I have the dubious honor of being the executor of my parents' estate. That's the fancy title for the person who is legally responsible for sorting out the leftovers of the lives of my parents. Gratefully, I'm not alone in this. My siblings have also been shouldering a great deal of the weight of the cleanup of the house and property. The five of us were unified in the caring for my parents during their last years, and have remained so since their death. But, since neither of my parents made a Will, the court became involved to assure that everthing is handled fairly. Hence the title - executor of the estate.
Both my parents were readers and writers. Both saved files and files of clipped newspaper articles on vast varieties of topics. Both were prolific writers of 'letters to the editor' in which they expressed their opinions. Mom wrote a daily journal - years and years worth. Pop saved obituaries. Both kept every card and every letter they received
This past year, I've spent countless hours sorting through the mountains of paper in their house. I've tossed the majority of it, but still have a pile that begs attentive reading.
I'm surprised to find that as I read, I don't feel the emotional baggage of being their daughter. I read with curiosity, and discover aspects of my parents lives that I hadn't known before. I put myself in their shoes, and even though I disagree with some of the decisions they made and some of the paths that they chose for their family, I realize that they did the best that they knew and the best that they could at that time.
I read a letter to my mom, from her brother as he responded to her previous letter to him. She had written: "If I had known then what I know now, or if I had been who I am now, I might have .... I have repented of that, and accept my part of the present effect of it in our lives."
My uncle wrote so wisely: "Since you did not know then what you know now and you were not then what you are now, I see no need to repent or lie awake over all the might-have-beens that could-not-have-been anyway."
The vocabulary of REGRET is: I should have... I shouldn't have... If only.... I wish I had.... I wish I hadn't.... The subsequence of regret is BONDAGE. It ties you up emotionally, prevents you from from being happy. STOP IT. If you need to, apologize for it. If you broke it, fix it. Then don't ever do it again. Just don't sit around in regret. What a wast of time.
Then, remind yourself "Don't Should on yourself and don't let anyone else Should on you!"
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Chose LIFE!
It's been 5 years since Emily died. Recently, a young mother who had to say goodbye to her newborn, asked me how I survived, how did I make it through.
I chose Life. And everyday I choose Life.
Oh, it's still not easy. "Grief" comes as expected at Christmas, at Emily's birthday and her death day and each spring when the daffodils bloom. Sometimes I get ambushed by "Grief" when I hear a certain song on the radio, or when her best friend sends a message on FB saying "I love Emily". Some days, I wake up to find "Grief" sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe, much less to get out of bed and function. But as time goes by, it gets easier. I've learned to open the box myself when it's safe, instead of letting the pressure build to explode at inappropriate times. I refuse to wear the signs that identify me as a griever. I am a survivor and I behave that way.
I hang on the belief that this life is only a stepping stone to my eternal life. Every day that I open my eyes on this earth, is just one day closer to when I cross over and be with Emily again.
Initially, there was so much help and so much support, it felt like I was in a bad dream that I would soon wake from. People told me "You're so strong"and
"You're doing so well". I
thought that about myself, too, and was
smug in how well I was coping.
Counseling? No way, I was fine. Until about 3 months after the funeral. One morning, I woke up and the
numbness had worn off. I thought I would die. The feelings were overwhelming. But by then, my friends were back to
their own lives, and although they would have been willing to help, to listen, I had always been the care-taker, so I continued in that role; I comforted the people who came to comfort me.
There were two of me. The real me sank alone into my own little pity party, after all, I was Emily's mother, and no one else could feel the way I did. I even excluded my family. "Grief" swallowed me up. The other me was a faker. I put on the happy face and went to work, to church, to the grocery store. I acted like I was fine. The other me kept "Grief" in a box, the lid tightly closed. The problem, though, was "Grief". He wouldn't stay in the box. One day, I'd cope well, then, the next day, I'd be in the pits again. I felt like I was bouncing.
