www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org

On 5/24/11 2:53 AM, "emrich@firehousemail.com" wrote:


Hello-

I would just like to drop a quick note to tell you that I think what your organization does is fantastic. I have been a firefighter for 13 years, and have dealt with a large amount of child and baby deaths; from delivering stillborns, to baby and child CPR's, to performing the actual death notifications to parents.

I have had to perform as department chaplain on occasion, and have ALWAYS encouraged the parents to hold, cuddle, and love their dead child, and even to take pictures with them. I have been gven a hard time on a number of occasions, called "morbid" and even been "talked to" by supervisors for being "insensitive" to the patients family for suggesting they hold their dead child.

I think your organization is great, and from what Ive seen, is full of love. My own son almost died shortly after birth, and I remember wondering what I should do if he died. Should i take pictures? would people think i'm crazy? could i even hold my dead son without breaking down and losing it?

Thank you for what you do. i believe it helps people deal with a death so much better.

God bless all of you!

Matt

Matthew D. Emrich
253-592-4443


From: Adrianna Stearns

To: ,

Date: Wed 05/25/11 09:34 AM


Hello!

I prematurely sent that last email- Sorry about that! I want to thank you for your kind words, and more so for your service as a firefighter and EMT. We are lucky to have people like you serving our country. Certain people criticize our organization as well, telling us it is strange. But until they themselves are put in a position where they would have to consider our services they should have no right to talk. We have had many families get in contact with us regretting their decision to turn down our services after they lost their baby. It is unfortunate that anyone does have to consider post mortem pictures, but I think it is important to cherish every moment possible.

Again, thank you for your kind words! I hope you have a fantastic day.

Sincerely,

Adrianna Stearns
www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org
720-283-3339 (Colorado)
1-877-834-5667 (Outside of Colorado)
720-283-8998 (Fax)

Ugh

I am glad Bin Laden is dead. Overjoyed actually, and I didnt even know it until now. I was sitting in my coffee shop this morning and opened up a news website. Of course the first picture was OBL. I instantly broke down and started crying. And it wasnt like my eyes got watery or somethething, Im talking full-blown had to go into the bathroom and regain my composure crying. (I felt like such a friggin little girl, it was crazy embarrassing)

I wasnt sure why even. Didnt even correlate the two until I got a hold of myself. Here is why I believe I felt such strong emotion-

Ever since the morning of September 11th, 2001 I've been busy. I honestly believe I've made a difference and had an impact on the recovery from September 11th. (Although i believe the word "recovery" in the case of 9/11 is relative. I don't think 9/11 will ever be recovered from. Nor ever be able to "get over it")

Although I am very grateful for the relationships, friendships, and experiences that I have had and that I have now, I hate that I have them because of 9/11. I have personally seen the devastation and the hurt that the cowardly act on that day incurred, and I hate it with every part of my being.

I have learned to hate humanity's sin nature, and in doing so I feel as though I started to hate humanity as a whole and began to feel critical of everyone (and critical of a lot of personal beliefs along the way). I hate that about me now, as this morning it seems to be all coming to light all at once.

Like i said previously, I have been very busy since 9/11. Even at the sake of my family and personal, non-FD relationships. I feel that the OBL death is NOT an end or a "closure" to 9/11, and I hardly feel that "justice has been done". I do believe however, that the death of OBL is a turning point in the healing process for those affected in any way by 9/11, directly or indirectly.

I think that ive been so busy since that day that maybe I havent had a chance to stop and feel the rose's thorns until now.

But there are still a lot of my brothers out there fighting for their lives, and most of them probably, no, most likely, will not win the fight. Most of them are not fighting for their lives as much as they are fighting for the security and welfare of their families after they are gone.

The way they are being treated by the very ones that they swore to protect (and I guarantee you-would still lay their lives down for without hesitation) angers and sickens me. The thing that most angers me is that the reason these people are being treated like this is because of nothing but sick, disgusting, dirty, bloody MONEY. Nothing else. There's your humanity for you.

So in summary, the war isnt over but yet one more battle has been won. How many more battles are there going to be though?

