Healing Memories

December 13th, 2015... that was my first event and definitely the hardest. It was a special event for families that had lost children.  I didn't speak to anyone and could hardly say her name in the circle. I choked on huge sobs as her name attempted to escape my throat. But, I walked away feeling slightly better and stronger.
   Flash forward to last night's event. I felt happiness walking the garden. It's bittersweet happiness of course, because, I miss Adalynne so much I can't breathe sometimes. Then I remember, her soul is free from her broken vessel. I walked through the luminaries that lit up the pathways I used to walk with a stroller and an oxygen mask tucked underneath. As I walked around the zen garden taking in the beautiful view I spilled coffee all down the front of me. Like, seriously from my shirt, vest, leggings, leg warmers, and my damn shoes. A long line of warm (at first coffee) I headed to a bathroom to try and dry off some. My path leads me to the stairs. As I went down them I remember a specific memory from Adalynne's stay at the hospice house...
  It was a Wednesday, we had a cookout with all our friends and family. One of my friends was holding her and I glanced at Adalynne's face.... she had turned blue once again.. I scooped her up and, went into action. I did everything I normally did when she stopped breathing and then, she eventually started back, little tiny breaths. I put the oxygen mask back on her to help her teeny breaths be as rich as possible. I was sitting on a bench, surrounded by our closest family and friends. My brothers were beside me, and I just lost it. I sobbed and sobbed... they put their arms around me and we all cried together. It was heartbreaking and beautiful. I finally gathered myself and the party continued.
   Eventually, she stopped breathing again and I decided it was time to take her back inside. I had her in my arms, my favorite hospice nurse was beside me with the oxygen. As I headed for the stairs fearful of her death my body gave out.. I collapsed to the ground while everyone scurried to us trying to help. I held my dying baby sobbing on the concrete, I couldn't do it anymore. My aunt asked, "Heather, what can I do?!" I yelled" SAVE MY BABY" my eyes poured tears as I could feel my heart breaking even more...

Nothing and no one could save her. That truth was too painful.

   Yesterday I walked down those same stairs (with coffee poured all down the front of me.) I thought of that memory and realized, I survived. I am surviving the greatest loss of life. It's hard and messy and, full of migraines from crying so hard. Each day I wake up and get a little bit stronger. It gets a little bit easier to deal with life without her. I don't want to but, I have to.
  I'm very proud of myself. I didn't cry yesterday, made cupcakes, walked the gardens, felt her love and remembered how free she is. That freedom is a blessing. The weeks leading up to her death were the hardest for her frail body, she fought a good fight and now, she can see the beauty and her soul can fly freely.
   Before I left I took the leftover cupcakes inside. Hoping to give something sweet to a family going through their worst days.. I talked to some nurses and saw a familiar face. One of Adalynne's nurses. She smiled and said she remembered me. As she hugged me she told me she thought of us often. That warmed my heart so much. I thanked her for all she did, there isn't enough thank you's I can give to Hospice and all the nurses who helped us.
     They were my backbone and, when I couldn't stand anymore, sometimes, they literally picked me up off the ground and reminded me, I CAN DO THIS. I will survive this, I will be stronger and love harder because of this journey. I'll always look to the sky and be thankful my girl can see the beautiful sky and glimmering luminaries.

Much love to you all. Hug your babies for me please.

I spy with my little eye.

