Torn Inside Out…

A little over a decade ago, I was completing my Bachelor of Business Administration degree at the University of Wisconsin Oshkosh. I needed some upper level electives to complete my credit requirement, and was browsing the course catalog for options.

I have always been drawn to people older than me. I spent a great deal of time with my great-grandparents, grandparents, and their friends as a child - more so than with people my own age - and as a result have always been able to chat easily with people of any age. As I read through the course catalog, I was drawn to a 300-level Psychology class called Adult Development and Aging. Psychology had also been a long time interest of mine, but as a non-traditional (adult) student, I knew myself well enough to know that I would not remain in school long enough to earn the requisite doctoral degree that is needed for so many careers in that field.

My major was Human Resource Management, and I felt this Psych class would compliment my degree. As soon as the semester began, I knew I was in the right place. The professor, Dr. Susan McFadden, was mesmerizing. I hung on every word, learning about aging, best practices of caring for the aged, and their dependency on our kindness as they move through the final years of life. I thought often of my grandmother who was still living, and the grandparents who had already passed, hoping I had shown them and their peers the sort of kindness and caring they so deserved.

Mid-way through the semester, Dr. McFadden announced that our class would be pairing with another group on campus for something called "The Polio Project". Our class would conduct interviews of older adults who had lived through the polio epidemic in the Fox Valley area of Wisconsin in the 1950's. The other class would catalog and archive the interviews. A sign up sheet was passed around the class with the names of 30 survivors listed on it. Some had contracted polio themselves and lived to tell of their experience. Others had close relatives who had the disease. All we knew were their names. The stories would come later.

When I received the list, I first scanned for names I knew. Believe it or not, I am actually shy when I first meet someone out of the blue like this. Remember, I would just be showing up at their door with a tape recorder and a set of questions. If any of my grandparents or great-grandparents' friends were on the list, I was jumping at the chance to speak with them.

Long story short: there were none.

Instead, I picked a lady who shared a family name. I've spoken on this blog in the past about my Aunt Betty. She was one of my great-grandpa's seven siblings, was a prominent fixture in my childhood, and struggled with Alzheimer's in old age as so many of their other siblings did. Betty's married name was Koch (pronounced "Cook") and there was a Koch on the list. I scribbled my name next to that of Jo Ann Koch and proceeded to set up an appointment with her in the week following.

Jo was (and still is) a lovely woman and she invited me into her home with open arms. She was quiet, and was very open about the fact that she was not used to discussing her polio story. The words flowed freely between us, but her pain was evident. She relayed the story of how her family of six became a family of four within the span of six days in August of 1955. First her sister Jeanie contracted polio and passed away. As her mother was returning from the hospital in Madison after Jeanie's death, she was unknowingly passed on the highway by an ambulance taking Jeanie's twin Georgie to the same hospital where he, too, would die only six days after his sister. Shortly thereafter, their oldest sibling Jack also contracted the disease, but he survived after a prolonged stay in Madison and many therapy sessions in Oshkosh.

I remember the story vividly. I remember sitting in a small sunroom in her home on a hard wooden chair as Jo spoke through tears, and relived these heart breaking moments of her childhood. She spoke about gamma-globulin (I remember stopping her to make sure I was spelling it correctly), a drug that she and other children had been given to prevent them from also contracting the disease. She spoke of her parents, of how the family moved through their loss.

I remember writing up my transcript and submitting it. I remember Dr. McFadden commenting on the story after the fact, about the heart break and the impact it had on her as well.

Time moved on, and I finished the class. One thing lead to another and graduation came and went. I have never stopped thinking of Jo and her siblings. They've never left my mind. Her home is not that far from mine and I've often thought of stopping over just to chat, but who does that these days? That small action that used to be second nature to so many now seems like a potential inconvenience to someone, doesn't it? When did that happen?

Needless to say, I never stopped over to visit. Life moved on. I completed my Bachelor's and then my Masters degree. We had babies. In 2006, as you know if you follow this blog, our son Henry passed away. Shortly thereafter, I ran into Jo at a local restaurant and she commented about the article that had been in the newspaper about our family and Henry's death. We chatted for awhile, promised to stay in touch, and went our separate ways. Last year I ran into Jo and her husband one more time. Butch, Jo's husband, proudly told me of a book his wife wrote about her life story, the death of her siblings, and the many ways polio had touched her life. I remember wanting to read it, but once again failed to follow through.

