Ideas of perfection

The perfect family. How many times have I heard this comment from random strangers since Goose passed? More than I can stand, and yet each time I am so dumbfounded and screaming in my head NO!, but all I can manage is a polite smile and a nod. I realize these are in fact complete strangers. People who have no idea of the hell we have endured. They just see mom, dad, 2 sons and 2 daughters. Perfection apparently. Fifteen years ago when I would dream of life as Mrs. Andrew Bradford, I thought we would have four kids- 2 girls, 2 boys. But in May of 2011, Lucy "surprised" us all. And I can painfully admit, that I took it hard the first day or two. My vision of perfection was gone, and instead I found myself to soon be the mother of three girls and a son. From the moment she entered our world though, I couldn't imagine life without my Goosey girl. And now, just barely three years later, I am forced to. I am the mother of FIVE children. My perfection was 5. Not 4. My HELL is now being the mother of only 4 living children. 

The healthiest photo we have as a family of 7.

To my Goosey's medical team

I received a call yesterday from the office of one of Goose's infectious disease doctors and their message from the doctor brought me to tears. Tears of joy, gratitude, love. Those tears have been rare, but it was a welcome relief. It caused me to pause and really think about Goose's team, and as many know, she had quite a large and diverse one! All of my anger has all been directed at God and for a specific reason. I wholeheartedly believe her doctors, every last one of them, did everything they could. I don't doubt that. Ever. Maybe every parent feels like this going through what we did, but I felt like she was special. Not just to us, but to them too. She wasn't just her room number or her patient ID, she was Lucy. And my gratitude to these doctors will remain steadfast. Dr. Williams, Dr. Goyal, Dr. Cheah, Dr. Molitor, Dr. Smith, Dr. Egan, Dr. McBride, Dr. Campos, Dr. Young and so many more- Thank you.

Feels like a lifetime ago, but still one of the most touching photos I have from this summer.

44 days

"How many days has Lucy been in the hospital?" Zoee asked the other day. And as I added up the days the emotions rolled in. 

She fought for 158 days.

She only got to spend 44 days at home.

So for 114 of those days she was in the hospital.

44 days.

I have now been home, Goose-less, for longer than she got to be in the comfort of her home the entire time she was sick.

There is nothing right about that. Why was her journey so hard? Why didn't she get to just "do her time" and then live her life?

And yet I would give anything for 44 more days with her. Or a week. Another 24 hours. Just the ability to say all the things I wish I had, to let her know everything was going to be ok. That I am here with her, and I am so sorry that I can't save her, that I love her and am so proud of the battle she fought. Just a few more hours. Anything.

Goose, you are the bravest little girl I have ever known. Momma loves you more than words could ever say. We are doing okay, but we miss you so much. I love you, Sunshine.

From one of her 44 days.

Just another day

I am continuing to struggle with this holiday season. In past years Christmas was my "thing". It is the only holiday that I decorate for, I listen to the music pretty close to year-round, and I LOVE to shop. The only thing I can manage to do this year is shop. It really is therapy for the most part. Just being out and focusing on what will make the other kids and family happy helps. Until I walk through the toddler girl section and see all the beautiful dresses that Goose would have loved, all the fun leggings, Princess Sofia and Doc shirts. I have to actively avoid facing the side of the aisle that hold all those toys that she loved. I don't want to celebrate. What is there to celebrate? Sure, I will shower the kids with gifts, all this shopping has to produce something after all. But what joy is there. This is, in fact, not the most wonderful time of the year. I'm not merry. I'm not happy. I have no joy. No peace. I hope the kids can forgive me for this year, and any future years, but our house will be the Scrooge on the block. The Christmas spirit quite simply isn't arriving here.