My Children, Elizabeth Davis

My Children.
Elizabeth Davis.
Acrylic.

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about this piece.

Beth talks about her piece, "This painting honors all three of my children.  Kathlyn's name, cherries for the second baby, and the little birdie for the third."

about the contributor.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Waiting for Joy and Letters to my Daughter. 

Ultrasound, Elizabeth Davis.

Ultrasound.

Elizabeth Davis.

Acrylic.

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about the piece.

Beth talks about her piece, "I did the ultrasound painting the night before my first ultrasound with my 3rd child.  I was a nervous wreck, so I painted what I wanted to see.  In the corner, I wrote 118, which is what I wanted the heart rate to be: over 100.  My first ultrasound with my second child, who I later miscarried, was only 84, which is way too low.  I grieve so deeply the idea that she never even had a chance.  It's such conflicting emotions:   I couldn't have this 3rd baby if I was still carrying the second.  I want them all.  The next day, the heart rate was 108.  I was close!"

about the contributor.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Waiting for Joy and Letters to my Daughter. 
 

Cloudy, Elizabeth Davis

Cloudy.
Elizabeth Davis.
Acrylic.

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about this piece.
Beth talks about her piece, "I call this 'Cloudy'. It was just all the things I had on my mind at the time. I was in a seriously dark place, but help was on the way (represented by the injured hand reaching for the helping hand)."

about the contributor.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Waiting for Joy and Letters to my Daughter. 

Kathlyn's Bike, Elizabeth Davis

Kathlyn's Bike.
Elizabeth Davis.
Craft.



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about this piece.
Beth describes this piece, "This is a little bike I found in an art store; it was a pale, almost dirty looking pink, like it had been in the store for 20 years collecting dust, but I loved it and wanted to paint it and have it out at her birthday memorial. I used my acrylic paint to make it look like the pink/white/red swirly colored rubber-band bracelets with her name on them that I'm going to put inside the wagon to give out as a party favor. The inside was made to look like wood. I also painted the dragonfly and the birthday cake. The pink puppy is a patch I found at the store too; pink puppies are what we use to remember our daughter, inspired by the pink puppy her daddy picked out while I was pregnant."

about the contributor.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Waiting for Joy and Letters to my Daughter. 
  
Remembering Kathlyn today on her first birthday.

Kathlyn's Room, Elizabeth Davis

Kathlyn's Room
Beth Davis
Photography Series

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Photo 1: the original, my daughter's room.

Photo 2: In January, six months after the death of my daughter, I suffered the excruciating physical pain of a kidney stone on top of the still-raw emotional pain of the holidays. Thinking of Still Life 365, I decided to start coloring my daughter's room. I just colored in the entire sheet of paper in hopes that the repetitive motion would distract me from the pain. I was embarrassed and frustrated because it looked more like a child drew it than an adult, but I remembered that my pastor told me to "live two lives" one for me, one for her, so this is the coloring my child never did.

Photo 3: The next version I used only paper, scrapbooking supplies, and glue, since the first was done completely drawn in colored pencil.

Photo 4: With no pain relief, I just kept going. Made using Microsoft Paint.

Photo 5: The emotional pain and raw grief was still winning once the kidney stone was cleared up. Overwhelmed and seeking help, I was in two forms of therapy at the same time: one was a group of four bereaved couples at an organization called Kindermourn, and just days after making the first versions of Kathlyn's room, the group was asked to make an art piece during one of the meetings. We could draw, use magazines, glue, scissors, write, whatever we wanted. Photo 5 was the result. It was drawn except for one piece, the pink poodle puppy. We had a pink poodle for her before she was born, which went into her casket, but we buy every pink puppy we ever see now. I was amazed when I had finished the art piece, I picked up a magazine just to see if there was anything there to add, and found that pink puppy.

