tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6833019731319786612024-03-14T06:06:49.256-04:00Beth's Girls + Boymy life with and without my childrenBeth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-64058852353649138552023-06-14T12:39:00.001-04:002023-06-14T12:39:36.476-04:00As Graduation Season Comes to a Close…<p>This past Monday, June 12th, was graduation day for Classical High School’s class of 2023. Natalie should have been there. </p><p>For the past month or so—ever since people starting posting prom and graduation photos of their happy, glowing seniors on Facebook—my grief has been feeling extra heavy and sad. </p><p>Of course, we’ve missed many milestones over the years—from all the school “firsts” to all the “lasts” and a lot in between. But high school graduation is a biggie. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event, the culmination of all those school years of childhood and the transition to becoming an adult. </p><p>It’s another painful reminder she’s gone. Not that I ever need to be reminded—I think of Natalie every single day. But somehow this missed milestone stings worse than most of the others. </p><p>I wasn’t prepared for it—it was just suddenly here. All those prom photos of other people’s kids looking so radiant and happy. All those graduation photos—most of which I haven’t even been able to bring myself to look at—feel like a punch in the gut. </p><p>To be clear, I don’t want anyone reading this to think I bear any ill feelings toward anyone. I am truly happy for all of this year’s grads and congratulate you all on this proud and joyous achievement. But the photos did serve as a reminder of all I’m missing with Natalie, all SHE IS MISSING. It will forever break my heart. </p><p>I’ve been struggling to write this for weeks now because part of me really doesn’t mean to rain on anyone’s parade. But another part of me is compelled to find a way to honor Natalie at what should have been her graduation, too. </p><p>So, my message is simple. As we celebrate this year’s grads, let’s not forget the ones who didn’t make it to this day. Let’s not forget Natalie Joy. I can imagine her beaming smile and sparkle in those beautiful big brown eyes. I am forever proud of you, my sweet baby girl.
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5YLcFyE3qUaZPbJUY3vmwqHxaISfay-XVlCMbuE9w2dQklRh0yDh9kC-V1xt02n8TyG7muN7bD9GK0HetnBwiHGLklHysmGNXRmFK-aWo97HMakf_0G0Y0M_XVAUWSC8FMfzvrtJxVdph1eaLzWiug0hMIyuubxFIEAdgFIsv_80p3mb_ZY3DZgo4/s2048/IMG_2878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5YLcFyE3qUaZPbJUY3vmwqHxaISfay-XVlCMbuE9w2dQklRh0yDh9kC-V1xt02n8TyG7muN7bD9GK0HetnBwiHGLklHysmGNXRmFK-aWo97HMakf_0G0Y0M_XVAUWSC8FMfzvrtJxVdph1eaLzWiug0hMIyuubxFIEAdgFIsv_80p3mb_ZY3DZgo4/w400-h300/IMG_2878.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-58031113279130014312023-03-16T13:14:00.005-04:002023-03-16T13:17:31.347-04:00Why Are Some Years Harder Than Others?<p class="MsoNormal"> In two days, it will mark the 16th year since my sweet Natalie
died. And I’m struggling. March sort of snuck up on me this year; it wasn’t too
bad earlier in the month, but over the last week or so, my grief has been painful
and raw. Even after all this time I find myself asking, Why, oh why, did my baby
girl have to leave? I find myself feeling the unfairness of it in my gut and
the pain of it in my heart. I find myself bursting into tears over the
slightest triggers. Why are some years harder than others?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6kjbx83-lqylui69e7i7vS4zZ2rmYvmzEGXo21JSxBgp09MoabHtuJPG1nTfHBsCIaK4vYEN5UGZgbuUzm0od2e3u0CxaLq3up1VALNE4OXD0hOiL__HDHIlMrrnU8v3tkPU5xzW0-auOVtoQJYqowH-l1Qs9fuiFkcCQ9iKmZQ8uNbMgs2DKcIa/s2048/IMG_2328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6kjbx83-lqylui69e7i7vS4zZ2rmYvmzEGXo21JSxBgp09MoabHtuJPG1nTfHBsCIaK4vYEN5UGZgbuUzm0od2e3u0CxaLq3up1VALNE4OXD0hOiL__HDHIlMrrnU8v3tkPU5xzW0-auOVtoQJYqowH-l1Qs9fuiFkcCQ9iKmZQ8uNbMgs2DKcIa/w358-h269/IMG_2328.JPG" width="358" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table>Obviously, I’ve been at this for a while now—16 years feels like a long time<br />—and I know there is a natural ebb and flow to grief. Psychologist-type
people like to compare grief to an ocean where sometimes it’s peaceful and calm
with a maybe few ripples here and there, and sometimes the waves are bigger and
scarier, maybe even rising to the level of a tsunami. I don’t know where I’m at
right now—maybe a smallish tsunami if you count March 18, 2007 as the granddaddy
of tsunamis—but something about this year also feels a bit different from the
normal “ebb and flow” of the waves of grief. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I’ve been pondering the question about my own particular
situation, the answer looms in a fairly obvious way. We as human beings don’t
stay static so why should our grief? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I’ve navigated some pretty major challenges over the past
few years (getting a divorce being the biggie), it was necessary to put my
grief away for a bit because to let it out fully would have been too much. But
now things have settled down in my life and I’m in a very happy place. And now there’s
room again for the grief. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anyone who has lost a loved one knows that grief never goes
away, but it can be put away for a while. I think that’s what I did out of
necessity while I was dealing with other things. I don’t know if this attempt
to psycho-analyze myself is accurate or not but it does make sense to me so I’m
going with it. That means I’m embracing it full strength even though it hurts
like hell. I’m embracing it because as a measure of my love for Natalie, the grief
is always part of me. I’m embracing it because it means I’m happy. </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-33836538986049855382019-09-03T13:51:00.003-04:002019-09-03T13:51:28.795-04:00Another milestone missedEach year like so many proud parents, I'm always excited to share
those "first day of school" pics of Roslyn and Gabriel. But this time of
year is also a painful reminder of the one who is not here. <br />
<br />
Yes, Natalie would be starting high school today! It's been hard to
get my head around. It just feels kinda surreal and it's just so sad.
Everything we're missing out on, that SHE'S missing out on... It breaks
my heart that Roslyn doesn't get to share the experience of being <span class="text_exposed_show">in
the same school with her sister, playing the part of the big sister,
the trail blazer helping Natalie find her way around Classical. </span>It's another one of life's milestones missed. <br />
<br />
I'm sharing this photo, which I found the other day while looking
through a folder of pics my Mom took in 2005 on her first visit to meet
Natalie when she was about one month old. I just really liked it. I
always try to imagine what she'd be like now as a bright, beautiful,
full-of-life 14 year-old -- and I can conjure up some thoughts, but
that's all they'll ever be. Losing Natalie is a pain that will never
leave me, nor do I want it to because the measure of the pain is a
measure of love. It is endless.<br />
<br />
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Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-41877439780372099382019-03-17T21:50:00.000-04:002019-03-17T22:23:49.425-04:00Memories and baby elephantsIt was 12 years ago right around this time (it's about 9 o'clock as I write this) that I tucked Natalie in for the last time. The past few weeks have been more difficult than usual, leading up to the dreaded March 18th.<br />
<br />
Today in particular I thought about our last day together, 12 years ago. It was a Saturday and kind of a crappy day in terms of weather -- we'd gotten a few inches of snow followed by rain, which created slush. Natalie and I had both come down with a cold the day before. Although the three of us girls were taking it easy at home, I felt the very least I could do would be to clear the slush off the front steps for the mailman. I rallied Roslyn and Natalie to go outside for a bit while I did that. Natalie flat out refused to put on her snowsuit and I didn't have the energy to argue with her. She wore her winter boots and coat. Roslyn who was fully suited up was having fun frolicking in the slush, but all Natalie wanted was for me to pick her up. She kept reaching her arms up at me saying "up, up!" I obliged, picked her up, and managed to push the slush off the front steps with a robust toddler in my arms. We went back inside as quickly as we could, had some lunch, and then I took Natalie upstairs for her nap. She nursed, but had trouble falling asleep. Finally, she drifted off for only about 30 minutes. I don't remember the rest of the day other than we had spinach pie for dinner and Natalie ate pretty well. When I put her to bed, the light from the streetlight outside her window was enough so that I could see her face in the dark. She was wide-eyed and looked right at me as I said good night. I kissed her again and said "nite, nite, sweet girl. I love you."<br />
<br />
No parent ever thinks when they put their child to bed that it's going to be the last time they ever see them alive. Why is the universe so cruel?<br />
<br />
I don't really have the energy to write any more about that night or the morning of March 18th, 2007. I have found it remarkable that several adorable baby elephant pics and videos have popped up in my Facebook newsfeed in the past few days -- three in the last 36 hours alone! Natalie loved blueberries, her favorite color was purple, and elephants were her favorite animal. One of her favorite bedtime books was Eric Carle's "From Head to Toe" and she took pride and joy in showing me how she could stomp her foot like an elephant (such a big girl!). I've written about signs before, usually in the context of butterflies, but I'm taking all of these baby elephant appearances as my sign this year. I love you, Natalie, and miss you more than words can say.<br />
<br />
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Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-39444797352919569882018-12-05T21:32:00.001-05:002018-12-05T21:36:15.222-05:00Grieving Parents Club: Thoughts on the Death of President Bush<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The passing of a president naturally causes people to reflect—both
