40 days and then some

In many cultures the first 40 days after a baby is born mother and baby are sheltered from the outside world. I have been trying to honor this space in my own modern way as much as possible. It has been a big four months, needless to say and the past 40 days have increased the intensity. But alas, we have survived this boot camp of physical, mental, and emotional obstacles of the latest flavor. Of course, this is not without the help of my mother, Phil's daughter Sierra, my sister, Birth Roots in Portland, Phil's mother, Sarah B., and the countless other community and family members who continue to support us both near and far in an incredible creative way. I was reading in some African cultures, after this first 40 days of complete seclusion, the mother emerges from her hut and is treated like a warrior goddess. She is crowned and revered just like men who go off to battle and return. Our society doesn't honor mother and child in quite the same way -- but birthing and new motherhood is the biggest shape-shifting life transformation I've experienced to date. This is a radically new time -- our two beings learning from one another at a rapid pace, complete experiential learning in turbo time.

Julian is thriving; this is such a miracle and a gift. He has gone from 7 lbs and 10 ounces to around 12 lbs in the past 6 weeks. Rather than being able to write, read, or interact much I have been primarily feeding this child! The nurses at the hospital say, "Oh, this baby really knows how to let his needs be known". Ah, yes. That is one way to say it. Why does this surprise me given his mother and father’s personalities? I go to these new mother support groups and many mothers of newborns have these little soft, bread dough like SLEEPY little angels. Many people also say, "oh this is the easy time, just wait". This concerns me, as our little Julian is, let’s say, highly engaged with the world around him. He doesn't have much time for napping. There are too many new sounds to try, too many facial expressions to explore, body movements to discover, and new smiles to flirt with people in a big, toothless gummy kind-of huge way. We love him and he has been consuming nearly all of us with his incredible force of energy.

Meanwhile, Phil is still recovering in a meandering and up and down way. Our days continue to be filled with sparks of hope and wonder, and sadly dark unknowns about his eventual healing. We both keep trying day in and day out, hour in and hour out, and minute by minute to knit together our lives. Amazing that an event, his stroke, which took maybe five to ten minutes, can so suddenly change the entire course of your life. Phil is determined to keep trying and learning but the hill feels quite overwhelming some days. New fatherhood and being present for my 60-hour birth (yes that is right) has taken quite a toll on his much needed sleep. Meanwhile, Julian and Phil share an incredibly special bond. They look almost identical, expect for the chin. Their personalities seem to be quite similar too as Helga; Phil's mother sends many excerpts from old diary entries by Phil's father about his early years.

This has been my year to squarely embrace both life and death. My life requires me to stay as much in the present moment as possible to stay sane. It is still very unknown what our future as a family holds. The social security disability has still not manifested, how or when we will go back to work in any real way is unknown, how much Phil will recover is a mystery, and where we may need to move this fall is in limbo. The day-to-day rhythm with a newborn also requires you to stay on your toes and just stay present.

Alas, one huge transition has been resolved, for now. Mr. Julian James is here, in full force, and reminding us about the incredible wonder and rapid development of life as it unfolds before our eyes. His brain will grow 60% of its adult size within this first year. This is an incredible amount of expansion to witness. Every day and every moment is filled with the miracle of newness.

This honestly feels like the first moment in at least 40 days that I have been able to string together coherent letters and sentences in reflection. Thank you for reading and there will be more to come.

The children

The children

The garden’s planted.
In the middle of this city we
celebrate one more season of the old ways,
grooming the earth and gathering
bright green food.

May we remember to teach our children
mostly what’s obvious,
the simple relations of hand and soil,
and may they remind us season after season
of the garden’s first truth:
that all things grow to unique goodness uniquely
if you give them some space,
if you don’t bother them too much.

-- an old poem by Phil James

This Much is Enough :: ETSY craft/art website

Some of our dear friends have created an art/craft shop on Etsy as a benefit for our family. We are very grateful to them and to all of the artists and crafters who have contributed their goods thus far. Please help us spread the word for both shoppers and for any creative contributions.

