Princesa,
It has been too long since I wrote. I am sorry. I have given you reasons before and I don't think you need to hear them again, I think you will understand perfectly well, but I do want to make sure that you know that even when I go a long time between letters, it does not mean I am thinking of you or missing you any less. I still fall asleep every night snuggling Ellfant and thinking of you. I still pray night and day for your health, safety, and happiness... and for you to come home. I still see you in every little detail of my every day.
Yesterday I opened the closet to get out a coat to wear, and saw your flower umbrella that you got for your seventh birthday, and the pink rain jacket we bought because you didn't have one to wear to school, and I wished you were here to use them. I allowed myself to part with a few of your things - outfits, shoes, things like that - so that your friends J and N can use them. You should see the pride they take in wearing "A's clothes". How they tell me they miss you every time they put them on. How my heart smiles seeing things that used to be yours bringing other children joy.
You're going to be 11 soon. I thought double digits was hard, but 11... goodness. The day I said goodbye to you, you were 9. Little. 11 is a pre-teen! I hate so much that I have missed these 21 months of your life. I wonder what has changed about you. Which of your little quirks you have retained, if you've gained any new ones, what parts of who you were when I saw you last that you have outgrown.
Stores are full of fun spring and Easter goodies. I long to put together an Easter basket for you, to pick up another pair of adorable Easter socks in the dollar aisle, to take you to the store and have a fashion show to pick out the very best swimsuit for summer. Mom made Paczki last weekend and the weekend before... and I think about how if you were here, I'd barely get any! But I wouldn't mind, because it would mean you were here.
I can't look forward to your birthday this year. It was so very hard for me last year, even though I put a smile on and celebrated for you. We'll celebrate again this year... but it won't be the same without you. I'll miss picking out the perfect presents and watching you open them and exclaim "Oh, I just did want this!" even when you'd never seen it before in your life. I hope you'll have cake and presents and ice cream and love wherever you are.
But I don't want my letter to be all about being sad and missing you because you were never one to dwell on the negative, the things you couldn't control - you were one to seize the day, enjoy the moment we were in. So I'll fill you in on our 'moments'... on one condition... you tell me everything you can remember that put a smile on your face since I last saw you, when I see you again.
Mom is still working a lot, but she does it for our family and I know she loves and thinks of you all the time. She's been cooking a lot of fun treats lately that I'm sure you'd be glad to help her out with... at least the licking the beaters part. She misses sharing her bagels with you in the morning, you helping her dry the dishes.
Danny is going to college now, he's mostly taking general classes because he's still not quite sure what he wants to do 'when he grows up', but he seems to like it. He plays video games all the time, as usual. He's also driving now (I know, scary, right?) so there's an extra person to run errands around here. He had a friend over last weekend... and they, you know, played video games while sitting next to each other, haha.
M doesn't come over every day anymore because she's almost 15 years old and big enough to stay by herself for a few hours - but we get together on weekends sometimes, or even weeknights especially if it's going to be cold in the morning so I can drive her to school. We go shopping, play games, go out to eat... a couple weeks ago we went to Fort Rapids (the indoor water park I took you to where we saw some of our friends from church) and had a really good time. Wished you were there. We'll go when you come home.
I know you'll want an update on the kitties... they are doing good. I think I wrote to you before that Boo went to kitty heaven, but that I got another kitten and named him Marbles - he's about a year and a half old now. He and Tiger (or, "Stripey Cat" as you liked to call him) get along really well, even though they beat up on each other and chase each other around the house a lot. Marbles got out of the house the other day when it was snowing and really cold... Danny and I had to drag him in from under the deck!
As for me... I worked for a few months as a nanny for a 3 year old boy and a newborn little girl. I quit that job a couple weeks ago because it was just too stressful - funny how other people's kids are so much harder to handle than you guys! I'm back to looking for jobs and helping Shannon with your friends J and N, and little M who has turned into a toddler since you last saw her, and R who was born last summer. I love being at their house because they know and understand everything you and I went through. Shannon understands where you're coming from more than I think you even know. One day maybe you can talk to her about it. I've also been doing the same stuff, helping orphans find families and getting them home, and seen a lot of beautiful families in the process. And I taught myself how to make really cool bracelets and if you were here I'd make you a pink and purple one. Actually, I do have a surprise for you when you go home... for all our missed birthdays, Easters and Christmases. I can't wait to give it to you.
I wish I could hear from you and hear how you're doing, what you're up to, who your friends are, how you like school... we're going to have a lot of catching up to do when I see you again!
I love you Princess. I love you like the moon at night - big, and round, and warm, and bright.
I love you. Goodnight.
Love you forever,
"Kai"
Showing posts with label DBKs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DBKs. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
The Year With No Hugs
I want to preface this by saying that I do recognize and appreciate and love the friends and family who are still in my life. I give thanks for every one of you, because without you, this would all be so much harder. My Year With No Hugs wasn't truly hug-free because of you.
It's January 1 again. Another year passed. Last year, I had so much to say about the previous year, because 2012 was so eventful for us (and no, not in good ways, for the most part). This year... there's not much to say. 2013 was not eventful but for that I struggled with my health some more... three more surgeries and a birthday in the hospital, among other things. But there's one thing that does stand out about 2013.
Since I met A in 2004, as well as since AJ was born in 2009, there have been a few times when I went weeks, or even months, without seeing them. Pawns in the cruel games adults played against each other, there were times when I couldn't see them... but they were always temporary, because I was needed.
2012 was the year that all changed. When I made the phone call that changed our lives, I knew that this could be the case. I also knew I had to do it anyways. 2012 was the year I said goodbye to my babies. Gave my last hugs... if only I'd known they had to last this long, I would've hugged a little tighter, held on a little longer...
After exhausting all possibilities of bringing them home, I rang in 2013 with a heavy heart... hurting, because I knew I wouldn't be spending the new year with my babies, but still a little hopeful that things might change, and still glad to say goodbye to 2012.
We didn't get a miracle in 2013. Things didn't change... not in the way I wanted, anyways. I suspect they haven't changed at all... but there's no way to know for sure... because 2013 was the first year since I met A and since AJ was born that I didn't see them at all.
Not a glimpse.
Not even in passing.
Many times I thought of them, how I used to hug them close and thank God for putting them in my life... and I wished I could hug them again. I dreamed about one day when I might get the opportunity to get just one more hug. But it didn't come. 2013 was The Year With No Hugs. Not once did I get to hold my babies close, smell the way their hair smelled after bath time, snuggle up and read a book, embrace them because I was so happy to see them again. Not once. I didn't even see their little faces. Not. One. Time.
A whole year without hugging someone you love more than life itself is a long time. It's a hard time. It's a hurting time.
Maybe that's why I have so little to say about 2013. When someone you love is missing... not much else matters.
I'm healing. There will be two squares missing from my little patchwork family until A and AJ are in my life again (however long it takes)... but I'm learning, slowly, how to get by until then.
Who knows? Maybe this will be our year. I'm not giving up hope so long as there is breath left in me. I'm still praying, every day, for our miracle.
Babies, wherever you are... prepare to be hugged, because when I see you again, I owe you a whole year's worth.
It's January 1 again. Another year passed. Last year, I had so much to say about the previous year, because 2012 was so eventful for us (and no, not in good ways, for the most part). This year... there's not much to say. 2013 was not eventful but for that I struggled with my health some more... three more surgeries and a birthday in the hospital, among other things. But there's one thing that does stand out about 2013.
Since I met A in 2004, as well as since AJ was born in 2009, there have been a few times when I went weeks, or even months, without seeing them. Pawns in the cruel games adults played against each other, there were times when I couldn't see them... but they were always temporary, because I was needed.
2012 was the year that all changed. When I made the phone call that changed our lives, I knew that this could be the case. I also knew I had to do it anyways. 2012 was the year I said goodbye to my babies. Gave my last hugs... if only I'd known they had to last this long, I would've hugged a little tighter, held on a little longer...
After exhausting all possibilities of bringing them home, I rang in 2013 with a heavy heart... hurting, because I knew I wouldn't be spending the new year with my babies, but still a little hopeful that things might change, and still glad to say goodbye to 2012.
We didn't get a miracle in 2013. Things didn't change... not in the way I wanted, anyways. I suspect they haven't changed at all... but there's no way to know for sure... because 2013 was the first year since I met A and since AJ was born that I didn't see them at all.
Not a glimpse.
Not even in passing.
Many times I thought of them, how I used to hug them close and thank God for putting them in my life... and I wished I could hug them again. I dreamed about one day when I might get the opportunity to get just one more hug. But it didn't come. 2013 was The Year With No Hugs. Not once did I get to hold my babies close, smell the way their hair smelled after bath time, snuggle up and read a book, embrace them because I was so happy to see them again. Not once. I didn't even see their little faces. Not. One. Time.
A whole year without hugging someone you love more than life itself is a long time. It's a hard time. It's a hurting time.
Maybe that's why I have so little to say about 2013. When someone you love is missing... not much else matters.
I'm healing. There will be two squares missing from my little patchwork family until A and AJ are in my life again (however long it takes)... but I'm learning, slowly, how to get by until then.
Who knows? Maybe this will be our year. I'm not giving up hope so long as there is breath left in me. I'm still praying, every day, for our miracle.
Babies, wherever you are... prepare to be hugged, because when I see you again, I owe you a whole year's worth.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Te extraño
In Spanish, it means "I miss you".