on the president's life and time in the White House and their own lives seen
through the lens of that time. I was deeply moved by today's funeral service
for President George H.W. Bush. The four eulogies were eloquent and honored the
life of our 41st president with warmth and dignity. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7-IZjYQZigeuyit8YXgheEFyvUu6pbt6f7o-qqnGghffjD6HvKx6i70pM7tJiq5jHZiU40zLhvdL6W8D1d-rMuJPdkAJd7FL8QdtgCL7rlfkPJvwkm2U_btFey2OykVrt4TskKKXaus/s1600/George-HW-Bush-and-Robin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="553" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7-IZjYQZigeuyit8YXgheEFyvUu6pbt6f7o-qqnGghffjD6HvKx6i70pM7tJiq5jHZiU40zLhvdL6W8D1d-rMuJPdkAJd7FL8QdtgCL7rlfkPJvwkm2U_btFey2OykVrt4TskKKXaus/s320/George-HW-Bush-and-Robin.jpg" width="282" /></a><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I didn't know that George and Barbara had lost their three
year-old daughter Robin until it was mentioned when Barbara Bush died earlier
this year. I'm not sure if the Bushes intentionally kept it private back in the
days George was active in politics or not. But I am pleased to see the Bush
family speaking openly now about their tragic loss all those years ago, and the
lifelong grief George and Barbara endured. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I cried as George W. Bush broke down at the end of his eulogy, thinking
about his father finally being able to hug Robin and hold Barbara’s hand once
more. What a comforting idea that is. For a parent who has lost a child, the
thought of one day being reunited is sometimes the only way to get through the
agony of having to go on living without her. It is a thought I sometimes
entertain about Natalie… (until my pragmatic side wakes up and causes me to
question it).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Listening to all the stories and analysis of George Bush’s life and
his presidency has been illuminating, but through it all I am left with the
image of a father who lost his baby girl and lived the majority of his long,
full life grieving her each and every day. Despite all the privilege and power
and politics of the Bush family, I am left with the image of an imperfect but very human man who welcomed
death with open arms so he could be with his beloved wife and daughter again. I
hope he has found them. </span></div>
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<br />Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-13334303569731438462018-09-06T12:41:00.001-04:002018-09-11T20:42:13.217-04:00A Shooting Too CloseYesterday a 15 year-old boy was shot and killed just outside Roslyn's school. According to the <a href="https://www.wpri.com/news/local-news/providence/providence-police-to-update-investigation-teen-deadly-shooting-outside-school/1422484105" target="_blank">latest reports</a>, he was an innocent bystander, a "good kid" in the wrong place at the wrong time. It is sad and absolutely heartbreaking. The tragedy has sent a tsunami of fear and sorrow and anger throughout our community. My Facebook feed is now full of posts from friends, parents with kids at Classical, expressing their sorrow for the family, worry about their children's safety, and relief that they came home from school yesterday. We are all scared and sad. It was too close, way too close.<br />
<br />
Earlier this morning, I found myself involved in a Facebook conversation where some people were talking about this incident as a "school shooting," and I felt compelled to clarify, to point out that this wasn't like Parkland or Columbine. This wasn't a crazed maniac entering a school armed with assault rifles and opening fire. This happened on the street, in front of a school, during a fight, with a handgun, one shot fired. This is in so many ways NOT a school shooting. Or is it?<br />
<br />
I started to question why I felt the need to point out the distinction. Why was I so uncomfortable with it being talked about as a "school shooting"? Like everyone, I'm still processing what happened, but maybe I was triggered because I cannot even begin to allow myself to entertain the possibility of an actual school shooting happening so close to home. Maybe if I focus on all the ways this ISN'T a school shooting, that it's not some random evil act by a lunatic with machine guns, maybe then it's not quite so scary. But unfortunately, it is that scary. It really is. Because when it comes to the possibility of losing your child, it doesn't matter how. <br />
<br />
People talk about this incident as "every parent's worst nightmare" -- and it is. I know that it is. But what does that mean really? Haven't I also lived "every parent's worst nightmare"? Eleven years ago, I put my happy, healthy toddler to bed one night and she never woke up. No warning, no explanation. Where is the outrage? Where is the outpouring of calls for research funding to find out why thousands of children each year <a href="https://sudc.org/" target="_blank">die suddenly without any explanation</a>?<br />
<br />
It's because it defies comprehension. We can look at this boy's tragic death and get angry that politicians continue to do absolutely nothing time after time, or that we don't have enough resources to help our troubled youth. You can point a finger and identify a culprit and place blame and that makes it just a bit easier to get angry and feel a little bit less helpless. <br />
<br />
When I heard about the shooting yesterday, I instantly burst into tears. Rationally I knew Classical was on lockdown and Roslyn had to be safe. (Right? She had to be...) But irrationally, I felt that I could not survive losing a second child. I know what it feels like and it would literally kill me.<br />
<br />
There's a saying that when we have children, it's like having a piece of our heart walking around outside of our bodies. It's true. When your child dies, your heart is forever broken. As a "bereaved parent" (that's what we're called because the English language doesn't actually have a word for us like "orphan" or "widow/widower"), I'm now reprogrammed to be extra careful, extra vigilant to potential danger -- and extra grateful when my kids come home safe and sound. <br />
<br />
Yesterday's tragedy hit like a sledgehammer reminding me of all the things that are beyond my control. The truth is, we cannot protect our children. It's one of the hardest realities of being a parent. We are helpless, and when you add guns into the scenario, it's downright terrifying. Life is so fragile. Don't take anything or anyone for granted.<br />
<br />
I hugged Roslyn extra tight yesterday when she got home. We talked about what happened. She said it was scary during the lockdown. I wish none of us, but especially our children, had to live in a world where the threat of gun violence is an everyday reality. I hope soon, very soon those who are in a position to do something about it will act. <br />
<br />
I am deeply sorry for the family and friends of <a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/providence/obituary.aspx?n=william-e-parsons-eddy&pid=190180555&" target="_blank">William Parsons</a>. I'm sorry his parents are now part of the <a href="https://abedformyheart.com/this-crappy-club-called-child-loss/" target="_blank">club no one ever wanted to be a member of</a>. But I know after surviving 11 years of grief that somehow we manage to breathe and keep on going. When this tragedy is no longer in the news and everyone has gone back to their regular lives, I hope William's parents know that they are <a href="http://www.tcfprovidence.com/" target="_blank">never alone</a>. I hope they know that he will never be forgotten. Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-32897544297597181392018-07-26T11:52:00.000-04:002018-07-26T14:03:05.862-04:0013<br />
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July 29<sup>th</sup> is coming up in three days. I’ve been
reflecting a lot on the fact that Natalie would be turning 13 this
year—officially a teenager and another milestone we won’t get to share. This
summer I’ve run into some other 13 year-olds, the children of friends whose
kids have grown up to become awkward, introverted, and lanky teens… all the endearing
things a 13 year-old could be. Seeing these kids now—kids who I knew way back
when they were toddlers, when Natalie and I would drop off Roslyn as East Side
Nursery School—sometimes stops me in my tracks. It’s an odd perception of time because
these kids are now going into the eighth grade (!!), but Natalie is and will
forever be a little 1½ year-old girl. How is this possible?! The perception of
time is so subjective and changes constantly. I look at Roslyn, now heading
into her sophomore year and it feels just right. I’ve watched her grow up into
the confident, sensitive, and loving young woman she is each and every day—and
though sometimes it does feel like time is moving too fast, it also feels absolutely
perfect. </div>
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I have written about this before—wondering what Natalie
would be like. But this year, another milestone birthday, it strikes a bit
harder. What would her passion be? Music? Sports? What would be her favorite
subjects in school? Would she like math and science? Or maybe art? Or Spanish? Would
she follow in her sister’s footsteps and love theater or would she be playing
bass in her own punk band? Or maybe it would be something else entirely that I
can’t even begin to conjure in my brain. And what would she look like? She had the best giggle, I wonder what her voice and laughter would sound like. I can imagine, but then I just
can’t. It’s a strange paradox—and sometimes it just hurts too much to think about it. More than 11 years ago, the universe decided
that we wouldn’t ever get to know these things, and Natalie’s life was taken away. We
were all robbed of the beauty, joy, and amazing amount of fun she brought to
the world. I can only imagine now that she would still be wreaking havoc, only on
a bigger scale—doing all of the things a 13
year-old girl should do. It is forever heartbreaking that she can't.</div>
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Since 2007, I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of
saying “happy birthday” to Natalie, but I am starting to think about it in a
