miscarriage: Part Two

Since tonight marks the end of the old year, I figure I might as well share the second part to my miscarriage and be done with some of the emotional turmoil I have been carrying around.  It has been a long process because for days and even weeks after the miscarriage I felt as if I couldn’t mourn for the baby and deal with those emotions because we were still trying to deal with everything from the fire.  Every free second went to trying to search for items to be saved, inventory, and insurance.  I knew if I focused on the feelings of loss from the miscarriage I would shut down emotionally and physically and no one in my family could afford that.  Although we had help from others Josh and I were leaning on each other, so we were only as strong as the other and if I collapsed I knew he would too.  Not to mention Dorian had started showing signs of anxiety he had never shown before such as moodiness as well as a new attachment to a blanket and other little behavioral issues that had me worried about him.  My mom let me know it was perfectly natural for him to show these signs with all he had been through as well as to remember that the kid fed off my emotions.  If I was already adding to my child’s distress how could I deal with more than I was already dealing with?  I decided instead to ignore my loss for the time being.

Unfortunately, that is not something that can be ignored easily.  I tried to follow the chaotic pace we had fallen into before the miscarriage, but my body lagged in a way that deceived me.  I had given birth; my body didn’t know my body would not need it to nurse or care for a new infant and since I had not dealt with the emotions I still felt pregnant.  My belly was still bloated and round and my breast were still engorged and tender.  My mood swings were everywhere and I felt that the fatigue had me crawling on the floor by the end of the day.  No different than being pregnant right?  My clothes remained tight on my body and so I ignored the loss until quiet moments of reality hit me with a sobering quickness. More than once I had been sitting down and noticed my ample belly and placed a protective hand on it to caress it before I realized I was no longer caressing a growing child.  It also didn’t help my emotions or my state of mind when the only clothes I owned had been donated to me right after the fire, which meant all I had was maternity clothes. 

Reality continued to creep into my suppressed illusions when I would watch Dorian play and have to remind myself that I would no longer have to worry about fitting a crib into the same room.  I would no longer have to replace baby items.  The truth stung and I realized the poison my habits of disregard had turned into.  I was really impressed with the hospital I had delivered at though because they had given us a book before we left that included pictures of out child as well as other information.  When I could no longer ignore reality, I turned to that book and it was like a bible to me as I turned through the pages multiple times a day searching for answers.  All I ever found though was love and loss and I tried to understand the purpose.

Two and a half weeks after the miscarriage we met again with the doctor to find out that the baby had a chromosome deficiency, which when tested revealed to be Down syndrome. The doctor assured us that the way his body was developing it really was better off for him to perish the way he had and although it had been difficult, had he made it to birth he wouldn’t have lasted long afterwards. Josh and I kept telling this piece of information to the other as if saying it enough times would convince us that death was the better option.  I reviewed my entire pregnancy in my head over and over and would remember the time I had thought that maybe I couldn’t raise two kids, maybe this wasn’t the right time for another kid and I felt guilt for such thoughts as these thoughts alone had willed my premature child’s death.  It has taken some time, but I now believe that was God’s way of preparing me for what was to come.  I know I still have not dealt with the loss completely.  Even here on vacation I remember thinking while on the beach that I was twenty weeks pregnant because that how far along I should have been.  I think this still means I have emotions to deal with, especially when I can pick out all the pregnant women in the room within the first minute; obviously, it is still in my heart and on my mind.  On that note though I know all that has happened has been part of God’s plan and Josh and I plan on trying again as soon as it is deemed safe to do so after my body heals and we have healed emotionally.  Weather it takes two months or three years again we know we are meant to add to our family and we plan to do so.  Thanks for all the support and thanks to all who read my convoluted thoughts and emotions.  I love you all!

Intimacy

Earlier this morning my husband and I had made plans to be intimate with one another later on in the evening.  Since the miscarriage we had to practice abstinence until my body healed and although we have been together a couple times since the traumatic event, to me it is still new, cautious and emotional.  It is because of all of these things that I was looking forward to our encounter so much.  So when evening rolled around and my husband was too tired and emotionally drained, I was frustrated.  He could sense my change in mood and apologized for making me angry.  I let him know I wasn’t angry, I was disappointed.  I could tell my husband was flustered with my strong reverie of solitude and he tried to offer me intimacy through cuddling.  I knew he was trying to reach out to me, but this only further my aggravation, which made me question why I was feeling so rejected and hurt.

For those who don’t know, seven years ago I broke my back and due to this injury I now have four pounds of metal in my spine that still causes me great pain and even limits some of my activities.  Due to this handicap along with my PCOS and other small ailments I already feel broken. And then, the miscarriage.  I realized I was feeling as if my body was essentially out if order and I needed it to have a purpose since it already can’t do so many things.  Since I am having such a hard time loving my extra supple rolls and super tender breast, I needed someone else to love them.  Since my body is no longer carrying our child I wanted it to have a purpose, even if that purpose was pleasuring my husband.  Of course as I worked all this out in my mind I realized that these were real and genuine emotions, but the thought process and ensuing actions were uncharacteristic and somewhat juvenile. 

After talking through these emotions with Josh I cried because even in the simple act of being okay with myself, I find the hurting emotions of the miscarriage creeping into my perception.  Despite trying to work through every thought, every hormonal, emotional outburst, I still feel as if I am pregnant, or should be.  How can I deal with this loss when my body thinks I delivered a baby?  My breast are engorged and aching even a month later and my hormones are all over the place because they think I should be breast feeding and I hate that every morning when I get dressed how it reminds me that the now sagging belly is empty and that the engorged breasts are full of milk that will never be drunk and once again I am longing to have my body be part of a different purpose.  Time.  I know.  Time will ease all wounds both the physical changes as well as the emotional ones:

Bleed me a river;

              my heart bleeds in song.

Bleed me a river

              because I’ve been hurting for so long.

Bleed me a river.

Bleed me along.

