Everything happens for a reason

Being back to work full-time is eating me alive.  I am going to work on cutting my hours some.  I come home so worn out.  But the days themselves are getting easier.  Slowly I am getting back into the routine of work, and the busyness of this time of year makes the days fly by.  I am hoping I can find the right balance soon.

The good days are getting better and more frequent.  The bad days are getting worse and better all at the same time.  Tears are no longer something I fight off and feel embarrassed about.  They are just part of me - and the whole Carter experience.  Sometimes it almost feels good to cry - to acknowledge my loss and let myself experience it.

In some ways, getting back into the routine of work again has been good for me.  I work with some truly amazing people who have been so good to me.  In talking to my co-workers, I have had a couple revelations lately.  Some of them are the complete inverse of what I have been trying to convince myself of.

The past 8 months have sucked.  There is no denying that.  The entire time, I have continually told myself to be thankful for what I have, and am constantly reminding myself that things could always be worse.  Every time I catch myself feeling sorry for myself (and trust me, there were plenty of times while I was pregnant that it was hard to see the silver lining), I try to narrate a pep talk in my head.  I feel guilty for not being more thankful - there are so many people who have less than I do!

But one day this past week at work, I thought to myself, "My life sucks sometimes".  And for the first time, I didn't feel guilty thinking it.  Because, guess what?  It is true!  I don't know how to explain that I haven't really accepted that fact before this.  Even if the words have crossed my lips, it all felt like a story I made up.  Even in the midst of the worst misery, I have had the hardest time accepting that this is my life now.  But that other day at work, it all clicked into place.  It was as if I could finally take ownership of my hardships, and it was ok.

I still know that things could always be worse, but it is ok that I am not happy with how they are now.  I have a right to be pissed off about the past 8 months.  It sounds so silly, but it was such a relief to accept that.

I tend to genuinely believe that everything happens for a reason.  Even if I can't see it clearly right away - there is always a reason.  Or at the very least, the events of our past lead us down the path to our present.  And if there hadn't been hardships along the way, our present would be drastically different.  How though, do I reconcile Carter dying with "everything happens for a reason"?  How or why could there possibly be a reason for us to lose our son and brother?  It is just plain old not fair.  Just because this is the way things have to be, to get us where we are going in life (wherever that is) doesn't mean that I have to like it.

Our new normal has been changing so much lately.  Evolving and becoming familiar all at once.  Livie has been asking many questions about dying and Heaven.  She checks for the moon outside nightly to say hi to Carter.  And her little thoughts continue to surprise me.

I honestly thought the mysterious falling ornament had been packed away with the rest of the Christmas things.  But, a couple days ago, Livie came running towards me with it in her hand.  "Look mom, look!  There is a heart on the bottom of this ornament!  That is Carter telling you that he loves you!"

And sure enough, when I turned the ornament over, there was a heart on the bottom.

I decided to take a picture of the ornament, and was testing out locations (I miss all the good sunshine while I am at work, and I hate taking pictures with the flash.  I never did find a spot I liked.) when I noticed that the snow-globe of the ornament was getting all cloudy.  I kind of thought to myself how disappointing that was.  It didn't look that way at Christmas, and it didn't make for a great picture now.

No sooner had I thought about it, then the ornament fell and broke.  I totally cried over the ugly thing.

Even after the cloudy snow-globe was gone, I still couldn't get a good picture of it.  Time and time again, only the base would come into focus.  I couldn't get a clear picture of the snowman for anything.  (I swear, I really do know how to use my camera)

(if you haven't figured it out in past posts - just move your mouse over the picture to see the bottom)

So, for what it is worth, here is the ornament.  Broken globe and all.

Check it out...

... A monkey butt!

While we were waiting for dinner to finish cooking tonight, Livie asked to play Thomas. Shawn dug out her train bin and Livie called me to the living room to play.

"Mom! Hurry up! I want to play Thomas with our WHOLE family". Then, she stopped and thought for a minute. "But we can't play with our whole family. Carter isn't here."

She sat there quite perplexed. What was she supposed to do now? Shawn reminded her that Carter is always in our hearts, and that was good enough for Liv. She talked to the monkey butt in her heart the entire time that we played Thomas.

What I wouldn't give for them to have had the chance to actually play together...

3 months

I took the majority of today off work. I had planned it for awhile to give myself a mental and emotional break. Unfortunately I am sick, and have spent most of the day asleep on the couch. I can feel all the strong emotions of heartache swirling inside of me, but I am too worn out to let them surface. I am exhausted. I just feel numb.

I can't believe it has been 3 months. 3 months of life without Carter. Wow.

