Barking Mad

Bittersweet

My feelings about writing this post are as ever changing as the dusky blue and gray skies that buffet the Atlantic nearest my beloved coast of Maine. They change as rapidly and with as much ferociousness as the clouds as they move overhead.

At the end of the day, the skies will do as they please and I will write this post because as much as the dark clouds will unburden themselves of their rain, I will give wings to the words that have been roiling around inside my heart and soul since we last came back from Maine at the end of July.

We were supposed to head straight to Maine after a business visit to Boston.  We drove across the Piscataqua Bridge and into Maine just a few hours after I'd done what I had to do in Boston.   The moment I saw the "Welcome to Maine" sign on I-95 the tenseness in my chest relaxed, my heart slowed down, and I took a deep breath and actually felt something akin to peace, envelope me.  Gareth and I looked at one another and smiled.  Gaby looked out the window and asked if we were "home?"  I told her we were back in Maine again.  I've been trying to reinforce that New York is home for now but she has a mind of her own. Gaby practically bounded our of her seat as she exclaimed, "No!  We're home!  We're home!  We're home!  We are in Maine! HOME HOME HOME!"

We took the exit that signaled York Beach, off of I-95 and made our way towards Long Sands beach.  Come hell or high water, I was getting into the Atlantic ocean and letting that cool salt-water wash over my feet and was going to inhale deeply, the salty sweet perfume of the Atlantic sea air.  There is no prettier smell on earth.   Our plans had been to go back to the house up the coast and empty the contents of the still jam-packed garage into a rental truck and bring it back to New York once and for all.  Then we were going to call the bank and let them know they could take possession of the house.  Those plans changed when my phone rang.

It was an odd thing really.  Normally whenever we're out on the water back in Maine, we never get a signal on our cell phones.  The signals from the lighthouses usually interfere.  However, with absolutely no signal the call still came in and our plans changed.  I was going to need to be back in Boston urgently at the same time we were supposed to be loading up the garage.  Gareth looked at me while I was on the phone and mouthed the words, "DO IT!" and so I did.  I agreed to be back in Boston on the given date.  I assumed that Gareth and I would figure out another date to come back again and clear out the garage, hopefully before the foreclosure process was in full swing. We'd spend the rest of the time we had in Maine gathering a few things from the house that we could fit into the car for the trip back to NY, and enjoy some time together on the beach.

There, I've said that ugly "F" word.  Foreclosure.  FORECLOSURE.   I've mentioned it before out here, but the ugly truth of the matter is, we are very close to heading into the active part of the foreclosure process.   It hurts to say those words and I do so as bitter tears sting my eyes and a painful lump forms in my throat.

I know that we are not the only ones going through this right now.  There is a sickening number of families who are about to lose their homes due to the economy tanking, their own foolishness when buying a home they couldn't afford, the loss of a job,  illness or maybe even a combination of some or all of those things.   We weren't part of the subprime group that [in my opinion] in part led to the collapse of the housing market.  We were more than able to afford our home when we bought it in the summer of 2007.  We just had no way of knowing that Hell was about to unleash itself on our lives and that I would be emotionally unable to cope thereby precipitating one medical/mental crisis and that we'd have a child who had a crisis of his own which drained us financially.   The litigation surrounding "The Very Bad Thing" and the toll it took on me was too much.  I discovered, going through that entire nightmare, just how much inner fortitude of mind and soul I lacked and in doing so, it financially destroyed us.

We applied through the government's "Making Home Affordable" plan and were rejected on three separate occasions.  We were told made too much on one occasion and then on another that our bills were too great to be able to balance any sort of mortgage modification.  We were screwed.   Then the other shoe dropped.  Gareth lost his job.  A job that he'd wanted since we first talked about leaving the U.K. and immigrating him to the U.S.  We always knew Maine was were we wanted to settle and establish roots.  Gareth has known, as long as he's known me (25+ years) that there was something that has always drawn me to the bucolic shores of Maine and to the people who call it home.

