tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63189110909532201352024-03-21T10:07:22.812-05:00Walking with FaithJoin us as we find a new "normal."Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-26224890292942254762014-09-26T19:40:00.000-05:002014-09-26T19:40:33.961-05:00The Secret Life of a Grieving MotherOnce again, too much time has passed since I have found myself both the time and the inclination to sit down and write here. We have been busy with life...work, raising our beautiful son, enjoying our family. Very recently, I had an experience that once again reminded me that our world without Faith never really fades. Though we are so grateful for J., I can't ever really "get over it," or forget that he is not our first. Faith was our first born. <br />
<br />
Just two weeks ago, as I walked my class into lunch, a friend walked up to me, phone in hand, and simply said, "You have to read this." I took it from her, prepared for a message, but not for the words I saw. <br />
<br />
"With the heaviest of hearts...we lost our littlest granddaughter to what appears to be a case of SIDS." <br />
As I stood in front of my class, gasping, my mouth covered, my eyes welling with tears, I found only the words, "Oh my God," to express my broken heart and weary soul. I dropped my students off, walked out of the cafeteria, and disintegrated into tears. I called my husband, told him, continuing to cry and wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop. I finally managed to pull myself together long enough to eat my lunch and finish my work day. <br />
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The following weekend, we attended the visitation for this beautiful little angel that left our world too soon. I hugged her grandmother, my friend for 15 years; we talked and cried and she said,"I know you know." I proceeded through the line to this little angel's mother, also my friend, and father, all the while putting some blinders on so I could manage my own feelings and try to offer some measure of support to the family. Even when I knew there was none that could really be. <br />
<br />
And that's the secret. <br />
<br />
You never. stop. grieving. When you have buried your child, you just never stop. You move forward; you find peace (hopefully); you manage. Eventually, you find a way to just keep living life and finding joy in the little things of life. There are other secrets...<br />
<br />
Sometimes you yell at your husband to wear the bike helmet because you just can't handle something happening to him, too.<br />
Sometimes you lay awake to watch your baby sleep, just because you can.<br />
Sometimes the anxiety of loss is so crushing you're not sure how you can manage it. But you do.<br />
Sometimes you cut your next baby's food into impossibly tiny pieces because you're so afraid he might choke. <br />
Sometimes you act like a paranoid crazy person, afraid of the littlest things. Because paranoia is for those people who've never been a statistic. When you're the statistic, all bets are off. Paranoia becomes your best friend - and worst enemy. And most time consuming hobby, as you attempt to keep it at bay.<br />
Sometimes you sleep a little later, snuggling that cozy little boy because you know that before you can blink, he'll be too big to want to snuggle back. <br />
Sometimes when you think you're mostly okay, your world will be invaded by the unfair and heartbreaking loss suffered by a friend. And then your world will be turned upside down again, your thoughts consumed by the ache and agony of a family, an ache you know all too well. <br />
<br />
But here I sit, writing. Struggling for words that might help someone. So while the life of a grieving mother is one I don't wish on anyone, I do wish for my friend for her to know something life changing. <br />
<br />
You. Will. Survive.<br />
<br />
You will cry. You will yell and be angry. Your chest will ache and you will be sure that your heart is broken. But you will - in time - survive. One day, it won't hurt to breathe. One day, you will make it through the entire day without crying. One day, laughing won't make you simultaneously make you feel like you're losing your mind. <br />
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And one more thing...you will never forget her. You will carry her in your heart and soul every day for the rest of the days you walk this Earth. Her image will be your greatest strength, even when it is your greatest heartbreak. And you will find peace. <br /><br />
For all the mothers - and fathers - out there, suffering through an unimaginable loss today. Please know that you will not always feel the way you do today. Your grief will always be with you, but as impossible as it seems, it will change and you will find a way to put it where it needs to be so that you once again find joy and happiness. Ignore the stupidity of people...even me, if this is too much right now. Just hug each other, wrap yourselves in a bubble, and be gentle with yourselves. You are not alone.<br />
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And one day, you might just have a few secrets of your own to share. <br />
<br />
With all my love,<br />
Erica<br />
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<br />Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-32414944822328073382014-01-01T09:49:00.000-06:002014-02-17T14:34:51.895-06:00A New Year Arrives*Edited on February 17, 2014 - I realized that this post I'd started several weeks back accidentally posted instead of being saved. So, here's my attempt to finish it!<br />
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Originally started, January 1, 2014 - <br />
This morning I am sitting in my living room, sipping a cup of coffee, the t.v. on in the background, with my new baby boy laying asleep beside me on the couch. I am listening to the sound of him breathing, watching him stir as his little nap is coming to an end. Jamie is sound asleep in bed still, trying to fight off a sinus cold that has knocked him down the last few days. I am counting the last few hours until I go back to work tomorrow...back to reality, to the hustle and bustle of life, to the grind of teaching, grading, managing 24 little people all.day.long...and then racing home to enjoy the company of my husband and the snuggles of a little boy that will all too quickly be too big to snuggle. <br />
<br />
The other day my mother posted on Facebook a list of reflections for 2013. My sister and I followed suit and reflected, also. That little exercise got me thinking and reflecting further, wanting to elaborate on some reflections a bit more. 2013 was a very good year...probably one of our better years in recent memory, for obvious reasons. <br />
<br />
Little James was born...he made his appearance on August 19, at 6:45 a.m., in swift and decisive fashion. I'm very glad we had discussed and planned for a natural birth, because by the time we got to the hospital, there was no time for anything else! He has enriched our lives in so many ways, and his addition to our family has felt so natural, I don't even really remember our world without him. A year ago at this time I was barely pregnant; we had told no one and were busy navigating several social events and trying to hide the fact that I was pregnant and therefore, not drinking. We were in the beginning days of a stressful, exciting, roller coaster ride of a pregnancy that was blessedly uncomplicated, but overshadowed by our past. My mom asked me recently if we think any future pregnancies would be any easier, since this one proved we can have a healthy pregnancy and healthy baby. I honestly don't really know. Maybe a hair...but you can't outrun your past and it will always be with us, so I doubt very much that I'll ever be pregnant and carefree again in my life. So, what did 2013 teach me? <br />
<br />
My most poignant moment was the death of my grandfather. I fully expected him to live to be 100, or more, so when we learned over the summer that he was terminally ill and would probably only live a few more months, it was a sad time. When he only lived a few more weeks and passed away just a week after James was born, it was a bit of a shock. I have grown close with my grandparents since I've lived near them as an adult and always knew their deaths would be hard, but I have been surprised at the emotion I feel going forward. I visit his grave and talk to him. I try hard to channel my mother's thoughts about his death, "This is not a tragedy." While she misses him and is sad that he's gone, she seems to recognize that his long life of nearly 90 years makes his a life well lived and not a tragedy. I try...I do. And rationally, I know that she's right. Maybe because his death was so closely tied to James' birth. Hormones, emotions...all wrapped up in one. I wrote before about the guilt I felt around the fact that Grandpa only got to meet James once. Once. At the hospital. He saw him, we talked. But he never held him and we didn't get pictures. I know my grandfather never expected something different, and I believe he knew that his time was limited. I know he was grateful for getting to meet him, but I am sad every day that I realize he will never know his great-grandson. That my son will only know his great-grandfather through the stories we tell. And I will tell them...because he was a very cool nearly 90-year old. And my world is a little smaller without him. But Heaven is getting an earful, let me assure you!<br />
<br />
2013 was a good year. James brought us a world of joy that I didn't know could exist. My best friend told me once, "Having a child is like having a piece of your heart walk around outside your body." True words. If I could, I'd buy an island and put him in a bubble. Not really...but I definitely feel a sense of wanting to protect him at all costs. As hard as everyone said the infant phase is, it hasn't really felt that way. It's been amazing...and exhausting...and enlightening...and fulfilling...and frustrating...and heartwarming. Most of all, it's been healing. 2014 is off to a good start. May yours be filled with peace.Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-45435340566097211442013-11-24T08:11:00.003-06:002013-11-24T08:11:55.041-06:00MinutesWhen you are young, time seems long. Your parent tells you that something will happen "next year" and it feels like it will never come. As you get older you realize just how relatively short a time a year actually is. You realize that a year is actually not that long, and when you're busy living life, it goes pretty fast. Suddenly that vacation you were planning, or that wedding you were anticipating, or the holiday plans you couldn't wait for - arrive. In the blink of an eye it comes and goes. What they say is true...time moves faster as you get older. I still feel like the same 22 year old that graduated from college and began her first year of fresh-faced teaching, clad in a navy blue blazer for my interview (a trait my former principal always affectionately reminds me of!) <br />
<br />
But then I realize something...I'm obviously no longer that 22-year old. I'm nearly 15 years older and, even scarier, halfway to retirement eligibility within our state's public school system. I look at the current 23-year old that I work with and it's so often like looking in a mirror. The youthfulness, the pep, the energy, the idealism. All of which are positive attributes. And I still think of myself as a positive person. But my life at 36 years old is so vastly different. I could not, at 22, have imagined that one day down the road my life would be measured in minutes. <br />
<br />
See, with a new baby under our roof, we measure so many things in minutes...<br />
<br />
He slept for 35 minutes. <br />
<br />
He's been awake for 90 minutes. <br />
<br />
I <em>just </em>changed that diaper 15 minutes ago. <br />
<br />
He's been crying for 5 minutes. <br />
<br />
He's been cooing for 17 minutes. <br />
<br />
I've been listening to him snore for 12 minutes. <br />
<br />
He played in his crib this morning for 20 minutes. <br />
<br />
He nursed for 10 minutes. <br />
<br />
I left for work a few minutes later than normal - because I was snuggling my sleeping son on my chest for <em>just a few more minutes. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
I've been told by so many veteran parents, "The days are long, but the years are short." We have wholeheartedly taken the advice to enjoy every <em>minute</em> that we have now. Thanks in part to that wonderful advice, and I believe also largely because of our life experience, we cherish every. single. minute. <br />
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We listen to James laugh and coo and giggle and "talk" and smile and laugh ourselves at his seemingly innate ability to mostly entertain himself. Inevitably with the sheer joy he brings, I feel a twinge of sadness. At the minutes we didn't get with Faith. And the minutes we did...because she was such a powerful reminder that our lives are truly measured in minutes. <br />
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When you're 10, you can't imagine that minutes will every go by so fast or matter so much. Those minutes you wait on Christmas morning seem to drag on forever. Twenty or so years later, you just wish that those minutes would take a little longer...and wish there was some way to permanently imprint them on your memory. <br />
<br />
