Happy Heavenly Birthday, Mom

I still find it interesting that we went from celebrating your birthday by "surprising" you with cake and sitting around our kitchen table to instead going to the cemetery and making sure that I bring no Christmas related flowers for you on this day because it was a pet peeve of yours to mix your birthday and Christmas.

I came across a VHS tape of your birthday from about 1988 where our family was gathered around the living room while we watched you open presents and making your comedic jokes in between.  I smile thinking of how funny you were.  As you opened gifts from Billy and I, which consisted of new pots and pans, skillets, and the like, you commented that your family must be telling you something...to cook for them!  The family chuckled but I know you prided yourself in cooking for us all the time.  It was the Italian thing to do.  I pride myself too.  You'd laugh at the Christmas Eve menu I have planned this year.  Baked ziti, calamari, salads, breads, shrimp and an attempt on a gingerbread cake with cream cheese frosting.  "That's not enough food, Maria"  you would probably tell me.  

You also made certain that after each birthday to state your age with pride.  "I'm 60 years old, Maria.  I wasn't born yesterday."  It was the last age you got to state.  Gone too soon, for sure.  A month away from reminding me that you were 61.  

I'm sitting here, at the cemetery right now with Teresa and Lena.  We are trying to keep warm and their snacks are all over their faces.  Despite all the great memories I have with you, I still think about what could have been if you were here.  How much you would love the girls with or without snack on their faces.  The planning to get together today to celebrate with you and sing Happy Birthday.  Your grandchildren would rush up to you upon getting through the door and bombard you with hugs and kisses.  You'd have a sauce cooking, and I'm sure you'd been sneaking yummy treats to all the girls.  We would enjoy an early dinner and "surprise" you with a cake and Teresa would give you a card she made herself.  It would have been a wonderful day indeed.

It is okay, though.  The girls are getting to know you through me.  My stories, our old home videos, and the traditions I've carried with me.  I just wish you could be here to blow out your candles today.  Happy heavenly birthday, Mom.  

October 16, 2010

18th Annual Walk to Remember

Saturday, November 17, 2007

“Maria, are you ready?” Who could ever be ready for this? I sigh and drink the last of my Lord-knows-how-many-this-is-now-coffee. My head was so swollen. The air conditioning in the waiting room had turned my fingers to just the right amount of cold where if I were to hit them on the chair, the pain would be inexplicable.

We all made the last walk to her ICU room. I walked past the staff break room which had that heart wrenching poster that explained what to look for in immediate death.

Could this all really be happening?

We got closer to the room and I’m greeted by the familiar sound of the exhausted breathing machine and heart monitor. I started to float away to a time when this wasn’t the reality in my life. A time when I was happy and pregnant and my mother was excited to be a grandmother for the first time. And then I’m interrupted by none other than myself clearing my throat, holding back the tears. “Hi Mom.We’re all here.” Each of her four children grabbed a part of her hands. My father stood by her side, just as he always did. My mother’s last tear rolled hesitantly down her cheek.

That smell of a sterile environment continued to bloat my head. I got up and leaned right into my mother’s left ear, “Mommy, I am so proud of you. Don’t worry about the family.I will take care of them. Dio la benedice.” The doctor who had been trying not to watch this entire time walked in to the machine, looked at my father; who nodded at her, and she turned down the medicine. Mom’s heart went from 80, 20, 120, 4, gone. I let out a scream I thought I abandoned when I was a toddler. Right then and there I became not only a mother without a child but a child without a mother.  My mother died.

*The following was my mother's obituary*

Dio la Benedice, Mom

Amelia MacDonald, 60, of Gilbert AZ passed away on November 17, 2007 surrounded by her loving family. She is survived by her husband, William John MacDonald and her four children, William MacDonald Jr. and his wife Ashlee, Maria Hanson and her husband Adam, Rebecca MacDonald and Michael MacDonald, her sister Angela Eager of Connecticut, niece Laura Newman, and nephews Joseph Altman and Daniel Rouleau, also from Connecticut, and several cousins and aunts from New York.
Amelia was born on December 22, 1946 in Potenza, Italy to the late Attilio and Teresa Saltarelli. She moved to the United States in October 1954 and grew up in Brooklyn, New York where she attended Eastern District High School. She moved to Bridgeport, Connecticut in 1977 and attended Sacred Heart University in Fairfield, CT, earning her Associates Degree in Accounting. In 1979 she met her husband William and married in 1981. Shortly after, they moved to Huntington, CT where they began their family, and moved to Gilbert, AZ in 1997.

