100 Words

I have thought about this post, started this post, and waited to post it.  I have seen something in regards to 50 or 100 words that describe the loss of your mother, but sadly, I wasn't able to find a post that spoke about the loss of a child.  Maybe the 100 words is different for each parent and thus it is difficult to convey.  In any case, I have compiled a list of 100 words that describe the feelings I have felt, the way in which losing Cora has changed my life, my overall demeanor, or the overall feeling of losing my child. 

Here they are:

1. lonely
2. painful
3. unjust
4. depressing
5. hurtful
6. agony
7. gripping
8. tiring
9. stressful
10. unimaginable
11. powerful
12. unthinkable
13. unfathomable
14. gut-wrenching
15. penetrating
16. humbling
17. suffocating
18. heartbreaking
19. anger
20. doubt
21. questioning
22. self-reflection
23. shaken
24. crushed
25. untouchable
26. vulnerable
27. scared
28. bereaved
29. squashed
30. inconsolable
31. bereft
32. deprived
33. lost
34. self-absorbed
35. focused
36. hypersensitive
37. inconceivable
38. angst
39. broken
40. self-deprecating
41. unfortunate
42. unfair
43. devastating
44. life-changing
45. anguish
46. frustration
47. disappointment
48. despair
49. irritable
50. irritated
51. alone
52. outcast
53. self-centered
54. disbelief
55. unsure
56. apprehensive
57. isolated
58. empty
59. forgotten
60. jaded
61. mind-blowing
62. negative
63. piercing
64. quiet
65. rough
66. sick
67. tested
68. victim
69. wronged
70. weary
71. zapped
72. yearning
73. pessimistic
74. exhausted
75. turbulent
76. lackluster
77. incapable
78. incapacitating
79. incomplete
80. blasé
81. riddled
82. sour
83. grumpy
84. spent
85. dead
86. fractured
87. wounded
88. worthless
89. needy
90. restless
91. reserved
92. comatose
93. bleak
94. tender
95. frightened
96. boggled
97. overwhelming
98. vexed
99. edgy
100. doom

Tucking It Away

So, I began my new job by heading off to a training in Phoenix this week.  When I went in for the interview initially, I never mentioned losing a child as part of the reason we moved to this area.  I don't like starting a conversation like this, "Hi!  My name is Kati and I lost my daughter 1 year, 2 months and 19 days ago.  It's so great to meet you!"  So, as is often the case, it stays tucked in my heart where it is safe.

There have been moments while working at Home Depot where someone has commented on my necklace and asked what it meant.  And, depending on the day, it will depend on how I respond.  There are some days where the tears well up in my eyes and I tearfully explain that my 4 year old daughter passed away last year.  Often times, it's a God thing because the people that I share that with are empathetic.  I of course feel bad and instantly apologize for unleashing the 'grief' on an unsuspecting stranger.  There are those very rare days when I am able to not tear up.  Again, those are rare.

There have also been those moments at Home Depot where people have asked what I was doing before moving down to this area.  When I respond with, "I was teaching preschool" they often think I'm completely off my rocker somewhat insane for leaving a job such as that to work for Home Depot.  When I give a little back story and...depending on the person, I explain that my daughter passed away last year, the typical response is *gasp* "Oh Kati no!  I would never have known that about you.  What happened?"  *insert the sniffles...and the story as time/customers allow*

So, as is much the fashion with working at Home Depot, I encounter similar things like that at this training.  I ended up sharing this piece of information with my main team and with my roommate *poor girl*.  I pulled this out of my heart so much this week that it started to pain me.  Greatly.  It has left that part of my heart raw and tender...again.  I put my head down on my pillow Thursday night in a very uncomfortable luxurious bed and silently cried myself to sleep.

In the course of the week, I had carefully unpacked the hurt from my heart, and put it on like a long-sleeved shirt.  If you saw my status on FB this week, one of the 1st/2nd grade team members started sharing photos of her children.  She says, "And this is my baby."  At this point, I was neatly tucked into an impossible to escape seating arrangement.  My eyes welled with tears as I fought to control all of that raw emotion that was on the cusp of erupting from my very soul.  I wanted to pull up the picture of my baby...my Cora..and in a very matter of fact way state, "Hey!  This is my baby.  This is Coraline.  She passed away last year at the age of 4." 

