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
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Took the words from my mouth!
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
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
Sunday, June 21, 2009
In Pursuit of Heaven
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
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
Friday, June 19, 2009
A tale of two friends (and two necklaces)...
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
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
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A work of art!
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
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
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Good news!
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
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
Monday, June 15, 2009
I thought I was done, but I was wrong..........
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
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
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