Then I got angry. Like PMS and hypoglycemia and no sleep for 2
days kind of angry. That kind of irritability that simmered under the surface and
erupted when I least wanted it to. There's nothing right in the world when a woman
gets that kind of angry. I remember
getting pissed at a lady in the grocery store when she took 5 seconds too
long to decide on what kind of green beans she wanted - "just pick a can and
get out of my way" (I didn't say that outloud, but I sure wanted to).
Finally, I went to grief group. The first day, I did nothing but cry. But that was the beginning. At group, I felt free to
open that box and come face to face with "Grief". I learned some important lessons.
- Guilt and Regret feel very much the same, but are two very different things. Regret says "I wish I had..." or "I wish I hadn't..." Guilt implies the need for punishment, and if no one else punishes you, you will punish yourself. You will beome self destructive - over eat, over drink, over drug, not allow yourself to be happy again.... Both Guilt and Regret require self forgiveness. (This lesson set me free.)
- Grief is part of who I am. He will always be there to affect every part of my life. But the choice is mine about how much influence he has.
- It’s possible to get stuck in grief, for grief to become my identity.
I chose Life. And everyday I choose Life.
Oh, it's still not easy. "Grief" comes as expected at Christmas, at Emily's birthday and her death day and each spring when the daffodils bloom. Sometimes I get ambushed by "Grief" when I hear a certain song on the radio, or when her best friend sends a message on FB saying "I love Emily". Some days, I wake up to find "Grief" sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe, much less to get out of bed and function. But as time goes by, it gets easier. I've learned to open the box myself when it's safe, instead of letting the pressure build to explode at inappropriate times. I refuse to wear the signs that identify me as a griever. I am a survivor and I behave that way.
I hang on the belief that this life is only a stepping stone to my eternal life. Every day that I open my eyes on this earth, is just one day closer to when I cross over and be with Emily again.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Hans' Death
On Dec 11, 1963 my mom wrote this letter to the Department of Foster Care:
"We have taken a whole week to consider and reconsider the case and cannot decide otherwise under our present circumstances. When we, at first, agreed to accept your offer (for foster care for ans) is seemed a heaven sent solution to a problem. We were living in a small house that Martin wanted to rebuild. A small house gets even smaller in the wintertime when the children have to stay inside most of the time, and we have four children besides Hans, two older than him and two younger. the youngest being playpen size. Hans hates the noise of hammering and sawing, probably because it hurts his head and we expected him to cry all the time Martin was working at the house.
I write you this so you will understand why we said 'yes' then. Under the circmstances we could not afford to say 'no', because it would hurt Hans and we felt that God was making a way for him and us to make his life bearable. We have prayed much about him and we have always felt that God would either heal him or take him away by the time we had learned the lesson He would teach us through Hans. It was hard for me to accept that the State would relieve us from a cross, but still it was not impossible and as I said, we could not afford to say 'no' at that time.
We filled out the application for the Lincoln State School and then sat down and waitied. In the meantime, however, we had to move out of our little house becuse its roof had become a fire hazard. Twice a fire started by a spark out of the chimney on the tinder dry wooden shingles. It did not do any damage at all, but we could not have a fire in the stove anymore and we moved out. Now we are renting a house that has plenty room for all of us, including Hans, while Martin is doing the rebuilding he has planned on our own house without bothering Hans with the noise.
All these things happened so fast and we felt so strongly the protection and guidance of God's hand that we can only thankfully say that God has given His solution to Hans' particular problem and to a few other problems, too. As I said, we have taken a whole week to consider this matter and we realize that this is for us a chance which many not come back in years, and that Hans may become a problem again and again, but we feel that we don't have a right to worry about that. Our belief that we do not need the State to take care for our family has once more been established, even though at first we were ready to give in, in face of the difficulties we saw ahead."
Then comes the letter to Dr Schwartz on Dec 31. 1963
"We hearby let you know that our son Hans died still quite unexpectedly last week, Thursday, December 26, round 1 o'clock in the afternoon. So the head circumference we sent you December 11th has ha s been the last one. We hope they have been of service to you."
