Running

Standing perfectly still. But running. Running to escape what seems to have become life. Running in hopes that someway, somehow all of this will just fix itself. Running to escape the cloud that seems to cover my mind, forming my own wall of ignorance in hopes that reality is really the dream and somewhere outside of this fog is real life, normalcy, waiting for me. Because over the course of fourteen months I have taken steps to recover from the trauma of losing my baby girl, but also numbed myself to everything else around me. And I just don't know how much longer I will be able to maintain the facade. And I am almost certain that I won't be able to handle the reality. So off I go. Running.

missing this Light, my strength

Our son was ran over by a train

And yet, as truly terrifying and traumatic as that event was it isn't the first, or most, traumatic event we have lived through.

And saying that, writing it, just makes it all feel that much more unfair.

I don't want to go into details here as we fully intend to take legal action, and honestly it is still too raw to comfortably recount. But in that instant, all I could do was scream for mercy, for grace to save my baby. The very thought of losing another child shook me to my core. Watching not even inches from him with no ability to stop what was happening is forever ingrained on my mind. Just as poignantly as the moment the doctor told us that this was the worst thing Lucy was dealing with (having watched her entire journey over the summer) and he would do everything he could to help, but this wasn't good.

Or the moment the doctors laid Lucy in my arms before turning off the ventilator.
And the paralyzing fear of it all rushed in.
But our son, our Baby Isaac, he lived.
And I truly believe that his sister was there with him, protecting his tiny body from the crushing weight of the train.
Sparing his life.
Knowing that her baby brother couldn't leave us just yet.

Thank you, Goosey, for continuing to be the very best big sister and protecting your brother.
We can barely make it a day without you here, but knowing you are there for your Baby Isaac makes it just slightly more bearable today.

Ike embracing his guardian angel sister. This photo was not staged.
I wholeheartedly believe he felt gratitude towards her and this was how he could express it.

Lucy's final resting place

It occurred to me that we never publicly made known where Lucy's final resting place was. And so, I thought today- on the thirteenth month since she has been gone- that I would share it with you.

Lucy's death was unexpected. There was no buffer, no final days, no warning. I don't know that I can say sudden- as we had about an 8 hour window from the time we knew it was bad until she was given her last breath. In that window of time, her final resting place wasn't even a thought. But before we left the hospital, we had to make a decision. It took me less than a second to know.

Lucy was cremated.

The very idea of trying to preserve a body that had killed her from the inside out, burying it in the earth, away from me. It was never an option. Ever. The first two-and-a-half years of her life, she never slept more than a room away from me. Really 99% of that time she was at most a few feet from me. So to imagine her eternal sleep several miles, at best, from me... I couldn't do it.

I carry a part of her with me, everywhere I go. Around my neck.

The majority of the rest of her ashes are inside a panda.
A panda I'm sure you all have seen.

When I began to look at urns, nothing suited what I wanted for her. They were so hard, cold, boring. A couple of months after she passed away, I was at the bank with my mom. Through a serious of unusual circumstances Lucy came up and the banker mentioned that he had lost infant twins. Then he showed me a photo of his older three children holding their baby brothers- two build-a-bears. I knew instantly that that was what I wanted.

I wanted Lucy to be with us.
Capable of being held. Talked to. Cried with.

And so the search began for a bear that represented our Goosey. A goose was, naturally, our top choice but it didn't exist. I found a panda on their website, but unfortunately it had been discontinued. We contemplated the Hulk bear because, well, "Hulk smash!". But I just wasn't completely satisfied. A desperate call into corporate and they were able to locate a panda for us.

The kids were all involved in the creation of her panda. They did the heart wish. They helped stuff her (after minor surgery to allow the ashes we had brought with to fit). They brushed her and cleaned her. We added her amber necklaces that I had been wearing. Our Goose had finally found a resting place, right at home where she belongs. With us. As for the rest of her ashes, and maybe even this panda, I will have the children spread with me when I am once again joined with my baby girl.

Fly high, Goose. We all love you and miss your sassy little soul.

How do I live?