This isn't the picture I had with my FB status, but you get the idea.

So now that it is the weekend, I am carefully repacking all of that raw emotion.  I'm folding it neatly, creating crisp folds, and putting a note on it that says, "Last taken out on..."

In reality, I miss this face.  I miss this kid.  I miss her personality.  What would she be like now?  Would she be excited about kindergarten??

Oh sweet child...you are still loved.  We all love you and miss you...daily.

Spot On Pixar

I'm not touting Pixar films, nor do I work for them...earn money from them...etc.  I am simply a mom who took her children to the movies today, on opening day, to see "Inside Out."  And, I also happen to be a mother who has lost a child.

First, I have to say that it is well done.  It really hits home on so many levels, much like some of their other films that they've done in the last several years.

Without giving too much of the movie away, we often only want the joyful days/times in our lives.  They are built up and built up over time.  Those memories are tucked away...stored as joyful times, sad times, fearful times, angry times...and for a time, they don't seem to get muddied.  They are one type of emotion.

At some point or another, life happens...things happen...and well...I lost my child.  All of my happy memories of her have been tinted by sadness...because she's gone!  That joyful memory has forever been changed.

I think that the further out I am from the day of Cora's passing, the easier it will be for the memories to be both a joyful one and a sad one, but often times now, it pains me. 

Yes, I sat in the movie theater and cried a couple of times.  Just for noticing that small truth in memories.  And yes, I would recommend the movie.  It was beautifully done.

It will surely be a memory that you will tuck away yourself.

Finding Me

I have to find a little piece of me, in a corner of every day.  I still don't know who I am or what my purpose is exactly.  I don't like not knowing.

I have always been a very put together type of person.  No one saw the pain I was in for essentially half of my life.  Yes, there were bright spots.  Three of the brightest spots are three beautifully different girls.  And with having children and a household, came a budget to help keep it all running smoothly.

I had meals planned for each night of the week.  I had activities, doctor's appointments, and various other things listed on the calendar.  I had it t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r.

That all came to a screeching halt.  A very abrupt halt.  A startling halt...on May 6th of last year.

Everything that I had held together so nicely for so long, all began to unravel.  The messiness of my life was so evident.  My neat and organized life, was not so neat and organized.

I still can't meal plan.  I fly by the seat of my pants.  Whatever sounds good, is what gets pulled out of the freezer for the night.  Most nights, we're looking at each other going, "What do you want for dinner tonight?"  Ugh.

Budgeting has always sucked, but I hate it a lot more now.  This always seemed a bit on the 'easier' side, but it takes a great deal more effort to figure it out now.

I always thought I knew what I wanted with my life, and now it seems impossible to figure out.  Mundane has been good for the last couple of months, but I yearn for something more.

If I think deeply enough about this...I have to realize that God is really just causing me to hand everything over to Him.  And I just don't want to.  *Insert toddler temper tantrum.*  I need to, but I don't want to.  I'm tired and I don't want to have control over it all.  He's got a better handle on it than I do.  So, why can't I just let go? Stubbornness I suppose.

And yet, day after day, I get up and do it all again...questioning my every move and every decision.  It's not easy, but it sure would be a lot easier if I'd just...






...let go.

I'm Sorry...

...but I'm not sorry.

Please don't get me wrong, I am truly happy for your child being able to...

• ride their bike on just two wheels
• tie their shoes
• write their name
• *insert any number of firsts at the preschool age* 

Maybe I am jealous.

Deflated.

Crushed.

Robbed.

Or maybe I am angry.  I'm not angry at you.  I'm just angry at the unfairness.

In 55 days, she would have been going to kindergarten.

And in some ways, I have been robbed.  I haven't been robbed of material things, but of a life that I had grown and nurtured for over 4 years...nearly 5 years if you go by the time of conception.

