Mother’s Day – Cara Martinisi

Blending The Broken Heart

Upon first glance at this paper heart, it probably strikes you as something a child created. The design is simple, colorful and easy to execute. It may inspire thoughts of love, or even childlike wonderment.

This was the work of yours, truly. Clearly, I am not an artist. I created this as part of a personal project I am working on. It has taken some time to surrender to the process, rather than focus on the outcome. The lesson is one that mirrors my daily life.

Art and creativity have been extremely healing for me throughout my journey. The artistic process has proven to be a wonderful tool for self discovery. This project is no exception. The image that you see is not the original image I created. In preparing to illustrate the heart, I had a vision in my head of what the finished product would look like. I imagined a vivid red heart in the center, with magnificent yellow rays emanating out of it. It felt like a design that I should be able to execute. Much like life, it did not turn out the way I expected. This parallels what the creation of our family has been. When my husband and I decided to have children, we just expected that we would be able to watch them grow. It seemed to be a fair expectation, one that is relatively normal. Until it wasn’t.

When life didn’t go as we expected, we were faced with the decision of how to continue breathing. Most days we adapt to life as I adapted the illustration on this paper heart. Working with oil pastels, like the ones I used here, allow the artist to blend and soften as he or she creates, enabling the illustration to take on a different shape without abandoning the original creation completely.

Connected to Christian, in a moment of surrender and inspiration, I was guided to soften the center heart and blend it into Christian’s rays of love. The image began to change. The energy of it shifted. No longer a red heart with yellow rays, but a red heart surrounded by soft orange hues. Once two separate entities, blended back into one.

Closely examining the heart lends itself to further interpretation. The orange is brighter in some spots than others. Christian’s pure rays of love still reach the outer edges of the heart. The beams are both focused and soft. He continues to make his own impact and work through me. The center heart is beautiful but a bit messy, a bit misshapen. Darker clumps of red stray throughout the larger heart. Encasing it all is the color purple in a non linear, raggedy design. Blended in some spots, less diluted in others. It symbolizes me.

Unbeknownst to me at the start of this project, what unfolded at the conclusion, depicted life after child loss. It was created without even realizing the deeper meaning until I reflected on it.

Christian is not able to be seen by human eyes anymore. He is felt by heart, always here, woven into the illustration of my life. He works with me and through me. The childlike quality he blesses my life with makes me smile every day. Somehow he has mastered the ability to continue to pull pranks from Heaven and it is reflected in this piece.

Our beautiful, blended life is messy. The lines blur between the seen and unseen. At the center of it all is heart, full of love and hope, emanating rays of light that are sometimes clear and focused. Other times they are blended and softened. Forever interwoven, forever connected, forever love. Christian is never gone.

Mother’s Day Musings

The instant I received news that I was carrying a child my life changed forever. Almost every decision was made with baby in mind. Our family was set to grow by one. As nervous as I was in every way, I was sure that it would be an amazing change.

Fast forward nine months to the morning of Christian’s birth. It was not planned so I had no idea just how much my life was about to change that night. That morning I was relaxed, stretched out on my couch reading a magazine article about a family with a newborn. It was probably the last uninterrupted magazine article I read!

Christian was born four minutes shy of 6 am. It was indicative of his waking time once out of the womb, actually that was him sleeping in! I can clearly recall the fear that filled my body when they wheeled him into the room and I realized I was his mother. The amount of immediate responsibility that occupied my heart frightened me. How would I take care of this tiny, perfect being? I was unprepared!

He and I would learn about life alongside each other. I analyzed his every move. Was I mothering him right or wrong? How did I know if I was making the right decisions? My mom was there to guide me but ultimately I was his mother!

This was a tortured time in my life. I read as many books as I could and yet I never felt like I knew what I was doing. First off I couldn’t get my son to sleep! Of course, I assumed it was something I was doing. Now I look back and wonder if he knew? Did his little soul know that we had limited time together?

Here I was with the most precious gift in the world. All I wanted was to give him the best. It was so important for me to make all the right decisions. I couldn’t let him down. Now I know all that truly mattered was that he was taken care of and felt loved. I am sure people tried to tell me that at the time but as a neurotic first time mother I couldn’t get past the idea that I was going to “mess him up.”

As much as I wanted to protect this little being, I was unable to. Control was illusive. Fortunately Christian taught me that just in the nature of his personality. He loved to be mischievous and daring, in many ways. He taught me that I had to let him be, otherwise I would crush his spirit. This was a gift he gave to me and to my living children.

All three of my boys have climbed, jumped off of, and attempted many stunts that have made my heart leap into my throat. It is part of who they are. It almost became even more important after losing Christian that they see that they can, and should, take risks. Sometimes they tell me I worry too much and want them to be too careful. Sometimes that is probably true.

Our last Mother’s Day all together. When I look at this picture it speaks the language of love and each one of my boy’s personalities.

Just like with Christian I want to give them the best of me. I still fear “messing them up.” In my heart though, I know that they feel loved in every cell of their being. I will continue to make mistakes. Obviously I cannot control and protect them from everything but I can love them through everything. That includes my mistakes and their mistakes. I hope that all the mothers reading this today give themselves the gift of self love. Love your child as best you can and know in your heart that you are doing the best you can for them. Love never dies. Love to Heaven…

Am I Grieving Wrong?

