Everywhere

She's everywhere.  And yet, she's not here.

It's so odd to me how a person who was only *here* for a little over 3 hours gave me so many memories and completely changed my life.

*****

We went to the beach over the weekend.  We took a route that we've used more than once before.  On our way there, we had to make a couple of stops.

One of these stops was a gas station/Subway combo store.  One of the kids required... some cleaning up.  Which needed to be done in the parking lot.  (It's a long story - which I won't share here.)  After Jason and I got the 'cleaning up' done, I went into the gas station to wash my hands.  As I was walking out of the gas station, the aroma of Subway sandwiches triggered a memory.  It caught me off guard, and almost stopped me in my tracks.

At that moment, I remembered - I've been here.  We stopped here last summer, on our way to the beach.  Just a few weeks after that 18-week ultrasound.  I remember walking into this gas station.  I remember ordering a veggie sub (because pregnant women aren't supposed to eat deli meat) from that Subway.  I think I even remember exactly which vegetables I had on that sandwich.  I remember how much my heart just hurt.

*****

Yesterday, I took Levi to his 5-year-old check-up (almost 5 months late).  While we were sitting in the waiting room, he saw some wheelchairs folded up in the corner.  He asked what they were and why people needed them.  Then he asked, 'Mom, have you ever been in one of those before?'

Immediately, I was 'in' October 8, 2012, being wheeled out of the hospital to go home - without my daughter.

*****

I took the kids to the pool for the first time this summer.  I didn't expect it to be hard - other than running into people that I haven't seen or talked to last summer.  That's just... difficult.  Awkward.

When I stood beside the pool, last summer became like yesterday.  Sitting on the edge of the baby pool, watching the kids play, feeling Elliana move and kick.  Standing in the shallow end of the big pool with my phone sitting nearby, waiting for a phone call from the doctor with test results.

*****

She's just... everywhere.  It's beautiful, and painful, all at the same time.

Let Me See Redemption Win

I really, really wish Facebook would stop suggesting that I like some stupid post about birth defect lawsuit information.

*Big sigh.  And a few tears.  And maybe a couple dozen beer bottles thrown at the house.*

The song that I just started listening to a few days ago has been stuck in my head all day.  And it hasn't taken me to a good place.

I'm trying to get a different song stuck in my head.  It's not a *happy* song, but at least it has a little hope.

No musical analysis this time.  Just a song.

'Worn'

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That You can mend a heart that's frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
'Cause I'm worn

Let me see redemption win.

Can this - **THIS** - be redeemed?

Minor

I love songs in minor keys.  A friend was telling me about her passion for minor keys not long ago - the same friend who reminded me that 'music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent'. 

A couple weeks ago, I couldn't stop playing the piano.  I played Chopin, Beethoven, and one other composer (drawing a complete blank right now) over and over and over.  All pieces in minor keys.

I've recently heard a song by the artist, Plumb, that captures so much of what I think/feel/wonder.  It's in a minor key.  I've listened to it so many times that I've sort of started analyzing it.  

This is one of those times that I'm rolling my eyes, thinking that I drive mySELF crazy sometimes.

My thoughts surrounding this song:

**Well, first I need to say - the first time I listened to it, something about the chorus reminded me of 'Phantom of the Opera'.  It was odd.  Glad to get that off my chest.**

The song:  'I Want You Here'

It's haunting.  The honesty of the lyrics.  The movement of the piano.  The 'pain' in her voice at times.

I think strings might possibly be the most mournful sounding instrument.  Piano can sound very sad - its music can definitely make me cry - but a violin or a cello... those instruments can just mourn.

My ear strains to hear the electric guitar playing those sixteenth notes after she sings the phrase 'I want you here'.  There's an intensity to it that draws my ear... and my heart.

The way she sings 'God, help me' - the first time, it almost sounds like she's buried under something.  Each plea becomes clearer, and then you realize she's asking Him to just.help.her.breathe.  

An ache so deep that I can hardly breathe.  

That's it exactly.  An ache so deep, that at times, it's hard to breathe.

I remember her hands.  So small.  And her feet.  So perfect.

The End of the Voicemail Boycott

On October 2 last year, a friend called and left me a voicemail - she said that she was on her way to visit me in the hospital.

I saved that message for months.  It was one of those 'pieces of Elliana's life' that I couldn't let go of.