Numerous hospitalizations.  Vomiting that seemed to have no end.  All in an effort to keep both me and this precious little girl healthy until it was time to take of her on the outside.

I took care of this little girl, with the best of my ability for 4 years, 1 month and 10 days until I had to hand her over to the care of the professionals.  And even then, I stood by in a supporting role for another 8 days.  All for what???  To have her yanked from my arms...to lose every last first I had hoped to see with her...to cheer her on...to push her to attain....to support her in everything she tried.

So, if you don't know me real well and I say something to the effect of, "Enjoy that last...xyz" it's not because I'm trying to make you feel bad.  It's because I yearn to have that last xyz with my Cora.  Cherish those moments with your babies.  Love them like it's the last day you'll get to spend with them.  Relish in the memories that you get to make with your children this summer instead of wishing it away.

So in all things...I am sorry, but yet...I'm not.

Retreating Into Myself

There are some days when you can just tell that you should have stayed in bed.  Today has been one of those days.  I got up and got the girls off to school, but by the time I got home, the panic/anxiety started to set in.  This usually leads to my extreme quietness and overall unhappy demeanor.  No one has done anything to me.  I'm not angry at anyone.  I'm just off.  Just down.

We started attending a new church last week and we have been working our way into the different activities that are available to us.  Sunday, both girls were able to attend their respective 'classes' during the worship service.  Grace came out saying, "The flood was really instantaneous?  People died just like that?"  Yes.  The flood happened.  The only one that was prepared was Noah and his family.  That was an interesting conversation.

On Wednesday, we went to church again.  The girls went their separate ways.  Grace was off to youth and Rae got to participate in a girls only class.  Grace came out raving about her time.  They played the music obnoxiously really loud and it made her stomach flutter...which was AWESOME.  She loved it!

Rae wrote something on her paper that she'd worked on.  I looked at it and she said, "You'll probably not understand what it says."  I read it out loud and she said, "No."  She then proceeded to say, "God can save people.  He could have saved Cora, but He didn't."  I tried to explain to her that God needed her in heaven more than we needed her here on earth. "No mom.  He could have saved her.  But, he didn't."  Oh sob.  Oh child...if only it were that simple.  And if only I could help you understand it.

She is so black and white.  Cut and dry. 

Since we moved here, she has really begun to miss her sister.  It is very evident.  She is missing her buddy.  There is a whole new learning curve for her.

So...I'm left trying to figure out how to minister to my girls' hearts.  I often think they're lost on this journey, much like I am. 

It's a roller coaster and I can only hope that people can understand my quietness...my retreating...because I can't survive without it.

Holding It In

Have you ever held your head with both hands in an effort to keep everything contained?  As in, there is so much rattling around in your head that you feel as though if you don't hold on with both hands, it might all come spilling out?  Or maybe you've curled up into a tiny ball in an effort to keep every last emotion held in.

This has been me...almost every day.

This grief thing is still happening.  For the last week or so, I have felt so drained...so exhausted.  I go to sleep early and get up with the girls at around 6:45.  I have been lucky enough to be able to be home for the last month and a half without having to work, but with moving and cleaning our former home, etc...that has been most time consuming.  Then tack on grief, the relief of being done with the move, and Cora's birthday...I guess it all took its toll.  By mid-afternoon, I'm spent and my bed is calling to me.  And yes, the last couple of days...I have given in. As some other parents who have lost their children have said, "Be kind to yourself."  I am.

As if losing a child isn't difficult enough, I feel like there was more between Cora and I.  While Grace is most like me in the aspects of looks (curly hair, glasses, height, personality *to some degree*)...Cora was my mini-me.  She was a lot like me in personality, but also emotionally.  We had this emotional connection.  We had the same love language.  We're snugglers.  Even when I didn't really feel like having someone on me, Cora inevitably ended up in my lap.  We did everything together and she was my helper.  She was my 'baby-baby'.

