Outlook on 2013 after a nap...an honest truth

"And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"....

I am trying so hard to see the light.

Ok...started taking down Christmas tree because, well, maybe I'm a masochist. I took down all the ornaments saving hers for last. Her main one is still on the tree. Maybe tomorrow I'll finish. It seems as though it should still be up. There was only a few tears shed. I made it through Christmas without her. That's something. Right? And now to start the new year. Hmmm.

Nap? Check. Cup of coffee or three? Check, check, check. Gabbie's bear sitting on our bed at the in-laws waiting for me to wish happy new year to? Check. Attitude adjustment? Ummm. Check, I guess. Lets just say I'm not nasty anymore. The future is still too much to see. The past is too much to look at. The day. Today. Is as much as I can handle. Tomorrow is about a far as I've gotten and maybe a little of this week. After that decisions are impossible to make and part of me still thinks that if my decisions don't matter in the grand scheme of things, then why bother. I mean realistically if at any moment the decisions we make are totally negated then what's the point? But I guess the point is because some decisions I've made have turned out to be my biggest blessings: Sky, Gracie, and Derek, and my job and friends. I am pretty lucky in them.

So I enter this new year with two thoughts:
1."Nothing gold can stay." I need to enjoy more the Blessings that I do have because they might be gone as fast as she was; my Golden Butterfly.
2. "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." I am my harshest judge and biggest dreamer. I have to learn this year to be gentle on myself, stop doubting and fearing that which cannot be changed, and learn to dream again and love myself, because in her death I lost faith in me.

Struggling. New year woes

New Year's Eve. 2012 has me so messed up I'm not sure what I think of 2013 and the change of year. Saying goodbye to 2012 seems like closing the door on a very bad friend but a friend none the less that you're sorry to see go. Part of me thinks that if I embrace the new year it's like embracing that she's gone forever, not that she isn't but I'll not embrace it. But that part of me, the dejected part of me has my rational mind reeling. She's gone forever. I get it. The year changing, a new number, it's just another day that's all. I'm tired still. Tired, all the time tired. Even after sleeping 8 hours I'm tired. I'm annoyed. Nothing changes with the new year. I am still without her. I am still sad. I am supposed to celebrate the end of the year that left me broken hearted, took my baby for an angel, and kicked us repeatedly while we were down? Or am i supposed to celebrate the coming of a new year with a baby angel and all the firsts including a birthday that will be an angelversary? Perhaps you'd say "Look at the new year as a fresh start." Yes we also said, "Look at the new place as a fresh start." As much as I don't mind the new place I don't care for the word "fresh." Fresh? It's not fresh it's just an alternate, less desired, life to the one I could have had.
Could have? No could never have, can't ever have. I'm apparently in an awful mood. Yay for 2012. I hope the storm has passed with its eminent demise.
I'm going to lay back down, take a nap and try to adjust my attitude. And yes I know it's only 8:42 in the morning.

A lifetime of dreams

I'm reading a book about the other side. He starts by saying he used to dream of flying. When I was a kid I used to dream about flying too. I would run in the field behind my mom's house and lift my arms out above me and then to the side of me, and with my hair blowing back from my face I'd will myself to soar up from the ground. If I was carefree and running with joy in the sunlight I could take off into the sky, effortlessly. I'd lift my chest up to the heaven with my heart and my toes would scrape the tall grass setting the dandelion seeds free to be carried off in my breeze as they tapped hard against the rims of my hand-me-down sneakers. My arms would pull from the earth and slowly lose the heaviness about them. And I'd soar, lifting higher into the blue, sometimes cloudy, sky. Sometimes while I was running away from something my heart would pound, I'd be able to feel the darkness at my back but my arms would still raise, my heart would still raise and my will would pull with all its might towards the heavens and my body would slowly, hesitantly lose its weight and I would soar. The more nervous I became the lower my flight would be. But if I could shed that anxiety my heart, my body and will would soar. I haven't dreamt of flying in a very long time. I haven't felt light since I was a kid. I miss that lightness, that full belief that my will could overcome anything, even gravity.