“It sounds like you are entering the acceptance phase”, my therapist says. “Acceptance doesn’t mean you like it, just that you are beginning to accept the reality that he is gone”. I flinch. Acceptance hadn’t occurred to me.

Am I really there? Isn’t it too soon? I must be a terrible mother. What kind of person loses her son and can accept it?

Oh, hello paradox of truth. We meet again. Every life is filled with joy and pain existing alongside of each other. In my life, joyful moments usher in happiness, smiles and laughter. This NEVER happens without pain. It doesn’t mean I feel the pain at the same time. It just means the shadow of pain is lurking in the darkness. We all live this.

asphalt dark dawn endless — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Grieving a child truly makes us examine the marbling of joy and pain. Early in the grieving journey the felt guilt is immense at the smallest inkling of joy. Feeling a smile on my face caused stabbing emotions of remorse to pierce my heart. The judgmental inner voice would scream, “How can you be smiling? Your son is in Heaven!!”

The first time going to dinner with friends after losing Christian was a night filled with wine, good food and laughter. It felt like a violation as a grieving mother.

The first girls’ weekend away from my living children began with an incident that produced such raucous laughter tears were streaming down my face. How could I feel that much freedom and happiness?

The first belly laugh my husband and I shared around friends felt liberating and constricting all at the same time. Laughing was a part of who I was, and who we were, before we experienced the traumatic cleaver of tragedy. We couldn’t possibly be grieving correctly.

Positive emotions did not feel acceptable for a long time. No one ever verbalized that they thought I was “grieving wrong”, but I imagined that was how some people were looking at me.

adventure calm clouds dawn — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Then the fog of grief lifted just the tiniest bit, and I mean the tiniest bit. When I looked around it seemed the more joy that infiltrated my life, the more signs I was able to recognize from Christian. Those who know us best and love us most seemed to take tiny breaths of relief. No one ever questioned whether we were still broken, that was a given. It just brought them joy to see us experience slivers of happiness.

Anne Lamott, author of Almost Everything: Notes on Hope, says, “But all truth really is a paradox, and this turns out to be a reason for hope. If you arrive at a place in life that is miserable, it will change, and something else about it will also be true.” The truth is I did lose my son and it continues to be the worst pain I have ever felt, but that intense pain did not last forever. Residual pain remains and sometimes the intense pain returns, inhabiting my heart and body. It never lasts forever. Grieving parents can only learn this truth over time.

Each time the intense pain returns and recedes, it grows hope. It is this hope that helps us to move through our lives until we see our children again. Hope is alive and tangible. In my life I have found hope through my children, husband, family (especially my nieces), friends, life lessons, signs from my angel, meetings with people I know he put on my path and many other things. Hope is not always there, but it is ever present.

Trusting in hope helps me to move forward. In the beginning I frequently asked “Why did this happen?” That is an answer I’m not sure I will ever have. Time and experience has taught me that this question robs me of my hope. Lamott says, “‘Why?” is rarely a useful question in the hope business.” I agree with her on this. It won’t bring Christian back. It will only bring on self judgment.

art artistic black and white blank — Photo by Lynnelle Richardson on Pexels.com

Reflecting on acceptance after my therapist used this word in our session has been enlightening for me. Though I have not made peace with it yet, I can understand that my way of acceptance includes an and. I accept that Christian is no longer a living, breathing being and I don’t like it. On any given day the words that follow the and in the sentence may change. As I am writing today it changes to, “I am angry about it”.

Acceptance is walking in the footsteps of hope. As much I want to, I cannot go back and change the past. If I fight the present, or the movement toward acceptance, it threatens my connection to Christian. Living in the “why?” and “should have been” mindsets only make room for pain. So for now I will continue to grieve as I do. Sometimes this will include questioning my ability to do it correctly. When fear of being healed of my grief surfaces I am always made humble by my tears. Moving toward acceptance is just another recognition of joy existing alongside pain. Love to Heaven…

What “Grieving Mom Brain” Has Taught Me

We have all heard about “Mom Brain”, the condition that occurs when a woman is pregnant and continues while she is raising her children. I, myself, had Mom Brain pretty bad during pregnancy. One day my best friend arrived at my house to find me sitting calmly on the couch, while my car door was wide open in my driveway. Just one of my many examples.

“Grieving Mom Brain” is just as bad! When I first lost my son, it set in and remained for some time. As I began practicing daily stress relieving routines, I found the condition improved. Just like millions of other moms, grieving or not, I don’t always sleep well. It is on the day after a poor night’s sleep that Grieving Mom Brain returns. Thinking and concentrating is extremely difficult. If I have something I am particularly worried or stressed about, Grieving Mom Brain sets in.

So, if you ever see me staring at you with a blank look on my face, it is likely I am lost inside my own brain. We all make jokes and laugh about this, but it can sometimes be frightening to feel your brain shutting down. It is only further proves to me how damaging stress can be! For this reason and many others, I practice self care on a daily basis. As Mother’s Day approaches, I urge all moms to examine their own self care routines. If you don’t have one in place, start small. Maybe take 15 minutes a day to do something that feeds your soul; take a walk, read, call a friend, journal, etc. You won’t regret it! Love to heaven…