And I do.
I know the odds are a million to one that you'll see this.
But sometimes it makes me feel better to imagine that you will...
So I just wanted to tell you that I miss you. So much.
M said she saw you. That you looked grown up.
She told you I said "hi" (even though I never asked her to - she knew I would've wanted to tell you hi.)
You said "hi back", and that you loved me, and to give me your kisses.
When M told me I cried. Not because I missed you, although there are plenty of times I cry for that...
Because you loved me.
Still.
And if you love me, you must know I love you.
I miss you, princess. Especially right now. Especially at Christmas.
And I love you so much.
Hasta te veo, mija.
And I do.
I know the odds are a million to one that you'll see this.
But sometimes it makes me feel better to imagine that you will...
So I just wanted to tell you that I miss you. So much.
M said she saw you. That you looked grown up.
She told you I said "hi" (even though I never asked her to - she knew I would've wanted to tell you hi.)
You said "hi back", and that you loved me, and to give me your kisses.
When M told me I cried. Not because I missed you, although there are plenty of times I cry for that...
Because you loved me.
Still.
And if you love me, you must know I love you.
I miss you, princess. Especially right now. Especially at Christmas.
And I love you so much.
Hasta te veo, mija.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
My Little Boy
I write about A all the time. Probably because I spent the most time with her. She needed me the most. The crisis we faced was HER crisis more than anyone else's. But regardless of the reason, I talk about her a lot.
I don't talk about her half-brother a lot. And he was my baby too. In fact, he was almost more my baby... because when I brought him home at 8 weeks old, no one had ever attended to his needs the way I did. I was his first secure attachment. I was the one he wanted when nobody else could calm him down. I never even realized the gravity of it until my mom told me one day, after the umpteenth person had handed him back to me to handle, "You're his favorite person in the whole world. Nobody loves him like you do."
And I cried. I held my baby boy - my first baby boy, and cried. Because I loved him so much.
I was the one up with him all those sleepless nights. I was the one who comforted him when he didn't feel well (which was often, as he had a rather stubborn case of GERD among other things). He slept by my side in a cosleeper for six months. I bought his formula, his diapers, his clothes. I saw his precious smiles. I was there for all his firsts.
And now, three years after that last picture was taken... my baby boy is four.
And I forgot his birthday until today.
No, it wasn't his first birthday without me. Yes, it's been over a year since I've seen him. Yes, I was up to my ears in something else that day. But when it was his sister's birthday in May, I broke - completely. And I forgot his. And he was my baby.
How horrible is that?
When I realized it tonight - that my baby boy turned FOUR without me ever noticing - I knew it was coming up, I never forgot the date... but I missed it - I started to cry.
Four.
Tonight I want to take a minute to talk about my little boy... who isn't such a baby anymore.
He loved mashed potatoes. And pizza. And pretty much any kind of junk food... but when he was a baby, peas were his favorite.
His first word was "duck". And I put a lot of effort into that! The kid had more ducks than I can count on all my fingers and toes.
My mom used to sing him "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep", and he'd get this serene little smile on his face, like that song just made everything better... even when I teased her after realizing that the lyrics sort of, kind of suggest that it might be about slavery.
His favorite toys were balls, cars, and any markers he could get his hands on. Thus the following picture:
Once, he dumped out an entire bag of potato chips, and then laid in them. Some people would've been mad. I barely managed to stop laughing long enough to take a picture.
He loved his bath... except for the part where I had to wash his hair. He didn't like water to touch his head... at first I thought it was just lying down, but dumping it was worse.
When he was 18 months old he broke his leg while not in my care. He had just barely started walking and then had to drag that heavy thing around half the summer... it sucked. But it didn't keep my little guy down.
This is the last picture I took of him...
My best friend was cutting his sister's hair, and he took it upon himself to find one of her daughter's headbands and put it on - his way. It was too cute not to take a picture!
He was two and a half when I said goodbye to him. I had no idea it would be the last goodbye for so long.
He faced so many struggles in his short little life. I wonder how he's doing now. If his fits have calmed down or gotten worse. If his language has improved, or slacked. If he's still my chunky monkey who was wearing 4T shirts at two. If he's anywhere near potty training. If he's going to Head Start.
Even just where he is.
Because that little boy is another piece of my heart, walking around outside my body. And maybe I didn't have him as long, or as intensely, as I had his sister, but he was my little boy all the same. And I miss him. I love him.
Happy late birthday little man. I know it's no excuse, but if you were here, I wouldn't have forgotten. We'd have had a party. Maybe driven down to Nelsonville to ride the train (if you don't like trains, you would have if you'd stuck around me much longer!) like we did when my brother was that age.
One day we'll be together again. I know it. Love you much, my little goober pea.
I don't talk about her half-brother a lot. And he was my baby too. In fact, he was almost more my baby... because when I brought him home at 8 weeks old, no one had ever attended to his needs the way I did. I was his first secure attachment. I was the one he wanted when nobody else could calm him down. I never even realized the gravity of it until my mom told me one day, after the umpteenth person had handed him back to me to handle, "You're his favorite person in the whole world. Nobody loves him like you do."
And I cried. I held my baby boy - my first baby boy, and cried. Because I loved him so much.
 |
| First picture... blurry picture... of his first night home. |
I was the one up with him all those sleepless nights. I was the one who comforted him when he didn't feel well (which was often, as he had a rather stubborn case of GERD among other things). He slept by my side in a cosleeper for six months. I bought his formula, his diapers, his clothes. I saw his precious smiles. I was there for all his firsts.
 |
| First bath |
 |
| First baby food |
 |
| First time swimming |
 |
| First trip to the pumpkin patch |
 |
| First Trick-or-Treat |
 |
| First birthday |
And now, three years after that last picture was taken... my baby boy is four.
And I forgot his birthday until today.
No, it wasn't his first birthday without me. Yes, it's been over a year since I've seen him. Yes, I was up to my ears in something else that day. But when it was his sister's birthday in May, I broke - completely. And I forgot his. And he was my baby.
How horrible is that?
When I realized it tonight - that my baby boy turned FOUR without me ever noticing - I knew it was coming up, I never forgot the date... but I missed it - I started to cry.
Four.
Tonight I want to take a minute to talk about my little boy... who isn't such a baby anymore.
He loved mashed potatoes. And pizza. And pretty much any kind of junk food... but when he was a baby, peas were his favorite.
His first word was "duck". And I put a lot of effort into that! The kid had more ducks than I can count on all my fingers and toes.
My mom used to sing him "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep", and he'd get this serene little smile on his face, like that song just made everything better... even when I teased her after realizing that the lyrics sort of, kind of suggest that it might be about slavery.
His favorite toys were balls, cars, and any markers he could get his hands on. Thus the following picture:
Once, he dumped out an entire bag of potato chips, and then laid in them. Some people would've been mad. I barely managed to stop laughing long enough to take a picture.
He loved his bath... except for the part where I had to wash his hair. He didn't like water to touch his head... at first I thought it was just lying down, but dumping it was worse.
When he was 18 months old he broke his leg while not in my care. He had just barely started walking and then had to drag that heavy thing around half the summer... it sucked. But it didn't keep my little guy down.
This is the last picture I took of him...
My best friend was cutting his sister's hair, and he took it upon himself to find one of her daughter's headbands and put it on - his way. It was too cute not to take a picture!
He was two and a half when I said goodbye to him. I had no idea it would be the last goodbye for so long.
He faced so many struggles in his short little life. I wonder how he's doing now. If his fits have calmed down or gotten worse. If his language has improved, or slacked. If he's still my chunky monkey who was wearing 4T shirts at two. If he's anywhere near potty training. If he's going to Head Start.
Even just where he is.
Because that little boy is another piece of my heart, walking around outside my body. And maybe I didn't have him as long, or as intensely, as I had his sister, but he was my little boy all the same. And I miss him. I love him.
Happy late birthday little man. I know it's no excuse, but if you were here, I wouldn't have forgotten. We'd have had a party. Maybe driven down to Nelsonville to ride the train (if you don't like trains, you would have if you'd stuck around me much longer!) like we did when my brother was that age.
One day we'll be together again. I know it. Love you much, my little goober pea.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Sometimes
Sometimes, Princess, I wonder what it's like to be you.
One year, three months, and six days ago, you and I had the most difficult conversation either of us have probably had in our entire lives. A conversation I'd feared would eventually happen for over seven years. A conversation that confirmed my worst fears.
I will never forget a single detail about that day, or that conversation. Months later, I was asked how I remembered all the details of that conversation, and I responded, unequivocally, "I will never forget a single word. I can't."
A sick feeling settled in my stomach that day that didn't go away. It got better with time - and distraction - but it never completely went away. Once I knew the truth, I couldn't pretend otherwise.
To this day, things randomly remind me of the immense feelings of that day. Fear. Anger. Disgust. Heartbreak. To this day, sometimes, it feels as though I'm living the whole ordeal over again.
Then I remember. I am the lucky one. For me, it was just a conversation - albeit the most troubling one I have ever had. For me, it was only your words that will stick permanently in my mind.
For you, it is your life.
As much as I'll never forget that day, that conversation, neither will you... and nor will you forget the events that brought it about. You don't simply have to live with the memory of the words, how they made you feel, but with the horrible memories.