   I hate cleaning my room alone. I always seem to find things I don't want to find. Some days I smile thinking Adalynne set them there so I'd think of her, others I cry at how bizarre my life was/is. I've kept a running list of photos of these stinging finds. Today's find broke me. Today I was cleaning clothes up and looked down to find "The Bag." Now, this isn't any bag, it's a biohazardous materials bag that I kept and carried any time I traveled. This bag was The Kit I needed for...after Adalynne died. It held saline and eye patches that I was to use once she passed away to preserve her eyes for donation. It's labeled  Hospice Kit/Post-Mortem Eye Care. If I didn't have this when she died I risked losing her ability to donate.
   The thoughts rushed in my brain the moment my fingers touched its plastic. I wonder if they actually used her eyes for science or threw them away like her precious heart valves. (Still so hurt, angry, bitter and broken with Carolina Donor Services)  How many parents had to carry around a Post Mortem care bag with their baby? Who put this in their diaper bag when they took off to take their daughter to see their dad, who lived over an hour away. Or, trips to different states to visit family for a Hello and Goodbye visit. What kind of crazy world I lived in, huh?
  Over these months I've found baby shower cards mixed with "Sorry for your loss" cards from her funeral. I found an envelope with her death certificate I never saw before. Or, maybe I did and my brain was like "NOPE." I also found the lovely "Certificate of Cremation" a sucker punch to my throat. It was together with her certificate you get when your baby is born in the hospital, with their little feet on it. That one left me gasping on the floor alone. One of the funny finds was a letter from the funeral home and inside was a plane ticket. I laughed when I saw those two together. My healing was jumping on a plane to visit family. Something I desperately need again. There is nothing like making more memories with your favorite people to heal your soul a little.
  I have a stack in the living room of papers and basic bullshit from Carolina Donor Services. I'm so pissed at them I just want to burn it all but, I can hear Adalynne sigh at me. "Mom, it is what it is, we tried," I think that's what she'd say if she could've spoken to me. I hope they still used her donations for science. Saving three babies would've been better but, we tried.
   I also find morphine caps at the weirdest times and those, I giggle at. I smile at the fact she no longer needs it. No more fighting through a seizure to get her to swallow morphine. Or blue sticky medicine running down her sweet cheek. I still have a basket of her morphine and seizure meds in a basket hidden under my bed that I can't deal with yet. One day.
  All these finds are bittersweet some more bitter than others. I cry and little and then take some deep breaths and try to finish cleaning.
   What a crazy life I have. I hope all of you are having a better day then finding a Post Mortem baby bag. Please, hug your babies for me. Never take for granted your sweet gifts of life. Even on the hardest days remember, you don't have to carry around a bag for your child's death in their diaper bag.

Much love to all you beautiful souls. Enjoy the sunshine and your precious little ones.

Heather

Wishes for tomorrow

   I keep thinking this will get easier. That one day the tears will stop. One day. Most days it's tolerable. Most days, I can handle the grief. And then, I look through photos of my daughter and my heart aches. The hot tears build up in the corners of my eyes. Blinking them away doesn't always work. Sometimes, they drop to my cheeks. Those tears sting my cheeks with a reminder that this pain, it will never go away. It will always be here taunting the back of my mind each day.
   Each time I step out in public and see a little girl running around, I'm reminded mine will never do that. Each trip to the store is carefully mapped out to avoid the baby sections. If I don't stick to my plan you'll find me staring at baby clothes like a deer in your headlights late at night. We both are not supposed to be where we are but, here we are, stunned and scared. And then, I end up crying in public which, I have a rule against. (No ugly crying public, it helps Noone and, makes me feel worse)
   When you have a baby, your brain changes but, when your baby dies, your brain doesn't switch back to how it was "before." I still see clothes and think "oh I need this for Adalynne" that thought is typically interrupted by the "uhhhh nevermind Heather, go get some kale and leave asap" thought. (Kale makes me feel better, don't judge)
   Ugh, the holiday season is so hard. Well, really each day is hard. Today is just a lazy Thursday and it's hard to sit on the couch and not cry uncontrollably. I try to remember all my lines I tell myself during these days; she's free and whole, she's no longer in pain and suffering, this was our story, you must accept it. Sometimes, they don't work and I'm just angry and sad.
   When those lines don't work, I resort to my next set of lines I tell myself.
   Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, I'll be stronger. Today I can be weak, sad and hurt. Today, I'll miss her till I run out of tears and my head pounds from crying. But, tomorrow, tomorrow will be better.

Much love to all of you beautiful souls. Hug your babies for me today. A big, huge, squishy hug.

Perfect Imperfections.

It's been two years since Adalynne's surgery and on my memories, the photo below popped up. It triggered some thoughts.