Hans died at age 4 years, and 26 days. I was 15 months old when Hans was born and a little more than 5 years old when he died. I have no direct recollections of my life at that time. What I know about Hans is from the stories told by Mom and by these letters I've found since she's died. But I believe that his life, and my parents' response to the challenge set before them, influenced me and prepared me to be Emily's mother.
Jeremiah 1:5 "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you." I believe that Hans and Emily were not accidents, that God forms each one of us, and knows each one of us individually.
Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. I believe that Hans and Emily (and each one of us) have a purpose to fulfill here, and when that's done, we're gone.
I believe that this life on this earth is but a blink in our existence, that there is very much more to our eternity. And I believe that Hans and Emily are not in my past, but in my future.
"We have taken a whole week to consider and reconsider the case and cannot decide otherwise under our present circumstances. When we, at first, agreed to accept your offer (for foster care for ans) is seemed a heaven sent solution to a problem. We were living in a small house that Martin wanted to rebuild. A small house gets even smaller in the wintertime when the children have to stay inside most of the time, and we have four children besides Hans, two older than him and two younger. the youngest being playpen size. Hans hates the noise of hammering and sawing, probably because it hurts his head and we expected him to cry all the time Martin was working at the house.
I write you this so you will understand why we said 'yes' then. Under the circmstances we could not afford to say 'no', because it would hurt Hans and we felt that God was making a way for him and us to make his life bearable. We have prayed much about him and we have always felt that God would either heal him or take him away by the time we had learned the lesson He would teach us through Hans. It was hard for me to accept that the State would relieve us from a cross, but still it was not impossible and as I said, we could not afford to say 'no' at that time.
We filled out the application for the Lincoln State School and then sat down and waitied. In the meantime, however, we had to move out of our little house becuse its roof had become a fire hazard. Twice a fire started by a spark out of the chimney on the tinder dry wooden shingles. It did not do any damage at all, but we could not have a fire in the stove anymore and we moved out. Now we are renting a house that has plenty room for all of us, including Hans, while Martin is doing the rebuilding he has planned on our own house without bothering Hans with the noise.
All these things happened so fast and we felt so strongly the protection and guidance of God's hand that we can only thankfully say that God has given His solution to Hans' particular problem and to a few other problems, too. As I said, we have taken a whole week to consider this matter and we realize that this is for us a chance which many not come back in years, and that Hans may become a problem again and again, but we feel that we don't have a right to worry about that. Our belief that we do not need the State to take care for our family has once more been established, even though at first we were ready to give in, in face of the difficulties we saw ahead."
Then comes the letter to Dr Schwartz on Dec 31. 1963
"We hearby let you know that our son Hans died still quite unexpectedly last week, Thursday, December 26, round 1 o'clock in the afternoon. So the head circumference we sent you December 11th has ha s been the last one. We hope they have been of service to you."
Hans died at age 4 years, and 26 days. I was 15 months old when Hans was born and a little more than 5 years old when he died. I have no direct recollections of my life at that time. What I know about Hans is from the stories told by Mom and by these letters I've found since she's died. But I believe that his life, and my parents' response to the challenge set before them, influenced me and prepared me to be Emily's mother.
Jeremiah 1:5 "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you." I believe that Hans and Emily were not accidents, that God forms each one of us, and knows each one of us individually.
Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. I believe that Hans and Emily (and each one of us) have a purpose to fulfill here, and when that's done, we're gone.
I believe that this life on this earth is but a blink in our existence, that there is very much more to our eternity. And I believe that Hans and Emily are not in my past, but in my future.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Han's life
In Nov. of 1960, when Hans was 11 months old, Mom wrote this letter to the Crippled Children's.
"The hole in his back is completely overgrown and there is no longer risk for infection. He has been growing like an average baby, he eats quite normally for his age, though he does not try to chew; he likes to watch his brother and sister at play, laughs at them, but does not play himself. Though he moves his hands, he does not have any feeling in them and he does not use them . His head is not too big, but rather heavy, it grows very slowly, about 1 cm a month. He looks very healthy, but we don't know how long he will stay with us. We hope it won't be too long though, for life cannot be much fun like that, even not for a baby"
"We would like to hear from you whether Crippled Children or any other institution would like to have his body after death. We don't attach any value to corpses and we would like it, if it could be used for some kind of medical research. Please let us know, too, the address of the association who takes in and gives out corneas of eyes. As I said, Johannes looks healthy and he may be with us for some more years, but we want to know what to do in case something happens to him"
Amazing that Hans had an open wound with direct access to the brain, he had no infection a 11 months. Amazing that in 1960, our parents were proactive to think about medical research and organ donation as a way to have Hans' life be significant.
