Like a Sparrow Falling

Once upon a time....

2011-12-06T05:59:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, I never knew what it meant to grieve.

Once upon a time I had never lost a thing that was of real value to me.

Once upon a time I was blissfully and ignorantly happy, unaware of all the loss and grief my future held.

But that was then.

Life has brought me numerous blessings, it would be ungrateful not to awknowledge how full and amazing my life truly is. But, it would be a lie to deny that the world has also brought me blow after blow, and loss after loss, it would be a lie to say I'm not feeling grief and agony along with that joy and gratitude.

Tomorrow is the four year anniversary of Everett's last day on earth. It marks four years since experienced a truly unanswered prayer, four years since we said goodbye and walked out of Sick Kids with empty arms and shattered hearts.

Its been a rough four years, I can't deny it. Its been a time filled with sadness and guilt and grief and longing and pain, all mixed it with joy and love and healing and blessings of course. It's been a rollercoaster of emotions. And I've grieved Everett at will over these four years, whenver the need struck me, I'd cry, blog, and grieve as the pain came, so as to not hold anything in, so as to not let it fester and become more grief then I could process. I miss him with every single beat of my heart, and I am constantly aware of his absence in my life, and I know he would be just amazing, like his brother and sisters, but that's not my reality, it's not his either.

All I can think to do now, with this grief and with this pain, and with these memories, is to share it with the world, and to do good things in honor of Everett, so his brief but very special life continues to have meaning, and he can continue to touch hearts and make an impact on others.

He was so incredibly special. So tiny and delicate, so wonderfully made.

He was precious and loved and an absolute amazement, for such a small and unhealthy little boy, he fought so very hard for his time with us. He fought and held on and gave us 20 days of faith building love and memories. I wanted more, but those 20 days were an incredible gift, I know it could have been much, much less.

I can't predict what tomorrow will bring, if it will hold tears or peace for me, I expect it will be a combination of the two, but I'm hoping to be able to remember with a calmness of heart and with gratitude, because Everett changed me in ways I never knew possible.

Indeed life is hard, but its also very beautiful. Some of the most amazing blessings in life are brief, gone before you know it, but that makes them no less miraculous, and no less life altering. He's in my heart and on my mind always, and I think I can credit much of my strength in the healing /grieving process to him, who is my inspiration, for there was never a stronger or more inspiring boy.

Love you always Everett. Always. - XO, Mama

Katie

Futile

2011-10-30T16:24:00.000-07:00

Every "I wish"

Every "I'm so sorry"

Every "If I could only go back"

They're futile. They're pointless. They only serve to punish myself.

I wish I could hold him again, I wish I could change it all, I wish we had done it differently, I wish he never died.

I'm so sorry, Everett, I'm so sorry we messed up, I'm so sorry you paid for it. I'm so sorry we failed you, I'm so sorry you're not here, I'm so sorry I couldn't fix it.

If I could only go back, I'd do it all differently, if I could only go back I'd tell them to take cautious, slower approach, I'd tell them to give you time. If I could only go back, I'd hold you more and kiss you more and tell you more how much you mean to us. If I could only go back, maybe I could save you.

Wishes don't come true.

I'm sorry doesn't change a thing.

And I can't go back.

And where does that leave me? Grieving and in pain, with nothing to do but cry out in pain, and in prayer, and let God do what he's been doing since we first lost Everett, hold me up.

God please, hold me up, when I'm swallowed up in the futility of it all, when my grief is consuming me, hold me up.

Katie

A grieving season...

2011-10-30T16:12:00.000-07:00

Leaves are falling, there's a chill in the air, and fall is in full swing.

Halloween is coming, and soon we'll be counting down to Christmas. This has always been one of my favorite times of year, where fall ushers in a season of celebration and joy, from Thanksgiving through to Christmas, the weeks are packed with fun. But, nearly four years ago, a change ocurred, which dramatically altered the season.

Now its a thanksgiving season.

It's a trick-or-treating season.

It's a kids birthday party season.

and it's a grieving season.

It was November 17th 2007 when I delivered my much anticipated twin baby boys, this marked the seasons start. It ends on December 11th 2011, the day we burried one of them. Each and every year, our hearts react the to coming of the season, where similar events and situations spark memories and emotions and bring them to the surface in an incredibly vivid and tender, even painful way. This is not meant to imply that we don't grieve all year round, but this grieving season is when it all hits home.

It goes like this.

November 17th, we celebrate the birth of our amazing twin sons, we remember the awe and the joy and their delictate perfection.

November 29th, this is the anniversary of the day Everett had his first open heart surgery.

December 5th, the anniversary of his second open heart surgery.

December 7th, we remember the day our world shattered and fell to the ground, the day Everett died.

December 11th, we remember his funeral, the day we held him in our arms last, the very last day our eyes could look upon him, and for many of our family and friends, the only day their eyes would ever look up on him.

And every day since has been a day of remembering, falling apart, building up, looking for comfort, looking for a reason, grieving, and starting over.

Sitting here, nearly four years after the birth of my boys, I can tell you that, at this minute, I'm okay. I've been rebuilt and healed enough at this point that most days are okay. I miss Everett always, there's a tiny place in my heart that calls out for him always, and there are tiny stings of grief each day. But if you saw me, you'd think I'm pretty well healed. But grief is a funny creature, and it comes and goes, like the tide ebbs and flows, like the seasons, it always comes back around again. November is almost upon us and I'm already trying to mentally prepare myself to handle being simultaneously happy and bereft. Because I'll celebrate the birth of three of my children this month, and I'll also be welcoming a new baby niece, and I'll be mourning Everett, and recalling the details of his birth and his death at the same time.

I'll light birthday candles for Landon and watch him blow them out, and I'll be grieving all the birthdays Everett will never have.

I'll wrap up Avery and Landon's birthday gifts and cry over the fact that I'll never get to pick out that something special I just knew Everett would love.

I'll watch others celebreate my living kids and my heart will hurt because I'll look into their eyes and wont see a hint of sadness or grief there, and I'll know they aren't thinking of Everett at all. To them, life without him, it's normal, and I'll grieve harder knowing I'm doing it mostly alone. I know they loved him, I know they wanted him to live, but they don't feel it like we do, they don't get it, nor should they.

While I'm waiting for the first snow to fall and awaken that child like wonder in me, I'm waiting for the first pangs of sadness to arrive and awaken the memories that sit just beneath the surface. I'm waiting to feel it again, to really feel those emotions once more, and in them, feel closer then ever to Everett.

My tears bring me closer.

My pain brings me closer.

My breaking heart brings me closer.

So close to how I felt back then, when it was happening, so close I can almost see him, almost feel him.

And that is the joy in the grieving season.

Katie

Dear Everett...

2011-10-14T19:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Everett,

Tomorrow is a dedicated day of remembering for grieving parents everywhere. Tomorrow is a dedicated day to awknowledgement, for how many parents out there have a child, or children in heaven, but you should know, I remember you every single day. In fact, I remember you every single second of every single day. You're on my mind constantly. Your face flashes through my mind non stop. You face stares back at me every single time I look at your brother. My heart beats your name, Everett-Everett-Everett-Everett. Your pictures are on the wall, you hands and feet are tattooed near mine. I take you with me EVERYWHERE, I speak your name and tell your story at every opportunity I get.

I don't need a dedicated day to remember and awknowledge you, but on the eve of a very significant day for so many families, I find myself even more eager to share your name, your picture, your memory, your story, with the world. I want them to know you, to see you, to hear you, and to understand that you are still so much a part of our lives, and how the loss still echoes through us. We're still grieving you, I know we always will, and though outwardly we seem to be living our lives and doing well, there are still so many moments, so many silent moments of awknowledgment between your dad and me, or your aunt Courtney and me, or your Gramma and me, where we don't need to say a thing, but we know our hearts are still aching, still breaking for you.

You should know that Landon knows you. He may not ever remember being near you, but something inside of him KNOWS you. That bond, that brotherly bond, that twin bond, it wasn't broken with your death. His heart beats your name too, you are significant to him, even though he doesn't know why just yet. He talks about you now, and it's an indescribable pain, and joy to hear your name spoken in his young and innocent voice. He's grappling with the concept of heaven too, he doesn't get it all, someday he will, but I think I like it best this way, because he's not sad at all, he doesn't know that there's sadness attached to you, and I think that's good, he just knows you're his brother.

Avery gets it, and sometimes she's sad about you, but mostly she just remembers you, and includes you EVERY time she tells people who's in her family. She's a very smart girl, she knows too much for her age, and she sounds so worldly and mature whens he explains to someone that she has a brother in heaven. She loves you and misses you, but heaven scares her, because she understands that you can't come back from heaven. I feel bad, because she's aware of death and it scares her. That's not your fault, it's mine, I fell apart too many times in front of her, she knows there's pain attached to loss.

I'm sure you know of Stella, maybe she met you in heaven prior to her departure to earth. I like to believe that. I like to think we all start there, then return in the end, I like to imagine you two knew each other before she joined us here, and no one will ever disprove it for me, so I'll hold on to that thought because it comforts me some.

I still struggle so much, daily, the aftermath of losing you is chaotic. Tonight I was fine, and then I started looking through your pictures on the computer, and in a random folder I found a misplaced video, one I hadn't seen in a while, and I did the foolish thing, and I played it, and within seconds grief consumed me, like a vaccuum, I was swallowed up in pain and tears. Irrationaly I fought against the reality of you being gone, and pleaded for you to be returned to me, my thoughts demanded that the injustice of your death be reversed, and I knew it was ridiculous to think such things, but it can't be helped. I watched you breathe on that video, I watched your little stomach heave as you labored for each breath. I watched your eyes open ever so slightly as I spoke to you. I saw you live again. And it was agony, because I WANT YOU. I want you in my arms, I want to hold you and kiss you and stroke your soft skin and hair, I want to hear you cry, I want to mother you, I want to do all the things that your death robbed from us both. I want to change your diapers and dress you and nurse you and comfort you and nap with you on the couch, and I never will. This stings in a way I won't ever be able to describe.

You should know that we miss you and love you and that we wish that things had gone differently every single moment of the day. You should know we tell the world about you and that we love you every day along with your brother and your sister. You should know you made us better people. You should know that we're doing good things with your memory and with our grief. You should know that I tattooed your hand by my hand and your feet by my feet, but God tattooed you on my heart, and you and I are never apart. I don't know what I believe about your experience in heaven, I'm not sure if you can see us or not, I'm not sure if you think about us or not, I suspect the glory of heaven is more then a little distracting, but I pray with my whole heart that you feel me up there, that you can feel my love for you always, and that we are not truly seperated at all, but that our love is a bond that remains unchanged even though we are not together.

I miss you so much, and as silly as it sounds, I wish you could write back.

I'm confidant though, that you're in good company there, in heaven, because sadly my pain mirrors the pain of so many other moms and dads, and you likely have many other baby companions up there with you.

I love you more then words can tell,
I thought you should know

Mama

Discussions of grief can arise unexpectedly

2011-09-26T11:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we took our children to see The Lion King in 3D at our local theatre. They were excited and so was I, because I loved that move when it first came out and I was eager to watch it again with fresh eyes, and to see my kids enjoy it for the very first time. We all had a great time and rode home in the car talking about our favorite parts and our favorite characters, it was a really great family outing.

Later in the day though I was standing at the kitchen counter and Avery came up to me, a little more subdued, and asked some more serious questions.

"What happened to Mufasa, Simba's dad?"

He fell I told her, and died.

"Ya, and went to heaven too, and then talked to Simba in the clouds, and lived in Simba forever"

That's right I told her, nice observation. One of the lines of the movie, was "he lives in you," when explaining to Simba that his father will never truly leave him, because his strength and courgage and love live on in him.

Avery continued, "Everett lives in me, because I remember him too, but he's not in the clouds".

Silence.

You're right, I told her, he lives in all of us, because we are all so full of love for him. I went on to point out that perhaps we might see him in the clouds, or the sky, we've never really looked. Satisfied, she went on her way, but she left me standing there amazed at how often she ponders Heaven, and Everett, and God, and the logistics of it all. She gives in genuine thought, she mulls it over and asks such insightful questions, she really does want to figure it all out.

Since she clearly thinks about what happens to us after we die, and she clearly wonders about the capabilities we have once in Heaven, to interact with our loved ones on earth, I may need to share this quote with her, it may just "click" with her bright little mind.

“Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.”

Katie

Going back...

2011-09-01T10:48:00.000-07:00

The night Everett died, we walked out of Sick Kids (The Hospital for Sick Children), with empty arms and shattered hearts. We were broken people, and in our broken state, we felt overwhelmed with anger and pain and grief, and needed something, someone, or someplace to put all those feelings on. We took our anger and we put it on God, who we thought should have saved him, should have cured him, but didn't. We took our anger and our grief and built walls with it, trying to block out the rest of the world, who seemed to carry on normally when our world had fallen to pieces. We took our love and we put it on our surviving children, who were like salve to a burn, they soothed and healed and took away some of the sting. And we took the unnamed negative feelings, the negative associations, the memories of what Everett endured in his time on earth, and we put them on Sick Kids. Though they did so much for us, and for him, and though they treated him so amazingly well and we were so grateful for how hard they tried to save him, we came to associate them with death, with pain, with loss and with the moment we had to leave Everett behind and go home without him.

For years, I lived in fear of having to return to Sick Kids, for any reason. Their commercials on TV made my heart race, and seeing pictures of the hospital, even happy pictures, made me panic. I developed a full aversion to the place my son died, even though I had fundraised for them and believed in their work and their staff, to me, it was the place my baby died, and I couldn't bring myself to reconcile to it.

The other day I made a trip to Toronto with a friend, for a day of fun with her and my new baby daughter. Plans changed unexpectedly when my friend, who works at Sick Kids, had to made a stop in to work, and I panicked at the prospect of having to go with her, even for a short while. I panicked imagining us driving on the streets near the hospital, I imagined the familiar scenery and my heart beat faster. I imagined the parking garage, the elevators, the cafeteria, the murals on the walls, and I cried at the very thought of it. My friend and I decided that to avoid any discomfort for me, I would wait at a nearby coffee shop for her, but as we drove closer to Sick Kids, I found I wasn't panicking, my heart wasn't racing, and I made the huge decision, to go in with her. I made it through the parking garage, through the elevators, through the hallways, through the cafeteria, and I was shocked at what I felt.

Not pain.

Not sadness.

Not panic.

Not grief.

More like relief. More like a pleasant familiarity. Something near to comfort. Some much like peace. How incredibly strange.

I sat in the cafe, just like I had years before, it was exactly as it was back then. I watched the people come and go, Dr's, nurses, patients, parents, volunteers, I watched the elevators go up and down, and I stared up at the floor that Everett was on. I stared up at the spot that we had stood at and stared down from so many times during Everett's stay at Sick Kids. I held Stella and looked around wide eyed, and it was all so much the same, but I felt like I was seeing it all for the very first time. My eyes never welled with tears, and my heart never raced, my breathing never quickened, and sadness never overcame me.

And I felt like some divine plan was falling into place before my eyes, and that I was supposed to come back to this place, at this time, with my baby girl in my arms, to teach me something about healing, and to help me see our experience here at Sick Kids with new eyes.

For more then three years I dreaded ever setting foot in Sick Kids again, because it was the place where Everett died.

Now I saw it as the place where Everett last LIVED!

I used to see it as the place we lost our faith.

Now I see it as the place God used to really lay the ground work to build on it.

I had been thinking of Sick Kids as the site of the event that sent our lives spiraling out of control, and sitting there again, years later, I could see that God used it to set us upon a new course, perhaps a painful one at times, but one that would ultimately teach us so much about love and faith and grace and the importance of cherishing life.

Driving to Toronto with my friend, I wrongly assumed that it would be so difficult to set foot inside that building, but sitting there alone with my baby, surrounded in familiar sights and sounds, and memories, I realized that it would be so much harder to leave it. The pain would come from walking out the doors again, not in. Because there in the cafeteria of Sick Kids, I felt closer to Everett then I ever had in the past three and some years. I felt near to him, and more peaceful and content in his memory then I could have ever imagined. Leaving felt like walking away from him again, but this time it didn't make me fall to pieces, and it did not bring me tears. And this time I did not walk out hoping to never go back again, but rather looking forward to a time when I could go back, and feel that closeness once again.

When Everett was alive and being treated there, I bought myself a necklace in the gift shop, a Bravery Beads necklace with a bright red glass heart pendant. And on my return trip there this week, I went back to the gift shop and bought myself the matching bracelet, it only seemed fitting that I not walk out empty handed, and I walk out with another piece of "bravery" jewelry, to reward myself for taking the monumental step I took, and facing a fear I had been holding onto for too long.

So here's to doing things I never imagined I could do.

Here's to feeling things I never imagined I could feel.

And here is to Everett, who continues to change my heart and my life, each and every day!

Katie

I'm thinking of you....

2011-08-29T09:06:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking of you today Everett. I do every day, but today, my thoughts refuse to leave you.

I remembered something painful, and I can't get it from my mind. I can see it in my head when I close my eyes, and it hurts as badly as it did when it first happened.

I pictured handing you over to the nurse at Sick Kids, when the time had finally come to leave, and through tears and sobbing, I uttered the words "Bye Everett", I could barely get them out. I can see myself that day, I can see the agony, and I can hear the grief in my voice, it's like I'm watching someone else. And I still just can't believe that was you and me.

I'm so sorry you had to go, and if I made your departure harder by holding on too tight, I am so sorry for that. I remember I whispered in your ear and begged you not to leave me, as if you ever had a choice. I'm sorry if understood that your leaving would hurt me so badly, I'm sorry if you had awareness that you would leave a hole behind. I hope you left with comfort, and assurance from God that he would take care of us left behind.

Oh God how I miss you, today and always. My arms still long for you, and your memory, your picture, your name, they all still bring me to tears, though that's not a bad thing, those tears bring me closer to you I think.

God knows how losing you has changed and shaped my heart and life, God knows how badly I still grieve, but you should know I'm striving to take that pain and use it to lessen the pain of others, in some small way. You should know that though I hurt, we are all the better because of you. You should know I pour myself into grieving you, just to feel such intense emotion, such intense love, it feels like we're together while the tears are streaming down. It hurts, but that's the point.

I'm thinking of you Everett, each and every moment of each and every day, and I promise I always will.

I love you so much more then I have the words to tell, and I pray I can feel you near when I need it the most.

Love your Mama, always

In the name of love....

2011-06-07T08:56:00.000-07:00

How do you parent a child you never get to see?

How do you show your love for a child you never get to hold? Never get to kiss? Never get to tuck in at night?

How do you pour out your heart and your gratitude for a child God gave then took away?

These are questions that plague me, and all parent who have lost a child I suspect.

How can I keep Everett a part of my daily life? How can I love him like I love his sisters and brother? How can I continue to parent him? How can I still be his mother and help make the best of his life?

The answer? It's complicated.

I got his name and his footprints tattooed on my ankle. His handprint is tattooed on my wrist.

His picture hangs on the wall in the livingroom, there are tiny memorials to him sprinkled throughout the house.

He has a baby book.

I made him a Shutterfly photobook just I like I did for the other kids.

We made him a memorial garden in our backyard.

We planted a tree in his honor.

I think of him every hour of every day.

But it still doesn't feel right.

I can't take him to school with his brother.

I dont' get to kiss him goodnight.

I don't know how it feels to rock him to sleep.

I've never put a bandaid on his boo-boos

I've never seen his name on a birthday cake.

I've never watched him unwrap a Christmas present I just knew he would love.

I've never read him a bedtime story.

I don't get to be his mother in the way I want to, physically, tangibly.

There aren't too many ways I get to show the world my son, the one who died but I still love dearly. But I've found a way that feels good, as good as grieving can feel, and I've decided the best way I can show the world my love for Everett, and make the best of his life, is to fundraise in his memory.

It's awkward though, to implore people, the ones you know and the ones they don't, to support my cause, which doesn't mean the same to them as it does to me. It feels strange to ask for money to honor him, and I worry that I just can't communicate properly to them the how's and why's of our efforts.

But I can't NOT ask you to support me in this. I can't NOT tell you how important your support is. I can't NOT want you to attend, because I love Everett, and this is important to us. It's one very small way we can show him, you, God, and ourselves, that we have figured out how to cope with losing our baby, that we know a good way to take that pain and make it beneficial in some way.

I'm motivated by my grief, to make some good from it. I'm eager to take the scenario that broke my heart and use it to touch others. I want him to break your heart, I want you to feel a pang of something for him and for us, and then I want you to take that little something you feel and help us do something with it.

The NICU is full of babies. Some will have short stays and go home healthy. Some will have longer more complicated stayes. Some will never go home.

Then there are their parents. Mother's, newly post partum, who have found themselves parked in the NICU beside an isolette instead of resting in their hospital rooms having guests fuss over their new baby. Mothers who are pumping breastmilk every 2 hours and bringing it to the NICU so it can be given to their baby via naso-gastric feedings, rather then nursing in that glider rocker in their nursery at home. There are mothers and fathers sleeping on cots and pull out chairs in waiting rooms and at bedsides, while they wait to hear how their child did in surgery. There are parents who finally leave the hospital, babyless and broken hearted, like we did.

And I can help. In some small way, we can help them.

Our donation, no matter how small, can do good. Last year we had a charity Stella & Dot trunk show, just like the one we're doing this year, and we raised appx. $800 for the NICU. We took that money and we had two beautiful custom rocking chairs for them. And at this very moment, some new mother is being handed her baby for it's first feeding at the breast, some dad may be getting his very first cuddle with his baby, maybe their sleeping in one of our chairs at night while they hold their bedside vigil.

Our chairs helped. Our intentions helped. Our loss has helped, and therefore has become more then just a painful experience to us, but something more. We can see it now as part of a grander plan, we can see now that we are, and Everett was, part of a complicated weaving of lives knit together. We can't see how it all fits together, but we know it does.

On June 18th we're fundraising again. Same format, because it was so successful last year. But I'm afraid. I'm worried we won't be successful again. I'm worried that people aren't being touched by Everett the way they were, I'm worried his memory, and his impact are fading out. I'm worried that I'm not doing my job as his mother and honoring him and his life the way I should. Because if people aren't moved and inspired by him, I am not doing my job right.

I'm praying God leads hearts to support us. I'm praying my backyard will be full of supporters on June 18th, and I'm praying we'll be able to help in some small way, parents and babies in the NICU, by giving a donation in Everett's honor.

It's what I have to do, in the name of love.

Katie

What is there to do now..............

2010-11-16T11:05:00.000-08:00

But quote Joe Purdy, and his sentiment "hard times, they last too long"

In fact it would seem at times, they are never ending, or that at the very least, they never completely dissapear.

Hard times are still marching on.

Sometimes we forget they're there, but they rest beneath the surface of our temporary peace and serenity, always bound to resurface. Always.

I'd like to tell you friends that in time grief itself passes away, but it simply is not true. Grief is invincible, it never dies, it can't be killed. The very best you can hope for is that you can endure your life with grief riding on your back, and that from time to time it will hop off for a spell and grant you a temporary sensation of relief. But grief I have learned, will always hop back on.

It's been three years since grief moved into my heart, well, nearly three years, just a few short weeks to go now before our anniversary, and I can't report to you all, grief and I are still going strong, our relationship has been consistant and dependable. Grief it seems will never leave me, no matter how much I wish it would.

Three years ago tomorrow, my identical twin sons were born. At 5:33 and 5:40am, pink and wailing with heads capped with dark brown hair and precious little features. Three years ago a dream came true. And in just a few weeks we'll solomnly remember that 20 days after our beautiful sons were born, one died. He spent his entire life struggling, he endured too many medical interventions and procedures to list, and he died. The next day we brought just one baby home, one baby, and grief who would fill up every empty space in our home and our hearts.

There's a part of me who is deeply ashamed of the mixed emotions I've been balancing since December 7th 2007. I've been trying to host joy and anguish in my heart simultaneously for just about three years, and it's an incredibly unnatural sensation to try and be loyal to both. I am joyous for Landon who has brought warmth, love and peace beyond measure into our family and into my badly broken heart. He is a miracle, it is by God's grace alone he is alive and perfect and lighting our lives each day. But at the same time, I cannot pretend that life is all sunshine and roses and rainbows just because I have two very lovely and amazing children I would not change for this world. I cannot deny that I grieve. I cannot deny that I long for the one that God took back. I cannot deny that my heart shattered and splintered and has never been restored. I cannot tell you I do not hurt. It would be disloyal to Everett to deny that his birth and his death have impacted my life like a meteor, leaving a giant crater on my soul.

I can't devote myself to joy entirely.

I can't devote myself to grief entirely.

I am a woman divided.

Counting my blessings.

Counting my losses.

Praising the God who gives, struggling with that I am supposed to also praise him when he takes away.

And I am often ashamed, that I can't figure out how to love and honor both boys with the perfection they deserve.

At 5:33am on November 17th 2007, Everett came into his life. He was 17 inches long and weighed 5 pounds and 4 ounces. Landon joined him seven minutes later, at 5:40am, he was also 17 inches long, he weighed 5 pounds and 6 ounces. They were perfection.

On December 7th 2007, sometime after 8pm, Everett left his life. He was 20 days old. He was 17 inches long and I estimate somewhere in the range of 4 pounds when he left us. He was perfection.

On December 8th 2007, Landon came home alone. He was 17 inches long, weighed 5 pounds and 11 ounces. He was lovely. He was like salve to a burn.

What am I to do now?

What reality to I embrace, what reality do I deny? Can I have them both simultaneously?

Will you understand when I am in tears on the day I celebrate Landon's birth? Will you allow me to celebrate the gift they were together and the joy Landon is now, while at the same time allowing my heart to break over the loss of Everett, who was also a gift and as much a source of joy as his death was a source of pain?

Will you remember on this happy day, now that years have passed, that it's not just Landon's birthday, but rather a season of confusion and hope and fear and desperation, of loss and of grief. Will you be mindful that grief lives here still?

Because I cannot forget.

Even in good times, hard times persist.

Even in joy, pain still exists.

Katie

It's that time of year again......

2010-11-11T11:08:00.000-08:00

How bittersweet it is.

In just a few days, the birthday celebrations will begin. First comes Avery, we'll celebrate her turning five years old. Then comes Landon, who will be three, and Everett, who will never be more then 20 days old. It just hit me that past few days, why I had been experiencing an increase in tears, aside from being pregnant, my subconsious has been aware this time was approaching, even if I didn't let myself become aware until just now. Now it's time.

Time to balance sweet celebration with bittersweet memories of birth and death intertwined. Time to remember the joy of the delivery of my beautiful twin babies and to relive the sorrow of saying goodbye to one forever, just 20 short days later. Time to celebrate the lives of two of my children, while mourning the loss of the third. Time to put on a happy face for the party and the public, and cry until my tears dry up in private.

From November 17th to December 11th I walk an emotional tight rope. Reliving the most surreal and unbelievable weeks of my life. Birthing babies, sweet tiny babies with pink skin and dark brown hair and beautiful and unending potential. Then sick baby, small, weak, frail baby. Great big surgery on tiny little sick baby. Blood and tubes and bandanges and nurses and doctors, and terror. Fear unending. Driving. Crying. Pumping. Snuggling healthy babies ,barely touching sick baby, can't pick him up, can't hold him, can't change his diaper, can't help him. Tears. More surgery. More tubes, more blood, more fear. Prayers. Mad, frantic prayers. Denial. Brain bleed. Despair. Meeting death face to face. Goodbye baby.

Time to fake my way through this time of year again. Somehow I always manage to do it. I'm not exactly sure how. My sweet beautiful brown eyed children, boistrous, lively, spirited and smart, they most surely help me through. Just as certain as I have something to mourn, I have something to celebrate. They are the life savers that keep me afloat when my grief threatens to drag me beneath the surface.

Happy Birthday to all my babies.

Katie

I am a rambling fool.....

