Tribute – don’t eat that

How do you capture a broken heart in a blog post?  How do you convey the tears that are still unshed and building up behind your eyes?  How do you write about a grief so raw?

On 11/2/18, Otis passed away.  For those of you that don’t know Otis, he was our beagle.  We got him when he was a few days shy of 6 weeks old.  I don’t recall why we got him so early, other than I think they were just ready to have those puppies gone.  We loved him from the second he was handed to me and nuzzled under my chin whimpering.  We had him 15 years.  782 weeks and 4 days that he was on this Earth and that much time that he wormed his way into our hearts and lives.

After he passed, several people said they felt like they knew him from my posts on social media.  He was always a source of a funny story or crazy antics.  He was a source of amusement to a lot of people.  To us he was family.  He was the glue that held us together during times we couldn’t get out of bed.  He was the laughter in our house when all we had were tears.  He was 15 years of routines.  He was the constant in our lives.  He was our everything.

I have several blog post that I have been trying to get updated and posted.  Then this happened and I stalled more than usual.  I have started to write this post a million times and haven’t been able to come up with the words.  I keep writing about his last week with us, and his last days, and his last minutes.  I just can’t get through it.  I keep writing about what he meant to us and fall short.  So I decided until I can post those things, I will write about some of his antics.

Everyone told me after he died that they knew he crossed the rainbow bridge and was playing like he never played before.  I sort of agree.  I kind of feel like heaven to our beagle and his mischief soul would be eating things he shouldn’t and not getting in trouble.  I was thinking about that the other day and made a list of the things Otis ate while here.  So my post today is a tribute to my sweet puppy and the things he ate.

This is not a complete list but the things we could remember.  This does not include things that he ate off the floor while we cooked, or dropped while we ate, or the things he ate while in my parents presence that they didn’t report.  Reading through this list makes me feel like an irresponsible pet owner. In our defense we always tried to push things to the back of the counter.  We always tried to puppy proof the motor home.  He was just so patient he would wait on that one slip up to go for the goods.  He knew better and we always had to tell him, not yours and don’t eat that.  Sometimes he would tell on himself and would come up to us and put his head down and lean into us.  Other times he would excitedly jump up and down pawing on us like come look what I did!

• Ham (Stolen off plates, platters, floors, hands).
• Ham biscuits (He stole those when my grandfather passed away.  He snuck in the kitchen after someone brought them and took two before I noticed my dad laughing because he knew what he was doing).
• Chocolate Covered Cherries (He snuck those while we were in the motor home at the Charlotte races.  They made him really hyper (like psychotic) and he threw up).
• M&Ms (Dark chocolate.  Ate those while with my parents.  He was so sick.  Several after hours calls to the vet.  A trip to Walmart at 3 AM.  He got a few other M&Ms here and there, some fun packs etc, but never an entire large bag).
• Chocolate Chip Cookies (He snuck one from my purse – left over from lunch.  He stole a few off a plate off a counter).
• Ressee Cups (He stole those out of my mom’s purse – it was her emergency chocolate).
• Hersey Kisses (He stole those after our wedding.  They were part of our favors.  He opened some of them and ate just the chocolate and on some he ate the foil.  He pooped foil for a week).
• Hersey Kiss wrappers (He would steal candy wrappers all the time.  He loved the foil from Kisses).
• Life savers (He stole these after our wedding too.  They were also part of our favors).
• Coffee beans (He opened my brother in laws Christmas gift and ate some coffee.  I also had a center piece for a table that had coffee beans.  When I would mix them around to make the aroma spread through the room and beans would fall to the ground he would gobble them up).
• Tortillas (My parents went to Sam’s and got the largest size bag of soft tortillas.  While unattended in the motor home he grabbed them opened them and ate part of them.  He flung the rest of them around the motor home).
• Spaghetti (Same trip as the tortillas – he grabbed the unopened noodles off the counter and had a fun day).
• Gravy (Also in the motor home at the race, he jumped on the counter and licked the gravy spoon and the left over gravy after breakfast).
• Bible (Bought Andy a brand new Bible (The Message) and Otis shredded that thing).
• Norman Rockwell Book (Chewed on the spin of the book.  We still have it and laugh each time we see it.  Granted Andy was so mad when it first happened).
• Rainbow flip flops (Andy’s pair.  Andy was mad).
• Boxers (He always would grab a pair of Andy’s boxers and chew on them.  Right out of the laundry hamper or the dryer he didn’t care).
• Socks (This might have been our mistake.  His first toy was a sock tied in knots.  He loved grabbing socks and chewing on them.  It was a challenge to put shoes on around him, when he was a puppy he would attack your feet trying to get the sock).
• Plant (He dug up our “love fern.”  Andy gets made when I call our plant that, but I find it hilarious.  Watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.  He pulled it up while he was locked in his crate.  He bounced his crate across the kitchen and grabbed the plant and dug it up.  Twice).
• 3 crates (He chewed on 3 crates.  To the point that we had to have metal welded on, chains applied, and locks attached).
• Towels (Too many to count. When we first started crating him we tried to put them in there so he would have something to lay on.  He shredded each and every one).
• Blankets (He destroyed several.  He dug a hole in a few while playing with Andy.  He also shredded some that we tried putting in his crate).
• Abercrombie Coat Zipper (Andy’s coat.  He destroyed the sipper.  Luckily the coat is still wearable, but just doesn’t zip).
• Suite Coat (A Christmas gift for Andy from me.  Otis ripped the pocket off the coat, making it trash.  It was a really expensive suite that was bought with pennies saved at a time we didn’t need to spend that kind of money.  I was the most mad about that one).
• Candy wrappers (He would find any and all candy wrappers.  Sneak them off the end tables by the couch, out of the trash, if there was a candy wrapper around.  He found it and would try to eat it before you noticed).
• Snotty tissues (Yes it is gross.  He loved a tissue full of snot.  Cold season was his favorite time of year.  He would sneak into the bathrooms and look for tasty treats.  He would come back wagging his tail with tissue stuck in his teeth.  Most of the time we would flush the tissues, put it in the kitchen trash which was in a cabinet, or elevate the small trashcan where he couldn’t reach it).
• Gum (He would get this out of my purse especially if I left him in the car alone.  Or he would find it in the car because Andy would leave some in his door some of the time).
• Sour Patch Kids (After the M&M incident mom was more careful with leaving chocolate in her purse.  At the race she assured me her purse was puppy safe.  After 10 minutes he could sour patch kids in her purse.  He loved them).
• Cough drops (He also loved eating cough drops when he could find them usually stolen out of a purse, a coat pocket, the bed, off the dresser).
• Bread (This is not limited to just slices of bread, but entire loafs of bread.  He would steal them off the counter and off plates while we were trying to fix sandwiches.  He would grab the loaf off the counter and hid in the kitchen eating his loot.  He preferred homemade over store bought, but he would eat it all).
• Fried Chicken (He stole dad, mom, and Candy’s left over chicken off the counter and ate it all.
• Hamburger buns (Stolen off the counter)
• Bag of brown sugar (Stolen off the island in the kitchen.  I put everything out to bake cookies and ran to answer my phone which was in the living room.  Came back and got another bag of sugar out because I didn’t see the other one and thought I hadn’t set it out.  I Heard something weird and looked on the other side of the table and his little beagle face was covered in brown sugar.  He ripped open the bag and there were clumps of it every where).
• Futon Mattress (He dug several holes in several futon mattresses.  It was part of his separation anxiety and his humans didn’t realize what we could do to help at that point in time).
• Soap (He ate an entire bar of soap after we put him on anxiety medicines for his separation anxiety.  It gave him the munchies and he ate an entire bar of soap.  He was so sick for a day.  He puked in the bed twice that night, and was miserable the next day).
• Pizza (He convinced his cousin Haley the dog to get it off the counter – he was still a young puppy and couldn’t reach it.  They shared an entire large pizza).
• Carpet (He dug up and chewed the carpet at two houses.  Kingsport Hwy house in TN and Clayford Ridge house in NC).
• Door Frames (He ate door frames at 4 houses.  Clayford Ridge, Kirkcaldy Lane, Amber Mist Lane, and Kingsport Hwy).
• Window sills (He destroyed several in the Clayford Ridge house and chewed on one at Amber Mist Ln).
• Blinds (He destroyed several sets at Clayford Ridge.  We have one set in our house now that has an Otis tooth puncture mark in it).
• Toilet paper rolls (He only did that once, maybe twice.  But he shredded an entire roll of toilet paper).
• Magazines (As a puppy he shredded and chewed on a handful of magazines).
• Fried pickles and tater tots (He stole my parents left overs off the counter).
• Finger nails/toe nails (Gross like the tissues, but he would go through the trash and get them out.  Makes me gag thinking about it).
• Hair (Technically he wouldn’t seek out the hair, but in digging through the trash could end up eating some).
• Ravioli lid (The week before he died he snuck a lid out of the trash and enjoyed licking it clean.  So thankful he didn’t cut his mouth).
• Blue Marker (He turned his white fur blue for a few days until it wore off).
• Glasses case (He got it out of my purse while he was looking for food, and it now has his teeth marks on it).
• Napkins in cars (He loved napkins in cars.  He would find them and shred them in the car).
• Treat Jar Lid (My mom got him a nice treat jar with a wooden lid.  He got the lid off Andy’s desk and chewed part of the wood off and left his bite marks all over it).
• Electric cord (For a long time he was terrified of cords so we assume he got zapped when he chewed it).
• Water bottles (Or soda bottles.  Otis would chew on the lids making them come off.  He didn’t care if there was liquid or not, he would still take the lid off and spill stuff everywhere).
• Trash (He absolutely loved going through the trash can.  It was like the best scavenger hunt ever).
• Trash (Not in a trash can.  If you left a cup on the coffee table and it had ice cream in it, or a yogurt container, of a bowl that had peanuts in it – you better believe he would get it before you cleaned up).
• Trash (One time he drug an entire trash bag into the guest bedroom and hid it so he could go through it later.  We put it by the door to take it to the dump.  Went outside to pick up trash next to the road to take when we went.  We came back inside and the bag was gone.  Otis was sitting on the couch looking guilty, but we couldn’t prove anything.  We searched the house and couldn’t find it.  We gave up, knowing he would lead us to it later.  Later that night he snuck off and we heard the rustling of a bag.  We went in the guest bedroom and on the other side of the bed partially shoved under the bed was the beagle and a giant trash bag that he was going through).

