Oklahoma was devastated and leveled by a tornado that took from it some of it’s most precious residents but there are people all over the country who are rallying together to bring them relief. There is human kindness to follow every tragedy, as there is sunshine and rainbows to follow the rain. That is good news. Here are some more stories of inspiration.

The parents of Lulu and Leo Krim, the two beautiful children slain by their nanny last fall, Marina and Kevin Krim are expecting another child. If anyone ever needed a new baby, that family needs a tiny new miracle. They deserve every ounce of happiness that baby will bring into their life. This rainbow baby is just what they need. I’ve never been so excited for complete strangers to be pregnant.

There is a little girl, Tatum Raetz, in Phoenix Arizona who lost her father, Officer Daryl Raetz, over the weekend in the line of duty. Early Sunday morning, Raetz, 29, was killed by a hit-and-run driver while working a DUI investigation.

Yesterday, the 5-year-old had her kindergarten graduation and hundreds of Phoenix police officers converged on a her Valley school Wednesday morning in a show of support for one of their own.

Because her father couldn’t be there, her Phoenix Police Department family showed up to stand in his stead and celebrate Tatum.

“She had 300, 400 parents up here for her this morning,” Officer James Holmes said. “It was absolutely amazing. It was bittersweet and it was a bit overwhelming for all of us.”

Officers lined the sidewalk clapping for Tatum and congratulating her as she and her mother walked into the school for the graduation ceremony. Inside the auditorium, it was standing room only with a sea of blue in the back and along the side of the room.

And if that hasn’t lifted your spirits enough for today, there is a family in Minnesota who lost their precious 17-year-old son to cancer on May 20, 2013 but what an amazing boy he was. He lived every single day like he was dying and though he may be gone; he will not soon be forgotten. We should all hope to leave a legacy of love and integrity that Zach Sobiech has left. Do yourself a favor watch the video. It will change you.

There are good people in the world. It’s not all about the throat punches and cruel inhumanity of random acts of disaster. The world is a beautiful place filled with amazing people with stories that will touch and change you. You only need to stop being angry long enough to see past the fear and hurt and chaos.

Be good to each other and live every day like you are dying. Tell those around you how much they mean to you. Tell your loved ones that you love them. Hold their hand. Snuggle them tight and carry on. Choose to be happy. Choose to see the good in people. Embrace your life, as it is don’t wait for something to change to be worthy for love. Just do it. Forget the rest.

Today, I am grateful for babies being born, my two beautiful girls who fill my heart and life with love every single day, for my husband who is truly my better half on most days, for little girls on big stages dancing their hearts out in their tutus, old friends and best friends who are more like family who know you and love you in spite of yourself, for family who have spent this week ( this entire month) celebrating with us. I am so blessed to have you all. To friends near and far, IRL and online, who make my life sweeter by being part of it. Today, I am thankful to be alive to enjoy this great, big beautiful, chaotic life.

What are you thankful for today?

The post The Krims, Zach Sobiech & Daryl Raetz: From Tragedy Comes Inspiration appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

It’s difficult for me to let this little girl grow up because she is my last baby. With every tick of a milestone, I can feel her slowly moving away from me but thank heavens it is a gradual letting go. I can already feel myself becoming less and less the most important person in her life. She needs me a little less than she did last year at this time. She is braver and doesn’t hide behind my leg when we are in public anymore. She still gets a little shy and wants me to do most things with her for the first time. I am still her go to official on all things relevant. She knows everything and if she doesn’t she asks her mommy. She still is and will always be, the center of my universe.

This morning was particularly hard to send my baby girl off to school in light of yesterday’s tragic tornado disaster in Moore, Oklahoma that has left 91 people dead, 20 of those children ripped from their school as it was leveled by the tornado. There are 70 children reported injured by the hospitals and dozens still trapped in a tomb of rubble. The count is ever-increasing. All I wanted to do this morning was hold my girls tight and keep them safe in my arms. Dropping them at school gets harder and harder with each passing tragedy.

Some mother, just like me, sent her little girl off to school, maybe it was her birthday and she looked forward to that day and sharing a special treat with her friends at school, and then instead of picking that little girl up from school and celebrating with presents and a favorite dinner and cake and ice cream and kisses and hugs, that mother had her child ripped from her life by a tornado.