To learn more please visit:
http://www.thismuchisenough.etsy.com
Facebook:: This much is enough

Here are some words from Beth Taylor -- artist, friend, and co-founder of the etsy site:

"Dearest Family and Friends,

We have started a website to raise money for very dear friends in Portland, Maine who find themselves in a tough spot at the advent of the birth of their first child. I am writing to seek donations of crafted items (of any size and variety) to sell on the site. All of the proceeds will go directly to the Phil James Family Emergency Fund. Spread the word, invite your family and friends to donate. Here is the direct link:

Craft/Art donations can be mailed to:

This Much is Enough
c/o Birth Roots
101 State Street
Portland, ME 04101

Or left in the entry area under the shelf that holds the brochures if you are local to Portland.

Feel free to be in touch with me with any questions or requests to Beth (contact tab) Once items have been donated and loaded up to the site, we will be in touch again with an encouragement to spread the word and buy beautiful goods from the site.

And thank you so much,
Beth Taylor"

BOSTON benefit concert May 21st :: 8pm

Please help us spread the word and bring your friends and family to a benefit concert in honor of Phil Nyokai James on May 21st at 8pm in Boston.

To learn more about location, artists, and details please click the link below:
BOSTON BENEFIT CONCERT MAY 21st :: 8pm

A giant thank you to Matt Samolis for organizing such a meaningful event! We cannot thank you enough -- Lara, Phil and baby Julian

announcing JULIAN PHILIP JAMES!

We are blessed with a healthy baby boy!

JULIAN PHILIP JAMES

born on April 15th, 2010
(our little tax man)
7 lbs 10 oz
20 inches tall

With love - his proud parents,
Lara and Phil

*more to come at a later date, I am in new mother mode and this is my first writing experience in almost two weeks!

India has been my greatest teacher

When describing our journey to India that Phil and I took in the spring of 2009 most people gasp and say, "I could never do that!" "The poverty, the smell, the brokenness, the dirt, the chaos, not much of a vacation is it?” Phil and I were blessed (or cursed depending on how you view it) to spend around 3 months in this mysterious exotic country as our honeymoon. Most people in our culture also say that they could "never spend that much money, never break away from home/work for that long, etc". I will say it was quite a juggling feat to make it happen. But honestly it cost us far less (besides the loss of daily income) for the entire 3 months of travel than it does to exist here in Portland, ME for even one month! It's all a matter of perspective We of course were not staying in the Taj Mahal in Mumbai -- we were schlepping backpacks and eating lots of street food. Looking back now I know how important this journey was for me on so many levels.

The sacred and the profane that exist hand in hand in the heart of India is the most extreme I've ever experienced. The reverence and the irreverence, the beauty and despair, the brokenness and wholeness, life and dearth co-exist everywhere. The country teems with raw pulsing gorgeous life glimmering amongst the whole stinky mess of pollution, sewage, and extreme poverty. It is an absolute sensory overload. Many moments you wish you could run away and hide and close you eyes and ears and nose to what you are experiencing. But if you close your eyes or ears or nose you might miss the most beautiful music you've every heard, the most incredible visual image of women in neon sparkly colorful saris amongst herds of adorned camels, or you might miss the roadside flower-garland weaver with his jasmine blossoms, marigolds, and rose petals. If you keep your senses open to experience, India can offer delights unlike any other place on earth. She offers you sublime architecture, ornate and wild gardens, monkeys, elephants, and exotic birds, Himalayan mountains, incredibly spicy and flavorful food, colors, singing, art, dance, music, and a deep connection with her people.

To travel in India holds a steep learning curve in which you eventually must surrender and submit -- or sink. I heard of a western traveler who couldn't leave the airport in New Delhi after flying 1/2 way across the world. She would step out of the airport doors into the dust, the cows, the rickshaws, and mayhem -- and run back inside. This went on for two days! She finally split and went on to Thailand. We decided to plunge in and stay.