Eventually things just fell into place and the perfect job was his. After 11 months of navigating the U.S. immigration system, (we maintained two residences, one in Maine and one in the U.K. as Gareth wasn't allowed to reside here in the states while we awaited each step of the process),  Gareth was given his green card.   Luck continued to shine down on us with the birth of a beautiful little girl, being reunited with my older children from my first marriage, and then we were blessed again when we found out we could purchase our first home here in the states.   Gareth had been a homeowner in the U.K. but I had never made the leap here in the states.  This was a huge moment in our lives.

We were grateful for everything that had been placed in front of us.

Like I said, it all came to a crashing halt when Gareth lost his job.  Can I just tell you how much it sucked, mere days before Meaghan left for her stint in boot camp with the US Air Force?  At least we knew she'd be fine.  Tired, worn out and homesick and beaten down, but she'd have a roof over her head, and food to eat.  I was grateful for that much.

I don't know what happened when I learned that Gareth had lost his job, but I went into crisis mode and just started organizing everything, helped him get his ducks in line, reached out to recruiters I knew, helped him find the right headhunters for his line of work and just took control of the situation.  Thankfully his time out of work was short-lived.  Within 30 days he'd interviewed with and then accepted an offer with a company here in upstate New York.  We thanked God and the Universe for the gift of this job and began making preparations to move.  Things happened so incredibly fast that I don't think it hit either of us until we'd been here in New York for about a month that we weren't in Maine any more and that we were definitely going to lose the house.  I look back on the time right after he initially lost his job and I was prepared to do anything and everything, even knowing that we'd probably have to leave Maine.  I didn't seem so affected by it.  However, here I sit, hating being away from Maine.

The clouds rolled back in and the skies darkened once again and my adjustment to being away from the only place I have ever felt was truly home, fell apart.

By the time spring arrived here in Saratoga Springs and the ice on the lake that fronts our home started to thaw, I think everyone around me thought my feelings about being here would begin to thaw too.  We were still going back to Maine about once a month to check on the house, bring things back here that weren't included in the original move, and to visit with friends and those we considered family.

Every time we'd leave Maine it just got harder and harder.  Gareth would have to drive because once we'd go back over the Piscataqua bridge and cross over into New Hampshire, the tears would come and I'd be a mess for at least an hour.

We'd come back here and I'd long to go back again and counted the days until our next visit, but at the same time I dreaded it because I knew we'd have to leave.  I have tried my best to hide my feelings from Gareth because I don't want him to feel guilty about losing his job.   There was nothing he could do about it.  Many of his co-workers and those he considered friends at this company lost their jobs too.  Some had been there more than two decades.   There was nothing he could have done.  I didn't want Gaby to pick up on my malaise about living in New York either.  But she has and I hate myself a little bit more each day for not being better at covering that up.

Mostly I blame myself for everything that's happened and for the fact that I can't seem to get my head around living here.  I haven't had any meaningful interaction with anyone at all aside from my dentist and a very good friend, Kim D., who has been super-awesome about making sure I always know she's available to listen and bring her kids over for a playdate.  Everyone else around here is aloof or has no interest in returning a smile, a greeting or a friendly word.  Every day I wake up and thank God for the gift of Gareth's job here when I know that others have been waiting months and in some cases, more than a year to find work.  I don't take it lightly that he's gainfully employed.  At the same time that I'm thanking God for everything he's blessed us with, I'm trying to pull up my big girl panties and then tell myself to "Suck it up, buttercup! This is where you are! Deal with it!" Others around me keep telling me that I need to learn to "Bloom where I'm planted!"  I thought we'd already covered the fact that I don't have a green thumb and I feel like, at this point, it would take a shit-load of Miracle Grow to get me to bloom around here!  And yes, I know, that's a really crappy attitude to have.

