A Conversation with Mom

I lost my mom a year ago today. I miss her terribly and think about her every day. Today I'm hoping that she and Emma are hanging out together baking some heavenly cookies, or planning ahead for Christmas. Those two gals love a holiday!


I wrote the piece below in honor of my mom for some occasion or another many years ago and thought I would share it today in her memory. Here's to you, Mom. I love you and miss you...

A Conversation With Mom

Gave my mom a call the other day.

Asked her, "What's up?" She had lots to say.

Let's see, saw 50 kids: 20 physicals, 20 colds and 10 flu.

Got home, fixed dinner, baked cookies, now I'm looking for something to do.

Think I'll wash the floor. That'll be one more thing off my list.

This weekend I'm going to finish all the "to do's" that I've missed.

Saturday, I'll finish cleaning the house from bottom to top.

Should get done just in time to dash to the mall and shop.

I've got a few Christmas gifts to get before the end of September.

You know, there are some people who do their shopping in December!

You'll love the Christmas present I'm getting for you,

But I'm not going to tell you...Okay, it's a dress - navy blue.

Oops, I'm sorry! Don't worry though, you'll still have a surprise.

I've gotten you the 50 other things you most prize.

And Sunday, I thought I'd make doughnuts and invite the whole crew.

Sleep late, though, I'll make sure they save some for you.

Oh, and I'm making turkey and all the trimmings for dinner.

Do you want to take some home? I think you're getting thinner.

After that, maybe I can do something for you.

You work so hard, and I've really got nothing to do.

No Mom, I'll do it, although after all you've said,

I must admit I'm tired and I'm heading straight to bed.

Just a Few Halloween Photos

In case you can't figure them out: Top photo is Pippi Longstocking (and her trusty princess sidekick), bottom left is Ingrid Bergman, and bottom right is an East Indian princess.

Worcester Out of the Darkness Walk - Part 1

Last year, one of Emma's dear friends organized the first ever Worcester, MA Out of the Darkness Walk as her freshman management project at Clark University. It was so well received not just by the Clark community, but also by the Greater Worcester community, she and a friend have decided to continue it. I traveled to Worcester for the walk again and wanted to share some of the moving moments from that walk.


The first thing I'd like to share are the remarks made by Liane Nelson, who was the walk's guest speaker. Here are Liane's remarks:


My name is Liane.
I am a psychologist, a mother of two teenagers, a wife, and a daughter. I live in Fairfield, Connecticut.


Like everyone here, I have been touched by suicide. I want to tell you how, and what it has taught me, and one thing that has come from it.


Five years ago, and in the span of one year, I lost three young men in my life, one was a neighbor across the street, and two were family members. Two intentionally killed themselves, and one was killed as a result of a 100 mile an hour police chase through a small town. It was not technically suicide, but sometimes self-destructive acts fit the bill, as well. It was a devastating year.


In the aftermath, I read everything I could about suicide. I knew a bunch of things, but wanted to understand more. I read a book by Kay Redfield Jamison called Night Falls Fast, in which she connected her own story of suicide attempts with the research and history of suicide.


She reminds us that the loss of a relationship, a history of depression or bipolar disorder, or knowing someone else who committed suicide can put someone at serious risk.


She mentions that demographically, senior citizens are killing themselves at a faster rate than any other age group. Except for, perhaps, gay teens.The book is full of knowledge, research and stories.


The biggest problem is not really the lack of knowledge, but the fact that we don’t talk about what we know, enough, because we have been trained to Not Talk About Suicide.


There have been research studies that compare different types of therapy and their effectiveness in reducing rates of self-injury and suicide. One type of therapy called DBT, wins this contest every time, because each therapy session starts with a conversation about urges to harm oneself or suicidal thoughts from the previous week. That is where the weekly conversation starts, and until that issue is addressed, the conversation goes nowhere else.


This therapy undoes the stigma that we have all been trained in, and that stigma tells us, that by talking about self-harm and suicide, we are more likely to make it happen. It is completely wrong. We reduce the likelihood that people will hurt themselves or attempt suicide if we talk about it, and ask them about it.


When I was a kid, suicide was completely taboo. Religions colluded, and told people that they would go to Hell if they killed themselves. People were forced to pretend, and to feel ashamed if they had a family member who committed suicide. They were trained to not talk about it in a real and honest way.


Five years ago, at the funeral of my 23 year old neighbor, his mother got into a very public argument with the priest who was officiating, who said that her son killed himself because he lost God.


……………..


Two and a half years ago, a bright, vivacious and talented young woman who lived in my town committed suicide. She left behind a group of bereft teenagers and adults.


We were all so devastated, even those of us who did not know Emma personally.


It was hard to get our heads around the fact that someone who was so loved by many, and so talented, and known for her kindness, and her voice, and, and, and was no longer here.


A friend of mine, Jen, who is a UCC Minister (UCC is an open and affirming church, which means that they embrace gay people), and I decided that we wanted to do something, in Emma’s memory, to reduce the isolation and devastation that we saw in the wake of Emma’s death, and among her friends.We got together to discuss the resources for LGBT teens that existed in our very Catholic town. Erp, not many. All that was available was 20 minutes twice a week before school for the Gay Straight Alliances in the two public high schools.


So, we started a group called The Loft. It is specifically for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered teenagers, and their straight friends. The first time that Jen and I met for coffee to discuss the group, we had no idea if anyone was going to come. We thought, Let’s try this out for eight weeks, and see what happens.It is now in its third year, or Third Season, as the Group says. We meet every Friday and have pizza, and talk about whatever people bring up.


We talk about a lot of different stuff. Some topics are heavy such as What is Depression, How to Recognize It, and How to deal with Homophobia. I became worried at one point, that some kids had a bunch of physical symptoms (such as eating too much, or not enough, and sleeping too much, or not enough), and did not know that these can be symptoms of depression.


Other topics are light, like If You Could Have Any Superpower, What Would It Be, and stories of acceptance and things that make us all laugh.


We have a Candlelight Vigil coming up next month, and it will be our second annual vigil in honor of those who have endured bullying and those who have ended their lives with suicide. After our first vigil, the group expanded from about 15 members to as many as 35.


We go to events such as Gay Proms, and the True Colors conference.


We do a lot of things that show that we have intentionally created a community of safety and support. Mostly what we do is be together, and love each other, and make sure that if someone is hurting, we will talk about it, and do what we can to make them feel less alone, and will help them and their families find additional help, if they need it in a bigger way than just our group.


Your generation has begun to free us from the stigma of so many things, and has begun the process of telling us all, IT IS OKAY TO TALK TO EACH OTHER.


