July 27, 2010
Yesterday at work I was reading through the medical records of one of my clients and hospital memories began to flood my mind. I wonder what it would be like to read through my records. How would those pages depict the most horrendous days of my life? How would they talk about Harper and her birth? I bet I could read about every time we listened to her heart beat. They must have made some notation about that. Would they have written down any comments I made during that time, little notes anywhere speaking to my state of mind or emotional wellbeing? I realized I had been holding my breath and forced myself to exhale. My heart was beating quickly. I looked out the window at the cityscape, but that's not what I saw. I saw myself in the ER on the day I thought I was going to die. I saw myself losing consciousness several times that day. I felt the humiliation I felt when my bed pan overflowed with blood and feces there beneath me in the bed. I felt the pointlessness of the fight for life because I had just lost Harper. It's been two years and I still struggle to find the courage within myself to face a life that I fear holds more pain, more loss, more heartache. It takes so much work, so much work to sort through the mess that grief made when it hijacked my thought processes. But still I soldier on. I look for the moments of ease in my life, the people who I can relax around, who understand that I'm still sorting through it all and they are okay with that. Those people have become an oasis for me. Because every day it's a struggle in my mind to make sense of my life now. I'm thankful for the moments of distraction, for laughter, for a good night's sleep without fitful dreams.
Here I sit. Finishing my cup of coffee, preparing myself for a day that I have decided will be a good one. Telling myself in my constant state of prayer that there will be goodness today. There will be goodness that I will notice and will embrace. I will not fear today.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Inception Spoiler Alert
July 25, 2010
Spoiler Alert! This blog is about the movie Inception, and I do discuss the ending.
He was looking for his children. He saw them in his dreams, only he couldn't see their faces. Hm. I understand that. I've been looking for my daughter in my dreams too. And I can't find her. I desperately want to know what she looks like. I want to see her face, just once. I'd do just about anything to see it. And then the end. He got to see them, his children. Tears welled up inside me and began seeping from the corner of my eyes. How silly I felt. I don't think anyone else was crying. It wasn't exactly a crying kind of movie. But I did.
Spoiler Alert! This blog is about the movie Inception, and I do discuss the ending.
He was looking for his children. He saw them in his dreams, only he couldn't see their faces. Hm. I understand that. I've been looking for my daughter in my dreams too. And I can't find her. I desperately want to know what she looks like. I want to see her face, just once. I'd do just about anything to see it. And then the end. He got to see them, his children. Tears welled up inside me and began seeping from the corner of my eyes. How silly I felt. I don't think anyone else was crying. It wasn't exactly a crying kind of movie. But I did.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The beginning of us
July 19, 2010
In a year full of dates that make my heart hurt, today is one that does quite the opposite. Fourteen years ago today, Jeremy and I went on our first date. It was the offical beginning of the story of us. We sat at our outdoor table at the Freighthouse and talked and ate. At least I ate. Jeremy barely touched his food. I thought it was because I wasn't carrying enough of the conversation so he didn't have time to eat, so I excused myself to the restroom to let him catch up. But when I came back to the table, he still had hardly touched a thing. Later I found out he was too nervous to eat.
I remember bits and pieces of our conversations that night. I talked about wanting to go to law school one day. He talked about his love of music. Ah yes! He's got passion! I remember looking at his hands and thinking how handsome they were. We walked through downtown Stillwater and then walked along the river and talked and talked. And laughed. He always made me laugh. I hadn't planned on falling in love. Really. But when I walked into my apartment that night after the date, I couldn't keep the smile off of my face. My roommates teased me, "I thought you said he was just a friend?"
That was the beginning. The beginning of us.
In a year full of dates that make my heart hurt, today is one that does quite the opposite. Fourteen years ago today, Jeremy and I went on our first date. It was the offical beginning of the story of us. We sat at our outdoor table at the Freighthouse and talked and ate. At least I ate. Jeremy barely touched his food. I thought it was because I wasn't carrying enough of the conversation so he didn't have time to eat, so I excused myself to the restroom to let him catch up. But when I came back to the table, he still had hardly touched a thing. Later I found out he was too nervous to eat.
I remember bits and pieces of our conversations that night. I talked about wanting to go to law school one day. He talked about his love of music. Ah yes! He's got passion! I remember looking at his hands and thinking how handsome they were. We walked through downtown Stillwater and then walked along the river and talked and talked. And laughed. He always made me laugh. I hadn't planned on falling in love. Really. But when I walked into my apartment that night after the date, I couldn't keep the smile off of my face. My roommates teased me, "I thought you said he was just a friend?"