Known to her friends as Amy, she was actively involved in and dedicated to all of her children’s activities, and followed their pursuits with passion. She was the principal of religious education for St. Lawrence Church in Huntington, CT for several years, and was active in the Hamilton High Band Booster and Shumway Elementary School PTO. She loved to knit and crochet afghans, doilies, and crafts for her children. She cherished Italian family traditions, cooking her “mean” sauce every Sunday, and maintained Italian customs for herself and her family.

She was a strong believer in family, education, the Catholic religion and standing up for what you believe in, even if you’re standing alone. She follows her first grandchild, Aryn Hanson into heaven who pre-deceased her on November 7, 2007. An inspiration to her children and pillar to her family, she will be remembered and missed dearly.

A memorial service and viewing will be held on Friday, November 23, from 6-9pm at Allen Funeral Home, 1130 S. Horne, Mesa. The funeral service will be held on Saturday, 11am November 24, at St. Anne Catholic Church, 440 E. Elliot Road, Gilbert. Interment will follow the service at Queen of Heaven cemetery, 1500 E. Baseline Road, Mesa.

I need to take a moment to pause...

My purpose for this blog has many reasons.  To have all that I've written about 2007 collected in one spot...to give others out there a story to see how life can continue after death...to work through some more healing that is left to be done on me...but then I remember the last reason.  I called this blog, "Walk With Me".  I was and am still in awe at how quickly things changed in my life.  I wanted those that knew me then but couldn't quite get the full story of what was happening because I was still trying to figure out what was happening to finally see what my family endured.  I wanted those of you that either met met after 2007 or have never met me at all to hear my story because it is my story and makes me who I am today.  I wanted those of you who read this to take a step in time and see how sometimes, life is a train that keeps going; not allowing you to take the time needed to adjust to a new situation.  I wanted this ability to pause what was happening in my life so I could take it all in, delay the inevitable, and make the right choices where needed.  I didn't get that pause 8 years ago.  

I have another post that was complete and supposed to be posted for today.  But as I clicked on "On This Day" on my Facebook, I was taken aback by how quickly things can change in a year:

9 years ago I was giddy and eagerly counting down the days until my wedding, and a year later my world was upside-down.  So I need to take this moment and pause.  I need to take this all in.  Because I fear if I post my original post first without saying what else I need to say, I let time win again and I can't let that happen again.  I will post this other post later today when I am ready.  

So let's all take a moment to pause on this flashback journey.  I want to write about different times.  Those of you who knew my mother prior would appreciate that and those of you who never met her can hear the wonderful and funny things about my mother that made her my inspiration.

My mother was amazing.  She was from Italy; and she beamed with Italian pride.  As a child, I remember listening to her, my aunt and my grandmother speak to each other in Italian.  I would never know what was being said (minus the swear words!) but it was just so normal for me to hear during times spent with family.  Gathering together meant eating pasta and sitting on furniture that was wrapped in plastic.  This was our normal.  While everyone was having just turkey and stuffing for Thanksgiving, we were having all that AND manicotti and sausage and peppers and meatballs.  The same went for Christmas and Easter.  Sure, there were only 6 of us in our celebrations when we first moved to Arizona in 1997, but Mom cooked it all anyway.  We would eat leftovers for what seemed like an eternity after.  But I never grew tired of it.  It was Mom's manicotti and it was delicious.  This was our normal. 

My mother loved decorating for the holidays.  I think that's why I love it now as an adult.  She had boxes upon boxes of crocheted items, little figurines, her huge manger set (because...Italian, ya know?), and what seemed like EVERY SINGLE CRAFT we as kids brought home from school with our  hand prints on it or the crazy amount of crafted ornaments for the tree.  It took FOREVER to decorate.  Because we couldn't have a single Christmas without the red bells that would hang on the stairs and chime "jingle bells".

And every year on Thanksgiving, our alarm clock was the smell of meatballs being cooked and my mother excitingly yelling up to us, "OOhh look the parade is on!!"  We would get down quickly, as to "help" Mom taste-test the fresh meatballs and watch the rest of the parade.  Even one year, we all took a train from Connecticut to New York and watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in person.  It was a wonderful memory.  I think that's why I now get excited about the parade all the way here in Arizona.  Its like my mom is joining my little family for the holidays now.  

