Mayo

The past week I have been spending time down at the Mayo clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. I have yet to go again next Monday and Wednesday. Will there be more? I am sure of it.

My time spent there has allowed me to be alone with my own thoughts while sitting between appointments. The days are exhausting, and emotionally trying.

As I sit waiting for my little pager, given to me by the doctor's receptionist, to vibrate I look around the lobby at the masses of other people waiting for their own answers.

I have seen many people walking and being pushed in wheelchairs wearing blue medical masks. I am assuming they either have cancer or some other autoimmune disease that makes them very much at risk of getting sick. I have also seen two little girls with a circular plastic piece and wires coming out of the back of their heads and going down to their ears. Hearing aids of some sort I am assuming.
The one that caught my attention the most: a little baby boy no more than six months of age wearing a feeding tubing running to his nose. My heart sank. His parents? A young couple with endearing looks of love for their baby upon their faces as the daddy struggled with the car seat straps in preparation to board the parking ramp's elevator.

Another; on Thursday after my last appointment, I was in the bathroom washing my hands when a lady walked in with a rush of urgency in her body language. continued to wash and dry as I talked with my cousin. I could hear her crying. I could hear her trying to hold her breath in hope she was being unheard from others. I felt frozen. My cousin inched for the doors, unnoticed by the weeps coming from the stall. I felt as if I couldn't just leave her in there to cry alone; but I did. When I walked out, I did see a woman standing there as if she were waiting for a friend to come out of the bathroom. I felt a small sense of relief knowing the weeping woman was not alone. I noticed as we readied ourselves to leave for home, the bathrooms were near the Breast Center. It dawned on me. She must have just been told moments prior she had cancer.

I wish I would have stayed back to give her a hug at least. But would that have been too much for her at the moment? Or perhaps just plain weird? Let's hope this is a situation for "it's the thought that counts", even though she is completely unaware of my thoughts.

The Mayo is an amazing place. For the most part, the employees, doctors and students finishing up their residencies, are all very pleasant and show they truly care and want to help. However I did have one doctor answer his cell phone and leave the room, twice, without an simple "excuse me". That was a little annoying.

So next week, Monday, I have three tests to complete. One is called a Thermoregulatory Sweat Test. The others are an EMG and Abdominal Fat Aspiration. On Wednesday I have one test called Autonomic Reflex Testing. I am very nervous about the EMG and Fat Aspiration tests. They do not sound pleasant at all.

All of these tests are related to nerves and the ability for my nerves to send messages to my brain; and for my brain to accurately translate those messages being sent. Well that is how I understood it anyways.

To give you a little insight, on Friday, the Neurologist tested parts of my body with two tools to see if I could tell the difference in temperature. One was cold, the other hot. Now this hot is very hot. As hot as a cattle prod, I am assuming of course. He first placed the scorching 'hot plate' as I call it, onto my left cheek and asked me what I felt. Unaware of anything he was about to do, I jumped and yelled out at him, that yes it's very hot and to not do that again. He laughed, certainly because he knew in his own mind he was about to do it again, and again. As he placed the two tools, I could feel the hot and cold, only thing was my legs and feet. Some spots it was just warm, some I did not feel it at all. That would explain why I am able to bathe in near boiling water yet my husband refuses to stick his hand in it.

I do not know why I feel, or don't feel in some circumstances, the way I do. This has been something I have been trying to get answers to for a long time. I just want to feel normal again and have the energy, without the pain of simply standing, to run around with my son. After one day of walking around the Mayo, my feet wouldn't even fit in my shoes. I drove back home shoeless that night.

Now that I am home for the weekend, I have been enjoying time with my little booger. Not the icky kind for your information! My little booger, almost a whole three years old, that reminds me every minute of the day of the fun he is having. He never misses a beat. He tells stories of his grandparents, stories of watering trees outside with daddy, and even reminds me of his bedtime routine making sure nothing is out of place.

This morning I heard him in the kitchen arguing with my husband about his breakfast choices. He kept repeating a two-syllable word neither of us could figure out. He then went on to explain his alien language by pulling my mom's name into the topic. Light bulb!

