We drove back from my parents' house in SC today - December 31, 2012. New Year's Eve. Unpacked the van, put things away, settled back in. Got the kids ready for bed. Needed to make a quick milk-and-juice run.
And go to the cemetery.
Definitely a first for me. I've never rung in the new year surrounded by granite stones and fake flowers.
This has been a hard year for several of my friends. A year of hell for a few of them. And a couple of them are really glad to say 'goodbye' to 2012. To be done with the year of heartache. I think I can understand why.
But I'm not ready for 2012 to end. As if I have any control over it. Midnight will come and go, and 2012 will be gone. But I'm dreading it. 2012 was Elliana's year. We found out she was on her way at the end of March, so she was a part our lives for most of the year. In this short year, we anticipated her arrival, learned of her fatal diagnosis, loved her as she continued to grow, planned for her birth, hoped for her life, and held her as she died.
I could just live in 2012 forever. All of my memories of my sweet baby girl are in this year. For me, she was 2012.
I've spent the last week trying to 'make it through'. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people who tries to make the most of a bad situation. I suck at looking on the bright side. I think our kids enjoyed Christmas day - but for me, the bright spot was going to the cemetery after naptime and eating Christmas dinner at the Denny's 'near' Elliana. Which just feels... pitiful.
But in all honesty, 'making it through' is about the best I can do most days. And this past week, 'making it through' has taken several different forms. Like ignoring social media completely for a few days so I wouldn't have to read all of the 'baby's first Christmas' comments. Or baking. I baked more cookies and sweets in the days right before Christmas than in the past 10 years combined. Even eating and drinking. I've thought that maybe - if I could just eat enough - it would fill that empty space in me. Or drinking - whether it be coffee, coke, or wine - maybe a little bit more would make the hole feel not quite so big. I've wondered if a new 'toy' - my own ipad, or a new phone - would distract me enough to give my mind a rest from thinking and my heart a rest from hurting.
I guess those things could help - for a moment or two. The 'bite' of that first sip of coke, and the way it makes that numb feeling go away. For just a moment. The sweet escape of a stupid computer/phone game to take my thoughts far away for a short while. Sometimes, I'd give anything for a moment of relief.
But I know I'm longing for relief that this world can't ultimately give me.
I know, I know, I KNOW. (Throwing extremely fragile imaginary vases and bashing computers *here*.)
But that's about as far as I get. Knowing. Can't quite bring myself to move toward the One who could give me relief.
Not even sure if I want to right now.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Christmas Eve
Why are holidays particularly difficult? For the past few days, Elliana's absence has felt heavier. My empty arms feel emptier. My heart feels more weighted. Tears come to my eyes much more quickly.
Although I know that there is comfort and reassurance in the events that made Christmas a reason to celebrate, there is so much about these holidays that just hurts. The Christmas story is about a baby. Not that I'm comparing Elliana to the King of kings who came as a babe. But just hearing about a baby is difficult. And it's everywhere. Manger scenes, songs on the radio, Christmas hymns, Christmas sermons. Reminders are everywhere. Reminders that I'm supposed to be holding and snuggling a baby girl this Christmas, and I'm not. Reminders even in a dirty santa game - in a gift that our family wound up with: diaper rash cream.
REALLY??
Why couldn't we have opened the scarf, or the 'Life Begins at 40' mug?
Diaper rash cream. Another reminder that my baby is gone.
I sorta want to cuss. And throw something.
We finally decorated our tree - last Sunday night. It was up for 2 weeks before we put any lights or ornaments on it. We have several ornaments this year that are 'Elliana's' - that made it easier to think about decorating the tree.
Although I know that there is comfort and reassurance in the events that made Christmas a reason to celebrate, there is so much about these holidays that just hurts. The Christmas story is about a baby. Not that I'm comparing Elliana to the King of kings who came as a babe. But just hearing about a baby is difficult. And it's everywhere. Manger scenes, songs on the radio, Christmas hymns, Christmas sermons. Reminders are everywhere. Reminders that I'm supposed to be holding and snuggling a baby girl this Christmas, and I'm not. Reminders even in a dirty santa game - in a gift that our family wound up with: diaper rash cream.
