Sometimes it seems that I just have the worst luck in the world. Even when things start to make it seem that our luck has changed, the unluckiness just swoops right in takes it away. After such a long journey to even have Ellison, we finally made it past the first trimester only to have our hearts cut right out from under us in the third trimester. I wonder if I'll ever be able to focus on the lucky when I'm always expecting the unlucky.
They say when it rains, it pours. Or as Mark Twain put it, "When ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles, but in showers." With all of these negative occurrences that keep happening, I think my biggest challenge will be trying to accept the possibility that we might actually have our luck turn the tide one of these days. It will difficult trying to convince myself that the other shoe is not going to drop and that we will finally get our happy ending.
How can you believe that the sun will come out tomorrow when all you see is rain? Doug is constantly telling me that I have to believe our luck will change for it to actually change. I fear that he is right (I hate it when he's right..haha). Now I just have to figure out how to make myself believe it. Somedays it seems like I can, and then somedays it seems like that is the most impossible thing to believe in when all I have to compare it to is the past. As I go through this journey, this is by far the hardest part - trying to find positivity in a field of negativity. I pray each day that I can find this positive way of thinking and that the luck finds us again. It's hard having to fight this battle amongst all the other ones...it's quite exhausting actually. I believe I am the hardest enemy I'll ever have to face.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Garden
Yesterday marked two months since we lost Ellie. And it's been raining pretty much all weekend. When it rains and the sun does not shine it sometimes makes me feel even more sad. But as I was leaving dinner with good friends, the sun had reappeared after a lengthy absence. I realized April is right around the corner. The weather should begin to get warmer and my Seasonal Affective Disorder should start to fade. Warm, sunny days lie ahead even if I may not see them coming.
Of course April showers bring May flowers. So I'm sure the rain will still hang around some to dampen my mood, especially when it rains on days that mark sad milestones. But that rain does serve a purpose - it allows the flowers to bloom and thus renews life. And as Claudia Ghandi said "If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden."
And on I walk...
Of course April showers bring May flowers. So I'm sure the rain will still hang around some to dampen my mood, especially when it rains on days that mark sad milestones. But that rain does serve a purpose - it allows the flowers to bloom and thus renews life. And as Claudia Ghandi said "If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden."
And on I walk...
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Friendship Party
My parents were watching Natalie for a bit today because my brother and sister-in-law needed some time to run errands. So they invited me to join them for lunch over at my Gran's. When I got over to my parent's house, Natalie was coloring pictures. As my sister-in-law was getting ready to leave, Natalie mentioned that her, and mommy and daddy, were going to have a "friendship party" when she got back home with them this afternoon.
We asked her what a "friendship party" entailed. She got up and emphatically said that a "friendship party" was a party to show others that you care for and love them. That sounded wonderful to me. She had learned it from the Disney Juniors channel. It made me think about how much my friends and family have helped me through my loss. While no parties have been thrown, and parties aren't really appealing to me in general at the moment, just hanging out with my friends and family has shown me that I am loved and cared for by so many.
I may not be the best company all the time, but having company certainly has been a blessing. It was nice hanging out with my good friends last night for a bit and catching up. It helped me to realize that it's good to not talk about or think about what I'm missing all the time but rather to start focusing on what I do have which is love and support. Friendship parties, in whatever form they take, are bright spots in a sometimes dark world. Leave it to a four year old to remind you of this. As Albert Einstein would say, "out of clutter, find simplicity."
We asked her what a "friendship party" entailed. She got up and emphatically said that a "friendship party" was a party to show others that you care for and love them. That sounded wonderful to me. She had learned it from the Disney Juniors channel. It made me think about how much my friends and family have helped me through my loss. While no parties have been thrown, and parties aren't really appealing to me in general at the moment, just hanging out with my friends and family has shown me that I am loved and cared for by so many.
I may not be the best company all the time, but having company certainly has been a blessing. It was nice hanging out with my good friends last night for a bit and catching up. It helped me to realize that it's good to not talk about or think about what I'm missing all the time but rather to start focusing on what I do have which is love and support. Friendship parties, in whatever form they take, are bright spots in a sometimes dark world. Leave it to a four year old to remind you of this. As Albert Einstein would say, "out of clutter, find simplicity."
Friday, March 28, 2014
The Sky
As I was driving in to work this morning, I noticed how pretty the sky looked. It seemed like half of the sky was this bluish gray color, and then there was a sharp line where the other half turned into a yellowish orange pink sky. It made me realize that I haven't been noticing things like these pretty skies recently. It made me think of a quote by C.S. Lewis: "Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything."
When I make a more concerted effort to look at things like the sky around sunrise and sunset, it will remind me both of her absence as well as her presence. I'm reminded of her absence now as I prepare to watch my team play in the Sweet 16. It would have been the perfect opportunity to dress her in a little UVA outfit and I would have loved that memory. But at the same time, as I head out to meet up with some of my friends as the sun sets, her presence is apparent in the pretty colors of the sky. It's only fitting to think that her beauty is reflected in the skies and that she's painting me a picture.
When I make a more concerted effort to look at things like the sky around sunrise and sunset, it will remind me both of her absence as well as her presence. I'm reminded of her absence now as I prepare to watch my team play in the Sweet 16. It would have been the perfect opportunity to dress her in a little UVA outfit and I would have loved that memory. But at the same time, as I head out to meet up with some of my friends as the sun sets, her presence is apparent in the pretty colors of the sky. It's only fitting to think that her beauty is reflected in the skies and that she's painting me a picture.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Bill-Bill
Today, March 27th, marks the one year anniversary of my grandfather's passing. It's hard to believe it has been a year. We've experienced emotional highs and extreme emotional lows during this past year. I'm sad that he wasn't here to experience the news of my pregnancy, but I'm glad to have spared him from the extreme sadness of her loss.
Natalie calls my grandfather Bill-Bill. I grew up just calling him Bill (my grandmother remarried when I was fairly young so technically he's a step-grandfather, but to me he's just my grandfather). I had great love and respect for him. He taught me many things as I grew up - life lessons on compassion, generosity, love, hard work, and devotion to family. Even when he became very sick, his love and devotion never waivered. He was a tough ol' bird and survived many health issues that most would not have had the strength to make it through. He was a great person, and I miss him very much.
So after work, I headed over to the cemetary to chat with Bill. I spent maybe 15 minutes just talking to him at his graveside. I told him what a crazy year it had been since he had passed. I told him to give Ellie a big hug and kiss for me, and to tell her that I missed her. I told him that I hoped he got to enjoy her grow and thrive just as I had done growing up with him. I told him to take good care of her and that I was leaving it up to him to watch over her. I also told him to tell the Big Man up there to finally let up on the unluckiness and challenges that He kept throwing at us. As I said that last bit, the wind suddenly picked up and started blowing very fast. I took it as a sign that Bill was telling me that it was all going to be OK and not to worry.
Lastly, I told him that we were taking care of "the elderly" (i.e. Gran) for him. See, I used to joke with him and my Gran that every time I called to check on them it was because you were supposed to check on the elderly regularly. Every time it got cold, I'd call and make sure "the elderly" had their heat on and were warm enough. I told them it's because the news said to check on pets and the elderly. I used to be quite the jokester and prankster.
I know how much Bill loved my Gran, and how much she loved him. It was an unconditional love, just as I have for my Ellison. So I know he has to worry about her still, just as she worries about him being away from her. I assured him that we would do anything for Gran just as he would have. I then concluded by saying that it was his job now to worry about Ellie and make sure she was always with him so she never felt alone or distant from her family. The last thing I told him was that I loved him and missed him.
I'm not sure if he hears me during my occassional graveside chats, or if Ellie hears me when I talk to her, but I feel that it helps me stay connected to them both. I think it's good to talk to your loved ones who have passed. As Marcus Cicero said "The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living." So tonight I'm remembering my special grandfather and my daughter, who are together now, but away from us. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I was extremely sad having to accept this reality...
Natalie calls my grandfather Bill-Bill. I grew up just calling him Bill (my grandmother remarried when I was fairly young so technically he's a step-grandfather, but to me he's just my grandfather). I had great love and respect for him. He taught me many things as I grew up - life lessons on compassion, generosity, love, hard work, and devotion to family. Even when he became very sick, his love and devotion never waivered. He was a tough ol' bird and survived many health issues that most would not have had the strength to make it through. He was a great person, and I miss him very much.
So after work, I headed over to the cemetary to chat with Bill. I spent maybe 15 minutes just talking to him at his graveside. I told him what a crazy year it had been since he had passed. I told him to give Ellie a big hug and kiss for me, and to tell her that I missed her. I told him that I hoped he got to enjoy her grow and thrive just as I had done growing up with him. I told him to take good care of her and that I was leaving it up to him to watch over her. I also told him to tell the Big Man up there to finally let up on the unluckiness and challenges that He kept throwing at us. As I said that last bit, the wind suddenly picked up and started blowing very fast. I took it as a sign that Bill was telling me that it was all going to be OK and not to worry.
Lastly, I told him that we were taking care of "the elderly" (i.e. Gran) for him. See, I used to joke with him and my Gran that every time I called to check on them it was because you were supposed to check on the elderly regularly. Every time it got cold, I'd call and make sure "the elderly" had their heat on and were warm enough. I told them it's because the news said to check on pets and the elderly. I used to be quite the jokester and prankster.
I know how much Bill loved my Gran, and how much she loved him. It was an unconditional love, just as I have for my Ellison. So I know he has to worry about her still, just as she worries about him being away from her. I assured him that we would do anything for Gran just as he would have. I then concluded by saying that it was his job now to worry about Ellie and make sure she was always with him so she never felt alone or distant from her family. The last thing I told him was that I loved him and missed him.
I'm not sure if he hears me during my occassional graveside chats, or if Ellie hears me when I talk to her, but I feel that it helps me stay connected to them both. I think it's good to talk to your loved ones who have passed. As Marcus Cicero said "The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living." So tonight I'm remembering my special grandfather and my daughter, who are together now, but away from us. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I was extremely sad having to accept this reality...
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
A Small Glimmer of Hope
My post will be short tonight. Doug and I spent the evening babysitting my niece. She sure is a crazy, beautiful handful and I love every minute of it. As I was watching her wrestle and climb all over Doug like a jungle gym, I was a little bit sad but yet had a small glimmer of hope thrown in there.
I was sad thinking that Ellie would never get to do that with her Dad like Natalie was doing with her uncle. But then I also thought how nice it would be to one day give Ellie a brother or sister and know that she was watching from her little slice of heaven as he or she wrestled with Doug. I sometimes feel guilty for thinking these types of thoughts because I don't want for others to think that I am trying to replace Ellie or move on (which will never truly happen because I literally miss her all the time) but every now and then I get a glimpse of a future with new hopes and dreams in it. It feels happy and sad all rolled into one but it does give me a glimpse into a world of "what can be." And though I'll still feel my "what should have been," it's nice to know that the possibility of a "what can be" does exist in my new normal reality. And it's nice to see a little glimmer of it every now and then as I navigate my way through each new day.
I was sad thinking that Ellie would never get to do that with her Dad like Natalie was doing with her uncle. But then I also thought how nice it would be to one day give Ellie a brother or sister and know that she was watching from her little slice of heaven as he or she wrestled with Doug. I sometimes feel guilty for thinking these types of thoughts because I don't want for others to think that I am trying to replace Ellie or move on (which will never truly happen because I literally miss her all the time) but every now and then I get a glimpse of a future with new hopes and dreams in it. It feels happy and sad all rolled into one but it does give me a glimpse into a world of "what can be." And though I'll still feel my "what should have been," it's nice to know that the possibility of a "what can be" does exist in my new normal reality. And it's nice to see a little glimmer of it every now and then as I navigate my way through each new day.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Angel's Footsteps
I do not have much to say today. I'm guess I'm not feeling overly verbose, for once. I will share one ironic thing that has occurred today. After watching Jeopardy this evening (yes, I'm not ashamed to admit that - I learn something new each show, and sometimes I even know some, or a lot, of the answers depending on the day), my husband turned the channel to an old Law and Order re-run.
Of course the story line revolved around a little girl named Ellie. As that song goes, there's "Always something there to remind me....I was born to love you, And I will never be free, You'll always be a part of me."
As I was singing that song in my head, I thought of another quote I felt like I wanted to share. Apparently this quote was written on a church wall in Upwaltham, England and I stumbled upon it a long time ago:
"I will not wish thee riches nor the glow of greatness, but that wherever thou go, some weary heart shall gladden at thy smile, or shadowed life know sunshine for awhile. And so thy path shall be a track of light, like angel's footsteps passing through the night."
Ellie is my track of light. And I need to pass it on and follow the wishes in this writing on the wall...
Of course the story line revolved around a little girl named Ellie. As that song goes, there's "Always something there to remind me....I was born to love you, And I will never be free, You'll always be a part of me."
As I was singing that song in my head, I thought of another quote I felt like I wanted to share. Apparently this quote was written on a church wall in Upwaltham, England and I stumbled upon it a long time ago:
"I will not wish thee riches nor the glow of greatness, but that wherever thou go, some weary heart shall gladden at thy smile, or shadowed life know sunshine for awhile. And so thy path shall be a track of light, like angel's footsteps passing through the night."
Ellie is my track of light. And I need to pass it on and follow the wishes in this writing on the wall...
Monday, March 24, 2014
Incidentally
My only real accomplishment for the day, besides completing some little projects at work, was going to the running store and buying a new pair of shoes. It has been well over a year since I've gotten new shoes, and my knee reminded me of this the other day on my walk. Getting a new pair of shoes was the most excitement I had all day. That's sort of sad but I'm still pretty wiped out because yesterday was a fairly rough day emotionally. Luckily part of the day yesterday was spent with those that I love to help ease my sadness.
I had spent the afternoon/evening over at my parents' house along with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece. We had a movie watching party - apparently I was one of the handful of people (along with the rest of my family minus Natalie) who had not seen the movie Frozen. I've heard that song about a million times (you know the one by the wickedly talented "Adele Dazeem") but had no idea about the rest of the movie. It was a good movie - I like the emphasis on strong female lead characters that Disney is starting to highlight (it's about time). At several points in the movie, I watched Natalie get really excited. I liked seeing the big smile on her face as she seem captivated by the story. I'm sure Ellison would have loved her smile too. And I'm sure Ellison would have loved to have seen the movie when she turned four.
As I sat watching Natalie enjoy the movie, and even laughing myself along the line, I was reminded about how much love I do have around me. I'm surrounded by love and that is such a wonderful feeling. The love in my life is what makes life fun and interesting, even the immense love of a love lost. It reminded me of a quote I had in my little quotes book. Zelda Fitzgerald said "I don't want to live - I want to love first, and live incidentally." I like that motto.
I had spent the afternoon/evening over at my parents' house along with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece. We had a movie watching party - apparently I was one of the handful of people (along with the rest of my family minus Natalie) who had not seen the movie Frozen. I've heard that song about a million times (you know the one by the wickedly talented "Adele Dazeem") but had no idea about the rest of the movie. It was a good movie - I like the emphasis on strong female lead characters that Disney is starting to highlight (it's about time). At several points in the movie, I watched Natalie get really excited. I liked seeing the big smile on her face as she seem captivated by the story. I'm sure Ellison would have loved her smile too. And I'm sure Ellison would have loved to have seen the movie when she turned four.