So when something brings me back to that day, makes me feel like I'm living the horror all over again, I wonder... do you experience the same thing? Do things remind you, sometimes, of what you've been through? Do you lie awake at night like I do, unable to get the horror out of your head?
My heart breaks when I realize I know the answer.
I remember, a couple years ago, when we all still shared a room, hearing you cry in your sleep. Rousing you from your nightmares and finding you confused to realize you were in a safe place with someone who loved you, and that this time, the terror was only in your dreams.
Yes, you remember.
And then I think how sorry I am. Sorry for what you went through. Sorry that even when you entrusted me with your secret, I couldn't help you. Sorry that while I live with the memory of that conversation in my head every day, popping back up at opportune moments, you live with the real memory. The memory of what happened... sneaking up on you all the same. Sorry that I couldn't put a stop to the chance that something like this might happen to you again.
But then I realize - you're strong. You're one of the strongest people I've ever known, little as you were. Stronger than I am, for sure. When I fell apart... you held it together. What other choice did you have? When I cried and asked God "Why?", you just kept going on... no need to dwell on the "why" of a situation you couldn't change. When I felt as though my joy had been stolen, you went on to find it again wherever you were.
You'll be okay - because you're a survivor.
I just wish you didn't have to survive so much.
I wish you never had those moments that I have, where something hits a little too close to home and brings it all crashing down around you again.
I wish I could shoulder the whole burden for you.
I wish you'd had a chance to just be a kid... none of this weighing on your mind.
But I can't change those things.
So I'll just wait. Wait here for you, the same place you left me.
Until you come home.
And then we'll make all new memories... and fight the monsters in our nightmares together.
I love you, princess. Keep your head up, like you always do. Even when it gets hard.
And I'll keep trying... to be as strong as you.
One year, three months, and six days ago, you and I had the most difficult conversation either of us have probably had in our entire lives. A conversation I'd feared would eventually happen for over seven years. A conversation that confirmed my worst fears.
I will never forget a single detail about that day, or that conversation. Months later, I was asked how I remembered all the details of that conversation, and I responded, unequivocally, "I will never forget a single word. I can't."
A sick feeling settled in my stomach that day that didn't go away. It got better with time - and distraction - but it never completely went away. Once I knew the truth, I couldn't pretend otherwise.
To this day, things randomly remind me of the immense feelings of that day. Fear. Anger. Disgust. Heartbreak. To this day, sometimes, it feels as though I'm living the whole ordeal over again.
Then I remember. I am the lucky one. For me, it was just a conversation - albeit the most troubling one I have ever had. For me, it was only your words that will stick permanently in my mind.
For you, it is your life.
As much as I'll never forget that day, that conversation, neither will you... and nor will you forget the events that brought it about. You don't simply have to live with the memory of the words, how they made you feel, but with the horrible memories.
So when something brings me back to that day, makes me feel like I'm living the horror all over again, I wonder... do you experience the same thing? Do things remind you, sometimes, of what you've been through? Do you lie awake at night like I do, unable to get the horror out of your head?
My heart breaks when I realize I know the answer.
I remember, a couple years ago, when we all still shared a room, hearing you cry in your sleep. Rousing you from your nightmares and finding you confused to realize you were in a safe place with someone who loved you, and that this time, the terror was only in your dreams.
Yes, you remember.
And then I think how sorry I am. Sorry for what you went through. Sorry that even when you entrusted me with your secret, I couldn't help you. Sorry that while I live with the memory of that conversation in my head every day, popping back up at opportune moments, you live with the real memory. The memory of what happened... sneaking up on you all the same. Sorry that I couldn't put a stop to the chance that something like this might happen to you again.
But then I realize - you're strong. You're one of the strongest people I've ever known, little as you were. Stronger than I am, for sure. When I fell apart... you held it together. What other choice did you have? When I cried and asked God "Why?", you just kept going on... no need to dwell on the "why" of a situation you couldn't change. When I felt as though my joy had been stolen, you went on to find it again wherever you were.
You'll be okay - because you're a survivor.
I just wish you didn't have to survive so much.
I wish you never had those moments that I have, where something hits a little too close to home and brings it all crashing down around you again.
I wish I could shoulder the whole burden for you.
I wish you'd had a chance to just be a kid... none of this weighing on your mind.
But I can't change those things.
So I'll just wait. Wait here for you, the same place you left me.
Until you come home.
And then we'll make all new memories... and fight the monsters in our nightmares together.
I love you, princess. Keep your head up, like you always do. Even when it gets hard.
And I'll keep trying... to be as strong as you.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Pretty Picture
Dear Princess,
I haven't written to you in a long time, besides last night. I'm sorry. Sometimes it's just too hard, and I know I have to stay strong so I can be here for you when you come home. But lately, for some reason, I've just been up late every night thinking of you, and wanting to tell you so many things.
Today I spent all day across the street at Shannon's house with her, Mike, the kids, and our friend Hayley and her family. We had a brief conversation that made me think of you and choked me up, and when I came home, I was still thinking of you, and thinking of how even in the short couple of months you knew them, Shannon, Mike and the kids became your family just like they are mine.
When crisis struck for you and me, I relied on Shannon a lot. She came over as soon as I got home on that last day... she sat with me in the front yard while I cried and talked to a police officer and talked to your grandma. Friday night after her kids were in bed, she brought me over pizza and pop and an offer to talk, cry, or whatever I needed. We talked a lot that night, and she made me feel better. She understood the situation we were in better than anyone, and she told me she knew that you knew that I wanted you, that I was fighting for you... and that you wouldn't forget it. I needed to hear that so badly. She spent the next couple days with me... because I just desperately needed to not be alone.
The next time I saw your friends J and N, they were eating lunch at the kitchen table, and J asked to say a prayer. She said "Bless Mommy and Daddy and Mike and Katie and N and M and grandmas and grandpas and uncles and aunts and everyone we love, and especially pray for A, so she can be safe and come home to Katie's house and play with us some more.... and that's all." When Shannon looked over I had tears in my eyes. Your friends loved you so much, that even though they were just kids themselves, they remembered to pray for you.
It was only a couple months ago that I was standing in their kitchen and noticed something. Your picture, your 2nd grade school picture, was hanging on their refridgerator. I'd given it to them a while back, so the girls would have it to remember their friend. I commented "Aww. It's my baby!" and Shannon told me the picture had been hanging there since I'd given it to her, so that they'd think of you every day.
I was so touched. Sweetie, as much rotten luck as we've had, we've had good luck too. We've had amazing people put in our lives. Shannon and Mike and J and N love you and think about you and pray for you to this very day. They support me and listen to me when I need a shoulder to cry on because I just miss you so much. They know the situation we're in better than anybody else, they know how hard it is, and they care. And just because you're not here right now doesn't mean they've stopped caring. Not one bit. They haven't forgotten you any more than I have... and trust me, forgetting you is something I will NEVER do.
So even when you feel alone... like I do sometimes when I miss you so much that I think nobody could possibly understand... I want you to know that you're not alone. You have people, just like I do, who are thinking of you and praying for you, even if you don't know it... and they'll be right here with me to hug you and welcome you whenever you come home!
Don't forget... I love you like the moon at night... big, and round, and warm, and bright.
I love you, goodnight.
<3 - "Kai"
I haven't written to you in a long time, besides last night. I'm sorry. Sometimes it's just too hard, and I know I have to stay strong so I can be here for you when you come home. But lately, for some reason, I've just been up late every night thinking of you, and wanting to tell you so many things.
Today I spent all day across the street at Shannon's house with her, Mike, the kids, and our friend Hayley and her family. We had a brief conversation that made me think of you and choked me up, and when I came home, I was still thinking of you, and thinking of how even in the short couple of months you knew them, Shannon, Mike and the kids became your family just like they are mine.
When crisis struck for you and me, I relied on Shannon a lot. She came over as soon as I got home on that last day... she sat with me in the front yard while I cried and talked to a police officer and talked to your grandma. Friday night after her kids were in bed, she brought me over pizza and pop and an offer to talk, cry, or whatever I needed. We talked a lot that night, and she made me feel better. She understood the situation we were in better than anyone, and she told me she knew that you knew that I wanted you, that I was fighting for you... and that you wouldn't forget it. I needed to hear that so badly. She spent the next couple days with me... because I just desperately needed to not be alone.
The next time I saw your friends J and N, they were eating lunch at the kitchen table, and J asked to say a prayer. She said "Bless Mommy and Daddy and Mike and Katie and N and M and grandmas and grandpas and uncles and aunts and everyone we love, and especially pray for A, so she can be safe and come home to Katie's house and play with us some more.... and that's all." When Shannon looked over I had tears in my eyes. Your friends loved you so much, that even though they were just kids themselves, they remembered to pray for you.
It was only a couple months ago that I was standing in their kitchen and noticed something. Your picture, your 2nd grade school picture, was hanging on their refridgerator. I'd given it to them a while back, so the girls would have it to remember their friend. I commented "Aww. It's my baby!" and Shannon told me the picture had been hanging there since I'd given it to her, so that they'd think of you every day.
I was so touched. Sweetie, as much rotten luck as we've had, we've had good luck too. We've had amazing people put in our lives. Shannon and Mike and J and N love you and think about you and pray for you to this very day. They support me and listen to me when I need a shoulder to cry on because I just miss you so much. They know the situation we're in better than anybody else, they know how hard it is, and they care. And just because you're not here right now doesn't mean they've stopped caring. Not one bit. They haven't forgotten you any more than I have... and trust me, forgetting you is something I will NEVER do.