Last weekend was my nephew's fourth birthday and we had sloppy joes. My son insisted without backing down an inch that we have to go to grandma's for sloppy joes. We came to a compromised and made sloppy joes at home for lunch. He gleamed with joy at each bite. He even disciplined his daddy for making a mess. My husband's joe was very sloppy and kept falling out the bottom of his hamburger bun.

After lunch, we went out to St. Joseph to visit Thomsen's Greenhouse. It was very important for me to attend because there was a woman out there who had started something called "Baby Gardens" in memory of her daughter Libby who's heart had stopped beating at about 30 weeks. She was selling these "Baby Gardens" to pass on the proceeds to March of Dimes. How amazing, I had thought.

When we got there, I didn't see anything right away, so we just meandered looking at the plants. I attempted to get my son to smell some flowers, he just yelled out a big NO! He was more interested in the garden decorations and ornaments; not to mention we had already ignored the fact that it was past naptime.

I eventually found Libby's mom and her Baby Gardens. She had pictures of Libby displayed. As she talked with me, I got a little choked up. I couldn't steer my eyes away from Libby's tiny feet cradled in the hands of her parents. What stopped the flood gates from unleashing everything I have, was a woman from a women's' blog forum. She came up to say hi right as I was about to flee. I am just thankful I was able to pull out of it. I feel like such a dork sometimes, but seriously! I tear up at the smallest things! Sometimes I wonder if I even have a shut-off valve.

So we walked away with two Baby Gardens. One for Libby, and one for my Elijah.

Another thing I have, or will be doing, in honor of my sweet Elijah is going on with my life. Pushing to be greater than I am and to never stop. I do not have an end goal because I do not want to end. I am going back to school for starters. I started a double major in Accounting and Finance before my first son was born. I want to finish this. I do not like the feeling of things left undone. After school, who knows what is next? I want to create the best future for my son and any other children I may have. I want them to be great people.

Every day from now on, I am dedicating anything and all that I do in honor of my family; my husband and my sons.

Nothing else matters except the love we all have for each other. We do not need anything, or anyone, else.

Enough said.

Pressing Play

That's the hard part. Just press play. My last post, I talked about how I felt as if I were stuck on replay. I have got to find a way; ambition to move forward. To get unstuck from my rut would be something to wish upon a birthday candle. Blow and poof! Wish granted. Only if that were true, my name would be Samantha. The witch that is. Oddly enough, the wiggle of my nose is what reeled in the attention of my husband. My glasses tend to fall down a lot. They sit half ways down my nose, stubborn to move any direction but down. A wiggle or too usually keeps them from falling all the way off. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day for us. All week I have been feeling the "difficulties" already. I pre-warned a co-worker to not take anything offensively if I seem anything less than myself tomorrow. She understood, which helps me as well. I hate April Fool's Day. Why in the world am I capitalizing that?! It is not a holiday! Yet for some reason in the English language it is technically considered a proper noun. It is just some stupid day people use as an excuse to be rude to each other and call it a "joke". Just think. That friend you secretly don't like; well now is your chance. Go ahead and slap a dollar bill into his hand, but first dunk it in some chocolate pudding. Very funny. Thanks, now excuse me while I go wash my hands and buy a new shirt. April 1st is a day I will never forget as the day my world died around me. We were told our beautiful baby will die. Die? It's a joke right? By the way, I watched the videos. Every single one of them... Andrew had to go into work that night. As Paighton slept soundly in his cozy little room with his fan blowing rhythmic hums into the air, I laid in the tub with a glass of Parrot Bay rum and ice. Disgusting crap. I dumped it down the drain; I couldn't stomach it. I knew the videos were going to have a big effect on me; and I really needed my husband at the moment. I called a few people but failed to reach anyone expect for one, by text. By then I had calmed down a bit. Watching the videos is nothing compared to what actually happened though. Although it was nice to see the things that took place while I was gone fighting for my own life. I enjoyed seeing my family holding my baby and saying sweet things to him. I enjoyed listening to my friend telling him who to watch for once he arrived in Heaven. My heart skipped a beat and sank at the same time seeing my husband in distress over me; saying he misses me and has to go check on me. He was willing to give up time with his dying son to be with me. I never doubted he loves me, but, wow. There really are no words to how that made me feel. So tomorrow, both my husband and I are getting off work early to do something special together. Not sure what yet, but lunch of course. I am trying to figure out what Elijah's short life was meant for. He has a purpose for me and I want to make sure it is carried out until the day I die myself. I just don't know yet. I really hope tomorrow, with Andrew and I being able to be alone together, it will just come to us. God, I pray that you help us understand Elijah's purpose. I refuse to believe you give babies to loving parents and take them away so soon as if it were a joke. There is a reason. Right?