So, I leave a little later for work some mornings. I snuggle a little longer with my sleeping baby than the "experts" recommend if you ever want your child to sleep independently. I breathe in his baby smell while I can and choose to enjoy the early morning hours, smiles, and cups of coffee that come with his 6 a.m. wake-up call. I ignore that I'd like to sleep a little more and instead focus on the fact that before I can even blink, he'll be sleeping later than me and I'll have to chase him out of bed at noon. <br />
<br />
Minutes are precious. <br />
<br />
My grandfather was able to come to the hospital to meet James the day he was born. Just a week later, my grandfather passed away at the age of 89. For awhile (and still a bit, if I'm honest), I felt a tremendous amount of guilt and sadness that he never held James and that we didn't get pictures of them together. I know my grandfather didn't think anything of it, more than likely, but it is one of my biggest regrets. And now he's gone, and I have to live with that. But those minutes in the hospital? The 30 or so minutes that he was in the same room and got to meet him? Those minutes mattered. And a week later when I learned that he was in the hospital and there was nothing left to do, I left my one-week old baby in the hands of my loving and wonderful husband so that I could squeeze out a few more <em>minutes </em>with my grandfather. I had to time it carefully...nurse, drive to the hospital, spend time holding Grandpa's hand, drive home to nurse again. I got an hour or so. 60 precious, quiet, pensive, emotional minutes to be with my grandfather. Minutes I will never regret. <br />
<br />
Minutes matter...we live our life in minutes. When the hustle and the rush of life gets overwhelming, stop and count the minutes. Because they go by so very, very quickly. <br />
<br />
EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-33677579855873486472013-11-06T19:45:00.000-06:002013-11-06T19:45:29.521-06:00The Sounds I HearAs I sit in my living room on this November evening, I am listening to the sounds of laughter and cooing. My husband and my son. The big James laughing at the little James, who is cooing and "talking" in response to Daddy's voice. It has - again - been too long since I wrote here. As you can see, life has changed dramatically in our household since July. <br />
<br />
I could write about the day he was born, on a Monday morning, early - and fast. So fast in fact that Jamie never had a chance to call anyone to tell them we were headed to the hospital, until after our little miracle arrived. My mom thought he was kidding when he said, "She had the baby!"<br />
<br />
I could tell you about the first few weeks at home - the laughter we shared at 2 a.m. as we navigated the challenges of nursing a newborn, the sleepless nights, the paranoia that something would happen to James - or I could tell you that over time that paranoia has subsided and we have embraced the pure joy that has come with his arrival. <br />
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I will tell you about the amazing journey it is to bring a rainbow into the world. A rainbow baby is one that comes after the loss of a baby...because a rainbow is beauty after a storm; not to negate the ravages of the storm, but to show something of beauty and hope. James is our rainbow baby. <br />
<br />
He was born at 8 lbs. 11 oz. and 21 inches long with a full head of dark, beautiful hair. It is amazing to me how quickly you learn about your child. He is, after all, not yet 12 weeks old, but I know him. He has dimples and a charming smile, loves to nurse, and is a happy, content little guy. He has found his hands and started to "talk" to us regularly. James is the baby that makes you want ten more babies. <br />
<br />
By far the most amazing thing about this journey is seeing our family transform from a twosome to a threesome. Even after such a short time, I simply can't imagine our life without him. It is hard to remember a life without him in it...we have been so blessed. Watching my husband become a father has to be the single greatest series of moments I have ever experienced. Jamie is as enchanted with James as I am...we sit together and laugh at his smiles and coos. Sometimes I just sit back and watch them together - and just listen to the sounds that have changed my house. A squeak, a squawk, a cry...a coo, a giggle, a sing-song voice that belongs to me or Jamie. We do more laundry than ever before, and there is so much "stuff" sitting around our house. But I don't care - because he is amazing. And totally worth it. <br />
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Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-4841386789434443792013-07-02T18:54:00.000-05:002013-07-02T18:54:07.867-05:00Almost there...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We are almost there...close to the end of this leg of the journey. Close to the day that Baby will join us. We have a room (nearly) ready. We've painted and cleaned and organized a small room and closet into a functional space. A chair has been ordered and is on its way - thank you, Target and the gift cards we got for shower gifts. We've had the baby showers...a big step we never took with Faith. That felt huge - exciting, anxious, happy - but definitely, huge. Clothes are being washed, dried, and organized by size. My lovably neurotic-about-clutter husband has been a HUGE help in the process. I couldn't have done it without him, and have a whole new respect for single parents that must do all of this alone.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWFBRZX0s2r66vpPjr1uWHNDbXK1FCXXu28_QVgr0ujOX3san3pzYegRYlH2KbjrCiyZ10hb_RPm0lklDil7h1BWL_F-NF7lF2rMIyULKqL458rAkv_RS_Z0pFyfI5QHW5GiWZWM93vNU/s960/hands+on+belly.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWFBRZX0s2r66vpPjr1uWHNDbXK1FCXXu28_QVgr0ujOX3san3pzYegRYlH2KbjrCiyZ10hb_RPm0lklDil7h1BWL_F-NF7lF2rMIyULKqL458rAkv_RS_Z0pFyfI5QHW5GiWZWM93vNU/s200/hands+on+belly.JPG" width="200" /></a>When we learned of Faith's diagnosis, a baby shower was planned. Invitations had gone out...and then my mother, sister-in-law, and best friend had to make the first of some really terrible phone calls that summer. To tell people that the shower was cancelled. How do you, after all, celebrate the arrival of a baby you're not even sure will be born alive? It may sound morbid, but it was our very real living nightmare. So, we've surpassed all sorts of milestones we never got to with Faith. I've gotten past the point in this pregnancy where we got with Faith - this baby moves and squirms and kicks - and it is a truly miraculous feeling. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISgYwzjeuxMMvJP6Fz3eTPtGLNUTc_bs56YUpvQznfCEttgbfD1FPnSudoZ1xRcAY0J6gBMurqA4JVDhuBJt6u_WrZJBEw0u4R8hRYDUz39jAzZfEEXFS2gXBBOQC7t507_ndunx8kZ6i/s960/through+god.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISgYwzjeuxMMvJP6Fz3eTPtGLNUTc_bs56YUpvQznfCEttgbfD1FPnSudoZ1xRcAY0J6gBMurqA4JVDhuBJt6u_WrZJBEw0u4R8hRYDUz39jAzZfEEXFS2gXBBOQC7t507_ndunx8kZ6i/s200/through+god.JPG" width="200" /></a>Last week, we had maternity pictures taken. Jamie's cousin is a budding photographer, eager to build her professional portfolio. As you can see, she does beautiful work and offered to do pictures for us. For four years, I have regretted that we do not have more pictures of me pregnant, of us together during the time when things were okay with Faith - that most of our pictures are in the hospital after her birth, though I treasure those. This time I was determined to chronicle this miracle along the way and cherish the journey, even when it makes me nervous. Which, for the record, it does almost daily. I am so happy about these pictures. It captures our joy...our excitement...our Faith that we will have a healthy baby and bring him or her home. All signs point to that outcome. If I'm honest, I find myself getting more and more anxious as the weeks go by. Most of the time, I keep it together and can push away the thoughts that creep in and once again, rob me of the blissfully ignorant joy that all pregnant women should get to experience. Unfortunately, that is not our experience. We experience pregnancy and the anticipation of a baby clouded in fear and nerves and trepidation, on top of the joy and excitement we feel about this new baby. <br />
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Next week is the week in July I dread every year...the week it all fell apart with Faith. I am determined to make it through that week and choose joy this summer. Choose to focus on the positive things we have, the new baby I feel kick and squirm on a daily basis. We talk about names and have our house nearly ready for our new miracle. Thank you to Joanna for helping us to capture this very special time in our lives. <br />
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EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-27708272250922229422013-04-01T18:53:00.000-05:002013-04-01T18:53:06.733-05:00A Long Walk I have been silent here for too long, and for that I apologize. It has not been without reason; just reason we were not ready to share with the world. <br />
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Until now. <br />
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We are halfway to a new miracle...a new baby will be joining us - God willing - mid-August. <br />
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It has taken us 20 weeks to feel ready to share with the world. For many weeks, it was a secret we kept to ourselves...a little treasure we held close to our hearts while we nervously held our breath. 6 weeks passed, we had a first ultrasound and saw that amazing little flutter on the screen. A heartbeat. A real, beating heart. Then 9 weeks and we decided to tell our immediate families. </div>
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We made it to 11 weeks and the first set of tests, screenings, and more ultrasounds. We got the next bit of reassuring news...Baby looks good and is growing right on target. "Normal" never sounded so extraordinary as we got back blood work that dropped our risk of trisomies into the almost non-existent area. We breathed a little easier. Made it through the first several doctor's appointments. Heard a heartbeat for the first time. I started to actually look and feel pregnant, as we began to tell friends and co-workers.</div>
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Last week we accomplished yet another major milestone - 20 weeks, the "big" ultrasound, the halfway point. Again, more good news from doctors and technicians..."Normal development," "nothing of concern." So today, I told my students - who, up to this point, were oblivious to the fact that I was pregnant thanks to some very creative clothing choices on my part. </div>
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And now it's time to share it with the rest of you. Those that we haven't seen or talked with, but are ready to include in our journey. </div>
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And this is a journey. For we live in a world where "I'm pregnant" doesn't necessarily translate into, "I'm going to have a baby." Choosing to take the leap of faith required to walk this path again requires...well, I don't know that I've figured it out yet. I know that with each passing day, each passing week, each accomplished milestone, we breathe a bit easier. I have set small goals...get past 6 weeks, to the first doctor's appointment, 9 weeks, 12 weeks, end of first trimester. Make it to the "First Look" ultrasound, 16 weeks, 20 weeks...get to the next doctor's appointment, that stage of "viability," the glucose test, get to the every 2-week doctor's appointments...you get the drift. One day at a time has never held such power. </div>
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Because it's not just about our losses...it's about every woman and every loss I have ever known. When this is your world, you become acquainted with catastrophes no one should ever know. You become an encyclopedia of "what ifs." Because it's how you survive..."If I can just get past where __________ had her loss, I'll feel better." You personalize every loss - and pray every single day. I pray everyday that we'll get to keep this baby and bring this baby home. Until that day comes, and we're physically holding this new little one, we will be holding our breath. </div>
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While this walk comes with a tremendous amount of anxiety and nerves, we are cautiously optimistic. I have a fabulous doctor who has been my doctor since before we had Faith. She knows our history and she and her office have been wonderful...with every phone call, every weird symptom, every strange question. Offering every bit of reassurance humanly possible. I could not ask for greater support as we navigate through this part of life. </div>
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To those of you that have taken this long walk with us over the last 3 1/2 years, I thank you. With every person we told about this new baby, I was nervous. Nervous to make it "real." And with every announcement, people have been joyous and excited and supportive. We couldn't ask for better people to share this with. We are excited, and scared, and on any given day, any number of other emotions. But, the time has come to let you all take this long walk with us. So, while we don't know if Baby is a boy or a girl (and won't be finding out until Baby's arrival), we know Faith is watching out for us. A guardian to her mom and dad, and an angel watching over this new blessing. I only wish that our new addition would be able to know his/her big sister. Though they won't know each other in the traditional sense, this little one will know about the big sister they have and how much they are wanted and loved before they've even arrive. </div>
