What's In A Name?

"A name is important. It isn't something you drop in the litter basket or on the ground. Your name is how people know you. The very mention of your name makes a picture spring to mind, whether it's a picture of clashing fists or a mighty mountain that can't be knocked down. Your name is who you are and how you're known even when you do something great or something dumb."  ~Rita Williams-Garcia from One Crazy Summer

For the past five years, it has been my honor and privilege to participate in a memorial event for those who have suffered pregnancy and infant loss. I remember the first year was so bittersweet, having lost my niece Phoebe after only one month with us. My sister partnered with a woman that was planning the event and it has become a family commitment from the first. The memorial gives space to the grief and remembrance necessary as part of the healing process. While emotionally difficult, every year there is a special story or family that attends for the first time, getting the support they need, in just the right way and at just the right time. An important part of the event is remembering and honoring the babies by name. This has been my contribution, speaking the names of the infants and babies lost as we remember them through wish paper, the lighting of a candle or some other memorial ritual. The speaking of the babies names is important, I think, because it doesn't happen often. For many years, people handled loss by not speaking of loss or remembering the child. But for a grieving heart, someone holding space in remembrance, especially by speaking a name, turns an every day practice, speaking a name, into a sacred event.

This year, my son agreed to record the stories of any parents who wished to share in remembrance. There were two moms who talked with Bennett while being recorded. I share with you in the video below the story of Elsie. My heart is full in gratitude that I was given the privilege to be the first to speak her name.

As we enter this holiday season, be kind in remembrance of those who are grieving, especially the loss of a child. Whether a new reality or decades old, the holidays can bring a fresh depth to the pain. I am grateful today, for the lessons I have learned from my friends and my sister who have lost a child or children and manage to continue to figure out how to continue to contribute to the betterment of our world. May they be blessed as they have blessed me.

Using Props

I've been an intermittent yoga enthusiast for close to 15 years now. My practice has peaks and valleys. Has been abandoned and resurged. The first time I stepped back was after my grandmother had passed. Yoga had become as much a meditative practice as a physical practice and I found that I had to check my engagement in classes as the grief would overwhelm me during savasana (or corpse pose). Yoga was the practice that made me love my body even when I was dealing with health issues that felt as if my body was betraying me. Several years of pain and discomfort where alleviated during practice and help me focus on the beautiful poses, breath and calm my body could create instead of the pieces that weren't functioning. I carry with me meditation, breath, and focusing on the current experience even when my physical practice is lacking.

Throughout my years of practice, I've taken a certain pride in being flexible enough to not use "props" (blocks, belts, blankets, etc) in my practice. Yes, I know this is contrary to a yoga practice! It is not a place for pride. But there you have it. There were years the only positive body experience I felt was through yoga and I clung with pride to the little my body was giving me. There comes a time, on this path of mindfulness, when areas of pride will need to be dealt with. Me and me prop-less practice were about to meet an end.

Photo Courtesy of Jivamukti Yoga School NYC

I have a tribe that keeps me connected and accountable. Most are friends from high school. One of my amazing friends is a yoga instructor and massage therapist. And so much more! Her teaching style combines her training in several areas to an eclectic experience like none other. On the few occassions that my visits coincide with her teaching schedule I proudly become her student. On my last visit, we started our Sunday morning in a lovely little yoga studio. Props were being placed by mats and grabbed by regulars. I followed my usual routine of ignoring the props. But Amy was a 4th grader teacher before she became a yoga teacher. She knows what her students need and gives it to them! Props were placed by my mat as we opened class. What followed was an experience that left me with so much pride, not in my practice but in the teaching of my friend. Our class was not the usual flow. We began with using the props, in this case blocks and rolled blankets, to open our bodies. To feel the grounding as the movement shifted. It was never about flexibility, but about experimenting, grounding and connecting your body to the practice to come. The asanas were limited in number and time held, but were in alignment and connected in a way I have rarely experienced. I smiled, listening to the other students talk about how they appreciate Amy's methods and love her classes.

As with all things that pride holds, letting go is both difficult and freeing. Reflecting on my "props" shunning I realized that it made me feel good that I had flexibility even when not in regular practice. Letting go of concern of perceptions of others and excuses for my shortcomings applies to much more than my yoga practice. As ever, plenty of work to still to be done!

Today, I am grateful for:

• My "tribe" 

Missing a few!

• My body, which continues to reveal limitations and strength in equal measure
• My new view of "props"

Curvy Girl

Back in February, in a way that can only happen in the social media age, an educator that I am connected to through Twitter sent me a link to a cool business called Outdoor BookClub, with the message "this seems right up your alley". And it was. Created by Chief Heroine Jill, the company connects with women with outdoor adventures and books.  An upcoming adventure was a Backpacking 101 weekend. So I convinced two of my besties, Amy and Pamela, to come with me.

What an adventure! First, it was cold. Like wear your cold gear (including wool hat and socks) in your mummy bag while trying to sleep. Yet even with the cold it was so much fun. I've enjoyed camping every since I could remember, and would hike every day if time and trails were available, so backpacking is a great fit for me.

