I am sure that one day I will look back at 2011 and recognize countless life lessons that this year has taught me.
For now, all I have to say to 2011 is: "Fuck you"
I am looking forward to 2012 being a kinder and gentler year.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Crazy aunt Kathy*
Every family has a member that is a little 'out there'. Some families have more than one.
Somewhere in my extended family tree lives crazy aunt Kathy. She is a little eccentric, a little out of touch with reality, and very damaged. You can see it in her eyes and hear it in the way she talks about herself. Sometimes i feel like she has so much pain inside of her that it affects her ability to function as a rational person.
Crazy aunt Kathy lost her mom some years ago. I am not sure how long ago her mom passed away, but I know it has been more than 10 years. She will be the first to admit that the loss of her mom still affects her deeply every day. Though I never had the privilege of meeting her mom (who I hear was amazing) every Christmas gift I have received from her has involved a picture or other memory of her mom. Kathy's mom's memory consumes seemingly every facet of Kathy's life - to the point of disability.
Often times in the past two months I have felt so overwhelmed by grief that I too found it disabling. During those times, I always wonder if it is truly possible to feel better. Even just by the tiniest bit. I have cried myself to sleep countless nights (though 71 would be a good guess) and searched for the light at the end of the tunnel. In the back of my mind I always think of Kathy, and how I don't want to become her. I want to grieve, but not wallow. I want to cherish and remember Carter, but not become so consumed with his memory that I can't function.
Friends (both old and new) reassure me that one day the pain won't be so overwhelming. It will always be there but not as raw as it is now. One morning I will wake up and realize that I haven't just had a good day, but a good week or month. I have to endure the heartache now so that I can live my life later. Enough people have told me this that in my head I know it must be true, but I have questioned it in my heart.
Today though, was refreshing. I got up, got us ready and out the door on time. Our first stop was the doctor (where my INR was less than ideal) then off to daycare and work. At work, I had a productive day and even managed to mention that Carter had passed. All without tears - not even a moment where I had to fight them back.
When I sat down to write tonight, I was going to write about my tear-free day. And then this evening while talking to a friend, she asked about how Christmas went. And she talked about Carter. Cue the tears. But when they stopped, I didn't feel quite the sense of despair that I usually do. The evening went on, and I was still able to function.
I have no disillusions that this is the end of the period of horrible grief. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. But I feel like I got a glimpse into 'someday'. Someday when there are more good days than bad. I almost feel like I should feel guilty for having a good day. But I don't - I know that Livie and Shawn need me to have good days. And to be honest, it was kind of a relief for me. One day when I didn't feel like I was going crazy.
*I changed her name to make me feel less guilty about writing about her.
Somewhere in my extended family tree lives crazy aunt Kathy. She is a little eccentric, a little out of touch with reality, and very damaged. You can see it in her eyes and hear it in the way she talks about herself. Sometimes i feel like she has so much pain inside of her that it affects her ability to function as a rational person.
Crazy aunt Kathy lost her mom some years ago. I am not sure how long ago her mom passed away, but I know it has been more than 10 years. She will be the first to admit that the loss of her mom still affects her deeply every day. Though I never had the privilege of meeting her mom (who I hear was amazing) every Christmas gift I have received from her has involved a picture or other memory of her mom. Kathy's mom's memory consumes seemingly every facet of Kathy's life - to the point of disability.
Often times in the past two months I have felt so overwhelmed by grief that I too found it disabling. During those times, I always wonder if it is truly possible to feel better. Even just by the tiniest bit. I have cried myself to sleep countless nights (though 71 would be a good guess) and searched for the light at the end of the tunnel. In the back of my mind I always think of Kathy, and how I don't want to become her. I want to grieve, but not wallow. I want to cherish and remember Carter, but not become so consumed with his memory that I can't function.
Friends (both old and new) reassure me that one day the pain won't be so overwhelming. It will always be there but not as raw as it is now. One morning I will wake up and realize that I haven't just had a good day, but a good week or month. I have to endure the heartache now so that I can live my life later. Enough people have told me this that in my head I know it must be true, but I have questioned it in my heart.
Today though, was refreshing. I got up, got us ready and out the door on time. Our first stop was the doctor (where my INR was less than ideal) then off to daycare and work. At work, I had a productive day and even managed to mention that Carter had passed. All without tears - not even a moment where I had to fight them back.
When I sat down to write tonight, I was going to write about my tear-free day. And then this evening while talking to a friend, she asked about how Christmas went. And she talked about Carter. Cue the tears. But when they stopped, I didn't feel quite the sense of despair that I usually do. The evening went on, and I was still able to function.
I have no disillusions that this is the end of the period of horrible grief. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. But I feel like I got a glimpse into 'someday'. Someday when there are more good days than bad. I almost feel like I should feel guilty for having a good day. But I don't - I know that Livie and Shawn need me to have good days. And to be honest, it was kind of a relief for me. One day when I didn't feel like I was going crazy.
*I changed her name to make me feel less guilty about writing about her.
If you're going through hell, keep going. ~Winston Churchill
Monday, December 26, 2011
The day after
My Dearest Carter,
Merry Christmas! I hope that your first Christmas in Heaven was as grand as could be. We have been missing you here - our Christmas this year was not the one we had been planning and dreaming of.
Livie and I spent many evenings this month trying to get Christmas shopping done. I thought about you the whole time - Christmas shopping this year was supposed to be our date together. We were going to spend our maternity leave out and about - enjoying the sights and sounds of the season. Instead, Liv and I rushed through stores as quickly as I could coax her in and out of them.
On one of our trips, we bought a toy that we thought you would have liked. The plan was to donate it to a little boy that didn't have any presents for Christmas. On the morning that we were going to drop it off, your sister cried and cried. She didn't want to give up the toy that she had picked out for you. After lots of explaining and lots of tears, Liv eventually agreed to leave it at the toy drop-off at daycare. She checked on it daily until the toys were taken away.
I wish that you could have gone with us to see Santa this year. Livie wore a different dress than I had originally planned on. I had an outfit for you that I picked out to go with her Christmas dress - you two would have been so cute in matching outfits on Santa's lap. I just couldn't send her in her outfit without you in yours, so she wore a friend's Christmas dress instead.