As I sat watching Natalie enjoy the movie, and even laughing myself along the line, I was reminded about how much love I do have around me. I'm surrounded by love and that is such a wonderful feeling. The love in my life is what makes life fun and interesting, even the immense love of a love lost. It reminded me of a quote I had in my little quotes book. Zelda Fitzgerald said "I don't want to live - I want to love first, and live incidentally." I like that motto.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Due Date
Today - Sunday, March 23rd - was supposed to have been Ellison's actual due date. I came into this world on a Sunday as did Doug. It was only fitting that Ellison should have too. According to folklore those born on Sundays are supposed to be lucky. Apparently this did not turn out to be the case for Doug nor I. We've been unlucky in so many ways. I guess we were lucky in the sense that we got to spend 8 months with Ellie, but unlucky in the sense that we will never get to spend any more time with her.
I read on a website that those born on Sundays are ruled by the Sun. Because of this, the child will never be satisfied with anything dull or ordinary in their lives and they will always be like a ray of sunshine with their aura of lightness and brightness. The associated colors are Orange, Gold, Yellow and the bright sunny colours. I'd like to think this describes Doug and I to some extent (especially my love of the color orange), but it does make me sad to think that we won't be able to see this in Ellison. Perhaps this is why when I think of her, the song "You are My Sunshine" pops into my head. She was supposed to be our ray of sunshine bringing us happiness and joy. Instead, missing her has brought us sadness and lost hopes and dreams.
My very dear Grandfather passed away on March 27, 2013. The one year anniversary of his passing is coming up in a few days. I had been hoping that Ellison would be here to bring my Gran some joy at a time when we will no doubt be sad. But instead of us celebrating life with Ellison here, my grandfather will be celebrating time with her. It does help ease my pain some on this day to know that he is probably up there holding her for me. And hopefully my childhood dogs are with them with Ginger being the ever present "herder" following them wherever they go and with Cookie probably sharing space in Bill's lap with Ellie on the other side.
Keeping with my A.A. Milne kick from yesterday, here's another quote that is fitting for this day:
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
I read on a website that those born on Sundays are ruled by the Sun. Because of this, the child will never be satisfied with anything dull or ordinary in their lives and they will always be like a ray of sunshine with their aura of lightness and brightness. The associated colors are Orange, Gold, Yellow and the bright sunny colours. I'd like to think this describes Doug and I to some extent (especially my love of the color orange), but it does make me sad to think that we won't be able to see this in Ellison. Perhaps this is why when I think of her, the song "You are My Sunshine" pops into my head. She was supposed to be our ray of sunshine bringing us happiness and joy. Instead, missing her has brought us sadness and lost hopes and dreams.
My very dear Grandfather passed away on March 27, 2013. The one year anniversary of his passing is coming up in a few days. I had been hoping that Ellison would be here to bring my Gran some joy at a time when we will no doubt be sad. But instead of us celebrating life with Ellison here, my grandfather will be celebrating time with her. It does help ease my pain some on this day to know that he is probably up there holding her for me. And hopefully my childhood dogs are with them with Ginger being the ever present "herder" following them wherever they go and with Cookie probably sharing space in Bill's lap with Ellie on the other side.
Keeping with my A.A. Milne kick from yesterday, here's another quote that is fitting for this day:
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
Saturday, March 22, 2014
The Smallest Things
Today has been a rather pleasant day. I went over to my brother and sister-in-law's house and played with my niece outside while they did some chores. Then we went and had a nice lunch. When we got back, I helped her color some pictures - I am certainly not an artist. I always knew that would have been the one thing I could never have helped Ellie with as she was growing up - I cannot draw animals or really any kind of object that is more complicated then a basic tree or flower. But I can color with the best of them and enjoy coloring books so I guess it would have worked out if Ellie was the coloring book type. I think about her as I'm coloring or playing with my niece. I like to think that she is there in spirit playing along with us.
After I kissed my niece as she went down for her nap, I left and headed over to the craft store. I wanted to pick up some loom bracelet supplies to resume my bracelet making and I also wanted to pick up a loom for hat making. I had seen a news story the other night that was about a woman who had begun making newborn and preemie hats to donate to a local hospital when she was just a teenager. It made me think back to the fateful night we lost Ellie and how volunteers had made a hat that she was wearing when we said our final goodbyes. While on bedrest I had also learned the basics of needle knitting with the other ladies that were "longtermers" in the hospital like I was. I was not very good at this version and my hat that I finally finished pales in comparison to the knitted hat Ellie was wearing. I did, however, get into the looming, and after seeing the news story that showed this woman donating her time and energy to loom knit preemie hats for the hospital, it got me interested in perhaps taking up the hobby again. Who knows if I'll ever make any decent ones (it's never as easy as it looks in the videos...), but if I do I'd like to donate them too.
I returned home to drop my supplies off and then I headed back out to meet my friend at the park. It was a fairly nice day so we decided we'd go for a nice long walk. It felt good to be back outside and starting to get into a habit of exercising again (I kicked my own butt last night at the gym and was paying for that today). As we walked and talked, I noticed all the families who were out at the park today. I'd like to think that Ellie was there in spirit with me during this as well. I would have brought her with me I'm sure on many walks like this. I enjoyed the nice long walk and finally went back home, spent a little time with my husband before he had to go to work, and made my first loom bracelet since being in the hospital.
All of the little events today made me think about Ellie being here in spirit with me as I went about doing them, and how she will be there in spirit in anything that I do in the future. I noticed as we put my niece down for her nap that she had a Winnie the Pooh book in her room that they have been reading to her a little bit each night before bed. This made me think about the multitude of quotes by A.A. Milne that perfectly reflect how I feel and think. But here is one that sums up how I feel about Ellison today, and every day.
“Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”
After I kissed my niece as she went down for her nap, I left and headed over to the craft store. I wanted to pick up some loom bracelet supplies to resume my bracelet making and I also wanted to pick up a loom for hat making. I had seen a news story the other night that was about a woman who had begun making newborn and preemie hats to donate to a local hospital when she was just a teenager. It made me think back to the fateful night we lost Ellie and how volunteers had made a hat that she was wearing when we said our final goodbyes. While on bedrest I had also learned the basics of needle knitting with the other ladies that were "longtermers" in the hospital like I was. I was not very good at this version and my hat that I finally finished pales in comparison to the knitted hat Ellie was wearing. I did, however, get into the looming, and after seeing the news story that showed this woman donating her time and energy to loom knit preemie hats for the hospital, it got me interested in perhaps taking up the hobby again. Who knows if I'll ever make any decent ones (it's never as easy as it looks in the videos...), but if I do I'd like to donate them too.
I returned home to drop my supplies off and then I headed back out to meet my friend at the park. It was a fairly nice day so we decided we'd go for a nice long walk. It felt good to be back outside and starting to get into a habit of exercising again (I kicked my own butt last night at the gym and was paying for that today). As we walked and talked, I noticed all the families who were out at the park today. I'd like to think that Ellie was there in spirit with me during this as well. I would have brought her with me I'm sure on many walks like this. I enjoyed the nice long walk and finally went back home, spent a little time with my husband before he had to go to work, and made my first loom bracelet since being in the hospital.
All of the little events today made me think about Ellie being here in spirit with me as I went about doing them, and how she will be there in spirit in anything that I do in the future. I noticed as we put my niece down for her nap that she had a Winnie the Pooh book in her room that they have been reading to her a little bit each night before bed. This made me think about the multitude of quotes by A.A. Milne that perfectly reflect how I feel and think. But here is one that sums up how I feel about Ellison today, and every day.
“Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”
Friday, March 21, 2014
A Thousand Years
I have officially made it through my first week back at work. And now I am completely exhausted. After 12 weeks of near inactivity, something seemingly as simple as going to work each day for eight hours has wiped me out. As I was walking out of the office with a co-worker to head home I even commented on how I was looking forward to the one nice day we were going to get this weekend and I might even go for a nice long walk somewhere. Just as I felt a momentary glimpse of what resembled happiness, a colleague who was a floor up (it's an open atrium near my office) yelled down that he was glad to see me back and wanted to know "how is the growing family doing?" I just shook my head, looked at my co-worker, then turned and responded "It's going Ok."
I did not feel like shouting back up to him that we lost Ellison for everyone to hear. I figured it would just be easier to say something short and quickly leave before he followed it up with something else. As soon as I uttered the words though, I felt guilty. I've talked about feeling like I need to tell people the truth about Ellison and not just ignore it or pretend that it did not happen. It would certainly be easier to just pretend that everything is fine "with the baby" to get out of an awkward conversation. But it does not feel right to do that. After all, I'm proud that I did get to be her mother even if it was for too short of a time, and people need to know this.
She is very special to me - she is my world - even if she is looking down on me from someplace else. I do not want people to ever think that I am ashamed to be her mother, or that because I never got to hold her while she was living that she somehow does not count. She is always in my thoughts and will always hold a special and unique place in my heart because she is my daughter. She has touched so many lives beyond mine and Doug's. I need to be strong enough to never avoid the "awkward conversation." It seems only right to tell her story to others even if it is painful for both me and them to hear.
Just like the song I heard today as I was doing some work and closing out my first week back in the grind, I will love her for "A Thousand Years." Here are some fitting verses of that song that are speaking to me at this moment:
I did not feel like shouting back up to him that we lost Ellison for everyone to hear. I figured it would just be easier to say something short and quickly leave before he followed it up with something else. As soon as I uttered the words though, I felt guilty. I've talked about feeling like I need to tell people the truth about Ellison and not just ignore it or pretend that it did not happen. It would certainly be easier to just pretend that everything is fine "with the baby" to get out of an awkward conversation. But it does not feel right to do that. After all, I'm proud that I did get to be her mother even if it was for too short of a time, and people need to know this.
She is very special to me - she is my world - even if she is looking down on me from someplace else. I do not want people to ever think that I am ashamed to be her mother, or that because I never got to hold her while she was living that she somehow does not count. She is always in my thoughts and will always hold a special and unique place in my heart because she is my daughter. She has touched so many lives beyond mine and Doug's. I need to be strong enough to never avoid the "awkward conversation." It seems only right to tell her story to others even if it is painful for both me and them to hear.
Just like the song I heard today as I was doing some work and closing out my first week back in the grind, I will love her for "A Thousand Years." Here are some fitting verses of that song that are speaking to me at this moment:
I have died every day
Waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid,
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
Waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid,
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
And all along I believed
I would find you
Time has brought
Your heart to me
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
I would find you
Time has brought
Your heart to me
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
Thursday, March 20, 2014
One Month
As I was watching the news this afternoon I realized it was supposed to be the "International Day of Happiness" to mark the start of the spring season. And as much as I love the springtime, somehow I just don't seem that happy about this occasion. Ellison's not here to celebrate this and be happy, and I don't much feel like celebrating anything these days because she's not here with me. Maybe by this time next year I'll start getting back to feeling more happiness and perhaps it will increase each year as we welcome spring, but right now I'm just not feeling it..
I did not bring this up on Tuesday - or March 18th - but it would have been Ellison's one month birthday. It's hard to believe that we should have had a one month old right now but instead we just had to watch the date come and go without our little girl here to enjoy it. I was too busy trying to cope with my issues at work to really grasp this concept and talk about it the other night. I'm sure I'll know at all times exactly how old she would have been...
Doug was really supportive on Tuesday after my "terrible, awful" day at work and he had to hear me let out all of my emotions as I brought up the fact that Ellison would have been one month old. I just broke down and he just hugged me tight telling me that it would all be OK. His words of encouragement reminded me of a John Lennon quote. "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end."
While everything does not seem OK now, it just means that it's not the end. There's got to be something positive coming on the horizon. I keep finding myself staring out the windows looking for what it may be...
I'll end by saying that on Tuesday night after my cry session with Doug I watched Glee. There was a cover of a song called "Keep Holding On" by Avril Lavigne in the show that seems to fit the topic. On this International Day of Happiness, I'm sitting here singing this in my head...
"You're not alone
Together we stand
I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand
When it gets cold
And it feels like the end
There's no place to go
You know I won't give in
No I won't give in
Keep holding on
'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through
Just stay strong
'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you
There's nothing you could say
Nothing you could do
There's no other way when it comes to the truth
So keep holding on
'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through
I did not bring this up on Tuesday - or March 18th - but it would have been Ellison's one month birthday. It's hard to believe that we should have had a one month old right now but instead we just had to watch the date come and go without our little girl here to enjoy it. I was too busy trying to cope with my issues at work to really grasp this concept and talk about it the other night. I'm sure I'll know at all times exactly how old she would have been...
Doug was really supportive on Tuesday after my "terrible, awful" day at work and he had to hear me let out all of my emotions as I brought up the fact that Ellison would have been one month old. I just broke down and he just hugged me tight telling me that it would all be OK. His words of encouragement reminded me of a John Lennon quote. "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end."
While everything does not seem OK now, it just means that it's not the end. There's got to be something positive coming on the horizon. I keep finding myself staring out the windows looking for what it may be...
I'll end by saying that on Tuesday night after my cry session with Doug I watched Glee. There was a cover of a song called "Keep Holding On" by Avril Lavigne in the show that seems to fit the topic. On this International Day of Happiness, I'm sitting here singing this in my head...
"You're not alone
Together we stand
I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand
When it gets cold
And it feels like the end
There's no place to go
You know I won't give in
No I won't give in
Keep holding on
'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through
Just stay strong
'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you
There's nothing you could say
Nothing you could do
There's no other way when it comes to the truth
So keep holding on
'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Grace and Gratitude
I am two for two - another individual at work today asked how the baby was. I was better prepared this time, but I'm not sure it went any easier. Luckily, I had a nice "girl's lunch" to take my mind off of things and then when I got home, I had two packages waiting for me.
Several days ago my uncle's girlfriend, who is a very special member of our family, sent me a piece she had ordered from this business. It was a beautiful "Bluebird of Happiness" - a small, blue piece of shaped glass that looked like a little bird. I immediately placed it next to the figurine my Mom had gotten me about a month ago. Then, I went online and checked out Terra Studios. In addition to the Bluebird of Happiness, they also make a Pink Bird of Hope which is for those have worked for a cure for breast cancer or who have given hope to others through their battles - my Mom is one of those survivors so I plan on getting her this if she does not already have one. I also then noticed that they offered another line of glass pieces called "Grace and Gratitude."
The Grace piece was a pretty little pink angel that was described as this on the website: "Grace is our pink angel and a wonderful memento of the angels in your life. Or give Grace to offer support, express kindness, or bestow blessings." This spoke to me as a great way to have a reminder of my angel Ellie while I was at work. I figured if I placed the Grace angel on my desk I would feel like I had Ellie watching over me to help me through the day. Well, my Grace angel arrived today and it couldn't have come at a better time given my last two experiences at work these past two days. Now I'll be able to look at the angel on my desk every time I need Ellie to give me more strength.
