Mom Monday - Happy Birthday Mom

This Monday is a little harder to write.  Yesterday, while everyone was celebrating the joy of Easter, Dad and I pasted fake smiles on our faces and tried to keep appearance on a rough day.

Easter just wasn't the same.  The eggs were hidden in the yard for the annual hunt, family was around for a meal together, the kids were dressed in their finest and the sun was shining.  But mom was missing, and so it felt a little empty, like something was missing.

Of course we expected this first Easter, like all the holidays to be hard.  But we had a double whammy.  What are the chances really, that Easter this year, April 8th, would also be my mom's birthday?  I so wish she would have been there to sing happy birthday too.  She died too young.

In her spirit though, I carried on one of her traditions.... the lamb cake.  I grew up in Chicago and that' what we did.  My first Easter out East here with Rob, I remember telling him my mom was bringing the lamb cake for Easter dinner.  He looked at me like I had three heads.   a lamb cake?  What in the heck was that?  His mom always got an Egg cake from the bakery.

 So I explained, a lamb cake is a pound cake in the shape of a lamb. Why I dunno.  It's what we always did.  And we always kid my  brother about getting the butt. He asked how in the world we got our lamb in the shape of a cake, and I explained with a lamb cake mold of course.  I don't think he really believed I wasn't messing with him until he actually saw the thing.

This year, I asked my dad for the  mold.  I didn't know how I was going to make a gluten free lamb cake, but I was damn well going to try.  My memories, the traditions, that's all I have left of her now, and I can't let them go.

It was a lot harder without gluten to hold the thing together.  The first attempt didn't quite make it.  Right into the trash it went!  The second attempt fared better....  I was able to un-mold and frost the thing before it fell apart.  Rob was all set to try a third time when I came up with a solution.  Instead of having the lamb look at you from the side, I moved the head to the front.  It was the best I could do.  But you know what?  It's what my mom would have done, kept trying til it worked out.  I'm sure she was laughing with joy as she watched me muddle through this cake!

So happy Easter everyone, and Mom - I'm having a piece of cake for you!

Natural Food Coloring

OK, I was in a bind.  My three year old as been complaining that all the other kids in his preschool class get lemonade, and he only gets water.  I've asked the teachers not to give Noah the artificial HFCS with red dye #40 brand name pink lemonade they serve.  He already brings his own snack because of his severe life threatening allergies.  But like his older brother, even if he didn't have the allergies, I'd still pack his lunch and/or snack to keep it all natural.

I don't think children should r food with lots of "non-food" ingredients in it.

Anyway, so I recently started sending in my own lemonade in a bottle for him.  Only problem is, he wants pink lemonade, not yellow.

OK, how can I turn this pink.  My Whole foods all natural food coloring is dried up so not working (I'm thinking brown lemonade is just NOT appealing...)

So I think....what's red in my kitchen?  Strawberries!

So I take a couple of strawberries, blend it up very fine (I have a magic bullet but a food processor would work), then strain it into a cup.  I pour this liquid into his lemonade and bingo!  He had pink lemonade.  Actually, he hasstrawberry lemonade - yum!

The whole process took me less than 2 minutes.  More clean up?  certainly!  But my child is going to school chemical free - and that certainly is sweet!

Mom Monday belatedly

OK, I'm a little late.  Yesterday was a particularly hard day.  I found out we have $2500 in debt from my fertility treatments.  I took it really hard.  It means not only did I put a burden on my family with this (selfish?) desire of mine, but also that I can't possibly go back again.

I've been feeling at peace lately...Since my husband and I were finally on the same page together,  I decided to fill the remaining scripts of clomid and give them a chance.  I felt like finally I had a balance... I was handling the emotions of this process - even those monthly negative tests - and finally coming to a peace about me never getting pregnant again.  Oh sure, I would still have those days where it would hit me hard, and I would just break down.  But that's more a couple of times a month, not every day like it was before.

Since we were finally really trying this time, with both parties on board, I felt like if it was meant to be OK then.  But if it didn't happen, I wouldn't have any regrets about "what if ?"  I would have done all I could.