Stuck on replay

I feel like I have been stuck in the same spot these past two months. As the days creep up closer and closer to the dates of April 1st and May 31st, my heart throbs stronger with the pain it experienced almost a year ago.

I am reliving my nightmare...

If you were out in a public place and a friend says to you, "don't look, but that guy over there is smiling at you", what would you do? You would look wouldn't you? If you told a young child "don't throw your toy", he is going to defiantly throw his toy. It's funny how, we as people, are told to not do certain things and we do them anyways. Or it's the other way around. DO this, and we ignore and don't do at all. I have this pulling towards a file folder on my laptop. In this folder are the unwatched videos of Elijah's small time here on Earth.

I feel this agonizing plead to watch them. I am afraid to. A lot happened during his two hours of life that I didn't know or see since I wasn't there; I was unconscious. I do not know if I am prepared.

Those of you with kids, if someone had gone into the future and video taped your child's death; would you be able to watch it now, here in the present? That's kind of my mentality of this. I still have not come to terms with things, as I tell myself and others I have. It's a very convincing mask I wear every day. I still see May 31st as the date of death, not date on birth. He was born wasn't he? I am not so sure...

Tonight I took a drive to town for a short visit to Wal-Mart. Funny I know. Yet when I feel like my world is coming down around me; chaos is about to unfold, I like to surround myself around something that makes sense. Organization. I walk slowly amongst the aisles of storage bins, closet systems, bookcases, TV stands and what not. For some reason, I feel peace seeing everything in its right place, organized by size and color. If something is out of place, there will always be someone there to put it back where it belongs. Even if its not immediately; eventually. I feel like my life can be put back the same.

I notice this same tendency in my son Paighton. He becomes very upset if he feels the need to put something away and we don't allow him to do that due to circumstances of being late for an appointment or daycare and work. He becomes "unglued". Although he likes to dump his bins of toys out, he sleeps better in a clean room. He likes to pick up his room before going to bed. Everything has to be in its rightful spot. He has a turtle that shines stars on his ceiling. God forbid I move his turtle to the other side of his bookshelf, or point the tail towards the wall instead of his nose.

Very particular little boy. Just like his mommy and daddy.

Still, I want to see Elijah's videos yet don't. I don't want to become "unglued" for seeing something I cant fix or put away. I have my own idea of how he lived out his life. Being held by mine and Andy's family. Hugged and kissed till the end. A smile adorning the faces of all who came to see him.

I don't want these videos to change my own idea; a dream of a happy life. No sadness present.

Aside from thinking about Elijah's videos, I often think about two little babies I was following for awhile. Baby Hank from Maryland and Baby Logan from the UK. Baby Hank was just like Elijah; they both had full Triploidy. Baby Hank's mommy and daddy are a young married couple just like Andy and I. I prayed so hard for them to be able to see there little baby alive and that Baby Hank's mommy wouldn't have the life complicated issues I had had. It worked. I don't know much about Baby Hank's mommy and her health condition, but his daddy emailed me the obituary. Baby Hank lived for two days! While I was happier than that word in itself could explain, I was also a little envious. I was sad for myself for not having that amount of time with my Baby Elijah. I am happy for them; sad for me. A little selfish? Sure. But that is nothing I can, or would if I had the ability to, take away from that family. I would give them YEARS if I had the power to do so. Huh... if I had the power... Angel Babies would not exist.

Then there is Baby Logan.; diagnosed with Trisomy 18. He was born sleeping. He brought a lot of joy to his "mum", as the people in the UK say it. People always tell me they are surprised at how well I have handled all this. Really? Then you should meet Baby Logan's mommy. She is the person I look up to. I admire her strength and courage. I admire her love for her son, Logan. She sees the beauty in everything. I struggle with that; I see something more horrific as if it were out of a sci-fi movie. The pain, the screams, the blood, the tiny little bruised body called my son...