I think parents of multiple children can relate to some degree, especially if you have two or more.  In relationships you often talk about 'soul mates' and 'the one', but with children...what do you call that?  Children are a gift, but there's more than that.  There is a connection with all of your children.  Mom's know what I mean.  Whether you have carried those babies in your belly, adopted them, 'inherited' them, or married into them...however you became a parent...there is a connection.

Then there is a different connection.  I'm not saying they are your favorite, but there is some kind of 'understanding' or different bond.  Does this make sense?  Probably not.  I would grieve no differently for any of my children, but due to this bond between Cora and I...it feels deeper.  It just does.  Period.  Even if it makes no sense to anyone else.  It does to me.

Maybe our bond is because I realized what a special gift she was...taking me to the brink of death when I was pregnant.  Exaggeration?  No.  My home health nurse told me just how grey I was when she first started coming to the house.  It was bad.

Maybe our bond is because she was the youngest.

I'm not sure, but I know that God does.  He's ministering to my heart.  I yearn for that connection again.  I miss it immensely.  And there is just no one...not one that can fill it.

Life Continues

So many times, I've thought about sitting down to blog and I just haven't.  Mainly, I get to that point where I don't feel like anyone wants to hear me 'cry' about my hurting heart.  The pain that often rears its ugly head and reminds me that it's in fact, still there.  Yeah...I haven't wanted to share that.

In the last couple of months, so many things have changed.  We visited a friend and her family in a town a little over an hour away from us during Christmas break.  We really liked the feel of it.  We liked the endless possibilities that were available.  Jokingly, Jay said to me, "Hey!  We should move there."  I think he expected me to say, "NO!  Absolutely NOT!"  Instead, I really thought about it. 

In January, we started making serious efforts to move.  By February 13th, we were signing a lease for our new home.  Since then, we have moved.  We have enrolled the girls in a new school.  We have tilled our garden space and planted flowers.  We have explored the area and love all that there is to offer here.  Oh and one of the best parts of our new home?  We have a sun room or as they say here in Arizona...an 'Arizona Room'. 

Since the end of February, I was preparing myself for Cora's birthday.  I knew it was coming.  I had other friends registering their kiddos for kindergarten.  And in my down time, I cried.  A lot.  I really wasn't ready for her birthday.  Let's be honest...I still want her here.  I miss her like crazy.  Knowing how difficult it was going to be, I ordered her a cake with butterflies on it.  I found a butterfly 'Happy Birthday' banner at Dollar Tree along with some spiral butterfly decorations.  I was ready and yet I wasn't.

We had some dear friends come to help us celebrate.  I usually take a picture of the birthday girl with her cake, as I do with all of the girls, but instead, had the 4 kids stand with the cake.  Then, I lit the candles and we sang to Cora.  The kids blew out the candles together.  After the dishes were done and the girls tucked into bed, I headed to bed myself.  In my sweet slumber, Cora came to me.  She was running and playing.  She called out to me.  It was her voice...100%.  Oh how I have missed it.  She said, "Momma!  Look at me!  Look at me!"  Her eyes danced.  She smiled.  Her hair shimmered in the sunshine.  And she was my kid.  Healthy and whole.

Cora would have been 5.  She would be going to kindergarten this fall.  And, I feel a bit robbed.  I endured 9 months of hyperemesis, including a PICC line to have that sweet baby.  I changed countless diapers and potty trained her.  I snuggled her, made boo-boos better, and took her to the doctor when she was sick.

And yet, my home is short one sweet voice.  I'm short my snuggle buddy.  Life doesn't seem right without her. 

But...it's almost been a year.  Will life ever seem right without her?

Slide Over Life

**I started writing this at the end of January, so I'm going to wrap it up and post the next one I'm working on.**

Life is just moving forward.  This flurry of holidays and then a few days ago, it seems, it was January 1st.  The whole year lay before me.  Then birthdays.  Those have come and gone.  And now...it's just life.  We're nearly at the end of January and it feels as though it has only just begun.

Lots of potential change in life around the corner.  And most days, my Cora just sits in my heart.  The grief has become less of a burden.  Life has moved over and grief is just tucked in along side of it.  I don't always cry every day.  Yes, some days are far more difficult to handle.