I remember scooping you up, your body was so cold even with all the warm blankets snug around you. I bobbed and weaved through all the wires and cords, my heart would race and then, skip. Eager to hold you to my chest but, fearful I would hurt you. Your teeny skull was concaved in from the lack of brain tissue and, fluid. I remember feeling the fluid slosh around like a bottle turned upside down. Or when you drank too much water too fast and your tummy sloshed about.
  You would let out these heartbreaking whimpers that crushed me to hear. I needed to hold you, you needed me to hold you. We untangled ourselves and slowly, steadily settled into our chair. In this moment I thought my heart would burst from my chest! It was beating so fast and then... peace. I took a huge breath of air, soaking in the moment. I had waited a very long time to hold you. That was the longest time we ever went without our embrace I think. Until now of course.
  You seemed to be happy after we settled. I talked to you and sang our song. Reminding you, I would give you all of me. "All of me loves all of you"... "All your curves and all your edges All your perfect imperfections"... Remember I'd dance with you in my belly and rub over our womb as I sang that to you.
  We starred at each other that day as I sang.. "what's going on in that beautiful mind, I'm on your magical mystery ride".. I'd always tear up on "And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me but, I'll be alright."
I tried so hard to accept that line. I'll be alright. I didn't know if I would be. I just had to be, for you. Especially this day. I had to be alright, for you, my sweet, sweet baby.
  I can close my eyes and relive this memory. The way your head felt different and your eyes were no longer pulled open. Your little sassy sighs when I begged you to eat, just a little bit. The way the iodine made your red hair even brighter but, I was too scared to wipe it off, you were in so much pain.  I found a strength in that hospital I didn't know I had. I knew everything you needed, some of the nurses tried to be the boss... hahaaha poor women hadn't met a mama bear like me I guess.
  Being your mommy was the moment I had waited for my whole life. I never felt more like myself than when I was taking care of you, my baby.
I'm so happy your no longer in pain. I try to celebrate your freedom without the aching to hold my number one babe. Thank you for teaching me more about life than I could've ever learned in a classroom or job.

I cry and sometimes yell, to just hold you. As many times as I say I'm alright, I'm not entirely.  I miss you so so so so much. I always will Adalynne Marcella.

"My heads under water but, I'm breathing fine. You're crazy and, I'm out of my mind"

All my love
Mommy.

Singing from the soul.