For that child, there will never be another birthday cake and ice cream, there will be no more squeals of delight at a brand new bike, there will be no Memorial day celebrated with sparklers and hot dogs, no first date, no prom, no wedding or no children for her mother to spoil. Disasters have no consideration for holidays. Tragedy does not care who you are or what you do or even if it was your birthday.

So today as I suffocate my littlest girl with all the love and adoration a mother can give, I will say a prayer for the mothers in Oklahoma who will never get to do so again. My heart is heavy for those mothers. I will write my post to celebrate my baby’s birthday this weekend after her birthday party. Today, I ask that you all Pray for the mothers and fathers of Oklahoma who lost their children in yesterday’s tornado.

My Gabi,

Happiest of 6^th birthdays, my sweet little freckle face. Mommy loves you more than life itself and my world would be empty without you in it. I am so blessed to get to be your mommy. Your random hugs, the sweet way you sneak into my bed and cuddle up next to me, the way you get mad when you are embarrassed, the ginormous heart with which you welcome all the adventures of the world and love everyone in it. You are a truly amazing, beautiful, smart and funny little girl. I will always love you more, sweet, Gabs.

XOXO

Mommy

The post Celebrating Six in the Wake of Disaster appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

I’m perpetually afraid that if I cut the ties or give something away, the very next moment will be when I need that person or thing more than ever so I keep it all, tucked away safely in grey plastic bins just sitting there in my attic collecting dust. As I prepared for our garage sale, I promised myself that I would get rid of the things I no longer needed.I pulled all of the plastic bins down and started to sort the things I would sell from the things I would keep.

For a long time, I wouldn’t get rid of any of my baby things because I wasn’t sure that we were done having babies. In fact, last year when I found out I was pregnant, I felt a little vindication in my obsessive hoarding of all things baby. Then we lost the baby and all I wanted to do was chuck it all out of the window or leave it in our storage unit and set the whole damn thing on fire. Every single baby toy or tiny onesie became a reminder of what should have been and it hurt like a mother fucker.

We’ve since decided that there will be no more babies of our own, until there are grand babies and that shouldn’t be for at least 20 years. I just can’t got through another loss. I am not that strong. So, last week, I started sifting through all my children’s baby things and while there were many things that I could easily part with like plastic jungle gyms and corny two-piece Dora sets from when they were 12 months old, there were some things that I held in my hands and found myself inhaling the sweet aroma of Dreft circa 2007 and then I gently and silently lay it back into the plastic bin, daring anyone to ask me to do otherwise.

My mother-in-law was there with me, giving me the side-eye and silently wondering why the hell I didn’t just get rid of all of it. It is, after all, only things but it’s not just things to me. With each layered dress, with a crinoline slip or matching Christmas dress in two sizes for both girls or even the tiniest outfits that I brought each girl home in ( worn only once) all I could see were the memories and in that moment, I was taken back to the place in my heart that holds each cherished second of my daughters’ lives; learning to walk, the outfit they were wearing on the day they said their first word, the first day they went to church to be blessed, the night they had their first “sister slumber party” or their first birthday or the day they were baptized. Those clothes are so much more than just material held together by thread, they are our lives held together by love and it’s hard to sell that at a garage sale for $1, $2 or even $1,000,000.

Sure, a customer may see just a snowsuit, I see my daughter’s first time on a sled and I can still hear the gleeful laughter that echoed through our backyard as her daddy pulled her around the yard. They see a little romper and I see the first time she took her first magical step. A stranger sees a Christmas dress and I see the first time I took my daughters to the theater. You might see a worn pair of tiny ballet slippers and I remember how excited my 3-year-old was for her first day of dance. It’s all relative.

In the end,the memories are always mine. They don’t sit in the grey plastic bins in the attic smelling of Dreft. They are in my heart and they are with me every day for the rest of my life. I sold some of my daughters’ clothes, things that don’t mean as much to me as the others and some I kept to make a quilt for each of my girls to take with them when they have a home of their own.

I didn’t get too mad when people tried to buy my memories for less than I had marked. I smiled and said I hope your little girl enjoys it as much as mine did. Because I know that the clothes are just pieces of material held together by thread but the memories are priceless and no one can take those away from me. No matter what, the girls are always mine.

What is your most cherished keepsake of your child’s life? I bet it’s not kept in grey plastic bins.