If you are worried about someone, you cannot be silenced. You have to talk to them, and be prepared to talk to anyone else who will be able to intervene.


If a friend expresses suicidal feelings, they cannot make you keep their secret, because secrets are often destructive things.


Thank you, on behalf of my generation, for opening up the conversation about suicide, and how to help and support each other. You have shown us the path out of darkness, and for that, I am extremely grateful.




If you want to find out more about The Loft, contact First Church Congregational of Fairfield.

Michael Landsberg Talks about his depression and his friend's death by suicide

I've done a lot of reading about suicide over the past 2+ years, but I have read little that has struck a chord with me more than a recent column by Michael Landsberg, a Toronto sportscaster. I encourage you to read it.


One of the myths about depression that Landsberg takes on is that depressed people always look like those mopey, energy-less people in commercials for antidepressants. They don't. Those commercials are a real disservice to high functioning people with depression whose very serious illness isn't recognized or is minimized because they don't look the part.


Click here to read Landsberg: His Depression and his Friend, Wade Belak

September 11th Anniversary

It seems almost impossible to reflect on the events of September 11, 2001 without thinking about where you were and what you were doing when you first heard the news of the terrorist attacks. The world changed for Americans in important ways that day, and so I suppose it's natural to focus on the turning point; that moment when you crossed into a new reality.


I was just settling into work when I heard the news of the first plane crash. Emma was in fourth grade and Sarah had just started kindergarten. As the day began, I thought that adjusting to a new reality meant adjusting to the fact that both my babies were now in school. I was still feeling pangs of emotion as I watched them both climb the steps into the school bus that morning. It was a welcome distraction to be able to head right off to work and focus on something else.


But I was not to get that opportunity on the morning of September 11, 2001.  A colleague was listening to the radio and almost as soon as I arrived at work she began coming out into the hallway to report news in confusing, chaotic snippets: a plane crash; an explosion at the Twin Towers; a plane has hit the Twin Towers; and another; an explosion at the Pentagon.  At first it was unclear what was happening or whether it was related. The world just seemed to be spinning out of control.


I'm not sure when I personally integrated all those separate news snippets into an understanding of what unfolded that day. I know that that morning I was only absorbing the chaos and devastation that was erupting in lower Manhattan. I remember my colleague coming into the hallway to report that the first tower had fallen. I was sitting at my desk and the tears welled up in my eyes. Another  colleague poked her head in and saw me crying. Are you okay? Are you worried about someone?  I'm sure my emotions were more tangled than this, but all I could say by way of explanation was, "I know that there are children at my kids' school who have just lost a parent."


And then I struggled with what to do for my own kids. I wanted desperately to see them, to hug them, to reassure them that everything was okay; but I also knew that they were exactly where they should be: in school, proceeding happily through a normal school day - as long as that was really what was happening. I called the school and, not unexpectedly, had trouble getting through. I was struggling to contain my own anxiety as I continued to call. I didn't want my kids to be left alone in a school that had been cleared out because of panic. I decided to head to the school and see for myself what was happening there.


When I got to the school I was very reassured.  Somehow the teachers and administrators were managing to proceed through the day normally. Some children had been picked up by parents, but most remained. The children who remained knew nothing of what had unfolded that morning. It would be our job to explain that to them in the days and weeks ahead. Truth be told, none of us really understood what had happened at that point. We were shocked and bewildered, and more scared than our kids needed to know.


It was late afternoon before I was able to speak to Peter. He was relieved to know that the girls had had a normal day and were playing happily. He had had the difficult job of containing his emotion and leading his students through a normal day and was exhausted. He told me he might get home late. He had volunteered to stay late at school while they sorted through plans for various students. They knew they had kids who had parents who worked in the Twin Towers, even one family that had both parents working in the Towers. They were scrambling to make contact so that they could be sure no child was sent home to an empty house. I cried again.


Peter reminds me that the next evening our neighborhood, like neighborhoods all over the country, held a candlelight vigil at dusk. As we strolled through the streets with candles, it was Emma who first piped up in song, and with her brave little voice leading the way, the rest of us joined in singing songs of hope and compassion.


Ten years ago, as I struggled to comprehend the shock, trauma and devastation felt by those who lost a loved one in 9/11 I would have used the expressions that many of us use when we are not personally touched by a tragedy: "I can only imagine'" or "I can't even begin to imagine." But now, having lost my precious Emma in a shocking, traumatic and devastating way, I can well imagine - not know, but definitely imagine. And it makes this anniversary all the more real and emotional.


It's uncanny how often people who are reflecting on September 11, 2001 talk about the kind of day it was. The weather was picture perfect. It was sunny with a cloudless blue sky and unnaturally still air.  June 17th, 2009 started out the same way: sunny, warm, and a beautiful blue sky over head. There was nothing on either day that hinted at the devastation that was unfolding.


It makes me appreciate the rain. Sometimes it just feels more honest.

Gramps

Here is the text from the eulogy I gave for my father in June, 2000:


When I first started to think about what I would like to say today, I thought I might try to do a biography of my father's life and all of his accomplishments. He was the first in his family to attend college. He went on to attend medical school. He served in the Navy. He parented seven children. He had two careers, one as a private physician,  and a second as medical director at Traveler's Insurance Company. But this approach does not even begin to get at the man that my dad was, and that is why we are really here today. We're here to celebrate the man we loved and the man we'll miss.


So, I'm going to take a different approach. I'd like to share with you the character traits that made my dad the very unique individual he was. And yes, all you English scholars, I do know that you are not supposed to modify unique with very. But I think my dad is a justifiable exception to that rule.


My dad was a man who cared deeply about just about everything - big and small. He cared deeply about his family. He cared deeply about his home. He cared deeply about his education, and my education, and my kids education, and the education of the kid three doors down who he suspected was not doing his homework. He cared about the price of stocks he owned, and he cared about the price of stocks he didn't own. He cared about politics and religion. He cared about his neighborhood and his neighbors, and he cared about people a million miles away who he only read about in the New York Times. He approached every decision he made with great seriousness of thought and purpose, which is why he always thought he must be right. But in this apathetic world we live in now, he was a stand-out. My dad would never use that dreaded word "whatever." To Dad, everything was important. It was good to know that he was watching and thinking and just plain caring.