The DSCC (division of Services for Crippled Children) replied:
"If in the future, the care of your son becomes too much for you, I would suggest that you go to the State's Attorney and file papers to have the child admitted to the Lincoln State School. There is a long waiting list at the present time..."
In the 1960's, it was common for children with diabilities to live in facilities, rather than with their families. Caroline, child #4 was born Feb, '61. My parents sent this letter in March of 1961.
"It might be a good idea to try to get him on the waiting list for Lincoln State School, although we don't want to bring him here or anywhere else as long as we can take care of him ourselves, unless an institution would be better for him."
and in Oct of 1961:
"We appreciate your interest in Hans, and I should write you more often how he is coming along. But my family keeps me so busy and there is really no change at all since our last visit in April."
5th child, Wilma was born in March of 1963. Mom wrote this letter to DSCC in Sept '63:
"It's almost two years ago since you last heard from us. There has been no change in Hans' general condition since you have seen us in April, 1961. He still spends his days in the same stroller, fingering the same baby-gymset a little with his right hand, laughing at some sounds and crying at others. He has some sores on his head, of which I have given up hope to ever see them healed. They apparently drain enough to keep his head from growing. I keep them clean and covered with bandages, boiled in boric acid and that helps them get smaller, but then they get swollen and red from pressure from within and the new skin comes off and we can start all over again. It does not seem to hurt him much though, except that he does not want to sleep on his left side. His sores on the right side are worse, but he does not care and sleeps good, but he stays awake for hours on his left side till I give in and there is peace for the rest of the night. His head measures 71 cm now and has not grown since last January."
Mom regularly sent Hans' head measurements to Dr Henry G Schwartz, Neuro-surgeon at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis.
Jan '62 - 65 cm
Oct' 62 - 70 cm
Feb '63 - 71 cm
In Oct '63, my parents considered an option to place Hans in foster care. To do so, Hans had to be on the waiting list at the Lincoln State School. This description was included in that application.
"Johannes is paralyzed from waist down, he has had some use of his left hand, but does not use it anymore; he plays some with his right hand with a cradle-gym hanging over his stroller in which he spends his days. He does not walk, does not talk, does not chew, taking only liquid or mashed foods. His head started growing right after birth and measures now 71 cm in circumference, it has not grown since last January. He knows his parents and brothers and sisters and likes to watch them, but it is impossible to say how much or little he understands."
To be continued - tomorrow.
"The hole in his back is completely overgrown and there is no longer risk for infection. He has been growing like an average baby, he eats quite normally for his age, though he does not try to chew; he likes to watch his brother and sister at play, laughs at them, but does not play himself. Though he moves his hands, he does not have any feeling in them and he does not use them . His head is not too big, but rather heavy, it grows very slowly, about 1 cm a month. He looks very healthy, but we don't know how long he will stay with us. We hope it won't be too long though, for life cannot be much fun like that, even not for a baby"
"We would like to hear from you whether Crippled Children or any other institution would like to have his body after death. We don't attach any value to corpses and we would like it, if it could be used for some kind of medical research. Please let us know, too, the address of the association who takes in and gives out corneas of eyes. As I said, Johannes looks healthy and he may be with us for some more years, but we want to know what to do in case something happens to him"
Amazing that Hans had an open wound with direct access to the brain, he had no infection a 11 months. Amazing that in 1960, our parents were proactive to think about medical research and organ donation as a way to have Hans' life be significant.
The DSCC (division of Services for Crippled Children) replied:
"If in the future, the care of your son becomes too much for you, I would suggest that you go to the State's Attorney and file papers to have the child admitted to the Lincoln State School. There is a long waiting list at the present time..."
