Chel in the Land of ZNE

A great loss...

1937 - 2008

I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.
                            - George Carlin

Trying to make everything seem All Right...

"A new kitten will turn your house upside down and at the same time make everything seem right."

(That's a picture of my son RJ, taken about ten years ago.  I have always loved this picture.  He has a little heart painted on his cheek, and those big brown eyes, oh my. 

He is bigger now, still beautiful, (always will be to me, I'm sure!) and sashaying toward adolescence.  Sometimes I forget that a part of him will also always be that same little boy, inside.

Today however, something very difficult happened, and I was reminded of his fragility, and overwhelmed with love for him, and by how blessed those of us who are parents - are - to have such tender lives - those of our children - handed over to us for safekeeping.

This morning, RJ's Dad came to take him out to breakfast, to celebrate father's day.  But then, right before they left for breakfast, with RJ right there - my ex husband turns to me and says:  "Oh, I've been meaning to talk to you.  I wanted to let you know that - for a number of reasons, I've decided to stay in Colorado.  But, I'd like to have RJ visit me for several weeks this summer, and you know - I'll come visit with RJ when I can - on weekends."

For brevity's sake - I am leaving out some details.  For example, the fact that RJ's dad remarried - a woman who has been living in Colorado (we live in California) - a little over a year ago.  RJ has only met her a few times, and hasn't seen her in over a  year.  Oh, and she's pregnant - expecting a child at the end of this month.

It is a baffling situation to say the least.  My ex has been leading this odd double life, living here in California part of the time and flying across state lines every other week to spend weekends with his pregnant wife.  But, up until this point, RJ's dad has had 50% custody of our son.  and while we knew that RJ's Dad was going to Colorado tomorrow morning - for an "extended stay" - to go and be with his wife who is expecting the baby, we always thought he was returning in August to continue this strange double life he'd set up for himself.

I've talked about a lot of personal things on this blog before, but never my ex husband.  He's my son's father after all, and there are no words - really - to express the gratitude I feel toward him for being a part of the most extraordinary gift I ever received - that being, the opportunity to be a mother to my incredible and beautiful son.

So, I don't want go on and on here about my feelings, in terms of the timing, or logistics, or bizarre handling of this situation.  And, in truth - the feelings I DO have about his - aren't about me anyway. I'm not the important one here.  This, is about my son.

Let me digress to say that I adore my own father, but he is no gem and has a knack for abandonment which has rattled my self esteem and trust on such core levels, I couldn't explain it if I tried.  I simply have no words for how damaging it is to our fragile spirits, when we were parented by someone reckless and unreliable.

And I'll say this -  my heart broke anew today, for my son - this little boy love of my life, when the gravity of the situation hit me.  His father moving out of state - has been my son's greatest fear, ever since his Dad remarried.  My son has actually said this out loud, during the past year.  In tears no less.  "You don't think my dad will move to Colorado, do you?"  (I can't even remember how I answered those fears.  "I don't know what your Dad is going to do, RJ - but I do know he loves you very much."  Something like that.)

It's been coming of course, for months now.  My ex-husband never talked about it, but this dual life was a bit ridiculous.  His wife had to endure the entirety of her first pregnancy, without a husband there 80% of the time!  How was my ex-husband going to manage one child 50% of the time in one state, and a newborn and wife in another state?  How would he be there, much less hold down a job or be responsible or accountable toward either child, under such bizarre circumstances?

Perhaps some people know how to handle these situations, but I am going to put it mildly when I say that I don't feel that he handled it well... no he simply did NOT handle it - at all.

Cut to today.  Father's Day.  It may have been coming for months (the news, not Father's Day) but it felt like it appeared out of nowhere - this declaration.  The elephant in the middle of the room - roaring suddenly.  "Oh, by the way... I'm moving out of state, to live with my new family, my new child.  See you later.  Goodbye."

There was no talking about it.  No forewarning.  No... figuring out how to handle this together so that we could mutually support our own child, my son - and reassure him that no matter what everything would be ok.  No preparing for the fact that if this was handled badly - my boy, who is still a boy, only 11 years old, after all - will worry, late at night, under the covers, that monster under the bed - up and out and whispering in his ear "your Daddy doesn't love you [as much] [anymore] [now that he has a new family]." 