My dad was also a lifetime learner, His degreed education is a testimony to this in and of itself, but Dad never stopped pursuing new interests and issues. He faithfully studied the New York Times and  faithfully watched The McNeil-Lehrer Report. He studied woodworking and model airplanes as if there was a test approaching. In fact, whenever he began a new hobby he completely threw himself into it. It was important for him to know absolutely everything about it and have every piece of equipment associated with the hobby. He studied his travel destinations so intensely and thoroughly before making a trip I sometimes thought the trip was unnecessary. It was incredibly important to him that he pronounce foreign words correctly and with gusto. Personal computers burst on the scene when my dad was already seventy, but he was not to be left behind. He swallowed his pride and took evening classes where he learned to use a computer from people many years his junior; and then he got himself the fastest, best equipped computer you could get at the time - at a very good price, I might add!


Which brings me to the next thing I think about when I think about my dad. Now, this is not really a character trait, but no description of Dad would be complete without mentioning his love of machines. There is a little 2 1/2 year old boy in my neighborhood that reminds me of what my dad must have been like when he was a boy. The other day I was driving home when I saw this child pushing a full size lawn mower across the street at a good clip. His mother is constantly chasing after him as he hunts the neighborhood for things with wheels that he can hi-jack and take for a joy ride. That would have been my dad. He loved machines of any type, but machines with wheels, well, as he would say, "Nirvana!"


And he had quite the collection. He didn't just have one of those wimpy little lawn tractors, he had a farm tractor! It didn't really do a great job on the lawn, but it was fun to drive and great for giving your grandchildren rides. Besides, if you had a great big farm tractor, you could pull other machines behind it! I gather that this is the equivalent of a double-header for a machine lover. I remember that he had this one machine he towed behind the tractor that he called a lawn aerator. But this thing looked too imposing to be a simple lawn aerator. It looked more like something you would use to dig land mines in a combat zone. When he finished using it on our lawn, I was pretty sure we could have earned an entry in the Guinness Book of World Records for having the only ten thousand hole golf course in the world.


But by far the most impressive acquisition was his airport luggage carrier. Not everybody has an airport luggage carrier in the garage and, frankly, I'm not entirely clear why my dad did. It was at least temporarily tied to the concept of building the ultimate lawn machine, but it never really did more than collect leaves. He was quite a sight driving around on that machine. I will often think about that and smile.


On a more serious note, my dad was determined and brave. No one who knew him could deny this. His determination had many faces. I remember when our family and the Eckels family traveled to Switzerland together, 16 of us all together, My dad was our determined leader. One morning our group was a little late getting to the Geneva train station. After all, its not easy getting 16 people ready in the morning! We arrived with suitcases in hand just as our train was pulling out of the station, but my dad was determined not to be left behind. He jumped onto the moving train and frantically waved for the other 15 of us to follow. We were not as determined as he was and he finally had to jump back off the train.


But his determination really shined through as he waged war against the illnesses that threatened his life. My dad had his first quadruple bypass surgery when I was only in high school. At that time it was a relatively new procedure and very risky. He had a long, hard recovery, but he was determined and he didn't just recover, he thrived. He skied.  He traveled. We celebrated graduations and weddings and births. There was another bypass surgery and an even more miraculous recovery which, thanks to his bravery and determination, gave us more time to share together. There were more births and more graduations and more weddings and, by sheer will and the grace of God, he got to be there for them.


Lastly, he was deeply faithful. He was extremely committed to his Catholic faith and demanded the same from his children. There was no legitimate excuse for not going to church on Sunday and, believe me, with 7 of us progressing through adolescence, we tried them all. It didn't matter where you were, or what you were doing, or how you were feeling, church came first. And though many of us had our moments of rebellion, I know he was proud and relieved that we have all found our faith and our spiritual homes. He needed that faith as he waged war against this disease that claimed his life and we will need our faith as we learn to accept his passing. I find great comfort in his faith and devotion, especially now. I know my dad has earned his reward.

Lost Treasures

We have been cleaning out my parents' house, and that would be the royal we. I have contributed in only a minor way. It is an emotion-filled task disassembling a house full of memories and parsing out the treasures. I've been sent off with various kinds of memorabilia, including some pieces I wrote in honor of my parents, individually or together, for various momentous occasions. I've debated about whether I should share those pieces on this blog, which is meant to be about Emma. But I've decided I will share a select few for two reasons. 

First, my mom and dad, Gram and Gramps, were central figures in Emma's life. They doted on her and spent as much time in her company as they could. Early on, Gramps proclaimed Emma a "hot rock," his highest praise; and Gram, well I'm pretty sure, next to us,  she was probably the person most hurt by Emma's death. Visiting her in the nursing home the day after Emma died was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. The only thing that can compare to a mother's grief is a grandmother's grief - grief times two.


The second reason I've decided to share these pieces is that they exist now only on the fragile dot matrix computer paper they were printed out on so many years earlier. The electronic files are long gone. By including it in this blog, they become part of a more permanent record.


So I'll start with my next entry, the eulogy I gave at my father's funeral, a little over 11 years ago.

From Andrew W.

Andrew Wysocki, this year's scholarship winner from Fairfield Ludlowe High School gave me permission to share this message he wrote to Emma on her Facebook Memorial page after he received the scholarship. Thanks, Andrew.

Dear Emma,
Tonight your father gave an incredibly moving speech about mental illness and your mother presented me with a scholarship in your name so I can continue my studies of music education in college.
Emma, I cannot tell you how sincerely honored I am to receive a scholarship in your name. I'm honored that everyone believes that I... deserved it too. I held the envelope very close to my heart as I walked back to my seat. I never thought I would receive an award like that.
Now when I go to study music education, I will know that you will be beside me. Perhaps you will contribute an idea when I'm writing music, or maybe you'll give me inspiration to go the extra mile and learn something new.
I promise you that one day, I will write a song for you. I'm not a terrific songwriter or piano player yet, but once I improve, I will write a song for you. It will be glorious and it will be because you were such an inspiration to me when you were living, and now I feel as if I can help to create the music that you wanted to spread throughout the world =).
The one who is thinking about you and incredibly honored to receive your scholarship,
~Andrew =)

Peter's scholarship prsentation speech - June 22nd, 2011

Here is the speech Peter made at the presentation of this year's scholarships:

Hello, I’m Peter von Euler.  Today, my daughter Emma would have been celebrating her 19^th birthday.  We celebrated last night with a lot of her friends.  Each of them spoke of Emma as a loving, giving, beautiful, and positive person.  I’ve come to understand that those were qualities that she carried until her last day.  But Emma had a secret.

On this day, when we celebrate the accomplishments and hard work of so many young people, accomplishments of the mind and will, I’d like to take a moment to share something I’ve learned in the two years since Emma took her own life.

One thing I’ve learned is that tonight, there is probably someone in this auditorium who is scared, someone in this auditorium who is hiding, and someone in this auditorium who is ashamed of how they’re feeling.