So even when you feel alone... like I do sometimes when I miss you so much that I think nobody could possibly understand... I want you to know that you're not alone. You have people, just like I do, who are thinking of you and praying for you, even if you don't know it... and they'll be right here with me to hug you and welcome you whenever you come home!
Don't forget... I love you like the moon at night... big, and round, and warm, and bright.
I love you, goodnight.
<3 - "Kai"
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
The Last Day
I think about it all the time.
The last day.
The last hug.
The last words.
The first tears.
I woke up before the sun and put on my brave face before I woke you.
I practiced holding back the fear, dread, sorrow, and disgust that had been festering in me all the day before.
I shook you awake and readied you to leave the place that had been our haven for almost a week.
We said goodbye to the ocean.
I drove us to the shuttle bus. We climbed in and I buckled you safe in your booster seat.
Every mile we drove closer to the airport, my shoulders felt a little heavier.
We got donuts for breakfast. The anxiety in my stomach kept me from eating much of mine.
I like to think you had no idea.
I tried not to let on.
We boarded the first plane. I let you pick, aisle or window. You picked window. We watched Florida out of sight. We played with play-doh. We watched the sun coming up over the ocean. We looked through an I-Spy book. We got drinks from the beverage cart. You wore your Minnie Mouse ears the whole time.
In a plane, the miles go by faster.
By the time we landed in Washington DC, my stomach had sunk impossibly low.
We got lunch at Wendy's between flights. You got barbecue sauce with your nuggets. I couldn't eat, again.
I didn't want to get on the plane.
I kept hoping that somehow it would be delayed, cancelled, diverted. I didn't care how or why.
It wasn't.
We boarded. I took a few last pictures.
I hope I'm imagining an edge of nervousness behind your smile.
I know I'm not imagining it in mine.
As I watched the ground grow closer, I drew you near me.
It was time to tell you.
All the feelings I'd been trying to hide all day... you were about to feel them too.
I had tried to keep that from you as long as I could.
I told you that I was going to take you to meet some people. People that we'd never met before, but I knew they were nice people because I'd talked to them the previous day.
I told you I needed your help. I told you they could help us, but only if you told them the truth.
You didn't want to.
Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you.
But I did. I asked you if you wanted them to help us. You said yes. I asked you if you would tell them the truth so they could do that. You said yes.
I wonder if you knew then, or if you didn't know until later, that I was asking too much of you?
I wonder if you knew you wouldn't be able to do what I'd asked?
Wheels touched down.
You told me you just wanted to go 'home'. "To the cats". To OUR house.
I told you I did too... but we had to tell the people the truth first.
This time I wasn't the only one carrying a weight of stress on my shoulders as we walked through the airport.
It was palpable how there was no longer any distance between us and that which we feared.
I was afraid to let you out of my sight even to use the restroom (but I did).
As we sat in the baggage claim waiting for my mom, the stress mounted.
I tried to lighten the mood, playing games with you, chatting about things of little consequence.
Minutes lasted for days. I wished them away. I wanted to get the hard part over with.
Now I wish I had those minutes back.
When my mom finally came, we both hugged her. You told her, too, that you wanted to go home to the cats.
She, too, reassured you that we would... we just had one stop to make.
I wonder if your palms sweated like mine did on that car ride.
We walked into the building together. I asked for someone to help us. They tried to send us away. I begged. I insisted.
Things didn't go as planned.
I had wanted you to feel safe. Safe enough to share the burdens of your heart.
You knew you weren't.
I tried to hide the phone calls from you. The angry voices.
It was because of that that I almost missed the last hug I gave you.
A woman came out to take you to a room to talk. Her name was Katie too. I remember telling you that if her name was Katie she MUST be our friend.
I gave you a hug.
I told you I loved you.
I watched you out of sight.
You didn't want to go without me.
You were scared.
I pushed you too much.
No matter how much you might have wanted to do what I'd asked, your secrets stayed locked away.
The woman came back without you.
She told me you hadn't told her anything.
She told me we would have to leave.
Without you.
I asked her if I could say goodbye to you.
"I don't think that's a good idea," was her response.
She told me you were already crying for me.
I broke.
Panic struck me. Terror.
I begged her to protect you. To tell you I loved you.
She said she would.
I clung to my mom and cried.
She, too, demanded your safety.
We were given a chance to gather a few of your belongings to give to you.
I was shaking. I wasn't thinking clearly.
I don't even remember what was in the bag.
I gave it to the woman named Katie. I asked her again to make sure you knew we loved you.
Then I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life.
The hardest thing I will ever do.
I walked out of that building without you.
As we walked down the sidewalk, my mom and I, a thought crossed my mind.
Another time. A time when I had been on the inside of a window similar to the ones we were walking by. A mimed reassurance.
I turned to look in the windows just in time.
There you were.
Behind two inches of glass.
Sitting stiffly in a chair, alone.
Looking right back at me.
When you saw me you stood, and came to the window.
I immediately stopped the flow of my tears and forced a smile.
I pointed to my eye.
Then I crossed my arms.
Then I pointed at you.
You pointed to your eye.
You crossed your arms.
You pointed at me.
Then you held up two fingers.
I touched my fingers to the glass.
You touched your fingers to the glass.
I tore my body from where it was cemented to the ground.
I waved. I mouthed "bye-bye".
I forced another smile.
Then I turned away.
I walked to the car.
I cried all the way home.
I failed you.
I'm sorry.
A hug of reassurance.
A signed 'I love you' through two inches of glass.
A flood of salty tears.
And that was the last day I spent with you.
The last day.
The last hug.
The last words.
The first tears.
I woke up before the sun and put on my brave face before I woke you.
I practiced holding back the fear, dread, sorrow, and disgust that had been festering in me all the day before.
I shook you awake and readied you to leave the place that had been our haven for almost a week.
We said goodbye to the ocean.
I drove us to the shuttle bus. We climbed in and I buckled you safe in your booster seat.
Every mile we drove closer to the airport, my shoulders felt a little heavier.
We got donuts for breakfast. The anxiety in my stomach kept me from eating much of mine.
I like to think you had no idea.
I tried not to let on.
We boarded the first plane. I let you pick, aisle or window. You picked window. We watched Florida out of sight. We played with play-doh. We watched the sun coming up over the ocean. We looked through an I-Spy book. We got drinks from the beverage cart. You wore your Minnie Mouse ears the whole time.
In a plane, the miles go by faster.
By the time we landed in Washington DC, my stomach had sunk impossibly low.
We got lunch at Wendy's between flights. You got barbecue sauce with your nuggets. I couldn't eat, again.
I didn't want to get on the plane.
I kept hoping that somehow it would be delayed, cancelled, diverted. I didn't care how or why.
It wasn't.
We boarded. I took a few last pictures.
I hope I'm imagining an edge of nervousness behind your smile.
I know I'm not imagining it in mine.
As I watched the ground grow closer, I drew you near me.
It was time to tell you.
All the feelings I'd been trying to hide all day... you were about to feel them too.
I had tried to keep that from you as long as I could.
I told you that I was going to take you to meet some people. People that we'd never met before, but I knew they were nice people because I'd talked to them the previous day.
I told you I needed your help. I told you they could help us, but only if you told them the truth.
You didn't want to.
Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you.
But I did. I asked you if you wanted them to help us. You said yes. I asked you if you would tell them the truth so they could do that. You said yes.
I wonder if you knew then, or if you didn't know until later, that I was asking too much of you?
I wonder if you knew you wouldn't be able to do what I'd asked?
Wheels touched down.
You told me you just wanted to go 'home'. "To the cats". To OUR house.
I told you I did too... but we had to tell the people the truth first.
This time I wasn't the only one carrying a weight of stress on my shoulders as we walked through the airport.
It was palpable how there was no longer any distance between us and that which we feared.
I was afraid to let you out of my sight even to use the restroom (but I did).
As we sat in the baggage claim waiting for my mom, the stress mounted.
I tried to lighten the mood, playing games with you, chatting about things of little consequence.
Minutes lasted for days. I wished them away. I wanted to get the hard part over with.
Now I wish I had those minutes back.
When my mom finally came, we both hugged her. You told her, too, that you wanted to go home to the cats.
She, too, reassured you that we would... we just had one stop to make.
I wonder if your palms sweated like mine did on that car ride.
We walked into the building together. I asked for someone to help us. They tried to send us away. I begged. I insisted.
Things didn't go as planned.
I had wanted you to feel safe. Safe enough to share the burdens of your heart.
You knew you weren't.
I tried to hide the phone calls from you. The angry voices.
It was because of that that I almost missed the last hug I gave you.
A woman came out to take you to a room to talk. Her name was Katie too. I remember telling you that if her name was Katie she MUST be our friend.
I gave you a hug.
I told you I loved you.
I watched you out of sight.
You didn't want to go without me.
You were scared.
I pushed you too much.
No matter how much you might have wanted to do what I'd asked, your secrets stayed locked away.
The woman came back without you.
She told me you hadn't told her anything.
She told me we would have to leave.
Without you.
I asked her if I could say goodbye to you.
"I don't think that's a good idea," was her response.
She told me you were already crying for me.
I broke.
Panic struck me. Terror.
