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.

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.

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.