I'm Doing the Best I Can
Fall has always been my favorite season of the year, although this year seems a little different. As the days are getting colder; it's an unremitting reminder of the days to come. I want to see the beauty in everyday and cherish every moment, but some days it’s hard; a cold reality. As the season begins to change, so does the timeline we have with our baby girl. Each falling leaf feels like a grain of sand; slipping from one side of an hourglass to the other; I pray the wind does not blow too hard. I know the spring will bring new life, a new chapter, a new perspective, but it’s hard preparing for what’s going to be a tough winter. Winter is the coldest season of the year, between autumn and spring. It has the shortest days and longest nights. I do not have the ability to change the seasons or time, (at this point I have trouble changing my socks with my stitches) or Adalynne’s condition, but, I do have the ability to live each day for my daughter. She gives me strength and is a guiding light through the short days and the long nights. Today was a tough day. I don't know what it was about today, but I was just sad. I might not be prepared for all the things this road, called life, has in store for me, but I have always been able to handle all the curves, bumps, and even the potholes life has given me; but, this, this is like the road has dangerously eroded. How am I going to get to the other side? What does it look like? Will the boys be okay? Will I be able to pull myself together to be the best mom, the one they deserve? My life goal, as a mother, has always been to raise strong, compassionate , well-rounded people who can stand on their own two feet.
Ryan, Houston and I were all snuggled up under our warm blankets in our bed on a cold morning last Sunday; trying to wake up. The alarm went off several times before we turned it off. Harrison was still snuggled up warmly in his bed sleeping. Adalynne was moving like crazy and I really wanted Houston to feel her. So, I asked him to rest his head on my belly and she kicked. His eyes lit up like they do on Christmas morning. I said, "Did you feel that? That was Adalynne!" He said, "Wes (it is how he says yes)!" Then the questions came. Is it bloody in there? "No," I said, "she lives in a giant water balloon in mommy's tummy." "How did she get in the water balloon?" he wanted to know. "Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much, daddy plants a seed in mommy and it grows into a baby," it is what I always heard as a child, and it was good enough for me and thankfully it was good enough for him too. Houston then hugged the bump Adalynne has created, on my once flat belly, tickled it and then placed a kiss on it. "Does she know there are kids here?" he wanted to know. "She does, she knows she has two big brothers," I said. Later that morning, once we got to church, there was a family who had two older boys and a baby girl. It seemed to be the same age differences of our kids. The little girl was too cute. She had on this adorable pink, not baby pink, bohemian inspired outfit with matching stockings and baby pink furry Ugg boots. Can you tell I am a clothes horse? Houston was studying the family's every move, and then he hugged my belly and kissed Adalynne. "Do they know we have a baby sister in your belly?" he whispered. "I don't know," I whispered. Tears started streaming down my face; right there in the middle of Mass. I couldn't help crying. I feel like such a fake. I know the "professionals" say the boys are not cognitively ready to know how sick our baby girl is, but I don't want to instill false hope. For the first time as a parent, my knowledge and training as a health professional failed me. God help me!
After I dropped Houston off at school, I cried my whole way to the office. I stopped wearing liquid eyeliner weeks ago, it is harder to put on a strong front at work when you look like a raccoon. I don't know if it is the weather getting colder, the fact that we wrote the check for the funeral on Saturday after the soccer games were over, or the fact that I opened an account for funeral expenses; but, I can't pretend it doesn't suck. Our social worker, through Monarch Hospice, is coming tomorrow. She is going to help us put a birth plan together among a million other things.
As the days get colder it is getting closer, I am struggling. I went by the bank today, on my lunch break, to move money around in order to pay for the funeral. I started crying the moment I got into the safety of my car. Thank God for dark tented windows. Holding it together is getting harder and harder. My bank ordeal began at the drive thru. My first attempt to transfer funds was via the drive thru, and since it was a large sum of money I wanted to move around, they asked me to come inside. "Okay, I understand," I said, thinking my eyes are so swollen they are going to know I have been crying. I felt like such a dork, but I had eight minutes before I had to go back to the office. As I walked through the door I removed my sunglasses, puffy eyes and all, I wanted to follow their rules about not wearing sunglasses inside. They (the second teller I encountered) wouldn't let me move the money around, because Ryan's name and my name are on the account and he wasn't there. I very calmly, with my voice cracking said, "I know you all have procedures and policies, and I totally respect it, but this is for my daughter's funeral and I cannot and will not be able to do this again, please work with me. Can I sign his name for him?" refusing to break eye contact. "No, I am sorry you can't," the second teller said without even a glimmer of compassion or emotion in her voice. "Wow, how can you be so heartless?" I thought. By then I couldn't stop the tears and pulled my sunglasses on my face. The branch manager came to my rescue, thank you Lord. "Of course we can do it. I am so sorry for your loss. If there is anything we can do for you, please let us know," he said handing me his business card. He must be a parent. I wore my glasses back to the office, and, without taking them off, I finished my day's worth of work and left to pick up Harrison from school. I was spent, emotionally and my heartache had increased a million fold. I pray to God that woman who was so uncompassionate never, and I mean NEVER has to experience a loss such as this. I am planning a funeral, picking out outfits for her to be buried in, and finalizing it with greenbacks all while Adalynne is still moving and kicking in my belly. That is the hardest part. I want to hear her baby giggles. The kind where she is laughing so hard she can barely breathe, with her toothless mouth wide open, and just as she recovers, here comes another raspberry to her big scrumptious baby belly. I want Ryan to do that stupid trick, that scares me to death, balancing her on the palms of his hands as she stands high in the air.
