My Eyes

The other day a family friend of mine commented on a recent picture I had taken of my self following a haircut - my first real outing by myself and for myself since the events of February 1st.  She commented that I looked so sad.  And I started thinking about that.  I know I feel sad, but can others tell how sad I really am?  So I stood in front of the mirror and looked into my eyes.  And it hit me - your eyes really are the windows to your soul (or however that proverb goes).  People can see the sadness through my eyes.

About two years ago I actually went to an eye doctor to get an old eye injury checked out.  Here's the back story.  Somehow back on my 17th birthday when I was participating in a fundraiser car wash a piece of steel wool got stuck into my eye.  The eye is supposed to heal really fast I was told, so I figured it was healed after several days of wearing an awesome eye patch during high school - another way to raise your social stock, right?  Ha.  But of course, with my track record, the cornea healed but formed a raised scar that evey now and then, when it gets too dry, forms an extra layer of cells over the scar.  These cells feel like pieces of gravel in my eye and are very uncomfortable.  They don't effect my vision so the past doctors never seemed that worried about it and I eventually got tired of going to the eye doctor every time they formed so I started plucking them out myself with a q-tip.  Disclaimer - never do this yourself - apparently it's a pretty bad habit to get yourself into.  Then again, I'm stubborn and rarely actually listen.  Well, finally after dealing with it for over 10 years, I decided to try going back to the doctor to see if they could actually fix the root issue - I figured medicine must have advanced by now.  Again I was wrong.  But this appointment did provide me with some unforgettable images.

For the first time ever when going to an eye doctor, they showed me these amazing up close images of my iris as they took pictures of everything for the doctor to examine.  Before I had always been jealous of those people who had these gorgeous blue or green eyes because I always thought they were more beautiful than my boring brown eyes.  Everybody has brown eyes - they aren't unique I thought.  But as I stared at up the up close pictures of my iris, my opinion changed.  I was told that each pattern is different and brown eyes actually have more variations than the lighter color eyes.  The up close images sort of reminded me of tiger eyes.  There were little firebursts hidden amongst the dark areas in these random formations.  It was awe-inspiring to see something like that up close - the human body really is the most amazing thing in the universe.  That moment made me realize that my eyes may not look as beautiful as others on the outside, but they were beautiful on the inside. 

The more that I lay around and think about these things, the more I come to the conclusion that those brown eyes with all of their inward beauty really do reflect my soul.  My soul is sad because a major piece of it is now missing and thus, my eyes are sad.  I know others see it.  I see it.  They aren't bright like they were before - they've been dulled by the sadness.  Now I know that when I've "people watched" in the past whether it be through my job or through my travels or visits to crowded places, and I've commented to myself that some of those people have "sad eyes," I'm now one of those people. 

Well, yesterday, my eyes were angry.  Maybe some flash returned to them as I became angry multiple times over the course of the evening before and most of the day yesterday.  I snapped at some guy who called our house phone looking for someone who obviously had our number before.  I got so angry because we had just changed phone numbers to avoid the calls we had been getting for others, and it was supposed to be changed to an unlisted number, and here we were getting new calls for others.  The anger just flowed.   And I felt a little bit guilty about it later because that guy, no matter how annoying the company he works for is, did not deserve my anger.  

To be honest, my anger actually started welling up on Wednesday after I set up my March of Dimes page - In Memory of Ellison, and then just spilled over into yesterday.  When I had to write my little message to others about my story, my anger, which had been pushed out a while ago and replaced by sadness, came back to the forefront.  I became angry about my pregnancy condition - vasa previa.  I became angry thinking about the doctors telling me it was so "rare" that they "needed to consult the literature" of the past on it to properly manage it.  I remember thinking "why is there so little research?"  There are plenty of rare conditions that are talked about all the time, why isn't vasa previa one of them - does no one care enough about it to want to do something for those that have it?  There has to be some test that can show where the exposed membranes of the cord are so that doctors can see if the baby's in danger of compressing it whether it be by growth or their position.  I then got angry wondering if my own doctors were submitting information on my case to whatever medical society needed to know.  They just needed to know that I had vasa previa, and it was diagnosed and supposedly properly managed according to the literature, and yet, my Ellison still died.  Someone else who gets diagnosed with this needs to know all of the possible outcomes with the risks and exposed membranes, etc. and modern medicine needs to know more and do more to prevent these risks.  Medicine needs to be able to prevent future tragedies.

I even got a little angry with the March of Dimes itself some because it seemed like most everything on their page was geared towards to infants with disabilities or premature births and the complications they bring.  There wasn't anything in their generic team message that mentioned those experiencing the loss of their child and working towards preventing that.  Now, don't misunderstand me, I am glad for all that the March of Dimes organization does, and I know others are facing different difficulties with their children and it's no less sad or difficult, etc.  I just want to help out their efforts - all of their efforts.  But I specifically wrote in my story that I wanted to raise money so that perhaps someone would research vasa previa more and talk more about it and raise awareness for it.  With the infant mortality rate being so high because of the condition, especially if untreated, more should be done so that no one has to go through what we have had to.  No one else should have to lose their baby.  Even if treated, accidents still happen and lives are lost - our Ellison lost her life.  And if nothing else, I can't bring Ellie back, but maybe I can help save someone else's child's life.  I was just so angry - angry that we lost Ellie, angry that the medical field wasn't doing enough, angry thinking that someone else may experience this tragedy...unbelievable waves of anger. 

My husband and I were at Panera eating dinner when all of these waves of anger came over me as I was talking to him about having signed up for the March of Dimes walk.  And I raised my voice at him, and snapped at him, when he tried telling me that our condition was just so rare and tragic that there just isn't enough cases on it yet for medicine to work on.  I kept going on and on, not accepting his words, and finally I told him we just had to stop talking about it all because I was just too angry.  I'm sure he could tell it in my eyes...Someone who cannot see probably could have felt it coming from my eyes - my soul.  I realize I'm still going to have flashes of anger over different things, and then the anger will turn to sadness, etc., and the cycle will continue for a long time.  But I do know that I need to control my anger better.  While my eyes may not be able to hide my anger or my sadness, my words and actions can. 

I should not have snapped at my husband or the telemarketer guy who called my house.  It's not their fault that this all has happened - it's no one's fault.  My anger isn't direceted towards any one person or entity, it's just an overall anger at the situation for my loss.  So I suppose it's OK that my eyes show my anger, or my sadness - it's a window into my soul and how it's feeling.  And it's OK for others to see that in my eyes - I want them to know how much I feel for Ellison and everything else.  Maybe one day people will be able to see some brightness or specks of happiness return to my dull brown eyes, perhaps after I find the bluebird I'm longing for.  In the meantime though, I'll be sure to look others' in the eye and search through them to their souls and try to understand what they're going through, because I really believe that the eyes can be the window to one's soul.  Knowing this is half of the battle.  The other half is the battle they are fighting within themselves. 

Bluebird

My Mom prints out each of my blog entries for my grandmother to read and have.  This is the same wise grandmother that told me the story that "presence speaks for itself."  Well, apparently when my Mom read one of my latest blog entries to my Grandmother, The Abyss, she started singing lyrics from a song.  There is a song that was written back in the 1930s called "Bluebird of Happiness."  Being the amazing woman that my grandmother is she recalled that this song references pretty much what I was speaking of in my blog entry.   How she does this I do not know, but I'm fairly sure she was born with that sixth sense that people often speak of.  She has been able to predict, or sense, when certain events have occurred throughout my life.  And she always finds a way to make me reflect even further on things through her amazing presence in my life, and for that I am blessed.


In case you have never heard of the song, which I'm pretty sure many of you have not, I'll copy it below for us all to reflect on: 

 

Bluebird of Happiness by Edward Heyman

The beggar man and the mighty king are only diff'rent in name,

For they are treated just the same by fate.

Today a smile and tomorrow a tear,

We're never sure what's in store,

So learn you lesson before it is too late, so

 

Be like I, hold your head up high,

Till you find a bluebird of happiness.

You will find greater peace of mind

Knowing there's a bluebird of happiness.

And when he sings to you,

Though you're deep in blue,

You will see a ray light creep through,

And so remember this, life is no abyss,

Somewhere there's a bluebird of happiness.

 

The poet with his pen, the peasant with his plow,

It makes no difference who you are.

It's all the same somehow.

The king upone his throne, the jester at his feet,

The artist, the actress, the man on the street,

It's a life of smiles, and a life of tears,

It's a life of hopes, and a life of fears.

A blinding torrent of rain, and a brilliant burst of sun,

A biting, tearing pain, and bubbling, sparkling fun.

And no matter what you have,

Don't envy those you meet,

It's all the same, it's in the game,

The bitter and the sweet.

And if things don't look so cheerful,

Just show a little fight,

For every bit of darkness,

There's a little bit of light.

For every bit of hatred,

There's a little bit of love.

For every cloudy morning, there's a midnight moon above.

 

So don't you forget,

You must search til' you find the bluebird.

You will find peace and contentment forever

If you will -

 

Be like I, hold you head up high,

'Til you see a ray of light and cheer.