Bleed me a river,

              until I can sail on.

Something I wrote earlier today as I contemplated on some of these emotions.

Miscarriage: Part One

PLEASE READ: I appreciate the sympathetic words and similar experiences that have been previously shared, but at this point I am writing to deal with the emotions I faced as well as to share with friends and family my experience.  So if you decide to comment please keep in mind that this post will be less uplifting as I work through my feelings but that does not mean I am unaware of God’s plan for me.  I know I will have this child again as we were sealed in the temple and therefore have an eternal family.

Josh and I walked into the doctor’s office half an hour early expecting to wait and were surprised when we were ushered back to the examination room after only having to wait ten minutes.  After all the trauma we had been through it was nice to finally have something go our way even if it was something as trivial as an appointment time.  Josh and I sat in the room exhausted, but giddy with excitement to meet our new baby for the first time via ultra sound.  Usually they perform the first ultra sound at ten weeks, but due to a high quantity of new patients the appointment times were difficult to get.  So here I was at fourteen and a half weeks and although I was disappointed I hadn’t had this opportunity sooner I was excited I was further along hoping I would be able to see more than just the peanut shaped blob that is typical.

              When the nurse walked in we told her about the fire and expressed how anxious we were for the ultra sound to make sure the baby was still healthy and growing.  She shared her sympathies over the loss of our apartment and agreed that seeing the baby would be just what we needed.  When the doctor joined us in the exam room the nurse told her our story and we were touched by their concern and uplifting words as they prepped me.  Josh came to my side and held my hand as she turned the machine on and began searching for the heart beat.  I saw them both looking, but it didn’t take long for the doctor to comment that something didn’t look right and that the child didn’t look developed the way he should be. I felt Josh squeeze my hand, but my heart was already numb.  I waited.  She then continued her examination and I kept waiting for her to turn the monitor on so we could hear the heartbeat, but she never did.  She let us know that she could not find a heartbeat and then showed us the lump that seemed abnormal to her.  She then let me know that this was chromosomal, which meant the child did not die due in result of the fire, stress or anything I did.  I couldn’t feel the tears running down my cheeks, but I knew they were there.  She let us know that she would want to send us to the radiologist so they could determine the age of the baby and to confirm there was no life left in child I carried.  She expressed her sympathies and how this was the last thing we needed as she slipped out of the room to give us time.  I threw myself into Josh’s arms and together we cried for baby we lost. 

              The world seemed to be spinning around me.  Could this be true, was our baby really dead?  It had only been six days since we lost everything that we owned, was it really meant for me to lose this baby as well?  It didn’t seem real to me.  How could I even process all of the loss?  We rode over to the radiologists in silence, hand in hand as our minds raced with what this meant.  I told Josh that after the fire we had been able to stay so positive because we kept telling ourselves that we had each other, but now I felt I could no longer say that because now we had lost someone and it just didn’t seem fair.  How could the Lord take this from us too?  What had I done to deserve such wrath?  But these feelings and thoughts were replaced with numbness and like an automaton I climbed out of the car and walked into the radiologist’s office so they could tell me all over again that my baby was dead.  According to my last period I was fourteen weeks and four days along.  According to the radiologist, the baby was fourteen weeks and two days developed when he passed.  The doctor had made mention that there was nothing I could have done, but I felt guilty because I felt as if I should have at least felt a difference two days ago when my baby died. 

              When we went back to the doctor she informed me that the baby was too developed for a simple DNC and that I would have to deliver my lifeless child. She let us know it would be a long process, but she would do all she could to make it as pain free as possible.  How could something like this be pain free I wondered as we walked to the car again.  We made arrangements for Dorian to stay at a friend’s house overnight so that Josh could be with me at the hospital as support.  Through this all I was still trying to even coupe with reality because this life, this week all seemed surreal as if I had somehow landed the lead role on a soap opera.  Stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life, does it?  It took us three and a half years to get pregnant with Dorian due to my severe PCOS; this pregnancy was a miracle in and of itself, so then why would I be granted such a gift to have it taken away from me?  The story of Job kept popping into my head and although I knew my lot was not the same, I still couldn’t help but compare.  Now I felt as if I truly had lost everything.

              Josh and I walked solemnly up to the registration window at the hospital and the receptionist asked where we needed to go.  I let her know we were headed to labor and delivery.  I saw her glance at my belly and ask how far along I was.  I hesitated.  I didn’t want to announce that my baby was dead, so I let her know I was just over fourteen weeks.  She began to tell me that labor and delivery would not see me until I was at least eighteen weeks so I quickly blurted out that I was sent here to deliver my dead baby.  With a quiet, “oh” she began the paperwork.  At first I felt bead for creating an awkward situation, but the more I thought on it the more upset I became.  I hoped she did feel bad for making me state my business. I hoped she felt guilty for making me tell her my child was dead.  These thoughts were all very quiet though and my face remained blank as I watched them put the paper bracelet on my wrist.  The last time I had been at this hospital was when I delivered Dorian and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself at how different the circumstances were.

              Labor and delivery was expecting us and the nurse who got me hooked up to the machines apologized for having to come to the labor unit to do all of this, she seemed very aware that this was the last place in the world I wanted to be.  We began the medication to start the contractions and the waiting began.  After four hours and the second dose, the bleeding began; then the discomfort and the medication.  The hospital was literally spinning around me now, but I still felt numb and empty.  Josh stayed by my side the entire time. Doing whatever he could to make me comfortable.  We talked only briefly about our loss as we both still grabbed desperately at loose ends trying to figure out why everything had gone so wrong.  The nurses asked if we planned on burying the child or if we wanted the hospital to take care of the remains.  Josh and I discussed the matter and since we did not know the gender and since we were already living on donated money we decided to forgo the burial.  When the doctor asked what we had planned she reassured us that we had made a good choice and that our baby would be taken care of.  She then suggested that we had him tested to see what had caused his death.  She said that since it was chromosomal it was worth finding out if this could reoccur in future pregnancies.  Josh and I agreed that the testing would be a good idea. 

