Published!

I have never claimed to be anything other than a talentless hack a talented writer, but even a stopped clock is right on the money twice a day.

In that vein, I want to share with you that someone has thrown this squirrel a nut and that's way better than throwing a squirrel at this nut that a post that I wrote back in August has been published in the SIDS of Illinois news letter.  It's not the only time that this has happened, but seeing that I can't come up with anything to actually write today it is a rare occasion that I publish a piece of actual quality reading, I am linking you up to the post that now lives on in hard copy print.

I think it's worth the click through, but you be the judge.

In My Arms

.....and by the way, today is National De-lurking Day!  That means that all you who secretly read World of Weasels as your guilty little pleasure in life get to step out from the shadows and into the spotlight by leaving a comment and showing yourself and saying, Hi!  After all, I'm glad that you are here!
 

In My Arms

In the hours and days after our Claire died I was in a fog of numb denial.  I was honestly expecting to wake up from this horrid nightmare at any moment.  In my mind, none of what had happened could actually be true.  It was far too awful to really be true.  Yet, it was.  My mind just needed to protect myself from the reality in order to preserve any amount of sanity.

Anything that could go wrong that day did and I lived in what I could only describe as a walking coma in those first days.  I was fully functional and at the same time completely nonfunctional.  Life was just motion.  There was no food needed for fuel or sleep to end weariness.  There were only to-do lists carried out in a mechanical fashion.  There was only the natural anesthetic of denial.

On the day of Claire's wake, my sister took me to accomplish the to-dos of the day.  I needed to go buy a dress.  There was nothing in my closet that would fit.  I bought a red one.  I couldn't wear black, there was no need to.  After all, this really couldn't have happened.  Black would make it real.  There would be no black.

Next we had to go pick some flower bouquets on a slim budget.  Our local grocery store had a nice floral department and we walked in to the aroma and beauty of nature's bright colors.  "Ooh, these are pretty!  Oh, what do you think about these?  These would look nice with those!" and suddenly reality began to peek through my psyche like the first rays of sunlight on the dawn.  I froze as grief flooded in and shook my body in heaving sobs.  What was I doing here?  Why was I buying flowers for her funeral.  It felt as unnatural and immoral an act as committing a violent crime.  I had to leave.

My sister and I returned home to a flutter of activity of friends and family members helping to dress and ready the other kids for Claire's wake.  I sat, still unshowered, on the back porch and painted my nails.  Mr. W gently reminded me of the time as I continued to procrastinate.  Softly and kindly, friends tried to move me from the porch and upstairs to ready myself.  I just quietly sat, responding that 'I know', yet I did not move.  After an hour or two, Mr. Weasel came to me a little more firmly and with more urgency about our lack of time and told me that I had to get ready now.  I said "no" very matter of factly.  "I can't.  If I shower, then I will have to get dressed.  If I dress, then we will go to the funeral home.  If we go to the funeral home, then this will be real.  I can't let this be real.  I can't go.  I can't do this".  He then held me tight as I shook and sobbed before guiding me upstairs to prepare.

We arrived at the funeral home with my heart racing in fear of the reality that I was about to face.  I trembled with dread and the knowledge that this was not a bad dream.  Family were already gathered in the common areas.  I could not look to them.  I could only look through them and past them.  I couldn't do this. 

The funeral director approached and took Mr. W and I privately into the viewing room, so that we may have a few moments alone and make sure that all was how we asked it be.  She then sat us down and performed the kindest act that anyone has ever done for us.  She picked up Claire's lifeless little body and placed her in my arms.  We sat and cried and held each other as we held Claire.

The thought of holding a corpse may sound morbid and creepy to some of you, but to us she was not a corpse, she was our little girl and we needed to hold her and to kiss her.  Tears ran down my cheeks and trickled onto the blanket she was swaddled in.  She would be buried with the tears of a mother's love.  A short while later, it was time to place her back in her miniature casket and to open the doors to the crowd that had now formed outside of them.

Holding my child gave me the strength to not only face that crowd, but to do the hardest thing that I have ever been tasked with in my life, say goodbye to her.

