Today marks the unfortunate anniversary of Emma’s death two years ago. I have spent many hours over the last few days crying and trying to understand what everything in the world means to me. Last week, I was reading my old blog posts about Emma and it occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t keeping true to the lessons I learned thru that intense tragedy. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own despair, that I forgot the hard fought lessons which are the most important to me.
I believe I gave up on life, my friends, and interest in anything compelling. The only thing that mattered to me was Ella. I stumbled through each day going through the motions of what I believed I was supposed to do – never doing what I really wanted to do. Maybe the love a father has for his daughters is even stronger than the love he has for himself, I don’t know. Emma continues to be one of my heros, but I need to remember that she didn’t give up when times were tough and I can’t either. I owe it to her, Ella and most of all, myself.
Emma was the poster child for perseverance and strength – I should be too.
I reviewed an old post that Ellen wrote about what Emma taught her. I believe some of those things still hold true for me as well. Let me restate some of those again (with a little bit of editing), as they are relevant to my situation today.
How to love courageously.
I thought I understood what love was, and then I met Emma. To love someone enough to choose to have them endure pain. To love someone enough to stand by while they cry, holding their hand, unable to do anything else for them. To love someone enough to tell them you’re proud of them, love them, and to let them die in peace.
As things have fallen apart all around me, I needed to dig deep and remember the people I love. Telling them, when everything else is failing, that you love them is so damn hard. I may not be happy when unfortunate things happen, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love them. Love can morph and take different shapes, but it is still love. That love is eternal. That love is courageous.
How to give the gift of letting others know you need them
Emma never felt like a child to me, but more like someone far older stuck in a failing infant body. Yet, when I’d feel distant from her, she’d look up at me in a way that said “mama, I want you to know that you’re special to me”. She’d stop crying for me when the nurses couldn’t get her to, open her eyes, happen to want the exact things I would try to comfort her with.
As the chips have been down, my friends came to support me. I reached out to them and all of them were there to just hold me. It happened back when Emma died and it happened again over the last few months. I’d be lost with out them. I felt like running back east and leaving this world behind, but then I remembered the love my friends have shown me. There’s no way I could ever leave that.
That there is beauty everywhere
Emma was born in an operating room, wheeled to a hospital room, taken in a transport to another hospital, and spent her remaining days within its walls. She never saw the flowers, the trees, the weather, except through the windows around her. Somehow though, Emma showed us that there is beauty where you make it, beauty in a mobile with random objects hanging from it, in books with bright pictures, in a simple child’s swing. The fact that she found such wonder in these simple things makes me stop and ponder all of the gorgeous sights I see everyday – the flowers, the sunset, the water.
This one was hard to remember. I saw beauty in everything but myself. I looked inside me and found a deep dark pit with nothing in it. It continues to take a lot of gumption to keep looking inside, keep trying to understand why, only to discover that the only person I can really blame is myself. That is ok. That is my inner beauty of who I am. I need to embrace who I am, understand it and mold it. Encourage that inner person to grow into the person I want to be. That is me, and I am beautiful.
To live fearlessly
Our adventure with both of our girls, but more so Emma, also removed any illusion of safety. But instead of increasing my worry, losing Emma has done the opposite. Yes, there are really scary things out there, things that could take away any or all of my loved ones at any point, but that just means that the last thing I should do is waste my time with worry. With Emma and Ella, I learned instead to spend all of my energy loving them and doing what I could to make sure they had the best. You can’t protect your loved ones, your children, even yourself, from bad things in life. But you can make sure the time you spend with them is about really being with them, and experiencing all that life has to offer.
Not sure I could ever state that any better then how Ellen stated it. I need to live fearlessly for today with Ella and with myself. Spend less time worrying about the past, what could have been, and focus on what I can do to make our lives be awesome. I need to move on from the crazy fucked up tragedies I’ve had, learn from them and harness them to create an incredibly amazing day. I don’t want to be left on my deathbed with any regrets.
To believe in the best possibility
There are a lot of things I don’t understand. Why was Emma here for only 4 ½ short months? Why did she fight so hard and endure so much pain only to lose the battle? Why Emma? Why us? I could come to many conclusions – that life isn’t fair, that we’re cursed, that she suffered for no reason. I’ll never know, and those conclusions would only serve to depress and hurt me. So I’m choosing to believe a different story. I’m choosing to believe that Emma was a soul who’d previously been shortchanged, who didn’t get to finish what she was supposed to. That she was given a chance to finish what she needed to finish, but would endure a body that was failing and a small window of time to do it in. I choose to believe that she grabbed on to this chance and rode it for everything she could.
All of this despair and pain has happened for a reason. Maybe it was to force me to reevaluate myself? But, this hard ship is not going to be for naught. I once had a friend tell me, “Life isn’t fair, wear a fucking helmet.” and that just about sums it up for me. I’m going to get beat up, but that’s life. It’s what you choose to learn from those lessons is what makes you a better father, husband and person.
As I go through the rest of my day, I will be remembering Emma for all that she meant to me. Through all the crying and listening to the Beatles, I will be putting her life in perspective and applying it to my situation today. I will continue to learn from her. If I ever stop learning from her and myself again, can one of you please give me a swift kick in the butt?
With that thought, I figured I’d end with the final personal note to Emma quoted from the eulogy I delivered at her celebration ceremony.
Sweetheart, you are the strongest person I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. I will continue to follow you. Everytime I look at the sun, I will take solace in the fact that you are up there finally warm. My little pierogi, I love you.
Take care, Emma. I miss you.
{ 1 comment }
Crying with you today.
Love, Gma Joan
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