  

 My mother, above all things, loved being a mother most.  I look back and see how she was so devoted to all of her kids.  I aspire to be like that.  Yes, I see my "mother" coming out when I guilt trip-erhm- I mean deal with my own kids.  I don't mind it at all.

In 2006, I was preparing for my wedding.  I wore my mother's wedding dress.  I tried my best to incorporate Italian themes into our wedding.  Candy covered almonds and party favors, playing Italian-American music during the reception, and having the full Catholic mass.  My mother and my sister threw me an amazing bridal shower.  There was so much food, but this was our normal.   Think "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", but Italian.  

My mom loved country things.  There were rooster and pig figurines all over her house.  And clowns.  She loved clowns.  And I think that's why I enjoy having some of her figurines in my house.  To bring me back to the years before.  To the times where we were just a family with an Italian mother who gagged at the sight of ketchup and would lovingly say that wooden spoons made good sauces and good kids.  I make a sauce now every Sunday just like she did.  This was our normal.  And with all this, my children are getting a chance to know my mom.  

November 15, 2007

It was a hectic day. Adam and I didn’t waste any time going to the ICU to visit Mom. Just a quick shower, a stop at a gas station for coffee, and we were on our way. Without looking at me, Adam asks, “Did you call the church for the funeral for Aryn?” I hadn’t. I look at him, sigh, and flip open my Motorola Razor. “Hi, this is Maria Hanson and I needed to talk to someone about the music for my baby Aryn’s funeral on Wednesday. If you could call me back that’d be great.”

We’re in the parking lot now, greeting our family that traveled from Connecticut to visit Mom. As we walk towards the entrance of the hospital, my phone rings with an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Hi Maria, this is Aaron. I wanted to call and let you know I’ll be doing the music for the funeral tomorrow. Once I saw it was for you, I didn’t even hesitate.”

“Oh, hi! Thanks so much for doing this!” Aaron was the musician that not only did my wedding earlier that January, but also my brother’s wedding that June. I stepped into the elevator. We spent the remainder of the phone call discussing songs that I would want played.

“No problem," Aaron replied, "And I want you to know that you are in my prayers.” I smile and I close my phone and look at my husband.

“Aaron will be doing the music for the funeral.” He looks back at me, raises an eyebrow and clearly states, “Well that’ll be a trick.”

I shoot back, “No I mean Aaron! Not our Aryn!” Adam smiles. And I laughed with my husband.

Adam and I had just returned to the hospital after going to the funeral home to pick up Aryn once we received a phone call saying his cremation was complete. I was greeted by the somber faces of my family in the familiar waiting room. There weren’t any changes, and Mom was still just as sedated as before. She was a lifeless body with tubes and monitors all over her to indicate otherwise.

Adam and my aching body got out of the chair and walked down the hall with the velvet box in hand. I picked up the ICU phone and the nurse answered. I muttered…something…and the doors opened. We walked to Mom’s room. Mom’s favorite show, House was playing in the background on the TV. I looked down at her hand which has swollen to more than twice its normal size by now. How can this be happening to her? Her long fingernails that had once had the frosty white nail polish I had painted only a week before are bare. The nurse mentioned that they removed it to gage the modeling in her hands.

“Mommy, we brought Aryn in the urn we had picked out last week. It’s pretty and blue with the doves.” I touched her cold hand and turned it around and placed my son’s salt shaker sized urn in her palm. She began to squeeze and her thumb began exploring the intricate grooves on her grandchild that no one had met.

By this time, my sister and brothers joined us in the room. My mother’s face began to express. As we talked and soothed her, we were caught off guard by her beautiful brown eyes opening for the first time in 3 days. My older brother, Billy, took a breath and so purely proclaimed, “There you are, Mom. You’re eyes look so pretty.”

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. As I pulled away, there were beeps and flashing lights on her monitors. As we’re all freaking out, Billy sees the problem. One of her breathing tube connections was disconnected. He quickly sprung into action and put everything back together. Oh my God! I pulled apart her breathing tube! Mom always said I’d be the death of her! We laughed, I apologized, and we moved on.

The next day was Aryn’s funeral. We had priest that had never met any of us before that day. I felt it was distant, or routine. Until half way through, when he made mention of family and turn to me. He started speaking in Italian. My eyes welled up. “Tua madre (Your mother),” he said. I nodded. 