I begged her to protect you. To tell you I loved you.
She said she would.
I clung to my mom and cried.
She, too, demanded your safety.
We were given a chance to gather a few of your belongings to give to you.
I was shaking. I wasn't thinking clearly.
I don't even remember what was in the bag.
I gave it to the woman named Katie. I asked her again to make sure you knew we loved you.
Then I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life.
The hardest thing I will ever do.
I walked out of that building without you.
As we walked down the sidewalk, my mom and I, a thought crossed my mind.
Another time. A time when I had been on the inside of a window similar to the ones we were walking by. A mimed reassurance.
I turned to look in the windows just in time.
There you were.
Behind two inches of glass.
Sitting stiffly in a chair, alone.
Looking right back at me.
When you saw me you stood, and came to the window.
I immediately stopped the flow of my tears and forced a smile.
I pointed to my eye.
Then I crossed my arms.
Then I pointed at you.
You pointed to your eye.
You crossed your arms.
You pointed at me.
Then you held up two fingers.
I touched my fingers to the glass.
You touched your fingers to the glass.
I tore my body from where it was cemented to the ground.
I waved. I mouthed "bye-bye".
I forced another smile.
Then I turned away.
I walked to the car.
I cried all the way home.
I failed you.
I'm sorry.
A hug of reassurance.
A signed 'I love you' through two inches of glass.
A flood of salty tears.
And that was the last day I spent with you.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Confessions
I have to confess something.
I hate this time of year.
The holidays are hard for me.
I don't care for the Halloween costumes, candy, buckets and decorations.
I hide out alone on Trick or Treat night.
I get sick of seeing and hearing "I'm thankful" everywhere.
I even hurt, seeing stores stock up with Christmas trees, twinkly lights, colored papers and toys for every child's wish list.
I hurt going to the mall and seeing the line of squirming children waiting to see Santa.
I dread going to events, get-togethers, and even just family dinners... and putting on a plastic smile, because I'm not really happy.
I wasn't always that way.
I used to love going to the pumpkin patch.
I used to wait anxiously for Trick-or-Treat night.
I used to have so much to be thankful for.
So much that words weren't even enough to describe it.
I used to love setting cookies and letters out for 'Santa' (even when it wasn't for me anymore).
I relished in creating the perfect scene for 'Christmas morning'.
I even loved the post-Christmas mess left in our living room every year.
But now it's all a painful reminder.
I don't have anyone to take Trick-or-Treating.
There's no one to watch playing at the pumpkin patch.
I lost those for whom I was once most thankful.
There's no one to write letters to Santa or pose for photo ops.
No one to appreciate the culmination of my efforts on Christmas morning.
Not much point in really making an effort at all.
When everyone else talks about their kids' costumes, handprint turkeys and mile-long wish lists...
I think about my wish list.
And there's only one thing on it.
I just want to see them again. It's killing me to miss them growing up.
So I'm sorry, in advance, for my plastic smile.
I'm sorry for the times I'll excuse myself to go cry in the bathroom.
I'm sorry I can't be excited with you when you tell me your holiday plans.
This time of year is just too painful right now.
Maybe someday it won't be.
Maybe.
I hate this time of year.
The holidays are hard for me.
I don't care for the Halloween costumes, candy, buckets and decorations.
I hide out alone on Trick or Treat night.
I get sick of seeing and hearing "I'm thankful" everywhere.
I even hurt, seeing stores stock up with Christmas trees, twinkly lights, colored papers and toys for every child's wish list.
I hurt going to the mall and seeing the line of squirming children waiting to see Santa.
I dread going to events, get-togethers, and even just family dinners... and putting on a plastic smile, because I'm not really happy.
I wasn't always that way.
I used to love going to the pumpkin patch.
I used to wait anxiously for Trick-or-Treat night.
I used to have so much to be thankful for.
So much that words weren't even enough to describe it.
I used to love setting cookies and letters out for 'Santa' (even when it wasn't for me anymore).
I relished in creating the perfect scene for 'Christmas morning'.
I even loved the post-Christmas mess left in our living room every year.
But now it's all a painful reminder.
I don't have anyone to take Trick-or-Treating.
There's no one to watch playing at the pumpkin patch.
I lost those for whom I was once most thankful.
There's no one to write letters to Santa or pose for photo ops.
No one to appreciate the culmination of my efforts on Christmas morning.
Not much point in really making an effort at all.
When everyone else talks about their kids' costumes, handprint turkeys and mile-long wish lists...
I think about my wish list.
And there's only one thing on it.
I just want to see them again. It's killing me to miss them growing up.
So I'm sorry, in advance, for my plastic smile.
I'm sorry for the times I'll excuse myself to go cry in the bathroom.
I'm sorry I can't be excited with you when you tell me your holiday plans.
This time of year is just too painful right now.
Maybe someday it won't be.
Maybe.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Time Flies
Sometimes I just can't get over it.
This feels like it was just last week.
It wasn't. It was years ago. Those handprints aren't so little anymore.
Those little girls have grown so much.
My baby isn't a baby anymore.
He's probably starting Head Start this year... when it seems like just yesterday his sister was graduating.
She's ten whole years old and going to be in fourth grade this year - I can't believe it. When I took the above picture, she had just started Kindergarten. (The date is wrong)
My 'Little A' is older than my M was when this sweet picture was taken.
M started high school last week.
This trip to the zoo was over four years ago.
My babies. They were so beautiful.
They are so beautiful.
They wouldn't even fit in these car seats anymore.
I love them.
I miss my little boy... my trouble-maker, who will be four years old this year.
I miss my little girl... the one who has seen more than any child should have to... and who finds a reason to smile anyways.
I thank God I still have the privilege of spending time with my big girl... who is turning into such a wonderful young lady.
Time flies.
Kids grow.
Enjoy every minute you have with them.
This feels like it was just last week.
It wasn't. It was years ago. Those handprints aren't so little anymore.
Those little girls have grown so much.
My baby isn't a baby anymore.
He's probably starting Head Start this year... when it seems like just yesterday his sister was graduating.
She's ten whole years old and going to be in fourth grade this year - I can't believe it. When I took the above picture, she had just started Kindergarten. (The date is wrong)
My 'Little A' is older than my M was when this sweet picture was taken.
M started high school last week.
This trip to the zoo was over four years ago.
My babies. They were so beautiful.
They are so beautiful.
They wouldn't even fit in these car seats anymore.
I miss my little boy... my trouble-maker, who will be four years old this year.
I miss my little girl... the one who has seen more than any child should have to... and who finds a reason to smile anyways.
I thank God I still have the privilege of spending time with my big girl... who is turning into such a wonderful young lady.
Time flies.
Kids grow.
Enjoy every minute you have with them.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Anniversaries
This summer has been full of anniversaries for me. Not so much joyous ones as painful ones, unfortunately. I'm doing pretty well staying in the present despite these strong memories, but I also think it's healthy to respect the past and the feelings these anniversaries bring out in me. For that reason, I'd like to take a moment to reflect on them tonight.
The first anniversary I faced this summer was an old one, a wound that has healed over and instead become a scar - one that has changed me and that I will have with me always, but no longer so fresh. June 13, 2001, was the day my parents split up. It always falls within a week or two of another day in June that causes me distress over the things my family has been through in the past 12 years as well. But in the past few years I've been okay. This year, that just so happened to also be the anniversary of the day A and I left for the best vacation of our lives. So yes, I looked back on and felt the depth of how my life changed on that day 12 years ago, but I no longer thought only of how it changed for the worse - I looked at how it shaped me as a person and even changed for the better. Would I have ever become the person I did and left for that vacation a year ago if it weren't for the events of my adolescence? Would I have the empathy I do for teens who are going through similar things to what I did? Probably not... and for that I wouldn't change a thing.
The next set of anniversaries was harder. June 20 was the day our lives changed forever... the day my sweet A told me the one secret I couldn't keep... the day I set out trying to make things right for her... and ultimately failed. The following day, the 21st, was the day we flew home and disaster struck. They didn't believe us. I couldn't keep my promise... the one I made to A that I would help her. I couldn't keep it because the system wouldn't let me. We parted ways in the most painful way possible... we said our goodbyes in sign language through a plate glass window... I... love... you...
June 27 was the hardest anniversary of all. That was the day it had been one year since I saw my princess A. That was the last time I laid eyes on her, our final goodbye. I remember it like it was yesterday. She was in the back of her grandpa's truck, no booster seat. Somehow I bought myself time. I spoke as quickly as I could. I told her I loved her, that I had tried to help her, and that I was sorry for the things that were happening to us. I told her I would miss her and that I would always be here for her. I asked her if she remembered my phone number. She said she did. I told her to remember to tell the truth all the time, and to try not to get in trouble, to make good choices at school and to take care of her little brother. Then I told her I loved her again. When they drove away with her, we both waved until we were out of sight. That was the last time I ever saw the little girl I raised for seven years... the little girl I love like she were my own flesh and blood... who I would give my life for. Now it's been a year. The longest I have ever been away from her by far. Not a day, or even a moment goes by that I don't miss her... that I don't regret what happened a year ago... but I do believe she's coming home, one way or another, and that God will protect her until then.
This year the pain of that anniversary was eased by the joy of a coming birth. I spent the night at my best friend's house helping her prepare to be induced the following day with her 4th little girl. After a couple of crazy days with hospital policy, Rylee was born on Sunday, June 30.
