saddened that Marcella or Joyce didn't live to see this union, what matters is that we did. We have whole lifetimes to catch up on, and I look forward to spending many hours learning about the past and many more in growing our relationships in the present.

Author's Note: Since our meeting I have had the chance to talk on the phone with Celena and another cousin Kathy (Carol's daughter) and have added some more relatives to my friends' list on Facebook. We have had the chance to meet with June and Carol at some events around the area, too. Sometime this summer we will be able to meet Joe and his wife and children as they come back to Michigan to visit. 

We're Freaking Out!!!

This is Part 2 in a three part series on finding family.

The rest of my trip in Florida was split between trying to relax and find out more about "the new family" as I had termed them. I talked to Mom and Dad on the phone as much as my vacation schedule allowed, and also began to message Celena and Valerie on Facebook to get more details. And I scoured my new cousins' Facebook profiles as much as possible.

While I learned that there were some interesting similarities (both families share a penchant for naming their children with J-names: June, Joyce, James, Joseph/Jon, Jeff, Jennifer, and that June shares a birthday with my son Michael), we also learned that my dad was born in between Carol and June (Carol was born in October of 1946, Dad was born in November of 1947, and June was born 18 months later in June of 1949), which raised a lot of questions. Why was Dad was put up for adoption in the first place? Was this truly the right family?

I messaged Valerie to see if she knew more information. Did the sisters know of a brother given up for adoption?

"Joyce apparently told June and Carol that she overheard their grandmother and an aunt talking about Marcella giving up a baby boy for adoption at some point, but Marcella would not discuss it when they asked her about it," wrote Val. "She was married at the time your dad was born, so it's really a mystery why he was put up for adoption in the first place. I guess we'll never know."

I wondered if anyone knew anything more. However, you just had to look at the pictures of Dad, Marcella, June, and Carol to see that this was the right family, no matter what logic said. The physical similarities between them were indisputable and we were not the only ones to think so. Marcella had three sisters and a brother, who all had children, so there are many cousins out there, some who commented how much Dad looked like Marcella.

When I returned home from Florida I had more time to look at Celena's pictures, and this was when we were blown away again. I came across a picture of her when she was about three. It was like looking at a picture of myself when I was that age. I quickly ran downstairs to get the photo album Mom had made me one year, the one with lots of pictures of me when I was little. I scanned in a photo of myself at that age and put it next to Celena's photo. Wow, you could tell that we were cousins for sure.

Left: Jen age 3. Right: Celena age 3

A few days before the meeting things really started to get weird and the universe seemed to shrink by about 10 degrees of separation. (Insert the theme from the Twilight Zone).

Dad was being blasted by friend requests from his "new" cousins. One of them had the same last name as a boy that my mom dated before she dated my dad. When asked if this cousin knew the boy, she responded with a message: "He's my/our cousin!"

This same cousin then noticed that she had a mutual Facebook friend with my brother's wife, Janet. Turns out this Facebook friend, who is one of Janet's best friends for many many years, is a cousin.

"I'm freaking out!" said Dad.

"I'm freaking out!" said June (on her Facebook post).

I think we were all freaking out a little, but in a good way. Things were happening fast. In the span of one week, my dad had discovered his birth family, talked to his sisters, seen pictures of his birth family, and was preparing to meet them - all thanks to the internet and social media.

Stay tuned for my next post in which I tell you about "The Meeting."

It is a small world, after all

Warning: Reading this post may cause the song, "It's a small world" to become stuck in your head for days, but I assure you it will be worth it!

"It's a world of laughter and a world of tears
It's a world of hope and a world of fears
There's so much that we share
That it's time we're aware
It's a small world after all."

The music drifted out of the Magic Kingdom monorail speakers to fall upon our tired ears. It had been a great Saturday - our family's visit to the park had been at a much slower pace than the past few days at Legoland and Universal Islands of Adventure, we had missed the rain (again), and I was looking forward to beaching it for the next few days of our vacation.

As Michael, Jeff, Nicholas and I headed back to the car, I turned on my phone. I had forgotten to charge it the night before and the battery was almost dead, but I wanted to see if I had any text messages. Sure enough, there was one from my mom.

It read, "Your dad just talked to his sister."

My jaw dropped. My eyes started to tear. "No way!!" I exclaimed.

What is so special about a conversation between my dad and his sister? Well, for starters, up until a week prior, my dad didn't even know he had one!

Dad was adopted when he was just two weeks old by my grandparents, who couldn't have children. Dad was an only child and never felt the need to go searching for his birth parents because he was given the love of two or even three children. Even when Grandma died in 2008 Dad wasn't interested in "going down that path". It would have been easy. Mom had known the name of his birth mother, or so we thought.