The post I’m a Hoarder & Hate Garage Sales appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

I turned 25 on September 25, 1997. I had a boyfriend. That night we broke up. I was done. After almost 2 years of not knowing where I stood or where we were headed, I decided that it was over. Life’s too short for wasting a minute of it. We had broken up many times before but it never stuck. This time was different.

Four days later, I met my the Big Guy. I call him the Big Guy because he is 6’5″ and towered over my 5’7″ frame. We were introduced by a mutual friend. Her name was Debbie, too. It wasn’t a set up. He was “like her brother” and she just wanted me to meet her best friend. Honestly, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

I wasn’t supposed to be at Harry’s that night. I was supposed to be in class. We met. Neither of us was very impressed or interested in the other. Later, we ended up at a party together. I had an exam to study for. I should have been at my apartment studying. I wasn’t supposed to be there. My friend disappeared, as college girls sometimes do when boys are involved. I had no idea how to get back home. I should have known how to get home.

The Big Guy offered to walk me home. I never would have said yes but I did. I wasn’t supposed to be out that night. I should have been studying for an astronomy exam. I should have been sleeping. Instead, I was walking home from a college party on a Monday night at 3 am with a complete stranger. It was a stupid thing to do. It was not something I would do, yet, there I was walking the streets of West Lafayette.

He could have driven me home. He didn’t. He could have taken me the direct route home. Instead, he took me the route that covered the complete circumference of the campus. We could have just walked but we stopped in the soccer fields and lay in the grass looking up at the stars, talking, for what seemed like forever. This was crazy and dangerous. This wasn’t something I would have ever expected myself to do. Yet, there I was looking at his profile in the moonlight.

We could have talked about anything in the world. He told me about his grandmother who had recently died and I saw and heard a vulnerability in him. I saw past the eyebrow ring, the bleached blonde hair with blue tips, I saw past the condescension he used to mask his insecurities. I saw the real him and I think I fell in love with him right there in the grass looking up at those stars on the first night we met.

Shhhh, don’t tell him. He thinks he fell in love with me first.

He walked me home and he kissed me at my front door, as the sun came up and the morning birds sang. He looked me in my glazed over, exhausted eyes and saw me, the real me. No one had ever done that before. His steel blue eyes took my breath away. It felt like the beginning of something, I just wasn’t sure what it was or maybe I was just delirious from the lack of sleep.

4 months later, he asked me to marry him.

Some may say that my life changed as the result of a series of happy accidents but I say that I wasn’t lucky or in the right place at the right time, I was in the exact place I was supposed to be at the exact time God had planned for me to meet the perfect man for me. Somehow, I was at a place I wasn’t suppose to be, doing something I shouldn’t have been, newly single and open to life. There were so many circumstances that lined up for us to meet that would not have worked even a week earlier. I am convinced, if there is such a thing as meant to be, we are.

I love you baby! You changed my life for the better and saved me from myself. Thank you for the 14 most amazing years of my life so far and our beautiful little girls.Thank you for loving me through the good times and bad, the fat and the skinny of life and even when I am at my worst, you see my best. I look forward to growing old with you and watching our children and grandchildren be in the exact place they are meant to be at the exact time God has planned for them to meet their one true soul mate. Thank you for always seeing me and allowing me to see the real you, since that very first night beneath the stars. Your love truly is better than ice cream. XOXO

The post Right Place, Right Time; This is Dedicated to the One I Love appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

But I am not here to call names, I only found it ironic considering what he had gone on the record with saying. Yes, he said these ridiculous things 7 years ago and maybe he was high on crack or maybe the Botox was having some sort of crazy side effect. Who knows what makes people say the stupid shit they say. But one thing is for certain, according to this popular teen clothing retailer, fat chicks will just never be a part of the “in” crowd.

In a 2006 interview with Salon, Jeffries confirmed that the communication between hot people is his primary marketing tactic.

“It’s almost everything. That’s why we hire good-looking people in our stores. Because good-looking people attract other good-looking people, and we want to market to cool, good-looking people. We don’t market to anyone other than that,” he said.

Jeffries also told Salon that he wasn’t bothered by excluding fat people. In fact, he said that not limiting his ideal demographic would make his clothing less desirable.