Those days last year set in motion a battle we fought for the better part of a year... one that didn't end the way we hoped it would. It makes the anniversaries sting all the more that we tried so hard to make things okay, and we just couldn't. Those painful anniversaries shouldn't exist. They just shouldn't. We should be enjoying another summer together... but instead, we're both going it more or less alone. I live for the day we have a happy anniversary to celebrate... a homecoming.
July holds a different set of anniversaries. Tomorrow, July 15, will mark two years since my best friend Angie went to Heaven after a five and a half year battle with cancer. She was only 20 years old. It was a year ago, almost to the minute, that I last saw her... that we said, not "Goodbye", but "See you later". We never said goodbye... we even talked about how we never would... because we knew it wouldn't be goodbye, not really. We knew we'd see each other again in another life. Instead, the last words I said to her were "I love you."
This may be the only two days of the year that I spend much time thinking about those particular hours two years ago that came at the end of Angie's life. That's not the person she was and that's not how I like to remember her. That's not how she would want to be remembered. I spend most of my time focusing on who she was before that - the funny, silly, compassionate, beautiful, strong and amazing person who was my best friend for so long. I remember how scared she was of 'losing herself'. She didn't want a time to come when she didn't feel like herself, because she was so sick. I thank God that she was able to maintain her sense of self right up until the very last week. I thank God that when that time came, He brought her home quickly. I thank God that He gave us time to say that one last "I love you". And even in those last difficult days... I know she could hear us. I know she knew we were there. She became agitated when someone started to cry. She calmed when we reassured her that we would be okay. She heard us when we told her it was okay to let go. Her pain ended two years ago. In that way, it's a happy anniversary. But it's a terrible one for the rest of the world, for we lost a beautiful, amazing person... one who I was privileged to call one of my best friends.
At the end of the month, a day will come that marks one year since the passing of my precious one-year-old kitten, Boo. A couple weeks later will come the happier anniversary that marks the homecoming of his younger brother, Marbles. My kitty-babies. This August will mark one year since a very dark time in my life. But I'm better already and I'm going nowhere but up.
As painfully full of anniversaries as this summer has been, I am proud of the way I have handled them. I am glad for the happy new memories I've made, and for all the ones I'll make in the future. And I know one day, just like the anniversary of the day my parents split up, the wound that those days have given me will be nothing but a scar - one that has changed me, and one that has made me who I am.
The first anniversary I faced this summer was an old one, a wound that has healed over and instead become a scar - one that has changed me and that I will have with me always, but no longer so fresh. June 13, 2001, was the day my parents split up. It always falls within a week or two of another day in June that causes me distress over the things my family has been through in the past 12 years as well. But in the past few years I've been okay. This year, that just so happened to also be the anniversary of the day A and I left for the best vacation of our lives. So yes, I looked back on and felt the depth of how my life changed on that day 12 years ago, but I no longer thought only of how it changed for the worse - I looked at how it shaped me as a person and even changed for the better. Would I have ever become the person I did and left for that vacation a year ago if it weren't for the events of my adolescence? Would I have the empathy I do for teens who are going through similar things to what I did? Probably not... and for that I wouldn't change a thing.
The next set of anniversaries was harder. June 20 was the day our lives changed forever... the day my sweet A told me the one secret I couldn't keep... the day I set out trying to make things right for her... and ultimately failed. The following day, the 21st, was the day we flew home and disaster struck. They didn't believe us. I couldn't keep my promise... the one I made to A that I would help her. I couldn't keep it because the system wouldn't let me. We parted ways in the most painful way possible... we said our goodbyes in sign language through a plate glass window... I... love... you...
 |
| June 20, 2012... the day the storm brewed up. |
 |
| June 21, 2012... the last happy picture before everything changed. |
June 27 was the hardest anniversary of all. That was the day it had been one year since I saw my princess A. That was the last time I laid eyes on her, our final goodbye. I remember it like it was yesterday. She was in the back of her grandpa's truck, no booster seat. Somehow I bought myself time. I spoke as quickly as I could. I told her I loved her, that I had tried to help her, and that I was sorry for the things that were happening to us. I told her I would miss her and that I would always be here for her. I asked her if she remembered my phone number. She said she did. I told her to remember to tell the truth all the time, and to try not to get in trouble, to make good choices at school and to take care of her little brother. Then I told her I loved her again. When they drove away with her, we both waved until we were out of sight. That was the last time I ever saw the little girl I raised for seven years... the little girl I love like she were my own flesh and blood... who I would give my life for. Now it's been a year. The longest I have ever been away from her by far. Not a day, or even a moment goes by that I don't miss her... that I don't regret what happened a year ago... but I do believe she's coming home, one way or another, and that God will protect her until then.
This year the pain of that anniversary was eased by the joy of a coming birth. I spent the night at my best friend's house helping her prepare to be induced the following day with her 4th little girl. After a couple of crazy days with hospital policy, Rylee was born on Sunday, June 30.
 |
| Congrats, Shannon & Mike, and thanks for the new memories of snuggling your little ones! |
Those days last year set in motion a battle we fought for the better part of a year... one that didn't end the way we hoped it would. It makes the anniversaries sting all the more that we tried so hard to make things okay, and we just couldn't. Those painful anniversaries shouldn't exist. They just shouldn't. We should be enjoying another summer together... but instead, we're both going it more or less alone. I live for the day we have a happy anniversary to celebrate... a homecoming.
July holds a different set of anniversaries. Tomorrow, July 15, will mark two years since my best friend Angie went to Heaven after a five and a half year battle with cancer. She was only 20 years old. It was a year ago, almost to the minute, that I last saw her... that we said, not "Goodbye", but "See you later". We never said goodbye... we even talked about how we never would... because we knew it wouldn't be goodbye, not really. We knew we'd see each other again in another life. Instead, the last words I said to her were "I love you."
This may be the only two days of the year that I spend much time thinking about those particular hours two years ago that came at the end of Angie's life. That's not the person she was and that's not how I like to remember her. That's not how she would want to be remembered. I spend most of my time focusing on who she was before that - the funny, silly, compassionate, beautiful, strong and amazing person who was my best friend for so long. I remember how scared she was of 'losing herself'. She didn't want a time to come when she didn't feel like herself, because she was so sick. I thank God that she was able to maintain her sense of self right up until the very last week. I thank God that when that time came, He brought her home quickly. I thank God that He gave us time to say that one last "I love you". And even in those last difficult days... I know she could hear us. I know she knew we were there. She became agitated when someone started to cry. She calmed when we reassured her that we would be okay. She heard us when we told her it was okay to let go. Her pain ended two years ago. In that way, it's a happy anniversary. But it's a terrible one for the rest of the world, for we lost a beautiful, amazing person... one who I was privileged to call one of my best friends.
 |
| Angie and I, goofing off a little over two years ago. |
At the end of the month, a day will come that marks one year since the passing of my precious one-year-old kitten, Boo. A couple weeks later will come the happier anniversary that marks the homecoming of his younger brother, Marbles. My kitty-babies. This August will mark one year since a very dark time in my life. But I'm better already and I'm going nowhere but up.
 |
| My Boo, when he was a tiny kitten. |
 |
| My Marbles... this is about as tiny as he ever was! |
As painfully full of anniversaries as this summer has been, I am proud of the way I have handled them. I am glad for the happy new memories I've made, and for all the ones I'll make in the future. And I know one day, just like the anniversary of the day my parents split up, the wound that those days have given me will be nothing but a scar - one that has changed me, and one that has made me who I am.
Friday, June 7, 2013
I Know You
Dear Princess,
Not a day goes by that I don't remember the little things about you. Tonight I was sitting here with my cat, Marbles, who will be a year old next month, and realized you'd never even seen him. It's been that long - eleven months and eleven days - since I saw you last. That hurts my heart in a way I don't even know how to describe.
I'm working on a digital collage, when a picture comes up in my image search from the video to a Taylor Swift song. Instantly I remember how much you loved her. How you sang all the songs in the car, and had names for all of them... "The Princess One," "The Angel One"... I can still hear every note of your voice as you sat in the back seat of my car in your booster seat singing "I was... 'chanted to meet youuuuuu". I remember the time White Horse was playing, and the lyric "Stupid girl, I should've known" played, and you piped up, "Stupid girl?! That is NOT very nice!" I smile when I remember. It's one of the only times I genuinely smile anymore... when I remember the joy you brought to my life.
I know you. I know you so well that every little detail reminds me. Down to the color pink. If I see pink and purple balloons, I think how you would have wanted one. I see a frilly skirt in the store, and I comment to whomever is with me "I would have had to buy this for A." Sometimes I still find myself wandering around the girls' clothing department of stores, checking for your size in all the cutest outfits, sometimes collecting them to show whomever I'm with, and then finding myself sadly putting them back because I don't have you to dress up in them anymore.
Barbecue sauce reminds me of you. You loved barbecue sauce, you put it on everything. There's still a little cup of it on my dresser that we got at Wendy's in Dulles on our way home almost a year ago. Once, we were going through a drive thru, and for once you hadn't reminded me to get barbecue sauce (you almost always did), but I remembered and asked for it specifically. As we pulled out of the parking lot, you said "Thank you, Katie," and I was puzzled, and I glanced back at you and asked "For what?" You said "For remembering to get me barbecue sauce." And I never forgot again.