new way. It always felt awkward, because the truth is, she is gone and there is
nothing happy about that. Instead I would acknowledge her birthday by honoring the
day she made her grand entrance into the world and celebrating her beautiful,
happy life and all of the love she brought to our lives. I’ve said this before
and I’ll say it again: for all the indescribable pain I have suffered as a
result of losing Natalie, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I am so, so, sooooo
happy Natalie was born. I love you, sweet girl—soooo much! Happy Birthday.</div>
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-->Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-27750746898697227022018-03-18T14:21:00.003-04:002018-03-18T15:01:29.455-04:00A surprise giftToday marks 11 years since we lost our precious Natalie. Last night, I was looking
through old photos and noticed something on this one that I'd
never noticed before. Natalie was born with a small patch of white hair
on the back of her head, which you can see in this photo! I am so
thrilled to have some kind of tangible record of this unique little part
of her because a few days after she died, the funeral director
had given us a few "keepsakes" -- a lock of her hair and some plaster casts of her hands and feet. It reminded to ask about the white tuft of hair and I asked if there was any way I could have it as well, but
unfortunately it wasn't possible due to the autopsy (let that sink in). It broke my
heart but there wasn't anything anyone could do and it felt like another little piece of her had slipped away. <br />
<br />
Last night I was looking at every photo, not just the "good" ones of her beautiful smiling face. Since this one is taken from behind, I'd never really looked too closely before, but suddenly there it was! Her precious little lock of white hair. My heart leaped to receive this special gift, especially now on her Angelversary.<br />
<br />
I remain eternally grateful to all of my friends and family who continue to support me and my family on this life-long journey. My dear friend Laura Prieto, who also happens to be the first person we called 11 years ago this Sunday morning, recently commented "Love keeps her memory strong." I love this idea and it's true because the depth of the grief is measured by the depth of the love. And the love is oh so strong. It is unbreakable.<3 p=""><br />
</3><br />
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Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-19927994587322665212017-07-29T15:26:00.001-04:002017-07-30T10:34:24.525-04:00#Natalie<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption" data-gt="{"timeline_og_unit_click":"1","app_id":"124024574287414","action_type_id":"282366618453208","object_type":"instapp:photo","unit_id":"447280888645770","og_ref":"ogexp","is_intentional":"1"}">Today
my beautiful Natalie would have turned 12. As the years go by, the pain
of losing her has not diminished. If anything, the longing and
wondering what she'd be like grows ever stronger, and the magnitude of
her loss is amplified through all that could have been but will never be. <br /> <br /> Her
memorial website is temporarily down, something beyond my control. In lieu of a
virtual candle there, let's light up Instagram and Facebook with messages
and/or pictures of candles, blueberries, or anything else that reminds
you of Natalie with the hashtag <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/natalie">#Natalie</a>. <br /> <br /> We celebrate this day she entered the world 12 years ago and the 19 months and 18 days she was here to brighten our lives. Remembering Natalie always with so much love.</span></span><br />
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Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-88627255764543151062017-07-21T17:43:00.002-04:002017-07-21T17:51:43.268-04:00Why I Talk to Butterflies<style>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once again,
death has been on the front burner in our lives. June 30th saw the passing of
Christopher's mother, my children's last living grandparent. And a few days
ago, Gabriel's beloved chicken Pickles died after being ill for several weeks.
Whenever we are faced with death, inevitably it triggers thoughts of
Natalie—thoughts and feelings even deeper than the regular, everyday thoughts
and feelings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Today I took
an alternate route home, which took me past a funeral home in East Providence.
As I took note of its existence, a sudden flood of imagery came to mind, all
pictures of death: my mother-in-law in her casket, our dead chicken, and my
precious baby Natalie on several occasions: her small lifeless body when I found her on March 18th, at the funeral home, and at the cemetery before she was cremated. Overcome by the sudden
intensity of these memories, I burst into tears and cried the rest of the way
home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Earlier
today, someone in one of my grief support groups posted <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ali-a-rizvi/atheists-death_b_4134439.html" target="_blank">an interesting article</a>
about how people who don’t believe in God deal with death. It talked about the
science of what is proven/known vs. what is not and where faith comes into the
picture for many people. It reminded me of the beautiful sermon Pam Gregory gave at
Natalie’s memorial service about how physicists know that energy cannot be
created or destroyed, just transformed. It gave me tremendous comfort to think
that Natalie’s energy and life force did not die, but simply took on a
different form. Pam talked about how maybe if we pay close enough attention, we
will be able to perceive it. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When I got
home and was getting out of the car, which I had parked in the shade of the
house right next to Natalie’s garden, a beautiful swallowtail butterfly swooped
past and landed on Natalie’s butterfly bush, the first I’ve seen this summer. I
couldn’t help but feel an immediate connection to this spectacular creature.
Nor could I help wonder if her appearance was not particularly timely and
relevant given recent events. I greeted her and remarked how beautiful she was.
I thanked her for coming to visit me today. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDO0KFYWCnv-gk2Ge1gGt882YTVz50itMRyOVnkH7lKfkMxH6BZsb_NGGk6hlD_Q501ipqAggMk8d0fIFT4O_fVkFm11_Q5MrjTyQ6qNsvB46rI8BTH9OJC2iHQ3CyaPl_tp3watYlQY/s1600/20170721_114851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDO0KFYWCnv-gk2Ge1gGt882YTVz50itMRyOVnkH7lKfkMxH6BZsb_NGGk6hlD_Q501ipqAggMk8d0fIFT4O_fVkFm11_Q5MrjTyQ6qNsvB46rI8BTH9OJC2iHQ3CyaPl_tp3watYlQY/s400/20170721_114851.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hours later
when I went back out to the car to pick up Gabriel from camp, a monarch
butterfly was flitting about Natalie’s garden. Again, the first one I’ve seen
all summer. Again, I greeted her with joy, so happy to see her and, again, I thanked
her for coming. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t know
if this is Natalie’s energy manifesting to bring me comfort, but I don’t know
that it isn’t. And that is why I talk to butterflies.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-47764379460302697012016-03-15T14:46:00.003-04:002016-05-09T20:06:48.370-04:00A Personal Revelation About a Political Revolution<style>
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</style> Last night I was at my grief support group meeting of <a href="http://www.tcfprovidence.com/" target="_blank">TheCompassionate Friends</a>, and a light bulb suddenly went off in my
brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyone who has seen my Facebook feed over the last 9 or 10
months cannot escape my frequent and unabashed enthusiasm for Bernie Sanders as
my candidate of choice for President of the United States. I don’t know for
sure, but I suspect that many people were surprised by my sudden outburst of
political fervor (normally I stick to personal updates with the occasional GMO
labeling or “save the bees” type of activism). I have to admit, it kind of
caught me by surprise, too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What I already knew</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the surface, I support Bernie because I believe that he
is a rare kind of politician who has the integrity and courage to stand up for what’s
right—fairness, equality, and justice for all including our planet—without
being swayed by Big Money interests or political favors. And I agree with his
priorities and his positions on the issues. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What’s more, because Hillary Clinton is running again this
year, the inevitable comparisons to the 2008 presidential race have caused me
to become aware that I really don’t remember very much about that election. I
was in a fog in 2007 and 2008 having just suffered the death of my precious daughter <a href="http://natalie-adamo.memory-of.com/About.aspx" target="_blank">Natalie</a> (July 29, 2005–March 18, 2007). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What I realized last
night</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night it dawned on me how my passion for Bernie is also
an expression of my grief. It’s a little complicated as grief can take some unexpected turns, but I’ll do my best to
explain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">First, a few notes
about my political background and why I support Bernie</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe that this election year, the United States is at a
critical crossroads in its history. For most of my 49 years our country has
been sinking into a dangerous and inherently “un-American” system that has
turned our democracy into an oligarchy—a system of government in which a few
rich and powerful people are in control. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In 1984 I became eligible to vote in my first presidential
election. I have always taken my right to vote seriously and have exercised it faithfully in every election since—presidential and otherwise. With the
exception of 1988 when Jesse Jackson ran for the democratic nomination (I saw
him speak three times that year), no candidate has ever really gotten me
particularly excited.