I had always felt it would be interesting to find out - genetics intrigues me. Although I am a clone of my maternal aunt in many, many ways, I don't look much like anyone in our family - except Dad. I am like him in looks, build, and mannerisms. A part of me has grown up looking closely at strangers for similarities, wondering if they could be related in some way. My standard answer to any doctor's questionaire about the family medical history on my father's side was always a side note - "Don't know, my father was adopted."

Despite my curiosity to know what the heritage and health background of Dad's side was, I respected that it was his decision to start the search for his birth family if he wanted to.

Two weeks ago, however, the powers that be decided that it was time for Dad to find them. Three days before my trip to Florida, I was at my parents' house visiting when Mom pulled me aside.

"Come see what I found," she said as she took me into Dad's office and pulled a piece of paper out of a folder. "It's your dad's adoption certificate."

I did a double take as I read the mother's name. "But who is this?!" My grandmother had told us Dad's birth mother's name was Anne. The name on the adoption certificate was Marcella. "Why did we think it was Anne?"

"I don't know," Mom replied. "But Marcella should be a lot easier to find than Anne."

Sure enough, when Mom plugged Marcella's name into Ancestry.com later she got a hit.

Mom called to give me the news. "We found a Marcella that seems to match. She was born in 1919 and lived only 10 miles away. The bad news though is that she died in 2008, the same year that your Grandma died. However, there is an e-mail address on the family tree so I'm going to e-mail this person and see what comes of it."

Two days later Mom received an e-mail from the family tree owner: "My sister Valerie, who is married to Marcella's grandson, would really like to talk to you."

Mom called me later that night after talking with Valerie. It was my family's first day in Florida and we were driving back from the store.

"I've got some good news!" she said. "I think we've found your dad's birth family! It seems to match up. He has two living sisters and one sister that passed away. I also spoke with one of his sister's daughters, Celena. She was very excited that we found them."

I was astounded, flabbergasted, speechless. Was it really them? After all this time? I wanted to know more.

"June, Carol, and Joyce are your dad's sisters. Joyce passed away in 2011," Mom reported. "His sisters grew up in Pontiac and went to high school in the next town over from us. "

Wow, sisters? I had never actually thought it out in people before, just in genes. It all seemed surreal.

"This whole time they were so close!" I exclaimed. "Did they know about Dad?"

"I don't think so. I guess we'll know more soon. Dad is going to talk with one of the sisters tomorrow," Mom said.

Which brings me back to Disney and the text message: "Your dad just talked to his sister."

That one statement brought so many questions into my head: How did the conversation go? How is Dad taking all this? What is she like? I had to call and find out.

Before I could dial Dad's number, however, my Facebook account started lighting up like a Christmas tree with friend requests and messages from people whose names I didn't recognize. However, as I read the messages it was apparent that they were from the "new" family.

One of the messages was from Celena and it read "Hi I just wanted to introduce myself since we're cousins! Can't wait to meet you all!" Another was from Valerie: "Hi there! Well, things are moving pretty quickly for your family and mine! My husband is one of your newest cousins! I think it's absolutely wonderful that your dad is going to be able to meet his sisters soon."

Wait a minute, I thought. Dad's going to meet them? When? I furiously dialed Mom and Dad's number. Dad answered.

"Hi Dad! We just got out of Disneyworld and I got this message on my phone that you talked to your sister!! I'm dying to know how it went!"

"Well, I'd love to tell you all about it but we're just about to walk out the door to go to dinner with friends. I will give you the brief version. I talked to my sister June and we had a very nice conversation. She seems like a really nice person and we're going to meet with her and her sister, and mine too I guess, Carol, and June's daughter Celena on Friday. You'll be home from Florida then. Would you like to join us?"

"Do kids like candy? Of course I want to come!" I exclaimed. "I can't believe that you have to go now and leave me in the dark!" I wanted to know everything - what were their ages, did they know they had a brother, what was their mom like, etc. I hung up with Dad and then called my brother. Maybe he could fill in some of the details. The phone rang and rang and rang. No one was home.

"Aargh!!" I exclaimed to Jeff. "I just found out the most exciting, mind-blowing news that, after 65 years of being an only child, my dad finds out that he has sisters, and I can't talk to anyone about it!!"

So I turned to the only device left to me to find out more information - Facebook. Now I know that a lot of people don't really like Facebook and yes, it is a time suck, but in this situation it was my saving grace and I will forever be grateful to whoever created it. Mom had told me to look on my cousin Joseph's (June's son) page because there was a picture of him and my dad's birth mom.