About 2 months ago, I got a new phone.  Which was a fairly big ordeal, considering the huge attachment I had to my old phone.

A couple of days after getting my new phone, I missed a call.  A minute later, I received a text from this person saying, 'I just tried to call, but couldn't leave you a message.  Your voicemail isn't set up.'

I'm sorry - WHAT???!?!?!!!!????

Somehow, getting a new phone 'reset' my voicemail.  And the message from October 2 that I'd been saving... was gone.

I haven't been able to make myself go through the whole new voicemail set-up thing.  I guess doing that means acknowledging that the last 'tangible' (well, audible) piece of my week in the hospital with Elliana is gone.

Any time anyone has mentioned the inconvenience of having no option to leave me a voicemail, I've cringed on the inside.  It's just one of those things that I haven't wanted to think about.

But then... today.  My birthday.  And those sisters of mine who want to be all sweet and sing to me.  :-)

I should say first, in their defense, that neither of them had any clue about the 'why' behind my voicemail boycott.  :-)

My sister, Hayley (who can always make me smile), wrote me today on facebook:  'Someday, you might want your voicemail set up.  Like, say, today.  Because I can't sing you 'Happy Birthday' on facebook when you're not free to answer your phone. :)  (HUG)'

This made me smile.  And I thought maybe I could set up my voicemail.

Shortly after that, my sister, Ashley (who can always make me laugh) texted me something like, 'If you don't set up your voicemail box soon, I will cut you.  And I'm not really even sure what that means.  I saw it on a note on Pinterest and thought it sounded intimidating.  SET UP YOUR VOICEMAIL!!!'

This made me laugh hysterically.  And I did set up my voicemail.

Guess what I discovered while setting up my voicemail?

That I had a saved message from October 2.  My last tangible (audible) piece of that first week of October is still there.

As weird as it might be, that made my day.  :-)

'37' and a Dragon

Today is my birthday.  I'm 37 years old today.

What has come to mind most frequently over the last couple of days is this:

The risk of having a baby with chromosomal abnormalities increases after the age of 35.

I knew this a year ago.  I worried about it a year ago, when I was still in my first trimester of pregnancy with Elliana.

Elliana and I are now part of that 'statistic'.  I was 35 when I got pregnant with her, and she was born with  Tetrasomy 9p.

But I wouldn't change it.  I'd do it all over again.  Every day of carrying her, every moment of holding her - I'd do it again.

She was worth it.  Is worth it.  :-)


This is sort of random, but it's come to mind several times today, since it's my birthday...

I'm not much into the Chinese zodiac, except when I'm sitting in a Chinese restaurant looking at the zodiac calendar on the paper placemat.  Elijah's favorite place to eat is a Chinese buffet (well, any buffet, really), so we took him there for his birthday lunch last month.  While we were there, we looked at the calendar placemat and figured out the animal sign for each member of our family.

According to the zodiac calendar:

     Jason is a monkey.
     I'm a dragon.
     Elijah is a goat.
     Levi is a pig.
     Missy is a rat.
     Seth is a tiger.
     And Elliana is a dragon.  Like me.  :-)

More Questions

Will a cup of Starbucks coffee always put me back in that hospital room, when her heartbeat was a rhythmic drum beat, and her movements were a song?

Will passing the baby department at walmart ever not make me want to sit down and cry?

When will I be able to sit in church, listen to a sermon, and not want to throw things?

Is it blasphemous to want to dump the communion elements all over someone?

Will I ever pass exits 102 or 103 on the interstate and not want to stop at her resting place?

Will I ever be able to sit in the chair I recovered?

When will my mind not be a jumbled mess of thoughts?

Will I ever want my front window curtains to be completely open again?

Why do chips and salsa still help me?

Will I ever move the newborn pajamas (that Jason and I bought the day we first saw Elliana's little heartbeat) from my closet doorknob?

When will I be able to just enjoy the two nieces that Elliana was supposed to grow up with?

When I hear that one song, will my mind always put me back in that day - Sunday, September 30, in my church, sitting with my dear friends?

When will I be able to lay in the dentists' chair for a filling and not have flashbacks to my c-section the night she was born?

Will I ever be 'ok' seeing Funeral Home Man around town?

Is it weird that looking at the EOB from July 3, 2012 makes me re-live that entire day?

