Since I've been gone...

My Mom died over 5 months ago, October 18, 2013 .
It was not beautiful, but it was mercifully fast. Mom didn't suffer as much as we did, and I thank everything for that. It was a little supernatural in that I heard something hit the floor upstairs near her bed right as she passed. We looked everywhere, nothing had fallen. I think it was Mom. It's all it could have been, at least in my head.
I wrote her obituary, at her request, and it's some of the best writing that I've ever done, or so I've been told. I'm glad that I could honor her that way.
I'm not over it. I will never be over it. I miss her every day, every night, whenever I look at my children. And yes, I said Children.

My boys were born Dec.12th. They were 6 weeks early from their due date and 4 weeks early from our scheduled C-section.

Everything was fine and normal on Dec. 11th. I had my regular apt with the Perinatal Center - ultrasound and non-stress test came back great. Babies had turned sideways, but we all thought that was good- they were getting ready for the final stretch. As I was leaving, my brakes went out on our car. Everything ended up fine- I wasn't hurt, and I managed to make it to a gas station on one of Des Moines' busiest roads. he car was towed, and my sister picked me up. My aunt was in town watching Weston before and after school since our daycare was closed, because they had their baby. We went to dinner that night all together, and I still felt fine. No problem.
I woke up at 5am on Thursday, December 12th, having to go to the bathroom. I got up and felt like I wet myself. 15 minutes later, I woke up and realized that people do not go to the bathroom for 15 minutes. So I called the hospital nurse and confirmed that my water had broke. So we went off to the hospital in a great rush - no packing, Weston wouldn't even wake up. We were just so lucky that my aunt wasn't supposed to leave until 9am. She took care of Weston and got him off to school, and then joined us at the hospital. I was so ridiculously calm. Scott too. There was no freaking out or anything. I still can't believe how calm and surreal it all was. The nurses actually told us that Scott and I were the cutest couple, one of their favorites. I didn't feel like we were being particularly nice to each other, but hey, we'll always take a compliment.
It took 5 hours for the hospital to get everything in order (I totally had time to pack!!!) It was smooth and so much different from Weston's emergency C-section. I actually had contractions this time. But they never got bad enough to need medication, but they were almost to that point. :)
But, it was nice to talk to the doctors and nurses, to have time to comprehend everything.
Keegan Nathaniel was born at 11:31am, 5lbs 4oz, and 19" long. He was doing well enough for me to see him up close.
Sebastian Miller was born at 11:34am (though it felt so much longer than 3 minutes in between since they had to pull him out from under my ribcage). He was 4lbs, 12 oz and 17-1/4" long. He wasn't doing as well, so I saw him through the incubator.
The babies were immediately transported to the NICU, while I was taken to surgical recovery. I had an amazing experience. Everything was calm, our babies cried when they were born, and I got to see them before they went upstairs. The doctors and nurses were amazing, very caring and I didn't feel like I was on an assembly line. I really wish Mercy would send me a survey or something. I was able to see my babies in their NICU room within 3 hours and I was able to hold Keegan by 9pm that evening.
I was in the hospital for 4 days, and it was weird being in the maternity ward without babies. It was also lonely, especially at night. I was up and walking by the next day. I only missed 2 days of being in the NICU with my boys in over 3 weeks, and it was weather related. Our winter weather has been awful since these boys were born. It's like they brought ice and snow with them - probably so they could snuggle more.
Our boys were in the NICU for about 3 weeks. It felt so much longer. The first few days were the longest, and most frightening, but looking back, we really had it easy. Our boys were rock stars. They were born at a great size (I think they would have been 8-9 pounds had they gone to their scheduled delivery date), and were in pretty good health. They needed help breathing, so they were on Room-Air Oxygen, what that means is that room air is pushed into their lungs to help them breath regularly. It's a big step down from pure Oxygen. They were also on antibiotics (to cover the bases), feeding tubes, had their blood sugars checked regularly, 4 different heart/lung monitors, and in incubation boxes (I'm sure that there is a better name, but it's a plastic box.) Within a week, they had made vast improvements. I thought for sure that we'd have them home for Christmas. Everyone said I was wrong, but I looked at it as being optimistic. The boys had to meet four requirements before their release:
1. Maintain their body temp
2. Continually gain weight
3. Eat by mouth (breast or bottle) consistently for 48 hours - since they were early and smaller, eating completely tires them out, so they occasionally had to be fed through the tube so they would have enough energy to bottle feed the next time. The more the eat, the more they grow, the more tired they get trying to get there. It's a vicious cycle.
4. No Spells - what are spells? Spells are cycles where the baby's heart rate & breathing drop very low for longer than 15 seconds before their body recovers, either on their own or with assistance. It's one of the scariest things I've ever seen.
So, as I said, I was optimistic for a Christmas homecoming. The boys were rocking it, Sebastian was finally overcoming his spells and was really picking up the eating. On 12/23 the boys were circumcised. Sebastian sailed through and kept moving forward. Keegan just couldn't get over the stress of the circumcision and/or the overall pain. He started having set backs - spells, not eating, maintaining, but not gaining weight. It was a long 12 days with him.
Sebastian was released from the NICU on December 31, 2013. It was the hardest thing leaving Keegan behind. But it was the right choice and place for him. If he had been released and had to be readmitted, he would have gone to the PICU (Peds) instead of the NICU - and there are so many more infections in the PICU. Weston and Sebastian got to know one another, and I really think it helped Weston to only have one baby to deal with. Once on his own, Keegan really started to flourish. We were back on the countdown to release.
Sebastian came home the afternoon of January 4, 2014. It was crazy saying good bye to the NICU and signing out for the last time. We plan on going back and taking some of the boys clothes... not all NICU babies are tiny. :)
Its been an amazing time. I was able to stay home with them for an additional 7 weeks, so I was gone from work for 10 weeks. I had help for 8 of the 10 weeks. My aunt came of from Cedar Rapids for 2-4 days 8 of the 10 weeks. She was a godsend. My sister and her fiance also come by to hold and cuddle and help out as needed, and Weston has been a big help too. Well, as big of a help as a 5 year old wants to be. The boys are smiling and cooing and starting to laugh in response to tickling. All is good so far. :) My Mom would just love these boys. They each like to be held and cuddled and then they want to be put down for time on end - she would have loved that.

the coming End of a Battle

"Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does.
Love is a battle, Love is a war; Love is growing up."

- James A. Baldwin

I have no idea who James A. Baldwin is... but I like his thoughts.

I feel ravaged from Battle... and yet, I know that so much more is going to come.

I haven't written; I didn't know how. I still have a hard time putting anything into coherent sentences.

My Mom is dying.

She was released from the hospital 10 days ago, to basically go home and succumb to the infection that she contracted in the hospital. There was nothing more that they could do, so they unplugged her from the IVs and platelets and medications, and that was that.

Since she felt great, we met her at Riverside Casino for an afternoon of her favorite hobby. And she and Dad won pretty well too - which helped in their visits to the casino since (2 or 3 more times, I've lost track.) But things...

I'm just going to post this as is... interrupted and all.
So much has happened since I started this post, and I will need time to process my next post. I know this doesn't answer any pending questions, but it is what it is.

"LoverLove does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.

James A. Baldwin

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/j/jamesabal100681.html#2gH8fkthfzqXzi1L.99

Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.
James A. Baldwin
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/battle.html#iFuvF7oj4dHP8Hi6.99

Blubbering Mess...

As I am watching Weston at his next round of Swim Lessons (Intermediate 1), I am trying to hold the tears back. And it's mostly not working.

