Now that is a great idea...

The past nine months (the number of months keeps getting higher faster than I want to believe it) have brought several brilliant business ideas to my mind. My two favorites...

1. High-end Chuck E Cheese - where they serve a one-glass limit of wine or martinis to moms, while their little angels play together and burn off energy. The beauty is that they will only let in clean, healthy, nice kids. There won't be any little Johnny to teach your kid swear words. And snot-nosed Suzy will be denied entrance. It will be quiet enough that moms can talk to each other and actually hear the other side of the conversation. The entire play-space will be visible from the location where moms sit. And no kid will ever get hurt, bored or scared. Everyone will come crabby and leave happy. Perfect, right?

This amazing idea evolved from the early days of Shawn's diagnosis when I really needed [errr, wanted?] a glass of wine and a chance for some girl-talk, but I wasn't able to leave Livie. Sadly, I never got the wine, girl talk or safe-place-to-play.


2. Glass throwing. It would be established as a 501c3 NFP - whose purpose is to assist with other's mental health of course. People could donate their unwanted glassware (tax deduction!) and those in need of a release could visit the glass throwing room, and break some glass. Throw it, stomp on it, whatever they wanted. Best part? The waste would be completely recyclable. This past week I have been furious for no good recent reason, and really wanted to break something. Throwing glass against the wall sounded heavenly. Unfortunately, I would have been stuck with the clean-up, so I nixed the idea. But to be able to go somewhere and break something on purpose? Perfect. (seriously)

(for the record, if anyone gets rich off these ideas, I want a share for being the brain child)

And that brings me to someone else's crazy idea. Making jewelry out of milk. Breast milk to be exact.

A friend told me about the creator when she read my post about having milk in the freezer that I didn't know what to do with. I found the thought insane at first. I was supposed to mail her Carter's milk?

But the more I thought about it, the more intrigued I was. I won't admit what I spent on them, but eventually I decided to order a couple of milk beads. Who knows if she actually makes them out of the milk that is sent to her, but I am going to humor my heart and believe that my milk beads really are made from Carter's milk. I don't plan on wearing my pendants - one is for my purse and one is for my drawer, but here they are:


They aren't exactly what I expected (or what I ordered for that matter) but I am not about to send more milk off, so they are what I have.  If nothing else, at least in some way, I will always be able to carry a part of Carter with me.

I chose the heart bead for obvious reasons.  I agonized over the choice for the second bead - a tear drop was a close second, but I chose the moon because moons and monkeys have come to remind us of Carter.  And it seems fitting.  The moon is a symbol of nighttime and sleep, and my little man was born sleeping.

Livie was watching me take pictures of the pendants, and started asking questions.  Prompted by something a new friend began for her son, our conversation quickly turned into a project of sorts.  The Carter Project.  Livie knows that I love taking pictures of her, but I can't take any more pictures of Carter, so instead, we are going to start taking pictures of things that remind us of him, as we come across them.  Monkeys, moons and his name.  Liv is an avid picture taker, so I am eager to see what all she comes up with.

Broken Heart

My first Valentine's Day with a broken heart. I tried to keep busy showering Shawn and Livie with everything I had.  Livie wasn't all that thrilled to model her outfit for me, but I forced her to take pictures anyway.  She was adorable.

After school, we made dinner for daddy and enjoyed an evening as a family (with a rousing game of Cooties).

I was lucky enough to get a homemade valentine from Livie that she made me with no prompting or instruction.  Love it.  And I love her - sweetest little girl ever!









Despite my best efforts to stay busy, my mind was on Carter all day.  I love you little man.

(thanks to Lindsey for introducing me to this song - I love it and listen to it constantly)

How are you?

I have never hated a question so much - "How are you?"

How am I supposed to answer that? Every time I am asked, a million possible responses swim in my mind. The question itself sends me into an internal panic. I can't actually think about my answer right away, or I risk tears. I only have a split second to triage the situation before a lapse in conversation becomes akward. "What answer do they want?" - "What answer can they handle?" - "How much do I want them to know?" - "What answer can I handle?"

Some people ask in passing because it is the socially appropriate thing to do. They are the easiest to answer. They don't want to hear anything other than, "I am good - how are you". They probably wouldn't even realize it if I answered differently.

Others though, genuinely want to know. Or at least they think they do. So what do I tell them? There are a select few that I know I can answer honestly each and every time. (and they aren't necessarily the people I would have expected them to be)  There are some though, who already think they know what my answer should be.

If I acknowledge that I am genuinely having a good day, I risk being tsk'd tsk'd, for I must be lying. If I admit to having a horrible day, I risk being tsk'd tsk'd, because "shouldn't I be over it by now?"