In the deepest recesses of my heart, I want to create the life I know I was led to live and in doing so, get my family back to Maine...but the other part of me whispers, "And what will the people in Maine who you so love and envy, what will they think of the deadbeat homeowners?  Will they want you back?  Will you ever have a place in Maine? Can you start over again there even though you failed?"  It's a horrible feeling, having these two voices battling it out inside of me.  One which wants me to realize my full potential and be happy, and the other that keeps reminding me of the failures which threaten to drag me back down into that place I've tried to hard to stay out of for the past 6 months.

After all, it was my failures which are costing us a home in a place we dearly love and those same failures have robbed us of any financial security we had.

One of the most ironic things about returning to Maine recently and which made it so bittersweet for me was the fact that my hydrangea bush in the front of the house has recovered from how horribly I mutilated it when we first moved into the house in the hot and humid summer of '07.  I had no idea it was my absolute favorite flowering bush.  I just thought it looked unkempt and wild and I took a pair of pruning shears to it and cut it way too far back.  A couple of months later when the first signs of autumn started to appear, I realized just how horrible a botanical crime I'd committed when I saw three large blooms on the tree. There have never been more than three or four blooms since I nearly hacked it to death.  Ever since learning (to my horror and utter regret) that it was a hydrangea bush, I've tried to nurse it back to health and hope it would blossom the way it was supposed to.

A couple of weeks ago when I'd made an emergency trip back to Maine after receiving word that the house had been broken into, I pulled into the driveway and was immediately greeted by the sight of hundreds of blooms on my (but soon to be Bank of America's) hydrangea tree...

I sat in the car and wept...for me, for that silly bush, for Gareth's dreams of raising his daughter in his own home, and for all the hopes and dreams we wished would bloom like those gorgeous ivory blossoms.

I don't know how much more time we have before we completely lose the house.  Yes, in my heart of hearts I keep hoping something will happen and we can somehow manage to keep the house.  Oddly enough, Bank of America finally did send us a proposed modification that, had we still been in Maine, and not paying rent on a home here in New York, could possibly have worked out for us...more than SEVEN months after we first contacted them about trying to work something out.  It made me angry but I realized there was nothing we could do.  Even putting renters in the house would not have been an option because the market will not bear what we'd need to pull in, in terms of rent.  That's another thing that makes me incredibly sad every time we go back to Maine.  More and more businesses are shuttered, and more and more "For Sale" signs crop up like out of control weeds.  It's heartbreaking because I know that some of those people in those homes are going through what we are...the loss of a dream.

I'll eventually find a way to live with my bittersweet reality, but I won't ever stop dreaming about getting my family back to where our heart calls home.

Release and Remember...and Some Good News!

I woke up this morning with puffy eyes and a headache.  1:14AM hit me harder than I expected and in the still, small, dark of the night, I cried and cried.   I finally dried my eyes, made sure I knew where the Preparation H was (no, not for 'rhoids, but for puffy and swollen eyes!  Works wonders on getting rid of the evidence of broken hearts and broken souls.), turned the air conditioner off upstairs, grabbed my pillow and slept downstairs nearest to Gaby's room.  I took comfort in being closer to her through the restless hours of the night.

I also awoke with a plan for the day that didn't include staying in bed and mourning my 2 year old son Joshua, on the 20th anniversary of his death.  Instead of the norm, I took the advice of my dear friend Kim D., and got Gaby dressed, went and bought 20 balloons in red, black and yellow (the colors of Joshua's favorite thing in the whole world, Mickey Mouse), and headed for the hills to release the balloons and remember this precious little boy.

I underestimated just how much room 20 balloons would take up in my SUV.  They take up a lot of space.  I also wasn't prepared for how the combination of the hot muggy day outside and the latex balloons would clash and my car would end up smelling like the inside of a rubber glove. Oh well, that's what those little air fresheners in the shape of pine trees are for...although I made a promise to Meaghan before she left that I'd never ever buy them in bulk again, and then open 5 of them (the dog had barfed in the car - and if you think there's nothing worse than that smell, think again!), at once.  Yeah, Cherry Orchard air-freshener, in bulk, tends to smell like one is driving around in a tube of cherry flavored Chapstick!  I may break that promise though because right now, "cherry flavored Chapstick" is preferable to "Rubber Glove."

