What Would You Leave Behind?

Last night D and I settled into our respective dents in the couches to flip channels and try to find something worthwhile to watch. This being the summer season of ridiculous reality shows, there wasn't much on - and yes, we actually found ourselves watching "I Survived A Japanese Game Show".

Following said ridiculous game show (that I swear made me think I was in a bad episode of the Twilight Zone) the 20/20 special featuring the life and death of Randy Pausch, the professor who gave an amazing last lecture to students following a diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer aired.

I've seen and read and been exposed to a lot of stories regarding life and death and cancer, I mean, my dad died of cancer almost three years ago, but I was especially touched by this story - not because of the same old story of 'man gets cancer, leaves legacy for his children' but because of the amazing attitude this man had as he lived the last months, weeks, and days of his life.

He chose to be happy, to honestly live the remainder of his life to the fullest - to enjoy the time he had with his kids - to make memories - to leave for them a roadmap, if you will, of what kind of life he wanted his three children to have.

At the end of his lecture - he quickly noted that his hour long dialogue - given to students and colleagues under the premise of how one should live life - wasn't truly for them - it was for 'my kids.'

Both D and I had tears in our eyes watching and listening to this beautiful story.

I wonder what I would leave behind for my kids. Would I have the strength to be happy, and not wallow in the unfairness of having to leave early? Would I have the willpower to enjoy each breath, knowing it could indeed be my last? Would I be able to create for them in a few short weeks the lifetime of memories I would hope could carry them through their lives?

More importantly - why aren't I doing those things now?

I constantly find myself looking ahead - the 'grass is always greener' syndrome - thinking life would be better if we moved closer to my parents, if I could stay home with the kids and not work, if we were far, far away from the crazies that are D's family.

I realized that I should stop worrying about the if's, and worry about the nows. I should concentrate on the time I have with these two beautiful children, and the man who gave them to me instead of lamenting over the fact that everything else in life isn't perfect. If tonight was my last night, if this breath was my last, I would want my children to remember a happy, smiley mom, someone who giggled with them and let them eat chocolate cookies for dinner (well, maybe not for dinner - but certainly after) and not the sad, sullen, broken mom that they've been saddled with.

So, perhaps I should try to think about my actions as ones that could be my last, take a few cues from a man who simply loved his family, and try to live my life to the fullest. Perhaps laugh a bit more and dwell on the negatives a little less.

Cubicle Ettiquite

Have you ever wondered why it's necessary to talk on speaker-phone to a co-worker who is two cubes away (and less than 20 feet?) I'm just saying... the lazy factor around here is unbelievable...

More Surgery...

It appears that more surgery may be on the horizon for my mom - something that has to due with the portion of her skull with the missing bones that were never put back post surgery over a year ago. I can't understand it - I mean, I try - but the reality is I'm not a neurologist - and the truth is I'm not so sure I trust any neurologists anymore.

But she's having horrible headaches again - and the surgery may alleviate some of that pain. The bigger question is if she can survive another major surgery. Does the potential benefit outweigh the risk?

I read on a comment on Msfitzita's blog something that rang so true - that the days of having an adult just tell me what to do instead of grappling with tough decisions are truly missed.

I hate being a grown up.

Evensong

Our bedtime routine for A is to read her two or three stories (depending on when she actually gets into bed and whether or not she's had any TV privileges following her bath.) Once the stories are read, we turn out the light so the room is lit with just the glow of her nightlight.

We say our prayers, reminding A to 'make pretty hands', that is stop wiggling and rolling around and fold her hands in prayer. We recite three prayers - the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. Lately I've been trying to encourage her to talk to God - to ask him for things, like guidance, or to watch over things/people she loves.

The other night she said "Mommy? I want to ask God something... for a Prince Erik doll ... that doesn't have fuzzy hair."

Where does she come up with this stuff?

I'm just sayin'...

To my dear husband - who tells me yesterday afternoon that he has to leave early this morning for a meeting in Myrtle Beach - that I obviously did not remember you were leaving early - as witnessed by me lollygagging around J's room with him after he got dressed - in my jammies - unshowered.

Oh, and by the way, I REALLY appreciate that 10 minute warning you gave me - as-in - remember I'm leaving in 10 minutes so you'll have to get the kids to school. Meaning I have 10 minutes to get ready and downstairs and fully capable to finish dressing, pottying, feeding, shoe-on-ing the kids and usher them out to the car. Without so much as a sip of coffee yet...

I'm just sayin'....

Birthday Re-cap...

I realized after reading the last few posts that I neglected to report on the birthday festivities that took place last Friday.

