The Stone

Today is one of those 'supposed to be' days.  November 21, 2012.  Today was supposed to be Elianna's birthday.

It took us several weeks to actually pick a day for the c-section.  The Thanksgiving holiday made it much more complicated.  But we settled on today, hoping that our Thanksgiving would be especially meaningful.  We'd hoped that Elliana would surprise us all and prove the doctors wrong - and live. 

But today has looked so very different from what we had hoped and planned.

The pendulum of my thoughts and emotions has swung from one end to the other.  Several times. 

I've felt an ache so deep that my tears can't even begin to express it.  And then I've imagined her healed, perfect little body in glory. 

I've longed to hold her just one more time - to feel the weight of her on my chest.  And then I've remembered that she'll never know the pain of this world. 

I've wished that I could have known her longer, and carried her for these past 6 1/2 weeks, even if only in the womb.  And then I've wondered if she would have suffered - if those extra weeks of life would have been hard on her.

This morning, I went back to the church where Elliana's funeral was held.  I haven't been back since that day, October 10.  I played the piano on the stage where my musician friends led us in worship that day.  It was so hard to go back.  And it was so difficult to put my fingers on the keys and play. 

But it was healing.

Jason received a phone call yesterday from Cemetery Lady.  (I feel like I should have good nicknames for Cemetery Lady and Funeral Home Man.  But I don't.  They are just... Cemetery Lady and Funeral Home Man.)  Cemetery Lady said that Elliana's stone had been placed. 

**Big Sigh**

So I got a last-minute sitter and met Jason at the cemetery shortly before dark so we could see her stone together.

It looked so final.  And heavy.  And done.  Finished.  Forever.

Seeing her name on that stone was like another cold splash of reality.

'Elliana' - our ray of sunshine, and God's answer to me. 

'Belle' - the name her daddy picked, and the second half of his sweet nickname for her - Ella Belle.

'Mackenzie' - a family name on my side.  All of the Odell cousins have 'Mackenzie' as their second middle name.  As I stood there, looking at this piece of granite in the ground, this reality hit me hard so hard:  one of the cousins is in a cemetery.  There is now an Odell cousin with a headstone.

'Lindegren' - the first Lindegren in this generation to have had a funeral, and her name put on a stone.

This morning, I placed the first flowers in her vase. 

It feels a little bit weird to post a picture of her stone.  But this - the blog - is my journal.  I would put a picture in my journal.  It's not a great picture - the bottom of it says 'Our little ray of sunshine'.  And there's a sun peeking out from the clouds in the top right corner.  Looking back, I sorta wish I'd found the energy to push a little harder and find a bigger sun.  But as we looked at proofs of what would be inscribed on the stone, and as we looked through pictures of symbols to place on it, all of it just felt so wrong.  So very wrong.  I didn't have the energy or motivation to make it 'absolutely perfect'.  I just wanted my baby.  And to stop looking at proofs of what would be inscribed on a piece of rock.

I don't think it's possible for a mom to be 'happy' with a headstone for her child.  I'd rather have my child, and no headstone at all.  But if she had to have a stone, then this one is 'fitting' for my Elliana. 

*A note from Jason - And if you notice right around the edge of the stone, the grass is still green near the end of November. 

 

Peppermint Mochas, Pumpkin Muffins, and Chips & Salsa

I have no idea why there is significance in food.  But there is.

Peppermint Mochas

I remember my last Starbucks Peppermint Mocha (my favorite coffee) before Elliana was born, thanks to one of my nurses at the hospital that week, Caroline.  She learned that the Peppermint Mocha was my favorite and brought me one the very next morning, Wednesday, October 3. 

It's significant because... well, it just is.

Pumpkin Muffins

Another of my nurses, Stephanie, talked several times throughout that week about some pumpkin chocolate chip muffins from a bakery that she absolutely loved.  She brought me two of those muffins the day I went home from the hospital, October 8. 

Yesterday, Seth, Levi & I baked some pumpkin muffins.  It's the first thing I've made in my kitchen that required more than 2 ingredients since July 3.  It was just too difficult to follow a recipe.  My mind has been incapable of focusing on the list of ingredients and following the instructions.  Even yesterday, baking was still really challenging.  Embarrassingly challenging.  I realized 7 ingredients into the bowl that I needed to go to the store and get pumpkin.  PUMPKIN.  The main ingredient in pumpkin muffins.  But I finished.  I baked 2 dozen muffins.  Half with chocolate chips in them.

Today, I took some pumpkin muffins to the hospital along with a note for my nurse friends.  I got to see and hug three of them.  It was hard.  And it was sweet.

