If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you’ve read something of our son, Sullivan. The anniversary of his death is looming once more, and the anticipation of it is building. Somehow, the day itself will be anticlimatic, but perhaps that’s as it should be. His death was anticlimatic in many ways.

We went through nearly two years of drama during his lifetime. First his near miss SIDS incident, a month in the hospital with him, fighting insurance companies and government agencies trying to get the care he needed, that we needed in order to live.

(I’m still frustrated by all of the refusals I heard in that time. Did you know that a pair of people are supposed to be able to care for a medically fragile infant 24/7 while one holds a full time job and the other also has a 2 year old to nurture, without any help whatsoever? The insurance company was KIND ENOUGH to grant us weekly home visits from a nurse to be monitor Sullivan’s health. But no respite care was authorized until we turned to Hospice. Thank goodness for family and friends willing to give of themselves to make our lives bearable.)

I find I’m often sad, bitter, even angry about things that happened during Sullivan’s life. The sadness is sort of ever present, although it’s tinged with a gratefulness that I was given nearly two years to know and love Sullivan. But the bitterness, the anger, the rage, they are not balanced by much of anything. They are simply a whirlpool of nasty feelings about the companies and people who did not seem to hold a compassionate place in their hearts. A tiny family of four was struggling to maintain itself on a number of levels and all they saw was a child who was not expected to live and so did not deserve their help. How heartless.

Would his life have been different if his care had been different? Did the insurance company or the doctors limit his potential with their beliefs that he would not live? I’m sure I’ll never know.

But after all of that fighting for every thing we could provide for him, when it actually came time to say goodbye to him, it felt surprisingly undramatic. It was matter of fact, it was full of grief and mourning, definitely. But it was not wholly unexpected, it was not shocking, although it was surreal.

On the day of his death, I was confused. I had no desire to weep and wail as I have heard some people do. I felt more pressure to act the ‘right’ way for others, but yet I had no idea what the ‘right way’ actually was. As I did when the incident first happened, I settled stiffly into a pattern of getting done what needed getting done. And when there was nothing that needed to be done, I wandered aimlessly. I wandered a candle shop for at least an hour, searching for a candle or holder that would adequately honor my son’s memory. The one I found suited the day, with its stained glass autumn leaves and its strong metal trunk. It was a reminder that ever life has seasons and the seasons change. It reminded me that the tree of Sullivan’s life had passed on to the next phase, whatever that may be.

I’ve been told, and come to believe, that Sullivan was a very old soul. He had a way about him, a charm that glittered in his bright blue eyes. The charisma he carried could reach out to the hardest of hearts and grab their attention…and often their love. Something in him called out to others, sharing compassion, hope and wisdom.

But when I think of those blue eyes, so similar to his father’s and to the little brother he never met, I know I saw more than that. I saw a recognition, a soul-deep knowledge that he was surrounded by love and family. Despite being told that he was cortically blind, it became clear that he could see SOMETHING. And when those eyes stared at me, I knew that something in the vague shape he could likely see, spoke to him of love, comfort and care. Something in that fuzzy shape he might have seen, spoke of MOMMY for him. Despite not being able to hear very well, perhaps some unique tone in my voice conveyed that he meant the world to me. And perhaps, in the end, he did what he could to make sure that his mommy would find the strength to go on after he was gone. His fingers curling into my hair to hug me back, his lunging for me the last time I passed him onto his daddy, the way those eyes watched me the last day….it was so lacking in drama, we had every hope that we’d see him alive again the next day.

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At this time 6 years ago, we were fully expecting years with our son still. And when September 30th came, six years ago, although we worried that he was ready to let go, we assured him it was ok to die, still we never expected to be saying goodbye for the last time.

I keep getting subtle and not so subtle hints from far flung family and friends that they’d appreciate seeing pictures of the family, especially the kids.  So, here are a few we took this weekend.  These were taken out at one of our favorite parks, near the duck pond there.  The kids spent some time playing on the playground, we strolled a bit and then it was time to head home.