I'm tired.  A lot.  Life in general, is dragging me down.  I am in need of that eagle...for the purpose of his wings.  I am weary.  Tired of this journey.  There is too much.  I need a life simplified and yet...it will never be simplified.

So many things have become apparent.  Things that I really can't share. Aside from grief, there's a reasoning for my jaw pain.  I've learned what I need to do to keep it from flaring.  For that...I am grateful.

I do feel out of sorts...like I don't belong anywhere anymore.

I've had several nights where I've gone to sleep before the girls. And when I say that, I literally crash out on the couch and there I stay until Jay wakes me up to let me know it might not be a great place to stay for the night.

And mostly, I'm letting my body tell me what it needs.  Mainly...it's rest. So...I go with it.

Repeating Memory

Yesterday marked Cora's 8 month angelversary.  It doesn't seem at all possible.  Eight months.  Eight months missing a whole host of things.  If you're friends with me on facebook, you know that I found her shoes in the bucket next to the door.  They got put back in the bucket, but I got to thinking...would her feet be bigger by now?  Would she be taller?  Would her hair be longer?  Would it be lighter or darker?

I measured the older kids on the door like we have done countless times before.  I had to keep myself from looking for Cora's last mark on the door.  The other day, I caught myself looking to see where Cora was in the back of the house because I swore that I'd heard her.  What would her personality be like right now?  Would she be writing her name?  Tying her shoes?  Zipping her jacket?

Out of all these wonderings, I keep thinking back to that morning when she passed...begging the doctor that there had to be something that could be done...something to save my baby's life.  And I know as I laid there with my hand on her chest, feeling her precious heart beat beneath it, that with the words, "Go to Jesus" coming out of my mouth...my head was screaming NOOOOOO!  Come back to me Cora...COME. BACK. TO. ME!!!  I need you!  Oh sweet child...I need you.

I'm sure God knew my heart.  I wonder if Mary, Jesus' mother, had those same thoughts.

Today...I got hugged by the superintendent today.  She told me that she had been thinking about and praying for me.  All I can say is...only in a small town.

Also...the outpouring of support that we've received from our small town and from friends across the world, has been by far overwhelming.  I tried to submit a letter to the editor in the newspaper to thank the people here, but I've not seen it printed.  I will forever be grateful.

I continue to hold my breath, waiting to see what the next day will hold, but for now, I'm doing the very best that I can.  Some days getting out of bed and ready for work is a real accomplishment.

For now, I am focusing on birthdays.  One this Saturday and one the following Saturday.  Baby steps as usual.  One step in front of the other.  That gives me progress.

The Journey Into 2015

In just a half hour, we will be stepping into the new year.  I could kick 2014 in the pants and say 'good riddance', but I'm not sure it will work that way.  I also should be sitting here mapping out some goals for 2015, but I'm not doing that either.  I do know that my health needs a swift kick in the pants.  I miss running.  A lot.  Even Jay has asked me recently why I'm not running any more.

So much has changed in our lives this year and as we head into 2015, things will continue to change.  I'm coming up on 20...yes TWENTY years out of high school in 2015.  I have accomplished more than I ever imagined in 20 years.  I've also had some of the worst heartache in 20 years too.

This one thing I know about losing my child...I'd go through just about anything 10 times over if it meant not experiencing the pain of losing her.

In 6 days, it will have been 8 months since Cora left this earth *and my dear sister's birthday*.  In 10 days, I will have an 8 year old.  In 17 days, I will have a 12 year old.  In 2 months and 18 days, I would have had a 5 year old.

In all honesty, I don't want to go into a new year without my Cora.  I don't like spending day after day without her.  I don't want to think about birthdays anymore.  Birthdays just mean that we're all getting older and she's not.  I don't like thinking about another holiday without her.  They have come and gone so quickly that I wish that they could last a bit longer.  Or that I could have a re-do.

I do have some hopes for the new year.  I hope that there is abundant joy, laughter and love.  I hope that there will be new beginnings.  I hope that there is peace in my heart.  I hope for contentment. I hope for forgiveness.  I hope for growth...in who I am and who I want to become.