I know that I am forgetting things.  Probably hilarious things.  He was a sneaky little critter that wanted to explore the world with his nose.  His nose normally led him to something he thought he could eat.  He is missed, his antics are missed.  I have had a cold and my little trash can of tissues makes me choke up thinking about all the times I had to pick up shredded tissues.

Family Photos

With Andy’s immediate family we draw names for Christmas.  Each couple gets another couple to buy gifts for.  The older I get the harder it is to buy Christmas gifts and to put a “wish list” out there for people to buy us stuff.  I am to the point if I need something, we get it.  If I want something, eventually, we get it.  So telling people what I want or need has become more difficult (and the times that I gave the brand of shampoo, toothpaste, conditioner etc it was laughed at as a joke).  Last year we had Andy’s parents as the couple we were buying for.  I think they feel similar because they couldn’t think of anything they wanted or needed for their Christmas wish list.

Part of the problem was that they were in the process of packing boxes and moving and with most things they packed his mom would say something along the lines of why did she had so much “stuff.”  I didn’t want to add to the stuff she needed to pack so we thought extremely hard on what to get them.  We decided to get her a gift card so that she could have family photos done by a professional.  Not just my camera and tri-pod.  They seemed happy with their gift card.  Fast forward to 10 months later and they lined up using the gift.

I don’t like pictures anyways.  We will start there.  But we went into town (I had a dentist appointment too) and got dressed up.  I straightened my hair (which is always an ordeal) and put on mascara and lipstick and we did this picture thing.  The photographer did great and worked fast.  The nieces and nephew seemed to smile for all the pictures.  It worked out nicely as a good gift.

See the kids looked great.

I smiled and hoped it would reach my eyes.  The entire time I was watching our nieces run around with our nephew I couldn’t help but think that Addy should be here with her cousins.  Each time one of Andy’s siblings asked if they should be holding the kids, I couldn’t help but think I want to hold Addy in our pictures.  I couldn’t help but think that she would have fit right in with them.  I couldn’t help but think of how unfair it was that she wasn’t with us.  I couldn’t think too hard because then I would shed the tears that were hiding behind my hopefully real looking, fake, smile.  The photographer would say “family with girls” or “family with the boy” and then “you two.”  To her credit she didn’t say “childless couple” because had she, I would have lost it right there in the park with my mascara running down my face.  She didn’t know where we have been.  It isn’t her fault at all.  But standing there with my in-laws in front of the picture.  To the right of the picture was their oldest child, his wife, and 2 daughters in a tight little clump.  To the left but still middle of the picture was their youngest child, her husband, and their son in a tight little clump.  To the far left was their middle child, and me.  And a heart so full of holes and sorrow.  But that was our clump.  I love Andy with everything I have but there is still that emptiness.  Addy should have been there.  I miss the dreams and answers to prayers that she represented.  I miss the what could have beens.  But mostly I just miss her.

Infertility sucks.  In my story, nothing emphasizes that more than “family” stuff.  Be it holidays, vacations, going out to eat together, or family photos…family stuff is hard – yes still (and sometimes worse than before).  We have been travelling this road far too long.  We are no stranger to sadness and disappointment and loss.  One would think we could “get over it already and be happy.”  But family is hard.  Family reminds me of that family I don’t have.