When I pledged Chi Omega in the Fall of 1998, I instantly made a connection with Janelle. She was so nice and accepting, taking me under her wing. Showing me the ropes... Helping me to quick cash my first paycheck after the bank was closed on a Friday afternoon. Heck - she even helped me buy my first bottle of alcohol to take to a Date Party (since the fraternity boys would only have cheap beer.)

Secretly I had wanted Janelle to be my Big Sister - the XO version of a Pledge Mom. But she explained to me that she wanted me to have a sister who would be around more - you see Janelle was a senior when I was a freshmen... And she wasn't from Iowa, so she would leave after my first year. So I got another Big Sister (who was fantastic) and Janelle watched out for me that first year. When I had trouble making grades (college studying is so different than high school studying) she had me come to house to study there. When April and I were initiated together, and I think we spent 4 hours in Janelle's room - she had set out snacks, and movies and notes. She was incredibly thoughtful that year.

A few years ago, we reconnected. Found each other on Facebook as so many do. She had a Blog, I had a Blog. We followed each other and have insight into each others lives. We talked about our struggles and kids. When Mom got sick, she was so supportive.

And then on July  18th, came the news that she'd had a biopsy - and everything came back clear and great, and after Mom, this was a huge relief! But by the end of July - less than 3 weeks later, News had come back that Janelle has Stage 4 Acute Adrenal Cancer. I immediately hit Google. It hits mainly people age 30-40. It hardly found in the early stages unless it manifests as a whole tumor. Janelle's never grew as a single tumor - it spread everywhere - the same way that the hormones that the Adrenal gland produces do - her lungs, her brain... It kept going. She immediately started Chemo. She had a small break and then jumped right into radiation treatments. She completed those less than 2 weeks ago. And things seemed to be going better. She was enjoying food again. She was going out with family. It was such a relief. 

Today... Today we got the news that Janelle had been moved to a care center, and would probably being going home today with Hospice Care. According to the news, the chemo and radiation did nothing to slow the tumor growth, and in fact the tumors had all grown more than 50%, filling her lungs and one is set to sever her spinal cord. How is this possible? She is 35 years old, happily married, and has a beautiful 8 yr old daughter. 

I've been crying since 5:30. Weston was convinced that I was crying from happiness at being able to take him to swim lessons. I let him run with that. In no way could I explain that my friend is dying. Because my friends shouldn't be dying. 

Our friend Brandy is getting married in October. We will be serenading her with the traditional XO song, Shades. Janelle has such as an amazing voice, and used to carry our whole house with this closing hymn. Every time I hear this song, I hear her carrying the melody. Making it a better song, and we'll never be together to sing that again.

I am heart-broken that this is happening to my friend and her family. I am so angry and sad (and probably hormonal). I hate cancer even more than I used to. I've said it before and I'll say it again (and again and again): Cancer is a Bitch.

a note from the Grouch...

"Why are you mad all tonight, Mommy?"

This is what I heard when Weston got out of the shower last night. I was lying in my bed, it was late, like 10:30. Scott's hockey game had just ended. And I was shocked. So I said that I wasn't mad, and why did he think that?
"Because Daddy says that you're grouchy."
"I'm not Grouchy."
from Weston's room, Scott chimes in under his breath, "Yes you are. You're always Grouchy."

Wow. So now you're bad-talking me to our child? Seriously?
Last night, I made each person a special personalized dinner on the grill. I DVR'd Scott's hockey game because he was still at work. I made him a strawberry shortcake for dessert. I catered to Weston like I do every night.

This really hurt my feelings. Granted I am a little more emotional right now due to the pregnancy hormones, but still. Weston banished me from bath time when I got upset that he spit water all over me (after I cleaned up all the spit water on the floor, door, etc., outside of the bath tub. He wanted his daddy. And his Daddy was too busy watching hockey to be bothered. So, I left and crawled, exhausted, into bed. And then I hear that Weston is out of clean underwear... Scott only washed 2 pairs over the weekend. Granted I should have done laundry this week, if I had known. So Scott had to do a load of laundry, which meant talking on the phone loudly, banging cabinets and watching TV until 1:15 am. He woke me up for the final time at 1:15 with more cabinet banging. I got up went to the bathroom and went back to sleep. And I'm the Grouchy one. Maybe it's because I don't get any sleep?

So this morning, I got up all alone and got ready for work. I woke them up around 6:20am. I took care of myself, nothing new there. I feel like I always take care of myself, no matter the circumstances. And then we left to take me to work - I was still stewing about the grouchy thing. I couldn't let it go.

So... in the car, which is the best place for Scott and I to communicate, I laid it all out:
1. He can't bad mouth me in front of our children. No matter what he feels at any given moment, he can't do that. I don't bad mouth him in front of Weston.
2. I am sick and tired of being called Grouchy or asked what's wrong with me all the time. I am not upset all the time. I get asked these questions when I'm being quiet. And I'm quiet because I have nothing to say, or because I am so tired that I can't even think, let alone talk. And you know what? Maybe I am responding to your attitude, to the way that you forget things? Or to the way that you take forever to help your child when he asks? I'm just throwing that out there.
3. I'm pregnant. I'm exhausted all the time. I can fall asleep anywhere, at any time. If I don't eat, then I get sick. And I haven't figured out the timing yet. And my emotions are all over the place.
4. I am constantly worried about losing our baby at the ultrasound 1 week from right this minute. I am so afraid to get happy about this baby. I am analyzing every single twinge and feeling in my body. All the time setting myself up to hear the worst possible news for the second time in 3 months. I carry that around with me every step of every day. I worry that our cat's not being all over me is a sign that this pregnancy is also not viable. I worry that we tried again too soon. I wonder if I could survive it again... or if it won't hurt as much because the last loss is so fresh? And mostly I worry that I am not being positive enough for this baby to be healthy.

And it's because of numbers 3 and 4 that you don't understand a single thing. And the fact that you don't ask anymore. It's like this isn't happening to you... oh wait, it's not. so... yeah. We've talked a few times on the phone since then, and it's like nothing at all happened. Everything is fine. When nothing at all is. And they all wonder why I'm frustrated?

It's never going away...

I have this amazing friend. She's strong and powerful and so very brave. She's loyal and loving and vulnerable too. She taught me to be ok with who I am (as much as I can ever be) and that it's ok to go to Wal-Mart without makeup or in your pajama pants. :)  I've never worn the jammie pants... but the makeup is optional. I've known her for 13 years now, and we've shared so many things. She's like a sister. And now, our married names are the same. That's the funny part!

Anyway, my friend is pregnant. This wasn't a planned pregnancy - she thought she was done having children and wasn't sure about the stability of her marriage - not to mention the three sons she already had. It was rough on her. And she felt so much guilt because of my struggles with infertility. She is amazingly fertile. (She's offered to surrogate for us over and over again.) So... this pregnancy has been a long road for her.

When I was confirmed pregnant in February, I called her to share the news. We were so happy! Our babies would only be 11 weeks apart. They would so close! We were so excited for the possibilities.

When we lost our baby, she was equally as devastated for us. I spent the night alone with her about 2 weeks after the loss. It was so nice to be able to be honest and open with someone. She didn't understand exactly what I was feeling, but she never limited my feelings or emotions.

Today, she had a 3D ultrasound. And they saw that her baby is a GIRL! And I am so excited and happy for her. Especially after 3 boys. I was overcome with happiness for a moment. We talked for a few minutes, and then I had to go. I was remembering...

