The Event that Broke Me: Part 3

Just a quick note and some thoughts.  Saturday was 10 years since Paul's passing.  I deliberated on what to do, but ultimately decided to take some time for reflection and holding to happy memories of him.  I called a dear friend from college to meet me for lunch at a bagel cafe and a long walk through NCSU campus - both places reminding me of Paul.  It was good to walk and talk with her. We both had our little babies in Ergos as we walked, Asher sleeping and sweaty.  Unexpectedly, I saw two more friends on my visit...I just call them extra angels for that day.  And two dragonflies visited this week (remember the second of these posts?)....one during deep sadness and one during the first moments at NCSU.  The first was pretty amazing...I was very emotional thinking about Paul one morning in particular.  In between my tears, I looked to my back door and saw the dragonfly light on the window pane - just stopping by to let me know he was there.

I feel your spirit 

in the quiet,

in others' love,

in the hope of your dragonflies

I miss your presence

as a friend,

as I grow old, 

as I remember

I carry you with me

when I serve,

when I am present,

when I dream

The Event that Broke Me: Part 2

In my last post, I related the loss of my first love.  This follow-up post is about some of the shake out afterwards.

After he left us, tiny miracles occurred for his beloved. Blue dragonflies began to show up in tender moments - at his funeral, at the tournaments, trips to his favorite spots, in our sad moments.  It is healing to think that Paul is somehow with us, bringing us his love and checking up on us from time to time.  Dragonflies have become some small connection to him. For these tender mercies, we are grateful.

In the months following the accident, I went home to recover.  I went to physical therapy and talk therapy.  I regained use of my right arm completely and healed physically in every way. I went back to finish school at NC Sate and to be closer to Paul's family and all the places that reminded me of him.

I slowly started dating again, and years later regained a desire to be married and have a family.  I lost my faith but it came back slowly, in a slightly different form. I lost a few friends who didn't know how to talk to me anymore and just stopped, but I also saw true friendship in many loved ones who called, wrote, visited, and prayed.  It felt like most things in my life reset completely.

I planned and helped with a memorial bench and tree at North Carolina State in Paul's name - in front of the biology building, as this was his major and his alma mater. It was a labor of love and somewhat cathartic.  His best friends used the leftover funds from the bench and began an annual, memorial golf tournament.  All of this funds a scholarship endowment for the Paul Elam McCarthy Memorial Scholarship.  The yearly scholarship goes to  a pre-dental or pre-medical student at NCSU. There is also a scholarship in his name at Boston University's Goldman School of Dental Medicine, where Paul had just completed his first year. Attending the golf tournament each year is a bittersweet experience.   He is there, in spirit, in his friends and family, in the dragonflies.

 In a few days (June 8), it will have been 10 years since Paul died.  This anniversary has brought many thoughts and feelings with it.  Honestly, I can't believe it's been 10 years.  He is forever 23, I am now 30.  The sorrow is still so deep.  Thinking of this loss has also brought back memories of the loss of our nephew, Evan.  Sweet, bouncing, beautiful Evan was almost two when he accidentally drowned.  His angel day happened  a few months after Aaron and I married, in 2008.  When I was searching for Evan's obituary, I came across this moving post by his Aunt Kiera.  She quoted a favorite book called The Prophet, and I wanted to re-post her excerpt here:

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.  And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.  And how else can it be?  The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?  And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.  When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater that sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater." But I say unto you, they are inseparable.  Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.  Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced. When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall. 

I reflected on this after reading it...I do think that joy and sorrow are interlinked.  The dual nature of the human soul and the human condition has always fascinated me.  We all have bad and good within us and around us.

My sorrow for Paul runs deep because the joy was so full and the love so great when we were together.  For me, it is too difficult to say that his death and the circumstances that surround it will allow me to have more capacity for joy in this life. Although.... I do think that this sorrow can be met with equal joy if I was to see him again in the next life, a reunion.  Perhaps this is why heaven is such a salient belief for so many.  I do not think that the accident was destiny, I think it was only an accident.

I would take his place gladly, but I cannot. Sometimes I like to think that Paul had some sort of choice. Perhaps in his final moments, God allowed him to see the series of events that would happen if he was to die and everyone else to live, or the events if I was to die and he was to live.  Perhaps he chose this path in some sort of wisdom I don't have access to.  That thought gives me some small amount of peace.



