I’ve spent the last 6 months wondering how I’d ever return to the world wide web. I’ve been afraid, ashamed, discouraged, confused.

I’ve been a million things, but none of them was ever “ready.”

So, here I am. . . reluctantly breaking radio silence, after nearly 6 months of static.

I missed you. I did. And I’m so sorry for deserting you. I am.

I’m nervous. Of all the ridiculousness there ever was, I.am.nervous.

It’s like I’m coming home to a long lost friend. The kind of friend who once understood me completely and loved me without condition. The kind of friend who, once upon a time, would have been there for me, no matter what. . . But it’s been so long. What if things have changed? What if it’s simply been too long? What if I’ve muddled everything?

I’m afraid.

In fact, my heart is pounding through my chest. (And tears are streaming down my cheeks. . . which really embarrasses me—full disclosure, remember? It’s my thing. Or have I been away so long that you’ve forgotten?)

“This is absurd,” you say? I KNOW! You are ABSOLUTELY correct. This is absurd. We’re talking about a BLOG here, and a peripheral one at that! I.hear.you. I feeeeeeeeel you. And, despite it all, this is exceptionally hard. Picking up the pieces and beginning again where I stand is hard in a way that I could never, ever have anticipated.

It hurts to worry that no one is left to listen. It hurts to admit that, well, even if you are still there listening, I just don’t know what I have left to say. And THAT? Well, that’s the most horrifying admission of them all. . .

So, why today? Why not yesterday? A week ago, a month ago, six?

Why am I suddenly ready, today?

Oh, I’m not. Ready. Not at all.

But enough. Enough. Because this isn’t about me. It has nothing to do with me at all.

I’m here today for you, Adler. For you, Sarah. And for you, brave, selfless McKay.

I am here today, for you.* 

Friends, please share what you can (I’ve been here, trust me, every dollar matters). If you can’t share monitarily, please, help me spread this video as far and wide as the ocean is deep.

Let’s help give this family the miracle they so deserve. Let’s help these beautiful brothers grow up together.

Let’s fix Adler, together.

 xx,

N

*Sarah, McKay, Adler and the rest of you sweet kindred stranger-friends of mine, I pray so earnestly that you receive a miracle. I pray with every beat of my heart that God hears my prayers. I pray fervently that His perfect will is aligned with my own. And I pray, with the entirety of my broken heart, that your miracle looks far different than my own—I pray that your miracle ends with happily ever after. . . together. . .forever. . .here . . .now. Infinite love, and the most heartfelt namaste, Natalie

A fog has rested upon us all.

We want to rejoice, we want to be merry and bright. Yet we find ourselves facing a largely unfamiliar solemnity, a collective ache, an inescapable undercurrent of pain. . .

Because their stockings are still hung by the chimney with care.

Because their gifts still lay wrapped tenderly beneath the tree.

And there will be no eager footsteps in their hallways come Christmas morning. . .

_______________

Felix’s brave momma, Jenna, elected to give birth to him at home. . . with the help of only a midwife and a few trusted friends. (Her husband, Brian, was away on deployment and took part in the experience via Skype.) When I arrived at the home where Jenna was preparing to welcome her son into the world, it was the middle of the night. The stars burned bright in the Scottsdale sky (I mention it only because it was the kind of sky you never forget your entire life through). The lights inside were dim, and there was a tangible tenderness in the air. A room full of women. . . Jenna in the middle. . . slowly, confidently breathing her way through the excruciating pain. As the night wore on, and Jenna’s pain increased, there were moments when it was nearly unbearable to watch. Tears spilled from my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her. I would have done anything to help bear her pain, and I know my feelings were shared by every other woman in the room that night.

And things went on this way.

For hours.

The intensity of pain Jenna was experiencing lasted all through the night and well into the afternoon of the next day. All the while, there was nothing any of us could do—except for love, encourage, support and stay by her side. All we could do was make certain she knew we loved her and that we weren’t going anywhere.

After Felix was finally placed into his mother’s eager arms, I listened to her genuinely and adoringly thank every woman for their presence through her pain. I listened as she told every one of us, individually, that she couldn’t have survived without us. We had done nothing to ease her pain. Nothing. She brought that baby into the world on her own. She suffered through every breath of anguish. And yet, somehow, our love, our simple presence had made a real difference for her. Jenna’s gratitude was unforgettable, unbelievable and extraordinarily sincere.

So, where do we go from here?

There are so many in this world who are writhing in emotional pain, laboring through overwhelming fear, sorrow, horror . . . and loneliness that cannot be described.  For many, and certainly those of Newtown, CT, Hell is a matter of every day life.

Where DO we go from here? I’m afraid I don’t have a perfect answer. I can only explore the question right along with every other member of the human family. . . But I imagine the answer lies somewhere near the region of LOVE. A love that is more complete, more open, more unconditional—a love that is not bound by pretext or restraint.