I remembered how we were so happy that our babies would be close together, how if they were girls they'd be best friends. How we talked about taking pictures and just enjoying it all together.

And then it hit me.

We wouldn't have that. I wouldn't have that. My baby is gone. The plans were empty. Even if I got pregnant today, our babies would be so far apart. And I don't believe I'm going to get pregnant immediately, I'm a realist. And it just hit me like a ton of bricks... the emotional overload. It doesn't go away. It's not going away. I keep thinking that I am better, forcing myself to be ok - everyone else has moved on, why can't I? And at times like these, I just wish I could shut down and hide under the covers. But I can't. I'm at work. With a bunch of men who have no idea what's going on, or care to see that anything is going on. And two women who don't See either.

I feel invisible and suffocating from my overwhelming emotions and, what I am sure someone would tell me, grief. But no matter how logical I am or how many books I read on the topic... nothing seems to change. I feel fine and normal one minute... and then everything crashes the next. Shannon's right, I probably need therapy.

normalities

It's been one week since my surgery and the removal of our pregnancy.

Things are slowly getting back to the new normal. I went on a Girls Night on Friday. It was a nice distraction... Oz: The Great and Powerful was a huge disappointment in a movie. Just huge. And it had so much potential. Our late dinner of (mine was cooked) Sushi at Wasabi Chi was amazing. I loved it all, and would definitely go back. If you are reading this from the DSM area, make a visit, and then send me a Thank You note.

What I've noticed about people though... as the week went on, my tragedy was no longer in the front of their minds. And while I understand this, it would be nice to be asked how I'm doing, or to have my Mom want to talk about it. I still need to talk about it. My SeaStar has been a God-send. More than she will ever understand. She lets me talk and cry and talk some more. She is the best sister on the planet. I am beyond lucky to have her.

So, Saturday, we were back to normal. Big family thing - we bought a Family Membership to the Science Center of Iowa and the Blank Park Zoo. It was our big expenditure, but we're doing it in lieu of Adventureland passes this year. We spent about 3 hours at the Science Center Saturday, and then Shannon and I ran errands all over West Des Moines after we dropped the boys at home. It was really rough for me. I'm not sure if I overdid it, or what, but I was in a lot of pain with the worst cramps since labor with Weston, and it was the absolute worst day since surgery. It was so bad that I thought this was all over after it. I was wrong, but nothing has been as bad as Saturday. So, I hope that means that I am healing well.

Last night I didn't go to bed as early as I had hoped (Darned husband got me hooked on the Walking Dead.) But I dreamed a lot last night. A LOT. I dreamt that it was April 2nd. The day of my 3 week Post-op check up. And I was pregnant again. Just newly discovered. And I was afraid that my doctor was going to be so mad at us. And I was so worried that this was too soon, that we were asking for another miscarriage. The kicker? The whole time that I am dreaming about this, in the dream I am wondering how I could even be pregnant at all - it's only 2 weeks from tomorrow, how is that time enough for this to happen? So in my head in the dream, I am worried about a supernatural pregnancy on top of an impending miscarriage and an angry doctor. Wow... Freud would have a blast with that one... I can just hear him (think back to Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure for the Freud in my head) -
    "Oh! I zeenk zat you are hazing zee issues of zee babies... ."
See, even the awake stuff running through my head is a bit crazy, so the dream stuff has to be so much more entertaining. :) I hear from the message boards that I belong too, that dreams are normal, even weird guilty dreams.

Obviously, my mind is on babies. In an almost desperate way. I feel more like I did when we struggling with infertility the first time around - jealous and angry and mad at all of the pregnant women and girls around me. A great sense of unfairness. I realize that this is all a part of grieving. I've been told to accept my sadness and anger and everything I feel and to actually recognize it for what it is, grief. And I am trying. I really am. Scott looks at me and asks me if I'm ok, what's wrong, etc. And I'm just wallowing in my feelings. I'm trying to be normal, and for a little while, I am. But sometimes, I just fall back into the wallowing. And apparently, this is normal too.

I am normal. All the time. I just have to accept that for myself. I'm working on it.

understanding the unfairness of the blessings

It's been exactly one week since we received the most devastating news that we could have imagined as a couple. Or maybe in Scott's case, he never could imagine it. As he said:

• We've been struggling. We lost the house, my mom got sick, our fertility issues - trying for over a year, having surgery, following the schedule. When we got pregnant, we should have been great. I'm the healthiest I've been in years. This should have been it.

And it feels like he's right. In the Grand Scheme of Things, we deserved this baby. Our family deserved this baby. Our son deserves to be a big brother. This isn't the way our life was supposed to go. We try to be good people and do what we're supposed to do. We try and try and try. And it does feel like we just can't win sometimes. It feels mostly unfair as I am walking next to a pair of teenage sisters at Target, one about 16, the other a few years younger. And the 16 yr old is very pregnant. And she's complaining about everything. And her younger sister is talking to her about how to get child support from the father. Blah, blah, blah. It took everything in me to pull the cart over and to let them walk away. They were in their own little crisis at the moment, and while it compared nothing to mine, it was everything to them. But that didn't mean that I had to hear about it. Or tell them to shut the "F" up because my baby had died, and she was just a stupid kid. (Do you see now why I stopped? It's safer for everyone.)

But this is the way that life is. It's unpredictable and unfair. It's messy and complicated and exhilarating and excruciating. It's magical and terrifying all at once. Life is complicated. Life doesn't follow any plans.

But Life can be so beautiful. Even a tiny little life that physically didn't amount to more than a cluster of human cells and tissue. That little life gave us all something so important. That little spark gave it's parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and friends a glimmer at a different future. It brought hope and we grew to love this tiny life that only existed to a handful of people. But see? That's the point. This tiny little life existed. It grew from a single cellular experience into something magnificent.

I had doubts from the moment I found out I was pregnant. It was too fabulous to believe. And when the tests came back with such faint pink lines, I thought, "See. I'm not really pregnant. I don't get to have this." They kept telling me, any line is a positive line. I spent weeks, three to be exact, waiting for my period every time I went to the bathroom. I was so used to being disappointed month after month, that it never seemed real enough. I didn't feel "pregnant." I felt exhausted and nauseous. The last two weeks of this pregnancy, my symptoms were a lot worse - much more tired, potty breaks all the time, more food aversions, body changes - I thought that I needed to listen to my body more - I was pregnant. Everyone said I was, even  my dreams. I was dreaming of twins all the time. So, I pondered baby names, we went shopping, I was telling more people. But I still had doubts. I kept telling myself that once we had the ultrasound, everything would be great. The biggest surprise would be twins. Everything will be great, and I will finally feel 100% ok.

As we sat in the waiting room for the ultrasound, 1 week ago today, Scott was reading the paper, nervous but excited looking. Everyone was so excited when we checked in, the receptionists, the tech. We waited for about 20 minutes and I was so nervous. We went back with the tech, the lights were low, and she tried too find anything with the regular ultrasound. I thought this was strange since I was only 8 weeks and a few days, and oh yeah, I'm not thin. After finally progressing to the internal ultrasound, she kept focusing on not-baby things like my ovaries, and other things. And then she just said that the sac is empty. And it happens a lot. and blah blah blah. I kept thinking, is she allowed to be telling me this? Shouldn't a doctor be in here? But she just kept talking all hyper and positive, like she had a Red Bull over lunch with her ice cream cone. Scott had no idea what she was talking about, because she didn't talk to him. I had to tell my husband that there wasn't a baby. And through the doctor consult and the family weekend, I kept saying, "There isn't a baby. It didn't grow. There was never a baby."