How do I live without you?
I want to know,
How do I breathe without you?
If you ever go,
How do I ever, ever survive

One of my favorite "love" songs, and ironically the first and only song I heard this morning. And I really do wonder, how am I living? I'm not even sure I could fully call what I am doing living, more surviving. Desperately trying to occupy every second of my day. Holding my shit together when I'm out of the house because to face reality in front of others is just too much. Every moment, my baby is on my mind. Sometimes right at the forefront of every thought and action, sometimes lingering in the background as I think about how these moments would be different if everything hadn't changed. 

My Lucy should have turned 4 yesterday.

And as I reflect on the time when each of the older three turned four- how interactive and aware they were. The little people they had become. The opinions they had formed and would now readily share. Who could she have been? What could she have done?

She was already such an amazing human. So completely herself, not working about conforming to anyone's idea of who or what she should be. The energy with which she approached every day. Never giving up. Be it as an baby, demanding attention and controlling the rest of the family. Or as a headstrong toddler- dominating over her older siblings. Or, for the brief time she was allowed, as a big sister. Finally with a little minion of her own to mold. She didn't even realize just how courageous she was. The battles she had to fight. The pain she had to endure. She didn't whine or protest. She just went to war, doing what her body knew it had to do. The word is over used, and I am a primary suspect. But my daughter, my Lucy, was truly amazing. 

And I hate that the rest of the world may never know that.

May never know what she had the potential to accomplish.

She would have moved mountains. Without a doubt.

My sweet Sunshine, I can only hope that the party they threw for you in heaven was as wonderful as the one I would have given you here. I don't know how I live without you. I'm not even sure most days that I want to. But, to give up would be no honor to you. So I press on. 

Happy 4th birthday, princess.

Our last birthday together. 

My first trip around the sun without you.

My Lucy,

Big Mamas. Goosey girl. My Sunshine. 

There are no words worthy of the pain I feel without you here. We should be planning your fourth birthday. Going on preschool field trips. Going to Target for no reason and getting Starbucks or milkshakes (shhhh, just don't tell daddy!) you should be chasing Isaac around, helping keep him entertained while the bigs are at school. There are so many things we should be doing. I miss you more than any words or actions could ever express. My heart will never be whole again. I do not know how I have made it the past 365 days. I have no idea how I will continue for however long my body can sustain on this earth. I can only hope that you are truly happy and free. And that one day, you will be in my arms again. You are the bravest and strongest little girl I will ever know.

I miss you. I love you. 

You are forever my baby girl.

The last birthday she would celebrate here on earth with us.

The beginning of the end

It's been one year since I have been able to hold my living baby girl in my arms.
One year since the word "Momma" has passed over her lips.
One year since we have talked non-sense or giggled over something ridiculously silly.
One year since I've heard her sweet little voice cry out "Baby Isaac" as he arrived back at the hospital.
One year since she has, I swear intentionally, annoyed me by allowing the movie she picked to get 5 minutes in before deciding she could not bear to see another second of it and I had to change it.
One year since I have crawled onto the horrible foam excuse for a hospital mattress and snuggled her against my chest.

We had come to accept that cancer, clinics, hospitals were going to be our new life.
We had accepted that this journey was clearly not going to be a simple one for her.
She wasn't going to get the "cake-walk" treatment path that some kids seem to get.
But she was a fighter, born feisty for a reason.

But then it happened so fast, we didn't even get a chance to warn her.
To soothe her.
To promise her that everything would be ok.
We thought it was.
We thought it would be a few days, a week, and she would fight back.
That was just who she was.
This was just going to be another notch on her belt.

If I had known I was saying good-bye it would have been different.
Everything would have been different.

But I didn't.

Ten months

The tenth month.

It's been harder this month as most kiddos Goose's age have headed off to preschool. Nieces/nephews/friends have safely passed the 2.5 mark and celebrated third birthdays.
Life has continued on, and I shouldn't begrudge others for the peace they have been graced with.
But she also shouldn't be gone.
Maybe this week (month... forever....) -for me- think twice before you vent.
Because what feels earth-shattering to you, someone out there would give the world for.

The setting may look familiar, but some of the "outtakes" showcasing our goofy girl's personality.

I'm glad it was rarely a one-shot photo with her. I have hundreds of "other" photos that captured moments that may have seemed meaningless then but are so precious to me now.