I wish I would have miscarried a lump of cells...

Not invalidating anyone who has miscarried. It's not the same; doesn't make it any more worse or easier. Just, I think for me, it would have been easier. It's what I, personally, would have preferred. If I had that choice.



Tomorrow is a new day. A day of similarity; fighting off the images, sounds, smells, and touches of his death. Tomorrow is just the same day as yesterday and today; rewind and repeat.

Control

I seem to be having a better grasp on the control of my panic attacks with the use of my rescue meds. I call them rescue meds because that's what it pretty much does; rescues me. Only downside is it completely fuzzes my mind over to where I become "zombie-like"; I become very tired.

I believe this because the past few days have been a true trial to test my abilities; especially yesterday.

Since I heard the news of my cousin passing last Wednesday, I have had a whirlwind of emotions attaching to new thoughts. New thoughts for a new tragedy in my life. It may seem on the surface that I am having a hard time dealing with his death; in a small way I am. It's not about me though. It's about my cousin's parents and his sister and brother he had left behind; about his nephews and niece too. My heart aches the most for them.

Yesterday family gathered to help put together the photo collages for the funeral the next day. Although it was nice seeing just how many photos my cousin blessed us with, it was very bittersweet. If I can learn anything about strength in the loss of my own son, it's from my cousin's immediate family. I admire the strength my aunt has especially. She always has been a strong woman, this I know, but I haven't been able to see it in it's truest form until now. I understand life can go on.

Only some days I still get those feelings where I just don't care...

In time. Time heals right? This is something I am supposed to be working on for myself'; the control of my emotions and flashbacks of losing Elijah. It seems to be a very slow process. I do not like slow. I rather it be an overnight thing. Wake up and be "cured" from what feels like a disease slowing eating away at my happiness and self will.

Losing Elijah has been the hardest thing I have ever done. I miss his touch and the sound of his coos. I am afraid of forgetting those things. I am afraid of forgetting him. Maybe this is the reason I am having a hard time moving on? If I move on, I cannot take him with me; or at least it feels that way.

To my dear cousin, my friend and brother in Christ, you have always been amazingly wonderful with small children. I ask you, with the help of my friend Danica as well, please stay with my Elijah. Please teach him about me so that when he is reunited with his mommy, he may already know me.

Until then, rest in peace. In my heart you stay forever...

Maktub

"Maktub"; an Arabic word meaning "it is written".

This one simple, yet powerful, word resonates throughout the book The Alchemist; a novel by Paulo Coehlo.

I have read this book in the past and have started to read it again to help me get back up on my feet.

I have been knocked back down pretty hard today. I thought I made a huge step forward; only to come home to more bad news.

I went to a funeral today. My first since my own son's Elijah's. I purposely chose not to attend wakes or funerals of family and friends; but was compelled at first notice to go to this one; a man I have only seen once briefly over three years ago. It was a small and quick introduction to a large group of people; which I had sat amongst.

I didn't even think twice when I had heard what happened. I jumped in my car and drove as if I were fleeting somewhere. It didn't even hit me until I was about a mile away from the church; oh my gosh... this is the first funeral since... Elijah's.

I broke down. Called a friend. Regained my composure and walked in. I immediately felt the warmth and love surrounding people in the room. I gazed upon the many photos of this man and saw the happiness in his eyes as he sat near his wife while holding his daughter. The tears began to flood again.

As I stood in line waiting to pay my respects (in all honesty, I wanted to budge up to the front and just wrap my arms around her as to touch my heart to hers), my eyes froze upon him. Now Elijah was not an open casket. Nor any casket if that. He was cremated; probably for the best. I began thinking about the book The Alchemist and "maktub". By the way, this man's wife is the person who handed me this book over three years ago. I thought of how "it is written"; our lives are already planned out for us yet we have a part in realizing our own personal legend and play a part in writing our own destiny.

All things happen for a reason right? So what is his reason? Same question I am still trying to understand for my son. And now tonight... another dear loved family member. Why? Why must we be placed here on Earth only to leave behind sadness?

Nothing anyone could have done or known could have changed what has already happened or is about to happen. Maktub.