Chips & Salsa

I love Mexican food.  I think I might be part Hispanic, although my parents might disagree.  :-)

OK.  I realize it's just chips & salsa.  It's just chips & salsa. 

But it's significant.

The day Elliana was born, a friend came to the hospital and brought some chips, salsa, and cheese dip to share with me.  It was after my last ultrasound.  And right before things got scary.  It was the last thing I ate before the beginning of the end.

So... it's significant.  Probably not to anyone else.  But it is to me.

And it goes even beyond being the last thing I ate that day.

The Wednesday before I went into the hospital, Seth and I made a spontaneous trip up to the town where Jason works.  We made last-minute plans to meet him for lunch.  Jason suggested we meet at this Mexican restaurant we'd never been to before.  So we went. 

Shortly after we sat down, I started thinking about a cemetery Kate (from Kids Path) had told me about that was located in this town (something every mom-to-be thinks about during lunch with her husband, right?).  At this point, Jason and I hadn't chosen a cemetery.  I think we were both hoping we'd never need to.  But out of the cemeteries that Kate had checked into, this one sounded like it might be the best (is there such a thing as 'best' when it comes to cemeteries?) option. 

We were eating our chips & salsa.  I remember Jason asking me what I was thinking about.  And I think I said, 'Do you really want to know?'  Because who wants to talk about possible burial sites for their daughter over chips & salsa?

Of course, he wanted to know.  So I told him.  "I'm wondering where the cemetery is.' 

He looked it up.  It was 1/2 a mile from where we were sitting. 

Cooincidence?  I don't know.  Maybe.  This wasn't any kind of earth-shattering moment.  It wasn't something that felt 'meant to be'.  I believe in the sovereignty of God.  And that He orchestrates and cares about even tiny details.  But does He sovereignly plan things like us eating at a Mexican restaurant 1/2 a mile from where we would eventually bury our daughter?  I don't know.  Because if THAT'S true, than it's also true that He sovereignly planned that I'd walk past a very pregnant walmart employee at the very moment she was telling some curious stranger that her baby was due in 3 weeks and it was a girl.  On a Sunday exactly 3 weeks from my due date.  I think that moment was the first moment since Elliana's death that I felt anger stirring in my soul.  Why couldn't I have walked past her 2 minutes earlier?  Or later?  But that's another blog for another time.

Anyway...

After lunch, we drove over to the cemetery.  It wasn't difficult for me to find which part of the cemetery was set aside just for the burial of babies.  There were lots of flowers and lots of gravestones clustered together on a small piece of land.  I think we both 'knew' - this was the place.  If we were going to have to bury our baby, it would be here.

Since then, Jason and I have met several times for lunch at that Mexican restaurant.  And after we eat together, we drive 1/2 a mile to the cemetery (or 'garden' if the boys are with me) to visit Elliana.

About 2 weeks ago, I found out that the chips, salsa and cheese dip my friend brought to me in the hospital were from that restaurant.  Out of all the Mexican restaurants in this area (and there are a LOT), she brought me my last meal before Elliana's death from that restaurant.

I have no idea why this is significant to me.  It's just a restaurant.  I don't know anyone there.  It's just chips & salsa.  Did God Himself actually plan all of that?  If He did, why in the world does He care about the Mexican restaurant and the chips & salsa?  It feels silly.  Am I just taking all of these meaningless events and trying to force them all together to give them meaning, as if that will help me feel better about losing my little girl? 

Or maybe God gave me this.  Maybe He took something that I love - Mexican food - and gave it significance.  Just for me.  Because He loves me?

Hard to swallow when you're angry with Him.

Stupid chips & salsa.  It feels silly.

But it's significant.  To me.

Tom Sawyer

A litte less than three weeks ago, I received a facebook message, asking if I'd be interested in accompanying our local youth theater's production of 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer' on the piano.  Opening night was 10 days away. 

My first reaction:  Umm... are you kidding??

A few minutes later:  Could I even do it?  Is it even a possibility?  (It was a big time commitment.  I would need to be at tech week rehearsals four weeknights in a row, and then three performances.) 

A few minutes after that:  Maybe I could do it.  Maybe I'd even enjoy it.  Maybe...

48 hours later:  Done deal.  Committed.  I said 'yes'. 

72 hours later:  Completely freaking out.  What the heck did I get myself into?!?!? 

The freaking out subsided over the next couple of days as I practiced and felt more comfortable with the music.

Going to rehearsals and being with a completely different group of people than I normally hang out with turned out to be a much-needed escape for me.  Escape from the heaviness of grief.  And something to 'look forward to'.  It was kind of like a goal - I could get up in the mornings and know that at 6pm, I had to be somewhere.  I had to be functioning, clean, wearing something other than pajamas, ready to focus, and prepared to play. 