Then as I got older my dreams went from dreams of flying to dreams of running. Always running. Usually I ran in the darkness or redness, sometimes up stairs other times through fog. I never tried to fly again. I always ran from something, but sometimes to something too. In my dream I'd become lucid, somehow I knew I was dreaming but I couldn't stop the fear though I knew it wasn't real.

Then my dreams went to exact replicas of life. It didn't matter where I was or what the room looked like. When I fell asleep I'd dream of the exact replica of the room I was in and multiple times a week a dark shadow of a man would stand in my doorway, any doorway, and watch me sleep. It was always the same man, though I never saw his face. With broad shoulders and tall stature he was formidable in the darkness. I lucidly would ask him who he was but be unable to move. He never answered. I'd fight against the paralysis of sleep and as I opened my eyes it would be as though I blinked. My room would be exactly the same as in my dream but the shadow man in the doorway would be gone. I tried to control my actions in sleep because I knew I was dreaming but it never worked.

I'm still this way, at least I am when I can sleep enough to dream. I dream often though many nights I can't remember them. Lately, any dream I have is sadness, though surprisingly few of them are about babies. The most recent ones that still move me is one in which Gabbie's ashes got dumped by a man who didn't believe me that the contents were precious, and another when I grew to such a size that it was similar to a non-gravity space exhibit for her inside. She had so much room to move she wound herself up like a puppy on a chain and yelp soundlessly for days without my ability to help her. Now, when I dream, I struggle to wake up from them so much so that D often is awakened before me and saves me from myself.

I miss the dreams of flying. I miss the dreams that took me closer to heaven and farther from the darkness. I wish I could fly closer to her. I long to feel that lightness of my heart lifting my body towards the sky and my will shedding the heaviness of gravity from my limbs so that I could soar. I'd find her in my dreams if only I could fly again but instead I'm surrounded by too much darkness to be free enough to fly. Perhaps you can only fly if you haven't known heartache.

Holidays and anniversaries with love and one more lullaby

Four years ago this morning I was offered a ring, a promise and a life I accepted. It is still the best decision I have ever made.

Tomorrow is Christmas and 8 months to the day that she left us. I am happy for my girls for the magic of Christmas. But this year of firsts has provided me with every challenge of heart and courage and patience that you could dream up. I am so sad for the presents she'll never have. For all the gifts that would have her name and don't, I want to hang a stocking but it seems superfluous. I am sad for all that her sisters will miss out on that she isn't here. The smiles and giggles opening presents she'll never hear and they'll never know.
I find myself sad often, always. I have moments of not considering the missing piece but she's always on my mind, and they are really just moments of no time at all. Her absence seems so obvious. Breathing is not easy; it is as though a heaviness is sitting on my chest much of the time. In the last few weeks I have found myself in overwhelming meltdowns over things that simply could be worked out, fixed. Apparently not only am I missing her but I'm also missing parts if my mind.
When you lose someone holidays become a task not for the faint of heart. With the new year on its way I am plagued by the thought that a new year means saying good bye to her, she will be even farther gone, even more evidence of her not here. I know, I know, I've already said my goodbyes but perhaps with that thought it becomes clear that I haven't really said goodbye at all. God, I miss her, and the holidays and the lights and the beauty and smiles are all things she will never see and though she doesn't need them where she is, I do need, wish, for her to be here and that is not possible. I so love my girls and love to see them smile, and I love my husband and am everyday thankful for the choice I made four years ago. I am thankful for the light they bring, and the love they show me every day; I love them deeply too. They bring joy to the parts of my heart they occupy but that other part for her is still heavily empty and dark.
I tell others on my page to be gentle with themselves. Apparently I need to look into what that means.