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">It seems like every time
election year rolls around, it’s the all-too-familiar choice between the
“lesser of two evils.” </span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_HBwiRshxMifrvEkx44tXrQo1y7VlJCFLkjHvmCdfOgtmAf2u4qjtjjugVKlSbs7akUppSYpAlY_FScg93OaT_5IzgqIRqTnMOIFp3vlNyPyNuNJh-dEBSAgiBVhoHIqKAngJxbkpnE/s1600/intergrity3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_HBwiRshxMifrvEkx44tXrQo1y7VlJCFLkjHvmCdfOgtmAf2u4qjtjjugVKlSbs7akUppSYpAlY_FScg93OaT_5IzgqIRqTnMOIFp3vlNyPyNuNJh-dEBSAgiBVhoHIqKAngJxbkpnE/s200/intergrity3.jpg" width="200" /></a>The truth is, aside from voting, I have never really been
involved in politics. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, for the first time in my life, a candidate has come
along and ignited a fire in my political being. I’ve almost become an activist—even going so far as to become a delegate candidate on the Rhode Island democratic ballot. Thanks to Bernie Sanders—a man who
has a proven record of fighting for equality and justice his entire adult life
(just look at his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RU3NKvvxcSs" target="_blank">various speeches</a> over the years)—I am now keenly aware that the middle class has been
shrinking and the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rosly</i></span><span style="color: #674ea7;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">n’</i></span>s and Gabriel’s
future</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I started thinking about my children’s future: what kind
of world are we going to leave them and their kids? Bernie’s idea of
tuition-free public universities is sounding pretty darn good right now. So is
his idea of universal, single-payer healthcare. Not to mention his deep
commitment to addressing climate change. I want the world to be a better place
for my children, not a dark, dystopian future that we see in popular fiction
like “The Hunger Games,” where an oligarchic “Capital” controls everyone else
through fear and propaganda for its own gain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXoBaESHaUI6chiyQYAu8Tc7rg5fFWGXW-EA2h-be26zxX2ackHrqy-PJPSswOo4HUccbICfqJ4GrI_PluxNjXlK0FenEX_v-Z2n03Urlu1Vv7WXik90SY7JFUt4y5dTOGSAdU8xZnYn0/s1600/Katniss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXoBaESHaUI6chiyQYAu8Tc7rg5fFWGXW-EA2h-be26zxX2ackHrqy-PJPSswOo4HUccbICfqJ4GrI_PluxNjXlK0FenEX_v-Z2n03Urlu1Vv7WXik90SY7JFUt4y5dTOGSAdU8xZnYn0/s200/Katniss.jpg" width="200" /></a>But in order to make any of these things happen, we need to
get Big Money out of our political process. It’s not democracy when anything
other than the will of the majority of people takes precedence. Yet the
influence of Big Money and special interests has become standard operating
procedure in our country. Bernie wants to fix the system.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A more compassionate society</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Former President George H.W. Bush once said he wanted a
“kinder, gentler nation.” It is a noble goal, but one that he was unable to
achieve, nor has anyone else since. Why? Because the people we have elected to
the highest office are not people of clear conviction and integrity that
inspire others to be better human beings. Remember the line in the movie “As
Good As It Gets” when Jack Nicholson says, “You make me want to be a better
man”? That’s the kind of feeling I’m talking about. To inspire that in others you must
set the example—and Bernie Sanders is doing that all over this
country. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1RvwesS2n-xKFPRVqkD92LNVb6x5FE6elDr2Fc-54eQOYLyWMWpBua2w_tKllN_cXAR92ShkPvxX5SrI8rHduefQXS_9TGODOVEFTxbmgdaQSPavb1wycyJjwZxAfaxO9jepcb_X5RpE/s1600/Screenshot+2016-02-20+14.57.08.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1RvwesS2n-xKFPRVqkD92LNVb6x5FE6elDr2Fc-54eQOYLyWMWpBua2w_tKllN_cXAR92ShkPvxX5SrI8rHduefQXS_9TGODOVEFTxbmgdaQSPavb1wycyJjwZxAfaxO9jepcb_X5RpE/s320/Screenshot+2016-02-20+14.57.08.png" width="300" /></a>As a Bernie supporter, I have noticed an amazing thing
starting to happen in our country. Through the incredible immediacy and
intimacy of social media, people are connecting with each other. There is a
sense of community—an American community—that doesn’t seem to have existed
before.
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">As I watch voting results
come in across the country, I am deeply grateful to the people in those states
for having the courage to vote for change, to vote for hope, to vote for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">integrity</i>. </span>
I felt a glimmer of one-ness
with my fellow citizens I had never felt before—like we are all in this
together. And that is at the core of Bernie’s message. We are one people. Let’s
help each other. Let’s do the right thing. Let’s stop the “me first” attitude
that rears its ugly head so often in our daily lives.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why we need a political revolution </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It takes a lot of courage to change. But I believe that
Bernie is the catalyst for truly bringing about the reform we need in our government and our society. His political revolution embraces the inherent principles of democracy, which is what the United States of America is supposed to uphold: Government of the people, by the people, and for the people. We have strayed and it's time to get back on track. Bernie is the only candidate who can make that happen. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our ancestors fought for the freedoms many people now take
for granted—the right to vote. The right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The right to be accepted for who you are. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am just one voter. One American citizen. One mother who
wants the best for her children. And that is why I am voting for Bernie
Sanders. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Back to the grief connection</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So… last night I was sitting in the meeting listening to
people talk about their grief and something clicked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For people who have lost a child (myself included) one of
the most difficult things to deal with in the grieving process is the
unfairness of it. Children are not supposed to predecease their parents. I
still find it impossible to accept Natalie’s passing. It is just wrong. But I
don’t have anyone to blame or be angry at (except the universe, and frankly,
that’s just not good enough). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the wrongness of losing a child comes a feeling of
powerlessness. There was nothing we could do to save her. Hope dies, too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Bernie Sanders announced his candidacy, on a level
buried very deep within me, I saw an opportunity for hope and I was compelled
to DO SOMETHING in a way I never had before in my life. And so political
activist Beth emerged. It came from a deep need, an all-consuming craving, for
there to be fairness and justice in this world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Natalie is gone. My only hope for her now is that her memory
will live on among those who knew her and those who may be touched by her life. But I can still hope for a better future for Roslyn and Gabriel, for my fellow citizens, and for our planet. I know it’s an
uphill battle. But does that mean we shouldn’t try?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My very insightful and caring
husband</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I shared my revelation with my husband last night after the meeting, I was surprised and touched that he seemed to
have understood my motivation all along. Last summer, he had expressed concern
over me getting too invested in Bernie because he saw from the beginning how it
was connected to Natalie and he didn’t want to see me get crushed. (Like many
people, he was skeptical that Bernie could win against the enormous power of the political Establishment and the Clinton machine.) I am humbled by his insight. Sometimes those who love us know us better than we know ourselves. It just took me longer to figure it out. I am grateful to Christopher for that and so much more.<br />
<br />
And I'm pleased to report that he has joined me in feeling the Bern!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-79761269305310490722016-01-29T14:28:00.000-05:002016-01-30T08:32:56.625-05:00You Can't Undo DeathYesterday evening when we went to tuck in our chickens for the night, my husband found one of our four hens had died. I had let them run free for a couple of hours that afternoon and hadn't yet closed the door to the coop. Immediately I assumed that a predator had gotten in there. Already I was feeling like it was my fault. But when Chris picked her up, we examined her and I noticed she was in perfect condition. There were no wounds or signs of any sort of distress. We ruled out an attack, which then left the question of what caused her to die? Not even a year old, it wasn't her age. What else could cause a seemingly healthy chicken to just die? I had just seen her less than 2 hours prior and she was running around with the flock. So what happened in that short time frame to cause her to die?<br />
<br />
I googled this question and found out that other people have had similar experiences. Maybe it was a heart attack. Maybe she was "egg bound," a condition that occurs when they can't release an egg. Maybe she was sick (though she didn't show any symptoms). Who knows?<br />
<br />
I couldn't get to sleep last night as I cried and cried over this poor chicken. I felt a little silly until I realized how similar her fate was to my precious Natalie's. I am forever plagued with the question of what caused Natalie to die quietly in her sleep? There were no warning signs. Just like this chicken. There are no answers.<br />
<br />
We didn't take any pictures of Natalie that horrific morning of March 18, nor as she lay peacefully in her casket when our family members visited her the night before her memorial service. (I have those images imprinted on my brain forever.) But Roslyn did take a picture of our poor hen and posted it on her Instagram account with the caption "RIP Gaspar or Sleepy" (it was hard to tell the three RI Reds apart, but we're sure it's not Birdy) and some crying emojis. Looking at that peaceful bird makes me keenly aware (yet again) of how precious and fragile life is. One minutes they're here, the next they're gone. Poof!<br />
<br />
You can't undo death. <br />
<br />