              The cramping began to get more severe.  The nurses assured me that I was getting close.  I became sick and started vomiting and all the while my sweet loving husband was there holding my hair back and whispering words of encouragement.  He kept me focused on what I was doing so I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself.  After my second bout of sickness my mouth tasted of death and I asked Josh to retrieve the gum from the car.  Obliging as always, he left to help alleviate my discomfort.  While he was out of the room though I passed the child and my heart bleed because he has missed the birth due to me.  Upon his return though he lovingly reassured me that it was all right and that he was here for the important part.  They then put the baby on a paper towel and let us hold it.  To us he looked like a boy although the nurses cautioned that it might still be a girl.  They left us so we could hold our baby.  So little.  So light.  But we could still see all the fingers and toes and even the eyes and we knew this was our child and would always be our child.  Our stillborn child, baby Borland was born November 17, 2011.

Fire at Paddock Place: Part Two

The very next morning after the fire, both Josh and I were running off of two to three hours of sleep at the most and we had a lot to do.  Our first priority was to be at the apartment at eight thirty when the office opened so we could get information from them as well as look at the damage the fire had done.  Once Josh got back from checking in at work we headed to the apartment.  We tried to remain hopeful, but we both feared the worst.  Josh told me that all the Army offered to help with was an emergency loan, but we both agreed we wanted avoid a loan if possible.  As we pulled up to our building, the memory of the night before came rushing back.  When we opened the car doors we could still smell smoke heavy in the air although the fire had now been out for hours.  The breezeway and roofs were charred black with soot and ash.  We saw maintenance men up on our balcony who assured us it was structurally sound to walk on.  We climbed slowly up the now black and uneven staircase to what used to be our door.  Instead, all that remain was a half melted chunk of metal precariously attached.  Upon first looking into the apartment all we could see was black.  It covered the walls, floors and ceiling and we knew our home was no more.  We walked solemnly into what had just hours before been our home.  The melted ceiling fan and computer bag drew our attention and although there were items in tact we knew there was very little to be saved from the black that now covered our lives.  The smoke was still so thick in the apartment that it made our eyes tear up and made breathing uncomfortable. 

Hungry and emotionally and physically exhausted Josh and I decided to get breakfast off the dollar menu at McDonalds.  While there I called my mom to let her know the items I was in desperate need of (like a bra, shoes and other necessities) so she could send them to us in a package overnight.  As I was getting off the phone with mom I saw a lady get up from her booth and walk over to Josh and whisper something to him as she handed him a piece of paper and walked off.  I asked what she said and he told me that she had overheard my conversation and offered this as a gift.  We looked at the piece of paper to find that it was a check for $50.  Our hearts were warmed and overwhelmed with gratitude.  When we were feeling our lowest here we had a complete stranger reach out to us in sympathy and support.

 We got in touch with our insurance and filed a claim before we headed to the Red Cross to fill out paper work from the night before.  After waiting close to an hour to be seen we were finally led into an office where they took extra pains to make sure Dorian was entertained and happy.  They gave us vouchers for the Salvation Army as well as a Visa with $240 so that we could buy Dorian a mattress and all the necessities he would need.  We were so grateful to have that money because now that we knew we would have to replace everything it was hard not to become overwhelmed with all that would need to be replaced.  While I was doing paper work, Josh was on the phone with the apartment complex and since they were aware that we had a baby (which none of the other tenants involved in the fire did not) they made us their first priority in trying to find us a new place to stay.  So as soon as we finished at the Red Cross we headed to Ashford Apartments where they let us know they made room for us to stay in a town home for six months!  We knew we were being blessed.  Here it wasn’t even twenty four hours after the fire and we already had a new (and much larger) place to stay.  On top of that the people at the office reached out to us in sympathy and offered us furniture that had been left behind by tenants.

So although our world was in ashes around us (yes, pun intended) we were given the tools we needed to dig ourselves out and start again.  It was now getting late in the day and I had not one, but two friends track us down and stop by with blankets, food, clothes, dishes, personal affects, etc to make sure we  had what we needed to get by.  The day had been chaos, but we had an air mattress to sleep on and a roof over our heads and most of our basic needs were being met.  We were blessed and grateful to have each other and although all of it was overwhelming we knew throughout it all we were blessed.

The next several days followed in a similar chaos, but people continued to reach out to us, blessing our lives with what they offered monetarily but also the support they offered us spiritually and emotionally by showing through their service that we were thought of and loved.  This gave us peace and hope that we would indeed make it through these difficult times and we had a support group to help us through it.  This included my incredible family who filled up a Uhaul with furniture, clothes, toys and other necessities that were home and traveled over 1300 miles to bring it to us.  When my parents arrived I knew we were being taken care of and for the first time in days I was able to let go of some of the stress and worry my body had been holding onto.  They helped me clean my new place so that we had a space to start unpacking what people had donated. 

While my family began to set up stuff at the new place, Josh and I dug through the corpse of our apartment.  Recording every item we own so that we could send in it on our claim to the insurance.  We would have to take breaks every twenty or so minutes to get clean air before we re-entered the cave that was our apartment.  We took pictures of everything and wrote down everything.  Me being pregnant often times cried as I came across sentimental things that I knew were lost and no longer a part of my life anymore.  It broke my heart knowing we had invested so much money on all the bay swings, and toys we had with Dorian knowing now they would never be used again; knowing everything would have to be replaced.  It was hard to deal with all the loss, but through it all we kept telling ourselves that at least we had each other.  Although everything was hectic and emotional we made sure I was not overdoing anything because we wanted to make sure we kept me and the baby inside of me as healthy as possible.

