There was a little irony in being awoken this morning at such a time. If I were to be a little more awake or lucid I imagine I could count down the hours it's been since Piper died.
I'm not so I won't.
The room is hot and my spouse is sound asleep. I know this by the snoring from the other side of Linley...who is on me like white on rice. She sleeps with her arms flung across my chest and her fuzzy head in my neck. Not unlike Piper did.
I am missing Piper.
Right now.
Too many nights that I've been given the option to sleep through and truly, I'm no good at that. I miss hearing her little voice in the night needing me. And I miss feeling her arms and her fuzzy head. God, the ache to hold her again could kill me if I allowed myself to fully feel it.
I cant so it won't.
Today I told Patsy down at the pool that my daughter died. I teared up a little but muddled through an explanation. I told her Piper had died a week from Tuesday and she responded how she was supposed to. I think the more politically correct thing would have been to say that I "lost" Piper but I didn't. She died. I couldn't have lost Piper if I had wanted to... That girl was with me all the time.
In my arms.
Walking next to me with her pink walker.
In the backseat of my Camry, singing Adele.
Snuggled under my chin and across my chest.
I didn't lose Piper.
She died.
Dying also allows me to focus on where she is now. Were I to have lost Piper I would be spending every moment of my remaining years seeking her out. But I don't have to do that. She's gone from my arms but she's settled into better ones. And while that doesn't stop me from reaching for her at 3:35am, it keeps me from collapsing in a puddle of grief from missing her.
Piper died.
I miss my daughter.
3:35am is a lonely time of the night.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
One week today.
It's one week today.
I have yet to have the major emotional meltdown that I thought I would have had. And surely can deserve. Perhaps it's that I have little time. Perhaps it's that I have a seven year old who keeps me busy. Perhaps it's because I tend to compartmentalize things to an extreme and there simply is no proper place for hysteria when one needs to keep their life as orderly as possible.
I think I am feeling this loss in an odd way...One minute I am planning out a vacation to do list with my spouse and the next I am curled up around Pipers no longer necessary carseat and weeping. One minute I am watching Linley cannonball into the pool and the next I am throwing my whole self into the water in an attempt to not miss holding Pipers wiggly two year old self. And when we are asked if we need seating for "just three" I want to stop that person and explain why...although I have yet to begin to ask God why and am only able to survive by necessity. I can do this.
But I'm not sure how much longer.
Last night was so very fitful. I woke no less that 6 times just to look at the clock and reorient myself. When I finally woke for the day it was with the biggest sense of dread I have ever felt. I was certain I was full of lead as I drug my weary body from the bed and pasted a smile on my face for the family waiting for me in the kitchen. And the day has just gone on and on...pleasantly but still with that sense of dread and sadness that I cannot either shake nor deal with correctly.
Its this ability to compartmentalize things that has allowed me to cope with the past two and a half years. Some may call it OCD, some particular, and others will just smile and understand my need to keep as much control over as much as I can at all times. My child has chemo in the morning? Let's clean out the fridge. Tomorrow we move out of state? Let's paint a dresser. I realize I will never hear my youngest ever call me "mommy" again? Let's paint my toes.
I just cannot always deal with the weightieness of what has encompassed my life. I cannot do it. So I continue to deal with the little things around my house and with Linleys life and at one point I would have spent more time packing Pipers diaper bag with things to do for a whole day in clinic than I would even have allowed myself to think about why we were even going to be there.
Compartmentalize. Organize. Redirecting my emotions and plans. This is how I am coping. How I have coped for the past two and a half years. I am planning to force myself to remember and mourn and ache for the details revolving Piper and her sweet little life when Linley begins school again. When I can freely weep and possibly yell and most definitely miss her. Perhaps losing control, even a little, will help this process. Perhaps.
Until then I will keep my eyes from excessive pictures of Piper. I will only smile when her name comes up. And I will compartmentalize the details that I miss and throw myself into today.
And yes. I pray often.
Today I was praying while laying on the beach and I found myself asking the Lord for big signs of his love for me. For him to bless me with this or that or the next thing. And it dawned on me that what I really need is more of Him. Lots of Him. I need to be flooded with Him in order to not be flooded with fears and dismay... That while I begin the grieving process that I also begin the process of finding out more of the God who has carried me for the last few years. I want to know Him and love Him and then know Him more.