All I had, was that moment, my ex husband explaining that "maybe in six months, a year, maybe, he and his wife will find new jobs and a new home out here.  Maybe, then, they will return.  Maybe, then, he will be a father again, to our son.

And in this surreal, ridiculous and heartbreaking moment - the weight of the world, every bit of responsibility that the blessing of a child bestows on you - seemed to have been carelessly tossed in my lap.  With my child watching, I could not be angry. What if RJ thought that meant that I was angry that he was here full time now?  I could not tell my ex-husband that he was a louse or a fool, or how dissapointed I was in his choices and the way he has handled them.  Because, the only thing that could make this moment worse for RJ - would have been to have to see his mother and his father fight.

I had to smile.  I couldn't shake or even grit my teeth.  I had to say something equally ridiculous and surreal, as if I was talking to a neighbor, a casual aquaintence off for a trip around the world.  "Ok, well keep me apprised of your plans."

"I'm not really moving... I'm just going to live "there" instead of "here."

It was as if he had become Dr. Seuss.  The Cat in the Hat.  Bizarre double speak, that made no sense. 

My mantra.  Smiling.  No yelling.  THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME.  My son was looking at me.  I couldn't even grit my teeth.  Here is what I said:

"You know what?  I don't think it matters what words you use - "living here, living there, or moving" - or whose name is on what electric bill in what state - all that really matters right now, is that RJ understands that you love him, no matter where you live, and of course - you do right?"

Please, please, please.  Tell our son you love him, before you say goodbye.

And he did.  He said, "Oh, yes, well of course..."  He took RJ out to breakfast, and when they returned - it was my ex husband who started to cry.  My 11 year old son hugged him and said - "Dad, it is going to be ok."

His Dad left.  A car door closing.  He drove away.

Everything in my son's life changed today.  I know, he will always remember this day.  The day his Dad moved.  That car, driving away.

"Well, I have to go to the pet store to get some dog-food.  Wanna come?" I asked RJ, a few minutes after his Dad left.

RJ sat on the couch.  "No Mom.  I feel sort of wiped out." 

"Ok.  Well... you know what.  I want you to come anyway.  Alright?  I just want to hang out with you  - ok?"  So RJ relented, and came with me. 

As it turns out, a local animal shelter was having adoption day at the Petco where we went for the dog food.  RJ wanted to hold a kitten, so we sat down together, with the sweetest tiny little tabby I have ever seen.

"Can I have him Mom?"  RJ asked after a few minutes.  I began to prepare mental notes for all the reasons why another cat in the house would not be a good idea.  Why we couldn't, we shouldn't, we wouldn't... and then RJ said:

"Since I won't be going to my Dad's anymore, I'll be with you all the time.  So I can take care of the kitty better, that way."

Well.  What can I say?  Our menagerie of pets has grown, by one kitten.  This is a picture of him - near asleep, this afternoon - on RJ's Bed.

He is the sweetest little kitty in all the world.  Still, RJ named him "Pepper."  Ah well, I suspect RJ - has had a bitter-sweet day.

Ok, before I end here, I want to say this:  In my life, I am surrounded by extraordinary men and fathers, all around.  My best friend Jenna's husband Randy is father-of-the year, every year, in my book - for the loving and tender way he takes care of his children, his step-children, and RJ too.  My other best friend Marc is single and childless, but is incredibly loyal and caring, and both my children - RJ and Abigail, love him dearly, as do I.  My brother is an amazing father to my nephew - a joy behold - I love them, my brother and his son - beyond any words' ability to explain.

And of course, my own husband, Richard.  He has wrapped his sense of family and faith and loyalty around me and my son and his daughter, as if our family was always meant to be.  And of course, I too believe that to be true.  Here he is, when RJ was six, making sure that my boy was safe and ready to ride his first skateboard.  Making sure, that he was safe.

My husband, my love.  He did what a dad will do when they are worried about their children and want to reassure them, today.  He hung out with RJ this afternoon.  He didn't get mad about the kitten we brought home (goodness knows, this alone is proof this man loves us!) and even told RJ, that his new furry friend was awfully cute.  Then, my husband built a rocket with my son.  We walked down to the park, our little family - and launched this hydrolic foam rocket high into the sky.