REALLY??
Why couldn't we have opened the scarf, or the 'Life Begins at 40' mug?
Diaper rash cream. Another reminder that my baby is gone.
I sorta want to cuss. And throw something.
We finally decorated our tree - last Sunday night. It was up for 2 weeks before we put any lights or ornaments on it. We have several ornaments this year that are 'Elliana's' - that made it easier to think about decorating the tree.
I made some ornaments with each of the kids' pictures in them, and included Elliana.
Elijah picked out an ornament just for me - the dove - and told me it was in remembrance of Elliana.
It's not visible in this picture, but I gave Jason a football ornament that says 'Daddy's Ella Belle' - because their favorite thing to 'do together' was watch football games.
A friend gave me an angel - an ornament of remembrance.
Another friend sent me several ornaments, each with significance for this Christmas - the glittery silver heart, 'Believe', 'Joy', 'Noel', 'Peace' (which I dropped and broke - feels appropriate), and the snowman with the family.
And the blond angel. My favorite.
My mom and dad stopped by our house a couple weeks ago on their way back home. My mom brought an ornament for me. She said she had found it in her collection of Christmas ornaments as she was decorating her tree.
My mom doesn't remember finding this ornament in Christmases past.
It's an angel made out of blond hair. It's in the picture above, almost at the top of the tree.
When I went through the memory box from the hospital, the first envelope I saw said 'A Lock of Hair'. Relief washed over me, and I picked up the envelope to look inside.
It was empty. No lock of hair. I sobbed. And sobbed. I searched the rest of the box. I looked in the envelope again. And then once more. And it still wasn't there. I don't know why it was so important to me, but it was.
So... in a strange way that maybe only makes sense to me, this angel ornament made of blond hair feels like a gift. A gift not just from my mom. But from the One who gave me Elliana. Who gave her that beautiful blond hair just for me. And Who took her away.
I don't know how to reconcile all of that. He gives and He takes away. I hear people say that a lot. Like it's just part of life. It just happens. We should expect it. And sometimes it even sounds like... we (I) should be ok with it.
But I'm not ok with it. It's not ok that she's gone. It's not ok that I only got to hold her for a few hours before she died. It's not ok that the body of one of my children will be in a cemetery on Christmas morning - rather than in my arms, being part of the Christmas morning chaos.
It's not ok. I'm not ok.
And yet somehow, I know that the birth of Jesus gives hope. The Gospel is hope.
I wish I could see it - the hope. And hear it. My brain is clouded by fog - nothing seems clear, and nothing makes sense.
I made a broccoli and rice casserole today, which called for 1 cup of dry rice. I had 1/2 a cup of rice. Went to the store, bought more rice, came home, and without thinking, I dumped the entire bag of rice into the bowl of other ingredients I'd already combined. Like, cream of mushroom and celery soups - the rice stuck like glue. Realized my mistake, gasped, and amost cried.
If I can't comprehend and get a freakin' recipe right, how in the world will the Gospel ever make sense to me again?
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Her Hair
I remember one of the first things I heard after Elliana was born. It wasn't the sound of her cry. It was the anesthesiologist, with a little sparkle of happiness in her eyes, telling me, 'She has blond hair.'
She had SO MUCH blond hair.
When I see other little girls with beautiful blond hair, it brings tears to my eyes. Obviously, it's partly because I'll never get to see what my Elliana looks like as a bright-eyed, curious 3-year-old with long blond hair. But it's something else, too. The other day, I finally realized what it was.
I was at the mall playground with my littlest boys. A blond little girl, probably 2, was running around, a little initimidated by the rowdiness of my boys. :-) (Elliana wouldn't have been intimidated. She would have been just as rowdy.) This little girl was with her grandmother. I found myself wishing that I could tell that grandmother about my little girl.