In the 1960's, it was common for children with diabilities to live in facilities, rather than with their families. Caroline, child #4 was born Feb, '61. My parents sent this letter in March of 1961.
"It might be a good idea to try to get him on the waiting list for Lincoln State School, although we don't want to bring him here or anywhere else as long as we can take care of him ourselves, unless an institution would be better for him."
and in Oct of 1961:
"We appreciate your interest in Hans, and I should write you more often how he is coming along. But my family keeps me so busy and there is really no change at all since our last visit in April."
5th child, Wilma was born in March of 1963. Mom wrote this letter to DSCC in Sept '63:
"It's almost two years ago since you last heard from us. There has been no change in Hans' general condition since you have seen us in April, 1961. He still spends his days in the same stroller, fingering the same baby-gymset a little with his right hand, laughing at some sounds and crying at others. He has some sores on his head, of which I have given up hope to ever see them healed. They apparently drain enough to keep his head from growing. I keep them clean and covered with bandages, boiled in boric acid and that helps them get smaller, but then they get swollen and red from pressure from within and the new skin comes off and we can start all over again. It does not seem to hurt him much though, except that he does not want to sleep on his left side. His sores on the right side are worse, but he does not care and sleeps good, but he stays awake for hours on his left side till I give in and there is peace for the rest of the night. His head measures 71 cm now and has not grown since last January."
Mom regularly sent Hans' head measurements to Dr Henry G Schwartz, Neuro-surgeon at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis.
Jan '62 - 65 cm
Oct' 62 - 70 cm
Feb '63 - 71 cm
In Oct '63, my parents considered an option to place Hans in foster care. To do so, Hans had to be on the waiting list at the Lincoln State School. This description was included in that application.
"Johannes is paralyzed from waist down, he has had some use of his left hand, but does not use it anymore; he plays some with his right hand with a cradle-gym hanging over his stroller in which he spends his days. He does not walk, does not talk, does not chew, taking only liquid or mashed foods. His head started growing right after birth and measures now 71 cm in circumference, it has not grown since last January. He knows his parents and brothers and sisters and likes to watch them, but it is impossible to say how much or little he understands."
To be continued - tomorrow.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Hans birth
I recently came across a file folder with letters written by ,and to, my mother. It was simply labeled "HANS". Until this reading, I had not known the details of his life. I'm sure that I still do not fully grasp the faith and strength of my parents during that time.
My Mother gave birth to 5 children within the span of 6 years, 1 month and 9 days. I was child number two and my brother Hans was next in line.
My parents had immigrated from Holland in Dec, 1956. My oldest brother, Martin, was born in a hospital in Michigan on Valentine's day in 1957. The experience was very different from what was the norm in Holland, and my parents found it unacceptable. They wanted a family-centered, home birth. When it was time for me to be born, Dr. Lucas (who had delivered Martin), was persuaded by Mrs. Lucas to came to the house to attend my birth.
Our family moved from Michigan to Herrin, IL in Oct, 1958. We lived with the Verkamman's, a Dutch family with whom my parents had immigrated. When Mom became pregnant again, each Dr. in town was approached and each refused to come for a home birth. On Nov 30th, 1959, Hans was born at home with only my father and Nellie Verkamman in attendance. My two sisters, also born at home, followed in close succession, the youngest on March 23, 1963.
But this story is about Hans. At the delivery, Tante Nellie saw that there was a open area on the small of his back. The Dr. was called and Hans was taken, via the Johnson's funeral home hearse (which also served as ambulance) to St. Louis Children's hospital. He was sent home Dec 12th and my parents were told Hans had Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus, and that he was "a hopeless case."
I remember Mom saying that she was glad that the Dr's had made the decisions for Hans' outcome, since they had, she and Pop didn't have to.