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With love, <br />Erica </div>
Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-82596596221545092862012-10-18T21:57:00.001-05:002012-10-18T21:57:56.970-05:00Dear Mister IrrelevantAs I've probably mentioned before, I love the St. Louis Cardinals. I have lived in St. Louis since 1995 and have since become a very proud member of Cardinal Nation. So, last week, the Cardinals played the Washington Nationals in a best-of-5 series. It was the Nationals' first post-season trip in something like 78 years. I'll just remind you that the Cardinals are the reigning World Series Champs. But, I digress...<br />
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On the eve of the final game between Washington and St. Louis, some blogger named Mister Irrelevant (well, a guest writer that he hosted on his blog) - wrote a mean-spirited, hateful post titled, "Why St. Louis is a Terrible, No Good Place." (Read it <a href="http://misterirrelevant.com/index.php/2012/10/10/why-st-louis-is-a-terrible-no-good-place-guest-post/">here</a>) Here is my response...<br />
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Dear Mister Irrelevant, <br />
I heard about your post regarding St. Louis recently, and felt the need to respond. I read it in its entirety, and I won't pretend to be an expert on Washinton, D.C., despite the fact that you seem to have claimed that right for yourself about St. Louis. You have said you lived here for three years and were "happy to escape back to civilization." Well, good riddance, considering how you feel about our city. However, I feel the need to defend my home on a few points. <br />
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1) Crime - I won't pretend that the crime statistics for St. Louis aren't terrible - they are. For several years, the City of St. Louis has topped the lists for most violent city in the U.S. No argument here. But, here's the thing - most of what people consider "St. Louis" is actually outside of the city proper, and very safe. And if we want to compare city to city, Washington, D.C. is not exactly topping the lists of safest cities in the U.S. Here are two lists I found that lists D.C. among the 25 most dangerous cities. <a href="http://gawker.com/5695776/the-25-most-dangerous-cities-in-the-us-are-mostly-nice-places">The Gawker</a> and <a href="http://www.neighborhoodscout.com/dc/washington/crime/">Neighborhood Scout</a>. As for your claim that there are just bad and worse areas, that's just false. St. Louis, like most big cities, has plenty of areas I wouldn't walk alone through. It also, however, has many wonderful areas that are beautiful, affluent, and safe. Tower Grove Park, Forest Park, Lafayette Square, and The Hill are just a few. My point is, St. Louis is really no different than most big cities. There are bad areas - areas I will always stay away from, but there are the good areas, too. It is not one big cesspool, as you'd have your readers believe. <br />
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2) As for your argument about our "insular community," you make some valid points. Lots of people do live in the suburbs - but just because I choose to live where I can afford to live does not mean I don't value culture. We are not Manhattan or D.C. - we don't have your population or your tourism draw, so no, we can't compete when we start counting museums or monuments. But to call us stupid is rude and offensive. Your damn right I'm going to be defensive - I live in a great city. We have one of the top-ranked zoos in the country. And it's free. To everyone. Most of our museums - the Art Museum, the History Museum, the Science Center, to name a few, are free. Are they the Smithsonian? No - but they're wonderful places, full of culture. And we're proud of the fact that in St. Louis you don't have to make six figures to be able to take your family to the zoo or to the museum to experience that culture that in most other big cities would set a family of four back well over $100. Maybe you think only the wealthy deserve to be exposed to culture? <br />
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3) Food - Okay, I agree with you on the pizza. Can't stand provel on pizza. But our barbeque? Some of the best. You went to one restaurant (a place I've never even heard of, by the way) and judge all barbeque on that? What about our Italian district - the Hill? Italian food, toasted ravioli, Ted Drewe's custard. St. Louis is more than the stereotypical barbeque, but you failed to mention anything else. Shame on you. <br />
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4) Sports - I am a proud member of Cardinal Nation - we love our baseball. And in recent years, the Rams have struggled to keep fans interested because, well, they've just played like crap. And I occasionally watch hockey, but have many friends that are die-hard fans and "bleed Blue." But so what if the Cardinals are our biggest sports draw? Why do you care? So what if we have "Happy Flight," and the Rally Squirrel? Does it really impact your life if our small, insular, culturally-insignificant hillbilly town has a world champion baseball team that loves its rituals and traditions? That's right - World Champions. 11 times. Last fall, I had the privilege of being with friends in a bar near Busch Stadium when we won game 7. Though I've never seen that many people in one place at one time, it was by far one of the coolest things I've ever seen. Because that night - the night we won our 11th championship - St. Louis was the best city in the world. I knew that while everyone celebrated, no one was going to set cars on fire, or trash the bar, or throw trash on the baseball field. Because Cardinals' fans don't do that. It's why Sports Illustrated and other sports-related media consistenly call Cardinal fans "the best fans in sports." As for the calls you claim to have heard to have Mike Matheny fired? Pretty sure those were all in your own head. <br />
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So, Mister Irrelevant, I'd say you certainly are. Because while you're happy to have escaped us, I'm happy to live here. I wasn't born here or raised here. I moved here to go to college, got a job, met my husband, and here we stay. All of those things you seem to hate about it here, I love. Here are the reasons why St. Louis is a Wonderful, Fabulous Place to Be...<br />
1) Roots - Didn't grow up here, I am a transplant. Married a local boy who has virtually his entire family within a 2 hour drive. I have come to love the roots that people plant here because it gives us history and feels like home. I never had roots anywhere, but here, I've planted some. <br />
2) The cost of living - we do not live in a big house. But it's a house, with a yard, a garage, and a safe neighborhood. Our most affluent areas and most expensive homes rarely top $1,000,000. That's a mansion around here. With a big lot, in the most sought-after areas. I think our average house price is somewhere around $250,000. And that will likely get you a 3 or 4 bedroom house with a basement, 2 car garage, in a great school district. In D.C., what does that get you? A 1-bedroom condo? I'm proud of the fact that my husband and I can afford our home, our car, and our bills and not go into financial freefall to also go out to dinner. <br />
3) The values. I will take the midwest values over that of your fine, cultural city any day. I'm sure there are wonderful people in D.C., but since I haven't been there since I was 15, I won't attack your city. We are a forgiving people, a kind city, and full of old fashioned values that I believe in. I am proud of that. <br />
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I wasn't born here, but this is home. Part of that home is those World Champion Cardinals - that, by the way, stomped your Nationals into next season. See you in 2013, Mister Irrelevant!Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-26283031185983102022012-08-13T20:36:00.000-05:002012-08-13T20:36:47.593-05:00Bittersweet BirthdayThe summer is over...August is here. I haven't written any posts in ages. Not much to write about, I guess. We traveled, I rested, I read, watched movies...ran a zillion miles as I train for a half marathon in October. Survived the crazy heat. And now...August is here. <br />
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Tomorrow is Faith's birthday. She would be 3. We would have a toddler running through our house, talking, asking questions, becoming a little girl, instead of a baby. The crib that still sits in her room would be replaced with a bed, and we'd be tripping over the toys and things that a 3-year old bring. And probably not know just how blessed we really were. Had she lived. <br />
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Her birthday continues to be bittersweet. I feel that I have come to a place in grief that allows me to celebrate Faith's birth. The fact that she was born alive...the fact that she lived for 3 days. We got to see her eyes, hear her cry, give her a bath, change a diaper, cuddle her, pass her around to family and friends. All the time knowing it would not last. All the time, waiting for the eventual end we knew would come. And it did; that's the bitter part. <br />
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While we celebrate all the blessings we did get to have, we of course mourn the loss. We think about her everyday...what our life would be like with her. When we take trips, we talk about how she would be old enough to sit in the boat with us, enjoy learning to fish with her daddy, playing with her cousins on our recent road trip to Georgia. Everything we do, we do with a little hole. A little bit of bittersweet persists in every day of our lives. <br />
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The pain is less...the intensity, the feeling of an elephant on my chest, the broken heart, the ache with every breath I take is no more. Not usually. There are still moments...often unpredictable ones. A little girl that passes by and makes me wonder what Faith would look like; a trip to visit friends, with everyone's kids in tow - except ours. Because she is not here. The sadness never quite goes away, but it does change. <br />
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I can look upon Faith's birthday tomorrow and be grateful for what we had, and be okay with where we are. I will also have moments of longing and sadness, and an ache for my daughter. I want to hold her hand and swing her between me and her dad. I want to teach her to fish. I want to take her to dance class, and to the pool with my friend's children. I want to watch her run with the other children that are in our lives. I picture her in every crowd, at every event, in every single thing we do. Where would she be? How would she fit in here? How would this be different? And we wonder if we are the only ones who ponder. Does anyone else know how much my heart will ache tomorrow? Does anyone realize how much my mind will be elsewhere for the next several days, no matter what facade I display? <br />
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Some will. <br />
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Good friends and family will say something...will hug me, will talk about her without guilt. Because they will be the ones that know that we never forget. That saying her name brings a smile to my face, even if it brings a tear to my eye. <br />
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I don't know when I will get to hold her again, but I know the day will come. Until then, I can wish to her in the stars. Happy birthday, my sweet girl...<br />
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Love, <br />
MommyErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-72916259632972130412012-06-09T18:02:00.002-05:002012-06-09T18:02:52.777-05:00A Lucky Life?When I was a child, and even into my young adult hood, I always felt like I had lived a blessed life. Sure, we moved around a lot - more than average - but that was about the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I had three sisters that I loved and mostly got along with, parents I respected and enjoyed and appreciated, and because of all that moving, some experiences that could never be duplicated. I went to high school in Egypt, after all, and my graduation ceremony was held at the base of the Giza Pyramids. No, I'm not kidding. Who can say that? <br />
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Even after my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 17, I eventually reclaimed that blessed feeling. It became that "thing" that happened to my family, once, long ago. It was our "bad thing." Everyone has to have one, right? At that point, I still had all four of my grandparents and had never been to a funeral. In fact, the first burial I ever went to was after I was married, at the age of 30, for my husband's grandmother. I'd never really known anyone that had died. My aunts, uncles, cousins were all alive and well. They, too, were fairly blessed. No illnesses, no diseases or afflictions, no real life-issues, at least as far as I knew then. Like I said, we lived a blessed life. <br />