And so remember this, life is no abyss,

Somewhere there's a bluebird of happiness.

 

And there you have it.  An oldie, but a goodie - and you all know how much I love oldies.  If things don't look so cheerful, show a little fight...for every cloudy morning, there's a midnight moon above.  No more needs to be said.  The words and lyrics are a perfect response to my blog, even if I haven't quite found that bluebird.  I'm still swimming, but at least now I'm looking up to try to find the bluebird as I go...

 

When I looked up this song of course a Wikipedia entry popped up.  The article first talked about Native American folklore (which I've always found fascinating - I even wrote a paper on it in college).  Apparently the Navajo identify the Mountain Bluebird as a spirit associated with the rising sun.  They have a Bluebird Song they sing to remind tribal members to always rise and greet the sun:  "Bluebird said to me, 'Get up, my grandchild. It is dawn,' it said to me."  It blows my mind how across cultures and generations, these little simple kernels of wisdom have withstood the test of time and have been passed down for us to be able to still reflect on today.

 

So as I woke up this morning, and thought about rising to greet the day, I happened to look back into my quote book.  And sure enough, it was propped open to a page that had a recent quote I found - "Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought" - Percy Bysshe Shelley.  I have no doubt that "Bluebird of Happiness" was written by someone who was fighting a similar darkness and searching for a little bit of light, an extra knot in the rope, etc. to help pull him through.  Therefore, I must search on for the elusive bluebird.  Thanks to my grandmother for again reminding me that this bluebird exists - she found the song for me, now I just have to be able to sing it...



Your Rope

When I was growing up, I used to collect quotes.  All throughout high school and college, and even after, I'd enjoy finding new quotes - whatever spoke to me at the time - and writing them down for later reflections.  In fact, every day during my study hall in the 11th grade, I would go into my English teacher's classroom and write a new quote on the chalkboard.  I never even thought anyone paid attention to them until I missed a day or two for whatever reason and my English teacher told me that several people asked why there wasn't a new quote up there.  That put a smile on my face because I thought maybe someone else took something away from one of the quotes I shared, and it just made me happy.  I know, you are all thinking "nerd alert!"  But what can I say, I like other peoples' profound words, and they even come in handy sometimes. 

Well, the other day I found my old quotes journal.  I started reading through it last night, or rather early this morning, when I was trying to fall asleep.  I came across one quote that I thought I would share.  I'm not sure if it was actually written by Thomas Jefferson or not, historians appear divided.  Some say it was Abraham Lincoln, others say it was FDR, and some still say it was the great TJ (so I'll just hope it was TJ since he is the founder of my great University and just a plain ol' genius).  They were all great men and offered many contributions to society so it doesn't really matter.  But here goes:  "When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on."

That's about where I am at right now.  I've tied a knot, probably more like several knots now, just to hang on.  Today, I actually got out of the house to go to lunch with my sister-in-law AND decided to brave going to get a haircut.  Getting a haircut was probably the first actual thing I've done by myself without the company of anyone else.  I've run errands with Doug and my Mom to various places, but I had yet to actually drive myself somewhere and do something just for myself and by myself.  And I survived it.  I didn't have any breakdowns or freakouts along the way.  So that in and of itself is an accomplishment - I'll take it.  The knot is holding strong for now.  As my cousin told me, "one lap at a time" in response to my writings on swimming through the abyss. 

Perhaps I will share different quotes each day as they speak to me.  Maybe one of them will bring a smile to your face as you think about it or reflect on it.  Other people are much more profound than I am and obviously write better since we still quote them to this day, so why not continue to share their words of wisdom?  After all, where would we be without the Thoreaus, Kellers, Jeffersons, and Churchills of the world....

The Abyss

My husband went back to work for the first time since February 1st.  He said he felt anxious all night but was able to get through it without any major issues.  I told him I was proud of him for being able to do it - I just don't know if I'd be able to handle it.  It was the first night he's left me since we lost Ellison, and I almost didn't even know what to do with myself as I laid around.  Luckily, my sister-in-law was nice enough to invite me over for dinner with her and my niece.  My brother is out of town for work for a few nights, so it was just us girls.  During her bathtime, I told Natalie that when it got warmer I wanted to go to the zoo to see the Cheetah cubs.  I told her I've never been to the zoo here, and she couldn't believe it.  She started talking about all the things we'd see there, because she's been.  Another thing to add to my bucket list of things to do for Ellison.  It was a nice visit, and hanging out with them makes me happy.  So all in all, it was a nice way to ease into this new period I call the abyss. 

It's an abyss because it's the unknown.  I'll be forced to have to get myself to start doing things on my own.  For four straight days and nights, my husband will be having to deal with reintegrating himself back into his old routine, and I'll be dealing with trying to get myself to accept having to be more independent.  Now, I've always been an independent person - I was an independent kid, marching to the beat of my own drum if you will.  But something like this makes you dependent - dependent on others to help you through it.  Right now, I'm in the middle area - the abyss.  To be honest, I'm not sure how it will go.  I'll just discover how it will go as it happens - this is one of those things I can't control or predict.  I'll just have to slowly wade around until I find my footing...

My sister-in-law asked me last night if I was jealous that Doug was getting to go back to work while I still could not.  I told her no.  I've thought about going back to work and how it might be a good distraction, but then I think about how all over the place I still am.  My brain is still all muddled, and I can barely concentrate on any one thing - like I said in my other blog my mind is running about ten million miles a minute.  I'd be afraid to snap at someone, or I'd probably get mad that some insignificant thing in the grand scheme of things was being made into such a big deal at work.  As I've said before, my job can be skewed towards the negative most of the time, and I'm already hovering in that land of negativity and fighting it most of the time - I don't think I could handle all of that right now.  Maybe in a couple of more weeks after some of the dust settles as they say.  I do need to go back to re-establish a routine, like Doug, and to work on that whole re-integration into society that I've spoken about before.  I do realize this fact.  I'm good at what I do, and I need to find that zone again if I'm truly going to move forward.  But thinking about it right now, right at this moment, it just reminds me of an abyss.  A great big dark unknown.

Tonight I'm going to dinner with one of my best friends.  I haven't seen him since before we lost Ellison.  We are going to get sushi.  I haven't had sushi for at least 10 months - I do sort of miss it.  One of those sacrifices you have to make when you're pregnant.  But seeing as how I'm not anymore, I guess it's time to get my feet wet again.  We'll see if I still enjoy it like I did before.  Another unknown.  I may not even enjoy the same things I once did.  But I will be glad to see him and spend a dinner out probably catching up on random gossip or other things.  It will be a good distraction from my husband being gone for the night at work for his second night back.  And I won't have to think about some of the normal thoughts that I do when I'm alone and left to reflect in the silence around me. 

Eventually though, I know I'll have to face the silence and the loneliness and figure out a way to wade through that abyss.  I'm going to be a work in progress, and I guess that is OK for the time being...A few days ago when I asked Doug how he thought he was going to do when he went back to work, he said a certain "song" popped into his head.  It was out there, and something that I could understand would stick into his head because he tends to be a lot more optimistic than I am.  It was a scene from "Finding Nemo."  He said when life gets hard and he does not know what is going to happen or what he's going to do - he hears the song that Dory sings during the movie - "Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.."  This is spot on.  When life gets you down, you've just got to keep swimming.  So I'm just going to keep swimming through the abyss.  And maybe, eventually, I'll reach the other shore...

A Mile a Minute

This morning I was staring at the clock watching it click over from 0300 to 0301, wide awake.  My mind has always operated a mile a minute.  I'm constantly thinking about something.  During my school years, I'd be thinking about the topic being discussed and twelve other questions or thoughts about the subject matter would scroll through my mind.  This happens at work too.  It doesn't happen in an ADD sort of way that distracts me from what I'm doing - it just happens in a "wow, if I'm thinking about this, what about that, and that, and that" as I continue doing the task I was doing.  It's not like the dog in "UP" who is talking about something and then all of a sudden says "Squirrel" and runs off in a completely different direction.  I stay on point, but just think with my mind exploding all over the place. 

As sad as it is to say out loud, I can actually answer my own questions as I ask them in my own head.  I can be carrying on a conversation with you, and you may think I'm totally in to our conversation and I probably really am in actuality, but secretly I'm also talking to myself in my own head - sometimes cracking jokes that I would be afraid to say out loud because others might not actually find them funny, or debating random thoughts to myself about some topic that has splintered off from the conversation that you and I are having.  I've always been this way.  I've never been able to just shut my mind completely off.  I have to work hard at night to force myself to lay down, quiet my thoughts down, and go to sleep.  But when I do go to sleep, I stay asleep - I'm out like a light unless some sound wakes me back up, and then I struggle to find sleep all over again.  I'm a light sleeper unfortunately on top of this crazy mind of mine.  But usually, I can fall asleep easily every night if I just repeat one thought over and over again until I drift off and it's worked pretty well for me the last 31 years...