We need to be kinder with one another, more gentle and forgiving. We need to be slower to anger and more prompt to help. We need to extend the hand of friendship and resist the hand of retribution. In short, we need to love one another with the pure love of Christ, with genuine charity and compassion and, if necessary, shared suffering, for that is the way God loves us…. We need to walk more resolutely and more charitably the path that Jesus has shown. We need to ‘pause to help and lift another’ and surely we will find ‘strength beyond [our] own.’ If we would do more to learn ‘the healer’s art,’ there would be untold chances to use it, to touch the ‘wounded and the weary’ and show to all ‘a gentle[r] heart —Howard W. Hunter

May we come together, as members of the human family, irrespective of race, political affiliation or creed, and let each other know that we are here for one another in complete charity (love) —and we aren’t going anywhere.

This full of joy, full of love, full of life family is so special to me. I went to high school with momma, Natalie. Now, she’s the mother of FIVE. It’s totally bewildering to me that someone my age can actually have that many children! . . . Then I remember that I’m actually 31 (snerk), and it’s completely realistic for a 31 year old to have five children. . . and after that, I remember that I myself am actually the mother of four (it’s so easy to forget that my family is a lot bigger than it looks/feels, and while we’re on the subject, why does four seem like so many more humans than three?!) Anyway, I hope you enjoy looking at these blissful images as much as I enjoyed shooting them. xoxoxo, N

For those who are interested, this entire session was shot in under 20 minutes flat. . .same thing is true of this shoot from yesterday of Cynthia and her beautiful babes (and of the subsequent posts that will be coming your way over the next couple of days). So many people associate getting family pictures taken with hours of stiff, unnatural torture. It’s just not the case. It CAN be FUN! So if your husband is constantly resisting family pics (cough cough), simply direct him here. And then remind him that if you can push a watermelon out of your you-know -what, he handle 20 minutes of camera time (forcryingoutloud).  Namaste. ;)

This is my childhood friend, Cynthia. I haven’t seen her since my wedding, or in other words, it’s been nearly 11 years! It was so wonderful to see her radiant self and to meet her beautiful little people, Evan and Jones. Gosh, growing up is so strange and beautiful at the same time. . . I found myself wishing we were 8 years old and trying to stuff Big Gavin down the laundry shoot, but in the same breath, I was basking in the beauty of being all grown up, with happy lives, beautiful children, and . . . well, figurative laundry shoots of our very own. :) Love you, Cyn! Enjoy, ya’ll!

I’m so in love with the color image in the dyad below. It just feeeeeeeels like childhood. Sigh.

Note to Cynthia: bottom right, look closely. What a punk. ;) Bwahahahaha.

If I ever have a daughter, someone promise to recreate this EXACT image for us, deal? You can almost reach out and touch the love.

Fine, you can recreate this next one too. . .

These two little stinkers make me think of Gavin and I, so much (except my face didn’t belong on a Gap Kid’s campaign like Evan’s does).

I’m so excited to introduce y’all to my dear friends, the Baldwin family. They moved to Arizona just a few months after we did, and our families became fast friends. The first time I met Jacqueline (in passing, at the elementary school), I just KNEW we’d be friends forever. We are so grateful to have this wonderful family in our lives!

Enjoy!

This next one made me laugh so hard. Those sweet, squishy faces! Agh!

]]> http://natalienortonblog.com/2012/11/15/happy-hannemanns/feed/ 32 http://natalienortonblog.com/2012/11/05/hello-lindblom-family/ http://natalienortonblog.com/2012/11/05/hello-lindblom-family/#comments Tue, 06 Nov 2012 01:21:06 +0000 natalie http://natalienortonblog.com/?p=5049 The Lindblom family is quite possibly the most adorable family on planet Earth. They’re everything that’s wonderful. In fact, I kinda wish we were neighbors— between they’re awesome kids and mine, we’d own the street, the neighborhood, the town. Thanks for the fun y’all!

Enjoy!

Above photo from beautiful cousin Nicole and her darling Baby Dash. Halloween, 2011.

I introduce to you. . . the Great Pumpkin!

Every year, on Halloween night, the Norton boys bag up all their Halloween loot and leave it out on the front porch for the Great Pumpkin. Once the the boys are in bed and the house is quiet and dark, the Great Pumpkin emerges from the darkness and sizes up said offering. If he deems the sacrifice sufficient, he takes it with him and leaves some long awaited toy, of one kind or another, in it’s place!

I know. I know. Y’welcome.

Great Pumpkin Tips:

1. If you’re worried about the kids being on board, make it optional. Chances are, they’ll be so curious about the surprise, they’ll be all over the idea. If not, when siblings get their presents, they’ll have at least learned their lesson for next year!

2. Let the kids each pick 5-10 of their favorite pieces of candy to keep! “Live a little, mom.”

3. You could always have the Tooth Fairy come pick up the loot instead of the Great Pumpkin! That’s a pretty practical mythical creature to use in a case like this. . . She could leave money, just like she does for teeth. . .

