A Mother's Diary of Joy, Tragedy, and Reflection

By Susan Clauson

This is the insightful and heartbreaking diary of a mother who began writing to her unborn son early in her pregnancy, and she continued writing to him years after his short life ended. Susan Clauson shares her personal story of elation, sorrow, questioning, and healing in her reflections on life, the loss of an infant, the joy of a second child, and surviving cancer (twice). In spite of it all, she emerges, inspired by her son, to help others who grieve the loss of a child.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9780991580811

Book preview

dedication.

Part I: The Diary

CHAPTER 1

All About Me

My Background

I was born on March 5, 1953, at Zoar Home for Children in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I was brought home in November after my biological mother decided to give me up for adoption. My parents were Marguerite and Harlan T. My grandparents were Hazel and Earl T. and Elisabeth and Charles A. The adoption was legalized on December 7, 1954, in Pittsburgh. My adoptive mom kept her notes from the adoption. One of her observations was: Alert, thoughtful baby who is sober and does not smile readily. I had spent almost the entire first year of my life in an institution, being cared for by multiple caregivers.

Me when I was twenty months old

Sometimes I wonder if I was the reason Mom went into social work. Growing up, I fought with my younger brother, Dan. After one of these episodes I was put in the kitchen and told to stay there. When I found I couldn’t get the kitchen door open, I had a tantrum and ended up falling through the glass storm door. I had to have stitches in both of my arms, an elbow, and my chest. Being hysterically afraid of doctors, I begged my mom to put a Band-Aid on it. Wrong.

Later, while jumping between my sisters’ twin beds, I fell and ended up having the stitches put right back in again. Really bratty kid: I think I would have given up on me after a year or so. I can remember dropping peas in my milk glass at Grandma A.’s and then denying it. (This was when I was eighteen. No, just kidding.)

One of the best holiday memories I have is the time we went to Ohio for Easter. I was quite young and can only remember that my Uncle Harold bought flower corsages for all of the women cousins and aunts and moms. I felt so grown up and proud. Each corsage matched our dress.

Schooling started with kindergarten. I actually graduated and got a diploma on June 6, 1958. Mom has a picture of me in a little gown and hat with a tassel. We lived in Monroeville, Pennsylvania. Miss Walters was my teacher. I attended Moss Side Elementary School for grades one to three.

In 1962 we moved to Chicago. I attended Franklin Avenue Elementary School in Western Springs, Illinois, for grades three to six and McClure Junior High School for grades seven and eight. I went to Lyons Township High School’s South Campus for grades nine and ten and North Campus for grades eleven and twelve. High school was in LaGrange, Illinois. I graduated in 1971. There were 1,500 students in my graduating class and 5,000 students in the whole high school.

I remember moving from Pennsylvania to Illinois when I was in third grade. I had an eastern accent. Rubber band in Chicago was what I knew as a gumbinder in Pittsburgh. Kids laughed at me. I was befriended by the heaviest boy in my class, who gave me erasers and invited me over after class to hunt for rubies in his driveway.

Education was a huge deal to my parents. Both of them can be found in their respective fields in Who’s Who in the Midwest. My mother was a highly respected school social worker who co-authored several books. She taught at Loyola University in Chicago, where there is an annual symposium named after her: the annual Marguerite Tiefenthal Symposium. My father was a brilliant scientist who seemed to have no time for stupidity, which I managed to major in. I have never met anyone smarter than he was. He always smelled like chemicals. We had a lab in our garage.

I had three siblings. The question was never whether we wanted to go to college, but where we planned on going. To my parents’ credit, all four of us graduated from college. When I was young I didn’t really like school much, and often spent hours sitting in a chair until my math was completed, even past the late news. I would refuse to do it; my parents would refuse to let me go to bed until it was done.

Once, and only once, I got on the honor roll. I was in fourth grade. As promised, we got a dog—but not my idea of a dog. My mom’s. It was a poodle. Mutual hatred, that dog and me. I’m sure that if I’d looked hard enough, I would have found 666 stamped on it somewhere. That dog bit me more than once, but it loved my mother.

Sometimes when I look back on my life after moving to Chicago and remember how I fought tooth and nail with my parents about anything that faintly resembled schoolwork, and how hard I must have been on them, I can’t believe I’m actually sitting in my own office right now. I’m the supervisor of all of the radiologic technology students, with my diplomas hanging on the wall and a paycheck I never dreamed I’d get. My application to begin work on my master’s degree is completed, and after I take my MATs I’ll be applying. My high school counselor told my parents I’d probably never get into college. So, to you, my child, I bequeath my stubbornness. It’s just got to be hereditary!

Favorite pets? Well, once my dad let me have a chicken. Can you see it? A chicken in Chicago. He tells us the cop who drove by and spotted it just told him to make sure it stayed on its leash, then drove on. When you are born we will have two German shepherds and one Irish setter. I asked your dad about a horse, but he said no. We’ll keep working on another parrot, though.

Biggest career accomplishments were: 1. being offered a job as chief radiologic technologist at $35,500 per year, and 2. being flown to Texas with your dad, where I was offered a job as a CT technologist. They said they would place your dad in a job, too.

Tying the Knot

Well, here goes, in a nutshell.

September 17, 1981

My first date with your dad, at a party of the Minnesota Society of Radiological Technologists.

Christmas 1981

Dating your dad and a radiologist from the University of Minnesota. I was a staff technologist, Dad was a student. Dad sent me one dozen long-stemmed roses. We went cross-country skiing up north. Dad won. I knew then that this was for keeps.

Valentine’s Day 1982

A classmate of Dad’s had a Tacky Party. Dad went as is! Got another dozen roses from him.

March 5, 1982

My birthday. Dad made me angel food cake, my favorite. It was an inch high!

April 15, 1982

Had Dad and two of his classmates over for quiche. It fell on the floor. I was devastated! We had pizza instead.

April 17, 1982

I got my braces off. Dad was in White Bear Lake playing poker, so his roommate and I went out to celebrate.

May 27, 1982

Flew to Atlanta to visit a girlfriend. When I came home, Dad had moved into my efficiency apartment.

June 28, 1982

I learned we were going to get married through a letter Dad received from his mom, which said: Just as we were leaving to come up to the lake, we heard about your and Sue’s plans to get married, and I have literally been on good old Cloud Nine ever since. You have no idea how long I have prayed and hoped for this.

Our engagement photograph

July 29, 1982

Dad and I adopted Tasha. Imagine an Irish setter in an efficiency apartment!

August 27, 1982

Dad and I went to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) with friends. A bear ate all our food, so we had to come home. Some day, ask your dad about the BWCA. He loves it up there! I think it’s too far from Macy’s.

Late in 1982

We moved next door to Mike and Tara, a former classmate of your dad’s and his wife. They were our best friends for years. They ended up going on our honeymoon with us!

January 14, 1983

Dad got a job at the Veterans Administration (VA) Hospital in Minneapolis as a staff radiologic technologist.

January 20, 1983

Dad passed his national board exams. Lots of celebrating!

January 29, 1983

Dad and I had a cross-country ski