Here's a portion of a letter written by Mom on Jan 7, 1960, to the "Division of Services for Crippled Children" who had paid the hospital bill. (note that my Mom spoke no English just 4 years earlier)
You might be interested in how the boy is doing and we are glad to report that he is in as good a shape as can be, considering the circumstance. The wound in his back is steadily growing smaller but still draining a little, while his head expands not so far. Most amazing however are the leg movements he displays and that at an increasing rate and strength. How this is possible we don't know yet. We always believed in miracles and that is precisely what it would be if our son would live and recover in spite of the odds.
Meanwhile we are very, very thankful for your part in the miracle and we will do what we can in every way to promote Chrippled Children. Please call on us if there is something we can do to help you out, other than with regular donations.
Please find $5.00 enclosed and again thank you, thank you very much.
I try to put myself in my Mom's shoes. three babies in 2 1/2 years; one baby with a disability; her own family across the ocean, their only communication through snail mail. I can only imagine the isolation she must have felt, to live a strange land, to be exposed to a foreign culture, and to learn a new language. No washer, no dryer, no Pampers, (just think about the laundry!),no diswasher, no TV. She was dependant on her husband, good friends and on her faith in God!!
Another statement Mom had made about Hans and miracles, that on hindsight, it probably was a good thing that Hans had not been miraculously healed of his condition. Could they have given ALL the glory to God, or would that have been a seed of vanity/pride planted in their spirits?
To be continued in the next post.
My Mother gave birth to 5 children within the span of 6 years, 1 month and 9 days. I was child number two and my brother Hans was next in line.
My parents had immigrated from Holland in Dec, 1956. My oldest brother, Martin, was born in a hospital in Michigan on Valentine's day in 1957. The experience was very different from what was the norm in Holland, and my parents found it unacceptable. They wanted a family-centered, home birth. When it was time for me to be born, Dr. Lucas (who had delivered Martin), was persuaded by Mrs. Lucas to came to the house to attend my birth.
Our family moved from Michigan to Herrin, IL in Oct, 1958. We lived with the Verkamman's, a Dutch family with whom my parents had immigrated. When Mom became pregnant again, each Dr. in town was approached and each refused to come for a home birth. On Nov 30th, 1959, Hans was born at home with only my father and Nellie Verkamman in attendance. My two sisters, also born at home, followed in close succession, the youngest on March 23, 1963.
But this story is about Hans. At the delivery, Tante Nellie saw that there was a open area on the small of his back. The Dr. was called and Hans was taken, via the Johnson's funeral home hearse (which also served as ambulance) to St. Louis Children's hospital. He was sent home Dec 12th and my parents were told Hans had Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus, and that he was "a hopeless case."
I remember Mom saying that she was glad that the Dr's had made the decisions for Hans' outcome, since they had, she and Pop didn't have to.
Here's a portion of a letter written by Mom on Jan 7, 1960, to the "Division of Services for Crippled Children" who had paid the hospital bill. (note that my Mom spoke no English just 4 years earlier)
You might be interested in how the boy is doing and we are glad to report that he is in as good a shape as can be, considering the circumstance. The wound in his back is steadily growing smaller but still draining a little, while his head expands not so far. Most amazing however are the leg movements he displays and that at an increasing rate and strength. How this is possible we don't know yet. We always believed in miracles and that is precisely what it would be if our son would live and recover in spite of the odds.
Meanwhile we are very, very thankful for your part in the miracle and we will do what we can in every way to promote Chrippled Children. Please call on us if there is something we can do to help you out, other than with regular donations.
Please find $5.00 enclosed and again thank you, thank you very much.
I try to put myself in my Mom's shoes. three babies in 2 1/2 years; one baby with a disability; her own family across the ocean, their only communication through snail mail. I can only imagine the isolation she must have felt, to live a strange land, to be exposed to a foreign culture, and to learn a new language. No washer, no dryer, no Pampers, (just think about the laundry!),no diswasher, no TV. She was dependant on her husband, good friends and on her faith in God!!
Another statement Mom had made about Hans and miracles, that on hindsight, it probably was a good thing that Hans had not been miraculously healed of his condition. Could they have given ALL the glory to God, or would that have been a seed of vanity/pride planted in their spirits?