So now all that's gone.  I can't go back and wrack up more debt on let's face it, an almost useless chance that I can get pregnant again.  I suppose I could take the remaining scripts un-monitored if I go every other month.  I'd have to  - we know I can over-stim easily.  My kids just lost their grammy...they don't need to lose their mom too.  But without a monthly trigger, it's probably useless.  And while I have scripts for those too, I wouldn't know when to use them.  That's another $100 a month anyway....

So I'm back to grieving with regrets....again.

I started dreaming about babies again.  The worse is when I am forced to watch over and over as friends of mine have babies, and I can't.  I hate those nights.  I haven't slept well in weeks as it is.

So add on to all that, that I am missing my mom.  I spent 45 minutes on the phone with my Dad yesterday, first answering his questions about thank you notes (yes to people who sent donations, flowers or food, yes to people who bought masses to be said in mom's names, no to people who just sent sympathy cards unless they are family out of state who would like one of her prayer cards). Then reminiscing guiltily once again, did we make the right decisions, could we have done anything differently and of course, it still doesn't seem real.

This past weekend marked her month's passing.  I went over to my Dad's Friday night both to visit and also because he had more stuff for me to go through. Since we had two cars, Rob took the kids home earlier and I stayed just to have some time with my dad.  We haven't been this close since I left home when I was 18.  Something happened then and it was never the same.  Now it's like a trip back in time the way we talk.

As I was driving home that night, tired, emotionally drained, the roads dark, I had a sense of deja vu....and then it hit me.  Exactly one month ago, on another Friday night, I was in the same situation. Driving home alone from the hospital late at night.   My mom had just died.

I can't tell you how much I miss her.  And I hate that both Josh and Katelyn commented to me about me being sad yesterday.

Anyway, one of the things we were going through at the house were all the shelves in her kitchen.  She was somewhat of what I call a "hidden hoarder."  Not like those people on tv,  their house was always neat.  But she saved everything!   She had all kinds of stuff hidden away in drawers and shelves in baskets, envelopes etc.  


In going through those books we again talked about recipes and things we've always had for the last 40 years.  I share a recent experience with my dad.


In browsing Pinterest, I came across a recipe for what they called " broken ice." 

I was immediately brought back to my past.  Mom made something similar, only she called it cracked ice.  The recipe was similar, only she didn't use condensed milk, she used whipped cream with the knox gelatin.  But I can clearly remember the pans of jello in the fridge in the days leading up to Christmas eve.  It was always there on Christmas Eve, a tradition, although in reality, I think me and mom were really the only ones who truly liked it.  I was the only one who liked the graham cracker crust, Mom just preferred to serve it in a clear glass pedestal bowl (which we found on her kitchen shelves to my relief)

Another unique and now I realize, cherished memory is pasta.  Not off the shelf of the supermarket spaghetti, but home made.  Mom used to make home made pasta.  She'd roll out the dough in a flat sheet, roll it up  and then make thin slices, like a cinnamon roll, but much thinner (think a 1/4 in) and just pasta dough.  Then she'd un-roll all the slices and lay them out on all our beds (which had been covered with clean sheets on top) to dry.  While I'm sure it would seem odd to most adults  to walk into a bedroom and see pasta drying on the beds, if I were to see it today, it would simply bring a fond smile to my face.

It was never the same once she got a hand crank pasta maker.  I missed the old fashioned way she made it. Mom always swore that each pasta tasted different.  I believe she was right. 

Isn't it interesting how so many family and holiday memories are tied to food? What is it about it that ties us together?  Maybe because it is so much like families.  Each recipe, like a family has unique ingredients (or family member) that serve specific purposes, contributes flavor or variety.  Without any one ingredient , the dish is simply not the same.  

In some cases, you can maybe add a little extra to make up the difference, say an extra egg when running short on baking powder, or a little extra garlic when salt in omitted. Just like families. When I am sick, Rob takes up the slack and does a little more. Will it taste the same?  No, but it's enough to get by .  So it is with families.  We lose people we love sometimes temporarily or sometimes forever. The family is not the same, but that does not mean it can't be good.

Our new family is still good, and I love it.  But with missing such a key ingredient, it will never be the same again. 