One week today. A lifetime left for me to miss Piper and learn to love this big God more. A lifetime seems too much.
For missing Piper, not loving God.
Never.
I have yet to have the major emotional meltdown that I thought I would have had. And surely can deserve. Perhaps it's that I have little time. Perhaps it's that I have a seven year old who keeps me busy. Perhaps it's because I tend to compartmentalize things to an extreme and there simply is no proper place for hysteria when one needs to keep their life as orderly as possible.
I think I am feeling this loss in an odd way...One minute I am planning out a vacation to do list with my spouse and the next I am curled up around Pipers no longer necessary carseat and weeping. One minute I am watching Linley cannonball into the pool and the next I am throwing my whole self into the water in an attempt to not miss holding Pipers wiggly two year old self. And when we are asked if we need seating for "just three" I want to stop that person and explain why...although I have yet to begin to ask God why and am only able to survive by necessity. I can do this.
But I'm not sure how much longer.
Last night was so very fitful. I woke no less that 6 times just to look at the clock and reorient myself. When I finally woke for the day it was with the biggest sense of dread I have ever felt. I was certain I was full of lead as I drug my weary body from the bed and pasted a smile on my face for the family waiting for me in the kitchen. And the day has just gone on and on...pleasantly but still with that sense of dread and sadness that I cannot either shake nor deal with correctly.
Its this ability to compartmentalize things that has allowed me to cope with the past two and a half years. Some may call it OCD, some particular, and others will just smile and understand my need to keep as much control over as much as I can at all times. My child has chemo in the morning? Let's clean out the fridge. Tomorrow we move out of state? Let's paint a dresser. I realize I will never hear my youngest ever call me "mommy" again? Let's paint my toes.
I just cannot always deal with the weightieness of what has encompassed my life. I cannot do it. So I continue to deal with the little things around my house and with Linleys life and at one point I would have spent more time packing Pipers diaper bag with things to do for a whole day in clinic than I would even have allowed myself to think about why we were even going to be there.
Compartmentalize. Organize. Redirecting my emotions and plans. This is how I am coping. How I have coped for the past two and a half years. I am planning to force myself to remember and mourn and ache for the details revolving Piper and her sweet little life when Linley begins school again. When I can freely weep and possibly yell and most definitely miss her. Perhaps losing control, even a little, will help this process. Perhaps.
Until then I will keep my eyes from excessive pictures of Piper. I will only smile when her name comes up. And I will compartmentalize the details that I miss and throw myself into today.
And yes. I pray often.
Today I was praying while laying on the beach and I found myself asking the Lord for big signs of his love for me. For him to bless me with this or that or the next thing. And it dawned on me that what I really need is more of Him. Lots of Him. I need to be flooded with Him in order to not be flooded with fears and dismay... That while I begin the grieving process that I also begin the process of finding out more of the God who has carried me for the last few years. I want to know Him and love Him and then know Him more.
One week today. A lifetime left for me to miss Piper and learn to love this big God more. A lifetime seems too much.
For missing Piper, not loving God.
Never.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Unfair
We rolled into Athens about 3:00am on Friday morning. Up early a mere few hours later and then I promptly lied my way through 75% of the retail stores in town.
Looking for a dress for myself.
For my daughters funeral.
I answered "yes" when asked if I were having a good day. I smiled when forced to make eye contact. And I somehow managed to say that I was indeed doing okay when in actuality I was fairly numb and a little disoriented.
Thankfully I saw no one I knew.
I'm certain I would never have held it together if I saw pity on anyone's face. I found a lot of comfort in the anonymity I had throughout the day. I survived while going about my errands and found something I deemed appropriate for something that I never wanted to do. Unfair comes to mind.
So that day passed and Chad and I attempted to keep ourselves together while still allowing Linley to see us hurt. She is tough...more tough that I wish she were. I fear she is like me as she speaks little of her feelings and redirects questions about her thoughts and such...I pray she will allow herself to cry soon because I am willing to cry alongside her sweet, strong self.