What can I say?  Today, something very difficult happened.  But also some things wonderful.  My son's heart and soul was turned upside down - and because of that, so was mine.  But my son and I are so loved and so blessed, and so lucky.  AND, we have a new kitten!  Life changes and turns, and sometimes hearts break - and yet, it seems, in the end it is always alright. 

It makes me think of that quote about kittens:

"A new kitten will turn your house upside down and at the same time make everything seem right."

So, I'll end with this:

Happy Father's Day to all you wonderful fathers out there.  Hold, and hug, and keep your children close.  They need you near, more than words can say.

And to everyone - hang in there through the difficulties and upside downs.  Hang in there.  soon enough the tide will turn the other way, and life will seem alright.

And finally, this - another picture I love, taken several years ago of me and my little boy wonder, my blessing, my child love of my life...

Daydreams, Fantasies, and Castles in the Air

"Wishing is good for us. Daydreams, fantasies, castles in the air, and aspirations all drive us forward, impel us to make things happen."

Here is another lovely product from last weekend's Castle in the Air workshop in Michigan.  This is Gina Smith's gorgeous castle.  I wish I could step in and stay a while...

Speaking of stepping in and staying a while - the wonderful Diva Danielle and Rayme had me as a guest on Diva Craft Lounge yesterday, and I so enjoyed my stay.  I am the second guest on the show - you listen live, here:

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/DivaCraftLounge/va/2008/06/11/diva-craft-lounge

Here is to hoping that all of YOU have a divalicious day!

Chubby Girls Unite ~ IF

Today's Illustration Friday theme:

Pet Peeves

Here's one of mine as written on the side of my drawing:

Why are anorexic unhappy women the epitome of beauty in this society?

Celebrate your body this weekend, regardless of its shape or size.  Beauty does not come from the numbers on a scale.

xo - Chel

H e a v y

A bit of sadness floating around today.  And the IF Theme is:  Heavy.

Here's to hoping things aren't too heavy in your part of the world.

My heart overflows...

My wonderful friend JoAnnA Pierotti received her copy of the book ZNE created to comfort her in her time of sorrow as she deals with the death of her mother.

In true JoAnnA style, she created a beautiful piece of artwork to express her appreciation.  She used a picture of her mother holding her when she was about one year old:

 

Click on the image to see a close up and be able to read her beautiful words.  Check out JoAnnA's blog to see her post about receiving the book:

http://mosshill.blogs.com/joannas_journal/2008/03/my-dear-preciou.html

My heart overflows right now with gratitude toward all the members of ZNE who contributed to the creation of the book, and in the fact that JoAnnA has received great comfort in its pages.

(And if you would like to purchase a copy of the Never Forgotten book which honors mothers, loss, and healing - CLICK HERE.)

My Heart Breaks ~

(Artwork above copyright JoAnnA Pierotti - "A Mother's Love")

My dearly loved friend JoAnnA Pierotti's mother died this morning.  I spoke to my wonderful Mossy this morning - and she is dealing with unbelievable shock and grief right now.

I wish I could scoop up all the motherless daughters in the world, and love away all their pain.  Suture up all those broken hearts with stiches of Grace.

Sigh.  I can't write much more right now.  Early morning phone calls about mother's dying are so close to home, and my heart is broken for Mossy and her entire family right now.

xoxo - Chel

Rooms full of Light

Live in rooms full of light.  ~Cornelius Celsus

Before my second marriage, I used to sleep - for many years - with nightlights on in every room.  The dark disturbed me.  A quick glance at my writing blog, and you can probably guess why lingering fears of darkened rooms stayed with me.  Vestiges from childhood. 

In any case, in my teens, when I first began living on my own and really - before I could afford such things - I splurged on one of the most beautiful night lights I had ever seen.  It was an engraved porcelain square, which was inocuous enough during the day, but when lit - the light that shone through the carving was extraordinary.  A portrait painted in light.  This particular type of night light is called a lithopane light.  My first lithopane night light held the image of an angel, carrying a child.  Oh, this image indeed, carried me through many sleepless nights.