I have always believed in the magic of Christmas. Good things do and should happen at this time of year. Please, if I had one wish this Christmas it would be to bring peace, even for only a night or two, to all the families out there who know what it is to bury a child. I am going to light some candles tonight. Perhaps their light will shine in the minds and hearts of all the people who deserve to hug the ones they lost close to them if only just to sing one more lullaby.

For Babies

Two years ago a picture was taken of me holding on to Gracie in a pretty Christmas dress waiting to "see" Santa with Skyler in the background. This year a similar picture will not be taken. Gabbie will never be in a picture with Santa. She will never be opening presents. She will never be looking with wide eyed wonder at Christmas lights. Her sisters will always know they have a sister who couldn't stay with us. There are going to be fewer presents beneath the tree and not as many stockings to be filled. Forever. No matter if or how our family grows there is and will be always one less than there should be.

On Friday night a baby was born whose birth was perhaps more anticipated than many of the babies of the world. A woman who has put others first for as long as I have known her has been rewarded for her sacrifices and love with a beautiful baby boy. This sweet woman, though she was only a couple weeks pregnant herself, came to the hospital the day we had Gabbie and held her my sweet dead baby lovingly and told her how she loved her and how she would be so dearly missed. This woman did what most people would never be able to even consider. My best friend since Grammar school, A sister to me in All undefined meanings of the term, she deserves this baby and the joy that comes with him. I hope she understands how I really do only want happiness for her and that my sadness over what I don't have is not relative to the happiness she has. I do not have more pain because she has less. I love her and I'm happy beyond words for her.

There is a place not so terribly far from here where people are preparing to bury their babies, who even though they are school age will always be someone's baby. These people are writing eulogies instead of Christmas cards, unwrapping care packages instead of Wrapping presents, are on their knees in sobbing tears instead of reaching to hug their little ones. I am so terribly deeply sorry for them. Their life will be frozen in the Christmas season without joy for an unfair and unholy amount of time. I am sorry for each parent who lost, for the fear they now unfairly have forever, for each police officer and the visions that will be stuck in their minds, for each school official who will have guilt for the inability to keep these children and teachers safe, and for the community that is now shattered. I am so sorry you all will be frozen in winter. I am sorry that there even had a reason to be heroes.

Again, I'm going to say it, when will this year end? This miserable, dark, tormenting year. How much sadness will there be before your satisfied?

I am sorry they must know.

My breath seems held again, though it falls out of my body like the tears that dropped onto my pillow and my husband’s chest night before last lulling me to sleep.  My heart beats but seems caught.  Time marches on but seems on pause.  I did not have Gabbie for 11 years.  I did not have her even for 11 minutes.  I did not make the decision to let her go to heaven, she decided on her own but just as abruptly she is gone. And now I know what it means to send a child to heaven.  The pain is in the knowing.  I know what it is to lose, what it means to send your baby to heaven on smoke.  I know what it means to be torn between your sweet living children and the one that is gone forever.  I know.  I can empathize, sympathize.  

I did not know his sweet 11 year-young soul.  But I know his mom, I just saw her Saturday doing what she loves to do; I know his father.  I wish that I could hug them.  I did not know Devin but I do know how it feels to live without a part of you, for that's what children are.  I cannot begin to fathom the depth of hurt, I know it's intense, time stopping, world freezing, season halting.  But each person's grief is their own, and no matter how much you wish to take some, it is a burden that cannot be taken by another, or shared. It is a contradiction of heart to feel so much pain, and so much love at the same time.  I'm sorry for the depth of grief that I can imagine and for the depth of grief that I can't. 

I cry for their pain, his family's, his parents'.  I cry for another person in this world to know the pain of losing a child. I cry for their broken heart.  I cry because moms and dads should not bury their children. I cry because I don’t understand and there is no understanding to ever be had.  I cry because for as long as I live I will not be able to wrap my mind around this year and the freak accidents and circumstances that have claimed such young lives and left too many friends of mine shattered in the knowing that they cannot un-know.