Notice that I’m the only one not wearing red! They do this to me all the time. It’s a conspiracy. They all decide to wear red on the same day and forget to send the memo to me! So then, I wear black and look all out of place when I’m walking with them! lol

So many of my friends and family are welcoming babies into the world this year or next.  My sister, two cousins, and friends!  I’m happy for all of them, but sad for myself.  My babies are getting older…My oldest turns 10 in October.  TEN! I said TEN!!!!!  I’ve been a mom for ten years, while some of my peers still don’t have any children.  I’m not sure which, if either, missed out.  I mean, I do kind of wish I had had more time as an adult before having children.  But, that would have meant passing up the time I have had with my kids…and that would be a sore loss for me.

I’m trying to balance the past, the present and the future.  The things I might have done if I’d misspent my youth might have led me down a far less pleasant path.  I now sit in my home, surrounded by the family I love, and know that I made a decision that was healthy for me…even if it seemed insane at the time, and even if it led to some great heartache.  All the things I wish I had had back before meeting Topher or having kids, I can still find today: good friends, a higher education, a satisfying career.

I’m slowly learning that it’s never too late to craft the life I wish I had had.  I’m stubborn though, so it takes me time to get there.  So, as I toast the newest additions to our family and I admire the pictures of my friends’ newborns, I remember with sweet nostalgia the days when my children were that tiny, and I look forward.  I look forward to all that is yet to come.  Like those little innocent babes, I’m just starting off in a new world.

My house is pulsing with life these days.  I thought I’d give an update on all of my various projects and further prove that my house is full of life.

Our fish tank, which we start in late June, is seething with life.  We have red wag platies, silver lyretail mollies, golden mystery snails, live plants and pond snails.  The pond snails were unwanted hitch-hikers, but they have found our tank very much to their liking.  I can’t even count how many I remove each time I do a water change.  We currently have three adults of each of the other species and an uncountable number of babies in each species as well.  About seven of the first fry have survived and are now about two-thirds the size of the adults.

Much as I despair for my tank with so many fish in it (it’s only a 29 gallon tank, not nearly big enough to hold them all in the long term), it is thrilling to see them all thriving.  There’s something fascinating about realizing how much the fry grow in just twenty-four hours.  I guess I’ll be making phone calls to local pet stores though to see if I can convince anyone to buy the babies, though.  Then we’re looking into getting gauramis or some other fish which will help control the population better.  I thought we’d have no chance to see the fry grow up because everything I’ve read said that if you want the fry to survive, you have to remove them from the adult fishes’ tank.  That hasn’t proven the case in our tank!

Along with our fish tank, we have a betta.  He’s currently living in a jar on the kitchen counter, until he passes quaruntine. Then we’ll see if he will get along in the big tank.  We got him, hoping that he’d help control the pond snail population, but so far he has shown little interest in demolishing them.  I’m also not sure he’ll get along well with the male silver lyretail molly (who has some fancy fins going on).  If not, he’ll go back into a jar where he can keep me company while I do dishes each day.

Also living in my kitchen these days are my worms.  Yes, I got composting worms  and they are now living in my kitchen. It’s just too hot outside for me to leave them out there, even in the garage!  The worms themselves are doing well.  They seem to be happily producing lots of castings for my garden.  Unfortunately, the fruit flies (or some equally nuisancy type of fly) have decided that they like the worm house, too.  So, I’m searching for ways of controlling that population.  Happily, apple cider vinegar and dish soap in a small dish on the counter works well to contain them, but I’d love to find a way to keep them from reproducing to begin with. They are pesky and their presence means I can’t keep a basket of fresh fruit on the counter.

Gardening-wise, my garden is growing slowly.  I have a handful of sunflower plants which are about knee high now.   They survived Fay’s thrashing wind and rain, which is good.  My chrysanthemums didn’t do so well.  I think they got just too wet with all of the water that collected in our backyard with Fay.  Other than that…my basil is doing well.  I have one still in a tiny pot that needs to be given a better home now.  I don’t think any of my oregano has survived, sadly.  I have several thyme plants that are thriving, though.  A couple of moss roses (Portulaca), and forget-me-nots are doing well.  The only catnip which has survived so far are in pots, except for one teeny tiny plant which isn’t showing any signs of getting any bigger.  At least it’s not dead yet though, I guess.