My dad had to get back to work and my mother offered to stay a few more days if I needed it, but I let her know I was feeling more confident about everything and all the help they gave us really put us on our feet again.  I really was feeling that this new start wouldn’t be as difficult as I had thought.  We were hopeful and happy despite it all and the next morning my parents left with hugs and kisses.  We promised to call them in a couple of hours because I had my first ultra sound scheduled for the baby that day which we were all so very excited about.  It gave us all something to look forward to.  Josh and I dropped Dorian off with a friend so we could go to the appointment together.  I am glad it was together because what we were about to face, I could not have done alone.

Humble Christmas

With everything that has been going on in my life I have found it very difficult to get into the Christmas spirit; especially today when we walked through our apartment for the last time.  Upon leaving I have to admit I was feeling sorry for myself, becoming overwhelmed with everything we would have to replace.  We then went to the mall to let Dorian see Santa, and for me the depression seemed to deepen as stores tried to push holiday merchandise; merchandise at this point that we can’t afford.  I was feeling sorry for all that we lost and all that we can’t have.

Josh suggested we go to a nativity exhibit tonight and although I was feeling anti-Christmas, I agreed to go.  While I was looking at all the different pieces I became emotionally overwhelmed with how selfish I was being.  Here in front of me was the perfect example of what everything was about: Jesus was born in the most humble of places and his birthday is celebrated because of the life he lived as well as the eternal life he gave us.  So despite my circumstances I should be thankful for the opportunity the Lord has given us to humble ourselves and thank him not only for my mortal life, but the eternal life he gave me by living his own.

I also remembered that Christmas is also about giving of ourselves and due to our circumstances I felt as though we had not been able to do that, but realized others had been able to do that for us; So to all those who have helped us in any capacity, thank you so much and Merry Christmas.

Fire at Paddock Place

It has been nineteen long days since the fire and I feel I am finally ready to share our experience for all those asking about what happened:

Josh and I had been up late (for us, seeing as we are usually in bed by eight thirty) talking about an uneasy feeling we had had earlier that day as well as religion.  We were both exhausted and were preparing for the next day since we knew Josh had a twenty four hour shift at work.  We decided to end our conversation and snuggle into bed.  Just as we were doing so Dorian started crying for his first nightly feeding.  Josh jumped out of bed to take care of Dorian’s needs.  It didn’t take me long before I was in the in-between stage of asleep and awake when I heard Josh yelling my name from the other room to get up now and get dressed because there was a fire. I jumped out of bed and pulled on pants that were on the floor so I wasn’t just running outside in my gown.  Being November, I also thought to grab a sweatshirt from the closet as I ran out.  I remember seeing Josh at the door with Dorian in his arms.  I ran down the hall to meet them and grabbed my purse on the table.  Josh was already walking out the door and I was about to follow when I realized I didn’t have any shoes.  I remember turning around and looking for them and not finding them, smoke was beginning to pour in through the open door and I slipped on my crocs and was thinking of going back to the laundry room for the cat when Josh called my name rather frantically, or so it seemed to me in my state of adrenaline.  I left the apartment without going back for the cat thinking he would be okay, thinking it wasn’t anything too serious.  As soon as I exited the apartment door and got out onto the landing I was aware of how much smoke there actually was.  I remember watching smoke pour out of the cracks of my next door neighbor’s door thinking it must be her apartment that was on fire.  I knew she said she was leaving to go out of town that weekend and wondered if she had already left, maybe leaving something on, but my mind was racing a mile a minute passing hundreds of scenarios through my head as I ran down the stairs.  As soon as I was down stairs I started looking around and noticed none of our neighbors were outside and told Josh I didn’t see them.  He passed the kid off to me and rushed back up the stairs.  A man, our neighbor from who lived in one of the downstairs apartments approached me and asked if we were ok.  I told him we were and he said he was so sorry.  I asked if it was his apartment then that had caught fire.  He said he had been cooking food and had fallen asleep.  He then walked off and I wondered why he was just standing there staring at everything rather than making sure everyone was out.  It was then that I saw josh and our neighbors from across the hall scrambling down the stairs.  At the same time the fire engines were pulling up and I remembered thinking with relief how quickly they had gotten there.  The fire fighters started asking of everyone was out and I let them know about the neighbor who had the smoke pouring out of her apartment and how I saw her car here but she was not outside.  In a huge bustle they started shouting orders to go after a woman who lived above the fire and it was then that I noticed the fires were licking out of the downstairs apartment door and up onto the breezeway.  At that moment the seriousness of the situation hit me and then they began shouting at us to back up and move our cars so they wouldn’t be damaged.  Josh grabbed Dorian and ran across the street while I re-parked the car.  We grabbed a blanket out of the back of the car and wrapped a very unhappy Dorian in it.  We stood across the parking lot and watched as flames started shooting out over the roof top and I began crying because in that instant I knew everything was lost.

              Our neighbor from across the hall came up and hugged me telling me we were all right at least my family was safe and her and her son were too thanks to Josh.  I cried in the embrace of my neighbor and husband as we watched the flames grow bigger over the apartment.  Dorian’s crying awoke me from my stupor and started the car so I could sit in it with Dorian to keep him warm and somewhat occupied seeing as he had been so rudely awakened.  Josh made sure we were comfortable and expressed his concern for both the cat and the bird we owned.  I felt his concern as well and suggested he told one of the firefighters where to look for them.  Josh did so and returned shortly after sitting in the car with Dorian and me as we waited restlessly wondering what would happen next.  Josh grew anxious and went outside to talk to people and keep an eye on the situation while I focused my attention on the kid, or at least tried to do so.  About a half hour to forty five minutes passed when Josh showed up at the car carrying Penguin, our cat covered in soot. Poor Penguin was very obviously in shock and clinging to josh.  Josh excitedly put the bird cage in the back seat and came to sit up front with me and Dorian.  He told me how he had let the firemen know we kept the cat in the laundry room at night and had also let them know about the bird although he admitted he had not expected the little finch to make it out alive.  He then explained how he had waited anxiously and watched as the fire fighter carried both the cat and the bird cage down the steps amazed that they were both still alive.  They gave Penguin some oxygen and said he looked ok but we could always take him to a vet if we were worried.  Josh held and pet the cat as he listened to me tell him how guilty I felt because I had thought about the cat and then decided to not go back for him.  Josh reassured me that I had made the right choice in getting out seeing as the whole building was ablaze five minutes after we had gotten out.  Josh then told me of his experience. 