“In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids,” he told the site. “Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely. Those companies that are in trouble are trying to target everybody: young, old, fat, skinny. But then you become totally vanilla. You don’t alienate anybody, but you don’t excite anybody, either,” he told Salon.

Here is my opinion on the whole ordeal. 1) He’s allowed to market to whomever he wants. If that is prepubescent teens in their prime body shape and he wants to eliminate the rest of the average body size people of the world that is his loss.It’s not against the law to be a sizist but it’s also not against the law for us to shop elsewhere. Don’t give him your money. 2) Hey, I don’t see Lane Bryant and Torrid marketing to thin people. There is nothing below a size 14 in those joints. But no one is up in arms about that. 3) I used to wear Abercrombie in my early 20’s, then I grew up. I started buying higher quality clothing and wearing more than just jeans and half-tops. As an adult, I could care less who A & F peddles their overpriced jeans to but I can say that this “fat chick” doesn’t think she’ll be throwing any of her hard-earned money their way in a couple of years when my tall, thin beautiful and popular girls wants to shop there.

All of that being said, I think this guy is a giant asshole for being so blatantly open and discriminatory about his feelings on people who are overweight and uncool ( in his eyes). P.S. I am pretty sure that in his mind he equates thinness with beauty because I’ve seen some of the horse face workers at A & F and I do believe that the only requirement is to be a size zero and NOT be a complete spaz.

Here is the problem for me.  He is sending the message that all the kids who are popular shop at Abercrombie & Fitch but in order to even be allowed the privilege to shop a A & F you have to 1) be thin (no larger than a size 10 girls, when hello there are 6 foot tall girls who are perfectly thin and fit and can’t wiggle their bony asses into anything smaller than a size 12) 2) Be Popular 3) Be “hot”. He is selling a lie. He’s promoting the thought process that if you want to be popular and attractive then you have to be thin and that is bullshit. You can be thin as a rail and still be uncool and ugly as sin and still unhappy.

It’s a free country and Mike Jeffries is free to be a douche bag if he wants to be and he is free to only target certain sizes and shapes of people to sell his clothing to, perhaps he should call it Abercrombie & Fitch for Hot Teens who weigh less than 120 pounds. Make it known as a specialty boutique right off the bat to avoid the confusion of people actually expecting to find clothes that fit them in his establishment. Maybe he could post a “Must be this size or smaller to shop here” ( like they do by roller coasters) at the front of the store to avoid any potential embarrassment of a chunky girl wandering in.

Luckily, I can also give a throat punch to whomever I want in this free country of ours and this week it goes to the uncool, assuming not too attractive kid who grew up to be the CEO of A&F, Mike Jeffries.

What do you think of Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries marketing only towards hot, thin, popular teens?

The post Hey Fat Girls, Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Doesn’t Want You or Your Money! appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

It’s impossible to give birth a second time without comparing it to the first time. The first time I gave birth was March 10,2005, I had no idea what to expect. I lay there, induced, watching day time talk shows. Quite honestly, I was a bit bored with the entire situation and then I was in a full on panic in a fast and furious birthing mode that would leave me more than a little afraid to ever have another baby but I did.

The first time I gave birth, I was in labor for 10 hours and the anesthesiologist was delayed and I experienced my entire transition labor with no epidural. I do not recommend doing this, especially not if you are being induced. As a first time mother, I was sure I was dying, very painfully, I might add.

Finally, I received my epidural but by then it served no purpose other than to ease my ring of fire. It’s like giving you a band-aid for a gaping gunshot wound. Not helpful at all. Then my first child came into the world. An obscene amount of photos were taken and video was filmed. I pushed for 20 minutes and out my Bella came, with the cord wrapped snuggly around her neck. My husband missed his chance to cut the cord because he was busy making sure she was breathing and I was sobbing and laughing simultaneously. It was the epic culmination of meeting a miracle. Up until that moment, I had never experienced such authentic and all consuming joy as I did when I saw my daughter’s face for the very first time.

The second time I gave birth, everything was different with the exception of that familiar joy of meeting a breathing miracle. My doctor gave me her solemn vow to not let me endure another birth like my first. I appreciated that she promised to eliminate any tearing. I was terrified but I felt safe in her capable hands.