Despite the smell and several balloons infringing on her personal space, Gaby didn't seem to mind the drive up to Saratoga National Park.  She was bubbling over with excitement and enthusiasm and I couldn't help but remember that very same excitement Josh would show when ever we'd put on his favorite movies...The Little Mermaid or Wizard of Oz.  I've only just recently bought The Little Mermaid for Gaby and she loves it too!  She can sing every song from it and there is rarely a week that goes by that we don't watch it at least twice.   I haven't been able to sit down and watch The Wizard of Oz since Josh died.  His most beloved song was "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."  The daughter of very dear friends of mine sang that song at his funeral service and I've just never been able to handle watching the movie because I know the song is coming up.  Maybe this year?

All the way up the hill to the national park, Gaby sang songs from The Little Mermaid and rarely was there a moment when she wasn't smiling...

When we arrived at the park the thick layer of clouds overhead had begun to burn off to reveal a brilliant light cerulean blue sky dotted here and there by puffy white clouds.  I found a place up high that overlooked the American River and pulled into a parking space and looked around and was grateful that there weren't too many visitors to that area of the park.  A few couples walked their dogs and a family was reading a momument a little distance away.

I was just a tad hesitant about having Gaby release the balloons as I had images of her being lifted off the ground by those 20 helium filled balloons.  I guess I've been watching "Up" a few times too many recently!  In spite of my hesitance I asked Gaby to be the one to let the balloons go, which she was only too happy to do!

And then she told me to tell her, "release"...I counted to three and then through tears and as my voice cracked, I said, "Release..."

Gaby peered into the sky and her little eyes followed those 20 balloons for as long as she could...

"I love you Joshua, and mommy misses you but I'll give her extra hugs for you 'till you see mommy when she gets to Heaven."

Almost completely out of sight...

Gaby and I stood there for a few more minutes.  She hugged my leg and told me she loved me and then told me that I could wipe my nose and eyes on her blouse if I wanted to.  She's real considerate like that.  I looked around and realized we had an audience of people in two cars and the family who had been walking around, reading monuments, had been watching the entire thing.  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and took Gaby and retreated into the car.

**********

I'm still pretty emotional, but I'm in a much better place this year, than I was last year, or previous years before.  It's incredible the change it's made this year when I took the suggestions to use this day to celebrate Joshua's life rather than the way he died.  In future years I hope I can do bigger and better things.  I'd love to set up a scholarship fund in Joshua's name for students who want to pursue a career in writing or journalism.  I'd also love to be able to donate money to VoluntEARS, an outreach of the Disney (Joshua was such a huge Disney fan!), organization that does so many wonderful things in communities around the world.   More than anything, I want my life to exemplify the life I saw when I had the dream about Joshua last year, and once I'm there, I want to pay it forward.

In the spririt of looking forward, I'm bursting at the seams to let you all in on something I've been working on with the wonderful women behind Woman's Day magazine for the last couple of months.

The lovely folks who run Woman's Day magazine asked me if I would mind if they ran a feature on me for their October 2010 issue which is an annual health issue.  I was flattered and of course, accepted.  Over time the feature evolved into me contributing a piece to the article, which showcases two other bloggers/writers as well.  I was asked to write about obesity and how it's affected my life and...well, if you want to find out any more you'll have to pick up a copy of the magazine which hits newsstands at your grocery stores and other retailers on the 31st of this month!  If you happen to subscribe to the magazine, you'll get your copy a week earlier in the mail.

Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  Yeah, I'm just a little excited.   I'm also proud of myself.  Why?  Because my writing gets a chance to shine and I was able to take advatange of a great opportunity to talk about what it's like, (to talk about it in another forum other than my blog.), being an obese woman in America.  Something I have written is actually going to be published in a widely circulated magazine!  So yes, YES I AM DAMNED EXCITED ABOUT IT!