Fast forward to this past weekend when I was working a booth at a local craft fair with my Origami Owl jewelry. Jo happened past my booth and asked, as she always does, if I was Sarah. I told her I thought of her often and that I would still like to purchase a copy of the book she had written. She went to the car and returned with a book complete with a personal inscription inside noting, among other things, that "our introduction has a meaning that is very special." I wholeheartedly agree.

We chatted a bit more and said our goodbyes. At the next break in customers, I sat down and started to flip through the book. So many newspaper clippings and photographs of her family filled the pages along with her words. I had to close the book as tears threatened to fall, and I relayed Jo's story to my mom who was sitting with me. I also told my mom that for as much as I would love to read the book, and was grateful to have it, I truly didn't know if I could get through it. Having lost a child myself, I find it nearly impossible to read about other children dying, no matter what the cause.

I put the book in my bag and didn't give it another thought until this morning when I picked it up around 8am to flip through the pages again and maybe read a few excerpt. I wanted to see if it was something I thought I could handle. Then I found myself starting at the beginning and before I knew it 40 pages had passed. Off and on, throughout the day, I tackled chapter after chapter. Much of the information was familiar to me - all things she had shared with me during my interview ten years ago. All things I had never forgotten. Somehow though, the stories were so much more personal and meaningful. I laughed. I cried. I mourned for this family with a different heart… the heart of someone now who has also buried a child.

There is a part in the book where Jo shares their 1955 family Christmas letter. She comments afterwards that no where in the letter did her mother mention the twin's deaths. I could relate instantly. It took me years before I was able to say the words dead or died in relation to my son. In some ways, it is still hard for me today. If I was talking about Henry in those early days, I would say things like, "since Henry's passing." Somehow, that hurt less and felt less permanent.

I also realized very early on in my reading that this gamma-globulin that Jo had told me about receiving was the earliest form of IVIG, the treatment my son Jack receives every four weeks at Childrens Hospital of Wisconsin. It is an artificial immune system of sorts… Once thought to help ward off polio, now used to help ward off every sort of disease in the immune compromised.

In addition to small coincidences like these, it occurred to me that Mrs. Wentland was someone I have looked up to without even knowing it. After losing Henry, I spent many days at the cemetery, just walking around. A bypasser would think I was wandering, lost in thought. What I was really doing was looking for survivors. I would walk the rows of the cemetery until I found the grave of a child. Then I would look to see how much longer the mother lived, and think silently that if she could do it… if she could live with that burden of grief… so could I.  Mrs. Wentland survived three of her four children. Although grief touched her life in many ways, she continued to live and to love her family and move through the years after each loss with grace and dignity. She never forgot them. The grief was never far from her heart. But still she continued to work, and travel, and dance. She continued to live. This is what I aspire to do. Women like her are who I look to when the load of grief I carry seems to heavy. They survived by the grace of God, and I will too.

In closing, Jo speaks openly about her faith and the many ways it has helped and comforted her throughout the years. I have often said the same thing. I don't think it was coincidence that I chose her as my interviewee. I believe that our paths were meant to cross. That in some way, we each helped each other to heal just the tiniest bit. I will forever be grateful for this experience; for this introduction.

If you are interested in reading Jo's book, and I hope you are, you will find it available for purchase on Amazon {HERE}.

Torn Inside Out: Releasing Grief 40 Years Later by Jo Ann Wentland Koch

On Meeting Cassidy Stay

I returned yesterday from Origami Owl's second annual National Convention. A few weeks prior to convention, our Origami Owl family was rocked with the news that one of our designers, Katie Stay, and her family, were the victims of a senseless act of violence. Katie, her husband, and four of her five children were killed. Cassidy Stay, her oldest daughter was the sole survivor.

Origami Owl rallied around the family, spreading the word about this tremendous loss and through the help of Katie's mentor, loving sister designers coordinating tee-shirt fundraisers, and corporate initiatives to get the word out, we were able to add a significant amount of money to what was already being donated by others in the community and around the world.