My standard answer has become, "I have good days and bad days, but I am doing ok". This seems to appease most people. But some press further. To those people, I have no clue how to respond. Do I insist that things are great? Do I force some tears? Do I tell them how pissed off and angry I have been lately?Because reality is that most of the time I don't know how I am doing.

Some of those in my day-to-day life seem to think that everything is back to normal for me. My childless twenty-something male co-workers have stopped acting uncomfortable around me (except for that one time when I said Carter's name in passing - you could have heard a pin drop in the room). Others have figured out that I am just good half-way decent at putting on an convincing act.

One of those insightful friends has come up with my favorite response - "How are you?" - "I am good, how are you?" - "I am good, but I know that you are lying." and then we exchange an understanding smile or two, and I'll often add a "well, I could tell you the truth, but you probably don't want to know..." which sometimes gets a giggle from those close by, and sometimes causes the mood in the room to drop and people to look around uncomfortably until someone changes the subject.

So, just so we are all clear, this is me as a hot mess:

(and this is Livie as a hot mess)

Nap time + Desitin

How many kids do you have? - What do you do? - 

 What do you and your husband want to do when you retire? - How are you?

Such seemingly benign questions have never before been accompanied by so much heartache.

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.

(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.

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. 

 If you're going through hell, keep going.  ~Winston Churchill

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

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.

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 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)

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.

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.

 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

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

Before I go, check out Carter's tree - growing like a weed!

 

Thank you

I am the delivery that every midwife dreads.

I called my midwife in the middle of the night, waking her up. I could hear it in her voice that she didn't want to go to the hospital that night, yet she didn't argue when I told her that I needed to go in. Then, she arrives to find out that the baby has no heartbeat. Not what she was hoping for that shift I am sure.

I know what a bad day at work is like for me. I have to put a smile on my face and help my clients the best I can. Even the ones that are pains in the butt. There are days that I dread going to work, and projects that make me wish I could turn around and crawl back into bed. I am sure that is what my midwife was feeling that night. If not worse. (after all, my bad days rarely involve my clients crying, or having to hold dead babies)

Yet, she made sure I was taken care of. She called in support for me and sat with me when I needed her there. She reassured me through Carter's delivery and made me feel safe.

On Wednesday, I have my 6 week postpartum appointment. And I have SO many questions. I am hoping that the placenta test results will be back, and am dreading that possibility at the same time.

Wednesday morning, my midwife will come in to work and see my name on her schedule. If it were me, I would want to turn around and go home. I know I won't be her most fun appointment all day. But I am confident that she will be there when I show up. And she will take all the time I need to get my questions answered.

I don't know how to thank her, or any of the other midwives that sat with me during my days in the hospital. How do I write thank you notes relating to my son's death? Yet I want to.

So many people have been a support to me (even when it wasn't easy) and I want to make sure they know how much I appreciate it. No one wants to go to a baby's funeral, but people came. I can't thank everyone enough - I was so scared that we would plan his funeral and no one would come.

My Monday afternoon will be spent trying to write thank you notes and letters to Livie (more on that later). I am going to get through as many thank-yous as I can, and call it good. My plan is to write to groups of people - my co-workers, Shawn's co-workers, etc. People will understand if they don't get an individual thank you note, right?

Please don't forget

Yesterday sucked.

The day started out ok - we got up and got ready to go have breakfast with Shawn's family.  Livie threw a massive fit on our way out the door, but other than that I was doing ok in the morning.  I survived through breakfast and then we headed home for some quiet time around the house, before dinner with my family in the evening.

I laid out the outfit that Carter was going to wear - a comfy brown and red fleece outfit that Liv and I had picked out together a couple weeks before Carter was born.  I'm not sure why I got it out, it just felt like the thing to do.  It is still laying on his changing table.

I had my tears and my wishing and my what ifs - looking over pictures and thinking about what could have been.  But I pulled myself together and got everyone ready for dinner.

On our way to my grandma's house, it felt like someone was missing.  Carter was supposed to be with us.  I thought for a moment about asking Shawn to turn around so we could go home and get him.  As weird as it sounds (carrying around your dead son's ashes) I really did want him with us.  Even though no one else would have understood, I still do kind of wish we had brought him with.

Livie was the star of the show at Thanksgiving dinner.  She had a couple birthday presents waiting for her which she opened with enthusiasm - some reindeer slippers from her cousin Hannah, and a baby doll stroller from Grandma and Papa.  Her antics kept people entertained all night.  Everyone was having fun. It was business as usual for Thanksgiving.  And that is the part that sucked.