Again, I was induced but given the epidural at 4 centimeters to insure that I felt no pain this time. Unfortunately, it slowed my labor down to the pace of a snail. I lay there for hours and the baby could not drop. There was even talk of a c-section in case the baby was just too big for me to birth vaginally. At about 11 hours into my labor, I was looking forward to meeting my baby.

Our video camera broke that morning at the hospital. My brother-in-law drove in from another state to bring us his. I couldn’t have dealt with another thing going wrong. I was starving and exhausted. They turned up the Pitocin to its max. I was swollen and uncomfortable.

I was a mess and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, in a last ditch effort to avoid a c-section, the nurses rolled me onto my belly with one arm behind my back. It seemed crazy to me but finally, it was time to push. My baby was stuck.My mind was flooded with all the things that could go wrong and all I wanted was to hold my sweet baby girl in my arms.

A nurse had to lay across my stomach to help push my daughter into the world. 13 hours after we started our journey at 8:38 pm, Gabi came into the world, cord around her neck just like her sister and a head full of the blackest and curliest hair I’d ever seen. There was no tearing or stitches this time, only that same sobbing and laughing as I met my second miracle.

Both of my labor and deliveries were full with ups and downs and what ended up perfectly okay could have been disastrous had I not been in a sterile environment with top of the line medical equipment and top notch obstetrical staff. My daughters are my world and when I think of all that could have gone wrong, it scares me. I am thankful everyday for the hospitals and staff who helped bring my miracles into the world.

The State of the World’s Mothers (SOWM) report is Save the Children’s signature annual publication, which compiles global statistics on the health of mothers and children, and uses them to produce rankings of nations within three groupings corresponding to varying levels of economic development. We have produced the reports annually since the year 2000. Though the core report indices are the same every year, each year there is a new feature or story angle added to it. In 2013, the new feature is the Birth Day Risk Index — the index compares first-day death rates for babies in 186 countries to identify the safest and most dangerous places to be born.

The post The day I became a Mother; A Birth Story appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

We’ve planned for this since she was in kindergarten. But this past weekend, as I curled her long blonde hair and dressed her in her long white gown, I simultaneously felt the past and future meet. I stood there looking in the mirror seeing the baby who I christened eight years ago and the woman who would someday wed.

I saw the nervous chin up face that I’ve seen accompany so many firsts in her lifetime. The face that makes me want to pull her in close and tell her it will all be alright that Mommy will make it all better. I asked her what was wrong. She quietly responded, “Nothing.” But her face told me another story.

As I buckled her white shoes with the crystal fastens and clasped her necklace and adjusted her veil; I caught myself staring and wanting to freeze that moment in time forever. The world was buzzing around us but all I could see was my daughter; nervous, excited and about to conquer another first, to move one step further in the direction of growing up which meant at a time when all I wanted to do was hold her tighter, I had to exhale and let her go. That is parenting, a lifetime of letting go in minute increments so small that neither of you has to acknowledge it but both know without a doubt it’s happening.

As we drove to mass, I could feel that familiar lump sitting in my throat. The one I’ve felt so many times since the birth of my daughters; a mix of deep pride and overwhelming love with just a touch if sadness. I smiled and encouraged her bitter sweetly as I held back tears knowing that in this moment the inertia of the letting go had swept us both up in its tide and there was nothing either of us could do but try to enjoy the ride.

She nervously smiled at me as I held her hand in the pew before the service started. Her eyes darted about the room, looking for familiar faces, surrounded by family as she squeezed my hand a little tighter ironically acknowledging the letting go. I smiled back at her, sharing a moment that belonged to her and I alone.

Then mass began and I was overcome with emotion as she trepidatiously joined her fellow communicants in the back of the church to make their debut. I watched her walk away and she turned back to give me one last glance as if she were looking to me for confirmation that this was okay and she was safe. I smiled granting her unspoken permission and sworn support and she smiled back and walked away, as she turned just in time for me to hide my tears.

** Speaking of milestones, I’ve been so busy, I almost forgot to stop and celebrate that today is my fourth anniversary of blogging. I can’t believe that The TRUTH about Motherhood is 4 years old! It makes me wonder why the hell, I decided to start a blog on the busiest month of the year in our household? I guess I had a free day that year and thought, I’d like to give birth to a new journey. Whatever made me do it, I am so glad that I did. It’s been a hell of a ride so far. You are wonderful and amazing and I love getting to know you. Here’s to 4 more, at least. I’ll be giving away some goodies later this week, so stay tuned.

