It's Complicated

Grief is a complicated matter.

It is especially so for those of us who have truly experienced it at its worst. Losing a child qualifies, I think.

Having a dead baby puts me into a unique category of people. They're out there, somewhere, though they don't talk about it much, and they have experienced what I am going through in some manner or another.

Most people who are close to me, those who love me and are hurting for me and so forth have not had an experience anything like mine. They have no knowledge of the kind of grief that I now know first-hand.

Some of them pretend to be experts. They inform me that I should be done with my grief. They've decided that I choose to feel grief. They believe that I should change my perspective, come out of it, and get over it.

This tells me that they do not understand a single thing about grief.

I don't choose for my emotions to overwhelm me. I do not choose to be attacked by myself when least expected. I do not choose to be angry over nothing. I do not choose to cry. I do not choose to lose sleep because my thoughts run rampant. I do not choose to have my loss thrown at me and shoved in my face every day, multiple times. I do not choose this fight.

And yet here I am.

You see, everyone else, they are affected. They have emotions that are caused by this situation. They have been fighting as well, only their fight is pretty much over. Compared to mine, it hardly exists. They suffered, but from an indirect hit. They've fought their fight and had ample numbers, superior implements, and they have won swiftly and easily.

I, on the other hand, am engaged in a war...one that has multiple battles over varied terrain and in poor weather conditions...and I will be fighting, to an extent, for the rest of my life.

There is a huge difference, and yet some believe with all that they are that I choose this for my life...that I am still experiencing grief because I am choosing to. They have no experience in these matters, as this did not happen to them, but they are the experts.

I find that extremely frustrating.

And yet, they are not to be swayed; they will not listen; there is nothing I can do to even begin to explain how things really are.

On the other hand, there are those who, if they do not hear from me in a day or two, assume the absolute worst. They think I am suicidal and that my life is in ruins. They have no confidence in me. They believe I will fail.

Part of my life is ruined. My life as I knew it, my life as I thought it was going to be is ruined.

I am not ruined.

How am I supposed to deal with all of that? Is it not enough that I am dealing with my baby girl, Addison Leigh, being buried in the ground far, far away? Is it not enough that I have that loss, that devastation, that waste to deal with?

I cannot deal with all of the experts informing me that I am doing this wrong. I cannot deal with those who assume that I am ruined and will fail. I do not know how to deal with them and quite frankly, I spend most of my effort dealing with losing my baby girl.

I want to stop having to focus on what others are thinking of me. I want to just focus on dealing with my grief. When people inundate me with "expert advice" and their own personal worries, it sucks me out of whatever progress I've made and plops me down right back at the beginning all over again.

It is a war, people. I am the general. I am in the thick of it; I have first-hand knowledge and know better than most what is needed, what works and what does not. Right now I have too many politicians, cabinet members and commander-in-chiefs in the war-room spouting at me. If it continues, then they'll be right, all of them: I will fail.

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I'm probably going to take a break from the blogging and face-booking. I won't be gone, just not so present. I will write about what I need to in order to heal. I am not climbing the closest bridge in order to jump, nor am I choosing to have grief. No one chooses to have a dead baby; therefore, no one chooses to have the grief associated with it.  Please let me grieve.  It is healthy and it is the only way to heal.

A Lack of Character

Those of you who have been reading for a while know that last year I was participating in NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) as frequently as possible. Then I got pregnant and moved to Russia and I just couldn't do it every day. I am sure that those of you who have been reading recently can understand why I have not been posting all that much, and some of you are probably glad, given the topics of late, but I am writing today to let you know that I am going to participate this month.

In addition, I'd like you to know that the entire month's posts will not be about Addison. Or at least, that is not my plan. Granted, I tend to write about her and my experiences regarding her whenever the feeling strikes me, but really, I have plans to write about other things.

No, really.

