Billy Joel

This day started out uneventful. I mean, if you take out the fact that my mother was in the hospital after just being diagnosed with cancer. It was October, and my head never swirled so much. Everything I depended on at that point became fragile. Everything I knew to be true became gray. Adam and I both didn’t work that morning so we both went to the hospital to visit mom. She was there but she wasn’t there. A very different version of my mother.

She was watching “You’re Life, AtoZ” or something like that. They were holding a contest that day. Call in and be the 3rd caller and get tickets to the Billy Joel musical, Movin Out. Cooli,  I thought to myself, if I win Mom would love to go.

I grabbed the phone and with no luck hurling my way in that particular time of year I heard on the other line, “Congratulations, you’re the third caller.” Um what...that isn’t supposed to happen. But there you have it. I won the contest. I took a chance and I was the lucky caller.

I gave them my details, I picked up the tickets. I planned for my mom and I to go together, to enjoy this show. God had different plans.

“I am just too tired, Ria,” my mother said to me the night of the show. I knew my stubborn mom. She was not going. There was no amount of coaxing I could do to get her to come.

So I did the thing I knew to do. I phoned a friend.  A friend whom I met in college and was a great sounding board for me. A friend who showed up without reservation and kept me sane that night.

Driving into Phoenix I was anxious. I hate driving in Phoenix. Too many one-way roads. Too many possibilities for car accidents. Marissa and I pulled in and realized almost too late we were on the wrong side of town. I stood in the middle of Phoenix with Marissa sobbing, “We missed it...its like the omen of my mom’s cancer. We didn’t make it to the show and I don’t see her making it out too.

Amazing to think that friends that I made at ASU defined me. Shaped me. Enabled me to grow.

Again, I never took the time to tell you all what it meant to me. So I am saying it now. Thank you. Thank you for showing me how adult friends behave. Thank you for unapologetically being there for me. It was innate for you. It was pure. I hope to someday return the favor. I hope that I can be there for you all in your darkest times. Before this, all of us had happy times. Dancing at school, enjoying each other's company. We grew together because of the real life happening in front of us. I am who I am because of you. Aaron, Cerrin, Marissa and Rachel. It is you all who showed me compassion as an adult. Again, I say, thank you. My dance family.

As the night went on, we found the theater. Marissa and I enjoyed a memorable presentation of  Moving Out. I clapped, I sobbed and I was transformed into a place where Mom wasn't sick and I was happy again. Theater did its due diligence. It floated me away from my reality.

October 16, 2010

18th Annual Walk to Remember

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.

November 5, 2007

I checked into the hospital on Monday, and got settled in my room. I had an amazing support system of friends and family, flowers and cards.  One in particular, which has always stuck out to me, was a card that stated, "When life hands you lemons, you should make lemonade.  But if life hands you a load of crap, well, don't make anything."  I smiled.  And laughed.  And the laughing, it felt good.  

"I smiled.  And laughed.  And the laughing, it felt good."

Much to my surprise, as I obviously had no expertise in this area, it was taking longer than just a day. All our family visited throughout the next two days. I pushed my mother around the maternity ward in the hospital’s wheelchair to try to get some contractions. (They knew she had cancer and was a fall risk, so they made her use a wheel chair).

We dealt with a lot of ups and downs during my stay at the hospital.  The hospital was very generous with visiting friends and family considering the situation.  They offered tea at noon which my family and in-laws seems to enjoy.  However, our first nurse, which was supposed to be a special "bereavement" nurse was something else.  From the constant hugging to the complaining of her own child to me, I was relieved when she was no longer my nurse soon after arriving.

The first night, the nurses insisted I take an Ambien, which is a pill that would help me sleep. I hesitantly agreed. Now, with this medication, it made me a little… different. Through my vague memory and my family’s experience from that night, the Ambien made me very silly. After winning a hand of the card game 500 (a 10-no trump bid, mind you), I sang the theme song to the musical Oklahoma! and passed out.

On Tuesday night, my OB/GYN switched me to a much stronger medication to induce labor. The side effects, which are flu-like symptoms, were so horrendous that I didn’t sleep all night. There were chills, a fever, throwing up, instant diarrhea, and the confusion.

Wednesday morning I felt the need to push. Right away everything fell in place. My OB/GYN was already at the hospital, visiting another woman. My mother and mother-in-law were both at my side. And my husband, I felt his strength in him holding my hand the entire time.