Gluten Free Mexican Lasagna recipe

This recipe is can be made more Paleo friendly by skipping a layer of tortilla and going light on the cheese.  I did this since Rob is not eating any grains at all right now.  He was able to "scoop" from the top and leave the tortilla behind.

Ingredients

1 sweet onion

1 large green pepper (or 1 red or both!)

1 - 1 1/2 pound of chicken

rice flour tortillas (I get mine at Trader joes)

16 oz  tomato sauce

2 tsp rice vinegar (did you know regular white vinegar may not be gluten free?)

bag of shredded cheddar cheese

2 tsp of sweetened lime juice

chili powder

cumin

salt and pepper

olive oil

Directions

Preheat oven to 350

Dice onion and green pepper in olive oil until softened. Cut chicken into cubes and add to the onion mixture.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  When chicken is browned, add tomato sauce and remaining ingredients except cheese and tortilla.  You may want to increase cumin, chili powder and vinegar to taste.  Simmer for a few minutes

in a large casserole dish, cover the bottom with a couple of tortillas.  Spoon out chicken mixture to cover and add half the shredded cheese.  Add a second layer of tortilla, chicken mixture and cheese.  PLace in the oven for 20 minutes or so to "meld" the flavors. 

Note: one more option is to add a layer of refried beans.  However, please note, legumes are NOT paleo.  But for my gluten free friends out there, it's another layer of flavor and texture.

Stress and staying on program

So I'm sure I've mentioned once or twice I'm trying to conquer my issues of emotional eating.  I tend to eat when I am stressed, worried, angry or frustrated...

I'm sure you can understand with watching  my mom suffer as badly as she did, making the decision to let her go and her ensuing death falls into this category of "stress."

Actually, while spending so much time at the hospital, I was pretty close to staying on program.  I mean, there were few gluten free options at the hospital cafeteria and in particular, most of the "temptation" items certainly contained gluten.  And certainly, toward the end, when my mother was allowed little to no food, I certainly wasn't going to eat an ice cream in front of her. So while the candy machines and cafeteria offered plenty of sugary temptations, I resisted, and pretty easily.  I got used to going long hours without eating or drinking (towards the end, Mom was so very scared and wanted us there close, holding her hand. It got to be so we did without)

So actually, while I gained a shameful amount of weight over the holidays, thanks to my "hospital diet" I really am not too far off.  If  you recall, I had gotten down to 175.5.  I am now 185.  So really only 10 pounds to go to get back where I was.  That doesn't sound so bad....

But if you also recall, losing 10 pounds is also very difficult process for me.  It could take as long as 2 or 3 months of hard calorie counting and/or exercise to take that off (thank you pcos!).

I'm trying to look at myself and my motivations...when exactly do I get that craving, you know the one, not just the "i have a taste for something sweet" craving. Nope, that I can handle with a little will power.  No, I'm talking about the "Oh my gosh if I don't get something sweet right now I might explode!" craving...

That's the one I can't resist.  No, that's not accurate.   I think it's not that I can't resist...it's more that I don't think about what I'm doing.  It just kind of.... happens.

After the kids have been fighting
When I'm tired and I have a mountain of laundry
When the elementary school is giving me grief  again (Man I hate that school)
When I get another negative home pregnancy test
and oh yeah..when my mom dies

Those moments hit and I'm so full of emotion, I don't even think, I just do. There is no process of temptation/decision making/action.  I just do.  That just can't be good for me.  It certainly hasn't been good for my not so little hiney that needs to fit into a swimsuit soon.

So my goal is to come up with some coping methods.  What to do (and not to do) when the kids are screaming at each other, all three fighting over the single beanie baby seahorse there's only one of, and all those little life moments that get the best of me.

It's to not have my cake and eat it too.

Mom Monday

I think for awhile I'm going to use Mondays to talk about my mom.  I'm hoping the more I talk about her, and the more Mondays that pass, the less I will feel the ache in my heart.  It still feels like she is just away on a trip and she will come home to us any day now.