The post Communion appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

How many children have to be “accidentally” shot and killed before people start to lock up their fucking guns?

In Southern Kentucky, the cutest little 2-year-old girl, Caroline Sparks, with big blue eyes and blonde hair was accidentally shot dead this week by her 5-year-old brother, Kristian Sparks. The little boy received the .22 caliber Crickett rifle, with which he fatally shot his sister, as a birthday gift.

The little Crickett is a single-shot rifle that has a child safety. How ironic is that? The Crickett website features .22 –caliber rifle models for little kids with stock colors ranging from pink to red and white and blue swirls, for the ultimate girly girl. “My first rifle” is the company’s slogan. Sweet, does that come with a camo jacket that says “Kills People Dead!”

In that part of the country, it is not unheard of for young children to learn how to handle a gun for hunting and many of them have guns handed down to them or given to them for special occasions. I know this to be true because I lived in Tennessee where they share that mentality. I used to teach 5-year-olds who would regularly look forward to going hunting with their daddies.

The children’s mother said she was cleaning and stepped out for a second when she heard the shot. The little boy was playing with his rifle when it accidentally discharged and killed his baby sister. The family insists that they kept the rifle in a place considered to be a safe spot.

Okay, I don’t even know where to start. First off, I don’t even believe in giving kids play guns, let alone real fucking guns with actual bullets. Secondly, obviously this “considered to be safe” spot was not very hard to access or safe. This rifle should have been locked up and not loaded. Unless this little boy was being trained to be a sniper, or they expected a 5-year-old to protect the family from intruders trying to enter their trailer, why the fuck would it be loaded?

The gun should have never been in the house with children that small in the first place, especially if it was not locked up. A 5-year-old sees this as a toy. He has no way of having the reverence and concern for safety that an adult should.

I know this was an accident and this family tragically lost their little girl but why would anyone leave children unattended, even for a second, in a home where the gun is not unloaded and locked up. It’s like playing a game of Russian roulette with your children’s lives. Guess what? The bullet was in the chamber and now a little girl is dead and a little boy has to grow up and live with that.

Even more shocking to me is the accompanying video in which the Grandmother, Linda Riddle, looked like a deranged lunatic who kept smiling, which I am assuming is a nervous tick. Riddle said she is devastated, but comforted knowing that her granddaughter is in a better place.

“It was God’s will. It was her time to go, I guess,” she told WLEX. “I just know she’s in heaven right now and I know she’s in good hands with the Lord.”

WHAT??? It was not God’s will that the little girl ended up with a bullet in her. It was bad parenting and poor choices in birthday gifts. Hey, people stop giving your kids guns as gifts and for the love of God, Lock up YOUR FUCKING GUNS!!!!

I am sick to death of children dying senselessly because they had access to a gun. Please don’t give me the ”guns don’t kill people, people do” response because if this country weren’t flooded with guns ( licensed and not) we wouldn’t be mourning all of these senseless deaths. Bottom line is that people are just not responsible enough to own guns and procreate so we need to eliminate one or the other. We have to keep having children so the species survives, so that leaves one answer; GET.RID.OF.THE.GUNS!!!!

The post Throat Punch Thursday~ Lock Up Your Guns, People!! appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

Should I stay home under the covers and cry my eyes out like I did last year? Or should I go out and be happy that I made it thru this year? I deserve it after this past one but I’m afraid of having an inappropriate break down in the middle of the fucking mall. Do I spend it alone? Do I ask my husband to help me get through it? I’m afraid that will only make me feel worse, amplify my feelings of inadequacy and failure.

Do I have my dearest friend or sister come and spend the day with me? I need someone who understands how I feel yet knows not to come too close for risk that I might break into a million tiny fragile pieces and no one will ever be able to put me back together again. Will I ever be whole? Right now, I feel like I am being held together by spit and prayers. I want to scream and cry and be silent and not move all at the same time. I am feeling a million different emotions at once and it is too much.

On the day that I went to the hospital to have my D & E, I was on autopilot. I had to shut down every instinctual emotion that I was feeling or they would have killed me. I’m sure of it. I would have died on the spot. I am not built to handle that kind of pain.