Holidays are fast approaching and I feel like there will be some moments I sneak out of rooms, or step out onto the porch for fresh air.  There will be times I lock myself in the bathroom for a few minutes just to breathe and give myself permission to be sad and happy.  To give myself the grace and space I need to grieve the could have beens.  To quietly brush a tear off my check.  Yes, I live infertility each and every day, but holidays are a different battle.  All of that to say – forgive me if you turn to ask for a refill on your wine, or to pass the salt and pepper and you are telling my back as I am walking away.

8 days

**I wrote this in the days following Addy’s funeral, but until now didn’t feel like posting**

addy’s life was short.

there is no way around this subject.  her life was short.  8 days to be exact.

while you may not agree with the next several thoughts, you have to allow me to believe them because i do.  we don’t have to agree, but we can respect each other.

when addy was born the odds were not in her favor.  she was 12 weeks early, she had the PDA, she developed the infection, and she had the massive brain bleed.  if she only had any one of those things (instead of them all), this story may have played out differently – but we will never know and playing the what if game is pointless.  with all of those complications we believe there is mercy in her passing.  we obviously didn’t want that to happen and we wanted the outcome to be different, but we were constantly reminded that we are not in control.  death is some times the most compassionate thing that can happen to a person, and we believe that to be the case in this situation.

even though the birth mother changed her mind hours before addy’s death she wanted us to be at the funeral.  we got an e mail from our caseworker with the arrangements.  we knew we wanted to go to support the mother and her family, we wanted the agency to know that we really did care, and while addy was alive i spent a lot of time with her and wanted to say goodbye.  so for us we knew that we would go.  we wouldn’t attend the grave side service, but we would go to the funeral home.  since the birth mother hadn’t told a lot of people that she was giving the baby up for adoption we didn’t want to go to the grave side service where people talk to the people around them afterwards.  we didn’t want to just say we were “friends” because we didn’t want the follow up questions.  the safest thing to protect the mother and the best thing for us was to just go to the funeral service at the funeral home.  when we got there we signed in and found a seat.  shortly after we sat down the pregnancy counselor came over to us and we stood up and hugged her.  she slipped something in my hand and told me that the mother wanted us to have it.  it was a tiny knit hat that belonged to addy, they also gave us a card signed by the people that worked at the agency.  i gave her a card and a flash drive of the photos that i had taken of addy to give to the mother.  we spoke with our caseworker and gave her a hug.  a few minutes before the service started the birth mother came over and gave me a huge hug and the dad came over and shook our hands.

i don’t love funerals – besides the obvious that someone is dead, but because i don’t feel like funerals capture a persons life.  i have been to a few funerals that have made me feel closer to the deceased, but most of the time i feel like funerals paint a picture that isn’t an accurate image of that person or their life, or that they are so far off on who that person was to the people they have left behind.  i will say that this funeral was no different.  it was painful.  i mean no disrespect for addy, her family, or the preacher that performed the funeral, but it was the worst funeral i have ever been to.

to begin with, it was a funeral for an 8 day old baby.  it doesn’t matter that we were connected through the adoption process and that she was so close to being ours, it would have been horrible even if that wasn’t the case.  it honestly felt like a pre-memorial service for pat summit (she was eulogized more than addy was).  i liked coach pat as much as the next person, but the tiny little body up there wasn’t pat summitt, it was addy.  the other thing that stuck out to me so much as being terrible was that in talking about pat summitt the preacher continued to say that millions will remember pat, but no one will remember addy.  that her life meant nothing.  she was insignificant.

maybe we misunderstood the point of what the preacher was saying, but we both would have misunderstood the same way, because we were both very upset when we left the funeral.  during the funeral andy’s hand would grip mine a little tighter and i returned the gesture each time something didn’t sit right (at one point in time it was just a continuous squeeze).  we couldn’t  believe some of the things we heard, and granted at a time like this it is hard to know what to say, but I feel like other things could have been said.  i silently prayed that the preacher would step aside and ask if anyone wanted to come to the front and say a few words – because i would have gone.  i thought about the fact that most people didn’t know of the adoption plan and thought “i don’t care, addy deserves better than this.”  he never left the podium, and never gave me a chance to speak. so allow me to say what i feel like should have been said in the first place.

one thing that the preacher did say was this: “how do you eulogize 8 days?”  that is how he started his sermon and that grabbed me, so i will keep that.

how do you eulogize 8 days of life?

you shouldn’t have to.  it isn’t fair and it is hard for us to understand why things happened the way that they did.  we can sit here everyday and say it was all part of God’s timing, but that implies that God was ok that her life was cut short.  or the implication can be made that he planned on her life to be short for a “greater good” or to “teach” someone a lesson.  i have a hard time believing that some people are born to die to show other people something because that would imply that their life is expendable – that God doesn’t value their life as much as other lives.  i don’t believe that we are God’s pawns that he just kicks us off the chessboard whenever he feels like it.  i just don’t believe that.  i understand from a physical stand point why addy died.  i know that she was early and that she was very sick.  i understand that her chance of survival was slim with all of the complications – so her death wasn’t a complete shock to us.  what i don’t understand is the spiritual side.  i don’t know why we were chosen to be part of her 8 days.  my heart tells me that there is a reason, but i can’t figure it out – and possibly i will never know the reason – and i have come to believe that this is ok.

addy came into this world with a dramatic flair – butt first; however, that first breath of life was her own.  she was a 13.75 inch long, 2 pound 10 ounce miracle.  for weeks before her birth she was our miracle.  her short life was full of tubes, medicines, tests, needle sticks, glow lights, beeps, and monitors.  her cry was never louder than a kitten’s meow. she never found her voice and we will never know the depth of it.  she never got to sleep in a real bed, only knowing the warmth of the incubator.  she will never know the silence on a starry night gazing at the moon, she only knew the beeps, constant noise, and bright lights of the nicu.  despite never holding her, and never being able to be that close to her, i was able to pick up on her scent.  the “new baby smell” that everyone talks about.  when i left the hospital after she was born to go to the hotel, i fell asleep with my hands next to my face drinking the smell in.  the smell that i associated with dreams coming true, hope, and our miracle. the smell that a few days later, triggered the tears to fall as i leaned my head against the incubator praying that the doctors were wrong.

it is hard to imagine what kind of person she would have been.  in her short life you could catch glimpses of characteristics of who she might have been.  when she was uncomfortable or in pain she put her hands to her face covering her eyes.  when she was completely relaxed she would hold her ear or put her hands above her head.  her heart rate reacted to music showing that she enjoyed music.  she would have liked to have been snuggled because she always responded to touch.  she was quick to grab your finger and to latch on and squeeze.  but beyond these things we will never know addy as being beyond 8 days old.  we can imagine who she would have been, but because her beginning was brief and the ending came too soon we will have few thoughts of her growing and living beyond the incubator and the nicu.