***********************

The topic for February 2011 is Character. There are so many ways that one can go, yes? Let's take a look at one definition of the word, via Merriam-Webster online:

• 2a: one of the attributes or features that make up and distinguish an individual

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Addison does not nor will she ever have attributes or features to distinguish her. Yes, she looked, as best we could tell, like our child. She looked very much like Miss Thing's sister: similar but different. Aside from that, we have no idea what she would have looked like, what her features would be, and we never will. She did not open her eyes, so I will never be able to tell you if they, or her lips, or anything else are her best feature. We will simply never know, which is just one item of many on that list. Features are not really the point of this post, so now that I've gotten that out of the way...

Addison does not nor will she ever have attributes to distinguish her. She'll never love, never know her family, never be family. Yes, it is true that she will also never be hurt, never be teased, never have her heart broken...but since those are the things of which character is made, I'd much rather she have those experiences than be dead. And as for family, yes she is my daughter. She is a member of the family...but she's not family.

You know how there are people in your life who are your family though you are not related? I bet all of you reading this can name them immediately. They are those who "get" you, who are there for you when you're a peach and when you're a pain...they are the people who will do for you no matter what or when and they are those with whom you can have a conversation as if you saw them yesterday even if it has been years since you've spoken. That is family. Luckily for me, I have a lot of those people who are related to me for reals. And I am lucky enough to have some who aren't related to me in the slightest.

Addison will never be one of those people, not for me or you or some future friends. Through no fault of anyone she will simply never be, and therefore will have no actions and no words through which and with which she can show her true character.

We named her, but we will never know who "Addison" is. To pretend or say otherwise is ridiculous, fraudulent and unhealthy. A-d-d-i-s-o-n are just some letters on a piece of paper and on a grave stone. They don't stand for a person of character, but for the lack thereof.

***********************

When I was a young child, my family took a much anticipated trip to Disney World. I remember very little. I know that I woke my parents up no less than five times the night before we were to leave to ask "Is it time to go yet?" Amazingly they did not leave me at home. I remember being scared to death of Big Thunder Mountain (the tiniest roller-coaster ever made; yes I was a scaredy cat), loving It's A Small World (go figure), and that we rode the Peter Pan and Pirates of the Caribbean rides a bajillion times if we rode them once. Oh, and that my Dad couldn't let us go on a vacation without infusing some history, so we spent a day looking at battlefields. I am sure you can figure out how that went. If you've seen one, you've seen 'em all would suffice. Also: I had to take naps and my brother did not. So. Not. Cool.

We spent our entire day in a single park, more or less. My favorite day was when we went to Epcot. My Granny had given each of us some money to spend on whatever we wanted in Disney World, and I spent mine in Epcot. There was a whole section on using your imagination and it had a mascot: Figment. He was a light-purple dragon with a yellow belly and orange-tipped scales who wore a little shirt, if I remember correctly. 'Cause you know, a proper dragon is clothed. Oh, he was awesome. I don't remember much of what the display/show said, aside from how important an imagination is, but I do remember how much I loved my Figment.

I slept with him for ages, and every night after Mom and Dad put me to bed Figment and I would talk. As in I would even hold him such that I could move his head around while he talked to me. I don't know what we talked about, but I assure you I was using my imagination. He was so loved, in fact, that his neck got all worn out and his head permanently flopped over to one side...which makes me kinda sad. Poor Figment.

***********************

I believe an imagination is a wonderful thing. I had an active one. It helped me to comprehend the abstract, it assisted me with writing in school, it allowed me to make things, whether they be music or writing, aesthetically pleasing and it allowed the books I read to come to life. It helps me to this day with all of those things. I foster an imagination in my child and hope that she continues to have an active and abundant imagination as she grows.

The thing is, in order for Addison to be someone, I have to use my imagination. It is only there that she can exist as more than a dead baby. Only as a figment of my imagination can she be someone, anyone, and yet because I know that "imagine" is not real, even that is fake, false, just pretend.

