http://mydeathspace.com/article/2012...river_with_him
This family has a big online presence -
http://www.sparklingadventures.com/ - their website which is down atm but can be viewed via wayback machine.
I have linked the family's FB page in the article link.
I wonder what happened. I heard on the news today that the mother had suffered depression after the baby was born.
This is incredibly tragic. I wonder what would make him do something like this. Very sad.
RIP Elijah
No meat (too soon?)Originally Posted by Deviant Toaster
You slept with mike so he would ban me. change your sig..the pretentious look how hipster face is so old ooh you like guys with glasses..ooooh
Why did they blur out his face?
The dad was already casting the poor baby to the side.
They baby does not look happy at all btw he is being held.
Don't know why they would blur him out, but I am pretty sure this is him:
Never too soon for your wisdom ND, NEVAR!
Posted yesterday on the family's FB
It looms
This is so much harder than I first realised. Not only have I lost my baby boy — my precious son — but our girls have lost their brother AND their father.
The years loom in front of us, and well-meaning, kind people offer dire predictions unless I do things differently. I am told to be silent, I am told to retreat for the sake of my children. Examples are cited, with the inference made that our family will suffer the same fate. People are ruthless, I am told. They are mean. They lack compassion and and care little for the truth in the pursuit of drama.
And I say, "I must live on a different planet from you.
"On my planet, we pull up into a new town and the second person we talk to invites us home to their house where we live for a week with the option of staying permanently — rent-free — just because we have a special bond and relationship.
"On my planet, people are lovely and generous and good to each other — and this is what I seek to show our children in our travels."
And then I remember, "Oh, yeah, that WAS the planet I inhabited." It feels like I am stranded on one of those crater asteroids like The Little Prince. “What makes the desert beautiful,” said the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well…”
We are whizzing about in the void of space and perhaps, one day, we will collide again with a planet where green things grow and people dance and sing. Until then, I will dig my own well in this dry, dead rock.
And another -
Double-dutch
Elijah did not look like himself.
I'm afraid I may have startled the gentle police officer who needed me to positively identify my son's body when I said I didn't think it was him. And for a brief moment, I hoped that it was another woman's baby. (Yours, perhaps? I'm so sorry — I'm ashamed of my weakness. I should be strong enough to bear this grief without wanting to place it onto your shoulders.)
Elijah wasn't disfigured, he just wasn't ... alive.
His strawberry birthmark on the top of his head was gone. The tiny blood vessels were no longer holding blood, but if I looked closely, I could see a ghost of a trace of Elijah's only blemish.
And then there were the three little blackheads on his right cheek. I had watched them develop and had refrained from squeezing them — a mammoth effort for someone like me who has the habit to pick at almost anything. That tiny constellation of dots confirmed my son's identity.
That, and the two little teeth just poking through Elijah's bottom gum. He had only worn those teeth for a day and managed to bite me twice with them. Each time, I screamed, and he screamed, and we comforted each other by letting him feed again at the nipple.
Elijah Rainbow.
Someone had dressed him a red shirt and jean shorts. Did they know that I like red, or was it just the top item of clothing on a pile of brand-new baby-wear bought specifically for dead children? Either way, the red shirt was extraordinary. I felt blessed by the Divine touch.
I held him, tried to sing to him, dressed him something I had brought and cuddled him close. I know it is no longer Elijah. I know the body is empty — the sutures from the autopsy were a constant reminder. But for a few short hours, I had my son again sitting on my lap, wrapped in my arms, holding my fingers and receiving my kisses.
This morning I woke with a holy word bouncing around in my head: God comforts us in all our tribulations, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble... with the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. In old-fashioned language, it reminds me that I am learning compassion and receiving comfort in this time of grief so that I may be able to comfort those who come across my path in the future.
I've realised now that my current journey isn't a walk or a marathon. It's a really hard, really fast, double-dutch skip-rope session.
One turn of the rope, and I have to jump over the procedure for burying a loved one.
Another fast swing, and the rope is coming at my feet again: the procedure for visiting someone in custody.
A third swing, and I'm addressing practical issues like transportation.
Then the rope comes down again and I have to jump over financial hurdles.
Again and again, the ropes are whizzing over my head and back around. I will learn to pick up my feet at the right time, I will learn to jump high, I will learn to dance to a different beat lest I fall and get whipped by the relentless ropes.
Relentless.
Today, I cried. Tomorrow I probably will, too. The day after, perhaps, the sky will stop raining and I will see the sun.
And another
This present moment
I am intent on inhabiting the present moment. I am lying here, listening to the life that is happening around me and practicing mind control ? mine.
For I dare not enter into the past. The "if only"s will lead me down a path of despair.
And the future looms large and unfriendly, but only if I raise my eyes to the darkness in front of me. If I keep my mental gaze away, there may be a shadow at the corner of my eyes, but I can't really tell.