It took me awhile to find the picture but when I did it took my breath away. Staring up at me was a female version of my father - gray hair and blue eyes, great big smile too. So that's where the blue eyes and grey hair come from, I thought, two traits I, and not my brother, shared with my dad. Yet in Joe I could see traits of my brother.

Dad with Marcella and his sisters (Carol and June)

"Look at this!!" I said to my husband as I shoved my phone in his face. "It's my dad's birth mom!!" Jeff was driving so it probably wasn't the smartest thing for me to put my phone in his face, but I was really excited and he was the only one I could share it with.

On Celena's page I found a treasure trove of pictorial wealth. She had pictures of herself, her mom, and her brothers when they were younger as well as pictures.of Marcella. As I browsed through Joe and Celena's pictures I took note of all the physical similarities we all shared. It wasn't just my dad that looked like them either. In a few pictures of June I noticed that she and I had the same cheekbones and nose and face shape.

Jen (left) and June (right)

It is hard to explain the emotions that bubbled to the surface in that two hour drive from Orlando to Venice, FL - emotions that I didn't even know were there. It felt like a treasure had been found that I didn't even know was lost. I felt very lucky that for my whole life I have had a very wonderful, loving and close relationship with my family of aunts and uncles and cousins. Now I was being blessed with the chance to get to know a whole other side that I had only wondered about.

Even though I was on vacation in Florida I couldn't wait to get back home to the polar vortex that was Michigan. I wanted to know more about these people who shared my genes - what were they like? What interests did we share?

I sighed and watched the palm trees go by. It was going to be a long week.

Stay tuned for the next post in which more is revealed!!

Silver Bells

It is December 8^th and I’m finally just feeling the spirit of Christmas. Before today I had no desire to decorate the house or make cookies or even listen to Christmas music! I found myself going through the motions for the kids. Even going on our annual Christmas tree hunt didn't do it for me, perhaps because although we chose to go on a beautiful, albeit super cold day, by the end of our one-hour trek through the tree lot my hands were as cold and numb as Audrey’s from the movie Christmas Vacation. (We did end up with a beautiful tree though.)

However, something triggered inside me today as I walked amongst the crowds.  Perhaps it was generated by the joyful energy of the children who were waiting in line to see Santa, or maybe it was the snowflakes I saw twirling in the air as I left the mall. Maybe it doesn't matter what it was that made it happen – what’s important is that it happened!!

There’s a lot to be said about Christmas shopping done on-line from the comfort of your home. Lord knows I love my Amazon! However, going out into the crowds yesterday made me realize that by shopping alone in your jammies you miss out on the group energy that is abundant at this time of year - that special feeling you get when you find that perfect gift for that special someone multiplied by the hundreds, the mass feeling of love and joy that the holidays bring, the declarations of “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays”. That feeling is infectious and is something you cannot get while sitting in front of the computer.

Even on the way home when I was stuck in traffic the Christmas spirit inside me was not diminished. I turned my radio dial to the Christmas station and sang along with Harry Connick Jr. and the kids to “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”, and to a favorite from my teenage years, the Band-Aid rendition of “Do They Know it’s Christmas Time?” (I still love to try to identify all the individual singers).

My son Michael and I have been meditating on and off this year. It’s really helped him focus his emotions and thoughts. Recently we started attending a kids’ meditation class at Simple Organics in Oxford, led by the son of the owner. Now I have never been a great meditator on my own – I get too distracted – but when I’m in a group I am able to focus a little better. And the energy put out by a group meditation is so much more powerful! We both look forward to our class.

I guess my point (and message to myself) is to take advantage of the group energy this season. Even if you don’t need to shop, get out there – stroll through a downtown area and look at the window displays and the city lights. Listen to the people as they hustle and bustle. Put a dollar or two into the Salvation Army bucket. Take a walk through the snow. These things are powerful and may just spark your inner Christmas spirit. Once ignited, it will carry you on a flame through the rest of the season.

One of my favorite holiday pastimes when I was a little girl was to get together with my best friend and sing Christmas carols. “Silver Bells” was one of our favorites. I can’t speak for my friend but it’s still one of the songs I hold close to my heart. As I recall the words I realize that it is the perfect song to evoke that dormant Christmas spirit that is always in us but may have been waylaid by our everyday lives or the rush to get the best deals through on-line shopping.

Sing it with me won’t you?

“City sidewalks, busy sidewalks
Dressed in holiday style
In the air
There's a feeling
of Christmas.

