30 sleeps

It's been thirty sleeps since I last kissed my youngest before settling her in for the night. That also makes thirty long days I have wandered around, seeing Piper in everything and everywhere. And tomorrow morning when I awaken it will be the thirtieth morning without seeing the blue of her lovely eyes seeking me out and finding reassurance or laughter or peace or truly, whatever my sweet girl needed from me for that day.

I feel I am a shell of who I was.

My heart, which I was amazed to find grow so easily to encompass loving two daughters when I thought I only had the room for one, has been split down the middle and I am left wounded and aching. Nothing can touch me when I feel the waves of desperation and loss and immense sadness wash over me.

Nothing. I just let it and I cry.

When I simply say "my daughter died", it's not too difficult. But to allow myself to go back to the actual process of watching her life slip away, well that is a burden I cannot imagine ever lifting. The details are etched in my already battleworn brain and I will never be able to unforget how incredibly difficult the last three weeks of her life were. But if I were to forget, I would forget a chunk of her life and while it burns my weakened heart to do so, I chose to remember in order to remember how much I loved my Piper. I also have allowed myself to remember the memories which make me smile and then cry for the missing. So many memories of a little girl who fought way too hard and way too long and yet showed me how fragile the breath of life is indeed.

I don't believe that Piper is an angel now. I don't believe that she is always watching me nor do I believe that I can talk to her. It's not in my realm of theology to think these are true but I do believe even better.

I believe she is well.

I believe she laughs.

Runs. Giggles. Holds hands.

I believe that she will squeal with happiness whenever I finally breath my last breath here and I believe that she is held in the literal, loving hands of God.


Sometimes my convictions are enough to keep me from sobbing uncontrollably and at times my convictions become frustration. I would find this entire process that much easier if I were to turn my back on God. To scream my anger at His plans and in defense of the plan I had for Piper and deny His existence in light of it all. But I cannot turn my back on the very foundation of my existence any more than I could have turned my back on Piper when I was weary and saddened.

I was created to love her only because of the vast and grace filled love that God showed me first.

This is why I am still breathing.

And the God who pours out just enough grace for the day is more than willing to take my anger and frustration and weeping and mourning. I do not faze Him by being hurt with how life is rolling along. He makes beautiful things out of broken vessels like this mommy. He made a beautiful thing out of my Piper, despite her broken and worn and sick little body.

This is what He does.

This is why I am still breathing.

To see Piper again will be beautiful.

I cannot fathom the details that God has promised await us when we return to His arms but I can earnestly say that knowing my Piper will be there and will immediately say "C'mon! C'mon mommy!" does nothing but bring me hope. Hope for tomorrow.

Hope for every painful moment.

Every tear, ache, sob and memory.

When I shop, I miss seeing her face smiling at me from the cart. When I drive, I miss her singing in the backseat. When I walk, I miss going slowly behind her pink walker. When I breath, I miss the scent of her skin. When I smile, I miss seeing her smile back. When I cry, I miss her patting my head. When I eat, I miss sharing a bite. When I do laundry, I miss having her help fold. When I put on make up, I miss her trying colors on. When I cook, I miss her sitting next to me on the counter. When I sleep, I miss the opportunity to walk down the hall and see her face in the shadows. When I write a note, I miss sharing a pen and having little scribbles drawn for me. When I go down stairs, I miss holding her hands and saying "march". When I give Linley her morning vitamins, I miss doling out chemo. When I put dishes away, I miss watching her snag a cup. When I worship at church, I miss her on my hip. When I park my car, I miss reaching to unlock her carseat. When I shower, I miss hearing her giggles outside the curtain. When I watch a movie, I miss the warmth of her skin leaning against me. When I read a book, I miss being given another one to read to her. When I pull into my moms neighborhood, I miss hearing her yell "nana". When I water flowers, I miss seeing her hands tussle the soil. When I hear a knock on the door, I miss her scurry to answer it. When I hear my phone ring, I miss wrangling it from her hands. When I kiss Linley goodnight, I miss feeling both girls together. When I pick Linley up from school, I miss her giggling for "nini". When I brush my teeth, I miss seeing her spit. When I sob, I miss my daughter.

When I miss Piper, I miss every little thing that I will never get back. This is a punch to the stomach but still I chose to believe that there will come a day we will be reunited. And I pray that heaven won't be too wonderful to leave me forgetting to relive the things I so miss about being the mommy of Piper.