I'm tired and I'm NEVER going to be able to stand by and do nothing.

I just wish things were like they were before 9/11. I think. I barely remember how it was anymore.

I just wonder whats next... Do I even want to know?

Why wilderness?

In some men, the need of unbroken country, primitive conditions and intimate contact with the earth is a deeply rooted cancer gnawing forever at the illusion of contentment with things as they are. For months or years this hidden longing may go unnoticed and then, without warning, flare forth in an all consuming passion that will not bear denial. Perhaps it is the passing of a flock of wild geese in the spring, perhaps the sound of running water, or the smell of thawing earth that brings the transformation. Whatever it is, the need is more than can be borne with fortitude, and for the good of their families and friends, and their own particular restless souls, they head toward the last frontiers and escape.

-Sigurd olson

I like stones.

Sometimes when sitting on the river bank I start moving stones. I might make a little pile, I might just move them around to see if I find anything interesting in them. I like to keep them every once in a while, they remind me of different things.

This moving of stones is almost like the laying of hands, exceot that in this case the process is reversed, because when i touch them i seem to exchange my little worries for some of their stability and calm.

I like stones. To me they are not dead or inert but as alive as the crystals and minerals that compose them. While they may appear unchangeable, I know that each one has a character of its own and an indelible record of some phase of the earths history.

The stones i keep-they remind me of places Ive been, places where a memory was made in one way or another. Maybe its a memory of a riverbank where i saw the water trickling down like crystal liquid over a bed of green and orange moss. Maybe it reminds me of a dry summer day when I was so tired that i could barely lift my feet up high enough when i walked, and kicked dirt and dust covered rocks all over with every step.

Maybe it reminds me of throwing rocks into the river with my son, worrying about nothing in the world but how far we could throw them or how many times i could get them to skip.

Maybe it reminds me of my father throwing rocks into the same river with his son and feeling the same thing years and years later.

I like stones.

Watching Nature in the Starbucks

Im sitting at the starbucks in santana row, and really should be studying. Thing is, I've been studying so much lately I feel studied-out!

I was thinking a while ago how i really should ditch my laptop, cell phone, I-pod, etc for a while. i thought maybe it would help me "simplify" a little bit, if you will.

So now I'm sitting here, in the Silicon Valley, in a Starbucks, and have my laptop on my lap and my I-pod in my ears. The strange thing though, is that while sitting here listening to my I-Pod i am feeling detached and comfortable. I feel kind of how i feel when I'm sitting on the porch of the Urich Cabin in Government Meadows and looking out into the woods.

I find it funny that sitting in the starbucks listening to music and watching all these people around me talk but not hearing their words is so similar. Its like two different kinds of nature, two different kinds of scenery, but earily reminiscent.

To be continued.... my macchiato is here.

Maclean forgot and forgot

 I sat there and forgot and forgot, until what remained was the river that went by and I who watched. On the river the heat mirages danced with each other and then they danced through each other and then they joined hands and danced around each other. Eventually the watcher joined the river, and there was only one of us. I believe it was the river.

Get outta dodge

I need to get outta dodge.... I miss my sanity. I miss the smell of fresh fir, the deafening sound of silence, the all-encompassing feeling of solitude and lonlieness. I need to feel the excitement of knowing that the closest hint of humanity is miles away; humanity that doesnt even include my own being.

I long for the sounds of a wild river, "in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise."

Who made the rules or definitions of "civilization"? If I ever met the guy I'd probably help him fall short of a couple teeth.

Aldous Huxley wrote “That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons that history has to teach”.

Why is it that "civilized" people have a tendency to mock the past? Why mock your roots? If it wasnt for these roots would we have this "civilization"?

I'm not saying anyone mocked me personally, but the majority (not all) of the type of people I'm around day in and day out tend to be the types that do, and it bugs me.

My civilization is the sound of the water, the smell of the wild, the feel of the natural.

Peace. Quiet. Cleanliness... The author of something beautiful...

 One of life's quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful, even if it is only a floating ash.