she was surrounded by love before she took her first breath.  her birth mother loved her enough to do the adoption plan, andy and i loved her more than any words i can express, our families loved her, and friends loved her.  she was a little girl that was never at a loss for love or prayers.  they poured in for her.  the nurses and the doctors loved her too.  i walked in several times to see the nurses talking with her and telling her that she was beautiful.  she might have just been their patient, but the love in the nicu was palpable.  addy received more love in her short life than some people get in a life time and for that i am thankful.

while her life didn’t reach millions of people (maybe not even hundreds of people) she touched lives.  deeply.  the people that she leaves behind have felt her presence deep within our souls and we mourn the loss of sweet addy.

and while i still don’t understand the “purpose” in her life cut short and i don’t believe that God “caused” this to happen to teach us something i do believe that we can use terrible things – this death – to find beauty.  we can find beauty in the fact that she wasn’t alone and that she died being loved by many.  personally, i am holding onto the beauty that this experience has opened my eyes and proved that i can love a baby that isn’t biologically mine.  there is beauty that relationships were strengthened surrounding the birth and death of addy.  the beauty that God never left us throughout this entire process.

i will never believe that she was put here as a dispensable life.  for some unknown reason her life was an essential part of our story and of our lives.  there is a part of addy that will remain in my heart, and i hope in the hearts of others, forever.

how do you eulogize 8 days of life?

her life was short and and her death won’t affect millions of people.  her footprint might have been tiny, but in the 8 days she was alive she left a mark – her mark – an impact and love that was immense, beyond measure.

goodbye sweet addy, goodbye.

part 3 of 4: the inconsolable soul – numbness

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life. – Lord Bryon

i took my break.  i told andy that we would get through the summer and reevaluate our situation.  andy agreed.  i went through stages of intense crying and apologizing.  the more tears that fell and the more i said i was sorry, the more i realized how much i was hurting andy.  i did my best to hide the tears from him.  i cried a lot in the shower.  i took really long and really hot showers.  the noise covered the sobs and i was able to have my outlet and andy didn’t have to watch me cry –  again.

those five months of intense treatment were catching up with me.  i was able to process what happened because while it was going on things happened too fast and really left no time for coping with each failed treatment.  i was able to analyze our movements and our numbers.  i was able to reflect.  i cried a lot.  i would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and the realization would hit me.  i would roll over and cry into my pillow while andy slept beside me.  sometimes he would wake up enough to roll over and pull me close.  i was able to breathe and i started putting my life and my soul back together.
i was off pretty much all of the medicines and i felt myself slowly coming back.  i could look in a mirror and see the life coming back to my eyes and feel a little bit more like myself.  no more hot flashes.  unfortunately my hair stayed a frizzy fluff ball.
during infertility treatments, timing is obviously everything.  because of that timing and the type of infertility treatments we were doing, we quickly learned that spontaneity and intimacy were gone – just bury it in the back yard.

dealing with infertility is very much like dealing with the stages of grief: denial/isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  i guess because in a way, it is a loss. it is real, heart breaking, soul shattering grief.

denial/isolation:

we dealt with this early on.  maybe not the denial part because all of this was pretty hard to deny!  but the isolation part really hit us. we found that being around certain people hurt more and if we controlled that, it seemed that life hurt less.  it wasn’t that we thought that we could cause the pain to cease to exist, but we thought sparing one ounce of hurt would break our hearts less.

with the group of 4 couples, in a way, you could say that we isolated ourselves when i sent that letter asking for space.  we were told that nothing would change and that i was wrong for insinuating that things would change.  whether we want to admit it or not, life experiences like marriages and pregnancy will change group dynamics.  it might not be intentional but those changes will happen. when we noticed those changes within our group, we slowly withdrew to allow even more space (for them as well as us) and unfortunately after a while of declining invitations, we stopped getting them all together.  i tried to stay in touch with people individually sending private messages when life happened (birthday’s, Christmas, death in the families, etc), but after a year or so, i was told that “it is kind of obvious that you don’t want anything to do with us” and was asked to stop sending birthday wishes and Christmas cards.  at the end of the day, i still try to keep up with our group of 4 couples through other people or personal messages sometimes.  in isolating ourselves we didn’t stop the hurt because that came even when we were in a room alone, but it dimmed it just a little and that little bit helped.

Anger:

anger was the biggest obstacle for me.  i was angry at myself and i was angry at God.  there were times i was angry at andy but those times faded quickly and i placed the blame and anger back on myself.  this anger was present from the emergency room visit and escalated into a rage over the course of the year.  my anger was directed at myself and i replayed everything in my life, wondering at what point my ovaries stopped working and asking myself what if.  what if i knew what was going on before we got married?  what if i did something wrong to cause them to stop working right?  what if?  i was lost in a world of ‘what could i have done’ – i wasn’t just lost, but consumed by it.  i looked in the mirror at my reflection with hate and couldn’t wrap my mind around why andy didn’t have the same glare when he looked at me.

**I am writing this knowing that some people may be upset by my perception of this, but this is how i felt in the moment.  feelings that are still very raw for me.**

most of my anger was directed at God.  i was pissed.  it wasn’t fair to me that we were “faithful people” that prayed, but i felt like we were being punished.  i felt like if i had done something better in my life, or with my life, maybe things would be different.  that maybe if i had been a better person, God would have allowed my ovaries to be good.  it wasn’t fair.  each and every day i was reminded of how unfair life was when i turned on the news and saw women killing their babies.  or women strung out on drugs getting pregnant in the blink of an eye.  when people who didn’t want those babies got them so easily and i wanted one so bad, i was willing to put myself mentally and physically to hell and back.  it wasn’t fair and i blamed God.

my faith, that had been pretty rock solid growing up, was spread thin.  really thin.  almost transparent.  i was really questioning why i believe what i do.  i was questioning if i still believed.  i was questioning if faith was real and if God was real.  i was searching for answers and couldn’t get past my thoughts that if God allowed this to happen to us, or made this happen to us, was this the God that i wanted to believe in.  i wanted to believe in a passionate, caring God that cares for his people.  with all the heartache, i couldn’t feel him caring.  i could no longer feel his presences in the wind.  i could no longer feel his arms around me in an invisible hug.  when i needed to understand why and feel God the most, i couldn’t.  not only was i abandoned by my ovaries and my hopes of being a mother, but God left me too.

i searched for him in all the places that i could look – if I was going to be enraged with him, i wanted to feel him because that meant he was near and that he could feel me.   if he could feel me, then i could inflict pain back to him like he was doing to me and andy.

we went to church each sunday.  sometimes i didn’t want to go, but i went.  i wanted my faith to be strong again.  i wanted people to ask me why bad things happen to good people and be able to rely on my faith for an answer – not bitterness attacking God.  i went to church.  the place that i should have felt God without question.  i was wrong.  i felt love from the people that went to the church and in hindsight, i could feel God in those people, but i couldn’t see that at the time.  but i couldn’t see or feel God from the pulpit.  i was sitting there each week wanting to see God and instead was yelled at and told that i was going to hell because i wasn’t singing.  lets face it, i don’t sing well.  i don’t.  i am not going to act like i do.  if i do sing, usually i sing quietly.  but to be told before each song that i had to sing, made me mad.  so now, not only did God give me bad ovaries but God gave me a crappy singing voice.  and now, apparently, i am going to hell.  it wasn’t a picture of the God i wanted to believe in.

