Anger

For so long, I wasn't mad. What good would it do? I grieved exactly the way I was supposed to. The infertility, the death of a perfectly "healthy" beautiful baby, the autism diagnosis and all that goes along with it. I was on it. I had it handled. I was seeing the silver lining, seeing the beauty.

But years of being at home alone with twins that were constantly sick, a special needs child and that empty chair at the dinner starts to eat away you. Before long, I had no idea who was looking back at me in the mirror. I used to see a person full of hope, faith and energy. I had perspective. Now, I see someone who is shattered. Broken by years of grief and unchecked stress. She's anxious, irritated and angry. The perspective is gone. All I see is the bad, the heavy. I only feel the constant weight of our life, the failure of motherhood. A shell of what was.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I never thought it would be easy. But sometimes, I do wonder why? Yeah yeah yeah, everyone has their issues. But not everyone has this. Its not just a special needs kid, two poorly adjusted kindergarteners, endometriosis, unexplained dizziness and a broken furnace, it's also a grandma with a serious head bleed the day before a brother with suspected meningitis turned sepsis the week before the anniversary of Ellie's passing. And it's like this all time.

I'm tired. I'm exhausted. And I am angry. I see the ease that other families navigate daily life without appointments, intense schedules, anxiety and neuroses to deal with. They go to soccer, meet friends for dinner (because they are invited out by families that have kids that are nice to their kids), plan spur of the minute trips and the biggest upset of the weekend is how to fit hockey in with soccer and dance class. I hate them. I hate their ease and I hate that they have no idea what it's like on this side. I hate the exclusion and isolation of being surrounded by "perfect." 

The anger comes fast and hard. I hate that it's the people in my house that catch it. But I have no strength to stop it and no where else to go. I'm angry that my baby got taken away while others pop theirs out one after another without any consideration to whether they can care for them. I'm angry that some people are given incredible miracles only to toss it aside while I begged for a miracle as my baby turned into an unrecognizable being right before my eyes. I'll take that miracle! I'll trade your wasted breaths for my chubby hand baby. I hate the memories that surround those days- things that no one should ever have to see and unspeakable decisions. I hate the holidays because there is always someone missing- it's never complete. I hate my birthday because it's 11 days before Ellie's and while I get older, she's forever 9 months and ten days. 

I hate autism. Not my son. Autism. Because Max is not autism. I hate that people don't see the difference. I hate that it runs my entire life and dictates our every movement as a family, and I hate those who don't understand why it has to be this way. I hate that doctors won't help him and there are no answers. I hate watching my son struggle every day and seeing his face contort into painful tics that no one can stop or is concerned about. I hate dealing with the school and idiot teachers who treat my kid and myself like secondary citizens. I'm mad that everything is so difficult, that everything is a fight. And that it is never enough, it never stops.

I hate the collateral damage. Conversations that end with an angry five year old because you buried her sister before she ever got to meet her. Kids that know too much of Heaven, and exceptions that must be made for certain situations. The knowledge that they will surely hate me when their older because of it. The complete fear and utter terror that comes with the warm skin of a child with a fever. The cascade of images that flood in with the fear- grey skin, eyes rolled back, sirens, the faces of knowing nurses and doctors, the smell of hospital soap, the grinding sound of a line being placed over the sound of me singing Baby Beluga, the constant beep of the low pressure alert, the oozing, the smell of vomit, the voice of the responding officer, the sound of the suction machine, the sound of "I'm sorry". 

I'm angry at our medical community for failing to protect and help my child. I hate the appointments, the gas lighting, the lies. I hate the supplements, therapy, droppers and syringes. I hate that I'm not sure there is help out there anymore. I hate that I don't trust those that says they can help and that the help offered is so complicated. I hate special diets and have come to despise food in general.

I hate anxiety and all of the control is has over me. The pounding heart, the shortness of breath, the dizziness, headaches, blurry vision and fatigue. The feeling of drowning while those around you continue to not notice. The feeling that everything is spiraling away and you lack the ability to control anything. But what I hate most about anxiety is how angry it's made me. The constant fight or flight response presence has depleted my ability to control my anger. My body and mind have lost the ability to appropriately respond to stress and has left me broken, exhausted and angry. 

I hate feeling this way. But am starting to wonder if it's partly because I never felt this way earlier. Grief has a funny way of not giving a shit what you think. It demands attention and it'll just take it if it's not offered up.

