To Worry

Three years ago today - already - Anya came into this world. How far we've come since. Her first sibling, William, followed some 15 months later. Her second sibling will be here in less than three months. Today, it seemed fitting to write to all three of them.

My dear children:

Your father worries. I always have! From the moment that I learned that each of you would be coming into this world.

Worry is a funny thing. Sometimes, it can be positive - leading us to a course of action that is safer than another, in the case of circumstances that we can control. But if we're being honest, we must recognize that in life, there isn't all that much under our control. And so, worrying is a (largely) wasteful exercise. Worry can't prevent all scrapes and bruises, and it certainly can't keep the worst parts of life at bay forever.

To have children is to worry. Every day. And the older I get, the more cognizant I become about all that there is to worry about in the world. All that could go wrong. Health goes into it of course- yours and mine - but it goes beyond that. Will you have the opportunities available to make a good life for yourselves? Will you have to grow up in a society that is increasingly fueled by populist hatred and fears?

It would be all too easy for a perfectly rational person to aim to prevent worry by reducing the sources of what they have to worry about in life. Not taking a shot at something wonderful, because of the chance that something bad might happen. It is safe. But it is counter-productive, and that it my long-winded point today: having something and someone to lose (like each of you) is the greatest of privileges. If I let worry dictate my actions, I would not have this privilege.

I try to remind myself of that regularly. There is a very real chance that things will go... perfectly well.  I need to keep worry in check with stronger hope and optimism. My hope today is that a better tomorrow begins with you. All three of you, through the positive things that you will bring to the world (even Anya, through her legacy).  Worry is a small price that I am glad to pay.

I will continue to do my best to keep it in check. Try to remind me of that, when you can. I am lucky to have the opportunity to love you all so deeply.

It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't step onto the road.

Dad

Priorities

Since December 2013, one of the aspirations that I cling onto is to make Anya's legacy a net positive: bringing more good than bad to the world. And it has.

It's heartwarming to reflect on the relationships she has strengthened, on the friendships she has reinforced, and on the people she has helped through their own journeys with this blog.

Unfortunately, it has not been universal. One of the risks in being as open as we have been is that it can open wounds that others may not be ready or able to face. The following is part of a message I received from a family member in early December 2015:

"Understand that I cannot feel what you emotionally feel towards those images. To me, these images are akin to folks that shame women who have had abortions with dead baby photos. (...) I find them harmful for my own mental health (...)  dead baby photos are unkind to me and my trauma"

This exchange came after I had expressed my... frustrations (to put it mildly) to this family member about being disrespectful to Anya's legacy by insisting that photos of her be covered up, or taken out of sight when she was there. I have often questioned whether I was wrong to fight for my daughter in this case -  should the living not come before the dead?

Or does being a parent trump other relationships, even through death? Should I prioritize Anya's legacy, if memories of her might be harmful to some who have experienced different hardships?

 I wish there was an easy answer to this question.

 Ultimately I can only do what feels right, and fighting for her has always felt right. Even if I regret this particular outcome.

 Sometimes there are simply no perfect solutions. That's life.

Cautious Confidence

Here we go again.

I am happy to share that our family will once again be growing in early 2017. Anya and William's little brother or sister is scheduled for a late February / early March arrival. We're 15 weeks along today (a bit over one third of the way).

I'm excited. And nervous. And scared. As is to be expected. But cautiously confident.

I continue to remind myself that everything is likely to continue to go well. The numbers are on our side. I identify as someone who believes in statistics (even though I'll admit that I am less confident in them than I once was). But beyond just believing in numbers, I now know for a fact that it can end well. William taught me that. We'll get there. One day at a time. One week at a time. Together.

Art

In April 2014, to commemorate four months since Anya's passing, we invited friends and family to come add to Kayleigh's scrapbook. Going through photos of that day tonight, I feel that the content of that scrapbook deserves to be shared a bit more widely.

Here it is:

Side note, I am clearly not the artistic one in the family.

Hindsight

The year 2013 feels distant. In many ways, I feel like I can no longer relate to the devastated person that started writing this blog.

That person knew where his life was going until he didn't. In an instant, he was faced with crippling uncertainty. Never mind the future - the present suddenly looked frightening. Could I fight off the depression and anxiety that accompanies crippling loss? Could my marriage survive this? Would I be able to return to the day-to-day?

At that point, there was no 'next year', and certainly no notion of what my life would look like in three years.

Today, there is. Once again, I have hopes, dreams, and a fairly good idea of what the next few years will look like. Just as I used to.

Now, though, it's in the back of my mind that it could all change tomorrow in a devastating instant. But hindsight at least provides me with the knowledge that it's possible to make it through some of the worst of what life can send my way.

I have often reflected about whether what I have learned can be of use for others who are going through similar circumstances. I hesitate to say that my advice would be useful in entirely different circumstances, but I think that the following might have been useful for me in December 2013:

• The only certainty right now are the members of your family and your friends. Don't let any of them slip away because of Anya. She wouldn't have wanted it that way.
• You are not alone. Others are going through similar losses. Reach out and talk to them through local discussion groups. It can help much more than you can realize right now.
• You might think that you can make it without getting help. You might be right. But it is foolish to make the hardest period of your life harder than it has to be because of pride.
• What you thought the future would look like will look painfully different, but that does not mean that it will always be painful, even if that notion feels completely unbelievable right now.

Hopefully this can be useful to someone, somehow, some day.

Finally, it's important to remember that, in hindsight, we wouldn't be where we are now without the support that we were luck enough to receive- even if I happen to be repeating myself.

Thank you first and foremost to you for reading this - if you're still reading and caring about our journey after two and a half years, we are lucky to know you.

Thank you to the incredible friends and family members that were there for our lowest lows, and our difficult journey back.

Thank you to those who shared their grief and our grief through discussion groups. I wish that we would have never met under these circumstances, but I am glad that we did. And thank you to those who created those discussion groups in the first place - it is incredible that they are not a formal part of our health care system. As far as we might think that we have come as a society, we still have a while to go.

Rating St-Paul

Thinking of where to spend eternity? Are you considering St-Paul's cemetery in Aylmer, and looking for an honest review? Look no further!

The Good:

Location - If you're looking for something local, within walking distance from many houses, it's great!  Very convenient to visit ★★★★★

Digging the hole - If you're considering dying in the cold months of the year, this might be the place for you! They can be dig during winter! ★★★★

The Bad:

Treating anything left there with respect - If you're hoping the mementos or decorations that are brought to your grave won't get smashed up, you will be disappointed many times over!  ★

Solar-Powered Butterfly?

To hell with your butterfly

Temporary plaque until headstone can be placed?

Lets run it over. And your plant too.

Staff - If you raise a fuss about those broken things, they will tell you you shouldn't have had those there in the first place, even though you had asked and they had said it was fine. They might also tell you, if you lose a baby, that at least you are young and can still have more. Then they might tell you, proudly, how they just took sensitivity training. ★


General respect for the dead - Do you think a cemetery should be used for as a place for a speed trap? Our local police does. ★

In summary:

It's nice, but it could be run better. Much better. Fortunately for them, I suppose most of their clients don't raise too much of a fuss, by virtue of being dead.