(me and mom on a cruise together, just the two of us)

We celebrated my brother's 47th birthday yesterday.  Without mom.  It was very bittersweet.... I think more the bitter than the sweet.

I've mentioned before that my brother is mentally handicapped and lives with my parents. I guess  now just my Dad.  Obviously, he's taken my mom's death badly.  It's been hard for him to understand why she had to go away, hard for us to really explain to him why and how she died.

Hell, I think all of us our wondering the same thing.

But we must forge ahead, so we planned his birthday. My Dad asking all kinds of questions... "How do I make Kenny's favorite (Angel Food cake), when do I take it out of the pan, do I use a table cloth? I bought cool whip to put on the cake."  He says he talks to her throughout the day, wishing he had paid more attention to what she did in the kitchen.  He asks her, "what are all these bottles for, how do I  make that soup we love , and what do I do with this tarragon?  And yes he too asks her, "why did you leave me?"

He mentioned to me that maybe that all died along with her.  Ugh, talk about breaking my heart.  I'm not sure what's harder, feeling my own grief or watching him mourn his best friend of 50 years.

Dad, just use a mix, that's what Mom did.  Cool it in the pan for 10-15 minutes then dump it, the table cloths are in the hutch and Dad, I'll bring heavy cream to make whip cream, put a bowl in the freezer for me don't use cool whip.

(That's not real food. With all this sickness and tragedy for pet's sake,  let us never forget, let thy food be thy medicine.)

I told him I know how to make the soup he loves, and the salad dressing and most of his other favorites.  Like I 've been teaching him to cook these last several  months, I will continue to help him learn their favorites (maybe with more natural ingredients though?).

So I tell him, Dad, we won't forget them (and I think or her), and by the way, in all my years of cooking, I've never used tarragon, so don't worry about that, nor all the other bottles. We'll figure it out one day at a time.

But I can't answer that last one Dad, I don't know why she had to leave us.  And I miss her too.

PS - I made this little arrangement from the flowers from her funeral.  It will be a small memento to remind us of what we lost, or maybe what we were lucky enough to have in the first place.

Disbelief...

I buried my mom today. I still can't believe she's really gone.

Tears from the Heart

I'm afraid I won't have much time to write here much in the coming weeks. I am still trying to cover what shifts I can at the hospital.

Status for my mom....The reason she only made it 10 or so hours in rehab is because the mysterious infection was identified. She has sepsis. It was so bad, I found out yesterday, that she nearly did not make it out of the ER. Supreme efforts from the ER staff kept her alive.

It took a family friend, one without my mother's other health problems nearly two years to recover from Sepsis. And now my mom has it? On top of diabetes, congestive heart failure, chron's disease, rheumatoid arthritis, peripheral artery disease and now sepsis?

I mean, oh my gosh. How much can one endure?

I am meeting with the Palliative team today to help decide my mother's fate. I hate hate hate having to have these conversation with my dad. In my heart, I feel like it's time to end her suffering and let her go. She's not getting better. She just stares at the ceiling now, or says over and over "I"m scared." Sometimes she obsesses over things, like why is there a string (censor) or her finger and she often says, "Tell me why I am here again?"

She is refusing some treatments including a bipap mask to help her breath (it's not just for sleep apnea patients. It actually works like a ventilator and not only forces air down, but brings the air out again). Without the bipap to help her, her carbon monoxide levels are rising, every day they talk of intubating.

Her foot is dying more and more each day. It's an image I will never forget as long as I live and all I can think is, what limb is next? She has PAD and diabetes, it's only a matter of time. She keeps forgetting that her toes have died, she doesn't know yet that she will lose her foot. Thankfully, she doesn't remember. My dad thinks she would rather die than lost her foot.

But my dad cannot let go yet, he wants to keep fighting, for her to keep fighting. Can I blame him really? I can't imagine losing Rob. My mom and Dad have been together almost 50 years.

And really, how does one make these decisions? What if I am wrong? What if we sign the papers and we're wrong and she can get better? But we don't give her that chance?

It's breaking my heart. In my lifetime of 43 years, I've seen my dad cry just a hand full of times...when my sister died, when we almost lost mom before. Now I hear him crying almost daily and it's almost as painful as watching my mom suffer.