People would bristle at the mention of Carter - "Olivia, what a pretty doll, where did you get it?" - "Carter gave it to me"  :silence:  Until someone would quickly change the subject.
(When I was pregnant, I bought a bitty baby doll and accessories that was supposed to be a present from Carter to Olivia when she came to meet him at the hospital.  Instead, she got it after his funeral.  She knows that he was in my belly when we bought the doll and that he helped pick it out for her.)

I tried to mention Carter once - and people quickly turned away and pretended like they didn't hear me.

It is no secret that Shawn and I had trouble coming up with boy names that we both loved.  In the end, we had a list of boy names that one of us loved.  I have written about how Livie chose the name Carter, but the other names on the list were Logan, Cooper and Sawyer.  For a long time, Livie had been campaigning for 'Cooper' and most of our family had heard her discuss it.

The only time yesterday that anyone even came close to acknowledging the fact that we have a son, was when my uncle pulled me aside to let me know "that a couple days before *it* happened" (exact words) he had gotten a dog and named it Cooper.  He was kind and genuine about what he was saying.  He hadn't known at the time that Cooper was a name we were considering, and he wanted to bring it up to us before we heard mention of his dog Cooper.  Of course he can call his dog whatever he wants, and I appreciate how thoughtful he was in pulling us aside.  But it breaks my heart that this conversation was the only one that came close to bringing Carter up.

I made it out of my grandma's house ok, but burst into tears the second that the door closed behind us on our way out.  Not only was Carter not with us - but no one remembered that he was supposed to be there.

There is no guidebook or rules about what to say or do when a baby dies.  And I am sure that everyone wants it handled differently.  So I am telling myself that our entire family didn't forget about Carter.  They just didn't know what to say.  That has to be it.  I have to let myself think that everyone else was missing his presence as much as I was.  And it was just easier to pretend like nothing had happened than to acknowledge his absence.

In the week between his birth and his funeral, everyone was sad with me.  There were plenty of tears to go around.  But now, everyone is back to their normal.  Thankful that it wasn't them or their child.

I am the only one that had the privilege of knowing Carter while he was alive.  So of course no one can possibly miss him as much as I do.  And no one can understand the hole in my heart.  But moving forward through life knowing that we are the only ones who will continue to mourn his absence is like a dagger in that hole.

I received several (much appreciated) messages from friends yesterday - you know who you are - thank you!  Carter even received a message reminding him how missed he was.

I just wish his family would have remembered him too.

Last night when I was tucking Olivia in, we said a bedtime prayer and at the end, asked baby Jesus to tell Carter how much we love and miss him and how much we wished he could have been with us today.  A couple minutes after we said amen, Livie told me - "He told him.  Baby Jesus told Carter, and he knows".   Oh how I hope that is true.

To the ends of the earth

I spoke with a woman today who knows our story, and yet still hinted (not so subtly) that in her mind I only have one child.  As we parted ways, she told me that she hoped I was enjoying my maternity leave.   In the interest of harmony, I will bite my tongue for now. But I have been replaying the conversation that I wish I could have with her in my mind all day...

If you are a parent (she is), think back to when you were pregnant. Remember all of the hopes and dreams that you had for your child. All the planning and preparing that consumed 9 months of your life. The exhaustion, pain and hormones that come with sharing your body with another human being.

Now bring yourself to the day your child was born. Do you still remember the beginning stages of labor, and all of the anticipation that comes with that? What about the pain of the contractions that you knew would bring you your baby? Giving birth is an experience embedded deep in every mother's mind and heart. Can you still feel all the emotions that came flooding over you as you pushed your baby from your body? And the first time you saw your child - have you ever loved anyone more than you did in that second?

What would happen if your child was taken from you at that moment? "I am sorry. You can't have your baby. You may look at him for awhile, but he can't go home with you.". What if you were forced, against your will, to hand your baby over to strangers before leaving the hospital?

No matter how loudly you scream, no one will come and help you. There is NOTHING you can do. There is no choice. You must go home without your baby. And you will never see him again. There is no ransom that can be paid, no police or court that can intervene - your baby is simply gone.  Taken from you without your consent.

Do you write that child off? He is gone so he never existed? Would you ever stop looking for him?  No. Mothers all over the world would walk through fire and never stop searching for their baby. What if your 2 year old disappeared? Or your 10 year old? Do they suddenly stop counting as one of your children?

Just because my child is no longer on this earth does not make him any less my son.

I am sorry if thinking of me as having two children makes you uncomfortable. Just think about how I feel about it.  Maternity leave without a baby to care for is a blast.

An angel in the book of life wrote down our baby's birth.  Then whispered as she closed the book, "too beautiful for earth"