maybe it was because i was already so critical of God and so angry at God, but i felt like all of the sermons were based on God hating some group, or telling me that i wasn’t good enough in God’s eyes.  that isn’t what i needed or wanted to hear.  what i needed to hear was that we are all broken and that even in our brokenness, we were still made in God’s image.  that faith goes beyond our understanding, our dreams and our needs. that faith pushes us to be better, to get better and to get beyond.  i needed to hear that God loved me, not that he was judging me.  i needed to hear that God’s grace rained down over me when tears poured down my face.  to let go of the anger, to be at peace and to give myself grace.  i needed to hear that it was ok to be angry at God as long as i kept talking to him.  i needed a place i could go on sundays to escape all of my negative feelings that i had during the week and to feel God.  i needed to hear about the God that i grew up believing in that was compassionate and loving.  that is what i needed to hear.

during all of this, i was working with a youth group.  it was through them that my faith flickered.  i surrounded my heart in ice to protect me from any more disappointment and it was those youth that started chipping away at that ice.  i latched onto those kids as if they were my own because, in a way, they were – and will always be.  they made me laugh and, for a moment, my anger would fade and i would laugh.  they made me so very proud.  they played sports and instruments and we tried to support them outside of church.  they took an active role in participating and they put up with me. they allowed me to interrogate their friends and, in their own way, would ask for advice.  they would ask questions and discuss faith questions.  their blunt honesty put an new spin on the faith that i was trying so desperately to reconnect with.  on a sunday, they were my sanity.  they were my angels that kept me from getting so lost in the darkness that i didn’t want to come back.

it was during this time that i learned of several other friends having infertility issues.  i made it a point to reach out to them.  with one in particular, we made it a point to go to dinner and be away from it all.  just a girls date night.  during dinner, we would take a few minutes to catch up.  we would fill each other in on life as we knew it.  there was always that moment where our laughter died down and we looked at each other.  the subject of infertility would come up.  she would ask what was new and i would fill her in on our story and  i would ask her how she was doing.  i leaned on her and still do.

in my anger at myself, our situation and at God, we decided to keep a lot of our story to ourselves.  it was too raw to really talk to most people about it because a lot of people just didn’t understand.  it was too hard to be able to admit how broken i really was.  how to admit that the vision that i had instilled in my own mind was unraveling.  how to admit that i was mad at God. we wanted to be able to control who had what information because, after all, it was our story to tell.  it was also too hard to deal with the look of pity.  people say that look doesn’t exist, but it does.  i was at a funeral and someone came up to me and gave me that look.  i said hello and she grabbed both of my arms and said “i am so sorry.”  i knew that she was genuinely sorry for us and meant what she said, but for starters, she should have never known – someone gave her information that she should have never known.  secondly, that look of pity – that look of, ‘i know what you can’t do.’  i know that you can’t create a family for your husband.  i know that you are broken beyond belief.  we also didn’t want people to know because we had hoped that treatment would work.  we hoped that if we kept it to ourselves, we would be able to “announce” a pregnancy to the world instead of having everyone know when our iuis were and knowing when the pregnancy test would be.  since it was based on timing, it wouldn’t have taken too long to figure out and we didn’t need the added stress of people knowing when to expect good news or bad news.

another thing that made me angry were people taking their pregnancies and their children for granted.  it wasn’t that it just made us angry, but that it shattered us into a million pieces.  we would have been thrilled and we worked so hard for it and nothing.  one of my friends told me that she was nervous that i would be upset at her when she told me that she was pregnant.  i will admit that my heart skipped a beat, but at the same time, i was overjoyed for her.  my only request was that she know how lucky she was and how fortunate she was to have this life growing inside her – to take the good and the bad and embrace it.

bargaining:

i bargained a little bit i guess.  i told God that if he allowed me to just have one baby i would do better.  i asked him what it would take.  i prayed and begged.  when i was home alone on saturdays (because andy was in school), i cleaned.  i would put my headphones in and listen to ‘doubting thomas’ by nicklecreek over and over while i cleaned and prayed.  i would sing  scream the lyrics hoping that it would help me move past the bitterness and the anger.  i would scream the lyrics and start crying hysterically listening to those words.  the words that were very much who i was.  i often found myself in the laundry room with my back against the washer sobbing.  i often found myself in the most normal situations sobbing – completely broken.  i don’t know if it was all the medicines coming out of my system or just every once in a while the reality hit me like a ton of bricks.  i didn’t bargain for long because it got me nowhere.

depression:

when the anger faded, sadness filled the void.  i don’t think that we ever went into depression.  we were sad – yes, of course.  but we weren’t depressed.  we wanted to act like nothing was wrong and sometimes we could, but the truth was that it hurt.  there were some days that we couldn’t get cereal from certain stores because that aisle shared the diaper aisle and that was just asking too much.  i remember going to the store to get one thing and decided we needed poptarts.  i was in a hurry, grabbed them and when i turned around, i was looking at baby food.  i started crying in the middle of aisle 8.  we had good days and we had bad days.  we were very honest with each other about this.  all it took was “this isn’t a good day” and we knew what we needed to do to help the other one out.

acceptance:

i am going to get off topic right now and say that i have never liked this last stage of grief.  because i don’t believe that acceptance is really the end result.  i feel like with each loss (in the situation of a person passing away or the loss of dreams and hopes) there is no real end.  i think that you move beyond the first stages and you enter a stage of “mostly ok.”  it isn’t that you fully accept the situation but that you move past the rest.  acceptance is such a strong word.

the thing about grief is that it sneaks up on you.  even when you feel like you have gotten past the first four stages and move into the fifth and once you feel like you get through the fifth stage, there are triggers that will take you back through all the phases again.  the stages might move a little faster and don’t take as much time to process them through to the next, but all of those stages resurface.

since the word is acceptance, we have accepted a few things.  we have accepted that even in our own personal grief, we can still have joy.  joy for other people and joy for ourselves.  we have accepted that even though we were thrown unwillingly into the infertility club, that we will survive.  we have accepted that other people are going to take things for granted and our feelings will be hurt.  we have accepted that people will unknowingly ask us why we don’t have children.  we have accepted that people will ask us questions about when we are going to get pregnant.  we have accepted that even in the depths of the darkest place we have ever been, the world will continue on around us, regardless of our grief and loss of what could have been.