*I was inspired to write this post after having read a beautiful post by PJ Mullen about how when you hold your child, all is right with the world.  No doubt that the love we have for our children can carry us through the darkest of times.

In The Belief That Every Baby Should Live

Welcome to another addition of Fatherhood Friday, a Dad-Blogs spectacular! What, you still haven't joined dad-blogs? Get on the ball people, that place rocks. Would I be there if it wasn't cool?

No funnies here today, but if you read through this post you can reward yourself with this fantastically hysterical one.

By now, I'm sure most of you have read the news about Baby Maddie here. or here. or here. or here. Or at countless other blogs.

I don't know Maddie or her family. I only know of her, since her passing. I only know that she has obviously touched many people's hearts and that her family is in deep suffering right now. My heart aches for these people whom I don't know and for the long torturous road that they have just been thrust upon.

Mr. Weasel and I have walked that road. It's rough terrain, very hilly and rocky. It's full of potholes and landmines. There is no map to follow the road or any of it's twist and turns. There are not any paved patches or shortcuts. However, there are organizations that provide you with hiking boots and a walking stick. There are no band-aids for the unavoidable blisters, but these organizations and the people who run them will rub salve on the wounds and walk with you.

One such organization, that helped us through that dark wilderness, is Sudden Infant Death Services of Illinois. For 40 years, SIDS of IL, has been providing not only support for families who have buried their child (and I credit them for our own survival), but provided educational resources to parents about safe sleep practices (SIDS rates in IL have dropped 68% ((68% People!!!! That's a lot of babies saved!)) since the"back to sleep" campaign was implemented), has been helping to fund and support medical research in the hope of one day SIDS will be eradicated and has been offering professional training for first responders in an effort to educate and prevent situations such as Mr. Weasel and I encountered.

This organization saved our family and many others. Unfortunately, there is always another family in need of their help. Last night I was informed that SIDS of IL is yet another victim of our current economy. They only have enough funds to cover operating costs through the end of May.

There have been tight belts and close calls before and they have always found a way to keep the doors open and continue doing the important work that they do. This time, I would like to be a part of the solution.

If you can donate, please do. You can do it right here. Not all of us can donate, but you can tweet, link, stumble and spread the word. Somewhere there is an angel that can help.

So on this Good Friday, when we take time to remember that God gave his only Son to die, for us. Do your part to save another father and mother and family from this awful fate.

SIDS of Illinois ~ In the belief that every baby should live.

How to make a tween boy cry.

Yesterday the Weasel Family went on a field trip of sorts. We attended one of the most fun fundraisers ever. The Lady Knights of Columbus hosted a Wii Bowling Tournament to benefit SIDS of Illinois. It was a great time.

The day was full of pizza, laughs, raffles, video games and tears. The 4 oldest Weasels and myself were signed up for the tournament. Mr. Weasel and Smallest Weasel were our cheerleading section. One bye one the Weasels started failing us. They were getting picked off by the competition in rapid fire style. Oldest Weasel was up. Her loving and supportive parents let her know that preserving the family honor was now the task at hand, and that if she let us down she would be walking home.*

Eldest Weasel tied her first match. Now she had a playoff to win in order to move on to the next round off play. In the mean time it was my turn. I was up, the pressure was on. I hadn't played this game in at least 6 months. I was matched up against a 14 year old, and we all know they can play video games in their sleep. I was really regretting not getting some practice in over the last few weeks. I managed to squeak out a win and was going to move on to the next round.

Soon I found out that Eldest Weasel had won her playoff and that she too was moving on. Checking the tournament board we discovered that in the next round we would be pitted against each other. Mother against daughter. Only one could move on. I had mixed feelings and turmoil churning within me. I wanted to go as far as I could in this competition, but my maternal instincts were to cheer on my offspring. I was torn. Then came the moment of clarity and seconds before the next game began, I looked my beautiful Weasel in the eye and told her everything that was in my heart "you're goin' down!".

And down she went. I was moving on to the semi-finals. Having already picked off 2 teenagers I saw my prey opponent for round 3. Yet another teen to take down. The stakes were high. My ride home Family honor was on the line.