Pipers Celebration of Life service was beautiful. Our desire was to both recognize the fabulousness of Pipers shirt life and to point towards the great Hope we have. And we do. I cannot fathom the depths of despair I would feel if not for the knowledge that eternity will enable me told hold my Piper again. And again and again.
Each moment that goes by without Piper can be either difficult or filled with with this severe numbness I need to keep moving. Memories abound as we settle back into our home. Her play kitchen is sitting unused in the corner and her stuffed animals are collecting dust. When I peruse notebooks or coloring books on the counter I am struck with little scribbles she made for me. My cabinets are filled with the specific snacks Piper liked and the bowls and sippy cups she would go and retrieve when we prepped for dinner. And it's so quiet. Too quiet for my soul...not only are my arms empty but my ears ring when the quiet permeates.
Again. Unfair comes to mind.
And when I say unfair I mean it. This entire process is painful and unfair. I'm sorely disappointed that this is how Pipers story has gone and yet I am so blessed to know that God is not phased in the least bit by my disappointments. Oh, I do believe that He cares and that He loves me and hurts with me but I also believe that He wants me to be totally honest with Him...not that He doesn't see my heart and love me anyways. He loves me as I love Piper.
Fervently and sincerely.
Looking for a dress for myself.
For my daughters funeral.
I answered "yes" when asked if I were having a good day. I smiled when forced to make eye contact. And I somehow managed to say that I was indeed doing okay when in actuality I was fairly numb and a little disoriented.
Thankfully I saw no one I knew.
I'm certain I would never have held it together if I saw pity on anyone's face. I found a lot of comfort in the anonymity I had throughout the day. I survived while going about my errands and found something I deemed appropriate for something that I never wanted to do. Unfair comes to mind.
So that day passed and Chad and I attempted to keep ourselves together while still allowing Linley to see us hurt. She is tough...more tough that I wish she were. I fear she is like me as she speaks little of her feelings and redirects questions about her thoughts and such...I pray she will allow herself to cry soon because I am willing to cry alongside her sweet, strong self.
Pipers Celebration of Life service was beautiful. Our desire was to both recognize the fabulousness of Pipers shirt life and to point towards the great Hope we have. And we do. I cannot fathom the depths of despair I would feel if not for the knowledge that eternity will enable me told hold my Piper again. And again and again.
Each moment that goes by without Piper can be either difficult or filled with with this severe numbness I need to keep moving. Memories abound as we settle back into our home. Her play kitchen is sitting unused in the corner and her stuffed animals are collecting dust. When I peruse notebooks or coloring books on the counter I am struck with little scribbles she made for me. My cabinets are filled with the specific snacks Piper liked and the bowls and sippy cups she would go and retrieve when we prepped for dinner. And it's so quiet. Too quiet for my soul...not only are my arms empty but my ears ring when the quiet permeates.
Again. Unfair comes to mind.
And when I say unfair I mean it. This entire process is painful and unfair. I'm sorely disappointed that this is how Pipers story has gone and yet I am so blessed to know that God is not phased in the least bit by my disappointments. Oh, I do believe that He cares and that He loves me and hurts with me but I also believe that He wants me to be totally honest with Him...not that He doesn't see my heart and love me anyways. He loves me as I love Piper.
Fervently and sincerely.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Pipers Celebration of Life
Pipers Celebration of Life service will be this Saturday the 7th of April, 2012,
11am eastern time.
The service will be held at
Redeemer Presbyterian
165 Pulaski Street
Athens, GA 30601
It is open to all. There will be a reception immediately following the service and we look forward to seeing all of you who have so wonderfully supported our family and loved our girl.
Please remember that while we mourn not holding Piper in our arms anymore we are rejoicing that she is well and strong and happy and in better arms than we can provide. Because of this we want this to be a fairly casual celebration service. Do not feel you must arrive in dark colors and and do not feel you must worry about how we will handle talking about her.
We are asking in lieu of flowers that you support CURE Childhood Cancer in Atlanta in honor of Piper Jean.
11am eastern time.