One aspect of the weekend that was very helpful was trying different equipment. A few basic staples can make backpacking safe and fun. For me, I realized a good pack, mummy bag, cooking system and water purification would be priorities. There were a lot of discussions about backpacks and proper fit. After the weekend, knowing if I enjoyed it that much in the cold it was something I wanted to do more, I began my quest for a backpack. Not much of a shopper, I was excited while going through an outdoor mall to see a ........... store. Literally skipping in, with credit card in hand, I was ready to purchase. A just excited sales girl (yeah, she could see the credit card) was happily chatting about trails, packs and all things outdoors as we started going through the choices. And then it happened, the measurement. I was spun around while a back measuring device was put up against my spine. And I hear...."oh". Well, we're not going to be able to get you a back today. Yes, being "hobbit sized" (my dear son's term for me) makes life challenging in many ways. She went on to explain that my back is small enough that I could probably use a child's pack, but with my "curves" it wouldn't be a good fit. Rest assured, packs come in XS, which she said I almost measured as, and she could get some shipped to the store in no time. A bit deflated, I put the credit card away, thanked her and left without gear.

Fast forward two weeks. My sister is in town and needs to do some "real" shopping (apparently her northern woods peace camp does not offer all a baby needs). An outdoor store was close, so I talked her into going with me, having been assured that as a bigger store XS would be in stock. Imagine my delight when looking through the packs I actually did find an XS! Up comes the "helpful" staff, and I assure him I want a backpack and just need to find the right fit. I had done my research and was fairly confident in the brand/size I was interested in, but wanted to check my options. As I relayed the story of being measured, and the difficult being I needed an XS pack, he gave my a very thorough up and down peruse and assured me "you are not an extra small". There then were several awkward moments while he explained that I would actually need the hip belt to fit around me and buckle. To assure you that I am not exaggerating, my sister finally stopped him and asked how bags were measured. Is it the length of the back or the size of the hips? The length of the back he assured her. Losing her patientce, she then "nicely" asked him to please go get me the XS for me to try. In an Abbott and Costello experience, I went between two salespeople. One assuring me I couldn't fit an XS and the other telling me every XS I tried on was the perfect fit. Finally, having determined that I could not get rid of the two inch gap at my shoulders with the S, even with 20# stuffed inside, I went with the XS.

On a side note, there is 4-5 inches of extra belt length, on each side of the hip belt, in my XS. Yes, I am curvy. No, I can't fit in children's gear (well, expect for that bargain on the youth mummy bag!). My curves are enjoying the pack, and the room to adjust the belt, just fine.

Curly Haired Confessions

I was quite excited when I realized that my previously made hair appointment fell the night before a recorded interview for work. My joy this morning as I was planning for the Skype conversation made me stop and think about my relationship with fashion and "all things girly" (I really am a good boy mom). Fashion sense and style are not my strong suit, unless "clean and neat" is a new trend. So when I knew that my hair would be professionally styled for the interview (read: straightened) it had me thinking about this video that I watched a few months ago.

My experience with hair is that I'm just not good at styling. All right, honestly, I would rather spend 20 minutes reading or doing yoga in the morning than working on my hair. I've always had a natural wave to my hair, but starting in my mid twenties the curls began to take over. I love my curls. When tamed with a good product they are bouncy, hold well when put up, and take about 3 minutes to comb and apply product.

But I get different responses when my hair is styled straight. I've never been complimented for my head of curls, but often have people comment when it is straight. In fact, when using a profile picture on Twitter that had straight hair, I actually had to tweet out a disclaimer at a conference because everyone I met told me the same thing. "You don't look like your picture".  So, I tool a selfie out on the trail, smiling, and that seemed to do the trick.
                               


Why do we value as a society a sleek, polished look? Why is hair another feature that girls stress over? I don't know, but I know that we can change the perception girls have of their bodies and image. I, for one, am going to love my curls. Not just for me, but for my niece Sam and all the other girls out there who, like in the video, fail to see their natural beauty. Besides, curls are much easier on the trail!

Kids These Days

Sometimes I'm asked why I want to stay in education. Politically, the profession is maligned. In practice, accountability has resulted in an emphasis of evaluation (of all parties) that has brought fear instead of passion to the forefront. So why does one choose to stay? It's simple. It's the "kids these days".

Today would have been my nephew Ronan's fourth birthday. So bittersweet are anniversaries. You try to focus on the love, the lessons, the people that have been brought together through his life of miracles. But it still is an anniversary of loss. Today, as I choose to remember the blessings that I have because of Ronan's life, I remember a particular group of students. My second group of International Baccalaureate Diploma Students. On the 1st anniversary of Ronan's birth, I celebrated by planning a service day with my students. They learned how to quilt by making baby quilts for our Wrapped in Love project my sister and I created to honor Phoebe and Ronan. They did so with enthusiasm. They already knew Ronan and Phoebe's story, so there was a connection for them, too.

But, in addition to the service projects, those students were there for me. They knew it was a tough day. I received hugs. We shared angel food cupcakes in celebration. And it was the best way to spend such a difficult day. At the end of the day, one of my blessings is knowing that this generation will be the ones in charge during my golden years. They have a combination of ambition, intelligence, and the need to change things, from a foundation of empathy, that I know the world is not just going to be all right. It's going to be a better place. Because of #kidsthesedays.