I believe that we view mental illness differently from other illness.  If we blow out a knee or catch a cold or much worse, develop a disease, like diabetes or cancer, we may feel bad, we may feel scared, we may feel unlucky, but we rarely feel shame, or feel the need to hide our condition. 

Mental illness is different.  If our brain, our most complex and fragile organ, is somehow affected, afflicted, weakened, damaged, or different, many feel that’s somehow shameful.  We have a much harder time sharing that condition.

When the rest of us, see someone who seems mentally unstable, we tend to back away.  We tend to avoid.  Later, we might even offer our assessments.  She’s crazy. He’s messed up.  She’s got a screw loose.  He’s got issues.  She’s wacko.

The problem is, not all of those who are battling mental illness are showing it.  For some, it’s a silent, lonely struggle.  They’re keeping it a secret.  They’re listening to our words.  Sometimes that hiding may be an act of will or denial, but I think sometimes it’s also a result of fear and shame.  It’s a silence that connects to our reactions.  Who wants to reveal a problem that results in being called crazy or screwed up?  Who wants to reveal a problem that makes people recoil? 

I know it is a complex problem, but  I’m trying to learn lessons.  I know that there were many reasons that my daughter couldn’t share her troubles, couldn’t reach for a lifeline.  But, I also know that if there is something I can change that might make it better for future Emmas, I should try to do it.  I owe that to Emma.  One of those things is to try to take the stigma out of illness of the mind. 

Today, we’re celebrating some tremendous mental gifts and habits of mind.  But today, I’d also like us to recognize that that same mind that we celebrate, is very complex and fragile.  We need to be mindful that when things go wrong it’s not a cause for shame or ridicule.  We can view those problems with the same compassion and understanding that we show when other parts of us break down.  A battle with depression or an eating disorder, or a bi-polar condition can be viewed with the same concern, support, and compassion as a battle with cancer. 

The years between 18 and 24 are years when many mental health issues often arise.  Most of you will encounter a peer who is struggling, or you may struggle yourself.   I believe that as you head off to college, you can have a lasting and positive impact on the future.  You can be the generation that shows us how to respond to mental illness.  You may never actually see the result, but someone around you may notice, and respond.  They may share a secret, step out of the darkness, and seek help, because of the way you and I talk about mental illness. 

Positive words, supportive words, compassionate words are a lot like music.  They draw us together.  They help us feel connected.  This scholarship is awarded each year to someone who works hard to make beautiful music and someone who works hard to share that music with the community.  We feel blessed to support someone’s continued pursuit of something Emma valued so much.  Music is an outlet, a way to express those things that can’t always be put into words.  It’s a gift to others, and we are proud to award this scholarship to a person who had shared these gifts.  He is committed to becoming an accomplished musician, and he has shared his gifts in performances throughout his high school career.  Tonight we are proud to present the Emma Jane von Euler Music Scholarship to:

Andrew Wysocki (Fairfield Ludlowe High School)

Eileen Chun (Fairfield Warde High School)

Thank you Team RMAO and your supporters

It's been a month since we rode the emotional roller coaster that I think we are doomed to ride in the third week of June for the rest of our lives. It started with the crushing emotions and flashbacks that June 17th, the anniversary of Emma's death, brings. Two days later was Father's Day, a day which like Mother's Day, is now complicated by mixed emotions. The day after that, June 21st, was our 25th wedding anniversary which we celebrated by hosting a gathering of Emma's friends, neighbors and families to celebrate Emma's life. Last year we purposely held this gathering on June 22nd, Emma's birthday. But this year, by cruel irony, the Fairfield high schools' senior awards night were scheduled on the night of Emma's birthday and we spent that evening traveling between the two high schools to present the scholarships. The next morning after the emotionally exhausting awards night, I boarded a 5:40 am train to New York City to drop Sarah off at the Amtrak train headed to camp. After the emotions of the week, it was a struggle to send her off for a long summer away with a smile on my face, but I did my best. The day after that, exactly a week from when the roller coaster ride began, I collapsed in an exhausted heap. 

Now that I'm finally coming up for air, I want to give long overdue thanks to the amazing Team RMAO for selecting Emma's memorial scholarship fund as their fundraising beneficiary. Not only did the ladies of Team RMAO complete a grueling relay race that started in New Haven, CT and ended in Boston, MA, they also managed to raise more than $7,000 for the scholarship fund. We are so grateful to everyone who supported their efforts. The money raised is enough to allow us to increase the size of the two scholarships we award in the coming years. We know how important this extra support will be to students, especially during these challenging economic times.

When we first established the scholarship fund we wanted to help provide young musicians with the educational opportunities we had hoped to provide Emma. We thought this would be a lasting and fitting legacy for our daughter and a way to remember not just her passion for music, but also her kind and compassionate nature and her unique ability to deeply touch people’s lives.


We have come to realize that the presentation of the scholarship awards at the high schools also provides an important opportunity to raise awareness about suicide prevention and mental health - to chip away at the silence and stigma that surrounds these important subjects. We have come to believe that this educational benefit is just as important as the financial benefit.


In my next post I will share the remarks that Peter made on scholarship night and then, after that, a note from one of this year's scholarship recipients.

Two Years

I am not looking forward to today. I hid in my bed this morning trying desperately to have sleep protect me from the sadness I knew the day would bring, but the crash of thunder and sound of falling rain awoke me. Of course that's how this day would start. Two years ago it started raining on the day of Emma's funeral and rained for a solid week afterward. It was as if the universe was crying with us. It should not have happened.


I willed myself back to sleep, but was awakened two times by the sensation of tears streaming down my cheeks; proof, once again, that grief is involuntary and uncontrollable. I wasn't even dreaming of Emma, but somehow the grief I was trying to avoid by sleeping found its way out of my chest and through the corner of my eyes. Sarah had a similar start to her day. She got out of bed exhausted from a restless night and with a terrible stomach ache.




 I wanted to share the perfect memory today; the story or image that would beautifully capture my lovely Emma and convey the great joy she brought us. But, unfortunately, this anniversary brings back horrifying memories of that day two years ago when we lost Emma forever. The trauma we experienced has left a scar, and on this anniversary that scar is more like a weeping wound. As hard as we've tried to outrun or channel grief these past two years, it has a way of catching up with you and getting its due.