And after thirty long days without my sweet girl, my youngest, my fighter and the epitome of my greatest fears realized, I can say only that I miss her.

I miss Piper Jean and this cannot change... I am certain and I am sad.

Made to be a mommy

Tonight while trying desperately to win a few more minutes before the inevitable bedtime, my Linley was brushing my hair and chatting me up.

I know, I'm a sucker for having my hair played with. Move on.

Anyways, after brushing and rearranging my strands she leans in and says "your hair is so soft mommy... are you part mermaid?" This made my day as well as made me question whether my daughter has ever actually paid attention to what a mermaid looks like and seriously, has she ever checked out her mommy?

Love is blind and it fills me with joy.

I am created to receive this love. Being a mother is what I was created for and I know this. My body relishes swelling with child. My need for sleep is minimal compared to the need to feel my children's breath on my shoulder. I love the dirt kids get in the webbings on their small hands. I love the way their feet smell after playing outside. I love the way "mommy" sounds on their lips and I love the demands that being their mommy has made of me.

Some small demands and some bigger than I had ever imagined.

And lately I am struggling with what being a mommy means now. Linley needs me in big ways but less in the small details like doling out cereal and washing elbows and toes. Piper needs me not at all but once relied on me to even live another day. And my womb remains empty despite my wants and aches that are less fervent only than the prayers I once plead for Pipers life.


I miss Piper. I miss being her mommy. Each time I see her in my minds eye I am filled with an anguish that makes breathing hurt. My heart is not healing, it is crumbling as my days become infinitely more difficult each time I am forced to wake up without the sound of her voice. Nothing smooths me except the fragile grip I have on the Hope of eternity. Only this.

I miss my role as a busy mommy. I miss having my own beloved and desired and blessed children play together. I miss dreaming of chaos and laughter and the bond that siblings have. And mainly in this moment I am once again struck by the knowledge that God is sovereign despite the desire I have to rail against Him and the great griefs He has allowed me to feel.

And I do rail. I rant and extol what I feel I deserve and need and want. I distrust that God will bring to fruition exactly that which He knows to be best for me. And I wonder, often, why He has chosen to take half of my children from my arms without leaving me with the knowledge that my quiver will be filled with others. Not children to take the place of Piper. Not children to compete with my Linley. Never.

But to allow me to be mommy.

To allow me to hear more voices asking for me. More dirt and stickiness. More cuddles and silly stories.

I was made for this.

But never more than I was made to love God in spite of my great disappointment with what I once dreamed of.

Easy.

Loving this girl is easy.

Since her birth she has been simply a blessing and I'm not the only one who recognizes her as a lovely girl.

These pictures were taken this morning before church. She was decked out in her bathrobe, head turban and slippers. Her church dress was already on, though totally covered, and she was lounging on the couch in between fixing herself up in her small bathroom. Apparently this is how movie stars get ready for their days and she is currently fancying herself a diva of sorts.

Although she may not love having her pictures taken she is in trouble for she is currently my favorite subject to snap. Her smile is beautiful, no doubt. So anytime I become overwhelmed with how hard life continues to be, she is my centering. She makes it easy to focus on the beauty that still exists among the ashes we are walking through.

I received a gorgeous mosaic style cross in the mail recently. It is detailed and easy on the eyes. When you are at a distance you can see multiple colors and a bold red heart in the very center of it all. When you step closer you see that the heart is in fact small pieces that have been placed in the shape of a heart, although its obviously been made from broken pieces. The verse accompanying it is from Psalms 147:3

"He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds."

I love this verse because I know it to be true as it is Gods word. This is not merely a comfort or an encouragement to be passed around but this is a specific promise of what God will do. Because it is a promise I do find comfort and encouragement in it.

Just as I do with my Linley who continues to grow and relate and just make loving her so easy to do for me.

Hard.

Since Pipers death my moments of being sad and tearful are brief. While I may cry or allow myself to feel that ache in my heart multiple times a day there is inevitably something or someone who comes along and disrupts my train of thought. Usually I welcome this reprieve from the potentially steep decline into grief and allow myself to clamber out quickly.

But I cannot tell you how many times a day I hear my chirpy mommy voice talking about details of Linleys day while my mind remembers the way I struggled to kiss Piper little lips around the breathing tube. I will be eating lunch out and instead of following the conversation I will be missing the way Pipers cheek fit perfectly in the cup of my hand. Children make me tear up and for some reason they love me lately. Make up seems frivolous and food tastes only slightly better than cardboard.