For those of you that read this, I hope that 2015 brings you all contentment in the little things, joy in the unexpected, and peace through the difficult times.

Being A Mom

When I first found out I was going to become a mom for the first time, I was shocked and scared.

I had done some babysitting off and on, but mainly with older children.  I did babysit for a family who used cloth diapers and that was a fun experience trying to get the pin in without poking the poor kiddo.  Then when I stood him up...yeah...the diaper didn't stay on.

The whole baby thing?  It was completely foreign to me.  Diapers, clothing a docile squirming baby, feeding a baby...I was going to be flying by the seat of my pants!  There was *and is* no 'owners manual' for babies.

You can plan for baby until you're blue *or pink* in the face, but life tends to throw curve balls at you left and right.

I'm going to have my baby the 'right' way and I'm totally having an epidural.

Nope!  Guess again!  Your baby is breech and you'll be having a c-section. 

I'm going to nurse my baby.  This breast feeding thing is a piece of cake, right?

Nope!  Guess again!  Here's a bottle for your baby.

I think when you get used to things not following your 'plan', you start to just let go a little.  Or at least, I did.  I let my kid get dirty.  I wasn't overly protective.

A few years passed and it was time to potty train.  Yet another fun adventure in the life of a mom.  You can get advice from other people, but often...you just wing it.  And somewhere in the process, you end up being pregnant with baby #2.

By the time you have baby #2, you feel very much like a pro.  You've been there and done that already.  You know what to expect.  For me, I knew that another c-section was on my horizon.  I was going to give breast feeding another go.  I was prepared this time!

Some things seem easier with baby #2.  Potty training?  Far easier with #2 than with #1.

Then at some point, you decide to have #3.  While you were sick with #2...you're beyond sick with #3.  Doctor visits, hospital stays, home hydration...OH MY!  I already knew a c-section was again in the wings.  Again...old hat.  I pulled out the punches and went cloth diapers with #3.  We tried breast feeding again and well...it wasn't meant to be.

Along the way, you tweak things.  You try things and when it doesn't work...you try something else.  You use mom-tuition.  You care for your babies.  You'd do just about anything for them.  You read to them, you sing to them, you teach them to recognize their name, recognize their colors, count, pick up, help around the house, and nurture them in every way.

Cora.  She loved to help her momma.  She liked to dump the laundry soap in the washing machine.  She like to push the drawer in on the washing machine.  She liked to push the start button on the washing machine.  She wanted to take the lint fluffy from the dryer to the trash.  She put the wet clothes into the dryer.  She pressed the start button on the dryer. She tried to fold clothes.  She put her own clothes away.

By the time you've had #3, you have been outnumbered for several years.  Life seems to just carry on.  You feed them nutritious meals, wash their clothes, take them outside to play...you know...all of those 'typical' life things for children.

And just by doing what you feel is right for your children, people say that you're a good mom.  As a part of being a 'good mom', you also think that you have somehow ruined them for life.

Then when life hands you a round that is far from expected, you lose all sense of self.  You question everything about who you are and how you are raising your children.  You question your very core.  And yet, life moves on.  Your children continue to grow.  You continue to get up every day only to muddle through new experiences with your older children...wishing that they might revert back to being less mouthy and more like the angels sweet girls they were at the tender age of 4.  They still have their sweet moments, but they've become more grumpy too.  I guess that too, is part of growing up.

When all is said and done...you pick up the pieces and learn how to glue them back together.  Sometimes there is a piece missing and you learn how to pull the other pieces closer and use a bit more glue.

As a mom, that's what we are called to do.

All I Want For Christmas

All I want for Christmas,

can't be bought in any store.

All I want for Christmas,

is a wish for something more.

All I want for Christmas,

is to see your beautiful face.

All I want for Christmas,

is for a simple change in pace.

All I want for Christmas,

is to hear your sweet little voice.

All I want for Christmas,

is to have been given a simple choice.

All I want for Christmas,

is just one more minute; one more day.

