Telling the Truth

The boys are looking forward to Adalynne's arrival. They question me about their little sister daily, innocent questions. What will her car seat look like? Will she play soccer? Who will she have for kindergarten (i.e. her teacher)? What will she dress up as for Halloween? If a commercial comes on for something that is for a little girl, they want to know if we can get it for Adalynne. Last week when our social worker and chaplain, from Monarch Hospice, were at the house, I told them that I feel like such a liar. I am instilling false hope everyday into people who have always been taught the value and importance of honesty. "What does your heart tell you," she asked. "My heart tells me to gently let them know that Adalynne is a very sick little girl, who is so special she is not going to be here long, because she is going to live with Jesus. Where she gets to play and live in heaven," is what my heart is telling me. I was taking Houston to school one day last week and he asked me what Adalynne's car seat was going to look like. I looked into his big beautiful eyes and said, "Adalynne is a very sick little girl honey and she doesn't need a car seat, because when she gets here she is going to live with Jesus." As the words were coming out, I wondered if I should have taken the advice of the professionals or ignore their suggestions like I was doing. Houston digested what he had just heard and moved on to the next question. Nothing more about Adalynne was asked. That was too easy I thought. The boys and I went out to lunch on Saturday and Houston said, "Mommy when are you going to have another baby," as he was snuggling up to the bump Adalynne has created. "You think we should have another baby, what about Adalynne?" I asked as I smiled at his young innocent face. "Adalynne is sick and she is going to die," he replied. I looked at Ryan and smiled sheepishly. "You want us to have another baby?" I asked. "Wes," Houston replied. I grabbed his cheeks with each of my hands placing a firm kiss on his forehead and said, "Okay we will have another baby." As if having another baby would fill the hole of Adalynne's absence, if only it were that easy, I thought. I looked at Harrison and said, "Adalynne is a very sick." I said controlling my emotions, second guessing if telling them was the right thing to do or not. But, my boys are not your typical three and six year old. Harrison is so in tuned to what is going on around him and a thinker. He is our scientist. Would he have held a grudge as he got older if we waited until Adalynne arrived to tell him she would live in the arms of angels and saints? He does not forget anything. Digesting what he had just heard, he asked if he was sick when he was in my tummy. "No, honey you were not sick," I replied with a smile. He then went through the long list of our family members, uncles, cousins, and grandparents wanting to know if they were sick, "no" I replied after he spout off each name. And that was it, no more questions. That is how we told the boys their little sister is sick. Heartache is not something I can protect my children from, but I can ease the pain and kiss their tears.

Halloween was great. The boys got the perfect amount of candy and had a blast. Adalynne was a ballerina. I was definitely out of my comfort zone showing her off, bare skinned. I have not shown my belly since Ryan and I were on our honeymoon. There I was, Darth Vader, a Storm Trooper and a bellied ballerina in tow. Our family was complete.

Today I had an OB appointment. I never thought going to a place I use to look forward to going could bring so much anxiety and heartache. It is so hard to be in the same room with a lot of pregnant women and to be in a completely different place mentally. When I was pregnant with the boys, I was counting down the days until forty weeks, and the day we would meet our little boys. I didn't relish having them in my belly. I enjoyed being pregnant, but I was more excited about them getting here and starting a life with our new babies in our arms. Obviously, Adalynne is so different. I don't want her to get here. I want her to stay in my belly, hold her there, so I can sustain her life. Once she gets here we have to say goodbye. As the days countdown, it is getting harder and harder to cope with her anticipated departure. I am going to miss this amazing little person more than words can express. We were finishing up our appointment today, scheduling my next when my OB said, "We need to see you every two weeks now." I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. The breath was sucked out of me and the wind was taken from my already meagerly flying sails. "That means her due date is getting close," I thought, "I had been dreading today, and the day when the weekly appointments are necessary even more, since learning she was sick." I had to get blood drawn to see if I had developed gestational diabetes after my appointment with the doctor. Holding back the tears of sadness, for my loss as a mother, is getting nearly impossible. I was getting my blood drawn and I started crying. I was trying to hold it in, when I choked on my tears, smooth Erika real smooth. So, here I am coughing, trying to hide the fact that I am crying, and the poor girl taking my blood thinks it is because we waited longer than an hour after drinking this awful sugary glucose drink to take my blood, which could lead to a false negative. "It is okay. Do you want some water?" she asked. "No, selfishly, I want my little girl to live," I thought to myself. Today marked a day that time is marching on. I want to put on the brakes. I want to blame myself for Adalynne being sick, but it is not my fault. There is no one to blame. I can't point the finger at anyone blaming them for her being so sick. It just happened. Some days I cope with the anticipation of losing her better than others; and today fits in that "others" category. Seeing the doctor every two weeks marks her time is getting closer, and selfishly I grieve. I don't want her baby kicks to stop.