Well, it worked pretty well up until February 1st.  Now my mind races a mile a minute with all of these thoughts - many that I've shared on here - and it's been pretty hard to find that quiet place I've had in the past to make it slow down.  The river walk didn't work.  Those walks used to help me keep my internal race in check.  Working out used to do the trick too - it would give me an hour or so break - but I can't do that right now until I'm cleared to, so I can't lean on that avenue.  And last night, I had to write that second entry because my thoughts were racing so wildly and vividly about the topic.  In the past, I've never had to write much of my thoughts out.  I've never been one to keep a journal going.  I would never have thought that my thoughts and emotions were important enough to even write a blog - blogging had never popped into my mind.  But that was all before I lost Ellison.  Since I've lost her, I can't keep my own mind in check.  I have to write out the visions and thoughts I see and feel and debate in my own mind because they are just too numerous for me to keep in check internally.

For being someone with so much self control most of my life, I feel so out of control.  And not out of control behaviorally as most people experience growing up - I'm out of control mentality.  Not in a medical diagnosis sort of way (so don't start going there, Dr. Phil) - but in a grief sort of way.  Extreme emotional stress and grief makes one feel so out of control.  I know that this is probably a normal feeling for someone grieving in general, or someone going through something as stressful and mind-blowing as the unexplainable loss of a child.  I know I'm probably not alone in dealing with these feelings - some of you may have experienced this type of out of control feeling in some form or fashion at one point in your life.  What has been my normal state of operation which has always been a mind racing a mile a minute is now a mind racing a million times a minute.  And I need this outlet.  I'm not ready to slow down with the blogging just yet - not until I can get my mind back under control.  Too many questions, not enough answers.  Too many "but what about this" or "what if this does, or doesn't happen?"  Just too many ifs, ands, or buts...


Sometimes I wish I could just hook my brain up to one of those monitors that records all of my thoughts for me so I don't have to try to sort through them myself.  I'm sure some of my thought processes would be entertaining and may actually be funny, but lately, I'm sure they'd be overwhelmingly sad or confusing to others.  I guess you have to take the good with the bad.  As my niece would say "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit."  So with that in mind, you get what you get out of me right now, so just go with it....

Oh, and just so everyone knows, I've started my "living for" process for Ellison.  Even though I went to UVA, I've never been to see a full baseball game and I've never actually been to see the improved Davenport Field.  Sad I know considering how many times I've been to UVA even since I've graduated.  I've watched the games on TV when they are on, and I've followed the team and its sucesses through the media, but I haven't actually been able to cheer them on in person at UVA (I have seen them play VCU twice at the Diamond...but that's just nowhere near the same...).  So, I told Doug we were going to go watch them play at home in person in March - and we'll get there early to take advantage of the campus and the beauty that surrounds UVA in the early stages of the spring transition, and then we'll eat baseball treats while watching my Wahoos play, and then we'll go to Arch's afterwards for some gooey brownie.  All of it will be for Ellison....so she can experience this too.  Even if it's the little things, they count....My first full UVA baseball game will be her first game...and hopefully, once we break the ice, it won't be our last game - we'll be sure to make more time for things like this...We've got more to live for now, right Ellie?

I Live For...

Just as I go and say that I don't even know if I'm going to continue posting my blog everyday, I have another first and feel the need to write another entry right at this moment.  That would make two in one day - it's an usual day all around.  Today was a bad day in general.  Perhaps it was additional fallout from yesterday, or maybe it was just a bad day.  It won't be the first and it won't be the last - of this, I am sure. 

I had a hard time coming up with words for my earlier entry.  The subject matter stole my usual wordiness from me.  What normally flows so easily was like fighting through a strange writer's block, and I'm not even a writer.  In fact, I had a hard time getting out of bed to do anything today.  Finally after I finished finding some words to say, Doug insisted that we go for a walk with our dogs.  He took me to Pony Pasture so we could walk along the river - it's unusually high right now and we've always enjoyed taking walks on the numerous paths along the river.  Our dogs love it, and watching them with big ol' smiles on their faces usually puts a smile on my face.  But it didn't today - it made me even more sad.  Probably because I couldn't get out of my mind the fact that Ellison would have loved these types of walks.  I was very much looking forward to her joining her big fur brother and fur sister on a nice day as we marveled at the beauty that was all around and listened to the sound of the water as we walked along. 

Halfway through our walk I watched a little girl who was maybe five run along the banks of the river with her family.  At one point she stood on a rock, thrust her arms into the air, and declared "I'm king of the world!"  And despite the fact that she was mimicking a cheesy line from a cheesy movie (i.e. Titanic), it brought a tear to my eye simply because I pictured Ellison doing the same thing one day during a walk just like the one we were currently on.  Everything just snowballed from there.  The walk was no longer a distraction from my sadness, but a magnetic for it.

Back at home, I realized I had not eaten anything all day and 7 pm was fast approaching.  I told Doug we needed to use one of our gift cards that our friends had graciously provided because I wouldn't eat unless we went out and I was forced to.  And don't go thinking it's because I'm starving myself or anything like that.  Most of the time I simply don't think about eating or have no appetite to remind me to eat.  So we went out and Doug did his best to be my constant cheerleader.  I told him I was just feeling darkness all around me, and there was no light to reach towards.   The words just started spewing from my mouth as we waited for our dinner.  I started rambling about how the only thing I could think about was how we were 0 for 2.  Every time I've been pregnant, the outcome has always been negative - we have nothing to show for it.  We have no bundle of joy, and just two times the heartache.  How could I possibly expect to "see the light at the end of the tunnel" or to find the hope and optimism for the future?  And of course he did his best to tell me that we would find our light and we would get our happy ending as long as we believed we would.  Thankfully our dinner came, and my thoughts were temporarily distracted by food.

Then, all of the sudden, seemingly out of the blue, a different train of thought hit me.  I told Doug that I wanted us to start travelling more and going to places we had always wanted to go to but hadn't because life had gotten in the way.  You know how you always have visions of how you want your life to be and dream about all of the things you are going to do when you're like 12 and growing up?  Well, I'd say 9.7 times out of 10, those things never actually happen like you've dreamed them.  When I was a younger teenager, I had visions that I'd be a famous skit actor like Molly Shannon.  I portrayed a pretty good "Mary Catherine Gallagher" in a talent show, and I loved coming up with skits with my friends in my old youth group.  Heck, some people even think I look like Molly Shannon.  But as you can tell, I'm no famous actor and I don't really have any actual acting skills.  I also had dreams about travelling the world and going diving with great white sharks in South Africa.  But then, life gets in the way and you grow up and most of the dreams you had when you were younger are just that - dreams.  You start worrying about grown up things like taking time off from school, and then work, and then you have to worry about finances and logistics, and those childhood dreams just fall to the wayside as pipe dreams.  Well, I told Doug I wanted us to revisit some of those pipe dreams..

I started telling him about all the places I had dreamed about going at various times in my life.  I wanted to go to Boston and do a pub crawl and see the historic sites, and to Philadelphia to eat an authentic cheesesteak.  And I wanted to go to the Baltimore aquarium, because I've never actually been.  And I wanted to take him to NY city because even though I've been several times, there's still plenty of things I want him to see since he's never been, and there's always something new to do there.  And I want to go to Los Angeles and Hollywood and dip my feet in the Pacific Ocean.  And I want to go back to the Grand Canyon and actually get to hike a trail and white water raft through the Colorado River.  And I want to go to Yosemite National Park.  And I want to go to Hawaii and walk through volcanoes and hike through its beautiful landscape.  And I want to go to Harry Potter World in Disney and drink a butter beer (don't judge).  And I want to backpack through England, Ireland, and Scotland, and explore the castles and the countryside and drink a pint in an actual pub.  And I want to do a safari in Africa and see a great white shark (preferably from the safety of a boat).  And I want to go on a cruise to Alaska and see a whale up close and go on a sledding adventure.  And I want to do a National Geographic exploration trip to Iceland and Greenland - just because.  And I'd love to go to Australia and New Zealand - they're both so beautiful in pictures.  And I'd love to go to Fiji or Bora Bora and stare at the pristine water and beaches.  And I want to swim with dolphins somewhere in the tropics.  And I want to see Peyton Manning in action at a live football game (and maybe even get to meet him and get something signed) - heck, I'd love to see Peyton play the Pittsburgh Steelers live just so I could see him and Heath Miller at the same time.  I could go on and on, but I'll stop there...

And then it hit me after rattling all of this off - I wanted to start going to some of these places I've never been to and dedicate it to Ellison.  A friend of mine recently told me about an organization she participates in called "I Run 4."  It's an organization that was started so that people could gain inspiration from children who are disabled, and then use that inspiration to start running for those children who simply cannot because of the hand they've been dealt.  She told me there was a spin off called "I Run For...Remembrance" that is dedicated to those who run in remembrance of a lost loved one.  I haven't been able to find much about this spin-off during my internet searches thus far, but it might be something I look into more when I'm actually able to start running again.  But nonetheless this did spark something more immediate in me - another idea.  Something I'd like to call "I live for..."