I do not breathe as easy as in naivety, but troubled and anxiously.  My heart does not beat light with innocence,but heavy burdened with knowledge.  My soul has been aged by years these past 12 months. I am wiser now for knowing and permanently sadder for the experience.  I somehow continue to produce tears, though I’ve cried an ocean of tears this past year, and have felt each tear pulling from the deepest parts of my soul. The shedding of each tear does not make the burden of knowing and feeling lighter. I will always wish to go back in time, to do something different that would keep her.  The hardest part is letting those "what ifs" and "supposed to be" thoughts go, and to learn to be gentle with yourself. 

God rest your sweet 11 year-young soul, Devin, may angels keep you and wrap your family, especially your mom and dad, in healing love. I'm sorry they now know that which no parent should ever know.   

Is it time yet? Because I am ready for it to end...

The medium came the other day.  All my guests had such good readings.  Mine was… somewhat anti-climactic.  The reading was more on D than me, and on finances, a little on me… seemingly very little.  And when I asked him who was around me, he said Grandparents.  I had to ask about the baby.  And when I asked he asked me if my sister-in-law had told me what he told her (that Grandma R was holding 4 babies.)  She did tell me this, but this was for her.  Not for me.  He said, “I don’t need to tell you anyway.  You already know and that’s why you have on butterflies.  You are very spiritual.  Why aren’t you doing readings for a living?”  So did he mean that I knew already because S told me what her reading was, or that I knew already because I “knew.”  I never asked if we were going to have another… though he implied something about me already having two beautiful daughters (I don’t know what that means).  Now don’t get me wrong, he did seem to know things that are not widely known.  He knew that D was hunting at a cabin with his brother who didn’t believe and wouldn’t let his wife come.  He knew that I had a hurt neck.  He knew that Grandma is in my Mom’s house.  I don’t know… It’s only out of entertainment, true.  And I didn’t really know what to expect.  But a part of me hoped that she would come through a bit more for me, and not just because she was a part of someone else’s reading.  He did say that things will slowly get better for us, that although we took a little step backward it was only so we could move so much forward.  I sure hope so.

I took the girls to get pictures yesterday by a friend and today in a studio with others… Gabbie’s bear was in the pictures.  The pictures by my friend turned out beautifully.  However, not so much for the ones in the studio, and the one photographer asked what was up with the bear.  I ignored the question.  Too damn bad if she doesn’t want to take pictures with a bear. 

Speaking of pictures… I have just heard terrible news.  My photographer and her husband, who was a good friend in high school, are in need of prayers for their son.  Their 11 year old son was hit by a car this afternoon, and is undergoing surgery for a head injury. I cried.  I cry.  I am holding my breath.  I am praying with my soul.  I know what it means to lose.  I would not wish that on anyone.  But it is not possible for this year to take one more soul.  I cannot believe it so.  So...  I am putting it out to the universe that it is not allowed one more young soul... it's quota is fulfilled.  You, Universe, Heaven, Fate, You just can't have him. 

What is going on with this terribly shitty year? And when can we put an end to its unfortunate, tragedy-hungry, sad misery and leave us all in some peace?  How is there still a month of this overbearing and out of control year left? 

Farewell November

Tomorrow is the last day of the second last month of the shittiest year of my entire life. Tomorrow I have a medium/ clairvoyant/psychic coming to give me a reading. Tomorrow I hope she comes through somehow, though I am not banking on it. I took off tomorrow because sky doesn't have school, so instead of crying in the car by myself like I've done every day for months now I will have to find a way to hide It. Tomorrow I will miss her no less than I do today or than I did 6 months ago. Some days I still wish I never had to leave my bed. Some days I wish I could go back and start the year over again. I'd be so much more careful. I read some posts today about women running marathons and doing p90x while very pregnant (and I'd apologize in advance if the comments were yours but, well, I'm just not sorry for referencing you total naïvety) and the only thing I can think is, "seriously? You run a marathon at 9 months pregnant and come home with a beautiful baby and I can't even do normal stuff like wake up in the morning with mine." The total ridiculous unfairness of it is mind numbing.
So I bid the month of November farewell. The only reason I will be sad to see you go is because I am then another month from holding my Gabbie.