I like to think, that as the sun begins it's westward descent on the 20th anniversary of Joshua's death, that he's smiling down on me and proud of me, if for nothing else, than for the fact that for once, in a very long time, I'm proud of myself.

Trying to Look Forward While I Look Backward, 20 Years Ago

As I write this, it's only 11pm on the evening of August 9th, 2010.  Sadly I know exactly where I was, to the minute, on this night 20 years ago.  I was standing in the family waiting room at San Bernardino County Medical Center, in San Bernardino, California waiting for news from the pediatric neuro surgeons who has just taken my  2 year old son, Joshua, into emergency surgery to stop the bleeding from his brain, just mere short hours after he was struck by a pick-up truck in the high desert town of Phelan, CA.

One of my childhood best friends, Kim, had suggested that she and I go walk around outside.  I remember feeling glad for the distraction.  I didn't know how much more I could handle of not knowing exactly what was going on with Joshua, and the constant ringing of the black and silver payphone in the waiting room was almost too much...it was always Joshua's paternal grandparents wanting to know how bad it was, did we know anything else, when would we know anything else...?  Once friends had heard what had happened, they seemed to have come from everywhere to be by our sides.  There were so many people milling around in the waiting room and I was beginning to feel suffocated.

It was a cool night, for August in southern California.  I was wearing a lavendar and white skirt, a lavendar blouse and beige sandals.  I took my shoes off as we walked and told Kim how I'd thrown my sandals into the sagebrush on the side of the road when we arrived the accident scene a few hours earlier, so that I could run as fast as I could toward all the emergency vehicles.  I knew my bare feet would grip the cooling asphalt and despite being 50lbs overweight, there was nothing that was going to stop me from getting to my son.

However there was...it was the Fire Department Captain that saw me running (and I later found out I was screaming and yelling and crying, but I don't remember that), and intercepted me.  I do remember his arms grabbing me and feeling his scratchy protective gear against my arms and his arms meeting my midsection and it feeling like I'd run into a linebacker.  He kept telling me over and over I didn't want to get too close to the men and women doing everything to save my son and that I'd need to stand clear because a MediVac flight was coming in to airlift Joshua to SBCMC.  No one had told me a single thing about how he even came to be in the middle of that road, on what was a pitch black night.  And now here was this man, holding me back with everything he had, and telling me that my son's injuries were so bad that he had to be airlifted to the nearest trauma center.

I continued to walk with Kim and looked down at my sandals in my hand and I told her I wasn't sure who found them but here they were.  I remember thinking it a very odd thing...that I couldn't remember who gave me my sandals or even putting them back on my feet, but I remembered so very vividly, making sure I kicked them off so that I could run as fast as possible to my little boy, who lay dying in the middle of that dark, high-desert road.

To this day I still don't know who was responsible for picking my sandals out of the dirt and sagebrush and tumbleweeds.  It's an odd thing isn't it...the things that stick out in our memories, years after such a painful loss?  Even odder still that twenty damned years later, I still sit here and replay this night in my head...over and over again. Every year.

Despite the fact that I took enough Benadryl to knock out a horse, and capped it off with a Melatonin, earlier this evening, I know that I'll lie awake in bed until 1:14AM strikes and I'll remember the two pediatric neurosurgeons walking into the family waiting room, beads of perspiration spotting their foreheads as they looked down at Joshua's father and me and told us that despite their very best efforts, there was nothing that could be done for Joshua...he died at 1:14AM.  For a moment I looked up at the lady who was seated at the information desk - who had been watching our family drama play out for more than two hours, and I saw the tears running down her face. I looked at my mom, who was standing to the side of the surgeons and I looked at her hands and saw her holding very tightly to her Bible.  Her kncukles were so white and her wedding ring seemed a stark contrast to her white knuckles and the black Bible.  And then I screamed and everything went black.