Unlike many things in life, I can not correct this mistake.  Typically, if I hurt someone, I can apologize or make some sort of restitution.  In this case, the consequence of me falling asleep was so immediate and final.  In an attempt to correct it, I prayed often and intensely to atone for Paul in some way.  That is - if his entry into heaven depended upon his deeds and character during his life - that God would also give these same good parts of my life to him as well, extra help for his afterlife. He was a beautiful soul, so I don't think he needed my help, but I wanted to give this to him regardless.  This prayer to "take what is mine, and give it to him" was my mantra for some years afterward.

Later I met Aaron and relayed these thoughts.  It was Aaron who said "...that sounds like Jesus." The analogy had never dawned on me. Aaron's moment of clarity (he has many of those) was the spark that started me down the path to joining the LDS church.  Over time I've come to believe Christ will make that atonement for Paul.  It is not my place to save, it is His.

How have you dealt with loss?  What has helped you in trials and sorrow?  

The Event that Broke Me: Part 1

For the last few years of my life, I've been through some dramatic changes.  During these changes, I've largely been receiving - meaning, receiving information/wisdom in the form of books, discussions, speeches, podcasts, etc.  With the advent of the internet, there is so much information to absorb it feels like my head might explode. (Do you ever feel like that?)  Lately I've been thinking it is time to start giving more - meaning, adding to this world of shared information.  Perhaps my voice might help someone, as so many have helped me.

In that spirit, I'm hoping to write some poignant and honest blog posts about topics that are close to my heart. I am less afraid of judgement and more concerned with connecting to my loved ones and friends in a meaningful way.  This is the first of these posts, and perhaps the hardest to write.

Paul and Angela, Thanksgiving 2002

On June 8, 2003, my best friend died.

Promptly, my life broke into two pieces - the life before that day and the life after that day. Honestly, I don't remember what I was like before he died. Probably much more naive and less serious. We all have events in our lives that break us...this is one of mine.

My best friend and former boyfriend's name was Paul McCarthy.  He was such a good man. Paul and I met at NC State in my first days there as an undergraduate.  We crossed paths a few times and finally started dating.  The spark was instant and strong.  For our first real date, we went out to see a meteor shower, and I fell asleep laying in the curve of his arm on the hood of his car. He said he fell in love that night.

Paul helped me to find a home in North Carolina, where I moved for college - far away from family and friends.  He was the heart of that home.  He taught me many wonderful things - how to be more devoted to loved ones, how to be more comfortable with myself, how wonderful the beach and Jimmy Buffett are, how to love all types of music, how to love someone deeply, how to live more fully.  Yes, we did have some ups and downs, but by and large, our two years together were wonderful.

I was moving into womanhood, 20 years old - beginning to learn the power of my body, the might of my intellect and drive, that the world was open to many possibilities.  And yet, I was only 20 - so young, inexperienced, and mostly innocent to how much life's events could hurt you. Paul was 23.

Gator Bowl, January 2003

We were driving back from my friend's house in the Outer Banks.  It had been a fun and lazy weekend.  I was behind the wheel, Paul in the passenger seat, and a friend Matt in the back seat.  The guys were sleeping as I listened to James Taylor and dreamed about the rest of summer with Paul.  The next thing  I remember is lying in a hospital bed, unable to talk.  Confusion, breathing tubes, medicines, writing my thoughts down, panic.  Where was he?  WHERE WAS HE?  If I'm here, he has to be here too, right?

But he wasn't.  I had fallen asleep while driving, the car spinning and flipping into the opposite lanes.  My memory won't let me remember it.  Paul lost his life right there on the side of the road, while I was pinned in the car.  Our friend Matt climbed out to look for help. The other driver we collided with was unhurt. Three survivors and one death. How did we become statistics? I did this. I did this...

The next few months I spent recovering.  My physical recovery was full, but unwelcome. My mental recovery is still occurring.  I can't think about Paul without going straight back to his death and how it happened, how I'm to blame, how many people are grieving from what I did.  I know this is not what he would want.  I know this is not all there is to me.  The pain is great, the loss extreme.  I miss him so.

It has been almost 10 years.  And I don't talk about it.  Most of my friends now don't know about Paul, but why and how would I bring it up?  I  decided to talk about this, as it is part of the story I need to tell.  Surreal but real.  I am a survivor.  I have survivor's guilt.  I lost my best friend and the first love of my life.