As sad as I am today, I have been heartened over the last two years to see how much Emma remains a positive part of my daily life. I can't hug her, or hear her voice, or hear her playing her flute; but her face in pictures still makes me smile. I still laugh when I think of impersonations she did, or jokes she told. I am still proud of the person she was and what she accomplished. I still share fond memories of when she was a baby, or two, or five, or sixteen. I still connect her memory to food she liked, or music, or places, or clothes. I carry her with me everywhere, like a heart-shaped stone in my pocket.


And I know that many, many other people also are carrying her with them. The messages they've sent to us and to Emma on her Facebook page are so full of love and reflect such a powerful connection. What more could you ask?


Outside, the rain has stopped and slivers of sun are trying to dry the wet streets. I'll get on with my day. Grief has had its time and now its time to push away the clouds, so that I can see the beautiful gift I was given.


Click here for a link to a beautiful video done by Emma's friend, Emilia. Thanks, Emilia.

Lessons

I think there are two lessons from the story I shared in my last post. The first is that one person can make a difference. In this case, I'm referring to my champion, the staff liaison to the Curriculum and Policy subcommittee. She made a conscious, I would describe it as moral, decision to take action. She was surrounded by people who endorsed taking the easy road; change a sentence and be done with it; but she knew that wasn't right. At some point she realized if she didn't pick up the flag and lead the troops forward, the battle would be lost, and the stakes were too high to let that happen.


The second lesson is that sometimes we have to be loud to be heard. Peter and I pursued our conversations with the district quietly, but that meant we were easy to ignore. I think it's safe to say that we would have made progress much more quickly if others were joining us on the chorus.


If you live in Fairfield, I encourage you to do that now. The Board will vote on the new suicide prevention, intervention and response policy and regulations at their meeting on Tuesday, May 24th. Let them know that you care about this issue and you are glad they are taking action to protect vulnerable youth and save lives. You can email them at: boemembers@fairfield.k12.ct.us.

Small Victory

In my last post I mentioned another story I had to tell about events that weighed me down in the last 6 months. It's a very long story and I've struggled with where to begin and with whether anything is gained in the sharing. But there is a, well, not really a happy, but a positive ending, so here it is. Brace yourself. This is going to take a while.


Chapter1 - In the year after Emma died, Peter and I have numerous conversations and email exchanges with school district administrators. The gist is usually the same. We share some observations and thoughts. We share some of what we have learned from reading about suicide, suicide prevention and suicide response; things that, from our own experience, we feel could be very valuable. We urge them to review their policies and procedures. We've not reviewed these ourselves, but we're pretty sure one of two things is true: if the policies and procedures are good, they didn't follow them; if they followed them, they're not very good. Mostly, we urge them to reflect. A child has lost her life. It's imperative that we all learn from it. We assure them that we are not asking them to do anything that we don't do ourselves. We tell them that every single day we reflect on what we could have done differently and better, and that we will continue to do so for the rest of our lives. For their part, they listen politely, nod their heads, take notes.


Chapter 2 - Right around the anniversary of Emma's death we get a letter in the mail. It tells us that the 2 high schools in town have purchased AFSP's "More Than Sad" staff and student training program. They plan to implement it at both high schools and hope that we agree that it is a fitting way to honor Emma's memory. We most certainly do.


Chapter 3 - In the summer, we meet with the new district Superintendent and new Headmaster of Emma's high school. We've invested a lot of time and energy in conversations and correspondence over the last year and we don't want those messages to get lost with the transition in leadership. They listen politely, nod their heads, take notes. They assure us there will be a review of policy and procedures and the new Headmaster pledges to become familiar with the "More Than Sad" program. We ask them to keep us in the loop, and we leave feeling optimistic.


Chapter 4 - It is early December, just a couple of weeks after my mother died, and something compels me to check in with the district on what has happened since our conversation in the summer. Specifically, I ask about whether and how the "More Than Sad" program is being implemented and whether a policy and procedure review has been undertaken. I learn that the other high school has begun implementation of the "More Than Sad" program, but at Emma's high school it's been relegated to the faculty resource lending library. On the policy front, I learn that they are, in fact, considering some proposed revisions to the district's suicide regulations. I ask for a copy, and I am encouraged to put my feedback into writing to the Board of Education, as the policy has already been referred out of committee.


Chapter 5 - I read the district's suicide policy and regulations for the first time, and I am stunned. I expected it to need improvement, but...CT school districts have been required by state statute to have suicide prevention policies and procedures in place for more than ten years. Fairfield's policy never even uses the word prevention. Furthermore, the proposed revisions do nothing to correct this. The revisions propose no changes to the policy and only a few minor changes to the regulations. I come to the realization that despite all the head nodding and note taking, there is no intention to engage in a comprehensive review and revision of the policy and regulations related to suicide. I realize that if I want it to happen, I will have to be more proactive and more vocal. I roll up my sleeves and get to work.


Chapter 6 - I spend much of my Christmas holiday combing through the state law regarding youth suicide prevention, CT State Department Education guidelines regarding the development of suicide prevention policies and procedures, and state and national resources regarding prevention and response. In an effort to understand how they arrived at the currently proposed minor revisions to Fairfield's regulations, I look back through the minutes of the Board of Ed's Curriculum and Policy subcommittee meetings. It is then that I learn that the regulation review was not undertaken in response to Emma's death, or as a result of the many conversations we had with administrators. I decide not to get hung up on this. A door has been opened and I'm going to step through it. I also learn, after devoting a lot of time putting my recommendations into writing, that the subcommittee will be having another meeting before the regulations are referred to the full Board. If I attend that meeting, I still have an opportunity to influence the content of the regulations before they are moved forward.


Chapter 7 - I attend the subcommittee meeting which takes place the first week of January. Board members don't have a lot of questions, and it appears that the policy will move forward as is. I wait patiently for my turn to speak. When I am finally given the floor, I urge a thorough review of both the policy and the regulations. I urge them to engage outside experts, community members, and parents in this process and take advantage of the many state and national resources available. I tell them that I have done a review of the state law and state Department of Education guidelines and feel that the current policy and regulations fall far short. They ask me if I have specific recommendations and when I respond that, in fact, I have written recommendations that I prepared to send to the full Board, they agree to table the policy in order to review my recommendations.


Chapter 8 - The next monthly meeting of the subcommittee is canceled due to inclement weather, so it's two months before I am attending another meeting to discuss my recommendations. The meeting is called to order, and the first motion on the table is to move the regulations forward to the full Board "as is." I'm practicing deep breathing techniques: in - out - in - out. Another Board member asks a couple of questions. It does not seem like they were inspired by a reading of my recommendations but, hey, they're questions! His questions lead to this important acknowledgment by the committee's staff liaison: "What you are asking about deals more with prevention and/or intervention. Our current regulations really only deal with how to respond to a crisis." They agree to table the regulations again so some language can be added that would help a staff person understand who they should talk to if they were concerned about a student.