2010-08-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

Of all the wounds left unhealed, on my heart and on my soul, many can and will be healed by time.

But there can be no healing for the gaping wound that has been left by the passing of Everett from this life into the next. The most unnatural of wounds, with no known cure, it will forever remain open and exposed, and succeptible to flare ups of pain and tears. And this is perfectly fine with me.

The presence of pain, of sadness and of distress has become familiar, and in a peculiar way, it has become a comfort. Though Everett has no physical presence in our lives, he still has a very real and tangible presence. We feel him daily, by way of our sadness and longing, by way of memories, and by way of pain. It's not entirely melancholy, though I can see how some may see it that way. It is exactly as it was. Beautiful, but painful. Good but bad. Beautiful and ugly. And this is how it still is.

If there can be no Everett in our arms and in our lives, then his memory, and our sadness, and our grief is all there can ever be of him aside from the 20 days he was here to touch and hold and take in.

If this is all there is, then this is good.

And if this is all there is, and this is often sad and pained, then said and pained are good, and I will welcome them as manifestations of Everett come to visit, come to sit by me a while, come to make me feel. And I will welcome the presence of heart ache and the company of tears and cradle them like my baby son long gone to the arms of the Lord. I will treat them like a blessing, like a gift from above, like a small window in time, where the separation between me and Everett is as thin as cellophane, and I can practically feel how it felt to be near him, where I can feel the same emotions I felt on the last day that I held him, and that intense pang of grief will connect us once more.

There can be no healing for this eternal wound. And this is good.

The miracle lies in how time, and how God, and how life have banded together to make grief a beautiful thing, and a positive thing in my world. It could so easily have been a force of destruction. Even more miraculous, grief has born hope. Where my world burned like the surface of the sun and when it was done nothing but ash remained, God worked. God worked and from that ash grew faith and hope so strong that they could not only tolerate, but thrive alongside grief and longing and an inconsolable sadness. Miraculous.

We're always surprised when a storm hits close to home, when it devastates our lives, like these things only happen to other people. We are genuinely shocked then the sky above our own heads blacken and violent winds shake us to our cores. And we cower away and pray that God would have this storm pass us by, and when he doesn't, we shake our fists at the sky and curse him, or renounce Him, declare Him powerless or imaginary, because we had to feel a storm.

Where did that notion arise?

In truth, we all face storms. We're all shaken and rattled by raging winds. And in the end, the sky clears, and the clouds part and across the recently blackened heavens, delicate shades of red and orange, and yellow, and blue, and violet arrange themselves just so among the clouds. And we are appeased. We praise God for the rainbow, but what of the storm? Was he not equally in power then?

When hardships happen, we want to believe they are random. When rainbows dance across the sky we want to believe that God placed them there just for us. In truth, He placed the rainbow, but He also placed the storm.

The trick? To be thankful for both.

Katie

Bittersweet

2010-07-31T16:54:00.000-07:00

Today we held a fund raiser, in Everett's memory, benefiting the NICU at our local hospital. It was a jewelry party, all proceeds being donated, and it was really successful.

We celebrated with cake.

And it was unexpectedly emotional.

As I stood there divvying up the cake, I felt my eyes readying for tears. I could feel them heat and water and my chin quivered just a bit. At first I didn't understand this tidal wave of emotion, but then it hit me. This is the very first cake I've served with Everett's name on it. He's never had a birthday cake.

He'll never have a birthday cake.

The need to cry stuck with me through the afternoon. And when no one was looking I stole away to the bathroom to cry for all the birthday cakes Everett will never have.

Then I came out and celebrated the money we raised in his memory, and started planning all the good we'll do with it.

I miss my baby so deeply today.

Katie

It's a heartache......

2010-07-04T14:52:00.000-07:00

I'm channeling some Bonnie Tyler this afternoon with these song lyrics:

It's a heart ache, nothing but a heart ache,
Hits you when it's too late,
Hits you when you're down.
It's a heart ache, nothing but a heart ache,
Love him 'til your arms break...........

I've been missing Everett a lot lately. Not to say that I've been missing him more then usual, but perhaps more intensely then usual. This happens, the grief ebbs and flows, intensifies then pacifies.

It hurts in a peculiar way some days, when his name sounds foreign to me, because it hasn't been used the way the other kids names have been used, it's been years since we spoke it to him, it's been years since we spoke it and spoke about him in the present tense. That is, it's been years since the name accompanies a presence. The name alone, some days, feel hollow, like an empty promise.

It hurts to see his picture on the wall and to know that he's an important member of our family, he's on of our children, yet we don''t have him to hold, to touch, to raise, to love, and to raise. Again, it feels hollow, it feels empty, and it feels strangely disconnected. The absence of the connection is what hurts. It hurts to feel distant from him, the weight of his body in our arms, the sound of his cry, the feel of his skin under our kiss, the softness of him. That these are just memories is what hurts so much when the grief rises up.

Where have those feelings gone? The ones we hoped would never fade.
We swore we'd always remember how he felt in our arms, how he sounded, how he smelled, how he looked, what it felt like to love him and parent him. But those feelings have faded without our consent. The memories too. The biggest agony I've felt since losing Everett is feeling as though he is becoming a stranger to me. That he is becoming just a memory, he's not the intense presence I always hoped he'd be. That is a pain I did not anticipate.

I'm trying so hard to cling to the feelings that connect us to the time where we had Everett, when he was real and tangible and touchable, and that often means pouring myself into the deepest of grief and resurfacing the most painful memories to bring up real, painful and still deeply connected emotions, clinging to his memory, wanting to be holding him, holding him so hard my arms would feel as though they could break.

Is it possible, that more frightening then a broken heart is a healing one?

Katie

It was what it was....

2010-05-20T17:02:00.000-07:00

Today, and probably more often then I realize, someone somewhere in the world looked at a picture of Everett.

They came across it on Facebook, or on my blog, or found our newspaper article online, and their eyes looked upon my son.

Maybe he was sleeping soundly in a sleeper and knit blue cap, all tucked in with blankets at Sick Kids, before surgery.

Maybe he was wide eyed and curious sporting nothing but a diaper and some monitoring wires.

Maybe he was intubated, hooked up to ECMO, sedated and bleeding.

Maybe the saw the picture of he and I holding hands on his very last day here on earth.

Doesn't matter either way.

They saw him.

They saw him in all his tiny delicateness, they saw his fragility and the precarious nature of his battle.

They saw his beauty, the fineness of his features, his future handsomeness already apparent.

They saw his affliction, they saw what he was up against, and they saw his bravery, and what he was fighting.

They saw him lose.

They saw us break.

They saw him, and us.

Somewhere out there, someone saw my son, and they got it. They felt something for him and for us, and it's a strange but good feeling.

They saw the reality.

They saw the untouched photos, and they aren't pretty. It wasn't pretty.

But, it was what it was.

It was sad, and scary, and filled with panic and desperation.

It was painful, for us and for him.

It was bloody, and messy and complicated and uncharted territory.

It was heart breaking.

It was life ending and life changing.

It was tragic.

It was horrible.

And today, and on many other days I am sure, someone saw that.

And I feel somewhat validated, because I spend a great deal of time feeling like the vast majority of people we know, aside from those who saw it first hand, just don't get it. They don't know what it was. Their minds have cleaned it up, prettied it up, made it nice and neat and easy, but it wasn't. It was exactly what it was.

But here's what else it was.

It was life changing, it was love filled, it was hope filled, it was heart breaking but soul saving, it brought us to our knees in pain but led us to prayer, it was perspective changing, it deepened our capacity to love and to care and to feel. It was crawling over hot coals and coming out on the other side scorched, burned, blistered and bleeding but knowing that we did it, and we could do it again if we had to, and we'd do it again in an instant if we had to. It was bad, but it was good.

It's inexplicable.

But, someone today saw a picture of Everett.

And they pondered him.

They thought about him, and his fight, and our loss, and our broken hearts.

They said his name, either out loud or in their heads.

And that is also inexplicable.

It's inexplicably touching.

(I've got nothing on you baby.....)

Katie

I hate hindsight!

2010-04-27T17:39:00.000-07:00

It just further drives home the point, that what's done is done.

We have comfort in faith, but no power, no magic.

We have no ability to travel back in time and correct the mistakes we made that are so GLARINGLY obvious today.

Yes, hindsight, I hate you!

It makes my stomach ache, my heart crumble into pieces so fine it's nearly dust. It fills me with anger and resentment and guilt, and sadness.

Hindsight seems to exist only to rub our stupidity and our rash decisions in our faces.

It thumbs its nose at me, taunting "You messed up and there's nothing you can do about it now!". It practically laughs in my face.

Hindsight is a total jerk.

Not sure why I chose tonight to swan dive into grief. Since I already have a pretty distressing and never ending headache, choosing to upset myself and opting to deal with the resulting tears seems pretty foolish, but nothing about grief is rational.

So tonight, though a tiny voice inside of me was pleading "Don't do it! Don't go there!", I went to the place in my computer where my Everett files are stored, and I started reading. I read every post I made on my mommy message board while Everett was fighting for life. And I cried.

Then I read every private message my friends sent me after he passed, and I sobbed.

Then I watched the only video I have of him on my computer. I saw his tiny body, I could practically feel how soft he was. I watched him breath, and squint, and cry and complain, and I marveled at his tiny little intact chest, pre-surgery, and noted how sick it was at all that I was marveling at the sight of an intact chest, but with Everett, we became quite used to a piece of gauze being all there was between our eyes and his heart. I watched him on the screen, alive, pink, precious, doing things babies do, maybe crying to be held, or fed, or complaining in the only way he could that he just didn't feel right, and then I went totally numb inside. The body, and the mind, they protect themselves from pain like this, otherwise I think I might actually have died from my grief years ago.

Next, I moved onto pictures of him. Pictures where he's sick, but not that sick. Sure he's in Toronto, awaiting open heart surgery, but he's breathing on his own with lungs that are healthy and functioning. Sure his heart is badly deformed, but for now, it's pumping, his skin is pink, he's sleeping, bundled on his side, hands bunched by his face, and he's adorable. He looks just like Landon, which both delights me and kills me all at once, because it drives home the fact that whether I feel like it or not, I actually had identical twins, for a while.

The sight of his hands, tucked by his chin, is more painful then I think it should be. It puzzles me, why that hurts so bad to see, but then it strikes me that it hurts because some moments in his brief little baby life, were normal. And that brings us to hindsight.

If hindsight were actually functional in some way, I could appreciate it. If it pointed out our mistakes and then allowed us to fix them, how amazing would that be!?

He had normal. He had a quasi healthy existence during that first week. And we charged in like heroes set on remodeling his heart and saving his life, but instead I think we trampled on his hope and his health, crushing them like flowers into the ground. WHY OH WHY did we steal his chance to be healthy with our impatience and our panic!?! We panicked and plowed ahead full force with a plan of action too radical and too forceful for him, for tiny little brand new him.

His surgery was practically a beating, we only made him sicker, weaker, and more unable to cope with the cross he had to bear.

This is why I hate hindsight.

If it served any purpose at all, I'd go back right now and tell myself what I know now.

Slow down.

Breath.

Calm down.

Give him time.

Take baby steps.

Wait.

Wait until he's bigger.

Wait until he's stronger.

Be patient, don't rush to fix him all at once.

Rebuild his heart, step by step.

Start small, and work up.

Give him TIME!

Maybe a smaller surgery at first would have bought him time.

Maybe we could have let him heal and grow before doing a total fix.

Maybe his lungs would not have given out.

Maybe he would have never needed ECMO.

Maybe he would have recovered, and been a poster child for CHD repair.

Maybe he'd be a success story rather then a statistic.

Maybe I'd have three kids in my home right now.

Damn hindsight.

But I don't need hindsight to tell me that things could have been different, if only. I only need a video like this, to show me my baby, how he was, normal precious baby, to let me know how grievously wrong our actions were, and how much our mistakes cost us.

Baby Everett Video

I know, I know, many will tell me that we had no way of knowing what the outcome would be, we didn't cause his death, we didn't make mistakes, I know, I know. But it doesn't change the violation my heart feels I committed. Knowing that logically I did everything I could doesn't negate the guilt and the shame and the pain, it only intensifies the regret.

Katie

Feeling compelled.....

2010-04-16T19:57:00.001-07:00

...Day in and day out, to have another baby.

It's a constant nagging desire.

A whisper in my ear.

A pull in my heart.

An ache in my stomach.

Day in and day out.

What do I do with that? How do I make that desire come through loud and clear to my husband who's not really on board? How do I convey the gravity of the issue, the out of this world pull it has on me?

How to I explain that it doesn't feel optional to me at all, that it's not something I can "wait and see" about, it's an issue, a NEED that I have to address, and ideally, I'd get to address it soon.

Does it make any sense at all that I feel like I NEED to have another baby? Like it's a desire God placed on my heart, that it's something we're supposed to do, or a gift we're supposed to accept? Does it make me sound terrible if I admit that I think it will further help me heal from my losing Everett and from my miscarriage? Do I sound totally selfish and awful if I say that I think having another pregnancy and baby, and getting to me a mommy once more will feel good, in so many ways, and help smooth over all the things that have felt so bad in my life? Am I horrible?

I don't know how to answer when people say, usually in discouraging tones, "why do you want another", I don't know what an "acceptable" answer would be.

I just do.

I want to be a mommy of a baby again.

I want another child in my home.

I want Avery to share in my excitement, now that she's old enough to get in on the fun, and she wants another baby.

I want Landon to be a big brother.

I want to be pregnant again, and feel a new life grow inside me.

I want to hold a new born in my arms, and nurse them and sleep with them on my chest.

I want a baby in our lives again.

My family is not complete, and never will be, but I feel it calls for another baby, day in and day out.

Why does anyone ever want a baby? Because we want to love them. Because our hearts compel us so. Because we think they're cute. Because we can express our love and hopes for the future in our love for them. Because family is amazing. Because children are amazing.

Because I need to.

I would know if I was done. I would feel it.

And I know that I am not done.

So what now? What does this aching mama do with her growing desire to mama one more? Where do I put it? How do I handle it? I am on fire with want for another pregnancy and baby, what now?

All that can be done is prayer. Prayer for God's will do be done.

Prayer for God t hear my heart call, prayer for his guidance and intervention.

Prayer, that fear would subside and hope override, and that God's will is that our family receives a new addition, and soon!

Please.

Katie

I want something........

2010-04-13T11:04:00.000-07:00

I want to fill the hole in my heart

I want to patch the cracks in my sanity

I want to ease the throbbing ache of grief

I want to suppress the sorrow

I want to hold back the tears

I want to build up walls of protection from the world

I want to rip the blinders off those who can't see my grief

I want to climb a mountain and shout Everett's name from it's peak

I want to make a difference and do it in the name of my son, who has already changed so many lives

I want to announce his existence to everyone who asks how many kids I have

I want to build a time machine

I want to fix his broken heart, then bring him home and love him

I want to comfort those who mourn

I want to be comforted

I want to do something with the grief and turmoil inside of me

I want to change my life

I want Everett

I want to see my twin boys side by side again

I want to throw away all my mementos and have the real thing instead

I want for him to never have died

I want to know God's rational some day

I want to understand his plan

I want to feel whole, and know I never will

I want Everett, always

Katie

Once bereft, always bereft....

2010-04-08T17:17:00.000-07:00

It's my experience, in the two years, four months and one day that I've been grieving, that you don't graduate from grief. You don't get discharged from it. You don't get promoted out of it. It's a life sentence, or if you will, a brand, seared into you for the remainder of your days. And like a brand, it may start out raging, raw and painful, and with time heal over, settle down, hurt less, but even scar tissue is painful when handled wrong.

Yes, once grieved, always grieved.

This is reasonable since I can't "un-lose" my baby, therefor I should not expect to "un-hurt", or "un-long", or "un-mourn" him.

Even on my very best days, when my life is filled with gratitude and hope and beauty and joy, the scar is there, red and raised and reminding me that nothing is quite right, because he is not here. Not to say that Everett is a scar, or that he is painful to me, because that is not the case. The scar is the grief, the scar is the sadness, the scar is the shattered expectations, the damaged trust, the disbelief.

Two years, four months and one day after the fact, and I am still standing mouth agape, in disbelief in that hospital room in Toronto in my mind. I'm still dumbfounded. The shock is still resonating through me, like the aftershocks following an earthquake, I'm not done experiencing his loss yet, and I fear I have not yet begun to "heal" over yet. My scar is still new. It still hurts. And every time I hear the word "twins", or "NICU", or "heart defect", or "ECMO", it's like someone poking a finger into the wound. It's agony.

I must look healed to those standing on the outside looking in. Because people certainly feel free to talk about their friend who's having twins, or their neighbors baby who just had open heart surgery, or the baby they saw on TV who had to be on life support because of a heart defect. And as bad as it sounds, I want to shove my fingers in my ears and yell "LALALALALALA" as loud as I can. Or even worse I want to tell them to shut up, give a dirty look and storm out of the room. Grief's irrational like that. But please! I am not okay with talking about these things, it's painful, VERY, painful. And the hardest part is that those who don't know, don't know, and it's not their fault. I can't expect them to understand it. I can't expect someone who's never grieved their baby to know what the triggers of grief are. And honestly, they're different from griever to griever.

Yes, once bereft always bereft.

And you know what else this bereft Mama always feels called to do? Fund raise in Everett's name. I feel an overwhelming drive to do big and beautiful things in his name, to give purpose and meaning to his brief life, tangible, comprehendable meaning that is, to make sense of the mere 20 days I had to know him outside the womb. God had a purpose, this I know to the core of me, God had a plan and he executed it flawlessly. God and Everett are right and squared, they understand each other and what went down perfectly. But I got left out. I don't get it. I'm not informed and I don't understand it. So, I'm driven to make sense of it in my own way.

I lost Everett, that caused me grief, my grief made me sensitive, so I sympathize with other bereft parents and want to make them hurt less, so I want to fund raise for them, to make the process easier, in some little way for them. Everett made it possible for other families to hurt less. That=Good. And good, we can all agree, is good.

Grief makes you crazy you know, you can never be quite certain if your new quirky take on life will be interpreted as an insightful and genuine take on life after loss, or just plan strangeness, I'm not even certain myself. Grief also makes you care less, so I won't lose any sleep over whether or not I'm strange or not.

See this boy?

He holds up a mirror for me, and shows me each day what Everett would look like, and it stings like rubbing alchol on a too fresh wound, but it hurts good, like the pain that diminishes an itch, the itch was far worse then the pain itself.

He reminds me of so many truths I needed to know....

Life goes on

God is good

Somethings are not to be understood here on earth

Flowers grow from dirt, and good grows from bad

Everett was, he existed, he's still here in a sense, in our hearts, in our memories, in our dreams, and in Landon's precious face.

And Landon speaks now. He talks up a storm.

He speaks, and he says his brothers name. Almost perfectly. And again, it hurts in the most welcoming way.

Once bereft always bereft.

But thank the Lord that He teaches us to live with it, love through it, and grow by it.

Katie

Ambushed.....

2010-03-20T22:26:00.000-07:00

It happens at the strangest times.

It tip toes up behind me when I least expect it.

Sometimes I just don't see it coming.

And I miss him.

Terribly.

Being at work used to be a big trigger, but not so much lately. And I guess because it hasn't been a problem for so long now, I let my guard down.

Mistake for sure.

It started as soon as I walked through the door. Those doors.

I'm used to entering through them now, the doors outside of the Pediatric wing, but there was a time when stepping foot inside them sent waves of panic rolling through me. And that happened again tonight, for the first time in a long time.

The smell.

The sounds.

The vision of it.

Exactly as it was. And I was transported, for an instant, back to my time there with Everett and Landon. My heart was heavy before my shift even began.

And then infamous "how many kids do you have?" was asked. I have the quick and simple answer, and felt ashamed for it, and my heart grew even heavier.

I took a little walk to get a chocolate bar, and was browsing the bulletin boards, when a picture of a baby with a surgical incision up his sternum caught my eye. "Help save ******'s heart" the sign read, it was a fundraiser for a baby born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome. My heart sank a little deeper.

On my way back to the elevators I passed a sign I pass all the time, a picture of one of our pediatricians leaning into an isolette to examine a tiny baby. Memories came speeding back at me, my heart raced, and sank, and broke.

And now here I am, trapped in a place that holds so many good, and bad memories, feeling more then I want to be feeling, remembering more then I want to remember, and feeling pained and heavy hearted.

It happens, when I least expect it, and at the most inconvenient times.

I miss him.

I miss being full of excitement and anticipation and hope.

I've fully come to grips with the reality of losing Everett. I've made my peace with God and let him comfort me. My faith has grown and deepened, further assuring me of a reunion one day with my lost baby boy.

But something in me craves a special kind of healing.

The desire comes deep from within, or perhaps from beyond me. It's strong and unexplainable. And calls for another chance. Not to "do over", because Everett cannot be "done over", there can be no alternate ending, and there can be no undoing of our experiences. They are ours, they are precious and painful and real and a part of who we are today. But something very deep within me calls for another baby. For another chance to conceive, carry, deliver, and care for another baby created by Elvis and I from great love and faith. It's a scary thought, but my faith in God, and my past experiences with loss have taught me that risk, and trust, are worth it, and that the pay out can be so incredible.

I have a beautiful daughter, two beautiful sons, and a mystery baby in Heaven, and something deep within me feels the call to have another baby.

I feel it even more when I walk through those doors outside the Pediatric wing. And I crave to be there on happier circumstances.

I feel it even more when I see that sign with the Dr. checking in on the new born baby, and I think about having another new born of my own.

I feel it when I see a TV show with a pregnant character, when I see a pregnant woman on the street or in the mall, when I drive by Babies R' Us, when I look at baby pictures of my kids, when I take pictures of someone elses babies, and when I care for old ladies long past their childbearing years and I wonder if they wished they could have had one more.

Grief comes with longing.

Longing for the past, and for the unknown present.

Grief creates desire.

Desire to remember and hold on to memories, desire to heal and be pain free, and desire to be in control of what happens in the future.

Grief brings fear.

Fear of never healing, fear of feeling the scary depths of your own personal pain, and fear of not being able to decide what happens next.

Grief brings love.

Deep, deep love for Everett, and for Avery and for Landon, and for what the future might hold for us all.

Grief is a domino effect.

It starts with just one thought, just one memory, and leads to another and another and another, until where I end up is no where near where I started.

I started off coming to work.

Which kicked off missing Everett.

Which kicked off missing babies.

Which kicked off a maternal longing.

Which kicked off fear of never having any more babies.

Which kicked off fear.

I wish I could kick off grief!

Five more hours of work tonight, and I'm trying to but grief and longing and sadness and fear to bed, for now.

For now I want to surrender it all to God, who knows my heart and knows his plans for me. All my worrying and fear will do no good. He knows what's in store for us. He has has influence on our hearts, and he works all things for our good. So I'll trust him with this. My grief and my longing. And put this post to bed.

Katie

Cross Post....

2010-03-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

Once more, my life blog overlaps my grief blog, this post would have been perfectly at home right here, since it is all about grief and Everett, it's hard sometimes to decide what goes where. Here's the link...

This post may break your heart

Katie

Last night I had a dream....

2010-03-12T15:58:00.001-08:00

I had one of those dreams.

One of those dreams that feels so real, it violates all the defenses you set up to protect yourself from the hurt, and you feel, truly feel, the depths of your grief.

Those of you who have lost a child will know exactly what I mean, but those who haven't can imagine.

I dreamed that Everett and Landon had just been born, but in this scenario, we knew Everett was going to be sick, and that he would die. We were staying in some little apartment within the hospital, and we kept going to the nursery to see the boys, and we kept waiting for Everett to get sick, but he never did. The anticipation was painful, we knew it was coming (somehow), but he kept on doing well, in some cases better then Landon who was perfectly healthy. The longer Everett continued to do well, the more we allowed ourselves to hope that we were wrong, and that he would live. It even occurred to us that we had prematurely changed the boys nursery from a twin nursery to just a room for Landon, and that we may have to change it back because it looked like Everett would be coming home. We imagined him in our lives for years to come, we imagined him at 4 or 5 years of age. The dream was wonderful and horrible all at once. Maybe because no part of me, at the time, realized like we sometimes do, that it was a dream.

Our hearts filled with hope.

And though it was just my subconscious, it felt so intensely real, that I felt real hope, hope which transcended my dream and came into my day with me. Then died. Reality hit me like a tonne of bricks.

Just a dream.

No miracle healing.

The only encounters I will ever have with Everett now in this life, are in dreams like these.

And even though they hurt when I wake, I wish I could have them more often. What a blessing it would be to feel him close to me, to really feel it and not doubt its reality.

It never crossed my mind to do so, but maybe now I'll pray that God will bless me with dreams of Everett, the closest thing I may get to my miracle.

Katie

Explanations........

2010-03-10T15:42:00.000-08:00

...It just occurred to me that I'm going to have to make them one day.

Some day I'll have to tell Landon about Everett.

I'm not sure why that never crossed my mind before.

Maybe it's because Landon's learning how to talk, so we're asking him to try his skills out with our family members names. It felt so strange to ask him to say Everett.

Actually, saying the name Everett out loud, a few times in a row to prompt Landon, felt very strange to me, to say it and to hear it said. We don't speak his name out loud often enough to make it feel common place. Sure we think it, we type it, we write it, but we don't often hear it.

It's a strange sort of painful.

To hear what it would have sounded like to call out his name, it kills me.

I'll never call down the hall "Everett come get your boots on," like I do the other two kids. His name will never be commonly used in the day to day, it will never feel worn in or familiar.

His name, whenever said out loud, will always hurt, it will always feel like a blow to the stomach, it will always make me say "Oh!" when I hear it, "Oh, my other baby", "Oh, my lost baby", "Oh, that's right, he's not here, and never will be."

This grieving business, it's tricky. Hard to master for sure.

Try as I might, I still don't have the swing of it. And something as benign as saying his name out loud can send me reeling.

How on earth will I ever sit Landon down and tell him all about his brother, when he's old enough to understand. How will he feel when he knows his history, his deep connection to his lost brother? Will he feel strange? Sad? Confused? Grieved? Or like a piece of a puzzle fell into place?

I'm dreading it.

Good thing is, pictures are up all over the house, and we talk about him out loud from time to time. Plus our tattoos are great conversation starters, so his existence won't be a big surprise, I hope.

I'm ashamed of myself, for feeling so strange and disconnected with Everett's name, and how it sounds coming from my mouth. I'm his mother, and his name shouldn't sound foreign or alien coming from my lips, but it does.

I picked his name.

I loved his name.

I rubbed and prodded his side of my belly calling out his name trying to get him to react.

I sat over his bedside in the hospital and softly whispered his name.

I tattooed his name on my ankle.

It's branded on my heart.

So how can it sound so strange when spoken.

One of the mysteries of grief I suppose.

His name......

It used to be on the wall, and now its not.

He was supposed to be a part of our lives, in the flesh, to have and hold....

And now he's not.

And now his name, in tattoos and memorial plaques, are the only time we see it written out....

But its in our hearts always.

On our minds constantly.

In our prayers nightly.

And always on the tip of our tongues, but sometimes we just can't bring ourselves to say it out loud, and feel the depth of his goneness, because it hurts more then we have words to describe.

Everett, I miss you.

Everett, I love you.

Everett, you're on my mind 24 hours a day.

Everett, you're beautiful, and every minute of our time together was worth it.

Everett, I cherish every single memory, and every single memento I have of you.

Everett, you're the reason I believe in God, you're the reason I'll go to Heaven, because nothing on earth could keep me from a reunion with you one day.

Love Mama

(Katie)

Cross Post.....

2010-02-15T08:27:00.001-08:00

I just blogged in my other blog about grief and about Everett, which I realize would have been very fitting over here as well. Should you not happen to know about my other blog and want to check it out, here's the link to today's post:

Maturing Grief

Katie

It's almost too much to bear.....