One of my personal most horrifying moments happened when I was in the backseat of a car in Rajasthan weaving through the desert on essentially a dirt path (not really something we would call a road). We were on the outskirts of a large city with many slums and beggars. A scene similar to something out of Slumdog Millionaire arose right outside my car window as a cow blocking the road stopped us. An older, wrinkled, and bony woman held up a small child who had severe burns (maybe chemical or fire induced) down the entire backside of his body. She was begging for money for her and the child and vacillating between the universal gesture of begging (hand to mouth) and the burns on the boy's back. We were stopped for what felt like an eternity and she had honed in on ME (not the other passengers or zillion of other rickshaws, cars, or taxis) but me and me alone. The absolute worst part of this reality was my deep wondering if she had inflicted this harm to the child out of desperation or if both of them were owned and being forced into this circumstance. If I gave her money it might encourage her to continue to inflict such harm or encourage their owner to continue. I was ripped apart for hours and days to come (and still am). My deep urge was to reach out of this window and grab this child and give this family every single ounce of anything I had -- my clothes, camera, food, water, energy -- anything. But then you look around you and begin to realize that this scene is reproduced in many forms all around you and YOU just can't fix it, you can't. The press and crush of this kind of poverty and humanity is so heavy, so deep, and so present. Our seasoned friend whom we were traveling with had some advice for me that I'm drawing on a lot these days. It was something about how" it's not what YOU do in each of these circumstances because you honestly can't fix them, it's how you let them AFFECT you and how you chose to respond -- keeping the bigger picture in mind at all times". Of course there is an appropriate response somewhere between running away and becoming overwhelmed and consumed by situations. There is a middle path. What is most difficult I've found is keeping an open heart amongst so much pain and shattering -- and simply witnessing, deeply witnessing the pain of others.

Right now our days here continue to be filled with extreme ups and downs. The deeper pull of spring is bursting forth, buds are forming on the trees, and the promise of a new growing season is filled with possibility. Our little baby James is about to emerge into a newly softened air after the crisp edges of a Maine winter. I am due this Sunday, April 4th after nearly 10 months of nurturing this child inside my body.

The grief of Phil's stroke and its aftermath still hang heavy in the air. Our life often feels like living amongst the ghost of what once was. Phil didn't die, but many aspects of our life have died for now and there is grief for this. Many of the elements on the outside look the same. Same apartment, same group of amazing friends, Phil even physically looks similar to pre-stroke (although he has lost much weight and strength and his right side body hangs quite heavy). Aphasia is often referred to as a hidden disability. We bumped into an old friend at the grocery store last night and she hadn't heard any our tragic news, what a relief! Phil gently smiled at her and I kept the conversation flowing, she had no idea what we had been through. We pulled it off -- hooray! This was such a relief -- a slice of normalcy amongst this current tragedy. There is certain vitality to Phil's being that occasionally shines through (although these moments have been brief and far in-between thus far). I know I would experience much less grief if I could try to stay present to the moment and just sense our lives vs. attaching a story line of the past and the future. Interestingly the language center of one's brain is also where the ego center lives. Phil's brain has taken on such a new form but mine is still intact -- for better or worse.

I honestly think I would be able to let go of the story line much more if I weren't about to birth our first child together. There is a natural anticipation in the air when you sit on this precipice -- I think most mothers would agree. You want to give your child the stars. You want for them to land in a healthy nest, for them to have strong, intelligent, capable and loving parents who can provide for them and be present for their needs. I can't help but wonder (and so does Phil) IF and WHEN he will be able to recover enough to be the kind-of father his heart longs to be and husband I long for. We've had nearly 10 months to dream of this little being -- while the last two have been laced by this ghost of what once was lingering around our lives. (It's still cautious optimism regarding Phil's recovery and it's a long meandering road).