People ooh and aah over babies. Their cute noses, their tiny fingers, their chubby cheeks. I think if my girl were still living, people would be exclaiming over her hair. They might comment about how much she had, or how blond it was, or ask which side of the family she got it from (and Jason would be super quick to take credit.).
And even though she's not here, I still have a longing to show her off. I wish I could have shared with that grandmother that my little girl also had beautiful blond hair. Just like her granddaughter. I wish that, at the very least, I'd had some reason to show her a picture - because even though she's gone, she's still my little girl. And I think she was beautiful. And I want the ooh's and aah's.
My son, Seth, has (had) gorgeous blond hair. It was a little on the long side before Elliana was born. But after she was born, I couldn't bear to cut it. I felt like his little blond head was the only real glimpse I'd get of what Elliana's hair would have looked like if she had lived. So I let it grow - and it was really cute. :-) Jason was patient for a while, but about a week ago, he felt like it was time. And we cut Seth's hair.
Confessions of a grieving mom: I saved some of his hair. Because the hospital didn't save any of Elliana's.
Heart. Broken.
My other daughter, Melissa, has a genetic disorder that we haven't officially identified. There's been one strong possibility, and one of the characteristics of that particular disorder is 'excessive' hair. But, as far as I know, excessive hair isn't one of the characteristics of Tetrasomy 9p. So, I've wondered - did Elliana's Creator give her that beautiful head full of blond hair just for me? Did He give me that piece of her just so that I would be able to 'see her' in the little blond heads that cross my path? Or, is it just some random characteristic of a genetic disorder that has absolutely nothing to do with me, and she just had lots of blond hair because of the extra copies of chromosome 9?
So... if you're brave enough to do it, ask me to show you her picture. Because if you ask me, I'll probably be very glad to show you her picture. I have some on my phone, and I'm about to get some wallet-sized ones in the mail. I might get teary-eyed, but I would be very happy to show off my beautiful 'Belle', and get your ooh's and aah's.
She had SO MUCH blond hair.
When I see other little girls with beautiful blond hair, it brings tears to my eyes. Obviously, it's partly because I'll never get to see what my Elliana looks like as a bright-eyed, curious 3-year-old with long blond hair. But it's something else, too. The other day, I finally realized what it was.
I was at the mall playground with my littlest boys. A blond little girl, probably 2, was running around, a little initimidated by the rowdiness of my boys. :-) (Elliana wouldn't have been intimidated. She would have been just as rowdy.) This little girl was with her grandmother. I found myself wishing that I could tell that grandmother about my little girl.
People ooh and aah over babies. Their cute noses, their tiny fingers, their chubby cheeks. I think if my girl were still living, people would be exclaiming over her hair. They might comment about how much she had, or how blond it was, or ask which side of the family she got it from (and Jason would be super quick to take credit.).
And even though she's not here, I still have a longing to show her off. I wish I could have shared with that grandmother that my little girl also had beautiful blond hair. Just like her granddaughter. I wish that, at the very least, I'd had some reason to show her a picture - because even though she's gone, she's still my little girl. And I think she was beautiful. And I want the ooh's and aah's.
My son, Seth, has (had) gorgeous blond hair. It was a little on the long side before Elliana was born. But after she was born, I couldn't bear to cut it. I felt like his little blond head was the only real glimpse I'd get of what Elliana's hair would have looked like if she had lived. So I let it grow - and it was really cute. :-) Jason was patient for a while, but about a week ago, he felt like it was time. And we cut Seth's hair.
Confessions of a grieving mom: I saved some of his hair. Because the hospital didn't save any of Elliana's.
Heart. Broken.
My other daughter, Melissa, has a genetic disorder that we haven't officially identified. There's been one strong possibility, and one of the characteristics of that particular disorder is 'excessive' hair. But, as far as I know, excessive hair isn't one of the characteristics of Tetrasomy 9p. So, I've wondered - did Elliana's Creator give her that beautiful head full of blond hair just for me? Did He give me that piece of her just so that I would be able to 'see her' in the little blond heads that cross my path? Or, is it just some random characteristic of a genetic disorder that has absolutely nothing to do with me, and she just had lots of blond hair because of the extra copies of chromosome 9?