I so needed it.  I think my husband and kids needed for me to need it, too.

The third night into tech week, the conductor and 4 other instrumentalists joined me.  They played the acoustic guitar, upright bass, violin, and mandolin.  They were all (conductor included)... college guys. 

So there I was with the mini-orchestra, and the first time we were all seated together and ready to play, I thought, 'I'm the oldest person up here.  I am the oldest person up here.  Oh. My. Goodness.  I'm a frumpy mom!!!'

The next night, the banjo man came.  I was very relieved to give up my title of  'oldest person in the orchestra'.

Overall, it was a good experience.  The performances went well and the youth did a great job.  I was able to remain sort of anonymous.  Almost no one knew who I was or the circumstances of my life.  It was a relief to go and be in a strange place with (mostly) strangers doing something I don't normally do. 

Only one moment really caught me off guard.  Up until the third night of tech week, I played all of the songs without any other instrumentalists.  I really didn't pay much attention to the words.  I didn't see much of what the characters were doing while they were singing.  The first night the guys came and played with me, a little over halfway through the play, I started a song - it was Aunt Polly's solo, a slower song, and my music said 'piano solo' on the first page.  So it just didn't even dawn on me that the other instruments might come in at some point during the song.  But they did.  The acoustic guitar, and the bass, and the violin - the piano solo turned into a small orchestral arrangement.  And it was beautiful.  So beautiful.  It brought tears to my eyes.

Then I started to listen to what Aunt Polly was singing.  And that really did me in. 

And then I remembered where I was and who was sitting around me.  And I felt really silly.  Shining moment for the frumpy mom.

As much as I tried to deny it for that week, music still moved me.  I had become sort of numb that week - feeling like I needed to hold my emotions in check.  There were several times I wanted to cry, and I couldn't - the tears would not come.  But that night, when the music stirred up the emotions I'd been burying, it was almost a relief.  I hadn't become completely numb.  The emotion was there.  The tears were there.  Grief was still there.  Losing Elliana still hurt.  That moment of 'weakness' helped me.

I don't know if I will ever see most of those people again.  They may never know how much I needed them.  Or, in my eyes, what that week was about.  It wasn't just about me being a part of something for them.  It was so much bigger than that.  They were a part of something for me.

This is the longest I've gone without blogging since the beginning of July.  My thoughts feel like a jumbled mess now, with too many things competing for my mind and too many emotions competing for my heart.

Some of the things I hope to blog about soon...

'Tom Sawyer' - it was so good for me.
Chips & Salsa.
The moments in life I just have to get through.

Tonight, I'm at the tail end of one of my worst days in a couple of weeks.  I survived it.  I was even sort of 'productive'.  I cleaned the kitchen, ran the dishwasher, and put the clean dishes away.  I remembered to make the house payment before it was late.  I went to Walmart.  Granted, it wasn't the Walmart I usually go to here in my small town.  But I did go, and I bought some groceries. I did 2 loads of laundry.  They're not folded, but the clothes are clean.  I helped Elijah finish a science project.  And I reluctantly went along with Seth's (rather strong) desire to be potty trained (what the heck?? Because right now is such an ideal time to deal with accidents, as well as even more pee in, around, on, and - how in the world does this happen - above the toilet.). 

There were some successes today.

And then there were several failures.  I made more than one of my kids cry with my short temper.  I let them eat things and wear things that I wouldn't typically say 'yes' to - mostly because I just didn't care enough to say 'no' (or have the energy to deal with the fall-out if I said 'no').  I didn't make Elijah finish studying for his tests tomorrow - because I was done.  Really, really done.  With parenting, disciplining, thinking, trying.  I was done at about 4:00 today, and when Jason came home at 5:00 with a splitting headache, I was not gracious and understanding.  I was grumpier, and just plain p&*!ed off because I had to do 3 more hours of parenting by myself.  And when 3 of the kids were finally in bed, I escaped to my van out in the driveway and cried.

I guess the ache to hold Elliana again has not been quite as painful over the past 10 days.  I've had distraction and busy-ness to make that pain just a little bit 'numb'.  But the distraction ('Tom Sawyer') is gone, and staying busy makes me so tired.  I think today was the day that reality hit yet again.  And I realized that looking at her picture and holding her blanket will never be able to take the place of looking at her and holding her.  And saying 'I love you' to the fresh patch of grass covering her grave will never be the same as the day I was able to whisper it in her ear.