As a result of not sleeping well, I'm tired and I've been in a bit of a funk. In fact, I've been in a funk for the past couple of weeks as now we are well into the new year and March 18 is just around the corner. It seems to happen every year around this time. The passing of our poor, sweet chicken has triggered my grief big time. I'm in the thick of it again. I struggle to get through this season coping with the enormity of my loss and my forever longing for my daughter who I will never get back. Because you can't undo death.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxQXcN0nGU_xY2Lt9ns1DjY9JYDHOiLochkAKhGCRDyjI_VNdKpH11FEceexIzVzctE7WFAqReKeBZkOVHwFhoviGXXn6CvnWQMonMNG-JZYe_PYT6u77SlmP9-ohJGbgDjyIM7XxVoY/s1600/Poor+Gaspar.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxQXcN0nGU_xY2Lt9ns1DjY9JYDHOiLochkAKhGCRDyjI_VNdKpH11FEceexIzVzctE7WFAqReKeBZkOVHwFhoviGXXn6CvnWQMonMNG-JZYe_PYT6u77SlmP9-ohJGbgDjyIM7XxVoY/s400/Poor+Gaspar.png" width="390" /></a></div>
Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-10994742595786539612015-07-29T08:11:00.001-04:002015-07-29T08:11:52.805-04:00She Would Have Been 10 Natalie would have been 10 years old today. Ten. 10. T-e-n! Such a big girl, following in the footsteps of her beautiful big sister Roslyn, now 12. Roslyn doesn't have any friends that age herself, but she does know a few girls this age through another friend. Recently we have had a couple of social occasions in which these girls were there and it was both lovely and sad to see Roslyn interacting with them. Lovely because I'm always happy when Roslyn is having fun with other kids. Sad because it is a stark reminder that Natalie is not here. It gives me a glimpse of what it might be like if she were and all that we are missing.<br />
<br />
When Chris and I decided to start trying for our second child, we did so with the thought that having a 2-3 year space between Roslyn and her little sister or brother would be nice. Natalie was exactly 2 1/2 years younger than Roslyn. Back in March 2007, we were planning to move Roslyn and Natalie into the same room together. We had even purchased matching beds online just a week or two before Natalie died. During that insane time just following her death, I had a moment of clarity and thought to cancel the bed order. When I logged in to the website, I found that the order never went through. The credit card was never charged. We didn't have to do anything to un-do it. I remember thinking how strange that was because I had received a confirmation page with an order #. It's still pretty strange when you think about it... <br />
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With each year that passes, I cannot help but wonder, What would Natalie be like? What would she be interested in? Would she love to read like Roslyn does? Or, maybe she would have loved to play sports (which Roslyn doesn't)? How tall would she be? Would she be funny? So many thoughts that fill my head... And then I cry because we will never know. I just remember those big, beautiful brown eyes and chubby, dimpled cheeks and I'm pretty sure Natalie would still have those as a 10 year-old (maybe the cheeks might be little less chubby, though). <br />
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Today is a day to celebrate Natalie and the love and joy she brought to our family, if only for a short time. I plan to pick blueberries this morning with Gabriel and we will eat them and hum with pleasure in loving remembrance of our sweet baby girl, our little sister, our other big sister who we never met, our granddaughter, our niece, our friend. Our Natalie. We love you so. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNj3z434zinDy9C_FT43Fc-Q5-tRDNnhXilitTpDJCzJORSwkk9BOn4GhkCbuqvXsBgrAhP5cTzZ-7TzVwKg75wlDjixsyx0H-Ur52lLsBio6L74CFliPsEp1UxdYbKbOuJmiu1lzjlg/s1600/IMG_0269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNj3z434zinDy9C_FT43Fc-Q5-tRDNnhXilitTpDJCzJORSwkk9BOn4GhkCbuqvXsBgrAhP5cTzZ-7TzVwKg75wlDjixsyx0H-Ur52lLsBio6L74CFliPsEp1UxdYbKbOuJmiu1lzjlg/s400/IMG_0269.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newborn Natalie</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natalie's first birthday. Blueberry cake!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last picture ever taken of Natalie.</td></tr>
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Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-8209944098785356132015-06-09T13:36:00.001-04:002015-06-09T15:36:51.906-04:00Leaving ESNS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBzV_8aHsd1eNr9iCt7iHHyug2xf_pUQJzpkutZihZyyBti64CfZ7HOT7Cvgwwh3_FXQBRdcVYuprNoqjHwSqJYoVwvP700Ed7TqNN_L17LZA8NZejelVCi1l4QKCfCiLPQNRhYt8jGU/s1600/20150608_124334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBzV_8aHsd1eNr9iCt7iHHyug2xf_pUQJzpkutZihZyyBti64CfZ7HOT7Cvgwwh3_FXQBRdcVYuprNoqjHwSqJYoVwvP700Ed7TqNN_L17LZA8NZejelVCi1l4QKCfCiLPQNRhYt8jGU/s400/20150608_124334.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Yesterday was Gabriel's last day at East Side Nursery School (ESNS), the beloved little pre-school that Roslyn and Gabriel both attended for two years, that's just a few blocks down the street from our house. It's where Natalie would have gone, too. She loved being there when I would drop off and pick up Roslyn. This year, I saw all of the other little siblings as they had fun being there, and it brought back fond memories of how much Natalie loved it, too. <br />
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ESNS is where Roslyn was going to school in 2007 when Natalie suddenly and tragically left us. It was such a shock to everyone at the time -- and I'm sure it still is for many. I know it is for us. In 2007, the ESNS community, made up of other parents and the school's two teachers Carole and Susan, surrounded us with love and support in our darkest hour. I am forever grateful to all of them for their kindness and support then -- and in the years since. And I know Christopher is, too. I honestly don't know what I would have done without them. I'll never forget taking Roslyn to school that first Tuesday back after we found Natalie that terrible Sunday morning. I could barely speak. It was all I had in me to just get through the task of dropping off my child for school and everything that entailed -- hanging up her coat, washing hands, getting settled, etc. Roslyn was so brave and just went with it like a trooper. I was a pathetic mess, but somehow managed to get through it. And time went on.<br />
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When Natalie died, we asked that in lieu of flowers, donations be made in her memory to the East Side Nursery School. We didn't have a cause of death. We were completely blind-sided. We didn't know what else to do or say when people started asking us, "Where can we send a donation?" ESNS was the natural, and only choice for us. It took us several years to figure out how that money would be allocated. Carole and Susan were very patient and understanding and worked with us to come up with a plan for using the money for something that would benefit the school while being a lasting tribute to Natalie and her memory. Just before Susan retired in 2011, we decided to use the funds to purchase new furniture and a lovely little plaque was placed in the classroom. I still can't look at it without tears welling up.<br />
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When Gabriel turned 3 and was old enough to start at ESNS, I felt apprehensive and nervous about returning to the school. I wasn't sure if it would be too painful because of how much ESNS was wrapped up in my feelings about my children, both happy and sad. But I also knew there was no other choice for us. Carole was always so understanding and supportive, I knew it would be OK. The first day back felt just plain weird. Except for Carole, I didn't know anyone (even Michele, the teacher who succeeded Susan was new). It felt strange to be back there among people who knew nothing about Natalie or our family. I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. Gabriel made it all easier, though. He was just so delightful and excited. He helped me make the transition to this new group of families who over the last two years I have had the pleasure of getting to know and become friends with.<br />
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Initially, I didn't ask to be on the ESNS board, but when an opening for tuition treasurer came up in October, I decided to volunteer and my name was picked out of a hat. The second year, I moved into the role of publicity coordinator where I knew I could put my professional skills to use. I was concerned about the lower-than-usual enrollment and didn't want to see the school suffer economic problems, so I made it my mission to do everything I could to make sure the numbers were better this year. I undertook a complete redesign of the school's website, which though nice, was outdated. We were fortunate to have some talented parents in the community this year -- a web designer and photographer, in particular -- who I worked with to create an accessible, mobile-friendly <a href="http://eastsidenurseryschool.org/" target="_blank">site for the school</a>. I used Facebook to support enrollment and fundraising efforts and I'm happy to say that we're in great shape for next year. Maybe it was a fluke, maybe it had something to do with my efforts, I don't know. But I do know that I worked really hard -- all out of love for this school that has given me, my children, and our community so much.<br />
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So, yesterday was hard. ESNS is so deeply connected to Natalie (she even appears in the <a href="http://eastsidenurseryschool.org/our-program" target="_blank">video</a> they have on their website, the little sister at the beginning in the hat with pink polka dots), it felt like another door was being closed. Another chapter finished. On some level, I know this isn't true -- for I know that as long as I'm living, my baby she'll be (thanks Robert Munsch). And I also know that Gabriel is ready to move on, and I'm excited for what the future holds for him at International Charter School and beyond. So on one hand, I'm ready to leave. On the other, it's hard to let go.<br />
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In the end, I just want to say: Thank you, thank you, East Side Nursery School for everything you've given Roslyn, Gabriel, Christopher, me -- and Natalie. We love you.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natalie's chairs and couches.</td></tr>
