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.

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.

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?

Monday Morning Revelations

This weekend, I hit a bit of a wall.  I am the queen quite gifted at hiding things.  As a matter of fact, I guess I am stronger than I often think because of this.  So, I continue on with life, thinking that I can handle any and everything...holding it all together, all by myself.  When I say "handle any and everything" I truly mean all. of. it. Finances (bills, food, etc.), feelings, grief, home life, children, cleaning, laundry, work, social life (whatever that is), friends...all. of. it. 

Here's the thing...when things life becomes overwhelming and I see that I can't "handle any and everything", I begin to shut down.  What does that mean exactly?  It is essentially the "I don't care" mode.  My children aren't listening to me?  Eh...okay.  Life is happening?  Hide in my room.

I don't want to deal with any of it.  I don't want to deal with life.  And, it becomes easier to hide my head in the sand and pretend that none of it exists.

The problem with that?  It does exist.  The sun still comes up in the morning and it still sets in the evening regardless of whether or not I can see it due to the clouds of life that cover it.  I can close my eyes and sleep until morning, but life will still be there.

The hardest part of being in this mode is that I begin getting flooded with thoughts that really aren't true.  "I'm a terrible mother.  The girls would be happier if..."  "I'm not really loved.  He'd be happier if..." 

And that's the other part of this "handle any and everything"...the happiness of others.  I'm holding all of this together...I'm making it work, but wait!  Everyone doesn't seem to be happy.  The heck with it! 

Somewhere in all of it...I let myself get lost.  I'm drowning in life and I'm gasping for air.

And for the first time ever, I have someone who helped me see that.  Someone who let me talk it out, let me get those thoughts out and really figure out what was at the heart of the problem.

Why am I writing about it?  Well, because I think we all get this way sometimes.  We just don't know where to begin or have just the right person to pull it out of us.

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.

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

Love

I have spoken about a man named Jay off and on in my posts since Coraline passed away.  He has been a rock for me to lean on, a place of support, a shoulder to cry on, and an embrace to soothe my heart.  There are many who don't understand how he came into my life.  Or even why he came into my life when he did.

Jay and I go back 20 years.  We worked together at a place called Perkins.  He watched me, teased me, I teased him, and we laughed a lot.  When I graduated from high school, I was often down on myself because I wasn't going 'out' like a lot of other friends.  This is nothing new, if you know me at all, I have a terrible self image.  Jay offered to take me out.  At the time, I was 17 and Jay was 25.  He came to my house to pick me up.  He had a single red rose for me.  He met my parents.  He walked me out to his car and opened the car door for me.

Jay was *and is* easy to talk to.  His blue eyes were *and are* piercing.  They are the type of eyes that allow you to see all the way into the soul.  He would get mad if I tried to open my own door.  He opened doors at the restaurant.  I felt like myself around him.

There was one day that he took me to Cascade Falls.  It's a beautiful place and off the beaten path.  As we waded in the water, he took me by the hand and said, "I love you."  I know that I was taken aback.  No guy had ever told me that he loved me first...not before him or after him.  And...I believed him.  The feeling was mutual.

In time, life became busy for Jay.  I was a teenager and 'needy'.  My mother had told Jay to watch himself since I was considered jail bait (I didn't know that at the time).  We split shortly after I found out that I had mono, but not by choice.  The pain was unbearable.  Looking back now, it had to be as it was.  I started college in the spring semester of 1996 and earned my bachelor's degree several years later.

I moved on.  Married.  I had 3 beautiful children.  My marriage wasn't what it appeared.  The smoke and mirrors hid a lot.  I hid a lot.  The last 20 years have truly shaped who I am.  I have become an adult.  I am less needy and more independent.  However, I am more fearful of life, I am a walking wounded in more ways than one, and I have become more aware of who I am and what I'm made of.

One day, out of the blue, I heard a song that reminded me of Jay.  The love I'd had for him never really died, but had been tucked away in my heart.  I had searched for him off and on over the years, but never had managed to find him.  This time when I searched for him...I found him!  We began talking again and I realized that my love for him *and his for me* was still very much there.

In December 2013, Jay sold most of what he had, and moved to Arizona.  If you read about Cora's stay in the hospital, you know that Jay stayed with me the whole week while I was there.  He made sure that I ate and got me out so that I wasn't staying in her room 24/7.  Even when I did get out of the room, I felt guilty.  Jay was with me when Cora passed.  He grieved her as if she was his own child.  He helped me with funeral arrangements.

In the months since, he has been a sounding board, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, someone to hold my hand, drive me to the ER, take care of me or the girls when we've been sick, helps cook, clean, do dishes *sometimes when the oldest child is not doing them*, and is generally my helpmate.  I get kisses throughout my day and am told that I'm loved almost as much as I am kissed...or equally as much.  We snuggle on the couch when if I am able to stay awake long enough to make it through a show.  He often gets frustrated with me because I tend to withdraw often.  He calls me on it.

Jay has promised to always be here for us.  Life has certainly evolved since we knew each other last.  We can actually be adults together.  We can have adult beverages together.  I have to say, that's one pretty sweet positive!  We can make plans together.  We can think about life together.

At the ages of 37 and 45, life has given to us the experiences we needed to allow us to be together and work together as a couple.  In a little over a month, Jay will hit the 1 year mark of having moved here.  We have gone through so much in a year and yet, I am sure that God brought him here at the exact time He did...knowing exactly what I would need.

While my heart is still broken from losing my sweet Cora, my heart is being mended in so many other ways.  And...I am thankful.