What I've Lost...and Gained

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Recently, a friend posted on Facebook about a substantial weight loss of which she is very proud (and she should be), and it immediately triggered memories of the times my chunky self has worked to lose weight. It didn't take long before I thought of how fast I lost "the baby weight" (plus 20 more pounds) after you died. This time, though, I didn't do it on purpose and it wasn't done in a healthy manner. Putting food in my mouth for the first three months after you left made me physically ill. So, those 70 pounds melted off by May. Yes, you did the math correctly (we'll say you got your number sense from Daddy, even though Mommy is no math slouch either.) I gained fifty pounds with you! It had a lot to do with the fact that my hips, back, and sciatic areas were so bad that I didn't get off the couch for half of the pregnancy. The Double Stuff Oreos probably didn't help either.

Of course, this conversation in my head then triggered another one...what else have I lost since you went to be with Jesus? First and foremost, I've lost you. I've lost the dreams I had for you. I've lost my future with you. I've lost my membership to the "mom club" where special people go on play dates and talk about raising their children to love God and be good people. But besides the obvious, I've also lost other things. I've lost my capacity to start or finish a sentence without tears being right behind every word. I've lost my joy in seeing other moms with babies or pregnant women. I've lost my ability to smile and mean it. I've lost my patience when dealing with people who complain about petty problems. I've lost the ability to have a stream of conscious thought that doesn't revolve back to you. I've lost the filter that keeps me from saying things I probably shouldn't share with others. I've lost my motivation to work or clean the house. I've lost a bunch of hair. I've lost my desire to socialize. I've lost my false sense of security. And I've lost my confidence that Daddy and I were meant to have a baby to raise.

I've lost a lot. But I also realize that I've gained much from you (and I'm not just referring to the crazy amount of weight I put on during our 9 months of growing together.) I've gained a greater appreciation for the miracle of birth/life. I've gained a more intense concern for the safety and health of Daddy, and of others who I love. I've gained a deeper desire to keep and nurture my faith in God, in order to gain His great inheritance in heaven and to see you again someday. I've gained an acute need to pray more, to get closer to the One who cares for you and holds you on His lap. I've gained a keen awareness that Daddy and I have some pretty amazing friends and a loving, supportive family. I've gained the insight that will keep me from taking those same people for granted. I've gained perspective on what really matters in this world. And I've gained the knowledge that Daddy and I made a gorgeous, healthy baby girl who we will love forever.

Today, as we struggle with our emotions on your 5-Month Angelversary in heaven, I want you to know that losing you was and is excruciating, but the lessons we've gained from you are priceless. Thank you, honey. We love you more every day.

Love,

Just Shut Up!

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Today I thought about this blog and how I hadn't posted in a while...and felt guilty. My internal dialogue went something like this: "But I don't have anything to say. Yet I have a million things to say. So, why haven't I written?" Does it mean I don't want to talk to you or about you? No. Unequivocally no. I want nothing more. But I'm starting to sense that those around me are no longer okay with me talking about you. I don't know if it's because I'm with different people now that I've gone back to work and they're uncomfortable with the topic and because I cry when I speak, or because nearly five months have passed and people have hit their limit on patience. Sometimes when I start to talk, I can almost hear the other person thinking, "Just shut up about your daughter!" But I will never shut up about you. I can't. I love you, I miss you, and I want to honor your memory. If nothing else, I will always talk to Daddy about you. He never tires of his sweet little girl.

On a less frustrating note, Daddy and I feel so blessed by the outpouring of love from our friends and family during the Day of Hope yesterday. We received over 100 photos of candles that were lit in remembrance of you and for all the other dear children who have lost their lives far too soon. I wonder if you saw all the flickering flames from heaven. What a sight that must have been. In case you missed some of them, I've included a few here. I'm also in the process of creating collages of all of the candles and will post them on Facebook for everyone to see soon. I hope the gesture made you smile, sweetheart. I bet you have a beautiful smile. I can't wait to see it for myself.

I love you, baby girl.

Love,

Back to School

Dear Jordy-Bug,

It's that time of year again. Daddy started football two-a-days on Monday of this week. He got me up at 6am to help him tie his shoes and wrap his cast. The same happened on Tuesday morning. On Wednesday, as I groggily finished tying a somewhat lopsided knot in his left shoe, he looked at me with his kind eyes and said, "You only have to do this for three more weeks." My original reaction was, "I guess that's not so long." But then it hit me, I would tie Daddy's shoes and wrap his arm and do just about anything else for him for the rest of my life if it meant I got to see him, talk to him, kiss him, and hold him every day. Thank you, sweet girl, for teaching me to cherish every minute I have with the ones I love...even at 6am.