Children laughing
People passing
Meeting smile after smile
and on every street corner you'll hear

Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them sing
Soon it will be Christmas day.

Strings of street lights
Even stop lights
Blink a bright red and green
As the shoppers rush
home with their treasures

Hear the snow crunch
See the kids bunch
This is Santa's big scene
And above all this bustle
You'll hear

Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them sing
Soon it will be Christmas day”

There now. Don’t you feel better? I do.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from the heart!

Endings and Beginnings

Labor Day weekend has always been a time of endings and beginnings. Summer vacation is ending and school is starting. Warm summer breezes give way to cool fall-like wind that tugs on your skin and prompts you to put on a sweater.

For me, however, Labor Day weekend always seems to have a deeper symbolism. Like clockwork, something always begins or ends on this weekend. One year I moved to Santa Fe on Labor Day weekend. Goodbye old life in Michigan. Hello new life in New Mexico. Another year I released an old relationship only to find a new one waiting for me in the wings. Ten years ago I discovered that I was pregnant with my first child. Last year we got new kittens and my sons got to discover what unconditional love is like.

This year, Labor Day weekend held a definite ending for our family. Our 14 year old black cat Sabrina died. She'd been diagnosed with diabetes in the spring and had struggled with the disease, but this was her time.

I first got Sabrina from my sister-in-law back in 2000. She had just moved in with my brother and Sabrina decided that she didn't like Jon, showing it by peeing all over his landscaping blueprints. I, being the animal lover that I am, took her in, and soon the peeing stopped. Sabrina soon traveled with me to another house when I moved in with my husband-to-be, Jeff.

Sabrina was a very healing cat. Whenever Jeff or I were not feeling well Sabrina would sleep on our laps or chests. Sometimes she would just place a paw somewhere on our body and commence with the purring. I first knew that I was pregnant with both of our kids because she would always sit on my abdomen, like she was a momma bird incubating her young egg.

When I had Michael, Sabrina felt displaced and Jeff soon took over as her favorite human. Michael learned when he was 1 or 2 not to bother her too much or he would get nipped. Nicholas never learned it. He was always bothering Sabrina - he subscribed to the "I'll love her and squeeze her and call her George" theory that hugging and squeezing and laying on Sabrina was the best way to show her love. He had a lot of nips and scratches to disprove this theory, but he never learned (or cared). Now that I think of it, he was this way with me too.

As Sabrina grew older she showed her displeasure to almost anything by peeing on our stuff, mostly mine. She taught me quickly that if I left any clothes on the floor that they were sure to get peed on. If she was really mad she would pee on something in the boys' rooms. But never Jeff's.

When we got the kittens she was not very happy. In fact, she was pissed, literally. Our bedroom carpets became targets and I became very tired of it very soon.

"This cat needs to go!" I would shout after finding another pee spot. But the rest of the family didn't agree with me so she stayed.

Soon her legs betrayed her and we realized that she could no longer go downstairs to her litter box. So Jeff brought the litter box up and put it in our bathroom. Sometimes she made it into the box but most of the time I would find puddles outside.

"Sabrina, you're a cat - you're not supposed to think outside the box!" I would say to her as I cleaned up the puddle.

When she peed out a blood clot this summer I knew she was near the end. She was peeing everywhere, vomiting all the time, and couldn't jump up on the bed anymore. We went away three times on vacation and every time we came back I was expecting our neighbor to tell us that she had died while we were away. Luckily she didn't.

"Sabrina is really sick and may be on her way to heaven soon," I kept warning the kids. Nicholas, who is 7 1/2, didn't like to hear this news and, I think, didn't really accept it. He would make a beeline to find Sabrina in her favorite place under our bed, and talk to her and pet her.

And then the week before Labor Day weekend, Sabrina made a turn for the worse. She stopped eating, she was vomiting foam, she wobbled when she walked, and she was having trouble seeing. She was ready.

I warned the boys that she was really sick and probably wouldn't make it through the end of the week. They both started to sob. "I don't want Sabrina to go," Nicholas cried. "I love her!"

"I know you do," I said, tearing up a little myself. "But she's old and sick. There's not much left in this life for her now."

I made an appointment for the vet on Friday afternoon. That morning the boys spent a lot of time with her, petting her from under the bed. We talked a lot about death and what kitty heaven would be like. Ten-year-old Michael made a very adult-like observation that Sabrina was ready to die but was hanging on because she didn't want to leave us.

"You're right," I said. "Sometimes people or animals can't leave until their loved ones release them, It's a very powerful thing to do."

