Some day . . .

May 27, 2010

Dear Harper,

I've been thinking about you in a new light lately. A friend of mine came over for dinner the other night and I was showing her pictures of you. She said something to me that, while I've heard it before, it really sunk in this time. She said that you gave up your little soul so that I could live. Your daddy said the same thing to me when we found out you had died, but I wasn't ready to hear that then. Part of my inability to hear it was that I felt like my illness was caused by you to begin with, (though I hated myself for feeling that way). But as I was looking at your picture, listening to my friend talk, I realized that you had just as much right to this life as I do. While you were a part of me, you were also your own being. Your dad and I used to talk about raising you with an understanding that you were your own person. You weren't "ours." You were just with us for us to take care of and teach for a couple of decades before you would want to move out on your own. And it's true. You were your own. And so perhaps it was your choice to help ease my pain. I don't know. Perhaps we were both victims of the same random tragedy. I don't know that either. But it did make me see you in a whole new light, thinking about it that way.

I think about you every day. Every day Harper. Yesterday I was walking on the treadmill and I started thinking about you. I was thinking about my uncertainty about what happens to us when we die. I'm okay with the uncertainty because I don't think knowing for sure would change how I live my life, but as I thought about you, it made me want to believe without a doubt that I would see you again. I so want to get to know you. This sort of settled feeling came over me then and I thought, yeah, I'll get to know her some day. One way or another I'll get to know you. There's something really exciting to me about that. I was going to say that you may not have had a fully developed body, but you had a huge spirit, and then I realized that you did have a fully developed body. It was just so tiny is all. Any yes, you had a fully developed spirit. And I believe that one day my spirit will recognize yours. And I will feel such completion and joy when that happens. I don't know the context for sure, but I do have a sense of certainty that it will happen.

I miss you. I get wrapped up in it sometimes, how much I miss you. You know, I like to think of you as a being who made a choice about giving up her life for me instead of being a victim of circumstance. It makes it all seem less tragic. But then I wonder if I believe those things just so I won't be sad, to settle the dissonance in my mind.

I love you sweet girl. Some day . . .
Mom

Lingering fear

May 23, 2010

I napped the afternoon away yesterday, which would have been nice, except for the dream I had that woke me. My recollection of the dream started with me sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, hunched over as the doctor was about to put in an epidural. All of a sudden I realized that I didn't know what was going on. "Wait! What's happening here?" I cried out. I was alone with the doctor. "We have to take it out," she explained. Take what out? What's she talking about? There's nothing in me. There's no baby. What does she want to take out? "Listen, you have no choice here. We have to take it out." I began to sob. "I wish my husband was here," I cried as I hunched over again to let her put the epidural in. I didn't know what was going on. I kept thinking there was nothing there to take out. But just before I woke up I could see her begin to cut me open. And then I woke up.

Olfactory memories

We were busying about the house Saturday morning, preparing to host a retirement party for one of my co-workers that night. I had just gone outside and started setting up chairs and tables when a scent caught my attention. I paused and sniffed around and then went back to what I was doing. But no, that scent. What was that? I walked over to our bedroom window to see if it was open. Was something coming from inside? It was a fresh scent. Clean. I was feeling something churn inside me. Maybe someone nearby was doing their laundry. Suddenly I could not rid the picture from my mind of the two nightgowns I wore when I got home from the hospital. They were the same nightgown, but one was pink and one was yellow. I was flooded with the feeling of being incredibly weak and sick. What the heck was going on? And where was that scent coming from? I went inside to investigate.

"What is that scent?" I asked Jeremy who was scrubbing out the toilet in our bathroom.

"What scent?"

"The one in the guest bathroom. What is that?"

"Oh. That's the Febreeze," he said. I walked into the bathroom and took a deep breath. Yep. That was it. Mystery solved. I went back outside, but I couldn't go back to work. I sat down on the bench by the fountain and closed my eyes. I could see it all. I could see myself in the bathroom after my surgery. I could see myself emptying my ostomy bag. The smell from the bag was horrible. They made special drops you could order from the ostomy supply companies to try to help with the smell. I didn't think they worked so well. We used a lot of Febreeze back then, apparently, though I didn't remember that until that day.

I began to sob. I went back into the bathroom where Jeremy was, my face scrunched up in sobs, "That scent took me back. I'm so thankful I don't have a bag anymore Jeremy. It was horrible. I hated it. I'm so thankful," I told him. He wrapped his arms around me and told me he knew.

Sunday morning we took Django for a walk. "I'm still prepared for you to end up with an ostomy again Abby," he said.

"I know Jeremy. I am too. But for now I'm going to enjoy the time that I don't have one." It's not something we talk about a lot. But it needs to be said from time to time. We need to prepare ourselves mentally for it so it doesn't devastate us if it happens. And it won't devastate us. I just have this feeling though, that that part of my life isn't over. Maybe that's lingering fear talking, I don't know. Maybe it's my body telling my mind something the rest of me doesn't know yet. Maybe the feeling will dwindle with time. But for now, it's where we are.

A very good place to be

May 13, 2010

I've been enjoying the peace in my life lately; driving with the radio off, sitting outside in the hammock in the silence. I'm not afraid of my thoughts. I don't need to distract myself from my pain or sadness. I feel like I'm entering into a new phase in my life. A phase where I do not need to focus on me so much any more. I'm wanting to really enjoy myself. I don't think I've ever been as okay with just relaxing and enjoying things as I am right now. I find myself smiling frequently. Such a good place to be. Such a very good place to be.

2010 Take Steps for Crohn's & Colitis

May 9, 2010

Yesterday evening Jeremy and I, aka "Team Cashman," completed the 2010 Take Steps for Crohn's and Colitis walk. We raised $1025 for the cause and it was with pride that I wore the visor I received as a gift for reaching the $1000 mark. I would guess there were over 100 people there walking. There was "The Swollen Colon" team, and there were the "semi-colons" who of course had a large ";" on their t-shirts. There was a group of people walking in memory of a young woman who lost her life to one of the diseases with her picture on their t-shirts. There were kids and dogs, food, and music. It was quite an event for diseases about which there isn't much public awareness. One of the most funny parts of the experience to me was seeing the signs pointing to the restrooms everywhere with "Crohn's & Colitis Foundation of America" written on them. Every sign we passed made me laugh a little harder. Okay, the game for the kids where they tossed toilet paper rolls into a toilet seat was pretty funny too.

There is nothing like the feeling that comes with doing something active to help make a change for the better in the world. Nothing like it! I said it before, but I'll say it again: Thank you so much to those of you who supported Jeremy and I with your financial contributions to this cause. Thank you!

I don't know how else to describe what I felt walking beside Jeremy other than to say it felt good. Down to the core of my being it felt good.