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<br />Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-89775457421393216842015-03-17T14:18:00.003-04:002015-03-17T18:27:02.432-04:00Mystery at Swan PointYesterday my husband Christopher was out doing errands. He came home and told me that one of the places he stopped was Swan Point and that someone had shoveled a direct path off the main path directly to Natalie's stone. This morning, I went there to see for myself. Sure enough, it was a beeline as clear as day right to her stone. We are both incredibly moved that someone (we don't know who) would do this. It is quite clear that it happened very recently because of the fresh piles of snow on the sides of the path and the fact that it hasn't been re-snowed on or had much time to melt. It all just looks very fresh. To me, this suggests that it is someone who knows that Natalie's anniversary is this week (tomorrow, in fact) and that the person wanted to clear the way so that we could get close without having to trudge through the snow when we came to visit. I was planning to go tomorrow, as I always do, so the mystery shoveler's thinking is sound.<br />
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We have absolutely no idea who did this. Was it someone we know or a stranger? Whoever it was, it was certainly a snow angel.<br />
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It has happened a few times over the years that strangers who have come across Natalie's stone at Swan Point have contacted me via her website or my blog. They seem to have been moved by the dates, 2005-2007 -- such a young child. Some have wondered what happened to her and have reached out to me to express their condolences. Each time this has happened, I have been moved that Natalie continues to touch people's lives in such profound ways. <br />
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In any case, Christopher and I would like the mystery shoveler to know that we are very grateful for their thoughtfulness, for taking the time to honor Natalie in this way -- and to provide some comfort to us. We are deeply moved. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NcLNVPv4Bo49ODpZa3vayHt3acTEZc1A4pnq2usgWhsy8jf8SAMW3-IQ7C9sUvPzslvgQwQph4SH7aF5VbVHfA0JymRdaHnzIpreMN0-Q_0UZzYfAmtYh-K9otszwR7Ko4Le31A5Wvs/s1600/20150317_075456_LLS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWwrN6lgv01cNrOp4e48S1XLBX9l0D5-ccS3Eu_qQ9JyfY5aSFE16hSmQw6PFrchtYfWOduUW4umCfXrVnBXNHkPrN8b4gIhCDW-KApIfKtjOBV1WTXmreSu2XqaM5RQlWT7AT1Xko2ew/s1600/20150317_075705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWwrN6lgv01cNrOp4e48S1XLBX9l0D5-ccS3Eu_qQ9JyfY5aSFE16hSmQw6PFrchtYfWOduUW4umCfXrVnBXNHkPrN8b4gIhCDW-KApIfKtjOBV1WTXmreSu2XqaM5RQlWT7AT1Xko2ew/s1600/20150317_075705.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NcLNVPv4Bo49ODpZa3vayHt3acTEZc1A4pnq2usgWhsy8jf8SAMW3-IQ7C9sUvPzslvgQwQph4SH7aF5VbVHfA0JymRdaHnzIpreMN0-Q_0UZzYfAmtYh-K9otszwR7Ko4Le31A5Wvs/s1600/20150317_075456_LLS.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></div>
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<br />Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-62071785636334788682015-03-11T11:01:00.000-04:002015-03-11T15:06:09.333-04:00Renewed hope<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhEbl68pCijipl211ljI9hyphenhyphenGpjCrWnJI9FwznCmRKOaVEX0IO5leCUWEJQVWxsgZauOIje_1vtZXEQS43BU_BqmYZlsfa-pHnuTZFMpgRLnY-uvtGk3DNkOIM1YD5basUbADErF1IahU/s1600/IMG_1938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhEbl68pCijipl211ljI9hyphenhyphenGpjCrWnJI9FwznCmRKOaVEX0IO5leCUWEJQVWxsgZauOIje_1vtZXEQS43BU_BqmYZlsfa-pHnuTZFMpgRLnY-uvtGk3DNkOIM1YD5basUbADErF1IahU/s1600/IMG_1938.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>It's hard to believe a whole year as gone by since I last posted here. On one hand, I'm sorry I haven't been as faithful to my blog as I used to be, but on the other hand, it's a sign that I seem to be doing OK (better, at least). I guess. At the moment, I really don't know. My blog served a very important therapeutic role for me in the early years after losing Natalie. One of the reasons I wanted to have my blog is because after creating Natalie's website, I realized that was The End of her story. Natalie's site is about Natalie and her beautiful, but too-short life. My blog is about me and my life with and without my children. Since I'm still here and thankfully, so are Roslyn and Gabriel, it's a story that continues to unfold. I realized, too, that with the advent of Facebook, I tend to share more about this part of my story there. In my mind, somehow, a cute little thing Gabriel said or did doesn't warrant an official blog post. So, I put it on Facebook instead.<br />
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For me, it doesn't really matter through which medium I express myself, just that I do when I feel the need.<br />
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I chose to write this post now in honor of Natalie and in acknowledgment of the 8th year since she left us. It is still unfathomable to me. Recently I saw two kids (one a 19 month-old boy and the other an 18 month-old girl) and my thoughts immediately went to Natalie who was that age and I thought, "was she that small?" The truth is, I can't really remember how big she was. Gabriel keeps on growing and is now almost 5. He's average size for his age, but it has sort of skewed my recollection or perception of what Natalie was like as a busy, happy little toddler. It makes me feel sad that as time goes on, my memories are starting to fade, too. Of course, there are some priceless treasures that will always remain, but others are definitely growing more dim. It's like losing her all over again.<br />
<br />
As this 8th anniversary of her passing approaches, I have have found this year to be difficult and complicated. My involvement with the nursery school that Roslyn was attending at the time in 2007 and that Gabriel is now attending has stirred up a lot of emotions. It has triggered grief in ways I hadn't expected and I have been doing my best to cope with it. <br />
<br />
In addition, we are in the thick of planning for Gabriel's schooling next year. He will be in kindergarten. In Providence, kindergarten is a major process involving applications to public charter schools (free and generally considered much better than the regular public schools) and private schools, going to open houses, visiting days, evaluations, etc. It's all been such an ordeal that has left me utterly exhausted. Getting into a charter school seems to be what most people want for their child. It seems to be the best of all worlds -- a good education with no price tag (other than the taxes we pay anyway). It is an extremely competitive process as there are very limited spots and hundreds and hundreds of applications for the lottery. Roslyn did not get chosen in any of the lotteries, which left us with only one option -- regular public school. It didn't go well for her and we ended up sending her to private school for first grade. Fortunately, it all worked out in the end, though we did end up paying quite a bit for her elementary education (all worth it, but we have our limits).<br />
<br />
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I went into Gabriel's kindergarten process determined to be on top of it, to find out about every school and every option available to us. I sent in our charter school applications the very first day they came out. I registered him for regular public school, and applied for two private schools. But I also had very little hope that we would get in to any of the charter schools. Now the results are in. Amazingly, Gabriel got accepted to 3 out of the 6 charter schools I applied for! One of them we declined immediately because it is a bit too far away, but we now have a choice between two really excellent schools. (Incidentally, he did not get accepted to either of the private schools, so those which were "the back-ups" didn't pan out.) I am beside myself with joy over this outcome and I never expected it because after losing Natalie, I realize that I have come to expect very little from the universe. I have become a bit cynical that, when left to chance, anything good will come our way. I still have faith that we can succeed in situations we have control over, but when it's up to the universe as these kindergarten lotteries are, I really didn't think we'd get picked. It has given me a little injection of hope that good things can come our way. And now, my sweet little Gabriel has two wonderful opportunities to choose from. Making that choice is what's been keeping me up at night, but that's another story. <br />
<br />
<br />Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-26997323180038959912014-03-15T23:32:00.003-04:002014-03-15T23:32:26.795-04:007 YearsThat's how long it's been since I took Natalie to Cold Stone Creamery on this day, seven years ago. We went there again tonight as we have done for the past seven years. It's one of the ways we honor Natalie, by celebrating a special time she and I shared. I've written about our visit to the Cold Stone Creamery on Thayer Street before. That store has been gone for many years, so now we go to the one in Seekonk. It's not the same, but then nothing is really as it should be anymore... because Natalie isn't here with us. Still, I got the usual two flavors -- banana and chocolate (they didn't have the dark chocolate, which was a bummer) in a plain waffle cone. Chris always gets something with blueberries mixed in. We ate quietly and enjoyed the peacefulness of the moment. Then Gabriel leaned over and stole a bite of my waffle cone. We all laughed. And he had many more bites after that.<br />
<br />
There's a good chance this year might be the last one that we go to that particular Cold Stone Creamery, because Chris is convinced it won't be around for another year. A few years ago, the thought of not going there would have been devastating to me. But not anymore. I know that it's not really the specific place that matters. It's going out together as a family to honor Natalie in this special way. It's about remembering and being together. It's interesting to see how far I've come on this grief journey -- a journey that will never end until I'm gone, but one that is forever changing and unpredictable.<br />
<br />
Chris and I have both been extra sad for the past couple of weeks. It always happens when March rolls around. I've cried into my pillow more nights this week than I have in awhile. I'm just so very, very sad. It still feels so unbelievable, yet it is so painfully real. <br />
<br />
And so it goes.Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-52955620675818919942013-10-30T10:02:00.001-04:002013-10-30T10:02:27.578-04:00Putting Things in Perspective
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<br />
I’ve been going back and forth about whether I should publish
this post. Part of me thinks I'm just being silly, but the other part thinks it’s
totally valid and worth sharing. Guess which part won?
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So here goes. For the past 12 days, I have had a headache.