Asher Michael Arrives: A Birth Story

Here is my beautiful boy-

And here is his birth story-

After our positive, natural birth experience with Kai, Aaron and I planned to have a similar experience with Asher.  We shopped around a bit between UNC Midwives, Midwives with Women’s Health Alliance (WHA), and the Women’s Birth and Wellness Center.  I thought I would be drawn to the birthing center, but something just didn't feel right about going there after our tour.  I felt at peace when I met and visited with the midwives at WHA and knew that was the right choice for us.  And it was….( I loved them all throughout our prenatal and antenatal care.)

My pregnancy was good, a little rough in the middle.  I started having regular Braxton Hicks contractions around 20 weeks, and I anticipated baby boy coming a little earlier, since everything just felt faster this time.  I also thought to myself towards the end of the pregnancy–“I bet he’ll come at 39 weeks.”  And he did….

My Braxton Hicks increased a few days before I went into active labor. Early labor and Braxton Hicks blended together this time.  On Saturday, Sep 29, I got the feeling active labor was imminent as the contractions became more painful and came more often, but I was still waiting for more signs of later stage of labor.  I had also been having more regular contractions throughout Friday and Saturday night, as I slept off and on.  These contractions were not super intense, and I could still do things around the house while having them.  Nervous about a work project, I stayed up late Saturday working all night and praying labor didn't start until I got to a good stopping place.  And I did…

On Sunday, Sep 30 (the day I reached 39 weeks), I began need to stop work as contractions came, although I was not having to groan or moan through them yet.  I was hesitant to announce “active labor” until I lost the mucus plug, which was that Sunday night around 8:30 pm.   By that point, I started to vocalize the intensity I was feeling.  All contractions were centered in my low front pelvis, just like last birth – menstrual cramps amped up really high. Most laboring was done standing and leaning on a counter, sitting on my knees or on the birthing ball at our home. I emailed my second-time mom friends to start the labor candle tree we planned together (everyone lights a candle for the laboring mom and sends her prayers and good vibes).  I called Metta, a dear friend who was set up to attend our birth, telling her I wasn’t sure how much longer the labor would be but we were having baby boy soon.  And we did…

Meanwhile during the day while labor was going on, we were still trying to get ready for baby boy.  “He’s coming, I know it!”  or “At any point, this is going to kick into high gear!” or “We really need to hurry!” I would be calling to Aaron.  We spent Sunday packing our hospital bag, setting up baby’s bed, cleaning bathrooms and kitchen, setting up the car seat, and I appliqued a onesie for baby boy during the more intense parts (stopping during contractions).  It was quite the last minute show.  Kai got really hyper during all of this, perhaps sensing something important was happening, and he has basically stayed hyper ever since!  We finally put Kai down to bed around 10:30 pm amidst the bustling busyness.

Aaron and I decided to call my parents to pick Kai up around 12:30 am, since things were beginning to pick up.  They drove up to Durham and got sleepy Kai around 1 am. We called Metta again to announce we were going to the hospital within the next 30 minutes.  I decided to go pee before we left.  As I sat down, I felt baby boy move down and the pain intensify significantly.  “We need to go NOW!” I yelled to Aaron.  I got nervous he might come before we could make it to Durham Regional.  For the next hour or so of loading the car, driving, checking in, and waiting to see our midwife once we got the hospital room, I was “fighting” the contractions.  Meaning, I was not trying to open, but to hold him in.   And I did…

I began standing and leaning on the bed, swaying side to side as the contractions continued to amp up.  Metta arrived soon after we did and she was very helpful with her soothing voice and attentiveness.  Aaron was again rock-star-supportive.   I was given a cervical check by a physician there while we waited on the midwife –“ 7 or 8 cm” she said.   “Good, towards the end!” I thought…”Now, where’s my midwife?”  I was asked to lay down on the bed for 20 minutes of fetal monitoring (Why do they make you lay down for that?!), so I laid on my side with my legs in a semi-squat, bearing some weight on my hands.  They also did several blood draws during this time.   Finally the monitoring was done.  “Do you want to move or change positions?” Metta asked.  And I did…