Yesterday was my first official day back for the 2012-2013 school year. You should have been on your way to your first experience at daycare. I should have been crying because it was our first day apart. Instead, I cried all day because we are always physically apart. Some of my colleagues have tried to reach out to me, but I'm inconsolable and forever fighting back tears. I don't want to be at work. I want to be with you. I love and miss you more than anyone can imagine.

Love,

The Empty Spot on the Couch

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Daddy and I are still recuperating from our first week back in the "real world" after our visit to Faith's Lodge. It was a doozy. Mommy had two full days of meetings at work, and kept thinking, "How am I going to be productive for an entire school year when just sitting in these meetings is exhausting me emotionally?" I was constantly fighting back tears. I can't imagine how I'm going to function when there are halls and classrooms full of students and teachers. I can't imagine what I'm going to say when someone asks me how my baby is doing. You are in heaven and happier than anyone can understand, so the answer should be "she's perfect!" But answering that question with a giant hole in my heart is unbearable (I'm crying just thinking about it.) Speaking of crying, I ended up at the eye doctor again on Tuesday afternoon because my crying has chapped my eye. Yes, I said chapped. The tears are still washing away the natural, protective coating on my eye and causing severe dryness and making it impossible to wear my contacts without pain.

As for Daddy, he had appointments to figure out what's really wrong with his shoulder/elbow/wrist. He is very claustrophobic, so he has been putting off the MRI his doctor ordered. His persistent research for alternatives and subsequent hounding of the medical staff paid off. The nurse scheduled a shoulder ultrasound for Wednesday morning. When he got there, he asked the doctor again about the acute pain in his elbow (the doc previously wasn't concerned with the elbow, just the shoulder and wrist.) He reviewed the x-ray and, lo and behold, he missed the fracture in Daddy's elbow. So, poor Daddy has been walking around for over a month with a broken arm and not sleeping at night worrying about the MRI. He had to see a different doctor on Thursday for his wrist, who cast his entire arm. He didn't handle that well at all (as I told you, he's claustrophobic and can't stand to be restricted in his movement.) So, after practically begging them, they sliced the cast in half to make it a "splint." He is still uncomfortable, but at least he can take it off when it gets to be too much. And at least he got out of the MRI. By the end of the day on Thursday, we were both at the end of our emotional ropes.

Even before you died, I was worried how Daddy would handle it when it was Milo's time to leave us. They have been buddies for almost 14 years! It was determined while we were at the lodge that the little guy had an inoperable, cancerous tumor in his gall bladder and liver. The day that we both dreaded came on Friday. We knew it was time to let him rest in peace because he had gotten very weak, unsteady, wasn't consistently keeping his tube-fed meals down, and was having occasional seizures. A little after 4pm, we took Milo around to each of the other kitties to say good bye. By the time we got out to the car, he was uncomfortable and scared. So in an effort to escape, he chomped down on my left thumb. I've never really been bitten by an animal before (playful bites by the kitties don't count), so I had no idea how much a puncture wound hurts. Holy cow! I knew he didn't mean it and I knew we didn't have much more time with him, so I tried to focus on making him comfortable and not on my thumb. At 4:30pm, we arrived at the animal hospital and the veterinary assistant led us to a room we had never seen before. It was painted green, with a table in the center covered by a soft towel, had homey decorations and comfy places to sit, and contained books about animals in heaven. I immediately turned to Daddy, who had already started to cry, and said to him through my own tears, "How odd and cruel is it that twice in less than five months, we've been led into a special room to watch our baby die?" After we took some time alone with Milo, the veterinarian came in and gave our little man a shot that sent him to you. Watching Daddy cuddle his soft, limp body took me right back to the NICU on your last day here on earth. I couldn't get the image of you in Daddy's arms out of my head. We cried together and left the animal hospital with empty arms. Just as we left the hospital in March. When we got home, the first things I saw were the indented, empty spot on the couch where Milo used to nap, and your Jordyn Bear, peering at me from the love seat. We want you both back. But since that's not possible, we want you two to be happy together. You're an amazing little girl and he's a special kitty. I hope you have lots of good cuddles with him, honey.

We love and miss you so much!

Love,