Now, in addition to all the bad luck I seemed to have been handed, I was also given a lack of creativity.  I can't draw for anything, and I'm not artistic whatsoever.  I have no special skills (musically, artistically, etc.) or hidden hobbies.  I do get some creative thoughts in my head every once in awhile, but they never go far beyond that. Well tonight, the vision that popped into my head was that of a t-shirt.  A t-shirt that would incorporate some design based off of the "I carry your heart" poem by E.E. Cummings (like a heart inside of a heart) on the front and then on the back it would say something like "I live for my guardian angel" and it would have Ellison's name on it.  Don't ask me about the artistic nuances because those just don't exist in me.  But, anyways, I'd wear this shirt whenever I went to a new place and I'd take a picture and I'd make a photo book and I'd post the photos on Facebook.  That way, I would know I was living for Ellison - even though she's not here, I'd be living for her.  And everyone else would know that whatever I was experiencing for the first time, so was she. 

So if any of my artistic folk out there actually read this and can visualize what I'm talking about, let me know.  But since I doubt it will go beyond my imagination, I'll just have to know that I live for her.  And even though I know I probably will never get to Bora Bora or some of those exotic places I've dreamed of, I will make more of an effort to travel to some of the places I can get to that are new.  And I'll take a picture of each new place for Ellison.  Maybe that will take some of the darkness away, and won't make me as sad as I was today when I was at the river.  Maybe it would be at least a flash of light in this seemingly dark world I find myself in... 

If You're a Bird...

As I'm sure many other women in the midst of dating someone they are serious about have done, I forced Doug to watch "The Notebook" one night.  I'm sure you know how the story goes - it's a love story for the ages.  It centers around the characters of Noah and Allie, with Noah telling their story to his love Allie when she cannot remember it because time has stolen her memory.  There's one scene in particular that sticks out to me.  It's when they are young lovers playing on the beach.  Allie tells Noah "Now say you're a bird."  Noah replies, "If you're a bird, I'm a bird."  And that pretty much sums it up for me - if Ellison's a bird, I'm a bird.  Everything that I do, she will do, because she is indeed with me.  She is my bird.

I was partly dreading yesterday and the service we were going to hold for Ellison.  I knew it would be hard to face my family and confront the sadness, the reality of everything that was happening.  She's been gone for three weeks - what feels like an eternity already yet still so fresh in my mind and heart like it was back at 3 pm on February 1st.  I knew it wasn't going to be a formal to-do, just a simple gathering of our loved ones to spend some time remembering Ellison and reflecting on our loss.  But it still seemed so impossible to handle.  I felt physically sick to my stomach - the churning of my emotions was travelling all the way to the pit of my stomach.  None of it seemed fair, none of it was right, but it was real and we all have to confront reality.

Doug's family was present and my family was present, along with my good friend/pastor/youth leader/jack of all trades.  She was present at the hospital back on February 1st and had baptized Ellison.  It was only right that she should be a part of this and help us come together for this remembrance.  She is so good with words when words seem to escape the rest of us.  And I knew her words would be comforting not only to me and Doug, but to the rest of my family that was also feeling this immense loss.  She had written her words down for our informal gathering and they were beautiful - they were words of sadness, hope, and love.  She borrowed a few tidbits from my own past blogs, she borrowed some from scripture, and she borrowed some words from a book she had given to me that was written by other mothers grieving their own losses of a child.  One of the scriptures she read was the same that she had read at Doug and I's wedding - the standard scripture most are familiar with - 1 Corinthians 13.  The love scripture as it's commonly known.  I won't completely write it down, but I will quote one part "it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."  And this is true of love - my love for Ellison will always protect me, and will always persevere.    One day I know I will be able to find hope through that love for her and it will be a hope for the future.  It's just hard to understand and accept that right now, but I will do my best to.

Towards the end of the remembrance, our friend/pastor read the poem I had shared on my blog "When Tomorrow Starts Without Me."  And then, we each wrote a little note to Ellison and attached it to a balloon.  I won't share what I wrote in mine - it's the one thing I will leave secret between her and I.  But I will say that the last line was "Love Forever, Mommy."  We went out front and released all of the balloons and notes into the air to fly away.  Luckily, despite the crazy wind, they floated past all of the neighbors' trees and soared away.  In my mind, I'd like to think they reached her where she was sitting on top of a cloud somewhere playing with her friends.  But despite where those balloons actually ended up, I know she saw what was written on those cards.

After Doug released the balloons and they floated out of eyesight, we just hugged each other and cried.  We then went back inside and just visited with family for the rest of the afternoon.  While I was sitting in one of the chairs talking, Natalie told me that she had drawn a picture for Ellie on her card.  It was a picture of Doug and I with sad faces.  She asked me "as Ellie's mother, do you miss her?"  I told her "yes, I miss her all the time, and it makes me sad because I love her so much."  And then she said that's why she drew the sad faces on Dougle and I because she wants Ellie to know we're sad without her.  How amazingly brilliant a 4 yr old in all of her innocence can be.  And that, my friends, sums up perfectly that little remembrance we had for our Ellison.  We all want her to know we're sad that she's not with us, and we will always be sad.  We will be sad as a family and we will always remember her and think of her.  As her mother, I will always be sad and miss her just as I have every day since she left us.  This was not closure, but just another beginning.  My love for her will perservere for all of eternity.  After all, I've loved her ever since I knew her, and she is my bird....So just as Allie and Noah tell each other at the of "The Notebook," "I'll be seeing you" Ellie. 

-I'm not sure what the future of my blog holds.  I may not write long rambling topics each day, I may only write a few words.  I may not decide to post everything on Facebook each day but rather just quietly add to the blog.  Feel free to save the link and check back as you wish, or if you even want to.  I do know I'll probably write a little something every day - be it a quote, or a thought, or something.  I plan to do this each and every day for the first year.  I have to do it for my Ellison so she knows she's not alone and that her mother cares for her in so many ways.  It's just something I feel in my heart that I must do...

My Sunshine

I am literally so emotionally drained today that I cannot really even see straight.  My eyes have cried many tears to the point that everything just seems blurry.  My head is pounding and I may pass out at any moment from exhaustion, or at least that's how it feels.  But I still feel that I need to write something.  Even at my weakest, I need to press on for Ellie.

We shared a family remembrance service today for Ellison. I need time to reflect on all of the happenings of today and to collect my thoughts/emotions before I go into detail about this.  But I can talk about last night.  Last night I had to place the photos that I have of Ellison into a photo album to share with family that may want to see what she looked like.  As I carefully laid out the photos, I just couldn't believe what I was having to do.  Instead of filling a baby book for Ellison to look at as she got older, I was filling up a book of memories - the only memories I will ever have of her.  I just couldn't believe how hard it was to do - how can you love someone so much that you've never really gotten to meet?  Though we shared time and space together for the 8 months I carried her, she never got to see my face and hear my voice on the outside.  She may have been sharing a bond with me that is certainly special, but she never got to bond with me through touch.  I know that she knew my voice, and I know that she knew I cared for and loved her for those 8 special months that we did get together but it's still not the same as forming that initial bond between mother and baby when they first enter the world and look at your face.  Ellison and I never got the chance to share that moment.  And I remember thinking to myself  "how can you say goodbye to someone you never really got to say hello to?"  And then, I corrected myself - we aren't going to say goodbye.  We will never say goodbye.  In fact, one day when my worldly life comes to an end, I'll finally get the chance to say hello to her. 

But in the meantime, I will continually feel Ellison's presence, and if for some reason I can't feel it, I will continually search for it.  I see her in everything that I see.  She truly is my sunshine.  When the sun rises, I think of her.  When I see a pretty sunset, I will think of her.  Whenever I experience something new, I will think of her.  As a wave crashes on the beach, she will be first and foremost in my mind, and in my heart.  All of things that she will never be able to see or experience or touch, I will - and I'll have to share it with her in the only way that I can - by always thinking of her.  Her heart is now in my heart and hopefully as I journey on, she will be able to open my eyes to things that I may have taken for granted before.

I think to myself that I need to be more adventurous.  I need to push myself to experience new things and take risks.  I need to pay more attention to the little details in everything that I do.  And when I do these things, I need to document it and tell Ellison that "this is for you."  If I visit a new place, or achieve some personal goal, I need to let Ellison know I did it all for her.  Since she will never be able to physically be around to share in these new experiences or achievements, I have to convey to her in the only way I know how that she will always be there with me in spirit.  I need her to know this, and I have to be able to hold on to the hope that she does.

I'll be sure to stop and smell the roses more often.  And appreciate the rain for the fact that it sometimes brings a rainbow.  I'll pay more attention to life and all its happenings because I now know firsthand how short it can be.  While I'm still living, I'm living for the both of us.  To paraphrase that song I've mentioned before, "You Are My Sunshine," though she'll never know how much I love her, I won't let her sunshine go away...

-Tomorrow I'll discuss the service we had for Ellison.  I want to be able to fully process it before I share it.  So we'll just call it "If You're a Bird."  The inspiration from the title comes from "The Notebook." 

Strong

Many of my friends and family have praised my strength since I lost Ellison.  Some have called me "brave" and "strong" and "courageous" for sharing this blog with everyone - for bearing my soul for all to see.  However, what none of you see is that I do not feel strong at all.  I'm just barely hanging in and in all actuality, I'm just trying to survive this.  Every day brings a new struggle.  I want to be brave, but most days I'm just thankful to have gotten through the day.

