I hate good-byes

I spoke to a friend today. The kind of person that totally understands. Even though he is not yet married and doesn't have any kids. He has suffered through loss in a tremendous sense.

He is leaving for Iraq tomorrow for the 3rd?...no, I am pretty sure 4th time.
He is someone both Tim and I miss a lot.
And although we have said good-bye to him numerous times...
It always puts a pit in my stomach.
Talking to someone before they go to the sandbox (our term for Iraq) is hard no matter if it is your husband, friend, or neighbor.

You fear for them all the same.

Our conversation was what it normally is...discussing what is happening over there in Iraq and Afghanistan (no, I do not watch the news. I prefer to hear what is really happening from someone who actually knows)...this crazy election, and how Pendleton is yet again burning down (another routine event every fall and the range/bullets seems to ignite fires daily). We laughed about who he's dating now, and how I was trying to get back in shape with yoga...he is one of those people who scares me with how physically fit he is.

Then he asked how I was.
Really asked...
And I told him the truth.
Better.
And I knew he believed me. He understands those conditions in which crappy things happen, yet you just deal. Because that is reality of it, you either deal or you don't. He is again, one of those people that has every single right to complain...but he doesn't.

And I admire that.

So as I hung up the phone, something tugged at my heart again.
I hate good-byes.
I've said enough of them to last a lifetime.
But I know he is in good hands...and this tour he'll have a little angel watching over him.

Some of what I missed...

These pictures are for all my Cali friends...especially the ones that thought I was completely insane for wanting to move back to Michigan.

Well, today was the perfect fall day. The kind of day that I moved home for.

The colors are starting to pop out and it is more beautiful than I remember...

There are so many things I love about this season: its cooler, the leaves are changing, its football time...and the apple orchards are the place to be on weekends. Gotta love that.

The last few days, I have been at peace. And really, at this moment, I am not wanting anything more. Its easy to chase after so many things that you think will make you feel better. If I have learned anything from this, its that I take one day at a time and concentrate on being happy no matter what that day brings.

There is good in every single day.

We just have to be open to seeing it.

Even if its only the changing leaves of a tree.

Contentment

I'm sitting here drinking my toffee hot chocolate on a cold and gloomy day.
Its pouring rain and therefore, I felt it unnecessary to get out of my bathrobe.
At least not yet.
There is a battle going on in my heart and in my head.
Content. I am trying to be content. To thank God in all circumstances.

But on days like today...when its dark and rainy, I don't have a sub job lined up, or a Tastefully Simple party to plan for tonight...and so I am just left here in an empty house to think about everything...
Its really hard.
And I know its hard for Tim too.

Our life has gone back to yo-yo mode.
We get up, go to work, come home exhausted...and do it all again the next day.
And as we lay in bed at the end of the day, we can't help but wonder why we do it. I am determined to survive this though...and not come out of it some broken-down distraught person.

On Monday, the county nurse stopped by again to do that study with me on my pregnancy and Will. It was helpful. I enjoy talking about him, and she told me to continue to do so.
No matter what other people say.
She also said that right now, we are climbing a mountain. Every day things may seem a tiny bit better or at least we aren't as bad as right after he died. But then she said, at the 6th month mark we will plummet emotionally.
Uh, good to know I guess.
Then I started figuring out when that would be: January.
Well, that totally sucks. I already dread January...no need to add to that list.

So back to square one, I guess. Right now I am just still trying to function through a normal day. I use to be this highly organized person. The type of person who never found money in a pocket, that had long ago been forgotten. I always knew where everything was...all the time. Now? Forget it. For example: How much is my memory/thought process off? Earlier today I was separating laundry into piles and heard this noise. Confused, I started walking around the house. I had totally forgotten that I was cooking something on the stove. The lid was rattling, that is how hot it had gotten. My sauteed mushrooms looked like little black peas.
Nice.
So while I try to NOT burn down the house...at least I have successfully filled the gas tank of my car recently. We're making progress people.

The cup is half full.
But the house? If I burned that down...then we'd have REAL problems.