Talk about tears from the heart....



Cry from my head again
tears that come from thoughts of leaving
never end
Cry from my head again
tears that come from thoughts of loosing
never end
But when I cry from my heart
tears from my heart
My breast sighs opens like a flower in the bloom
Soft petals, yield to reveal your face
as they bend, from your weight
you reach within for nectar
tears from my heart
tears from my heart
I weep
not from my head
but from deep within my heart
Now when I cry from my heart
tears from my heart
lightening strikes, violet and bright
piercing the dark corners of my room
words dissolve, only your image tender
sweetly stings, burns apart
you reach within for nectar
tears from my heart
tears from my heart
I weep
not from my head
but from deep within my heart

Music by Steve Stewart, Lyrics by Weba Garretson, arranged by Ken Lasaine

Get busy living or get busy dying

Anyone know that line? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?



It's from the Shawshank Redemption which is a favorite movie of mine. Initially, I thought it really had nothing to do with what I was going to write about today. It just popped into my mind when I sat down at the keyboard. I didn't think it meant anything, or did it?

I've been gone again, I know but for good reason. My time is split now, trying to help my dad (grocery shop, take down a Christmas tree, clean, cook etc) but also going to the hospital to visit my mom, a two hour round trip for me.

I hate those visits. Mostly, because I hate seeing my mom that way. She doesn't know it yet, but she is going to lose her foot which will confine her to a wheel chair at best. She keeps forgetting that her toes have already died, but that she is not strong enough to survive the amputation surgery. But that's not even why she was admitted. She's there because her hemoglobin became dangerously low because she was bleeding into her intestines. This is a side effect of the blood thinners meant to help her save her limbs. Yup, that's working great.

She goes in and out of lucidity. Sometimes, she just forgets where she is. Her blood sugar, even when on a clear liquids no sugar diet was still hovering at 400. She gets breathing treatments several times a day - her lungs are filled with fluid from all the transfusions. Her heart (remember, she has a pacemaker/defibrillator already) is feeling the stress and went into v-tach for 51 beats one night. Her already bad vision worsened going very dark either from the bleeding or the morphine or who knows, and her hearing is described as a 3 on scale of 10. She can no longer use the bathroom by herself, nor feed herself and was actually in adult diaper for a few days (seriously? they are too busy for bedpans? really?)

Those are all horrible things, but what I hate most, and what sticks with me the most is the look of defeat in her eyes. One night, she just looked at me and said "don't do this to yourself."

You could have knocked me over with a truck.

What did she mean? Does she realize she could have taken better care of herself? Was she warning me away from the same fate? AFter all, I am at risk of type 2 diabetes which can often be avoided with good diet and exercise. ( Btw, she has type 1, she could not have done anything to void it) Did she sense I was mad at her all those years for not taking care of herself, for taking herself away from her grandchildren?

I don't know, and I never will. I really didn't know what to say. I just reassured her, told her I was taking care of myself. She knows I exercise, watch what I eat, see Dr.'s regularly for check ups and to monitor my A1C level. Mine is currently at a very healthy level of 4.5.

I wanted to tell her that I think of this all the time, every morning when I pack lunches instead of allowing my kids to buy "cheese substitute" pizza at school, every time I grocery shop and plan our evening meals, every afternoon when my kids ask for a snack. And most importantly, every time the phone rings, and my heat skips a beat as I hold my breath waiting.....Is this the call that will tell me she has finally lost her battle? Something that I am irrationally angry about too.

But I didn't. I didn't say any of those things. She deserves peace. So I just sat there like I usually do, holding her hand. You see, she is less afraid when me or my dad holds her hand.

So much is out of our control. You can't do anything about getting in a car accident, or getting cancer or getting on a plane that might crash. Those things are simply a horrible part of life you sometimes just can't avoid. But you *CAN* control how you live. So you can't run a marathon? Big deal, go for a walk. You don't have a gym membership? Take your kids to the park and play tag or chase them on the monkey bars. Can't afford Yoga class? Play a good game of Twister with your family. (This is hilarious, btw, when you cheat and make your husband do the hardest moves available....er, um...so I've heard)



And of course, such a simple choice - always always always check the labels of what you eat. If it has high fructose corn syrup on the label, put it back on the shelf. You can do so much better for you and your family. It's up to you, you can take control at least of this aspect of your life.