The second package that was waiting for me was sent from another sweet family member. I opened it and read this message: "Please receive this shawl. Wrap it around you. May this shawl be for you A mantle of security and well-being...Sustaining and embracing you in good times and difficult ones. May it bring you comfort From all that appears too much to bear From all that feels as if it might break you From all that threatens your peace of heart. Rest within its softness So that you will be cradled in Hope, Kept in Joy, Graced with Peace, And wrapped in God's love."
Inside was a handmade shawl that a church's "Prayer Shawl Ministry" had made and sent for me. According to the note enclsoed Prayer Shawl Ministry is worldwide ministry movement of small groups who gather to pray and create shawls for people facing life changing events, both happy and sad. They are prepared in a spiritual environment creating a prayerful relationship between the creator and the recipient. Shawls have been made for centuries to wrap, enfold, comfort, cover, give solace, mother, hug, shelter and beautify. "Each shawl is created prayerfully, intentionally, and with love." How amazing is that? Complete strangers made this specific shawl on my behalf to show love and comfort during my life changing event. I am beyond touched by this and will forever cherish it and keep it in Ellie's room to wrap around me when I need to be comforted. Ellie will have her little blanket that wrapped her, and I will have mine. A bond that only we will have.
So to those strangers, I have nothing but gratitude to offer you. I am now filled with grace from my my angel and gratitude for those who have touched my life through this. This has provided me with a good ending to my day - a promise of hope for tomorrow. It's making me think that I need to continue my loom bracelet making for those who are dealing with their own pregnancy loss or who are struggling through their baby's premature birth and health issues as a way to "pay it forward." Even though it's just a small gesture perhaps it would remind someone else that they are not alone...
Several days ago my uncle's girlfriend, who is a very special member of our family, sent me a piece she had ordered from this business. It was a beautiful "Bluebird of Happiness" - a small, blue piece of shaped glass that looked like a little bird. I immediately placed it next to the figurine my Mom had gotten me about a month ago. Then, I went online and checked out Terra Studios. In addition to the Bluebird of Happiness, they also make a Pink Bird of Hope which is for those have worked for a cure for breast cancer or who have given hope to others through their battles - my Mom is one of those survivors so I plan on getting her this if she does not already have one. I also then noticed that they offered another line of glass pieces called "Grace and Gratitude."
The Grace piece was a pretty little pink angel that was described as this on the website: "Grace is our pink angel and a wonderful memento of the angels in your life. Or give Grace to offer support, express kindness, or bestow blessings." This spoke to me as a great way to have a reminder of my angel Ellie while I was at work. I figured if I placed the Grace angel on my desk I would feel like I had Ellie watching over me to help me through the day. Well, my Grace angel arrived today and it couldn't have come at a better time given my last two experiences at work these past two days. Now I'll be able to look at the angel on my desk every time I need Ellie to give me more strength.
The second package that was waiting for me was sent from another sweet family member. I opened it and read this message: "Please receive this shawl. Wrap it around you. May this shawl be for you A mantle of security and well-being...Sustaining and embracing you in good times and difficult ones. May it bring you comfort From all that appears too much to bear From all that feels as if it might break you From all that threatens your peace of heart. Rest within its softness So that you will be cradled in Hope, Kept in Joy, Graced with Peace, And wrapped in God's love."
Inside was a handmade shawl that a church's "Prayer Shawl Ministry" had made and sent for me. According to the note enclsoed Prayer Shawl Ministry is worldwide ministry movement of small groups who gather to pray and create shawls for people facing life changing events, both happy and sad. They are prepared in a spiritual environment creating a prayerful relationship between the creator and the recipient. Shawls have been made for centuries to wrap, enfold, comfort, cover, give solace, mother, hug, shelter and beautify. "Each shawl is created prayerfully, intentionally, and with love." How amazing is that? Complete strangers made this specific shawl on my behalf to show love and comfort during my life changing event. I am beyond touched by this and will forever cherish it and keep it in Ellie's room to wrap around me when I need to be comforted. Ellie will have her little blanket that wrapped her, and I will have mine. A bond that only we will have.
So to those strangers, I have nothing but gratitude to offer you. I am now filled with grace from my my angel and gratitude for those who have touched my life through this. This has provided me with a good ending to my day - a promise of hope for tomorrow. It's making me think that I need to continue my loom bracelet making for those who are dealing with their own pregnancy loss or who are struggling through their baby's premature birth and health issues as a way to "pay it forward." Even though it's just a small gesture perhaps it would remind someone else that they are not alone...
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
A Kick to the Gut
The inevitable occurred today. I took a proverbial kick to the gut and it happened while I was pumping myself up to participate in my first big meeting since returning to work. You know one of those meetings where all the "higher ups" are there and you have to really be focused so you can look like you belong with the big dogs, well that's exactly when I took my kick and it couldn't have happened at a worse time. As I was walking into the meeting room, a colleague asked me "how's the baby?!" As soon as he uttered the words, the air deflated out of my lungs, and my heart pummeled back into the pit of my stomach. I was speechless for about 15 seconds just staring at him, not able to speak, which led him to repeat his question. I finally came to and said "well, I guess you haven't heard yet. She didn't make it. We lost her." And as soon as I spoke these words, he immediately felt absolutely terrible. Not nearly as terrible as I felt.
He spent the next five minutes profusely apologizing which almost made it worse because I know how upset that made him to upset me by bringing the topic up. I had to then sit there and try to hold it together. And not only did I have to fight the tears back, I also had to focus myself enough to present some information and make it sound like I knew what I was doing despite having been out of the loop the last three months. All I really wanted to do was run out of that room, scream, and then throw up. I don't know how but I held it together for the entire 1.5 hour meeting and then was able to continue to work on my presentation until the end of the work day.
I knew it was bound to happen but I certainly was not prepared for it to actually happen. The preliminary scab that was trying to cover the hole in my heart ripped completely off and now I'm just trying to keep the pieces of it still intact so the scab can start forming again. As Natalie would say, I just had a "terrible, awful day." Nonetheless, I managed to find the energy and fortitude to head to the gym and get my first workout in. I knew I was out of shape but I quickly realized just how out of shape I am. At least I made it through thirty minutes of cardio without falling off the machine. It's a start, and another small accomplishment. That's a silver lining - I was able to turn something negative that happened into the strength to achieve a small positive. The sadness and pain motivated me to work towards something I can change.
I guess, in a sense then, it is OK that I took my first real kick to the gut today at work. Now perhaps at least I'll be better prepared for when it happens again. I'm sure my answer to the question of "how's the baby?" will be different each time it gets asked, and I'm sure it will hurt like h*ll to have to give a reply. The main point is that I can survive it no matter how much having to tell the truth hurts. Inwardly, I'll being telling whoever innocently asks that question that "the truth is that my baby did not make it and the void she left behind is too vast for words or understanding, so yes, I'm hanging in there the best that I can and yes, I miss her very much. So you'll have to excuse me now while I go figure out a way to motivate myself to move forward."
He spent the next five minutes profusely apologizing which almost made it worse because I know how upset that made him to upset me by bringing the topic up. I had to then sit there and try to hold it together. And not only did I have to fight the tears back, I also had to focus myself enough to present some information and make it sound like I knew what I was doing despite having been out of the loop the last three months. All I really wanted to do was run out of that room, scream, and then throw up. I don't know how but I held it together for the entire 1.5 hour meeting and then was able to continue to work on my presentation until the end of the work day.
I knew it was bound to happen but I certainly was not prepared for it to actually happen. The preliminary scab that was trying to cover the hole in my heart ripped completely off and now I'm just trying to keep the pieces of it still intact so the scab can start forming again. As Natalie would say, I just had a "terrible, awful day." Nonetheless, I managed to find the energy and fortitude to head to the gym and get my first workout in. I knew I was out of shape but I quickly realized just how out of shape I am. At least I made it through thirty minutes of cardio without falling off the machine. It's a start, and another small accomplishment. That's a silver lining - I was able to turn something negative that happened into the strength to achieve a small positive. The sadness and pain motivated me to work towards something I can change.
I guess, in a sense then, it is OK that I took my first real kick to the gut today at work. Now perhaps at least I'll be better prepared for when it happens again. I'm sure my answer to the question of "how's the baby?" will be different each time it gets asked, and I'm sure it will hurt like h*ll to have to give a reply. The main point is that I can survive it no matter how much having to tell the truth hurts. Inwardly, I'll being telling whoever innocently asks that question that "the truth is that my baby did not make it and the void she left behind is too vast for words or understanding, so yes, I'm hanging in there the best that I can and yes, I miss her very much. So you'll have to excuse me now while I go figure out a way to motivate myself to move forward."
Monday, March 17, 2014
Veni, Vidi, Vici
I made it through the first day back at work. I survived and I'm not too worse for wear as they say. When it came to my apprehensions, I came, I saw, and I conquered. Despite not having slept at all really last night and having what felt like a heavy ball sitting in the pit of my stomach all day, I pressed on and made it through. It was strange going back in to that building knowing that the last time I had been in it was when I was 27 weeks pregnant. After all, I wasn't supposed to return to work until Ellison was about two months old, and here I was returning instead under these circumstances. My life has been a crazy whirlwind and walking back through the corridors of that building was a sad affirmation of what was lost while I had been out of work.
Besides my few close co-workers, most of my work colleagues have no idea how much I have been through or how difficult it has been to move forward. I would not expect them to have a clue about the emotional stress, and distress, I have been under. Most probably think I'm just back to work ready to "hit the ground running." A few have told me to just take things in stride and just do the best I can while reacclimating, and I am grateful for that. A couple of people acknowledged my loss by giving me a hug or telling me that they were sorry for what happened and had been thinking about me, and that sort of helped me get through the day actually. I only found myself get emotional once, but I was able to hold it in. I still haven't cried yet since I've been home - I'm sure it will happen at some point though. I do need to let all of the stress and emotions of returning to my "new normal routine" flow out of me so they do not pool up inside and flood me as the week rolls on.
With this in mind, I believe the best way to sum up the day is by quoting Robert Frost - "In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: it goes on." Tomorrow is a new day - lather, rinse, repeat. I'll get up in the morning and go back to work just like I used to do before losing Ellison. Life has to go on. Put one foot in front of the other and walk on. I just won't be walking alone as I go about this because I know that Ellison will always be present in my thoughts and my actions, and I'll have the continuous support of those who matter to help push me forward when I stall.
Besides my few close co-workers, most of my work colleagues have no idea how much I have been through or how difficult it has been to move forward. I would not expect them to have a clue about the emotional stress, and distress, I have been under. Most probably think I'm just back to work ready to "hit the ground running." A few have told me to just take things in stride and just do the best I can while reacclimating, and I am grateful for that. A couple of people acknowledged my loss by giving me a hug or telling me that they were sorry for what happened and had been thinking about me, and that sort of helped me get through the day actually. I only found myself get emotional once, but I was able to hold it in. I still haven't cried yet since I've been home - I'm sure it will happen at some point though. I do need to let all of the stress and emotions of returning to my "new normal routine" flow out of me so they do not pool up inside and flood me as the week rolls on.
With this in mind, I believe the best way to sum up the day is by quoting Robert Frost - "In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: it goes on." Tomorrow is a new day - lather, rinse, repeat. I'll get up in the morning and go back to work just like I used to do before losing Ellison. Life has to go on. Put one foot in front of the other and walk on. I just won't be walking alone as I go about this because I know that Ellison will always be present in my thoughts and my actions, and I'll have the continuous support of those who matter to help push me forward when I stall.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Mantra
Tomorrow is my first day back at work since I've been out on bedrest, since I've lost my daughter, and since I've been recovering from surgery. It has been a long, trying three months, but I'm still standing. Some days I waiver more than others but like the Tower of Pisa, I may be leaning but I'm still hanging around. I'm not sure which way I'll be leaning tomorrow..
I've been trying to think of a mantra all weekend. Some word or catch phrase to repeat to myself when I find either my patience waning or my emotions becoming too overwhelming. I know it will happen whether it be my first day back or not until the end of the week, but I've got to prepare myself. As Doug would tell me, prepare for the worst but hope for the best. I work in a field that tends to shy away from allowing human emotions to intrude in for fear of clouding judgment so I do not really know what to expect upon my return. I do know that after something like this, it is impossible to just push away emotions, and that it is also OK to show emotion - it is the only way to stay sane. Perhaps this journey has taught me to be even more compassionate to those I encounter which might be an added skill to bring to my work. It will set me slightly apart from some of my colleagues and may benefit my workplace. But I must still prepare myself for those that I could encounter at work that may not be as understanding about the recent events in my life, and I need to be able to handle it.
I suppose I shouldn't assume anything. We all know that when you assume something, it makes "an *ss out of you and me." I could be pleasantly surprised upon my return or it could be even worse than I thought it would be. I just won't know until I jump back in. It's like that time I decided it would be "fun" to jump off of that 70 ft. cliff into Smith Mountain Lake. As I got to the top, realized how high up it was, and remembered my intense fear of heights, I stood at the edge frozen. My mind could not make my body jump for almost five minutes. I couldn't turn around and climb down at that point - I was stuck. I had to keep telling myself "you can do this, you have to do this, and you will do this." And sure enough, I talked myself into taking the leap. And sure enough it hurt like h*ll when I hit the water. See, I HAD actually concentrated on making myself jump, but I HAD NOT concentrated on making sure my whole body was straight up and down when I entered the water which one should be when jumping from that height into a body of water. Hence, when I hit, one of my arms was slightly bent and the force of impact jerked my shoulder causing a sprain of some sort. But I survived and it could have been worse. There's that perspective again. Perhaps going back to work is sort of like jumping off of that cliff - I can do it, I have to do it, and I will do it.
I think back to other mantras I have heard throughout my life. There's "Don't worry, be happy." That certainly doesn't seem right at this moment. There's "Carpe Diem," but I don't see myself being quite ready to seize anything just yet. Not to mention it reminds me of Dead Poet's Society and that other quote in the movie - "sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone." I don't think I could manage finding that fine balance at first. Then there are those words people sometimes use that calms them and puts them back in their "happy" place. For some reason, when I think about this concept, it makes me think back to a certain X-Files episode on subliminal messages. One character, nicknamed "Pusher," could seemingly make people bend to his will and one of the words he used was "cerulean blue." While that word tended to push people to the negative, other recent movies or shows I have watched have featured a word that pushes people to the positive. What comes to mind first is the use of the word "Excelsior" by the main character in Silver Linings Playbook. Apparently when it comes to the poetic meaning of that word it means "ever upward." It also means "higher" or "loftier." Now, that it is definitely getting closer to something that I could borrow.
I could keep using Doug's mental phrase - "just keep swimming" from Finding Nemo. Or maybe I'll just think to myself "bluebird" everytime something, or someone, bothers me. For now I'll just say the word "bluebird" under my breath if something upsets me or if I find myself getting overwhelmed. After all, it would make me remember my quest to find that elusive bluebird of happiness. It's like that saying "the journey is the reward." So maybe my calming technique will be to think "bluebird" and press onward in the journey. It's a start at least, and that's all I can do at this point. I can do this, I have to do this, I will do this.