Between rounds Mr. Weasel supported the cause by buying lots of raffle tickets. The rest of the gang joined into the face painting, pizza munching and emptying Dad's wallet (all for a good cause ~cause they wanted to win RockBand (special edition for the Wii complete with mic guitar and drums).

A quick check of the winning numbers on the raffle board showed that they had won............2 water bottles!!!!!! The son of a friend was the lucky winner of RockBand.

On to the the semi~finals, where yet again, I was able to crush the hopes of a teen who had her eye on the the grand prize of a Wii. I was going to the finals. I was confident. I was ready and able. I was Rocky Balboa. I had the eye of the tiger. I was a contender. I was about to eat my words. I was about to suffer an embarrassing defeat at the hands of grown man who I am sure must play this game professionally.

He was a great sport and managed not to laugh out loud as he totally pwned me. In the end I won a first place loser award 2nd place medal and a $25.00 gift card to the restaurant where the event was being held. It was all a lot of fun and I pretended to be gracious in my defeat congratulated the winner.

The whole gang sat down to munch on some more pizza and they showed me the fabulous water bottles they had won. I encouraged Eldest to check the raffle board again. Some of the prizes were yet to be claimed. She returned to inform us that we indeed had the winning ticket for RockBand. She then went to inform the officials of the mistake. Right away they remedied the mix-up by making a tween boy cry.

After 6 hours of fun we headed home to rock out in the living room. The family that plays together......

*We relented after my embarrassing loss and let everyone ride home in the car.

"I Think We Should Mix it up a Bit"

~ to quote the Evil Scientist of Phineas and Feb fame, Dr. Doofenschmirtz.

I usually try to keep it light and amusing around here, but today will not be light. We will be back to regularly scheduled blogging with the next post.

Claire Elaine Weasel
June 18, 2002 - July 2, 2002

A blogging friend has had the son of a close friend pass away. There is nothing amusing about that. But that has prompted me to post something I have been thinking should be mass distributed for a long time now. "A what not to do or say to grief stricken parents guide for dummies".

Some of you may know and some of you may not That Mr. Weasel and I are the parents of 6. Our daughter Claire passed away 6 1/2 years ago. Being the parent of a child who has died and working closely with SIDS of Illinois (feel free to make an online donation) ever since. At first receiving support that we needed to survive and now to help other parents to survive this tragedy, I have come across some stories of things people have said and done while trying to offer comfort that in actuality only caused more pain. So here are some helpful guidelines for you to keep in mind for future contacts with the grieving.

The only thing to say is "I'm sorry". After that you risk putting your foot in your mouth. People often feel the need to say something. Or the pressure to say anything. They wish to comfort, not harm, but often harm is the product. There is no bright side or silver lining to this situation. Parents that fresh in grief can see no positives and no future, do not try to make some up.
Examples of this include(and these are actual quotes said either us or other parents we've known):

• "They are in a better place."~ Platitudes don't help. To a parent who has just lost a child there is no better place for that child than with the parents.

• "You are so strong" ~ No I'm not. I am not doing this because I want to. I have no options. If I had an option, I would be taking it. I have no control over this. I am not breathing by choice. I am breathing because it keeps happening.
  

• "God must have needed another Angel"~ Ummmm, no. If God needed an angel he would create one, not take mine.

• " God won't give you a more than you can bare" ~ Yeah, then why are mental wards full of people drooling all over themselves in rubber rooms. I feel like at any moment my mind could say enough, without my control or consent any more than breathing, and I would be in the next padded room in the ward. God didn't do this to me, but it happened and it may be more than my sanity can hold onto. Eventually he will carry me through this, but that is an eternity away from me right now. Once again, platitudes don't help.
  

• " At least you can have more children." ~ This was not a goldfish or a hamster. This child is not replaceable. Even if they have 10 more children, they will never stop missing and mourning this one.

• "At least you have other children" ~ I may, and I love them and need them close. That does not alleviate my grief for this one. It does not make me miss this one any less. And I have the added worry of trying to console them in their grief and explain things to them that I am not able to understand while I am unable to care for even myself.
  