That was the beginning. The beginning of us.
Monday, July 12, 2010
We just do
July 12, 2010
Jeremy is a huge Tom Petty fan. We've had Mo Jo playing in our home since it was released. Jeremy is eagerly anticipating the concert he'll be attending in September with a friend in Phoenix. There is a song on Mo Jo that tugs on my heart strings every time I hear it. "I knew you'd like that song," Jeremy said the first time he played it for me. Last night was no exception.
We were driving back from an end of the weekend iced mocha run. Mo Jo was playing. That song came on. I was mesmerized by the rhythm, the lyrics, my memories. All of it. Tears started streaming down my face. "What's wrong sweetie?" he asked. "What are you thinking about?"
"Harper. And all that we've been through. It could be so different Jeremy," I sobbed and doubled over, hugging my knees to my chest. I didn't want to look at my bare legs with all their scars. They only reminded me of more pain. I wanted to hide them from myself. "Her second birthday would be coming up. When will it stop hurting? It hurts every day. I try to think about the future and make plans but then I think, what's the point?" I saw his face. His eyes were welled up. Our tears were interrupted by Django (who had gone along for the ride). He went on full alert when he saw a short, pudgy dog in our neighborhood. He started to make his muffled barking sound. Jeremy and I laughed. "So tough."
My mind wandered to one of my friends who had lost a daughter. How does she do it? How does she keep on going? And not just her. Everyone. We all have this pain and loss and grief, and we keep on going. How do we do it? We just do. We just do.
Jeremy is a huge Tom Petty fan. We've had Mo Jo playing in our home since it was released. Jeremy is eagerly anticipating the concert he'll be attending in September with a friend in Phoenix. There is a song on Mo Jo that tugs on my heart strings every time I hear it. "I knew you'd like that song," Jeremy said the first time he played it for me. Last night was no exception.
We were driving back from an end of the weekend iced mocha run. Mo Jo was playing. That song came on. I was mesmerized by the rhythm, the lyrics, my memories. All of it. Tears started streaming down my face. "What's wrong sweetie?" he asked. "What are you thinking about?"
"Harper. And all that we've been through. It could be so different Jeremy," I sobbed and doubled over, hugging my knees to my chest. I didn't want to look at my bare legs with all their scars. They only reminded me of more pain. I wanted to hide them from myself. "Her second birthday would be coming up. When will it stop hurting? It hurts every day. I try to think about the future and make plans but then I think, what's the point?" I saw his face. His eyes were welled up. Our tears were interrupted by Django (who had gone along for the ride). He went on full alert when he saw a short, pudgy dog in our neighborhood. He started to make his muffled barking sound. Jeremy and I laughed. "So tough."
My mind wandered to one of my friends who had lost a daughter. How does she do it? How does she keep on going? And not just her. Everyone. We all have this pain and loss and grief, and we keep on going. How do we do it? We just do. We just do.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Cool relief
July 8, 2010
I had moments of sweet relief this weekend. Fleeting moments, but ones I held tight to nonetheless. I went to Barnes & Noble by myself, just to browse, to dive into the beauty of the book covers, the stationary, and yes, the baking books! As I walked into the store I inhaled deeply the scent of coffee and books. A smile crept across my face. It was open mic night in the coffee shop area and a group of old hippies strummed their guitars and sang Peter, Paul & Mary songs. After perusing the gifts and greeting cards, I made a beeline for the baking books. Oh they were beautiful; pictures of scrumptious cakes and artisan breads. I poured over the recipes and made mental notes of the techniques described for getting the perfect pie crust. And then I had to force myself to walk away before I started making purchases my budget could not support. But it was a wonderful experience.
On Sunday Jeremy and I went to our HOA pool. For a while it was just the two of us there. We played in the water and laughed together. We held ourselves in the water with our legs swung over the edge of the pool and talked. And for a moment, I laid on my back and floated in the cool water and looked up at the blue sky and white clouds above me. I let the fluid silence soak me and breathed deeply. Another moment I would hold onto. A moment of relief from the anxious thoughts swarming my mind. Cool relief.