Besides, in the grand scheme of life, work seems inconsequential. The concept of 'my life is my work of art' or 'your life is your legacy' speaks higher volumes than 'my job is my life.' I'd rather let my life's journey reflect my character than what I do for a living. If the two concepts happen to collide, that's fine. But I'd rather focus on making my life overall be my work of art - and Ellison is certainly a prominent color on my canvas and I want that color to "jump off" the canvas, so to speak, and touch others just as she has touched me.
I've been trying to think of a mantra all weekend. Some word or catch phrase to repeat to myself when I find either my patience waning or my emotions becoming too overwhelming. I know it will happen whether it be my first day back or not until the end of the week, but I've got to prepare myself. As Doug would tell me, prepare for the worst but hope for the best. I work in a field that tends to shy away from allowing human emotions to intrude in for fear of clouding judgment so I do not really know what to expect upon my return. I do know that after something like this, it is impossible to just push away emotions, and that it is also OK to show emotion - it is the only way to stay sane. Perhaps this journey has taught me to be even more compassionate to those I encounter which might be an added skill to bring to my work. It will set me slightly apart from some of my colleagues and may benefit my workplace. But I must still prepare myself for those that I could encounter at work that may not be as understanding about the recent events in my life, and I need to be able to handle it.
I suppose I shouldn't assume anything. We all know that when you assume something, it makes "an *ss out of you and me." I could be pleasantly surprised upon my return or it could be even worse than I thought it would be. I just won't know until I jump back in. It's like that time I decided it would be "fun" to jump off of that 70 ft. cliff into Smith Mountain Lake. As I got to the top, realized how high up it was, and remembered my intense fear of heights, I stood at the edge frozen. My mind could not make my body jump for almost five minutes. I couldn't turn around and climb down at that point - I was stuck. I had to keep telling myself "you can do this, you have to do this, and you will do this." And sure enough, I talked myself into taking the leap. And sure enough it hurt like h*ll when I hit the water. See, I HAD actually concentrated on making myself jump, but I HAD NOT concentrated on making sure my whole body was straight up and down when I entered the water which one should be when jumping from that height into a body of water. Hence, when I hit, one of my arms was slightly bent and the force of impact jerked my shoulder causing a sprain of some sort. But I survived and it could have been worse. There's that perspective again. Perhaps going back to work is sort of like jumping off of that cliff - I can do it, I have to do it, and I will do it.
I think back to other mantras I have heard throughout my life. There's "Don't worry, be happy." That certainly doesn't seem right at this moment. There's "Carpe Diem," but I don't see myself being quite ready to seize anything just yet. Not to mention it reminds me of Dead Poet's Society and that other quote in the movie - "sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone." I don't think I could manage finding that fine balance at first. Then there are those words people sometimes use that calms them and puts them back in their "happy" place. For some reason, when I think about this concept, it makes me think back to a certain X-Files episode on subliminal messages. One character, nicknamed "Pusher," could seemingly make people bend to his will and one of the words he used was "cerulean blue." While that word tended to push people to the negative, other recent movies or shows I have watched have featured a word that pushes people to the positive. What comes to mind first is the use of the word "Excelsior" by the main character in Silver Linings Playbook. Apparently when it comes to the poetic meaning of that word it means "ever upward." It also means "higher" or "loftier." Now, that it is definitely getting closer to something that I could borrow.
I could keep using Doug's mental phrase - "just keep swimming" from Finding Nemo. Or maybe I'll just think to myself "bluebird" everytime something, or someone, bothers me. For now I'll just say the word "bluebird" under my breath if something upsets me or if I find myself getting overwhelmed. After all, it would make me remember my quest to find that elusive bluebird of happiness. It's like that saying "the journey is the reward." So maybe my calming technique will be to think "bluebird" and press onward in the journey. It's a start at least, and that's all I can do at this point. I can do this, I have to do this, I will do this.
Besides, in the grand scheme of life, work seems inconsequential. The concept of 'my life is my work of art' or 'your life is your legacy' speaks higher volumes than 'my job is my life.' I'd rather let my life's journey reflect my character than what I do for a living. If the two concepts happen to collide, that's fine. But I'd rather focus on making my life overall be my work of art - and Ellison is certainly a prominent color on my canvas and I want that color to "jump off" the canvas, so to speak, and touch others just as she has touched me.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Painting
As I spent the afternoon alone working on my room painting project, I had my Pandora radio station playing. It was set on the usual Acapella inspired channel I usually have it on. While I was paintstakingly working on the trim, a song came on called "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry. I tuned in on the lyrics and several of the verses struck me. It's written from the perspective of the person who dies and I immediately thought of Ellison. Here are a few of the verses that spoke to me:
"Lord make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother
She’ll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and
Life ain’t always what you think it ought to be, no
ain’t even grey, but she buries her baby"
"The sharp knife of a short life, well
I’ve had just enough time"
"The ballad of a dove
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep ‘em in your pocket
Save them for a time when you're really gonna need ‘em oh"
It's kind of funny how you find yourself listening more closely to songs and thinking about their meanings after experiencing tragedies and sad events. Perhaps during our quests for understanding we pay more attention to subtle and veiled thoughts being conveyed in song, and in every other facet of life really. But as I listened to this particular song's lyrics, the verse about the rainbow and the phrase about the "ballad of a dove" spoke to me. See, I missed the gorgeous rainbows that sprung up in the area the other night after a storm. So I will imagine that the next time that I do see a rainbow, it will be Ellison shining down on me as my guardian angel. I'll know she is safe and in good company. And that life is not what I think it ought to be anymore because she is safe in others' company rather than in our company. But I can hold onto the fact that I believe that she did go with peace and love like a dove. She knows she is loved...and maybe one day I'll hear her song if I listen closely.
"Lord make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother
She’ll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and
Life ain’t always what you think it ought to be, no
ain’t even grey, but she buries her baby"
"The sharp knife of a short life, well
I’ve had just enough time"
"The ballad of a dove
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep ‘em in your pocket
Save them for a time when you're really gonna need ‘em oh"
It's kind of funny how you find yourself listening more closely to songs and thinking about their meanings after experiencing tragedies and sad events. Perhaps during our quests for understanding we pay more attention to subtle and veiled thoughts being conveyed in song, and in every other facet of life really. But as I listened to this particular song's lyrics, the verse about the rainbow and the phrase about the "ballad of a dove" spoke to me. See, I missed the gorgeous rainbows that sprung up in the area the other night after a storm. So I will imagine that the next time that I do see a rainbow, it will be Ellison shining down on me as my guardian angel. I'll know she is safe and in good company. And that life is not what I think it ought to be anymore because she is safe in others' company rather than in our company. But I can hold onto the fact that I believe that she did go with peace and love like a dove. She knows she is loved...and maybe one day I'll hear her song if I listen closely.
Friday, March 14, 2014
Promise and Peace
My Mom recently shared one of those internet pictures she had seen on one of her friend's Facebook page with me. The picture simply said, "May every sunrise hold more promise, and every sunset hold more peace." It struck a chord with me because I wish for both of these concepts to be true. I want each day to be a little bit better and I would like to find more peace during the night time - which is when I struggle the most.
Yesterday I shared about my shopping trip for new clothes that fit me. Well, my Mom and I also went clothes shopping for Natalie. She is hard to shop for because she is so tall for her age, yet so skinny, that it's hard to find something that fits right. But we wanted to try - I always love being able to find cute outfits for my niece. I even honed in on a shirt that said "You are my Sunshine" with cute pictures on it. Of course, I had to get that for Natalie. As we meandered around the children's section, I found myself looking at all of those cute little shirts they make for little girls and thinking that Ellie would have looked adorable in them. Shopping for Natalie which used to be so easy for me to do had become difficult. It was a tough realization to face knowing that I would never be able to get these cute outfits for Ellie. All in all, yesterday was just a tough day.
But as I awoke this morning, I thought to myself "I hope this day holds more promise." And surprisingly it did. I caught up with my boss for lunch - a sort of 'dip my toes back in the water' lunch meeting - since I'm due to start back to work on Monday for the first time in about 3 months. It went well, and put me somewhat more at ease with this prospect of facing my job after all that has happened. Then, my Mom came over and helped me paint the ceiling trim in a room I want to get painted before I return to work. We had nice conversations, and it was good to spend time with her, despite the fact that painting is not one of the most enjoyable tasks in the world. It was hard work for me to roll the ceiling - it was tough on my body. But I'm glad I accomplished this task, a little victory for me.
Then, as my Mom was leaving, I went to the mailbox to retrieve the mail that had just been delivered. There was a package that was stuffed inside. I opened it hastily because I had not been expecting anything. The packaged contained a beautiful ring with Ellison's birthstone, and hand stamped on the inside was "for ellison." A little note was attached to the box with a message from my dear friend saying that the ring was a token to help me "live for" Ellison. I immediately fell in love with this ring. It was such a thoughtful gesture from a friend that has been there for me since my college years and it just put a smile on my face as I looked down at it on my finger. As I've told her before, I sure am glad I drew her name for my roommate when a group of us went in on an apartment lease together for our second year at UVA. That twist of fate allowed me to gain a cherished friendship that has withstood the test of time and distance, and for that I'm blessed.
All of these events of the day have combined to show me that today has held more promise than yesterday. And hopefully that means that tonight will hold more peace. I know that not every day will necessarily be this good, especially as certain milestones approach (i.e. what would have been Ellie's 1 month birthday, or her actual due date), but maybe I'll be able to at least wish for more days that hold more promise than days that do not. Perhaps each sunset will also slowly bring me more peace as I continue on my "new normal" path.
Yesterday I shared about my shopping trip for new clothes that fit me. Well, my Mom and I also went clothes shopping for Natalie. She is hard to shop for because she is so tall for her age, yet so skinny, that it's hard to find something that fits right. But we wanted to try - I always love being able to find cute outfits for my niece. I even honed in on a shirt that said "You are my Sunshine" with cute pictures on it. Of course, I had to get that for Natalie. As we meandered around the children's section, I found myself looking at all of those cute little shirts they make for little girls and thinking that Ellie would have looked adorable in them. Shopping for Natalie which used to be so easy for me to do had become difficult. It was a tough realization to face knowing that I would never be able to get these cute outfits for Ellie. All in all, yesterday was just a tough day.
But as I awoke this morning, I thought to myself "I hope this day holds more promise." And surprisingly it did. I caught up with my boss for lunch - a sort of 'dip my toes back in the water' lunch meeting - since I'm due to start back to work on Monday for the first time in about 3 months. It went well, and put me somewhat more at ease with this prospect of facing my job after all that has happened. Then, my Mom came over and helped me paint the ceiling trim in a room I want to get painted before I return to work. We had nice conversations, and it was good to spend time with her, despite the fact that painting is not one of the most enjoyable tasks in the world. It was hard work for me to roll the ceiling - it was tough on my body. But I'm glad I accomplished this task, a little victory for me.
Then, as my Mom was leaving, I went to the mailbox to retrieve the mail that had just been delivered. There was a package that was stuffed inside. I opened it hastily because I had not been expecting anything. The packaged contained a beautiful ring with Ellison's birthstone, and hand stamped on the inside was "for ellison." A little note was attached to the box with a message from my dear friend saying that the ring was a token to help me "live for" Ellison. I immediately fell in love with this ring. It was such a thoughtful gesture from a friend that has been there for me since my college years and it just put a smile on my face as I looked down at it on my finger. As I've told her before, I sure am glad I drew her name for my roommate when a group of us went in on an apartment lease together for our second year at UVA. That twist of fate allowed me to gain a cherished friendship that has withstood the test of time and distance, and for that I'm blessed.
All of these events of the day have combined to show me that today has held more promise than yesterday. And hopefully that means that tonight will hold more peace. I know that not every day will necessarily be this good, especially as certain milestones approach (i.e. what would have been Ellie's 1 month birthday, or her actual due date), but maybe I'll be able to at least wish for more days that hold more promise than days that do not. Perhaps each sunset will also slowly bring me more peace as I continue on my "new normal" path.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
The "Mustn'ts"
Last night was girl's night over at my sister-in-law's house. I joined her and Natalie for a little play time. After her bathtime, she was told to pick out a bedtime story so I could read to her. As she was carefully choosing her story, I noticed she had a copy of the Shel Silverstein book "Where the Sidewalk Ends." I love all of his collection of poems to include "The Giving Tree." Classics, all of them. Natalie ended up picking some little cute book she had gotten in one of her Chic-Fil-A meals, and then my sister-in-law read her the poem "Hug O' War" from "Where the Sidewalk Ends." I then gave Natalie a big ol' hug telling her that was one of my favorite poems and her mom tucked her in and we left her to get some sleep (she needed it...wild child).
As I sat around chatting with my sister-in-law, one of the topics we spent some time on was this struggle I'm having with body image. She knew that I was planning on going shopping with my Mom today to get some non-maternity clothes that would fit me as I face having to return to work on Monday. She knew I was dreading it. I told her I just wanted to not look pregnant anymore and I wanted to lose all of this extra weight I have put on, and I was petrified of what size I'd have to get. I have no doubt that many women struggle with their bodies and/or weight after pregnancy. But I feel like my struggle is different than the average post-pregnant woman because I have no baby to show for my pregnancy. I feel like people stare at me as I walk around in public, either wondering if I am currently pregnant or how old my baby is now.
My husband, and family members, all tell me not to worry about things like that. It's to be expected, I just had major surgery, I was over 8 months pregnant, etc. I also wouldn't be surprised if these stares I feel like I'm getting are mostly in my head - I'm probably making it out to happen more than it actually does in reality. I am my own worst enemy. But no matter how much I may recognize all of these points, and even understand the truths in them, all I believe is what I see. And all I can see is this pregnancy weight with no happy ending. No excuses for it. It makes me feel even worse.
As I tried on pair of pants after pair of pants today at the store, I felt even more deflated as I had to try on a size I'd never been before. My Mom, who is a saint and who I can never thank enough for literally everything, kept encouraging me not to think about it or get down on myself. I did only allow myself to cry once, in the dressing room. I guess all in all, it was fairly successful given the circumstances. She reminded me that I could start working it off at the gym on Saturday (my 6 week clearance date), and she knew it would come off in no time. Of course, everything I had read on the internet said to give yourself as many months as you were pregnant to get the weight off. Add in the fact that my abdomenal muscles were sliced open, and the prospects get bleaker. The internet can be a blessing and a curse, that's for sure.
But I know deep down she's right - I'll push myself and I'll get back down to a more fit size. It will be a struggle, but what isn't in my life right now? What's one more struggle? I know I'm not alone in these struggles - I know other women with similar journeys as mine probably think the same things I think about image, and feel sad and bad about themselves all at the same time. I'm just choosing to share my thoughts and bare my soul, with all of its faults and cracks, for all to see. My perceptions are all askew right now, and that's OK. I've got to work them out as best I can. And hopefully, as my husband says, when I do get some of the weight off it will be just in time to get pregnant all over again (and deal with handling that image and issue).