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In my sophomore year of college, my grandmother was also diagnosed with breast cancer. At that time, it was bad and it sucked, but knowing my mom had beat cancer two years before, I don't think I expected different from my grandmother. And for the record, my grandmother is a nearly 16-year breast cancer survivor, still alive and well, and as persnickety as ever at the age of 88. So is my grandfather. You can see why I always felt lucky. And years and years went by with that. <br />
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Oh, there was the occasional blip on the radar...a painful breakup, a minor fender bender, a tornado that came precariously close to my parents' home, tonsillectomy at the age of 23...the mundane things of life. None of them felt particularly life altering. <br />
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Cue the rest of my life. <br />
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Jamie and I met when we were 27. We have been together 8 years now, and despite the struggles we've had and the painful experiences we've shared, I am so, so grateful for every minute of those 8 years. But I've also, with each passing year and the tally of "Why us?" moments, begun to lose that lucky feeling. My dear friend Sarah calls it "the statistical shitstorm." If there is a statistical anomaly, we will find it. I have begun to live my life as though we are enjoying peaceful moments between the proverbial shoe drop. Because if you'd lived our life, you too would feel like there's always going to be another shoe. <br />
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That first moment was a diagnosis of colon cancer for Jamie at the age of 28. Do you know the odds of that? It's pratically unheard of, especially considering there was absolutely no family history and Jamie had no diagnosed health problems that might have indicated that likelihood. Following that, the economy began to falter and Jamie has spent a great deal of time unemployed because of the nature of his job in construction. He's struggled to reinvent himself, but I give him tons of credit for the fact that he refuses to give up and let others define him. <br />
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We had Faith in 2009 and have since I think felt like we are living between those shoe drops more and more. I won't delve into the list of experiences we've had, but needless to say that most of the people who know us agree that we've had more than our fair share of bad luck and heartache. I just told a friend the other night that sometimes I feel like we could inspire soap opera story lines for years and years. No one could write the life we've had. Between us and our immediate family, it seems that we are due for some good. <br />
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I can honestly say that I am a very different person than I was a few years ago. Life experiences change you. I still feel like I'm a pretty positive person most of the time, able to find the silver lining. I am choosier about how I spend my time and with whom. I am not as open as I once was...don't so much wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm less of a social butterfly and prefer to keep close to home, close to my husband, and surround myself with the friends and family we are closest to. Social events with lots of new people are more stressful than enjoyable, and I often avoid them unless there are a few people there that I know and can use as a buffer. See, meeting new people means small talk and small talk means questions like, "How many kids do you have?" It becomes exhausting to navigate your life when <em>this</em> is your life. When you look around and ask, "How did this become my life?" <br />
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I haven't been to a baby shower in three years, and I don't have plans on going anytime soon, though I probably would now for the right person in my life. All of this is a defense mechanism. <br />
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Most days are good days, but every once in awhile, something knocks you off your feet and opens old wounds and once again, you have to pull yourself up by your boot straps. <br />
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Sometimes I think back to the 25-year old who lived such a blessed life. And I wonder who she would be now. Because she isn't me. I <em>am</em> truly blessed in so many ways. Maybe all of this is just what life is, and I just got really lucky for the first part of my life. And I'm well aware that there are many, many people with much worse situations than us and that we are very fortunate. We have friends and family and an amazing network of loved ones. I have the love of my life, and could not get through each and every day without him (though sometimes he makes me nuts.) So, maybe this is what this part of life is about...discovering the fact that life exists between shoe drops. And to enjoy them while you can, while they happen and never, ever take them for granted. Because the next shoe that drops might forever change the life you know. <br />
<br />
EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-56315452258080614592012-04-22T19:03:00.000-05:002012-04-22T19:03:03.477-05:00Suck it, Cancer"Sit down." <br />
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Ever notice how two words like that can send a tremor of fear right through you? So, a couple of weeks ago when I came home from a nice evening out getting a pedicure with Sarah, and Jamie greeted my arrival with, "Sit down," I was unprepared, to say the least. <br />
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And in my brain were things like the following: one of my grandparents died...then Jamie said, "Your mom called and your sister..." and my brain went to things like: my sister died, my sister was in a horrible car accident, wait...which sister are we talking about here...<br />
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...and he finished with, "...has Hodgkin's Lymphoma." Oh.<br />
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Wait, what? No one died? <br />
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Okay, that's the good news. But my sister has cancer...well, that just sucks. Seriously...that was my first thought. That sucks (how very educated and mature of me, but sometimes there just aren't better words). And no kidding, my very next set of thoughts went to something like, "So, cancer bites the big one and I really wish my sister didn't have cancer, but in this family we've got cancer covered. We're GOOD at cancer, so cancer...BRING. IT. ON. because you are <em>soooo</em> going to lose." <br />
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Now, I don't mean to minimize cancer or the diagnosis of cancer...at all. The "C" monster as my sister has started to refer to it is scary and life-altering and sometimes deadly. But, I wasn't kidding when I really did think of it as something that was manageable and treatable and with an attitude of, "Okay...now what?" I didn't freak out (other sister did, but that's okay, too) because, like my oh-so-wise sister has pointed out, our experience with cancer has been one of SURVIVAL. Let me list the ways...<br />
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Mom - Breast cancer survivor, 17+ years<br />
Grandma - Breast cancer survivor, 15 years<br />
Jamie - Colon cancer survivor, 6+ years<br />
Cheryl - Leukemia survivor, 12+ years<br />
Gina - Breast cancer survivor, 4+ years<br />
Susan - Multiple myeloma survivor, 6+ years<br />
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So, while cancer is a scary word and treatment is a long, arduous journey, I don't live in a world where cancer has won very often. I live in a world where you do the next thing, take the next step and fight the battle in front of you because there is no alternative. Cancer is terrible for the patient, and not too fun for those of us that love the patient because the overwhelming feeling is one of helplessness. What can you do? What do you do? For some, they worry and stew. I just come from a family where we just say..."Suck it, cancer." <br />
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And then we move on. <br />
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So, to my baby sister...just keep doing the next thing. Know we love you mightily and ferociously... and remember that you always have a tribe in your corner.<br />
<br />
Erica <br />
<br />Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-27736241402692755312012-03-07T19:41:00.006-06:002012-03-07T20:03:41.503-06:0010 ThingsI was recently perusing on Pinterest (<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/">http://www.pinterest.com/</a>), which if you haven't discovered is GREAT! I can pretend that I actually have a decor gene - which I do NOT - because I am incredibly capable of following directions for someone else's great idea! I have successfully made numerous recipes, with mostly favorable reviews, and even knocked out some cleaning tips, decorating ideas and crafty things. Very proud of myself! So, as I was perusing tonight, I came across someone else's blog and it listed "30 Questions To Ask Each Other." And I began reading the list...and realized that it would be fun to answer some of them here. So, it is my goal to do some more frequent posting and use some of these questions as insipration...<br /><br /><br />Here's today's question: List 10 things you would tell your 16-year old self if you could.<br /><br /><br />Okay, I'm not sure I can come up with 10, but we'll see...<br /><br />#1) It will all turn out okay - because at 16, who isn't worrying about the future? Who isn't freaked out about leaving home and going to college and just growing up.<br /><br />#2) Trust yourself - I think I've been pretty good at this, but I wish I could have known that my own mind was good enough and staying true to myself will get me far in life.<br /><br />#3) Take care of your health - Probably my single greatest wish for a "do-over!" It is SO much harder to create a healthy, fitness-minded lifestyle at 30-something than it would have been to just maintain it as a teenager and into adulthoood. Maybe not terribly realistic, but so. much. easier.<br /><br />#4) You will find "the one." - Because in my mid-20s, as I went to wedding after wedding, and served as bridesmaid in SIX weddings, I was beginning to doubt this one. Wouldn't have traded the experiences I had along the way, but just knowing it was going to happen might have eased my mind.<br /><br />#5) Making the effort to maintain relationships is worth it! - Because little did I know, but the best friends I had at 16 are still among the besties I have now. Distance or not, we've always remained a part of each other's lives. And I'm so, so glad.<br /><br />#6) Live more and take more risks...within reason - Never a daredevil have I been, but I sincerely wish I wouldn't have been such a darn chicken about so many things. Following rules is fine, but it gets a little boring sometime to always be the one that's the "adult" in the room - even when we were 21. Another of my greatest wishes for a "do-over." Live a little more spontaneously...<br /><br />#7) Life will sometimes suck...and you will be okay - Enough said.<br /><br />#8) You will get to know your grandparents better - We always lived far away from my grandparents growing up...like states away. When I came to college 10 minutes from them, I got to have a relationship with them for the first time in my life. We grew up without Skype, cell phones or even e-mail, so I did not really know my grandparents well until I was an adult living near them. Even though my dad's parents have sinced passed away, I got to know my grandfather well and am grateful every day for the fact that my 88-year maternal grandparents are still alive, well, and living just minutes from me.<br /><br />#9) Technology will change the way you live your life - Not sure this is such a good thing, but I don't think at 16 I had any comprehension of what technology was to come. Email, cell phones, the Internet, DVRs, Skype, SmartBoards, iPods, laptops, Facebook...the list is endless.<br /><br />#10) Follow your heart - Because at the heart of it all, no one can make your decisions for you. At the end of the day, we all have to make our own decisions, own them and live with them. Ultimately, I have to sleep with myself at night and the choices I make. I never want to regret my path in life, so I think this is the most important one.<br /><br />Well, I guess I could think of 10!<br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-48240941489198318782012-01-29T19:18:00.002-06:002012-01-29T19:40:09.773-06:00RemindersOver the weekend, Jamie and I drove <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">about</span> 45 minutes north to a small community on the Mississippi River to participate in Eagle Days. Eagle Days is an effort by the Department of Conservation to educate people about the bald eagles that roost and nest along the rivers in the winter. We watched a movie about the bald eagle's near extinction, saw a live eagle program put on by the Wild Bird Sanctuary and watched the eagles fly over the river, hunting for fish. It was cold, but bearable, sunny and an almost-perfect way to spend a winter's day. And then Jamie's phone rang...