4 Days Till 7

My Dearest Allie,

Your birthday is this weekend, and yet we have no party planned, no presents purchased, no outfits picked out. Somehow, you would be seven years old on Sunday. I cannot wrap my brain around that. 

I just witnessed your cousin Ella turn the same age. She was born two weeks before you, you know. You two were supposed to be the best of friends. Well, your sister has made sure that the strong bond of friendship is there so don't you worry about that! They are adorably close, and Miranda idolizes her.

Speaking of Miranda, I like to think that you are someplace watching over her, but I will fill you in on her activities nonetheless. She just turned five, and we had a super fun party at Chuck E. Cheese. Miranda was glowing with all the attention that she got, and there was so much love in that room. Many of our family and friends were there to celebrate her, and she loved every second.

Your little sister is heading to kindergarten in the Fall! How can that be? I was not my best when I went to register her. I was feeling your absence pretty strongly, and kind of yelled and huffed and puffed when they told me I needed forms I didn't have. Oops. I guess even at my age, I am still learning appropriate versus inappropriate behavior. 
 
We are gearing up for the "adoption" talk. Miranda commented Grammy last weekend about growing in my belly, so we know it's time to really explain what adoption is and not just use the word here and there. I do not anticipate that it will be a hard conversation. The bottom line is that after you died, we knew we still wanted to be parents, and so we found the best way to do that. It's remarkable if you think about it.

Selfishly, I wish you were here to help us tell her. But then I wonder if she would be here at all if you were still here?

Daddy is doing well. He was traveling a lot for work, but that seems to have slowed down a bit. I am glad because we work well as a trifecta and I do not like it when he is not here. Your daddy thinks I am strong, but truth be told, he is what keeps me going some days. Lots of days.

Everyone else is also good. But I suspect you know that.

My new job is not so new anymore, but Allie, it's great! It's super fulfilling, and I feel like I am making a difference. It's nice to be in the non-profit sector again. For me, if feels more about the work than the bottom line. I fit in there, and I look forward to going in three days a week. I know, crazy, huh?

Well, the weather around here has been really off for April, so I am not sure how we are going to celebrate you on Sunday. If the rain and cold stay away, we will visit your tree. Miranda wanted to go to a playground and laugh and have fun on your birthday, and I have no issue with that! Maybe we will pack a picnic lunch. We will probably also release some balloons at the end of the day so be sure to look for them.

Alright, my sweet girl. It's time for me to go. I do not talk directly to you too much anymore because it hurts my heart, even after all this time. Today, though, you were exactly what I needed.

Allie, I love you more. I always will.

Love,
Mama 

Just Thinking About Tomorrow

Tonight, I am having trouble with my words. There is so much I want to say, so much I want to convey. The windows are open for the first time all year, and the sounds of Spring are permeating our home. And yet, I am sad.

Seven years ago on the night before Good Friday, we had our last Labor & Delivery Class. I mentioned to the nurse that I hadn't felt my daughter move as much as I liked. She told me to go home and relax and eat something sweet and start to count kicks. 

The kicks never came. The next day, on Good Friday, I delivered the most beautiful seven pound, 2-ounce angel. With my hair and Gary's long fingers and toes, she took our breath away. Although to be honest, I think we stopped breathing the day before.

Every year, I struggle with the fact that I have to mourn twice - once on Good Friday and once on Allison's actual birthday which is April 22nd. 363 days, I celebrate her. Two days, I grieve her.

Tomorrow night, I am hosting my first Passover Seder. Just my immediate family, but with all the kids, it will be a full house. The focus on cooking all day and the attention to all the details will surely keep me preoccupied. I think that's why I offered to host this year.

Tomorrow is also the anniversary of my father's death. He died the day before Miranda turned one. I think about him often. Who would he be now? Who would I be if he were still here?

Saturday is Miranda's fifth birthday. We are excited to celebrate this milestone together and rejoice in all that is good. It's hard to believe this very weekend, two years after her sister's death, our rainbow baby was born and changed the course of our lives forever.