Cassidy Stay was, and continues to be, on the hearts and minds of everyone in Origami Owl. When I was at convention, I heard rumors that Cassidy was actually there with us. I didn't know if it was fact or fiction, but I whispered a prayer for her nonetheless as I often have over the past few weeks. I prayed that if she was there, that some part of that experience would bring her a sliver of peace. When you are grieving, you cling to those slivers. You collect them, store them up, and fall back on them when times are the hardest.

Sunday morning, our hotel was abuzz with designers who were making their final arrangements to head home. Last minute hugs were being given. Shuttles rushing in and out taking friends to the airport or some other destination. I had booked another day at a nearby resort, so my travel companion and I opted to spend the morning at Mass at an old Basilica across the street from the hotel. While at Mass, I continued to pray for the Stay family, and for all of our designers who would be traveling that day.

On my way back to the hotel, I received a text message from my Senior Director, reminding me that she brought some motivational cd's for me, and that she was in line waiting for her shuttle pick up. When I returned to the hotel, I made a beeline for the pick up area in hopes of locating her before she departed. I peeked out the doors, but there were so many designers waiting that I had to go outside and into the midst of them to fully see who all was out there and whether or not my Senior Director was among them. After scanning the crowd and coming to the realization that she was no longer there, I turned to go back inside and came face to face with Cassidy Stay and her guardian.

In that moment, a million things rushed through my head. Is that really her? What to say…. do I say anything or nothing? What to do…. do I offer a hello or a hug or just a nod? Do I walk away as though I did not see her to give her space? It occurred to me in that moment that the things my minister told me the day we lost Henry were very true: People do not know how to act around the bereaved. Even though I consider myself a little better armed to handle a grief situation given my personal history, I still stood dumbfounded while this sweet girl stared at me wondering whether I was going to move out of her way or spend the day staring at her.

In the end, I opted for the hug. One thing I love about Origami Owl is that it's all about {LOVE}. Give love. Share love. Pass it on. I hugged her tightly and she hugged back just the same. I told her I was sorry for her loss. Safe words for anyone who is grieving. We chatted a bit, and I closed with, "God bless you," before releasing her and moving on my way.

Once my back was turned, I burst into tears at the thought of the weight of the grief she bears and the road before her. I am so grateful to know that she holds a strong faith in Jesus Christ. That she knows there is light, and that His light can alleviate the weight of this grief if she will let it (and I have faith that she will). I will continue to hold her and her family in prayer and am confident my Origami Owl family and so many others will do the same.

This is a quote from Harry Potter that Cassidy quoted when she first spoke after her hospital stay. If only one remembers to turn on the light. His light. Day by day, the weight of grief lessens.

Anything Is Possible

Jerry Seinfeld's, "I'm Telling You For The Last Time" CD/DVD is one of my all time favorite things in life. Yes, I have both the CD and the DVD. It had to happen. If there was a book, I would have bought that, too. One of the many things he laughs about in this routine is the fear people have of public speaking. He says:

“According to most studies, people's number one fear is public speaking. 

Number two is death. 

Death….. is number two. 

Does that sound right? 

This means to the average person…  if you go to a funeral, you're better off in the casket than doing the eulogy.” 

Funny, right?! And for many… truth.

I've never really had a fear of being in front of a crowd. I participated in many church events with my youth group that required me speaking or reading in front of hundreds. I've been singing my whole life with solos at various church and Oshkosh Choraliers Community Choir functions, weddings, funerals, high school musicals… no problem. I've even delivered eulogies at the funerals of some of the most important people in my life. There is one situation that will bring me to my knees though, and that is to speak in front of a crowd about my boys. I can sing to you. I can talk to you about Jesus. Ask me to describe Henry's final days though or Jack's struggles, and odds are I'll be a basket case.

The great irony is that the more I talk about these things, the easier they slip out of my mouth. I will often share Henry's story at my Origami Owl Jewelry Bars when I am speaking about how I discovered the company and their products. Tears will burn at the corners of my eyes, but I can get by without bursting into the, "full on ugly cry" that Oprah sometimes talks about.

Oddly enough, I actually seek out opportunities to share our story. Some would say I am a glutton for punishment and that I should know better, but the truth is that despite the pain, there is healing. Healing is what moves us forward, and I relish the chance to share our progress. Since the day Henry died, my prayer to God has always been, "Lord, let this mean something. Let this death not be in vain. Let someone else find peace through me. Let me use this experience to help others in some way." The only way my story will ever help someone else is if I share it freely. This is the very logic that lead to me accept the invitation to speak at a large Children's Hospital of Wisconsin fundraising event that was held this weekend in Oshkosh.