Noo, I don't want to, I'm not ready to loose her... that's what I said to my delivery nurse Jen, when she told me it was time to push.
I was exhausted beyond anything I've experienced. 40 hours of labor later, I had to push.  Once I got over the extreme fear of the unknown I got my shit together and started to relax into motherhood. My body switched into this zone of extreme focus.
     I was ready to see her, I needed to just see her face. Even if it ment saying goodbye now. I wanted to see my daughter. Each ultrasound she covered her face. Every. Single. Time. And lemme tell you, I had an astonishing number of ultrasounds. They monitored her head size to make sure it didn't get to big to deliver. I knew just about everyone that worked in that high risk pregnancy center by the time it was delivery time. Each time they'd try to get her to show her face but, surprise, surprise my daughter made her own rules.
They told me she would look like a "normal" baby, her head just might be "a little bigger." But, nothing about her was normal...
    I pushed her out in no time. I entered this somewhat primal zone and knew what my body needed to get this baby earthside. By pushing time my best friend had to leave within 45 minutes to catch her rescheduled flight. I pushed for thirty minutes, with breaks for readjustment. And then...she came out and I'll never forget that moment. 
    Not for the beautiful moment you'd think.  Right as she entered earthside I looked at my doctor and I saw him turn his head to my delivery nurse his eyes dropped and he slightly shook his head side to side. The most defeated headshake I'll hopefully ever see in my life. In that moment, my heart literally was crushed. I grabbed my baby girl and yelled "that's my baby" like, everyone didn't just see her exit my body. I looked at her and realized she looked dead. She was limp in my hands and the deepest purple color. I looked at the doctor and asked, "is she going to die?" They told me she had a heartbeat but, wasn't breathing. Immediately my best friend started trying to play All Of Me. They couldn't get the music to play correctly so she said to me to "Heather, why don't you just sing to her." I swallowed huge sobs and started to sing to my limp baby. Over and over again I sang and rocked her, all while apparently my placenta and after birth came out of me. I don't even remember it. I just remember looking Her, singing to Her, my Girl, my Fighter, Adalynne Marcella. I sang to her for about 10 minutes, I'd stop and ask if she was dying, they gave me the same answer each time.
    Then, she cooed with me to the song. Every atom of my vessel shook, my soul was awakened in that instance. She took another breath, and then another. I don't really remember exactly what all happened after but, she settled some.  Everyone was literally blown away with the miracle that is Adalynne Marcella, the noble, beautiful, young warrior.
   Soon after, my best friend nearly promoted, God mother to my daughter got to hold her for a moment before she had to quickly leave for the airport. I moment I'll cherish to the end of my days. Then, the rest of my family came into meet her and my dad left to go get my brothers.  Adalynne still was having issues breathing and we were told we had about two hours left with her.
   Remember how I mentioned I met with the head of the NICU? In our meetings I made sure everyone would know my rules. 1. She was to stay with me at all times. No nurses took her to do any weight or length or medical procedures until, I let them. 2. Comfort Care. No invasive procedures or action was to be taken. I wanted her short life to be pain free and full of love. That was my ultimate goal.
    Instead of tubes, we tried morphine. The morphine worked wonderfully. She started morphine at 2 hours old and took it until the day she died. It calmed her body down to be able to breath and relax.
    Once my brothers got there, ugh my heart was broken, I think beyond repair. There is something about seeing your entire family sobbing over this creation of yours that breaks you to the core.  I felt like I was totally numb inside. As the day went on, we got photos of her with everyone, cherishing our seconds, minutes  and, hours together. All astonished at how stunning she was. 
    She began having seizures at one point and, I just knew what to do. Like, all my life I had spent training for this job. Lots of her life I felt that way, I just knew what she needed.  We got through the rest of the day, had lots of visitors. We all gazed at her and we're blown away by her beauty. She was so freaking beautiful for a newborn. 
    About midnight my aunt arrived after a long trip from Florida. I was so excited to see her and happy she would get to meet my cute creation. Right after my aunt arrived and was holding Adalynne ,she started turning blue.   She had done this a few times by now but, each time sent a soul shattering fear through each person's body. With a little bit of stimulation she started back up.
    The next day is mostly a blur to me of blood and fear. Yay for womanhood. I didn't want to leave the room to shower, or sleep whatsoever. The fear of something happening while I was away was burned into my mind. At some point the nurse came to get us for her MRI. I was so scared, she would die any moment that a simple stroll down a few hallways petrified me. Luckily, I had some amazing nurses who, pushed me in a wheelchair next to her little bassinet. The hospital apparently has a rule I can't hold my baby in a wheelchair. 
    Watching your 1 day old baby have a MRI is.. for lack of better words- bloody fucking hell. I was able to sit in the room with her while it went on and, I sobbed the whole dang time. It is one of the worst feelings, sitting there unable to help your child. This scan wouldn't heal her, only tell us how severe it was.
   Another vivid memory I have was having my delivery nurse Jen come back to see us on the mother baby floor. She told me something I'll never forget. "Watching you breathe life into your child was The moment of my career." Her and my other nurse told me they'd never seen anything like that before and we're truly in awe of us. I wish I could find them and tell them thank you for all they did for us and, most importantly believing in me.
    I morphed into a superhuman that day, I became a warrior myself. I didn't realize until later I think but, looking back I recognize it. She will always be the true warrior that sparked it all and I'm so incredibly thankful to be her mommy.
    Words will never fully express the true miracle that happened July 10th 2014 except.... Adalynne Marcella, The Noble, Beautiful, young Warrior.  May her light shine forever.

So much love to you beautiful souls tonight.
Thank you reading.