Yet I am left dumbfounded by the shock and confusion and emotions I feel for two people: someone I hardly know and someone I used to know but grew apart; all in one day. Yes, I lost Elijah and I am extremely distraught over it everyday. Yes, I only had about 20 minutes with him, but I never grew a bond with him only a husband and wife can have. Or a bond only parents have with their adult children. He was a baby but only accomplished little things such as sucking his thumb. That little thing is huge to me, but it's not as huge as creating memories. Memories of happiness and even more so moments of pure annoyance. It's the little things that annoys a person that ends up missing the most when it's gone; leaving the cap off on the toothpaste tube or spraying too much PAM on a frying pan.

Maktub. We never know when our chapter in Earth's book will be written and finished. A new chapter will be started to tell the great journey of a young man in search for his own treasure; his personal legend.

As I follow my journey of healing in the loss of those I love and those I do not know; I only hope that I really do come out a stronger person as everyone keeps saying I will. I hope I find my opportunity to heal the hurt and cure the sick and love the unloved.

To the man's wife, I am so deeply sorry.
To my friend, I wish you knew just how much you truly are loved and how much we needed you here with us.

"Maktub"

Tribute

I want to pay tribute to a special baby boy: Baby Henry.

Baby Henry, son of Sarah and Kevin, was diagnosed with the same triplody as Elijah in October.

He was born via C-section January 4th, 2011. He lived strongly for 2 days.

Baby Henry, I am so proud of you for defeating the odds to spend more time with your mommy and daddy. You will be missed dearly by your family everyday.

Until the day comes for you to be rejoined with your family, please keep my baby boy Elijah company.

God Bless all the little babies in the world; especially Baby Elijah and Baby Henry.

Ruminate

-ruminate
1. to think deeply about something

I recently learned this new word and started using it to better describe my thoughts without sounding like a crazy person. Thank you Jeff. One past example has been referred to as a violent tornado; the thoughts just whirlwind around. Just as a cow passes in front of my eyes, then it's a house, then a car.

My thoughts have been 'ruminating'; almost to the point of uncontrollable.

It has been awhile since I have last written on my blog. Not because there hasn't been anything to write about, but more so because there has been too much; I have to organize again. Partially also because I do not feel 100% safe exposing myself wholly due to past circumstances of emotional attacks from loved ones. I guess some people cannot, and may not ever, understand that people cope and grieve differently.

So ruminating...
My metaphorical cows, houses, and cars have been more realistically about family, friends, work, and life aspirations. One moment I am thinking so intensely on my grandmother who has had yet another aneurysm followed by a stroke and the discovery of a blood clot in her brain the size of an orange to thinking about my sister wishing she would do better for herself in life because she deserves it for herself and owes it to her 3 1/2 year old son. Then I go on to think about my dad and how stressed he is with having to deal with my sister and his mother (my grandmother) and the separation of his believed-to-be soul mate of 11 years.

All of these thoughts are constantly fighting for my attention and I am being drained; exhausting myself once again by putting everyone before myself and eventually I become self-forgotten.

There is also my husband's sister, Amy. For as long as I have been in the family, she has struggled with her weight and self-image. I think she is a beautiful person and an awesome mother to her three boys. The youngest of the three, Ben (I call him Benny), adores his mother. The look in his eyes and smile on his face when those two talked to each other or played and joked around is one of the reasons I wanted to become a mom myself. It made my heart melt.
Amy has been and still is battling bulimia. Last I heard she weighed a whole 73 pounds. She is in Fargo, ND as of now fighting for her life. I am afraid for her. I am afraid for her husband and sons.

I wish there was something I could do or say to give her encouragement, but I am at a complete loss. I have never felt completely accepted into my husband's family; or that it is just very different from the family I am used to from growing up as a child. I do not want to overstep my boundaries. I want to show I care without giving off the vibe of an outsider intruding in private matters. Her husband had asked that I come with on the next visit to see her; but she herself never asks that of me.

I also wish I knew what it was in Amy's past that ignited this contagious fire that is slowly killing her. If I could I would take it all away from her. She doesn't deserve to hurt; she deserves to watch her children grow up and become great people.