Maybe it's time

This screen. This blank screen. I've been here several times over the last few years. I've put down a few sentences and closed out. Unsaved. 

What was the point? 

Seven years ago, I needed to find a community. We were nearing an autism diagnosis and needed someone to understand. I think of that girl who came up with up with the blog title "The Broken Road." She thought it made sense, we'd had a rough road having a baby, but there we were with two beautiful babies. Yeah, autism, but we could handle it. It was broken, but it would be a beautiful road. 

I think of that girl and it makes me so sad. So much innocence, hope, strength. She had no idea what was coming. Within weeks, it would be gone. That beautiful baby would be gone, the naive outlook on autism gone. That girl, gone.

Seven years ago, this blog kept me going. The moms I met... I have an unexplainable amount of respect, tenderness and love for them. They got it. They were my community. My words were their words. But as time and technology changed, so did our community. Rainbows appeared, Instagram popped into our lives and my need for this place became lesser. My need of them is met in Facebook posts and a quick sentence accompanied by an Instagram picture. Its a beautiful thing, what the Internet has given us.

But this place never became the place I was looking for in the autism world. That place was a lobby in the Early Childhood Building a few miles from our home. For weeks, I sat there waiting for my boy to come out of "class." I didn't say much. I spent my time staring at the pink nuk in a little sister's mouth. It was the same one Ellie had. I made no eye contact.

 I watched in the morning as one by one, our boys were taken from us. Some went happily, some with screams and tears. I started to look at their faces- the other moms. We were all struggling. At some point, referrals started being passed. The "oh yeah, we don't do haircuts without blood shed either" stories were shared. 

They were- ARE- my people. My lobby moms. My real life, I can drink coffee, or frozen adult drinks, in your living room, people. My I-can-hug-you-any-time-I-want people. (Well not one- she doesn't like that.) we have been through hell and back a hundred times. Among us, there has been the death of a child, divorce, a stroke, a child diagnosed with T1D and a husband with a catastrophic near death illness. 

We are ragged and weary. Our boys are amazing and beautiful, but have put us through the wringer. We get what the word "meltdown" means. We laugh a lot, especially at things we probably shouldn't. We leave spots at the table for the massive amount of baggage and anxiety each other brings.

I can't even think of where I'd be without my lobby moms. And as much as I'm thankful for my online loss moms, I'm incredibly grateful for my in real life lobby moms. 

I didn't think I needed this place anymore. I assumed thoughts could be sorted on Instagram, Facebook or over pineapple martinis. And for awhile, I was right. What was the point of this place?

But after, seven years, things aren't any clearer. I have my people, but my thoughts are all still jumbled up. Things are feeling harder. Heavier.

Maybe it's the time of year. Maybe it's the almost decade of "broken" road. Maybe it's the feeling of first time parent with kids numbers three and four. I'm seeing less beautiful and more broken. I don't like it. I don't like the jumble of pain, frustration, doubt and anger in my head. The heaviness of life post child loss and autism diagnosis is crushing. I used to wonder all the time how much it would take before I actually shattered from the weight of it all... I don't wonder anymore. I feel like I know.

I have my people. But I have MY trauma. I am finding that for so long, I operated extremely well in crisis mode. But no one can sustain that. And I can't expect that those jumbled thoughts can be untangled by leaning on others. Maybe I need to go back to writing it out. To get it out.

Maybe it's time to come back here.

Five Years Gone

https://screen.yahoo.com/just-breathe-194454840.html

"Yes, I understand that every life must end, aw-huh,..
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw-huh,..
Oh I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands
the ones I love,..

Some folks just have one,
yeah, others, they got none, huh-uh

Stay with me,..
Let's just breathe.

Practiced all my sins,
never gonna let me win, aw-huh,..
Under everything, just another human being, aw-huh,..
Yeah, I don't wanna hurt, there's so much in this world
to make me bleed.

Stay with me,..
You're all I see.

Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me.
As I come clean.

I wonder everyday
as I look upon your face, aw-huh,..
Everything you gave
And nothing you would save, aw huh,..
Nothing you would take
Everything you gave...

Did I say that I need you?
Oh, did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me.
And I come clean, ah-ah...

Nothing you would take,..
Everything you gave.
Hold me till I die,..
Meet you on the other side."

 

It's been almost five years since this song played as we walked down the aisle of the church. Away from Ellie and into the after. It's been almost five years since I've been able to listen to this song. Five years.