Throwing up festivities

Shopping for Christmas presents and the stubborn thought in my head that keeps making an appearance in a rather obtrusive kind of way, but I insistently push away is, "I'd have been buying baby presents this year too." 

Do you know how hard it is to wander through a store where there's so much festive spirit it's nearly thrown up in red and green, jingle bells and lights all over the store, and to have thoughts like this? I love Christmas usually however, this aspect of it this year sucks and makes my insides feel empty.

Blessings

A day to give thanks for the things we have: Thanksgiving.  Seems pretty simple right? Except to everyone who's ever lost anyone.

I am thankful for a job that I really do love that puts food on the table, helps pay the bills and puts a roof over the heads of the people who mean the most to me. But I am most thankful for my husband who has never stopped loving me, my girls for having patience in me and strength of character when I do not, my family and friends for showing me what support really looks like, and for Gabbie for teaching me selfless love.   

So I sit down today with family with a torn heart.  This would have been Gabbie's first family holiday.  While simultaneously looking around at all those blessings that make me happy and thankful I am deeply hurt that I've been denied another blessing.  And you might think that I should be thankful to have known her for what I did, or to think about the things about her that make me thankful.  The overriding factor is she is not here to hold and I am deeply sad.  Those are miniscule moments in a lifetime that she gave me  of thankfulness are also the very moments that have given me the most pain.

There are mornings still that I cry on my way to work. There are nights in the past month that I've put her bear on my pillow to touch while I fall asleep.  Many moments I have considered a counselor but pride keeps me from going because I feel like I should be stronger than that and I don't want to pay someone to listen to me when I have so many who will listen without money.  The thing about that is I don't want to paint my sadness on others so I tend not to share much anymore. 

So please, just consider for a moment while you say your thanks that many people have lost some very important reasons to be thankful and the empty chairs around the table and missing faces to kiss are painfully evident this holiday season.  I may have an angel but I'd prefer to have a Gabbie. 

So this Thanksgiving... Thank you for listening, supporting and loving. Thank you for your prayers and thoughts.  And thank you for looking about you today and loving the faces you see, hugging the ones that you can, and being thankful for the things that matter.  (I write this while hugging the 2 year old little monkey laying on Daddy's pillow next to me watching Mickey). 

An epiphany

I had an epiphany today. 

Wandering around our place cleaning and organizing my anxiety mounted.  Why, I wondered.  Why would I have anxiety with no place to be and no place to go?  My kids are here, arguing of course, but here nonetheless and no worse for wear, so no worries with them.  My husband is out in the woods hunting, but only with a bow, so there’s no real danger in that.  So, why the crazy rise in anxiety? 

With each bill, mail or item of note I’ve found in my cleanings, my anxiety rises.  What if I missed some date?  What if this bill wasn’t paid and needed to be paid by me?  What if I’ve messed up somehow?  What if I’ve missed some important deadline?  I know, I know, so what right?  But so what IS what.  What if somehow I’m even more at fault even by accident?  Tears roll.  Stupid stupid tears.  It’s not my fault. 