So why do I stay in education? Because I can't imagine not having the pleasure of working with such amazing people. Thank you Rachel, Tori, Kara, Marissa, Matthew, Patrick,Steven, and Anna.

I Got You A Present....

So as I get off the trail after work this evening, I check my phone and see that there is a text from Bennett that reads "I got you a present". "Intrigued" was my reply. I know what he makes, so I'm pretty sure we're not flying back to France.

I had recommended a great little restaurant in downtown Port Huron, Kate's Downtown, and he and a friend went there for lunch today. In addition to their restaurant menu they had fresh baked goods for sale. Bennett and I enjoy fruity, nutty breads for french toast, so he bought a loaf of cranberry walnut bread as a present for me.

Truly a simple thing, a loaf of bread. But the thoughtfulness behind the gift has me so grateful that I have the privilege to be the mother of this amazing young man. And looking forward to breakfast tomorrow.

My wish is that today you are blessed with simple acts of kindness. And if you find yourself lacking, as my friend Lisa always says, you can be that kindness to someone else.

Remembrance-I didn't want to add a name

Remembrance. It's a very personal thing. The way we hold those that we have lost close to use. Many people find comfort in the images or objects that appear; hearts, rainbows, birds, the color of the sky, butterflies. The appearance of these images, while ordinary, take on symbolic meaning in the connection or association of remembrance. For me, finding peace in nature, I have a remembrance tree, a Mighty Oak, at a county park. It has been my ritual for the past two years, to stop at this tree as I hike the park. I place my hand on the trunk and look up through the branches to the heavens and I speak the names of the babies of those I love who were taken from us too son. Jenna, Phoebe, Oakes, Elizabeth, Noah and Ronan.  My gift of remembrance to their mommies, so very small, is to always remember them by speaking their names. That their names are part of this world and my experience. 

Today. Today was difficult. Today I changed my remembrance ritual. Not just by adding a name, but by adding a name that didn't belong to an infant. My nephew, Capt. Jonathan Wynkoop, was killed in an Army training accident last Tuesday. It was devastating. Tragic. In a way very different than the loss of an infant. Not more or less, because grief is not measured in that way. But profound.

Is it because my sister-in-law Barb, whom I adore, is now part of the group of mommies I love that have lost their child? Partly. I understand grief differently now, after the loss of my Phoebe and Ronan. I understand the helplessness of those that love those that have lost. There is nothing that can be done. No words. No actions. Nothing that can bring back her son or ease the pain of loss. It's also because someone else that I love is living my worst nightmare. One of the connections that Barb and I share is that we love children, wanted many. But were blessed with only one child. A son. They are our life. 

But also, also Jonathan was very important to me. My favorite Wynkoop nephew. I told him this often. Many people today are mourning the loss Jon. Of the very handsome, intelligent, leader of a man that Jonathan had become. His intelligence is evident not only in his academic achievement, of which there are many, but in his choices. Especially that of his wife Rachel. Together they created a family with three beautiful children. Who are now left with to grow without their father. For he was my connection; my connection to my husband's family. My entrance in the family was not necessarily easy. As the second wife, it's complicated. While the family was kind, and welcoming, that does not mean it wasn't complicated. Except for Jonathan. Jonathan was three years old the first time we met. I remember our first Thanksgiving together. 1990. I remember lots of cuddles, endless reading of stories, building with blocks, pretending to be dogs (Jonathan ALWAYS loved dogs). I remember him totally capturing my heart with his big blue eyes and his sweet smile. To him, here was nothing complicated about me being part of the family. I was just his Aunt Rachelle. 

As he grew, there were less cuddles. There was a time he no longer needed to hold my hand when we went to play at the playground near Grandma and Grandpa Wynkoop's. The teen years, where there is always more grunting than actual words. But he always indulged my need to love on him. To give him hugs that big boys and large men don't always feel comfortable with. You want to convey how much they mean in a squeeze of contact. The last time, It was hard to get my big squeeze in as my sweet nephew had become a great soldier of a man; t was difficult to get my arms around all that muscle. 

The last couple of years, between deployments and limited time off, I've spent more time with Rachel and the kids with Jonathan. I've been blessed to see the pictures of him holding his children. A tenderness and love in the hugs and look in his eye that belie the soldier he had become. This past Christmas, his oldest was the same age that Jonathan was when we met. With a mischievous smile, and a busy personality. There was so much of his dad. I loved that his daughter snuggled right up with me, falling asleep in my arms. That the baby loved his mama and grandma and wanted to watch all the craziness in their arms. While I wasn't able to give Jonathan my squeezes, spending time with his beautiful family, knowing that he was a part of their joy and confidence, not only made my day but will be my connection to him forever. 

I am going to miss my nephew. Although not nearly as much as his mother, father, wife and children. I will cherish the memories, and look forward to watching his children grow. And being their Aunt Rachelle. There is a great big empty place that my arms want to hug. I will miss my favorite Wynkoop nephew. And it has to nothing to do with the fact that he was my only one.