2010-01-24T10:49:00.000-08:00

Laying on my desk right now, is a composite of nine pictures I printed off last night. Nine little black and white pictures, three of each of my kids. And in the bottom left corner there's a picture of Everett, with his eyes open, watching the camera.

And its almost too much to bear.

The closest thing we'll ever have to looking into his eyes.

And he's perfect and precious and looks just like Landon, but the reality of him has become so faded.

I can barely remember what it was like to be physically near him, to have that proximity, and to look into his actual eyes and not just a photograph.

Its almost more then I can bear.

I witnessed last night how the sight of these very same pictures shut Elvis down from he inside out. He asked for them, new pictures of the kids for his new work binder. All three kids, because Elvis would never leave Everett out, and as they emerged from the printer, I could see his heart break. Maybe it was those eyes, looking right into his. Maybe he felt that pain of remembering what it was like to do that for real, and then he felt the pain of reality, that all we have are pictures and memories that cloud by the day.

And it was almost more then he could bear. He imploded, silently, and put himself to bed quicker and earlier then he normally would. His heart hurt, I could see his sadness in the slump of his shoulders and the glaze over his eyes.

It's mind blowing sometimes, how you can be perfectly functional for days or even weeks at a time, and then suddenly you stumble and get all tangled in your grief all over again. And I just can't believe he's dead. I can't believe one of my babies died. My beautiful identical twin babies, separated by death just 20 days after their birth and three weeks before they were even due to enter this world. Beautiful, loved, wanted, miraculous baby, gone. We didn't have time to enjoy him properly. He never came home. We barely got to hold him. I never got to try and nurse him. Or dress him. I can't even recall if I changed his diaper. And now he's gone.

And its almost too much to bear.

Katie

He's not there.............

2010-01-15T13:13:00.001-08:00

Since the day we buried Everett, his grave site has been a place of great conflict for me. The moment he was settled in his body's final resting place, and it was certain to all of us that we had truly said goodbye, and that it wasn't some horrible nightmare we could wake from, I wanted to leave it. Its like magnetic attraction in reverse, that grave site repels me. It's the last place on earth I want to be.

Some days, like today, when I'm in my car with time to spare, I think to myself "maybe I'll stop in", but then I catch myself and ask why? Why stop in? What good would it do? Would it make me feel any better? No. Its just what people do when they lose loved ones, and they feel a need to visit them someplace, any place, to make that loss feel a little less concrete. But I guess my heart doesn't work that way. I feel no comfort at all standing at the place we buried my 20 day old son. It feels horrible to stand at his head stone and know that his body rests just six feet below my feet, but I can't see him or hold him ever again.

His grave site isn't him.

Today it is granite and snow and trinkets poking through, its cold and its lonely and its not him.

He's not there. He's not waiting there for me to come to him.

He's not there.

He's in Heaven, of that we can be assured, and he's not worried about us at all.

He doesn't feel more loved by me, or us, depending on how many times we visit his body. He's not keeping score at all. I can send my love up to him a million times a day and yet I suspect he's totally unconcerned by it at all, because he's in Heaven, and he's got the most amazing love around him at all times. I'm willing to bet that his focus is Jesus and not me anyway, until I can join him there, and that I have his permission to love him and grieve him in any way I like, whatever keeps me going until I can see him again.

So I drive by his grave and cast a sideways glance out the window as I pass him, I scan quickly for any changes, any new trinkets I can see from the road, and I keep going. I don't pull in the gate, I don't park by his row, I don't get out and trudge through two feet of snow to his beautiful granite head stone, and I DO NOT fall to my knees and fall to pieces. I don't shed tears to a stone and have conversation with a body that stopped hearing me over two years ago. I don't do it because its not natural for me, and I don't do it because he's not there and he doesn't need me to.

But here's what I do. I pray to God to pass my love onto him, though I don't think Everett needs me to, I need to. And I think about him every time I pass his picture in the hallway, or look at his brother, or see a new baby. I miss him every morning and every night and every minute in between. I blog about him, talk about him, and pray about him whenever the need strikes me. And I think about what it will take to see him again, and I think about how I'm going to make it happen. I puzzle over what our Heavenly reunion will be like and I sometimes cry from frustration because I'm confused about what to expect. But at the end of the day I sleep peaceably because though I don't know what out reunion will be like, I know it will be and that's good enough for me.

Katie

How I know............

2009-12-08T16:19:00.000-08:00

Many people struggle with the concept of God, I did myself, and who can wonder why? God is mind boggleing! How do we wrap our heads around a loving, father figure, all powerful God who breathed the world into existance and counted and named each star personally before placing it gingerly in the sky? How to we begin to understand how this same God breathed life into each of us and knew our names and life stories before we were ever even thought of by our parents on earth? How do we digest that He can forgive anything, ANYTHING, and that he loves us all the same as he did Jesus? Thats a lot to take in.

But I know its true.

I know He is very real, and is love and grace and mercy are absolute.

I know it because I'm living it.

I feel it each and every day when I wake up and when I go to bed.

Many people wonder how I can believe in and trust in God after losing Everett and after having so many prayers go unanswered. What I don't know is how to tell them that for those very reasons I believe in God. Because I lost Everett and had unanswered prayers, I believe in God. Because I felt pain so severe I thought it might kill me. Because I cried so many tears I thought I might dry up inside. Because I felt loneliness so deep I felt hollow inside, I believe in God.

Because he eased my pain.

Dried my tears.

And promised I am never alone.

He is faithful. And since opening my mind and my heart, and telling my brain that I don't need to understand it all, God has blessed me and my family time and time again with his love and mercy and kindness, and second chances, and love in abundance.

I miss my baby, deeply and constantly, and if I could have him back right now you can bet I would jump at the chance to do so.

But I can't.

But I have Elvis, and Avery and Landon.

I have my parents and sisters.

My precious nephew.

Grandmothers.

Cousins and their kids.

My inlaws, so many inlaws, sisters, brothers, parents, and nieces and nephews.

I have friends, online and in real life.

I have God.

I have comfort and love and faith and eventually I'll have Heaven.

How could I not believe.

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of Everett's passing. Being that we were in NYC and very busy, I didn't have time to fall to pieces. From time to time I wanted to. I felt the tears rise up behind my eyes and I felt my heart grow heavy. But I made it from sun up to sun down without falling to pieces and I feel okay about that. There was a time when I NEEDED to crumble and drown myself in tears, but now I have something to hold on to when the sadness comes, because I no longer wonder where Everett is, nor do I worry if I will see him again, because 1 Thessalonians 4:13 says

"And regarding the questions, friends, that has come up about those already dead and burried, we don't want you in the dark any longer. First off, you must not carry on over them like people who have nothing to look forward to [no hope], as if the grave were the last word."

The most precious thing God has given me, aside from comfort and salvation, is hope.

Something to look forward to, that non believers just don't have. I have the hope of a sweet reunion one day, which keeps me going each and every time my heart breaks again and I want to fall to pieces.

I know He is real, and I am so thankful for Him and the blessings he doles out, at not cost to me at all.

Katie

The unhappiest anniversary......

2009-12-07T06:22:00.000-08:00

Its been two years since we said goodbye to Everett.

Two years since our world imploded.

Two years since our hearts broke into a million pieces.

And it feels like yesterday.

I can still remember how it felt to leave Sick Kids without Everett, to have to hand him back over to the nurse and leave him, and to know that the next time I saw him, it would be at his funeral.

I can still rememeber picking out what he would wear for his funeral, picking out what he would wear for the very first, and very last time. I can remember sitting across from the funeral director at his desk, with tears flowing so hard and fast I couldn't see through them, like right now.

I can't believe its been two years since I had both my boys together. Two years since my world felt right and made sense. Two years since I felt like I wasn't a statistic or the worst case scenario. Two years since my family was whole.

We're in NYC visiting family today, and I can't decide if the distraction is good or not. I can't decide if its good that I can't dive right into all the hurt and sadness and remembering, because I feel like I should, I feel like I need to. I feel like I need to devote this time to hurting and missing him, but I can't because we're staying with family and supposed to be having fun and making this time special.

I don't want to drag them down.

I don't want Elvis to hurt if he's not already hurting.

I don't want to confuse my kids.

But I want to crawl into a whole and just let it come. And then maybe be done for the day. rather then delay the inevitable and fall apart later.

Two years feels like two minutes.

I still want my baby back more then anything.

Katie

Nearly two years ago....

2009-12-05T00:36:00.000-08:00

The day is fast approaching. This time two years ago, we knew we were in the midst of the fight for Everett's life, and we knew we were losing it. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we knew any efforts made at this point were last ditch efforts. The writing was on the wall. And the butterfly was on the IV pole.

The pretty, gauzy butterfly dangling from the IV pole. The unspoken signal that this baby wasn't going to make it. They didn't want to say that's what it was, and they didn't need to. "We know to sign the butterfly when we see it" says it all really. And then there was the lady who came to cast his foot, without a word to us from the nurses she was coming, we hadn't asked, but she was summoned none the less, to create a momento for us, because everyone knew his battle was nearly lost.

We knew it, but we couldn't accept it. We knew it was over, and we knew that as soon as we let go, he would go, but we could not face it. Instead we prayed, we retreated to quiet rooms and corridors and bathrooms at Sick Kids and prayed and pleaded that God would heal him, and that we wouldn't have to actually say goodbye. And we whispered in Everett's ear, encouraging words, and desperate words, and I begged him to stay with me, I begged him not to go.

The day before he died, we spent the day with Landon, clinging to the last little bit of hope we had, that he was having a day of rest after another proceedure, and when we returned, we'd have good news, and he will have turned a corner and all would be well.

The next day we sat at his bedside during a routine head ultrasound, and we read the look on the ultrasound technicians face, crystal clear. It was over. "I'll go talk to your Dr. he'll be over to see you". The Dr's face said it too, and he refered us to yet another Dr. who explained to us what we already knew, because we knew what they were looking for. He confirmed to us that Everett had a brain bleed, a side effect of his ECMO, which was saving his life and taking it all at once.

Later that day, we called family to his bedside, and had him baptized, and then we took him off his life support and we held our breath waiting to see if he would breath on his own, or if his heart could do the work itself, and then he died. The Dr's handed him to us as quickly as possible and the earth fell away from our feet. I've never known such pain and such crippling loss. The world stopped making any sort of sense.

Its been two years, but it feels like yesterday. And as this anniversary approaches, suddenly its on us, I have no idea what to do or how to cope. We'll be visiting family in New York City this year, so I'll be away from the familiar, his things, his grave, my bed. And I wonder how I'll cope without having a place to hide and withdraw and break into pieces if need be. I can only pray that God will be with us and give us comfort, and that our family will understand our need for space and sensitivity, and will cut us some slack when we seem like we've lost our heads.

We haven't, our heads are just fine...

We lost our son, and that won't ever be okay.

Katie
'

Seeking answers.....

2009-11-23T13:01:00.000-08:00

The instant Everett died, and we held him in our arms, and marveled over his beautiful face and his incredible fight, we wondered why.

Why?

What sort of world do we live in, where seemingly perfect new born babies die from hidden birth defects? What sort of God allows such suffering and heart break? We wondered this intensely then. And when wondering and searching brought forth no answers, we were frustrated, and angry, and turned our backs on God, who we imagined could not, or would not help us and our baby.

When our grief lessened in intensity and our anger waned, a tiny opening was made for Christs love and His peace to enter our lives. And we were immediately comforted. Life was never been the same. We have been changed and for the better and we see our loss and our grief with new eyes.

At the time, we felt abandoned by God. We had made it up in our minds that God had either decided against helping Everett, or that he couldn't help him, and we were lost and angry and in the midst of despair so deep we couldn't see clearly.

And then one day it cleared. And, I can only speak for myself, but I felt driven to find our more about God and His love and comfort and mercy. And as soon as I was receptive to it, I had it. Comfort after months of agony.

We found a great church with a fabulous community and jumped in with both feet and open hearts and the blessings just kept coming.

The pain is still there, and it flares up from time to time, especially at this time of year, but His comfort quickly follows. Because we know this:

Lamentations 3:31-33

31 For men are not cast off
by the Lord forever.

32 Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.

33 For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to the children of men.

He does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.

He didn't do it.

He didn't want it.

He didn't allow it.

It happened.

And though we won't ever really and truly understand why, the Bible offers up this explanation...

John 9:2-3
2 His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
3 “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.

THIS happened, so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.

In Everett's life.

Everett was born with a heart so afflicted it could not be healed by all of our amazing technology, so that God's work could be displayed through his life.

He died so that the good of God could be demonstrated through his life.

Everett's 20 day life, and our heart break, happened so that something God could be done or achieved in God's name.

So, does this then mean that grief is to be my ministry?

I'm living in a perpetual state of grief over Everett and what should have been. It waxes and wanes but the pain is always there. And it happened to him, and to us, so that we could demonstrate God's good works through our experience? If this is true, which I don't doubt it is, then I have a job to do. Everett has done all he can and the rest is up to us. To show the world that it has worked for our good, that comfort came with the pain and that good has followed the bad, and the God has been at work in this.

An interesting ministry indeed.

Katie

Doing something stupid....

2009-11-23T12:19:00.000-08:00

I'm remembering.

Two years ago today, both my new born baby boys were happily snuggled into bassinets at OSMH's NICU. If we went back in time and watched this day play out two years ago, we would see Everett's downward spiral. We would see a nurse notice a change in his breathing, we would see her move a little quicker then she had the rest of the day, and take out her stethascope and listen a little harder then usual. We'd see them move Everett from the bassinet to the isolette and see her make a call to the Dr. We'd see him struggle more and more for breath, we'd see his little chest heave and we'd see him use all his accessory muscles to draw sufficient breath. We'd see his color change too, and we'd see nursery staff making accommodations for what they knew what was coming, and we didn't.

We'd see the Dr. arrive and take two terrified parents aside into a quite room and explain what was happening, you'd hear talk of a suspected heart defect (not the one he actually had) and we'd see a helicopter transport team from Sick Kids arrive. You'd see Everett crash, badly. You'd see staff scramble to secure IV lines and you'd see him packed into his little transport device, and then we would be gone.

You'd see a frantic phone call made to supportive grandparents. You'd see a terrified Grandmother trying to be strong for her daughter make another frantic phone call to a sister more then an hour away, making a pleading request for her help. You'd see that sister say goodbye to her husband and kids and bundle up and make the drive to Orillia to help her brother and his wife get to Sick Kids to be with their desperately ill baby. You'd see shattered people in limbo, not knowing what was to come. You'd see tears and you'd hear sobbing and you'd see eyes staring out into space, totally in shock, totally blindsided by what has transpired.

You'd see helpless family members at home in the middle of the night laying awake thinking about Everett and about us and you'd hear praying, both silent and out loud, from believers and non believers alike.

You'd see pacing, and worried faces and nail biting and heart ache, if you went back two years ago today.

And still it would not be as bad as could and would get. You'd see a baby with a chest in tact. You'd see a baby breathing on his own. You'd see a baby with 10 perfect and kissable toes. And this is not what you would see a week later.

Remembering is nearly as painful as experiencing it as it happened.

I hate this time of year because I just feel like I'm walking through the nightmare all over again.

My memories bring me closer to the pain but not to my baby, but I can't help myself at all.

Life all around me is a constant reminder and irritant, just picking at the wound and making it ache all over again.

Katie

Falling into it....

2009-11-16T19:55:00.000-08:00

Its 11:07pm. In a little more then 6 hours, my boys will be two years old.

My boys. Not just Landon, but Everett too. But outwardly, we'll be celebrating the birth of Landon, and those who don't know us, or even those who don't realize the depth and the significance of the day, will celebrate Landon alone.

I knew that the hurt was coming. I expected it. And now its here, and I'm falling into it. I decided a long time ago to not fight the hurt, or the grief. It only hurts more, builds up and explodes into something uncontrollable and messy. So, I'm giving into it and letting it be whatever its going to be.

I've been playing the boys birth over and over in my head and its so bizarre to vividly remembering giving birth to two babies, and then looking around at the kids playing in my living room, and just one of those boys is here in my home, playing with his big sister and enjoying his childhood. Of course its amazing that Landon is here with us, considering the fact that they are identical twins, it is miraculous that Landon was born with a completely perfect heart, and we'll celebrate that tomorrow, when we celebrate his birthday. But somehow I'll have to schedule in some time to silently mourn Everett, and his misfortune.

Poor unfortunate boy. One little cell that divided wrong changed the blueprints of his heart and like a row of domino's falling, it all went awry from there. From perfect to tragically flawed in the time it takes for a cell to divide. Poor baby. The Dr's at Sick Kids told us that his defect was probably formed by 9 weeks, by the time we first viewed them on an ultrasound screen, the damage was already done, and no one knew. We couldn't see it, no one knew how badly it was broken. Its hard to not imagine what life would be like if we could have seen it, if we had some advance warning that he was going to be born with a broken heart. Would we have been able to create a better situation for him to be born into? Would we have been able to treat it better and faster? Would we have been able to give him a fighting chance? Its verly likely that we could have, but we won't ever know it now.

I honestly don't know what to do with myself during this three week phase when my grief is amplified to a nearly unbearable intensity. I can't fall apart, I have to mother my other kids and I have to work. I can't stay in bed all day and eat myself into sweet oblivion, I have to be healthy and productive for my kids, and for me. But my mind hops from thought to thought, it flashes pictures of Everett in my head like a movie and sad songs play through my mind over and over. I can't focus, I get antsy at the sight of pregnant women and babies and the mention of the word twins. When someone mentions Landon's birthday, and they don't know any better, I scream in my head that Everett has a birthday too. I want to fall apart in my husbands arms at the end of the day like I always have when missing Everett gets too hard for me to bear, and I can't do that either. So I don't know what I'll do with myself.

Distractions can only go so far. Eventually night comes and my thoughts are free to run wild. I'll think things like "two years ago I was in the hospital with the boys, both were doing so well", and "two years ago right this second, Everett was on a helicopter on his way to Toronto", and like this, "two years ago right now, the Dr's unhooked all of his life support, and handed to us to hold, already gone, and our lives crumbled."

Its a rough anniversary to get through, spanning not one day, but three painful weeks of struggle and defeat, and the most agonizing loss anyone can experience. Saying goodbye to a baby before you ever even brought them home. Saying goodbye to your baby period. And we'll relive it year, after year, after year, until we're reunited by our own deaths.

I've got a fun day planned with Landon, I'll celebrate him, and I'll mean it, with all my heart, because he is a blessing and he pulled me through some very hard times. Having him to love has been a blessing beyond words, but I haven't found the balance yet, I haven't figured out how to celebrate and grieve at the same time. I don't know how to be joyous over their births, and mourn Everett's death, with grace, without making the day unhappy for Landon. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it with birthday's to come, but until then, I'll continue to face these next few weeks with great anxiety and apprehension. I wish it could be easier.

I'm tempted to go by Everett's grave tomorrow. It seems like the thing to do, but in all honesty, I don't want to. I don't like it there. I don't feel better there. It doesn't help me feel closer to him. All it does is make me hurt. It makes me cry. It makes me remember the day we placed him there, and it makes me want to turn and run the other way. I can't stand being so close to his body, knowing its just there beneath my feet, and knowing I'll never see him or hold him again. I can't tolerate knowing he's there and out of reach, and because I think of him like my living, breathing baby, the thought of him beneath my feet is horrific and more then my aching heart can handle. It may seem strange to some, but I couldn't bear the thought of cremation and I can't bear being at his grave, the truth is that I can't bear that he is dead.

I can't believe he is dead...

If you had seen him, heard him, held him, touched, him, you wouldn't believe it either.

Tomorrow is his second birthday. He never even celebrated a 1 month birthday. Tomorrow we'll celebrate the birth of our twins, without ever having known the joy of parenting twins. We'll look into Landon's gorgeous, beaming, energetic, healthy little face and see Everett there, because they were very much identical. I can see it in the pictures above, Landon and Everett would be spitting images and confuse anyone who didn't really know them well enough to tell them apart by anything other then their looks.

Life's too bittersweet sometimes.

Rough days ahead...

Katie

Oh me of little faith...

2009-11-14T11:19:00.000-08:00

When I was born, my life was uncomplicated and happy. I likely made it to the ripe old age of one or so before I realized that life had conflict and problems. It doesn't take us very long to realize that life is not perfect, not even close. We face problems constantly, from the small and manageable, to the large and life altering, the ones that make you laugh to look back on, and the ones that make your stomach hurt to even think about. A life riddled with problems is not the exception to the human experience, but rather its the rule.

There's no rhyme or reason to it. There's no method to how life's problems are divvied up among us. She gets hers, he gets his, I got mine, and none of of us got the issues we got because we deserved them more then someone else. Mary didn't get off easy because she was better then Bob, and Bob didn't get so much more to deal with because he was worse then Steve. That's not how it works. Our life's circumstances are not determined by whether or not we're deserving of them or not, if that were the case, we'd all have horrible, sad and tragic lives. Because none of us are deserving of perefect lives, none of us get them, but undoubtedly some of us get "better" lives then others, if we use suffering as a measuring stick. Some of us suffer so much more, and its easy to wonder why.

Why did that tornado take his house but not his neighbours?

Why did she lose pregnancy after pregnancy, and her co-worker has more kids then she wants or can handle?

Why did his wife die of breast cancer that was detected early and thought to be treatable, and his boss just survived an operation to remove an inoperable tumor?

Why did our baby die from a condition and surgery that many babies have survived before and since?

When we think like this, its easy to get panicked by the seemingly randomness of how suffering is handed out. Its easy to imagine that God isn't in control really, because surely if he were he'd realize how unfair life is, and how unequally the pain in the world is divided among us all. Millions starve in Africa, while millions are obese in North America, can't God see how strange it all seems? Yes. He can.

We make the assumption of believing its supposed to be fair.

Or that suffering should be shared.

That would be nice, in a perfect world.

But we don't live in a perfect world, we live in this one. And this world is full of imperfection, and hurt and sin, and tragedy, and suffering. Its the price we pay, for simply being human, descendants from the first tragically imperfect people. Life is inherently hard.

So he suffers, she doesn't, they hurt, their neighbours don't, they experience loss, and their best friends experience surplus. It's the way it is. But those who suffer are no less blessed then those who live a seemingly blessed life. God doesn't work like that. You can't tell how much God loves you by counting your material blessings, or by taking stock of your losses. He doesn't think like that. He doesn't sit down and plan your life, before you're ever concieved and think, "I really love Karen, so I'm going to give her everything she ever wants, I'll answer every prayer and bless her with many beautiful healthy children and a happy thriving mariage, because thats how much I love her". Conversely, he never says "I'm not going to be very impressed with Joe, I can see that now, so he'll lose his job, and his wife, and his kids will resent him, and I think he deserves that". That simply isn't how its done.

We're all loved the same by Him. He created each of us to love us, but he didn't dole out our suffering or our blessings, they just happen. And as he watches in Heaven, our lives unfold before us, he weeps when we weep, and he celebrates when we celebrate. And he is there. He walks beside us through each triumph and each trial. And this is where we are all truly blessed. The miracle we can all experience, whether our lives are happy and free from strife, or they are pocked with pain and loss, we can all experience His grace, and mercy, and comfort. We can all lean on Him for strength and love and he can grant us the courage and fortitude needed to endure anything, and I mean anything.

The answer to the question, "how much more can I take?" is this, "as much as you get". You can handle anything, and everything, with Him at your side.

You can endure and endure and endure some more, if you lean on Him when it hurts the most.

Nearly two years ago I gave birth to my precious boys. And when I learned that Everett was sick, very sick, I started to pray. We prayed harder then we ever prayed before. For healing, for a miracle, for Everett to recover and for our fears to be put to rest. We prayed that we would not have to experience the pain of losing him.

When we has 20 days old, Everett could take no more. His heart was sick and tired. His lungs were sick and tired. His body was so sick, and so very tired. And when he was 20 days old, leaning over his bedside, I prayed to God to not take him, and I whispered pleading words in Everett's ear and begged for him to not leave me. And when he was 20 days old, he left.

Crumbling into pieces as I left Sick Kids for the last time, with a bag of belongings to remind me of my boy, and a shattered heart and broken soul, I felt angry with and abandoned by God. He didn't answer my prayers, he didn't make him well, and he didn't spare me from my hurt. And in the following months after Everett's death, I was angry. I made it up in my mind that either there was no God at all, or He was unkind, and unfair, and that I didn't need to believe in either of those scenarios. There was no comfort in it.

But as the months went by and I turned by back on God who did me wrong, I felt lonely, and hollow, and pained beyond words. I felt agony that could not be relieved, and one day I heard Him whisper to me, "lean on me". It sounds crazy, but I heard it, over the sound of my own sobbing, I heard a call to come to Him and be comforted. And reluctantly, and with great skeptisim, I did. And I was relieved.

And that was the miracle I never prayed for.

Whether or not I believed that God was there and loved me, I was still grieving and missing my baby. That would have happened to me no matter what. God didn't do it, life did. I was dissapointed because I had misguided faith. My prayers werent' answered because I prayed for the wrong thing. Rather then pray for healing, and for the outcome that I wanted, I should have been praying for the strength and comfort to get through whatever happened, if I had have prayed for that I would have seen immediately that God was there and with us through it all.

Every day since that day, I have had endless amounts of comfort and grace and love available to me. Salve to my wounds. Medicine for my soul. Each and every day. When the pain hits, like it often does, He is there to bring relief, and that is a miracle we can all have if we pray for it.

How much more can I take? I used to wonder this.

I still wonder this.

And now I know this to be true, "If He leads you to it, He will get you through it"

Just ask.

Oh me of little faith, I should have known.

Katie

Goals

2009-11-14T07:47:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday Elvis and I are taking a baby step. We're going to move, just the tiniest amount, in the right direction. We're going to see a marriage counselor. The first thing we're going to discuss, is our goals for our marriage, and for our time in counseling. What do we each personally want to see happen. We've been asked to come up with our top three goals.

Here are mine.

Trust.

Communication.

and Reciprocal Love.

I want to be able to trust that what I feel is real, and that its authentic and genuine and reliable. I want to trust that Elvis wants the same things, and that he is working towards the same things I am.

I want to open the lines of communication, for the time being, for the purpose of working out our issues and then, for the rest of our marriage, to prevent any further issues. I want to hear what's in his head and in his heart, I want to hear him say what makes him happy and I want to hear what eats at him. I want to be in the know.

I want love. I want to give it and I want to receive it. I want to be wanted. To be cherished. To be pursued. I want to be the object of his affections. I want to be special and held in high esteem. I don't ever want to be settled for, or seen as runner up, or a consolation prize, I don't want to be viewed as "good enough", or someone who will just do in a pinch. I want to be viewed as a prize. And of course, I want to do the same for him.

Those are my goals. I think they're reasonable. I hope they're achievable. I pray that they're God's goals for us as well.

Living life without a love you've become quite accustomed to feeling, is like being a candle who has had its flame blown out. Its still a candle, but it doesn't shine anymore. Its lacking that glow, that vibrancy, that energy that makes it functional and special and valuable. Living day to day without the love of my husband feels like I've had my flame blown out. I'm still alive, still me, but lacking that vibrancy and energy, and that something special that makes me shine.

My goal is to get that back!

Katie

Rough days ahead.....

2009-11-12T09:38:00.001-08:00

Its no secret that I'm going through some rough times right now, with my marriage and trying to make my new life work. Its a challenge for sure, but I am getting through it, day by day, I wake up and find that I am completely capable of adapting to change and coping with the struggles that life throws my way.

But hard days are coming up. We've got some sad anniversaries heading this way that are sure to irritate old hurts and make it harder to deal with the current ones.

On November 17th I'll celebrate Landon's birth, and remember that it was also Everett's, and it will be terribly bittersweet.

From November 17th to December 7th we'll relive all the struggles Everett faced in our heads, we'll remember where we were and what we were doing on each of these 20 days of his life and we'll cry public and private tears for him.