Right there I got a speed course on delivery.  Ignorant me didn't think to prepare for this and at the time in my pregnancy it was too early to take classes for it.  My mother, mother-in-law, nurse and doctor gave me advice right there as it was time. "You need to bear down and push"  "Don't forget to breathe!"  "Sit up more."  "You can do it!"  And then my doctor said, "The baby is breech."

In a pit of fatigue, depression and inability to actually comprehend what was happening, I lashed out, "I can't!  I can't push anymore!  I wanna give up!"  What is the point?  I thought to myself.  Its not like this is going to be a miraculous birth or anything.  Adam demanded I look into his eyes and concentrate.  And with that, my husband, my best friend, my everything was exactly what I needed to pull it together and deliver our child.  

In a room that would normally be filled with baby cries and well wishes, there was silence.  There was slight sobbing.  And there was heavy hearts.  And then the priest entered.  For us it was important that our baby be baptized.  

"What is the baby's name?"  The priest asked.  We had chosen names for our baby before all this was happening.  Teresa, if it was a girl; and Marshall, if it was a boy.  Sadly, with the lack of development happening because of all the issues, we couldn't tell one way or the other.  "How about a name that works for a boy and a girl?"  Someone mentioned.  And then my mother-in-law shared that she was considering naming one of her kids Aaron or Erin.  And it seemed perfect.  The only issue was how to spell it.  And it seemed only so perfect to spell it; A-R-Y-N.  

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

*The following was what I wrote on this date in my other blog*

Today is the first day back to classes since learning my news. I've talked to all my teachers, they are all aware. However, the first thing the people that know me in class ask, "How's Baby doing?" and its going to hurt so bad to tell them, "Well, actually..."

Its going to be the longest 6 hours of my life.

I've stopped paying attention to feeling for movement. Not that I've lost faith, but I've talked to my baby. I told him its OK to let go. Adam and I think that he was still holding on as long as he did just so Adam and I can learn what was happening.

I went to my OB yesterday to drop off Adam's FMLA paperwork. I sooo wanted them to check the heartbeat right then and there. But they didn't check. So now I still wait until Friday...the longest week ever

Irony

Went to my PGS 222 class today. We got to see a video. Guess what it was about. Childbirth. Fantastic. All my classmates were so disgusted. I wanted to yell at them. I wanted to shout, "At least these women are able to take their babies home, feed them, change them!" I know they did not mean harm, but damn that's ironic..

Monday, October 29, 2007

*The following was what I wrote on this date in my other blog, it was my first chance to write down what was happening*

Back in July of this year, I had a funny feeling. Not a physical one. But one of those "intuitions" your mother gets when you're up to something. The next day, I took a pregnancy test, and found it to be positive. One of the best surprises of my life, hands down. Giddy with excitement, I waited for Adam to come home to share with him the news. He, also, was surprised, but was happy. That night I left a message for my OB/GYN to schedule an appointment to confirm the pregnancy. I couldn't wait.

The next day I went in, and of course, I was indeed pregnant! My due date was set at March 19, 2008. I thought to myself, how funny, its my brother's birthday.

The first trimester went on smoothly. I shared my news with everyone I knew, and even people I didn't know. Each week I'd read about what was developing with my baby. His ears, his fingernails, his sucking reflex. I decided to be surprised about the sex, so we just say he for wishful thinking. Every day someone asked me how the pregnancy is going, and I would tell them how great it is.

Upon entering my 19th week, I went to the lab to get my blood testing done. A few days later, I received a call from my OB. I couldn't quite remember the exact details, something about low AFP and possible risk for Down Syndrome. He recommended a Level 2 ultrasound. I was reassured by many mothers that they too had low AFPs so not to worry. relieved, I went to my ultrasound the next day with Adam.

As soon at the technician turned on the screen, her smile faded. "This isn't good." she says. She noticed issues.  As she's apologizing over and over (its not like it was her fault), I lay on the chair, squeezing Adam's hand and watching him brush away a tear.

When the doctor came in, he explained that because the issues, that there is virtually no Amniotic Fluid around the baby. He mentioned fluid build up around organs, which suggests heart failure.

This was totally unexpected. I was ready to have a child with special needs, but I was not ready to let go of my child so soon. Before I could hear them cry, laugh, look at me. A lot of people tell me that at least its happening before I give birth, and I can't really compare, because this is my first, but all you moms out there will agree, there is a special bonding that happens as soon as you know there is a special people growing inside of you. I would think that this is just as painful. Parents should never have to say goodbye to their children this way.