But I was wrong.

There was a baby. And it grew. It grew from one single cell, from 2 loving parents who wanted it so badly. Our tiny Spark grew as long as it could - 5 weeks and 3 days. That was as long as our Spark could make it. It's not enough. It will never be enough. But it's still something. And something is more than nothing. Our Spark was something to everyone who knew about it. And we won't forget.

Life... lives, pure and simple. Life is to be experienced. Life in any form is a blessing. Our tiny little Spark of life was a blessing. A Blessing of hope and the love between Scott and I; a blessing of the love of a family.

I was given a handwritten note from one of our workplace chaplains. (Yes, 2 chaplains visit my office each week, offering their guidance or just some chatting.) Anyway, it said that I would one day hold my baby in my arms in Heaven. At that moment, that seemed like a ridiculous thing to say. How could I hold something that was tinier than anything in my arms? Would I know if it were a son or a daughter? Would it be neither? I was a little freaked out. But then I could see myself... and I was holding our Spark. Like a little orb of light that emitted warmth. Just this little Spark of life the could fit into the palm of my hand. I like the thought of that. Of being able to hold our Spark, and being warmed once again by the warmth of its light.

she lied

The recovery nurse who said that things wouldn't get any worse than yesterday morning lied. She was wrong.

I’m getting worse by the day.

Yesterday I felt good. Little to no cramping, not even really any after affects. I worked all day, was a little emotional in the afternoon, but I was ok.

Then Weston and I went to Target. And he took forever. And I started to get really tired and a little crampy. I tried to hurry him along. We were doing pretty good together. But then he got mad when I wouldn’t get him a movie from the checkout end cap (after agreeing to a $5 movie and a toy using his Valentine’s money.) I told him he could get the toy or the movie, only 1. And that was the melt down. “I don’t love you, Mommy. I only love Daddy.” Whining and anger and fighting in the checkout. So… I put the movie back, got him the toy, checked out, and dragged him out of the store. (Dragged by the hand, which he held onto, so I guess that doesn't count as dragging, right?) I was crying by the time I got to the car. That freaked him out, which made me cry harder. I couldn’t stop. 

•  “I didn’t know Mommies and Daddies could cry.” 

Um, yeah you did, you've seen it before. Anyway, it was a rough night. Weston kept asking if I was still sad, which I was, terribly, but I smiled for him as best as I could manage. I started cramping very badly around 8pm, and was up until midnight with a heating pad and ibuprofen, because these were the only meds the medical staff told me I could take. I woke up again at 4:20am in so much pain that I couldn’t get back to sleep until 5:50am, finally dragging myself out of bed at 6:30. So, now I am so tired that I can’t control the emotions. I feel like an over-tired baby that just cries and cries until the cry themselves to sleep. Except I can't cry or go to sleep because I have to work. I miss benefits like sick time and more than 64 hours a year for PTO - you know, companies that value family and women. That would be nice. 

I'm on the lookout for ways to grieve other than crying. And something to help my husband. Any ideas? Comment and let me know.

the last day of my second pregnancy

Mercy Medical Center

Yesterday started out like a normal snow day... I couldn't sleep and was worried about Weston getting to school on time. I rushed through my shower, wanting to be as fresh for surgery as possible. And then Weston wanted me to go with them to daycare. The roads in Altoona were so bad that we thought we'd need to leave early for the hospital. We didn't, it took 8 minutes to get to Mercy. The difference between the Des Moines road crews, and Altoona's lack of road anything.

My view for 3 hours - hospital socks

We got to the hospital by 9:30, and were in pre-op by 10am. And had all the blood work, IV, EKG, etc done by 10:45. Then everything got pushed back. thank goodness for WiFi, my iPhone, Facebook, and the generosity of my friend Jessica for messaging me while waiting. I waited so long, I got visited and checked in by 2 anesthesiologists! Which was actually a great thing. I have problems with anesthesia, and while it's been ok lately, this doctor was able to pull my anesthesia records from Oct. 2007 and see what was done so well that time. I was taken back at 1:15. Great OR staff, super nice and considerate, helped keep me covered all the time. It faintly smelled like McDonald's in there - not kidding, like a Big Mac. The surgery went pretty fast. Scott had spoken with my OB by 2pm, and was grabbing lunch (McDonald's of course) while I was the surgical recovery bay. I had some breathing issues in recovery- every time I fell back asleep, my O2 levels would drop. Oops. Once I woke up more and coughed, that got better. In fact, every time the alarms went off, I focused on my breathing, and things perked right up. I had to go to the bathroom from the moment I woke up in the recovery bay- which the nurses loved since it proved that everything was in working order.

poor waiting husband
- 3 hours wait pre-op

I was moved to the post-op chair around 3:15pm, and Scott was with me by 3:20. I was good by then. Bathroom break done, drinking fluids, dressed and wheeled to the door by 3:45. Home by 4:05. This recovery was a lot easier. No big pain meds, no nausea, and I could eat as soon as I got home. Thank God for Ramen Noodles.
Nothing too bad in the after effects either.

I didn't get a lot of rest... Slept maybe 15 mins after I got home, before Weston and then Shannon were there. One of our daycare moms sent dinner home with us, so I had to heat that up. We didn't realize it was frozen, so they had garlic bread and brownies before Swim Lessons. Yes, she sent Brownies and Bread with a pasta casserole. Because she is a woman, and she is amazing and considerate.
On the note of Swimming Lessons - I missed them, but Weston passed Beginner 2 and is ready for Intermediate 3!!! Woo-hoo! We heard that it sometimes takes 2 tries to pass!!!

I was in bed by 10:15pm. 
I was really crampy  and my breasts hurt so bad that I almost cried when I went to sleep, and they woke me up again and again until about 1 am... But the cramps are no worse than a period. I'm hoping it stays that way. It's how I was after Weston's c-section. The Surgical Recovery nurse called this morning, and she said that it actually shouldn't get any worse than it is.

Scott's not doing too well. He's very emotional. As he deserves to be. But I'm not sure how to help him. I feel like I am not emotional enough in comparison to him. And maybe it's because I had a Murphy's Law feeling for all but the last 2 weeks? I didn't say anything because so many people were so excited. And it was so easy to fall into their excitement. I started shopping in the last 2 weeks - I bought a diaper bag, and looked at bottles and car seats and strollers. I was getting so excited at this baby. But for Scott - Scott was in it from Day 1. He told his family, everyone at work - so this is hitting him pretty hard. He didn't understand what the tech was telling us at first. I had to explain it all to him. Many many times.

the beautiful flowers
from our daycare family

 I'm just trying to let him do what he needs to do - even if it's hug and kiss me, and constantly tell me how much he loves me. Right now... I am very sensitive to touching, I don't like to be touched when I'm in pain, physical or emotional, and I strike out. I am doing everything I can to not do that. To accept what he needs to give. To make him feel better. Friday afternoon at the doctor's office, he kept telling me how sorry he was and touching me. I was a little mean. When we got out of the office, I apologized and then explained that I was trying not to cry in front of an office full of happy pregnant women. When we got away and by the car, I broke down and just sobbed, holding onto to him for dear life. I have no idea if I've ever cried like that in front of him. When my Mom got sick, there was hope. I cried, but I had hope. It was an uncontrollable soft cry, tears falling, nothing I could do to stop them, the tear faucet was on. This wasn't hope. It was death. Our second baby had died before it even got to live... it was never even a fetus. It wasn't really a baby to anyone but the 2 of us, and to some of our family. There just isn't anything to be done but sob and be sad.

the face of post-miscarriage

I had to tell the boss this morning, in case I had to go home today. He just looked shocked, and maybe it's because I never told them I was pregnant. I had to tell the 2 guys who figured it out. That was rough, one of them was very sad. And I had to tell someone else who was joking about my long weekend. I was kind of short with him, and I felt horrible about it. They have been so kind that it made me so emotional. My tear faucet has wanted to leak all day.