The tears are present now as they were then, but on this night I sit in my office at my desk and cry in the privacy of my own home.  Gaby and Gareth are asleep.  My friends and family are posting messages of love, support and prayer on my Facebook wall, via email and text messages, and I'm sitting here trying to see through the tears to my screen to make sure what I'm typing is legible.  However, there will be something different about this year...the year that marks 20 since my darling boy left this world and my arms.

Tomorrow morning (this morning, as you're reading this), I'll get out of bed, get dressed and buy twenty balloons; red, yellow and black, in the color of Joshua's favorite thing in the whole entire world, Mickey Mouse.  Then I'll take Gaby and together we'll go someplace high up and we'll send all of those shiny balloons up to Joshua and I'll smile and probably cry a bit as I celebrate his life...his 2 years, 3 months and 10 days.

For so long I have always felt that if I didn't spend this day in solemn, miserable, remembrance of his loss, that I was somehow not being mindful of the tragic and horrific way in which he was taken from me, and from those around him that loved him so very much.   It's not unlike the first time I laughed after his death.  I felt so guilty for actually laughing, that I didn't so much as smile again for weeks after that.   A very good and wise friend of mine, Kim (another one...I seem to find the most beautiful and wonderful "Kims" in the world and I'm so blessed to call them "friend."), suggested that maybe this year, because she knows I'm having a really hard time with the milestone of "20 years", that I celebrate his life rather than mourn the way in which he left this world.

Sometimes the grief and pain that encompasses a parent when their child dies is almost too much to bear and we focus on that pain because really,  It's the only thing we have left to hang onto.  Because the pain is so tangible and real to us, we are hesitant to let it go, if even for the briefest of moments.  We feel as if we are betraying the memory of our child by doing so.   Then when we do smile and remember something beautiful about our child, and maybe even laugh at that memory, the fresh pain that washes over us is just too much at times.

Today?  Today I'm going to try and drown out that pain with something different...I'm going to look back on his life and share with you the things that made him so special to me.  And then, I'm going to look forward and share with you some very exciting news in my own life.  A lot of people on Facebook already know what it is (no, it's not that other thing that I'm in the midst of trying to do! And even if it were, I can't tell you anything else about it! If I disappear from mid-October to January then you'll know it happened!) and I think that Joshua would be proud of me, and will be looking down at me and smiling, when I finally tell you guys about something I've been working on that I'm incredibly proud of! So please watch for a post later this afternoon.

In the meantime, if you're a family member or a friend that has some really special memories about Joshua that you'd like to share, please do.   I want to spend today reveling in the wonderfulness of the beautiful and amazing child he was.  I'd like to also reach out, in love and in the genuine spirit of healing, towards my former in-laws...if there is something special about Josh, a cherished memory or a funny aside that you'd like to share, please do.  He was not only special to me, but to you all as well.  I realize that - despite our many differences and the past 15 years spent in battles of heated words and angry retreats.  I know how much Joshua meant to you all and would hope we could set aside our differences for one day and let others know how deeply he touched all of our lives.

I miss you Joshy...but I love you so much more!

Mommy

On the Eve of 20 Years

"They say that time in heaven is compared to 'the blink of an eye'
for us on this earth. Sometimes it helps me to think of my child
running ahead of me through a beautiful field of wildflowers and
butterflies; so happy and completely caught up in what he is
doing that when he looks behind her, I'll already be there."
~Author Unknown~

"Angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are
gone."
~Author Unknown~

**********

I do this every year.  I wake up and play the day, the last day I saw my 2 year old son, Joshua alive, over and over again in my head.   Exactly twelve hours from now will mark 20 years since Joshua was killed.

Twenty years.  Maybe if I say it over and over enough, my tears will dry up, the two Cokes I've already had in the past 4 hours will magically have never happened and the weight that I've gained over the last 20 years will just disappear.

I hate this time of year with an unfathomable loathing.  It's deep and intense and reaches every single part of my body, mind and soul...and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  This year though, it seems coupled with a sense of self-loathing that I haven't felt in a long time.  Maybe I have?  I don't know.  Maybe for a the past six months I've just been covering it up with all of this positive self-edification talk that shrouded me in a sense of joy and feeling like I was going to actually be OK and make it out of this Hell alive.   Then August hits and I slowly sink down...down...down into a very dark place where the ache never goes away and the pain washes over me in almost suffocating waves.