Our choice is to let the heartbeat stop on its own. We will listen for it every Friday. After that, I will be induced and deliver.

This is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done. Usually, after you deliver, you get to take your child home to their nursery, and watch them grow. And I can't.

This blog is meant for my therapy, and for all who are supportive to get a chance to be a part of this process of healing. I know we all were looking forward to this special child's big debut, and I know it hurts you all to have to hear this too.

Today is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Everyone is invited to light a candle on October 15th at 7pm in ALL Time Zones, ALL over the world.

If everyone lights a candle at 7pm and keeps it burning for at least one hour, there will be a continuous WAVE OF LIGHT over the entire world on October 15th, Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

17th Annual Walk to Remember in Mesa, AZ

October 19, 2007

Life as I knew it became a shit storm.  And then my OB/GYN called about a week after my mother's diagnosis in regards to my recent blood work I just had done. Even then, I knew there was something wrong. He explained to me on the phone that my AFP level was low, and they couldn’t rule out Trisomy 21 in my baby. He suggested a Level 2 ultra sound. The next day, his nurse from the office called me and said that if I was available, they had an appointment for me at a genetics office that day. I confirmed and Adam and I drove into Tempe.

After an intense interview with the geneticist, I was still a little unsure of what to expect at the ultrasound. I climbed into the lonely chair, laid back, and exposed my stomach. The technician asked us the typical protocol questions and we answered. No, we didn’t want to know the sex of the baby, yes we brought a blank DVD to record the ultrasound.

She squirted the gel on my stomach and it is magically transformed into the gateway that connected us to our baby. I looked into the tell-all monitor. Why wasn’t he moving? The technician’s smile escaped her face. “I can’t see a bladder or kidney…” After carrying this baby for 20 weeks, my mother’s intuition kicked in. I knew there wasn’t a happy ending for this.

"They must be drawing straws to see who has to give us the bad news," Adam nervously joked.

She grabbed the tissue box and handed it off to me as if to give me a hug in some other way. She emotionally excused herself, and shut the door. All I could do was hold Adam’s hand and tried to burn a hole through the stubborn door with my eyes as to see through it. "They must be drawing straws to see who has to give us the bad news," Adam nervously joked.  

The doctor, who had such a serious face, walked in and explained why my baby was going to die. There was indication of Trisomy 21 and Trisomy 18 and fluid building up around our baby's heart.  I couldn’t even look at the doctor. Instead, I was distracted by the sink. There was nothing special about the sink. It was just there in the corner, like an eraser for these doctors and technicians to wash away all the pain they had bestowed upon me. But this sink, for a minute, kept me from looking at my husband and crying. He finished and it was final. My baby would die of a heart attack…and soon.

Driving home from the ultrasound was a hectic ride.  We were busy calling our parents, our bosses; anyone that we felt needed to know that our little baby would not be one of this world. Adam asked me where I want to go, and I can only think of one place. Mom and Dad’s.

My heart was beating in the pit of my stomach as we pulled up to the place my parents called home for the last ten years. Before we even put the car in park I looked towards the door and my frail, cancer ridden mother briskly stepped out towards her eldest daughter. Only 5’2’’, like me, she had seemed to have lost a little weight from the chemo.

This proud, petite Italian woman had let her guard down for me.

Her feet were in the old flip flops she’s worn a bit too long, scooting along the concrete as she tried to keep them on. Her arms, as soft as my bed’s bamboo sheets, were extended out awaiting my body’s arrival to sooth me into comfort. And then there was her face; oh my God, her face.With the gold hoop earrings she’d worn since I remembered.  And that scar on her face that she still refused to tell me how she got. As I approached her, I looked into those big bifocals which made her sad eyes and tears look even more depressed. This proud, petite Italian woman had let her guard down for me. She pulled me quickly into the house and grabbed a statue of Mary from the kitchen table. “She says it’s okay, you’ll have more later on.” And even though Mom was trying to make me feel better, I was offended. Why not now? At this point I had started an online blog to let everyone know what was going on instead of answering the same questions over and over.

We had two choices about what to do about our baby: we could have a medical abortion or wait for him to pass, be induced and deliver. As a part of a strong Catholic family, we chose the latter. We scheduled weekly visits with my OB/GYN to check the heart beat. It didn’t take long.