D and I had a meeting at the Children's Center (to discuss some issues that had been going in A's room - that are too boring and complicated and involved to blog about - suffice to say I think the situation is resolved.) The good thing is that D got off work early for that meeting at 4:30 so we were able to pick up the kids together.

We went to D's Wings - a place I know my dad would have enjoyed - and ordered just what I'd hoped - cheeseburgers and fries and Corona's (except for the kids who got lemonade and apple juice). We talked about my dad - we wished him well - we explained to A that we were celebrating his special birthday - since he couldn't be with us anymore himself.

When the time came to order the ginormous piece of chocolate cake, I asked the waitress if she had any birthday candles. At first she looked a little annoyed - and asked 'whose birthday is it?' When I told her 'my daddy, he passed away a few years ago and we're celebrating his birthday' she softened - but alas, still had no candles.

No matter - we all delved into layer upon layer of chocolatey goodness - and I think I was only teary once (or twice...)

So to good times daddy, cold beer, and chocolate cake. We all love you more than we can say!

More Ways to Waste Time

So I've discovered the world of face.book. Last night I created an account and logged on and was able to find all sorts of people who were important to me at one point in life or another.

In order to contact them and be able to see their profiles/have them see yours, you have to have the website send notification to the other party, asking them to "be your friend."

So I've tracked down people that I was friends with in high school and college - and am anxiously awaiting to see if they will "be my friend." (Because my work has smartly blocked access to such time-wastage websites as facebook and I have to wait until I get home to log in again.)

I know I'm a grown woman - I'm a mother of two, a home owner, have a decent job, have lived abroad by myself - but why does the thought of asking a long lost friend from high school make me feel like I'm in high school all over again?

Sigh

Sweet Sounds

Amid all the stress and confusion of the last few weeks, there are sweet sounds that are music to my tired ears.

Namely, the sound of my sweet daughter's voice as she says her nighttime prayers. Hearing her say the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep (her version, mind you - full of mispronounciations and wrong words) is the sweetest sound in the world.

It is what I imagine angels sound like.

Random Thoughts

It's been a long few weeks... in a way, I still feel like the miscarriage didn't happen. I still feel the effect (bleeding is over but the anemia induced fatige is still hanging around) but it all happened so fast and was discounted so quickly that it all feels like a big dream.

I have a friend, a wonderful and dear friend who I met online. If we lived in the same town I'm certain we'd never see our husbands (or hardly ever) because she and I would be off together with our kids - doing whatever it is that good friends do. We endured the long road of TTC together, and along the way, realized we were kindred spirits. I think in some alternate universe we were twins separated at birth.

The reason I tell you about L is because she is the one and ONLY person who really acknowledged the loss of this child. I think she is the ONLY person to 'get it'. Including the love of my life who looked relieved when it was all said and done.

I don't know how to thank her.

I did finally overhear D telling his mom about the night it happened - when it was scary and painful and we were lost in what to do. I can only imagine what she was asking him when he responded 'well, we weren't the most careful, but I don't think either one of us would have been disappointed with another baby.' So MIL knows what happened, knows I'm taking A to see my mom for five days, then leaving again for a business trip to Nashville (only returned home late last night) yet has NOT called D since to check on him, or the kids, or me for that matter. I bled a ton that night, went through hell, but she has yet to see how I'm recovered.

Lovely.

My mom was concerned. She had tears in her eyes as I told her in person what happened. D had to call my stepdad and tell him the story (because there was the concern that I might not be able to fly). Thankfully I was cleared the night before so we could travel. But my MIL doesn't know that. All she knows is that I was bleeding, might not be able to go, may be to ill to see my mom - yet she could care less.

And could care less about her grandhildren.

It was good to see my mom. It was tough to see my mom. She's recovering! She's able to communicate (at a whisper). She's able to eat some foods (that my stepdad feeds her). She can't drink, she can't hold a cup, she can't speak where we can hear her voice, but she's there neurologically.

Which is amazing. And a double edged sword. The amazing woman I know and love is coming back! And she's trapped. Trapped in a body that has failed her. Trapped with her thoughts and emotions in a body she can't control, can't feed, can't use the toilet, can't swallow, can't control the drool, can't walk, can't sit straight up.

On some level, it was easier to see her asleep, in a coma, and hooked to fourteen different machines. That sounds terrible. Terrible. I'm so happy to see the shine in her eyes. I'm so saddened to see the shine in her eyes.

Conflicted thoughts. Confused me.

Right now I'm just happy to be home. I haven't seen J for over a week (unless you count the 45 minutes I had with him last Tuesday morning before I left for the airport or the 15 minutes I had with him his morning before D took him to daycare and I got to work.)