When moving into our first home, my ex-husband stepped on the light which had been placed on the floor, and the angel was crushed.  I was young.  So, I was devastated.  I remember weeping over the loss of this night light.  At the time, my anxiety disorder was untreated.  The breaking of that night light played on so many emotions.  I was afraid that my marriage was not going to work.  I was afraid that I would never feel comforted or safe at night again.  I was afraid that the angels that had carried me so far, would drop me - and then - where would I be?  I was afraid, of rooms filled with darkness.

In fact my marriage did fail, but not because of that night light.  Ha!  No, much more complex fractures occurred, both before and after my lithopane was broken.  It's funny though, it wasn't until I was divorced that I went out and bought myself a new lithopane nightlight.  Oh sure, I still slept with night lights.  I had lots of of those little plastic shaded ones, in various outlets throughout the house - but none so pretty nor special as my beloved angel.

The next lithopane nightlight I purchased was a mermaid, sitting upon a moon.  I was in the throes of heartbreak, and mourning the fantasy of the perfect marriage.  I felt let down.  I was so very dissillusioned.  But also, determined.  I was a single mother, with a young son - and I wanted nothing more than to be able to move forward, and move on.  I think I chose the mermaid - because I was allowing myself to celebrate what was good about fantasy - instead of immersing myself in bitterness. 

This second lithopane nightlight lasted close to 8 years.  My son has grown from a toddler to (very) young man, since the time I first purchased the mermaid.  I've sold one home, moved into two others, remarried, purchased another home (moved again) and all the while, my sturdy mermaid has followed me from home to home, room to room. 

Interestingly, I don't need the night lights anymore.  I'm not even sure when the transistion took place. I have found that in great leaps forward, as great and far as they may be - this is often the case.  A million miles from one emotional spot to another is invisible to the naked eye.  Somewhere along the lines, as the years have gone by - I have begun to turn out all the lights before I go to sleep at night.  In doing so, I have discovered that moonlight slips in through the curtains, and casts shadows that are as reassuring - if not more so - as that angel engraving from so many years ago. 

And on those mornings when I am lucky enough to awake at the dawn of day, a whisper of sunlight sneaks in, and plays with all that incredible potential that a new day brings.  Only true darkness, through the night, allows for dawn to make such a lovely appearance.

Don't get me wrong though, I still used my lithopane mermaid.  She held reign over the master bathroom, and I would turn her on if one of the children was sick and needing to get up in the middle of the night.  If my husband fell asleep before I came to bed, I would turn on my mermaid to brush my teeth, wash my face, and get ready for bed myself.  Her sweet yellow illumination, so much preferable to the glare of the overhead light, and never waking my husband.

But then, last weekend - my son, nearing ten years old - was bustling through the bathroom, doing who-knows-what (a favorite activity of his) and he fell against the wall, laughing about something or other - when crash - my mermaid crumbled beneath his weight.

I didn't cry this time.  "Knock it off!" I snapped at my bouncing bundle of big boy joy.  Then, "are you ok?" I asked (the order of my words surely would cause me endless guilt had he been hurt - but he was fine).  I had trouble pulling the nightlight from the wall socket, becuause it was broken.  I did not want to cut myself, and had trouble getting a grip.

"Sorry Mom," my son had mumbled.  I looked over at him, and for a brief moment,  I saw his father in him - deja vu, from so many years ago - before my son was even born.  Except this time, all I felt was relief (he wasn't hurt), forgiveness (he's a nine year old boy.  Things are going to break.)  and love. 

Yes.  Things break.  They are replaceable.  It turns out hearts break too - and though they heal, and pull themselves back together - the fissures always remain.

eBay does not have a category for "turning darkness into light."  Nor does it allow for the selling of "newly minted never broken hearts."  (In fact, I do believe their selling policies strictly prohibit such product.)  Luckily, I have learned that with patience - the darkness does turn to light, lovely whispered sunlight, every single day.  And, as for newly minted never broken hearts, alas - they may be more of a fantasy than that mermaid who sat upon a moon.

eBay does, however - have a category for lithopane night lights.  I decided that the mermaid, and that beautiful moon - still appeals.  What do you think?

  I love it.  I can't wait for it to arrive.