              Josh has gotten up to get Dorian a bottle around ten and as routine for us he sat on the loveseat we have in Dorian’s room waiting for him to finish so he could take the bottle out to keep it from leaking all over the sheets.  He had dozed a little himself when he heard the boy finish his bottle.  He got up to take the bottle to the kitchen when he smelled smoke and heard people shouting.  He went to look out the peep hole to see what was going on but couldn’t see anything because the smoke was already so thick.  That is when he started shouting for me to get up.  He told me how he hadn’t thought to grab shoes and told me how when he ran outside with Dorian he could feel the heat of the board under his feet.  He was relieved that he thought top grab his Army clothes waiting on the table for the next morning because he now had a set of ACUs and his wallet and keys.  We were both very thankful that we both had keys and ID.  Josh then let me know they saw our neighbor being carried out and given air, but that she looked like she was okay other than smoke inhalation.

 We tried to keep Dorian as happy as we could as we waited and tried to begin making plans as to what we would do.  I called my parents explaining what was going on, breaking down while doing so.  The neighbor across from us offered to let us stay at her mother’s house and my parents offered to get us a hotel room.  We thanked both but kept waiting.  Around 1:00 AM we received a call from an officer asking if we were still at the scene.  We let him know we were and he informed us that Red Cross would be coming out and would help make arrangements for the night.  When Red Cross arrived they asked about all the residents and as soon as they found out we had a baby and that I was pregnant they started with us, which we were very grateful for.  They gave us a voucher to stay at Days Inn free of charge for the night and gave us instructions to check in with them the next day so they could do all the paperwork then. 

              It was now 1:30 AM and we still needed to buy Dorian bottles, diapers, food, clothes, etc.  Rather than waiting until the building was clear to enter we decided to leave and buy the necessities we knew we would need.  Although we weren’t sure what the damage was, we knew it was severe.  While we were shopping at Walmart our neighbor texted us that she was finally able to go into her apartment and that she hated to be the bearer of bad news, but it didn’t look like we had much of anything left.  The news didn’t surprise us, but it still crushed whatever hopes we had left.

We finally made it to the hotel around 2:00 AM and found the hotel was out of cribs.  We made a make shift pallet on the floor and were finally able to comfort Dorian to sleep.  We collapsed into bed ourselves although Josh still planned on reporting to work to see what help they could offer us as well as to see if maybe we could be put up in temporary housing.  His alarm went off much too early at four and although I was exhausted I got up with him to shower and prepare for the day.  We had survived the night, now the recovery begins.

writing group: lyrics

I hope that you see right through my walls I hope that you catch me 'cause I'm already falling.  I've never let a love get so close; you put your arms around me and I'm home.

When I listen to music, I listen to the melodic tunes of the song, but more specifically, I listen to the lyrics.  Lyrics are poems put to words; emotions expressed through words.  So when a particular lyric sticks with me, I usually find some emotional connection to it.  In fact, that’s why I have a hard time listening to songs I listened to ten years ago: because there are so many memories and emotions tied to every song that for me it is more emotional than looking at a stack of pictures.  The lyrics above I heard in the car while driving to post with my husband and I couldn’t help but thinking; if I wrote a song five years ago, this is what I would have written.   

When I first met my husband I was at a precipice in my life.  I had just spent my first year at college on my own and I was feeling pulled and conflicted at who I was or what I was supposed to be.  I felt as if the previous nineteen years of my life I had only been a mold my parents had created and didn’t know who I was or even what I wanted to be; I just knew I was unhappy.  I felt like I couldn’t meet my parent’s expectations and in doing that, I didn’t meet my own.  I was feeling vulnerable and began putting up these proverbial walls to try and keep people out: to keep people from knowing what a mess I felt I was inside.

And then I met my husband.  Never before had I met someone who I felt to see into my very soul.  We communicated without talking and instantly seemed to know the other.  In three days I felt he knew me just as well as my closest friends.  And in this chaotic swirling mass of emotions and doubt that I was he saw me and he loved me.  So although I felt like I was falling, I felt like I had someone I could cling to and more importantly, someone strong enough to hold me up from hitting rock bottom.  We spent hours in each other’s arms and just the intimacy of holding one another, knowing the other was always there was a safety net I felt I had never known before.  After we were married I told him that my favorite place in the world to be was in his arms.  Five and half years later and that still remains the same.  In fact I believe it more strongly now. 

During our marriage my husband has had to spend a lot of time away due to jobs, training, and deployment.  In five years of marriage, I have lived with him for two and a half of it.  This separation has been trying and downright brutal.  While he is away I have stayed at our apartment or house, or traveled to be with family, but it isn’t home until he is here with us.  So when he puts his arms around me, I am home.

Memory from what I imagine was my moms point of view

Every time I walked through the boor with an arm full of groceries, the race started.  I put up the items I had purchased as fast as I could before my two little girls would scatter the entire grocery store all over my floor, leaving sacks, cans and boxes of food everywhere.  At least I didn’t have to worry as much about the eggs and bread.  They at least had learned that the paper bag of fragile groceries was off limits until I was done.  Putting everything up became an obstacle course as I tried not to trip on the stampeding kids rushing from bag to bag, maneuvering my way around cans so as to not slip and break my neck, all the while trying to keep an eye on the kids to make sure they didn’t find the need to try and stick one of the plastic bags over their head as they ran around.  I was lucky if I got anything in the right place at all as I navigated my way across so many distractions.  However, the ruckus was always worth it as I watched with pleasure the excitement they found in something that was such a mundane task for me.  I don’t really know what it was about the paper bag that they cherished, but to them it was the golden egg of the entire experience.  They would wait with eager anticipation for me to empty out the coveted paper bag and then proceed to beg me to place them in it.  They looked like little groundhogs, peeping their heads in and out of their dark hole, grinning at the world they saw.  Yes, there were usually fights about who got to play in the bag first, but the threat of losing their bag was enough to usually humble at least one of them.  It usually only took ten or fifteen minutes until the bag was beyond use for their active imagination, but it became a prized fifteen minutes of fun for all of us every week.