More and more I want to move, to stay home with my kids, to be there to see my mom - so when I see her it's the norm to have her like she is and not the woman in my memory.

The time has come. We need to move.

Happy Birthday Daddy

I hope you're enjoying smooth sailing and calm seas. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you and miss you and wish you were here.

I love you daddy!

Tonight, I'm hoping to take the kids to dinner (a good cheeseburger with fries and cold beer - just like you liked), and order a big dessert, and sing you happy birthday in heaven.

Love, Poopsie (the nickname you know I hated growing up, but would give anything to hear you call me again!)

Lost Dreams

I think I must be crazy. At least that is what D leads me to believe. It's as if this pregnancy didn't count. As if it didn't matter.

I suppose because is was 'unknown' and 'unplanned' and D didn't have to deal with it for very long (just one night of me writhing in pain and screaming) that it didn't exist in his world.

Perhaps it didn't in mine.

Except that it did. This was our child. I fell instantly in love with it the moment my OB told me over the phone that she thought I was having a miscarriage.

D acts like he wants to forget it happened.

But it did.

We lost a child.

I lost a child.

A lifetime of hopes and dreams found and lost in a few short hours.

And I'm reminded of it every time I use the bathroom.

And my heart is breaking.

Add this into the mix of my crazy and messed up family - who are more concerned with if my brother will show up Saturday for my mom's birthday party.

Fun times in our house I tell you.....

Because enough isn't enough...

Baby number four in our family - gone. Miscarriage number two.

I didn't know I was pregnant.

I didn't plan the pregnancy.

I thought the bleeding was just a period - until the labor-esque cramps and clotting started...

It started at 6:30 pm.

It was over (the worst) by 10:30 pm.

Pregnancy over.

Baby gone.

How can I be so desperately in love with a child that I didn't know existed?

Empty.

Alone.

Missing my mommy.............

Catching up....

We've been out of commission at our house - both D and I came down with some sort of tummy bug that caused a lot of queasiness for me and other stomach issues for D. Yuck. It completely derailed us for the better part of a week - and we're just now trying to get things back on track - that is, scrub the house, wash everything we can in the hot washing machine, and cross our fingers and hope and pray that neither of the kids gets it!

We're on the mend though, and that is a good thing...

Thank you Kristin for your sweet comment to my last post - it means a lot to know someone is actually reading this and can offer some insight. I've not let the word out about this blog to friends/family. There is safety in anonymity. I've been thinking about the words I finally confessed that I've been carrying around for so long. I guess this blog is therapeutic after all...

There is so much more I want to write - about my mom, about my fears. About my husband. About how I want to move and be closer to her with every fiber of my being - but to do so may entail destroying my marriage.

How in the heck do I choose between the life I created with my husband, and the life my mom created for me? How do I decide who is more important - the woman who gave me the gift of life - or the man who I gave my heart to?

It's a terrible bind to be in. Apparently it's a no-win situation. If we move - I'll be ecstatic. I'll be thrilled beyond belief to be able to see my mom on a more regular basis (and not have to drop several thousand dollars to do so) and encourage her to improve. I'd like to be there the day my step dad can no longer provide sole care for her.

However, if we ever made that move, I'll always feel like I pushed D into moving. He says he wants to go - but clearly this is not the case - we've been discussing/arguing about this for almost two years (a very long time before any of this happened with my mom, by the way, I felt the need to be closer to her shortly after the birth of A when D's parents checked out and made it abundantly clear they wanted no part in our child's life.) D's had almost TWO years to get his act together - to do the things it would take to move our family. He's done nothing. I've found jobs that sound like his dream job - helped him with his resume, even wrote the damn cover letter - and still it sits. Collecting dust. Because my dear and loving and kind and thoughtful husband is also complacent, comfortable where he is, and a tad lazy.

Do you know, the last conversation I had with my mom - the last time I spoke with her before the bottom fell out - when she was in hospital #1 for the headaches - before she was helicoptered to Seattle to have her brain cut apart - the very last thing we talked about was how much she hated seeing her grandchildren - my children - growing up in pictures. That was a very intimate thought for her - I'm sure she thought it a million times - but never verbalized it. She must have been in pure agony to let her guard down enough to tell me what I already knew.

That conversation haunts me.

Mommy, I want to be with you. I need to be with you. But I can't leave my husband to do so. Or can I? Do I flip a coin?

Good lord - I wish you were here to talk to!

One thing is for certain - I can't keep going like I'm going. It's killing me.