Do I even want these things to stop?

AM I JUST INSANE?

That Which Cannot Remain Silent

A friend reminded me of something Victor Hugo said:

     "Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent."

The past few days have been different.  I have felt... quieter?  That might not be the right word.

But there's so much going on in my head and my heart.

I have recently felt compelled to play.  Really play.

Last Friday, I was able to spend some time behind the piano at the church where Elliana's funeral was held.

And then again on Saturday.

And I'm going again today.

Whatever's going on in my heart - tears can't express it, words won't do it justice, and even throwing something won't convey it.

Playing does.

     "Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent."

The 20th Kid

There's a new baby on my street.

He's in foster care, so I can't share much about him.  I'm not sure what to call him, so for now, I'll just call him 'Foster Baby'.  Creative, huh?

Foster Baby has a great foster mom, Beth.  She and I go way back.  :-)

This is a bit of a long story...

Beth and I met... wow, maybe 12 or 13 years ago?  Neither of us had any kids back then.  As couples, Noah, Beth, Jason and I could get together, eat brats, drink beer, and play the BEST card game in the world:  Nerts. 

April 2002 began the string of children.  As of April 25, 2013, between our two families, there were 8 children living on this earth (5 biological, 3 adopted), 7 already in Glory, and 4 foster children who have gone on to live with other families.

Nineteen children.  That's a lot of kids.  :-)

In April 2006, Beth and I found ourselves expecting babies together.  It was her 3rd pregnancy, and my 1st pregnancy, after 8 years of infertility.  Our due dates were just 10 days apart.  I'm not sure you could have found two happier friends.  :-)

Little baby Lindegren came way too early, at only 8 weeks.  It was devastating in so many ways.  Beth continued a normal, healthy pregnancy (and I am grateful for that), and as her belly grew bigger, I was an observer rather than a companion.  It hurt so much to watch every week of her pregnancy pass, knowing that I 'should' have been experiencing the very same things she was experiencing.  And I struggled with whether I should remain somewhat distant from Beth to protect myself from more pain, or jump in with her and celebrate the anticipated arrival of her baby girl.  I wish I hadn't, but I kept my distance until Beth's baby was born - it was just too painful to do otherwise.  And then I jumped in and became that baby's second mama.  :-)

Fast forward 6 years...

A year ago today, May 11, Beth and I were sitting in her back yard, watching our kids play, and dreaming about the babies we would be welcoming later in the year.  She was 17 weeks pregnant.  I was 11 weeks pregnant.  I think both of us may have been convinced (or at least extremely hopeful) that this was an opportunity for redemption.  For us to get to enjoy what we'd been cheated 6 years earlier.  That we'd get to watch our babies grow up and be best friends.  :-)

But on Mother's Day, just 2 days later, Beth's baby boy was born.  At just 17 weeks.  

Agony.  It was agony for both of us.  For the roles to have been reversed, and for my friend to be grieving the loss of her son while I was still carrying a baby. 

And then.. July 3.  When my life came to a grinding halt and the world just fell apart.  When we found out in the ultrasound room that we were going to get to meet our first little Lindegren girl, and then 30 minutes later, that she'd probably only live for a few hours.

Beth and I cried together a lot.  Her baby boy was already in Heaven, and my baby girl would be joining him soon.  

Noah and Beth decided that they would open their home to foster children again, hoping to care for orphans in a way that would honor the loss of their son.  

Elliana was born on October 5, 2012, and she died early the morning of October 6.  Beth was our sweet and amazing photographer.  :-)

Noah and Beth were called by Social Services at the beginning of December and asked if they could provide a (probably temporary) home to an infant boy.  Of course, they said 'yes'.  And they welcomed Baby C into their home.

I had a difficult time *welcoming* Baby C.  I was thankful that he was being cared for in Noah and Beth's loving home.  I was thankful that Beth didn't have empty arms, and that Baby C was filling a little bit of the hole in her heart.  But I couldn't embrace him, like Beth did.  I couldn't hold him, or look at him for too long.  That sounds r i d i c u l o u s.  But other babies just... make the 'noise' of Elliana's absence even louder.