A Walk to Remember

Today I sent balloons up to heaven.

And just that one thing, letting go of a balloon filled with love and messages for Will...

was in some ways just as hard as letting him go the first time.

As I stood there in the freezing morning air with my mom, I held two balloons. One white for the first baby we would have had this April, and then a blue balloon for Will. And as his name was read aloud by the speaker and I let those balloons go...

I could only cry and pray,

Please God, don't have us add any more balloons to these two I am already holding.

As I watched my balloons float up into the sky (which 0f course was that perfect shade of blue) I became aware of just how many other little souls were up there with Will. And how many other people were taking this same heart-wrenching walk. Those hundreds of balloons, spots in the huge blue sky, is not an image I will soon forget. It was overwhelming and my pictures do not do it justice.

Some, like my mom and I, had fresh tears of a new loss.

Some cried as they held their young children or a new baby, remembering the one they had lost before...

and then there were others, much older, that were finally able to acknowledge their child after so many years of silence. One couple was there wearing a shirt from the first walk~22 years ago.

That is not something I can imagine just yet...although I know that I will think of and miss Will every single day for the rest of my life.

I know that I will be back here each year. It is something I will always do for Will and it is such a beautiful tribute to his short life. And as time progresses, there is hope that maybe one year I can return to that park and release those balloons with a son or daughter. And we can tell them all about their big brother and how he watches over us from heaven.

As I looked up at the sky, I pictured him, and gave thanks for our blessings. We got to meet him, hold him, and have hope that he would be healed.

And I am so grateful to release a balloon, and actually be able to picture exactly who I am doing it for.

But oh, how my heart still aches.

A baby represents so many things; dreams, possibilities, and hope for the future. That is why the loss of a child is so devastating...and these weeks without Will have pushed us further than we ever imagined...and our biggest battle has been not to lose hope...and to continue thanking God in all circumstances.

But today brought new meaning to...hope floats.

Because today it did.

And today I do give thanks for so many things...

including that I have a beautiful baby just waiting to jump into my arms the day I truly go home.

And I will get to hold his little hand...instead of the string attached to a small, blue balloon.

Pulaski '08

Who knew Michelob Ultra came in a can?

I for one...did not.

Until tonight.

It was also the first time I drank beer from a can in...forever.
Good times at Pulaski days. It was so much fun.

Culture shock? Oh yeah...

I saw things tonight that I'm pretty sure I haven't seen since the 80's...

teased and then sprayed bangs, black panty hose with red heels, etc.

I'm also pretty sure I inhaled enough 2nd hand smoke to turn my lungs gray.

Welcome back to the Midwest.

When I was admitted to the hospital months ago, I never imagined I'd be hanging out and partying with the same nurses that were taking care of me. Not to mention they have seen me in the worst of times...and they still want to hang out:) And more importantly, they are now helping me get adjusted to life back in Michigan and are showing me the finer things in Grand Rapids...

Like the numerous Polish halls of the west side. Thanks, Jilaine!!

A few things were learned tonight...

I should continue to stay away from beer in a can,

I need to brush up on my Polka moves...

And it is possible to laugh again.

Another Thursday

Yoga is a life saver for me.
Today was crappy, cold, and rainy.
I was in a mood to match and just couldn't shake it.
Then I went to yoga tonight...
and balanced my chi again:)

Earlier I had written out a whole blog, and then the usual happened; I just couldn't post it. That has been happening a lot lately. The words come out as more of a ranting, like some crazy person. That is part of it, I am unable to make sense of things, unable to say what I really mean.
It drives me crazy.
Because I hate being in a sad mood all the time, and unlike other situations...this can't be talked out of. Meaning, its gonna take a whole lot more than a personal pep talk to get me through this. What it comes down to, is it physically makes me sick to my stomach. That gut wrenching feeling you get when something is wrong. And mine just won't go away. Because I can't help but feel that everything I am doing now or that has happened is just that~
Wrong.
But here I am...and doing all of these things I never pictured myself doing. And then it occurred to me, I always get really down on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Its like subconsciously my body is programed to be sad on the three days he was alive.