Most days I have to fight myself just to get out of bed.  Part of me wants to just crawl under a rock and stay there, but the other part of me wants me to get up out of bed and get moving - doing anything and everything I can think of to distract me from thinking about what has happened.  Sometimes, I just wish I could wipe the entire last 9 months out of the history books - like it never even happened at all.  Then, I feel even more guilt for thinking like that - because I want everyone to know that Ellison was here and I don't ever want to forget even the smallest of details because I just have to know that she knows that I love her more than anything.  I want to get up everyday and honor her with dignity, yet that seems so impossible to do.

This blog may convey strength and resolve to some, but I use it as a way to just cope with what's going on on each particular day and I just have to talk about it.  In fact, it seems that even the smallest things are magnified and exagerrated as I go through the day.  Every time I turn on the TV, all the commercials deal with babies or motherhood or pregnancy things in general.  Every channel I flip through or every movie that I turn on seems to cover these topics as well.  Now I doubt that it's because there are in fact more of these things actually on TV at the moment, but rather that I'm just more attuned to recognizing these subtle inferences in everything I see now.  In fact, we turned to a movie the other day after I returned from the hospital - not a blockbuster by any stretch of the means - "Deep Impact."  Of course, the moment we turn it on the characters start referencing "Ellie" in an effort to determine who she is.  It turns out that it's actually "E.L.E," for "Extinction Level Event," but it's pronounced like my Ellie.  This morning Doug was watching some movie called "Knowing" with Nicholas Cage.  I wasn't even paying attention until Nicholas Cage's character kept saying a name - what I thought was Ellison.  But it turns out he was actually saying Allison.  It just sounded a lot like Ellison the way he pronounced it...at least in my mind.  I mean really?  Really?   How do these things always seem to pop up when all you want is to not be reminded of everything every single second of the day? 

These small, subtle inferences oftentimes just make me start crying.  Even going through my Facebook everyday, something totally minor elicits a tear.  As I see everyone's beautiful birth announcements, I cry.  Not because I'm not genuinely happy for them, but because I'm just so sad that I can't experience that joy for myself.  When I try to do a minor chore like clean the bathtub, and make some physical move that causes a twinge of pain from my surgery, I cry.  I had a meltdown yesterday evening as I went to get myself dressed for a dinner with my grandmother - something that seems so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  As I tried to find something to wear, I just broke down.  The only things that fit are my maternity clothes.  Having to put on a pair of maternity pants and a sweater to go out in public was like taking a knife and stabbing me with it.  When Doug tried to tell me that it's OK because I'm recovering from a c-section and everything else, I responded with "but I'm not even pregnant anymore."  And that's when I lost it.  I wish I was still pregnant with Ellison - I wish I had a reason to wear maternity clothes.  And because I don't, I get upset because I just want this extra weight and this belly pooch that's left to just be gone - I don't want the reminder every time I look in the mirror.  I don't want the stares from people who probably think "oh, how adorable, she's pregnant" when I go out in public.  I just want everything to be different...

And even when there aren't any overt reminders of our loss, some random thought will just pop into my head for no apparent reason.  Every morning before I get moving I have to do a jigsaw puzzle on an iPad that was loaned to me while I was pregnant.  I have to do it so that it distracts me from random, overwhelming thoughts that seem to invade my brain as I wake up.  This routine only helps some for yesterday as I was working on some tropical puzzle, a book I read in the 9th grade somehow popped into my head.  This was book was "Death Be Not Proud."  It was a father's memoir about his son's struggle with a brain tumor, and the inspiration for the title came from a John Donne poem.  Now I'm not sure what this has to do with a puzzle about a beach in Seychelles, but it popped in my head nonetheless.  While this book doesn't necessarily relate to my situation, I remembered how poignant the book was and I remembered how the father wrote it as a way to cope with his own loss of his son.  And this made me shed a tear.

I had another meltdown with Doug the other day.  I'm used to having a photographic memory, and can recall random facts, which often came in handy during my school years and helps with my current job assignment.  I've always been able to make decisions and come up with solutions to issues.  But the other day, I coudn't even remember what we had done the day before and I couldn't even make a decision about where to go on a car ride to get out of the house.  I broke down crying, telling Doug that it felt like my brain was in a fog and I just didn't know when I was going to be able to get it, or my memory, back.  These are just a few examples out of many...and to be honest, there are so many these days, I simply can't remember them all...

I tell you all these things in an effort to show that I don't feel strong at all.  I feel weak.  I feel incompetent.  I feel that I'm not handling this with much grace or dignity at all.  I'm just merely surviving it and trying to keep some amount of sanity as I make it through each day.  Not that I played much Jenga back in the day (and when I did it, some drinking was usually involved), but I really am just one block away from being toppled.  I worry about being strong enough to handle the tough questions that I'm sure are to come my way - from friends, family, co-workers, and even complete strangers.  When I go back to work in a few weeks, there will still be some that have not heard about our loss and will probably ask a pregnancy-related question.  I'm sure some stranger will ask how far along I am at some point.  And I honestly don't know how I will handle it. 

I really want to be strong, for Ellison's sake, but I don't know how one can be strong in this situation.  Perhaps people equate strength with survival mode.  A friend of mine posted something on my Facebook page recently:  "You never know how strong you are, until being strong is your only choice" by Bob Marley.  I suppose if this sums up what strength is, then maybe just surviving something like this shows strength.  Using this example then, most days I wish I was even stronger than I am so that I could honor Ellison with more grace and dignity.  I wish I could put even more strength into showing my love for her.  I really would love her to the moon and back if I could.

Natalie (my niece, and 4 yr. old BFF) and I often play a game I like to call "How much do I love you?"  I modeled it after that children's book "Guess How Much I Love You."  I'm sure other people play it as well, in their own ways.  But I started it with her when I'd babysit her in the mornings sometimes when my brother and sister-in-law had just moved back to Richmond.  Occassionally we still "play" it when she's getting her bath or during random car rides, and I'd use it as a way to tell her I loved her and to maybe expand her imagination and vocubalary some.  But I would usually start it off by saying something like "I love you more than there are grains of sand" or "I love you more than there are sharks in the sea" (I used this one after Shark Week one time), and so forth.  And we'd take turns back and forth for as long as it held her attention span.  She'd say things like "I love you more than there are rainbows in the sky" or "I love you more than there are flowers in the world."  As I reflect upon the fact that tomorrow is our little family memorial for Ellison, this simple game sticks in my mind.  I would have played it with Ellie.  In fact, sitting in her room is a print I framed that says "If you want to know how much I love you, count the waves in the sea."  And now, I'll just have to play this game by myself and think of her.  And maybe I can find the strength to hold it together long enough to get through a few turns...

-Tomorrow, my family is getting together for a little memorial "service" for Ellison.  I dare not call it closure, for there will never be closure.  But it is just a little informal something to allow all of us to reflect on our loss and grieve together.  I have no idea how I will make it through, or what frame of mind I'll be in, but my topic for tomorrow will center on this.  I guess I'll call it "My Sunshine."

My Husband

Writing this blog everyday has been a way for me to get my thoughts and emotions out such that they don't just eat away at me.  I've always tried to handle stress, sadness, anger, etc. internally - fighting a battle with myself basically.  But something like this would crush me from the inside out if I didn't "emote" outwardly.  Not to mention, I've got to be the voice for two now - myself and Ellison.  However, what I have neglected thus far has been talking about my husband.  I've mentioned him here and there, but not nearly enough.  My husband has not read these blog entries yet - which I understand because I know how hard they are for me to even write let alone for others to read.  So he won't know that I've discussed him (because that would probably embarrass him some).  But one day when he can bring himself to read these, I hope he realizes how much I love him, and how much Ellison loved him.

I will not delve too much into how my husband and I met.  Suffice it to say that he passed one test with flying colors but failed the other.  See, most girls when they think about their future husbands have some sort of unwritten "list" of things that the potential spouse must possess.  The list usually contains things like being nice, loving, good sense of humor, mature, etc.  Then there are the stranger requests which are unique to each girl.  Mine included that my future spouse could not have gone to VA Tech or be a Tech fan, and could not be a co-worker.  For my fellow Wahoos (most of them anyways), you can understand the first one - we bleed orange and blue through and through.  Don't get me wrong, I do have a handful of friends that went to Tech and I love them nonetheless - but I didn't marry them :).  The second one came from previous experiences.  Well, Doug passed the first one, but failed the second.  We met at work, as fate would have it, and I went against my list. 

We started dating in February 2010, were engaged by July 2010, and were married on April 2, 2011.  As they say, when you know, you know.  I pretty much knew on that first date that we were destined to be together.   While we may have been polar opposites on some things, and had totally different life experiences in our backgrounds, we always "got" each other.  He understands me, and I understand him.  And that's why it happened so seemlessly.  Don't get me wrong, there were a few bumps on that road towards marriage, but nothing that our love couldn't climb over.  You here some people say that they married their best friend - and I know in my heart that I am one of those people.