It's finally my turn to speak. I once again urge a comprehensive review of policy and regulations and reiterate that I feel that both are very deficient. I reference the written recommendations I sent them which it does not appear any of them have read. I remind them that the state law requires youth suicide prevention policy and regulations, and by the district's own admission the current policy doesn't satisfactorily deal with prevention. The title of the policy alone tells the story. It's called "Suicide Policy." I end with this thought: if all the recent headline stories about teen suicides around our nation and our metro area, amplified by the death of one of their own students by suicide, doesn't inspire them to take a good hard look at their policies, procedures and practices, what would? Then I walk out the door.


Chapter 9 - I am thoroughly frustrated and at a loss for what to do next. I send an email to the Superintendent, copying the staff liaison and the 3 Board members who serve on the committee, but I don't expect much. I get a cursory response from the Superintendent, but that's about it. About a week or so later I am sitting in a hearing room in Hartford,  waiting to testify on legislation that would strengthen the state's bullying prevention law, when I receive an email on my phone from the subcommittee's staff liaison. She wants to meet to discuss a process for re-drafting the policy and regulations - the suicide prevention, intervention and response policy and regulations. It would appear that we are making progress.


Chapter 10 - About a week later I meet with her. There is nodding and note taking, but there is also a genuine exchange of ideas and opinions. She has clearly read my recommendations, and better yet, I can tell that she has read some of the research and explored many of the resources herself. She has made a conscious decision to take this work on, even if no one was going to ask her to do it. A friend had told me I was going to need to find someone willing to champion this issue if I was ever going to get anywhere, and it looks like I finally have found my champion. As I walk to my car I find myself humming the Alleluia Chorus.


Chapter 11 - My champion has pulled together a virtual committee of internal and external experts and interested parties to act as a sounding board for policy and procedure development. Heretofore, all the feedback and input has been via email, but today she pulls us together for an in-person meeting before she presents her completely re-drafted policy and procedures to the subcommittee. I am the only non-staff person attending and I arrive first. The first two people, guidance counselors, arrive close together and we exchange names, but nothing more. There is no hint of recognition when I say my name. A third guidance counselor arrives and recognizes his colleagues. He is in a jovial mood and jokes from the instant he enters the room. "Is this the esteemed Suicide committee?" he banters. "I'll tell you, I was so busy today I should probably kill myself!" Ba-da-bum. When the rest of the committee assembles, my champion suggests introductions. I clench my teeth. I hate introductions, and this time I know it's important to reveal my connection to the issue. My name is Nancy von Euler, and I am the 800 pound gorilla in the room. I can't see the comedian's face as I explain who I am.


There are no major changes to the much improved policy and regulations my champion has drafted. As we're leaving, the comedian approaches me. " Mrs. von Euler, I didn't know your daughter, but I was called to the school as part of the crisis response team the morning after she died, and from all the wonderful stories people told about her, I can tell she was an amazing kid."


Yes, she certainly was.


Two thoughts about this exchange plagued me afterward. First, why didn't anyone step forward to share those wonderful stories with us? In the days and weeks after Emma's death we faced a deafening silence from the school. How welcome it would have been to hear those fond remembrances.


The second thought was - seriously? You were at the school when people learned that Emma had died? You witnessed the devastation and trauma and yet, less than two years later, you can parade into a room and joke about protecting kids from suicide? Wow! Of all the evidence I had gathered that the district did not learn and grow from the tragedy of Emma's death, this was, perhaps, the most disturbing.


Chapter 12 - But, you know what? The newly drafted, much improved, policy and regulations have now been forwarded to the Board by the subcommittee and will be voted on by the Board at their next meeting (May 24th). I didn't get everything I wanted, but I am very satisfied with the product. The greatest strength of the new policy and regulations is that they put in place a structure and process for continuous improvement of practice related to supporting vulnerable students. If the Board of Ed approves them on Tuesday, I think we can call this a story with a positive ending.

Remembering

I have had a tough time over these last few months - that's my excuse for not writing. It has been an exhausting 6 months. Losing my mom in November added a new layer of grief. With her loss, came tasks and decisions that just compounded grief with stress, anxiety, and more sadness. We needed to think through what we would do with the treasured homestead where my mom had lived for 60 years and where we all grew up. We've only just begun to wrestle with how we will sort through, distribute and dispose of the sixty years of belongings that has accumulated in that home; some of it junk, but all of it chock full of memories. And for the couple of months when we thought we might make a move into my mom's home in order to keep it in the family, there was the almost unbearable need to think through how we would find the strength and resolve to disassemble Emma's bedroom which has remained virtually untouched since she died.


Adding to the weight of all that grief and loss was the realization I had in early December 2010, not long after my mother's death, that despite our gentle, but persistent urging, the school district had no intention of reflecting on Emma's death by reviewing and evaluating their suicide prevention and response policies. But that's another story.


The point is, I was overwhelmed and exhausted. Writing did not come easily.  In the last several months, every time I even thought about sitting down to the computer to type an entry I would be overcome with emotion. Just like now, the tears would well, my throat would get tight. I would have to stop. But this time I'm going to try to keep going, because I need to say thank you.


When I started my blog my purpose was to restore and preserve the memory of my beautiful oldest daughter; to focus on the person who lived and not the way she died.  While it might not be apparent to readers, it was, in fact, an act of desperation. After Emma died I was struck by the overwhelming fear that her death by suicide would not just remove her bodily presence, but would also rip her from the hearts and minds and memory of everyone around us.  It was not a completely irrational fear. There were people close to us who would not utter her name. There were adults who discouraged kids who knew her from talking about her. There was even a comment made to me directly by someone purporting to be a friend that the school should not have a scholarship named for her because of how she died. 


There was no doubt that I started my blog in large part for me, because it allowed me to push away the sadness and reconnect with the joyful memories I had of my beloved daughter. But I know I was also doing it for Emma; to defend her memory from the ignorance, fear, and complacency that made it easier to pretend she had never existed. That is why it was so tough on me to not be able to write. Part of me felt that I was letting Emma down.


Thankfully, there have been others to pick up the slack, and for that I am eternally grateful. Over the last almost two years there have been so many thoughtful gestures of remembrance, but I am particularly grateful for those that happened in the last six months, when I was tired and needed help carrying the load. 