Not just any ordinary headache, but the worst headache of my life. It came on
as a dull, normal headache Friday evening. I didn’t think much of it, until I
woke up Saturday feeling like somebody was drilling into my skull with a really
long drill bit. It got worse throughout the day and nothing seemed to help. Not
Tylenol, not ibuprofen, not a heating pad, not massage. The only relief came
when I could curl up in bed in complete quiet and darkness. This went on for
the rest of the weekend. Thankfully Chris was around to help with things like
feeding our children. Being around them, particularly Gabriel, was excruciating
because bending my head in the slightest way caused piercing pain
and he’s hardly quiet or understanding. He would come into my room (more like
a cave) as I was resting and climb and jump on me. Not helpful, but I still
appreciated that he wanted to be with me.</div>
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On Monday I went to the doctor. I was seriously getting
concerned because my Dad had two strokes—one when he was 42 that left him
paralyzed and the other when he was 56 that was fatal. With this genetic
legacy, I didn’t want to take any chances. The doctor said it was probably just
a bad migraine and gave me some migraine medicine. He said if it didn’t help, I
should get an MRI the next day. He also said that there was a small chance
that, given my family history, there could be a “leak” in a blood vessel, which
would be very serious. </div>
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Well, the migraine medicine did absolutely nothing. And so,
as the day and evening progressed, my mind started to wander in some dangerous
directions. Like, well, if the migraine medicine isn’t helping, maybe it’s not
a migraine. If it’s not a migraine, what is it? Maybe it’s a leaking blood
vessel in my brain that’s about to explode. Maybe I’m on the verge of having a
stroke. Maybe I’ll go to sleep and never wake up. Yes, I’m sorry to say that
all of these thoughts crossed my mind quite a few times. They crossed Chris’s
mind, too. For awhile, we just sat together in the dark. He was saying things
like, “please don’t die.” I couldn’t control my tears thinking about my
children having to go on without me. Gabriel is only 3 and
probably wouldn’t even remember me. Sure, he’d see me in pictures, but that’s
not the same as real memories. Roslyn is growing into a young woman. She needs
me for talking about all that girl stuff. They both need me. Period.</div>
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I cried and cried thinking of everything I would miss. But I
cried more for them. After all, I’d be gone and wouldn’t know the difference.
It’s THEM who would be left with having to go on without me. I know what that’s
like—having to go on. I did it when I was 18 and my Dad died suddenly from that
second stroke. I did it in 2007, when my beautiful baby girl just didn’t wake
up one day—I’m still doing it, in fact. I did it three years ago, when I
watched my Mom take her last breath after an intense, losing battle
with cancer. I know what it’s like to be left behind and it really sucks.</div>
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I thought about my blog’s subtitle—“My Life With and Without
My Children” and it got me thinking about life and death and all the things in
between—how precious and fragile it all is. And how when you think that you
might be kissing your son goodnight for the last time or hearing your beautiful
daughter sing a song for the last time, it kinda puts things in perspective
again.</div>
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Despite everything that’s happened in my life and the
precious loved ones I’ve lost, it’s still easy to get caught up in silly,
day-to-day things. I let myself get annoyed a lot, in fact. Last night, Chris
reminded me that this isn’t good. He told me I need to stop
stressing so much and that I need to take better care of myself. Maybe this
headache is my body’s way of telling me this, too. So, I have decided it’s time yet
again to let go of all that is not important, everything
that is beyond my control. It’s time to regroup and take better care of myself.
Because if I’m in good shape, I’ll be able to do a better job taking care of
my beloved family. </div>
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Oh, and just so I don’t leave you hanging. I did have the
MRI last Tuesday and it was normal. So, huge relief that there’s no leaking
blood vessels or tumor in my brain. My doctor gave me a different medication—this
one for tension headache—which has helped. I’ve been able to function again, although
the headache has lingered. Today, as I write this, it is almost gone, which
gives me hope that taking some time to take care of myself and to RELAX a bit
more is a step in the right direction. Tomorrow I'm going to get a massage while Gabriel is at school. That seems like a good place to start!</div>
Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-74174811517846401292013-03-26T22:10:00.001-04:002013-03-26T22:13:03.016-04:00Dear SisterTonight, not more than five minutes after I tucked Roslyn into bed, she came back downstairs in tears, arms outstretched for me. I thought she had hurt herself, but when she was finally able to tell me what was wrong, she just said, "I miss her..." I instantly knew she was talking about Natalie. I hugged her tight and we went back to bed and she proceeded to cry and cry as long as she needed. I just held her close and did my best to comfort her. After awhile, I asked her if she could think of any happy memories of Natalie and she said she was too young to remember (she had just turned 4). And I realized that as she continues to grow up, Roslyn continues to lose Natalie. Just as we all miss having her with us as a vibrant member of our family, Roslyn continues to miss having her sister, who would now be in second grade, ready to turn 8 this July, a constant companion, a best friend. <br />
<br />
I am so sorry, dear Roslyn, that you must endure the pain of losing your precious little sister.<br />
I am so sorry, dear Natalie, that you didn't get to grow up and continue living your beautiful life.<br />
I am so sorry, dear Gabriel, that you will only know about Natalie through pictures and stories, but I know you love her, too.<br />
I love you all soooooo much!<br />
Mommy <br />
<br />
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<br />Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-55297304182318617862013-03-17T10:52:00.001-04:002013-03-17T10:53:13.891-04:00Why We Don't Celebrate St. Patrick's DayDespite having some Irish blood in me, I haven't ever really embraced St. Patrick's Day. It's not like I didn't like it, we just never really celebrated it. When I was a kid I would dress in green and maybe do some green crafts. As an adult, I never went out for green beer, never really took part in any of the festivities, drunken or otherwise. I would usually try to wear something green, but that's about the extent of my "celebration" of this holiday.<br />
<br />
Six years ago today, I spent the my last day with Natalie. I didn't know it was our last day together - and I distinctly remember that the fact that it was St. Patrick's Day wasn't even on my radar. I was too busy dealing with two active girls on a cold, rainy, slushy day in March. Natalie and I had both come down with colds over the night and neither of us felt that great. But somehow she managed to have way more energy than I did. We got through our day and we had spinach pie for dinner (having a green food was a total coincidence).<br />
<br />
The next day, I found her lifeless body. She was gone and our whole world fell to pieces. We called 911 and it took what I thought was a long time for them to get to our house - maybe it was five minutes. When she had her febrile seizure six weeks before, they were here in about two minutes. I remember noticing the difference in response time. I thought it had to do with the fact that I had told the 911 operator that she was dead.<br />
<br />
When they arrived at our house, they took one look at Natalie and just shook their heads. There was no frantic attempt to do CPR or help her in any way. She was gone and beyond anyone's help. They stood there waiting for the police to come. After some time passed, the two EMTs started chatting with each other about their St. Patrick's Day fun the night before. One of them commented that he wasn't supposed to be "on", but someone else had called in sick. He joked about how hungover he was. This was the conversation that took place in my living room, in my presence as I sat cradling my daughter's dead body. These people didn't even have the decency to keep quiet out of respect for our sorrow and our baby girl.<br />
<br />
When the detective came and I asked about why it took so long for them to get here, he said they were short staffed due to so many people taking the day off after St. Patrick's Day. That upset me, too.<br />
<br />
Call me what you will, but this is why I hate St. Patrick's Day. I know that if it had been any other day, it probably wouldn't have changed the outcome. Natalie was still gone. There was nothing they could have done. But this "holiday" is forever associated with her passing and so will forever not be celebrated in our house.<br />
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<br />Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-5462616167707916642013-03-15T13:37:00.000-04:002013-03-16T14:24:47.841-04:00The Coming of SpringAfter a very snowy winter here in Rhode Island, we are more than ready for spring to come. Just a few days ago I noticed the first crocuses peeking their hopeful heads out of the dead leaves. I was so excited, I said to Gabriel, "Let's go outside and look at the flowers!" We went out and he enjoyed seeing something new on the ground. I had to caution him not to step where other bulbs might still be trying to come up and he carefully stepped out of the garden. Today is colder, like winter just won't let go. But I am still hopeful that spring is coming - and soon.<br />
<br />
My feeling of hope and optimism about the coming of spring is so different from how I felt six years ago. In 2007, after Natalie died, I just wanted the world to stop. I actually <i>expected</i> everything to stop. It was unfathomable that people were going about their everyday lives when my world had come to a tragic, crashing halt. I wasn't mad at anyone in particular, but in the collective universe that didn't stop. In my grief-stricken insanity, I was even mad at the weather. Spring represented the promise of new life, hope, and joy. Things that were robbed from me when Natalie died. How dare it come?! <br />
<br />