Monongahela

The trees are beginning to change color and it seems ironic to me that they seem the most alive while they are slowly dying.  I can’t help but wonder if as humans we are subjected to the same fate.  Do we live only when the fear of death is in our hearts or do we always radiate the beautiful golden hue of life and living in our everyday countenance?  I want to vibrate my color long before my dying breath of a wasted life.

June 1987

As soon as I saw her enter the house with her arms full of bags, I knew there was fun to be had.   She placed the bags on the kitchen floor and began unloading the groceries.  My sister and I would peek into the bags looking at the colorful boxes and asking what she had gotten for us.  We looked for our favorite cereals and drinks and smiling triumphantly if we found ourselves the victors of discovering a great prize.  Plastic bags covered the floor, but we waited for the coveted paper bags to be empties so that we could crawl into them and hide.  Usually there was only one paper bag to carry the bread and eggs, but if we were lucky there were two: one for each of us.  We were used to sharing though and since I was the youngest I usually got to go first.  I remember crawling around on the brown linoleum floor waiting until we were able to claim the bag as our own.   Although the process of getting into the bag seemed easy enough, I often had a hard time crawling in and would ask for my mom to put me in the bag.  The dim yellow lights of the kitchen vanished to darkness.  The smell of the thick brown paper enveloped me and I laughed with joy because I knew I was well hidden since I could no longer see anyone.  After a few second I would tire of the loneliness of my shelter and lift my head out over the rim to expose my eyes, making eye contact with either my sister or my mom before I retreated back into my hole like a prairie dog. Once my turn was up I would push myself forward, toppling the bag and rolling out onto the floor as I waited for my sister to play in a similar fashion.  If we were lucky, the bag would hold up through multiple turns, but usually once was all we got before our paper fortress was nothing more than brown paper.

Body Part

topic #2: pick a part on your body (inside or out) and describe it in great detail...we will see if we can guess the body part on each other's posts :)

No one ever seems to notice me, just part of a group.  When I am noticed I am usually criticized for being too long, crooked or chubby.  I may not seem important, but if you lost me, you would be thrown off balance.  I know; I know I am pretty small, but I am always trying to get your attention even if it means I have to throw myself out at inanimate object for you to feel me.   I may seem the runt, but I do my part.  Only a couple of people recognize me, usually it’s my companions who are adorned with rings.  People are always taking me for granted; mushing me in tight places that were too small to begin with. I bet you won’t even guess what body part I am because I am so overlooked.

First prompt: word poem

Tpoic: Grab the nearest book to you (not a children's book) and pick ten random words. Now write a poem using these words. Make sure and underline the random words

Punishing*

Overstepping*

Deviant*

Yielding*

Dimensional*

Coupling*

Crayons*

Cloistered*

Reverently*

Turmoil*

Love is multi-dimensional;

Yielding secrets of what we are composed of-

Reverently overstepping convention into ourselves.

To some it is deviant, punishing themselves unknowingly-

These few fester and sink in turmoil.

But beyond oneself is a coupling…a sundry of attributes,

emotions and experiences cloistered together waiting to be attained.

Crayons of color for our soul.

I wrote this last year while my husband was deployed to Afghanistan, but still hold sjust as true:

As a sixteen year old junior in high school I didn’t realize how one day would shape the rest of my life.  I didn’t know then that what had happened would become the life I was to be a part of.  I didn’t understand its true significance.  Like others who watched the planes fly into the New York Coty Trade Centers, I had a hard time processing what was going on.  Why were they saying we were under attack?  Who was attacking us?  Did this mean war?  Why were civilians targeted?  Why? Why? Why?

                Although it has been (ten) years I still remember everything about that day.  I remember getting the news about a plane hitting the tower before the first bell rang at 7:20 A.M.  I remember trying to do math as the TV remained on, but muted in the corner constantly drawing my attention as news bulletins and updated flashed across the screen and I remember the gasp and the deadly silence of the class when the second plane hit.  The bells still rang and my day went on, but classes didn’t. 

                Second hour Spanish class I was lucky enough to sit next to my best friend Zach.  My teacher said there was no way she could teach when our nation was in such a crises and the whole hour I remember Zach and I sat hand in hand as we watched the towers fall.  I cried; we all cried.  It was so sad to know the thousands who perished.  It hurt hearing people frantically calling into the news stations searching for their loved ones.  It hurt because the safety our nation had always felt had been destroyed within a couple of hours.

                Classes crept by and the halls were filled with people crying for people they knew in New York.  As word hit that another plane had hit the Pentagon there was no debating that this was indeed an attack.  Who would do this to us though?  Teachers tried to comfort us, but they were just as disoriented as the rest of us.  No one had answers and no one knew what to do.

                (Ten) years have elapsed and that tragic day has fallen from the minds of many.  What was so catastrophic and unexplainable had to many people become just another story for the text book.  On the anniversary the hero’s and fallen are remembered, but it is now talked about as if it had happened decades ago.  As if we were not still fighting the same war, the war my husband is now in Afghanistan fighting for.  I know (ten) years before I never realized how personally involved I would become in all of this.  How close this war would touch my heart.