***********************

There is only one who knows Addison. The great I Am. The one and only. He knows her. He knows her heart, her soul, her character.

That is enough for me.

We spend a lifetime raising our children to be responsible people who contribute positively to society. We teach them about God and show them as best we can that He is the one and only God. We hope that our children will know Him, His love, and that they will accept Him and live their lives according to His Word. We hope that He and they will be family, for He is the one true Father.

Addison is His. He knows her. She will be with him when Christ returns.

That is enough for me.

I do not know her. I will never know her. Addison is my dead baby, so I refer to her as such, especially on here as this is where I write, hence grieve. I cannot be expected to know her; for people to insist that I already do or for them to insist that to think of her as a dead baby is wrong is...confusing to me.

I cannot wish or hope to know her; it is futile; there is no promise of that. I can find solace in the fact that God knows her. He and only He, the one and only, the great I Am, knows my daughter Addison Leigh.

If I cannot know her, then my wish is that He should.

That is enough for me.

I know that she is saved. I know that she will be with God. I know that He loves her and that she will know His love. It is all that I can ask and hope for, for my dead baby as well as for my living child...

and that is enough for me.

I Must Emote...And Tell All About It

Here is something I posted on Facebook yesterday afternoon, Sakhalin time:

So, it really sucks when you're one big failure and your contribution to the world is death. I'm pretty sure no one thought that would be my accomplishment when they voted me "most likely to succeed" in high school, and yet here we are.

Here are a few things I have to say about it:

1. The feelings associated with grief are all over the place. There are these so-called "stages of grief", but even when introduced and explained by the experts all are very sure to tell you that you can experience any of the stages at any time; there is no order nor do they always make sense. The only way I can think of to explain it (right at this moment) is to compare the emotions with the stars in a galaxy. There are millions of them, when you take into account all of the nuances, and they are scattered in a hap-hazard yet logical (because they are all necessary) way. At any moment you could be on any star. And at any moment you could be whisked away to another. Sometimes you are only on one long enough to identify it; sometimes you do not even have enough time for that. You are zapped from one to the next never knowing where you'll end up. Sometimes one looks familiar but isn't. Sometimes you visit one on one end of the galaxy only to be beamed over to one in the middle and then you're suddenly right back where you started at the beginning. You never get any warning as to what you will feel, nor do you have any control over it. Since, obviously, if you could control that, you would.

2. I posted what I felt at the exact time that I was feeling it. It was a snippet. A brief moment in my day, an even smaller moment in the week and I could go on. It is not something that consumes me. I am not on the crazy train, or you'd all be well aware. I wrote my feelings at a particular time. It is the limitations of that method of communication that allow everyone to judge and assume and so forth. It is the judgements and assumptions that make me think perhaps I should not post what I feel as it can so easily be misinterpreted.

3. To not declare my feelings would be worse. Oh, sure, I could spend all day every day acting like and pretending like all is well with me. I could put on a happy face and only write uplifting messages that ignore what has happened and is happening in my life. This would be completely unhealthy and I would be lying. I don't think people talk about what has happened to me enough. It is much more common than you think and it happens to anyone and everyone. Additionally, I think it takes a lot of courage to admit it when you aren't feeling great. I think it takes even more to admit that you feel something as silly as like you are a failure. Those feeling are real and true and if I cannot admit them, then I cannot deal with them.

4. What I feel is normal. It does not make me depressed or crazy or selfish or anything else. I am allowed to have my feelings and to express them. If I did not feel these things or if I could not own them, then, and only then, would there be cause for worry.

5. My feelings of failure have just as much to do with my living child as my dead one (amongst other things that have nothing at all to do with children). Not my emotions nor my life are consumed by my dead baby. I get up every day, I have happy moments, I laugh, I live my life. I am not giving up on anything or removing myself from the world (quite the opposite, since I posted that for all to see). To decide otherwise about me based on one moment in my day is, well, not a good thing to do. Again with the faults of facebook communications (which are mostly mine as I did the posting); you just do not get the whole picture. I doubt very seriously that I could give you the whole picture...