It's not exactly the same as the one that broke - as this new one is in color.

I think that says something - perhaps, about my life today. 

How wonderful it is to have figured out how, night light or not - to live in rooms full of light.

Here is to hoping you all appreciate the light, in your life, today.

xo - Chel

Sometimes, silence is worth a thousand words.

Give Sorrow Words

Give sorrow words.  The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er fraught heart, and bids it break.  - Shakespeare

Artwork above by El Collie Kress

11/04/47 - 4/17/02

Mom,

If you could see your grandsons, they are so beautiful, such beautiful beautiful boys!  These children, these beams of light and love, they will be men, these grandsons of yours.  If you could see.

Mom,

I love you ~ I miss you ~ I forgive you ~ I pray for the same from you ~ every day.  I see the angels now.  I hear them too. Is that you?

Mom,

If you could see my life, my art, my love, my friends, my dreams coming true, if you could see the artist I am, the artist in you, she's in me.  If you could see.

Mom,

If I give my sorrow words - will you hear me?

~ ~ ~ ~

Before my mother died, I wrote. 

I wrote for days and weeks and months and years.  I journaled, and wrote fiction, I wrote long stories and short stories and poetry with far too many rhymes to be any good.  I wrote and I wrote and I wrote.  I wrote on a laptop, I wrote on napkins, I wrote in hardbound blank books, I wrote in spiral bound notebooks.  I wrote.

Mostly, my stories revolved around being a motherless child.  My mother had been ill for so long, the fragments of her illness seemed to permeate every choice I made.  I wanted to shake her off of me, I wanted to step away from her legacy. 

But truth be told, if I could pull those fragments together, and create a whole - I would take it, still today, oh - to have her - my mother, again. 

I wrote about what it was like to yearn to grieve for a long lost parent who was still alive.  I wrote about what it was like to refuse to grieve for a parent long gone, because grieving would mean, letting go. 

I wrote about the in-between, the unfair limbo, the wishes, the wants, the rage, and the Grace.   The Grace.  The Grace of God, the Grace of love, The Grace of life that carried me through.  I gave my sorrow words.

~ ~ ~ ~

It took me over thirty years, and ten times as many seats in therapists offices, and stitches in wrists and hospitals and valium and things less legal and more forced, and hearts broken over and over and over.  It took the birth of my child and finally the conviction - the will - to live, to let the light in, to believe that the Grace that saved me over and over and over again had a reason to do so, that is what IT took, for me to finally get it. 

On April 17, 2002, I went for a walk - around the Lafayette Resevoir.  A corner of solitude.  Dragonflies in the air.  The sun shining off the water - a thousand diamonds falling from the sky - is what I always called that beautiful sunlit sparkle.  I sat down on a bench half way through, I let my head fall to my hands, I wept, and I prayed. 

Dear God, please let me be something different, something stronger, something as beautiful and wonderful but stronger,oh God please - let me be stronger for my own son.

Oh Mother, please please please, let me grieve.

It took that many years, a million mistakes, one beautiful blond headed boy, and I got it.  What I needed to do, to earn all that Grace.  I prayed to her. Please, let me grieve.

And then I felt it, like the wings of those dragonflies ("dragonflies mean the end of illusion" someone once told me) - like the effortless flight they take, gliding through the air, I felt it. 

Oh, the patience of Grace.  She waits for you, with arms outstretched.  She cradles your dreams and listens with One True Heart, when you give sorrow words.

~ ~ ~ ~

I didn't know it then.  I didn't know until the next day.  But while I walked those two miles, or perhaps while I was sitting on that bench half way through - my mother gave in to her torment, and gave up on Grace.  That very same day, the first time ever I had prayed for the strength to grieve - my mother let go, and died.

~ ~ ~ ~

So today, I think of Julie and Jennifer and their own nephew and son, another beautiful boy, gone so soon, too too soon.  I think of Nancy, and Lisa, my fellow artists and motherless daughters - who will grieve anew each year, this month, along with me.  I think of 33 families connected to students and teachers at Virginia Tech, having suddenly to bear the utterly unbearable.  I think of us all. 

Grief is a gift, Grace follows close by.  Yet, the strength required to hold it - oh such heaviness.  Such heaviness.  If only I could reach out, and lighten that load.