I write about the power of trying, because I want to be okay with failing. I write about generosity because I battle selfishness. I write about joy because I know sorrow. I write about faith because I almost lost mine, and I know what it is to be broken and in need of redemption. I write about gratitude because I am thankful – for all of it. – Kristin Arstrong

part 1 of 4: the inconsolable soul – in the beginning

leaning against the cold wall with the taste of bile lingering in my nose and throat, my knees bent with my toes touching the base of the cold porcelain toilet, i knew i had to stop sobbing.  i was beyond the being sick phase and was dry heaving because there was nothing left to come out.  my cheeks were soaked from the shed tears and my head was starting to pound.  i gasped in some deep breaths and closed my eyes trying to pace my breathing – in (pause) and out, in (pause) and out,  swallow down the bile, repeat.  what got me in the floor of the bathroom in the house that i was raised in?  why was i here?  an inconsolable soul.

i offered my husband, a man that i love so incredibly much – an out.  i knew that i could never be the wife that he deserved/needed and with that realization came my deal to him – leave now with no questions asked.

rewind to 10 months earlier

10 months earlier, on a saturday in may (2010), i found myself in the ER.  i was at the church in Monroe getting things set up for the silent auction dinner (while andy was still at school) and i had a massive cramp that took my breath away and knocked me to my knees.  i was able to catch my breath and get up, but the cramp turned into more with each one getting more intense.  each month i get cramps (like most women) but i know my body and i knew that i have never ever in my life experienced pain like this.  it wasn’t much longer that i realized that i was bleeding uncontrollably.  i sucked it up and got through the set up until andy showed up and i eased away and called my doctor.  she said go to the ER.  i went and was told that i had a cyst rupture.  this was causing the cramps that took me to my knees (literally) several times and the bleeding and the clots.  i asked what that meant.  the ER doctor shrugged and told me to follow-up with my regular OB/GYN doctor.  i left the ER with less money, less pain, a cool paper bracelet, a million questions, and a level of fear and uncertainty that i hoped to never experience again.

i made an appointment with my regular doctor and told her what happened and she started doing tests.  she ordered labs and an ultra sound (this would be a good time to note that i was unaware of the different types of ultra sounds).   i went in the room and assumed that it would be the one that was “lift your shirt and put cold jelly on your belly.”  it wasn’t.  it was very uncomfortable – especially since i wasn’t expecting that kind and since i am a little modest to begin with.  if you want to know the details, google the different types of US to look at ovaries (hint – it is a little invasive).

this would be a good time to note that we weren’t “trying” to get pregnant, but we also weren’t “trying to not” get pregnant (i will admit i was very hopeful each month and would have been delighted).  after all the tests, my doctor asked a ton of questions and i told her this. she shifted her eyes down and i could tell she was buying time.  she said, “well alison, i don’t really know what to tell you.  it looks like something is wrong with your ovaries – they aren’t acting like they should.  it could be nothing but then again, i don’t know.”

she gave me 3 months worth of medicines to try and i took them.  nothing happened.  i went back and she told me that she didn’t think there was anything else she could do to help me so she set me up with a specialist.

 by this point in time we were given a shaky idea of what was wrong with my ovaries but nothing real solid.  we researched everything that we could to educate ourselves about our upcoming specialist appt.  we had no idea who we were seeing out of the group and didn’t know what was going to happen when we went, but i filled out 8 pages of new patient paperwork and we went to the appt.

we met our “specialist.” we will call him dr. w (for wildman).  when he walked into the exam room he looked like a cross between a sociopath and mad scientist with crazy hair  or someone who arrived each day at work via jumping out of a plane.  he walked in and i was tempted to walk out.  i thought it was a joke until he opened his mouth and something about his voice and his words calmed me.  it wasn’t that he was saying overly positive things – but that he was talking to me and answering the questions i had before i even asked them.  he was giving it to me straight and there wasn’t an ounce of sugar-coating anything.  he told us his initial thoughts and said that even though it looked like my doctor was doing a fine job he wanted to run his own test.  he told me i would have to come back and have my blood work done, but he wanted to go on and do an US.  he did it and this time at least i knew what to expect.  he made notes and told us (because he wanted to make sure exactly who’s infertility we were dealing with) when to come back for labs and said to follow-up afterwards.

a few days later i had to be at the office at 7am.  (i was instructed to drink as much water as i could because of all of the blood they would need).  when we got there we had to wait in line and my legs were crossed because i already had consumed almost 64 ounces of water.  i signed in and quickly learned that the lab was first come first served.  andy was called for his lab work and i was left sitting in a room wondering how much longer before i could pee.  after several people went, i was called.  i climbed into the vinyl chair and lowered the bar across my lap and rolled up my sleeves.  the lab tech came over and confirmed my name and date of birth.  she looked at my order and said “ok, let’s do this.”  i nodded.  she reached over and started pulling vials that she needed to fill.  she turned and asked if i had been drinking water this morning and i told her yes.  she smiled and said “good, because we have 16 vials to fill.”  i wanted to cry.  she sat down on a rolling stool and asked me which arm i wanted her to try first.  i looked at her and smiled and she laughed.  “you have hard veins don’t you?”  i nodded.  she laughed again and said, “well, here we go.”  in only the second time in my entire life, she stuck me once and got blood!  she filled the first vial and then the second and on and on until she had 16 vials full of bright red blood.  after i signed all of the labels i watched her put the stickers on all of my vials and went back into the waiting room and andy was waiting on me.

i went to work and kept my sleeves rolled down because a huge bruise was forming on my arm and i didn’t want to answer questions about it.  we went back to see dr. w a week later and went into his office (which i remember as being mostly organized, which seemed odd to me because of his hair).  even in our second meeting, it was like the first time we met him and made me think a little bit of jim carrey in ace ventura  when he drives with his head out the window – it made me smirk a little but then the reality of why were there came crashing down and the smirk faded away.  we sat in chairs and prepared ourselves for the results.

this is what we learned.  andy was perfect in every way.  all of his labs and test came back better than what dr. w could have hoped.

me on the other hand – it wasn’t good.  he stated that he thought the issue was with me and my ovaries.  he hesitated, but tossed out possibly pco.  he said he wanted to do one more test before we decided what to do.  he wanted me to have a hysterosalpingogram  (x-ray to see if my fallopian tubes were open).  he said once we had that answer, he would have a game plan for us (if it goes good, he tells us what he thinks we should do, and if it is bad, he gives us a few other options).

i showed up for that appointment at 8am and was humiliated.  the facility where i had to have this x-ray done is the same place people go for a million other tests, as well as radiation and other types of specialized treatments.  to look at the fallopian tubes, you have to go through the uterus.  when they called me back, the nurse escorted me to a door right next to 15 chairs in a waiting room (like a fitting room in a department store).  she reached in a built-in drawer in the closet, handed me a paper gown that opened in the back, told me to undress from the waist down and put the gown on then come on out to the waiting room (luckily she gave me a second gown to put on like a robe to cover my exposed back side).  i was mortified.  the waiting room wasn’t secluded at all.  there was a hallway (that might as well had been a highway full of people) right next to it.  i turned bright red, did what she said, took my plastic bag with over half of my clothes in it and found a seat.  it wasn’t long before i was joined by an elderly man wearing a similar gown and carrying a similar bag.  not long after he sat down, another woman sat down.  none of us would make eye contact.  it was humiliating to sit there and have all these people walk by staring.