6. I would also venture to say that most people have felt like a failure at some point or another in their life. Go ahead, those of you who have never felt like that, raise your hands. Be honest, now. *searching the interwebs* Um, I'm having a difficult time seeing those hands, people.

7. Judging me for having feelings is not helpful. Being angry with me for having honest emotions and for being brave enough to tell the world is not helpful. It is not supportive and it is not okay. I have to talk about how I feel. I have to write about how I feel, even if my thoughts and feelings are wrong in your eyes. I cannot censor myself because someone doesn't like what I am saying. If I do not talk and write about things, then there will be a major problem.

8. Was my posting on facebook harsh and over-the-top and in itself a little unfair? Yes it was. Is what I am experiencing in general all of those things as well? Absolutely. My comments and my writing and my feelings are matched to my experience, and that is the only way I know how to play it.

9. Grief, and therefore the emotions associated with it, is not something to get over, move past, be done with, etc. It is something you have to own. It must become a part of you; otherwise it will conquer you. I have to own my feelings, and this includes telling them to the internet...because many times that is more comfortable for me than just talking one-on-one. All I need is support. I just need people to listen and to empathize and to tell me it is okay to feel all that I feel. If I get stuck feeling something, then THAT is a time to worry. Otherwise, I think I am doing pretty good dealing with all of this, if I do say so myself.

Perhaps I Should Clarify.

I do not think that I caused this to happen.  I do not think that it is my fault.  I did nothing to make this happen.  I did not want, wish for, believe I would have or pray for a dead baby.

Obviously.

And/or: Duh.

It IS what happened, though.  I DID have a dead baby.  My body, with some help from Matt's, made a baby, grew it, carried it for 36+ weeks, and in the end what it produced was a dead baby.  That was the end product.  So my body failed; it absolutely did.  Operation: Have A Baby was a compete and utter failure.

Unless of course someone thinks that having a dead one was the implication in that mission statement.

Let me assure you that it was not.

So I get to feel like by body is a failure.  Whenever I want to.  A whole, entire, two legs, two arms, torso and head all attached dead baby came out of my body.  I carried her, dead, inside of me for a whole week.  Then I went through labor for eight hours and I delivered a whole, entire dead baby.

A beautiful, pink, muscles tensed, ball of live screaming baby was supposed to come out.  One that cries and sighs and sleeps and eats and poops.  One that makes me happy and want to tear my hair out, one that grows and smiles and does all of those things that makes everyone love and want to hold babies.

Instead a whole baby body came out of me.  A completely silent baby.  One that was all floppy and neither felt nor looked nor smelled anything like a baby.  Instead of life there was skin falling off, blisters where she had taken on water, a very bulbous and deformed head and blood seeping out of her nose.  Her ears were bent over, never to be straight, and she was completely the wrong color and smell.

Epic failure.

Indeed.

In addition, I have not done much in this world.  Yes, I am a mother.  Of one little girl and one dead baby.  I do not define myself entirely by that job that I do.  I do it and that is that.  To be clear, I do not mean anything negative to anyone who's great satisfaction in life is that of being a mother.  Everyone is entitled to their own "this is what fulfills me" thing.  Being a mother is not who I am.  It is something that I do.

And let's see how that's been going:

My child cries every day.  Usually there is some screaming involved.  And some throwing herself bodily somewhere.  Occasionally, or more often than that, this occurs in public.  Regardless, my child cries every day.  Every day.  There is something wrong with that and since I am the primary caretaker, since I am the mother, that failure falls to me.

Just in case you're thinking that way, no, she does not cry because she has a dead sister.

However, she does occasionally say things like: I just want to hold my baby sister.  I just want a baby.  I just want to be God (because we had to give her little sister to Him so that He can take care of her).