My mother never taught me her Italian language growing up, but for some reason, I felt so connected with what the priest was saying.

He said a prayer for my sick mother in Italian and I never felt so vulnerable.

The next few days had their ups and downs. My mother opened her eyes a few times, and I connected with my out-of-town family once again. The doctors explained how things had been turning for the worse. That Mom was basically drowning in her own body from the pneumonia. By Saturday morning, we knew what we had to do.

November 12, 2007

I woke up from the obnoxious ring tone of my husband’s cell phone at 4 am early Monday morning, November 12^th. I pushed Adam and he grudgingly got out of bed and stumbled to his phone. He was muttering. The phone call only took about a minute. My brain was on this disillusioned high of melatonin in my body. Half awake…half asleep. Adam closed his phone and took in a huge breath.

“Your mom is not doing well and there is an ambulance at the house that will take her to the hospital.”

Without knowing how I got there, I was standing next to my bed looking at the blurred image of my husband.Finding my glasses was not top priority at the time.

“What do you mean, not doing well?”

At this point, I heard the ambulance siren getting farther away. It’s times like these that you regret you and your husband living only 2 minutes from your parents.

“Oh my God! That’s the ambulance taking Mommy away! I can’t do this! That’s my mommy! Where's Rebecca and Michael?”

“At home.”

“Well, we gotta go there!”

We arrived at my parent’s house, reluctantly greeted by my younger brother and sister. It was at this moment I realized Adam and I are in our pajamas still. My hair is in the sloppiest of pony tails. I wiped a crust from my eye and I asked them what happened. Rebecca starts explaining.

“Dad went to check on Mom a little bit ago. She was really gargling in her sleep. Daddy called the ambulance and told Mom she was going to the hospital.”

“What did Mom say?”

“She said, ‘Okay, Sweetie, where are my glasses?’”

I decided that the hospital is where we should all be.We piled into my Hyundai and drove the ten agonizing minutes to the hospital.

Hours go by. As the morning horizon is covered in sunlight, my head begins to feel dizzy. The doctor finally allowed us to see our mother. As we opened the cold curtain I tell myself that Michael and Rebecca needed me to be strong and I walked in.

I couldn’t believe it. There she was, connected to tubes and monitors, and still it didn’t feel like her. At that point, I couldn’t feel my legs and I collapsed into a chair.

They explained that she had gotten pneumonia in her good lung and was going on a breathing machine. They were going to move her up to the ICU. Suddenly, this became our norm in our family.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

*The following was written after returning home from the hospital after delivering Aryn*

Maria Hanson

November 7, 2007 at 5:10pm · 

is delivered Aryn J. Hanson today at 10:08

Aryn J Hanson

These last 3 days have felt like a blur. Probably due to everything emotionally, and the medicine. It was a lot of work. First, we used citosin to get me to get contractions. By evening of the 2nd night, I started getting little ones. Around 1am today I was switched to a more aggressive medicine. I contacted for the next 9 hours. At 10:08, I delivered Aryn. 9 1/2 inches tall 290 grams. So beautiful. 10 fingers, 10 toes. Aryn had Adam's lips. The hospital was wonderful. They were very caring, and thoughtful, and went out of their way to make me and my family comfortable. They put this picture of the leaf and tear drop on my door so all doctors and nurses knew what was going on. Our parents contacted the Queen of Heaven mortuary for us.

Delivering Aryn was so hard. I chose to not do an epidural, (I have this horrible fear of needles anywhere near my spine) and used other medications to ease the pain. My body hurts all over, and to top it off, my heart aches. I begged to be released that day. I did not want to stay where other moms were enjoying the delivery of their babies. Maybe I was jealous, or angry, or just too sad. Either way, I'm glad to be home.

"The distance between joy and sorrow can be measured by a heartbeat."

*Celebrating Aryn's Second Birthday*

Saturday, November 7, 2009

*Celebrating Aryn's Third Birthday*

Maria Hanson

November 7, 2010 at 9:10am · 

3 years ago today at 10:08 am, I delivered Aryn J Hanson only to have a chance to say goodbye forever to him. Happy Heavenly Birthday, Aryn. Mommy misses you. "You never know how much strength you have until strength is all you have left."

Maria Hanson

November 7, 2010 at 8:16pm · 

Had a wonderful evening with my in-laws. Enjoyed pulled pork and ended the night singing Happy Birthday to Aryn and eating cake! I can't believe it's been 3 years already. And now Aryn has a sister to watch over. I love my family.