The service will be held at
Redeemer Presbyterian
165 Pulaski Street
Athens, GA 30601
It is open to all. There will be a reception immediately following the service and we look forward to seeing all of you who have so wonderfully supported our family and loved our girl.
Please remember that while we mourn not holding Piper in our arms anymore we are rejoicing that she is well and strong and happy and in better arms than we can provide. Because of this we want this to be a fairly casual celebration service. Do not feel you must arrive in dark colors and and do not feel you must worry about how we will handle talking about her.
We are asking in lieu of flowers that you support CURE Childhood Cancer in Atlanta in honor of Piper Jean.
Grief
I never knew that grief was so fluid.
That it would absorb my every fiber.
That one minute I would be shopping for toothbrushes at Target and the next I would be leaning against the wall, struggling to breathe deeply. That I would be absorbed in a dinner with the family and suddenly remember the warmth of her skin and find myself staring off into the traffic passing us by. That my arms, which have either caressed a swollen belly or held a needy little girl for three years, will feel empty by my side. And that when this grief begins to wash over me that I must brace myself for fear of falling with the weight of it and never getting back up...
Never.
Content to just lie prostate and weep.
Oh this grief hurts like I had never allowed my weary self to imagine. When Piper was first diagnosed I remember thinking that I would either spend the rest of my life worrying or the rest of my life grieving...
And here I am. Grieving.
I so wish I were worrying...I can fix worrying with the sweet smile of the best two year old out there. I could throw parenting rules into the wind and pull Piper into bed with me at midnight to smell her throughout my night. I could count her toes and kiss her fingertips. Her steady breathe could easily help me to focus...on the now.
Not grief. Grief numbs you. And when you spend the majority of your day staying as busy as possible, with this blessed numbness you are okay. But at some point another wave comes...and grief once again fills you to capacity and leaves you gasping for air or hope or some sort of lifeline. And once you feel as though you may never breathe deeply again you are drained into that numbness that allows you to walk. And eat. And shower. And smile. And be.
I wish I was worrying. I wish I was not simultaneously missing the child I raised and grieving the young lady I will never get to know. I wish grief was not an option but I know it is...it's a necessary step to relearning my life and to loving the husband who stands by his weeping wife and the seven year old who needs her mothers adoration.
I must learn to grieve properly so that I can live properly. I cannot allow myself to remain numb, however easy it may be, when it only keeps the waves from toppling me for a minute. When the minute is done being delayed I will once again feel my fingers tingle and my heart seize and my ears burn and every single fiber of my physical and mental and emotional self will go under the wave that grief brings. I've heard that time helps... I imagine that I will know this to be true or false on the days, months and years to come.
But right now...thirty two hours after last seeing the blue of Pipers eyes and feeling the squeeze of her hands, I simply grieve her loss. I simply miss being her mommy and I sob for it.
That it would absorb my every fiber.
That one minute I would be shopping for toothbrushes at Target and the next I would be leaning against the wall, struggling to breathe deeply. That I would be absorbed in a dinner with the family and suddenly remember the warmth of her skin and find myself staring off into the traffic passing us by. That my arms, which have either caressed a swollen belly or held a needy little girl for three years, will feel empty by my side. And that when this grief begins to wash over me that I must brace myself for fear of falling with the weight of it and never getting back up...
Never.
Content to just lie prostate and weep.
Oh this grief hurts like I had never allowed my weary self to imagine. When Piper was first diagnosed I remember thinking that I would either spend the rest of my life worrying or the rest of my life grieving...
And here I am. Grieving.
I so wish I were worrying...I can fix worrying with the sweet smile of the best two year old out there. I could throw parenting rules into the wind and pull Piper into bed with me at midnight to smell her throughout my night. I could count her toes and kiss her fingertips. Her steady breathe could easily help me to focus...on the now.
Not grief. Grief numbs you. And when you spend the majority of your day staying as busy as possible, with this blessed numbness you are okay. But at some point another wave comes...and grief once again fills you to capacity and leaves you gasping for air or hope or some sort of lifeline. And once you feel as though you may never breathe deeply again you are drained into that numbness that allows you to walk. And eat. And shower. And smile. And be.