I should follow Shel Silverstein's advice and "Listen to the Mustn'ts."
"Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me-
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be."
I'll get there...anything can happen...where there is a will, there is a way. I'll get over the image issues, and most of the other negativity issues I've talked about previously - I'll be able to listen to all of these thoughts I tell myself in my own head, and realize that no matter what they say, anything can be. With each new struggle, we should all listen to the mustn'ts....
As I sat around chatting with my sister-in-law, one of the topics we spent some time on was this struggle I'm having with body image. She knew that I was planning on going shopping with my Mom today to get some non-maternity clothes that would fit me as I face having to return to work on Monday. She knew I was dreading it. I told her I just wanted to not look pregnant anymore and I wanted to lose all of this extra weight I have put on, and I was petrified of what size I'd have to get. I have no doubt that many women struggle with their bodies and/or weight after pregnancy. But I feel like my struggle is different than the average post-pregnant woman because I have no baby to show for my pregnancy. I feel like people stare at me as I walk around in public, either wondering if I am currently pregnant or how old my baby is now.
My husband, and family members, all tell me not to worry about things like that. It's to be expected, I just had major surgery, I was over 8 months pregnant, etc. I also wouldn't be surprised if these stares I feel like I'm getting are mostly in my head - I'm probably making it out to happen more than it actually does in reality. I am my own worst enemy. But no matter how much I may recognize all of these points, and even understand the truths in them, all I believe is what I see. And all I can see is this pregnancy weight with no happy ending. No excuses for it. It makes me feel even worse.
As I tried on pair of pants after pair of pants today at the store, I felt even more deflated as I had to try on a size I'd never been before. My Mom, who is a saint and who I can never thank enough for literally everything, kept encouraging me not to think about it or get down on myself. I did only allow myself to cry once, in the dressing room. I guess all in all, it was fairly successful given the circumstances. She reminded me that I could start working it off at the gym on Saturday (my 6 week clearance date), and she knew it would come off in no time. Of course, everything I had read on the internet said to give yourself as many months as you were pregnant to get the weight off. Add in the fact that my abdomenal muscles were sliced open, and the prospects get bleaker. The internet can be a blessing and a curse, that's for sure.
But I know deep down she's right - I'll push myself and I'll get back down to a more fit size. It will be a struggle, but what isn't in my life right now? What's one more struggle? I know I'm not alone in these struggles - I know other women with similar journeys as mine probably think the same things I think about image, and feel sad and bad about themselves all at the same time. I'm just choosing to share my thoughts and bare my soul, with all of its faults and cracks, for all to see. My perceptions are all askew right now, and that's OK. I've got to work them out as best I can. And hopefully, as my husband says, when I do get some of the weight off it will be just in time to get pregnant all over again (and deal with handling that image and issue).
I should follow Shel Silverstein's advice and "Listen to the Mustn'ts."
"Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me-
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be."
I'll get there...anything can happen...where there is a will, there is a way. I'll get over the image issues, and most of the other negativity issues I've talked about previously - I'll be able to listen to all of these thoughts I tell myself in my own head, and realize that no matter what they say, anything can be. With each new struggle, we should all listen to the mustn'ts....
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Finding The Beautiful
Yesterday my husband and I traveled up to Charlottesville. It was a beautiful, sunny, and overall pleasant weather day. Spring is beginning to creep in, finally, and I've decided that springtime in Charlottesville is almost unrivaled. As we were driving by the Rotunda on our way to lunch, I began reminiscing to myself about my days tooling around the campus on spring days just like this one. I would go sit in one of the gardens off of the lawn and do my work, and close my eyes and actually stop to smell the roses, as they say. It was extremely calming - no matter how stressed I was about an upcoming exam, or how I was going to get that paper written, or how I was going to be able to concentrate on studying and then go to spring football practice (which I was very much looking forward to more so than studying). I just loved being at UVA, especially in the spring months for all of the beauty that was around me on that campus. Fall brought its own different excitement and memories, but the springtime weather and adventures certainly made it my favorite time of the year.
We enjoyed a pleasant lunch at one of my favorite spots on The Corner - in reality, all the restaurants on The Corner are some of my favorites. As are most of the restaurants in the downtown mall. I'm a little biased towards anything Charlottesville. But Doug and I shared some good conversations and food at this one particular restaurant yesterday. It was such a nice day we decided to check out some of the shops nearby before heading to the baseball game - the real reason we were there for the day.
Naturally, the one store I wanted to go into was Mincer's. See, I'm of the opinion that one can never have enough orange and blue in their wardrobe. Those colors really just compliment each other so perfectly. Doug, on the other hand, complains about my love for all things orange and blue. As I wandered throughout the store, I kept being drawn to all of the cute outfits they had on display for babies and little kids. I kept thinking to myself about how I would have gotten them all for Ellison, no matter how much Doug complained. She would have looked good in orange and blue. Sadness immediately crept over me. Then, I looked up and saw a young woman in there pushing a stroller with an infant around the store. I felt my breath get sucked out of me, and the usual joy I feel while walking through my "mecca," was zapped. I told Doug it was time to go, and I left without buying anything (a first).
We headed to the baseball game and got settled into our seats and watched as the teams warmed up. I told Doug I was actually somewhat excited to watch the game, and my Hoos, in person. Davenport Field is a really nice venue - it's obvious the UVA investors have been generous in donating their money to support our program. I found it interesting in looking through the program that we have more players from out of state, and all over the country, than from in-state. I was taking it all in, remembering my quest to start enjoying things for both myself and Ellison. As I sat in my seat throughout the game, I watched several women carry their infant daughters through the stands. It always seems ironic that when something is on your mind, you seem to constantly be reminded of it as you go about your business. The babies were adorable. Again, some sadness crept in. I turned to Doug and commented that this would have been the perfect game to bring Ellison to - the weather was amazing, it wasn't too crowded, and my Hoos were winning by a landslide - the perfect trifecta of enjoyment.
Despite the fact that my team was winning handedly, I told Doug we could not leave before the end of the game. I was there to experience not only a first for me, but a first for Ellison too. We weren't going to miss a thing. I wanted to be able to check seeing my first full UVA baseball game off of my mental list of "living for Ellison." Hopefully, the first of many mental check marks...
As we were driving home from the game, without the gooey brownie I wanted from Arch's because they happened to be closed for spring break (figures...the rare time I'm up there for the day, my usual pleasure is not available), I kept thinking that it had been such a beautiful day. I missed those beautiful Charlottesville days during the spring, and I missed being able to share it with my beautiful daughter. I realized that even if I travel all around and enjoy more beautiful days down the road, nothing will ever be as beautiful as what I carry in my heart now - the memory of Ellison. It's just like the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote I have written down: "Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not." I will always be sad wishing that she could be with us to experience all of the beautiful things, like all of those other babies I saw yesterday, but nothing in my mind is as beautiful as she is and I carry that with me in my heart now.
We enjoyed a pleasant lunch at one of my favorite spots on The Corner - in reality, all the restaurants on The Corner are some of my favorites. As are most of the restaurants in the downtown mall. I'm a little biased towards anything Charlottesville. But Doug and I shared some good conversations and food at this one particular restaurant yesterday. It was such a nice day we decided to check out some of the shops nearby before heading to the baseball game - the real reason we were there for the day.
Naturally, the one store I wanted to go into was Mincer's. See, I'm of the opinion that one can never have enough orange and blue in their wardrobe. Those colors really just compliment each other so perfectly. Doug, on the other hand, complains about my love for all things orange and blue. As I wandered throughout the store, I kept being drawn to all of the cute outfits they had on display for babies and little kids. I kept thinking to myself about how I would have gotten them all for Ellison, no matter how much Doug complained. She would have looked good in orange and blue. Sadness immediately crept over me. Then, I looked up and saw a young woman in there pushing a stroller with an infant around the store. I felt my breath get sucked out of me, and the usual joy I feel while walking through my "mecca," was zapped. I told Doug it was time to go, and I left without buying anything (a first).
We headed to the baseball game and got settled into our seats and watched as the teams warmed up. I told Doug I was actually somewhat excited to watch the game, and my Hoos, in person. Davenport Field is a really nice venue - it's obvious the UVA investors have been generous in donating their money to support our program. I found it interesting in looking through the program that we have more players from out of state, and all over the country, than from in-state. I was taking it all in, remembering my quest to start enjoying things for both myself and Ellison. As I sat in my seat throughout the game, I watched several women carry their infant daughters through the stands. It always seems ironic that when something is on your mind, you seem to constantly be reminded of it as you go about your business. The babies were adorable. Again, some sadness crept in. I turned to Doug and commented that this would have been the perfect game to bring Ellison to - the weather was amazing, it wasn't too crowded, and my Hoos were winning by a landslide - the perfect trifecta of enjoyment.
Despite the fact that my team was winning handedly, I told Doug we could not leave before the end of the game. I was there to experience not only a first for me, but a first for Ellison too. We weren't going to miss a thing. I wanted to be able to check seeing my first full UVA baseball game off of my mental list of "living for Ellison." Hopefully, the first of many mental check marks...
As we were driving home from the game, without the gooey brownie I wanted from Arch's because they happened to be closed for spring break (figures...the rare time I'm up there for the day, my usual pleasure is not available), I kept thinking that it had been such a beautiful day. I missed those beautiful Charlottesville days during the spring, and I missed being able to share it with my beautiful daughter. I realized that even if I travel all around and enjoy more beautiful days down the road, nothing will ever be as beautiful as what I carry in my heart now - the memory of Ellison. It's just like the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote I have written down: "Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not." I will always be sad wishing that she could be with us to experience all of the beautiful things, like all of those other babies I saw yesterday, but nothing in my mind is as beautiful as she is and I carry that with me in my heart now.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Safe Harbor
Today's post is earlier than usual, and probably shorter. I'm getting ready to head up to Charlottesville on this beautiful spring-like day to explore around my alma mater, and then catch a baseball game - my first full game. This is the first "fun" event I have been actually looking forward to in the last almost six weeks. I am reminded of a quote that is often attributed to Mark Twain, but I believe it actually belongs to H. Jackson Brown, Jr.: "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
I don't want to be disappointed with myself twenty years from now. I don't want Ellison to be disappointed in me. So I'm going to sail away from the safe harbor today and actually start experiencing the new things I've talked about before in my blogs. I'll be starting with a simple baseball game and the further exploration of one of my favorite spots. Start small, and work my way up, right?
And though I know I'll be a little sad today as I carry Ellison along for the ride with us in my heart, I'll try to enjoy all of the experiences as much as possible. For this, I'll follow Hellen Keller's advice, "Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow." A few shadows, or reminders of our loss, are sure to creep in, but if we focus on exploring, dreaming, and discovering, at least we won't be disappointed with ourselves down the road and I'm sure this would make Ellison happy...
I don't want to be disappointed with myself twenty years from now. I don't want Ellison to be disappointed in me. So I'm going to sail away from the safe harbor today and actually start experiencing the new things I've talked about before in my blogs. I'll be starting with a simple baseball game and the further exploration of one of my favorite spots. Start small, and work my way up, right?
And though I know I'll be a little sad today as I carry Ellison along for the ride with us in my heart, I'll try to enjoy all of the experiences as much as possible. For this, I'll follow Hellen Keller's advice, "Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow." A few shadows, or reminders of our loss, are sure to creep in, but if we focus on exploring, dreaming, and discovering, at least we won't be disappointed with ourselves down the road and I'm sure this would make Ellison happy...
Monday, March 10, 2014
Smile
I had to bump up my postpartum follow-up appointment. It was supposed to be on Wednesday, but I was having a bit of an incision issue so I had to go in and get it checked out. Luckily, that turned out to be OK because I really didn't want to have to worry about that on top of everything else. I was prepared for the worst, but hoping for the best, and it was actually good news (for once). The nurse had to ask the obligatory questions. She asked how I was doing, etc. And I told her I was doing as good as can be expected under the circumstances. Then she asked about my mood. I turned to Doug and said, "Oh I don't know, ask my husband how my mood is.." It's hard to show through words, but I was actually making "a funny." I was able to crack a few smiles, and had put on my "as happy as I can be" face. She said they were all thinking about us and everyone at that office is really nice, so it was not too bad overall.
As I was waiting for the doctor to come check me out, I started thinking about the advice my Mom had given to me not too long ago. When I would tell her that I was fearing have to face this, that, or the other, she told me to "fake it til' you make it." She didn't mean that in a bad way, she meant it in a "smile, push through it, and eventually it won't be as hard to get through." If I keep smiling, even though I'm sad/angry/etc., maybe one day I'll even convince myself that there is something to smile about. It reminded me of that Charlie Chaplin song:
"Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking.
When there are clouds in the sky,
you'll get by.
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through
For you.
Light up your face with gladness,
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying,
Smile, what's the use of crying.
You'll find that life is still worthwhile -
If you just smile."
Last night I had dinner with my family, including my BFF 4 yr. old niece. While we were eating dinner, Natalie looked at me with her signature inquisitive look and asked me "Casey, do you miss Ellie?" I told her "Yes, I miss her very much. Every day." Then, my brother told me about the incident that had happened the day before. Natalie had gone with them to visit my grandmother, her "Gigi" (GG..great-grandmother), for lunch. While in my grandmother's apartment, she had colored a picture of flowers and butterflies. When my sister-in-law asked her to leave it for GG, she had a meltdown and started crying saying "but I want to give it to my Aunt Casey." So my sister-in-law let it go, and didn't force the issue. As they were leaving a woman at the front desk told Natalie that her picture was pretty. Natalie said she had made it for "my Aunt Casey. My baby cousin died." The poor woman didn't know what to say after that, nor did my brother and sister-in-law really. Out of the mouths of babes..you just have to marvel at their bluntness with reality.
In fact, Natalie askes me often if I miss Ellie. Normally, I have to choke back a tear and tell her "yes, very much so." But yesterday, as I answered her, and then heard the story of the picture she had colored, I found myself not having to choke back a tear. Yes, it did make me sad, but I put a smile on my face, and kept on trying, just as the song says. I figure I'll just keep on working on smiling, and eventually the happiness behind it will return. It's like I told Doug today on the car ride home. I've realized that I can miss Ellie all the time and feel sad thinking about her, but I've got to "keep on keepin' on" with my life. I'll find the middle ground - and recognize the worthwhile moments in life.
As I was waiting for the doctor to come check me out, I started thinking about the advice my Mom had given to me not too long ago. When I would tell her that I was fearing have to face this, that, or the other, she told me to "fake it til' you make it." She didn't mean that in a bad way, she meant it in a "smile, push through it, and eventually it won't be as hard to get through." If I keep smiling, even though I'm sad/angry/etc., maybe one day I'll even convince myself that there is something to smile about. It reminded me of that Charlie Chaplin song:
"Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking.
When there are clouds in the sky,
you'll get by.
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through
For you.
Light up your face with gladness,
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying,
Smile, what's the use of crying.
You'll find that life is still worthwhile -
If you just smile."