I've already been called by the recovery team at the hospital. I called my OB and changed my appt to their Ankeny office (I forgot there was an office 10 mins from my work.) I called my fertility specialist and left a message with the updated information. Dr. Cooper called back personally. He is so kind and just great. We talked about things, how it's common even in normal women without fertility issues to have 40-50% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. And that we did nothing wrong. And how healthy my recovery sounds. He said we could go back to trying after 1 normal cycle. (My OB said 2... we'll see.) I left a message with my family doctor as well, since he handles my diabetic care. Maybe I should have stayed home to make phone calls.

I'm feeling dazed and teary now, but I'm at work. I'll leave early if I need to, though as the day goes on, it's getting better. I'm feeling fine - other than a scratchy sore throat from the breathing tubes during surgery. Hot tea is helping that.

I am amazed at how many women this has happened to; how many never talk about it. It's a travesty. We could help each other. We should help each other. So many of these women have helped me, saved me. I hope to one day be able to help someone else - though I wish this on no one. Ever.

the next step

It's been an exhausting weekend. After sobbing on my bed Friday afternoon and making all the important calls, you know - Mom, sister, family, close friends - while Scott went to his work and explained why he wouldn't be in on Monday, we packed up to leave for the weekend. (I know, what the hell was I thinking?)

I tried to get away so that we would be the only parents at daycare when we picked up Weston. We weren't so lucky. Hugs and pity and genuine sorrow just flowed from everyone straight into me. Our daycare provider, Weston's other mom, helped explain to my little guy that Mommy wasn't feeling too well, and that both Mommy and Daddy are pretty sad. This resulted in lots of hugs from Weston. Just what I needed! I held it together and managed to keep the tears in until I was in the car. We drove north to spend the weekend with Scott's family. Lots of texts from friends, one of our daycare moms is actually making us dinner for tomorrow night, and has agreed to take pictures of Weston's last swim lesson for me since I won't be there.

8 days old

Weston and his cousin Mackenzie, he's so happy!

  Ok... the whole point of going north was to see our brand new Great-Niece, obviously on Scott's side. She was born just a week ago. We made it to Scott's Mom's apartment in Cherokee late Friday night, in a torrential rain storm. We drove up to Hartley to see the new baby the next afternoon. I was feeling a lot better Saturday, nothing felt any different. I was nervous about holding a baby after what we had going on. I was super chatty in the front seat with my mother-in-law. Scott couldn't hear a lot of our conversation. We were talking about cars and how I want to upgrade to a minivan. And she had the nerve to say, "You don't have any more kids. You don't need a bigger car." Yeah... the day after finding out that our pregnancy wasn't viable. I'm still pregnant and she said that to me. She seriously is in need of some sensitivity training. I told her that I was "Acutely aware of the fact that I didn't have another baby. Thank you."

Smiling in her sleep as we said goodbye

Anyway, I held our new niece Mackenzie. And it was ok. She is beautiful. It was soothing, comforting, good, healing. Weston loves her. And I know that they say that new babies don't smile, but she totally smiled at Weston - with her whole face. We stayed for about 4 hours, and as the fog rolled in, Scott's mom said it was time to go. And after checking the weather for NW Iowa and everything between there and Des Moines, we decided to pack up and head back to the 515 as soon as we got back to Cherokee. It was a long ride in super thick fog and the occasional rain storm, but we made it home at midnight - only an hour or so longer than our usual trip, and we had a stop or two along the way.

It's been a slow, but good normal day. My stomach has been very upset and crampy. I'm not sure if it's because of something I ate, the pregnancy symptoms that have been consistent since day one, or my anxiety over tomorrow's D&C. Probably all three. Every time I use the bathroom, I am deathly afraid that my body has finally caught on, and that I am miscarrying naturally. I want nothing to do with nature. I want this to happen in a hospital, the majority taken at one time.

So, I remembered what the doctor had called what happened to us in the middle of the night Friday... she said that what we have is a Blighted Ovum. Here's what I've found out from the American Pregnancy Association:

• A Blighted Ovum happens when a fertilized eggs attaches itself to the uterine wall, but the embryo does not develop. A blighted ovum occurs in the first trimester, often before a woman even knows that she is pregnant. (Unless, you're me and track everything to the minute. Though I wonder if our super light pregnancy tests were telling us something?)
• A blighted ovum is the cause of about 50% of first trimester miscarriages and is usually the result of chromosomal problems. A woman's body recognizes abnormal chromosomes in a fetus and naturally does not try to continue the pregnancy because the fetus will not develop into a healthy baby. This can be caused by abnormal cell division, or poor sperm or egg quality. (I also read elsewhere that the placenta can continue to grow, hormones can still be produced, and bodies still act like they are carrying a healthy pregnancy. I have one of those.)
• A blighted ovum is often a one time occurrence, and rarely will a woman experience more than one.

So... tomorrow is going to be so stressful. But the logical side of my brain says, there never was an embryo. Yesterday that seemed to make it easier. When I looked at the ultrasound, all I saw was an empty sac. It has to be better than seeing a baby without a heart beat on the screen. Right? Probably not... at least yesterday I was ok. Today I've been home in a new rain+ice+sleet+snow storm, and I was randomly  teary all day. It just happened. I imagine that tomorrow will be horrible. And every day after will be a bit better. Then again, I have to go to work, so it could be awful for a while. So I am told. I'll try to post soon. I hope this wasn't too much rambling, I just needed to get it all out.

the end

so we had our 8 week ultrasound today.

And there was an empty spcae where our baby should have been.

It looks like everything stopped growing around 5 weeks and 3 days. Exactly 3 weeks ago.

Nothing has changed with my body. I still have all the symptoms of this empty pregnancy, except there is no baby.

We are heartbroken. I can't stop crying. I'm done for now.

Tardiness...

So... in my last post, I explained my masochistic need to take a pregnancy test a day early. Well... I'm not sure I explained it well, but I did say that it was Negative.

I had told my sister that I was done taking pregnancy tests until I was actually late. That it wasn't worth an additional day or 2 of depression. And I was serious.
But then I had gotten sick over the weekend. At least one person from every singular family had caught something while at my Mother-in-law's Christmas over the weekend. Joint pain, fever, wet cough and just plain sick - Weston had it too. Friday, I started to come down with something - I got more and more achy as the day went on, and my chest started to tighten - like I was just overcoming bronchitis, though I couldn't cough. And I was "just-this-side-of-nauseous" (I'm coining that term, by the way) and slightly dizzy. This went on from Friday-Sunday. The nausea and dizziness lasted until Monday night. So... everyone was like, "You're Pregnant!" A few others thought I had pneumonia. (thanks, WebMD!)
So, Tuesday morning I woke up and thought... hmm, maybe every one's right... Maybe our collective dream has come true... Maybe I am pregnant and I can run in and wake up Scott and we can all be happy together... And then we can have the doctor confirm it before we go north for the weekend. Yes, my brain ran on like that until I had to potty so badly that I almost skipped the test. But I took the test. And as I glanced at it every so often, only 1 line appeared. After the 5 minute timer went off, I studied the test. Yes, only 1 line was visible... but was a second line showing at all? Because if there is a hint of a 2nd line, I can test in a few days and it should be positive. Right? 
Well, there wasn't any sign of a second line. Nothing at all. A Big Fat NEGATIVE without so much as a line or a word or a hint of color. Empty space on a small stick.
I told Scott that I'd taken a test and it was Negative. He just went about his morning like it wasn't a big deal. I went about my day heart broken as you can see from my previous post.