To be continued in the next post.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Prenatal Genocide
I have to apologize for not posting for such a long time. I could come up with excuses about being busy. But the truth is, I've been struggling to write this post and it's been hard. And because it was hard, I've put it off, found other things to do instead of facing this very personal issue. But here it is, with all its bumps and warts.
During pregnancy, a genetic screening is routinely offered and is done at 16-18 weeks gestation. Down Syndrome is only one of the several congenital anomalies that can be detected before birth. If the blood test result is positive, an amniocentesis will confirm or rule out the diagnosis. Out of 10,000 pregnancies, 4-5 children will have down syndrome, and 91-93% of those mothers and fathers will choose to have an elective termination (AKA - a therapeutic termination, AKA - an abortion) rather than give birth to and raise a child with a disability.
While politicians and pro-choice groups talk, and talk and talk about women's rights, about when human life begins, and about quality of life, a prenatal massacre is going on, a genocide of a race of people who have a well defined set of characteristics and behaviors.
When a women signs the consent prior to the termination, when she refuses to accept the challenge set before her, does she really know what she's missing?
Does she know that:
-disability is not just a diagnosis - that it's just a matter of time for every single one of us?
-each "normal" person is also differently abled, and differently disabled?
-we are more alike than different?
-what doesn't kill her, will make her strong?
-having a baby with a disability will be the best 'worst thing' that has ever happened to her?
-she will count herself blessed to have been chosen to be this child's mother?
-she is not alone, there are many supports available?
-God never promised her a rose garden, He just promised to always be there?
-that the blessings will outweigh the cursings?
Tomorrow, we celebrate the 4th of July, Independence day, the birthday of a nation which was conceived with these words:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,
that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."
Remember the pre-born children who have been and who are still being sacrificed on the alters of selfishness, fear, and ignorance. Let it enrage you. Let it grieve you.
For more information, check out these sites
opposed to genocide of pre-born children with DS
During pregnancy, a genetic screening is routinely offered and is done at 16-18 weeks gestation. Down Syndrome is only one of the several congenital anomalies that can be detected before birth. If the blood test result is positive, an amniocentesis will confirm or rule out the diagnosis. Out of 10,000 pregnancies, 4-5 children will have down syndrome, and 91-93% of those mothers and fathers will choose to have an elective termination (AKA - a therapeutic termination, AKA - an abortion) rather than give birth to and raise a child with a disability.
While politicians and pro-choice groups talk, and talk and talk about women's rights, about when human life begins, and about quality of life, a prenatal massacre is going on, a genocide of a race of people who have a well defined set of characteristics and behaviors.
When a women signs the consent prior to the termination, when she refuses to accept the challenge set before her, does she really know what she's missing?
Does she know that:
-disability is not just a diagnosis - that it's just a matter of time for every single one of us?
-each "normal" person is also differently abled, and differently disabled?
-we are more alike than different?
-what doesn't kill her, will make her strong?
-having a baby with a disability will be the best 'worst thing' that has ever happened to her?
-she will count herself blessed to have been chosen to be this child's mother?
-she is not alone, there are many supports available?
-God never promised her a rose garden, He just promised to always be there?
-that the blessings will outweigh the cursings?
Tomorrow, we celebrate the 4th of July, Independence day, the birthday of a nation which was conceived with these words:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,
that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."
Remember the pre-born children who have been and who are still being sacrificed on the alters of selfishness, fear, and ignorance. Let it enrage you. Let it grieve you.
For more information, check out these sites
opposed to genocide of pre-born children with DS
rick-santorum-disabled-children-have-so-much-to-teach-us
ethnic_cleansing_in_the_womb
wrongful birth lawsuit
guidelines for counseling parents
ethnic_cleansing_in_the_womb
wrongful birth lawsuit
guidelines for counseling parents
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
too much to do, not enough me to do it all
Sometimes I take on too many projects. Ha. Actually, anyone who knows me well knows that usually I have too many projects open at one time. The last thing I needed was to add a Blog to my already full list of things to do. But, so far, it's been worth the writing. I hope it's been worth the reading, too.