Michael left and came back a while later. "I told Sabrina that it's ok to leave us and go to heaven," he reported as he gave me a big hug. I knew then that he would be all right when she died because on some level he "got" death. I knew he had made peace with her passing. It was Nicholas who I was worried about. He was younger and didn't really understand what death was all about.

Thankfully my mom took the boys to the beach that afternoon. Jeff came home and we took Sabrina outside for her last romp in the grass. And then it was time. She passed very peacefully. We wrapped her in a towel and put her in a box in the garage.

When the kids came home Nicholas's first thoughts were about Sabrina.

"Where is Sabrina?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, buddy, but she died today."

"Noooooo!!" he sobbed as he collapsed in my arms. "I wasn't ready for her to go!" He cried for a while and then looked up at me, his tear-stained glasses enlarging the pain in his eyes.

"How did she die? Where did she die? Where is she? Can I hold her?"

We had kept her body for this very reason. This was the kids' first real experience with the death of someone super close to them and I wanted them to have closure.

I took Nicholas outside and sat him on a bench. Then I brought Sabrina's towel-wrapped body and laid it in his arms. Gently we removed part of the towel so he could see her head and face.

"Hi Sabs," he said to her. "I didn't want you to die. You were the best kitty in the world."

He looked at me and asked if he could give her a hug. I realize that this sounds very macabre, but I knew then that this was part of his healing process.

"Certainly," I said, and tearfully watched as my little "baby" held and rocked his "baby" back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as he cried into her fur.

My heart broke as I watched his splinter into a million pieces. As long as I live I will never forget the raw grief and emotion that was splashed across his face at that moment when he learned nothing in this world is here to stay forever, even if you want it to.

He would have held her for the rest of the day if we had let him. In fact, he did ask if she could sleep with him that night. We drew the line at that one, saying no.

When Nicholas first heard that Sabrina might not have long to live, he asked if we could have a funeral. I told him that was a wonderful idea. And so, after he gave Sabrina one last hug, we took her away and Nicholas called up his aunt and uncle and grandma and grandpa and invited them to come to her funeral.

Later he asked me if we could have a line at the funeral like the one he saw at his Great-Uncle Bob's funeral. "You know, Mom," he said, "The line where everyone comes and gives me a hug and tells me they're sorry that Sabrina died." I told him that he could do anything he wanted at the funeral.

The next day was bright and sunny - a great day for a cat funeral. Without any prodding from me Nicholas dressed in his most fancy shirt and put on his only tie. Then he wrote Sabrina a letter to take with her to heaven. "I'll miss you Sabrina. I'll always love you!" He and Michael then helped Jeff make a kitty casket, complete with engraved cover.

When everyone arrived, we took the casket into the corner of the back yard where Jeff had dug a hole. We stood in a circle as my dad spoke about the circle of life and about Sabrina's next phase of being. Partway through the service Nicholas went over to the casket and laid one of his teardrops on it. I held Nick's hand as my brother spoke when no one else could - we were all too choked up to say anything.

Finally we laid Sabrina to rest. We each placed some dirt on top of her casket and then the boys helped Jeff finish burying it. Janet had brought some flowers so we placed them on top.

We didn't have a luncheon afterwards or even any snacks - I think that would have been going too far. Some may think we went a little over the top as it was, but I think it was important to give my boys a chance to deal with their grief to the fullest. I think had we just told them that Sabrina had died and now she was gone, they would have felt incomplete somehow. By allowing them to have a ceremony celebrating her life and encouraging them to cry and feel sad this will help them to know how to deal with a loss, whatever it is, in the future.

Nicholas cried a lot on the day of Sabrina's funeral and in the days following, but now he can talk about her without tearing up. The other night I asked him what he thought she was doing now. He thought a moment and then said, "I think she's playing with her brother in kitty heaven."

The kittens we brought into our house last year are no longer kittens but full-grown cats. Leia has now turned into the alpha cat and is trying to fill the space that Sabrina left. She is now the healing cat - she, like Sabrina, instinctively knows when someone is not feeling well or is feeling sad and goes to lay by them. I knew she was going to be this way on the last day of Sabrina's life when she stayed under the bed with Sabrina the whole day as if to say "Hey, you didn't really like me much while I was a kitten but I'm not going to let you pass on your own."

I will always remember this Labor Day weekend as the time the life of our dear cat ended. I will also remember that it was a time of beginnings too. It was the beginning of a sense of emotional strength in the boys - one that is only brought on by loss. It is the knowledge that life does carry on after you lose someone you love. It's knowing that the departed will always live in your heart. And it's knowing that your tears will always make you feel better.