Fast forward to Wednesday. D-Day, the arrival day of Aunt Flo (AF). I make all necessary preparations and wait. Usually, I wake up to AF. My AF is always on time... usually by 3:42pm actually. So, when 5pm rolls around, and I'm blissfully cramp-free with AF no where in sight, I start to get a little speck of Hope. A friend had said to wait, nothing was certain until AF made an appearance. By 7pm, Scott had asked about AF. I told him that she was a "no-show." Scott said, "So, you're late." And his face completely lit up. I said I wasn't officially late until Thursday. Scott knew I usually receive a visit in the morning, and he asked when the last time I was late was? I told him, "5 years ago last December." He kept saying, "Maybe the test was wrong. Maybe you took it too early. Maybe it was just wrong." He was so excited that I let his happiness suck me in. I started counting, thinking how amazing that our child would be a Christmas miracle, and be due in the early Fall, and maybe I'd be on maternity leave over the holidays. I went to bed with such a feeling of hope that I'm surprised I wasn't glowing.

I ended up with a devastating let down this morning. AF had arrived. I haven’t been late in 5 years, until today. Scott was pretty vocal in his dismay this morning. He showed more emotion and energy in the last 2 days (regarding a baby) than he has in the last year. That sort of makes it all worse. His disappointment weighing on my shoulders. It's almost like an anxiety attack when I think about it. So I am giving this to the blogosphere in the hopes that giving this away will release me a little. We'll see how that works out.

Sandy Hook

Last Friday, December 14, 2012 at 9:30am EST, a lone gunman, a 20-yr old very troubled young man, walked into an elementary school. He'd already killed his mother with her own gun. We have no idea at this time what his motives were when he walked into Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT, but I'm not sure that they are as important as his actions.

*

Adam Lanza walked into Sandy Hook Elementary. He broke a window to gain access. And once inside, he killed 26 innocent people: six teachers and 20 First-grade children, before turning the gun on himself. Six and seven yr old children riddled with bullets, some covered by the courageous women who had thrown themselves into harms way to protect the smallest victims.

*

It's been 5 days since this horrific event. It's still all over the news and the Internet. And Facebook has become a living, breathing memorial to the victims, and an outlet for demands for more gun control. It's almost unbearable. I cry every time I read something. My little boy knows that something is wrong. He knew Friday night. He asked me why the flags were "half down the poles?" I was at a loss as to what to tell him. I just said that something very bad happened and that a lot of people were hurt very badly. And thankfully, for once, his 4-yr old mind took over and he jumped onto another topic. Almost like he knew that it was too much for his little mind to handle. I wish no had to handle this. Of course no one wishes this had ever happened.

*

I know that as a Democrat, I am supposed to be in favor of strict gun control. I also realize that by living in Iowa, I am surrounded by gun enthusiasts. Here's the kicker - I've never really cared. I don't personally like guns. I don't want any in my house or around my child. But my friends are hunters. They have guns and have been trained to use them. One even taught my then 3-yr old how to properly hold a pistol.
(I about died. Shouldn't you ask his parent first?)

*

I agree that every LAW ABIDING CITIZEN has the right to bear arms. (Criminals should be stripped of this right, it's more important than their right to vote, in my opinion.) It's a citizen's right to be able to buy a gun if they want. I also believe that the gun owner is responsible for what happens with their guns. If they do not take care of it properly, lock it up, etc - and something happens, say a child finds it, etc. - then the owner is responsible. Negligent, whatever you want to call it. And they should face prosecution... it's the same as manslaughter. No, you didn't mean to hurt your friend in that car accident, but your driving is the reason that they died. Same thing. Gun - car... it can still be a weapon.

*

There is no reason on this earth why any average citizen (or gun enthusiast) needs an automatic weapon that can shoot 30+ rounds in seconds. You aren't hunting any animals for food or sport. It is my belief that if you want to own the weapon, fine. But if you want to shoot it, then you should only be able to buy the ammunition at a shooting range, and in small supervised quantities. And it should be illegal to have that kind of ammunition in your personal possession.

*

Now... this brings me to the shooter, Adam Lanza. He got his weapons from his Mother's collection. He in fact killed her with her own collection of weapons. There is evidence that Nancy Lanza knew of her son's mental and social instability. Yet, she had a home full of weapons. That he could gain access to. That she had taken him to ranges to shoot. This does not seem like a responsible idea on the part of the parent. Being that he killed her first, we can't judge her too harshly. But it sounds more and more like Adam Lanza needed serious psychiatric help. A mother wrote the most amazing blog about parenting a child who seems similar to the descriptions that the media has shown of Adam Lanza. "I am Adam Lanza's Mother" was a heart-wrenching inspiration to read. If you haven't yet, please read it. This is what our children and their families are living with. This country has so many amazing people working in the Social Services fields, as social workers, therapists, psychiatrists, school-based counselors,... but there isn't enough money in these fields to keep the great people around, or to keep them from burning out with too many needs, and too few professional positions. These professionals are supposed to care for the mental well-being of their patients, but they are paid a pittance for the amount of schooling that they have to have in order to make a middle class salary. It really is a calling when the benefits are considered.

*

I think it is more important to reconsider the Mental Health programs in this country before we start the argument of gun control. I heard yesterday that a conference of over 100 of America's Mayors called for gun control in regards to Automatic weapons. I think that's great. And I hope that people listen and that change is made. But what really needs to happen is that we need to take care of these young adults who think that violence is their only choice, the only way that someone will hear their voices. Violence is not the answer. Hurting someone else to make yourself feel better or so that you feel heard is wrong. As a parent of a stable 4 yr old, I strive to make sure that my child feels safe and loved. I want him to know that no matter what, he is loved. And while I know hearing (and feeling) the words can't fix everything, I feel like its a good place to start. My heart breaks every time I hear about what happened at Sandy Hook. But I take comfort in knowing that those children were loved by their teachers. That all of the educators that died and the ones lucky enough to survive told their students that they were loved. That even in the most difficult moments of their young lives, all the students of Sandy Hook Elementary were cared for, and that the adults in their lives tried to protect and shield them from the horror of that day - from the teachers to the SWAT teams that had the children close their eyes as they were guided out of the school. From the tears of the President to the people of this great nation - the love and outpouring is amazing - Newtown, Connecticut, will never leave our hearts.

Red Lipstick is the answer to everything.

Today my heart hurts.

It sort of feels like an anxiety attack - tightening, heart racing and pounding, then it slows down and right when I notice that - it tightens again. And deep breathing isn't helping. Neither is lipstick.

*****
So that was as far as I got yesterday. That's as far as my heart could go.
I took a pregnancy test yesterday. It was 4 days before I missed anything significant. But I couldn't sleep thinking about the possibilities. And even though my womb feels completely empty - don't ask... it just feels... empty. I can't explain it, I took the test. And it confirmed my emptiness. A Big Fat empty spot on the test... only 1 pink line, not 2 lines. In other words, NEGATIVE.