On December 7th we'll mourn Everett's death, and that day will run through our heads like scenes from a very sad movie. It can't be predicted ahead of time whether we'll pull together or pull apart, but it will be a hard, hard day.

On December 11th we'll remember Everett's funeral, and we'll be sad, and it will show, and we'll spend a lot of extra time thinking about him, and wishing that we didn't know at all what it was like to plan a funeral for your new born baby and bury him. I'll remember how it felt to see Elvis carry Everett's tiny white felt covered casket to his grave site, and how it hurt to watch Elvis and his brother Ernie lower it into the ground. It'll hurt just as much remembering it as it did to see it happen.

Hard days ahead for sure. I love this time of year, because winter is approaching, my kids all celebrate their birthdays and Christmas is on its way. But I hate this time of year as well. Because its all tied up with memories of Everett, who we loved and still love with incredible passion. When he died, he took pieces of all of us and we feel his absence in every moment of every day.

I wonder how I'll manage to keep it all together in these coming weeks, missing Everett and setting aside time to grieve him, privately, while actively trying to rekindle a spark in my relationship with my husband. Tough days ahead.

God grant me strength and serenity in these days ahead, and when I can't possibly cope with it all, pick up the balls that I drop so that nothing is overlooked.

Katie

In my place.....

2009-11-11T18:41:00.001-08:00

When Elvis and I were first dating, this song was on the radio all the time. It played in the background of many of my strongest and happiest memories of our beginning, and it has always brought me back to those times.

When hearing the lyrics again today, it seems they bear incredible relevance to our current situation, and that this song may once again become a soundtrack to some pivotal events in our marriage.

In My Place, by Coldplay

In my place, in my place
Were lines that I couldn't change
I was lost, oh yeah

I was lost, I was lost
Crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed
I was lost, oh yeah

Yeah, how long must you wait for it?
Yeah, how long must you pay for it?
Yeah, how long must you wait for it?
Oh for it?

I was scared, I was scared
Tired and underprepared
But I wait for it

If you go, if you go
Leave me down here on my own
Then I'll I wait for you

Yeah, how long must you wait for it?
Yeah, how long must you pay for it?
Yeah, how long must you wait for it?
Oh for it?

Singing ooh ooh
Please, please, please
Come back and sing to me
To me, me

Come on and sing it out, now, now
Come on and sing it out to me, me
Come back and sing

In my place, in my place
Were lines that I couldn't change
I was lost, oh yeah
Oh yeah

Katie

Trust

2009-11-09T05:14:00.000-08:00

Its easy to trust when things are going your way. Its easy to think that you'll always have it good, when you've got it good and always have, there's no reason to believe you'll ever know anything else. When your life is good, and safe and easy, trust that you'll be okay seems to come naturally, you don't know any better. When you've never had your world shaken up, or shattered, when you've never been so low you can't possibly get any lower, you don't realize such things are even possible.

But what if you're at the bottom looking up? What if your life is filled with strife and hardship? What if loss and grief appear to be the theme of your storyline lately? How do you trust then? And in what do you place your trust in?

I've got trust issues. I've been shaken and shattered and have experienced more loss in the past two years then I expected to experience in a life time, I mean untimely loss, unexpected loss, loss that hits you like a speeding train, life altering loss. It seems that just as soon as I acclimate to one loss, and get comfortable in my new life, I get slammed with another one, and I have to start the process all over. So, I've got trust issues.

But I am learning to overcome them.

I'm learning that properly placed trust isn't a gamble, but a sure bet. It pays off. Trust placed in God is a sure bet. Your life won't be different, or easier, but trusting that God has a plan and that he's working in your hardships, can fill your heart with such peace and resolve that you can march through your struggles with confidence, knowing that He is marching with you, and that you're not lost but right on track and on your way to something He planned for your good.

I'm struggling lately. Its as obvious to the rest of the world as it is to me, that my life is hard right now. A lot of people ask me why I don't give up, why don't I just wash my hands of it all and find a new path, an easier path? Some people think I'm the strongest person they know, and some think I'm the craziest. Some think I'm weak, some think I'm pathetic. Some wish they had the strength to do what I am doing, and some go to bed each night thankful they aren't like me. But I'm doing what I am doing, because at the heart of me, I know it's right. I know its what God wants, and its what I want, and I know in the end, it will be worth it. The pain and the struggle will pay off, and lead to something better. Walking away would simply lead me away, trusting in the path I am on and God who put me there will take me where I am supposed to be.

We live in an instant gratification world. A "me" world. We expect to be happy all the time, and if something doesn't make us happy, we trade up, or walk away. We think we deserve so much, we're entitled to have what we want and to be treated a certain way, and think its appropriate to go seeking something new and exciting when what we have loses its sheen and sparkle. But that isn't biblical, and I know it seems unusual to those who know me best, to hear that I want to do thinks biblical. I want to handle my life and the bumps on my road the way God wants, ways that will make Him proud of me. So I'm going to love without expecting anything in return, and give grace and mercy when they aren't "deserved" by our standards. I'm going to put the happiness of others above my own and I'm going to stick it out when many think I should cut my losses and get out. I'm going to exercise patience and trust. And I'm going to simply stay the course, and keep hope in my heart, and have the courage (by God's grace) to ride this out, to the end, until this path leads me into another.

And I think I can already see a light at the end of this long dark tunnel I've been traveling through. Light is seeping through the cracks and it already seems less hopeless.

Katie

Why I do what I do...

2009-11-07T05:41:00.000-08:00

Last night, before going to bed, I reached into my bedside table and pulled out a book I've been turning to a lot lately, for advice on how to cope with my current marital situation, and how to love my husband through this tough time. I turned to where I last stopped, and started reading again. This chapter is about cherishing your spouse. It discussed two scenarios, the first being a man who has an older car that is having some mechanical difficulties, after a consult from his mechanic, they decide that the car requires far too much work and money to be saved, so he decides instead to buy a new one. The second scenario describes a man who accidentally crushes his hand at work, he races to the hospital and learns that he has multiple broken bones. He then decides, with some frustration, to pay for every treatment required to restore his hand, he pays whatever the cost and over the next few month he painstakingly returns function to his badly injured hand.

The chapter then goes on to explain, that all too often, a struggling, or failing marriage is often treated like the first scenario, and how often times, when marriage gets rough, we're often encouraged to trade in for a "new model." This is so sad, but not untrue. Marriage isn't supposed to be like that though, it should be treated just like the second scenario. The book goes on to discuss how when we marry our spouse becomes a part of us, like our hand, or a leg, we mesh, physically, emotionally and spiritually. We share a home and a bed, and a name, we truly become "one flesh". So, how then can we just separate when times get tough? We wouldn't just cut off our hand because its broken, so why then do we just walk away from our marriage when it is broken?

The chapter goes on to explain how we are to cherish our spouse as they were a part of us, to love them as we love ourselves, and in turn we will feel loved and cherished as well. And this resonated with me, deeply. This is why I do what I do. My marriage is undeniably broken, and now I need to do my very best, pouring my every resource into nursing it back to health, because its my marriage, and Elvis is my husband, and he is truly as valuable to me as my own hand, I can't do without him.

So, I prayed last night once again, for the strength and the courage and the wisdom to love Elvis right today, and to cherish him right today, and then I prayed that Elvis would feel these things and would be inspired, in some small way, to do the same.

It's been 97 days since I got the news that my marriage was on life support, barely alive, and I'm still persevering, and still hopeful, and still trying to nurse it back to health, so surely God has been in it, hearing my prayers and fortifying me with the strength and the will to keep waiting and keep hoping and keep loving.

Katie

No words of my own....

2009-11-06T20:30:00.001-08:00

could say what I want to say tonight, better then Joe Purdy's beautiful lyrics!

I'm not what you need

I just want something beautiful
I wanna look in your eyes
I wanna listen to you sing my favorite song and cry
I wanna reach into your oceans
I wanna calm your sea and your storms
I wanna let you take a hold of this sinking ship and lead me home

But I am not what you need
But only so much stronger
But you are such a pleasant fiction to me
So I guess that I'll dream of you a little longer

I wanna pack up and move with you
And never look behind
I wanna take your hand as we chase down the skyline
I wanna tell you my stories
And wake you up in the middle of the night
I want you to tell me I'm wrong
And I just want you to smile at me when I'm right
Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com

But I am not what you need
But only so much stronger
But you are such a pleasant fiction to me
So I guess that I'll dream of you a little longer
A little longer

Don't wanna take the light from your eyes
It would be nice if I could hold you tight
While we lay in the sand
You could love what's left of this lonely excuse of a (wo)man

But I am not what you need
But only so much stronger
But you are such a pleasant fiction to me
So I guess I'll dream of you a little longer

And I am not what you need
And only so much more
But you are such a pleasant fiction to me
I guess I'll dream that you're here to keep me warm
Keep me warm

I'm totally humbled these days, and that's a good thing. I've not been perfect in any capacity, in any area of my life, I'm just not. Anyone who's going to really love anyone, is going to have to make the choice to love imperfection, because we're all so imperfect and flawed. I'm not what anyone needs, not entirely, I can't be all anyone really needs, because no human is meant to satisfy 100% of someone elses needs, we all have a need that only faith and hope and trust in God can satisfy. People cannot make you whole, or make you happy, not entirely. I am NOT what my husband needs, but I want to be what he wants. I want to be a part of what makes him happy and satisfied and whole, but I can't be it all, and if I'm expected to be everything, then I will continue to disappoint him.

Hopefully, time, as well as intervention from God, will help make a way for me back into my husbands heart, hopefully he'll see that though I am not what he needs, I'd be a great contributor to his life and his happiness, and we could find what we both need, together.

I can't decide tonight if I'm filled with hope or fear, I'm filled with some sort of strong and powerful emotion, and I'm praying that the path I'm on is revealed to me soon, so I can stop feeling so lost.

Katie

What else can I do?

2009-11-03T19:02:00.001-08:00

A million times a day I think I must be crazy. Absolutely insane. No woman in her right mind would do what I am doing, actively pursuing a man who says he wants he wants out. What sane person opens herself up repeatedly to rejection, an experience that humans collectively try to avoid at all costs? I'm either crazy, or stupid, or both, right? Most people think that way. When they imagine themselves in my shoes, they think "there's no way I'd be so nice", or "I'd move on and find someone new". People urge me to gather up some self respect, some self worth, and look for new love, "better" love. But I don't. I can't.

I can't walk away from us. From him.

He's everywhere, we're everywhere.

I fell in love with him in an instant. Feelings bigger and stronger then I had ever known before. I never wanted to be anywhere but by his side. Apathy and tragedy have put some distance between us, but he's always been my center, and I have always felt that pull toward him. I may have been less focused on being actively by his side, but I never wanted to be by another. And now he's trying to walk away from me, and I can't just sit back and watch him go. I can't.

I've had a long standing history of pursuing Elvis, its second nature. In the beginning I lead and he happily followed me into our relationship, and then he took the lead. And now I think he's lost, and he's going another direction, and I feel like I need to take the lead again, and pray like crazy that he wants to follow me once more. Unlike our beginning, I'm not confidant that he'll follow my lead, I don't know that he wants to be back on the same path as me. I'm shaking in my boots over here, stepping out on to this risky road, full of lots of opportunity for rejection and disappointment. This could go so terribly bad for me. I could end up more hurt and damaged then I already am. I could come out at the end still alone, and bedraggled from the journey. I could lose my husband, and my hope, but by the grace of God I'll keep my faith and know that I did all that I could.

What else can I do?

I promised forever.

I meant it.

Love is a choice. The initial flames of passion die down, the intensity lessens, the excitement wears off and new becomes old. But love is a choice. And where some choose to let it go and chase something new and exciting once more, I am choosing to continue to love. To cherish. To honor.

In sickness and in health.

For better or for worse.

This is most certainly for the worse.

I don't know how this story ends. All I can do is take it day by day. Each morning I wake up and think about how I'm going to love Elvis today. How will I show him love? How will I make sure I don't crowd him? How will I make myself vulnerable without making myself a door mat? How will I keep my self respect while loving a man who walked away from me? How will I honor God's plan for marriage and my own when my husband doesn't share my home anymore?

What else can I do.

Many people wonder, why not just cut your losses and save yourself the pain?

But the only thing that hurts more then loving Elvis with nothing in return, is imagining not loving him at all.

Onward I go.

Katie

Need some comfort....

2009-11-01T18:39:00.000-08:00

For this tortured heart of mine tonight.

I'm feeling absolutely tortured tonight, by loss, and loneliness, and hurt and confusion and despair and guilt and shame..............the list goes on.

Every nerve ending is irritated and my thoughts and random and rapid.

I'm screaming in my head.

I need some comfort for my weary soul tonight, something to say "hush now" and set it to rest a while. These struggles will still be here tomorrow, no sense in going completely crazy today.

How much can one mind handle?

How much can one heart take?

I keep waiting for this life to break me into tiny little shards, but for some reason I stay whole. Then I wonder, if I would just break, if I would just shatter and get it over with already, I wouldn't have to wonder anymore when the breaking point would come, and I wouldn't have to endure another hit, unless life intends to not only break me but grind me in to dust as well.

I feel like I'm watching my life like some dramatic prime time TV show, and I'm that character that everyone loves to think "I'm so glad my life's not like hers!" I'm the scene with the melancholy, sorrowful musical overlay, the tragic heroine who's life is a mess but who keeps getting up for the next knock down. I can practically hear my soundtrack in my head as I walk through my day. I keep waiting for my big break, for the surprise happy ending to today's episode. The knock on the door. The love interest standing there with flowers or some romantic gesture, the long over due embrace and the implied happy future, of course to be continued in the next episode. I keep waiting. That's why I am tortured!

I need to just go to bed.

I need to shut of my brain and forbid it to dream tonight.

No nightmares tonight please brain.

My heart can't take it.

I can't stand to see my worst fears played out in my brain like it were the big screen.

Not tonight.

Tonight I need some rest. For my ragged heart and wounded soul.

We need a soft spot to land.

Some warmth, some security.

A little reprieve before life finds me again.

Katie

Something Wicked This Way Comes...

2009-10-26T11:23:00.000-07:00

And by wicked, I mean awesome. Divine even. Heavenly.

I can feel it coming. There's a change in the air. A stillness. A calm. I can feel a spark of something new and exciting. A charge in the atmosphere, God at work. To those who are unsure about their feelings regarding God, it may sound strange, but I can literally feel his work, I can feel his presence in my life right now, and he brought hope with him.

I've been praying a lot lately. For guidance, for direction, and for comfort. It pleases God for us to admit that we need Him, and oh how I need Him. I invited him into my problems, and asked him to take care of them, in His way, in His time, I surrendered my sadness, confusion and grief and trust him to take care of me.

This feeling of serenity, of peace and calm, like the stillness before a storm, feels like His RSVP, he's coming. Change is in the air, I can see the clouds stirring, and something wicked this way comes....

Change often comes in a storm, sometimes violent and frightening, sometimes chaotic and messy, blowing through in a flurry and when its done, nothing is quite the same. God's change is the same. Its not a magic wand, no *poof* and everything is better, his change can be scary, or difficult, or painful, but in the end we're better for it. So I am getting ready for a storm, for I can see it coming, and I am excited for it. I can't wait to see what I can do with what God has planned for me. What will he do with my determination? What will he do with my newly fortified faith? He's given me incredible capability to love and to forgive and persevere, what will he do with them? Its all been set in motion, and there isn't any going back now, so its time to sit back and watch the storm from the safety of my faith in God's love for me.

The air is electric, and I feel energized and alive, full of hope and ready to weather this storm, be it a thunderstorm, tornado, hurricane or tsunami, I'll be watching for the rainbow at the end, God's reward for trusting in Him.

Katie

Something to cry about....

2009-10-21T20:18:00.000-07:00

I was watching a photography "webinar" tonight, about maternity portraits, and this particular instructor is involved with the charitable organization Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep (NILMDTS), where professional photographers provide beautiful portraits to parents of stillborn babies, or babies who die shortly after birth. We never had a NILMDTS shoot with Everett, but it prompted me to go back to his photos and look them over once again, and the significance of his struggle, and of our loss hit me like a tidal wave. All over again. Seeing his life played out in sequence, in photographs we never knew would be our only photographs is unreal. If I had have known I was documenting the only days of his life, I would have done a better job, I would have taken more, I would have tried to capture every inch of his beautiful little body.

These pictures don't do him justice.

He looks big, but he was so little.

You can't tell just how much he looked like Landon.

But they're the only pictures I have, and they're haunting. They show his downward spiral, from healthy to incredibly and desperately ill. As each day passes more staff and more equiptment congregate around his bedside.

When I look at these, life seems to re-prioritize itself, what really matters becomes very apparent. When you realize there's so much we take for granted, including our children, it because very easy to see all the trivial things we take too seriously and get far too wound up about. Saucy kids? Drained bank account? A few extra pounds? A broken marriage? Insignificant. My baby died. My gorgeous, innocent, and much loved baby was born with a horrendous heart defect, lived 20 days of uphill struggle and then he died. That's something to cry about.

But, his strength, his endurance, his breath taking beauty, the lives he touched, the love he evoked, the memories he's left, the passion he's inspired, the good that has been done in his name, are all reasons to be comforted, and to be grateful to have ever had him at all.

At the heart of it all, the love we have for one another is all that really matters. And nothing is more worthy of your tears then lost or wasted time with your life's most precious people.

Put down that book, that broom, those dishes, that laundry, and go love up your children, who are the most amazing blessing you'll ever know. When the act out, act up, act horrible, even on their worst days, they're still more then you'll ever deserve, little gifts from God to teach you about what life is all about, cherish them accordingly. Life is short, sometimes exaggeratedly short, celebrate each and every second, as cliche as it may sound, as though it were your last together.

If I had have known I was living our last days together, I would have done so much more with it. I would have insisted on holding him more, touching him more, mothering him more, and capturing more of him in pictures, enough images of his sweet face to last a life time.

Katie

The "Suppose to's"

2009-10-20T11:42:00.000-07:00

I've got them bad today.

Blame it on sad country music, but my mind is wandering and my heart is hurting and I can't help but think about what is "supposed" to be.

I'm supposed to be 13 weeks pregnant right now.

I'm supposed to have two little boy tearing my house apart right now while their big sister is at school.

I'm supposed to be waking my husband up soon, and getting some time in with him before he goes into work again tonight.

I'm supposed to be arranging my basement to accommodate an extra bedroom, so I can prepare to give our bedroom to the new baby (who's not coming any longer but is supposed to be!)

I'm supposed to be planning a big family birthday party for the kids, which will now be half the size.

I'm supposed to be planning a family trip to Florida in the new year for our annual trip to Disney.

The "Supposed to's" suck.

Katie

If we had only done this instead of that....

2009-10-18T06:58:00.001-07:00

then things would be so different.

If only.

Those words echo in my mind day and night.

If only.

If only I got two steroid shots instead of one before the boys were born.

If only I went a few weeks longer.

If only he was diagnosed sooner.

If only we delayed surgery until he was bigger.

If only we had the option of a heart transplant rather then fixing the badly broken heart he had.

If only that surgery had gone better, or didn't take so long.

If only he didn't need ECMO.

If only he didn't need it for so long.

If only he didn't get that brain bleed.

If only.

If only I could have read minds.

If only he spoke up sooner, or clearer.

If only he said what was really on his mind.

If only his faith was stronger.

If only he wanted to try.

If only I had the strength to wait him out.

If only.

If only I didn't let the stress get to me.

If only I stayed calm in spite of it all.

If only my blood pressure was stable.

If only I could have done something.

If only.

Haunting words, and always present, I can't help but wonder why my life would look like now, if only something had played out differently in the past. If Everett had lived, if Elvis had stayed, what would I be doing right now? What would be be different? Everything.

If only.

Katie

Never wanted this......

2009-10-12T07:46:00.000-07:00

I've always thought of myself as satisfied. I never wanted what I didn't have, and always wanted what I did have. I love life's little pleasures, back to school, the first snowfall of the year, Christmas specials, all the holidays, little birthday parties, family dinners... It doesn't take much to please me and I've always just felt content with what life has handed me.

Then my son died

My husband left me

And I lost a very wanted pregnancy

And suddenly I'm thinking, I never wanted this! And I am not satisfied. I don't like where I am and I very much want what I don't have. I'm struggling to find a sense of satisfaction and contentment again, because feeling this way is unpleasant. But how do I accept what life has given me when it isn't what I wanted? When it isn't simple, or pleasurable?

I was happily married and liked it that way. I had a husband I enjoyed and loved deeply and a marriage that felt comfortable and warm and safe. Now I don't, and I am not happy about that. So how do I accept it for what it is and move on? How do I imagine my future without the man I always envisioned spending my whole life with? How do I imagine some other man in his place? I don't even know where to begin? It feels alien and abhorrent to imagine myself with any other man then the only one I've ever known.

How does one make peace with having a child die? How do you begin to appreciate that it was just part of your life's plan and be satisfied with the way it all had to play out? How do you just accept that God understands and be content with your own limited understanding of life's tragedies? Don't ask me! I fake it, or I talk myself into believing I get it and my heart is healing, but in all honesty. I don't get it, I want my son back and I am not satisfied with how it all played out!

I never wanted to birth three kids and have only two to raise

I never wanted to find out I was pregnant only to find out a week later I wasn't pregnant anymore

I never wanted to be separated, or divorced, or looking for new love

I never wanted to start from scratch

But here I am.

I can't describe myself as contented anymore, or satisfied with all life gave me. I still enjoy the little things, like the first snow fall, which happened yesterday and made my heart feel 8 years old again. I still love back to school and Christmas shopping, but my enjoyment is clouded by worry and stress, loneliness and regret and its hard to just say "Ahh, life, it it was it is and I love it". Rather lately I find myself thinking "Damn! This is life? Is hard and its sad and I don't know what to make of it!"

I hate thinking like that! I have spent a lot of years in a lot of different relationships pointing out the joys of life, the grand scheme, the greater plan, ect.... And now I can't see it for myself anymore. I feel like life is big horse and I got bucked, and I'm sitting on the ground complaining of my sore backside from the fall and terrified to get back on for fear of greater injuries ahead. How many times can I get bucked from my horse before I'm not actually fit to get back on and ride some more? But, if I don't get back on, then the remainder of my life will be spent tending to old injuries and lamenting over past falls, watching others pass me by and wondering where they're going, and what excitement lies ahead for them. Worse yet, what if I'm that person sitting on the sidelines yelling to the other riders "You better just get off now, you'll only fall off and get hurt later if you don't", what if I ruin the ride for other more fearless and bold riders?

Its hard, and its scary, but truth be told, I need to get back in the saddle and try to enjoy all life has to offer again. I need to find my way again, I need to feel happy with what life gave me and find satisfaction in my world again. I need to take pleasure in imaginig a future that looks nothing like I thought it would. Its going to be scary, and I might fall off again, but its no life at all to sit on the sidelines.

Katie

The little things......

2009-09-30T13:09:00.000-07:00

Its been 59 days since my marriage fell to pieces. It feels like just yesterday, but its been as good as two months since I've felt loved by my husband. Its starting to weigh heavily on me, and each day brings a new craving for some marital affection, some tenderness, some warm and dependable shelter from the rest of the cold, cold world. With each dawning day I begin to feel a bit more out in the cold, each new night makes me feel a little more lonely the night before it. Right from the start I missed the big things, his presence, signs of him dwelling here strewn about the house, the security of his income and his contribution to managing our home, but now, 59 days later, I'm being hit by the loss of the little things, and I think they hurt more then the big ones.

Watching Grey's Anatomy the other night (this show always kills me), watching tender moments between couples offering one another consolation over their collective grief, I felt pained, because no one loves me like that anymore, not in that tender, romantic, protective, "just want to make you feel better" kind of way.

Around the house I find I get lonely at dinner time, when there's no one to make dinner for but the kids, who eat pretty basic meals. No one to help get them ready, no one to eat and chat with, no one to pack left overs for their lunch the next day.

At bedtime when I'm finished reading and turning out the lights, sometimes I'm compelled to reach for the phone like I always did when we was working nights, to call him and tell him goodnight and walk around the house while I have him on the phone to do my little security check. I miss that.

No one to watch my favorite shows with, no one to talk about them with when they're done.

No one to curl into a night, after a bad dream, or a good one. No one to wake in the night if I hear a noise.

No one to kill spiders or stomp bugs, no more hero come to my rescue.

No one to rub my forehead when I have a headache, no father in law to do the special "oil treatment".

No one to help with the day to day kid stuff, no one to help me deal with the stress, no one to laugh it off with, no one to point out how funny/cute/amazing the kids are when they do something of interest during the day.

No more using the "When Elvis and I......." starts for sentences, no more "I'll ask my husband"

No more taking part in "Tell me about your wedding" or "Show me your rings" conversations

No counterpart at get togethers at friends, no one to sit next to at the table.

No one to take me to dinner, or the movies, and to hold my hand, or share dessert.

No one to kiss goodnight, or good morning.

No arms around my waist, no hugs, no back rubs, no whispered "have a good day" when he leaves for work in the morning, no calls in the day to see how my day is going.

No more treats from the store "just because"

No more of any of this for me.

They're not such little things after all, they're the culmination of the love and affection and devotion that make up a loving and wonderful marriage, and they are no more. Some days I can cope, and some days I am more lonely then I could ever describe, so lonely I can barely breathe.

Now I pray...

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

I pray for serenity, but I also pray for the loneliness to pass, but not so I can live a life absent of loneliness, but that it will be replaced by all those little things once lost, so that my life can be once again filled to the brim with them.

Love

Affection

Warmth

Security

Devotion

Admiration

Friendship

Passion

Trust

That me and my heart will once again be taken care of.

Katie

The painful cutting of ties....

2009-09-26T17:57:00.000-07:00

I'm still wading through the aftermath of my marriage crumbling, in record speed I might add. I'm sifting through the debris, trying to pick up the pieces and make sense of what actually happened. I'm taking my time, because every now and then I stumble across a big piece of debris, a memory or an obstacle that accompanies the death of a marriage, and I need time, time to grieve it, and process it, then pack it away.

Lately, as I sort through the mess that is my life right now, I'm coming across faces, familiar faces of people I've come to know and love over the past seven years. Under each picture is a story and memories that break my heart. These are the faces of family, family I'll never see again, our ties severed in the loss my husband, those faces belong to him, and he's taking them with him when he goes. Sisters, brothers, parents, nieces, nephews, a great big family, not mine anymore. Children I've known since birth, held as babies, and called my own nieces and nephews, will not know Aunt Katie anymore. Sisters I confided in, brothers I could depend on, parents who showed me love along with their son, gone. All of them gone. I'll need a lot of time to process this. I won't ever be at another big family dinner, I'll never be apart of the lively energetic chaos that comes with a big family like this. I feel like I got kicked out of the club, disowned, left at the road side. They were my family and I loved them, and now they're gone, all of them.

I wonder if they know how I'll grieve them like I grieve the other losses in my life? I wonder if they'll think of me at all, like the sister in law, or daugher in law, or Aunt who was, and then just wasn't anymore. Will I be that ex family member "we don't speak about?", will my name be taboo? Will anyone hold on to any positive memories of me? I feel like I'm outside a big family home where a big warm celebration is taking place, and I'm out in the cold with my nose pressed against the window wondering how the heck it came to be that I am on the outside looking in! I sure felt like I was on the inside! I felt the warmth and the love and a sense of belonging, I felt like I belonged, and now I'm a stranger.

Its the weirdest thing. So many memories, places, things, are going to forever remind me of the family I lost.