It's like that movie, "The Butterfly Effect". If one were to ever travel into the past, a simple flutter of a butterfly's wings would create universal changes for the future to come. If only I could travel into the past and find that little girl named Amy, I could create a whole new life for her. A simple compliment of "cute braids" or an offer to share half of a peanut butter sandwich could have possibly done the trick. Then again, I am at a total loss; not to mention time travel does not exist... yet. I truly believe though that something or someone in her past has hurt her and caused her this horrible disease. I ask all of you to please keep my sister-in-law, Amy, in your thoughts and prayers as she needs them more now than ever. She deserves it.

Another thought that continues to float about my head every day is that fact that within my family, younger and younger yet, the women and young girls are miscarrying their babies. When that thought hits me, I get stuck in the moment and become angry. It wasn't fair that my baby Elijah had to leave so soon, and it isn't fair that my baby cousins have to loose their babies so soon also. I say baby cousins because in my mind, I can still see the innocence of their younger selves; even though they are adults. Miscarriages used to be a thing more common to women in their 40s and beyond. Why is is that my cousins 30 and younger are miscarrying? Is it the food we eat nowadays? Everything is processed. Just yesterday I had read on Facebook, a friend's comment about reading the ingredients of an apple cinnamon muffin mix. It included the ingredient "artificial apple bits". What is an artificial apple, may I ask? How long and how much money did it cost researchers and chemists to create and artificial apple? Wouldn't it have been easier to dehydrate a real apple? It's history to go out to the barn to snatch a few eggs, milk the cow and hack off a few chickens.

I feel for my cousins in having to go though such tragedy. Again, butterfly effect. I would if I could. In thinking of them and Elijah, I fear having to get pregnant again. I fear having to lose another baby or even myself. I also fear Paighton forever being labeled as an only child.

As mentioned in the beginning, I haven't written in awhile. I have forgotten about myself and lost my organization skills to put my thoughts into words understandable to others. I have also lost grasp of how to cope and ask for help. I started to revert back to April of last Spring. The nightly sounds of a crying baby have come back. If I fully wake up before getting out of bed in the middle of the night, I realize and understand it isn't real and scold myself to go back to sleep. However, I do sometimes find myself wondering around the house looking for Elijah; then I wake up. Usually turning on a light will trigger me to awaken. I am also getting the "phantom" kicks again. More than likely it is gas since I refuse to pay attention to the fact I am lactose intolerant; I love cheese. Still, maybe it has always been there and I was able to block it out of my head, but lately I am more and more aware and sensitive when I feel a kick come within.

Lastly, I haven't really been able to label this one until with the help of a doctor, but I guess I am experiencing flashbacks from Elijah's birth. I didn't understand exactly what was happening; I would explain them to my husband as"episodes". I usually either have them when I am alone or at work. When I am doing something productive I don't. I am not productive when I am by myself. At work, for the most part I am productive but it is repetitive. I get in a rhythm were I start to lose that focus and wander off in a daydream; a daydream that goes horribly wrong. It starts out with a thought of course. As they all circulate though my mind, in the background is Elijah's birth. I use a lot of energy forcing that thought to the back because I know what happens if I let it slip thought. I see it and grab onto it; I hone in on it until I lose my sense of surrounding. I cannot break from it on my own. Someone has to snap me out of it or I will completely fall apart as I follow the emotions and sometimes physical pain in order going into labor, him being born, handing him off to my husband, losing conscientiousness, waking up in the ER, holding a dead baby, then leaving for home. My emotions start at high anxiety and end at calm yet saddened; clear minded.

I have been out of work since last Monday due to a huge flashback that I couldn't control and couldn't snap out of. I left work in the afternoon to go to lunch but found myself sitting in my vehicle at the park flipping out. I seriously felt like I was back at Abbott. I didn't realize I was even in my vehicle until I got to the part of going home. I know I am not crazy though; so everyone can be rest assured. I have seen quite a few doctors and psychologists since and they all said I am just fine. I need to take a lot of steps back from helping others and focus on myself, is what they said in their own words.

Nevertheless, my mind continues to ruminate about anything and everything possible. Sure I can start saying "no" to those asking for my help, but how am I to stop the thoughts? I still stress out about everyone else because I do care and begin to feel like a bad person for knowing full well what they are going through yet I refuse to jump in and help. What a horrible thing to do; stand on a beach and watch people drown. Nice.

Regardless, my main focus and goal is to control my flashbacks. My biggest hurdle was finally breaking down and asking for help from an actual professional. Ugh, I cant stand shrinks but hopefully with their help I wont need them for long.