I woke up that morning and somberly prepared to head out to the hospital for my 7 am scheduled outpatient surgery.  All I could think of was how can this be outpatient, my entire life is about to be destroyed. I’m not sure if I can survive this. One foot at a time, Debi. Just Breathe. And I did.

My 4-year-old woke up and asked me, “Where are you going mommy?” Holding back tears and trying to give the most positive spin that I could, I replied, “ I am going to the hospital to have my surgery. Remember, Daddy and I explained it last night.”

Then she began to whimper. It took everything in my body not to fall down to the ground and cry for an eternity. I held it in and pushed my shared overwhelming sadness down, deep, deeper than anything has ever been pushed down.

I wanted to rage against what was happening. I was devastated and I was pissed. I was mad. I was furious. Angrier than I had ever been before or ever have been since. I hated the world. I couldn’t understand why God would give me this gift only to snatch it away from us; from the girls. It was cruel and unjust and I was so furious, I wanted to scream and rage against the entire world.

Gabi asked me to lie down with her and that is when she asked me if she could say good-bye to the baby. It took every bit of my strength not to begin sobbing uncontrollably. I was afraid if I started, I would never stop. She gently put her arms around my belly and whispered in her small voice, “good bye, baby. I love you!”

Then she begged me to get a photo of her baby for her. I will never forget the feeling of failure that I felt at that moment. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces. She looked up at me with her innocent blue eyes and said, “ Maybe if I knew the baby was in your tummy I could have loved the baby more and he wouldn’t have died.” I whimpered, holding back the flood of hurt and pain that wanted to come crashing out and consume the entire world. I had failed her completely and couldn’t give her what she’s wanted so badly. What she still wants. What I am not prepared to risk again.

We left the house silently. Christina Perri’s , “Thousand Years” was playing on the radio and with every word she sang, my tears swelled because

I have died every day waiting for you darling don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years, I will love you for a thousand more time stands still beauty and I will be brave I will not let anything take away standing in front of me every breath every hour has come to this one step closer I have died every day waiting for you darling don’t be afraid I have loved you for a thousand year, I love you for a thousand more

When we arrived, I felt my stomach drop to the floor. I wanted to turn around and run away and keep my baby with me for just a little longer. Pretend none of this was happening. But it was and there was nothing I could do but try to hold it all together and get through it and that’s what I’ve done for the last year.

I remember lying there on the gurney, every nurse who passed looking at me knowingly and giving me a half smile filled with pity and empathy. Some even shared their own stories of loss with me. I found myself overcome with sadness for them. I was the one getting the D & E and I felt sorry for them!

At one point, there was a mother and small child about a year old in the outpatient prep area, I saw them and all I could think was Thank God, we are not here with one of our children being sick. That would be too much to bear. I said so to my husband. He gave me a look like I was crazy because we were there with our sick child, the sickest of children; our child was dead. It’s funny how the mind rationalizes things that are too painful to process and it is not yet ready to accept.

When my obstetrician finally came in to explain the procedure, I was already in a state of fugue. I had completely separated myself from the situation. There was no time for self-pity or crying, this was happening and I had to think of it as logically and distanced as I could. It was a terrible thing that was happening to me, but it felt like it was all happening to someone else. Not me.

I told my doctor immediately that I could not, would not, have the surgery until another ultrasound was done. I had to get that picture for Gabi and I had to make sure that my baby really was gone.

It’s hard to accept that your baby has no heartbeat when you see a perfect little baby on the ultrasound that looks like he is peacefully sleeping. Not dead. Not gone.

The ultrasound machine would not print any photos. I promised Gabi a photo and if I could not give her the baby brother or sister that she wanted the least I could give her is closure and a photo of her baby. Photos had to be taken before I let them proceed. I am sure I was wild eyed and overzealous in my request. I am also sure that my doctor had seen that degree of desperation before.

We took photos on our phones. The last photos we will ever have of our sweet baby. I still cannot bring myself to delete the photos from my phone. I’ve downloaded them twice to my computer but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to delete the photos from my phone. They are the only tangible proof I have that our mighty little mouse was here. That’s what we called him/her, “Mighty mouse.” Bella was the bean, Gabi was the bird and this baby was mighty mouse.

Then they wheeled me back to the operating room. As I lie there on my back about to do this unspeakable procedure, looking up at the ceiling, my eyes filled with tears and all I could think about is my two girls at home and the look of defeat in my husband’s eyes as they wheeled me away and he told me that he loved me. I wanted to die. I have never felt so alone in my entire life.