I'm going to remeber road trips, a particular drive from home to Florida as a new couple with a future sister in law in tow

I'm going to remember Florida, visiting a sister and her family and feeling truly at home

I'm going to remember New York, and New York accents, and spanish rice and chicken stew

I'm going to remember going to visit parents and being served a steady stream of snacks and drinks by a woman who knew no better way to show her love

I'm going to remember candid talks on big leather couches with a sister and brother who I knew would listen and can be trusted

A sister who dropped everything to take us to the hospital when Everett got sick, and stayed long after she needed to, from love and support

A father in laws thick Italian accent, hard to decipher but icrediby endearing

A brother in law with the heart of a child, a fabulous brother in law

Another brother with a strong work ethic and wife I thought of as a friend

A sister who suffered a loss like one I suffered and a felt a strong tie to

A sister with huge heart and a radiating warmth that made her so easy and enjoyable to talk to, a sister who gave me a book and helped bring me to Christ

Chicken cooked in tomato sauce will always make me think of my mother in law

A great big wonderful family, not mine anymore.

I wish I could tell them I had no clue this was going to happen, I wish I could tell them I wish I could have changed it, I wish I could pound on the proverbial door and be let back in.

They'll never know how much I'm going to miss them and how horrible it feels to be on the outside looking in, and to have all my ties to them completely severed.

Just another loss to add to the pile

Katie

Struggling with the sadness

2009-09-20T12:17:00.000-07:00

I'm continually amazed at how it never gets easier, or less painful, to miss Everett.

I get by, through the day to day, by distraction, and blantant denial, but its inevitable that I'll let my guard down and allow myself to feel the pain and be completely laid out by it.

It started yesterday, though I'm not sure what brought it on, and its continuing on today, leaving me feeling constantly on the brink of tears and completely not in control of my heart. The videos I posted yetserday haven't helped. Don't get me wrong, I posted them because he is beautiful and I want the world to know him, and I wan to "see" him, but its bitter sweet. I don't enjoy the videos at all, they tug at my heart and quicken its beat, they bind my stomach in knots and fill my eyes with tears. They transport me back in time, where I was panicked and powerless and confused beyond measure, terrified at how out of control life was, and I feel it all over again. Its not pleasant, but its necessary, for I can't ever forget those feelings that tie me tightly to my son and help me remember better then any photo could. So, I posted some videos on a very low night, when was overwhelmed with loneliness for Everett, to help me remember, and to satisfy my desire to make others remember too. I got what I wanted, but now I pay the price of having opened an old wound, that though was never actually healed, it was closed and bearable.

It never fails to surprise me how fresh and potent my grief still is, it hasn't mellowed at all. Thank goodness it comes in waves and gives me days, weeks, or maybe even months of quiet reprieve before crashing onto my life again.

Now I am also thinking of upcoming birthdays. All three of my children were born within 3 days of each other in November, and that's coming up fast. I regard their upcoming birthdays with excitement and resistance, because I can't tell you how hard it is to celebrate Everett's birth without him. Its impossible. On November 17th I'm going to celebrate the birth of my twin boys, without one, its like a twisted, cruel joke life's playing on me. I have to do my best to make a happy day for Landon and Avery, who will have a joint party due to the close proximity of their celebratory days, but I also have to cope with the re-breaking of my heart. He's not here. He never had a 1st birthday, he never even had a 1 month birthday. What do I do about that?

My instinct is to do something grand in his name, to help others in ways I couldn't ever help him. But since the failing of my gala, I'm weary of that. But something needs to be done, to honor Everett and his life and his battle, and also help me! To help me feel as though I can help someone, or do something, in honor of my baby, who I never got to do a thing for, andwas powerless to help. I can't let his birthday pass without honoring it, but what to do?

Donate to Sick Kids? Maybe, its a good cause for sure?

To Plan Canada? Another amazing cause, it would do such great things in Everett's name!

Samaritans Purse?

Our local hospital? Gift baskets for other bererft parents?

A combination of the above?

I'll have to think on it, and think fast! Time isn't marching on, but rather it seems to be running, because how is it that it can be nearly 2 years since my baby boys were born?

Nearly 2 years old and living life without Everett still has me struggling. Grief on top of grief, on top of grief. Its difficult to find balance when life keeps trying to knock you down.

Katie

Everett

2009-09-19T18:02:00.000-07:00

Not that you need reminding, but this is Everett. This is is how his life unfolded:

This is how he looked and how he sounded...

I'm not sure why it happened tonight, but my heart broke all over for Everett, and I miss him so greatly that I can't gather together the words to describe it. When I watch these videos, and see pictures of his life, I can almost go back in time, and see it and feel it and hear it all over again. I feel feel the fear and the hope and the heart break all over and the grief is as intense as it was when it began.

He was beautiful beyond description and so incredibly wanted and prayed for, and then he was gone. Here we sit nearly two years, still hopelessly caught up in the grieving process, still unable to make sense of it all. We're powerless to change a thing, nothing can make him less gone, and nothing can make us hurt less. Nothing can change what has transpired in the past years, no amount of wishing and willing can make our lives any different. Acceptance is hard. How can I accept this? How does a mother get acclimated to having a discordant amount of children to raise? I should have three, with one on the way, but I have two with none on the way, and no prospects for any future babies just yet. I have two phenomenal children but that doesn't lessen the pain of losing one (or two), I'm forever going to notice Everett's absence.

I know some others will too, for he touched so many hearts.

A very small consolation, if consolation is even possible.

Katie

Happy Birthday to Me!

2009-09-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

Today is my 29th birthday. My very last year of my twenties. I'm spending the day with my gorgeous kids, and the evening with some good friends, what more could I ask for? Well, I could ask for more, but the point is that I really need to be grateful with what I have, and I am.

Today is the perfect day to take stock of all the gifts in my life, and there are so many!

Firstly, I'm alive and healthy!
I live in on a quiet street, in a safe town, in an amazing Country
I have a home, a cute, comfortable place of my own
I've had a great education and a good career
I have amazing children
and fabulous parents, and grandparents
I have beautiful sisters, who are also great friends
I have supportive, kind and amazing friends
I have a great church filled with amazing people
I have talents
I have goals
I have the means to achieve them
and I have hope!

What reasonable person could ask for more?

Not this lady.....

I've learned enough in the past 29 years to know how truly blessed my life is!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Katie

So this is life..............

2009-09-05T19:14:00.000-07:00

Tonight is one of those night where I feel like slave to my thoughts, to my memories. I should be in bed, I should have gone hours ago, and put my weary mind to rest, but here I sit. Parked in front of my computer screen, melancholy music playing, and the faint hum of appliances keeping me company, the house is otherwise still and quiet, the perfect breeding ground for lamentations and wandering thoughts.

Tonight I'm thinking of the past, which is most often the case. I'm thinking of what I've had and what I've lost, and how things could have been, how they should have been. I'm thinking of Everett, and of Elvis, and there's an undeniable ache in my chest and a welling of heat and moisture behind my eyes. Tonight I'm waxing poetic, and philosophic, and I'm eager to make some sense of this mess that has become my life. Joe Purdy, my companion in grief, is providing a thoughtful and heartfelt soundtrack to tonight's soul searching, thanks Joe.

Life appears to be a series of highs and lows, successes and failures, celebrations and mornings. We ride the ups and down's like a roller coaster, sometimes exhilarated with hands in the air, some times terrified and pleading for the operator to stop the ride. In hindsight we can see that the ride wouldn't have been quite as thrilling without the fearful apprehension that comes before the twists and loops, its the unknown and the fear there of that adds the element of excitement and the feeling of being truly alive. Too bad we generally only know this in hindsight. Generally in life, we only enjoy the highs, the predictable joys of life at its best. But the highs wouldn't feel high if the lows weren't so darn low now would they? Damn life's lows for being as necessary as breath.

I tried to go to bed tonight, at a decent hour, determined to make up for some lost sleep, but my book I was reading until fatigue overwhelmed me made me sad, and contemplative. Having been so tired to begin with, my defenses against sad thoughts were weakened, and I allowed myself to think of my husband. Not with anger, or with resentment, but with love and with longing, and I ached to feel the shift of weight in the bed as he climbed in beside me, the tug on the duvet as he settled himself in, even the uneven and noisy shift of his breathing as he drifted from conscious, to semi conscious, to dead to the world. Tonight I miss my husband.

And since I'm indulging in painful longing tonight, I thought of Everett too. I strained to remember the weight of him in the crook of my left arm, the silky dark hair on his head, the tiny cleft of his chin, and my heart nearly stopped beating. I flashed to a photograph of me in the NICU with both babies, one cradled in each arm, displayed proudly to the camera, fatigue and joy adoring my face. This is how it was, and how it should have stayed. The life I wanted. The life I'll never know. Damn life for changing just when it gets comfortable.

The truth is, I don't regognize my life. I don't know the tired and worrisome woman in the mirror, with dark sad eyes that project a muddle of confusion and pleading. Pleading to be rescued from this disaster, saved from this difficult phase of life. I've entered into one of those dips of the roller coaster, I'm in the midst of a big loop, I can't see what lies ahead and I'm one of those riders calling out for the man at the controls to have mercy and stop the ride. But the ride won't stop, and I know it, just like riders on a thrill ride, you're on it to the end, whether you're having fun or not, you just have to trust that the maker of the ride knew what he was doing, and you'll come out safely on the other side. That trust is difficult. Damn faith for being so contrary to human nature but so incredibly vital and important.

Not too long ago I was a happily married woman, a young mother with a glorious baby girl and identical twin boys on the way. I was basking in all my pregnant glory, feeling elated and womanly and proud, feeling vital and important and undeniably pleased with life and my many blessings. Not long ago, my life made sense, I was comfortable in my own skin, I was excited for what was next.

Now I'm strained, weary and unrecognizable. Abandoned, confused and pained with more loses then I ever cared to know. I bask in nothing, but am in constant search of refuge from my life and from myself. I'm calling out to God for comfort and protection from this world, and though I can't hear him, I am thankful that I still have enough faith left to know that he's here. Having been through loss and pain and despair before and having had my faith strengthend for it, I'm not so hopeless now as I could be, and have been. I know that this is life, a big, crazy, brilliant and horrifying ride. I know the highs are fabulous and the lows are devestating, but I also know that at the end that both are vital in making the ride memorable, and real, and relevant.

I should have gone to bed hours ago, just turned out the lights, pulled up the covers and given way to my tired mind, and I would have, if thoughts were as easy to turn off as lights. Waxing poetic and feeling deeply contemplative, I'm in no condition to sleep. Ironically, as tired as I am, and with feelings and thoughts as clear as mud, I'm in no condition to think either.

Perhaps the best thing to be done tonight is indugle in a big dose of B-Flo therapy, it never fails to make my heart beat faster, and skip a beat or two as well!

Katie

On a new road.......

2009-08-30T19:07:00.000-07:00

We like to think that we're in control of life, that we can steer it, or influence it, or sway it a certain way, but we can't. Life doesn't collaborate with us, it doesn't consult and it doesn't need approval before it happens, it just happens to us.

Sometimes we feel blessed by life and what it heaps out on us, we lay back and bask it in and praise life for being good and praise God for letting it be good. And then sometimes we feel like life is something being inflicted upon is, we bury our heads in our hands and wonder "why me?!" and we question God for letting life get so bad. Life is tricky.

My life has felt a lot like the latter these days.

Its been very hard not to question God, and wonder "why me?!". Seriously, though, "WHY ME?!" I've lost so much, when do I get a break? REALLY! A son's death, a husband falling out of love and a miscarriage, I've really had enough, how much more can life throw at me? More importantly, how much more can I endure?

The answer is uncertain, we won't know how much is too much until its too late to care, so I suppose there's no sense it giving it much more thought. We'll endure until we no longer endure, and when that happens, we won't have too many worries on our minds.

About a month ago I was on a different road, going somewhere different but just as uncertain. I was no more in control of my life then I am right now, but I was happy with life, I felt safe and loved and certain that God was with me in it. Then I had the rug torn out from under me and it sent me into a tailspin of confusion and sadness and pain not unlike the pain of losing Everett, but different because it was combined with guilt and fear and confusion I did not feel when Everett died. Suddenly I couldn't see the road, I had no idea where I was going and I was beside myself with anxiety and loneliness. Scary. I can see the road again now. Not well, not clearly, but I've got my bearings back. This new road is different, and my not contain the stops I thought I was going to have, but it looks interesting, could have some promising stops along the way, though every now and then I may need to stop and ask for directions (God is a wonderful tour guide!).

Life can be very, very good, and when it is we feel triumphant and powerful. It can also be very, very bad, and that makes us feel small and scared and anxious. When you're feeling low and frightened, its easy to lose sight of the road, confusion is like a fog that settles in your path and clouds your vision, its dangerous to let yourself feel afraid of the road you're on. Since you're not really in control in the first place, God is actually your driver, what sense is there in fearing the road you're traveling? Even when you take an unexpected detour, even when it gets dark, or stormy, you're no more (or less) in control then you were on the sunny, clear path you may have just come off of. You just have to hold on, and ride it out, and let life (and God) take you where they will.

Fear won't put me back on the road I was on, neither will anger, or despair. We can only go forward. I trust that in time, the road ahead will clear up, and I'll start to enjoy the ride again. I trust that in the meantime God will help me navigate while its dark and scary and lonely. I trust that there are good times ahead, on this new road I'm on.

Katie

Finding hope in a bedtime story....

2009-08-09T15:53:00.000-07:00

Its been a long day, and a gloomy one at that. Before putting Avery to bed we selected a bedtime story to read and settled on the couch. We chose "When the creepy things come out", a story about Halloween and scary things and not being afraid because God is with us. At the very end of the book was a bible verse, it seems it was custom picked for me.

"Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with
my righteous right hand."

Isaiah 41:10

That's just what I need.

Tonight God speaks through bedtime stories.

I am listening, and somewhat comforted.

Katie

Weathering another storm

2009-08-09T05:50:00.000-07:00

Nearly two years ago I learned how completely hateful and unfair life can be.

Life can be incredibly painful. We face trials, we struggle, we get knocked down and we climb back to our feet and carry on.

I don't know why I imagined that one earth shattering tragedy was all life would throw at me, I don't why I assumed I was now immune to another event that would shake me to my core. I should have known better.

My son died 20 months ago. I fell to pieces, drowned in the grief, leaned on God for comfort and got myself back on my feet, stumbling daily, but moving forward. Imagine me hobbling along life's path, crippled by grief but living and loving and trusting that things were getting better, now imagine me stepping off a curb and getting hit by a bus. Bam. I'm down again.

Here I am weathering another of life's storms. The skies are nearly black, its raining heavily and I've never heard such thunder! Had I never lost a baby and experienced this sort of storm before, I would fear this storm less. But, I've been through one of these hurricanes, this feeling is so familiar, and I am quaking in my little vessel. And, to add insult to injury, my major support system, my anchor, isn't here for me, what will I cling to now? What will get me through this storm? How will I ever recover from this? How will I get back to my feet this time?

God. Family. Friends. Hope.

I'll lean on these things.

I'll put my trust in God, that he has a plan for this, and he will work it for my good and the good of my family. I'll give this to him and wait for the flowers to grow out of this dirt.

I'll let my family love me, and focus on loving them more. I'll let them comfort me and surround myself in people I know love me UNCONDITIONALLY. I'll learn to survive on this love alone.

I'll let my friends hold me up, they always do. I'll take their advice and listen to their stories and be contented in the fact that God has placed so many amazing people in my life. I'll allow myself to be distracted and to have fun even.

I'll have hope. I'll hold on to hope. I'll watch for signs that there is still hope. And I'll pray that my hope is not false. And this brings us back to God.

This is what I'm up against. Feelings black as the water. Atmosphere's a harsh as the storming sky. Stomach heaving like the waves. Its terrifying. This is where I am.

This is where I thought I was....

I think you'll understand my confusion, my hurt, and my absolute inability to comprehend how I'll ever stand up again. But, with God, family, friends, and hope, this is where I intend to be again.

Katie

A different sort of grief.....

2009-08-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

The past few days have been the most heart breaking days since Everett died. I've cried tears only rivaled by the tears I've cried for my lost baby. Aside from the "mother grief", I've never been in so much pain.

The realization that I am partially, if not totally responsible for this pain is unsettling. I broke something a long time ago, and now I don't know if I can fix it. Looking back I can clearly see the warning signs, the stress fractures before the big break, but I wasn't paying any attention, I was too busy trying to deflect the attention elsewhere, and now I am grieved, and sorry, and embarrassed, and scared, scared that what I broke cannot be repaired.

The trickiest thing is that I am sort of powerless at this point. I can't force the break back together, I can't talk it into mending, I can't coerce it, crying doesn't help it either. I just have to wait, and pray, and cry to myself, and pray that God will bring the two pieces together again, and that this pain will be brief.

I can't go into much detail, partially because I'm trying to be private and protective of this hurt and the reasons behind it, and partially because typing out the hows and why's adds a new dimension of "real" to it, and I'm worried that will make it hurt all the more.

Katie

I don't have the heart.....

2009-07-30T19:34:00.001-07:00

I remember a long time ago, I was strong and in charge of my emotions. I had a stiff upper lip and was pretty good at not letting things getting to me, I didn't like to lose control of my self. And practically nothing could make me cry.

Now anything can.

Grief has completely transformed my heart, its weakened it, and broken down the protective walls I built around it, its rendered me completely unable to rein in my emotions, I feel out of control.

My eyes have changed too, now I can see all the loss and pain and sadness in the world, and my heart breaks a million times a day, for other women and for other families. I feel their losses deeply and personally, I can imagine their emotions vividly, I can visualize it happening to me, because it has, and time and time again I feel horrible pain and sadness for the losses of others.

I just don't have the heart I used to. I don't have the strength to hold back tears and emotions, I don't have the will to try. I feel everything deeper and stronger, from love, to pain and also fear. Becoming aware of how common the loss of a child is in he world through losing one of your own is like developing a heightened sixth sense. On top of being able to hear, see, smell, taste and touch, I am now incredibly perceptive to grief and despair caused by missing a child you'll never hold again.

Katie

Coming down...

2009-07-22T06:30:00.000-07:00

It seems I've been riding high the past couple of days, I've been holding up a wall blocking out all negative things and have been feeling pretty good. These things of course, cannot last forever. This morning I feel like I'm coming down. I've got a lump in my throat and tears burning behind my eyes, just waiting to break free. I'm tired of holding back and ignoring the sadness triggers. Here are some of the things I've been holding back the past few days....

A friend of mine just had beautiful twin girls, I'm happy for her, but I'm jealous too. I know the joy and excitement she's experiencing right now, and I miss it, I want it back.

I just read about a woman who delivered her baby girl, stillborn, the hospital didn't let her hold her baby or take any pictures and my heart breaks for them. I know how valuable these things are and how precious those moments and those pictures would have been, how healing they could have been. My heart hurts just thinking about it.

Twins are everywhere, I know several ladies expecting twins, and yet the odds of conceiving identical twins like we did, is 1 in 285. I'm unlikely to ever have the pleasure again, and it makes the fact that I conceived my beautiful boys even more miraculous. The fact that I had beautiful identical twin boys and then lost one is all the more painful when you think of the odds.

People mention twins so casually to me, not realizing that the word itself is like a weapon, and each time it non-nonchalantly rolls off someones tongue it physically hurts. It stings, I feel like I flinch when I hear it though it must only be in my head. I guess it wouldn't normally occur to someone that I'm not comfortable talking about other peoples twins, or twins around the world, but I'm not. I don't want to hear someone joke about how So and So is so big she must be having twins, or how your second cousin's girlfriend is having twins, or how your grandmother had twins, no matter how casually you (you in general) say it, no matter how airy and light our conversation has been, if you can avoid using the word twins, please do. Unless you want to see me close up like a clam shell.

I took Landon to the Dr. last week to have her check his growth and development. He's rather small, and a picky eater, so its better to check and be sure he's healthy. When I expressed my concerns about having healthy children she buoyantly exclaimed (in a manner meant to be reassuring) "You make beautiful healthy children!". What!? What about the one who died? You know, the one with the serious heart defects? The one who underwent two open heart surgeries and still could not be healed? How quickly the world forgets. I love our family Dr, she's amazing and kind, but I'm not sure she grasps the depth of our grief or our fears over the health of our children and future children.

Its hard not to look at Landon and imagine a mirror image standing beside him, playing alongside him, cuddling with him.... Its hard sometimes to walk into his room in the morning when he wakes, and for a split second not imagine both cribs still set up and two boys with eager outstretched arms waiting to start the day. Its hard to not indulge in thoughts of what it would have been like to take my twins to the grocery store for the first time, or to show off to family, or to have strangers at the mall come to see the sweet little twins. The only people who saw my boys together were the few visitors that came to the hospital within the first 6 days after they were born, and not many did. I didn't have a chance to show off my beautiful identical twins, nor did I get to have their pictures taken together, and its really, really hard not to lament and lose myself if what ifs some days. I had twins, really beautiful identical twins, but not many people got to experience that reality with us. It was real.

Lastly, I've found some music I really like, and the words and the melodies are so beautiful but sorrowful and they pull at my heart strings and really make me ache. Sometimes its a therapeutic ache and sometimes it just hurts with no benefit.

Anyway, I'm coming down today, the high is over and I'm going to have to let myself feel some sadness and frustration for bit, no matter how much I wish I could block out those feelings forever.

Katie

Another song I like..........

2009-07-21T06:10:00.000-07:00

I feel like I may be posting like crazy in the past couple of days, but things just keep popping into my head and I feel like I need to get them out! So, though I just posted moments ago, I have some song lyrics I want to share, because they speak to me, they remind me of Everett and of God and of our situation, and I like it:

Downpour by Brandi Carlile (also playing on my playlist):

I'm like the rain in a downpour
I wash away what you long for
And I wave goodbye with the sun in my eyes
I wish I could be there tonight

I'm like the wind in the canyon
I'm there then I'm gone in a second
You're growing older in peace where you're at
I wish I could be there for that
But I've moved on
Like a rolling stone
In a crowded room
I'm alone

I'm like the rain in a downpour
I wash away what you long for
And I wave goodbye with the sun in my eyes
I wish I could be there tonight
Oh, oh, yeah

You're like the tide in the deep blue
Cause you're always there when I need you
And when you need someone to carry you through
I'm gonna be there for you
I'm gonna be there for you

Joy

2009-07-21T05:16:00.000-07:00

I took this picture yesterday......

This is what pure joy and contentment looks like. Moments like this don't happen very often in our house, but when they do it absolutely melts my heart! This particular act of affection was completely Landon's idea. I watched with baited breath as he reached for her and waited for her to give him a shove or reject him completely and for the tears to follow. But, she didn't, she accepted his hug, just look at the look on her face, she seems happy and appreciative of his impromptu showing of love. Its wonderful.

I love that Avery and Landon are becoming buddies. They fight a lot, but they do play together too, and I'm relieved that they're friends. When I was pregnant with the boys I fretted over whether or not Avery would feel put out by a new baby, but I hoped that she and the new baby would be good little play mates, happy to have one another. When I found out I was having twins I though, uh oh, Avery's new play mate is bringing a play mate! But those feelings quickly subsided and I realized that both boys would likely adore Avery and she'd enjoy mentoring both of them. Landon and Everett grew and grew and I loved to day dream about the great friends they'd be, how close a bond they would have, they would be born with a best friend and soul mate, how exciting for them. So, when Everett died, I worried about Landon, and how he would cope with the absence of his his closest friend, brother and soul mate. I believe Landon grieved Everett though he didn't know why or for what he grieved. He seemed lonely, and needed constant contact with us, I think he missed proximity and the warmth and comfort that comes with sharing a small space with someone for so long. I don't know that Landon will continue to grieve, but I assume that if he does, he won't ever be able to put his finger on exactly why he grieves. I am happy that he and Avery have become buddies.

I am happy that they have each other.

I'm happy I have pictures like these ...........

And I love that they have moments like this (quietly sharing breakfast)......

My kids just amaze me. It amazes me how much love I have for them, how much hope they provide and how much joy they bring to every day!

Katie

A nice quiet day with the kids...........

2009-07-20T11:39:00.000-07:00

Today has been a good day so far. Nice. Quiet. Peaceful. Its bright and sunny outside, all the the windows are open and a cool breeze is blowing through. The TV is off, the kids have been playing all morning, and are now both laying down for a nap. I feel contended. Its great. Days like these bring up images in my head of quiet farms with big wrap around porches and big porch swings and of unhurried days, I've always loved day dreaming of days like this, picture perfect and old fashioned!

Anyway, today is shaping up to be a really great day. Elvis is working and its just been me and the kids, we've had breakfast and lunch, made messes and cleaned them up time and time again. We've sat rather quietly and we've been awfully noisy. Nice. Relaxing. Fun. I've had lots of time to study and soak up my kids, they're incredibly fascinating little people! Here's what I've learned so far..........

*Landon snorts when he laughs, its darling and hilarious all at once!

*Avery still has sweet fuzzy shoulders like she did when she was a baby, precious!

*Landon is very opinionated and defiant! He's added "Uh uh!" and "No!" to his vocabulary before adding "Mama". In fact, when I ask him to say Mama, he says "Uh uh" and "No!".

*Avery's a smooth talker, a right little scam artist! When she wants something (for instance, an Oreo cookie for breakfast) and I tell her no, she leans in nice and close, speaks very softly while rubbing my arm ever so gently and says "Its okay mom, it is, its okay, I can have (insert whatever she wants right here)" while staring at me with her big brown eyes! She totally works me over!

*They both have incredibly beautiful fringes of dark thick eye lashes, its unfair!

*Landon loves babies. He picks up any random stuffed toy or doll and holds it close and says "Ahhhh (translation: Awwww)" while patting its back and kissing it, so cute!

*Avery's a firecracker! Easily frustrated. She wants immediate gratification, and hates set backs, delays and problem solving. Her solution to a "problem" or a "bump in the road", yell at it ;)

*Neither of them is very fond of napping ;) Landon is fighting it with everything he has and is clearly, and quite vocally expressing his desire to come back and play, and Avery has just decided to play in her room, I can hear her flipping pages in her book and changing CD's in her CD player. Neither of them is coming out until I get some Mama quiet time! How can I blog about how fun and cute they are if they don't give me a tiny time out from the fun and the cuteness?

Anyway, today is a nice quiet day (so far). I feel happy and blessed and optimistic (if not frazzled and tired and a bit annoyed that nap time is playing out as planned). Its nice to have a day like today, that brings the focus on to whats good and exhilarating and lively about life, and gives me a tiny break from focusing on the hurts.

Katie

Doing something stupid tonight................

2009-07-15T19:02:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking. I'm allowing my mind to wander to places I would usually try and talk it out of. Rather then try to drown them out, I'm letting my mind think thoughts I usually try and suppress. Blame the movie I just watched, or the music on my IPOD, somethings pulling on my heart strings and making me think sad and unfortunate things. Can't be bothered to try not to think about them. Whats the point in it? They'll only catch up to me tomorrow if I ignore them tonight.

Firstly, while thinking sad things, here's a particularly painful song:

Wires by Athlete:

You got wires, going in
You got wires, coming out of your skin
You got tears, making tracks
I got tears, that are scared of the facts

Running, down corridors through, automatic doors
Got to get to you, got to see this through
I see hope is here, in a plastic box
I've seen christmas lights, reflect in your eyes

You got wires, going in
You got wires, coming out of your skin
There's dry blood, on your wrist
Your dry blood on my fingertip

Running, down corridoors through, automatic doors
Got to get to you, got to see this through
First night of your life, curled up on your own
Looking at you now, you would never know

I see it in your eyes, I see it in your eyes
You'll be alright
I see it in your eyes, I see it in your eyes
You'll be alright

Alright

Running, down corridors through, automatic doors
Got to get to you, got to see this through
I see hope is here, in a plastic box
I've seen christmas lights, reflect in your eyes
down corridors, through automatic doors
Got to get to you, got to see this through
First night of your life, curled up on your own
Looking at you now, you would never know.

Gaah! Who writes songs like that? I suppose potentially it has a happy ending, though its awfully vague. I see our story, I see Everett, I see sadness and loss and desperation in these lyrics.