Get busy living, or get busy dying.

Finding Forgiveness

I have a ton of things to do today, really, I am swamped. It's kind of crazy

I am suppose to leave for a women's retreat in less than three hours, I have two loads of laundry to do, I need to cook meatballs for an early dinner, to clean the house(kitchen, bathroom family room etc) before my MIL comes to babysit tomorrow and I needed to run an errand that takes me almost an hour round trip. Oh, and I need to pack for the afore mentioned retreat and get the kids to the babysitting co-op by 6:00 in rush hour traffic.

So I'm in the car running my errand, N. whining a bit in the background about how he really wants ice cream, and my dad calls on my cell. Can I come over to sit with my mom for a few hours? Today? My breath just kind of catches - my dad almost NEVER asks me for help. How bad was it this time? Did something happen? He's asking for help, it must be really bad. Are we going back into the hospital for the 3rd time in 5 weeks time?

I don't have time, it's the worse timing and it's just one more thing to add on to my very stressful life. But I hesitate for about a half second, rearrange my schedule in my head and say, "Of course."

And really, I'm happy to do it. Maybe not happy, per se, but relieved that in this un-winnable situation my parents find themselves in, I can in some way help. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things if my MIL sees my house messy....again? Or that I don't go to a retreat I was anxious about attending in the first place? It seems silly when faced with the chance to have compassion for someone else.

But wait, haven't I written adnauseum about how I am angry at my mom for what she has done (or rather hasn't done) to her body? to our family? How I've emotionally removed myself from her? Yes, I wrote many times about that.

I mean, it seems she is always getting worse. Every time this happens, I ask myself how it is that continually manages to hold on yet again. I've had more than one Christmas where I have thought "this is the last one." I've said goodbye in my heart over andover again. It's really no wonder I've removed myself emotionally.... how many times can you prepare yourself for the worse only to start over again (hmmm, where have I heard that theme before?)

But one night a few weeks ago, as I sat with her in the hospital (she won't allow anyone but me or my dad to sit with her), I came to some realizations. I was holding her hand and telling her it was OK to cry, that it was a good way to let the stress and sadness leave your body. This was something I knew all too well

Somewhere in that process, the child became the parent and the parent became the child and I found not only forgiveness in my heart, but compassion as well. And something changed in me. Maybe it's because I am so emotionally vulnerable (weak?) right now. Maybe because this time it really could be the end, maybe it's because I'm getting older, my kids are getting older or it's a chance to do some good in what is becoming a bleaker and bleaker world for me.

But I think the main reason is because I realized my mom *got* me. Back up a sec here... I've always regretted not having a close relationship with her. I wanted one, but I didn't seem to be the kind of person she needed me to be, and she wasn't the person I needed her to be. t resented her for that. For not being there when I needed her. The thing is, in the grand scheme of things, I survived. So I didn't have a shopping buddy, or a grandmother who could buddy around with my kids. But in the end I got something so much more important.

In the quiet of those nights at the hospital, despite the terrible physical pain she was in, she asked me how the last IUI went. It's so raw and festering right now, I couldn't help but tear up and confess I just couldn't manage to get pregnant, and how I couldn't' get away from the desire much as I wanted to. I don't know why, because she's never gotten me before, but this she seemed to get. With few words expressed between us, she seemed to sense the depth of my pain and she not only understood it, she validated it and she mourned with me. We just sat there, the two us and for the first time in many years, understanding each other, and I felt at peace with my mom.

I could feel the forgiveness wash over me like a waterfall, and a part of me felt like a weight had been lifted.

It totally sucks to be in the position she's in, and there is nothing she can do to change it. She has to sit there and let the various diseases take her body, her dignity, her life, inch by inch. Will she ever realize her own role in that process, I don't know, but what's done is done. Did I have a right to be angry? Maybe. But I've learned that you can't explain feelings away, or sort them into bins....these feelings are OK to have, these feelings are not OK to have, these feelings, I shouldn't be feeling, these feelings are justified etc etc etc

You feel what you feel. And despite what I thought, forgiveness is always possible, even when you think it will never happen.