And in this present moment, a little face is putting herself in front of me.
Delaney positions herself to watch me scribble in a notepad, moving her finger until it successfully collides with the ink flowing from my pen.
"Stop drawing, Mummy!" Dell commands. And so I obey.
For my life is here, now, with her and her sisters.
*** Later ***
It's been over twenty-four hours since I last fed Elijah. My breasts are hard bags of marbles, sore to the touch and constantly leaking. I have folded up a small towel and placed it inside my shirt to absorb the moisture.
My breasts' steady outflow is the catharsis I need as a substitute for the tears that do not come. I am tired, I am bereft, I am alone ? all while I am surrounded by people who do everything for me and ask for nothing in return.
I retreat to my sanctuary ? my bed in the trailer. Only our girls dare follow. Two-year-old Delaney is the most bold of all, demanding this and that as I attempt to withdraw.
But life goes on, as it must. And it is precisely a toddler's naivety and indifference to my suffering that pulls me back to life.
Yes, Dell, I will serve you. You refuse to let me wither up, so let me live for you and your sisters.
Last one that I'll post
Elijah Rainbow was a well-loved little boy. On his last day on Earth, he stayed close to me, hearing my heartbeat for most of the day as he dozed in the sling.
I woke up in the morning to feed Elijah. He had fed several times in the night, and in his first feed of the day, I felt the sharp pull of new teeth against my nipple. It doesn't matter how many times it happens — I'm never savvy enough to pick up on our baby's teething symptoms until the teeth actually emerge.
After he fed, Elijah fell back to sleeping peacefully, and I felt awake and rested enough to get up without him. Often I doze with him for a while, but today I felt envigorated and ready to get some things done.
We were planning on visiting friends at Tallebudgera this weekend, so I needed to sort through items to pack. Elijah's extra sleep allowed me to get some chores done, and when he let me know he was awake, I was happy to see him again and fed him while sitting in our reclining chair.
After he was sated, I dressed Elijah into new clothes. I had just started pulling out size 0 clothes ᠇ he swam in them, but I felt like he was getting too big for the 00 size. I dressed him in a white singlet suit with a snap crotch, a white-and-green striped long-sleeved shirt, olive corduroy pants and crocheted socks the colour of cardboard. I don't have _any_ red boys' clothes in size 0, so I thought I would seek to address that by looking through secondhand shops during our travels.
After he was dressed, Elijah played on the carpet with his sisters. I remember Calista holding him in her lap. She loves to croon "Elijah boy" to him and offer him toys for him to mouth. I was able to use this time to have a quick shower, and when I emerged, Elijah was still happy playing with his sisters.
I told his sisters that Elijah's teeth had come through, and they all took turns putting their fingers in his mouth to feel them. Elijah loved this attention, and — of course — the chance to munch on some fingers. It was very exciting — a baby's milestone is exaggerated when they're so loved. I could have pointed out a new hair on his head, and we would have all fussed over him!
When Elijah started fussing from tiredness, I strapped my red sling on and laid Elijah across my back while I fixed the shoulder straps. One thing about our dedication to parenting Elijah the way we have done is that I don't have regrets about not holding my son enough.
He loves to sit in the sling. He can choose to watch the world go by or doze, and I remember to take him off every now and again and offer him the breast — even if he's not fussing for it.
We needed some things from town — an eclectic list of items that would take me to several different stores, so I approached Aisha and asked her if she would like to accompany me on a "long walk". At seven years old, Aisha is a wonderful companion. She is mature enough to visit shops without become enamoured by their wares and will happily accompany me in and out of as many places as we need to go.
I was still wearing Elijah in the sling when we walked into Beenleigh, cutting across the cemetary as we did so. Aisha was interested in some of the graves, and we read the headstones and speculated on the people who were memorialised with metal and stone. I kept noticing children's graves and commenting to Aisha on the ages of the kids and babies.
We talked about death matter-of-factly. Aisha understands that life is Spirit and Spirit is indestructible — it is only the body that decays. These graves are not for the dead, but for the living — a rallying point for those who are missing someone's presence. We noticed some quiet mourners standing around graves and together felt compassion for these strangers.
After breezing in and out of several shops, I was approached by one man who noticed Elijah's head had tipped back. Usually when Elijah sleeps, I pull the hood over his head to keep it close to my back, but this time he had dozed off without me being aware. It is so lovely to have encounters with strangers who demonstrate that they care for your children too, and to be approached by this man who loved Elijah enough to want him to be comfortable is a beautiful example of how, in sharing our love openly with those around us — even strangers — we make the world a better place.
I fed Elijah while we were out. Aisha and I munched on fresh croissants. Elijah was soon distracted by the food going into our mouths, and Aisha pulled off a tiny piece of pastry to put in his mouth. He sucked on it for a while before spitting it out, and I deterred Aisha from giving him any more.