Looking forward to sleep.  The sweet relief of sleep. 

One Month

One month ago at this moment (11:09pm), our little girl was alive and trying to breathe.  A neonatologist was examining her.  Not looking at images on an ultrasound.  This doctor was looking at the actual body of our baby and finding answers to some of the questions we'd had for months. 

Had she lived, Elliana would be a month old today.  If she were still with us, I'd be posting pictures, probably from the NICU.  I would put a great big pink bow on her beautiful blond head.  I would post stats of her growth and describe as much as possible about the personality of a one-month-old.  I would talk about her all day - to anyone who would listen.

I haven't been speaking with my Heavenly Father much lately.  I really just don't know what to say.  But earlier today, Jason and I went to 'Elliana's garden' and laid some pretty pink roses on her grave.  Before I left , I told God that He needed to make a really big deal about celebrating 'one month'.  I have no idea if God honors requests like that (Although... I probably didn't make it sound like much of a request.  It probably sounded more like 'You owe me'.  Yes, there's sin in that.  And I'll think about that later.)  I think He probably makes a big deal over all the babies and children in Heaven.

One month ago, right about now (11:22pm), Jason and I were holding her for the first time.  That time with her was so short.  Too short.

I miss her.

A Month Ago Today...

... at this moment, I was laying in a hospital bed, and Ruthe was my nurse.  She was my favorite night shift nurse.  :-)   

Ruthe was awesome.  I didn't get to know her well, but this is what I do know about her.  She's really creative.  The nurses had a bulletin board across from their work station.  I wandered out to their station one afternoon because I felt the onslaught of tears coming - my nurse told me to come out and 'chat' with them if I needed a distraction.  So I did.  Anyway, Ruthe did the bulletin board.  And she did a great job.  The bulletin board was beautiful.  There was a tree on it with lots of a fall-colored leaves, and all of the nurses' names were on it.  The other nurses actually took pictures of Ruthe's bulletin boards because they were so good. 

A month ago tonight, I learned that Ruthe had a Samsung Galaxy SIII.  She showed me a couple of her bulletin board pictures on it.  Jason really wants a Samsung GSIII.  I must admit - I gloated a little that I got to play with Ruthe's GSIII, and Jason didn't.

Ruthe is also just a spectacular nurse.  I was on an IV antibiotic for the first 48 hours I was in the hospital.  This particular antibiotic is known for being REALLY painful when administered through an IV.  There were times it made my wrist and thumb hurt about as much as pitocin-induced contractions.  It was awful.  But Ruthe, AKA super-nurse, knew some top secrets of the trade to reduce my pain.  I will love her forever for that.  :-)

It's amazing the details I remember, or strain to remember, of my last week with Elliana.  At this moment one month ago, I was watching the last episode of the first season of Downton Abbey.

A month ago tonight, Elliana was still strong.  Her heartbeat was steady.  She was kicking and moving and objecting to the monitors attached to my belly.  And sitting squarely on my bladder.  AND... She was giving me so. much. heartburn. 

In my experience, the old wives' tale is definitely true:  heartburn = lots of hair. 

A month ago tonight, my little girl was still alive.  The umbilical cord that connected the two of us was her lifeline.  I was still taking care of her - by laying in a hospital bed, staying pregnant. 

One month ago, I was enjoying her.  And I still had hope that I would be able to bring her home.

And now, at this moment, she's perfect - living, breathing, no cleft lip, no 'flaws' in her physical body.  She's perfect in heaven.

I'm thankful that she's not suffering.  But I would go back and be pregnant all over again if it meant being with her just a little while longer.

Escape

People handle grief in different ways.  To be honest, I've been a little afraid of what this might do to me.

I've seen Lifetime movies about mothers who start acting really weird after something traumatic happens to one of their children.  Like, they make up imaginary children.  Or start collecting baby dolls and treating them like real babies.

In the news, I've heard about mothers who just can't handle life anymore and do really, really awful things.

I don't have any imaginary children (I don't think).  And I haven't started any baby doll collections.  And I'm not considering doing anything drastic or awful.

What am I doing?

What anyone other musician would do.  Sort of.

I'm accompanying our local youth theater in next weekend's production of 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer'. 

No, I'm not kidding.

A little on the insane side, right?

Because 'Tom Sawyer' isn't really my style.  My favorite composers are Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, and Chopin.  And I love to play in a band, leading worship.  I don't really do bluegrass, ragtime... ummm... 'hick' music.  (No offense intended.  Forgive me, any 'hick' fans/friends of mine.)

How like God to provide an opportunity for me to play - without really playing.  Music is the language I use for communicating my heart.  When I play Beethoven, my heart and soul are in it.  When I help lead worship from behind the piano, I pour my whole being into the notes. 