<br /><br />His cousin's son, only 21-years young, died unexpectedly in his sleep Friday night. No reason, no explanation, no <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">discernible</span> cause. Conversations of autopsies and 911 calls and the heartbreak of two parents...and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">innumerable</span> aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, siblings, friends...<br /><br />We were shocked. Tried to go about our day, keeping this young man and his family in our thoughts and prayers. We'd be talking about eagles one minute, exclaiming over the majestic sight it is to see them soaring above...and our conversation would suddenly shift, to conversation of Jesse, a life gone too quickly. It's safe to say that our thoughts were preoccupied by Jesse's death and the heartbreak of his parents. Because though we cannot know their pain or their circumstance, we know the pain of walking this earth when your child does not. <br /><br />And so, many times throughout the day and into the evening, I found myself overcome with tears. Sad for a life cut short...sad for parents that will never be the same, that will miss their child until the day they die...sad at our own individual pain that never quite goes away. <br /><br />Jesse...Kayla...Leah...Allison...Faith. Lives lost too soon, at various ages and stages, all leaving behind parents that are forced to figure out how to move forward when it feels as though the world around you has stopped moving. I know now that I will think about my child every day of my life. For the rest of my life. I have figured out how to move forward...how to honor her and remember her and how to be happy more than sad. <br /><br />But, on days like these, those sad moments creep in because it so immediately puts you right back into that place of your own pain. Knowing how heart-wrenching it is to walk this path and continue on. It is a reminder of memories that haunt and hurt. And memories that bring smiles. <br /><br />Though we did not know Jesse well, I will use this as a reminder to live life to the fullest because once again, the reminder exists that life has no guarantees. So if there is something you want to do, do it. If there is somewhere you want to go, go there. If there is someone you want to know, meet them. If there is something you want to be, be it. For life is short, without a guarantee and all too often, we are reminded of that too late for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">someone's</span> son or daughter. <br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-83996655910833251992012-01-06T21:09:00.002-06:002012-01-06T21:43:20.850-06:00What I've LearnedAs we begin a new year, I am reflecting on the past and looking to the future. I could wax poetic here about all the profound things I've learned. And truly, there are many...but that is a post for a different evening. Tonight, it's mostly about what my family has taught me.<br /><br />What 2011 taught me...<br />1) Family matters - Forgive the cliche, but we spent New Year's weekend in Cincinnati with my family. We have grown to include my mom and dad, myself and the hubby, two sisters and their hubbies, another sister and her SO (significant other, since a man of 40 can't be called a "boyfriend" without cringing), and one adorable, gifted, and highly intelligent (I might be biased) niece and nephew. Seriously though, my almost-3-year old nephew has to be the most adorable, smartest child. Ever. Really. <br /><br />What I so enjoyed about the weekend was the ebb and flow of it all. There were no expectations...no schedules...nothing we "had" to do. We celebrated a belated Christmas together and opened presents. There was hysterical laughter over gifts of Orange Slices (I think you had to be there) that led to veiled threats and secretly swiped pieces of candy for the next several hours. <br /><br />The weekend included good natured ribbing from the previously mentioned SO, who is a SERIOUS sports fan, to my hubby, who likes to get as much as he gives. So, the SO wore a jersey of a team he loves that my hubby detests, coincidentally with our last name. It had the desired effect...laughter. <br /><br />Wine was drunk (drank?)...anywhooo...lots of wine, and beer, and champagne. Pretty sure that the trash and recycling company for my parents are convinced that a bunch of drunks were spending the weekend there. Games were played. Puzzles were put together. <br /><br />"Apples to Apples" was the game of choice for the weekend. If you've never played, a brief summary is to say that you basically predict what someone else will say. It's a fun, funny, ridiculous game. The best part is that as the game is played, the discussions over answers turns into a sort of courtroom drama! Everyone begins to defend their answers, and you hear the most ridiculous things. Examples include...<br /><br />"The potato is an undervalued vegetable."<br />"Whipped cream is more creative than DaVinci?!"<br />"Spiders are more arrogant than lawyers." <br /><br />These are seriously some of the conversations that were had...and we got hours and hours of laughter out of them. They will give us stories for years to come. <br /><br />I got to watch the hubby and the SO bond over a puzzle...yes, sir. A nearly 35-year old and a 40-year old chatting over a puzzle, bonding, and frequently celebrating the sheer joy of finding that "just right" piece that fit in that incessantly difficult spot! I heard "Shanananaaaa..." in celebration more times that I can count. <br /><br />2) Breaking tradition can be fun...We arrived in OH coincidentally on my parents' 39th wedding anniversary. So, breaking with tradition, my parents invited us (and one sister that lives in town) to join them for dinner in celebration. The other sisters weren't in town yet, but we got to enjoy a lovely dinner with my parents. My favorite part was asking my parents about 39 years of marriage. "What was your best decision?" "What was the decision you were most unsure of that turned out okay?" "What have you learned?" It was cool, invaluable, and reaffirming.<br /><br />3) Time flies. I looked around at my family this weekend and saw a changed dynamic. My "baby" sister that used to go by "mini-me" because she looked so much like me now goes by a different title - Mommy. She is a mother to 2 beautiful children. An amazing mother - and married to a man that is a wonderful father. It is difficult to realize just how grown-up she is because to me, she will always be "mini-me." Also, realizing how grown-up she is just reminds me how old I am! : )<br /><br />4) My sisters (and me) have chosen incredible life partners. I love all of the men that have walked into my life through my sisters. I enjoy their company, their values, their humor, their wit, and their patience. Patience, because coming into this family has to be a bit like walking into a den of wolves. We are fiercely close and we love loudly and without reservation. I think it took these men some time to adjust to our chaos. The noise is deafening sometimes...but so sweet. It was the noise of four sisters living in a house where "interrupting" was not really in our vocabulary. I often joke that if you didn't learn to just keep talking, you never got heard. It has changed from that sound to one of a different kind of family - different politics, different viewpoints, conservatives and liberals, sports fans and hunters, women - and men. Laughter, the clink of glasses, the cheers over a puzzle and the arguments over the creativity of whipped cream (you really had to be there) makes us a new family. One I love...one I cherish. So, to my family...I know that traveling and coordinating to be together is not always easy, but I am again reminded of how important it is. Because I know that when I'm 90, I will still remember days like the ones we just shared. And I'll still be able to tell you why a potato is an undervalued vegetable. <br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-74744754675072928502011-12-04T21:03:00.002-06:002011-12-04T21:15:42.633-06:00As I sit tonight, it has been a rough evening. I spent much of the evening on the phone with my mother. Who, God bless her, was the mother I love...she listened, she sympathized, she didn't try to "fix" what was wrong. Had some good thoughts...and all the while, just let me be. Even better...she even offered money. Who doesn't love that? Just kidding...<br /><br />Seriously, I feel a bit as though I'm at a crossroads. I have felt like this for some time. Our life has not worked out the way we thought it would...we are not where we expected we would be. Somehow, around every corner we turn there seems to be some new hurdle. Some of those hurdles are small and easy, some are tall and difficult. Yet, they always seem to be there...and I am struggling with a few that seem to keep reappearing. They just will not disappear in my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">rearview</span> mirror. Perhaps that is a sign that I need to address them in some way. <br /><br />But, what do you do when it feels as though tackling those hurdles feels more like climbing a mountain? Never in my life have I felt more like climbing the mountain is easier than staying at the bottom, unhappy, unmoving. Never have I felt more like taking a leap of Faith, as scary as it is, might just be worth it...because nothing can be as bad as staying exactly where I am. <br /><br />Now, I don't need everyone worrying...we are fine. I just feel as though there is this fork in the road...that it's been there staring me down for a long, long time, and it's finally right there, smack in front of me, <em>forcing</em> me to make a choice - this path or that one. In the past, that fork has seemed more inconsequential...in the distance, surreal. Tonight it feels like it's right there -right out in the middle of the road. And there's no going around it. So, how do you choose a path. I guess that's where Faith comes in. <br /><br />Faith in my God...faith in my husband, in my family, in my friends, in myself...in my own abilities to take a leap that has no net. <br /><br />I don't know exactly what that will look like...I don't know which path I will take, or what exactly awaits me on either one. But, for the first time in a long time, I feel like we might be able to move down one and tackle those hurdles. And at the very least, like maybe I'm ready for a new set of hurdles...even if I don't know what they look like quite yet. Maybe that's the lesson. Faith is, after all, all about believing in what you cannot see. <br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-29227690267446818782011-11-02T20:44:00.002-05:002011-11-02T21:01:12.299-05:00EasierIt seems that when someone experiences loss, people feel the need to say something that equates that loss to something in their own life. "I know how you feel," or "When I lost my (fill in the blank)..." I've had conversations with some people discussing the loss of a baby versus the loss of a grown child. How maybe it was easier for us...or for those with an adult child. Which way is easier? To have only three days of memories, as we did? Or to have 21 years of memories, as my dear friend Kathy did? Which is easier...years of Christmases to remember and be haunted by - or no Christmas pictures, no presents unwrapped...no memories to haunt us? <br /><br />This is, without a doubt, the stupidest conversation I've ever heard. <br /><br />Even with only three days of memories, we are still haunted. We are haunted by the "what ifs" of our life...what if we'd waited one more month to get pregnant? What if we'd chosen more medical interventions? What if we'd brought her home? What if my sisters had come to town to meet her? What if she was still here? What costume would I have dressed her in for Halloween? Would she have understood Halloween and Christmas this year? What if she had lived?<br /><br />And my friend, Kathy...whose 21-year old daughter died just eleven weeks after an unpredictable cancer diagnosis. What haunts her? The pictures on her wall? The memories in her heart? The Christmases to come that Allison will never have? The wedding that will never be? <br /><br />Who's to say which of us suffers more? And frankly, why in the world does it matter? We both grieve...we both mourn...we both love our children...we both think of them daily...and we both find a way to move forward, to find the beauty around us, to keep living the life we were blessed with. We live with more questions than answers. We have days that are good and days that aren't. We have moments that feel amazingly light and blessed...and moments that feel as though our legs have been taken out from underneath us. <br /><br />We are the same.<br /><br />My loss is not greater than hers. Hers is not greater than mine. They are not the same, but if there is one thing I have learned it is that no one can, or should, compare loss. It cannot be compared. It is, after all...incomparable. I cannot know her grief...she cannot know mine. I cannot know her ghosts...she cannot know mine. And that is the way that it is. <br /><br />When we begin to assume that one loss is greater than another, we minimize what it is to that person. No one else can know how it feels to bury their child...unless they have. Even then, everyone's exeriences are their own. <br /><br />It is a fallacy to believe that one loss is easier than another, especially when those losses are that of a child. I didn't lose Faith...I know right where she is. It's not where I'd choose her to be right now, and it's not where I'd imagined she'd be...but I am at peace with knowing that she's okay and waiting for me and her dad to one day join her. And knowing that there is a lovely young woman named Allison whose mother walks with me on this Earth makes today just a little bit easier...