She was SO excited to see Santa this year - she genuinely believes that he works magic. Livie greeted Santa with a huge hug and a smile that lit up the room. He asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and in a shy, quiet voice she answered, "a healthy baby". Santa looked confused, and I was too far away to explain. He tried to clarify - "you want a baby doll?". Livie's face fell a bit and she nodded in agreement. Yes, a baby doll would be fine. She added on a request for some play food and was soon ushered off of Santa's lap so the next child could have a turn.
I am not sure who all heard her original request. But those words - "a healthy baby" - hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to me. She misses you as much as we do. Perhaps that is why your cake is still hanging around on our counter. It has some battles wounds, but is hanging in there.
Keeping up with tradition, we decorated a gingerbread house (to feed to Santa's reindeer of course). I had pictured you snuggled up to me in a sling as we decorated this year. Our gingerbread house didn't turn out nearly as nice this year as it did last year.
I guess my heart just wasn't in it. Besides, it kept falling apart until we eventually gave up keeping it together. Thankfully, Clifford the Elf used some of his late-night-magical-hot-glue to fix it for us.
We went to church on Christmas Eve, and then to great grandma Pat's for dinner. But you know that. You were there.
On Christmas Eve, we set the gingerbread house out for the reindeer, and filled the living room with presents. Yours are still tucked safely away in the basement.
I stayed up late that night, looking at your ornaments on the Christmas tree, and wishing that you could be here to celebrate with us in the morning. Some of my favorite memories of Christmas 2008 are from being up in the middle night. Livie and I would snuggle in the living room with only the glow and twinkling of the Christmas tree for light. Those late night nursing sessions were so peaceful, I had been looking forward to the same with you. Instead, I just stared at the tree and cried. You are so missed.
Christmas morning was a success. After a quick snuggle with mom and dad, Liv raced to the living room to check out her gifts.
She was stopped in her tracks by the "marble game" that Santa brought her. Unfortunately, Santa had forgotten to check and make sure that the game actually came with marbles. Thank goodness for leftover Halloween candy (Gobstoppers to the rescue!)
As the day went on, Livie dug into her presents more and more - her favorites seem to be the marble game and scooter, both from Santa. She didn't notice that Santa didn't bring her a doll - guess that isn't what she wanted after all. She did however, notice that you weren't there. At one point she told me, "I love our family - mom, dad, me and Carter - that is who makes up our family! You can't forget Carter. He is part of our family!" (I think she was a bit miffed that you didn't have presents under the tree)
You did however, have a stocking. Livie informed me awhile ago that it was her job as sister, to check your stocking for you. I am glad she told me that, so I could make sure that your stocking was full.
She loves the monkey tooth brush that she found inside, and the monkey bookmark is growing on her. It is currently marking the spot in her Madeline book where she pressed a flower from your funeral.
Christmas Day after dinner, we had cupcakes and sang "Happy Birthday" to baby Jesus. Livie was quite excited for you that you got to attend His 'real' birthday party. She is wondering if there was a piñata at the party?
Liv played hard all day yesterday with all of her new things. This morning though, I found her playing with all of your things. From the moment she realized that you were coming, she would insist on visiting the "baby aisle" of whatever store we happened to visit. Oftentimes, I would let her talk me into a new rattle or small toy for you. Each purchase was put into the baskets of toys tucked into the shelves of the entertainment center in the living room . The baskets are over flowing at this point. Your sister was meticulously going through each toy. Taking it out of the basket, looking it over and trying it out.
She was talking in a whisper so quiet I could barely hear her, but occasionally I would pick-up her narration as to how the toy works. "you push this button for music" - "this shakes when you bite on it". Was she talking to herself, or to you? When she was finished, she carefully picked up all of your toys and tucked them away again.
Before I go, I thought you might want to see all of your Christmas ornaments.
Livie saw this curious george monkey, and insisted it had to be yours:
I found this snowbabies angel ornament, to match the snowbabies ornament Liv got when she was born:
And finally, this ornament was a gift from 'Dinner Grandma':
We survived our first Christmas without you. I hope that yours was full of much more Joy than mine was.
Wish you were here,
Mom
Merry Christmas! I hope that your first Christmas in Heaven was as grand as could be. We have been missing you here - our Christmas this year was not the one we had been planning and dreaming of.
Livie and I spent many evenings this month trying to get Christmas shopping done. I thought about you the whole time - Christmas shopping this year was supposed to be our date together. We were going to spend our maternity leave out and about - enjoying the sights and sounds of the season. Instead, Liv and I rushed through stores as quickly as I could coax her in and out of them.
On one of our trips, we bought a toy that we thought you would have liked. The plan was to donate it to a little boy that didn't have any presents for Christmas. On the morning that we were going to drop it off, your sister cried and cried. She didn't want to give up the toy that she had picked out for you. After lots of explaining and lots of tears, Liv eventually agreed to leave it at the toy drop-off at daycare. She checked on it daily until the toys were taken away.
I wish that you could have gone with us to see Santa this year. Livie wore a different dress than I had originally planned on. I had an outfit for you that I picked out to go with her Christmas dress - you two would have been so cute in matching outfits on Santa's lap. I just couldn't send her in her outfit without you in yours, so she wore a friend's Christmas dress instead.
She was SO excited to see Santa this year - she genuinely believes that he works magic. Livie greeted Santa with a huge hug and a smile that lit up the room. He asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and in a shy, quiet voice she answered, "a healthy baby". Santa looked confused, and I was too far away to explain. He tried to clarify - "you want a baby doll?". Livie's face fell a bit and she nodded in agreement. Yes, a baby doll would be fine. She added on a request for some play food and was soon ushered off of Santa's lap so the next child could have a turn.
I am not sure who all heard her original request. But those words - "a healthy baby" - hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to me. She misses you as much as we do. Perhaps that is why your cake is still hanging around on our counter. It has some battles wounds, but is hanging in there.
Keeping up with tradition, we decorated a gingerbread house (to feed to Santa's reindeer of course). I had pictured you snuggled up to me in a sling as we decorated this year. Our gingerbread house didn't turn out nearly as nice this year as it did last year.
I guess my heart just wasn't in it. Besides, it kept falling apart until we eventually gave up keeping it together. Thankfully, Clifford the Elf used some of his late-night-magical-hot-glue to fix it for us.
We went to church on Christmas Eve, and then to great grandma Pat's for dinner. But you know that. You were there.