Intensive labor

Hello readers,
    I've been thinking about what I should write all day today. It's been two years since I went into labor and my life changed. Well, it definitely changed wayy before she arrived. I had to move back home, change up my parents house to accommodate a special needs child. We thought we'd have a baby in a wheelchair so I moved rooms downstairs. Obviously, she won't ever need a wheelchair, and I'm thankful for that. The real game changer was her arrival earthside.
    The doctors decided to induce me 5 days past my due date. I wasn't ready, she wasn't ready but, there I was waiting in Forsyth hospital for a room to start my induction. I think it was a Wednesday I went in, and they were freaking packed.  I was so anxious just waiting and waiting.
   Then, finally we got started. I was put in one room first but, once they realized who I was I was switched to another room. It was waayyy bigger and, apparently in my own area right near the nurses. You see, I met with the head of the NICU while I was pregnant. I met with whoever I needed to, to ensure they were on the same page of my rules and I knew what to expect. So, when I arrived everyone knew, the very sick baby was about to be born... in a few days haha.
    I got the lovely drug pitocin which, is not lovely what so ever. Then, they decided I was moving along too slow so, I got a balloon inserted in my damn cervix, hooray! That will haunt me forever and ever.  Obviously labor was painful and about every moment sucked. The doctors and nurses kept asking me for an epidural and I kept saying no. I remember getting very close to my breaking point. My best friend had to leave to catch a flight and after, I got to the point I couldn't do it anymore and was asking for an epidural  she walked back in. Never in my life have I ever been so happy and relived to see her in my life. That moment changed her for me. She went from best friend and basically sister to my hero. I needed her with me. We are the best dang team. I busted into tears of relief, mixed with pain. She makes me a stronger women, and I held out for a few more hours.
    Her and my mom, along with all the doctors and nurses kept pushing the epidural, I was so overwhelmed with emotions and exhausted after 24 hours of high doses of pitocin with contractions through the roof, I gave in. I got that stupid needle in my darn spin and was fearful to move afterward because I didn't want to mess it up. All the nurses were like noo, you can adjust yourself, you'll be okay. They were wrong, the dang thing slipped out and I had to have a new one put in. Lemme tell you how happy I was about that....
    I'll also tell you, I cried throughout the whole thing. I cried when they told me I dilated more, when they broke my water, through both epidural's and I lost it when they said it was time to push. I wasn't ready. I knew as soon as she left my body I'd begin the process of loosing her. I didn't want her go. I was so sad and heartbroken. I couldn't get over how much I wanted her left, safe inside my tummy. Inside my womb, she could dance. When I played music to her which, I did everyday she would dance all over my belly, kicking and flipping around freely. Once she was forced to come out everything would be too real. I remember saying "I'm not ready to loose her" over and over again. I still wasn't ready 9 months and 18 days later.....

I'll finish the birth side tomorrow on her official day of birth.

Much love beautiful souls.

Sneaky, sneaky.

I have been feeling pretty happy as of recent. Some people close have told me I've been doing really great. They pointed out I hadn't had any massive breakdowns in the past few months. Upon reflection, I grasped they might be right. I've been keeping focused on making new memories and staying busy.  I'm still gardening and loving it. I've thought about blogging about my experiences and tips but, I don't know if any of you are interested in growing new celery from celery stalks you already have in your fridge. So, I've been holding off.
    I also, got a job working with some really cool people. It keeps me extremely busy and, I enjoy it quite a bit. I've learned staying busy helps keep the grief at bay. Most days I can power through the meetings and, talking with people while my mind churns out all my new information that I've learned. That was, of course until, an older woman at an event asked me if I had children.. my mind went into overdrive thinking **I've prepared my answer, I know exactly what to do in this situation,remain calm and say.."no" -uhh what. That was not what I had planned. Not at all, I realized I lied. I lied about my daughter. My heart screamed YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER. The immediate grief and shame that overcame me almost knocked me down.
    I sucked in a huge breath of air and, it stung my throat down to my lungs, setting them on fire. I grudgingly took another breath and, calmed my mind.  It was at that moment I understood why. I was here to discuss this business, not my personal life. I didn't want this women to drop her mouth in horror and tell me how sorry she was that this happened. That's what they all do, I knew this elder who was daunting about her wonderful grandbabies would do that. Maybe even try to hug me. But, I didn't need that then. I needed to stay focused on my team and why we were there. 
    I've cried about this exchange so many times since then. Even reflecting on it now brings hot tears to the corner of my eyes. They're dancing there while I type eager to drop to my cheeks. Luckily I've learned a tip. Blinking, a whole freaking lot keeps those suckers in there. Also, all my years of eye rolling finally have came to good use.
I know that I'll have more of these moments and each time I'll do a quick assessment of the situation to decide how to answer. I give up the notion that I can predict the future and know each situation I'll be in. I still wish people would not even ask that question... what's it matters to them anyway? Either way, I'm stuck wondering if I did right by my girl. 
   I'm pretty sure she still thinks I'm awesome and loves me regardless. She sends me butterflies and plays our song to me on the radio right when I need it. I sing to her and smile at the sky. Feeling her love engulf me while the sun warms my face and chest.
   I'm pretty proud of myself. Other than that little moment I've genuinely been really happy and feeling like I've got over the hardest parts of grieving. Hopefully now, I can continue to take the moments that remind me of her and, smile. I'll think of her soft cheeks and the little sighs and feel joy that I was able to experience that. Not sadness. The little moments of Sneaky grief will come, I welcome them. My mind says "bring it on, I have a bag of tricks to defeat you" those little moments of sadness make me appreciate my happiness so much more.

Much love to all of my readers who,have stuck by me through this indescribable journey. Hope your day is filled with love. All my love beautiful souls.