But my heart is not the least bit tied to 'Tom Sawyer'.  I have no emotional investment in this musical.  I can play the notes on the page.  I can even put some enthusiasm into it - without being emotionally tied to it.  I will confess, though - the songs are actually sort of growing on me.  My dad used to play a lot of Scott Joplin when I was young - this score has a Scott Joplin kind of feel to it.  My dad would be proud.  As would my piano professor from college.  :-)   

So for the next week, I'll be spending many hours at the civic center with a bunch of people who don't have any idea who I am, pounding out (obnoxiously fast) jazzy tunes.  I'll be hiding behind the piano, escaping the heaviness of grief for several hours every night.

I get to do what I love, without putting my heart out there yet. 

Yay for 'Tom Sawyer'.

My mom has been staying at our house for the past 4 1/2 weeks.  She and my dad came the day I was admitted to the hospital and took care of the kids for the entire week I was there.  And my mom has been staying with us since I came home from the hospital.  She went home a few weekends, but has been the 'resident Mimi' for a solid month. 

When you leave the hospital after a c-section, one of the rules is:  Don't pick up anything heavier than your baby.

After Levi was born in January of 2008, we had our 20-pound, 5-month-old foster son, Matthew, with us.  He still needed to be picked up LOTS, so my mom came for a few weeks - to help with Matthew and to enjoy her new, fuzzy-headed, completely adorable grandson, Levi.  One of my sisters also came to help for a week. 

After Seth was born in August of 2010, Levi was a clingy 2 1/2-year-old and Missy was a not-yet-walking, teeny tiny, please-hold-me-all-the-time, almost 2 1/2-year-old.  So my mom came again and stayed for several weeks, holding toddlers and enjoying this newest sweet little grandson.

This time.  This time has been so different.  I had a c-section almost 4 weeks ago.  This recovery has felt harder physically - maybe it actually has been harder, or maybe it's all in my head.  I've said several times, 'I don't know how to recover from a c-section without a newborn.'  A new baby forces you to slow down.  An infant forces you to be still, feed them, change them, hold them. 

I don't have my newborn. 

But I do have a clingy 2-year-old (Seth) who wants to be picked up and held.  I've broken the rules of abdominal surgery recovery several times, with 'permission' (sort of) from a doctor.  I've picked him up and carried him around.  My mom has been here to help.  She's been taking care of kids, keeping the house clean, preparing meals, and being a companion for me.  She's done an amazing job, keeping up with the kids' schedules and routines, tolerating lots of noise and tantrums, and loving all of us really, really well.  (Thanks, Mom.)

My mom left today.

This wasn't a surprise.  I knew it would be today.  I thought I was prepared for it.  Sort of.  I knew it would be difficult to be 'on my own' in this survival mode I'm living in.  But I've lived in a similar sort of survival mode - between the 18th and 31st weeks of my pregnancy.  I thought that this - the period of time after my mom left - would resemble what the last 3 months of my pregnancy looked like.  And maybe it will.

But her leaving today was a lot more difficult than I anticipated it would be.  Reality hit again when I said goodbye to my mom.

My mom leaving today meant another ending to another chapter of Elliana's life.  Even though there has been nothing normal about the past 4 weeks, having my mom here made this part of recovery just like the recovery from Levi's and Seth's births.  I didn't realize it until today, but my mom being here made Elliana's 'life' last just a little bit longer, if that makes ANY sense at all. 

Standing there saying goodbye to my mom, I was so incredibly aware of how physically alone I was about to be.  For the first time, I was very conscious of the fact that I don't have Elliana with me anymore.  She was physically a part of me for months.  She was with me all the time.  My mom has been here, with me, or at least in the same house with me, for almost the entire time that Elliana has been gone.  And if my mom wasn't here, Jason was.  My mom leaving means that I'll be spending significantly more time alone.  Well, without another adult in the house. 

I feel like this makes no sense at all.

What now?  My mom has gone home.  This chapter of life - the postpartum recovery - is basically over.  I have no newborn to take care of.  No sibling adjustment to make.  No waking-up-every-2-hours-to-feed-a-baby, sleep-deprived nights.  Life, the physical demand and routine of life, is back to normal.  Or... what normal was before the 2 pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test on March 26.

But life is not normal.  I'm not normal.  I'm a grieving mother.  I buried my daughter 22 days ago.

It scares me - not knowing what's next.  I know what to expect (as much as anyone can) when you add a new baby to the family.  But I don't know what this looks like.  I don't know what life looks like without Elliana.