On Christmas Eve, we set the gingerbread house out for the reindeer, and filled the living room with presents. Yours are still tucked safely away in the basement.
I stayed up late that night, looking at your ornaments on the Christmas tree, and wishing that you could be here to celebrate with us in the morning. Some of my favorite memories of Christmas 2008 are from being up in the middle night. Livie and I would snuggle in the living room with only the glow and twinkling of the Christmas tree for light. Those late night nursing sessions were so peaceful, I had been looking forward to the same with you. Instead, I just stared at the tree and cried. You are so missed.
Christmas morning was a success. After a quick snuggle with mom and dad, Liv raced to the living room to check out her gifts.
She was stopped in her tracks by the "marble game" that Santa brought her. Unfortunately, Santa had forgotten to check and make sure that the game actually came with marbles. Thank goodness for leftover Halloween candy (Gobstoppers to the rescue!)
As the day went on, Livie dug into her presents more and more - her favorites seem to be the marble game and scooter, both from Santa. She didn't notice that Santa didn't bring her a doll - guess that isn't what she wanted after all. She did however, notice that you weren't there. At one point she told me, "I love our family - mom, dad, me and Carter - that is who makes up our family! You can't forget Carter. He is part of our family!" (I think she was a bit miffed that you didn't have presents under the tree)
You did however, have a stocking. Livie informed me awhile ago that it was her job as sister, to check your stocking for you. I am glad she told me that, so I could make sure that your stocking was full.
She loves the monkey tooth brush that she found inside, and the monkey bookmark is growing on her. It is currently marking the spot in her Madeline book where she pressed a flower from your funeral.
Christmas Day after dinner, we had cupcakes and sang "Happy Birthday" to baby Jesus. Livie was quite excited for you that you got to attend His 'real' birthday party. She is wondering if there was a piñata at the party?
Liv played hard all day yesterday with all of her new things. This morning though, I found her playing with all of your things. From the moment she realized that you were coming, she would insist on visiting the "baby aisle" of whatever store we happened to visit. Oftentimes, I would let her talk me into a new rattle or small toy for you. Each purchase was put into the baskets of toys tucked into the shelves of the entertainment center in the living room . The baskets are over flowing at this point. Your sister was meticulously going through each toy. Taking it out of the basket, looking it over and trying it out.
She was talking in a whisper so quiet I could barely hear her, but occasionally I would pick-up her narration as to how the toy works. "you push this button for music" - "this shakes when you bite on it". Was she talking to herself, or to you? When she was finished, she carefully picked up all of your toys and tucked them away again.
Before I go, I thought you might want to see all of your Christmas ornaments.
Livie saw this curious george monkey, and insisted it had to be yours:
I found this snowbabies angel ornament, to match the snowbabies ornament Liv got when she was born:
And finally, this ornament was a gift from 'Dinner Grandma':
We survived our first Christmas without you. I hope that yours was full of much more Joy than mine was.
Wish you were here,
Mom
Thursday, December 22, 2011
It could always be worse
I had a rough day at work today. I seem to be in a stretch of bad days, which is making me extra sensitive to everything. There is no need to rehash the details, but I got my feelings hurt big time at work today. To the point that I spent 30 min. at lunch crying in my car. Normally I would have been able to brush it off, but not today.
I was feeling quite broken-hearted and sorry for myself on the way home from work. I am pretty sure that I cried all the way to daycare. I have been feeling sorry for myself a lot lately.
Then, I got to daycare and watched a teacher have a run in with a parent. The parent was throwing a fit. I have seen this parent 2 other times. Both of those times she was also throwing a fit. Today's issue? Her preschool-aged daughter who still wears diapers had a BM blow-out, soiling her clothes. The child did not have a change of clothes in her locker (which is required) so the teacher located a spare set and changed the girl. The mother walked in the door and started complaining before even hearing what happened - "Why is my daughter not wearing the clothes I sent her in?!?!? Where are her clothes?!?!?" (for the record, they were bagged and in the girl's locker). The teacher in the room at the time is new, so on our way out I grabbed another teacher to go back-up the new one. Rumor has it that the mom's fit lasted quite awhile.
I am not sure what is wrong in that mom's life, but she is angry at the world. I don't want to end up like her.
On the way home from daycare I started thinking that maybe my day wasn't so bad after all - at least I didn't get yelled at for doing the right thing. (would the mom have preferred that her daughter not be changed, or left to play naked?)
And then I got home, and my in-box confirmed that my day truly wasn't a bad day. Waiting for me was an update from a friend of a friend. I have been in touch with her since her husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor about 7 weeks ago. Surgery was 6 weeks ago and the tumor is already growing back. And quickly. All they can do now is radiation and chemotherapy to buy time.
Bad things happen, and it sucks. And we have had our share of bad things this year. But that update forced me to realize that things could always be worse. Six months out and Shawn is doing great. My pulmonary embolism was caught in time. I have an amazing little girl (who is snuggled next to me on the couch since I couldn't bear to send her to bed). We have a warm home and cupboards full of food (or at least they would be if I got my butt to the grocery store). Then there is Carter. I am thankful for the 36 weeks and 4 days that I had with him. Though I can't help but wish I had more time. It seems so unfair. But as we all know, life isn't fair.
A friend lost her firstborn son to a heart defect four and a half years ago. This blog post of hers really struck a chord with me - Why not me. I think it will be awhile before I can be at the same point of acceptance that she is. But it is something to work for. For now, I can accept that I do have things to be thankful for and that it could always be worse.
And with that, I am putting on my brave face and heading into the holiday weekend. Clifford the Elf has done a fine job of keeping up Liv's holiday cheer, but he moves back to Santa on Saturday, so Sunday is all on us.
I was feeling quite broken-hearted and sorry for myself on the way home from work. I am pretty sure that I cried all the way to daycare. I have been feeling sorry for myself a lot lately.
Then, I got to daycare and watched a teacher have a run in with a parent. The parent was throwing a fit. I have seen this parent 2 other times. Both of those times she was also throwing a fit. Today's issue? Her preschool-aged daughter who still wears diapers had a BM blow-out, soiling her clothes. The child did not have a change of clothes in her locker (which is required) so the teacher located a spare set and changed the girl. The mother walked in the door and started complaining before even hearing what happened - "Why is my daughter not wearing the clothes I sent her in?!?!? Where are her clothes?!?!?" (for the record, they were bagged and in the girl's locker). The teacher in the room at the time is new, so on our way out I grabbed another teacher to go back-up the new one. Rumor has it that the mom's fit lasted quite awhile.