 

In five years our lives have changed greatly. We have moved into a new house in a wonderful neighborhood. Ellie has another brother and a sister. We've watched Max become more comfortable in his own skin and learn to join us in our world more often than not. We've welcomed three adorable nephews. Our lives are different. We've gone forward.

 

But we have not moved on. Upstairs there is still a giraffe that sits on a shelf. Pictures remain on the mantel and side table. Jingle Bells hang from rearview mirrors. Our kids speak of Ellie daily. They know their sister and love her. We still celebrate her birthday.

When Ellie first died I often wondered how life would ever go on. How could days continue to pass without her in this world. I was often angry at those I saw on the street- innocently going on with their lives. Didn't they know? 

As time passed, it did become easier to put my feet on the floor in the morning and get up. Eventually smiles and laughter returned. We did start healing. Holidays and anniversaries passed with greater ease and fewer tears. Dave and I are lucky to have to many family members and friends that help us honor and remember Ellie on a daily basis. We have always been free to talk about her and celebrate her nine months and ten days. The early days of shock, anger and uncontrollable sobs eased and for the most part disappeared. 

But for some reason, five years came rushing down on me and has knocked me to my feet. I'm angry, out of sorts and a teary mess. Addy and Levi go to preschool at the church where we held Ellie's funeral. And up until this week, going there hasn't been a problem for me. But when we pulled in the parking lot this morning, I lost it. With shaking hands, I walked to kids inside and bit my tongue as hard as I could to keep the tears in until I made it to the car. Yes, the return of the car cry. You BLMs know what I mean. It has been so long that I've cried this much. It's shocking. 

Yes I miss Ellie terribly every day. I see the empty spot at dinner table and in the car. The fourth coat hook. They stare at me every single day. But I try to not make eye contact and just keep moving. I see the Time Hop pictures for those who have five year old girls and try not to think about what we are missing. When the neighbor is over to play after kindergarten I try not to think that "this is what our walks should look like." It is always there. For the rest of our lives, we will carry a hole. A hole of what should be a sassy kindergartener, a mouthy and disrespectful teenager, a college student, an excited bride, and tired new mother... These things are never going away.

I guess I just forgot that sometimes the reminder of what we are missing can come back in a not so gentle way. It's not always a sad smile, diverted eyes or the quiet welling up of tears in your eyes. Sometimes it's screaming, torrents of hot tears and anger. Sometimes it's memories of the unspeakable things our eyes have seen and ears have heard. It's brutal and relentless.

I worry that people assume after five years, we've moved on. That grief has subsided and lies quietly in the closet. All tucked away. I guess in some ways, even I had been convinced of this. But the last couple days have been nothing but proof that grief never goes away. We learn to ride the waves, but occassionally, against all our best efforts, a tsunami of tears and pain slams us back into the ground where we started. People say it's the price you pay for loving someone so deeply. And that's fine- I agree. But it doesn't take the hurt away. And it doesn't make it easier. 

After five long years, I still just want my baby back.

 

 

On the Eve of Five: Frozen

Anna and Elsa.

It's pretty much the only thing five year old girls talk about. The only acceptable birthday party theme for a five year old girl this year is Frozen.

Tonight I should be plastering Olaf, Anna and Elsa all over our house in preparation for a certain little five year old to see when she wakes up in the morning. And for a moment, I considered it. A very brief moment. But in reality, every single of one of Ellie's birthdays is a Frozen birthday. Ellie is forever frozen in time. She will forever remain 9 months and ten days. So while I did buy a simple pink "5" candle, the truth is that it is all for show. There is no five year old in this house. Ellie will never be five years old.

Constant sickness among the other kids and the general busyness of life easily allowed this day to sneak up on me. And for that I'm grateful.

Five.

It's a big deal. Five isn't a preschool. Five is school age. Five means school. Five year olds are little people. Most five year olds could talk your ear off about their favorite toys, movies and friends.

Five years after I gave birth to a beautiful screaming baby girl, I can tell you nothing about her five year old self. I know nothing about what shows she likes to watch, who her best friend is or what she wants to be when she grows up. I don't know if she prefers Anna or Elsa. I know nothing about that five year old.

I'm mad. I feel cheated. I'm sad. I'm trying not to go there. I'm worried that if I start tumbling down that dark path, I will fall into a hole so big that I won't be able to climb out of it.