But I'm hoping this weekend is a deposit in my emotional bank account.

This weekend is going to be either really good, or I am going to pay emotionally and physically.
Friday night I am venturing out with all the nurses and new friends I made while in the hospital. We are going to a little something called Pulaski weekend.
I can assure you one thing: I will be in severe culture shock.
And thanks to the fine state of Michigan being slightly behind in the times...I am sure to pass out from smoke inhalation long before the alcohol hits me.
All I know is that we will be drinking in various Polish tents or bars or whatever they refer to it out here...and I really think its going to be a ton of fun.
Stay tuned for pictures.

Saturday morning is the opposite end of the spectrum. I am going to an event called "A Walk to Remember" that is a memorial/remembrance service to honor babies who died due to miscarriage, stillbirth, or early infant death. There will be a balloon release and short walk through a park.
I will be releasing two balloons that day...and I am kind of dreading going. But I am kind of forcing myself, because in order to keep healing...I need to bring the difficult stuff to the surface. And then maybe that awful sick feeling will begin to go away.

And things like that are kind of like yoga.
I really don't want to do it, but once I get there and go...
I feel better and am so thankful I did.

Letter

Its a cold, rainy...finally feeling a lot like fall...day.
Tim is working late and I am sitting here trying to do the same.
Only this time, my work is way harder than his (even if the market did hit rock bottom today).

I'm sitting here trying to type up a letter to be attached to Will's blankets.
A letter that tells why and how these blankets came to be.
And I have no words.

That night we were with him, the hospital gave us so many things.
A lot of those things, came with letters.
I'll be honest. Many of those letters went directly in the trash.
And now I feel terrible about it.

Why? Because those letters were from parents who wanted to reach out to me. And in my frustration and extreme sorrow, I just couldn't handle any more sad stories.
Hell, I couldn't even handle my own.
So that night, I took my anger out on the one thing I could~by throwing those letters out.
I didn't want to hear about any more babies dying.
Because in my idea of a perfect world, that should never be allowed to happen.
And I'd had enough.

And now, just like so many people have said, I feel differently.
A sign that my grief is changing?
Perhaps.
Or maybe, this is how I am dealing with my own loss, by trying to reach out to others in need.
Even if they are like me, and don't want it.

It could go a number of ways: writing the letter could be a small step of healing for me. Reading the letter could help someone else...Throwing away the letter could help someone else.
Either way I don't care what they do with it.
I just want peace of mind that I did it.
That I attempted to tell people why they are now holding these blankets.

But as I sit in front of this computer, I have turned dumb.
Because I don't know how to or even know what I actually want to say.
Or what would even matter.
Because I know the truth, nothing I write can even touch that pain. And it is devastating to even think of another couple going through it. And it seems so inadequate a gesture.

I guess what I would want to hear...is that someone out there was thinking of us.
In my darkest hour, seeing compassion from a complete stranger...who now is no longer a stranger because we share the most heart-wrenching bond.

God will take that letter to who needs it.
I just have to write it...
like those who wrote one for me.
And I have found some, tucked away in Will's memory box. How they got there is a mystery. Why was this one saved and the other thrown away?

So many questions and too few answers. This seems to be the constant in our life.
But we are getting better at living without those answers.
We have to.
Survival instinct is a strange thing. Because even when you don't want to carry on...or can't seem to...it takes over.

As much as things have been so hard, and continue to be, there have been more bright spots lately. Driving home the other night from Indiana (Tim's mom hosted a Tastefully Simple party for me) I realized that for the first time in who knows how long ~ I was content.
Not jumping for joy or giddy with excitement...just content for a moment. Not wanting anything else. Of course, I still want Will here. But for a moment I accepted what has happened...and didn't wrack my brain the whole way home just wondering why.

And I found hope in having that feeling. Because even if it was for only a moment, I remembered what it felt like. And I have to keep believing that things will get better...
even if it is only moment by moment.