I threw it away and went about getting ready for work. I told Scott. He didn't seem to notice or care. I'm sure that he does, but he reacts so little, that it's hard to feel anything but alone in this. And no matter how many times I tell him that, nothing really changes for long. He said that we can try again. Then again, that's what he's said every month since the Spring when we started trying. I thought that after the surgery, after seeing what I was willing to go through - the pain for weeks - I thought he would be more sympathetic, more communicative, more anything.

I told my sister on my way to work. She gives me all the emotional support that I need. :)  She was sad too. She once again volunteered to be a surrogate. We laughed at how her work would take that - "Um, I pregnant with my brother-in-law's baby. But don't worry, I'm only taking a week off of work since I won't have to take care of it." It's funny that she forgot to leave my part out of it. :)

Once I sat at my desk, I just felt heavy. And so incredibly sad. I applied lipstick for the first time right then. My heart hurt. I held in the tidal waves of emotions and tears that were threatening to fall. No one at works cares enough about me to notice my silence or glistening eyes. I was so incredibly pale in the mirror that the lipstick stuck out. I kept thinking that if we have to go through IVF (in-vitro fertilization) that we would wipe out our Fertility benefit with our insurance... this would be our very last baby. And as my sister says, you automatically want what you can't have. All I could think about was lost possibilities.

I made it through the morning somehow.

At lunch I went to Walgreen's and bought a new hair color, finished some Christmas stocking shopping. I applied another coat of lipstick, finding the perfect shade of red and headed back into work pumped up by some retail therapy.

The afternoon drug by... I started to feel a little lighter. The mantra going through my head: "I'm ok... I didn't lose anything I ever had. I could still hope."

At 4:15, I applied my final lipstick for the day. I felt better. Not great. Not happy. Just not hurting.
And yesterday, that was enough. It's true, the right shade of Red Lipstick can make almost anything enough.

***UPDATE***
Not Pregnant. The test was right. So, we're onto Cycle #2 post surgery. Here we go again!

I Remember... too much

National September 11 Memorial & Museum

Today is 11th Anniversary of the 9/11 Attacks on our country, the United States of America. 19 al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked 4 US airplanes with the intent of suicide-bombing said planes into 4 American landmarks - the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, the US Pentagon, and the US Capitol building, both in Washington DC. They succeeded in targeting the first 3 locations, but the passengers of United Airlines flight 93 attempted to retake control of their plane, and the plane crashed into a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Nearly 3,000 people died in the attacks, including the 246 civilians and 19 hijackers aboard the four planes. The NY attacks crippled lower Manhattan and tested the entire nation. 
But today, on this anniversary, I am seeing reminders everywhere of this attack. And it's true, we should never forget. But the common theme I am seeing is: "Where were you?" 9/11 has become a point of clarity in the timeline of our existence. Everyone of a certain age will be able to tell you exactly what they were doing, who they were with, maybe even what they were wearing. This impacted (or should have) every citizen of the USA and many others around the world. But it starts me thinking too. Growing up, I remember my grandparents knowing where they were on "D-Day" and my parents knowing exactly who they were with when the Beetles crashed into America, when President Kennedy was shot, when it was announced that Elvis died. These pop-culture moments define a generation. And sadly some tragedies span almost the entire world.
So... with my odd sense of clarity and the ability to remember everything, here are the points of my timeline when I can remember exactly where I was, and who I was with:

 Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster
I remember January 28, 1986 with so much clarity that at 32 years old I am shocked to think I was just 6 years old and in Kindergarten. I did the math on paper. I was in Kindergarten. For many years, I always pictured Mrs. Dixon's 1st grade class, but looking back, I wonder if maybe that was something we saw on tv for the 1st anniversary. But I digress. 

NASA Shuttle Challenger breaks apart, killing all 7 on board.

We lived on the Mayport Naval Air Station in Jacksonville, Florida. It was so cold that winter. It had actually snowed in Florida - confusing everyone but those of us who had spent Christmas in Iowa. I remember walking into the family room that morning, and it was still pitch black outside. Grandma had the tv on, set to the NASA channel (which I am sure was something along the lines of PBS.) She'd had it on for hours, watching the launch prep. Grandma kept saying that they (NASA) were going to scrub the launch. I asked her what that meant. She said that it meant they were going to cancel it, maybe move it to another day. I asked why and and she replied that it was too cold. I looked at the tv, and I could  see the icicles actually hanging off the shuttle and launch equipment, even with steam coming out of the engines, there was ice everywhere. We kept watching the launch prep and the ice through breakfast - until we left for school. I've later learned that it was 18 degrees outside at launch time, around 11am. For the details of what exactly happened, check it out  here .
thinking back, I don't actually remember seeing the explosion in my Kindergarten class room, I don't even remember a tv. I know that we all watched the launches on the local channel, but my Kindergarten class was in a portable class room, like a 1 room house on a platform off the ground outside of the actual school building (1 had 3 such classrooms in 3 different schools, K, 2nd, and 3rd grades) so it's possible we weren't wired for television. It was a traumatizing event to say the least. The Space program was a huge part of life in Florida, as well as being a military family living on base. This was the first national tragedy to impact my small 6 yr old world. I firmly remember watching what had to have been a replay of the explosion in Mrs. Dixon's 1st grade class room at Mayport Elementary (inside the main building that year.) Someone made a stupid, rude comment, and the entire class received punishment (all standing and holding our arms out like a crucifixion until the viewing ended.) Obviously that's why it's burned into my mind. On the 25th anniversary of the disaster, MSN gave a report on the top 7 Myths regarding the tragedy, and the number one is that many people never saw the actual crash live. (it's a great article, check it out here.) My Mom and my grandma watched it live though on the NASA channel. The entire time my grandma kept saying that it was too cold, why didn't they cancel the launch?

My Elvis or JFK - 
It was a Friday or Saturday night (I can't remember), specifically August 31, 1997. I went to Pizza Hut with my girl friends for dinner. I remember having an excruciating headache, and being thoroughly annoyed with a few of the girls. After dinner, I said I was sick and I went home. I remember crawling up the 17 stairs to my bedroom, getting into my jammies, and crawling into bed with the lights off. I had the TV on, with MTV on (it was 1997, MTV still played videos.) I drifted in a state of headache induced semi-consciousness. I was woken up by the "Breaking News" music. I opened my eyes and saw Kurt Loder of MTV News floating in the darkness. What he was saying seemed like a dream. Impossible and unreal, yet they were showing pictures - Diana, former Princess of Wales, had been in a terrible car crash in France. Was she dead? Was she just injured? I remember praying that she was just injured, all the while knowing that she was gone. The images of the accident were just too bad. For a pretty good account of the entire tragedy, check out Wikipedia here.

Princess Diana of Wale

This was the first death of one of my "heroes." I can't believe that it's been 15 years since this happened! I grew up watching Diana become a Princess. She looked so shy and innocent, and as I grew up I watched her blossom into an amazing, strong woman. She left the Prince of England! She took her own life into her own hands. She was an amazing mother, woman, and humanitarian. I was in awe of her. I thought that we could have been great friends - she would laugh at my jokes, and would share some of her grace and style with me. And like every American girl, I dreamed of  becoming a princess. (Prince William wasn't that much younger than me.) And my heart ached when it was announced that she hadn't survived the accident.
Like my mother before me, I had lost a cultural icon. She has told me exactly where she was when President Kennedy was assassinated; my aunt remembers where she was when Elvis' death was announced. I remember the death of a Princess. Let me tell you the ending of that night: I tried to find my friends. They weren't at any of their homes, and this was long before we all had cell phones. I left messages with all of their moms. I sat in my room in the dark watching every minute of the story unfolding, flipping between MTV and all the other news broadcasts. I remember someone coming into my room (mainly the light from the hall cutting into my darkness as the door opened) but I can't tell you who it was. I remember my bff Anousha calling me from her home, and we watched the news unfold together via the telephone. There were tons of memorials and shows... but nothing affected me as much as the original broadcast with Kurt Loder, not even the sight of her 2 young princes walking quietly behind her funeral procession.