Also, now that she witnessed my sadness at the graveside, etc., she constantly asks things like: Are you happy?  Are you mad?

Yes, mad.  Why?  Because if I tell her I am not mad, then she proceeds to do something, anything, that she thinks will make me so.  Isn't that awesome?  That is the kind of person I am apparently raising.  One that looks for ways to upset people.

Again: FAIL.

Please do not misunderstand me.  I know (do I ever and more than most) that I am incredibly lucky to have my one living child.  I am just also acutely aware that right now I am totally failing her.  I am not sure how I am, but it is abundantly clear that I am.  Which is why it is a failure: I don't know what I am doing wrong so it isn't like I'll be able to fix it or change it.

And no, I am not talking about grief because overall I am doing okay there.  People think that if I have even one negative thought that it must be because of my grief from having a dead baby.  Um, nope.  If you knew me before then you know that I am not all sunshine and rainbows.  Nor am I all storm clouds and tornados. I'm just normal.  And I feel all of the things that normal people do.  If something I feel is not on the happy side it is not always going to be"because of grief".  Sometimes, but not always.

I get to have not-so-happy thoughts.  I get to have more than some people and less than others.  I get to have them.  I do not have to show this facade of happiness all the time just because people will assume that if I am unhappy is it solely because I had a dead baby.  Sure, that makes me sad every day.  But it is not the only driving force in my emotions nor is it my only emotion.

I guess I am just trying to say that I am normal to feel these things.  Not strange or depressed or in need to psychiatric help - I'm a normal person feeling completely normal things in regard to my life as I live it.

Again, please do not assume or misunderstand me.  I like my life.  I enjoy living in the cold, cold north.  I like living all over the world.  I am very lucky to get to do so.  But let's get real.  It is not I who makes these opportunities available to me.  It is my husband.  So while I like and enjoy my life in the world very much, I am also very aware that nothing that I have done has made this happen.  I am living this life by default, by hanging on his coat-tails.  It is like cherry-picking in basketball.  Not a grand appreciated thing.

So that is how I am feeling right now.  I think these thoughts and feelings are normal for me.  In my life. Doing and experiencing what I do and experience every day.

People Just Don't Think #1

I was having an okay day today. Then one of my parents' friends called up. This is a woman I know, but not someone with whom I communicate frequently or anything of that nature. It has been a very long time since I have spoken to her, much less seen her. Here is our phone call, repeated as closely to the exact words as I can recall:

Me: Hello?

So and So: Hello, is this [my Mom's name]?

Me: No, this is Paige.

S&S: Hi, Paige, this is So-and-so.

Me: Hi.

S&S: What are you all up to?

Me: Not much; getting ready for nap time.

S&S: Oh. I was just calling to find out what happened.

Me: What happened? [me, totally confused...wondering if there was some thing my parents were supposed to have done/had planned/told her about...]

S&S: Yes, what happened.

Me: What happened with what?

S&S: What happened with the baby.

[Um, What?!?]

Me: She's dead, that's what happened.

S&S: Well I know that. [with a rather large implied "duh" in her tone]

Me: Okay.

S&S: I just spoke with Dave McKee.

Me: Okay. [which explains nothing to me except that I know he knows that I brought death into this world - what a fabulous contributor I am]

S&S: I didn't even know you were pregnant. [said accusatorily]

Me: Okay.

S&S: Blah blah blah. [I don't know because my Mom was asking me who it was at that point and I was telling her I did not want to be talking any further. DUH TOTALLY IMPLIED THERE.]

And the rest of the conversation was a bunch of nothing. For real, not in the sense that I don't remember it, but in the sense that really nothing else was said. Let me give all of you a little piece of advice: if someone you know delivers a dead baby, calling up out of the blue a month or two later and having the above conversation as if something is owed to you is not a good idea. I repeat: NOT A GOOD IDEA. You are only attempting to serve YOUR needs in that situation and you are NOT thinking about the effect it might have on the one person affected most horribly by the events.