My daughter is still gone and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

Nothing is getting easier and in fact I am hurting more each day that passes.

Tonight Chad and I fought. Because it is us, it was a good fight filled with words and thrown pencils and hurt and anger. It was stupid, this fight, as they aways are and yet as I got in my car to leave I found myself hysterical. Sobbing so heavily that I had to pull over in the parking lot of a local church for fear of running off the side of the road even after 45 minutes straight of crying. And I realized that although I am hurt by Chad and I am mad at the way we continue to struggle with connecting and communicating, I really was just so very mad that so very much in my life is hard.

Marriage is hard.

Having your daughter die is hard.

Waking up in the morning and choosing to shower and put pretty earrings on and vacuum and do the dishes and drink coffee and do math facts and participate in the car pool and take a walk and plan dinner and meet up with friends and check your email and read books to 7 year olds and paint your toes and fill up the gas tank and make sure there are clean clothes for all who need them and watching Mad Men and blogging and breathing....

Over and over and over.

It's hard.

And I don't want to.


No, I want to stop this anguish.


And it's even more overwhelming to know that despite my best efforts at compartmentalizing, my grief and sadness are not fading but growing more difficult to handle instead. One can only wander Target so many times or meet up with friends for coffee so many times or drive with loud music pounding so many times before you realize that you are just about to burst and all in the way will see your core.


I wish grief were more like an exorcism. Where if I were to focus hard enough I would be able to spit it out on the floor and walk around it and right out the door. Purge myself of it, of you will. But it doesn't work like that... it goes on and on and on and on.


And it leaves me wondering how to deal with this huge gaping hole that Pipers death has left in my life. I truly do not know how to deal with the hard things in life because I'm still brought to my knees by just how very hard they continue to be.


My marriage is hard and hurting.

We deal with life in very different ways so it's no wonder we are dealing with death in our own styles. Chad allows himself to feel and question and be alone. I think a little too deeply and quickly rearrange the living room before the tears come. Chad rails and I simper. Chad goes as a slow pace through the day while I entrust my OCD to kick in and keep me racing.

With this thing called grief I see Chad allowing himself time. Time to cry or think or rant while I just want it all to go away. I want to busily avoid it when in reality, this depth of sadness only gets deeper when ignored. And despite how differently we are dealing with it we are both feeling it so much more than anyone else in our circle can imagine.

Most of all I allowed myself to have a five minute release which actually lasted over two hours and used up my normal yearly rate of tears. And it has changed nothing except serve to remind me that I am a hurting woman...that I am in a marriage that has been in the midst of a battle for 2 years and I am the mother to one daughter who needs me sober and upright and another who will never need me again.

This is why life is hard.

This is why I was not created for this.

Why I yearn for the eternity created for me and those whom also lean so heavily on my Jesus when life is hard.

Target (again)

So yesterday I may or may not have hypothetically sucker punched some poor local lady and her weary but good intentions.

Maybe. Hopefully not.

It began in Target as most of my stories do. I've mentioned before that it is my happy place, only now I must give the toddler and toy section a large berth to keep from being sick. There's still a whole lot of Target left to loiter through despite this detail. So I went. I needed a front door welcome mat and nothing else.

I spent 52$ and brought many other unnecessary treasures home but that's neither here or there.

When I was through thoroughly perusing as many aisles as I could handle I stepped in line to check out. Remember all those unnecessary but happy treasures I had discovered? Me too. I was in front of a young and frazzled mother although it took me a minute to notice anyone which is normal for me. I currently have the attention span of a gnat or a middle schooler in algebra or a grieving discombobulated mother. She was handling two kiddos who were not enjoying Target as it deserves to be enjoyed but I smiled at the mom because I have been there. Of yes, no judgement from me...I get frazzled.

When she caught my eye she smiled wearily and said "I look forward to shopping alone like you someday".

So truth be told she sucker punched me first.

I stood there a wee bit tongue tied and everything got real quiet in my head despite the kiddos screaming and I got a little numb. Then I stuttered, which is nothing new for me, something about it not being nearly as wonderful as she would think and turned around quickly.

From the corner of my eye I could see her face fall and I knew she must have sensed that I was on the verge because nothing else was said and no looks were exchanged and I paid quickly and got the heck out of there.