The gestures came in all shapes and sizes. Whether it was the purple candle lit at family gatherings, or the gifts left at the Memorial Garden, or the messages on Emma's FaceBook page, these gestures let me know that Emma was remembered. Each gesture, big or small, lifted some weight from my heart. One of Emma's friends handed a little glass flower bouquet to me at the Out of the Darkness walk this fall. "I wanted you to have this to keep in your pocket, because I know Emma always liked to give you flowers," she said. She remembers. Another friend messaged me in early spring to ask if we would be doing something in June again to honor Emma. She remembers. On my birthday (my 50th!), a group of Emma's friends showed up at my door with two birthday cakes, a homemade card, and a set of beautiful magnetic butterflies to remind me of Emma. I know they did it to lift my spirits, but I also know they did it because they remember. It was also very thoughtful of them to bring candles that said "21". They seemed to understand that the occasion called for humor, or denial, or perhaps a powerful combination of both.


About a month ago my neighbor sent me a card with pictures of a hallway in the hospital where she works that is paved with memorial bricks. In the card she said she wanted to know if it would be okay if she purchased a brick in memory of Emma that said "Play on". The card came after my blog had been virtually silent for a couple of months and the relief and gratitude I felt when I read that card is hard to express. This neighbor didn't get a chance to really know Emma, but she still thinks about the beautiful strains that came from her flute every day when she practiced after school. She remembers.


And then there was the most recent gesture - Team RMAO's decision to dedicate their relay race to Emma. The race is an incredible physical feat. The team will take turns running legs of a race that starts in New Haven, CT and ends in Boston, MA. They'll be up for more than 24 hours straight while they complete the race. As they've prepared for this exhausting trial, they have enthusiastically raised more than $5,000 for Emma's scholarship fund, shared stories about Emma, and raised awareness about suicide prevention; but most of all, they remember.


This last gesture provides a fitting metaphor. I have many times referred to this journey with grief as a marathon without a finish line. This winter I think all three of us hit the proverbial wall that marathon runners talk about - feeling like we might just be too exhausted to go on. We have been so fortunate to have people to whom we could pass the baton. Thank you to all the members of our relay team, too numerous to mention, who have run a leg of the race for us while we caught our breath and nursed our wounds.

Support Team RMAO

Check out what some amazing friends are doing to honor Emma, raise money for the scholarship fund, and build awareness about suicide prevention. Click here for more...

Coconut Dreams

We went to my favorite restaurant, Liana's Trattoria, for Mother's Day dinner. Liana sent me home with an extra piece of my favorite coconut cake so, in gratitude, I thought I'd share this essay I wrote about her cake. Happy Mother's Day, Liana!


Coconut Dreams


Okay, I’ll admit it. I dream about food. Not any food, mind you. But on occasion I have eaten something so unique, so ethereal, so perfect, it has lingered in my subconscious for days or even weeks, making delicious appearances on my dream menu.


The first food I ever dreamed about was the coconut cake at Liana’s Trattoria off of Tunxis Hill Road. I am a fan of coconut cake anyway, but Liana’s version is in a league of its own. The coconut is baked right into the golden cake batter, making it dense and moist, so moist that it needs no frosting. Liana simply dusts it with a little powdered sugar and drizzles it with a rich dark chocolate sauce. It is perfection.


The first time I had Liana’s coconut cake I dreamed about it for a week straight. For months, I told everyone I knew about it and I was repeatedly disappointed that people weren’t as excited about my discovery as I was. “Oh, that sounds good,” they would say rather unenthusiastically. “No, no, not just good. It’s amazing. It’s the best dessert I’ve ever had. I dream about this cake!”


“You dream about it?” they would say.  “Wow.”  And it was always clear that they did not mean, “Wow. That must be great cake,” but rather, “Wow. You’re kind of weird.”


Fortunately, my family was very tolerant about my new coconut cake obsession, and they were happy to go to Liana’s as frequently as I had cravings.  My husband tried a couple of years in a row to make a reservation for my birthday before he finally caught on to the fact that the restaurant is always closed in January. I took this news badly. It was hard to accept that I would never have my favorite coconut cake on the one occasion each year that demanded that I eat cake.


It is representative of my husband’s devotion that he tried to find a way to right this wrong. He set out to find a recipe, aided by my sister-in-law, who thought she remembered Liana’s coconut cake being featured in a cooking magazine some years ago. Thanks to the miracle of the Internet they managed to find a recipe that was indeed attributed to Liana from the time that she was serving as the pastry chef at Paci in Southport. From all appearances it was the same cake. They had found the Holy Grail.


He kept his discovery a secret, intent on surprising me for my birthday. The night of my birthday dinner I was banned from the kitchen for what seemed like hours. Finally, I was escorted to the dining room, where I was treated to a lovely Thai dinner brought in from a nearby restaurant. I took this to mean that my exile and the banging around in the kitchen had just been an elaborate ruse. But after the meal, Peter and the girls went back into the kitchen and banged around some more before reappearing with their ultimate surprise – Liana’s coconut cake that they had made from scratch.


They put the cake down in front of me, sat down, and stared intently as I took my first bite. I was feeling a lot of pressure as I bit into the cake. I knew they were waiting to see that ecstatic expression that I got when I ate the cake made by Liana. I didn’t think it was an expression I could fake.


Their cake was good, very good. But, honestly, it was not like Liana’s. My husband realized this himself when he took his first taste. His look of disappointment was heartbreaking. He went back through the recipe in his mind. Did he do something wrong? Too much flour? Not enough coconut? Baked it too long? Not long enough? He couldn’t put his finger on where he had gone wrong, but this was not the coconut perfection he was shooting for. There would be no coconut dreams tonight.


You have to admire his perseverance. He tried two more years in a row to make the coconut cake for my birthday. Each time he was crestfallen to find that his cake did not live up to the Liana ideal. After the third failure, he finally gave up, but his failure continued to haunt him.


A couple of years ago, Liana came to greet us at our table midway through another delicious meal. She asked if we had room for dessert, which elicited a chuckle. “I always have room for dessert,” I assured her. “ Would you like to see a dessert menu?” she asked. “ She won’t need a menu,” Peter replied. “She’ll have the coconut cake. That’s what she’s been waiting for since she walked through your door. The entrée was just a formality.”


Liana came back after dessert to see if I had enjoyed my cake. “It was divine,” I told her with complete honesty.  She smiled with satisfaction. That’s when Peter spoke up.


“Liana, I just have to ask you about something. A couple of years ago I found a coconut cake recipe in Gourmet that was attributed to you, but when I tried to make it, it was not the same. Don’t get me wrong, it was good - but it wasn’t this good. Is that your recipe or isn’t it?”