Then, I awoke in recovery. I felt empty in every way and I’ve felt something missing ever since. I try not to cry too much but I have become prone to emotional time bombs that appear out of nowhere and disappear just as quickly. They are not occurring with the frequency they were in those first 6 months but when they come on, I have to run for cover.

All those feelings that were pushed so far deep down last year are finally making their way to the surface. I just hope they bubble over in succession and not all at one time. Just to be safe, I am spending today letting myself feel all those feelings I refused to consume me a year ago today.

I will never forget you Mighty Mouse, you will always be in my heart and one day, I will hold you in my arms in heaven. But today, I have to let the pain and guilt go. Today, I have to forgive myself. I have to be grateful that you were ever here, not be sad that you are gone. I have to become whole again. I have to live, even though part of me died with you. I have to stop mourning and start living. I have to say goodbye.

For a year, many of you have held me in your hearts and prayers and I want to thank you because if it were not for the enveloping love and overwhelming understanding of my family and friends and you, my beautiful and compassionate friends all over the internet, I would not have survived this terrible loss. A special thank you to my brothers, who came to the hospital and sat with the Big Guy while I was in surgery. That meant more than they will ever know and to my close family who left me alone at my request because I couldn’t handle being pitied. To my sisters who cried along with me and to my parents who wanted to swoop in and make it all better. To Sam, Nikki,Nicole, Maureen, Jen, Jenni, Erin, Dawn, Tracy, Alexandra,Jess (I Will never forget the lantern you  lit for my baby), Jeff, Kate, Carol and Dennis and too many to name who lifted me up in prayer and love. And to my husband,Wayne, without whom I could not have survived this past year. You have saved me so many times in the past 16 years that I am convinced you are an angel; my very own big, sweet, wonderful angel. I love you more than I can ever convey in words. Thank you all from the bottom of my broken heart.

The post A Year Ago Today, the Loss of the Unimaginable appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.

I’ve been trying to keep the lid on that one because there is so much to celebrate in the next month that feeling so fucking terrible about this feels macabre and ungrateful but it is what I feel. I’m afraid on Wednesday, I’m going to be overcome with grief and the anticipation of that coupled with knowing I’ve got to suck it up by Friday to celebrate my husbands birthday makes me on edge and ready to jump or runaway and hide or just want to be numb.

So yesterday in the midst of robo cleaning and losing the battle, I told my husband, ” I am not happy right now!” Meaning in that moment, in my situation cleaning and dreading and knowing I procrastinated and trying to get through the next few days without sobbing uncontrollably or reacting inappropriately or just screaming for everything to stop and leave me alone!!! I’ve internalized my loss and having to feel like I’m just getting by for so long that I’ve begun to feel bitter towards those who don’t.

My husband’s answer (not knowing any if what’s going on in my head), ” You haven’t been happy for a long time.” He said it quietly, gently and with an awareness that I lack and with complete acceptance. I was, quite frankly, knocked on my ass because I thought I’ve been doing a pretty good job of faking being okay for the past year.

Of course, I’ve been happy. My daughters make me happy, being married to my best friend makes me happy, being together in our home, the opportunities that have opened up to me, to all of us, in the past year, make me happy. But it’s always tinged with just a little bit of sadness knowing what I’ve lost; something, someone, that I cannot replace leaving in its place a void that cannot ever be filled by anything. Not ever.

I’m trying to move on but it feels like I’m stuck in quicksand. I don’t cry every day anymore, the 1st if the month no longer cripples me monthly and I do have real moments of happiness where I completely forget for a second or two that someone is missing from our family and then it comes back to me like the tide rushing in from the sea. At first, it gently makes contact and startles me and then it swallows me whole and I can barely breathe.

Life is short. There is never enough time to say and do the things that matter the most because we don’t realize the last moments were the last moments until its too late. I’m trying to be more present and out if my head. I don’t want my legacy to my husband and children to be that “she was never happy” because I am happier than I ever expected to be. I just need closure and, honestly, I don’t know how to get it or if it is even possible.

How do you say goodbye to someone you never met?

The post The Quiet Before the Maternal Storm appeared first on The TRUTH About Motherhood.