So I am going to make the meatballs so my family can eat tonight, and hopefully clean my kitchen, then head over to my moms to sit with her. The retreat can wait. The laundry can wait, and my MIL can see my messy family room and bathroom.

I'm going to go sit with my mom.

Stuff/Hope....same thing

Today might possibly be the worst day of my life.

We've decided it's time to move. To make it short and simple, we need to get into a different school district, one that actually takes allergies seriously (see this story, while not our school district in the story, it might as well be), and we need to be closer to a hospital as another precaution to keep N. safe.

But if we are going to sell this house, we need to clear the clutter and we are out of storage space. Why no space? Because it's been too painful to let go of my baby gear and hand me downs. Rob' had wanted to give it to my SIL, but I couldn't and I know he thinks I am nuts or at the very least one of those hoarder people. But I couldn't find a way to explain it to him. How could I explain that I wouldn't see little M. getting use out of those things, I would see the presence of absence....I would see what I didn't have. I know, it's a lousy excuse to be selfish, but there it is.



But the time has come when I can't hold onto it any longer. We need to do this to keep N. safe. So away goes the high chair, away goes the baby bath, away goes the grocery cart cover, baby carrier and so much more I can't bear to think of. As I sorted though each article of clothing deciding what would go to charity and what could be so sold, I felt like I was sorting through both pieces of memories and lost dreams.

I fingered the pink sleepers - they were so soft! Some never even used, because K., my adopted little one came to us 6 months later than she was expected. She couldn't' very well wear fleece in July. I remember tucking them away, knowing I was meant to have more children, maybe another girl.

And the boys clothes -such memories! Now they had two little boys that had worn these precious things, and hard! They played, slept, rolled in the mud and sand, played in the sink and went down many a slide in all those things. But they still had so much life left in them! Surely I could keep them for just one more child?

I loaded the first load into the van with a heavy heart. My legs felt like lead and my heart was in my throat. Even now as I write this, the things gone a receipt in my van, my whole body feels kind of numb, like it's trying to protect itself from any more possible pain,

They thanked me at the charity for my donation, like I was a good person or something for doing this, like I wanted to be there. I avoided watching them loading onto the waiting truck. I couldn't bare it. It seems they asked me at least three times, "It's all children's stuff, right?"

OMG. Why does this have to be so hard? In the spanse of few seconds I think, yes, these are children's things, things I will never get to use again. Things I don't want to give you, but I have no choice. Unlike other women, I can't just choose to have another child. Only a miracle can give me a child, and it seems I am fresh out. Don't thank me, I don't want to give you these things.

But I don't say that. I just say, yes, it's all children's things. I can't help but glance in the truck as the conversation goes on. They ask me again, it's all children's stuff, right? Each time I repeat back my answer calmly and politely, even though all I want to do is climb on that truck, grab my stuff back and peel out of the drive like a scene from a bad movie.

I always say, stuff is just stuff, it's not what's important in life. And I truly believe it. But in this case, it's different. Each piece taken away represented my hope and belief that life can be good. With each piece I give away, another piece of my hope dies, and takes with it a part of my heart, a part of my joy.

With each month that goes by, I wonder why we are here on this cruddy earth, when it's filled with so much pain? What's the point? It's harder and harder to take comfort in my children because I think, what kind of pain will they face? Will they go through this same nightmare, or something worse? I don't want to know, because I simply can't take anymore heart break.

So I tell my children life isn't fair, and no one promised it would be. But somewhere along the line, I guess I thought there were certain promises in life. I was a fool, and now I am paying the price for having that hope.




I recently saw on Facebook one of those graphics that's so popular right now... You know, everyone is posting some picture wrought with deep meaning, political statements or silly jokes. This one simple said "HOPE" Hang On, Pain Ends.