September 11, 2001
 Last year I tried I tried to acknowledge the 10th Anniversary of this horrible tragedy. And I couldn't write the post. I tried to avoid all of the media attention, and it was just impossible. It overwhelmed me and flooded into every part of my day. And I cried. and cried. and cried. But I think that I am ready:
It was a Tuesday in the very beginning of my senior year at Drake University here in Des Moines. I am pretty sure that I had class that day. I tended to bank all my classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could work full time Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I was living alone in my little apartment on Vine Ave. in West Des Moines. Per my usual morning ritual, the first thing I do is turn on the TV to the TODAY show. So... on goes the tv and I start going about the business of getting ready. And then I heard some sort of ruckus and screaming coming from the tv. I ran out of the bathroom in just a t-shirt and this is what I saw:

United Airlines flight 175 preparing to crash into the South Tower of the World Trade Center, 9/11/01.

I don't even think that the TODAY show was aware what they were showing. They were just as dumbfounded as the rest of us by what was happening. It was like we were all in the room with the anchors. They didn't speak coherently or professionally at first. They were just normal people struck by the horror that they were witnessing. My knees gave out and I landed awkwardly on my couch. I just stared as the 2nd plane circled the towers. The news anchors kept saying that a plane had crashed into the North Tower. I think that they were just as shocked as we were when the 2nd plane crashed into the South Tower. I jumped off the couch and grabbed my phone and dialed my friend Brandy.

My view from my West Des Moines, IA, couch, 9/11/01

Brandy was asleep; I don't think she had class as early as I did that morning. I freaked her out and told her to turn on her tv. And we sat in shocked silence watching the events in Manhattan unfold. For the grand story, complete with details, here you go.
I have no idea when I left my couch. I didn't go to my classes that morning. I vaguely remember going to my Painting class in the afternoon - it started at 2pm. We didn't paint. We just sat on the roof in the sunshine for 2 hours and talked while someone had a radio of the news on. This was the time before iPhones, iPads and constant streaming data. We were in the island of Iowa. Our painting instructor was a chain-smoking free spirit. This shock or realization seemed to hit her pretty hard. We spent 2 hours trying to hold her together before she smoked herself right off the roof.

I literally watched this happen on live television. I was supposed to be in class.

The coverage of this disaster lasted continuously for what seemed like weeks. It's such a present thought in my mind that I can't believe 11 years have passed. 3000+ children lost a parent, some both parents, on that tragic day. I learned that a Newton, Iowa, woman was widowed in the attack when her husband was in a hotel across from the North Tower for business. The North Tower collapsed on him and the firemen surrounding him as they waited for instructions. Many more have died since that day due to illnesses related to the massive smoke/debris clouds that covered New York City as the towers fell, as well as the survivor search and rescue and the cleanup operations once it was determined that no survivors remained. This terrorist attack has remained in the hearts and minds of an entire country for 11 years. Finally in May of this year, President Obama authorized a Navy Seal mission that resulted in the capture (and death) of al Qaeda's mastermind, Osama bin Laden. Along with many of his henchmen captured and killed over the years since 9/11, I think that the demise of bin Laden and his compound has helped this country to heal. I hope that it has helped the 3000+ families of these victims to heal as well.
I'm not sure how to end this post... But I feel like saying that I have a wicked memory. I remember some moments with such clarity that it's like I am there all over again. Other things just disappear slowly with time. For instance, I remember most of the day of 9/11/01. But I can't tell you which classes I missed that morning. I know for a fact that it was my original senior year (I had to take an extra semester in the Fall of 2002 to complete some course requirements from the basic undergrad program.) That means I should have had my Senior Magazines class, though I don't remember us publishing anything about 9/11, let alone discussing it as a group. So, take this post with a grain of salt if you will. It's really just about my memories of the big timeline events of the world that affected me, decades after the fact.

I think I have become an Emotional Sponge

My Dad once said that his children are "Human."
And by that he didn't mean that we were human, 1 step above the apes. What he meant was that we were Human - we possess an enhanced version of the things that make humans... well human. For example, according to Dad, my sister can empathize with anyone. And she can take in the pain of those around her and then project what they need to cope. This is what makes her an amazing social worker/advocate and will soon make her an exceptional therapist.
My brother sees things. He sees the past, the present, and though we'll never know for certain, I think he also sees with a little 6th Sense as well. I think this in some ways is more difficult to live with, or it certainly seems so for him (and that creepy kid from the movie.)

And that brings us to me. I have the talent to read people, and places. In the first few minutes of a meeting, I know whether or not the person I am with is a... good person, an honest person, a person that I want to be around. I'm not right all of the time, but if I am meeting this person alone, I am usually pretty close. Obviously this skill has helped me out along this journey of life, specifically on job interviews and as a bartender. I get feelings about places... and sometimes, I just turn around and leave. Sometimes I wish I could do that with people.

So, why am I telling you this?
Yesterday we drove up to Cherokee for a "Celebration of Life" party. It was more memorial service than party, but it was nice. My friend Jess' mother-in-law Denise passed away suddenly Sunday night. Only 49 years old, and it has been suggested that it was an asthma attack, and considering the conditions outside this year, it's not surprising that an asthma attack was fatal. Anyway, this has been an incredibly hard week on my friend. Her husband is useless on a good day, so imagine him with his mother's shocking passing. So... I walked into the VFW for the party. I stopped to chat with my godsons. And then I found her. And she came sobbing into my arms. And I fought back tears. For the rest of the day I fought back tears. While I normally wouldn't have cried during a memorial in front of so many people who looked at me as if I were an oddity, I brushed aside tears that just wouldn't stop. I felt sadness and fear and anger. I was overwhelmed by strong emotions. I knew Denise, she was a very nice woman. But other than the interactions within my friend's family, we didn't know each other that much. So where were these feelings coming from? I think I actually became an emotional sponge. I was feeling all of Jess' emotions. Her sadness and loss of Denise. Her fear of the future with her husband and their son, her anger towards Denise's family for thinking ill of her and abusing her husband's rights - the greed pouring from them instead of grief. I felt everything she felt, as if it were my own. Once I was certain that there was little else I could do for my friend, we said our good-byes and left. And I almost cried all the way to Scott's mother's home. I told him that I was feeling Jess's... everything. And that she was so sad at my leaving her and at being responsible for her husband; and that I thought there was worse to come.

We left Cherokee about 90 minutes later. And I "knew" something had happened with Jess. And I was right. Denise's family treated her poorly, they spoke so low so her half-deaf husband couldn't hear what was being decided about his mother's estate. Etc. etc. etc. I felt raw inside. I had wicked headache brewing. You know the kind... the one that you get after you've been sobbing and crying all day. Except I hadn't been. None of these emotions had happened to me. But I soaked them all up, just like a sponge. It took 2 Excedrin and 2 Tylenol PM to tame the headache. And the drug-induced coma I had been hoping for only lasted maybe 5 hours with another hour of laziness. Not enough to reset my system, but enough to give me a head start. I'm available for calls... but I don't think I will be calling up North for a while. I need a break. And a way to block this new level of empathy. Either that or I need to become a sponge for an overly happy person. Know anyone like that?