Sunday is Easter with Gary's family, and it's been a long time since we have all been together. I can hardly wait.

So much has changed in our lives in seven years. I miss my innocence and my naivete, but I am proud of my strength and perseverance.

In my new job, we often talk about "trauma-informed language." I was told in my interview that I speak it well and have been told that a few times since. I think it's from the grief counseling and support groups that I have learned how to speak and listen in a way that is soothing.

Miranda is starting to understand bigger concepts as she is getting older. Twice in the last month, she has told complete strangers that she had a sister who died before she had a chance to live. It GUTS me to hear her say that. But she says it with a smile. To her, she is keeping the memory of her sister alive. And I guess to me, she is, too.

During Passover, we ask "The Four Questions" as part of the Seder. One of them is, "Why is this night different from all other nights?" Well, for me, the answer will be simple. "On this night, I mourn those who I have lost, but I celebrate their memories, and I am embracing all the love that is around my table."

Now please pass the matzo ball soup!

How Did It Get So Late So Soon?

The title of this post comes from not me, but from Dr. Seuss. Seemed rather appropriate since his birthday was earlier this month. Miranda has been studying and learning all about him these past few weeks. She has always been a fan, but I think her admiration is growing.

I feel like time is literally racing these days. I am really enjoying my new job and am so glad I accepted this position at this stage in my life. Hats off to all the full-time working parents who manage to get it all done. Part-time work has got me FRAZZLED! However, I am getting into the groove of it all and already can tell that I am more productive in my off hours than I was before. I am also more present on my days with Miranda.

Speaking of which, our little rainbow is almost 5. WHAT THE HECK? Tomorrow morning, I will sign her up for kindergarten. She is bright and courageous and strong beyond her years. We have a visit with her birth mother this weekend. I wonder how the conversation will go. This precocious young girl is starting to ask "how people are made" and other such questions which we can answer and will, but M may need to fill in some blanks. 

Miranda is also asking more and more about death. On a recent car ride, we were talking about Allie's birthday next month. She asked if we were going to celebrate it. I said of course. Then she asked when she died. I was forced to say on the day she was born. Many questions then followed, and I was glad that I was driving and I did not have to look her in the face with my eyes full of tears. She deserves to know the truth, and I think she will know it sooner rather than later now.

I used to think that parenting after a loss was particularly hard. I now take that back. Parenting, in general, is hard. 

Miranda and I went away this weekend for the first time by ourselves. We shared a bed (which we had never done before), and we experienced some other "firsts" as well. My takeaway? I do not care how hard parenting is some days. I love it. I was made it to it. My other takeaway? Miranda needs her own bed. She kicked me all night long.

I am starting to fear my own mortality. I want to be around forever. I want to do and be everything that Miranda needs to be. And I want to be alive to keep Allie's memory alive.

In Harry Potter, there is the idea of a "Horcrux." Essentially, they are objects that hold pieces of your soul so you can never die. Now in the books, they are evil, and I won't say much more in case I was not the last person on Earth to read the series. I have to say I like the idea of a Horcrux for me. I like knowing that I could put a piece of my soul in various pieces of jewelry of picture frames or furniture pieces and live for as long as I was needed. 

Since that is not likely to happen, I just have to keep doing the best I can. And being the best I can. Some days I succeed. Some days I fail. I guess that's life, right?

Let The Wild Rumpus Start!

Last week, I submitted my clearances for my new job. This week I planned my outfit, went to the doctor, followed up with my plastic surgeon, did laundry, cleaned the house, and bought enough groceries to make sure I can pack my lunch the next few days. I even finished the Harry Potter series.

Ladies and gentlemen, the time has arrived. I am heading back to work.

It's a tough week to start since Gary is traveling (again). However, this trip should be his last one for a while, and I just did not want to wait any longer.

I cannot wait to walk in tomorrow, head held up high and start his next chapter of my life. I am a blank slate and can fill my narrative the way I want it to read. I am not a bereaved mom or an adoptive mom or a super cool mom. 