I crave creating. I enjoy quilting, and have 2 quilts in varying degrees of (non) completion. To pacify the frustration of the delayed gratification of quilting, I scrapbook. I have about 15 scrapbooks which are in unfinished project status. Now mind you, I also have about 20 scrapbooks that are completed, and I'll boast, are pretty darn good. But the hobby that satisfies both my creativity and my need for completion is cooking. I currently have NO meals that are half done! No meals that wait for just that right ingredient to show up, no meals that look mostly done, but need just the perfect finishing touch. In just one hour's time, I can start, and complete a whole meal! And usually, they're pretty darn good, too.
As executor of my parents' estate, there are many open projects: dispensing with all their worldly possessions, dispersing inheretence to siblings, making memory albums and photo albums of our childhoods and of our parents lives, and doing a geneology search of our family tree.
At home, there's the garden and the fruit trees that produce, not just good food, but more projects that need to be done: strawberry, plum and peach jams, pickles, relish, and freezer stock-up.
Then there's the job. If only it could be 'go to work, come home'. But there's always a committee, a class to attend, or a class to teach.
I could go on and on. There's just too much to do and not enough me to do it all. I've realized that even the most enjoyable projects can become a burden. The endless "need to do" list becomes a weight that drags me down and interferes with the stuff of life that really matters. So, I've been saying "No" to new projects, and have completed several before I've allowed myself to start new ones. I've even given up on some hobbies.
But it's more than just about projects. The reality of it is that I am addicted to being busy. I find that my identity, my self- worth is in being busy. Being productive is where I'm comfortable. I have trouble sitting still. I am the helper, the do-er. I seek and find approval from others by being busy.
This poetry came out during the black part of my life. Now, 10 years later, life is great. But still I stay 'too busy'. I still reject grace by doing it myself.
I crave creating. I enjoy quilting, and have 2 quilts in varying degrees of (non) completion. To pacify the frustration of the delayed gratification of quilting, I scrapbook. I have about 15 scrapbooks which are in unfinished project status. Now mind you, I also have about 20 scrapbooks that are completed, and I'll boast, are pretty darn good. But the hobby that satisfies both my creativity and my need for completion is cooking. I currently have NO meals that are half done! No meals that wait for just that right ingredient to show up, no meals that look mostly done, but need just the perfect finishing touch. In just one hour's time, I can start, and complete a whole meal! And usually, they're pretty darn good, too.
As executor of my parents' estate, there are many open projects: dispensing with all their worldly possessions, dispersing inheretence to siblings, making memory albums and photo albums of our childhoods and of our parents lives, and doing a geneology search of our family tree.
At home, there's the garden and the fruit trees that produce, not just good food, but more projects that need to be done: strawberry, plum and peach jams, pickles, relish, and freezer stock-up.
Then there's the job. If only it could be 'go to work, come home'. But there's always a committee, a class to attend, or a class to teach.
I could go on and on. There's just too much to do and not enough me to do it all. I've realized that even the most enjoyable projects can become a burden. The endless "need to do" list becomes a weight that drags me down and interferes with the stuff of life that really matters. So, I've been saying "No" to new projects, and have completed several before I've allowed myself to start new ones. I've even given up on some hobbies.
But it's more than just about projects. The reality of it is that I am addicted to being busy. I find that my identity, my self- worth is in being busy. Being productive is where I'm comfortable. I have trouble sitting still. I am the helper, the do-er. I seek and find approval from others by being busy.
This poetry came out during the black part of my life. Now, 10 years later, life is great. But still I stay 'too busy'. I still reject grace by doing it myself.
I HIDE
Stay busy – can’t think.
Stay busy – can’t feel.
Stay busy – can’t hurt.
Stay busy – can’t deal.
Stay busy – can’t heal.
Annemarieke, 8/04/02
GRACE
I fight the voices in my head.
I’m held captive by their lies.
I don’t even know it.
I move through life on a tether of
other people’s needs.
I imagine I’m good when I perform.
I am deceived.
I hear of grace and am amazed.
I stand approved despite myself.
Free grace, the gift I try to earn.
Annemarieke 8/2/02
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