All I want for Christmas,

is a wish for another way.

All I want for Christmas,

is for mom's to never grieve.

All I want for Christmas,

is to find an ounce; an ounce of reprieve.

All I want for Christmas,

is to send you all of my love.

All I want for Christmas,

is to know you're happy, with Jesus up above.

All I want for Christmas,

can't be bought in any store.

All I want for Christmas,

is for you to know, I love you even more.

©K. Iannello

December 18, 2014

Holes In My Heart

Growing up, I never knew that you could have holes in your heart or even in your soul for that matter.  The first hole that became evident to me was a God-shaped hole.  After going on Western NY Girls' Chrysalis Flight #1, I realized that even though I had been brought up in the church and had become a member of the church, there was something that was missing.  A piece peace that was missing from my life.  Once that peace was in place, the light emanated from within.  I was a subtle Christian for those who needed it and yet, my light was still evident.

At some point, I thought that I had a love shaped hole in my life.  Marriage and children came along.  The love shaped hole began to fill in.

I read a book today at my training about keeping your bucket full.  It was a children's book.  And while 'bucket dipper' seems a bit over the top, there are some people in life who try to dip into your bucket of joy/happiness/love to attempt to fill their own.  You can equate that to so many things.  A love tank, a feelings bank...whatever your heart desires.

At some points in my life, my love tank was being depleted far faster than I could keep it full or have others add to it.  And as of last year, my tank was empty.  There were little bits being added, but it was never completely full.

Slowly, life has increased the love within my tank, but at the same time...there is yet another hole in my life.

It's a Cora shaped hole.  Sometimes, the hole seems so enormous, it feels like there is nothing left of me.  The snuggler she was, her personality, even her body size...just fit me to a T.  She can never be replaced.  And the hole remains.  Even now, the hole is sore and like a wound open for the world to see.  It is sensitive to touch.  It aches. 

And...there is nothing...not one thing that I can do right now to heal it. 

After a mere 7 months...it still seems like yesterday.  I try to close my eyes and imagine running my hand over her hair...smell the scent of her after she got out of the bathtub.  And tonight, I even thought about pulling her clothes out the drawers and just burying myself in them on my bed.  I miss her pajama clad body...the footies padding down the hallway to my bedroom.  Her little voice coming in to tell me that she had helped find Sylvester our elf.

After 37 years in this life, while I have lost some of my dearest family members...those who I certainly miss because they're gone (yep Papa...I surely do!)...there is nothing so far in this life that can compare to losing Coraline.

My Cora shaped hole will forever be.

Things I Know

I need to be clear with those friends that read my blog.  There are some things I understand and know, but when you're able to explain everything to my heart and have it stick...let me know.

1.  I have undoubtedly been blessed with three beautiful children.  Girls at that.  Each of them a very unique twist of their father and myself.  I have no qualms about just how blessed I am to still have two of my children with me in this life.  And please do not think that I am angry, but a mother who is grieving her child...understands how blessed she is to have other children...if indeed she has other children.

2.  Grieving is unique to each person.  There is one thing I'd like to be clear on.  Please don't compare your grief to anyone else who is experiencing grief.  In this society, we tend to have a convoluted idea of how people should grieve.  There is no right or wrong way.  There is no time limit.  Grief does not need to be hidden.  And again...please don't compare.

 

3.  Please know that not every day is going to be a stellar day for me.  Some days, it's all I can do to be present in the day.

4.  I don't always want to talk about things.  I just need to be quiet with myself.  Sometimes I withdraw.  Sometimes I put on a great front.  And what I need most?  

Am I saying not to talk to me?  No, but sometimes just knowing someone is there is more powerful than anything that can be said.

And...

5.  *certainly not the last one, but it is for tonight*...Sometimes we go through spontaneous storms.  There are times in this process that we're just going to lose our stuff.  And, I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that it's okay for me to do that from time to time.

 

I have learned a lot in these last nearly 7 months.  I've learned a lot about myself and who I am becoming.  With that said, I still need my time to grieve.  Today, while I know I should be grateful that my baby is in heaven...dang it!!!  I want her HERE!  There is a Cora shaped hole in my life that will never be filled.