In reality, I am all of those things. My new coworkers will find that out in due time. Tomorrow, I am just me.

I am not someone who has struggled with weight gain and loss all her life. I am not someone who is still healing from a recent surgery. I am not someone who still watched repeats of Gilmore Girls whenever she can or someone who gets so nervous when she meets any kind of celebrity that she almost vomits.

In reality, I am all of those things, too. But tomorrow, I am just me,

I have a fresh start. I get be a part of an organization that is helping others. I get to be more than me.

I cannot wait.

Yesterday, while playing hide-and-seek with Miranda, I discovered she can hide in the dryer and close herself in. After I had a mild heart attack and explained to my her why that was NOT a good idea, I realized going back to work, even part-time work will hopefully make me more present when I am home. Or maybe not.  Time will tell.

There are things I will miss by being in an office 15-20 hours a week. Tuesday matinees. Naps. Time to take leisurely walks. I will have to find a different and more effective way to use my time now.

I do not want my writing to suffer. It's too important to me. My goal is to blog once a week and once I am in a routine, start to submit pieces to various publications. I can do more than one thing. I can be more than one thing. Now is the time to try.

So here goes nothing. Or here goes everything. My glass is half full, and I am ready to take a big, giant sip!

All You Need Is Love

For most of my life, I hated February 14th. It seemed the whole world was celebrating love and I had nothing to celebrate. My dad had left. I didn't date much in high school. My prom date was gay. I was destined to be alone and loveless forever.

Thank goodness we are not teenagers forever. As I got older, I became less melodramatic. I would protest Valentine's Day by buying up all the leftover chocolate the day after the holiday and devour my feelings with the buttercream.  It worked...until it didn't.

Eventually, my dad and I reconciled. He would send me a big bouquet of flowers every year, and if he was in town, we would go to dinner. He tried to make up for the lost years and sometimes it even worked. 

Then I met Gary.  Just like that, Valentine's Day took on new meaning. I saw it for the true Hallmark holiday that it was, but I did not care because I had love in my life! (And sometimes diamonds).

Then we got pregnant. And just like that, I knew the love I had for my unborn baby far surpassed any other kind of love I had ever known.

And then she died. Before I had a chance to say hello. Before I had a chance to tell her how much I loved her. Luckily, she could feel it for those 37 weeks. I have to believe she could feel it as she grew so close to my heart when she was alive.

Once our hearts were mended and we were open to the possibility of parenting again, we were rewarded with the best gift ever. My daughter who was born from our love, if not from our bodies, has taught us both about unconditional love. A love that I never knew existed until she was placed in my longing arms.

This morning, before the sun came up, I raced downstairs to get the balloon I purchased for Miranda. I wanted it to be the first thing she saw when she woke up. I gave her a card from mommy and daddy that appropriately had a big rainbow on the front and lots of little hearts on the inside. In a few hours, I will march proudly into her school and help her hand out her cards and cookies and lollipops and celebrate this day with her and remind her, as I do every day, that I love her to the moon and back and to all the places along the way.

I am blessed to have so much love in my life. I am honored to be able to return much of that love. I wish I had not spent so many years thinking that love was out of my grasp. Maybe, though, love is that much sweeter since I waited for it extra long? 

Happy Valentine's Day. Here's to appreciating all kinds of love and never taking any of it for granted. Here's to no longer dreading February 14th!

 

Moving Right Along

I can tell what kind of mood my daughter is in just by looking at her. A smirk means she's feeling feisty. A frown means she's feeling down. A smile means she is feeling adventurous. A blank stare means nothing good because that means she will surprise me with her mood and I am not someone who cherishes surprises. 

I plan her outfits each day with pride. Some days she wears what I choose, and other days she fights me something fierce. The days she wants to be a jaguar, for example. I have no hope of winning on those days. 

I sit in the backroom of her dance class and listen to her tap tap tapping to the music from the stereo. I talk to the other parents about activities and colds and birthday parties, and I always leave with a smile on my face.