I had moments of sweet relief this weekend. Fleeting moments, but ones I held tight to nonetheless. I went to Barnes & Noble by myself, just to browse, to dive into the beauty of the book covers, the stationary, and yes, the baking books! As I walked into the store I inhaled deeply the scent of coffee and books. A smile crept across my face. It was open mic night in the coffee shop area and a group of old hippies strummed their guitars and sang Peter, Paul & Mary songs. After perusing the gifts and greeting cards, I made a beeline for the baking books. Oh they were beautiful; pictures of scrumptious cakes and artisan breads. I poured over the recipes and made mental notes of the techniques described for getting the perfect pie crust. And then I had to force myself to walk away before I started making purchases my budget could not support. But it was a wonderful experience.
On Sunday Jeremy and I went to our HOA pool. For a while it was just the two of us there. We played in the water and laughed together. We held ourselves in the water with our legs swung over the edge of the pool and talked. And for a moment, I laid on my back and floated in the cool water and looked up at the blue sky and white clouds above me. I let the fluid silence soak me and breathed deeply. Another moment I would hold onto. A moment of relief from the anxious thoughts swarming my mind. Cool relief.
Friday, July 2, 2010
I'll get there
July 2, 2010
I've been in a negative head space lately. And you know what? I'm kind of embarrassed about it. Like it's my fault or something. Like it's a character flaw or failing on my part. Geez Abby. Let it go. But here I am, having a hard time. Again.
You should be over this by now. No one's going to want to spend time with you any more. You're so negative. You're going to be one of those people who only talks about their health or their depression or their losses. One of those people that others see coming and turn to go the other way. You better be quiet about it.
I don't know why, but I've been in a lot of pain lately. All day long. I broke down sobbing on my way in to work the other day. Suck it up Abby. You've got to do this. You've got to work. Keep going. So I did. But every time I felt the pain, I just really wanted to give up. I guess I'm just tired. Plum tuckered out. I wish I knew what was causing the pain. It was the same thing a couple of weeks ago that caused me to go in and see Dr. G, and then have my pouchoscopy procedure that said everything looked fine. Then why the heck am I having these days where I'm in so much pain? I think part of the feeling of wanting to give up comes from feeling like there aren't answers. But sometimes we have to live without answers, don't we? It's hard. There's no way around it. But we all have to do it. We make sense of what we can, and try to live the rest. I guess I just need to trust that in the afterlife things will make sense to me.
I've been alone a lot lately too. That probably isn't the best thing for me. I haven't been reaching out to friends much. I've been eating more comfort foods than usual. I'm trying to keep myself exercising because I know that's good for me, but I get on the treadmill and walk for 10 minutes and think, "Ah, what's the point?"
I know! Don't you just want to shake me?! I certainly want to give myself a good kick in the pants. Snap out of it Abby! Come on already! I'll get there. I will. I always do.
I've been in a negative head space lately. And you know what? I'm kind of embarrassed about it. Like it's my fault or something. Like it's a character flaw or failing on my part. Geez Abby. Let it go. But here I am, having a hard time. Again.
You should be over this by now. No one's going to want to spend time with you any more. You're so negative. You're going to be one of those people who only talks about their health or their depression or their losses. One of those people that others see coming and turn to go the other way. You better be quiet about it.
I don't know why, but I've been in a lot of pain lately. All day long. I broke down sobbing on my way in to work the other day. Suck it up Abby. You've got to do this. You've got to work. Keep going. So I did. But every time I felt the pain, I just really wanted to give up. I guess I'm just tired. Plum tuckered out. I wish I knew what was causing the pain. It was the same thing a couple of weeks ago that caused me to go in and see Dr. G, and then have my pouchoscopy procedure that said everything looked fine. Then why the heck am I having these days where I'm in so much pain? I think part of the feeling of wanting to give up comes from feeling like there aren't answers. But sometimes we have to live without answers, don't we? It's hard. There's no way around it. But we all have to do it. We make sense of what we can, and try to live the rest. I guess I just need to trust that in the afterlife things will make sense to me.
I've been alone a lot lately too. That probably isn't the best thing for me. I haven't been reaching out to friends much. I've been eating more comfort foods than usual. I'm trying to keep myself exercising because I know that's good for me, but I get on the treadmill and walk for 10 minutes and think, "Ah, what's the point?"
I know! Don't you just want to shake me?! I certainly want to give myself a good kick in the pants. Snap out of it Abby! Come on already! I'll get there. I will. I always do.
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