I made it to the car before the tears began and when I slammed my door I rested my head on my steering wheel and sobbed. I hate shopping alone and quietly. I hate having to miss my Piper and be expected to somehow breathe still. As the tears fell and my shoulders heaved I looked up just in time to see this poor lady settling her kiddos into her minivan... Which was directly in front of my Camry. And she was sliding me looks like she wanted to say something and she looked horrified and I am certain she will never, ever shop at Target again without fearing a meeting with this wreck of a mommy.


So thats how I flipped out again at Target and that's how I may or may not need to find a new happy place.

Memories and musings and no place for despair.

I've missed Piper a little extra today.

And by "a little extra" I mean that I am allowing myself to remember things that are both difficult and beautiful. Just like her little life was. And I am allowing myself to cry a little more than I usually do and I'm finding it to be good for me.

I'm often asked how my day is going and it's just not that easy. My days are fine...I'm sober and upright and frankly there are many moments that that even seems like too much. But I am.

It's the moments that catch me.

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I'm fine....

And bam.

I'm walking down the stairs and remembering how many millions of times I held Pipers hands and took steps slowly with her and praised her her desire to be such a big girl.

Moments hurt.

The days and nights are too big to handle in theory and so I continue to just do the moments. Thankfully Pipers life, while difficult no doubt, was filled with beauty. She was a blessing to us in every single little way and her absence is a glaring void in my life.

Imagine losing a child.

Some of you have and my memories and musings scrap off the scabs of your own loss. Most of you haven't and while you fear and possibly fret over the possibility, fact is you will probably walk to Jesus long before your children.

As it should be.

But some of us are left to maneuver the living room when your minds eye remembered your two year old walking towards you with pride in her eyes, you shower quietly and wish you could hear your daughter plead to join you. You have to daily, sometimes hourly, remind yourself to not say "daughters" but instead to put your "daughter" in bed. When someone knocks on the door there is no sharp intake of excited breathe and the swift hustle of a toddler hauling herself to see who is visiting.

Pipers memories are everywhere. And on the brief moments that I relish the breeze and the sound of Linley playing and think to myself how good life is... there is the inevitable sucker punch of reality and the knowledge that Piper is gone. Never to return to my arms or my stairs or my living room or my shower or my bedtime routine.

That's a moment that hurts.

So imagine not having that child next to you. Today when going about your to-do list allow yourself to have no responsibility for one of your children. Make yourself think how horrible it would be to kiss them goodbye and never ever kiss them hello again, this side of eternity.

And when you feel like you cannot breathe for how heavy this feels on your parental soul, I want you to have the moment that relieves this ache because you do still have your beautiful daughter or strong son. I don't have this relief and I do have much sadness.

There is a verse that has soothed me since Pipers death. Each time I feel overwhelmed or hurt or angry, I force myself to refocus my emotions around the pit that is called Despair. If I despair I lose hope and if I lose hope I lose my foundation for survival. I just can't do that and make the struggles of the last two and a half year seem in vain.

So I rail and I cry and I sit quietly in each moment that comes. But I do not despair...eternity is sweeter with Piper leading the way for us all.

Psalms 27:13
I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

St Simons Island 2012

First vacation as a family of 3.

Felt a bit fuzzy and a whole lot of surreal. The struggle to keep myself moving (albeit slowly and sadly at moments) along is very real unfortunately. Baby steps, I'm told.

And still we had a good time. Linley tried and liked fried calamari and butter pecan french toast. We swam often. There were piers to walk and lighthouses to climb and bike trails to explore. My Linley is a joy to be around and I noticed her sweet demeanor accentuated. She has always been my independent little one and she is not typically a touchy girl... Have I mentioned that she is very much like her mother?

She is.

But on this vacation we noticed her reaching for my hand when walking along. Linley was content to cuddle up with us and watch television. She never asked me to stop touching her fuzzy head or stroke her face and I truly think she just knew mommy needed a little extra of her. I also think that Linley just needed a little extra of me and Chad.

While I know how much my girls adored each other, Linley was very often gently nudged out of the way. All of her needs were met but too often her wants went overlooked...and while I know this may not seem like the end of the world, it's not really fair to have this be the normal for over two years.

This vacation, while having its share of tears and sadness, was a time to refocus on Linley. She's now an only child and this was never my intention when I first began bearing children. But instead of thinking on the whys and how's of the past few years we chose to hope and plan for a future.

Linley is worth it.

This vacation was a wonderful reminder of who we each are to each other... A family.

I love you Linley.
And I miss you Piper.