I am not sure what is wrong in that mom's life, but she is angry at the world. I don't want to end up like her.
On the way home from daycare I started thinking that maybe my day wasn't so bad after all - at least I didn't get yelled at for doing the right thing. (would the mom have preferred that her daughter not be changed, or left to play naked?)
And then I got home, and my in-box confirmed that my day truly wasn't a bad day. Waiting for me was an update from a friend of a friend. I have been in touch with her since her husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor about 7 weeks ago. Surgery was 6 weeks ago and the tumor is already growing back. And quickly. All they can do now is radiation and chemotherapy to buy time.
Bad things happen, and it sucks. And we have had our share of bad things this year. But that update forced me to realize that things could always be worse. Six months out and Shawn is doing great. My pulmonary embolism was caught in time. I have an amazing little girl (who is snuggled next to me on the couch since I couldn't bear to send her to bed). We have a warm home and cupboards full of food (or at least they would be if I got my butt to the grocery store). Then there is Carter. I am thankful for the 36 weeks and 4 days that I had with him. Though I can't help but wish I had more time. It seems so unfair. But as we all know, life isn't fair.
A friend lost her firstborn son to a heart defect four and a half years ago. This blog post of hers really struck a chord with me - Why not me. I think it will be awhile before I can be at the same point of acceptance that she is. But it is something to work for. For now, I can accept that I do have things to be thankful for and that it could always be worse.
And with that, I am putting on my brave face and heading into the holiday weekend. Clifford the Elf has done a fine job of keeping up Liv's holiday cheer, but he moves back to Santa on Saturday, so Sunday is all on us.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
It all arrived
Everything that I have been waiting on finally arrived.
Several people encouraged me to contact the etsy seller that I ordered Carter's stocking from and let her know why I was so anxious to receive it. So, I sent her a link to my blog and she overnighted the stocking to me that day. I shouldn't have to make people feel badly in order to get them to do the right thing, but in this case, I don't feel the least bit guilty. We have Carter's stocking and Livie was so excited about it. Our family stockings look much more complete with four stockings instead of just three.
And then there are the pictures. The Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep images arrived on Monday. I have been looking forward to and dreading their arrival since the day they were taken. Our photographer provided us with way more images than I ever dreamed she would. She was also kind enough to give me edited and unedited versions of everything. I am so, so grateful for the time she gave to our family.
Looking at the images is hard. In some of them, Carter looks just like a sleeping baby. In others, he looks very much dead. Those are the hardest to look at. His little body doesn't scrunch up the way a newborn's should. The thing that strikes me the most are his eyes. They are never open - not even a crack. Of course I knew that they wouldn't be. I never saw his eyes - so why would they be in the pictures? Why is it so surprising to me that they aren't open? I don't forget the pain of his absence, not even for a second, so why do I catch myself thinking that "maybe something has changed?" Nothing is going to change. He isn't coming back.
It reminds me of being in the hospital, and the nurses encouraging us to spend as much time with him as we wanted, and to do everything we wanted before leaving. After all, it was our only chance to do so. There wouldn't be do-overs. As they would list out things to think about - "Do you want to cut his hair?" - "Do you want to bathe him" - I kept thinking to myself, "Oh! I would like to try to nurse him!" Obviously that wouldn't be possible, but it is where my mind kept going. Like something was going to change since the last time I thought it.
Receiving the pictures feels as final as I expected it to. Nothing is going to change - this is my new reality.
I am probably going to keep many more of the NILMDTS images private than I expected to. At least for now. But here is one that seems to fit how I am feeling. Not the most flattering, but it portrays exactly what I was feeling then and now.
Tomorrow I am spending the day with new clients and prospective clients. Tonight I am feeling exceptionally broken. Looking through the pictures is a roller coaster of emotions, and I hope I can get off of the ride before tomorrow, or I am going to be looking at a very long day.
(I saw that on a friend's Facebook status today - one of those "post this as your status if..." I have a personal rule not to repost those annoying viral statuses, but this one hit too close to home not to share, so I brought it here instead)
Several people encouraged me to contact the etsy seller that I ordered Carter's stocking from and let her know why I was so anxious to receive it. So, I sent her a link to my blog and she overnighted the stocking to me that day. I shouldn't have to make people feel badly in order to get them to do the right thing, but in this case, I don't feel the least bit guilty. We have Carter's stocking and Livie was so excited about it. Our family stockings look much more complete with four stockings instead of just three.
And then there are the pictures. The Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep images arrived on Monday. I have been looking forward to and dreading their arrival since the day they were taken. Our photographer provided us with way more images than I ever dreamed she would. She was also kind enough to give me edited and unedited versions of everything. I am so, so grateful for the time she gave to our family.
Looking at the images is hard. In some of them, Carter looks just like a sleeping baby. In others, he looks very much dead. Those are the hardest to look at. His little body doesn't scrunch up the way a newborn's should. The thing that strikes me the most are his eyes. They are never open - not even a crack. Of course I knew that they wouldn't be. I never saw his eyes - so why would they be in the pictures? Why is it so surprising to me that they aren't open? I don't forget the pain of his absence, not even for a second, so why do I catch myself thinking that "maybe something has changed?" Nothing is going to change. He isn't coming back.
It reminds me of being in the hospital, and the nurses encouraging us to spend as much time with him as we wanted, and to do everything we wanted before leaving. After all, it was our only chance to do so. There wouldn't be do-overs. As they would list out things to think about - "Do you want to cut his hair?" - "Do you want to bathe him" - I kept thinking to myself, "Oh! I would like to try to nurse him!" Obviously that wouldn't be possible, but it is where my mind kept going. Like something was going to change since the last time I thought it.
Receiving the pictures feels as final as I expected it to. Nothing is going to change - this is my new reality.
I am probably going to keep many more of the NILMDTS images private than I expected to. At least for now. But here is one that seems to fit how I am feeling. Not the most flattering, but it portrays exactly what I was feeling then and now.
Tomorrow I am spending the day with new clients and prospective clients. Tonight I am feeling exceptionally broken. Looking through the pictures is a roller coaster of emotions, and I hope I can get off of the ride before tomorrow, or I am going to be looking at a very long day.
