Sunshine in the winter months is not common here in Oregon. A typical day is cloudy, rainy and chilly. Many people suffer from depression due to a lack of sunshine and welcome a few rays of sunlight. A sunny day in the depths of winter is usually a welcome relief. However, I look at lovely winter scenes like in the photo below and tend to feel sad.
Click here to see the source for this photo.
To explain why sunshine during the shortest days of the year gives me an empty feeling, I have to tell about what happened several years ago, when I had "only" three children.
Andrea’s birth was unplanned. I was distressed to find myself pregnant again. With three young children already, my energy was stretched pretty thin, as was our budget. My husband’s teaching salary wasn’t enough for a growing family. Babysitting and selling Avon products barely helped to make ends meet. My attitude changed completely upon seeing our newborn. Instantly, I felt a strong attachment. While still in the hospital, I apologized, "If I’d know it was YOU in there, I wouldn’t have been upset."
Our new baby girl was delightful and hardly ever fussed. We had bonded and had a great time together. Somehow, things worked out financially, and the world seemed brighter. Almost every day in the weeks after little Andrea’s 6-week checkup, the winter sun shone through the dining room window. She’d wiggle and kick on a blanket laid out in the warm sunbeams. While watching over her and her siblings, I would gaze out at the branches of the trees outside, silhouetted against a bright blue sky, with a feeling of great contentment.
I’d started calling her, "Raya," since we pronounced Andrea with the Spanish vowel sounds (On-Dray-ah). My stepfather’s name was Ray, so that also honored him. As a person who loves to sing, I’d often sing silly songs to our children when they were babies. The songs would involve their names and soothing things like how much we loved them. The baby was my "little Raya sunshine." Eventually an adaptation of the chorus of "The Yellow Rose of Texas" became her song.
She's the sweetest little rosebud
That Mommy ever knew,
Her eyes are bright as diamonds,
They sparkle like the dew.
You can talk about Clementine
And sing of Rosa Lee,
But my little Raya Sunshine
Is the only babe for me.
When Andrea was 10 weeks old, I went to wake her up. Walking toward the crib, the sun was barely visible through the window. It cast just enough light through the trees to see that her face was much too pale. Her skin was cold. I was in a state of severe shock, so felt very little when the paramedics came and our beautiful little baby was pronounced dead. The doctor said it was SIDS.
How I survived the first few days is still a mystery to me. The pain was excruciating. Friends, neighbors and people from our church were wonderful though. The National SIDS foundation helped by providing us with pamphlets about SIDS to pass out at the funeral so people wouldn’t have to ask what happened.
Some interesting things gave us hope that her soul lived on. Heading out for the funeral, just a few tiny snowflakes fell as we got into the car. In this moderate region, an entire year often passes with absolutely no snow. My husband loves snow and felt it was a little sign from Andrea. When we returned to the house, I noticed that one little rosebud was starting to bloom on the bush by the driveway. Roses never bloom here in January!
Over the years the pain has dulled somewhat, but will always be there. It is especially hard those years that traditionally would have a milestone for Andrea, like her first day of school, and becoming a teen. Family pictures seem to have something missing. The Compassionate Friends organization has been a continuing blessing.
After 9/11, when grief was almost a palpable force in the US, my empathy for the 9/11 families kicked in. I often cried almost the entire half-an-hour commute to work.
One of my best friends had a nephew who was a New York firefighter. He died in one of the towers. He was able to radio out a report from inside the rubble. She has felt grief over last year's release of the recordings from that infamous day, but is proud that he died trying to help others. There was an article written a few years ago about 9/11. It pointed how our society treats grief as if it was manageable, and had a time limit. Those who were in New York during 9/11 will always feel some grief over what happened to them, and to our country, on that day. In the article, the reporter praised the philosophy of the Compassionate Friends:
Founded in England in the late 1960s, the massive support network's chapters provide something that bereaved parents and siblings can't get from the rest of the world: "unconditional love and understanding" (as its informal credo states) with no expiration date.
As one member told me, she knew that a Compassionate Friends meeting was the one place she could go and never hear the unintentionally accusing question, "How many years ago did you say your child died?"
Grief is not like an illness, to be fought and cured with medicine or chemotherapy...
There is no cure for grief and it never truly goes away. I have realized that the only way to stop hurting is if Andrea had never been born. I wouldn’t have missed that short time with our little angel for anything. True love never dies, so my love for her lives within me. I will face my sad season again this winter with a tear and a smile.
...I would not have the tears that sadness makes
to flow from my every part turn into laughter.
I would that my life remain a tear and a smile.
...A tear to unite me with those of broken heart;
a smile to be a sign of my joy in existence...
I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the
depths of my spirit, for I have seen those who are
satisfied the most wretched of people.
I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and longing,
and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody.
Kahlil Gibran (1883 - 1931)
With the anniversaries of Katrina and 9/11 close at hand, all of us in the US are facing the start of a "Sad Season" together. Perhaps we should plan on facing the grief head-on by recalling the words from the Book of Ecclesiastes that were made into a song of hope by Pete Seeger
To everything
(Turn, turn, turn)
There is a season
(Turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose
Under Heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything
(Turn, turn, turn)
There is a season
(Turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose
Under Heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
To everything
(Turn, turn, turn)
There is a season
(Turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose
Under Heaven
A time of war, a time of peace
A time to love, a time to hate
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
To everything
(Turn, turn, turn)
There is a season
(Turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose
Under Heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sow
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late.
I swear, it’s not too late!
[This diary originally appeared last year. Grief shared is therapeutic. Please feel free to share your grief here. I will be glad to respond.]