(Ten) years later and I still don’t have any new answers, just new information as my husband writes, “I can’t help but question why we are here.  I know we are trying to help these people gain freedom and a better life, but they hate us.  They hate what we stand for.  They hate what we believe in…then I think of all the innocents that will ultimately be helped by us and I am ashamed for thinking of the easy way out.”  Nine years later and we still don’t know who is friend and who is foe as he continues in a different letter, “It is a land destitute of joy.  It’s a place of heat, pain, and sorrow.  The children are raised on lies of hatred and anger and the adults thrive off of death and terror.  We’ve come to this place to help build it up, to try and give these people a boost to live happier more fulfilling lives and they smile and give thanks and as soon as we start to walk away they continue to make instruments of our destruction.”

I never would have guessed that the sixteen year old girl watching these images would become the wife of a soldier who fought to protect my freedom.   Married to a man who fought to protect the countries freedom and to secure a safety we lost on September 11, 2001.  My husband is my hero and an honorable man because although he sometimes cannot see his contributions to a definite outcome, he believes in what he is doing, which is why he has pledges his life to the United States Army.  

This September 11^th is very different for me as I realized more acutely that there has been more blood spilt that just on that fateful day and a couple of weeks ago I feared my husband’s name would be added to the list of those who dies fighting for this cause when he was wounded.  As he says though, he still has “fight left and a work to do” and he excitedly returned to duty as soon as he recovered. 

I never would have imagined how long this war would last and how much it affects each and every one of us whether we realize it or not, so I beseech each of us to recognize the war that still goes on around us and to remember to give the reverence and respect for those who will never return home to their family because of terrorists.

I'm Pregnant, but shhhh don't tell anyone yet; I only just found out!

So to those of you that actually follow my blog, you already know this is a journal for me, so in keeping true to myself I am excited to share with you some very exciting news that I have been dying to write about. Even though this news is early and I am not posting it anywhere else I felt my journal needed to be suplamented :).  I have a ten month old son who has blessed our family.  You see it took three years to conceive him.  I had been told I couldn’t have children so his birth was nothing short of miraculous.  My husband and I knew we wanted a large family and with his next deployment already scheduled we wanted to try and conceive again so that he would be home for it this time.  Although we were both hopeful, we feared it would be just as difficult to conceive again.  Yesterday, I found out I was pregnant after only two months of trying.  My elation is indescribable!  This means my husband will be here for my pregnancy and the first 3-4 months of life before he has to deploy to Afghanistan again.  We couldn’t have planned it any more perfectly.  I was so excited to tell him so yesterday as soon as I found out, I went to Walmart and bought an “I’m the big brother” shirt for my son.  I then went to the mall to make a custom shirt for myself that said “new recruit” with an arrow pointing to my belly.  I made plans to meet my husband on post for lunch.

                As soon as I saw him my heart started beating a mile a minute wondering when he would notice.  As we got out of the car I realized my son’s diaper had overflowed and my husband offered to change it.  I took picture after picture thinking he would notice my son’s shirt, but it went unnoticed.  We started in on our burgers when I noticed my husband eyes on me.  I saw the wheels in his head working as he looked up from my shirt and asked, “Really? (short pause) Really (said in a high excited voice)?”  I told him to look at our son’s shirt (which gave me time to get the camera out again) and caught his excited happy smile

New Goal

So I haven’t posted in almost a week because I have been feeling pretty low emotionally.  I felt as if I was on the verge of tears and everything seemed to irritate me.  I was overly cynical and feeling a little worthless; pretty much I was depressed.  My sweet husband has been so patient with me trying extra hard to put a smile on my face and slowly over the days I have felt this burden slowly leave, leaving me feeling lighter and more myself.  The reason I am posting this for viewing is for two reason, and these are the two reasons I feel I am more myself.  Let me explain.  While I was in this deep funk, I spent extra time doing the things that help relax me: which is mostly crocheting.  When I had finished what I was working on I sent it off to a friend.  I just got word from her on how much it meant to her and I couldn’t help but feel valuable, appreciated and validated in who I was and what I did (something us mothers don’t always receive from our children).  Honestly, I hadn’t thought it much of a sacrifice to send the gift and I felt edified in at least thinking of someone else other than myself for a short while during those somber days.  So really in this convoluted paragraph all I am really trying to say is remember to serve someone today and also to compliment or recognize someone and it will surprise you how well you will feel after you get outside yourself.  I have a new goal of trying to reach out to someone once week in some sort of service so that I might become an active participant in my life as well as those around me.  I will post about my experiences if I feel they have inspired or taught me something.  May I encourage all to do the same! J

Hubris

I have noticed that we as humans are a very deprecating race.  It seems that we feel we have to destroy or tarnish something in order to claim it as our own.  Is our own carnal hubris so fragile that we must destroy something in order to exert ourselves over it?  Think about this; time and time again across time, culture, religion, etc. we damage something in order to claim it as our own.  When explorers traveled to new lands they would thrust their counties flag into the countryside to claim it as theirs; same with mountain climbers who are first to reach the peak.  Let’s narrow our focus to even just a personal level.  Is it not the same thing when a man claim’s a woman’s virginity; or when a graffiti artist tags a building?  When it snows and there is a freshly laid blanket on the ground why do we have this manic urge to be the first on to put our prints in it? 

A Soldier and the Atonement

I wrote this while my husband was deployed (soon after he was injured) and I came across it this morning.  I was really hating the Army this morning so this help put things back into perspective for me.       

           There is no argument over the fact that in this mortal life the greatest gift we have been given is the saving, graceful gift of the atonement; a sacrifice of love where our Brother gave his life to save us all.  No one else could give this gift and our Savior willingly took the mantel and burden of our sins upon his shoulders because of the love he has for each and every one of us.  It is through the power of this gift that we have been invited to try and be like Jesus and the Gods we are preparing to become.  Although emulating perfection in this lifetime is impossible, it is not unattainable.  Our test here is to follow Christ and I want to recognize a special group of people who are following in his footsteps whether they recognize it or not.