I knew it would hurt worse to be upright, but I also knew it would speed things up.  So, I was helped up to stand on my knees on the bed, leaning into Aaron for each contraction.  It was super intense at this point, with contractions coming about every minute.  As I worked through these with my eyes closed, I pictured n birth art image I drew during the pregnancy – a spiral moving in a circle at the base of my torso, opening me for our baby boy to come into the world.   I kept thinking in between contractions “Why has my water not broken?! This is way too intense to not be at the end.”  I decided to move to the toilet, thinking if I sat down there it would help the baby to move down more and my water to break.  As I sat down, again, everything intensified.  I exclaimed “Ok, I need to be checked again NOW!”  Juleah, my favorite midwife came in, and said I was a 10.  (I’m not sure how long I had been at a 10 at this point) “Can I break your water? It’s right there,“ she said.  I hesitated, with my no-intervention policy.  She broke it anyway and said “Op, It broke on its own”, as she smiled.  As soon as my water broke, I felt a very strong urge to push as baby boy moved down and my body took over.  “Hold on!  Let’s move you back to the bed” she said.  Without knowing how that would happen, Aaron guided my legs and helped me back to the bed.  I climbed onto the bed into a squat, as Aaron and Metta helped bear my weight from under my arms. The next contraction came soon and I pushed.  I felt him move down significantly and the pain was much, much more intense than I remembered from Kai’s birth. It felt like I was splitting in two.  “I can see the head!” someone said. “He has dark hair like Kai did” Aaron exclaimed.  His head came out, wrapped loosely in the cord.  Juleah slipped the cord off his head.  I pushed on the tail end of that contraction again with all my might, thinking “Get him out of me!  It’s too painful!” and he came out.  Just like that.  No tearing this time! We arrived at the hospital around 2 am, and he was born  an hour after we arrived. Asher Michael Towers was 7 lbs 12 oz and 20 inches long, born at 3:04 am on Monday, October 1, 2012.  Just slightly heavier than his older brother, and we ended up laboring at the hospital 15 minutes longer with him – if you can believe that!

The relief was immediate and sweet.  I felt so much better as soon as he was born. He was placed on my chest and Aaron cut the cord. He got an 8 on his APGAR test, although he was not crying much.  He was taken to the newborn holder in the room and the staff tried to rouse him into crying.  Once they felt good about his crying, he was given back to me, and he nursed for 10 minutes.

We were told to watch for his nostrils flaring or his rib cage flexing inward, for breathing difficulties.  We began to notice both and called the nurse.  He was then taken to the nursery for observation; Aaron left with him. Metta stayed with me, talking and giving me an awesome foot massage (Thank you, Metta!).   I felt great, although very shaky.  After an hour or so elapsed, I realized I still hadn’t seen Asher or heard word of him.  We encouraged Metta to go home with many thanks and much appreciation.  By myself now, I got up and started to walk out into the hall to find the nursery, a bit worried at this point.  Once I arrived, I found Asher hooked up to several monitors, which seemed to go off in beeping alarm every few minutes as his oxygenation rate dipped below the set threshold.  It was terrifying.  I was told not to pick him up and not to nurse him.  As our minds reeled at this situation, we thought “time for a blessing.” Aaron gave Asher a priesthood blessing as I also touched him.  Our friends the Leiningers were wonderful in that Tommy was able to come out within the hour and give Asher another blessing with Aaron.  Asher ended up staying in the nursery Monday, after being checked for infections, collapsed lungs, and all sorts of things.  I had to breastpump a few times, but was finally allowed to start breastfeeding him again while he was in the nursery. 

He was finally released to room-in with us Monday night around 6pm, less than 24 hours later.  He caused quite the scare.  I think this was perhaps why I didn’t feel right at the birthing center, and felt more at peace with delivering at the hospital.  We are grateful nothing serious was diagnosed….we were ultimately told he retained some fluid in his lungs, likely because the pushing and birth was so quick he wasn’t adequately squeezed and aided in this process.  

 After all of this came breastfeeding craziness again (maybe another post for this), but I was better prepared and armed with more information and resources.  We have made it work and Asher is gaining well.  I have been feeling really great after this birth and more relaxed.  Asher is now getting a little chubbier and cuter each day.  He has greatly blessed our family already.  We are so appreciative of the support, love, and spiritual strength given to us through our pregnancy, birth, and these sweet days right after his arrival.  Thank you!

Summer Shenanigans

May 

Hiking and Picnic at Lake Crabtree

Hiking at Rock City and Ruby Falls

20 weeks!  Sunset Beach and A's Grad School Retreat.  Notice bump, ignore pasty legs!

Angela E's Wedding in Vicksburg!

June

 

Greg, Dad, and Aaron on Father's Day Scavenger Hunt

Kai's first swim lessons 

Ward beach trip to Wrightsville 

 Ninja 5K Challenge

 Visit to Nana and Papa in SC Mission

July

 July 4 Bulls baseball and fireworks

Lake Johnson Sprayground