Photo 6: A few days later, in my other group therapy in an outpatient hospital setting, we were also asked to do a piece of art. One one side of the paper, we were asked to draw "where we are now" and on the other side "where we want to be." Photo 6, the first side, was her room again, without color. The lamp is turned off. There is a broken heart. The baby monitor is unplugged. The toys and books are neatly on the shelf. The bouncy seat is in her room, unused, like it still sits in there to this day. My husband said, after our loss, that he felt like he had "flatlined", so there is a flat line, a stopped heart, at the top.

Photo 7: This represented "where I want to be." The heart is still broken, but beating now. There's color. The toys are a mess, played with. The bouncy seat is now in the living room, being used, where it belongs, gone from her room. The colorful lamp with all it's bulbs on the shelf, is turned on, and the monitor is plugged in.

:::

about the contributor.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Beth describes her writing and blog, "Safety is a big issue for me and often appears in my writing.  I have to be safe in my job in the care I provide as a nurse.  My husband is a police officer and I tell him to be safe every time he leaves or we say goodbye on the telephone.  My blog title reflects how important I view safety.  I'm always apologizing to my daughter and begging her for signs that she's safe wherever she is.  I would have kept her safe here too... I would have done my best, anyway, and I didn't mean to fail her the way I feel I did, so I'm constantly looking for signs that she's safe." Elizabeth maintains the blogs Safe in This House and Letters to my Daughter. 

The Woman of Hearts, Elizabeth Davis

The Woman of Hearts.
Elizabeth Davis.
Sketch with markers.

:::

about the piece.
Beth talks about her drawing, "For some reason, I felt inspired to draw a woman with a large heart as her pregnant belly.  I made the 'break' into a K for my daughter's name.  I hadn't planned it, but when I drew the outline of her shirt, it looked like a heart.  Then her face was made to look like a heart, and somehow, I ended up with 20 full hearts in the piece.  I also did not plan for the curls in her hair to look like half-hearts.  After the loss of my daughter, I feel so much more pain than I have ever experienced, but I also feel love so much more deeply now.  That must be how the 'woman of hearts' was born."

about the contributor.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Beth describes her writing and blog, "Safety is a big issue for me and often appears in my writing.  I have to be safe in my job in the care I provide as a nurse.  My husband is a police officer and I tell him to be safe every time he leaves or we say goodbye on the telephone.  My blog title reflects how important I view safety.  I'm always apologizing to my daughter and begging her for signs that she's safe wherever she is.  I would have kept her safe here too... I would have done my best, anyway, and I didn't mean to fail her the way I feel I did, so I'm constantly looking for signs that she's safe." Elizabeth maintains the blogs Safe in This House and Letters to my Daughter.

Haiku for my babies, Elizabeth Davis

Haiku for my Babies

by Elizabeth Davis

Did I just see that?

Two shooting stars together?

My babies are safe.

:::

about the piece.

In Beth's words, "This is the first art piece I have done since my miscarriage, the death of my second child which occurred sometime between March 29 and April 6 at approximately 7 weeks into pregnancy.  I had the D&E procedure on April 14.  During the late hours of April 16, my husband and I went for a cool, breezy night's walk with the dogs, sat on a bench in the park, and looked at the stars.  I have rarely seen a shooting star, and as clear as it could possibly be, I saw two move across the sky together, brighter than any other star visible.  They were gone as fast as they appeared.  My husband didn't see them."

about the contributor.

By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Beth describes her writing and blog, "Safety is a big issue for me and often appears in my writing.  I have to be safe in my job in the care I provide as a nurse.  My husband is a police officer and I tell him to be safe every time he leaves or we say goodbye on the telephone.  My blog title reflects how important I view safety.  I'm always apologizing to my daughter and begging her for signs that she's safe wherever she is.  I would have kept her safe here too... I would have done my best, anyway, and I didn't mean to fail her the way I feel I did, so I'm constantly looking for signs that she's safe." Elizabeth maintains the blogs Safe in This House and Letters to my Daughter.