We've had some close calls since we've been together.  I mentioned my car accident in one of the earlier blogs.  Shortly after that, Doug was involved in something at work that very easily could have turned out differently.  I won't go into what we do, but let's just say, it has taught us that life is short and can very easily be taken away in an instant.  You'd think that that knowledge would make this easier for us to face, but as I pray that none of you ever have to go through this yourselves,  no amount of knowledge can ever help you prepare for the loss of a child.  Even if you had a crystal ball and knew that this outcome was set (which we certainly did not), you would not be prepared for it.  It is something that should never happen, but when it does, it is beyond what our minds can comprehend and our hearts can handle.  Now, none of those close calls leading up to this even seems like it was ever hard to handle...

I can say that losing Ellison is the hardest thing Doug and I could ever experience in our lives, and we are facing it united together.  My husband is my rock.  He has always kept me grounded.  When we sit around during the quiet times and just talk through our thoughts of sadness and how we're feeling, he has told me that the only thing worse than losing Ellison would have been losing me too.  And though I've told him several times that I wish it had been both Ellison and I, I know how impossible that would have been for him to survive.   The thought of leaving him behind is heartbreaking as well.  I would never want him to face this pain alone.  Most of the time, he holds it together for the both of us. 

Despite his overwhelming sadness, he constantly has to be my cheerleader.  He always tries to convince me that I have to have a positive outlook.  We won't be happy ever again if we don't think that we can be happy, he tells me.  After all, nature didn't choose to take either of us that night, it took Ellison.  She would want us to move forward.  We have to face life every day that we are living - the happy, the sad, the funny, the good, the bad, and the ugly.  And if we should get pregnant again, we'll have to stay positive and not constantly fear the negative, because we simply can't control it.  All of these things he tells me on a daily basis in an effort to pull me out of a pit of despair.  He does this because he loves me so much.  And for this, I fall even more in love with him each day.

I worry about Doug.  I worry that maybe I'm not supporting him enough, and I tell him every day that I worry about him.  I want to know that he will be OK when he goes back to work.  I want to know that he will take care of himself.  I worry because I know the pain he is experiencing.  I saw him hold Ellison that night and I watched all of the worries that he held during the pregnancy melt off of his face.  He was no longer worried about finances, or the thought of raising a little princess, or the impending late nights and lack of sleep, or anything else about bringing a child into this world.  All that remained was the pain of having lost one of the greatest loves of his life.  And not a day goes by that he doesn't miss his little princess - I know this because I see it.  I live it with him.  So I worry about him, and he worries about me.  That is why our marriage is still so strong - we worry about each other, together.

I don't doubt that the loss of a child is the hardest thing for a marriage to face and endure.  And I don't doubt that Doug and I will survive this and probably come out on the other side even closer.  Partly because our love is so strong, and partly because he is just an amazing man - he is supportive, loving, giving, strong, hard-working, fun-loving, optimistic, funny.  All the things that a husband should be, and more.  I can't come up with enough adjectives to describe him adequately.  He is simply a good man, and he's my man.  As my grandfather would often say after meeting someone for the first time, "he's a nice man."  Oftentimes you just know when someone has a good heart and is a good person just from meeting him - well, if you haven't met my husband, hopefully you will be able to tell he has a heart of gold just from reading this - at least that's what I want you to know. 

He would have been an amazing father to Ellison.  She would have brought him so much joy.  He would have been very involved in her life - raising her, being her cheerleader, and just loving her.  He would have been very hands-on with everything.  I'm sure he would even have turned football off to watch Disney princess movies with her (though I know he would protest some).  As much as he has sacrificed for me over the years, he would have done so for her tenfold.  He would be the one to teach her how to ride a bike, how to throw a ball (although I'd fight him over taking credit for this since I can throw pretty good as well), and all of  the other things that fathers often teach their children.  I am just so sad knowing  that I will not be able to watch this love between father and daughter flourish over the years.  Not only am I extremely sad that I can't have Ellison here to be a mother to her, I'm also sad that I won't be able to watch Doug show her his love as her father.

As I've talked about before, I still feel guilt.  I feel guilt thinking that I couldn't keep Ellison safe and I couldn't bring her into this world to see her father.  I couldn't keep his princess alive.  Even though we both know this was just an unexplainable tragic accident, I still can't help feeling guilty.  I won't go into that extensively again, but just know that I still struggle with this feeling in my heart, even if I know in my mind that it is unfounded.  I wanted nothing more than to give him this beautiful gift - and it just didn't happen.  The only thing I can give him now is my unwaivering love and support in dealing with this reality.  So with that, I will close this by saying that I love my husband with all my heart, til death do us part.  While we're still living, all we can do is love each wholly and honor the memory of our daughter united together.

-Tomorrow, the topic will be entitled "Strong."  While everyone tells Doug and I how strong we are being through all of this, I want everyone to know that I'm just one block being pulled away from toppling - like a Jenga tower, on an everyday basis.  It's a war that's being fought as the sun rises each day.

When Tomorrow Starts...

I doubt my post today will be as long as it usually is - yesterday really zapped me of energy and cohesive thoughts for today.  Many of you are probably glad to see that this will be a shorter ramble, and I don't blame you.  I'm well aware that some of these may not be easy to read.  I'm surprised anybody really reads them at all - but I have gotten lots of encouragement from others that I have encountered at all different points in my life.  Many of them have said that they have taken a different viewpoint about their own lives and emotions after reading about my journey.  A friend the other day told me to "fight on," and so I must and so I will.  If just one person takes something away from Ellison, or from me, that would be a silver lining...

Being that yesterday was particularly hard, my amazing parents gave Doug and I a little something to show their love and support.  That just goes to show how incredible my parents are and I really can't be thankful enough to have them in my life.  One of the things that they got us was a little figurine of person carrying a heart (simple, sweet, and touching - just perfect), and one of the other things that was included in the gift was a card.  Folded up inside of that card was a poem that my father had found.  As I read it, the tears started falling.  It was the first time I had cried that day...

The title of the poem is "When Tomorrow Starts Without Me."  I tried researching it some on the internet to see who wrote it and could not find a definitive answer.  It appears to be a variation of a poem called "If Tomorrow Starts Without Me" which is attributed to David Romano.  I prefer the version my Dad found...So don't sue me if I haven't correctly cited the source (I made a good faith effort).  I'll copy it here for everyone to see:

When Tomorrow Starts Without Me

When tomorrow starts without me, and I'm not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes, all filled with tears for me,
While thinking of the many things we didn't get to say.

I know how much you love me, as much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me, I know you miss me too.

But when tomorrow starts without me, please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name, and took me by the hand.

And said my place was ready, in heaven, far above,
And that I had to leave behind all those I dearly love.

But as I turned to walk away, a tear fell from my eye,
For my life had not long started, and I didn't want to die.

I had so much to live for, so much to learn and do,
It seemed almost impossible, that I was leaving you.

I thought of all the times to come, the good ones and the bad,
I thought of all the love we'd share, it made me feel so sad.

If I could spend just one day, or even a little while,
I'd tell you how I love you, and show you my big smile.

But then I fully realized, that this could never be,
For emptiness and memories would take the place of me.

And I thought of worldly things I might miss come tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did, my heart was filled with sorrow.

But when I walked through heaven's gates, I felt so much at home,
When God looked down and smiled at me, upon his golden throne,

"This is eternity," he said, "and all I've promised you,
Today for life on earth is passed, but here it starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow, but today will always last,
And since each day's the same day, there's no longing for the past.
My child, you were so special, I had to set you free,
So won't you take my loving hand, and share my life with me?"

So when tomorrow starts without me, don't think we're far apart,
For every time you think of me, I'm right here, in your heart.  (The end)

As I read this, I thought to myself that I had hoped this is what Ellison would be trying to communicate to me if she could.  Even though she was just this tiny, innocent person when she was taken, I just hope that she knows that we carry her in our hearts forevermore - in all the tomorrows that are to come, and with all the heartbeats that those tomorrows give me, she will be right there with me. 

-Tomorrow my post will be about my husband.  I feel that I need to talk about what an amazing man he is.  He would have been the best father Ellison could have ever imagined.  It seems to me that the hardest thing for a marriage to endure is the loss of a child, and I'm just so thankful to have my husband by my side through all of this.  Dealing with the pain of losing Ellison is gut-wrenching, but not having him holding my hand through all of this would make life totally unbearable.

What Should Have Been

As midnight came and went this morning, I laid in bed wide awake.  I thought to myself about what should have been.  I should have been wide awake, in that hospital room, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the new love of my life that was due to come into the world sometime in the next eight or so hours.  I know I would not have been able to sleep, probably consumed with excitement, nerves, and all the other jitters that expectant mothers feel knowing that their baby will be entering the world at any moment.  I'd be thinking about how our lives would be forever changed, for the better, and how I was entering the next phase of my life - that of a mother.  Something I had longed for since childhood. 