All of the trees my dad sent home with me back in May have died.  Many of the iris have also died.  I didn’t plant them in good places.  If he is gracious enough to send another batch home with me next time I’m down there, I’ll plant them better.  This time, I put them in places too inconvenient…they kept getting mowed down when we mowed the lawn, or drowned by soaking rains.  So, mental note to place them more strategically next time.  The tiger lillies that Dad gave me are doing well, though.  We had several weeks of blooms from one of the plants awhile back!

For my birthday (ugh, I’m 31, now!), I recieved gift cards to a home improvement store!  So, all of that is going towards sprucing up my garden.  Mostly, I want to get an edging or border to define my plant beds, both for the lawn mower and for the grass which likes to creep into the beds I’ve established.  If I can, I’d also like to get some mulch, and maybe some soil to create raised beds near some of the areas which tend to get very wet.  So, the tiger lillies will get a real flower bed, and my herbs will also.  Once the weather turns cooler, it’ll be easier to get out there to take care of them.

In the rare times I sit down to watch a show, I’ll pick up my crochet hook.  I’m working on a blanket for a new baby in the family.  We have three new babies set to arrive in our family soon, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up with them all!  A friend has recently gifted me with quilting material.  I have been playing with the idea of learning to quilt.  Maybe one of the new babies will receive a quilt instead of a crocheted item!  We shall see.

My final big project has been writing.  I actually have had the joy of seeing an article I submitted last fall PUBLISHED!  So, as my family keeps telling me, I can now say I am, in fact, a published writer!  It’s a bit of a thrill to be able to say that.  Certainly opening up that magazine and seeing my name in print has helped me renew my determination to make writing my JOB.  X is in school part time now, so the few morning hours when he’s off at school, I have committed to writing.  I’m editing that torturous novel I wrote last year for NaNoWriMo.  And I’m currently weighing the pros and cons of trying to do NaNo again this year.  Considering the way it killed my wrists and hands last year, I suspect I should not try it again.  That makes me pretty sad, because that month was one of the most exhilarating and inspirational I can remember!

So, a boring blog update, but this is mostly what has been occupying my time lately.

Book Review: Midwife of the Blue Ridge by Christine Blevins

A short way from where I grew up, the mountains of the Blue Ridge rose up. They so enchanted me then that I chose to go to college amidst their heights and valleys. The past of the area fascinated me as I learned my own family’s history: some of the clan settled right there in those mountains long before the Revolutionary War while others moved farther west towards Illinois. The clan originally came from Scotland. The land had a way of calling to me that I have found in only a few other places (among them Cornwall, Wales and Scotland).

So when the story of Dark Maggie was offered to me, I jumped at the chance to read it.  Maggie was trained as a midwife in Scotland, but tragedy, superstition and hardship dogged her steps there. So, she signed on as an indentured servant and traveled to the Americas. She knew she would have to work for someone else for seven years, but her hope was that after that time was over she could seek a better life for herself.

Her story unfolds, taking us from the superstitions and stories of Scotland to the primitive dangers of settling in the mountains of the Blue Ridge. But it doesn’t follow the story she had laid out for herself – working for 7 years for a possibly cruel master and then having her freedom after.  Instead she finds friends that are better than family, work that is fulfilling, adventure she never wanted, and more.

I loved reading this book. I loved the way the story was woven together with bright strands of love and courage; the deeper shades of defiance, survival, and tradition accenting them. Maggie’s character drew me in with both her strength and her vulnerabilities.

As I read this story, I could well imagine what the lives of my ancestors might have been like. I could see how they battled for their land, and their lives.  They lived lonely lives far from neighbors yet wove strong communities despite the distance because of a shared need for protection from both greedy landowners and Native Americans.

Reading it made me long to visit the mountains I love so much, to see the fog settle on the verdant trees of the valley, to see the sparkling rivers rushing through the rocks. Most especially if you have roots that extend to Scotland or the early days of the American colonies, or if you just happen to love those mountains as I do, I recommend this book. If you love the adventure of historical romances, I recommend this book – although I would not classify this as a ‘romance novel’.

Read it!

For more reviews, information about the book and the author, please go to Blog Stop Book Tours, which made this review possible.