The big old WHY? keeps rearing its ugly head. I know it's a useless path with no end result -- but maybe this is a natural rivulet streaming into the river of post-traumatic stress. I know there is no answer to this question, but my mind still faces the big W--H--Y? Many folks say that they "couldn't possibly do what I'm doing". They couldn't be the primary and usually sole caregiver of Phil while being this pregnant and about to go through childbirth. I don't know HOW I'm doing this either? I don't always want to exhibit such resilience, strength, and courage. I don't know how we will manage once our little baby arrives either? I think when you face such things you either choose to plunge in or run back into the airport and take off to Thailand (ah, that sounds pretty nice right now I must admit). This is chaos, it is messy, it is confusing, it is hard, and it holds so much sadness. Meanwhile we are blessed with this new life? The irony!

Soon we will embrace this new life full of aspiration and wonder (and a lot of work and sleep deprivation too -- I know.). I am allowing myself at least 40 days post-birth to surrender to this experience. We've done all that we can do to prepare for this baby amongst so much change and chaos and new life tasks I never imagined. In our childbirth education class the teacher mentions how going through childbirth and becoming a new parent to an infant makes you draw into your deepest resources, and you must dig deep. I feel that we've been doing this for months already. I've done everything in my power to try and carve out a healing path for Phil, save his life, and to care for him deeply meanwhile trying to keep myself and baby as healthy as possible. I've had to do some deep digging.

If you don't hear from me on this blog please know I've gone into the birth cave and new motherhood mode. My request from all of you is to help us keep our hearts open during this time of so much heartbreak and shattering, life and death. Please offer your strength (we need it!) during our upcoming birth and becoming new parents to a new little soul being born.

Love,
Lara

gratitude

Thank you. There has been such an outpouring of family and community support during this incredibly mysterious time. It has been impossible for me to keep up with thanking every person and honoring each gesture or responding to each phone call, letter, text message, and email. Please be patient with us, and please know each and every aspect of you reaching out and offering yourselves, skills, meals, love, etc. is our anchor right now and is deeply felt and known. Life has been full tilt and my energy begins to wane with baby here any moment. Basically we both (our whole family) are eternally grateful for everything that you all have provided. Please know as the months unfold our response will hopefully be more adequate and appropriate, the thank you cards more consistent, and the connection won't be so one-sided. I know you understand it is just something that circulates between Phil and I on a daily basis, the lack of us expressing our gratitude thoroughly or enough. Phil is very concerned about this but cannot do this himself at this point and I honestly have not been able to keep up.

My friend and I were talking about how in other European countries the government would take better care of a disabled family with a child on the way. So far it has been a pretty big battle with mountains upon mountains of work here in the U.S. So far not much success on our end. I have faith that if I keep trying and persisting this will hopefully change course. Also, we've been mostly immersed in the western medical model (of which I have thanks for as well -- it saved Phil's life initialy) the deeper healing comes from the world outside of the hospital walls. Each funny piece of artwork, drive to a rehab appointment, massage for Phil, nourishing meal are what is healing his brain and cells. There isn't a "cure" for his circumstance but there is healing in a myriad of creative ways.

Our community and family are what keep us afloat on a daily basis. Your love and effort is the silver lining on the cloud of our recent misfortune. Your support restores my faith on a daily basis. Your embrace is composed of the arms that hold us through this trust fall of life. The phone messages, donations, letters, benefit concerts, flute auctions, craft creations, emails, cards, artwork, and creativity keep me going -- I cannot express my gratitude enough (and I know Phil would too if he could).

This photo above was taken in Hardiwar, India. We set this tiny leaf boat afloat on the Ganges River as an offering for our possible baby-to-be last April. It is filled with flowers, candles, and wishes. We watched as it joined the hundreds of other candle-lit leaf boats floated down to the nightly puja where thousands of pilgrims joined for music and devotion. Many pilgrims save money their entire life to participate in this gathering -- arriving bone thin, wearing nothing but thread-bare clothing, shawls, and bare feet. We learned so much from that journey.

More on Phil and the baby soon...