"I thought of you today, but that is nothing new. I thought of you yesterday, and the days before that too. I think of you in silence, I often speak your name. All I have are memories and a pictures in a frame. Your memory is a keepsake, from which I'll never part. God has you in His arms, I have you in my heart"
(I saw that on a friend's Facebook status today - one of those "post this as your status if..." I have a personal rule not to repost those annoying viral statuses, but this one hit too close to home not to share, so I brought it here instead)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Signs
On Thursday, a friend asked if I had ever seen a ghost (I haven't) and the conversation eventually turned to 'signs'. My only contribution to the conversation was a comment that every night I pray for the chance to see Carter in my dreams, but it never happens.
I am not sure what I think about signs, or the thought that loved ones who have passed can communicate with us from Heaven. After all, I was always taught that Heaven isn't about us, but about God.
But, I do know that I have a set of snowflake pictures that I can't explain. And, I know that I had a very interesting night Thursday night.
After getting home from work on Thursday, I started getting a horrible stomach ache. By the time I went to bed at 11:00, I was curled up in a ball with one of the worst stomach aches of my life. At the time, I compared it to the feeling I had when I went into labor with Carter.
I woke up a couple hours later - at the exact same time I woke up the night I went into labor with Carter. I couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed and curled up with the Internet in our living room. My stomach was in a knot and I had pain shooting through my lower back. As I debated calling my doctor, I thought I heard something. But it had to have been just Shawn and Livie who were both snoring away in their respective beds.
Then, there it was again - a jingle bell. I looked over at the Christmas tree, and it was ever so slightly rocking back and forth (like the after effect of someone having bumped it). All the ornaments were swaying and one of them fell off.
We have no pets. No drafts or anything else. I could not figure out what caused it.
Shortly thereafter my stomach ache faded and I went back to bed.
I didn't think too much of the mysterious falling ornament until I was picking up last night (yes, I left it laying under the tree for two days). I remember Liv hanging the ornament on the tree when we decorated, but I have no idea where we got it or who it was from. When I lifted the ornament I saw what was written on the front - "Most Loved Mom"
I'll admit that I cried when I read it.
I am still not sure what I believe about signs, but I can't explain Thursday night.
I am not sure what I think about signs, or the thought that loved ones who have passed can communicate with us from Heaven. After all, I was always taught that Heaven isn't about us, but about God.
But, I do know that I have a set of snowflake pictures that I can't explain. And, I know that I had a very interesting night Thursday night.
After getting home from work on Thursday, I started getting a horrible stomach ache. By the time I went to bed at 11:00, I was curled up in a ball with one of the worst stomach aches of my life. At the time, I compared it to the feeling I had when I went into labor with Carter.
I woke up a couple hours later - at the exact same time I woke up the night I went into labor with Carter. I couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed and curled up with the Internet in our living room. My stomach was in a knot and I had pain shooting through my lower back. As I debated calling my doctor, I thought I heard something. But it had to have been just Shawn and Livie who were both snoring away in their respective beds.
Then, there it was again - a jingle bell. I looked over at the Christmas tree, and it was ever so slightly rocking back and forth (like the after effect of someone having bumped it). All the ornaments were swaying and one of them fell off.
We have no pets. No drafts or anything else. I could not figure out what caused it.
Shortly thereafter my stomach ache faded and I went back to bed.
I didn't think too much of the mysterious falling ornament until I was picking up last night (yes, I left it laying under the tree for two days). I remember Liv hanging the ornament on the tree when we decorated, but I have no idea where we got it or who it was from. When I lifted the ornament I saw what was written on the front - "Most Loved Mom"
I'll admit that I cried when I read it.
I am still not sure what I believe about signs, but I can't explain Thursday night.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Normal
Oftentimes in my job (it no longer feels like a career, just a job) I need to discuss confidential and sensitive information with clients. This usually involves one on one meetings behind closed doors.
This past week I was out at a client's office. One of my favorite clients, I have worked with them for years and the staff is full of genuinely nice people. It is for that reason that I avoided those confidential discussions. I had a list of tasks to accomplish for the week, and I left the conversations until the very end.
With only an hour left in my week, I bit the bullet and headed off behind closed doors. The first person I met with knew what I was wanting to discuss. Though they are confidential, these mystery conversations are generally fairly routine. But, this time, it was anything but normal.
No sooner had I closed the door, than the woman I was going to talk to started crying. She asked how I was doing, how my husband was doing, she expressed her sympathy and told me that she cried when she heard the news. I couldn't take it anymore and started crying myself. And not just a couple leaked tears, but outright sobbing. We never did get to the purpose for my visit to her office.
I do appreciate her bringing up Carter. Much better than pretending I was gone on an extended vacation.
At least my first time is over. I cried at a client and lived to tell about it.
But I learned that breaking the seal isn't necessarily a good thing. I couldn't keep my act together for the rest of the day. I had done fairly well during the week - keeping things professional and focusing on something other than Carter. But tears have a way of changing things. The rest of the day was spent trying not to lose it in front of my staff.
I feel like I don't know what normal is anymore. I go through my days at work - talking to co-workers, joking around and offering my opinion when asked (and sometimes when I'm not). But it all feels like an act. Like I don't know how to be myself. I am not at all comfortable and it is exhausting. Trying to keep it together during the work day means I come home and have a lot of ...sadness... to let out. It leaves me barely able to function, which isn't fair to Livie or Shawn. I am just not sure how to go about living my new life.
This past week I was out at a client's office. One of my favorite clients, I have worked with them for years and the staff is full of genuinely nice people. It is for that reason that I avoided those confidential discussions. I had a list of tasks to accomplish for the week, and I left the conversations until the very end.
With only an hour left in my week, I bit the bullet and headed off behind closed doors. The first person I met with knew what I was wanting to discuss. Though they are confidential, these mystery conversations are generally fairly routine. But, this time, it was anything but normal.
No sooner had I closed the door, than the woman I was going to talk to started crying. She asked how I was doing, how my husband was doing, she expressed her sympathy and told me that she cried when she heard the news. I couldn't take it anymore and started crying myself. And not just a couple leaked tears, but outright sobbing. We never did get to the purpose for my visit to her office.
I do appreciate her bringing up Carter. Much better than pretending I was gone on an extended vacation.