I want to eat and eat and eat and use that food as so much spongy, crusty French bread to sop up the olive oil of pain and anger and digust that coats everything inside.

There's been a new layer of fresh Hell added this year, involving something I'm not going to talk about (and please know that I hate it when other bloggers do this, but because it's one of my kids, and this kid is a minor, I refuse to discuss it.), but something that has just reinforced the fact that I am an abject failure as a parent.  It makes this annual pain of mind, and especially heart and soul, so much more searing and almost blinding.

The most ironic thing of all is the fact that I have a lot of wonderful things to look forward to...but right now - right at this moment in time, I can't see far enough past the pain and blurred vision from eyes filled with salty bitter tears, to see anything positive.

Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow morning and instead of another morbid post, share one of those wonderful things with you...or maybe I won't get out of bed at all.

 

1,642 Days

Dear Gaby,

Today is a special day.  Very special indeed.  No, it's not your birthday.  It's not a holiday, it's not even a Hallmark specified day that dictates I spend inordinate amounts of money on cards and gifts because they declared it so. It's none of those things.

What is today?   Today is the day you are 1,642 days old.  Technically it means you're 4  and 1/2 years old. However, I thought that it was more interesting to count the number of days that have passed since daddy and I were blessed with your arrival in our world.  We don't celebrate enough.  Not by a long shot.  So I'm declaring today a day to celebrate your being 1,642 days old.  We're going to have a party!

I remember day number 1, December 26th, 2005, like it was just mere moments ago.  We weren't even sure we were going to have a day number 2.  I didn't get to hold you after I gave birth.  You were a month early, and whilst you weighed a very healthy 8lbs 3oz (your big brother Joshua was smiling down from Heaven that day...he weighed exactly that much when he was born some 17 years earlier.), you were far from being ready to make your grand entrance.  You were very close to leaving almost as soon as you arrived!  Daddy got to snuggle you for the merest of moments and I kissed your tiny pale pink cheek and then they whisked you off to the NICU.  I still remember how you smelled so fresh and new, and how petal-soft your cheek felt against my lips.  Tears streamed down my cheeks as a team of several nurses and doctors gave you oxygen and then rushed you away from me.

 

It would be more than a full week before I was able to take you in my arms and hold you close to my breast, but that moment was one of the sweetest in my life. 

 

I was oblivious to the whir of the life-giving machines we were surrounded by in the NICU, the beeps and chirps of oxygen saturation monitors, the alarms that would go off in nearby incubators, and the foosh, foosh, foosh of the feet of the nurses as they rushed to care for another sick baby.  My world at that moment was solely enveloped by you.  I don't even think I blinked for a solid five minutes as I held you close to me and watched you breath.  I'd look at your tiny fingers as they closed around one of mine and marveled at the miracle that was (and still very much is) you!  Things seemed to move very fast after that and before we knew it, we were given the all-clear to finally bring you home.

Time flew by and I looked at the calendar and you were 6 months old!

 

Then a year seemed to scream by, June approached again and you were now 18 months old!

June 2007

 

I will admit to wondering, right around this time, if you were ever going to get any hair?  And yes, I was guilty of occasionally taping a little bow to your  bald head much to the chagrin of almost everyone!  Lo and behold, a year later, you were swimming in hair.  Loads and loads of golden blonde ringlets that seemed to enchant almost everyone you came across - if your smile and adorable personality didn't do the trick first! 

June 2008

 

2008 wasn't my best year.  Not by a long shot.  However, I want to tell you, part of what kept me hanging on was knowing I'd wake up another day to see your smile.  Sometimes, my beautiful Rose, that was all that kept me from caving in to some of the worst thoughts a person can have.   In the deep, dark, still of the night, I've often wondered if the horrors of the past few years will leave any lasting scar on you?   At times, I've only been the shell of a human being.   I think it's one of the reasons I'm working so hard to pull myself up and out of all the ugliness, so that I can be the best I possibly can...for you.