It didn't take long before I realized that being mad at Mother Nature was pretty silly. Just as you can't stop time from moving forward, you can't stop the natural cycle of the universe. By the time summer rolled around that year, I had embraced nature and gardening in particular as I set about creating Natalie's Garden, a special place in our yard that is dedicated to our beautiful girl. Creating the garden became the best form of therapy for me that first year. I lovingly planted the various flowers, plants, and small trees that I carefully purchased or were donated by friends and family. There are special heart-shaped rocks, sculptures, and our Mother's Day stepping stones, a tradition we have continued over the years since. In 2009, I expanded Natalie's garden and I am looking forward to completing that side of the yard this year when we add a fig tree and another sitting spot.<br />
<br />
Today is March 15th and we'll be going to the Cold Stone Creamery tonight to honor sweet Natalie. I'm doing my best to get through this difficult day, and the promise of spring and the sweet memories of my angel-girl are enough for now.<br />
<br />
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<br />Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-17354910537591295502013-03-12T14:37:00.002-04:002013-03-12T14:37:22.314-04:00Waking UpSince Gabriel was born and especially since he started sleeping alone in his crib (11 months), I have kept him very closely monitored. We have an AngelCare movement and sound monitor under the mattress, which detects every breath he takes. If it doesn't, it will sound the alarm. A few times, it has gone off, causing me to rush into his room to check on him. Usually he has just managed to squeeze himself into a corner that is difficult for the monitor to pick up the movement. I also have a video monitor so I can see what he's doing. A few times when the AngelCare has gone off, I've been able to see him moving in the video monitor, so I know he's OK. I keep both monitors on all night, every night. We travel with them, too. It gives me enormous peace of mind, which affords me a better night's sleep.<br />
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Despite the monitoring, it rarely fails to cross my mind each morning when I hear Gabriel start to stir that he has woken up. I am hyper conscious of the fact that we all continue to wake up. Why is this? Why is it that Natalie didn't? It seems like such a simple thing, to wake up. To keep breathing, to stay alive. Yet she didn't and we will never know why.<br />
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This is a difficult time of year. March 18th is coming fast. I get more anxious, breathe shorter breaths, and have a deeper-than-usual feeling of sorrow. The gloom of March has descended. I know we'll get through it and it's not out of strength, it's out of having no other choice. The 6th anniversary of our little girl's tragic passing is almost here. It doesn't seem to be getting any easier year after year. It just is. It is just part of our DNA now. And we all do our best to be a little bit kinder to each other, a little bit more forgiving, because we know the worst time of year is here. As we muddle through this difficult time, I continue to take comfort that we all continue to wake up and marvel at the simultaneous simplicity and complexity of that reality. Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-30848067168929754112012-07-29T17:24:00.005-04:002012-07-30T12:37:32.928-04:00Natalie's 7th Birthday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDiEl4rpmyY_sX9W3VHIPmOZPnHIMRQow6eCOtOUOmSTwFMoWJYnIkpVaj0b8Lr7J8Wm-yo3rYyP2Y6_zyr3-5cq8Ukju4tW_lQHRIUiKpO1-n2r42ybcJwXmqPK10ue-cS2pHBEZ-no/s1600/IMG_9269.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDiEl4rpmyY_sX9W3VHIPmOZPnHIMRQow6eCOtOUOmSTwFMoWJYnIkpVaj0b8Lr7J8Wm-yo3rYyP2Y6_zyr3-5cq8Ukju4tW_lQHRIUiKpO1-n2r42ybcJwXmqPK10ue-cS2pHBEZ-no/s400/IMG_9269.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5771002570550544770" border="0" /></a><br />Today would have been Natalie's 7th birthday. I was doing OK in the days leading up to it. I thought I was getting to a better place in my grief. But, today has been really rough. I can't seem to stop crying. I killed a few hours watching a Harry Potter movie double feature with the kids. Gabriel slept on my lap through much of it, which was such a wonderful gift. There's nothing a mother loves more than cradling her sleeping child. But, we can't watch Harry Potter all day and as soon as the movie ended, I started to cry again. After a few minutes to myself rocking in the glider up in what used to be Natalie's room (now Gabriel's), I got the sudden urge to tidy up her garden. Talk about therapeutic! Clipping deadheads off the butterfly bush was so peaceful and pulling up pesky weeds and making it more beautiful really helped. A little white butterfly came along as I was trimming. Very nice! Tonight we will have dinner and a special butterfly-shaped cake. I'll post some pictures later.Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-40951480784170060222012-07-11T14:25:00.006-04:002012-07-27T08:09:02.350-04:00Blueberry Time!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8rmInvzm4XTq20CF9gHsXjK3sLrtk_Q_I7N1pYVM-NBJL9yPaYUC_p2sudd8kk5wCO-Kw-FgJLDD5CYJd52GO5SAWe6tfYy3wREsj28uK7c3H8BQ502kbP5oVAGpbe25VJ25e748bG0/s1600/IMG_9111.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8rmInvzm4XTq20CF9gHsXjK3sLrtk_Q_I7N1pYVM-NBJL9yPaYUC_p2sudd8kk5wCO-Kw-FgJLDD5CYJd52GO5SAWe6tfYy3wREsj28uK7c3H8BQ502kbP5oVAGpbe25VJ25e748bG0/s400/IMG_9111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5763988108667058578" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZASRxmTm7hiWuNt-eSphhrU9U5lwWjmV1Se1vHRSxGVqn0qs0mW0mZZuDCTTQu4213yVad7906UKxlTzLCpxvvl1j29-O8zInwclWtf77ahu1OnpIYvAY7NLzo894k2RetXJDPWW7rC0/s1600/IMG_9110.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZASRxmTm7hiWuNt-eSphhrU9U5lwWjmV1Se1vHRSxGVqn0qs0mW0mZZuDCTTQu4213yVad7906UKxlTzLCpxvvl1j29-O8zInwclWtf77ahu1OnpIYvAY7NLzo894k2RetXJDPWW7rC0/s400/IMG_9110.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5763988012634650482" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfV8Vx62jbPP1lb81-HkzfzPDOuIM9ltrUvduO8F4W-Tq5h4UbXeK8kppD4myRnm3_W6umkn1X-XNKFdaGQksoPET5vCsFukjz21U_LRJ-MywCHis9RJUWd0acB9H7_WDELtyJFKOaAg/s1600/IMG_9106.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfV8Vx62jbPP1lb81-HkzfzPDOuIM9ltrUvduO8F4W-Tq5h4UbXeK8kppD4myRnm3_W6umkn1X-XNKFdaGQksoPET5vCsFukjz21U_LRJ-MywCHis9RJUWd0acB9H7_WDELtyJFKOaAg/s400/IMG_9106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5763987505809137698" border="0" /></a><br />With the warm spring, rain in May, and sun in June, it's a bumper crop of blueberries this year - and they're ready weeks earlier than normal. We have gone picking twice already: last Friday with just me and the kids and Sunday with Chris, too. What a joy to see Gabriel gorging himself on these delicious, healthy little gems, which of course, were Natalie's favorite! We stuffed ourselves the first day at Gianetti's in Franklin, MA and only brought home 3 1/2 lbs. We went to <a href="http://www.harmonyfarmsri.com/">Harmony Farms</a> on Sunday, where we picked nearly 16 lbs to build up our winter supply. The berries were sweet and enormous (as Chris said, they were BOUS's "Berries of Unusual Size" in homage to one of our favorite movies, The Princess Bride - which gave me a good chuckle.) At times, I picked as fast as I could, emptying clusters of berries into my bucket. Other times, I carefully selected the berries I wanted to eat with loving thoughts of Natalie, my blueberry girl. "This one's for you, sweet girl," I'd think to myself as I popped it into my mouth.<br /><br />I took a bowl of blueberries to The Compassionate Friends meeting on Monday night and was greeted so warmly with several people coming up to me saying, "I knew you were here before I even saw you because Natalie's blueberries are here!" Everyone referred to them as "Natalie's blueberries," which made me feel really good. I told the story of how she would eat them, one by one and hum with joy after each one. I think of her humming and it makes me happy and sad both at the same time. I've already started looking for a blueberry recipe to make on her birthday this year. Maybe I won't be so paralyzed as last year. It will be what it will be.Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683301973131978661.post-7926030393573995152012-03-07T14:36:00.002-05:002012-03-07T14:57:11.592-05:00MarchSince March 18, 2007, I have dreaded and loathed this month. Each year as it rolls around, I get a tightening in my throat and an overall sense of gloom descends upon the world. This year, March 1 was frought with nasty, slushy miserable weather. It had snowed a day or two before and it was rainy and slushy, just like the last day of Natalie's life. As I lay nursing Gabriel before he went to sleep, I suddenly started crying, I mean uncontrollably crying. I missed Natalie. The depth of the missing and the longing and the yearning cannot be conveyed in words. It is something I feel deep in every cell of my body and soul. Since Gabriel's birth, nursing has been a big grief trigger for me. I started thinking about why I was crying like this, when I hadn't done so in quite awhile. I literally couldn't stop and I tried to keep it hushed so I didn't disturb my little boy who was contentedly nursing away, getting sleepy and ready to go night-night. Then I realized: It's March. The weather sucked today. It sucked just like it did on March 17, 2007, the last day of Natalie's life. I had taken the girls outside briefly so I could clear the slushy mess off the front steps for the mailman. Natalie didn't want to put on her snowsuit, so I let her go out in her boots, coat, and hat. She didn't like it and kept fussing for me to pick her up. It's hard to shovel snow while holding a 24-lb toddler, so I made Natalie wait until I could pick her up. Then I did and all was better again for her. Roslyn wanted to play, but Natalie just stood in the snow, looking forlorn. She didn't like it. We stayed out for a bit longer and then I convinced Roslyn to go back inside and Natalie was happy about that.<br /><br />And so, today is March 7 - 11 more days to go until the 18th, which will mark the 5th anniversary of my beautiful baby's passing. This year it falls on a Sunday, just like in 2007. It has been a rough week so far, but Chris and I are both doing the best we can to be kind to ourselves and each other. There's nothing we can do about it, except hang in there and keep on living. It's just a rough one this year. Five years seems like such a long, long time and I miss her more and more.Beth Fouser Adamohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05007676384018840623noreply@blogger.com3