At least my first time is over. I cried at a client and lived to tell about it.
But I learned that breaking the seal isn't necessarily a good thing. I couldn't keep my act together for the rest of the day. I had done fairly well during the week - keeping things professional and focusing on something other than Carter. But tears have a way of changing things. The rest of the day was spent trying not to lose it in front of my staff.
I feel like I don't know what normal is anymore. I go through my days at work - talking to co-workers, joking around and offering my opinion when asked (and sometimes when I'm not). But it all feels like an act. Like I don't know how to be myself. I am not at all comfortable and it is exhausting. Trying to keep it together during the work day means I come home and have a lot of ...sadness... to let out. It leaves me barely able to function, which isn't fair to Livie or Shawn. I am just not sure how to go about living my new life.
There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go. ~Author Unknown
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Flashbacks
"Mom, do you remember when I threw up right there?" Olivia asked me, pointing to a stain on the carpet. She continues on, remembering (in sequence of occurrences) all the places she threw up blueberries on our white carpet a couple weeks ago. I was nodding along with her as she narrated the story of her sickness, when suddenly I remembered. The memory of the last time I threw up came flooding back to me.
Laying in the hospital bed before delivery, at some point it hit me. My son was dead. The thought was so heart wrenching that I couldn't stop myself from throwing up. I had forgotten about that, but in an instant I remember as if it had happened 5 minutes ago.
The night of Carter's birth, everything happened so fast, and so slow at the same time. I remember his birth so vividly, but the hours between arriving at the hospital and delivery are spotty, as is the rest of our stay.
Little tidbits of those 36 hours come back to me when I least expect them. Snapping a picture of Livie on my phone a couple of days ago, I realized that there were pictures of Carter on my phone.
His pictures, taken shortly after birth, stopped me in my tracks. Carter? On my phone? How did they get there? And then I remembered. I still hadn't realized that we would have a whole day with him, and I wanted to make sure I had a picture of him. So I asked for my phone, the only camera I had, and handed it off to have pictures taken.
I dread the day when I am in a client's office and something, seemingly innocent, brings back a memory from that day. I won't be able to stop the tears.
I am amazed at the ways grief can manifest itself. I am exhausted, and my whole body aches. Little things become huge ordeals and I have no patience. And even when I laugh and smile and try to move on, the grief is right there, just below the surface, waiting to rise up and make itself known.
Many times over the past seven months I have been told how strong I am. And while I know it is said with the best of intentions, to be honest, I am sick of hearing it. I am not strong. I am heartbroken and vulnerable and weak. When I was pregnant with a sick husband and a two year old, I carried on because I had to. And there were (many) times I could have done better than I did. But I moved forward, just like anyone else would have.
And then, when October 18th came and went, I most definitely wasn't strong. I keep moving forward because I have to. There is no choice. This isn't a path I chose.
Taking the words of a good friend: I am not strong, I am trying to learn how to live with a piece of my soul missing.
In the spirit of moving forward, we decorated for Christmas today. Without a stocking for Carter.
And so, just like that, it's gone:
Laying in the hospital bed before delivery, at some point it hit me. My son was dead. The thought was so heart wrenching that I couldn't stop myself from throwing up. I had forgotten about that, but in an instant I remember as if it had happened 5 minutes ago.
The night of Carter's birth, everything happened so fast, and so slow at the same time. I remember his birth so vividly, but the hours between arriving at the hospital and delivery are spotty, as is the rest of our stay.
Little tidbits of those 36 hours come back to me when I least expect them. Snapping a picture of Livie on my phone a couple of days ago, I realized that there were pictures of Carter on my phone.
His pictures, taken shortly after birth, stopped me in my tracks. Carter? On my phone? How did they get there? And then I remembered. I still hadn't realized that we would have a whole day with him, and I wanted to make sure I had a picture of him. So I asked for my phone, the only camera I had, and handed it off to have pictures taken.
I dread the day when I am in a client's office and something, seemingly innocent, brings back a memory from that day. I won't be able to stop the tears.
I am amazed at the ways grief can manifest itself. I am exhausted, and my whole body aches. Little things become huge ordeals and I have no patience. And even when I laugh and smile and try to move on, the grief is right there, just below the surface, waiting to rise up and make itself known.
Many times over the past seven months I have been told how strong I am. And while I know it is said with the best of intentions, to be honest, I am sick of hearing it. I am not strong. I am heartbroken and vulnerable and weak. When I was pregnant with a sick husband and a two year old, I carried on because I had to. And there were (many) times I could have done better than I did. But I moved forward, just like anyone else would have.
And then, when October 18th came and went, I most definitely wasn't strong. I keep moving forward because I have to. There is no choice. This isn't a path I chose.
Taking the words of a good friend: I am not strong, I am trying to learn how to live with a piece of my soul missing.
In the spirit of moving forward, we decorated for Christmas today. Without a stocking for Carter.
And so, just like that, it's gone:
Friday, December 9, 2011
Merry Christmas Livie (and Carter)
Happy Belated St. Nick's day! In our house, we set out our shoes on December 5th before bed, and St. Nick brings Christmas jammies during the night. It was quite a debate, but in the end Livie picked her pink sparkle shoes to leave out. Our little bird is now the proud new owner of silky pink Christmas pajamas. She didn't ask about setting Carter's shoes out. If she had, I would have let her - I already have his Christmas pajamas.
I have been really struggling how to incorporate Carter into our family Christmas this year. We were expecting him to be here with us - Santa was supposed to bring toys for two kids this year. How do I find the balance of making the season special for Liv, but still including her brother? What do I do with his Christmas jammies? And the presents I already bought him? I miss him so much, I'm not ready to part with his things.
Our Christmas tree still isn't up, either are the Christmas lights. I bought Carter a stocking on etsy - I just couldn't not have one for him. The seller had some poor feedback recently, but the stocking was absolutely perfect so I took a chance on her. And of course, there is no sign of the stocking arriving any time soon. I'm not sure if I can bring myself to hang the other stockings without Carter's. Isn't it perfect?
I hope it arrives eventually. The seller promised she would ship it by the 5th but won't respond to my message asking for confirmation that she sent it. I am so ridiculously anxious over a silly stocking. I try to remind myself that it is just some cloth. And that I can't worry myself over it - I have a living child that I need to focus on. I don't want her to think back and remember (and believe me - she remembers everything) Christmas as a time of tears. I don't want to steal her magic.