I see this picture when I hear (or read):
"I see it in your eyes, I see it in your eyes
You'll be alright
I see it in your eyes, I see it in your eyes
You'll be alright"

I wouldn't have thought back when we were battling to keep Everett with us, that I would ever be able to reconcile him being gone, with him being "alright". Those words just wouldn't have meshed back them. But now, having underwent the spiritual transformation I did, I feel confidant in saying that I know he's alright, its me who isn't. He's fine. He's not bothered in the least anymore, its me who isn't alright, and most likely never will be again.

Also, I read this Bible verse tonight, I came upon it randomly, erroneously, but I like it, its though provoking:

Ecclesiastes 1:3-11

3 What profit has a man from all his labor

In which he toils under the sun?

4 One generation passes away, and another generation comes;
But the earth abides forever.

5 The sun also rises, and the sun goes down,
And hastens to the place where it arose.

6 The wind goes toward the south,
And turns around to the north;
The wind whirls about continually,
And comes again on its circuit.

7 All the rivers run into the sea,
Yet the sea is not full;
To the place from which the rivers come,
There they return again.

8 All things are full of labor;
Man cannot express it.
The eye is not satisfied with seeing,
Nor the ear filled with hearing.

9 That which has been is what will be,
That which is done is what will be done,
And there is nothing new under the sun.

10 Is there anything of which it may be said,
“See, this is new”?
It has already been in ancient times before us.

11 There is no remembrance of former things,
Nor will there be any remembrance of things that are to come
By those who will come after.

Its sort of prompts the thought, "What the heck is the point" eh? In fact, the heading in my Bible titled this little section "Everything is Meaningless." Sounds absolutely uninspiring, but I think, and of course I could be very, very wrong, but I think its meant to provide some hope. All things have been done, there is nothing new under the sun, time marches on, we come and we go, and the world is unchanged by it all. Our struggles and our toils are not new, they're as old as time, so in a sense, we're not alone in our strife and our sadness. Also, I think is meant to turn our eyes onto Heaven, as to say, this world doesn't matter, time marches on, the world is constant, but troubled and we won't ever find satisfaction here, nor are we meant to. I suppose there are a million different ways someone could interpret this piece of scripture, but this is how I've broken it down, and its why it caught my eye tonight. Life here on Earth is brief, when we're long gone and our hardships are well forgotten, new people with new troubles will continue the precarious task of balancing happiness and struggle that is life.

I'm supposed to be working. I have pictures to edit, I really should be tending to them. But, I can't get my head in the game tonight, I can't make myself focus, it seems my mind has a mind of its own tonight (haha), best to sit back and let it go where its going, I can edit tomorrow.

Its not all bad, my thoughts that is. They're not all dark and sad tonight. I'm thinking happy things too, heart swelling with pride type things, like for intance, look at this:

This is Landon, AKA "The Hulk" during this past week. Doesn't he look angelic, so sweet and precious butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, HA! He's a little bear, he's got such a temper, but it makes me smile, watching him attempt to assert himself, watching him try to take control and be in charge. Its precious, and lovely, watching his personality emerg and grow, he's becoming such a little person. He wants to get things done his way, and darn it, if you're not going to cooperate, he's going to thoroughly express is discontentment, he's very persuasive!

He's still my baby though, such a little baby!

(And yes, he spends a fair amount of time sitting or laying on tables, we pick our battles with the Hulk).

Isn't life one big juxtaposition? In one blog post, in one thought, one flash of memory, you can feel excruiating sadness and heart swelling pride? I still find it interesting that I can manage to grieve and love and celebrate simultaneously, I suppose its God's way of ensuring that we can still carry on after life altering loss. Its almost like I have two separate hearts and two separate minds, operating in perfect sync, one to grieve and one to live and love and celebrate life. One for Everett and for processing the hurt and confusion and pain and mind blistering sadness, and one for the rest of life, Avery and Landon and the future. Both minds and both hearts operate completely independantly from the other, allowing me the ability to feel the bad and the good distinctly and concurrently. Weird, but I have found that so much about this life since having seen it from the bereaved perspecive looks unusual and skewed.

I have to say it again, its not all bad. I've got a lof of amazing in my life, and a lot of beautiful, and a lot of precious and a lot of heart swelling proud too. I'm walking the line, I think I've got the knack of balancing lifes pain and life's joys, its precarious and unpredictable, but I'm getting in the groove, and it helps to know its pointless to toil and fret, and to spend too much time focusing on the bad, it won't change a thing, the world has been unchanged since the start of time, its hightly unlikely I'll be the one to change it.

Anyway, I suspect that this is becoming strange and incoherant and rambling.

Good night.

Katie

The name of the game is............

2009-07-13T18:19:00.001-07:00

Blame.

The blame game is something we've been playing since the day we found out Everett was sick, I'm still playing it when no one's looking.

When we first found out Everett had a heart defect the game commenced, first up to take the blame, ultrasound techs who missed his defect over and over and over. What's that? Not their fault you say? Well then the Dr's who didn't stop my premature labor are surely to blame! If he wasn't premature then he would have fared better in surgery and would still be with us today! Not necessarily you say? Well then the surgeons at Sick Kids who came up with such an aggressive surgery! It was too much! They are to blame, right? No? They couldn't have predicted? Of course not, they were just trying to help! Then who? Who do we blame? God? Been there, done that, he's willing to admit we're suffering, he's willing to comfort and console, but it wasn't his fault. Someone has to take the blame!

Lately, I think it has to be me. Did I cause his defect? Maybe, most likely not. Did I cause his premature delivery? I don't think so. Did I do what I thought was best in getting him treated and trying to make him well, I absolutely did! But, did I choose the right treatments? I don't know. I've been struggling with this since he died. I think I chose wrong! Given the two choices for surgery, I chose what I thought would be immediately gratifying, immediately curing!

The Dr's gave us two choices, the first was a mild surgery designed to keep his ductus arteriosis open, to buy him time to grow and stabilize, he'd need to stay at Sick Kids and would face future surgeries when he was older. The second was a more aggressive surgery, to go in and fix as much of his defects as they could. They'd patch holes and make valves where there weren't any, and then get him on the road to recovery! He'd face future surgeries as he aged, but that would be much later down the line. The second choice seemed to be the choice the staff was pushing for, they thought it was best, they thought they could do it. Who was I to argue? And if I'm being honest, it never crossed my mind to argue. But now, with the luxury of hindsight, I can see we were wrong.

We should have chosen the first option, the mild surgery to keep his ductus open, to buy him time to grow and get stronger. We should have let him rest and heal, we should have been patient and accepted the longer road ahead of us. If we had have given him the time to get bigger and stonger, then he would have been better able to withstand the stress of the bigger surgery. His lungs wouldn't have given out, maybe he woudln't have bled so badly. He wouldn't have needed a respriator, and more so, he wouldn't have needed the ECMO. If he never needed the ECMO he would never have gotten the brain bleed, and he wouldn't have died. We chose wrong.

The blame game is torture for already tormented hearts. The completely logical part of me already knows there's no sense in laying blame based on hindsight. We can't possibly be angry at ourselves for not knowing what we had no way of knowing. Sensible, logical me tells bereft and distraught me not to blame myself, I know I did the best I could given what I knew and what I was being told. But its hard not to wonder "what if".

At least I knew I never had to blame genetics, thats a big consolation. Given that Everett and Landon were 100% identical, but Landon has a perfectly healthy heart, I know that Everett's defect was not inherited. I can have another baby one day without entering my pregnancy panic stricken that we're up against the odds genetically. Phew! But, I don't know that I'll ever be truly at ease again during any future pregnancies. I think at my first ultrasound when the tech scans over the heart beat and reassuringly tells me "See, a nice four chamber view" I may laugh out loud in a spiteful tone and hiss "So what! That means absolutely nothing to me!". I think I'll be more shrewed, less innocent, and more demanding. I'll push for things, like fetal echocardiograms (and cardiologists at Sick Kids who recommended this will back me up!), I won't feel totally at ease until every vein, artery, ventricle, atria and valve has been interrogated and come back clean. I'll do everything I can possibly do to never have to start up another round of the blame game, too bad I don't think I'll ever quit playing the round I started when we lost Everett.

Katie

Welcome to the Twilight Zone.......

2009-07-11T07:20:00.000-07:00

..that is my life after Everett.

Its a life full of bizarre and unexplainable events.

Take for instance, the other day. Driving down the highway, the four of us, on a perfectly normal, happy day. The sun is out, we're listening to music, the kids are happy, a totally pleasant moment. Then a few words from the song playing catch my subconscious, they trigger a series of flashes in my memory, images jump out at me as of from nowhere. Images of me handing Everett over to the nurse at Sick Kids when we finally had to go home, images of me incoherently mumbling "Bye Everett" through inconsolable sobs. There I am sitting in the car on a seemingly normal and happy outing with my kids and husband, and in a matter of just seconds, without anyone else in the car knowing what has happened, I go from normal to quietly sobbing, trying not to be noticed.

To onlookers it would look very strange, thankfully Elvis understands these little processes, but that doesn't mean he knows what to do with them.

For the next 20 minutes I fight to regain composure and hold back any further tears. I try to explain, in a light hearted way, that I don't know why I feel so much like crying, which is partially true, but mostly not, but I can't be bothered to explain the words of the song being triggers and the flashes of painful memories, so I don't.

Just as I seem to regain my composure, Elvis decides that he needs water the flowers on Everett's grave. Big mistake. He gets out to water and I sit staring straight ahead, not wanting to look even a bit out the corner of my eye and risk catching a glimpse of his headstone, not then. Those few minutes when Elvis was watering the flowers we planted together feel like pure torture, I can't stand to think about Everett being there, just a few feet beneath the surface, it absolutely kills me. Elvis has no clue. When he comes back to the car I am once again crying hysterically, (insert creepy Twilight Zone music here) Elvis is notably concerned and asks if I want to get out and go see "Everett". I shout "NO" through my tears louder then I intended to. But, in all honesty, the very last thing I want to do is visit Everett's grave, ever. I decide right there that sometime soon I should tell Elvis that the decision to visit Everett's grave is personal, and should be unanimous, it should never be assumed that I don't mind tagging along while we "stop by to water the flowers", its too personal a decision, I don't want it made for me, but Elvis had no way of knowing. I think because being there actually helps him, Elvis thought it might help me, given my unexplainable breakdown in the car, God bless him for trying to help.

I'm so Twilight Zone sometimes even my husband is confused by me.

Heck, I'm so confused by me!

Katie

Bedtime stories......

2009-07-03T17:45:00.000-07:00

"Once upon a time there was a pleasant but sometimes sad, but incredibly grateful young(ish) mother who had a two young children to love and raise (and one Angel in Heaven). As she put her children to bed one night she was struck by their beauty, and the depth of their love for her, and her heart swelled with pride and happiness. As she lay them in their beds she thanked God that she had beds to put them in, blankets to cover them with, and a roof to shelter their sweet heads. "

I know it sounds cheesy, but I seriously thought like this tonight while putting Avery and Landon to bed. Specifically while I was putting Landon in his crib, I covered him up, turned on his "Glowy" and his mobile and thought, we are so lucky.

So often we get caught up thinking on what we don't have, or focusing on what we wish we had, that we don't take stock of what we already have, if we did, we'd realize how incredibly rich we are. I'm not lecturing, because I am quite honestly very guilty of this habit. I think so often about all that I've lost, what I had and is gone from me, what I wish I could have back in my life, that I seldom stop to think about how lucky I am to have what I still have. Its hard. Its hard to shift the focus and stop thinking about what we long for, but I know I have try.

Longing for things, and wishing for things, hoping for things, doesn't actually get you things. But, neglecting what you have, failing to notice the blessings in your life can cost you them, thats a pricey lesson I hope to not have to learn. So, tonight while tucking my kids into bed, I pledged to myself to always be mindful of how lucky I am to have them in my life, and how fortunate we all are that we have the life we do. Not everyone is as blessed.

I am thankful that I have:
A home for my children to live in
Clothing to keep them warm (or cool)
Food for their bellies
Access to health care and medicines
Schools to teach them
A safe neighborhood for them to play
Good friends to talk parenting with (and stuff not related at all to parenting)
A large family to love them
A wonderful church and church community to support them as they learn about God
A God who cares
My children! (All of them!)

I am so rich! I feel so amazingly blessed tonight. Sadness has absolutely touched our lives, tragedy has undoubtedly altered it, permanently and painfully, but I would be remiss if I devoted my thoughts solely to what I cannot ever have again, rather then all the treasures and joys that are still in my life! I'm tempted to feel guilty over feeling happy and blessed when one of my children isn't here with me. Its tempting to devote my entire life to grieving Everett, memorializing and honoring him, but its not healthy, and it doesn't help heal our broken hearts. I read something recently in a Max Lucado book, about how those who believe in God are allowed to grieve and be sad, but not in the way that those who have no hope do. Interesting. Because I have hope for a reunion with Everett one day, I can unanimously grieve and celebrate. Strange. Strange, but it lifts a burden, the burden of trying to decide whether to hurt or feel blessed, to smile or cry, I get to do both, and tonight I feel like celebrating all that I have been given, including Everett. He is one of my life's treasures, I'll be forever grateful for him and for Avery and Landon (and any future baby too).

Look at these treasures!

Aren't they breathtaking? And surely Heaven sent. I don't think I have ever taken a picture of them, with those gigantic brown eyes that hasn't made me stop and think "Oh", Oh those eyes, those big, dark, warm, loving eyes. If I had nothing more in this whole world then those eyes to stare into, I would still be very, very rich.

The last of me my children see before drifting off into sleep is me kissing their foreheads and bringing their covers up to their chests, then closing the door to their rooms. It seems comforting to them, its familiar and happy, like a bedtime story. The last I see of them before I slip from their rooms to savor some quiet time before I got to bed, are those big, soft, deep brown eyes, heavy lidded and and weary, full of trust and love, better then any bedtime story.

Katie

Thank you Courtney!

2009-07-01T18:04:00.000-07:00

My sister gave me a beautiful present today, I am so happy, and thankful!

She gave me a Reunion Heart Necklace, a lovely heart pendant, with a tear cut out, in remembrance of the one we lost, and a spot on the back to engrave an initial, its amazing. It came with a really touching poem, and of course, I cried. It really resonated with me, and she knew it would, because it reminded her of a previous post I made, talking about getting to Heaven to be with Everett again some day.

Here's the poem (get your tissues ready!)

Since Heaven has become your home
I sometimes feel I'm so alone;
and though we now are far apart
you hold a big piece of my heart.

I never knew how much I'd grieve
when it was time for you to leave,
or just how much my heart would ache
from that one fragment you would take.

God let this tiny hole remain
reminding me we'll meet again,
and one day all the pain will cease
when He restores this missing piece

He'll turn to joy my every tear
and when I wear this necklace near
it will become my simple way
to treasure our Reunion Day.

Its beautiful and I will wear it often, thank you so much Courtney!

On a different not, last night was terribly frustrating for me, I was overcome with such a huge range of emotions, from incredible sadness to absolute fury, but I was unable to express a single one. I had a fitful night and lots of bizarre and unsettling dreams as a result, but after today, after getting to explain things to my mom and sister, I feel resolved, so I am hopeful that tonight will be better.

Katie

No words tonight.....

2009-06-30T18:24:00.000-07:00

I can't write a coherent sentence tonight.

I'm too sad.

I'm too mad.

I'm too on edge.

I just can't express a single feeling in words, and thats frustrating.

I'm too on edge to even go to bed.

Gaah!!

Katie

Took the words from my mouth!

2009-06-24T16:46:00.000-07:00

I just love Joe Purdy! He's got an amazing voice, and a talent for saying exactly what I want to say, only better. I just keep finding more Joe Purdy songs that speak for me, and its really interesting to hear someone totally removed from me and my life sing my thoughts and feelings. Really cool.

Tonight Elvis is working nights, the ideal time to sit down at the computer and deal with some thoughts and feelings, the way one might tackle a big load of laundry, sort through the pile, tackle the heavy duty dirt first, and hopefully when you're done, it all comes out clean. I find its best I tackle my emotional dirty laundry when Elvis isn't here, because you never know whats going to "come out in the wash", things tend to get a little wild on laundry day.

I've got nothing specifically nagging at me today. I'm not busting at the seams to get something out or let some particularly painful feeling loose. I just feel compelled to write and just see what comes. The kids are tucked nicely into bed, and I'm neglecting any household chores I could be doing to listen to some songs I like on YouTube, check out my mommy message board, and just be alone with myself and my thoughts. I'm listening to Joe Purdy, as the title of this post may have already given away. Rainy Day Lament is the song I am listening to right now, I've never heard it before tonight, but its great. Its slow, and draggy, and full of emotion and despair and sadness, as the title may already have suggested. Here's my favorite lyrics from the song:

Gotta get my head together, yeah
Gotta get my thinkin' straight
Gotta keep my mind from racin'
But it might be too late
Well it might be too late

Cuz these demons in my head
They just won't wait
They just won't wait

feel just like a failure
Well maybe I am
Say it and give you somethin' better
But I don't think I can
Well I don't think I can

Cuz I got nothin' else
In my hands
Yeah in my hands

And all these things I'm feelin'
Maybe I don't wanna say
Maybe I'm just tired
Or maybe I'm not brave
Well maybe I'm not brave

Well maybe I'm afraid I can't
Maybe I'm afraid I can't

So come on over here
I don't wanna be alone
But if you're busy dear
I'll see you later on, yeah
I'll see you later on, yeah
I'll see you later

I feel like these words sort of represent how I feel about expressing myself and my emotional and physical state after losing Everett. Scatter brained, demon haunted, failure, not brave, scared, lonely, the song sings about them, and I struggle with them, practically each and every time I'm alone with my thoughts and my memories.

So, thanks once more Joe Purdy, for singing about my heart and my life, its great to have music that you can apply to your life, like my own personal soundtrack. If my life were a movie, Joe Purdy would be my soundtrack, along with some Killers, maybe some Cat Stevens, and my movie would probably make you really sad, and depressed, you'd probably cry.

Anyway, moving on.

My sister Courtney is visiting for a few days, she doesn't live too terribly far away, but we don't see her as often as we would like. Her handsome traveling companion is her 8 month old son, my gorgeous nephew Xavier. Its always so good to see them. They're special people.

Courtney and I are 11 months apart in age, our relationship has cycled from close in young childhood, to a bit more distant as school aged kids, to very close now in adulthood, and I love it. She's definitely more then just a sister to me now. She's been very supportive to me throughout Everett's illness and his death, and still is throughout the healing process. She's one of those people I talked about in a previous post, who were right there with us on the front lines during Everett's time at Sick Kids. We camped out at her place, and she often watched Avery for us while we were visiting Everett, so she'd be there waiting for us when we got back so we'd have a child to hold and love before we fell into restless sleep. She waited in the waiting room with us while Everett was in surgery, she was anxious and worried and scared along side us, and she was there when Everett was baptized, and after he died. She held him when we held him, after he had died, and she let her emotions wash over her like we did, she was overcome, she hurt, she couldn't handle it, and I was touched. I was touched by how deeply she felt it, I was honored that he meant so much to her that she could grieve like that for us, and for him, and I was appreciative that I could rest assured that she truly, and deeply "got it", I would never have to explain anything to Courtney, she already knew. As much as it pains me that anyone had to feel this pain with us, it is of some comfort to know that she will always understand me on a level that not many others will. Aside from my mom, and Elvis, Courtney, and Elvis's sister Jeanette, I don't think anyone really knows how bad it was.

Courtney had Xavier on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day the year after my boys were born. He was 5 weeks early and his birth was traumatic and scary and we're all really very lucky sweet Xavier is here with us today. She gave him the middle name "Everett" in honor of my sweet baby, another way that I can tell that Courtney really cares, and understands, and loves Everett too. Xavier is a healing baby I think. He can't erase the past, and no baby can replace another, but Xavier is very special. I love him very strangely, because I love him very much like I love my own kids, there's a very thin line differentiating the two kinds of love. He's my first nephew, though Elvis has many nieces and nephews, so this kind of love is very new to me. He's my sisters baby and I love him like he's an extension of my own family, and I think Courtney feels the same towards my kids too. Next to me, Courtney is the "mommiest" to my kids, she's like me in many ways, from how she talks, to how she cares and mothers, and I wonder if thats how Xavier will see me when he's older. Risking getting completely off track here, my mom's sister, my Aunt Martha, is very much like my mom, from how she talks, how she cares, and even how she looks, and I've always felt particularly drawn t her, like next to my mom she was the "mommiest" person I knew. Having a nephew of my own has given me lots of insights these days, Xavier has been healing and good for my brain too!

But what I mean by healing is this, he's came at very special time in our lives, when we as a family needed something good and happy, and he gave everyone something new to focus on. He's also sort of living proof that sometimes miracles do happen, and he's a precious little reminder that life goes on (unlike some of life's uglier reminders). His middle name is Everett, thats special. He also provided me with a less painful way to deal with Everett's stuff. Tackling Everett's things was a very difficult thing to do, but it needed to be done, I had two of practically everything. I was able to give Courtney Everett's crib, and some other items and rather despair over how my baby never got to use them, I was able to give them to a baby I would love and be happy that they were put to good use. Xavier did all these things for us without having to "do" a thing, just his presence in our family has done so much good. We'll never expect him to "do" anything, we love him just because he is Xavier and he is incredibly lovable. I'm not trying to hamper him with a job by calling him "a healing baby", its something he is, but not something we expect him to be. I hope that makes sense. Just like Landon was a healing baby, I don't expect either of these little guys to fill up spaces in our hearts or magically mend our hurts, simply by being here with us they've worked wonders and thats all we could ever ask of them.

Just look at this amazing baby:

Seriously, I can't believe how precious he is. My sister is a very lucky mommy, and I am a very lucky Aunt.

I'm also a very lucky sister. I have to go back to talking about Courtney for a moment, because I'm feeling like I could never say enough how good it is to have her. You may think that most family members would "get it" or have some innate understanding and show you extra sensitivity and support, but its just not true. "Getting it" is the exception, not he rule. Though you would think most people are capable of trying to put themselves in someone else's shoes and rustling up some extra compassion, it just does not happen that way. We've been hurt and disappointed by a lot of people we thought should "get it", friends and family alike.

Shortly after Everett died we were at a large gathering and I overheard something that was a painful reminder that the loss of our son didn't bring everyone's world crashing down, just ours. A pregnant woman discussed with another woman that she had originally thought she was having twins, the non pregnant woman said "Oh, did you want twins?", the pregnant woman gasped, "Oh God no!!" At that very moment I crumbled into a million pieces and scattered across the floor, though I am very certain neither of them noticed.

The world just can't see our pain anymore, on the outside looking in I guess we look better, or at least healed a bit, thats why Courtney is special, she's on the inside, and she knows how it really is. I love that I don't have to pretend at all with her.

I know I'm rambling on and on, this post must be getting terribly long, and at the risk of becoming nonsensical, I'm going to go on a bit longer. I'm feeling rather sentimental right now, all this talk about love and family and the value of surrounding yourself with people who "get it" has started me thinking about other people who make me happy, or warm my heart.

My Mom was a rock for us when Everett died. I know she experienced incredible pain and still grieves to this day, losing him crushed her too. She mothered and loved me so much during the time he was in Sick Kids, and right after he died, she dished out comfort and guidance and love like she had a never ending supply. She was there for us like a mother should be, and to this day she can detect an "Everett moment" and comforts accordingly. I can't say too much about my Mom without getting too overcome with emotion, and then I'd have to stop this post right now while I sob hysterically over how much I love my Mom and how happy I am that she loves me (because I realize that not all moms love like my Mom does). She was and still is a rock, and she is also one of those people who "gets it", she's on the inside with us, and I am grateful for her.

My little sister Kerry never met Everett while he was alive, and I know that pains her. She wasn't able to come to Sick Kids to see him, but I know she wanted to and that means a lot too. She cried at his funeral, her hurt clearly displayed for all to see. I know Kerry loved Everett and I know her heart broke for him and for us. I know she still thinks about him more thens he says, and I am thankful for her. She'd go to bat for us if we needed her, she'd be the first to get riled up if someone were to say anything remotely hurtful or offensive or ignorant in regards to us and Everett and his story. She's passionate and strong and outspoken and I have a big giant soft spot in my heart for Kerry. I bet I love her more then she knows, I should probably tell her more.

I know my Dad is highly unlikely to ever read my blog, so I'm going to say a lot of sappy things about him that I would never say to his face, because I would cry (like I am right now) and we just don't go getting sappy like that with Dad.

He saw Everett just once. When he was still at our hospital, still brand new and still believed to be totally well. He saw Everett when he was pink and healthy, though on a respirator and not looking much like a "normal" new born. When my Dad met Everett he expected that he'd be coming home with Landon in a few weeks, and he'd wait until then to get to know them. My dad doesn't like hospitals, so he met Everett once, then stayed home.

My Dad also doesn't do funerals, or large social gatherings. He never came to Everett's funeral, and I didn't expect he would. He stayed home and watched Avery for us.

My Dad is a introverted guy, he's the strong and silent type. I've never seen him cry over Everett, or express his sadness over his passing. He's never wrapped his arms around me and offered me comfort when I was falling apart, but none of this has ever made me thing my Dad wasn't bereft like the rest of us.

I know my Dads heart broke over Everett, I know this change of "plans", going from two babies to one, three grandkids (at the time) to two, it hurt him deeply in a way he'd never be able to express. But I know it. My Dad is an incredible Dad. Not perfect, no one is and no one should be expected to be. My Dad is imperfectly wonderful. He's an even better Grampa. He's a much loved and sought after Grampa, Avery and Landon and Xavier adore him, Everett would have too. I know he knows that, and I know he thinks of Everett and how the loss of Everett hit our family like a meteorite leaving behind a massive crater of hurt and grief. Because my Dad is very smart, I know he's not unaware of our hurt, and because he's my Dad, I know he cares and is effected. He doesn't need to say it, or show it, we know it.

My Dad was never on "the inside" though, he was a bystander in this train wreck, but people he loved were on the train, and you can't watch such a catastrophe unfold, powerless to change it or stop it without being permanently changed by it, you just can't. You can't watch life go from this:

To this:

And not get hit with a little shrapnel. I just really love my Dad.

There are some other people I could thank, God knows that so many people reached out to us as our world came falling down around us. But I can't go into detail about why each and every one of those people is special and amazing, so maybe I should stop here.

I started this post off not knowing what I was going to talk about, because I had nothing in particular on my mind, I just wanted to write. I'm thankful that my mind seemed to go a different direction then usual, rather then think about the hurt and pain, which is the most natural thing to write about when writing about life after the death of a baby, I'm grateful my mind decided to direct my hands to talk about love.

My life is filled with it,

I love so many people so much more then they know, I am so filled with love,

I love my Mom, and my Dad, and my sisters, and my kids, and Xavier,

I love my friends, and of course, I adore Elvis,

I love Everett, and miss him,

I love that there are people in my life to make it easier to love him and live without him,

My cup is truly overflowing with love,

And now my eyes are overflowing with tears,

Time to go.

Katie

In Pursuit of Heaven

2009-06-21T17:46:00.000-07:00

I have written, deleted and re-written this post three times already. Apparently tonight I just don't know how to say what I want to say. I've got all kinds of thoughts and feelings racing through my brain, but it seems that they're too big, or too disorganized to be expressed in any kind of coherent form. I'm frustrated.

I went out to Everett's garden tonight with Avery. While she played I took pictures, some of her, and some of the garden which is growing quite nicely, its overflowing the tiny perimeter we gave it and spilling out to the yard, its really pretty. Nestled in the over growth is the tiny angel statue we bought to represent Everett in his garden. Its quite photogenic, but a poor stand in for the real thing. In cases like tonight, when I'm looking for Everett wherever I can find him, it'll do.

I have to say, it takes a pretty picture. Its sweet, and soft and represents what we all hope for as parents who have said goodbye to their babies, who have held them after they breathed their last breaths, and who have attended their own child's funeral. A baby snuggled peacefully in angels wings, safe and happy in a beautiful afterlife. Heaven.