*Celebrating Aryn's Fourth Birthday*

Maria Hanson

November 7, 2011 · 

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Aryn. Four years ago, you were with us for but a moment, but now you're in our hearts forever. You have a little sister now, can you believe it?! I will always remember the brief time God gave us with you and be thankful for that. Until we meet again...~Mommy.

*Celebrating Aryn's Fifth Birthday*

Maria Hanson

November 7, 2012 · 

Well, today at 10:08am 5 years ago, I was able to meet my dear child face to face for the first and only time. Aryn has made my life so special because I now know how precious life really is and to love the ones you are with. Being 20 weeks through my pregnancy it just wasn't enough time with him. Happy heavenly birthday, Aryn. You are always loved and remembered.

Celebrating Aryn's Sixth Birthday*

Maria Hanson

November 7, 2013 at 8:41am · 

Happy Heavenly birthday, Aryn!

*Celebrating Aryn's Seventh Birthday*

Maria Hanson with Adam Hanson

November 7, 2014 · 

"My body hurts all over, and to top it off, my heart aches. I begged to be released that day. I did not want to stay where other moms were enjoying the delivery of their babies. Maybe I was jealous, or angry, or just too sad. Either way, I'm glad to be home."

7 years ago today I was doing the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I was saying goodbye to my first child. In a hospital room where it took 3 days to induce him. In that instant at 10:08 in the morning, I became a mother without a child. It wouldn't be for another 3 years that I would be blessed and terrified to be pregnant again. I woke up this morning and sang "Happy Birthday" to Aryn in my mind. I sat up in bed and remembered a few things...
-It was confirmed that Aryn had passed away on Friday 11/2, and sadly the hospital was booked until Monday 11/5 for me to go in. That was the longest weekend I've had to endure.
-Aryn had Adam's lips
-Aryn looked perfect. 10 fingers, 10 toes...so tiny
-The first nurse....a special "bereavement" nurse, you know, someone trained to deal with this sort of thing...introduced herself by hugging me (um, no) and proceeded to complain about how naughty her 3-year-old was and how she wanted to spank her. (Ya, lady, I would trade places with you right now in a heart beat) . Needless to say after that and the umpteenth time of her hugging me, she was replaced thankfully...
-They have small donated clothes for the babies in the hospital for this sort of thing, and I to this day still have them.
-This sort of thing is not written in the What to Expect books. I mean, yes, there is a section in the end briefly addressing it...but nothing about what I SHOULD expect when I got to the hospital that day.
-At Mercy Gilbert, they had people calling several weeks later apparently to follow up on everyone's stays at the hospital. What the person called me failed to do was actually see why I was there. Because it was the most heart-wrenching thing to hear her ask, "And how are you and the little one doing?" To which my reply was, "Well, I'm getting better, but you better look at your file because my baby was a stillborn."
-I said it 7 years ago, and I still stand firm on this. When you get into a part of your life where there is devastation all around you, where the doctors are telling you what will happen, even when at times...when you feel like everything....every innocent thing that you know to be true is ripped from you, you have to find a way, ANY way to grieve. For us, we chose to laugh. We made morbid jokes. We made "too-soon" jokes. They doctors will tell you what the numbers mean, when the inevitable is. But they can't tell you how to grieve. And by laughing, that gave us control over the situation again. It made me who I am today. It is that special thing about mine and Adam's relationship. So in a sense, perhaps Aryn gave us that gift before we had to say goodbye.

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Aryn. Mommy loves you.

Looking back on all these posts I've made over the last 8 years on this day is remarkable.  You have to really hand it social media and this push to "share memories".  I am seeing it.  The growth.  It might be subtle, but it is truly there.  

Upon returning home from the hospital, there was quite a bit to be done.  We had to plan a funeral for Aryn.  We had to decide on so many things.  At 22 years old, this was completely out of my league.  Thumbing through the funeral home's catalog along with my husband and my mother, we came upon the perfect urn.  A royal blue color, which seemed so strong only to break through with gorgeous doves in flight.  The urn, in the catalog, was called, "Coming Home".  Yes.  Aryn was in fact not with me but with our Lord.  And I found peace in that.  With my grandmothers and other family that had already passed away, he was safe with them until I got there.  This urn would do just fine.