So when I got home from the hospital last Monday after my "flashback episode", my husband and I laid in our room crying uncontrollably. He pulled out Elijah's things and shared with me a card that was given to us at the funeral by someone he knows though work. This card, simple in itself, stuck out to Andrew like a sore thumb; it is a constant reminder and encouragement for him and had hope it would be for me as well.

It was...

Things that make you go "hmm"

I lay awake every night with my thoughts circling about in my mind like a chaotic hurricane. I know its coming, but yet I fail to prepare for it. I think of things that keep me pondering; questions without answers. It is very much like eating soup without a spoon... pointless.

I am asked to help others. My question, am I really of any help right now? I feel like I am more harmful than helpful. A time bomb with just seconds to spare before all hell breaks loose.

I am supposed to be the strong one; well that is how everyone else thinks anyways. Ha, what do you know? Nothing. You have even forgotten about my son anyways. No one remembers except my husband and I.

Then I think about things a little more present time. School, work, friends, and even family.

I have yet to finish my college degree but I feel so busy at work that I wouldn't be able to successfully balance both without taking away from either of them. I want to do my absolute 100% best in both areas; work and school. The how would that take away from my husband and son?

Most of my friends have very different lives than me. It is hard to keep up with them.

Family, well... that would take more time then I have tonight to explain. Let's just say, you can't choose family.

Where there is a will, there is a way right? So you have soup with no spoon?

I'd say wrap both hands around your bowl and lift...

World of Hate

Is it wrong of me to be so angry at the world right now?

I try my best to always be a good person and respect everyone regardless if they deserve it or not. Regardless of my mood at the time.

Lately, I have been walking around with such an attitude. Although most people cannot tell; they think I am tired. That is usually the excuse I play it off as.

I just don't want to be seen by anyone. I want to hide away again for just a little bit at the very least. I volunteer for an organization called Junior Achievement, teaching 1st graders the meaning of financial literacy. I didn't even want to go today. I am so irritable. It was a good thing I went because there are these three boys I just adore. They get me excited for what my son may be like himself once he hits first grade. Then I start thinking of how I will never know about my other son... he is dead...

It hurts so bad to say that; my son is dead. It is the truth though and I cant change it. I seem to keep going in a circle of emotions. The hardest ones to relive are denial and shock. I am so shocked that my son is not here with me. So much so, I deny it.

I can tell when someone is thinking of their own babies they left behind at daycare for the day; knowing its just a few hours away until cuddle time. Their eyes smile. I can almost hear their heart flutter. Mine feels like a rock. I am happy for them, but so envious at the same time. I am secretly mad at them for having what was taken from me so quickly and without any conditions. I didn't have a choice even if there was anything I could do about it. I start to think self-righteous thoughts and then the attitude sets in. My mother or husband usually sets me straight again, but a few days later it will only come back again.

People have always told me that things like this will only make you a better and stronger person. Well, that's a load of crap.

The only person who had actual decency to be truthful and blunt was a co-worker of my husband's. He told us, "it will tear you apart". And is has.

Losing someone is to lose someone. How do you lose something you never had to begin with? I never got to spend time with Elijah; only to sit there and feel his kicks, punches, and somersaults within me. That was the only interaction I got to have with him. I didn't even get to spend time with him when he was born because I lost myself in the moment and then was knocked out by the doctors and didn't wake up till past midnight. He had already gone by then.

When I think of what it might have been like during the exact moment of Elijah passing, I get so PISSED that I wasn't the one holding him. Not even his own daddy at least. I try to picture my mother sitting in small pale room by herself holding my sweet baby boy. Then I wonder what it might have felt for her, worrying about the life of her daughter all the while the life of her daughter's baby is slipping away.

IT IS NOT FAIR!

NO BODY should have to lose a baby, regardless of age. Why are we put on this earth only to wait around and die?

I just don't know what to write about anymore tonight; I am way too upset to even think straight. I have begun rambling....

Space

I recently uploaded pictures of my baby Elijah on Facebook. Something I thought I would never do for fear someone would have something horrible to say. I had pictures from our 3D/4D ultrasounds up there for quite some time, but not his birth photos. I took me awhile thinking about it; not sure if I could stomach sifting through them trying to choose which ones to pick and which ones not to pick.