All of these are what should have been.  Instead of laying awake awaiting joy, I was laying awake overcome by immense sadness.  Ellison was supposed to have been placed into my loving arms on this day, but instead she was taken away from us before we had this opportunity.  I think back to that night we lost her and holding her in my arms.  Neither Doug nor I dared open her eyes - without speaking, we both knew that we could not bring ourselves to see her eyes for the first, and only, time knowing that there was no twinkle in them.  My friend gave us a print the other day that had Ellison's name on it, her date of birth and the time, and said "And to think, When her little eyes opened, The first thing she saw was the face of Jesus."  How profoundly true this is.  And yet, how profoundly sad and angry I feel about this.  I wanted more than anything for my face to be the first thing that her little eyes saw.  My heart is broken all over again knowing that this will never be possible.  It is what should have been.

I find certain things ironic, in a "sinking of the heart" kind of way.  I have not talked about this in my blog yet, but I feel now is the time to bring it up.  As soon as I was told I was going to be on bedrest for seven weeks, I thought to myself that I was going to write Ellison a book about her journey.  I had already started it during those first few days in bed - I had titled it "The Story of You."  I had already written two chapters - the first being about me and Doug and how we met, the second talked about Doug and I's love journey.  Everything that had led up to our wedding day was already completed and the last line in that chapter was "Another chapter in our life then began – our journey to have you."  I had told my family members and some of my friends and co-workers about this book I was writing.  I told them I was going to record everything so that when Ellison was 25, she could understand how much Doug and I loved her and what we went through for her.   As it turned out, my laptop battery died after these two chapters and I had to put my book on hold until the new battery arrived.   And now, how  tragically ironic it is that my story should pick back up here.  She will never be able to read her story and know the things I was trying to record for her. 

Something else happened today that was ironic.  When we found out we were pregnant with Ellison, we made the decision to finally pull the trigger on the plans to add an addition to our house.  We have two large dogs (who are the best dogs in the world - I'm not biased..) that have been residing in and taking up one side of our downstairs.  We had plans to move them out of that area and into a decent sized mud/storage room.  We wanted to transform what was the dog's room into a nice office/play room/extra family room.  We wanted to create more room for Ellison as she grew and her toys began to take over the house, as often happens when you have children.  We were planning for our future with her.  Well, today the finishing touches were completed on the addition.  The same day we were to have Ellison, we find out that the addition we planned on ultimately because of her arrival is done - isn't this terrible irony?  As we wrote out the cashier's check for the work, our hearts broke yet again.  As Alanis Morissette would sing, "Isn't it ironic, don't you think?"  It's just terribly, horribly ironic..

It has all finely sunk in that what should have been will never be.   Today, I went with my Mom to frame some pictures that were to have gone into Ellison's nursery to decorate the walls and to maybe give her a smile when she looked at them.  Now instead they are pictures to honor her memory.  Instead of thinking about having a party to celebrate her arrival and show her off to friends and family, we're going to have to think about how best to say goodbye to her at her memorial.  Today, more so than the rest, makes it hard for me to write about how I feel.  What is left of my heart is sitting in the pit of my stomach, and it feels as though I can't even remember how to breathe.  I can slowly feel the life being sucked out of me with each word.  The sadness I feel is unimaginable, indescribable, and eternal.  There is not much more that I can say. 

Almost 9 months ago, I prayed that this day would come - that we would finally get to hold our baby in our arms, and now today, I'm just praying to get past this day, to survive it.  I want to scream at the top of my lungs out of anger, yet the air is sucked out of me and I can barely utter a word.  I want to cry all day, but the tear ducts have run dry.  So I am just sitting here reflecting on what should have been and wishing it had all turned out the way it was supposed to on February 18th, 2014 - with the birth of our baby girl.  Instead, I'm just a mother who will never get to see her baby girl's eyes...


-Tomorrow the topic will be "When Tomorrow Starts..."  It will be centered around a poem my Mom gave to Doug and I today, knowing that it was going to be a tough day...

Re-Entering Society

Doug and I have tried to run errands and leave the house for a little bit each day.  It's just too hard for me to stay holed up inside of the house with so many constant reminders of our loss.  It's also hard for me to be this inactive while I'm recovering.  I feel the need to work out or try to do all of these chores that have been put off for so long but I'm still on restrictions from the doctor for at least 4 more weeks.  And this is killing me too.  I need something to distract me or take my mind off of things or push me physically so I don't think about the emotional pain. 

While watching some random movie that was playing the other day - I believe it was Apollo 13, I mentioned to Doug about the theory of the 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon.  And then I commented that it seemed like Tom Hanks had been around long enough as well to have a similar game.  But then I commented to Doug, seemingly out of the blue, that I was reminded of another Tom Hanks movie at that very moment - "Forrest Gump," and one scene in particular - the scene where Jenny runs out into the corn fields and asks Forrest to pray with her "Dear God, please make me a bird so I can fly far, far far away from here."  Unfortunately, this would do me no good.  I cannot outrun the emotions or leave them far enough behind, and even if I could manage to fly away from here, no distance could alleviate my pain.

So now I have to turn my attention to figuring out how to re-enter society.  I've got to start facing my friends and co-workers and everyone else.  I have to join back in.  But how exactly do I do this?  I feel that those who know me will either pretend like nothing has happened and keep the mood light, or will walk on eggshells around me, not knowing what state of mind I may be in or even what to say to me.  And I get that.  I don't know how to interact with others right now nor do others know how to interact with me.  I know that I'll have to be patient because others may unknowingly say something that may upset me without even knowing that they have, and though I know they do so with the right intentions, it will no doubt sting me.  I'm not a very patient person to begin with, but I'm slowly learning how to have more patience while dealing with this unthinkable loss. 

I'll have to watch myself around others and keep myself in check.  No doubt, something in some random conversation or interaction will trigger sadness or anger, and I'll have to figure out a way to handle these sudden emotions.  I suppose I will just be a constant work in progress, getting through one step at a time and dealing with things as they arise.  After all, no one can plan, nor ever would plan, for something like this to happen so protocals for handling it simply don't exist.  We'll all just have to wing it..

But how do I get myself back into reality in the first place?  Occassionally I'll find myself cracking a joke with my husband, and even laughing for a few seconds.  Then, I immediately feel guilty about this.  I shouldn't be laughing, because I certainly don't feel happy.  I also feel guilty when I'm not crying, because I should be crying all the time, because I do feel utter and complete sadness.  I have always been a pretty adventurous, fun-loving person who would be up for trying things and would want to go out and find fun.  Now, I'm not sure how to go about finding excitement or fun.  Nothing really seems to excite me anymore.  I can't even make simple decisions like "where do you want to go on a ride to today?"  or "what do you want to eat?" or "do you want to go see a movie or go some place different today?"  Maybe over time, I'll be able to start slowly being able to at least decide simple things for myself like if I actually want Starbucks or not, or if I want to watch a movie or not.  Maybe I just need to jump headfirst back in to things and just let it happen.  I just can't see the reality in this right now - it's all just too surreal. 

Doug and I went to go spend some time with my Grandmother this afternoon.  I had not seen her in over 8 weeks because I had been on bedrest and shortly before I went into the hospital, she suffered a heart attack and had to have surgery, so I was not allowed to visit with her during the last two months.  My Grandmother is a tough lady, and young at heart for being 85.  She often has given me words of encouragement throughout my life, often in the form of a "Gran letter."  Oftentimes though I tend to find hidden advice in the discussions we have in her apartment just shooting the bull or talking about random things.  She is very special to me, and I love her very much.  I have a lot of her stubborness in me, and I used to tell people that I was "Petie's girl" when they asked me who I belonged to (that's my grandmother's nickname by the way).  So I often listen to what she has to say and learn from her as much as I can.

Today, we talked a little bit about Ellison and what had happened.  She naturally had some questions, and I did not mind sharing the answers with her.  She explained that she could not understand how I felt because neither she nor my Mom has personally experienced this type of loss, and though she wishes she could take it away, she cannot.  I told her that I've found that no one can really understand it unless they've experienced the loss.  But we both agreed that while this is true, others can feel for me and be sad for us and Ellison, and often don't know what to say or what to do.  She then told me a story about her childhood.  My grandmother was the youngest of 13 (with one sibling dying shortly after birth) and grew up in a small town.  When she was a young girl, they had a couple that lived nearby and she would often go over and swing in their yard and talk with them and spend time with them.  Unfortunately the wife passed away, and my Gran didn't know what to do.  Her mother told her that she needed to go over and see the husband, and my Gran replied that she didn't know what to do or say to the man.  Her mother's response was that it was alright, that she didn't need to necessarily say or do anything in particular, that her "presence speaks for itself."  So Gran went over there like she had many times before, and sat down with the man, and just talked about random things.  And I'm sure that made his day and helped that day pass a little bit easier even if my Gran was too young to realize this. 

This really stuck with me.  While my family and friends may not know what to say and so forth, their presence speaks for itself.  Just being around or making me get out of the house for dinner or texting to say their thinking about me or dropping a dinner off or listening to me if I call and need to vent or have a breakdown is enough.  Even though I feel lonely and sad and angry, just the presence of someone who cares helps.  So as I attempt to slowly re-enter the normalcy of society, I'll need this presence probably every day.  Because though I will never get "through" this loss, I'll no doubt one day be able to get "around" it.  As Ringo would say, "I'll get by with a little help from my friends."