A sad puppet (aka - 2012, you are letting me down)

Awhile back, Livie and I were doing arts and crafts (one of her favorite activities) and she asked to make puppets.  We broke out the paper bags and went to town.  She worked diligently on several puppets, and then handed one to me. "Here you go mom.  This one is for you.  It is sad - just like you."  What mom's heart wouldn't break to hear their 3 year old associate "mom" with "sad"?  That was one of many moments during which I swore 2012 was going to be better.  I promised both of us that it had to be better.

Starting in mid-December, I would wake up in the middle of the night with horrible stomach and back pains.  Although they were quite disabling, they would disappear as quickly as they came, and visits to the clinic the following day never revealed anything wrong with me.

The first couple times I convinced myself they were just flukes.  Then, I was certain that it was just something I had eaten.  But once they started to keep me home from work, I resolved to figure out just what was wrong with me.  And that is how I ended up in the ER one Friday night.  An ultrasound and a CT scan later, I was informed that I had gallstones, but my symptoms didn't point to them being the source of the problem.  "Go home.  Get some sleep.  Follow-up with your primary care provider on Monday.  Come back if it gets worse"

And come back I did.  The very next day when the pains had me in tears.  The ER smartly assigned me a different doctor this time, to get a fresh perspective.  After a blood draw, he was convinced that my gallbladder was to blame, even if the symptoms didn't line-up.  I was admitted and warned that surgery would soon follow.

Monday brought an ERCP.  In laymen's terms, they stuck a camera down my throat into my tummy.  They also pulled out a rogue gallstone.  I felt a thousand times better after they removed the wayward stone. (Who knew that one tiny little stone, blocking up one tiny little tube in your tummy could cause so much pain?)

My gallbladder was scheduled to be removed Tuesday.  Normally an outpatient procedure, gallbladder removal isn't quite so simple when one has clots in their lungs.  The ERCP and subsequent surgery involved taking me off my regular blood thinners, and being put on IV Heparin, which was stopped and started as necessary to accommodate procedures.  This means that my entire hospital adventure lasted from my ER visit on Saturday until my release from the hospital on Thursday.

When Shawn came to visit on Tuesday, he came with a present from Livie.  "Here - Liv says I am supposed to give this puppet to you"

(the sad mommy puppet)

Heart-breaking.  I don't have a problem crying in front of Livie.  I think it is good for her to know that parents have feelings too.  It is good for her to know that I miss her brother, and I am not made of stone.  But she shouldn't have to carry the burden of me being sad.

And that is why, I am going to (try to) not feel sorry for myself.  The more I tell myself that the sum of everything is no big deal - that I can handle it - the more I start to believe it.

The past week was just a blip.  The stomach-shots (a result of having to start blood thinners all over again) will be done soon.  I won't waste anymore words on the jerk-of-a-surgeon that had me so upset I was shaking for an hour after he left.  I will focus on the good.  All of my awesome friends that came to visit me.  One of my best friends that took Liv shopping for party supplies since I couldn't.  And the fact that I got to go to my 3 year old's (late) birthday party today.  She had a blast and was all smiles.  And that is what is important.  (pictures to follow)

Who needs a gallbladder anyway?

I should be released from the hospital tomorrow - one organ lighter. Full story when I can manage to sit in front of the computer for a chunk of time.

I spoke too soon.

I am back in the hospital. I hate the stress that I know this is going to bring for Livie and Shawn.

(almost) Back to (her new) Normal

On the way home from school two nights ago, Livie spotted the moon out in the evening sky.  She was so excited, "Look mom!  The moon!  It is Carter peeking out to say hi to us!"

This is Carter's container. (For some reason, I just can't bring myself to teach her the word urn.  Probably for the same reason I didn't want Carter in a casket or transported by hearse.  It just doesn't seem right for a baby.)  So now, moons remind Liv of Carter.  The entire drive home, she pointed out Christmas lights to him, making sure that she told him all about each and every house.  The backseat was full of "oohs and aahs" as she delighted in the houses that still had their display up and lit.  At some point, she realized that the moon never seemed to get farther away from her - "Mom!  The moon is following us!  Carter wants to come home with us!  He is following us the whole way home!  He will be so happy to be home!"  As the tears welled in my eyes, Liv was as happy as can be to think that her brother in Heaven was following her home.  She has adjusted to her new role as sister to a brother in Heaven just fine.

Nearly 8 months ago now, Livie watched her dad have a seizure.  In the weeks that followed, her dad was at the hospital a lot, and her mom was there with him.  Liv's world was thrown for a loop as her routine got jumbled and caregivers flowed in and out of our house.  She loved the extra time that she got with grandma, uncle and the fabulous Ms. Stephanie, but it wasn't her normal.  I tried to see her each day (even if that meant asking the sitter to keep her awake until midnight) but it wasn't always possible.