<br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-50442115808226136502011-09-28T19:54:00.002-05:002011-09-28T20:14:50.277-05:00Cardinal NationIn 1995, I moved to St. Charles, MO for college. It's a western suburb, about 25 miles west of downtown St. Louis and the famous Arch. We had spent the previous three years living in Cairo, Egypt. Before that, we lived outside of Denver, CO. I had no idea I had just moved to a whole new world...Cardinal Nation.<br /><br />I grew up watching the Denver Broncos and John Elway in his heyday. I learned about football from my mother. Not my father...he could have cared less about any sports at all. To this day, he would rather do just about anything than watch a football or baseball game. So, as a kid in Denver, I learned about the quarterback, off-sides, touchdowns and the "hail Mary" pass from my mother. To this day, I still really love watching football. However, when we lived in Denver, there was no professional baseball team. We went to one baseball game in Colorado...for the Denver Zephyrs. I still have no idea what a Zephyr actually is. It was a minor league team and I have a vague memory of it. <br /><br />So, when I moved to St. Charles for college, I knew all about football. Not a whole lot about baseball. But, I was quickly introduced to the game because, little did I realize, I'd moved to a city that has a love affair with their baseball team. No kidding. <br /><br />The St. Louis Cardinals have been in St. Louis for I don't know how many years, dating all the way back to the years of being the St. Louis Browns. When I first began college here, I don't remember caring all that much about baseball. Then Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa had their famous Home Run Race, in which McGwire beat out the home run record long held by Roger Maris. I vividly remembe sitting in my dorm room with my roommate, watching the game where he hit number 62. And I, too, fell in love. That was probably the moment I really felt like a resident of Cardinal Nation.<br /><br />That home run race revived baseball after a strike several years before. And it truly introduced me to the Cardinals and the fact that, as my mother says, "Baseball is genetic...not geographic." My mother, who lives in Cincinnati, still roots for the Cardinals. Her older brother, who has lived in Houston for probably the last 40 years, still roots for and goes to Cardinals' games. Even if the games are in Houston. <br /><br />Being a Cardinals' fan is inevitable if you live in this town...once it's in your blood, it's there for a lifetime. St. Louis baseball fans are known amongst the sports world as being the best baseball fans around. We have a friendly rivalry with the Chicago Cubs...we'll heckle you in the stands and buy you a beer after the game. Mostly because we know the Cards are a better team. : ) Just kidding. Sortive. <br /><br />My point is that tonight I'm sitting in my living room with a glass of wine...watching the final game of the regular season. Number 162. As is often par for the course, the Cardinals have kept us watching, kept us biting our nails until the very last moment. In order to make the playoffs, we MUST win this game tonight. And we had to win last night. Which we did...by a lot. 13 to 6. It was fabulous! And tonight, we are leading this game 6 to 0. It's looking good for the St. Louis Cardinals. The other night, I watched the game and listened to all of the chants and cheers of, "Let's go Cardinals!" The applause, the cheers, the hollering, rooting on our Redbirds. The funny thing is, the game was in Houston, not St. Louis. It made me smile as I rememberd that baseball is genetic...not geographic. <br /><br />For it doesn't matter where you live...once a Cardinal fan, always a Cardinal fan. I love fall...changing colors, falling leaves, cool temperatures. And baseball at its best. And I know that no matter how many addresses I have in my lifetime, I will always count Cardinal Nation among them. Go Cards!Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-54389907649191793732011-08-18T19:43:00.006-05:002011-08-22T18:46:23.060-05:00Lanterns<span style="color:#660000;">I can't believe I haven't written in over a month. What can I say...life got busy.
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<br />August 14th was Faith's birthday. She would have turned 2 years old...she would have been walking, talking, making messes, wreaking havoc, and probably getting into everything under the sun. Instead, our house remains the same. Quiet, free of kids' toys (for the most part), and the cabinet in our kitchen that I cleaned out over two years ago to make room for baby bottles and sippy cups...still sits with one lone bottle I got as a free sample. I'm not sure why I've never put things back in the cabinet. I guess we didn't miss the space, so why move everything around again?
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<br />Faith's room is as we set it up. There is still a crib, mostly unused, except by one very special little boy just last weekend. Sarah was so careful when I suggested using it to only use it if we were comfortable doing so. After all, it was <em>supposed </em>to be for Faith, and she didn't want to invade that space. I told her, "It's a piece of furniture." She asked again, "Are you sure?" I assured her we were. It felt a little strange...a little tug on my heart, but it is, after all...just a piece of furniture. Palmer peacefully (for awhile anyway) slept there and it was okay. If it couldn't be for Faith, then it seems appropriate Palmer get to use it first.
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<br />We remembered - and celebrated - Faith on her birthday. Jamie's parents, his sister and her family, and Marc, Sarah, and their boys joined us for a barbeque. We enjoyed each other's company and walked to the Catholic church across the street to launch some Chinese Wish Lanterns for Faith. That was definitely one of the coolest things I've done...they took off to the Heavens like nothing I've ever seen. We were all quite impressed, and I felt genuinely happy watching them until they disappeared in the sky. Check out the sidebar for a few pictures of our celebration.
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<br />Two years have gone by since my child died. Sometimes that phrase still sounds strange to my ears...like it's someone else saying it, living it. But, it's not. It's our life. I have learned how not to be so sad, so overwhelmed by it. I've learned to celebrate the small moments...the family gathered together, the cards we get in the mail, the phone calls, the texts, the flowers placed on her grave by someone other than us. The beautiful August day (not a phrase you often hear this time of year) made possible <em>only </em>by our little angel. So, the next time an August day tops out at 80 degrees with no humidity, and a cool breeze that makes it possible to want to be outside...say thank you to my daughter.
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<br />Erica </span>
<br />Erica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-27292245696845628132011-07-14T10:17:00.005-05:002011-07-15T11:01:39.939-05:00I'm Not BlindJamie said to me last night..."I'm not blind anymore."<br /><br />He meant that we don't live in the world that we used to...we don't live blindly, assuming that nothing bad will happen. We live in a different world than many people...which a lot of people don't really understand. I will tell people, "I don't live in your world," and they often look at me like they don't know what I mean.<br /><br />I mean, that nearly two years later, we miss our daughter every single day. We look at a room unused, a crib never slept in, a house empty of toys and sippy cups and bottles...eyes wide open. We spend time with friends - and their kids - often feeling as though we're left out of a club.<br /><br />It's no one's fault...no one intentionally makes us feel left out. Our life makes us feel a bit left out. After all, how do you contribute to a conversation about when kids walked and talked, and who's potty trained, and what summer camps they're attending...when your child isn't there? It just becomes a painful reminder of all that you are missing out on. How do you contribute to a conversation about preschools and school shopping and day care costs when the only thing you can think of to say is, "I wish I had something to say...I wish I knew." <br /><br />Sometimes, my frustrations are warranted and valid...like listening to a complaining parent who does so without gratitude for what they have been blessed with. Sometimes those frustrations are less rational - mind you, they don't <em>feel </em>less frustrating, but my brain knows that they aren't rational...they're just emotions, and emotions aren't always rational.<br /><br />I certainly don't pretend parenting is easy, or that I understand the day-to-day grind of it, but I can't stand listening to parents who go on and on about how hard and how miserable things are...or listening to pregnant women that do nothing but complain about being pregnant. I often want to scream at them to count their blessings. And it's only the people who can't see the good through the bad that bother me the most. The average parent, who gets frustrated with their strong-willed 3-year old telling them "no" doesn't phase me, as long as what I see is a parent who loves their child and knows, "This too shall pass." Like Jamie has often pointed out, people just assume that you get pregnant, wait nine months, and get to bring a baby home. When your story doesn't work out like that, it changes everything about you...it cuts deep, it affects every part of your life. <br /><br />People who know us will probably tell you, if you ask, "They're good...they're fine." And we are. We get up, live our lives, and go forward. We go to work, the bills are paid on time, the lawn gets mowed. We cook dinner, go on vacations, laugh at ridiculous things that happen and cherish our time with the people we love. But, below the surface sits something that isn't visible...something that other people don't see, but something that Jamie and I feel everyday. <br /><br />So, while we're "fine" most days, there are still those moments that feel a lot harder than they should. Hearing the news of a pregnancy from an acquaintance...sometimes that hits hard, though it often depends on who it is. I don't wish anyone ill, but there is a part of me that so frequently wishes one thing...<br /><br />I wish so much that someone would truly <em>get this</em> without ever having to truly <em>experience</em> it. I want people to know that while we're "fine," we're not the same. I just never, never, never want anyone we love to truly know what we feel every day of our lives. Because that would mean that they, too, buried their child. And no one should ever have to do that. <br /><br />Though I wish for this, I have found some friends and family whose sensitivity and compassion has gone far beyond what I ever expected. The friends - a word that can't begin to describe this relationship - that show up for every walk, every anniverary, every remembrance, every event for Faith. Who bring us a plant on Mother's Day, call Jamie on Father's Day, and ask about Faith's birthday before I ever bring it up. Those people that aren't afraid to say her name in conversation, to tell me that they stopped at her grave...those are the people where we don't feel left out, where we feel included in every part of life, despite the fact that they are busy raising two boys. Because, there, with them...we feel like we aren't the only ones who aren't blind. These are the friends that walked our journey with Faith, side by side with us, who held us up in our darkest days. <br /><br />For us, sometimes the greatest comfort comes in knowing that they, too, don't go through life blind. And as always, simply knowing you're not alone is the greatest comfort of all. <br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-6935531661415827072011-07-04T20:32:00.003-05:002011-11-08T21:20:59.680-06:00Butterflies and FireworksI'm sitting in my living room tonight, drinking the first glass of Chardonnay I've had in over a week. We spent the last week on vacation at an all-inclusive resort in Mexico. And, apparently, they don't have Chardonnay. In fact, when I asked for it, they kind of looked at me funny...alas, I survived the week on Corona and taste-testing a variety of other cocktails. Hard life, I know.<br /><br />I was sitting here, enjoying that glass of wine, feeling very guilty and very unpatriotic...hence the guilt. It is July 4th, and I could honestly care less about watching the fireworks. Our neighbors will shoot off some later tonight (I'm already hearing some booms), but other than maybe peeking out at that, I don't know if I'll even care to do that. I am just fine sitting in my house, drinking my Chardonnay, catching up on recorded shows, and maybe doing a little reading.