Candy dots remind me of you, because when we were in St. Augustine, we saw them at the candy store (you know, the one I spent an arm and a leg in?) and I asked you if you'd ever had them, and you said no, so we bought some. We bought so much candy that day that we never got around to eating them. They're on my dresser with the barbecue sauce - I'm not going to eat them without you.
The local swimming pool reminds me of you. How eager you were to go down the slides as soon as you were tall enough (which is NOTHING like the fearful little girl I take to the fair every year!) and how you always made me go down the blue one and you go down the orange one, because the blue one was dark inside and you didn't like it. I remember how mad you were when we went to a different pool where you weren't tall enough for the slides. That was the pool with the lazy river, in which you were always anything but lazy - doggy paddling in your little innertube so you'd go faster. I remember how when you first started talking, around age four, you called it the "swimming park", only you couldn't quite say the words, so it came out "feminny pok" and it took us two weeks to figure out what you were talking about every time we drove by!
You love dresses and jewelry and getting all fancied up "like a princess". You had a set of princess makeup that you got at your 7th birthday party that sometimes I'd wake up to find you covered in, and all your dolls and stuffed animals too. I remember the time you put makeup on the lips of all the cat knick-knacks on the shelf in your room, and I was mad... but not too mad, because it was cute. You loved silly bands and begged me to buy them for you, but then you gave them all to Noah at daycare, because more than anything else, you LOVED Noah. You still talked about Noah years after the last time you saw him. You ignored almost everyone else at your 7th birthday party to run around and wreck havoc on everything with him. But you said he wasn't your boyfriend, just your friend that was a boy. For all the dresses and jewels, you loved playing with boys. Once, my friends and I took you and your brother to one of my favorite parks, and by the time we left, you'd met and agreed to marry no less than three little boys. One of their moms sent me a picture of the two of you playing that I still have in my email.
You loved to swing, you would've stayed at the park to swing forever if I'd let you. When you were little, little enough to be in a baby swing (which was really through preschool since you were so tiny), you used to tell me to push you "soopafas" (super fast). But then you got a little older and decided you were scared to go too high... but you still loved the swings.
I know your favorite books. You would recite every word of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom with me. You liked to make me read the really long books on nights when we were already late for bedtime... books like Many Moons and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. You loved Buzz Said The Bee and The Cow That Went Oink. You would get mad if I made the animal sounds, you had to point to each one and say them yourself - "Oink-ha, moo-ha, cockadoodledoo-ha, neigh-ha, cheep-ha..." so that it took us about twenty years to get through the book. You thought "Oinoomoo?" was the funniest word in the whole book and would dissolve into giggles every time it was read. You really loved I Spy books and would ask to do one before bed - you were so good at them it took no time at all. We actually stopped reading Where's Waldo, because you found Waldo within two seconds of turning the page every time! You did like to point out the other funny things in the Where's Waldo scenes though.
You couldn't sleep without a stuffed animal. Ellfant, or your cats, or your webkinz. I can't count the times I had to go hunt one of them down before you would go to bed. You liked to put them all into sets too, babies and mommies. You had to have babies and mommies of everything, and you had such an imagination that they were always playing together and zooming through the air. For a while after you got your own room, which you'd never had before, I had such trouble keeping you in bed at night that I basically had to bribe you. I'd give you three pennies on your dresser before bed, and every time I had to come back in there to put you back in bed, I would take one away. You got really good at it and started keeping all your pennies, so we switched to two nickels. By the time we went to Florida last summer, we were on one dime and you were steadily breaking the bank.
In second grade, your best friend was a girl named Love. I have her picture in your yearbook. You used to write letters to her in class, but you'd get distracted and not finish them so they'd come home in your folder. Once you told her that you wanted to play with her on recess but you also wanted to play with someone else, so diplomatic, wanting to be everyone's friend.
You absolutely adored M. You copied everything she did, down to the smallest details... the way she was sitting, what she wanted for dessert, what she said... sometimes it drove her crazy, but she loved you so she didn't mind too much. You adored my mom too, and if she was around you'd cling to her like a magnet. You liked to help her kick the laundry down the stairs, dry the dishes, set the table, feed the cats. Oh, how you LOVED the cats, so much that I think they would've preferred a little less love! Once, I caught you in the bathroom with both cats and towels piled up in the corner between the sink and the wall, presumably trying to trap them in one place so you could pet them. When we got off the plane from Florida, all you wanted to do was go home and see the cats. I'm sorry we didn't get to do that.
You loved to play Webkinz and you were better at some of the games than I was. We would sit together and pick out the furniture for your animals' rooms, and when you went to bed I would stay up and play games to get you more Kinzcash to spend.
You loved the song Call Me Maybe, and you sang it constantly while we were in Florida. You told me, "Oh, this is my favorite song! Well, it's my other favorite song. 'Cuz my first favorite song is Taylor Swift." That song would probably drive me crazy if it weren't for you, but to this day I still listen to it on purpose, because it reminds me of happy times with my little girl.
You took the greatest care of your baby, Princess. You always made sure she was impeccably dressed, changed her clothes and diaper regularly, and before you went anywhere you had to make sure she was in her bed, all covered up, with her binky and her bottle. You loved to wear the dress that matched Princess's dress, and you always wanted to take her places with you so people could see how you matched. You loved your white dress shoes and called them "marching shoes" - I have no idea why.
If you were with someone who didn't know you well, you used to insist that you didn't like the crusts of your sandwiches, but if you were with me and you said that, I knew better and told you not to be silly, of course you did - and that was the end of it, because you knew I was right. You loved strawberries with sugar, I'm pretty sure some of your teachers thought I was crazy sending a little baggie full of sugar in your lunch for you to dip your strawberries in. You also loved those Cosmic Brownies with the rainbow chocolate chips on top, and oatmeal creampies... I think I still have a few of those lying around in a petrified state. You loved Honey Bunches of Oats with almonds, but if I wasn't watching you'd pick out all the almonds to eat and leave the rest of the cereal sitting there... so eventually I just bought you almonds, and you turned your nose up at them! You really loved apple juice, and when you were first learning to talk you called it "appadoos".
You had to have your bath the exact right temperature. You didn't like to take showers. You took your bath around room temperature, way too cold for me, but if it was any warmer you'd touch the water and shout "HOT!" Still, every time you took a bath, you were shivering by the time you got out. And even when you were big enough to get yourself in and out of the bath and dressed, you liked for me to sit with you and give you a big towel hug when you got out of the bath. You probably would've stayed in the tub forever if I'd let you sometimes - you always wanted all your foam letters and toys in there, and then you'd flail around like a fish and get water everywhere. The only time you took a fast bath was when the promise of something better after the bath was given - like ice cream or a favorite book.
You did gymnastics, and you loved to practice your flips at the park, but sometimes you were scared and did a modified version. You liked me to braid your hair before gymnastics, just like I always did for M. Your class was at the big red barn, and you always begged to play on the playground before or after. At first, you were scared of the balance beam, but by your last class the night before we left for Florida, you were doing a front flip (with your teacher's help) on it!
You wanted everything with princesses or Dora on it. I still can't walk through a store and see those things without thinking about how you would have commented "OH! I really DO want this!" You also liked to pick out a million dresses, go in the dressing room, and do a photoshoot with each one. Which is good, because I liked to do that too - you just looked so cute in everything!
I could go on forever. I could go through everything in your room and tell you a story about it. I could look at thousands of pictures and tell you about every one of them. If I took the time to write down every single thing I remember about you, I'd be writing for eight years - as long as I knew you.
I wonder about you today. What's the same and what's different. If I know my girl, you still love pink, and singing the most popular songs, and animals, and chicken nuggets. Whatever it is you love, I hope you have as much of it as you could ever want. I miss you, angel... but I will never forget one little bit of who you are. I know you.
And don't forget...
I love you like the moon at night; big, and round, and warm, and bright.
I love you, goodnight.
Not a day goes by that I don't remember the little things about you. Tonight I was sitting here with my cat, Marbles, who will be a year old next month, and realized you'd never even seen him. It's been that long - eleven months and eleven days - since I saw you last. That hurts my heart in a way I don't even know how to describe.
I'm working on a digital collage, when a picture comes up in my image search from the video to a Taylor Swift song. Instantly I remember how much you loved her. How you sang all the songs in the car, and had names for all of them... "The Princess One," "The Angel One"... I can still hear every note of your voice as you sat in the back seat of my car in your booster seat singing "I was... 'chanted to meet youuuuuu". I remember the time White Horse was playing, and the lyric "Stupid girl, I should've known" played, and you piped up, "Stupid girl?! That is NOT very nice!" I smile when I remember. It's one of the only times I genuinely smile anymore... when I remember the joy you brought to my life.
I know you. I know you so well that every little detail reminds me. Down to the color pink. If I see pink and purple balloons, I think how you would have wanted one. I see a frilly skirt in the store, and I comment to whomever is with me "I would have had to buy this for A." Sometimes I still find myself wandering around the girls' clothing department of stores, checking for your size in all the cutest outfits, sometimes collecting them to show whomever I'm with, and then finding myself sadly putting them back because I don't have you to dress up in them anymore.
