Everything seems unfair right now.
I just had another birthday. I hate that I can have another birthday, but my Cora can't. I hate that the season is changing and I'm experiencing it, but my Cora isn't. I hate that I can love the smell of rain, but my Cora isn't here to smell it.
We took pictures with me and the cake. A first in a lot of years. I think maybe the last time I had a picture taken for my birthday...with cake and candles...was on my 30th birthday. And now, having pictures without Cora in them, just doesn't seem right.
In looking back over the past year, so much has changed. So much. I have definitely gained weight. A lot of weight. I would love to say all of those times of self-talk and knowing what I should do in the face of stress would give me the umph to make it through...not so much. I have endured more stress than I'd like to admit. I'd love to say that I'm ready to jump back on the bandwagon, but right now, I am focusing on making it to the next day in life.
I started working again a year ago. Cora was loving preschool. We were adjusting to me being out of the house 5 days a week.
Home life has changed.
My family size is down by 1.
And I am a year older.
Things that have not changed: I live in the same house, I have the same house phone number, and the same e-mail address.
The last year has changed a lot about who I am and how I look at life. It has shown me who my friends are and who my enemies are. It has taught me that life isn't about having the strength to carry on, but the courage to face another day.
I'm not sure what to expect in the next year of my life. I'm pretty sure that I have learned what I have needed to learn this year and that as we move into 2015, life will continue to evolve in ways I never expected.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Monday, September 22, 2014
Death and Dying
It's been nearly 5 months since our Cora passed away and while having an extraordinarily difficult afternoon/evening with my two older children, I had an epiphany.
We have been richly blessed all these years. Sometimes living far away from family is both a blessing and a curse. Why? Grace is the only one who remembers my Papa...my mom's dad. She remembers creepy mouse with Papa, but at the age of nearly 4 *and me having just turned 29*, we lost Papa. I was 9 months pregnant and due to deliver 1/10 with Rae. We weren't able to return to NY for services. Just 12 days later, my other grandfather passed away. I was just 9 days post-partum with Rae.
There have been those who have passed since Rae and Cora were both born, but they were more significant to me than to them. And again, we have lived so far away from family for so long that making an unexpected trip home has more often than not, been impossible.
What am I getting at? My children have never really had to deal with death and dying. We happened to see a casket being brought into the church we were attending once, which spurred a whole conversation, but it wasn't personal.
They have never had someone so incredibly close, pass away, seemingly in the blink of an eye. This again, is a blessing and a curse. They have been sheltered for so long that they really don't know how to act...how to get their feelings out. There is lack of understanding...raw pain...anger...resentment...guilt. All of it.
And...I can't take it away from them.
I wish I could.
All I can say to them is that I know. I feel those things too. That I would do anything to have Cora back in our lives.
And to let them know...that I hear them loud and clear.
We have been richly blessed all these years. Sometimes living far away from family is both a blessing and a curse. Why? Grace is the only one who remembers my Papa...my mom's dad. She remembers creepy mouse with Papa, but at the age of nearly 4 *and me having just turned 29*, we lost Papa. I was 9 months pregnant and due to deliver 1/10 with Rae. We weren't able to return to NY for services. Just 12 days later, my other grandfather passed away. I was just 9 days post-partum with Rae.
There have been those who have passed since Rae and Cora were both born, but they were more significant to me than to them. And again, we have lived so far away from family for so long that making an unexpected trip home has more often than not, been impossible.
What am I getting at? My children have never really had to deal with death and dying. We happened to see a casket being brought into the church we were attending once, which spurred a whole conversation, but it wasn't personal.
They have never had someone so incredibly close, pass away, seemingly in the blink of an eye. This again, is a blessing and a curse. They have been sheltered for so long that they really don't know how to act...how to get their feelings out. There is lack of understanding...raw pain...anger...resentment...guilt. All of it.
And...I can't take it away from them.
I wish I could.
All I can say to them is that I know. I feel those things too. That I would do anything to have Cora back in our lives.
And to let them know...that I hear them loud and clear.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
The Report
There is a lot of information in this post, so just be prepared.
This week has been emotionally and physically exhausting. Here are a few things to note:
1.) The doctor's office needs to put a label or flag on my file. I am not depressed due to life, I am depressed because my Cora had to leave. I don't need a 'booklet' on depression...thank you very much.
2.) People are jerks. Either some of the guys that work at the cemetery are jerks...or people that have visited the cemetery are jerks. I placed two butterfly solar lights and a butterfly that flapped its wings in the breeze by Cora's plot. When I stopped on Monday, one solar light was missing, and all that I could find of the butterfly, was a wing under the bush by Cora's plot. Yeah. Heartbroken.
3.) On the same day that I stopped at the cemetery, I got a call from the mortuary. Cora's headstone is in. It was going to be set in cement and then we'll see it get placed, hopefully this coming week.
Thursday, I had a doctor's appointment. Can I just say that I *heart* my doctor?? And sadly, she's only temporary. That makes things hard because I know I'll have to start all over again. Relive...every. last. detail. She listened to me. She even took the time to go over the autopsy report on Thursday.
As she went through the results, she drew diagrams of the lungs, heart, liver, and spleen. These things were confirmed: pneumonia, RSV, strep B, and she was in septic shock. As she went over the respiratory system, she noted that there was a puss pocket in the right lung, there was evidence that it was still hemorrhaging, and there was a clot. Basically, she scribbled out the right lung. It was done. She said that the bacteria in her body had started to attack the valves in her heart. The liver had differing kinds of fatty deposits happening due to the infection, as well as the spleen being enlarged...also from infection. There was a blood clot in-between the two hemispheres of her brain, meaning that she had a stroke. There was also the hemorrhage on the brain. Sometimes with this kind of infection, the brain shifts to one side, and hers did just that. She said that there were beginning signs of kidney failure. I knew that they were having trouble with Cora's blood thickening. The ECMO needs a certain consistency of blood in order for it to work properly and they were struggling to keep it thin enough. My doctor told me that *again* sometimes with this amount of infection, the blood can do one of two things...either become thick or become too thin. Cora's was too thick.