they called my name and escorted me down the hall (i was so very grateful for the second gown at this point).  the nurse walked me into the room through a special door and pointed to another door. she told me to empty my bladder.  i did and she told me to sit down in the chair, and i did.  the room had a huge machine in the middle with computers all around.  there was another nurse standing behind a glass wall with more computers and more gadgets.  i didn’t see dr. w and i was a little nervous.  the nurse that had me sit down came over to talk to me.  she asked if i knew what was going to happen and i told her what i knew.  she verified that i was correct and added some details that i didn’t know.  she paused and asked if i had any questions and i did.  “i read online it hurts…is it going to hurt?”  she laughed and said “well, it will either be fine, with no pain or you will be in excruciating pain – that is what i see most.”  silently i am thinking “great, that wasn’t really reassuring.”  she leads me to the table and i climb up.  dr. w walks in.  there is something about his wild hair and sociopath killer look that is so familiar and surprisingly calming to me – i still haven’t figured that out yet.

he comes over where i am sitting on the table and takes both of my hands and asks if i am ready.  i nod.  he smiles and looks at the nurse and nods.  she comes over to him with a mask, x-ray padded vest-type-thing and x-ray thyroid guard.  the nurse is already in this get up.  i lay back and she drapes a padded vest over my chest and neck.  he walks me through the procedure: put your feet here.  this is going to be cold.  breathe. this is what i am doing now.  this is the dye i am about to inject. (about this time i notice that the nurse is right by my head and has been the entire time, but the other nurse, that was behind the glass, is now dressed like an alien with the rest of us and is helping dr. w).  the nurse asks if i am ok.  i barely nod.  dr. w asks if i am ok.  both the nurse and i nod. the nurse touches my arm as dr. w says “here it goes.  don’t forget to breathe, ok alison?”  i can actually feel the dye in me.  it is weird.  i hear the machine make noises and i see a flash of light above my head.  i try to look without moving and dr. w notices this.  he says, “go on, put your head back and look.”  i do and i see my uterus and fallopian tubes on the screen (at least that is what he tells me i am looking at).  he smiles, looks at me and says, “do you see that?  do you see mickey mouse?”  the nurse helping him takes a pointer and points out mickey’s face and ears.  i say yes.  he says “that is mickey and mickey is a good thing.  you have a happy uterus and fallopian tubes, meaning nothing is blocked.”  for the first time in the past 3 months since i was in the er, i was given good, positive news.  dr. w continues to walk me through the process and tells me when he is done.  he helps me to my feet and they send me through, back to the bathroom to finally get dressed. the nurse asks me if i am ok and if it hurt.  i tell her that, surprisingly, it didn’t, and that i am starting to cramp.  she tells me i should go home and take it easy.  i can’t because i have to go to work and act as if nothing is wrong or going on.

since everything was good, i talked to andy and told him the news.  i called shane (one of dr. w’s nurses) and told him to let dr. w know we want to proceed with the plan he laid out earlier since the x-ray was fine.  so i start some different medicines and in two months have my labs repeated (thank goodness they only took 3 vials of blood this time) and we go back to talk to dr. w in his office.  he tells us that my labs look better since i have been on the meds and he thinks we would be wonderful candidates for an IUI (intrauterine insemination).  we agree to go forward, he writes more prescriptions and tells us what to expect in the next month.  he gives us clear instructions, details and a smile.

in his smile i have a sense of hope.  hope in the form of dr. w.  hope in an IUI.  hope in andy, that his labs are perfect.  but the important thing is that, for the very first time in 5 months, i have hope.

all about bob…well claire

almost 10 years ago I met one of my best friends at queens university.  it was a nutrition class and we had to work on a group project together.  after that project study groups formed and a tremendous friendship started.  we have been through some ups and downs together with each of us.  she was a part of my wedding and I helped her though a rough relationship.  we have talked about family issues and have been there through losses.  we have each others back.  after her failed relationship we would go to dinner and I would ask her about dating.  she would say nope and I am never getting married.  one day things changed.  she came to dinner and talked about bob.  the more and more we talked on the phone or went to dinner the more and more she talked about bob.  she talked about meeting his family and him meeting hers and she was happy.  I was honored to be apart of her wedding to bob 3-15-14.

first we had a bachelorette party at folly beach/Charleston.  it was the first time I got to meet the other bridesmaids.  it was a blast even if it did rain most of the weekend.

I was able to take a few days off the week of the wedding.  on the Thursday before the wedding andy and I went to the farm and helped get some decorating done and hung out with bob and Claire.  on Friday we went to the rehearsal and to dinner and I spent the night with Claire and helped her do her flowers.  we were up until 330 in the morning but we laughed until we cried and snorted.  the day of the wedding we got up and got out hair done and went back to her place and to the farm to finish up the flowers and then it was game time.  she was the most beautiful bride and I couldn’t have been happier for her and bob and they both seemed so happy.  the wedding ceremony was beautiful and the reception was wonderful.  the food was delicious.  it was the perfect march day to have a wedding.

for her wedding gift I made her and bob a quilt and used her wedding colors in it.

congrats to my bff Claire and her new husband bob on a beautiful wedding and a wonderful start to a brand new adventure.  I love you both!

camera clean up

so part of the reason I am bad at blogging is 1. because my computer is slow and 2. because it takes me forever to get my photos off my camera and get them organized.

something I found that I realized I never posted were some Christmas decoration pictures on our anniversary tree and our last ornaments for year 6.  year 6 was iron and candy.

we added a giant kiss and twix bar ornament (the kiss was too heavy for the little tree so it just sat under it).  and for the iron we actually found a little iron and a frying pan.  I painted the frying pan solid black after Christmas and now it looks like a mini cast iron skillet.  I love how our anniversary ornament tree comes together each year and how we get to add something to it each year after celebrating another year of marriage.

furry happiness

we go to the farm to feed animals i have stated before that it is more for my benefit then it is for theirs.  they can eat grass and be happy with that, but who doesn’t want a little treat every now and then.  it doesn’t matter how bad of a day that i have had going to see the animals and ride around makes me happy.  some people go to happy hour and have liquid happiness i go to the farm for furry happiness.

i have enjoyed being able to go see the mountains and have enjoyed being “responsible” for animals.  pancake has come such a long way.  do i trust him yet – not at all, but i feel a lot more comfortable around him and he does me too.  i can now put my forehead on his and he crosses his eyes and looks at me but doesn’t jerk away like he has been shot.  he has gotten to the point where he always wants to run to us.  which is awesome but a little scary when he is flying down a hill and you are at the bottom. pancake also does this thing where he will just stick out his tongue after eating!