-Tomorrow was to have been Ellison's scheduled arrival - I was supposed to be having my c-section on the morning of the 18th.  No doubt the 18th will be a bad day thinking about what was to have been.  So the topic for tomorrow will be "What Should Have Been."

Maybe I'm Not Doing Enough

Sometimes during my moments of reflection, I wonder if I'm even doing enough to honor Ellison's memory.  I may write my thoughts and emotions in this blog, but is that enough?  Is thinking about her all the time enough?  Is going into her room and telling her that I love her enough?  What I really feel like doing is climbing to the highest point in the world and screaming at the top of my lungs about how much I miss her and how I just want her to come back.  I want to tell everyone on this planet how amazing she was and how much I really miss her.  I just want everyone to know that she existed and that we loved her more than anything in this world.  

I also reflect on my life and wonder if I'm doing enough with it.  Maybe I'm not a good enough person.  I wonder if I should be doing more.  Maybe I should be doing more volunteer work and giving back to others.  I used to volunteer during my high school and college years, and I found it very rewarding.  Maybe I should get more involved with the March of Dimes - I do want to walk in honor of Ellison this year, and every other year, and what better way to honor her than to do this.  Maybe I should be doing more to help or support others who have also had to face coping with the loss of a child.  I should just be doing more...

I sometimes even wonder if I'm fulfilling my life's calling.  When I applied to UVA, I wrote on my application (yes, it was still a paper application back in 2000) that I might want to major in history and be a history teacher or perhaps chemistry to be a chemist of some sort (ironically, two of my favorite subjects at the time).  Somehow that changed when I actually started attending classes and I switched to psychology and sociology because people and society fascinated me more than lab work and equations, and I didn't think I had the patience to teach at the time.  Then, after college, I decided I needed a master's degree in Criminal Justice.  I wanted to go into that field after my schooling because I thought it would be fascinating and challenging and rewarding and I'd be making a difference in this world, and because I had these unrealistic dreams that I'd be the next Clarise Starling from the "Silence of the Lambs."

Now that I'm in that field, I see how thankless it can be.  You go in to it thinking you'll make a difference, and you work really hard, and oftentimes you feel disappointed and frustrated in the outcome, and in humanity in general.  Sure it can be exciting, and you see lots of different things all the time, and no one day is the same as the next.  But I don't know if I'm really making a difference or helping others by doing it.  Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy the position I'm currently in - I feel that it suits my talents perfectly, and it does challenge me, but in this profession, your assignment can change at the drop of a hat.  So I'm not guaranteed anything in my field.  Naturally, all of this makes me wonder if I'm doing enough.  Maybe I should have been a history teacher so that I could feel like I was making more of a difference in the life of a child.  Maybe I should have continued with the chemistry and let it morph into something in the medical field - doctor or nurse even.  What could be more fulfilling than healing someone or trying to save their life?  I guess all this time I've had over the last two weeks has made me reflect on a lot of things to include my thoughts on what I'm really doing with my life. 

And maybe all this reflecting about not doing enough volunteer work or not helping others enough through my job or making enough of a difference in this world is just a side effect of the grieving.  I guess a part of me still feels guilty about feeling like I didn't do enough for Ellison.  So how do I make up for that?  I don't know if I'll ever be able to do enough to make up for it, at least in my mind.  And I doubt that even if had I spent every waking moment helping others in some way, it would have even changed the outcome for Ellison - I realize this.  But part of me wishes I could somehow feel like I was doing enough to at least honor her every day of my life, and I'm not sure what would accomplish this.

I also hope I can figure out a way to change our luck.  I've never won anything in my life - a raffle, a lottery, a prize, anything.  I just have constant bad luck.  As you've read in my earlier blog entries, nothing has gone our way throughout this journey towards parenthood.  Everything seems to be a constant struggle and life keeps throwing us lemons, and we just can't seem to make lemonade.  I just want our luck to change and for something to go our way all the way to the end.  I don't find that too much to ask for, but apparently, it must be for us.  So if I could just figure out a way to change the tides, I'd do whatever I needed to do to accomplish it.  Maybe I just need to do more - with my life, with my hobbies, with giving to others.  Maybe I just need to figure out how to be a better person.  I just don't have the answers and I'm constantly searching for them because that's all I can do at the moment.  I can only search for a way to honor Ellison as much as she deserves to be honored and I can only search for that silver lining for Doug and I through all of this...

-Tomorrow I think I'll write about "Re-entering Society."  It's been 15 days since we lost Ellison, and each day brings a new struggle...

Hurt

As most people would probably agree, music can be a good source of comfort and can speak to you in whatever situation you may be in.  While most modern music tends to be upbeat, cliche, and fake, some of the classics really hit on heavier topics.  One of my best friends, though I haven't seen him since my wedding (which doesn't really matter because I love him no matter the time or distance), introduced me to Johnny Cash.  And my life hasn't been the same since (so thank you Ben!).  As many of you know, I can't stand country music, but Cash is so much more than country music - his songs fused so many different genres.  Shortly before he died, he did a cover of a Nine Inch Nails song called "Hurt."  I realize my life is no where near similar to Johnny Cash's life, nor would I really wish to have lived that kind of life, but I can relate to some of the emotions he portrays while he sings his version of the NIN song.  Who would ever have thought that Cash would ever consider covering a NIN song?  I never would have, but it is beautiful.

The song starts out like this: 
"I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real"

Now, I realize that this sounds pretty dark.  And for the record, I would never physically hurt myself and I'm not having any thoughts along those lines (I feel I have to give this disclaimer so that no one thinks I need some sort of intervention or anything).  But it speaks to me on a different level than what the words are actually conveying.  To me, it talks about being numb.  Sometimes I feel so sad that I'm actually numb.  I can't even cry, and I think to myself, what's the point of even crying?  I can't make decisions - nothing excites me.  I'm just a blank slate.  And when you feel emotionally numb, sometimes you wonder if you're even still physically here.  If it wasn't for the soreness and pulling I still feel as I sit up or get out of bed or walk too much at one time, I'd really wonder if I was here because it doesn't feel like I am.  All this verse says is that pain is real - you can feel it, it hurts.  However, emotional numbness can't be felt - it just exists, and you just float through it like you're on a wave and things just pass you by and you just can't feel anything.

Thank God for Johnny Cash.  And Paul McCartney.  I  also feel that way about U2 as well.  I'm not a concert-goer, but if I could ever see one group in concert it would be U2.  I doubt I ever will, and I probably missed my chance when they toured in Charlottesville.  The main reason I will never get to see them live is that I wouldn't spend money on something like that for myself.  So, I'll just listen to their greatest hits CD and dream about it.  One of my favorite songs of theirs (although there are many) is "All I Want is You."  Now, most of those lyrics don't really fit into my coping with this tragedy, but the song title certainly does.  I'd imagine telling Ellison  that "all I ever wanted is you."  I'd probably play U2, and the Beatles, and Johnny Cash, and Queen for her, among others.  I'd make sure she developed an appreciation of the oldies (as these groups are probably now considered - which is sad).  I remember my grandmother always having the radio on in the kitchen listening to music from the 50s/60s and I loved it - I cherished those Saturday mornings at her house.  I'd hoped Ellison would feel the same emotions I did when listening to those songs, those true emotions, that were often conveyed in the lyrics of those oldies.

As I sit here, feeling like a blank slate, I wonder if Ellison even knows how much we are hurting down here.  I don't know what lies in the great beyond, or what it's like where her spirit is.  We all get taught about Heaven and how amazing it is, but we don't really know what it is nor could we grasp something fully that we haven't experienced.  I wonder if she's up there with all of the other children that were taken far too soon from their loved ones, making friends and holding hands and playing with Play-Doh or Legos, and feeling constant love and happiness.  I wonder if she's met Bill (my grandfather who passed in March of 2013), and he's teaching her all about fishing and the Civil War and passing on all of his wisdom to her.  Heck, I wonder if she's met Johnny Cash up there.  Some of the time I wonder if she can even hear us talking to her or watch us as we sit in her room in the rocking chair and cry.  I'd like to think that she can feel how much we love her and miss her, but the truth is I just don't know if she can.  I wonder if there's any point in doing all of this because I just don't know if she will ever realize the worldly pain we feel now that she is gone.  All of these thoughts invade my mind constantly, and have just left me numb.  I find myself sometimes rubbing my incision site or wiping away tears I didn't even know I had cried just to feel something - some sign of pain - to know that this is all real.

I hurt knowing that I will be a mother but will never get to experience any of the happiness that motherhood brings because Ellie, my daughter, is not here to bring me this happiness.  As Mother's Day comes and goes, I'll know that I'm not like all the other mothers out there.  After that day, the next important day will be my 32nd birthday, and I'll have to pinch myself just to feel a bit of pain so that I know that I'm still alive.  Each following holiday will bring these same reminders that I am actually here living and Ellie is not, and this is the type of hurt that artists like Johnny Cash and others sometimes tried to convey in their songs without even knowing how it would speak to me the way that it does.

-Tomorrow's topic will be called "Maybe I'm not doing enough..."