Livie was super excited when she saw Clifford's snowflake. She told me she wanted to hang it in the window so Carter could look down and see it. I wish everything was as simple as Livie makes it out to be.
I have been really struggling how to incorporate Carter into our family Christmas this year. We were expecting him to be here with us - Santa was supposed to bring toys for two kids this year. How do I find the balance of making the season special for Liv, but still including her brother? What do I do with his Christmas jammies? And the presents I already bought him? I miss him so much, I'm not ready to part with his things.
Our Christmas tree still isn't up, either are the Christmas lights. I bought Carter a stocking on etsy - I just couldn't not have one for him. The seller had some poor feedback recently, but the stocking was absolutely perfect so I took a chance on her. And of course, there is no sign of the stocking arriving any time soon. I'm not sure if I can bring myself to hang the other stockings without Carter's. Isn't it perfect?
I hope it arrives eventually. The seller promised she would ship it by the 5th but won't respond to my message asking for confirmation that she sent it. I am so ridiculously anxious over a silly stocking. I try to remind myself that it is just some cloth. And that I can't worry myself over it - I have a living child that I need to focus on. I don't want her to think back and remember (and believe me - she remembers everything) Christmas as a time of tears. I don't want to steal her magic.
I may have forgotten to move him one night (thankfully I noticed before Livie did) but I am really trying to keep Clifford the elf exciting for Livie. At least it is something special for her right now. Last night he brought her a ginger bread house kit that we will put together as a family this weekend. And a couple nights ago he got into the arts and crafts and made himself a snowflake.
Livie was super excited when she saw Clifford's snowflake. She told me she wanted to hang it in the window so Carter could look down and see it. I wish everything was as simple as Livie makes it out to be.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
My first day
I remember August 15, 2005 quite vividly. It was my first day working at my firm. I started the day sitting outside in my car for as long as I could, gathering myself for the day ahead of me. It was a long day. Sitting in my new cube, I remember looking around at the grey walls and asking myself, "Do I belong here?". Wondering if I would ever fit in. Walking to the break room, I would pass my new co-workers who walked around like they were in their home, chit-chatting with each other and joking around. Everyone was comfortable there. For me, it was a strange new place and I felt like I had a huge arrow above my head that pointed at me screaming "I am new" - I felt so out of place.
At some point, I stopped sneaking in the back door. I would go in the front door so I could say good morning to the receptionist - turned out that she was pretty cool. I found myself making friends. Good friends. Before I knew it, the firm felt like home to me too.
Today though, today felt like August 15, 2005 all over again. I stayed in my car for awhile this morning. I was tempted to go in through the back door (but I sucked it up and went in the front door). I was uncomfortable all day. The only difference was that the huge arrow above my head said, "Fragile". People weren't sure what to say to me. Those that I am close with stopped in to say hi, but weren't always sure what to say beyond that, and either was I. The "new people" that started while I was gone seemed to know exactly who I was - they avoided eye contact at all costs. Only one person acknowledged the reason I had been gone. And I appreciate her for that so much.
Normally when someone comes back from maternity leave, we all go out to lunch and for those that haven't already heard the story, the new mom shares the story of her labor and delivery. All those personal details that suddenly don't seem so personal after you become a mom and want to share your story with other moms. We went out to lunch today, but no one asked about my labor or delivery with Carter. I imagine people have questions, considering that our Caring Bridge page provided very few details about what exactly happened, but no one asked their questions.
We will see what tomorrow brings, but at least I survived today.
At some point, I stopped sneaking in the back door. I would go in the front door so I could say good morning to the receptionist - turned out that she was pretty cool. I found myself making friends. Good friends. Before I knew it, the firm felt like home to me too.
Today though, today felt like August 15, 2005 all over again. I stayed in my car for awhile this morning. I was tempted to go in through the back door (but I sucked it up and went in the front door). I was uncomfortable all day. The only difference was that the huge arrow above my head said, "Fragile". People weren't sure what to say to me. Those that I am close with stopped in to say hi, but weren't always sure what to say beyond that, and either was I. The "new people" that started while I was gone seemed to know exactly who I was - they avoided eye contact at all costs. Only one person acknowledged the reason I had been gone. And I appreciate her for that so much.
Normally when someone comes back from maternity leave, we all go out to lunch and for those that haven't already heard the story, the new mom shares the story of her labor and delivery. All those personal details that suddenly don't seem so personal after you become a mom and want to share your story with other moms. We went out to lunch today, but no one asked about my labor or delivery with Carter. I imagine people have questions, considering that our Caring Bridge page provided very few details about what exactly happened, but no one asked their questions.
We will see what tomorrow brings, but at least I survived today.
Monday, December 5, 2011
MRI Day
I avoid writing about Shawn, because his business is his business, not mine to share. But today he gets his own post.
His neurosurgeon "Couldn't be happier about how the MRI looks"
That means no new growth. No signs of any tumor. At all.
It was a good day!
His neurosurgeon "Couldn't be happier about how the MRI looks"
That means no new growth. No signs of any tumor. At all.
It was a good day!
Friday, December 2, 2011
That darn elf (on a shelf)
Last year I learned about "The elf on the shelf" and boycotted the time consuming, evil looking, over-priced elf.
This year, after hearing stories from friends about how much their kids love the thing, I gave in.
I spent $30 on an elf and a book about him. Imagine my surprise when he came and I realized that I already had the darn thing.
On the left is the official elf on the shelf (Liv named him Clifford) on the right is Thumpty-Googin, a holiday tradition on my mom's side of the family that was handed down to me when Liv was a baby. So now we have two elves.
He has been mischeavious the past two nights.
Writing in toothpaste on the bathroom mirror!
Sneaking candy in the middle of the night!
Livie proclaimed this morning that she knows he is just a stuffed animal (and doesn't come alive at night like the book says) but that she loves him anyway. She wakes up in the morning so excited to see what he pulled off the night before.
I am still not thrilled with the trend, but I am trying to make this Christmas season fun for Liv (even though I'm not exactly in a Christmas mood). So, the elf is going to be making messes in our house nightly. Seriously, I PAID money to create more cleaning for myself. What was I thinking?
This year, after hearing stories from friends about how much their kids love the thing, I gave in.