pancake has always had personality (which was evident when he tried to take dad out and escape the horse trailer) but it is really starting to show in a fun way.  he loves treats.  sometimes he gets really excited and tries to eat your hand with them but he responds to ouch and stop and a firm hand on the forehead.  he tries to steal other animals treats also.  he also loves the camera.  i will get the camera out and he comes to see it.  he wants to smell it and lick it and see if it is a treat.  he loves having his picture taken even if it mean photobombing another picture!

he still gets antsy around the horses but has gotten more bold and will come around them.  i recently learned that he slurps his water.  he will put his lips in a bucket of water and uses his lips like they are his personal straw.  it is really funny but could be a little annoying if he did it all the time around me.  (the horses also drink this way too).

now that the weather is getting cooler all the animals are feeling a little frisky.  pancake is running circles around us and jack.  jack has gotten a lot more mobile since pancake has come to live at the farm.  jack runs and kicks and makes a weird heehaw noise.  it is a little more like a screech noise but still gets the point across.  jack also gets excited about treats.  he doesn’t bite as much as he lips.  he will take the treat from me but my hand ends up in his lips.  he really loves the caramel treats that we recently got.

argyle is growing up so much.  we put the halter on his….and he lost it.  we are still looking in brush and on limbs to see where he got it caught..  he is almost taller than me.  he is fuzzy (with his baby/winter coat).  he loves for his butt to be rubbed.  he will let me rub his head and neck and then he turns so that we can get to his back and butt.  he also will still rub/lean up against me like a big dog.  he loves attention and treats and is getting a lot more bold with the big horses.

the other horses are still crazy.  they love treats and being bullies to the other animals.  flag is getting a lot nicer and actually will listen to me (well sort of).  abbey and penny are still a little jumpy and bossy but they are sweet and get treats too.

dinozzo…he is getting big!

we love to take my camera (in part for the animals but also for the mountains).  you never know what you will capture.  (all of the pictures are from the last several weeks).

my dose of furry happiness.

based on a lie

so they say that marriages based on truth and communication will last.  i heard that in our marriage counseling classes before we got married and i have heard it from friends that were married before us.  i heard it from people who experienced failed marriages.  trust.  that is the foundation for a happy and healthy marriage.  so in our marriage we have really strived to be honest with each other.  up front with what we are thinking and feeling.  we try not to sugar coat things so that the truth can be accepted as what it is and interpreted as what the other means which prevents trying to decipher if there are hidden meanings.  i feel like we have done a wonderful job with this.  sometimes we say things and they might sting a little bit, but in the end we (i will take this time to speak for andy…hopefully i am right and he feels the same way) take what the other says to heart and after reflecting on it we are able to see that the other person wasn’t trying to be intentionally mean but instead was trying to be clear and honest.  it is something that has worked well in our relationship and marriage and then i found out our marriage was based on a lie…

we were talking and after some wild tangent (i am sure) we started talking about our wedding and that progressed into our colors – black and blue.  i knew for a long time that i wanted our wedding to be simple yet elegant and i wanted that theme to radiate throughout the day.  i knew i wanted to use my favorite colors and that they would play right into it.  blue and black.  i will add here that andy was on board for pretty much whatever.  he was very hands on during the entire process and never really questioned my desire for black and blue.  he was on board.  i remember one of the first things people would ask me about was the colors.  i would tell the person black and blue and would get a funny look and would be asked what shade of blue?!  i guess because there are so many different shades of blue people wanted to know exactly what shade so i started answering black and blue – smurf blue.  that seemed to make people happy.  at some point in time i heard andy tell someone that our colors were black and panther blue.  my thought was that for people who lived around here that was a good description of the color and people would know exactly what shade that was (esp. going into stores looking for that specific shade of ribbon, ties, candles, bags, etc).  it just became part of our wedding planning to toss in panther blue.  it offered clarity to others and eliminated further questions and responses.

i am now learning (after years of blissful marriage) that andy really thought our wedding colors were black and panther blue (because of the panthers – not because that was the best way to describe that shade of blue).  our marriage started out based on a lie.

are we doomed because our circle of trust and honesty is broken?  was it just a misunderstanding and we will be ok?  will we need therapy to undo what has been done?  does this start the beginning of a battle that will last for years over who interpreted our colors correctly?

questions questions questions…..

memorable dates

there have been a few dates that have come and gone while i was on “sabbatical” that i should mention….well i don’t know if i should but i want to.

july 18, 2013: marks the 12th year that leslie hasn’t been with us.  andy was at camp so i had to work and hang out alone.  some years i spend the day reflecting and smiling and laughing at the memories and other years i can’t get past the tears to really smile at the fun times we shared.  this year was a strange mix of the two.  i would have crocodile tears running down my face and burst into laughter fluttering between the two extremes all day.  it was weird but surprisingly comforting.  i wore my ladybug earrings that i got for my birthday in her honor and her blue necklace that she bought when she went to the beach with me and my family.  (i have to wear it around my wrist as a bracelet because the clasp pulls hair like no bodies business…which explains 1. why it was on the clearance table when leslie picked it out and 2. why it had her brown hair stuck in it when claudette gave it to me.  i also bought a sprite and drank it.  at lunch in high school i would usually share her lunch (usually eat a fry) and share her drink which was always sprite – so it only seemed right to enjoy one!

 

july 21, 2013: marks the 12th year andy and i have been together and the 6th year we have been married.  with each year i think about our story and how imperfectly perfect it is for us.  i think about all the ups and downs of before we were together and after.  i think about all of the could have beens and should have beens.  i think about how lucky i am to have him in my life and how blessed i am that he is my best friend and husband.  this is when i tell you that we had an incredibly romantic date with a horse-drawn carriage ride to a 5 star restaurant with a sting quartet playing while we laughed over the best meals ever…but i would be lying…what we did was close to that – we spent the night at vbs at church.

 

july 28 – august 3, 2013: high school trip to montreat.  it was surprisingly cool and a good week.  there were good things about the program and bad…but it is still wonderful montreat.  one of the nights the choir was singing and on the front row of the auditorium we heard a noise (it wasn’t terrible but it was different).  there was a little old man playing a recorder.  we laughed at him.  it was out of place and seemed a little weird.  then it got weirder.  after that song he went on stage.  there were two youth playing drums and they looked confused like this man wasn’t suppose to be on the stage.  he walked up to the microphone with his 3 recorders (all different sizes) and started to play with the choir.  when they finished the choir director came to the front and I figured he would ask him to leave the stage but he didn’t…he let him play another song.  the man was so excited and it made me tear up.  he was so passionate about being up in front of 500 youth and wanted to share his talent with all of us and he did.  he was allowed to play and you could see the joy that it brought to him.  it was a touching moment to me and one of the high lights of my week.

august 21, 2013: marks the 7th year anniversary of when he proposed to me and my wildest dreams became a reality.

I am sure there are other dates that fall into this post…but I can’t think of them off the top of my head.  this is the problem with not blogging on a regular basis!