<br /><br />I started doing some catch-up reading on some of the blogs that I read regularly, and one of the women was talking about her late son's upcoming birthday...and it crossed my mind that I don't think I care much about July 4th right now because in a way, it was the beginning of our journey with Faith. I remember being at my in-laws that year, enjoying the fireworks and the 4th of July...telling people we had a doctor's appointment on July 7th...expecting nothing more to really come of all the ultrasounds and tests and visits. And then, days later, being so completely wrong, and so utterly devastated. Since that year, this holiday just doesn't feel the same. I can't help that my thoughts go to those dates in my head that we are approaching. It just seems the beginning of a rough time of year for us, leading up to Faith's birthday and the day she left us...followed by her burial. July 7th, July 8th, July 10th, August 14th, August 17th, August 22nd. Forever, those dates are burned into my mind. I don't think I will ever look at those dates on the calendar in the same way...they will forever have those other events inked in. July 7th happens to be our wedding anniversary, and July 9th is my birthday, so there are good moments in there.<br /><br />Almost as much as her birthday and those few days after, these days in July are difficult, too. I think about the fact that I should be chasing around a 2-year old, making play dates with friends and their kids. We went to Mexico for a week, and more than once while we were there, I thought about how different our life <em>should </em>be. Would we have gone to Mexico? Who would have watched Faith? So many questions...so many "what ifs?"<br /><br />Part of this journey is learning that there are so often no simple answers. For many people I've met, butterflies have a special meaning to them in relation to the loss of their baby. There are some stories about the meanings that butterflies have, and that they carry a spirit with them. When we were in Mexico, there were butterflies everywhere. We drove down one road on our way to a snorkeling spot and there were hundreds of butterflies...I sat and thought about all of the babies that I know whose spirits might be on those wings. It made me feel a little better, thinking that a piece of Faith was with us there.<br /><br />Now, we're back to reality. Life is still here in St. Louis...and July is still going to pass us by. Those dates will still be in my memory...that will never change. I guess that I'm still struggling with exactly how to weave those dates into a calendar that has other things penciled in.<br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-6491083097463281462011-06-23T14:07:00.002-05:002011-06-24T10:53:27.294-05:00Money Isn't RealOne of my favorite movies is "Blow." It's a true story of George Jung (played by the fabulous Johnny <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Depp</span>), who became part of the Pablo <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Escobar</span> drug cartels and was largely responsible for smuggling cocaine into the U.S. in the 60s and 70s. Now, obviously, this isn't a "feel-good" kind of movie...but it's intriguing and Johnny <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Depp</span> is at his best.<br /><br />My very favorite scene in the whole movie is in the opening few minutes when George, as a young boy, is talking to his father, played by the amazing Ray <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Liota</span>. His father's self-made business has just gone under and they are in a precarious financial position, teetering on bankruptcy. George is expressing concern over the fact that they are out of money and how his prissy, high-maintenance mother will take this news. Without missing a beat, his father looks at him and says, "Money isn't real, George. It just seems like it is." <br /><br />This has become my new favorite one liner..."Money isn't real." Because, it isn't. <br /><br />Coincidentally, Jamie and I just recently watched the newly released HBO film, "Too Big to Fail," about the collapse of Lehman Brothers and the ensuing bailout of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">AIG</span> by the federal government. It was fascinating how our government and our society placed so much blind faith in Wall Street. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">CEOs</span> that were taking home millions of dollars in bonuses each year and even just the "peons" that were bringing home six figure salaries. Listening to the numbers they were throwing out was mind boggling...and frightening. As Jamie said, "There is no one on this planet, no job, that is worth tens of millions of dollars a year." Agreed. And how sad is it that our financial "gurus" make exponentially more than our congressmen, senators, and even our president? Or our soldiers? Or the police and firefighters that risk their lives to protect us? What is wrong with our society that this is how we prioritize? No matter what you think of the government, it says something about how we value these roles when the President of our country makes significantly less than the president of a bank. <br /><br />Watching the movie, there was a human part of me that had a small amount of compassion for these people who were watching their entire lives crumble beneath them. But, the bigger part of me that looked at Jamie and said, "Money isn't real." <br /><br />I watched the story of these <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">CEOs</span> and bank higher-ups whose lives collapsed under their feet, I kind of thought it was a good lesson. Their whole lives were built upon a falsehood that having millions of dollars, multiple homes, fancy cars, and expensive clothes bought them security and made them infallible...that they were better than the rest of us because they could buy things the rest of us can't even imagine being able to afford. <br /><br />Now, I will readily admit that having money certainly makes life a little easier and less stressful. But, I can't even imagine what it would be like to be able to buy whatever we want whenever we want, without thinking about how we'll pay for it. And though I would love to win the lottery, I don't want to lose the values that we have now...the values that make us think about what we're purchasing, how we're going to pay for it, and where the money is coming from. Those values have taught us that we have to work for and earn the things we have...and that we aren't immune from the ups and downs of life. We save money so that we don't have to worry about "what if?" We've had times where we were more flush and had a lot more discretionary income, and we've had times where we're squeaking by, paycheck to paycheck. And guess what I've discovered?<br /><br />Money isn't real...it just seems like it is.<br /><br />Because no matter how much or how little money we've had in our lives - and even going back to my childhood - I don't think about the "richer" times as the "happier" times. The happiest times have been almost the opposite in a way...camping trips in the mountains as a kid, fishing trips as an adult with my husband. Sitting in a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">whirlpool</span> tub in a cheap bed and breakfast, drinking a $10 bottle of wine, bike riding in our neighborhood parks, watching fireworks on the 4<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span> of July at my in-laws, drinking cheap wine on the patio at Marc and Sarah's. None of this required a big house, or a big boat, or shoes that cost more than my house payment. Nor should they...what IS real are relationships and the values you carry in this life. <br /><br />And none of the thing that matter can be bought...and none will collapse with the failure of Wall Street. <br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-7516263401642637742011-06-08T22:17:00.002-05:002011-06-08T22:27:01.706-05:00Last DaySo, we have finally finished another year of school. 12 years of "last days" are behind me...and a lot more are in front of me. I feel more like a veteran teacher than a young teacher, as I was so reminded tonight by a young man working at the restaurant where some teachers and I were enjoying happy hour. <br /><br />"Hi, Miss Ezell. How are you?" <br /><br />I turned my head, responding to my maiden name, to see a very nice looking young man in glasses. After what I hope was a discreet look at his nametag, I made the connection...he was a former student. And for the record, the second I knew his name, I knew him. Now, a high school graduate, getting ready to attend college in the fall and bussing table in the meantime. We chatted for a few minutes, and then I proceeded to walk back to the other end of our table and announce, "I feel old." <br /><br />I remember this young man well. He was sweet, quiet, well behaved and hard working. On our fifth grade camp overnight that year, he was amongst a group of students who wandered away from their counselor and spent a few very scary minutes "lost" in the woods where we were camping. Upon being found and finally sitting to eat breakfast, he was one of the kids that sat at the breakfast table, relieved to be "found" - and promptly burst into tears. He had been terrified and it showed. I remember hugging him and trying to reassure him that he was okay. At 10 years old, he was very much a little boy that morning. <br /><br />Today, it was not a little boy in front of me, but a young man who clearly stayed on the path he'd always been on - with a future in mind. It was a beautiful way to end this 12th year of teaching - to be reminded of the past. To have a student remember you and talk to you so many years later has a way of reminding you what you teach for. Some days we really need that reminder. <br /><br />And so, another year is behind me. I remember a good friend years ago telling me that one of her favorite parts of teaching was knowing that, at the end of every year and the beginning of another, was a chance at a "do-over." In teaching, we have a unique opportunity to correct our mistakes and do a better job than we did before. Sometimes you feel like all you are doing is making mistakes, so seeing a student almost a decade later can serve as a great reminder that not everything is worthy of a do-over. Sometimes, just once in awhile, we get it right on the first try. <br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-28791012661565762292011-05-28T19:39:00.002-05:002011-05-28T19:58:27.084-05:00OprahI am sitting tonight, finally watching the Oprah finale. Not the big surprise after surprise shows...but the final show that was her "love letter" to her fans. And the moment that has me in tears is the final moment when they are rolling the credits and Oprah is walking out of the studio. She stops to kiss Stedman and walks out of the studio to her staff applauding her throughout her building. And I teared up...because, love her or hate her, Oprah forever changed television. <br /><br />I never watched Oprah religiously. I tuned in when I could, or if I knew something particularly interesting was going to be on, I'd record it. It was always on at a time that I was at work...well, I have realized that "always" isn't exactly true because since Oprah has been on the air for 25 years, that is roughly 75% of my life. Meaning, when Oprah first aired, I was 8 years old. I watched Dakota Fanning on the finale show the other day talk about being an "Oprah baby." They were a group of young women who had literally not lived in a world unknown to Oprah Winfrey and her show. Now, I'm not quite in that category, but in terms of my memory, I don't really recall a world in which Oprah didn't exist. That's really saying something. Like many out there, I remember the hideous hairstyles, the 80s fashion we all wish we could forget, and shows that stick out in my mind. <br /><br />So, why, of all things - would I write about Oprah? <br /><br />She is an icon...love her or hate her, sad to see her go or screaming from the rafters, "It's about time!" - you can't deny her impact on television, pop culture, even politics. She affected the books we read, the topics we discussed, the music we listened to. While I find it a strange thought that I have no idea what will air on my local NBC station from 4-5 p.m. every Monday through Friday, I am no sad. 25 years is an amazing run...and it's iconic. She literally changed the face of television in this country. <br /><br />While I can't really say what it is about Oprah that struck people, it seems to be attached to her genuine personality. She made fun of herself, she laughed at herself, she talked about her demons and let us see her foibles and fallacies. She was never afraid to appear imperfect if it met she could make a connection with a person. <br /><br />Oprah has said she always wanted to be a teacher, and I have to say, she probably would have made a good one. She allowed us into her world everyday for 25 years. Most of us haven't known our closest friend that long! While she was doing many things for the purpose of television, to all of us watching, it felt like she had appeared in our living room and was chatting with us, even if she had to be stern and give us a dose of "tough love." While compassionate, her ability to set boundaries and be firm when called for seemed to make her the thing we liked about her. As she became a self-made billionaire, she also remained what so many wealthy people fail to do...she remained human. That is why Oprah succeeded. Because at her roots, she remained a person that was grateful for what life had bestowed on her and never forgot where she came from.<br /><br />As I'm not sure what I'll watch on weekday afternoons, I do know that Oprah has much left to do. I am interested to see what that turns out to be...