From now until the day I die, I'll be in pursuit of Heaven, and what this benign little statue promises. My baby safely held, until I can be with him again. I'll do all it takes to ensure a reunion, so that one day I won't have to be satisfied with representations, likenesses, mementos, and memories.

I've deleted and re-written this post over and over, and tried repeatedly to word my thoughts appropriately, I feel I've still been unsuccessful, so maybe I'm not ready to say what I think I need to say tonight.

When Everett died, and I sat holding him in the hospital's family room, before I needed to leave and go back to my new life, I was consumed by the "goneness" of him. Being angry with God was short lived phase in my life that ultimately led to an incredible bloom of faith which as provided me with amazing comfort and hope. Everett no longer seems "gone" in the same sense because I now feel confidant I know where he is. Faith and some education on the matter of Heaven have made me feel secure in that I know how to get there one day, and I can hope and believe in a reunion with him some day.

Hope and faith and thoughts of Heaven have helped grind down the edges of my grief, the pain is duller, and less acute when I keep my thoughts focused on one truth, our goodbye was not permanent, and I'll hold Everett again in Heaven.

So from now on, I'll live my life in the pursuit of Heaven.

Katie

A tale of two friends (and two necklaces)...

2009-06-19T11:36:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in the continental USA there are two amazing ladies, two very dear friends of mine, who have each been deeply touched by Everett, and our loss, that they have sent me lovely little gifts to show me that they're thinking of me and of Everett.

They're wonderful ladies and the support they have showed both when Everett first passed away, and still, is amazing and affirming. Both of these ladies are so thoughtful and generous, and I am so grateful to call them friends of mine. And both of these ladies sent me this necklace.....

When the second necklace arrived my first though was "Oh no, how sad, I already have one of these!" I felt badly for my friend who sent the second necklace, she had no way of knowing that another kind hearted friend had sent one too. But after some thought I realized it wasn't sad, or unfortunate at all that someone had sent me another of these beautiful keepsakes, especially once I had thought over the necklace and what it represents. It now seems quite lovely, and quite fitting that I should have two of these.

This necklace is called "The baby tears memorial necklace" and is part of series of jewelry designed to bring comfort to woman who have experienced a miscarriage or infant loss. The website describes it as a symbol of "all the tears cried, and not cried when we lose a little one". How perfect that I received one when my grief was fresh and new, permitting me to cry and express my grief outwardly, and to receive one now, when my grief is more subdued and mature, and less noticeable now, reminding me its still okay to cry and to grieve outwardly. Each of these beautiful necklaces has helped usher me into a different and vital stage of the grieving process.

The first one came at a turbulent time, and in a sense helped tame my pain, it broke me down a bit when it arrived, I cried when I opened it, because I was touched by thy thoughtfulness of my friend, and because my emotions were still so electric and haywire. I wore it proudly, displaying my hurt for the world to see.

The second necklace ushered in its new phase more gently, it arrived quietly, in a quiet time when reminders of my grief and that people are think of us are coming less frequently. On the inside my pain still comes in waves, rough and turbulent at times, quite and calm at others, but outwardly, the waters seem still. This second necklace came at a time when we needed (though maybe never knew we did) to know that people are still thinking of us and our baby, and that its still okay to reflect whats happening on the inside to the rest of the world.

Two necklaces

Two friends

Two important messages that came in two relevant times of our lives

I don't believe it was an accident or a coincidence that my good friends both thought of me when they saw this necklace and thought to themselves that they should send it to me, because it may help me to feel better, or cared for, or thought of.

I like to believe that the arrival times of these beautiful necklaces was orchestrated by God, who knew precisely when I'd need "nudges" to help me move on, and my beautiful, thoughtful, amazing friends were his instruments to help this process along.

Another word on my lovely friends. I've never met either one of them. I've never laid eyes on their faces, or heard either of their voices. And yet they are two of the most wonderful friends I could have! I have a lot of friends like these ladies, who have never spoken to me on the phone, or gone for coffee, or had our children play together, and yet they've demonstrated amazing love and kindness and friendship to me in the best and worst times of my life. I'm so lucky to have stumbled upon this amazing "virtual" living room filled with amazing women I am proud to call my friends.

So, thats the tale of my two friends, and the two necklaces they bought me. Friendship, love and thoughtfulness are alive and thriving in the world, and at this very moment, I feel incredibly blessed.

Katie

A work of art!

2009-06-17T19:50:00.000-07:00

Isn't he? He's a masterpiece don't you think? For a change of pace, I decided to do something fun tonight, something inspiring, so I fiddled with a free trial of a software that can make pictures look like paintings, and I "painted" Everett. I think I did pretty good for a first try.

I have 30 days to perfect my technique and get something worthy of hanging on the wall. But, I don't think I could ever do him justice. No one could. You just can't reproduce this caliber of amazing. Its fun trying though.

Katie

Good news!

2009-06-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

I stayed up way too late last night, got up way too early this morning, have a crazy headache and am too tired to think, so tonight should be a better night then last!

Sometimes when I look back at previous posts, I'm surprised by the intensity, and even the desperation of my emotions coming through in them. At the time those emotions are so strong and relevant, they consume me, but its odd how just 12, or 24 hours later, those feelings seem so faded and distant. This is good though, it helps me to continue to move forward, when I hit an emotional speed bump, I hit it hard, process it, work it through, and move on to smoother roads. I'm relieved to know I can hit such horrible depths and still bounce back the next day and carry on like a normal human being.

Writing is therapeutic, it really helps me sort through the jumble of emotions I go through.

Music helps too, I've found so many songs and artists that I connect to that really help me make sense of my feelings.

I've got amazing friends who are always willing to pick me up when I'm hitting emotional rock bottom. Through virtual hugs, e-mails, private messages, phone calls and little surprise gifts in the mail, I've gotten a lot of support from some amazing people, I'm grateful God placed them in my life.

I've also got some great family, some who really get it, who understand completely and who I don't have to pretend in front of. Some who witnessed Everett's story unfold first hand, who hurt right along side me and who really feel our pain, I think I am most grateful to them, because I know there are a few people aside from Elvis and myself who experienced the process of watching Everett deteriorate, they know exactly why we're so damaged now, and they completely get why we still hurt with the intensity we do. I'm sorry they had to feel even a fraction of the ache we do, but I'm relieved to know that there are people out there who don't need anything explained, they already know.

I don't talk about it too much, but I've got God to help me through, and I didn't always, but I'm thankful that I finally gave up being angry and blaming God, and turned to Him for the comfort he was always willing to give. There's a part of me that holds back a bit in expressing how grateful I am to God, because I think maybe people won't get it, or they'll think I'm crazy, or deluded in being thankful, or faithful after what we went through. Its hard to explain. Before having the boys, or losing Everett, I always half heartedly believed in God. In that sense that most people who aren't atheists do. I believed in Heaven, and prayed when times were hard, but that about sums up my spiritual life. When Everett was sick, really sick, and reality was setting in, I prayed harder then I ever have before, and my prayers went unanswered. I was so angry and lost that I decided that if there was a God, he was either powerless to help, to decided not to, and either way, I didn't need a God like that in my life. I turned away.

But, whether or not I believed in God, my life's circumstances were exactly the same. I was still grieving, my son was still gone, and I was in dire need of comfort. I found myself starting a prayer and then stopping myself, as though I was remembering I was still giving God the cold shoulder. I knew I needed comfort that only God could provide, I could feel it, but I was denying it, and I continued to feel isolated and alone and hurt. One night I decided to stop. I decided to stop blaming God and to stop being angry with him and to "talk" to him again, grudgingly at first, but I was making the first step. I prayed for comfort that night. I prayed for my thoughts to be quieted, for the hurt in my heart to ease, and to have a good nights sleep, for the first time in months. And I did. I was comforted. From that night on, it was like a switch had been flipped, and I experienced what it truly felt like to believe, I know now that I never really did before.

The next logical step to us was to find a church, and we found an amazing one, and our education in God, and his promises, and what it means to be Christian really began. Its been enlightening, and easier then I ever imagined. Its brought a lot of hope to our lives, and really eliminated a lot of fears and doubts and sadness. Now that we have church and God and his comfort in our lives, I wonder why we ever thought this sort of thing was so difficult before, I wonder why we never found this out sooner. I feel guilty that I don't share this more often, with more people, its really a great thing, and God and his grace have been a huge source of healing to us.

God, friends, family, self expression and the love of my children are all forces in my life keeping me afloat and moving forward. Its easy to trip and stumble in my grief, and easier still to want to wallow in it and get lost in it, but thankfully I have so many reasons to pick up and carry on when the wallowing is done.

Katie

I thought I was done, but I was wrong..........

2009-06-15T19:33:00.000-07:00

I thought I had gotten it all out of my system, but apparently I was wrong, forgive me, here I go again...

I am so angry! I am just so mad that this is our reality and that we don't have both our babies here with us. I'm so angry that other families got their miracles and we didn't, I am angry that we had to be the worst case scenario, and that we just have to deal with it, there's nothing we can do about it!

I don't know why I torture myself, but I was just looking through a group on Facebook for parents of preemies. Why shouldn't I look? I have preemies! My boys were born at 34 weeks, so I didn't think I'd have any problems. But, you don't have to look too far to see smiling parents holding both their twin babies after a long NICU stay, "home at last", gaah! That should have been us! I am so angry that everywhere I look it seems there are families out there living my dream and rubbing it in my face. I don't begrudge them their good fortune, but what happened to mine?

I try really hard to be composed and resigned, I try to be at peace with the hand we were dealt, I try to take comfort in knowing there was a bigger plan and purpose in place, but sometimes its hard to be consoled.

There's no sense in wishing things were different, past experience has showed me that wishing is a waste of time. I can't change a darn thing, nothing, and that makes me so angry! I endured the complications and discomforts (along with the joys of course) of a twin pregnancy. I did my part, I managed to pull off a picture perfect, healthy pregnancy and carried to a reasonable time. I prepped a beautiful nursery and my life to receive our beautiful baby boys. I delivered without complication two stunning, and healthy baby boys. I had twins, and I WANT TWINS!

Gaah, this is pointless, but its better to just let it out. Admittedly, I'm having a rough night, but I've had worse and I imagine come tomorrow morning I'll feel better, like tonight never happened.

I'm grateful to have an outlet for these feelings.

Katie

Here I Go Again..............

2009-06-15T17:09:00.000-07:00

Its 8:10pm. The kids are both in bed. Elvis is working all night. I baked a pan of brownies and I've already eaten a whole row of them, the sad music is playing on YouTube, and I can feel some very painful and raw emotions stirring. Its going to be one of those nights. I just can't seem to be alone with my thoughts without coming apart at the seams. Some days I can manage to avoid total hysterics with avoidance tactics early on. Facebook chats, interesting posts on my "mommy's message board", reading other peoples blogs, phone calls, eating yummy treats, ect... But none of that seems to be panning out tonight.

Truthfully speaking, I don't really want to talk about it. I'm not going to call anyone up and tell them I'm on the edge tonight, that I'm hurting and need to talk. I'm not that person, I've never been that person. And I don't want to talk. I want to write about it, eat because of it, and cry over it, cry a lot actually. I don't really WANT to cry, but, it seems to be the catalyst to getting "over it" for the night. Its a necessary evil I guess.

These feelings started brewing early this afternoon, I can pinpoint the actual trigger, but I was too busy/preoccupied to deal with it then. But now here I sit, alone, without distraction, or duty, and in relative silence. There's nothing to drown out my thoughts, or suppress my emotions any longer, so here they come! This happens a lot, a lot more then I think anyone realizes. Some nights when I'm at my computer desk in absolute shambles I wonder if anyone I know is at home wondering if maybe Katie's at home falling to pieces, I seriously doubt that thought would ever cross their minds, but man, it happens more then I'd like to admit.

Everett died 19 months ago. When you see it written out like that, it seems like a long time ago, but in my heart and in my head, its a flash in the pan, its no time at all, and on nights like tonight, my sadness feels brand new. I guess I have the choice about whether or not I indulge this urge to dive into grief. I technically could do something else. I could walk away from my computer, I could watch a movie, I could have a bath, I could play some online arcade game, but they're only temporary distractions. Eventually I'm going to have to go to bed, and then there's no escape from these nagging, lingering feelings of loss and loneliness and hurt. Bedtime has always been a precarious time for me, often times when Landon was just a young baby I'd make it just fine through our day, and get into bed, turn off the lamp, roll over and pull the blankets up over my shoulder and burst into tears, real bed shaking sobbing hysterical tears. Elvis wouldn't know what hit him, some days neither did I. Its the silence. The silence gets me every time.

There are a few things on my mind tonight, irking me, concerning me and leaving me unsettled. The first is that I think I foresaw all this, from early on in my pregnancy with the boys I was concerned about Everett, and I wonder now if there's not something to mothers intuition. Secondly, I read a disturbing article today in Parent's Magazine, and its haunting me, and I'm worried that we unknowingly exposed Everett to unnecessary pain before he passed.

I always worried about Everett, even before he was Everett and he was just baby A. His heart beat was always harder to find then Landon's, I always had trouble with the doppler at home, and even our Dr. had a hard time getting him. It sounded different too, but I guess its not uncommon for two babies hearts to sound different, after all, we all have different rates and rhythms. In hindsight, I wonder if we weren't hearing his defects right from the very start. He moved less then Landon, he was always very subdued. And he was nearly impossible to capture on ultrasound. We could see him, we knew he was there, but he never showed his face like his brother did. We called him elusive. Landon showed us his adorable mug, Everett showed us his feet, his back, even his little bottom. But, we could always see his heart, the ultrasound tech checked at every scan, and they always commented on both babies having beautiful four chamber views. Meaning they can see two atria and two ventricles on each baby, and this is the determinant of a healthy heart to them, but its a false beacon of health, its unreliable, and in Everett's case, it flat out lied to us! I sensed all along that something was wrong, but I allowed myself to be comforted with each ultrasound, because all appeared to be well.

The article I read to day in Parent's Magazine was about making medical procedures and surgeries as pain free as possible for babies and young children. Seemed pretty benign when I started, but I was disturbed to the core when I read that up until the 1980's open heart surgery was done on new born babies without any form of anesthesia at all, just paralytic drugs to keep the babies still. I cried immediately. This was apparently due to the belief that babies didn't feel pain! The first thing I did was gasp, and then I made a mental list of all the medication I KNEW Everett received, but I couldn't recall any mention of pain medication! I was just sick at the thought of Everett enduring what he did without any pain medication, thank goodness I know that Sick Kids would not ever do that to any child, I know he was taken care of and didn't hurt.

I hate being trapped on this roller coaster. I hate going through these painful evenings. I hate that my emotions boil up out of me and I can't control it. I hate the emotional hurt, and I hate the physical side effects that come along with it, the headache, the sore stomach and the tell tale swollen eye lids that show up almost immediately. I hate feeling so frail and unbalanced. There isn't anything about living without Everett that I don't hate.

I sometimes wonder if the rest of the world, on the outside looking in, wonders why we're still so stunned, why we're still so shocked and horrified and bereft over the loss of Everett. I hope they'll understand that we didn't see this coming, it was like we were hit by a bus stepping off a curb, we never knew what hit us. Until the day he was air lifted to Sick Kids we thought he had a heart murmur, a benign heart murmur, and our Dr's weren't worried. We had a healthy pregnancy and a picture perfect delivery and had two beautiful baby boys to show for it. We had a beautiful nursery at home awaiting, we were on cloud nine, and then we fell off, and plummeted into a reality darker then I have words to describe.

It took us seven months before we had the strength to address our twin nursery. Everett's crib stayed in place, and filled up with mementos, his name stayed on the wall, and for seven months we ducked in and out of that room, trying not to let our eyes wander and see all the reminders of Everett that would trigger pain so strong it would make it impossible to care for Avery and for Landon.

Seven months after he died, we had to face the devastating task of taking his name off the wall....

It was like saying "Goodbye" all over.....

We also had to deal with all the stuff we had accumulated, shower gifts, Christmas presents, sympathy cards, bereavement gifts, we have a lot....

Stuffed toys, baby books, hats he wore, cards Avery made with my sister, we had to finally "do" something with them all.....

We had to face the fact that our twin nursery was not a twin nursery anymore. We had to make it Landon's room, not a shrine to what we expected and lost. As badly as it hurt, and it hurt a lot, we had run out of time to live in "suspended" time, leaving things as unchanged as we could. Time to change...

Welcome to our new twinless life.

Anyway, I think this post is becoming less and less focused and so is my thought process. On a brighter note, I feel less on edge now then I did when I started this post, writing is definitely therapeutic for me, maybe I won't fall to pieces tonight.

Katie

When he's not an angel anymore...

2009-06-11T10:05:00.001-07:00

Last night around 12:45am, I was up with Avery for a potty break and she was feeling rather conversational. I have some pretty amazing conversations with her. So, we were discussing potty training, and the little fringe benefits it brings, namely, treats from the potty bunny (Avery came up with this little character, not me I promise). Anyway, she was discussing how the potty bunny would bring treats to various babies we know when they get big, including her brother Landon, baby cousin and then her brother Everett. She talks about Everett so much, sometimes it really makes my stomach hurt.

"Everett won't need to potty train" I told her

"When he gets big he will" she said with sleepy, heavy eyes.

"Honey, Everett won't ever get big, he's an angel remember?" I tell her, softly, not sure how much she can comprehend at this time of the night, but she persists.

"When he's not an angel anymore he will, right?" she asks, I change the subject all together.

Based on conversations I have with her, Avery clearly doesn't quite "get" the whole death and Heaven business. She thinks its temporary, she thinks we can go there, she thinks he can come back. I like her version of Heaven more then reality some days. Wouldn't it be great if there came a day when Everett weren't an angel any more? When he came back from his little Heavenly vacation?

Yeah, that would be wonderful.

Katie

He's the rainbow.....

2009-06-09T05:34:00.001-07:00

This is my sweet boy Landon....

I'm told that God works all things for good in our lives, even tragedies, and I'm not sure I could believe that, if it weren't that Landon's living proof. But here he is, a beautiful boy whom we love so dearly, a gift from God that we're thankful for each and every day. He came home from the hospital a day after Everett passed. The day after the worst day of our lives, we brought home the most beautiful little miracle, he's like a rainbow after a storm.

Landon's a miracle on so many levels, but on this one I think you'll agree. He's a miracle because he has a normal, healthy, strong little heart. Everett and Landon are identical twins, they are what is known as monochorionic-diamniotic twins, two babies from one egg, sharing their outer sac, each with their own inner compartments. They're genetically identical in every way. Everett's heart defect was not genetic, for that we and Landon are blessed. It could have very easily been the case that we lost both our babies, but it was in God's plans to give us one baby to raise and love.

Not that Landon is a consolation prize, and not that one baby could ever replace another, but it certainly softened the edges of the pain. We never get used to have only one baby where we know there should be two, but I am grateful that Landon is here to hold and love and care for, in many respects he's helped to heal our broken hearts a little faster and little gentler, because our arms have never been truly "empty".

I'll never be able to claim to understand God's plans for us, and our family. I could never presume to understand why he gifted us with twins and then took one back. I'll never wrap my head (or my heart) around why Everett was allotted only 20 days in this world, I'll never comprehend why we were allowed to experience such gut wrenching pain, and I'll never understand why our hearts keep beating after the death of a baby. I don't think I'll every understand, God's unlikely to ever let me in on these secrets, its better to resign myself to a life time of wondering. Rather then agonize over all these "what ifs" and "whys" and "I don't understands", I think I'd be better served by focusing on life's roses, rather then its thorns.

I have so much, I am blessed beyond words with friends and family and church, and my three lovely children who fill my heart with more love then it would be possible to explain. The loss of Everett has intensified my love for everyone in my life, and has made me even more grateful for friendships and support that God has placed in my life. My heart has softened, and I am now more capable of sympathy and of caring for others who have experienced similar losses. I love my children harder, I value my friends and family more, and I desire to give comfort to grieving parents like myself. Surely I can see how God is working our life's biggest tragedy for good, He is helping us take dirt and grow flowers. Its comforting.

This is my wee boy Landon, in the first days and weeks after losing Everett, he was like salve to our wounds. He was medication to our broken hearts.

We're careful never to put pressure on Landon to be anything more then a blessing in himself. Whether we were given him on his own, or in a pair like he actually came, he's 100% amazing in his own right. We would be thrilled to have him, no matter what the circumstances. How could we not fall madly in love with him?

He's a sensitive personality, he's tender and easily hurt
He's funny and silly
He's the strong, silent type
He's brilliant but doesn't flaunt it (he's so humble)
He's passionate and strong willed
He's a living, breathing miracle
He's like sunshine after the rain

Katie

It was about a year ago this time.......

2009-06-08T20:06:00.001-07:00

That I was struck with the urge to do something big for Everett. It started small, but a seed had definitely been planted in my mind, to do something special, to commemorate Everett, and do something good and honorable in his name.

Our grief was just six months old, very new, very raw, very irrational (as it often is, but to a lesser degree), and I was grasping at straws, trying to control things I couldn't control, trying to master things I didn't understand. A part of me thought, back then, that I could control how deeply I hurt, or how badly I longed for my baby, by doing grand gestures, and helping others. I imagined that if I could do something incredible and admirable, in the name of our love for him, and raise awareness about his life and his battle, then I could offset the pain somehow, and I would feel proud, or validated, rather then crippled with grief and loneliness for my lost baby.

Sick Kids was an obvious choice. He was treated there, he died there, and they fought like mad to save him. They did everything possible to keep him with us, and though I never thought to search their faces for signs of pain when he died, I know they felt it, I know they felt defeated, and hurt, and sorry for us. Its an amazing hospital staffed with phenomenal people. Raising money in Everett's name, for them, felt like the most natural choice.

Don't ask me where the idea to host a gala came from, since making that choice I've lamented that no sane person makes their first fund raisng effort a gala! I should have started with a lemon-aid stand. But hindsight is 20/20, and one could argue whether or not I am actually sane, so there you have it, I chose a gala, and in my head it was magnificent.

I asked my good friend Allison to design me a logo, which she did, an incredible logo, which my other talented friend Marj turned into a stunning invite. Sophisticated, elegant, beautiful, the image in my head of my gala was captured perfectly by these designs. I envisioned dancing, elegant table served dinner, light hearted conversation, music, eduction (on heart defects and Sick Kids), and Everett. I'd introduce the room full of guests to my son, his life, his battle, and our loss. I'd have a captive audience of people to tell all about our experience with having an amazing pregnancy, a glorious delivery, two beautiful healthy twin boys and then the life shattering experience of losing one. The ladies in the room would stifle back tears, men would be effected but try not to show it, and I'd feel validated, because I had made X amount of people aware that I had twins, beautiful, healthy, fabulous identical twin boys, even though you can't tell by looking at us now. The emotion in the room would be high, but we'd shift the focus with music and conversation over dinner, and then the auctions and the raffles would begin. The tone set at the start of the event would have people feeling touched and emotionally connected to Sick Kids and all they do, and they'd want to help, donations would start rolling in. By the end of the night we'd be exhausted, both emotionally and physically, but we'd be proud, and we'd be excited to hand over a handsome donation in Everett's name. We'd be a success.

With this day dreamy image in mind, I planned our event. Slowly over the process of a year I made plans, selected the menu, ordered the centerpieces, arranged the music, ordered the tickets, started advertising, and waited for the requests to roll in.

For reasons unknown to us, this event was never meant to happen. Ticket sales just never took off like we hoped. And we had to make the decision to let it go. This is feeling painfully similar to our entire experience with Everett. It started off beautifully, with high hopes, and for reasons unknown to us, it just didn't work, and we had to make the difficult decision to end it, oh my, irony maybe?

Whatever it is, its done. The Everett Peca Gala for Brave Hearts will never be, though a lot of people were rooting for us, it never got off the ground. We're trying to resign ourselves to this, we're trying hard not to feel upset, or disappointed, or angry. We're instead trying to feel relieved. As we realized in the past several weeks, that things weren't going our way, we panicked wondering if we'd have to cancel, we dreaded having to make that choice, because in our heads and hearts it meant failing, it meant letting Everett down, and Sick Kids, and our few devoted cheerleaders and volunteers. Canceling felt like giving up, and we're so emotionally connected to this, that we couldn't see that giving up on an event wasn't the same as giving up on Everett, so we resisted, and pushed on. It weighed on us. It was an unseen pressure, a looming deadline, and an unavoidable future failure, it became something very different from what it started as. It made us hurt.

And now its over. We've been relieved of the pressure, and the deadline, and the fear, and the angst, and now, if we can resist wallowing in the hurt and the disappointment and the anger, then we should feel liberated, freed from our burdens. I know in my heart that Everett is un-bothered by all of this, and I know God knows we tried our hardest. I know that is "Okay" that this dream was never actualized, and I know there's a reason, I just don't know what. And I know, for future reference, that I don't have a career in fund raising.

Canceling our gala hurt, it was a loss and it stings like all loss does. It was the death of a dream, of a plan to do good in our sons name, and we're struggling with how it never came together, but we have such experience now in coping with loss, we'll handle it like pros.

Onward and upward right? On to new things, new plans, new hopes to make the world aware of Everett, and how precious and life altering he was. Maybe not such grandiose plans though, in future attempts, when we're ready, we'll keep it very, very simple. My heart can't take another failure, or another dream not attained, I don't know if I have the strength to put myself or Elvis through something like this again.

"There's nothing I can say, there's nothing I can do now.........."

Katie

So big, yet so little...

2009-06-07T08:21:00.000-07:00

My daughter Avery is a pixie. She's seriously a tiny little thing. We didn't know it when we named her, that Avery means "Elf ruler", and given she was nearly 9 pounds at birth, we had no idea how fitting her name would be. But, now she's 3.5 years old, and 3 feet tall, and 28 pounds even as of this morning, she is most definitely elf like, sweet little pixie!

Avery's got a great personality, its big when she's very little. She's loud, she's rowdy, she's intensely intelligent, and incredibly funny. She's also very strong willed. Avery is due to start kindergarten in September, and we're both excited and nervous about this. We're confidant in her ability to excel academically, she knows he alphabet, her colors, her numbers, her shapes, she can spell her name and recognize many words by sight, school work isn't going to be an issue for her at all! What we are worried about, is the potty. Avery's been a potty training hold out.

We started training her last summer when she was 2.5 years old. It worked beautifully. In a matter of a few short weeks we had Avery completely potty trained, she would even pee on the little toilet at the mall, we were so impressed. Then Avery got sick, really, really sick with a terrible bout of gastroenteritis. She was laid low for two weeks, she was lethargic, and felt horrible, and experienced all kinds potty accidents that you would expect to come around with a stomach bug, poor baby. And once that passed, she wanted nothing to do with the potty at all. We gave her time though, she was still young, there was no rush, we assumed she'd come around again soon, so we waited. And we waited and waited and waited some more, she never came around again. This brings us to now. She's 3.5 years old, sharp as tack and ready to start school in a few short months. We need to get this potty business back on track. Plus, I hate when people ask me "is she still in diapers?!" with horrified looks on their faces. I want to snap back "so what! She's absolutely brilliant and healthy, who cares if she hasn't mastered the toilet yet!" But I don't, because I know they've got a point, she really needs to learn, but she's my baby.

She's my first born, my little princess, I can't believe soon she'll be all potty trained and in school! Where did the time go? Maybe I've been holding her back a little, so now I guess I really have to cheer her on, she can do this, I know she can, time to let her grow up just a little and reach these milestones. I'll just sit home while she's at school and pour over her baby pictures, and her baby book and reminisce (sniff, sniff).

Today we started a 3 day potty training blitz. Friends of ours who have tried this method fully stand behind it and rave about their successes. I'm excited and encouraged, hopefully 3 days from now, Avery will have made the transition from toddler on the verge, to full fledged big girl. Bitter sweet.

Just look at this little angel? Isn't she precious? She makes my heart skip a beat, if she'd let me, I'd hold her all day long.