4.  Have the kids write a letter to the Great Pumpkin, the way they do for Santa for an extra touch of festivity!

5. Parents! Be sure to dig through the goodies and hide a stash of your favorite treats before the Great Pumpkin shows up and walks away with all that deliciousness. . . ;)

Happy Halloween!!

**This was originally posted on October 31,2011. It appears here as a revised copy of the original post.

I woke with trembling hands.

It was the first thing I noticed. “I’m shaking, why am I shaking?” I thought.

No sooner had I peeled the sleep from my eyes, than they brimmed with hot, knowing tears.

I don’t know what I expected on a day like today. Not much. Certainly not this.

I sat up in bed, still trembling softly through my tears. “Happy third birthday, son,” I silently breathed.

I had known today was coming. She didn’t sneak up on me the way these kinds of days are prone to do. No, Today announced her arrival from down the street and around the corner. I spent the entirety of last week in anticipation.

Anticipation of what, exactly, I’m sure I don’t know.

“One week from today, he’d have turned three.”
“Once the weekend is over, there will only be three days to go . . .”
“The day after tomorrow. . .”
“Tomorrow is the day. . .”

Even then, you still wake up with trembling hands.

And so it goes.

I got the kids off to school (2 hours late), and settled in to cry the day away. You know, like you do on your dead son’s birthday.

Then, there was a knock.

A few deep breaths (and a quick wipe of the nose) later, I cautiously cracked open the front door.

I stared into loving, albeit somewhat reluctant and unfamiliar eyes. A moment later, all propriety fled, and I fell uncontrollably into safe, generous arms.

“I didn’t know what I could do,” she said, eyes wet with tears, “so I brought you the ocean.”

In her outstretched hand she held a candle, deep blue as the California coast.

On a day like today. . . this new friend brought me the sea.

__________________________________________________

And that’s what it’s all about.

Surely, if nothing else, that’s what my son taught us to do. That was Baby Gavin’s legacy. . . bring the sea.

When we bring the sea. . . we give the best of ourselves to the people around us.

We reach to the depths of who we are and offer unconditional love, freely and without requisite.

We give.

We smile, we laugh, we dance, we sing.

We respect and treasure what we have right in front of us.

We let go.

We forgive.

We don’t get carried away by tomorrows or pulled under by yesterdays.

We cry. . . deep, harrowing sobs. . . that crash over us without remorse.

We change.

We connect.

We feel.

We rejoice.

We share.

We serve.

We care.

We embrace.

We reach.

We strive.

We dream.

When we bring the sea, we LIVE, today, because we know that it is the only day that we are truly guaranteed. . .

__________________________________________________

Son, I love you more today than ever before. Loving you taught me how to live. In grief, I have learned more of life than I ever knew I could live.

“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy.”

There has been much “obliterative” hurt, I have been “inconsolable” and quite “literally crazy.” Missing you has been “dislocating to both body and mind.” I have prayed for your return. I have begged, bargained, pleaded with the Lord . . . to do for me as he did for Lazarus. . . for Martha.

And yet. . .

And yet.

This is my life. There are unique lessons to be learned. Grief has been a mighty teacher, cruel and kind in almost the same breath. And I could never have learned in any other way.

This is my time to LIVE, to laugh, to cry, to connect, to give, to dream. . . this is my time to bring the sea. But YOU taught me that, little boy. Not grief. You.

Until that blessed moment when you are again in my arms, I love you with all of me. . . no, more.

Mom

The quotes in this post are from Joan Didion’s extraordinary exploration of grief, The Year of Magical Thinking. I recommend it to anyone who has ever experienced great loss.

]]> http://natalienortonblog.com/2012/10/24/she-brought-me-the-sea/feed/ 34 http://natalienortonblog.com/2012/10/22/lovebirds/ http://natalienortonblog.com/2012/10/22/lovebirds/#comments Mon, 22 Oct 2012 16:26:13 +0000 natalie http://natalienortonblog.com/?p=4964

I love having family close. It is something we rarely experienced over our 12 years in Hawaii.

We have pseudo-family there—you know who you are, and we love you just like the real deal! And (not “but”) it sure has been fun to get to know our blood. . . especially now that they are all grown up and making babies of their own.

These two became parents a few weeks ago. . . remember perfect baby Hadley? It has been a dream to watch Chelsea become a mom. She’s a natural—it’s beautiful to watch. And I’ve been absolutely inspired watching Ben become a daddy. He dotes. It’s breathtaking the way he cares for his girls (yes, Chelsea included), while still kicking butt in medical school. We are so proud of you “Red.”

Here are some images of the two of them—about a year before Hadley Girl came along—doing what they still do best, being blissfully in love.

Enjoy!

Above: Chelsea was only 16 when Richie and I tied the knot, and look at her now!