It took us a long while to get back home. Aisha and I took our time in the stores and looked through the baby items in hopes of finding some red things, but there were none unless I also wanted to endorse a cartoon character. It was a lovely day out, and I was able to change Elijah's nappy before he fell asleep again on my back.
On the way home, we passed through the cemetary again. Aisha and I spoke again about death, and I expressed that although we don't understand the timing of deaths in our lives, it is always good. Aisha asked if someone in our family died, would that be good? I replied in the affirmative, saying that nothing happens that is not good. This I said to her, believing that death was far from our family, and yet now that it has knocked on our door, I believe no differently.
Conviction and faith are hard to express, and words sound trite until they are backed up with actions. In accepting Elijah's sad loss to our family, I'm being given the opportunity to live what I believe, to demonstrate that life is Spirit and Spirit is indestructible, and thus — although we will miss Elijah Rainbow's precious presence — his energy lives on in love, light and goodness that is shared all around the world.
I am glad that for most of Elijah's last day, he was content to ride on my back in the carrier. You can't regret the times you hold a child close, and Elijah knew he was loved and cherished by us all.
Thank you for joining us, Elijah Rainbow, if only for a short while. We love you so much and now can appreciate every baby we meet even more, for you have reminded us how precious each child is — a blessing and a joy.
Wow, that's quite an outlook to have. That poor family.
This poor woman has just been put through what I can imagine the worst (losing a child) thing for a parent ever and yet she writes so passionately about what is going on around her. I realize that some people might not agree with their lifestyle, but I think they really are genuine people. This death just makes no sense. It kills me to know that this mother has to stay strong and protect herself and living children, when I am sure all she wants to do is fall apart.
I was also thinking, how can this woman write so beautifully after the death of her child?
well, ok! but let's see what happens when i do...... this!
That's when the best stuff comes out. Any mind blowingly stressful event can bring out the Nathaniel Hawthorne in anyone. It does for me, anyway.
Don't like what I have to say? I respect that. Now go fuck yourself.
No offense to her and what she went through is devastating but writing pretentious, overblown 9th grade chola poetry is not writing beautifully.
You slept with mike so he would ban me. change your sig..the pretentious look how hipster face is so old ooh you like guys with glasses..ooooh
What the hell happened to make him snap? I read the blog and thought he killed himself as well, so screwed up but that made more sense. How could he let that baby drown? :(
Her writing made me cry. So beautifully written. I find that when I am going through a hard time I write some good stuff, but I cannot even begin to imagine her pain. The breastfeeding part really got me...I remember nursing my daughter and I loved it so much....ugh, my heart hurts for her.
RIP baby boy.
Here is a page all about the baby's birth into their community:
http://www.sparklingadventures.com/index.php?id=1448
sorry to be rude, but his middle name was rainbow??!
RIP little man
They were part of the rainbow family. Many of them assume the "Rainbow" surname.
"It's the salt water that changes the Rainbow's pretty colors to gray." "And his colors never come back?" "No, once he's been to the sea he's changed forever. The Steelhead can come back home here, stay for the rest of his days, and live among the other Rainbow trout, but he'll always be different because of where he's been." Morsi, Pamela. Garters.
oh, my bad. carry on.
When I was little my neighbors had three children the girls where Rainbow & Banana. I can not remember the boys name. They did a lot of acid.Their lives made no sense to me, but I was intrigued. lol
I have just been reading her latest blogs. Hmmm.
We live on generosity. Each day I am thankful for what we have and am constantly reminded that others are blessing us in so many facets of our life.
I drive a car that was generously given to us and fixed by others. We have been eating food prepared for especially for us, and so we are sustained by kindness with every meal. I use a phone many times a day and never see a bill — someone has chosen to offer love to our family by taking care of it.
We travel and experience the hospitality of many families who welcome us in. When at home in our shed, I am constantly aware that we are not paying for water, electricity or even the wireless internet access which allows me to stay connected online.
How can we charge rent on our house when we are not asked for rent in return? So we don’t. We stopped charging rent, and although I experienced a moment of panic when faced with unexpected bills after Elijah’s death, they have all been taken care of in ways I didn’t expect.
Even the money that I use to buy things comes as a generous gift from the Australian government — and I do not take it for granted. We live in a wonderful country that offers payments to all families and looks after those who have a low income. Pure religion? Well, we call it social security.
That post kind of made me not like her very much. Not because she is getting social security, that is normal after the death of - wait the husband is dead too right?- a spouse, but it is because all of the other things that she puts out there in a weird pseudo metaphysical wrap up, making it seem so splendid and delightful. I don't know but something about the sugar coating of this last post made me wanna barf just a little.
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