Events. As if we planned such a thing. You plan events, not dead babies, but I don't know what else to call it.

My main response afterwards: a very angry "Really?!?!?!!!??"

It took a LONG time for me to stop being extremely angry. A long, long time. I yelled at my one living daughter, who granted, was not listening to me, but still didn't deserve it so yay for feeling guilty all day as well, thanks for that. I wanted to run or yell or throw something but none of those options were available to me (stupid snow) so instead I read a book to escape which only means that here I am, late at night, still angry, though not as much, and still needing to run or yell or throw things.

Awesome.

This right here would be my only outlet, really, so apologies for the venting.

But I am TOTALLY ALLOWED.

People just do not think.

.

[that would be period]

What would I just LOVE to say in response to the many "What happened?!?" questions that I receive? Let's see...

She's dead, that's what happened. On October 28, 2010, a dead, rotting carcass came out of my body. That's right. It had been decaying in there for a whole week, so it was a really pretty sight for all of us. Does my body do things up right, or what?!?! I mean, could I have had better timing? A dead, rotting carcass is a pretty fabulous way to celebrate Halloween, don't you think? I win creepiest costume award for sure.

What is it that people think they're going to hear when they ask me that? I mean really.

NOTHING HAPPENED. SHE IS DEAD. THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED.

There is no why, people. There is no explanation. No one decided that this was "supposed to" happen to me (which has been implied). No one "gave" this to me (written to me). This wasn't "for a reason" (said to me). This was not "Part of God's plan for your life." (also written to me). I have so many arguments to support WHY none of those things are true, but no one wants to listen to them and they are too long for this post.  Let me just explain it in two words: faith, love.

I have a list of blog post ideas that go under the title: People Just Don't Think. This phone call was a perfect example. I don't owe anyone an explanation. If anyone IS owed an explanation, it is I and yet I seem to be the only one aware of  and okay with the fact that there is none. But people want one. So who do they decide to call up and give the third degree...about my DEAD baby?...ME!

REALLY??!?!?!?!

THINK before you speak/act, people, if at all possible. I'm not saying it will stop you; I am definitely one to say/do what I think is best or needed, and I fail at thinking before I speak/act sometimes too. But in THIS situation and ones like it, please THINK first. The main questions to ask yourself are:

1. Who am I really asking these questions/doing these things for?
- if the answer is you, because you are upset or you need information, then don't ask/do.

2. Will I hurt anyone?
- because if you don't know that the answer is a for sure NO, then DON'T DO IT.

She called because she is upset. Yes, I know that she is upset for my Mom and for me, but also for herself...and for the situation in general. While I completely empathize with that (hello, I am the one who's body created death, thanks), I do not need to be on the receiving end of that. Not one bit. She also called for herself more than for us. She called because she was upset and because she needed information, an explanation - and that is the WRONG thing to call for.

I think this all might have been avoided if she had not called me immediately. She called after having very recently found out and while still shocked and upset. Or at least that is what it seemed when I spoke to her. And again, I get that. Believe me, I do. But she called for her and didn't even stop to think what it might do to me to have to suddenly, out of nowhere, describe to someone that isn't close to me (which is probably why she didn't know I was pregnant in the first place) what "happened".

Yes, part of grief is anger.

Um, I am totally aware that I am angry sometimes, thanks.

I have every reason to be, thanks again.

It does not mean that I don't see her position or her side, but it angers me that she didn't think of me, my position or my side beforehand. I am tired of people doing that and they do it often.

In the same token, this would be the straw that broke MY back. It sounds like I am only angry with her, but I am not. And when I say I see her point of view, I mean that I do. But I HAVE to have a way to release the anger and this is it. She is not the first nor will she be the last to anger me by doing this. My doctor (if you can believe THAT) was the FIRST person to do it. I can't wait to tell you all that story:

Welcome to anger, come on in and make yourself at home!