                As we know the atonement came at a great price that required a perfect life and a willing heart that was given freely to secure our freedom in the afterlife; similarly, our men and women serving in the military offer the same thing, but on a mortal level.  Just as Christ, they willingly offer their lives as payment for our freedom to defend and protect our basic, unalienable rights.  Although this mortal freedom takes more than one sacrifice, I am amazed at how many willingly dedicate their lives to this calling.  Christ did not sacrifice his life for glory or worship and neither do our soldiers.  This is a gift both Christ and the member of the military offer freely because of the love for their brothers and sisters and for the love of freedom.

                On Christ’s way to the cross he was spurned and hated, mocked and discriminated; yet, he stood steady in his task and his duty to follow through with the plan.  The soldiers in our military deal with this injustice as well.  Even after these valiant individuals gave their lives many are faced with people protesting at their funerals, belittling the gift they gave.

Sadly, the gift of the atonement is not believed in or accepted by everyone, but yet it is a gift that applies to all whether it is wanted or accepted.  Just as the atonement applies to the atheist, so does the military’s gift of freedom apply to the hard hearted and ignorant.  Although these men and women willingly give themselves to the cause of freedom some people accuse that they are war mongers looking for a fight.  However, the sacrifice given is a sacrifice for all.

The purpose for this comparison is not to give glorify the soldier; instead it is meant to show how these individuals serve as an example to the rest of us what we can accomplish in this lifetime as we too strive to become more like our Father in Heaven and to appreciate to the fullest the eternal gift of life given to us through Christ as well as the gift of freedom to enjoy life given to us by brave men and women who sacrifice daily for our behalf.

More Than Words

I got my degree in English Literature, so to me words are very important, especially the written word.  All my life words have been the way I have been able to define myself as I try to describe the words around me.  However, this week there we no words available to put into writing the emotions I was feeling.  As I cradled my sick baby I realized some things cannot be experienced thought story or text.  Some things can only be comprehended through experience.  I can try and describe in great detail the fear that continually set on the edge of my mind waiting to be voiced as I switch one cool wash cloth for another.  I could try and describe how you could feel the burn of the fever from the hot sweaty touch of his skin.  I could tell how we stripped him of all clothes and gave him multiple cold baths or how I rocked him for hours allowing him to whimper all the while because of his discomfort, but none of that would be enough.  There are no words to describe the utter inability in which I would be able to make him better.  And words can’t fully describe the feeling of aloneness as you already start fearing for the worst.  Words would do these emotions injustice with such a statement as it was just a high fever and a long night.  But the emotions, the fears, the memory play themselves in my head and heart more than any words could.  So for the first time in my life I can distance words from the “real”: the feeling, the emotion from the “unreal”: the attempt to make a snapshot of a life.   

Numbers

When I was a child and had a hard time sleeping I would lie on my side and watch my digital clock.  It was probably around the age of twelve I realized that some numbers looked more feminine while others looked masculine.  I had forgotten all about this until I was up late last night having a hard time falling asleep and I posed the possibility of assigning genders to numbers to my husband.  Although he thought it was silly he played along.  Out of nine numbers we only disagreed on one.  I doubted this was just common thinking or a coincidence so I then asked my best friend to do the same thing; her answers were also almost identical to what my husband and I had agreed upon.  She even asked her three year old daughter whos answers were very close to our own.  It was at this point I realized that to me the feminine numbers were the curvy ones while the males were linear.  Now intrigued with the social implications this held, I posted the same question to several Facebook friends.  Although there were a wider variety of answers, it seemed pretty clear to me that we have been conditioned at a very early age to what is “feminine” and what is ‘masculine” and the numbers in greatest dispute were 5 and 8.  Five has both the curves and the linear, making it debatable and 8 although all curve does not fit the desired feminine our society wishes to portray (dumpy), thus making it male to some and female to others.  How interesting that something as inanimate as numbers can be assigned gender based on shape.  Do we unconsciously do the same thing to people?  Do we judge a boy for have feminine features or judge a girl for looking butch?  Is this something that has spanned time or is it only cultural or locational?  Does the definition of male and female change over time?  How are we perpetuating this unconsciously?  Numbers, silly numbers….what do you see?  Here are my personal answers
1: male
2: female
3: male (although curvaceous it seems distant like it is holding its arm out)
4: male
5: female/male
6: female
7: male
8: male (also curvaceous, but to me it looks like a short, fat man)
9: female
I also realize that my reasons for 3 and 8 seem sexiest, but that’s my point.  Why at the age of 12 was I able to apply such judgements?

Another beginning to another story

Brooding and broken, she rested her hands and head on the railing of his crib, looking in on him as she always did when she couldn’t sleep.  If she couldn’t make her life what she had wanted, how could she guarantee she could give him a good life? She felt the tears clogging her eyes again, but she refused to acknowledge them, not when her sweet, beautiful boy lay sleeping in her sights.  How had she become so blessed and so cursed?  He was in every way her miracle, the key linking her here to responsibility, honor and duty.  Otherwise, would she not still be with his father, living a life where you are seeking the next pleasure, the next fix.

She hadn’t intended on getting pregnant and when she realized she was she didn’t take it very seriously.  How could she when all she had known for years was based on fulfilling her own selfish desires?  It wasn’t until she felt him kicking that someone had finally knocked some sense into her.  Upon waking from her ostentatious living she realized how alone she was and how ephemeral her life had been.  She needed stability; she needed to take care of this baby.

On nights like these where the cravings hit her the hardest she felt pulled because half of her hated who she had been; that had been the point of rejecting that life, but at the same time, she missed it.  She felt as if she was still that person who had only put on a mask of adulthood.  Sometimes she imagined friends, co-workers and neighbors could see through it all and every day she waited for someone to pull of the mask and show her for what she really was.  Her heart rejected that life, but her body craved it.  She feared her toddler could see the two people inside her constantly fighting and that frightened her.  Would she ever escape it all?