For the most part, I do have good days and when I am not doing well or having a bad day, I will tell those around me, and today is one of those days. How does the mother of two adorable scrapper heads deal with it? Carve pumpkins. Horrible looking pumpkins. Ryan is an artist - not me, but the boys love them anyway. Focus on the lovely gifts (Harrison and Houston) God has blessed me with and cry when no one is looking.
Ryan, Houston and I were all snuggled up under our warm blankets in our bed on a cold morning last Sunday; trying to wake up. The alarm went off several times before we turned it off. Harrison was still snuggled up warmly in his bed sleeping. Adalynne was moving like crazy and I really wanted Houston to feel her. So, I asked him to rest his head on my belly and she kicked. His eyes lit up like they do on Christmas morning. I said, "Did you feel that? That was Adalynne!" He said, "Wes (it is how he says yes)!" Then the questions came. Is it bloody in there? "No," I said, "she lives in a giant water balloon in mommy's tummy." "How did she get in the water balloon?" he wanted to know. "Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much, daddy plants a seed in mommy and it grows into a baby," it is what I always heard as a child, and it was good enough for me and thankfully it was good enough for him too. Houston then hugged the bump Adalynne has created, on my once flat belly, tickled it and then placed a kiss on it. "Does she know there are kids here?" he wanted to know. "She does, she knows she has two big brothers," I said. Later that morning, once we got to church, there was a family who had two older boys and a baby girl. It seemed to be the same age differences of our kids. The little girl was too cute. She had on this adorable pink, not baby pink, bohemian inspired outfit with matching stockings and baby pink furry Ugg boots. Can you tell I am a clothes horse? Houston was studying the family's every move, and then he hugged my belly and kissed Adalynne. "Do they know we have a baby sister in your belly?" he whispered. "I don't know," I whispered. Tears started streaming down my face; right there in the middle of Mass. I couldn't help crying. I feel like such a fake. I know the "professionals" say the boys are not cognitively ready to know how sick our baby girl is, but I don't want to instill false hope. For the first time as a parent, my knowledge and training as a health professional failed me. God help me!
After I dropped Houston off at school, I cried my whole way to the office. I stopped wearing liquid eyeliner weeks ago, it is harder to put on a strong front at work when you look like a raccoon. I don't know if it is the weather getting colder, the fact that we wrote the check for the funeral on Saturday after the soccer games were over, or the fact that I opened an account for funeral expenses; but, I can't pretend it doesn't suck. Our social worker, through Monarch Hospice, is coming tomorrow. She is going to help us put a birth plan together among a million other things.
As the days get colder it is getting closer, I am struggling. I went by the bank today, on my lunch break, to move money around in order to pay for the funeral. I started crying the moment I got into the safety of my car. Thank God for dark tented windows. Holding it together is getting harder and harder. My bank ordeal began at the drive thru. My first attempt to transfer funds was via the drive thru, and since it was a large sum of money I wanted to move around, they asked me to come inside. "Okay, I understand," I said, thinking my eyes are so swollen they are going to know I have been crying. I felt like such a dork, but I had eight minutes before I had to go back to the office. As I walked through the door I removed my sunglasses, puffy eyes and all, I wanted to follow their rules about not wearing sunglasses inside. They (the second teller I encountered) wouldn't let me move the money around, because Ryan's name and my name are on the account and he wasn't there. I very calmly, with my voice cracking said, "I know you all have procedures and policies, and I totally respect it, but this is for my daughter's funeral and I cannot and will not be able to do this again, please work with me. Can I sign his name for him?" refusing to break eye contact. "No, I am sorry you can't," the second teller said without even a glimmer of compassion or emotion in her voice. "Wow, how can you be so heartless?" I thought. By then I couldn't stop the tears and pulled my sunglasses on my face. The branch manager came to my rescue, thank you Lord. "Of course we can do it. I am so sorry for your loss. If there is anything we can do for you, please let us know," he said handing me his business card. He must be a parent. I wore my glasses back to the office, and, without taking them off, I finished my day's worth of work and left to pick up Harrison from school. I was spent, emotionally and my heartache had increased a million fold. I pray to God that woman who was so uncompassionate never, and I mean NEVER has to experience a loss such as this. I am planning a funeral, picking out outfits for her to be buried in, and finalizing it with greenbacks all while Adalynne is still moving and kicking in my belly. That is the hardest part. I want to hear her baby giggles. The kind where she is laughing so hard she can barely breathe, with her toothless mouth wide open, and just as she recovers, here comes another raspberry to her big scrumptious baby belly. I want Ryan to do that stupid trick, that scares me to death, balancing her on the palms of his hands as she stands high in the air.
For the most part, I do have good days and when I am not doing well or having a bad day, I will tell those around me, and today is one of those days. How does the mother of two adorable scrapper heads deal with it? Carve pumpkins. Horrible looking pumpkins. Ryan is an artist - not me, but the boys love them anyway. Focus on the lovely gifts (Harrison and Houston) God has blessed me with and cry when no one is looking.
Comments
Post a Comment