One particular morning stands out in my mind so clearly.  Beth and I were both pulling out of our driveways (we live just a house apart from each other) to take our kids to the local drop-in care place.  Beth's 4-year-old wound up getting in my van and just riding with us.  On the way there, I realized something.  Beth had still been in her pj's, she hadn't been able to have a shower yet that day, and I think Baby C was crying in his car seat while Beth and I were talking about carpooling.  She was... a 'new mom'.  She was experiencing everything a new mom goes through. 

And I wasn't.

I was completely dressed.  My hair was done.  I might have even had earrings on.  And it was because I didn't have an infant to take care of. 

It felt a little harder to relate to Beth after that.  It felt like we were in two different places.  I knew she was still grieving the loss of her son, but she had a foster son.  She was taking care of an infant, and I wasn't.

In a way, I felt like I had lost my friend.  Sort of.  We were both still grieving, but in different ways.  Very different ways.  Her, with a baby in her arms and diapers to change, and me, with... no baby.

It was ok.  I wanted her to have Baby C.  He brought joy, and comfort, and smiles.

Baby C went to live with a family member on April 25, 2013.  Beth had to say goodbye to him, and her arms were empty again.

I'm afraid this is going to sound really selfish, like I'm glad Baby C was gone.  And... I guess I am selfish. But I'm not glad Baby C was gone.  It hurt to see my friend hurting - again.

But... I had my friend back.  I'm ashamed to admit that I was glad to have my friend back - and it was because Baby C was gone.  She and I could talk a little more freely, and I didn't have to use energy trying to be ok with having a baby around.  And as weird as that might sound, it did take energy.

Baby C left on April 25, and two short weeks later, almost to the day, social services called Beth and asked if they would take another needy infant.  Of course, they said 'yes'.  Because that's what they do - they care for orphans.  Really, really well.  :-)

So this past Thursday, Foster Baby (the 20th kid) arrived.  I haven't met him yet.  I'm struggling with what this means for my relationship with Beth.  It might mean that I avoid a relationship with Foster Baby, that I keep him at arm's length, and that I just sort of ignore his presence on the street.

Or, this time...

I jump in with Beth.

I could embrace Foster Baby.  Hold him, love him, get attached to him, let him help fill the gaping hole in my heart.  Be a part of his life for as long as he's living on my street.  Let my kids be a part of his life, and let them be a part of loving an orphan.

But if I do, I risk getting hurt.  There's always a risk in foster care.  I know this first-hand.  You get attached, hope that this child you've cared for and mommied for months will become part of the family, and then a judge decides to place him with relatives.  It hurts.  It hurts so much.  I'm not sure my heart can take much more of that right now. 

I might flip-flop between the two.  One day, avoiding Foster Baby, and the next day, jumping onto the roller coaster with Foster Baby and Beth.

Poor Beth.  She might be ready to throw something at me after a week or two of that.  :-)

Remembering

Tonight, I'm remembering a picture that Jason had taken on his phone.  It was just a few minutes (or maybe even just 1 or 2?) after Elliana had been born.

She was laying in one of those newborn 'beds' - I don't even remember what you call them.

She was naked as a jay bird, her eyes were open, and she looked... startled.  Like, 'who are you people, and where is my mom???'

She looked startled.  Her tiny little 15-and-a-half-inch frame was stretched out, and it looked like every muscle in her body was tense.

Somehow, her little preemie body reminded me of Seth.

She looked strong.

I remember Jason coming over to me, showing me her picture, and telling me that they'd asked him to step away while they worked on her.

Oh, how I wish she'd been strong enough to live.

I just miss her.

Questions

I have questions.  All 'why' questions.  I'm afraid to ask them - because I really don't know if I want to hear the answers.

Maybe I'm not really afraid of the answers.  I think I'm more afraid of peoples' attempts at answers.

Questions.

Like, why do I long to play and sing, when I'm angry with the One I want to play and sing for?

Why does He seem... silent?

Why do I just*want*to*throw*things?  Across the room, at brick walls, at the tv, at my computer screen, and especially at people?

Why do I get so flippin' angry when I read or hear something like 'Praise God!  He answered my prayer!' 

I know the answer to the last one, or at least part of the answer.  This is what goes through my mind when I read/hear things like that: 'He answered my prayer, too.  And He said no.  To the life of my daughter.  He said no.'

And I'm not in a place where I can offer a great big, happy 'Praise God!  He answered my prayer!' for that.

I think I'll quit before I write something I might have to delete later.  :-)