Today, it just happened to be an exposed wound..showing the world just how much she is missed.

Grief

You know, this grief thing is hard work.  And I mean...HARD...WORK.  It's freakin' exhausting.  I'm in a constant roller coaster of emotions.  Just when I think I have it figured out...WHAM!  By-the-way...I hate loathe being on the roller coaster.

The worst part now, after 6 months, is realizing that my 11-year old is experiencing this same grief, but is so ill prepared on how to handle it.  She doesn't understand her anger.  She is unable to express her sorrow.  What makes things even more difficult?  She understands more than most kids her age.  The things that used to annoy her about her sister...she misses with every fiber of her being.  The mornings that she'd wake up and have Cora snuggled up against her in her bed.  Her sneakiness.  Yeah...all of that.

What can I do, but grieve with her?  We talk about Cora together.  I've told her that anger is perfectly normal.  She's reading through a book that was given to me that I've read mostly through.  I talked to her about the different stages of grief and how sometimes we're a combination of all of them...all at the same time.

My poor child feels guilty.  She feels guilty because I was with her at PCH instead of being home with Cora.  She thinks that if I had been home with Cora, she might not be gone.  She doesn't understand why it had to be Cora.  She's mad because she'll continue to have a birthday, but her sister won't.  She doesn't know what she wants for Christmas because she really just doesn't want anything.

My greatest challenge amongst this grief?  Reassuring my children that they are loved, that they are safe, and that I will do everything within my abilities to keep them healthy and happy.  I don't brush things off as easily as I used to...not that I really brushed things off per se, but I didn't rush to the doctor.  Now, I tend to be a bit gun shy.  And honestly, the doctor's need to understand that.

As I have said about myself, I will say it again for the sake of my children...we still need understanding, we need friends who will not ask questions, who will let us talk about our Cora, who will love us no matter what, and who can walk through this painful part of our lives.  It's messy and it's hard, but we'll know who we can count on most.

For those that have stuck around and waded through the mire with us...there are no words.  Just know that we are so grateful that you are here.

She Lived

I'm looking at videos this morning of Cora.  I know she was in my life...I have proof!  I have pictures and videos galore!  I have pictures and videos of milestones, birthdays, holidays.  She was in my life.  How is it that I no longer have this sweet child in my life anymore??

The hardest part sometimes is saying to myself, "I don't have fighting when I go to the grocery store anymore."  Or, "She's not swiping stuff from her preteen sister anymore."  But, that's what made life, life.  She portrayed the younger sister perfectly.  She was able to annoy her sisters with ease.  After all, she was only 4.  And...isn't that what little sisters are meant to do?

I know in my heart that I need to celebrate the time I had with her instead of mourning the time I don't have with her, but right now?  That's incredibly hard.  I want that time with her.  I want to see her little face when I go back to work after dropping her off for her class.  I want to see her learn how to ride her bike without her training wheels.  I want to see her go to kindergarten next year.

If it weren't for the pictures and videos, it would seem as if her life never existed.  But, I know she lived.  I was deathly ill for 2 months, on home health care and a PICC line, on meds for 7 months after that, and was in and out of the hospital for all 9 months.  I felt her move inside my belly.  I cried when she was born and I felt the warmness of her little body against mine when the nurses handed her to me for the first time in the recovery room.  I was there for every moment of her little life.  And I was there and felt her heart beat for the last time.

I did not choose to let her go.  I had to let her go.

No parent would voluntarily choose to let go of their child.  Sometimes...we have to.  We have to because they're far too sick to stay with us.  God knows.  He had to give up His child too, but not because he was sick.

My heart aches for her.  I long to hear her little voice..."I want my momma."  "I love you momma." 

She may not have had red hair or grey colored eyes, but personality wise...she was my mini me. 

Some days are better than others.  And lately...there's been more hard days than better ones.  I cry, not because of life that's happening now, but because of the little life I am missing.

NOT Fair

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.

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.

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.