I don’t want it to be my fault.  I don’t want to be the one who makes more mistakes, who no matter how I try or what I do I can’t be right.  I try to be ON and then I make a mistake (like all people do) and I feel like I have even less control.   So I was thinking… and this is where the epiphany comes.  I keep having anxiety about being wrong, making an error, a mistake and no matter how small that error may be, it is as though it’s even more evidence that I am not good at life.  Not life, but… things.  I don’t want to be wrong in a way that affects others.  I don’t want to be wrong in a way that is more than just an error of facts.  And why should that matter when everyone is wrong sometimes?  Because somewhere inside me I feel as though, it is my body’s fault that Gabbie did not live.  And if I cannot even trust this vessel that I reside in to do what it was made to do correctly, then how can I trust myself to be effective, correct, on, good at stuff?  I know it seems like they should be unrelated.  How does one prove the other?  It doesn’t, but that’s where the anxiety comes from.  I am afraid that this life will prove to me that all the things I thought I was decent at, made for, was once capable of doing well, could be proud of myself for being able to do, are actually the things that I’m awful at.  I am afraid that my errors will cause hardships for others and will prove that I am no good at being reliable.  I always tried to be reliable, someone everyone could count on.  Yet Gabbie’s death somehow, in my head somewhere, provided some sort of hard evidence, or proof, that I can’t count on myself, and that neither can others. I thought that makes me sad.

I know what you are going to say.  “It is not your fault.” “You couldn’t have known.”  I know. I know these things… and yet, it was my body that failed me.  Failed her.  My body produces too much fluid.  Because of the fluid, there was too much room for her to move.  It was my body that failed us no matter how I tried. 

Please don’t concern yourself with this.  It is just a realization of the reasoning behind my anxiety.  I have found its root.  Now I have to come to terms with it.  Somehow. 

“Don’t be silly,” says a voice in my head, “it’s not something you did.”

“I know it’s not something I did,” another responds, “It’s something I couldn’t do.” 

Infinite beauty in sorrow

I have decided that a blog is a build-up of emotions.  When it just gets too much to keep in anymore and the dam breaks, out it pours.  Every emotion, thought, perception, and stress comes ripping out of me, streaks down my face, slowly gouging fine creases, and pours itself in sunken draining woes through the sopping words and intense grammar on the page.  Damn, if I dealt with heartache and stress through comedic relief I’d be a millionaire in standup comedy by now.  But instead, I write down the complex stressors that have become my life in a finite script on some mythical, technological web for the world to know the sorrows that consume me. 

On the surface, the stressors would mirror anyone else’s.  And they do mirror everyone else’s.  The weight, the daily stress of life and work and family, these are the same as others’. But beneath the surface lurks a deep, heavy sadness with infinite beauty.  I may have high cholesterol now, as my doctor apparently tells me.  I may indeed have high triglycerides because I have extra body fat that I didn’t have before.  But I have these ailments because I made a beautiful baby, a baby that I carried within me for 9 months, and now, through the rest of life I will carry still.  There in is the burden.  It is not the extra fat around my hips, or on my waist line.  It is not the jeans that will not fit, nor the fats inside me that are not healthy, although, yes these are obstacles.  But no, these are not the burdens that weigh on me.  It is the weight of that child, that sweet baby who has left her soul inside me.  It is the weight of that soul that I must carry forever.  Her memory lives within me, for I am all she had ever known.  The memory of her movements still resides within me, in the soft straining of the muscles that are no longer taught.  She may have passed up to heaven, but the weight of the remnants of memories and hopes and dreams are heavy; they are a weight that will be carried through time only determinable by fate.  As with all weights, the more you carry it the more accustomed to it you become.  It is not that the weight gets lighter; it just becomes easier to bear out of practice.  Similar to a first-time mother becoming accustomed to carrying a baby around on her hip while she goes about her daily routine of cleaning and chore, the weight will become manageable for practice, but it is a weight that I cannot put down and don’t know if I’d want to if I could. 

                The beauty in the sadness stems from the amount of love I had for this tiny little girl I never really got to meet, though I knew her to my core.  If a sadness can be this deep, this intense, it can only be born from a love equally intense.  Each tear I cry is shed to lighten the load of carrying such a heavily burdened sorrow born from love.  It takes so many tears to equal the balance of sorrow so heavy that millions of woefully laden tears, a lifetime of them, will be shed like ballast.  They need to be shed to make room for the weight of a burden as heavy as love, hopes, and dreams unfulfilled by a stillborn baby.   It is only love so beautiful and infinite that can cause this sadness that burdens a heart with the weight of another soul for a lifetime.