Buttons, Elizabeth Davis

Buttons.
Elizabeth Davis


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about these pieces.
In Beth's words, "These buttons were made for a memorial walk, held by the pediatric hospital I work for, called 'Hopebuilders 5K' on October 10, 2009, where a team of my coworkers walked for Kathlyn. I made the buttons with her picture, handprint, and some of the scrapbooking supplies and stickers that were meant to go in her baby girl scrapbook. It was soothing to me to make use of the supplies that I thought would only otherwise collect dust until I have another daughter or even IF I have another daughter. I have since made more buttons for people to wear at a candle lighting ceremony, and I have some more ready to be made because I get requests for them all the time. My daughter is so loved and mourned by so many."

about the contributor.

By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Safe in This House and Letters to my Daughter.

selfish lovely, Elizabeth Davis

selfish lovely

by Elizabeth Davis

good afternoon,
north carolina.

go outside.
it's sunny, warm.
a baby blue sky.
it's january. winter.
but it feels like april. spring.
if you had the day off
and could choose a few people
to sit outside
and do absolutely nothing with,
who would they be?

imagine them now in your mind.
what are they doing right now?
are they enjoying the outside,
or are they stuck inside working,
or is it just not quite as lovely a day
where they are?

if you were spending
this lovely day together,
how much nicer for all of you,
instead of what you're already doing today.

i can think of no other person,
than just a little tiny one,
who i'd give anything to spend this day with.
outside.
where it's lovely.
just the two of us.

but

where she is,
all days are lovely.
all days are uncloudy.
all days are warm.
all days are sunny.
all days are peaceful.

therefore

my desire for her
to be here with me
is completely selfish.
for my own benefit.
no benefit to her.

but

i simply can't
enjoy this lovely day
without her.

is she enjoying
her lovely days
without me?

now maybe you,
while you imagine your loved ones,
can understand
why i prefer
cloudy, dark,
cold, rainy,
thunderous
days.

where i am not obligated
to enjoy the loveliness
without her.

:::

about the piece.

This poem was originally published on Elizabeth Davis' blog Safe in this House.

about the poet.

By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Safe in This House and Letters to my Daughter.

ok fine, Elizabeth Davis

ok fine
by Elizabeth Davis


ok fine.
i'll get up,
but i won't get dressed.

ok fine.
i'll get dressed,
but i'm not going anywhere.

ok fine.
i'll go outside,
and feel the sunshine on my face,
but she would have loved this too,
so it only makes me long for what might have been.

ok fine.
i'll smile,
but i won't laugh.

ok fine.
i'll laugh,
but it's not like it used to be.

ok fine.
tell me all about God and Heaven,
but your personal beliefs mean nothing to me,
as mine probably mean nothing to you.

ok fine.
i'll have more children,
but they won't be her.

ok fine.
i'll wait for the day where it won't hurt as bad.
will you wait with me?

ok.

fine.

:::

about the piece
ok fine was originally published on Elizabeth’s blog Safe in this House .

about the poet.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Safe in This House and Letters to my Daughter.

the candle's out, Elizabeth Davis

the candle's out
by Elizabeth Davis

i heard the rain on the roof
sad and angry
the candle's out
and it is dark

i checked my mailbox
empty

the flowers in the kitchen
wilting

the batteries in my daughter's music box
dying

her room smells so clean
like wood and fresh diapers

my heart is heavy
with anger and despair
the candle's out

my mind betrays me
my blood feels septic
my womb, dangerous

if there are angels behind me
weeping with me
maybe their wings are blowing the candles out
so i can't see the light

i like the rain
i like the flowers
i like the music
i love her room

but the candle's out
i can't see
i can only feel
and it hurts

the whispering wind
the smiles of friends
a set of the bluest eyes
i feel kathlyn
warms my heart for a moment

but the candle's out
and it is dark


:::

about the piece
the candle’s out was originally published on Elizabeth’s blog Safe in this House, October 2009.

about the poet.
By night, Elizabeth Davis is a pediatric registered nurse. By day, she is relearning how to breathe after the death of her daughter Kathlyn. Elizabeth maintains the blogs Safe in This House and Letters to my Daughter.