The event was Thunder in the Park - an annual Classic Car Show and Motorcycle Show/Swap -  one of the largest fundraising events for Children's Hospital in the Fox River Valley. We received a call a week ago asking if we would consider coming out to speak both Saturday and Sunday and, despite already having plans for the weekend, we found a way to make it work. Darrin would take Jack on Saturday while I was away at an out of town Jewelry Bar and I would take Jack on Sunday while Darrin was honoring another commitment.

"Easy peasy lemon squeezy," as my friend Lorie once said.

We had no instruction on what to say, and I had nothing prepared. Those that know me best will know that is not unusual. I find that speaking from my heart is what works best for me, and if I try to write it out ahead of time, I over think it.

We arrived at 1pm as agreed upon and were told that the band would be taking a break shortly and then we'd have our turn. Minutes ticked by and the band kept playing. 15, 20, 30, 45 minutes later and we were still waiting. The longer I waited, the more doubts I began to have. By this time I had run into some familiar faces, which is never a good sign for the waterworks - the more familiar faces, the more emotional I am when I talk. I began to have second thoughts. I tried to talk Jack into leaving. It was hot, we were hungry, and they had no idea when we'd go on stage. Jack was having no part of that whole "leaving" idea though. He wanted to see Doug (the event coordinator who bought him a tee-shirt the day before when he and Darrin visited the event) again. He wanted to get on stage. He wanted to talk in the microphone.

Finally, the band took a break and we were able to take the stage with Rob and Louise (who are very gracious, by the way - love them) of Rob and Louise in the Morning on 99.5 NASH FM. Another little boy in a wheel chair was on stage with us, but he didn't want to speak.

Louise invited Jack over and Jack asked if he could talk to the crowd… Maybe 100-200 people within earshot. No fear of public speaking here, Seinfeld. I was proud of him for wanting to speak, but also apprehensive because at barely six years old you never know what is going to come out of his mouth. It could be nonsense. It could be painfully embarrassing. It could be magic.

Louise handed Jack the mic. He cleared his throat and in his sweet little boy voice said, "Just give me a second…" I still wasn't sure where he was going with this, but then he started to talk. He told the audience about how he visits Children's Hospital every four weeks. About how it hurts when he gets poked with the needle in his hand but that he lets them poke him anyhow. He said he was brave because "Anything is Possible."

Aaaand that is where I lost it. To hear this sweet child… this child who likely does not even remember life before Children's Hospital (his appointments started at 21 months of age)… talk so frankly about his pain and his optimism. I have never been so proud.

As a homeschooling mama who was very active in extra-curriculars, I sometimes mourn the fact that Jack will likely not sing the Star Spangled Banner at a basketball or football game. That he might not participate in solo-ensemble festivals, or have the chance to perform in musicals like his mama did. My mom loved those moments when I was on stage. The pride on her face was evident. I have quietly longed to experience the same someday, and today I did in the most unlikely venue... In a park filled with motorcycles and the men and women who ride and/or love them. I watched them wipe their tears while my son spoke. I even watched as some of those who were seated stood and gave him a standing ovation when he said, "Anything is Possible."

Cuteness Overload: He later asked me, "A standing ovation is way better than a sitting ovation… isn't it, mama?"

He continued to talk briefly about his experiences at the hospital, and about how his grandma, who was also wiping away tears, sends an infusion present with him every week. Then he closed by thanking everyone for being there. So much wisdom and experience in this little man that God has given us to care for and nurture. What an amazing blessing he is to us and so many others.

Such a short message, but so powerful. Anything is possible. Don't give up. It might be uncomfortable, but in the long run, it's worth it.

I do not think the world has heard the last from Jack. His mountain is waiting, and he will move it one day.