Yeah right... Hope simply garnishes more pain. It should really say, Hold on, Pain Endures. And so it will for me over the next few weeks as I battle my heart with my mind. I will have to force myself to let go of these things I hold dear, to give them away to strangers, to let the last of my hope drift away, un-noticed by anyone but me.

I turn 43 in 9 days, the year has past, and I have nothing but more lost pregnancies to show for it. And if life isn't hard enough, I started spotting today too. I'm telling ya, Someone somewhere must really hate me.

Confused Emotions

I haven't written in a while, because I've been confused about my emotions.

I expected it to get easier....I've been waiting for that old adage, "time heals all wounds" to kick in. Yet it hasn't. I find life getting more difficult and the sadness just presses in on me.



I used to be involved in soulcysters or boards like it. I would take comfort from those on the same path, and rejoice in their successes, waiting, sometimes patiently, sometimes not, for my own.

But it's different this time. I find regular interaction with other infertiles to be too difficult. Instead of rejoicing in their pregnancy announcements, I get sad or jealous. I can't be around pregnant women or babies without the reality of my own circumstances tugging at my emotions. I still dream at night about babies, either losing them or them being taken away, and now a new one, watching only other women have them.

At the heart of it all is how to get through it. I don't want to simply exist in this sadness, I want to find a way to come to peace. That's where the confused emotions come into play. Many many years ago I became " saved", a born again Christian, a believer...pick your term. In the simplest explanation, it means I formed a personal relationship with God made possible by the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross.

I came to that state after my divorce as a young woman. That relationship saved me not just my eternal soul, but who I was. It made me a better person, it gave me compassion, comfort and simple joy in the knowledge I was loved, I had value simply because I was God's.

Since then, I've always turned to God when I was lost. I turned to him when I was so lonely before I met Rob, I turned to him when I had my first pregnancy loss and those following, when the adoption looked so bleak and so many other times in my life. I always accepted that God had a plan for me, and though I may not understand it, it had purpose, meaning... At our wedding, I had the vocalist sing about how God causes all things to come to gather for our good. It meant something to me. I had learned that while life was sometimes rough, there was a greater purpose at work. I thought God knew best and simply accepted it for what it was.

As this terrible year, the worst of my life has progressed, I've gotten progressively angrier. Why was He doing this to me? Intellectually, I knew God wasn't doing anything, that's just the fallen world we live in. But in my heart I felt like it was being done *to* me. Why let me get pregnant if I wasn't going to be able to keep it? Why not protect me from that? Especially after coming to peace that I wouldn't get pregnant again. It seemed so cruel to me.

But most of all, why make me this way, so very broken, both in body and mind? The more broken my body becomes, the more my mind and spirit seem to break. I feel so very fragile now, like it would take so very little to just shatter what's left of me.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I felt some peace. It's impossible not to think of God and be drawn to him with so many messages sent your way, the constant reminder of the birth of Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. Surely God would be with me again? But about a week before Christmas it came to me. God has abandoned me. My broken body surely can't be worth his attention. Perhaps he made me like this because I simply didn't deserve better? I remember the moment... God must not only not love me, He must hate me... Why else would I be suffering this way? I couldn't' wait for Christmas to be over so I didn't have to think about it. It hurt too much.

I feel like a hypocrite going to church now, playing on the worship band. But I'm too embarrassed to back out. How do you explain that God has abandoned you? And surely he still loves my kids? They need God. I can't possibly take that from them.

So I continue to be at a crossroads, not sure how to heal myself, where to go. I've always prayed in the past. I know that God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we want. But I don't know what to do when He is completely silent. I feel like I've tried to be fair, I've prayed to either get pregnant or that the desire be removed from my heart. Surely, I was being open to God's will? But that wasn't good enough for Him, and so I am faced with this alone.

I try to find comfort where I can. My husband has turned over a new leaf, willing to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on. His compassion gives me strength. But I hate to burden him too much. Whiny people annoy me, I can only imagine how bad I have been and continue to be. (It's one of the reasons I don't write here more.) Having a little son who needs me so much helps too. He gives the best hugs. When his little arms wrap around me, I feel alive again and the pain is gone if just for an instant.

I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, hoping, but no longer praying, that the adage has some basis. Please time, do your thing, and soon?