• "It's all part of God's plan for you." ~ Even if this is true , to a parent that freshly soaked in pain and grief, no reason that God has could be a good enough to cause this much pain. From my experience with people it takes a few years minimum, if ever for parents to be able to think in those terms.

• "I know how you feel." ~ No you don't. You can't. Unless you have been through exactly this, and then you can only know in part because people are so individual and so are the circumstances that surround the death.

• "I know how you feel, my dog just died" ~ Oh no you didn't just compare your dog to my child. It does not matter how close you were to your dog. It was a DOG! Unless you have given birth to that dog, then I can just call you a ...........
  

• "At least she died young, before you got to love her." ~ If this needs explanation, just click away from this site right now.

• "Well, I'm sorry anyway." ~ (commenting about the death of a mentally disabled child) ~ Anyway? I can't even comment further on this.
  

Now that we have established some what to and not to say, here are some to do and what not to do.

• Do not force me to try and eat. ~ I have no energy and no appetite. I don't want to eat. I want to die. Making me a sandwich will only make me angry or make me feel guilty when I don't eat it after you made it.
  

• Do go out and buy or make a fruit tray. ~ Just put it on the table and open it. As I sit or walk past I will pick at it without even knowing and I will appreciate it.

• Do not offer to take my other children out for the day. ~ I do not feel safe with them out of my sight.
  

• Do hang around and care for the children and take them into the yard to play. ~ I need them near and to hold them, but have no energy to care for them.
  

• Do not ask me what you can do. ~ I simply do not know and have no answer.

• Do clean my house for guests .~ Do not ask me. I will say no. Just quietly do it. Only stop if I ask you to. I will appreciate it, but probably won't even know how it got done.

• Do not hug a nursing Mom. ~ With no baby to nurse I am engorged and in physical pain. Hugs hurt.

• Do rub my back or hug me carefully from behind. ~ I need to be held.

• Do not be afraid of my tears. ~ For weeks and months and more after the fact I will cry. This is not a bad thing. Do not change the subject. Just let me cry and be there to listen if I want to talk.

• Do not avoid me when you see me in public. ~ Our first instinct as parents is to run. We do not know what to say or do. This only causes extreme pain to the grieving parents. We know we are your worst nightmare. We feel guilty for our child's death. Even when we could not have done anything differently or to change things. You avoiding us just convicts us. Trust me, we see when you turned in the other direction.
  

• Do not expect me to forget about this and get on with my life. ~ This is something that will never leave me and it will be a long and slow process to get back into the swing of things.

• Do have patience. ~ I will need your love and support to get through these next couple of years. Most support ends after a month or two. I need it for much longer. The pain does not dissipate as quickly as the support does.

• Do not ask "When are they going to get over this" ~ They will never get over this. They will eventually learn to how to live life again, but it will be a new normal that they find. It will take a long journey to get there. The pain never goes away, you just learn how to live with it and continue on. The first few years are extremely hard.

• Do remember birthdays and death anniversaries(and commemorate them). ~ The parents do. Send a card or make a phone call. Even if I don't answer, it's nice to know that someone else remembered and that you are not so alone. To know that your child meant something to someone other than yourselves and is remembered means the world.

• Do not be afraid to say my child's name. ~ Many fear that I am doing okay today and do not want to ruin that. But the truth is that I am always remembering no matter what else is going on and it's nice to have others acknowledge my child by name. It helps to honor them.

• Do make a charitable donation in my child's name. ~ The charity sends the parents a letter and let's them know. It means the world to know that someone else cared about my child also and cares enough to give something in hopes that other parents will not have to suffer this nightmare through the hope of research, and to support through bereavement services people like I who have been through this trauma.

• Do Pray for me ~ This is probably the kindest and most helpful thing you can do for me, whether I know it or not at the time.
  

I hope that you all bookmark this and save it for future reference. I do not expect a lot of comments. I am well aware of how this situation creeps people out and they avoid the topic like the plague, mostly because it is something they want to crawl away from as quickly as possible.
But sooner or later this won't be something that happens 'over there' to other people and will hit closer to home. At least now you will have some tools to use.