“Well, that’s a funny story,” Liana replied. “When the magazine called me and asked me for the recipe, I knew I had to give them something. But the recipe I use in the restaurant is my sister’s. She’d kill me if I gave it away. So that recipe you found in the magazine – that’s my recipe, it’s just not this recipe.”


For Peter, her revelation was vindication. He had not failed at making the cake. He was, in fact, extremely successful at making an inferior cake. And even though I can’t have Liana’s coconut cake for my birthday, it seems right and just to me that my perfect, one of a kind, dream cake is a carefully guarded family secret. Cake worth dreaming about is cake worth protecting.


And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.

Charlie Sheen

NPR host, Michel Martin, started her recent commentary on Charlie Sheen by acknowledging that she was probably the 10,000th person to feel compelled to comment publicly on his saga and America's reaction to it. I guess I'm going to be number 10,001.

I don't think there's any need to provide background. Unless you've been living in a cave, there is no way you could have missed the increasingly outrageous stories of drugs, alcohol, sexual exploits, and arrogant, nonsensical rants that have emerged over the last couple of weeks. I'm not sure anyone believes Charlie is in control of his behavior anymore. He seems to be hurtling toward a catastrophic end. In fact, it has been reported that news outlets have been busily preparing Mr. Sheen's obituary. That's how certain it appears that he is on a path to destruction.

At the same time that members of the news media are putting final touches on their draft obituaries, the entertainment arms of some of these same media outlets are having a field day at Charlie Sheen's expense. It's hard to sign onto the internet or turn on the radio or TV and NOT hear someone making fun of Charlie's latest rant or compromising position. And, you know, I'm just not finding it funny.

While most of us aren't qualified to make a diagnosis, I think we can all see that something is terribly wrong. If Charlie Sheen was suffering from cancer, he might receive a more sympathetic treatment from the public. If he was walking around with the unfortunate and unsightly evidence of his disease clearly visible to us all - a great grapefruit of a tumor protruding from his body; or a bald head and radiation burns - we'd find it unthinkable to poke fun. We'd offer help and prayers; comment on the pain his family must be experiencing as they watch him suffer; and we'd worry about the trauma his children will experience if they lose their father too soon to an awful disease.

But we have a different attitude towards mental illness than physical illness. We blame the victims and their families for the disease, we seek distance, and we ridicule. 

It's really no wonder that so many people who are mentally ill choose to suffer in silence, and I guess that's why I'm writing about Charlie Sheen here, on my blog about Emma. We ask ourselves daily why Emma didn't reach out for help - let people know what was going on in her head; and maybe Charlie Sheen's fate offers us a clue. After all, it's not the first time we've seen this. Lindsay Lohan has provided gossip and comic fodder for months prior to Charlie's unraveling; and Brittany Spears' mental health crisis entertained our nation for a couple of years before that.Why would anyone speak up if they thought the world would forever see them as flawed and a joke?


Some celebrities are trying to change these attitudes by sharing personal struggles with mental illness and addiction that they had, heretofore, kept private. By honestly telling their own stories of struggle, they have controlled those stories, and the result is a sensitive and compassionate portrayal of dealing with diseases that others can't see and don't understand. I hope their stories help change our attitudes, so that people with mental illness can reach out for help and treatment and can expect to be treated with dignity and respect.

Click here to listen to Pete Wentz's (Fallout Boy) compelling story.

Click here to listen to Max Bemis of Say Anything tell his story.

Feathers for Lunch

Our lives were turned upside down in all sorts of ways when Emma died. Neither Peter nor I worked for two months after we lost Emma. For Peter, the end of the school year granted him a natural break during which he could try to get his feet back on the ground. I took a leave of absence and eventually came to the conclusion that it would not be possible to return to the full time job I had had for just over a year. We had no idea how Sarah would cope with the year ahead and I thought it was important that I had flexibility in my schedule so that we could give her all the help and support she might need.


The difficult part of this decision was that it left me with a lot of time on my hands at a time when time was not necessarily my friend. Peter and Sarah went back to school in the fall and I was home for 7 hours a day all by myself. Some time to think and reflect was valuable, but 7 hours a day was much too much time alone.


I was fortunate that my employer allowed me to come back to work very part-time. This gave me at least a little structure to  my week, some time out of the house, and a feeling of purpose and worth. I was also lucky to have good friends who rallied around and got me out walking and talking a couple of hours every week. I believe that was life-saving.


But, perhaps, the best thing that I did for myself was volunteer to be a guest reader for a kindergarten class in Bridgeport. Every visit to that classroom provided a welcome escape from my reality. I could become engrossed in the books and in the children's reaction to the books. Their bright faces and eagerness helped me believe in possibility again. And nothing could melt through the iciness of sorrow better than having a class full of kindergarten kids line up to give you a hug goodbye, as they did every time I finished a visit.


I've continued my stint as a guest reader this year. The teacher I got paired with last year changed schools and moved to pre-Kindergarten. The class I now visit is an eager group of 4 and 5 year olds who absolutely love books. They remind me so much of Emma at that age, so visiting with them feels a little like visiting with Emma.


From the time she was tiny, Emma had a close relationship with books. They were friends that she got to know completely and held close. Books that she loved became special to us, too, as we read them to her over and over again. Those books were so much a part of our daily family life, I kind of think of them as members of the family.


Last week I brought in a selection of Emma favorites to share with my class and their reaction thrilled me and touched my heart. One of the books was Lois Ehlert's Feathers for Lunch. This is a book that demands to be read over and over again, and that's why Emma loved it. The story is about a cat who is unsuccessfully stalking the birds in his back yard. But it is the illustrations that drew Emma and my pre-kindergarteners in.  They are simple, almost cartoon-like, drawing of birds and plants, all carefully labeled, so that young readers are encouraged to learn how to recognize them both in the book and in nature. All of Lois Ehlert's books are like this and we often felt like she had created them just for Emma, because this is just what Emma loved to do: learn about nature and commit hundreds of different species of plants, animals, birds, fish and minerals to memory.


I loved that my class approached that book just the way Emma did. They made sure I read all the labels on the plants and birds in the pictures. "You forgot to tell us what the name of that flower is!" they would politely correct if I moved on from a page too quickly. Even though I brought in 3 books to share, we had to read Feathers for Lunch twice. The second time through they wanted to try their hand at naming all the birds and plants and they did a remarkably good job. When I finished reading all three books and was preparing to leave, one little boy piped up, "You need to bring those books back again because I want to read them again." "Yes, yes," the others chimed in, "you should bring those books back!" I could picture little Emma sitting right in their midst. That's just what she would have been saying.


Click here for a preview of this fabulous book, if you're not familiar with it.