Last night I had dinner with my family, including my BFF 4 yr. old niece. While we were eating dinner, Natalie looked at me with her signature inquisitive look and asked me "Casey, do you miss Ellie?" I told her "Yes, I miss her very much. Every day." Then, my brother told me about the incident that had happened the day before. Natalie had gone with them to visit my grandmother, her "Gigi" (GG..great-grandmother), for lunch. While in my grandmother's apartment, she had colored a picture of flowers and butterflies. When my sister-in-law asked her to leave it for GG, she had a meltdown and started crying saying "but I want to give it to my Aunt Casey." So my sister-in-law let it go, and didn't force the issue. As they were leaving a woman at the front desk told Natalie that her picture was pretty. Natalie said she had made it for "my Aunt Casey. My baby cousin died." The poor woman didn't know what to say after that, nor did my brother and sister-in-law really. Out of the mouths of babes..you just have to marvel at their bluntness with reality.
In fact, Natalie askes me often if I miss Ellie. Normally, I have to choke back a tear and tell her "yes, very much so." But yesterday, as I answered her, and then heard the story of the picture she had colored, I found myself not having to choke back a tear. Yes, it did make me sad, but I put a smile on my face, and kept on trying, just as the song says. I figure I'll just keep on working on smiling, and eventually the happiness behind it will return. It's like I told Doug today on the car ride home. I've realized that I can miss Ellie all the time and feel sad thinking about her, but I've got to "keep on keepin' on" with my life. I'll find the middle ground - and recognize the worthwhile moments in life.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Improvise
On August 16th, 2007 I suffered my knee injury while I was on the job. Ironically, August 16th just happens to be my husband's birthday, but I didn't meet him until a little over two years after this. It's just another one of those dates that is forever seared into my memory. After I got over the initial pain, I realized the extent of my injuries and the rehab process that I would have to take to just get back to where I could start working towards the level of fitness I had been accustomed to. It was a long, painful nine months of recovery. More so than I had imagined. And to be honest, my knee still is not what is used to be before the injury - it never will be. That's OK though because I can still walk and do most of the things I used to before the injury - others with leg injuries have not been so fortunate, and I am thankful that my injury was not that bad and it makes me feel for those who have worse injuries or recoveries to face. Keep it in perspective, right?
However, I was obviously devastated when it happened because I had worked so hard to get to where I was at at work, and I knew I would have to recover first and then work twice as hard just to get back to the same spot I had been in. It was a daunting challenge, and I wondered if I could even overcome it. I began to doubt myself. A day or two after my injury, a mentor of mine came to visit me at my parents' house where I was recovering. This friend was instrumental in guiding me towards my career path, and he always had really good advice. That's probably why he has moved on to bigger, and better things, in his career and has become extremely successful. He told me to hang in there and tough it out because he believed in me and knew I was strong enough to do it - and I did, and I was. He had also sent me an email at work that I still treasure to this day.
In the email he included a quote he had read in a book somewhere that had stuck with him, and he thought I would find wisdom in it during my recovery. I ended up combining a motto I had learned from work and this quote onto a card that I used to carry around in my wallet all the time. My copy has somehow disappeared (which upsets me that I cannot find it right at this moment), but my Mom still has her copy. I still think of these words often and it is quite pertinent to the situation I find myself in today.
The card says "Improvise. Adapt. Overcome." Then on the other side is the quote: "Greatness is not defined by how we handle all that goes well for us but how we handle all that does not." Well, my "new normal" version of "Improvise. Adapt. Overcome" is now something like "Improvise. Adapt. Carry On." I cannot overcome my loss of Ellison - that is unthinkable and not something that is ever overcome. But I can carry on. Each day I'll improvise and adapt and carry on as I face the challenges that come with surviving the loss of a child. And I'll keep thinking of that quote my friend shared with me almost seven years ago....
However, I was obviously devastated when it happened because I had worked so hard to get to where I was at at work, and I knew I would have to recover first and then work twice as hard just to get back to the same spot I had been in. It was a daunting challenge, and I wondered if I could even overcome it. I began to doubt myself. A day or two after my injury, a mentor of mine came to visit me at my parents' house where I was recovering. This friend was instrumental in guiding me towards my career path, and he always had really good advice. That's probably why he has moved on to bigger, and better things, in his career and has become extremely successful. He told me to hang in there and tough it out because he believed in me and knew I was strong enough to do it - and I did, and I was. He had also sent me an email at work that I still treasure to this day.
In the email he included a quote he had read in a book somewhere that had stuck with him, and he thought I would find wisdom in it during my recovery. I ended up combining a motto I had learned from work and this quote onto a card that I used to carry around in my wallet all the time. My copy has somehow disappeared (which upsets me that I cannot find it right at this moment), but my Mom still has her copy. I still think of these words often and it is quite pertinent to the situation I find myself in today.
The card says "Improvise. Adapt. Overcome." Then on the other side is the quote: "Greatness is not defined by how we handle all that goes well for us but how we handle all that does not." Well, my "new normal" version of "Improvise. Adapt. Overcome" is now something like "Improvise. Adapt. Carry On." I cannot overcome my loss of Ellison - that is unthinkable and not something that is ever overcome. But I can carry on. Each day I'll improvise and adapt and carry on as I face the challenges that come with surviving the loss of a child. And I'll keep thinking of that quote my friend shared with me almost seven years ago....
Saturday, March 8, 2014
The Oak Tree
It's been five weeks today. Saturdays used to be my favorite days, but lately, they aren't. Anyways, Doug and I decided to take advantage of the nice temperature and sunny weather to take the puppies for a walk at the park. We're fortunate to live within walking distance to a nice park that has a back entrance from the actual neighborhood. So off we went with two smiling, yet slightly annoying, sidekicks. Apparently we weren't the only ones who had the desire to enjoy the day at the park. There were quite a few people - families, other dog walkers, runners, etc. Doug and I walked and talked about various things, pausing only to deal with the dogs every now and then.
I watched as women pushing their strollers passed by. I noticed several pregnant women who were out with their husbands and children. They seemed to come out of the woodwork, so to speak. But surprisingly, I didn't allow myself to ponder these sights for too long. I held up better than I thought I would. We'd pass by them and say hello or exchange pleasantries as we pulled Sabre away from trying to kiss every single human he encountered. I sort of surprised myself - I didn't even have a tear well up inside and I didn't have to choke any back.
Last night I had also broken the ice with my pregnant next door neighbor. Doug and I had almost avoided them the whole time we'd been back home from the hospital. Thanks to the mailman who had dropped off a package for them at our house, I had a reason to break the ice. I finally got up the courage to go over there and start a conversation with them. We exchanged pleasantries, they expressed their condolences in a nice way, and then we were able to carry on a rather long conversation about various things. I was able to ask her how far along she was and when she was due. Turns out she's having a boy due in the summer. They already have a cute little 3 yr. old daughter. I was able to endure talking about all of this without becoming upset over thinking about Ellison and our situation. This surprised me.
Perhaps I'm starting to gain more strength in handling life move on. I was able to face some fears and make it through. Now, I still cried some last night when I laid my head down to go to sleep as I said my usual words to Ellison. And thoughts of her still consume me when I see these things and talk to people, and go about everything that I do, but maybe I'm starting to be able to feel a little stronger each day. Bit by bit as I face more fears, and dig deep and find more strength, I'll surprise myself even more - I'll get back to challenging myself as I've done in the past, and hopefully achieve more goals in my "new normal" future.
I am reminded of a greeting card I recently received from a dear friend/second "Mom." It was entitled "The Oak Tree" and it said this:
A mighty wind blew night and day, It stole the oak tree's leaves away, Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark until the oak was tired and stark. But still the oak tree held its ground while others trees fell all around. The weary wind gave up and spoke, "How can you still be standing, Oak?" The oak tree said, "I know that you can break each branch of mine in two, Carry every leaf away, Shake my limbs, and make me sway. But I have roots stretched in the earth, Growing stronger since my birth. You'll never touch them, for you see, They are the deepest part of me. Until today, I wasn't sure of just how much I could endure. But now I've found, with thanks to you, I'm stronger than I ever knew."
Then the card's message on the inside said, "I know you can get through this...You're good, and you're strong, and you have a lot of people around you who care...people like me." In a funny way, it makes me think of the SNL skit with Stuart Smalley and his affirmation "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and Doggone it, people like me!" I just have to keep reminding myself that this tragedy, as much as it has scarred me and torn me apart in many ways, will not break me. Ellison has become another root that holds me together and is the deepest part of me. If I take that perspective and remind myself of these words and principles, I'll be able to keep facing the wind that keeps trying to knock me down.
I watched as women pushing their strollers passed by. I noticed several pregnant women who were out with their husbands and children. They seemed to come out of the woodwork, so to speak. But surprisingly, I didn't allow myself to ponder these sights for too long. I held up better than I thought I would. We'd pass by them and say hello or exchange pleasantries as we pulled Sabre away from trying to kiss every single human he encountered. I sort of surprised myself - I didn't even have a tear well up inside and I didn't have to choke any back.
Last night I had also broken the ice with my pregnant next door neighbor. Doug and I had almost avoided them the whole time we'd been back home from the hospital. Thanks to the mailman who had dropped off a package for them at our house, I had a reason to break the ice. I finally got up the courage to go over there and start a conversation with them. We exchanged pleasantries, they expressed their condolences in a nice way, and then we were able to carry on a rather long conversation about various things. I was able to ask her how far along she was and when she was due. Turns out she's having a boy due in the summer. They already have a cute little 3 yr. old daughter. I was able to endure talking about all of this without becoming upset over thinking about Ellison and our situation. This surprised me.
Perhaps I'm starting to gain more strength in handling life move on. I was able to face some fears and make it through. Now, I still cried some last night when I laid my head down to go to sleep as I said my usual words to Ellison. And thoughts of her still consume me when I see these things and talk to people, and go about everything that I do, but maybe I'm starting to be able to feel a little stronger each day. Bit by bit as I face more fears, and dig deep and find more strength, I'll surprise myself even more - I'll get back to challenging myself as I've done in the past, and hopefully achieve more goals in my "new normal" future.
I am reminded of a greeting card I recently received from a dear friend/second "Mom." It was entitled "The Oak Tree" and it said this:
A mighty wind blew night and day, It stole the oak tree's leaves away, Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark until the oak was tired and stark. But still the oak tree held its ground while others trees fell all around. The weary wind gave up and spoke, "How can you still be standing, Oak?" The oak tree said, "I know that you can break each branch of mine in two, Carry every leaf away, Shake my limbs, and make me sway. But I have roots stretched in the earth, Growing stronger since my birth. You'll never touch them, for you see, They are the deepest part of me. Until today, I wasn't sure of just how much I could endure. But now I've found, with thanks to you, I'm stronger than I ever knew."
Then the card's message on the inside said, "I know you can get through this...You're good, and you're strong, and you have a lot of people around you who care...people like me." In a funny way, it makes me think of the SNL skit with Stuart Smalley and his affirmation "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and Doggone it, people like me!" I just have to keep reminding myself that this tragedy, as much as it has scarred me and torn me apart in many ways, will not break me. Ellison has become another root that holds me together and is the deepest part of me. If I take that perspective and remind myself of these words and principles, I'll be able to keep facing the wind that keeps trying to knock me down.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Black Holes
I attended my first infant loss group last night. I have to say that I took a lot away from it, in a good way. I've known since I lost Ellison that I have not been alone in my particular loss - other people have shared with me about their own losses. People that I had been around my entire life or for part of my life - people that I never knew had lost a baby - began sharing their stories with me through emails, texts, and messages. And then, I met several complete strangers last night that shared their stories with me, just as I shared Ellison's. It took that handful of people that I had never met before to finally help me feel that I was not alone. I mean, I know I'm not alone - I have my husband, and wonderful friends and family members that have helped me every day since Ellison passed - but I feel alone. It's a weird concept to try to explain. And last night, I finally felt that I was not alone. These strangers, now no longer strangers to me but rather people that I feel I can connect with, made me feel like my "new normal."
I have not been able to actually carry on a conversation in person with a friend, outside of family, about what happened to Ellison. I've been able to talk to a few close friends over the phone about it some, but it's easier to choke back tears over the phone than it is in person. So last night as I introduced myself to these other mothers who have lost a child, I of course started crying. I pretty much cried every time I talked. But it was OK, because they all did too at various times, and though I was apprehensive about crying in front of others, it was good to face that fear and get through it. Their stories were all pretty similar to mine, and hearing theirs made my heart break for them because I knew of their pain. Many of the thoughts and emotions were very similar. I wasn't the only one who struggles with guilt. And many of them actually brought up points that I had not considered - I actually learned strategies for coping from them all. It was good to understand their points of view and their grief processes.
Several topics of discussion hit home with me. I talked about my fears of the future - others forgetting that Ellison ever existed, my fears of handling the possibility of another pregnancy down the road, my fears of how I'll react to others in various life situations, etc. It turns out I'm not the only one with these types of fears. The point was brought up that when you lose a parent/family member/friend/etc., you are losing your past; but when you lose a child, you lose your future. In other words, your future becomes like a black hole. You know it exists, but you have no idea what's in it. You're afraid to get sucked in because you have no idea if it will be tiny and claustrophobic, or if it will be infinite. It's such a scary concept to try to wrap your mind around - like what a black hole really is. Not sure if that makes any sense, but it's how I view it. So it's no wonder that we all have felt hopeless and apprehensive about the future - a big part of it was taken from us, so we're all trying to figure out how to make a new future, or just survive it, in the meantime.
Various other topics were brought up and discussed and it seemed like we all had similar thoughts/emotions but just expressed them differently. And though I cried pretty much most of the time, it was finally a good cry - because I didn't feel so alone amidst others. My Mom went with me, and I think she also felt a sense of this too. Even though she was the only grandmother at this particular meeting, she wasn't the only family member who came, and that helped her to express her viewpoints to the group. After the meeting, I was talking with one attendee about how others act around us now. Some friends, work colleagues, etc. have just begun ignoring us because they don't know what to do I'm sure, some have just walked on eggshells around us, some have been really good and included us/invited us out to do things to help us return to normalcy, and many have said they simply don't know what to say or do but at least they say something even if it may be wrong. We both agreed we'd rather you just say something - like "thinking about you" - than nothing. We don't necessarily want to talk about it or keep re-living the emotions of it, we just want you to be our friend like you were before. Just because something in our life has changed, doesn't mean everything has to change. We still need to feel like we belong, more now than ever.
One of the last conversations I had with an attendee stuck out in my mind. They mentioned that we are all now members of a club/group that nobody wants to be in. I thought more about that the rest of the night. Nobody chooses to be in a situation that pushes them into an infant loss group. But at least there is a club that exists to help us feel like we're not the only loners. We have now been thrown into this black hole against our wills but at least this club forces us to realize that we are not alone. That in and of itself, makes attending worthwhile for me - I not only learn more about myself, but I learn about others, and both of those can teach me something new. I believe it was Mark Twain who said "I never let schooling interfere with my education." I've learned more about myself and life through this journey than I ever did in my many years of school and job training, and so my education will continue. Thomas Jefferson would be proud...I passed through my 4th year (i.e. senior year and graduated) of education in 2004, and now I'm still learning more things in my 14th year. Too bad I'm having to learn the hardest way possible.