I don't know how, or any other way, really - than to start here.

I give sorrow words.

~ ~ ~ ~

Too much for words.

I have a yucky icky cold flu thing.  Again, a gift from Adin, my wonder-nephew.

But, that's not the cause of my deep sadness today.  Speaking of nephews ~ my dear friend, fellow artisan, and ZNE Founding Member and Web Mistress - Julie O'Neil, is grieving the loss of her nephew this week. He was born to her little sister Jennifer, on Thursday - stillborn.  The umbilical cord had wrapped around his neck.  My heart is broken for Julie, and her sister, and their entire family.  Look at what a beautiful little boy he was.  The grief is too great, and his beauty is too much for words.

Aston Nico Garza

April 12th, 2007

You will not be forgotten!

Little Angels

When God calls little children,
To dwell with him above.
We mortals sometimes question,
The wisdom of his love.

For no heartache compares with
The death of one small child
Who does so much to make our world
Seem wonderful, and mild.

Perhaps God tires of calling
The aged to his fold,
And so he picks a rosebud,
Before it can grow old.

God knows how much we need them,
And so he takes but few,
To make the land of Heaven
More beautiful to view

Believing this is difficult
Still, somehow we must try,
The saddest word mankind knows
Will always be "Goodbye".

So when a little child departs,
We who are left behind
Must realize, God loves children...
Angels are hard to find.

-Author Unknown

This is real life.

~The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. - Kahil Gibran ~

I'd seen this comedian before, on t.v. and whatnot, - Richard Jeni - but I wouldn't have known who he was if you'd mentioned his name to me.  He was famous to some, well known to many, and loved ~ I am most certainly sure, by more than you could imagine. 

I do believe, that each and every one of us on this earth are loved by more than we could ever imagine.  It is impossible to know how many lives we've touched - or when or how.  How many hearts we've broken that have emerged stronger and gone on readied to find the loves of their lives. How many hands we've held that have made it through dark nights because of the miracle of touch.  It is impossible to know ~ and I wonder, who would each one of us be, how different and changed - if we did know?

Richard Jeni shot himself in the face yesterday, and died.  I don't know him.  I don't know much more about him than those quick words.  Shot in the face. Ugh.  Sometimes, real life makes you cringe.  Suicide, and the loss of life.  Unanswered questions, and oh - so many today who will be impacted by the deep grief of a life lost.

My mother committed suicide five years ago.  My step-father found her, in the pantry of their home.  I never saw her body after death.  The coroner had removed the body long before I made it to her house that April morning.  Later, her ashes would sift through my fingers - falling to the sea below - but that wasn't her.  Not really.

I knew that she had shot herself, of course.  Of course we knew, we were told - how she had died.  But that was it.  She shot herself in the head.  Oh, in those first days - my every thought and breath swam with questions and yearnings that would never be answered.  Even I knew that they would never be answered - and that was exactly what made them so poignant and eager.   Several days after she died, I decided that I needed to know where she had shot herself.  Where?  Did the bullet go through her temple?  Her forehead?  Had my mother put that gun in her mouth, had she tasted that cold hard metal, just before death?  Suddenly, I was convinced that I needed to know. 

I called my friend Jason, and told him of my resolve to get a copy of the autopsy report and review it for these important details.  He was patient with me.  Kind.  And then finally he said - "Chel, I don't think knowing that will really answer your questions.  Do you?"

He was right of course.  After all, it wasn't that gun or bullet that took her life.  It was something inside her that I will never understand.  Soon after, I let go of my desire to see those details in the autopsy report, and instead, just let the grief come in and fill up those spaces full of unanswered questions.

Grief was a blessing to me.  It was the most amazing process of forgiving and letting go, that I could ever have hoped for.  It was only in letting that grief fill those spaces that I was able to let the unanswered questions be.  They are a part of life afterall.  This is real life. Blessings, grief, unanswered questions, healing, and letting go.

Here is my hope, for the family and loved ones of Richard Jeni ~  that they may be blessed by their grief, that they be able to live within the unaswered questions, and in letting go - that they heal.