Letter to my sweetest

Dear Adalynne Marcella, 

  The year mark of loosing you is quickly approaching. I find myself reminding my brain that we've been 361 days (and counting) seizure free. 361 days with no breathing episodes. 361 days with no morphine or versed needed. But, the grief always sneaks in.... it's still been 361 days since I've been able to hold your earth body or smell your skin. 361 days since I've been able to kiss you and cuddle. Or giggle at your sweet little sighs when I turn off the rap music and take too many pictures.  I knew we'd depart but, I'd still have to carry on. The dreaded fate I stand face to face with and continue to battle each day.
  You're gorgeous blue eyes are burned into my memory. Like, an endless candle flame lighting the way to hope.  Hope. I have found its glimmer once more. I am learning that even though we couldn't donate to three babies, there is hope for us. Hope for me.  I promised you I'd never stop dancing for you, I won't my sweet. I promise now, to keep my eyes open to hope. To be able to find a new meaning of purpose.  It's taken me so long to start to get over of the anger and heartbreak of the "sorry to inform you but, your donation wasn't excepted" letter.  I'm eager to find a new purpose now. One, that fills my heart with as much love as your warm hugs did.  

  361 days of freedom for you and, even on my weakest moments.... I will celebrate your freedom. I chose to put your well-being and comfort first from the moment you were born. And, I will celebrate your freedom and peace every day, forever.  You are the light of my life and, always seem to find a new way to shine to me.  

All my love in the world babe,

 your omnibenevolent mommy.  

Rush hour

I've taken a break from wrighting. Quite a long one I'd say. I needed to let my heart heal a little more, find some peace and solace in life without Adalynne physically here. So much has happened in the few months. Too much in my opinion. At the end of this month... it will have been 1 year since I lost her. A whole damn year and I still sit crying on my floor some days. I thought being prepared for our departure would make it easier. It doesn't. I've met a lot of mama's online who, have lost their babies as well. All of our stories are different but, our pain is quite the same. I find strength in these courageous women but, can't make it to meet them yet. I still feel I'm too sore to talk somedays. Some seem so much braver than I am. They found a way to honor their babies. A purpose in this loss, one I'm still searching for. I don't think any part of me will be healed until I figure that part out.

I'm not rushing myself anymore though. I've learned that in order to "heal" I must allow myself time to do that. I cut out people that tried to rush me faster than my heart could handle. Everyone is so quick to tell you to just be happy and then dissappear once you get sad. Or tell me to hide in a room as to not upset others. I don't really like that mentality so, I'm staying away from those ones. I feel like I've been saying I'm not rushing myself for quite some time. Yet, I still find myself working on that. It's a process, I guess. Maybe if I say it enough I'll continue to follow it... one can hope! Haha

I seriously can't believe it's just about been a whole damn year. I've had more days without her than with her.. bless. I still have things of hers laying around. The ones I still can't bear to deal with. My breast pump, took me 6 months to get it out of my room... It has now sat almost another 6 months, patiently waiting near the door. I keep thinking, one day I'll be brave enough to take it out.  I have about 5 bags filled with her morphine and seizure meds in a basket hiding from my sight. Making sure I always had her pain medication, that was keeping her pain free was essential to my life... and I still find syringe caps all over the place.

I'm proud of myself too, I've come along way from crying over her crib while I slid it out of my room. A task that took me 45 minutes of hysterical sobbing. I can see her old spoons or baby food and not cry anymore. I just smile and think of her sweetness. And her little mouth, just a smacking away. *MamaSwoon*  damn, she was/is so freaking adorable. Still don't know what's the best way to refer to those type of things but, whatever. I'm rolling with the newfound weirdness that has become, my life. 

It's been a crazy Rollercoaster and it's not even close to being over. This month will bring emotions out I probably have hidden for awhile. I'm extremely looking forward to spending a few days this month at remembrance events with all of Adalynne's (and mine) favorite people. I'm learning these events are crucial to my sanity. I'm reminded she isn't forgotten and how amazing of a support system I have. And thankfully, no one left is rushing me anymore. I'm a happier woman this way

Love you all, thanks for reading my crazy thoughts and feelings blurted on a screen.
Much love, sweet souls. Have a splendid day/night.

Balance beam.