Hardly

Dear Addison,

Today would have been your birthday. Your Daddy had a flight booked to arrive at midnight on Friday the 12th. He would have spent that next day with your Grammie and Pop-Pop and then he would have traveled down here to see me and your "Biiiiiiiiig sister!"

We toyed with the idea of inducing on Monday, but I think we would have opted for today because that way your "Biiiiiiiiig sister!" would have been in school, something consistent, during part of the labor.

Instead I delivered you on October 28th. I don't think of it as a birthday. You didn't get a birthday. They don't call it death either, because in order for there to be a date for that you have to have been born, alive, first.

You actually died sometime during the night of Thursday, October 21st and Friday, October 22nd. It was probably in the wee hours of the morning on the 22nd. I know this because I felt it happen. I won't go into it now because I'm not ready to share that with everyone. I am not saying that I felt it like a "gut feeling" type of thing, though. I mean that I actually felt you fight for your life and lose.

Inside of me.

Then I carried you, dead, for a week.

Inside of me.

In one day, you were here...only not really.

I delivered you, but you were not born.

You died, but you did not live.

I get the best and the worst of this situation. I am the only one who knew you in life. I felt you move and kick and poke and flip. I knew you, in a tiny way, before anyone else.

And yet I didn't know you. I'll never know you.

I also knew first that you were gone. You stopped moving, you fought and lost and I had to carry you that way while we waited for a "good" time to deliver you.

There really isn't a good time for that, you know.

Today would have been your birthday. We would have gone to the hospital anxious to meet you. We would have been tired but so happy when you arrived. We would have heard you cry and I would have fed you and we would have held you and smelled your new baby smells.

None of that will ever be.

Today I went to the funeral home because your certificate was ready. The one that says that you cease to exist. It doesn't say that you were born and it doesn't say that you died. It just says that you are gone.

And that you belong to me.

I am your mother;
I carried you in life and death;
I brought you into the world;
I gave you the best farewell I could manage.

Your absence belongs to me.

I have to own that. I have to make that part of me. Instead of giving birth to you and taking you home I have a piece of paper. It is hardly sufficient. I don't even really want it. And yet I desperately want it because it is one of only a very few things of yours that I will ever have. We will never make memories with you. We will not be a family together. I will never care for you or teach you.

You'll never have a birthday.

Just a piece of paper.

It is hardly sufficient.

Memorial for Addison Leigh

Hello there.  I have some information regarding a memorial for Addison.  We've had people tell us they are interested in participating.  I cannot remember exactly who told me they are interested, so I have decided to post about it here and link to it via facebook. Hopefully between this and email we can let everyone know.  Please do not feel like you have to participate; many of you have already helped us greatly and we very much appreciate all that you have done.

We met with a professor at Virginia Western Community College, located here in Roanoke, Virginia.  There is a community arboretum on the grounds and within that arboretum is a children's garden.  We plan to put an educational memorial in that garden.  At this time we are thinking of a kinetic wind sculpture (video at bottom of page) as well as a child-sized bench to match the adult ones already present in the area.  I also like the idea of wind chimes being placed somewhere in the garden and if we have the resources I think that we will do that as well.

I cannot guarantee that this is the final verdict on what will be done; I do know that we really like the idea in general and these items in particular.  When a final decision has been made we will be sure to tell everyone the outcome.

If you would like to take part in the memorial, checks made out to The Community Arboretum and designated Addison Leigh Memorial can be sent to this address:

The Community Arboretum

P.O.Box 14007

Roanoke, VA 24038-4007

Any donations made can be claimed for tax purposes under the same category as a donation made to a college or university.

I know that not everyone keeps up with us here on the blog and that there are plenty who do not have a facebook account.  If you know that I have missed someone, please feel free to forward this information along.  I don't want anyone to think that we forgot them.

Again, thank you to everyone for your prayers and support; we are stronger and capable of getting through this because of our wonderful friends and family.  Please contact me if you have any questions.