I'll close with a song I happened to hear yesterday. I often listen to a music station on my Ipad/Iphone when I'm checking emails/working on a puzzle/writing my posts. Keep your judgments to yourself, but it's an all Acapella station ("Acca-believe it" - if you get that, kudos to you). I have a certain trio of brothers to thank for my appreciation of acapella music, but I do enjoy these talented groups (especially since I can't sing a lick), and I'm glad my musical tastes are well-rounded (from Johnny Cash to acapella to rap...I'll take it!). I digress. An acapella version of a MUSE song came on - "Starlight," and it perfectly sums up this post. The last three verses go like this:
"And I'll never let you go
If you promise not to fade away
Never fade away
Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations
Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations
Hold you in my arms
I just wanted to hold
You in my arms
I just wanted to hold"
I have not been able to actually carry on a conversation in person with a friend, outside of family, about what happened to Ellison. I've been able to talk to a few close friends over the phone about it some, but it's easier to choke back tears over the phone than it is in person. So last night as I introduced myself to these other mothers who have lost a child, I of course started crying. I pretty much cried every time I talked. But it was OK, because they all did too at various times, and though I was apprehensive about crying in front of others, it was good to face that fear and get through it. Their stories were all pretty similar to mine, and hearing theirs made my heart break for them because I knew of their pain. Many of the thoughts and emotions were very similar. I wasn't the only one who struggles with guilt. And many of them actually brought up points that I had not considered - I actually learned strategies for coping from them all. It was good to understand their points of view and their grief processes.
Several topics of discussion hit home with me. I talked about my fears of the future - others forgetting that Ellison ever existed, my fears of handling the possibility of another pregnancy down the road, my fears of how I'll react to others in various life situations, etc. It turns out I'm not the only one with these types of fears. The point was brought up that when you lose a parent/family member/friend/etc., you are losing your past; but when you lose a child, you lose your future. In other words, your future becomes like a black hole. You know it exists, but you have no idea what's in it. You're afraid to get sucked in because you have no idea if it will be tiny and claustrophobic, or if it will be infinite. It's such a scary concept to try to wrap your mind around - like what a black hole really is. Not sure if that makes any sense, but it's how I view it. So it's no wonder that we all have felt hopeless and apprehensive about the future - a big part of it was taken from us, so we're all trying to figure out how to make a new future, or just survive it, in the meantime.
Various other topics were brought up and discussed and it seemed like we all had similar thoughts/emotions but just expressed them differently. And though I cried pretty much most of the time, it was finally a good cry - because I didn't feel so alone amidst others. My Mom went with me, and I think she also felt a sense of this too. Even though she was the only grandmother at this particular meeting, she wasn't the only family member who came, and that helped her to express her viewpoints to the group. After the meeting, I was talking with one attendee about how others act around us now. Some friends, work colleagues, etc. have just begun ignoring us because they don't know what to do I'm sure, some have just walked on eggshells around us, some have been really good and included us/invited us out to do things to help us return to normalcy, and many have said they simply don't know what to say or do but at least they say something even if it may be wrong. We both agreed we'd rather you just say something - like "thinking about you" - than nothing. We don't necessarily want to talk about it or keep re-living the emotions of it, we just want you to be our friend like you were before. Just because something in our life has changed, doesn't mean everything has to change. We still need to feel like we belong, more now than ever.
One of the last conversations I had with an attendee stuck out in my mind. They mentioned that we are all now members of a club/group that nobody wants to be in. I thought more about that the rest of the night. Nobody chooses to be in a situation that pushes them into an infant loss group. But at least there is a club that exists to help us feel like we're not the only loners. We have now been thrown into this black hole against our wills but at least this club forces us to realize that we are not alone. That in and of itself, makes attending worthwhile for me - I not only learn more about myself, but I learn about others, and both of those can teach me something new. I believe it was Mark Twain who said "I never let schooling interfere with my education." I've learned more about myself and life through this journey than I ever did in my many years of school and job training, and so my education will continue. Thomas Jefferson would be proud...I passed through my 4th year (i.e. senior year and graduated) of education in 2004, and now I'm still learning more things in my 14th year. Too bad I'm having to learn the hardest way possible.
I'll close with a song I happened to hear yesterday. I often listen to a music station on my Ipad/Iphone when I'm checking emails/working on a puzzle/writing my posts. Keep your judgments to yourself, but it's an all Acapella station ("Acca-believe it" - if you get that, kudos to you). I have a certain trio of brothers to thank for my appreciation of acapella music, but I do enjoy these talented groups (especially since I can't sing a lick), and I'm glad my musical tastes are well-rounded (from Johnny Cash to acapella to rap...I'll take it!). I digress. An acapella version of a MUSE song came on - "Starlight," and it perfectly sums up this post. The last three verses go like this:
"And I'll never let you go
If you promise not to fade away
Never fade away
Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations
Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations
Hold you in my arms
I just wanted to hold
You in my arms
I just wanted to hold"
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Scars
I have my share of scars scattered across my body, just as I am sure others have. There's the multiple scars on my left knee from my original ACL/meniscus surgery, and the two subsequent meniscus/knee surgeries. There's the random spider bite scar left on my right shin/calf area. The left elbow scar from my close encounter car accident. The random scar still on my left eye from the steel wool incident I've mentioned before. A variety of little tiny scars only I can see on my hands. And now, there's the healing scar that sits on my bikini line leftover from the c-section. Of these, the newest is by far the ugliest and most painful to look at every day.
I've become obsessed with this latest scar. I want it to go away - to just disappear. An ugly reminder of what has occurred. I stare at it in the mirror. Doug says it's not that bad, it will go away. But will it? It may slowly become less noticeable, but that scar tissue will always be there. It will never go away, in more ways than one - visually, physically, pscyhology. And though it's the one scar that most will never even see, it's the only one that I can see.
I was raised to be tough, and get back up on my bike if I fell off as a kid. I'd get my bandaid and my few minutes of crying, but then it was time to move on. As I recovered from my knee surgery, I'd stick a towel in my mouth as they wrenched my knee back and forth in an attempt to rid it of scar tissue and get those last few degrees of bend. No pain, no gain. Even as Natalie gets little boo boos and she shows them to me, I want to teach her to be tough too. I've often told her - "It's just a battle scar. They build character." And now, my how those words hit home...I've come to eat my own words. I'm sure that won't be the last time that happens when it comes to my advice to her as her sometimes wiser Aunt.
I'm not sure what character this latest scar will be build - that's still working itself out. But I'm reminded of a quote I have in my little book of wisdom: "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls, the most massive characters are seared with scars." - Khalil Gibran. On the eve of my first bereavement support group meeting, I am thinking about these words. I'll meet others with similar stories of loss - similar scars. I don't know if theirs will be freshly formed scars like mine or scars that have weathered over time. Nevertheless, our souls will be bonded together through these non-visible scars. And I can only wish for all of us with these types of scars to have our souls strengthened as we journey along the healing process - for all of us to be a phoenix that can rise from the ashes....
I've become obsessed with this latest scar. I want it to go away - to just disappear. An ugly reminder of what has occurred. I stare at it in the mirror. Doug says it's not that bad, it will go away. But will it? It may slowly become less noticeable, but that scar tissue will always be there. It will never go away, in more ways than one - visually, physically, pscyhology. And though it's the one scar that most will never even see, it's the only one that I can see.
I was raised to be tough, and get back up on my bike if I fell off as a kid. I'd get my bandaid and my few minutes of crying, but then it was time to move on. As I recovered from my knee surgery, I'd stick a towel in my mouth as they wrenched my knee back and forth in an attempt to rid it of scar tissue and get those last few degrees of bend. No pain, no gain. Even as Natalie gets little boo boos and she shows them to me, I want to teach her to be tough too. I've often told her - "It's just a battle scar. They build character." And now, my how those words hit home...I've come to eat my own words. I'm sure that won't be the last time that happens when it comes to my advice to her as her sometimes wiser Aunt.
I'm not sure what character this latest scar will be build - that's still working itself out. But I'm reminded of a quote I have in my little book of wisdom: "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls, the most massive characters are seared with scars." - Khalil Gibran. On the eve of my first bereavement support group meeting, I am thinking about these words. I'll meet others with similar stories of loss - similar scars. I don't know if theirs will be freshly formed scars like mine or scars that have weathered over time. Nevertheless, our souls will be bonded together through these non-visible scars. And I can only wish for all of us with these types of scars to have our souls strengthened as we journey along the healing process - for all of us to be a phoenix that can rise from the ashes....
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
The In Between
I finally got around to reading a book that my friend Sandra had given me on the day of Ellison's remembrance service. It was actually more a collection of poems written by women writers who have lost children of their own - "to linger on hot coals" it is called. I think reading it at 1:30 in the morning was a bad idea as tears began flowing that I could not stop. But reading it did remind me that I am not alone. Other women are in this "in between" as a I call it. We experienced birth and death at the same time, so we're not like other mothers.
There were several poems that dealt with this concept. There are plenty of other women, whether you may hear about it or know it from them, that have experienced this in between. It may be taboo to talk about, or express, but there are women who do talk about it, just like I am, and probably do a better job at it than me. But I'm glad they talk about it because it's hard for others to understand what we feel or why.
One poem brought up several points about this in between that I struggle with. It was entitled "Why I Cannot Join a Moms Group" by Stephanie Paige Cole. While the poem is written by a mother who has one living child and one who died, which is different from my situation, the concepts are still similar. One line reads "I belong and I don't." In other words, I'm a mother, but I'm not. She's with me, but she's not. Then it goes on to say "There's a little girl laughing in the corner, She would be just her age, Now I am choking on thoughts, That I cannot turn to words, I will not allow myself to cry here, But I miss her I miss her I miss her." That's often how I feel when I do venture out into public and observe what's going on around me. The poem goes on to say, "Talk only about the live one, You will alienate yourself, You will be the-woman-with-the-dead-baby." Well, I don't have the luxury of talking about "the live one" because I do not have another child - I lost my first. But I do sometimes feel like I'm known to others now as the-woman-with-the-dead-baby. The words are true but I'm not only that. I'm the mother of Ellison, who just happens to have passed away. That is not what I want people to only know about me or her. She may be dead in a physical sense, but she is not dead to me. She is still with me, and I am still here, so I don't want to be known just as that woman. Do not pity me, support me (and her), and hope for me.
The last verse of the poem goes like this "And you don't realize how good you have it, There are things worse than sleepless nights with cranky infants, There are sleepless nights alone." Being alone at night is the worst. When my husband is working overnight, and I have no one to hold my hand until I fall asleep, or try to fall asleep, and no cranky infant to console - this I can assure is so much worse. Nights alone are further reminders of the "in between" I have experienced - I'm a mother, with no baby. I birthed death all at the same time. But I have realized, through others' words and poems and messages, I'm not alone in this. Others have been, and are currently, where I am now. And that helps me to not feel quite so alone during those sleepness nights.
There were several poems that dealt with this concept. There are plenty of other women, whether you may hear about it or know it from them, that have experienced this in between. It may be taboo to talk about, or express, but there are women who do talk about it, just like I am, and probably do a better job at it than me. But I'm glad they talk about it because it's hard for others to understand what we feel or why.
One poem brought up several points about this in between that I struggle with. It was entitled "Why I Cannot Join a Moms Group" by Stephanie Paige Cole. While the poem is written by a mother who has one living child and one who died, which is different from my situation, the concepts are still similar. One line reads "I belong and I don't." In other words, I'm a mother, but I'm not. She's with me, but she's not. Then it goes on to say "There's a little girl laughing in the corner, She would be just her age, Now I am choking on thoughts, That I cannot turn to words, I will not allow myself to cry here, But I miss her I miss her I miss her." That's often how I feel when I do venture out into public and observe what's going on around me. The poem goes on to say, "Talk only about the live one, You will alienate yourself, You will be the-woman-with-the-dead-baby." Well, I don't have the luxury of talking about "the live one" because I do not have another child - I lost my first. But I do sometimes feel like I'm known to others now as the-woman-with-the-dead-baby. The words are true but I'm not only that. I'm the mother of Ellison, who just happens to have passed away. That is not what I want people to only know about me or her. She may be dead in a physical sense, but she is not dead to me. She is still with me, and I am still here, so I don't want to be known just as that woman. Do not pity me, support me (and her), and hope for me.
The last verse of the poem goes like this "And you don't realize how good you have it, There are things worse than sleepless nights with cranky infants, There are sleepless nights alone." Being alone at night is the worst. When my husband is working overnight, and I have no one to hold my hand until I fall asleep, or try to fall asleep, and no cranky infant to console - this I can assure is so much worse. Nights alone are further reminders of the "in between" I have experienced - I'm a mother, with no baby. I birthed death all at the same time. But I have realized, through others' words and poems and messages, I'm not alone in this. Others have been, and are currently, where I am now. And that helps me to not feel quite so alone during those sleepness nights.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Perspective
The background on my laptop is a picture taken of my husband and I on our honeymoon in St. Lucia back in April 2011. We were on a catamaran with the Piton Mountains in the background. And when you look at it, it doesn't seem like those Pitons are tall mountains at all. But I can tell you from experience, because I suffered through climbing one of them thinking it would be "fun," they are much taller than they appear. The only one that seemed to get up that mountain with ease was the "community dog" named Brownie who led the way for our tour group. Then again, he's been climbing that mountain almost every day for most of his life just to be around people for the attention and affection so to him it wasn't even difficult. It was difficult for me, almost impossible at times I thought. I complained during some of those endless steep sections as I climbed up the rock "steps" that had been cut into the side of the mountain, but it was worth every bit of that exertion once we got to the top and saw the view. It's all about perspective after all.
There are literally thousands of inspirational quotes on perspective - your perspective on reality, life, etc. If I started writing about one of them, I'd have to try to write about all of them. The glass is either half full or half empty, right? The only thing I can say about perspective is that it is unique to every one, and that it sometimes changes based on what you experience. I can tell you that my perspective has probably changed in everything that I do now that I've been stumbling through this sad journey. Life just is different now, or at least my perspective of it is. And I bet it will change again as I continue along my path.
The one quote I will share is a random quote from the movie "Steel Magnolias." I'm not ashamed to admit that I like this movie and in fact, I think it's a great movie (the original one that is). My favorite character may be Clairee, but that's neither here nor there. During the movie, one of the characters, Truvy (played by Dolly Parton), says "laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." Right now, I have to agree. As most of you know, I like to be fun-loving and happy, and laugh, and since February 1st most of my laughter has come through tears. They are intwined - a juxtaposition of immense sadness and flashes of joy through laughter. It's all based on my perspective at the time.
I'm trying to work on fighting through the sad, lonely times to focus my perspective on the bright future. And as a wise family member shared with me today, there is no time limit for experiencing these things. I have to balance the past with the future. And I just have to keep that in perspective...
There are literally thousands of inspirational quotes on perspective - your perspective on reality, life, etc. If I started writing about one of them, I'd have to try to write about all of them. The glass is either half full or half empty, right? The only thing I can say about perspective is that it is unique to every one, and that it sometimes changes based on what you experience. I can tell you that my perspective has probably changed in everything that I do now that I've been stumbling through this sad journey. Life just is different now, or at least my perspective of it is. And I bet it will change again as I continue along my path.