I am a mom. I am an active, participating, involved mom. I love being a mom. I did not always know that being a mom was going to be my greatest role, but it has become that for sure. 

Lately, though, I have been feeling restless. 

Henry David Thoreau wrote, "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." 

Am I living? Truly? 

I decided I was, but not in the most deliberate way that I could. So I started to focus on going back to work. Right now, I only want part-time hours. I want my Mondays and Fridays home with Miranda, at least until she goes to Kindergarten in the Fall. 

I tried that schedule a few years ago, and I got burned out fast. So now I know what does not work for me, and I went on a quest to find what does work for me. 

I accepted an offer earlier today. I will be the new Volunteer Coordinator for a local agency that is working to end domestic violence. I will recruit, screen, and interview volunteer candidates. I will develop and arrange training and placement for the volunteers. I will help out with special events and make sure the agency is represented at community events, health fairs and more. In short, I will help other women find their way. 

I am not sure how I could be a better fit! Thankfully, I have no knowledge of domestic violence first hand. However, I know plenty about survival, and I have the non-profit and training skills from my past experiences that make me the ideal candidate for the job. 

To say I am excited is an understatement. I am putting myself out there, which is terrifying, but I am doing it to continue to be the best version of myself that I can be. With more of a routine and structure to my days, I also think my freelance writing will improve. I have been unmotivated of late, and that does not look good on me.

So here's to a new chapter of seeing what works for me. If I start to feel that this move was not the right one, then I will take steps to fix it. However, I do not think that will be the case.

Here's to taking chances, moving forward, and maybe - just maybe, doing some good in the world!

My motivation

Living in the Present; Remembering the Past

Gary is traveling for business this week. Today he is in The Netherlands and tomorrow he will be in Sweden and Norway. We have certainly been apart before, but never for this length of time. He will not be home until Saturday night.

Our house is off balance without him here. The three of us work in such harmony that when one of us is gone for any extended amount of time, we feel it. A lot.

I often say that I barely remember what life was like before Miranda. I remember the raw grief and gut-wrenching pain of Allie’s death, do not misunderstand. In many ways, though, that seems like another lifetime. This lifetime feels like it belongs to Miranda. 

Today I was trying to remember what life was like before Gary. We will be married eight years in May and together for ten years in October. So I went to my memoir, which is so hard to write that it is taking FOREVER, and saw this excerpt. I felt it was appropriate to share now.

_____

I am not sure how many frogs you have to kiss before you meet your prince. I kissed my share. And I did more with a few others that I really should not have done. After many diets, I finally felt positive about myself, and I was ready to share my life with someone. I was in my thirties by this point, and I felt like a late bloomer. I had a good job. I had my own place. I was ready! Many of my friends were married and starting families, and I wanted in on the fun. 

So I played pool and went bowling and met for drinks and agreed to dinners. I went on online dates and blind dates and any date that came my way. One low point was sneaking out the back of a restaurant during one particularly awful date. I just kept at it, though…what other choice did I have?

One warm June night, I was sitting on the lap of a date, kissing my face off and thinking about how he wasn’t so unattractive if didn’t open my eyes. When we came up for air, my date asked me what kind of engagement ring I wanted. I got up and looked at him – really looked at him. He was a husky fellow, with a grease stain on his big and tall shirt, and beads of sweat forming on his brow. I silently banged my hand against my forehead. What was I doing???? Not to mention that he looked nothing like his online profile. I guess he used his Bar Mitzvah picture which was a good 15 years old. I wonder now if it was even in color? This guy was not what I wanted. Not now. Not ever. Maybe it was time to take a break from the dating world.
 _____

Gary and I started dating that Fall. It was all an accident, really. We were co-workers who went out for drinks to celebrate a recent job promotion. The rest is history.

I know how lucky I am. I really do. I found someone who is just as likely to laugh with me as he is to laugh at me. I hope I never take it for granted, although I am sure that I do. I hope that I do it less as more time goes by.

Four more days till he is home...