Then, once dad came home from the hospital, things were most definitely not normal.  It takes time to recover from having pieces of your brain cut-out.  But how do you explain that to a two year old?  What resulted was a crabby, unhappy, misbehaving little bird.  It took months for me to see normal Livie come back to us after that.  There were days I feared I had lost my happy, well-behaved little girl forever.

As I neared the end of my pregnancy with Carter, the majority of Livie's care still rested on my shoulders, but I tended to be a little crabby (4 hours of sleep a night and a baby nestled in your pelvis will do that to you).  I started to see the post-brain-surgery Livie resurface.  Then, Carter was born.  And there were lots and lots of tears.  Things going on that Liv didn't understand.  One night I am whispering in her ear that she might get to meet her brother in the morning, and 10 hours later she finds out that there isn't going to be a baby coming home after all.  What a whirlwind for a little girl!

Things went down-hill even more after I was admitted with my pulmonary embolism.  I saw it coming before I was even released from the hospital.  More changing of her routine.  Grandma and uncle in and out of her house again.  The insecure and naughty bird was coming back.

This time though, I was worried.  Kids are resilient, I know.  But how much can I expect one little girl to handle?  Livie had meltdowns over the smallest things, becoming clingy and distant all at the same time.  Defiant and needy, she was a different child than the one I knew.  I hoped and prayed that we would get through this.  I certainly wasn't at the top of my game - what if I couldn't help her?  What if my sweet and caring little girl really was gone forever this time?

But slowly, I have seen her settle.  She is happier again.  She listens better.  I don't see the scared look in her eyes.  Even Shawn has commented, "she seems happier lately!"  and I think she is.

I have tried hard to be strong and consistent for her, and I am starting to get my sweet bird back.

She doesn't run to check on her Carter cake every morning anymore.  I doubt she will allow it to leave the kitchen anytime soon, but it is no longer an obsession.  I have been talking about removing his car seat from the car, and I think it may actually happen without too much of a fuss.  With the stockings down and baby swing packed-up, physical evidence of his presence here is slowly fading away.  Even Carter's monkey balloon from his funeral now bounces along the floor instead of the ceiling.  So many things that we are all realizing we need to learn to let go of.

Everything is so-matter-of-fact to Livie these days.  She talks about what she wants to, when she wants to.  "Mom, remember when dad fell in the kitchen?  Tell me what happened"  "Mom, remember when my friends came to Carter's good-bye party?  Tell me about how I colored with them"

When she talks about Carter, there is an acceptance in her words that I have yet to master.  Her brother is in Heaven, and that is just the way it is.

Another first

"Your friend got a scooter for Christmas too!". The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I knew Livie would be so excited by the prospect of a 'scooting buddy' this summer, that I started telling her the good news before I even realized that she was trying to talk to me, and that I was about to speak over her own news.

So many times in the last eleven weeks (11 weeks already!) Livie has spoken such nuggets of wisdom and reassurance that I often wonder where they came from. So many times she has known exactly what to say in order to comfort me or to bring tears to my eyes - depending on what I needed at that moment. Her innocent comments come when I least expect them and most need them. But yesterday, I missed one. 

Livie was running towards me, eager and excited to tell me something. She started in, "Mom! Baby Jesus..." and then she stopped. Because I had interrupted her thought with the news that one of her friends had received the same glorious Christmas present that she had - a scooter. And whatever it was that she wanted to tell me was lost. Her mind had already moved on to dreams of summer scooter riding on the sidewalk, and all I got from her was a blank stare when I asked her what it was that she wanted to tell me about baby Jesus.

These days, her stories of baby Jesus always involve Carter in some way. And my mind was already on him after an emotional afternoon.  A story would have done my heart good.

One of my friends (and her son, one of Livie's friends, who is also the proud new owner of a scooter) recently welcomed a beautiful new baby boy into their family.  I had several friends who were due with little boys in the weeks following my due date.  All of these other little boys have now arrived safely.  And I am so grateful that my friends have been spared the the heartache that we are going through.  But I won't lie - I am also oh so jealous  heartbroken that they have their babies and I don't have mine.

Yesterday afternoon I had the great privilege to go meet one of these little boys.  I was genuinely excited to meet him, and also a little scared for my heart.  I am so glad I went.  Of course there were tears.  And I left with a deep longing for Carter that I can't shake.  But I had to see a baby sometime.  I can't go the rest of my life avoiding newborn boys.  And my friend couldn't have been more wonderful.  She let me snuggle her little guy and cry my tears.  I know she will read this, so I want her to know how blessed I feel to have such an understanding friend.

This summer our kids will scooter up and down the sidewalk.  And as we run behind them, her arms will be full, and mine empty.  I will watch her son go through countless firsts that Carter will never experience.  At some point I will learn how to enjoy those moments for what they are.  But for now, I am just thankful to have that first newborn snuggle under my belt.