The one quote I will share is a random quote from the movie "Steel Magnolias." I'm not ashamed to admit that I like this movie and in fact, I think it's a great movie (the original one that is). My favorite character may be Clairee, but that's neither here nor there. During the movie, one of the characters, Truvy (played by Dolly Parton), says "laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." Right now, I have to agree. As most of you know, I like to be fun-loving and happy, and laugh, and since February 1st most of my laughter has come through tears. They are intwined - a juxtaposition of immense sadness and flashes of joy through laughter. It's all based on my perspective at the time.
I'm trying to work on fighting through the sad, lonely times to focus my perspective on the bright future. And as a wise family member shared with me today, there is no time limit for experiencing these things. I have to balance the past with the future. And I just have to keep that in perspective...
Monday, March 3, 2014
Hold Fast
"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly." - Langston Hughes
That's the quote I turned to today in my little book. This holds true on so many levels. Every night before I go to bed, at whatever time of the night or morning that happens to be, I say a little something - a prayer if you will. I tell someone to give Ellison a kiss for me and tell her that I love her, I pray for Doug and I to get through this, and I pray that our dream to be blessed with a child will be realized and that Ellison will know she's a big sister and be happy. Then I often fall asleep hoping that I'll see Ellison in my dreams. I have to hold fast to all of these dreams and thoughts or I won't fly on.
I have to keep dreaming to shake off the negativity. If the negativity wins out, I know I'll never be able to accomplish or realize my dreams. Ellison, in and of herself, is a dream for me, and I surely can't let that die too.
As Doug and I were out the other night with a friend - a little low key outing for the both of us - I remember thinking how different it felt. Much like I am in general, it just wasn't the same. But as we sat around talking about random things, even joking every so often about Jimmy Fallon skits or work things, I honed in on a song in the background. It was a Florence + The Machines song - "Shake It Out." There were several verses and then a later line in the song that struck me:
"And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa"
Then a little after these verses, was the line "And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope."
I like this song, even though I'm sure she's singing about something totally different. I have to shake it out - I have to shake some of the negativity out. Even if I can't leave the past behind, nor would I want to, I have to be ready to hope. I have to be ready to dream some. No doubt I'll suffer as I have been, but I will have to work on suffering without the negativity. That's the devil on my back, and so the task will be shaking it off and opening up to achieving my dreams. I'll dream not only of Ellison but I'll hopefully start dreaming about the future, and find a balance between the two. It is always darkest before the dawn, but if I hold fast, I'll learn to fly on.
That's the quote I turned to today in my little book. This holds true on so many levels. Every night before I go to bed, at whatever time of the night or morning that happens to be, I say a little something - a prayer if you will. I tell someone to give Ellison a kiss for me and tell her that I love her, I pray for Doug and I to get through this, and I pray that our dream to be blessed with a child will be realized and that Ellison will know she's a big sister and be happy. Then I often fall asleep hoping that I'll see Ellison in my dreams. I have to hold fast to all of these dreams and thoughts or I won't fly on.
I have to keep dreaming to shake off the negativity. If the negativity wins out, I know I'll never be able to accomplish or realize my dreams. Ellison, in and of herself, is a dream for me, and I surely can't let that die too.
As Doug and I were out the other night with a friend - a little low key outing for the both of us - I remember thinking how different it felt. Much like I am in general, it just wasn't the same. But as we sat around talking about random things, even joking every so often about Jimmy Fallon skits or work things, I honed in on a song in the background. It was a Florence + The Machines song - "Shake It Out." There were several verses and then a later line in the song that struck me:
"And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa"
Then a little after these verses, was the line "And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope."
I like this song, even though I'm sure she's singing about something totally different. I have to shake it out - I have to shake some of the negativity out. Even if I can't leave the past behind, nor would I want to, I have to be ready to hope. I have to be ready to dream some. No doubt I'll suffer as I have been, but I will have to work on suffering without the negativity. That's the devil on my back, and so the task will be shaking it off and opening up to achieving my dreams. I'll dream not only of Ellison but I'll hopefully start dreaming about the future, and find a balance between the two. It is always darkest before the dawn, but if I hold fast, I'll learn to fly on.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Empty Room
I know I've mentioned in some of my previous blogs about how I often go into Ellison's empty nursery and just sit for a bit. I used to go in there every day but I've backed off some and will only go in there several times a week. Part of me feels like going in there and finishing her room completely - hanging all of the pictures up, placing the wall decals onto the wall. But the other part of me just can't do that. Well, while I've tried to not go in there every day because it just feels so sad, one of my dogs often wanders in there for me.
My dog, Sabre, is a Dogo Argentino, an Argentinian Mastiff. His older sister is part Dogo, part pitbull. They are the best dogs. Sabre, despite being about 115 lbs and being taller than me when he stands up on his back legs, is a very sweet dog - a gentle giant. While he oftens seems slow in processing things, I believe he is much smarter than he comes across. He is quite intuitive - more sensitive than his sister. He would often smell my belly throughout the pregnancy, and would even rest his head on it often, as if he sensed there was another person in there he wanted to love on. He just wants to love everyone - he just doesn't understand that his paws hurt when he reaches out to try to get your attention or jumps up on you when you aren't paying attention. Well, I believe Sabre senses the sadness in that empty room.
Ever since we came home from the hospital, without our Ellison, he's started wandering down the hall and pushing open Ellison's door and has just stood in the middle of her room almost on a daily basis. He stays in there about 5-15 seconds, and then just walks back out and goes to lay down on his bed in our room. He did not do this before - not while Doug was preparing the nursery when I was in the hospital, not even when the room was used before. He never seemed interested in that room until I came home and was no longer pregnant. It's as if he sensed that that room was supposed to be that other little person who was in my belly's room and she was no longer in my belly. And in his own intuitive sense it's as if he knew he was supposed to be missing something as he stood in that empty room. He even goes in there when I cannot bring myself to. When I hear him push the door open, I'll sometimes get up and go watch him. The first few times, he would immediately go to her crib and just sniff it and look into it. The other times, he would just stand in the middle of the room looking at something (I'm not sure what), and then just turn and leave as he had come in.
I know that dogs can sense emotions in their owners - they know when you're angry with them, or when you're happy, or sad. They tend to avoid you when they know you're upset with them, and they tend to flock to you when they know you're sad and need their company. But I also think that dogs can feel their own emotions and often go through their own mourning if they lose someone close to them, and it hits some harder than others and they deal with it differently (just like humans). I know that if Samantha passes away before Sabre, he may not live much longer after that because he is so attached to her, but if he were to pass before her, she might be sad for a while but not to the same extent as Sabre if the roles were reversed. And I truly believe that Sabre, despite being dense in other ways, is mourning Ellison too. It's clearly not the same, but I know that he knows that our sadness is tied to that empty room, and he's sad too.
That empty room is so much more than just empty. It's pervaded by sadness, hopelessness, frustration, and sometimes even anger. And like Doug and I, Sabre senses some of this when he wanders in there. It reminds me of that famous quote in my little book - "Not all who wander are lost." (J.R.R. Tolkien). He's searching for some peace and understanding too. And maybe, like us as we go in there, he's hoping one day that that room is no longer empty. But in the meantime, it just represents what we're missing - what might have been rather than what will be.
My dog, Sabre, is a Dogo Argentino, an Argentinian Mastiff. His older sister is part Dogo, part pitbull. They are the best dogs. Sabre, despite being about 115 lbs and being taller than me when he stands up on his back legs, is a very sweet dog - a gentle giant. While he oftens seems slow in processing things, I believe he is much smarter than he comes across. He is quite intuitive - more sensitive than his sister. He would often smell my belly throughout the pregnancy, and would even rest his head on it often, as if he sensed there was another person in there he wanted to love on. He just wants to love everyone - he just doesn't understand that his paws hurt when he reaches out to try to get your attention or jumps up on you when you aren't paying attention. Well, I believe Sabre senses the sadness in that empty room.
Ever since we came home from the hospital, without our Ellison, he's started wandering down the hall and pushing open Ellison's door and has just stood in the middle of her room almost on a daily basis. He stays in there about 5-15 seconds, and then just walks back out and goes to lay down on his bed in our room. He did not do this before - not while Doug was preparing the nursery when I was in the hospital, not even when the room was used before. He never seemed interested in that room until I came home and was no longer pregnant. It's as if he sensed that that room was supposed to be that other little person who was in my belly's room and she was no longer in my belly. And in his own intuitive sense it's as if he knew he was supposed to be missing something as he stood in that empty room. He even goes in there when I cannot bring myself to. When I hear him push the door open, I'll sometimes get up and go watch him. The first few times, he would immediately go to her crib and just sniff it and look into it. The other times, he would just stand in the middle of the room looking at something (I'm not sure what), and then just turn and leave as he had come in.
I know that dogs can sense emotions in their owners - they know when you're angry with them, or when you're happy, or sad. They tend to avoid you when they know you're upset with them, and they tend to flock to you when they know you're sad and need their company. But I also think that dogs can feel their own emotions and often go through their own mourning if they lose someone close to them, and it hits some harder than others and they deal with it differently (just like humans). I know that if Samantha passes away before Sabre, he may not live much longer after that because he is so attached to her, but if he were to pass before her, she might be sad for a while but not to the same extent as Sabre if the roles were reversed. And I truly believe that Sabre, despite being dense in other ways, is mourning Ellison too. It's clearly not the same, but I know that he knows that our sadness is tied to that empty room, and he's sad too.
That empty room is so much more than just empty. It's pervaded by sadness, hopelessness, frustration, and sometimes even anger. And like Doug and I, Sabre senses some of this when he wanders in there. It reminds me of that famous quote in my little book - "Not all who wander are lost." (J.R.R. Tolkien). He's searching for some peace and understanding too. And maybe, like us as we go in there, he's hoping one day that that room is no longer empty. But in the meantime, it just represents what we're missing - what might have been rather than what will be.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Against the Wind
I'm not feeling overly verbous today. The extent, and highlight, of my day thus far has been traversing around Richmond for a late lunch with my family. My brother, sister-in-law, niece, Mom, and Dad all went to see the circus this morning. Natalie has been talking about it forever. My sister-in-law asked us if we wanted to go, but I just didn't think I was up to that yet. See, I had imagined taking Ellison to the circus one day, and I didn't think I'd be ready to see all the joy and wonderment on all the little kids' faces knowing that I'd never be able to see that on Ellison's face. I'm still not up for things like this just yet. Hopefully next year because I do want to see the big smile on Natalie's face as she sees all the acts and marvels at the pretty animals, etc.
But I did tell them that Doug and I would meet them for lunch after the circus. My brother picked a place in Carytown not knowing that everybody and their brother would be in Carytown today. Traffic was horrendous and the waits at most restaurants were ridiculous. So we met up and decided to head back to the West End and deal with the suburban traffic instead. Of course we settled on Chic-Fil-A - Natalie's favorite Saturday lunch spot. During the car ride back to our side of town to meet back up, I was telling Doug that today marked one month since we lost Ellison. While most of my friends are celebrating their babys' one month, or two month, or whatever month milestones, we are dealing with the one month mark of our baby's death. It's still tough to swallow. It hasn't eased after a month - I can't foresee the pain easing anytime soon.
We finally arrived at Chic-Fil-A and did manage to enjoy a nice lunch, along with every other family in the West End despite it being a 2:30 pm lunch (who would have thought it would be that crowded on a Saturday at that time...). Natalie told us all about the tigers and elephants and unicycle riders, and we saw a video of her attempts to jump rope backstage before the show (definitely needs to work on her coordination..) and pictures of her circus experience - sno cone and cotton candy eating included. It was a good distraction from having to confront the reality of the one month mark...
And then, we left to go back home. The distraction was over and the reality sunk back in. Doug and I keep falling back on how everything seems to be against us - we're stuck in a rut of bad luck, with seeminly no end in sight. We tried so hard to have Ellison, and we found out we were having her, and we bonded with her just waiting for her to arrive, and then she was taken before we could even look her in the eyes and tell her we loved her. And because of this, the world just seems to be against us in everything that we do. As I pondered these thoughts, I remembered a quote my sister-in-law had sent me the other day for some words of encouragement:
"When everything seems to be going against you, remember that the airplane takes off against the wind, not with it." - Henry Ford
This thought seemed to offer me a tidbit of hope. Perhaps we can fight through the bad luck run we seem to be having, and one day finally reach the destination. But then again, Robert Eliot once said "if you can't fight, and you can't flee, flow." So maybe we just need to go with the flow and hope we end up there. Either way, the tide has to change at some point - or I at least need to believe it will. And maybe in the upcoming years we'll be able to take our future child to the circus for the first time with Natalie, all the while holding Ellison in our hearts wishing that she could have been there too...
But I did tell them that Doug and I would meet them for lunch after the circus. My brother picked a place in Carytown not knowing that everybody and their brother would be in Carytown today. Traffic was horrendous and the waits at most restaurants were ridiculous. So we met up and decided to head back to the West End and deal with the suburban traffic instead. Of course we settled on Chic-Fil-A - Natalie's favorite Saturday lunch spot. During the car ride back to our side of town to meet back up, I was telling Doug that today marked one month since we lost Ellison. While most of my friends are celebrating their babys' one month, or two month, or whatever month milestones, we are dealing with the one month mark of our baby's death. It's still tough to swallow. It hasn't eased after a month - I can't foresee the pain easing anytime soon.
We finally arrived at Chic-Fil-A and did manage to enjoy a nice lunch, along with every other family in the West End despite it being a 2:30 pm lunch (who would have thought it would be that crowded on a Saturday at that time...). Natalie told us all about the tigers and elephants and unicycle riders, and we saw a video of her attempts to jump rope backstage before the show (definitely needs to work on her coordination..) and pictures of her circus experience - sno cone and cotton candy eating included. It was a good distraction from having to confront the reality of the one month mark...
And then, we left to go back home. The distraction was over and the reality sunk back in. Doug and I keep falling back on how everything seems to be against us - we're stuck in a rut of bad luck, with seeminly no end in sight. We tried so hard to have Ellison, and we found out we were having her, and we bonded with her just waiting for her to arrive, and then she was taken before we could even look her in the eyes and tell her we loved her. And because of this, the world just seems to be against us in everything that we do. As I pondered these thoughts, I remembered a quote my sister-in-law had sent me the other day for some words of encouragement:
"When everything seems to be going against you, remember that the airplane takes off against the wind, not with it." - Henry Ford
This thought seemed to offer me a tidbit of hope. Perhaps we can fight through the bad luck run we seem to be having, and one day finally reach the destination. But then again, Robert Eliot once said "if you can't fight, and you can't flee, flow." So maybe we just need to go with the flow and hope we end up there. Either way, the tide has to change at some point - or I at least need to believe it will. And maybe in the upcoming years we'll be able to take our future child to the circus for the first time with Natalie, all the while holding Ellison in our hearts wishing that she could have been there too...
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