So... if you're brave enough to do it, ask me to show you her picture. Because if you ask me, I'll probably be very glad to show you her picture. I have some on my phone, and I'm about to get some wallet-sized ones in the mail. I might get teary-eyed, but I would be very happy to show off my beautiful 'Belle', and get your ooh's and aah's.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Throwing Shoes and Breaking My Laptop
I think I'm a fairly even-tempered person. OK, well, my children might disagree. BUT - overall, I think I can keep my cool. I don't typically flip people off in traffic. I don't lose it with waitresses who get my order wrong.
But lately, I've had the urge to throw something at people. Usually a shoe. And if I'm wearing flip flops, I consider throwing Jason's shoe. Because flip flops just aren't heavy enough.
I should say that no one has been rude to me. No one has said anything wrong, or even untrue. I just hear everything with very different ears. My ears are tuned to the death of my daughter, and almost everything reminds me of her in one way or another.
I think the shoe-throwing fantasy is directed at people who say things that strike me the wrong way. Things that fall on my ears and make me want to scream.
I want to throw something and break it. Glass. Glass on concrete. I want to throw it. And hear it shatter. And watch it break into a million pieces.
Or my laptop. I could just take a hammer to my laptop. No, a hammer is too small. A baseball bat. A really heavy baseball bat.
There are times that I can feel this awful rage stirring inside of me, and all I want to do is THROW SOMETHING. Rage over the reality that my daughter is gone. That I won't be holding her this Christmas. Anger because it feels like she was created just to die. And because the world is moving on and I'm still stuck in October.
Death is just wrong. And I hate it.
And I just want to throw something.
But lately, I've had the urge to throw something at people. Usually a shoe. And if I'm wearing flip flops, I consider throwing Jason's shoe. Because flip flops just aren't heavy enough.
I should say that no one has been rude to me. No one has said anything wrong, or even untrue. I just hear everything with very different ears. My ears are tuned to the death of my daughter, and almost everything reminds me of her in one way or another.
I think the shoe-throwing fantasy is directed at people who say things that strike me the wrong way. Things that fall on my ears and make me want to scream.
I want to throw something and break it. Glass. Glass on concrete. I want to throw it. And hear it shatter. And watch it break into a million pieces.
Or my laptop. I could just take a hammer to my laptop. No, a hammer is too small. A baseball bat. A really heavy baseball bat.
There are times that I can feel this awful rage stirring inside of me, and all I want to do is THROW SOMETHING. Rage over the reality that my daughter is gone. That I won't be holding her this Christmas. Anger because it feels like she was created just to die. And because the world is moving on and I'm still stuck in October.
Death is just wrong. And I hate it.
And I just want to throw something.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Due Date
Today was my due date.
Even if things had gone according to our plan, we wouldn't have made it to today - she would have been delivered early by c-section. But it's been a hard day. I think because it's the last 'anticipating Elliana's arrival' date on my calendar.
After today, my calendar will only have two dates pencilled in for Elliana on it - her birthday and the day she died. But there are so many more dates that are 'hers'. I think I've realized that it will take a long time to pry my finger loose of anything that is hers or reminds me of her. It's all I have of her, and I notice myself hanging onto anything - dates, blankets, a voicemail from the week I was in the hospital, my bracelet, a pink sleeper hanging on my closet door - that is Elliana's. Silly things. But important things.
I've spent the last week with some form of hyper-ADD. I've described it to a few people as feeling like I have ADD, but on crack. I. Can't. Focus. On. Anything. And I want to do everything all at once.
Clean the house.
Go to Hobby Lobby.
Re-cover a chair.
Christmas shop.
Vacuum out the van.
Go to Starbucks.
Get a new comforter.
Redecorate my bedroom.
Go to Bath and Body Works and take advantage of that really good deal.
Redecorate the kids' rooms.
Reorganize the kitchen.