Barbecue sauce reminds me of you. You loved barbecue sauce, you put it on everything. There's still a little cup of it on my dresser that we got at Wendy's in Dulles on our way home almost a year ago. Once, we were going through a drive thru, and for once you hadn't reminded me to get barbecue sauce (you almost always did), but I remembered and asked for it specifically. As we pulled out of the parking lot, you said "Thank you, Katie," and I was puzzled, and I glanced back at you and asked "For what?" You said "For remembering to get me barbecue sauce." And I never forgot again.
Candy dots remind me of you, because when we were in St. Augustine, we saw them at the candy store (you know, the one I spent an arm and a leg in?) and I asked you if you'd ever had them, and you said no, so we bought some. We bought so much candy that day that we never got around to eating them. They're on my dresser with the barbecue sauce - I'm not going to eat them without you.
The local swimming pool reminds me of you. How eager you were to go down the slides as soon as you were tall enough (which is NOTHING like the fearful little girl I take to the fair every year!) and how you always made me go down the blue one and you go down the orange one, because the blue one was dark inside and you didn't like it. I remember how mad you were when we went to a different pool where you weren't tall enough for the slides. That was the pool with the lazy river, in which you were always anything but lazy - doggy paddling in your little innertube so you'd go faster. I remember how when you first started talking, around age four, you called it the "swimming park", only you couldn't quite say the words, so it came out "feminny pok" and it took us two weeks to figure out what you were talking about every time we drove by!
You love dresses and jewelry and getting all fancied up "like a princess". You had a set of princess makeup that you got at your 7th birthday party that sometimes I'd wake up to find you covered in, and all your dolls and stuffed animals too. I remember the time you put makeup on the lips of all the cat knick-knacks on the shelf in your room, and I was mad... but not too mad, because it was cute. You loved silly bands and begged me to buy them for you, but then you gave them all to Noah at daycare, because more than anything else, you LOVED Noah. You still talked about Noah years after the last time you saw him. You ignored almost everyone else at your 7th birthday party to run around and wreck havoc on everything with him. But you said he wasn't your boyfriend, just your friend that was a boy. For all the dresses and jewels, you loved playing with boys. Once, my friends and I took you and your brother to one of my favorite parks, and by the time we left, you'd met and agreed to marry no less than three little boys. One of their moms sent me a picture of the two of you playing that I still have in my email.
You loved to swing, you would've stayed at the park to swing forever if I'd let you. When you were little, little enough to be in a baby swing (which was really through preschool since you were so tiny), you used to tell me to push you "soopafas" (super fast). But then you got a little older and decided you were scared to go too high... but you still loved the swings.
I know your favorite books. You would recite every word of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom with me. You liked to make me read the really long books on nights when we were already late for bedtime... books like Many Moons and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. You loved Buzz Said The Bee and The Cow That Went Oink. You would get mad if I made the animal sounds, you had to point to each one and say them yourself - "Oink-ha, moo-ha, cockadoodledoo-ha, neigh-ha, cheep-ha..." so that it took us about twenty years to get through the book. You thought "Oinoomoo?" was the funniest word in the whole book and would dissolve into giggles every time it was read. You really loved I Spy books and would ask to do one before bed - you were so good at them it took no time at all. We actually stopped reading Where's Waldo, because you found Waldo within two seconds of turning the page every time! You did like to point out the other funny things in the Where's Waldo scenes though.
You couldn't sleep without a stuffed animal. Ellfant, or your cats, or your webkinz. I can't count the times I had to go hunt one of them down before you would go to bed. You liked to put them all into sets too, babies and mommies. You had to have babies and mommies of everything, and you had such an imagination that they were always playing together and zooming through the air. For a while after you got your own room, which you'd never had before, I had such trouble keeping you in bed at night that I basically had to bribe you. I'd give you three pennies on your dresser before bed, and every time I had to come back in there to put you back in bed, I would take one away. You got really good at it and started keeping all your pennies, so we switched to two nickels. By the time we went to Florida last summer, we were on one dime and you were steadily breaking the bank.
In second grade, your best friend was a girl named Love. I have her picture in your yearbook. You used to write letters to her in class, but you'd get distracted and not finish them so they'd come home in your folder. Once you told her that you wanted to play with her on recess but you also wanted to play with someone else, so diplomatic, wanting to be everyone's friend.
You absolutely adored M. You copied everything she did, down to the smallest details... the way she was sitting, what she wanted for dessert, what she said... sometimes it drove her crazy, but she loved you so she didn't mind too much. You adored my mom too, and if she was around you'd cling to her like a magnet. You liked to help her kick the laundry down the stairs, dry the dishes, set the table, feed the cats. Oh, how you LOVED the cats, so much that I think they would've preferred a little less love! Once, I caught you in the bathroom with both cats and towels piled up in the corner between the sink and the wall, presumably trying to trap them in one place so you could pet them. When we got off the plane from Florida, all you wanted to do was go home and see the cats. I'm sorry we didn't get to do that.
You loved to play Webkinz and you were better at some of the games than I was. We would sit together and pick out the furniture for your animals' rooms, and when you went to bed I would stay up and play games to get you more Kinzcash to spend.
You loved the song Call Me Maybe, and you sang it constantly while we were in Florida. You told me, "Oh, this is my favorite song! Well, it's my other favorite song. 'Cuz my first favorite song is Taylor Swift." That song would probably drive me crazy if it weren't for you, but to this day I still listen to it on purpose, because it reminds me of happy times with my little girl.
You took the greatest care of your baby, Princess. You always made sure she was impeccably dressed, changed her clothes and diaper regularly, and before you went anywhere you had to make sure she was in her bed, all covered up, with her binky and her bottle. You loved to wear the dress that matched Princess's dress, and you always wanted to take her places with you so people could see how you matched. You loved your white dress shoes and called them "marching shoes" - I have no idea why.
If you were with someone who didn't know you well, you used to insist that you didn't like the crusts of your sandwiches, but if you were with me and you said that, I knew better and told you not to be silly, of course you did - and that was the end of it, because you knew I was right. You loved strawberries with sugar, I'm pretty sure some of your teachers thought I was crazy sending a little baggie full of sugar in your lunch for you to dip your strawberries in. You also loved those Cosmic Brownies with the rainbow chocolate chips on top, and oatmeal creampies... I think I still have a few of those lying around in a petrified state. You loved Honey Bunches of Oats with almonds, but if I wasn't watching you'd pick out all the almonds to eat and leave the rest of the cereal sitting there... so eventually I just bought you almonds, and you turned your nose up at them! You really loved apple juice, and when you were first learning to talk you called it "appadoos".
You had to have your bath the exact right temperature. You didn't like to take showers. You took your bath around room temperature, way too cold for me, but if it was any warmer you'd touch the water and shout "HOT!" Still, every time you took a bath, you were shivering by the time you got out. And even when you were big enough to get yourself in and out of the bath and dressed, you liked for me to sit with you and give you a big towel hug when you got out of the bath. You probably would've stayed in the tub forever if I'd let you sometimes - you always wanted all your foam letters and toys in there, and then you'd flail around like a fish and get water everywhere. The only time you took a fast bath was when the promise of something better after the bath was given - like ice cream or a favorite book.
You did gymnastics, and you loved to practice your flips at the park, but sometimes you were scared and did a modified version. You liked me to braid your hair before gymnastics, just like I always did for M. Your class was at the big red barn, and you always begged to play on the playground before or after. At first, you were scared of the balance beam, but by your last class the night before we left for Florida, you were doing a front flip (with your teacher's help) on it!
You wanted everything with princesses or Dora on it. I still can't walk through a store and see those things without thinking about how you would have commented "OH! I really DO want this!" You also liked to pick out a million dresses, go in the dressing room, and do a photoshoot with each one. Which is good, because I liked to do that too - you just looked so cute in everything!
I could go on forever. I could go through everything in your room and tell you a story about it. I could look at thousands of pictures and tell you about every one of them. If I took the time to write down every single thing I remember about you, I'd be writing for eight years - as long as I knew you.
I wonder about you today. What's the same and what's different. If I know my girl, you still love pink, and singing the most popular songs, and animals, and chicken nuggets. Whatever it is you love, I hope you have as much of it as you could ever want. I miss you, angel... but I will never forget one little bit of who you are. I know you.
And don't forget...
I love you like the moon at night; big, and round, and warm, and bright.
I love you, goodnight.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
They Told Me I Couldn't
They told me I couldn't...
Go to school full time...
...or sometimes overtime, and graduate in four years
...or graduate with both a major and a minor
AND
Work part time...
...20 hours a week at a daycare center, making little more than minimum wage
...while still being good at my job
AND
Raise a Kindergartener...
...and give her all the things and experiences she deserved
AND
Take care of a baby...
...get up for midnight feedings
AND
"Live my life"...
ALL
In this...
...teeny tiny...
...room.
They told me I couldn't do it.
But I did.
And we all turned out...
just...
fine.
Never let anyone tell you what you "can't" do.
Go to school full time...
...or sometimes overtime, and graduate in four years
...or graduate with both a major and a minor
AND
Work part time...
...20 hours a week at a daycare center, making little more than minimum wage
...while still being good at my job
AND
Raise a Kindergartener...
...and give her all the things and experiences she deserved
AND
Take care of a baby...
...get up for midnight feedings
AND
"Live my life"...
ALL
In this...
...teeny tiny...
...room.
They told me I couldn't do it.
But I did.
And we all turned out...
just...
fine.
 |
| (More or less eyebrows) |
Never let anyone tell you what you "can't" do.
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