I spent $30 on an elf and a book about him. Imagine my surprise when he came and I realized that I already had the darn thing.
On the left is the official elf on the shelf (Liv named him Clifford) on the right is Thumpty-Googin, a holiday tradition on my mom's side of the family that was handed down to me when Liv was a baby. So now we have two elves.
He has been mischeavious the past two nights.
Writing in toothpaste on the bathroom mirror!
I am still not thrilled with the trend, but I am trying to make this Christmas season fun for Liv (even though I'm not exactly in a Christmas mood). So, the elf is going to be making messes in our house nightly. Seriously, I PAID money to create more cleaning for myself. What was I thinking?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
More moping
Tonight as Livie was finishing up her shower, I reached into the linen closet and grabbed a towel. My hand came out holding a fluffy blue towel. Carter's towel. Not that he ever used it, but it was bought specifically for him. I thought about handing it to Liv, but I knew she would protest. So back into the closet it went. Who knows when we will use it.
After she was tucked in, I started picking up, and check out what I found.
A couple of days ago Livie asked for some blue envelopes so she could write a letter to Carter. The envelopes are full of her magnetic letters. I found them in her pretend mailbox. I wonder if she was just mimicking motions, or if in her mind she wrote a letter to him and was trying to send him something.
(To update, Liv saw them laying out in the morning, and shrieked "My Carter letters!" She licked the envelopes closed and plopped them back into her mailbox. I guess she is trying to send him something.)
This whole thing plain old sucks. The reminders of him are everywhere. I want so badly to remember him but it seems like all I remember is his stuff. The swing, the car seat, the clothes, all the things that I remember buying for him. But it is hard to remember him.
When I close my eyes I can only conjure up a couple images of him in my mind. I want to have memories and stories to tell. How can I love and miss someone so much that I never even truly got to meet?
During my pregnancy I rarely got the chance to relax. I don't have any memories of sitting down and just focusing on the baby. I try to remember a time when I just soaked up the kicks and the movement, but I can't. I was always busy and stressed and exhausted. I barely remember the pregnancy. Just snippets of a kick here or there. The lack of memories is painful.
I feel like I am grasping for straws to try and keep him in my mind. We haven't gotten the rest of his pictures back yet. I am so anxious to get them - I want to see them so badly. And at the same time it will be hard to get them, because that will be it. The last chance for a part of him.
I have been having good days and bad days. Today was definitely a bad day. I miss my son so much, it is all I can think about sometimes.
After she was tucked in, I started picking up, and check out what I found.
(To update, Liv saw them laying out in the morning, and shrieked "My Carter letters!" She licked the envelopes closed and plopped them back into her mailbox. I guess she is trying to send him something.)
This whole thing plain old sucks. The reminders of him are everywhere. I want so badly to remember him but it seems like all I remember is his stuff. The swing, the car seat, the clothes, all the things that I remember buying for him. But it is hard to remember him.
When I close my eyes I can only conjure up a couple images of him in my mind. I want to have memories and stories to tell. How can I love and miss someone so much that I never even truly got to meet?
During my pregnancy I rarely got the chance to relax. I don't have any memories of sitting down and just focusing on the baby. I try to remember a time when I just soaked up the kicks and the movement, but I can't. I was always busy and stressed and exhausted. I barely remember the pregnancy. Just snippets of a kick here or there. The lack of memories is painful.
I feel like I am grasping for straws to try and keep him in my mind. We haven't gotten the rest of his pictures back yet. I am so anxious to get them - I want to see them so badly. And at the same time it will be hard to get them, because that will be it. The last chance for a part of him.
I have been having good days and bad days. Today was definitely a bad day. I miss my son so much, it is all I can think about sometimes.
My last alone day
Today is my last alone day of my leave. Those 6 weeks went by quick. And I am not sure it was enough time, but it is what it is. I have to go back to real life at some point.
Tomorrow I will have a home day with Livie. This weekend brings birthday parties (not hers; shoot, I need to get on that...) and chores. On Monday Shawn has an MRI. Tuesday I go back to work. I won't work a full day, and I haven't yet decided when I will go in and when I will leave, but I will be there.
I am dreading Tuesday. I know that all eyes will be on me when I walk in. And I know that my co-workers will be in and out of my office all day. I have awesome co-workers, and it is not that I don't want to see or talk to them, it will just be exhausting. I know who will guard me, who will avoid me and who will ask questions that are way too personal. I am trying to come up with answers in my head to the questions that I know are coming. I will not make it through the day without tears.
More than I dread going back to work, I dread seeing my clients. For the most part, I have awesome clients too. Good and caring people, many of whom I have worked with for years. I asked that the partners notify my clients of Carter's passing. Did they? I am not sure. But every client I have to visit will be like that first day back at work all over again. I know who will cry with me, and who will not acknowledge what happened. I don't know what will be worse. After awhile, both are exhausting.
Today though, I will try to relax and prepare. I will try on my fat clothes and maybe go shopping. And I will write letters to Livie. (4th birthday, 5th birthday and 9th birthday are done on paper, and several others are written in my head)
Tomorrow I will have a home day with Livie. This weekend brings birthday parties (not hers; shoot, I need to get on that...) and chores. On Monday Shawn has an MRI. Tuesday I go back to work. I won't work a full day, and I haven't yet decided when I will go in and when I will leave, but I will be there.
I am dreading Tuesday. I know that all eyes will be on me when I walk in. And I know that my co-workers will be in and out of my office all day. I have awesome co-workers, and it is not that I don't want to see or talk to them, it will just be exhausting. I know who will guard me, who will avoid me and who will ask questions that are way too personal. I am trying to come up with answers in my head to the questions that I know are coming. I will not make it through the day without tears.
More than I dread going back to work, I dread seeing my clients. For the most part, I have awesome clients too. Good and caring people, many of whom I have worked with for years. I asked that the partners notify my clients of Carter's passing. Did they? I am not sure. But every client I have to visit will be like that first day back at work all over again. I know who will cry with me, and who will not acknowledge what happened. I don't know what will be worse. After awhile, both are exhausting.
Today though, I will try to relax and prepare. I will try on my fat clothes and maybe go shopping. And I will write letters to Livie. (4th birthday, 5th birthday and 9th birthday are done on paper, and several others are written in my head)
Before I go, check out Carter's tree - growing like a weed!
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