<br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-61520566358560954642011-04-25T18:40:00.003-05:002011-04-25T20:35:15.389-05:00Tragedy is not a Tourist AttractionSeveral years ago - actually, probably 10 or 12 years ago now - my parents' neighborhood was hit by a tornado. They live outside of Cincinnati, Ohio and though their home was unscathed, the path of destruction was within a mile of their house. As the residents were busy cleaning up the scattered ruins of their lives, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">gawkers</span> came to stare. Imagine for a minute that your life is in pieces around your feet, and someone shows up to take a tour of your closed-off street and snap a few photos. Eventually, the people in the neighborhood resorted to posting a sign that said, "Tragedy is not a Tourist Attraction." How sad that people couldn't figure out -on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">their</span> own - that maybe their presence was not needed, unless they were there to help.<br /><br />Fast forward to 2011. We live in a western suburb of St. Louis, about 10 miles from where the recent <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">EF</span>4 tornado just ripped apart a several mile path. Our airport took a direct hit, shattering windows and ripping a hole in the roof, closing the only international airport for 200 miles for over 24 hours. Even though our own home and neighborhood dodged a bullet, I have been stunned by the damage we have seen. Because of where I work, I drive right past the airport, as well as <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bridgeton</span>, one of the hardest hit areas. Even from the highway, the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">devastation</span> is obvious and heart-wrenching. I personally know several people whose homes are now uninhabitable because of the tornado and ensuing damage. The neighboring school district was hard hit and was closed today, just a couple of miles from where I teach and where my students come each and every day. It is absolutely mind boggling to see how a tornado can completely uproot an enormous tree, rip a hole in the side of a warehouse, completely demolish a house, and leave the fence in the yard completely untouched. One side of the highway was virtually untouched while the other side literally looked like a bomb had gone off. My drive home took nearly twice as long because of all of the drivers taking in all of the damage and staring as we trudged along in the rain. All I thought about was my friends who lost their homes. How desperately I wanted to be able to help, donate something, even take a day off of work in order to help sort through the mess. I know enough to know that I need to just stay out of the way, but it is a terribly helpless feeling to know how close we came to sharing in their tragedy and knowing friends that have been so impacted, with so little we can do to help.<br /><br />So, we'll donate money and time and food...whatever our friends, acquaintances and neighbors need. As for the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">gawkers</span> out there...this is not an amusement park. A violent storm ripped apart <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">someone's</span> home....their child's toys are gone, their clothes are strewn about the street, their cars overturned. They cannot live in their homes and can't go back to retrieve the most precious items they have. Pictures are soaked and probably destroyed. Please, please, please...stay out of the way. Do not go for a drive to see what you can see...do not take a walking tour and snap some photographs. Though miraculously no one was killed, or even seriously hurt, there is a tremendous amount of heartache out there, and it is not there for your entertainment. If you want to do something, make it something useful. Here are some ways to get involved:<br />- Go to <a href="http://www.redcrossstl.org/">http://www.redcrossstl.org/</a> and donate.<br />- Call the United Way. '<br />- "Like" the group on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> called "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pattonville</span> Provides" that will help that affected school district.<br /><br />Say a thankful prayer tonight that it is not you, and that the worst complaint you probably have is that it's rained too much in the last few weeks. Don't let someone <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">else's</span> tragedy become a tourist attraction.<br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-55659841114006696982011-03-11T20:02:00.002-06:002011-03-11T20:35:12.886-06:00A Big MouthI have a big mouth. I know it...most people around me know it. It has been known to get me into trouble once in awhile. When I was in kindergarten my teacher informed my parents, "You know you have no secrets, right?" Because, alas, I had a big mouth even then. Thanks to a lot of life lessons, I have learned how to harness that big mouth and use it diplomatically...most of the time. I get my point across, but usually in a way that isn't hurtful or abrasive. My husband tells me I have mastered the art of telling someone to "buzz off" (<em>insert expletive here</em>), only to leave them wondering, "Did she just tell me that?" Usually, I consider this an asset, and most people tend to agree. However, I have found that my ability to harness my big mouth and be diplomatic is not as in tune as it used to be. I tend to have much less patience and am much quicker to just say whatever is in my mind, regardless of who is listening or what environment I'm in. My filter is much less refined than it used to be.<br /><br />Since our short time with Faith, and our experience around that part of our life, I find that my emotions rest so incredibly close to the surface. All the time...even now, a year and a half later, emotions are not as easily squelched as they were before. Last year when I first returned to work, I often chose one of two paths - 1) confront something head on, say what I think (abrasively at times), emotions high, "damn the consequences" or 2) try to avoid high-stress situations where I knew I couldn't handle the emotional stress and stay in the background. I have found myself feeling stronger this year and have more readily accepted situations where the stress is high, believing I had the emotional strength to withstand it without falling apart at the seams or taking anyone out in my wake. <br /><br />God has recently reminded me that this may not be the case. God has again sent me a little message...a sign...that I may need to readjust my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">lens</span>. I fear that I may have unintentionally hurt someone with my words recently. While much of the words I said were from the heart and very much something I meant, I should have said them differently and addressed the situation without letting my emotions get the better of me. Because though I meant <em>what </em>I said, I did not mean the <em>how</em> it was said. <br /><br />Grief is organic. It is a living, breathing thing, ever-changing in its manifestation. Only someone that has never grieved a loved one will doubt this. But I can tell you that I have again been reminded that while the intensity of grief is far less than a year ago, it is never gone. And occasionally, when I take on too much I am reminded with a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">wallop</span> that I am not the person I used to be. I have lost a little bit of that piece of me that could keep everything emotionally organized and speak from a place of diplomacy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">whenever</span> necessary. Because my emotions aren't so organized. And though they are much, much more together than in the immediate aftermath of losing Faith, I think I'm beginning to accept that I will never again be quite as "together" as I once was. I do okay 95% of the time and have found a way to "check out" when necessary. I've remembered how to keep my mouth shut when necessary (really, I have) and take a breath before I open my mouth...most of the time. <br /><br />But, once in awhile, God must remind me that I am not the person I was. It is an often humbling message and one that is not lost on me. None of this is to say that I am incapable of being the strong, vocal advocate I have been known for being. I think it just means that I need to listen to the message. I need to listen to my heart and understand that I do have my limits, and even more now than ever, I must respect them so that my big mouth remains my asset and not my detriment.<br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318911090953220135.post-63297546976006937212011-03-05T09:35:00.002-06:002011-03-05T10:00:55.297-06:00I am a TeacherI will apologize up front for some of this post (necessarily) being a bit cryptic...I am involved in something at work right now that requires me to keep details confidential. And I will honor that. However, I do want to write something that will speak to all the people out there who know me, know what I am currently doing, or anyone who knows a teacher. <br /><br />Being a teacher, for most teachers anyway, is truly more than a job. It sounds cliched, but in a way, I guess it is more of a calling. All good teachers I know have gone through moments of, "I don't know if I want to teach forever." And most of them decide that, yes, teaching will be forever. We all struggle with difficult students, difficult parents, difficult colleagues, and too-often overwhelming demands. Then we watch the news and see that teachers are being attacked all over this country. I don't know when being a teacher went from something that was highly respected to something that is barely noticed (unless you're doing something wrong.) It seems though, that this is what's happening in this country right now. Despite all this, many people would ask, "Why do you continue to teach?" Well, because...<br /><br />I am a teacher. That's all I can really say. I didn't go into teaching because I wanted to be rich. I didn't go into teaching because I believed it was easy. I didn't go into teaching because I "get to work for six hours a day and have my summers off." I became a teacher because I had (and continue to have) a desire to help children succeed. That moment when a child looks up at you and the "lightbulb" has gone off is like no other...and to know that I made that difference for that child at that moment is the best kind of high. It is its own reward. I love teaching...I love the kids I teach (yes, even the difficult ones). Because of some recent work, I was out of my classroom for several days. Upon my return, several of my students saw me and yelled out, "Mrs. Largent! You're here!" Their excitement at seeing me, instead of a sub, was the highlight of my week. So, to see teachers being torn down, disrespected, degraded, and stripped of their rights (can anyone say Wisconsin?) is, to say the least, heartbreaking. <br /><br />There are so many myths about teaching...Myth #1: That I only work six or seven hours a day. Untrue...most teachers I know work far beyond their required hours...I probably average about 50 hours a week, both in school and on my own time. I do get some of my summer off...so we take out those weeks and average about 40 weeks of work in a year times those 50 hours...hmmm, about 2000 hours a year. Which, is what the average full-time employee works during their calendar year. If an average employee works 40 hours a week and has two weeks of vacation, they work 50 weeks a year...so that would be 2000 hours, right? That's what I thought. And yes, I know there are exceptions to everything...I'm just speaking in generalities and averages here. <br /><br />I get my summers off...yep. Can't argue that. It's a perk of my job. The perk of a corporate job? You can take a vacation anytime of the year. I can't. I have to take my vacations in June or July. There are ups and downs to every job.<br /><br />Myth #2: Tenured teachers can't be fired...untrue. This is probably the biggest myth there is. Tenure doesn't guarantee a job...it simply guarantees due process. If a tenured teacher is fired, they have a right to know why and to challenge that termination. Non-tenured teachers can be fired for no reason at all, and often aren't given one and have no recourse. <br /><br />I could go on and on about the myths that some believe define teachers. It is an unfortunate turn of events in this country that teachers are merely seen by some as "glorified babysitters." I have had the opportunity to be in a unique position lately, defending teachers, their professionalism and integrity...and then to see so many of them standing by in support. To see and hear that support has meant so much; to come into their fray amidst cheers and applause is more uplifting that I can possibly say. It brought some to tears...to be reminded that we are among the honored and the special group of people that call themselves teachers. It is a privilege to teach a child, to watch them learn, to help build them into people of substance. And to know that my dear friends and colleagues will be waiting to stand behind a small group of us that are working for them, is the best gift I've had in some time. It's also one of the many reasons that I find myself, once again, proud to say...<br /><br />I am a teacher.<br /><br />EricaErica Largenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08353115454812146739noreply@blogger.com1