God bless,

Lincoln, Life, and Loss

My husband and I had the opportunity to have a little "us" time yesterday and decided to see the movie Lincoln at the local cinema. We had heard so much about the film - as I'm sure all of you have, too, and were looking forward to seeing it. I read some of the information about reactions to the film, and was aware that it centered around the former President's efforts to abolish slavery. I was prepared for a stellar performance by Daniel Day Lewis and looked forward to seeing one of my all time favorite actesses (Sally Field) in action. I have always been fascinated by our First Ladies. Where our Presidents have had the ability to decide whether or not to run for office, it is their election that catapults their wives into the public eye whether they are ready for it or not. I have read several books about the stories of these women - in particular, Hillary Clinton, Nancy Reagan, Lady Bird Johnson, Jacqueline Kennedy, and of course Mary Todd Lincoln. Truth be known, I was more interested in seeing her role in this movie than his.

The movie, of course, was fantastic. It was a little drawn out on some of the political debating for my tastes, but my husband assures me it was very well written and very true to form for the men that were emphasized. We expected debates, and we got them. What I didn't expect... What completely took me off guard and hit me to the core, were the two scenes in which Mrs. Lincoln grieved over the loss of their son Willie.

William Wallace Lincoln died in February of 1862 at the age of 12 of an illness described as "most likely typhoid fever". The movie was set in January of 1865, making the Lincoln's three years bereaved at the time of the vote on the 13th Amendment. Almost exactly the amount of time that has passed since we lost Henry.

When Henry died in 2009, I was so lost. I didn't know how to live. How to keep breathing. Every breath I took was a physical effort. I had to remind myself to do it. There would be times when I would gasp for air because I would forget to inhale for a bit. It seems odd that something so ingrained would be forgotten, but it happened. As a semi-related side note, the song "No Air" by Jordin Sparks is one of the songs that will bring me to tears and has since the first time I heard it after Henry's death for the exact reason described above.

I was determined to keep living my life for Jack's sake, but although my head was convinced, my heart wasn't sure I was up to the task. I looked for comfort in the most unlikely of places - the cemetery. After Henry's funeral, I found myself wandering around the cemetery, memorizing the names of the people he now took up residence with. I would try to piece together different family members of strangers and figure out how they met. I'd calculate the years between the death of a child and the death of his or her mother. Then I'd think, ok, she lived forty years past her son's death. If she can do it, so can I. I found one woman who had buried three sons and was still living. I wanted to call her and ask her how she managed, but even in my grief state I realized that might be a little too stalker-ish. How would I even start that conversation? "Ma'am, you don't know me, but I found your stone at the cemetery..." Umm, no.

At this point, needing more information (or inspiration) than just dates and life spans, I turned to the celebrity bereaved. For better or worse, the lives of those in the public spotlight are kind of an open book for anyone to read, and I took advantage of that. The first person that came to mind given my life long fascination with our First Ladies, was Mary Todd Lincoln. I started reading book after book about her life and her children's deaths (three of her four sons died at age 18 or younger). I read about her grief and about her life after their deaths. Although she handled her grief much differently than I hoped to, my heart still went out to her and I've often wondered if her insanity that came with later life was simply a defense mechanism to save her broken heart after burying three children and a husband.

Yesterday, when the movie turned away from politics and slavery and turned toward the very real emotions of a bereaved mother, I was inconsolable. Thankfully there were very few people in the theatre at this late date so I didn't make too much of a spectacle of myself. Each time Willie was mentioned, I cried. If Mary cried, I cried. I also cried when the votes were tallied for the 13th Amendment, though for very different reasons (by then I was on a roll with the tears and they flowed easily). I find that I am much more emotional since Henry's death. Even the mention of a loss of a child or a child who has passed can bring my soul to its knees. Seeing a woman - or the portrayal of a woman - who I looked to for inspiration, in the midst of her pain was heart wrenching. And then to watch her compounded grief when she lost her husband so unexpectedly... I have no words. None. It was just too much for me.

It is often said that time heals all wounds. I disagree. Time does nothing more than put distance between you and the epicenter of your pain. It puts a bandaid on your wound. You feel better, but at any moment a turn in life can rip that bandaid off and there you are with that open wound again, just as painful as ever. Thankfully, each time the bandaid is removed and the wound re-opened, you become more adept at first aid and can more easily transition back out of grief to that more comfortable state where life and emotions seem somewhat under control.

Where breathing comes naturally.

Lincoln is a fantastic movie. My husband and I both enjoyed it and the acting was superb. I encourage everyone to see the movie and allow themselves to be engulfed with such an important man and moment in our nation's history. I only ask that when you do, you also allow yourselves a moment to grieve with the Lincoln's  and raise a prayer for this family that gave so much to our country despite their personal heart aches.