Basically when all was said and done, Cora was just very sick. She was one of the healthiest kids and even being as healthy as she was, things could have gone either way. I wish I could say that it brings comfort knowing that things could have gone either way, but it doesn't. My doctor told me to tuck the report away until much later. I'm really not ready to try and read through it with any clarity.
Life keeps marching on and I don't want it to. I want her here. It wasn't meant to be this way. Ever.
And yet...here we are...4 months and 8 days later...still muddling through this thing called life.
This week has been emotionally and physically exhausting. Here are a few things to note:
1.) The doctor's office needs to put a label or flag on my file. I am not depressed due to life, I am depressed because my Cora had to leave. I don't need a 'booklet' on depression...thank you very much.
2.) People are jerks. Either some of the guys that work at the cemetery are jerks...or people that have visited the cemetery are jerks. I placed two butterfly solar lights and a butterfly that flapped its wings in the breeze by Cora's plot. When I stopped on Monday, one solar light was missing, and all that I could find of the butterfly, was a wing under the bush by Cora's plot. Yeah. Heartbroken.
3.) On the same day that I stopped at the cemetery, I got a call from the mortuary. Cora's headstone is in. It was going to be set in cement and then we'll see it get placed, hopefully this coming week.
Thursday, I had a doctor's appointment. Can I just say that I *heart* my doctor?? And sadly, she's only temporary. That makes things hard because I know I'll have to start all over again. Relive...every. last. detail. She listened to me. She even took the time to go over the autopsy report on Thursday.
As she went through the results, she drew diagrams of the lungs, heart, liver, and spleen. These things were confirmed: pneumonia, RSV, strep B, and she was in septic shock. As she went over the respiratory system, she noted that there was a puss pocket in the right lung, there was evidence that it was still hemorrhaging, and there was a clot. Basically, she scribbled out the right lung. It was done. She said that the bacteria in her body had started to attack the valves in her heart. The liver had differing kinds of fatty deposits happening due to the infection, as well as the spleen being enlarged...also from infection. There was a blood clot in-between the two hemispheres of her brain, meaning that she had a stroke. There was also the hemorrhage on the brain. Sometimes with this kind of infection, the brain shifts to one side, and hers did just that. She said that there were beginning signs of kidney failure. I knew that they were having trouble with Cora's blood thickening. The ECMO needs a certain consistency of blood in order for it to work properly and they were struggling to keep it thin enough. My doctor told me that *again* sometimes with this amount of infection, the blood can do one of two things...either become thick or become too thin. Cora's was too thick.
Basically when all was said and done, Cora was just very sick. She was one of the healthiest kids and even being as healthy as she was, things could have gone either way. I wish I could say that it brings comfort knowing that things could have gone either way, but it doesn't. My doctor told me to tuck the report away until much later. I'm really not ready to try and read through it with any clarity.
Life keeps marching on and I don't want it to. I want her here. It wasn't meant to be this way. Ever.
And yet...here we are...4 months and 8 days later...still muddling through this thing called life.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Oh Sweet Child
Cora, you had very few things in this life that you cherished. You loved bigger than your age, without boundaries, and beyond what many adults can even fathom.
You never had much of a passion for toys. You did, however, love to be outside. You loved to be on your bike, your scooter, in the wagon, on the swings...wherever your little feet could take you...following closely on the heals of your sister.
With that said, sweet child of mine, I couldn't bring myself to put the one item that brought you the most comfort in this life, in with you at the end.
You would have taken your mimi with you everywhere if I had let you. I did when you were smaller. It was your thumb companion.
I imagine you had beautiful dreams with it close by your side. You covered yourself with it; I covered you with it.
And it was never far away when you were sick. I feel terrible that your mimi made a trip to Phoenix while your big sister was in the hospital, and one of your true comforts, was with me in my car. I didn't realize it until I was headed home with your sister.
The nurses kept it as close to you as they could while you were in the hospital, but you kept spiking a temperature, so they would take it off from you and fold it at the end of your bed.
I'm sorry my sweet Cora, but momma still needs your mimi. It's not far from my bed at night. I cry myself to sleep on it sometimes. I picture in my mind, you snuggled up to it, you on one side and me on the other. I promise to keep it safe. And while your clothes and pictures mean a lot to me, your mimi is that little part of you, that will always keep you close to me.
I love you kid. I miss you so much.
You never had much of a passion for toys. You did, however, love to be outside. You loved to be on your bike, your scooter, in the wagon, on the swings...wherever your little feet could take you...following closely on the heals of your sister.
With that said, sweet child of mine, I couldn't bring myself to put the one item that brought you the most comfort in this life, in with you at the end.
You would have taken your mimi with you everywhere if I had let you. I did when you were smaller. It was your thumb companion.
The nurses kept it as close to you as they could while you were in the hospital, but you kept spiking a temperature, so they would take it off from you and fold it at the end of your bed.
I'm sorry my sweet Cora, but momma still needs your mimi. It's not far from my bed at night. I cry myself to sleep on it sometimes. I picture in my mind, you snuggled up to it, you on one side and me on the other. I promise to keep it safe. And while your clothes and pictures mean a lot to me, your mimi is that little part of you, that will always keep you close to me.
I love you kid. I miss you so much.
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