Another year and the last vestiges of babyhood were almost completely gone.  This past summer saw even more change in your young life, some of which included a little more light entering your mommy's life again.  An older brother came, and then he went, and your beloved big sister spread her wings and flew off to where boys and girls become men and women and gain their wings.

And the hair...we can't forget the hair.  3 1/2 saw lots and lots more hair! Oh my the curls!  Grown women would drool as they'd pass you by.

June 2009

 

Here we are.  One more year has passed and with that passage has come so much change.  You seem to have weathered it with a grace I am envious of.  When daddy and I have worries or cares that seem to weigh us down, we only need see your smile, hear your laugh, or have a conversation with you to help lift a bit of the gloom away.  You're like our own personal rainbow, silver lining and winning lottery ticket all in one. 

You came to me this morning and told me that you wanted to go on a walk at the park, "The one with the horsey carousel, just you and me mommy!"  I was looking for excuses to make so that I wouldn't have to take you out of the house and expose myself to people who might laugh, point, or make fun of me.  Then I looked at you, looking up at me with those beautiful brown eyes that were twinkling with the prospect of time spent out of the house and at the park and I decided that it was now or never.  Whilst I wouldn't have your daddy or anyone else around me to ask as a buffer or security blanket (like we did when we went to the amusement park a few weeks ago), I realized that you deserved this...time to run and play and be outside and do the things a normal 4 1/2 year old loves to do.  Needs to do!

We went and walked and played and talked and watched the ducks swim and the frogs jump.  You got to ride the carousel while mommy white-knuckled the whole thing and hoped she wouldn't throw up before the thing stopped going round and round and round.  Seeing the smile on your face was worth it.  You stopped at every single pond and fountain and asked if you could get in it, and even when I said, "No!" you were still patient enough with me to let me take a picture with my cell phone. 

June 2010

 

After we'd had a good look around and annoyed the couple walking the puppy, we decided it was time to head home.  You reached up and took my hand and told me, "I need to hold your hand when we cross the road so that you don't get hit by a car!" 

We strolled past the gazebo, a boy on a bike whizzed by us, an older couple strolling hand in hand passed by us on the other side,  and then we came to a group of about 5 college kids playing Frisbee.   They were loud and you laughed at them and asked me if we could get a Frisbee too.  Before I could answer you, one of the girls started to giggle and point at me and used some really nasty words to describe me.  The others joined in and words and epithets I've heard all too often to describe me, were lobbed through the air and straight at me.  I looked down and your eyes were pools about to spill over.  I hope you didn't see that mine were too.  I tried to act like I didn't hear the awful words, but I did.

I'm sorry that you were exposed to such ugly behavior.  I'm sorry that you have to know a world where people like that exist.  A year ago, maybe even not that long, I would have come home and crumpled and possibly thought some very ugly thoughts about a permanent solution to what is really only a temporary problem...and someone else's problem at that!

When we got to the car, as I lifted you in to put you in your car seat, you wrapped your arms around my neck and in that moment I knew I wouldn't crumble.  I felt like the entire world was warm and light.  I didn't stay by your NICU bedside all those nights and days and fight tooth and nail to survive Hell here on earth in order to just give up after what happened today.  I have survived the death of a child, material loss, humiliation of the worst kind, and my own regretful actions...but the thing is, I survived.   I won't let a handful of reprobates take away from me what I have worked so hard to take back...my life!

My beautiful girl, I want you to know that for every degenerate person out there, there are ten more that are beautiful people with brilliant souls who see people for who they really are.  They've been gifted with the ability to look past the outside and see what exists on the inside, the beautiful shimmer that emanates from the good within our souls.  You have that shimmer in abundance, I see that every day, but most especially I saw it today and it saved me. 

When I grow up, I want my soul to shimmer the way yours does at 1,642 days old.