On the off chance that anyone else seeks out fellow bereaved parents for inspiration in their own grief journey, I encourage you to also look to the lives of:

Bill Cosby (Ennis, age 27), John and Elizabeth Edwards (Wade), Joe Biden (Naomi, infant), John Travolta and Kelly Preston (Jett, age 16), Sylvester Stallone (Sage, age 36), Marie Osmond (Michael, age 18), Eric Clapton (Connor, age 4), Kirk Douglas (Eric, age 46), Barbara Eden (Matthew, age 35), Carol Burnett (Carrie), Mike Tyson (Exodus, age 4), Vince Neil of Motley Crüe (Skylar, age 4), Dr. Dre (Andre, age 20).

In addition to President Lincoln, at least 23 other Presidents have buried children during their lifetime, including Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush, and John Kennedy, just to name a few.

Some day I would like to create a blog post detailing all of these individuals and their stories, but that is a post for another day. In closing, I will say to my bereaved readers that if you are looking for modern day inspiration in hopes of life after loss, look to former Biggest Loser contestant Abby Rike or the now deceased Mrs. Elizabeth Edwards. Elizabeth was very active with The Compassionate Friends and very open about her grief journey.

This morning, while watching Good Morning America, I saw footage of Robin Roberts returning to her home in New Orleans after her surgery and I heard her say, "My mama always said, 'Make your mess your message.'" It should come as no surprise that I got tears in my eyes. Abby and Elizabeth have done just that, and I hope to follow in their footsteps and do the same.

God bless,

Memorial Christmas Ornaments

A few weeks ago we received a post card from our family cemetery letting us know that they would be placing memorial Christmas trees in their chapel area and we were invited to bring ornaments in memory of our loved ones. We are blessed to have known many people who were laid to rest at this cemetery and I truly wanted to make ornaments for every single one of them, but that just wasn't practical. Instead, I chose a select few. We (my mom and I) didn't want to spend a fortune on the ornaments because no where on the invitation did it say whether or not we'd be able to retrieve them at the end of the season.

We bought plain, solid colored balls (a box of 8 for $4.95!) and headed to my craft room where we used paint pens, punches, and ribbon to personalize them. Each ornament got a double ribbon tie at the top, a name, and a hang tag. On the front of the hang tag was our loved ones full name and as much of the birth and death information as we had available to us, and on the back of each tag was a short personal message from us to them in heaven.

In addition to that box of 8 ornaments, I also purchased two separately. There was a lady at a local craft fair would painted names on ornaments for $5, so I bought one for our son Henry in orange (his favorite color) and added an orange ribbon and a paw print ribbon, keeping with his love of animals.

I also found a snowflake at Hobby Lobby that I just couldn't resist for my goddaughter Kejerah, who died at two months old of SIDS. I couldn't write a name on the snowflake, so I just hung the tag from the bottom and attached a small burgundy stitched ribbon at the top. Simple, but perfect. It was a snowy night, the night Kejerah died, and I always think of her when it snows even now. I'm sure I always will.

And here is the set of 8. We really weren't sure what to expect in terms of what other people would be doing. It was nice looking through the trees (as much as we could with a four year old in tow). There were shaped ornaments with no words whatsoever, and others that had names and dates on them. A huge variety. We may reuse these next year, but we may also swap them out for more meaningful ones for each individual person. A flamingo for my grandma (she HATED lawn flamingos... it got to be a standing joke between the two of us that we'd buy each other flamingo stuff when we saw it. :)), maybe a fish for my grandpa, the master fisherman. A daisy for Cheryl, our cousin whose life ended far too soon after a courageous battle with cancer, a cardinal for Aunt Ferne, the most recent relative to join our heavenly family less than a month ago.... We'll have to wait and see what we find. Or, maybe we will keep using these but add on for other friends and relatives we didn't cover this year. Time will tell.

In loving memory, this Christmas and always, of Henry, Kejerah, (Great) Grandma (Bessie) Hank (yes, we called her by grandpa's first name... weird, I know.), Aunt Ferne, Grandpa (Eugene or "Eug"), Grandma (Wilma), (cousin) Cheryl, (Great) Grandpa Hank (Henry's namesake), (Godfather) Rick, and Aunt Mamie.

May you rest in peace.