Clean out the storage room.
Tear down a wall.
Go to the mall so the boys can run around somewhere indoors.
Create photo books.
Throw the laptop. And shatter it.
Go get some chips and salsa.
Redecorate the entire house.
Play 'Bakery Story' - a really stupid time-consuming game on my phone. I'm embarrassed to admit this publicly.
Re-cover the other chair.
Go back to Bath and Body Works and take advantage of that really good deal again.
Do all the laundry. In one morning.
Get rid of a bunch of toys.
Paint all the upstairs trim.
Find little architectural (good word, Beth) thingies for above the mantle.
And this is only the beginning of the list in my head.
One really important task - get a Christmas ornament for our tree with Elliana's name on it.
Our other kids either have ornaments with their name on it, or ornaments that they've made. Elliana needs one. At least one.
Poor kids - Elijah and Missy can escape to school and have some degree of normalcy. Levi and Seth, on the other hand, wake up and have no idea what to expect for their day.
And Jason - I told him my ADD list yesterday morning, and he just wanted to help me try to get it all done. Yesterday. Obviously, that didn't happen. :-)
I saw Kate (from Kids Path) on Tuesday, and she reassured me that I'm not going nuts. This inability to focus is part of grief. And although I hate the idea that going through grief is a 'process', and their are steps to it, and what I'm feeling is 'normal' (because there is nothing 'normal' about burying a baby), it does help - just a little bit - to know that I'm not going insane.
Even if things had gone according to our plan, we wouldn't have made it to today - she would have been delivered early by c-section. But it's been a hard day. I think because it's the last 'anticipating Elliana's arrival' date on my calendar.
After today, my calendar will only have two dates pencilled in for Elliana on it - her birthday and the day she died. But there are so many more dates that are 'hers'. I think I've realized that it will take a long time to pry my finger loose of anything that is hers or reminds me of her. It's all I have of her, and I notice myself hanging onto anything - dates, blankets, a voicemail from the week I was in the hospital, my bracelet, a pink sleeper hanging on my closet door - that is Elliana's. Silly things. But important things.
I've spent the last week with some form of hyper-ADD. I've described it to a few people as feeling like I have ADD, but on crack. I. Can't. Focus. On. Anything. And I want to do everything all at once.
Clean the house.
Go to Hobby Lobby.
Re-cover a chair.
Christmas shop.
Vacuum out the van.
Go to Starbucks.
Get a new comforter.
Redecorate my bedroom.
Go to Bath and Body Works and take advantage of that really good deal.
Redecorate the kids' rooms.
Reorganize the kitchen.
Clean out the storage room.
Tear down a wall.
Go to the mall so the boys can run around somewhere indoors.
Create photo books.
Throw the laptop. And shatter it.
Go get some chips and salsa.
Redecorate the entire house.
Play 'Bakery Story' - a really stupid time-consuming game on my phone. I'm embarrassed to admit this publicly.
Re-cover the other chair.
Go back to Bath and Body Works and take advantage of that really good deal again.
Do all the laundry. In one morning.
Get rid of a bunch of toys.
Paint all the upstairs trim.
Find little architectural (good word, Beth) thingies for above the mantle.
And this is only the beginning of the list in my head.
One really important task - get a Christmas ornament for our tree with Elliana's name on it.
Our other kids either have ornaments with their name on it, or ornaments that they've made. Elliana needs one. At least one.
Poor kids - Elijah and Missy can escape to school and have some degree of normalcy. Levi and Seth, on the other hand, wake up and have no idea what to expect for their day.
And Jason - I told him my ADD list yesterday morning, and he just wanted to help me try to get it all done. Yesterday. Obviously, that didn't happen. :-)
I saw Kate (from Kids Path) on Tuesday, and she reassured me that I'm not going nuts. This inability to focus is part of grief. And although I hate the idea that going through grief is a 'process', and their are steps to it, and what I'm feeling is 'normal' (because there is nothing 'normal' about burying a baby), it does help - just a little bit - to know that I'm not going insane.
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