***warning of "bad" language***

..."no dalton left, his parents and brother were in a bad wreck"
...what?
*phone rings*
"heather, your parents and Ian were involved in a car accident by the school. Your dad is still pinned in the car, it was really bad. Have you talked to your brothers"
....
.......
*sinks to floor*
No.. no no no.  This is a dream..
I'm dreaming, and must wake up.
Sobs escaped my body while my brain ran 100 circles in my fucking head. 
What... how.. why... WHAT THE FUCKKK
I can't handle this. How can I do this. Oh my. Holy shit. Ian.
"Dalton, hey, what's going on?!"
"Mom n Dad were hit by someone, I don't know anything else. We are headed to the scene"
I can't breathe. This can't happen. What do I do now. How do I handle this.
"Head to the hospital and wait for the ambulance to arrive. Ian is missing"
What the fuck, how do you loose an 8 year old. Where is he? Why can't anyone find him? What the fuck do they mean missing?!
"They aren't scheduled to be coming to this hospital try babtist"
JESSICAAAAAA.
Oh fuck yes my rock is here, brain slow down please.
No.
I can't breathe. Why does it feel like there is no fucking oxygen is the air.
*phone rings*
DAD
"We are hurt bad and almost to the hospital, Ian will be alone. Go find him first."
"Okay, I love you"
How can I do this, what am I going to say. This isn't happening. I can't fucking believe this is happening.  I need to see them. Fucking breathe damnit.
No, it's not okay, stop saying that. I can't loose them too.
*checks every ambulance that pulls on*
No..
No..
Nope...
Not them..
MOM
"MOM, I'm here, everything is going be okay,  I love you,"
"I love you too"
*through the doors she goes*
"Dad, I'm here, I'm going to find ian, I love you."
"I love you too"
Stop thinking. Stop.
Breathe.
No blood. So far..
IAN.
*turns corner*
There is my baby boy.
"I'm okay."
I'm not.
"I was so worried"
I can breath now.

Having anxiety and going through life is a constant battle of calming your mind before doing or thinking of anything. My brain overloads itself to near shutdown at some points.
Strength is taking a deep breath before walking in a room to face your biggest fear. Simultaneously pushing those thoughts away to be delt with later or if at all.
I have now faced two of my biggest fears in life. Loosing a baby. And, over half my family being involved in a life ending car accident.
Through fear and unfortunate events in my life I'm learning balance. A lesson taught to me by the world's best 8 year old. You have to have good and bad to find balance in life. I have to go through these bad things to truly be able to enjoy the good things in life. I find emense joy walking into my living room and seeing them all sleeping peacefully now. Our living room has turned into a mini hospital room. Its full of blankets, pillows, medicines, ice packs and love. Lots of love and pure thankfulness to have them all home and taking on a caregiver role once again.

Plus I think there is more oxygen around here.

Much love to all of you. 💟 💟  Stay beautiful and full of love.

Thank you for protecting my family. 

Rip Sonata.

Windy times.

It doesn't matter how good my day is going or how happy I feel. Grief hits when it chooses too. It will unexpectedly grab at your throat, choking the tears out of your body. Anything can set it off.. a picture, a memory, a simple hat or baby shoes. It doesn't care if you have actually done your makeup or are out to dinner, or shopping. The sinking feeling of your heart dropping into your stomach pulls all your willpower to stop it out of you. Leaving us to feel empty...alone.... and broken.
I know she is "better now" but my heart isnt. The rips in my heart still bleed for her touch and kisses. One more moment to look into her beautiful eyes and hear her sigh at me, would I feel better after that? Probably not. I would have to loose her again. I couldn't say goodbye another time. Atleast now I can see her in the sky or feel her in the small moments. Walking through a store to find exactly her initials layed out for display, the moment the grief tries to creep in my mind.
Sometimes she fights the grief with me. If feels like we battle the grief together.  Her sword is a rainbow on a cloudy day or a shield of purple and red streaks throughout the skyline before the darkness takes over. One last shot at letting me know she's still fighting for us. We promised to give each other All of us, together we can get through this.
The tears still sting my cheeks as I look to the sky to find her. The cold wind whips my hair around like, my soul searching in all directions for something to grasp. Grief won't win today. Love will. I love my daughter with every atom of this vessel carrying my soul. I must let love fill my heart again. If my heart is going to be torn for the rest of my time on this earth, at least those rips will be filled with love and happiness.
Silver lining- crying makes my eyes really pretty.

I. Miss. You