Nevertheless, there are some up and posted. I have many favorites. Every single one is special to me and stands out. There is one particular one I love; Elijah with his three aunties. Well, technically, they are not his aunts. More so long ago high school friends, but better this way because they choose to be my friend instead of forced to due to family ties. After all my crazy antics and embarrassing, maybe even annoying, times, they love me them same. I love them too.

As I opened up that little vanilla colored folder tucked into the corner of my laptop's screen, titled funeral memorial, I bit my bottom lip hoping not to cry. I tried to brace myself for the worst, but then I remembered that the worst that could happen has already happened.

After skimming the ultrasound pictures, I came upon the one where I was holding Elijah literally two seconds after he was born; he was sucking his thumb. I remember the doctors and nurses wiping him down and slipping on a little tiny hat. The hat looked homemade and was tied off at the top with a simple black string of yarn. I had such a horrible look on my face; I wish I would have looked more happy to see him but I was so focused on his death rather than his birth. I hate myself for that. I still can't get over but to blame myself for not trying harder to save him.

Save him...
I wonder what that is even supposed to mean...

In my house sits my son in a box. A box inside a glass case next to other physical items like his pajamas, hat, sea shells that held the holy water for his baptism, and more. This stuff, just plain stuff, takes up space. Yet when I wrap my arms around myself to squeeze empty space, I feel just that... space.

I want to feel my son. I see his pictures, and they remind me that he is real. He happened. He lived, breathed air, cooed soft coos, and even looked right into my eyes like I had begged God for with all my life. Yet no baby...

I find myself sitting alone throughout the day, thinking I have two babies. But I don't. When that realization hits me, I just want to scream. It feels like I am losing him all over again. I start to panic, hyperventilate, and just become detached from what is happening right in front of me. This cycle happens pretty much every hour... I feel like I am stuck in a nightmare of a maze and can't my way out.

My husband called me one day from work. His voice soft and quiet. He just said two simple words with a child-like tone, "I sad". I knew why. There was nothing I could do for him. We were both at work and had no where to go. Stuck...

I wish the pictures could at least help sooth over the empty space that Elijah has left us, make it numb for an hour or two, but they can't.

I was just thinking tonight what I remembered from my son Paighton when he was a baby. It is hard to imagine him now and him then was the same person. I remember how he felt; his tiny just-days-old body against mine while I snuggled against him all day. It upsets me because I struggle to remember Elijah's. I don't want to forget how it felt holding him. I remember... it's just drifting away, something I wasn't prepared for. Then again, I was prepared for anything that has happened.

I am upset that this space exists and feel that I need to play the blame game in order to get rid of it. But who am I to blame? God? Science? Myself? None of them makes sense, well, maybe myself a little, but where do I even begin to start?

Missing Elijah so much just makes my craving for a newborn baby intensify. I think about, if ever, in the future I were to have another baby. My first fears begin to tug on me as I try to prepare myself for the death of that baby. The baby doesn't even exist, yet I am planning its funeral. Secondly, fear sets in about me losing my own life. My husband and son to fend for themselves without a wife, and no mommy. I tears me apart when my mind begins to play mental images of my husband sitting my son down at age 10 and explaining that mommy died. Then I see my son at age 17 with his high school friends and someone cracks a joke about the death of someone's mom. Paighton responds, "well, my mom died, but it doesn't bother me, it's not like I even knew her or remember her, so whatever". I want my children to love me, I fear they won't. After my mind and tears are so exhausted from fretting over those fears, then I begin to fear about not loving the baby because I am so distraught over Elijah still. I fear I will resent the new baby, thinking I should have Elijah and not him/her. I fear I won't have any emotional attachment whatsoever with the new baby.

What am I talking about anyways? I am not even pregnant and I am driving myself crazy. Like mentioned previously, the "What If" Queen.

I'd like to think, what if Elijah was born? Would I have lived? When I think of that, tied into Paighton growing up without a mommy, I thank God for taking care of my ill child and leaving me behind to stay with my family. God spared my husband and son from the pain of losing me, and saved Elijah from pains of having to live a life of surgeries.

I just hurt, so bad, that we all had to go our separate ways so soon.