The collage at left was created by my mother, El Collie, in 2001

Grief and Loss

Artwork above - copyright Colette Copeland - Images Copyright Catherine Moore

"Sorrows cannot all be explained away

in a life truly lived,

grief and loss accumulate like possessions."
                                                                                           ~  Stefan Kanfer

Several months ago, I was browsing the website of Colette Copeland.  Colette is a very talented founding member of ZNE.  I love her whimsical and lovely creations, and I am proud to have a few pieces of her artwork in my personal collection.  Colette's website, Pomegranite Place - is so fun to visit.  On this particular day, I noticed that Colette had a link to a page she had created - "Lise's Page"  The title at the top of Lise's Page - is The Gift.

When I read through The Gift, I was moved to tears.  The page is a tribute to two tiny blessings, Katherine and Susannah

[pre * ma* ture']: A blessing delivered ahead of schedule

Katherine and Susannah both lived briefly, but neither made it past their six month birthday.  The girls were the children of a friend of Colette's, and The Gift is a tribute to them.  The page contains words and art dedicated to their memory.

In January, when ZNE debuted its "Members Do Good" page, I was honored to add Colette's thoughtful tribute on our list.  A few days ago, I received this email:

"Dear Chelise -

Thank you for posting my friend Colette's webpage called "The Gift"

I am the mum of those twins, and Colette's story touched me like nothing else.  She posted it in April 2001 and I have looked back at it almost every day since.  Colette will sometimes add new pictures, usually featuring her own amazing art, and it is great to have that little surprise when I go on-line (she doesn't tell me when she changes it).  I am the proud owner of several of Colette's art pieces in various media - she is such a unique and talented artist and a dear soul. The tribute she did to my daughters played an important role in my grief journey - how incredible to have a public remembrance of my Katie and Susy.

Most bereaved parents fear that they and others will forget.  "The Gift" is a permanent memory, thanks to Colette, who has had sad losses in her own life as well.  After the brief lives of my daughters were over, I began working in the field of perinatal bereavement and through my group called Perinatal Bereavement Services, Ontario, I support other parents who have had babies die. I am priviledged to have "The Gift" to honour Katherine and Susannah.  I miss my girls every day, but I am proud of them and the gift they gave me, and I always carry them in my heart. 

Colette Copeland (and her Pomegranate Place website) helps me do that.

Thanks again.

Lise Ferguson
Executive Director
Perinatal Bereavement Services

Like Colette, I never met Lise's daughters - but their story touched me, and Lise's kind email humbled me and made me appreciate all the more, the incredible good works of so many ZNE members like Colette. 

While I have never lost a child, and can not begin to fathom the grief that it would entail - I have endured the loss of loved ones in my life, and I do know that acknowledgement of not only the loss, but the life of those we've lost - is so important to those who have been left behind.

In honor of Colette's page, Lise's efforts - and the lives of Katherine and Suzannah - if you know someone who has lost a loved one recently - or even many years ago - I urge you to reach out today, and let them know that you remember and you care.  Share the gift of Lise's precious babies, by easing someone's grief, today.

Artwork above - copyright Colette Copeland ~ Images Copyright Catherine Moore

XO - Chel

PS - Speaking of loss, many people are hoping and praying that the disappearance of Texan Glenn Moody over a week ago - is only temporary.  Glenn is a co-worker of the husband of ZNE's beloved founding member, moderator and theme week coordinator - Emma Fashokun.  Please join Emma and many others in extending good thoughts and prayers for Glenn and his family, as the search for him continues. 

Have YOU seen this man ?

MISSING PERSON GLENN MOODY – 26 yrs old Baytown, TX LICENSE PLATE 23M SC4  Glenn Moody, age 26, was last seen leaving Washington Mutual bank on Garth Road in Baytown, Texas, on Friday, February 2, 2007 around 8:00 a.m. and has not been seen or heard from since. Glenn was last seen wearing a black leather jacket, navy blue button down shirt with white stripes, short sleeves, white undershirt and khaki pants. He was driving a 2004 Jeep Grand Cherokee, Green, License Plate 23M SC4. He has a tattoo on right arm – faded red Aztec design. Call: 281/309-9500 Toll free 877/270-9500

See Emma's myspace blog for more info.