I wish I was worrying. I wish I was not simultaneously missing the child I raised and grieving the young lady I will never get to know. I wish grief was not an option but I know it is...it's a necessary step to relearning my life and to loving the husband who stands by his weeping wife and the seven year old who needs her mothers adoration.
I must learn to grieve properly so that I can live properly. I cannot allow myself to remain numb, however easy it may be, when it only keeps the waves from toppling me for a minute. When the minute is done being delayed I will once again feel my fingers tingle and my heart seize and my ears burn and every single fiber of my physical and mental and emotional self will go under the wave that grief brings. I've heard that time helps... I imagine that I will know this to be true or false on the days, months and years to come.
But right now...thirty two hours after last seeing the blue of Pipers eyes and feeling the squeeze of her hands, I simply grieve her loss. I simply miss being her mommy and I sob for it.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Piper Jean
"The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.". (Job 1:21b)
Piper Jean Needham ran into the arms of Jesus April 3, 2012 3:35pm.
Our hearts and empty hands hurt more than we ever imagined possible...but Gods grace will continue to carry us. He will no more forget us in this time of grief and sorrow than we will forget how much we love our fabulously spunky Piper...
And we do love you, Piper Jean.
Piper Jean Needham ran into the arms of Jesus April 3, 2012 3:35pm.
Our hearts and empty hands hurt more than we ever imagined possible...but Gods grace will continue to carry us. He will no more forget us in this time of grief and sorrow than we will forget how much we love our fabulously spunky Piper...
And we do love you, Piper Jean.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Update 4/2/12
I'm typing this with my left hand... My right hand is filled with the sweet warmth of Piper. I cannot seem to break apart from her so long as she breathes the short breathes the oscillator allows. She will squeeze my fingers at times or nod her head when asked a question she likes, such as " do you know we love you?" and will shake her head "no" when we ask her if she is wonderful... Because my spunky girl prefers to be called "fabulous" or "amazing". Both which she is so I shower her with these true confidences.
Pipers room is filled with family and friends who love her. We pray over her. There is worship music playing and the truths of God flood us. Despite the grief I cannot wish away, knowing that the words I hum along with are constant brings the sweetest peace I have ever experienced in my life.
Our room here at St. Jude looks out over the main entrance. When I feel my heart seize up, as it does at times, I walk to the window and watch the families and patients walking to the door. Some skip and some trudge and everyone is comprehensive of what battles are fought here daily. I have seen fellow infant leukemia fighters Wesson, Matthew and Phoebe and I plead for their sweet miracles...knowing they are in the very best place for one.
I last heard that our St. Baldricks event raised over $16,00. This is amazing and a wonderful encouragement to me as I sit with Piper. I would never wish this pain on any other mother and with this money raised we are trending closer to funding cures and treatments for pediatric cancers. That would be a balm to my blistered heart if anything could.
So we continue to wait. Feeling Piper and her soft self, so unlike the girl in the past and yet still fabulously alive. I find myself sitting with her and crying while smiling. Praising while pleading. Lovingly letting my daughter loose into the arms of the only One who can possibly love her more than I have.
Pipers room is filled with family and friends who love her. We pray over her. There is worship music playing and the truths of God flood us. Despite the grief I cannot wish away, knowing that the words I hum along with are constant brings the sweetest peace I have ever experienced in my life.
Our room here at St. Jude looks out over the main entrance. When I feel my heart seize up, as it does at times, I walk to the window and watch the families and patients walking to the door. Some skip and some trudge and everyone is comprehensive of what battles are fought here daily. I have seen fellow infant leukemia fighters Wesson, Matthew and Phoebe and I plead for their sweet miracles...knowing they are in the very best place for one.
I last heard that our St. Baldricks event raised over $16,00. This is amazing and a wonderful encouragement to me as I sit with Piper. I would never wish this pain on any other mother and with this money raised we are trending closer to funding cures and treatments for pediatric cancers. That would be a balm to my blistered heart if anything could.
So we continue to wait. Feeling Piper and her soft self, so unlike the girl in the past and yet still fabulously alive. I find myself sitting with her and crying while smiling. Praising while pleading. Lovingly letting my daughter loose into the arms of the only One who can possibly love her more than I have.
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