She's got amazing brown eyes, deep, thoughtful eyes, they're hypnotizing! This big brown eyes may serve her very, very well in school, lets hope he teacher has a soft spot for puppy dog eyes ;)

Who in their right mind would be able to resist, or deny my sweet girl? Not me, not ever! She'll forever be my baby, even when she's 18 years old and insists she's not, even when she's old and grey and has babies and grandbabies of her own. She'll ALWAYS be my baby....

Seems like just yesterday she really was one. (Sniff, sniff.... I'll be okay).
Katie

There will never be enough..

2009-06-05T06:32:00.000-07:00

I take pictures, a lot of pictures, its what I do. I take dozens and dozens of pictures of my kids a week, I've coined the nick name the "Mama-razzi", I document everything they do. I enjoy taking pictures of other peoples kids too, capturing moments of their childhood and personality forever, its what I do.

It makes me really sad to think that I won't ever take another picture of Everett. There'll never be anything new for me to share or show off. I'll never say, "And here are some new Everett pictures" to anyone. Its weird, because I'll continue to love Everett and be his Mama, and I'll continue to think of him a million times a day and count him among my children, but unlike all my other children, current and future, I'll never have him in front of my camera again, the pictures I have of him are all I'll ever have. That stings.

I have some great pictures, 20 days worth of Everett, some really sweet ones, to really sad ones, but they're him, and they capture his life and his story accurately. But I want more. I wish I had have known to take more. Had I known then what I know now, I would have set him up for some nice "photo shoots", and the staff would have let me I am sure, because they all knew what we were up against, even when we didn't. I would have done some nice black and whites, some slightly posed stuff, and maybe even requested a NILMDTS photographer to come in too, and give us some really great pictures, since I didn't have the camera then that I do now.

But, even if I had more from back then, I think I would still hunger for "new", for more of Everett, I think I will always want more. To think I am always going to have this longing for him is a little foreboding, I'll never be satisfied with the amount of time I had with Everett, or with the amount of pictures and mementos I have of him. There could never be enough.

And all the "things" and pictures put together, no matter how you arrange them, will ever equal the baby I lost. I won't ever be able to pile up pictures and hats and hospital bands and make Everett, no matter how much I wish I could.

If I were to actually lay out for you all the things we have to commemorate Everett, there are actually a lot, you would be amazed. We have dozens and dozens of cards, his hospital bracelets, his teddy bear, his Baabsy (toy lamb that matches Landon's), his hats he wore, his socks he wore, his first Christmas gifts we bought before the boys were born, the casts of his feet and of our hands, the folder from Sick Kids with explanations of his condition, his star certificate, his birth registration, his death certificate, his baby book (partially filled out), his baptismal certificate, gifts from friends, including a bracelet, a plaque, a cute little canvas with a picture of us holding hands, and so many pictures. I have a lot of stuff to pour over when the need hits, but, it won't ever be enough, ever. When the mood hits, to bury myself in Everett, I don't want to read cards, or hold stuffed toys, or read incomplete baby books, I want to wrap my arms around him, I want to bury my nose in his neck and stoke his hair, I want to look into his big brown eyes and hold his hand, and touch his toes. I want to change diapers and dress him like his brother, I want to load my double stroller up with my TWIN boys and take a walk with Avery walking along side, like it was supposed to be. When a big wave of grief hits and I am looking for something to keep me afloat, these memento's are like rocks, I grab on to them out of instinct, or desperation, but they don't help, they just drag me under. They pull me deeper into the sadness because they only remind me that there's no hope of ever getting Everett back. They remind me that all that is left of him are gifts that will never be played with, empty hats and socks, baby books that will never be finished, and a finite amount of pictures to which I'll never add to. When mourning comes, as it often does, these "things" are not enough, they can't pull me out of it, they can't ease the pain, in fact, they intensify it.

There will never be enough Everett....

There will never be enough "things".........

There will never be enough pictures......

There will never be enough words......

Thankfully, there's enough comfort in my family, friends, and God, to bring me back to the surface once the storm of grief passes.

Katie

In just a few short weeks.......

2009-06-04T06:34:00.000-07:00

We'll be hosting the first, and maybe the only, Everett Peca Gala for Brave Hearts. This event will both honor Everett and his life and his battle, but it will also raise money (hopefully) for the Hospital for Sick Children (Sick Kids) where we received such wonderful treatment in an attempt to make him well.

We've been planning this gala for a year now. And way back last June it seemed so easy, we expected it to just all fall together nicely. Now that its just a few short weeks away, we're in panic mode. Nothing is falling into place like I hoped, in fact, it feels as though its falling apart instead. Don't get me wrong, we haven't been slacking. We've got a venue, a menu, advertising and tickets. We've got raffle items, we've got silent auction items and door prizes. We've got a few great volunteers and plenty of cheerleaders, what we don't have is guests. You can't have a gala without guests, not a successful one that is.

I'm not sure what went wrong. With want ads placed online, posters distributed all over town, a beautifully written news paper story (front page!), and word of mouth, you'd think we would have sold a bunch of tickets, we should be laughing and relaxing and preparing to party. Not so. We have about 95% of our tickets remaining to be sold. I'm nervous.

But, thankfully, there's hope still! We received an e-mail yesterday morning from a local TV network, and they want to interview us LIVE to talk about our gala and Everett. Our first instinct was "NO WAY!", Elvis and I are not "TV" people. We're not public speakers, and we're pretty socially awkward. But, lets me honest here, we're not in the position to be turning away publicity at this point, and it's come at such a direly needed time, I can't say for certain it isn't God sent, and who would turn that down? So, on June 12th, I'll get off work at 7am, drink a few energy drinks and arrive at the TV station at 10am, to do a live interview at 11am! I hope I don't come off looking like a zombie!! I hope that this will help us spread the word about our cause, about our son and about the great work Sick Kids does and why we want to help them continue to do it. I hope we'll sell out on ticket sales and that we'll be able to stop panicking and start dress shopping! I hope this is the help we need that saves us from having to cancel our beloved gala. Wish me luck!

I have to remind myself, we're doing this for them.......

And mostly for him. So no one forgets that he was, is, and always will be one of our babies. His life was short but incredibly important, he touched hearts, changed lives and made an imprint on so many. God had a plan for him, and we're watching it unfold before us. We're doing this for him. And in the end, we know it will be worth it!

Katie

Patsy says it best.....

2009-05-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

I fall to pieces
Each time I see you again
I fall to pieces
How can I be just your friend?

You want me to act like we've never kissed
You want to forget; pretend we've never met
And I've tried and I've tried, but I haven't yet...
You walk by, and I fall to pieces

I fall to pieces
Each time someone speaks your name (speaks your name)
I fall to pieces
Time only adds to the flame

You tell me to find someone else to love
Someone who'll love me too (love me too)
The way you used to do (used to do)

But each time I go out with someone new,
You walk by, and I fall to pieces
You walk by, and I fall to pieces

Just substitute, in place of "walk by", "see your picture", "hear your name", "hear the word twins", "your brother does something cute", "your sister talks to your picture", "someone asks me how many kids I have", and so on.....

Of course, I don't try to pretend I'm just his friend, and I never try to forget, but you get the idea, something happens when I think I'm doing good at picking up and carrying on, something trips me up and, well, I fall to pieces.

I fall to pieces.

Last night was the worst night I've had in a long, long while. I can't say why, it just happens sometimes, but last night I came completely undone. This morning I had the headache and water balloon eye lids to show for it. I can't say I feel any better having fallen to pieces, but it needed to be done, and even though it takes its toll, I know I'll do it again.

I've been singing this song for the past few days, maybe it brought it on, maybe it was my subconscious warning me that these feelings were stirring, maybe its just a pretty song, but these words have been on my lips often throughout the day.

I fall to pieces
Each time someone speaks your name (speaks your name)
I fall to pieces
Time only adds to the flame

Time only adds to the flame....

How true it is.

Katie

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I've got it....

2009-05-28T16:03:00.000-07:00

If there was any doubt, there isn't now.

Tonight I promised myself I'd be productive, and I'd work on some gala stuff after the kids went to bed. Some of you know, and some of you may not know, that we're hosting a fund raising gala for the Hospital for Sick Children (Sick Kids) in June, in memory of Everett. We've been planning it for a year now, and in these final weeks leading up to it, the work is piling up.

So, tonight I pledged to start working on the slide show, compiling facts and pictures to use as the introduction to our event. I went to the Sick Kids website and started browsing, and noticed that they had pictures of their many lovely murals to view. I clicked, because I figured they'd make a great addition to our slide show, they're cheery, animated and really, really cute, they're part of what makes the hospital so warm and friendly to little kids.

As soon as clicked and enlarged the first mural image, I felt my heart rate quicken.

Then my breaths became deeper and faster.

And after seeing this one, this very, very familiar image, my eyes welled up with tears....

Definite anxiety attack approaching, I closed the website down and immediately headed to my refrigerator, and did what I always do when my emotions get high, I ate.

We walked past this mural over and over when visiting Everett in the CCCU (Cardiac Critical Care Unit), we waited in hallways while Dr's did rounds and stared at these murals, but I never realized how much they became a part of our experience until I saw them again. Seeing them triggered so many memories and emotions, it really surprised me, and saddened me.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to walk into Sick Kids again and not crumble to pieces. Will I ever be able to volunteer there, or work there, or visit some one there without having a massive anxiety attack? I react to the NICU at our hospital too. Walking through the doors of the pediatric floor, or the nursery makes my heart beat faster and my eyes water. I get jumpier by the minute while I'm there, even when I try not to think about it, memories find their way into the foreground of my thoughts. What happens when we have another baby? The obstetric floor is likely to have the same effect, I'm bound to replay Everett and Landon's delivery over in my mind when I'm surrounded by similar surroundings and equipment. And will I ever be able to work there? I really would love to be an obstetric nurse, but can I overcome this post traumatic stress and do it? I have no idea.

A simple mural has side tracked my entire plans for this evening. I no longer feel motivated to work on my gala, I don't want to think about Sick Kids tonight, I don't want to feel or remember, or cry tonight. Elvis is working, and I'm already alone with my thoughts, so maybe its best I don't go down that road, voluntarily that is.

This gala is supposed to be a good thing, honoring Everett and doing something big and fabulous in his name, helping other sick children and their families. I'm proud to be doing it, and excited to see the fruits of all this hard work, but if I am being honest, and thats the whole point of this blog, I can't wait until its over. It hurts more then I expected it would, the process has been really painful and exhausting and I am not sure I've got it in me to do it again, though its a noble thought.

In future years I am sure we'll continue to fund raise in Everett's name, for Sick Kids and for other charities that touch our hearts, but maybe not on this scale. Once is enough, we'll kick off Everett's legacy with a bang, and from then on I think I'll be more mindful to be gentle with my heart and my memories and remember that commemoration means re-living, and re-living means re-grieving, which hurts.

Maybe tonight, rather then work on something that's irritating already tender and frazzled (my emotions namely), I'll instead work on being gentle with my heart, and not trying so hard to make the world know my baby, and learn about why I'm so bereft. I need to focus more on my own experiences with Everett and less on making the world miss him too. Maybe memorializing and honoring isn't as healing as I thought it would be, but Ive made commitments now that we intend to follow through on, but I can see me now walking up to that stage on gala night....

Heart beating fast....

Breathing too deep and too quick....

Sweating....

Eyes filling up with tears.....

Telling the room full of friends, family and strangers all the reasons why they should help us support Sick Kids and telling them all about Everett and touching their hearts and maybe making them shed a tear to two...

then walking straight to the door, to the hallway or bathroom and completely losing it.

Sure we're doing something great, and we're happy to do it, but I'm already anticipating how much its going to hurt.

Its going to hurt a lot.

Katie

Well thats not right..

2009-05-27T13:38:00.001-07:00

This afternoon, while rocking Landon in his room before his nap, my eyes wandered around the room, and landed on the little Willow Tree statues resting on the top shelf of his hutch. Two tiny babies sitting side by side, bought by us to commemorate our twins after Everett passed, to remind us when we need it that we really did have twins. These little guys kill me. They're so cute, and perfectly carved and look just like Landon does and Everett would have. They're dark haired (though faceless as all Willow Tree figurines are) and are shaped like little one year olds, they're both wearing little cream sleepers, they're precious, but looking at them hurts. They're reminders of what we had and what we lost, and they provide little glimpses of what it might look like if both our boys were here with us, sitting together and playing, the way we wish it could be.

So, this afternoon while getting Landon ready for his nap, I studied these little figurines, and I'm not sure why I decided to do it, but after I laid Landon down, I grabbed them off the shelf and took them with me to the living room. I propped them up on the coffee table on a sheet of white paper and decided to take a few pictures of these little babies, since they're so cute after all, and I'm compelled by them.

As I snapped away however, I started to feel sad and strange, taking pictures of these little twin figurines started to feel a little weird, because I started to think, "this is what it would be like to take the boys pictures together", "this is what I would do if they were both here", "Ah, so this is what a picture of both my boys would look like". It started to feel sad, and morbid, and they made me hurt even more. I did however edit the pictures like I normally would, and got a few really nice ones, I think if you didn't know our story, or the context I'd be viewing them in, most people would think they're just sweet pictures.

However, if you know me, or you've heard our story, I'm sure you'll look at these pictures and understand exactly why they're painful, if you've lost a baby, or one of your twins, you'll understand exactly why it feels morbid to have taken these pictures at all. You can imagine my thought process as I posed these little babies together and took their pictures...

How it was, when I was pregnant and just after the boys were born, they were together and happy.....

How it should be (same as above, together and happy), just exactly what I wish I could see......

And sadly, how it is, one baby home with us, and one a vivid memory, a strong emotional presence, but not accessible, tangible, or touchable...........

Gaah! These little guys kill me! These simple little unassuming figurines are devastating little reminders of the saddest chapter of our lives, of the biggest hurdle we ever had to overcome, and of the biggest scar we bear and try to hide from the rest of the world. They remind me that I don't see the world the same as everyone else, those who haven't lost a baby or experienced something similar. I see reminders, not babies in twin strollers that roll past us in the mall. I see loss, not an ultrasound picture when someone announces they are expecting twins. I see ECMO and IV's and nurses when someone updates that the Dr. has ruled their baby's heard murmur completely benign. I see worst case scenarios when others are getting miracles.

My outlook on life and the world we live in so differently now that my life as been tainted by loss. Even when I think I'm coping pretty well and life is feeling pretty normal again, I go and take pictures of twin baby figurines and remind myself that I'm just not the same, and maybe just not right.

Katie

Like a bee to flowers....

2009-05-27T09:06:00.000-07:00

I find myself completely drawn to my children. There's this inexplicable pull between us, I want nothing more some days then to be by their side, it suits me just fine to do nothing but watch my kids just be, just breath, just exist.

They're kind of like little batteries, they give me energy and power and keep me going. They refresh me and make me feel alive. Without them, life makes less sense, has less purpose and in general appears so much duller. Man, do I ever love my children!

I don't think I ever knew what kind of mother I hoped to be, until I had my kids and found out just how astonishingly deep my love for them is. Now I know that kind of mother I hope to me, when my kids are grown and are describing me to people, I want them to use words like "warm" and "devoted" and "loving" and "fun". If they want to throw in words like "beautiful" and "best mom ever", thats okay with me too! I want to be my kids safe place, I want to be "home" to them, I want them to feel good about themselves and about life when they're around me. When they're grown with kids of their own, independent and making their mark on the world, I want them to know that their mother still adores them, still enjoys every second she's with them, will still love them and comfort them whenever they need it, I want them to know I want to always be "Mama", even when we're all old and gray.

So, I've got big mothering aspirations, and its going to take a lot of work to be the kind of mother I want to be, but I'm up to the challenge, because, well, look at these kids........

....they absolutely deserve a childhood they can look back fondly upon and a Mama they can always rely upon, and more love then they ever imagined possible.

Katie

My Cherry Tree

2009-05-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

There's a tree in my front yard, that is so amazingly beautiful, I think I would have bought my house based on that tree alone. I've been waiting and waiting for this tree to finally bloom, spring has come to all the rest but our tree has been holding out. But in the last few days, it finally has come to life and its amazing. At this moment, as I type, I keep looking over my shoulder out the window to admire the cloud of deep pink flowers it has become. It smells great too, the breeze keeps carrying in wafts of its gorgeous flowery smell to me, I love this tree, a lot. But, its a cherry tree, and like all cherry trees, this period of incredibly beauty is very brief. Soon, the flowers will wilt and the petals will fall to the ground and the for the rest of the year my amazing tree is just a tree, with dark leaves and kinky, winding branches. It buds, it flowers, it becomes captivating and beautiful, then its beauty fades away. Such is life right? Precisely.

My cherry tree inspired me when it came time to get a tattoo to memorialize Everett. We had felt very strongly that getting tattoos for him was something we needed to do, to make him present always, and to keep him and his precious little life always in the front of our memories. But, how would we personalize these tattoos, to make them really relevant and convey just how much Everett touched us, and who he was. We decided on getting his foot prints, and as I designed my tattoo, I chose have his feet being showered in falling cherry blossoms. Very fitting I think. Cherry blossoms remind us of the fragility and transience of life. Everett's life is a perfect example of this. He was born, he was beautiful and breath taking and then he was gone. His life was like a cherry blossom, amazing, awe inspiring, and painfully short.

Here's my tattoo, little life sized feet, and gently falling cherry blossoms and petals. Picture them falling from the tree to the ground, their brief time to shine is over, but everyone always remembers how beautiful cherry blossoms are. People are drawn to them, they visit orchards filled with flowering cherry trees, artists paint them, photographers take pictures of them, tattoo artists have tattooed many with their small and lovely flowers. It would appear that cherry blossoms are universally beautiful and widely loved. So, I don't mind likening my baby to them one bit.

Here are some pictures I took of my tree yesterday. I took dozens, up close, far away, any way you look at it, they're just plain beautiful. I may frame one or two of these to hang on a wall. Maybe they'll keep us mindful that life is short and sweet, its beautiful while we have it, but soon enough, its gone (like anyone living in MY house needs reminding of how fleeting life is).

Also, maybe they can remind us of something else, about seasons of life. Sure, cherry blossoms wilt and die and fall to the ground, the tree becomes plain and average, and in the winter its darn right ugly with sharp black branches in awkward angles, but, spring comes again. After the harsh winter passes, spring brings buds back to this tree, and before we know it, its full of amazing blooms, thick and clustered and plentiful. Just like my gorgeous cherry tree, life has seasons of ugly and average, of discontent and pain, but, sure enough, spring comes again and beauty fills our lives, happiness, joy and contentment come back around. Life cycles through these seasons over and over, some are longer then others, some shorter, but we can always rest assured that winters of grief and discontent will be replaced with springtimes full of blessings and joy, we just need to be patient and wait.

Katie

The Garden

2009-05-19T17:40:00.000-07:00

I took the kids out to the backyard today, to enjoy some of the sunshine and warm weather, and found Everett's garden was thriving and full of life, yay! We weren't at all certain that we had the gardening skills to maintain a garden, but it looks like we're not half bad at it! The plants are still in their early stages of awakening, they aren't much to look at, but I found myself on my hands and knees looking at his garden stone in a whole new way. It could be the artist in me searching for some sort of design in everything, or maybe its because I've been so lost in thought and emotion lately with Everett's gala coming up so soon, but I've been looking for something to jump out at me lately, and this is what I've found today. Pretty isn't it?

Tears, memories and thoughts of Heaven, doesn't that just sum up where my heads at these days? It totally does. Avery's been talking about Heaven lately too, she absolutely doesn't get it, but bless her for giving it so much thought. She wants to go there, she knows her brother lives there, but it just kills me when she suggests, as though it were in the realm of possibility, that we should drive there after Landon's nap. She cocks her head to the side and innocently asks me if thats something I'd be interested in doing, and its all I can do to not crumble to the floor. If she only knew! Trying to explain the logistics of Heaven to a three year old is tough, because I don't want to talk to her about how you really get there, about death and its inevitability, but she knows a little about that already, which sucks. So, I tell her we'll all be there one day, hopefully not for 90 or so years for her, and there's no hurry, Heaven can wait. I love her so much for wanting to pop in and see her brother, I love that she thinks of him so often, but it hurts sometimes to hear her talk about him.

Anyway, enough of that, I'm trying to remain upbeat tonight. Since Elvis is at work and I've been having trouble sleeping lately anyway, no sense in going to bed crying, thats a sure way to get a migraine.

So, we played outside today, took pictures of Everett's garden, and played. I sat in the grass and watched Avery and Landon enjoy our backyard and tried to just be completely happy and satisfied with what I have and the path I'm on. Its hard, definitely harder some days then others, but when you've got this in your backyard.....

.....happiness invariably finds its way into the mix!

Katie

Thank you Joe Purdy....

2009-05-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

For saying just what I wanted to say but so much better. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he wrote this song just for me.

Just Can't Seem to Get it Right Today

Just can't seem to get it right today,
Just can't seem to get it right today,
Just can't seem to get it right today,
I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh, I guess I'm gonna give up.

It's nearly been a year since he's been gone,
We still sing his goodbye songs,
And she knows, she should move on,
But she just can't let him go,
No, she just can't let him go.

I'm sorry if I made you made you wanna cry,
Sorry if I made you wanna cry,
You should know, I never meant to hide,
I just hate bringin' you down,
Oh, I just hate bringin' you down.

Just can't seem to get it right today,
Just can't seem to get it right today,
Just can't seem to get it right today,
I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh, I guess I'm gonna give up.

I dropped my paintbrush in the dirt,
Still numb by just how much I hurt,
I cut my hand, wait for it to work,
I just couldn't bring him back,
No, I just couldn't bring him back.

I just can't seem to get it right today,
Oh, I just can't seem to get it right today,
I just can't seem to get it right today,
I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh, I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh, I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh, I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh, I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh, I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh lord, I said I guess I'm gonna give up,
Oh lord, I said I guess I'm gonna give up.

Now, I'll clarify what I'm going to give up, because the song sounds like its sort of hopeless, but it isn't. I'm going to give up trying to get it right, trying to make everything work out perfect, trying to please everyone, trying to understand everyone, trying to make everyone understand me. I just can't seem to get it right because it can't be done, so Lord, I'm going to give up. I'm going to give it up and rely on the only one who can get everything right all the time, He'll get it right if I trust him, and I do. God has done so much for me from the time Everett passed until now, He's at work in my life and I know He can be trusted. So, thats what I am going to do, I'm going to stop trying to do it all myself, stop trying to get it right and just give it up.

I'm sorry if I made anyone want to cry, by trying to force them to see my pain through my eyes, its impossible for me to show someone just how bad I hurt and how deep I grieve, no one else can possibly know, no matter how hard I try and show them. I'm going to stop trying. I'm going to stop going to others to comfort me in my pain, hoping they'll understand and being disappointed when they can't, I'll leave that to God, blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted!

Katie

Just can't seem to move on today...

2009-05-18T10:56:00.000-07:00

My thoughts are stuck on Everett today, thats okay, it happens. Thankfully both Avery and Landon are both cooperating today and taking a nap at the same time, allowing me some badly needed time to think and feel and sort through all the different things going on in my head.

This picture was taken on December 7th 2007, the day Everett died. This is the kind of vision that holds my thoughts captive, I've seen so many things, heart wrenching things, they're impossible to forget. This is one of them. They aren't pretty, some of them are darn right upsetting, but they're real, they happened, they are our experiences with Everett and it serves no purpose to gloss over the bad, or touch up these images to make them "easier" to look at. It shouldn't have to be easy, looking at these pictures, or recalling these memories hurts, its supposed to hurt, thats how we make sure we give Everett and his memories and his legacy the reverence that is deserved. Glossing over the "ugly" would be insulting to him, and would diminish the significance of what he endured and what we endured with him.

For those who don't know, here's a re-cap of what Everett's 20 days included:
Intubation (more then once)
IV's
Umbilical lines
A PICC line (And a failed attempt)
Dozens of medications
CAPD (peritoneal dialysis)
Two open heart surgeries
A cardiac catheterization
Numerous head ultrasounds
Blood work
EMCO (a form of life support)
Blood transfusion after blood trasnfusion
9 days with an open sternum
and more........

His entire life was a battle to live, and we spent all but six days of our time with him (the first six days were blissful oblivion) praying and begging for some miracle to keep him living and with us. You just can't make an experience like this "easier" to take in, or "prettier" to look at. It is the definition of pain, loss, sadness, grief, ache, and despair. We've learned to see the baby beyond the tubes and wires and mess, when we look at pictures like this we see Everett and our time with him. We don't see "ugly" or "sad", we see our experience, and a very important, life altering experience. Sometimes we want to share these pictures with others, we want to show them how it really was, for those who weren't there on the front lines with them, for those who don't "get it", we want to show them the REAL experience of loving and losing Everett. It would be my hope, that after seeing the painfully honest, real and ugly side of what we experienced, a lot more people would understand why we're so damaged today. Maybe seeing the tubes and the wires and the pain would help some people to realize why we're still reeling, still recovering and still hurting over what we went through. We've got battle scars! We fought and lost and we're forever wounded, and will never fully heal.

The above picture is the last time I held my baby's hand while he was alive. Shortly after I took it he looked me in the eye, I wish I had a picture of that. For 14 days we battled for Everett, prayed and stood vigilant at his side, trying to will him to pull through as if he had any say in the matter. Is it any wonder that we are still so badly broken, or why we want to keep his memory alive and well? Memories are all that we have left. Thank God there are so many, and some good ones too, and dozens of beautiful pictures to boot. Without these Everett would be truly lost, gone the day his body gave out. With these we're able to take him with us, bringing his memory and our love for him forward into each new day. We won't ever forget, and we aren't going to let anyone else forget either!

Katie

Just look at those eyes! A continuation of "Going it alone?", and a litte bit of a rant.

2009-05-18T08:13:00.000-07:00

For those who don't know, this is my son Everett, he was a beautiful, perfect baby boy, but life is unfair and he died. But just look at those eyes. Wasn't he stunning, and aware! He was so aware and always staring thoughtfully at our faces, its one of the things about his character that really showed itself strongly, given he only had 20 days to tell us who he was and let us learn all about him.

And for those of you who do know, but maybe need reminding. This is my son Everett, he was perfect and beautiful, but life is unfair and he died. But, he's still my son. I still have three children and he's still beautiful. Look at those eyes! Who could look at those dark brown eyes and not have a picture of him imprinted in your memory, and on your heart forever?

Grief can manifest itself in many different ways, and can be different from day to day. Sometimes grief shows itself in me through anger, or through distancing myself, sometimes the only way I can deal with the pain of losing Everett is to retreat to my thoughts and draw myself away from everyone else, because sometimes I just can't make sense of how the rest of the world carry on without him, when its all I can do to some days to just get out of bed. If you've ever looked at me and thought that you don't understand why I'm behaving so cooly, so badly, so sternly, so stoically, I don't blame you, sometimes I don't understand myself either. Conversely, I don't understand why you (you in the general sense) sometimes act so nonchalant, so normal, so unaffected, so "okay", I don't understand why the death of this gorgeous, perfect, amazing little baby didn't shatter your heart like it did mine, I don't know how you're still breathing when each day there are times I can barely catch my breath from thinking of him. I don't understand how he doesn't cross your mind a million times a day, I don't know why that song on the radio that breaks my heart and makes me cry doesn't make you stop and think of him and cause a tear or two.

If you don't "get it", thats fine, maybe its something you have to experience first hand to really get. But, if you don't get it then don't pretend you get it, and let me guide you on how to make sense of this. See it through my eyes rather then make assumptions on how to deal with something we've already acknowledged you don't "get". And lastly, don't let your confusion or my grief make you angry or frustrated, on the bright side, you're only dealing with the crazy lady who lost her baby, at least you aren't the crazy lady who lost her baby, let that be of some consolation to you and help you deal with me with some sensitivity and understanding.

Katie