Fortunately (or not, depending how I look at it I guess), there is a certain big brother that is looking forward to celebrating someone's 5th birthday. Max has his Ellie's Light shirt picked out to wear tomorrow, plans on shouting "Happy Birthday Ellie!" upon waking in the morning, thinks we should go out to dinner and have "muffins with frosting." Addy was heard singing "Happy Birthday Ellie" earlier today. And because I make a big deal of the kids' birthdays, there are decoration expectations...

So tonight I pulled out things pink and purple. Sparkly and girly. And lots of pictures of the most perfect little girl with chubby fingers and thighs, fuzzy head and mischievous smile...

sigh

...Tomorrow we are having a Frozen birthday. But there is will be no Anna, Elsa or Olaf. There won't even be a birthday girl. Just some pictures of a little girl, frozen in time.

four years gone

My dear sweet girl,

How has it been four years?

Four years since I put you into your fuzzy fleece footie pjs, turned off the light and rocked your tiny little body.

Four years since I loaded you into the stroller with your brother for an evening walk.

Four years since I listened to your little growl and sweet giggle. It's been four years since I've seen that sweet and goofy smile.

In four years, so much has happened. So much has changed. We have moved into a new house and have wonderful, amazing neighbors. Your big brother Max has grown up into a sweet, smart and hilarious little boy. He works so hard and you would be so proud of how far he has come. Your baby brother and sister are almost 2 and a half already! Levi is so sweet, smart and sensitive. Addy is a stinker, loves to be the center of attention and is a little social butterfly. You would LOVE these two! I'm sure they would drive you crazy, but you wouldn't trade them for anything! I know you would be such a great big sister!

It's been four years and so much has happened and so much has changed. But still, four years later, so much is still the same. I still think about you every day, all day long. I wonder how every single thing we do would be different if you were with us. I see you missing from every single picture and at every family meal. The crisp fall air takes my breath away and I thank you for every single pink and purple sunset we are blessed with. I still miss your fuzzy head on my face as we cuddle on the couch and miss your sweet intoxicating smell.

It's been four years and I still wake up wondering how we are living each day without you. In four years, my mind has not figured out how to wrap itself around that day when you were taken away. I still secretly hope that one day I will wake up and find out that it never happened. That you never went through all of that pain and were here running around laughing with your sister and brothers.

Four years little Peanut. I have missed you every minute of every day. You are always with me and I am so incredibly grateful for every single second we had with you.

Mama loves you Ellie Lauree! Always have, always will.

Ellie's Light Blood Drive

On Saturday, September 27th from 8:30-12:30pm, Ellie's Light is having it's first blood drive in Lakeville, Minnesota.

One in three people will need a blood transfusion.

Our blood drive is a chance for YOU to save someone's life.

If you would like to donate and want to sign up for a time, follow this link:

http://www.mbc.org/Donate-Blood/Search-Blood-Drives
Click on Sponsor Code and type in 4233.

We are also accepting walk-ins!
Memorial Blood Center will have their blood mobile out to collect these life-saving donations:
16972 Brandtjen Farm Dr., Lakeville, MN 55044

****

I am very excited to be able to be able to give back to Memorial Blood Center in Ellie's name and here is why...

Ellie’s Transfusion Story:

Our sweet and silly little girl suddenly became gravely ill on October 24, 2010. Within 25 hours, a seemingly benign fever turned into an extremely rare and deadly illness. When Ellie arrived at the hospital, the staff was stumped. No matter what they did, her illness progressed. For some reason, Ellie was becoming septic and her body was not responding to any treatment. Her body started showing signs of a complication called DIC. Essentially, her body depleted itself of all its clotting ability. It was at this point that Ellie started receiving blood products.  As Ellie’s condition further deteriorated, it became obvious to the doctors that Ellie would not survive. As a last ditch effort, the decision was made to put her on ECMO (the heart-lung bypass machine). 

The ECMO machine takes the blood out of the body, oxygenates it, and sends it back into the body. The machine requires several units of blood to operate. This combined with Ellie’s sepsis and complication, DIC, meant she used a lot of blood products. We are not entirely sure how many units of blood products Ellie actually received due to some inaccuracies in her chart. But I can remember a doctor at St. Paul Children’s calling Memorial Blood Bank to say that Ellie had used up all the supply there and he wanted to make sure Minneapolis Children’s would be prepared for her when we arrived for ECMO.

I would guess that between the two hospitals, what the ECMO required and what Ellie’s sick body needed, she used at least ten units of red blood cells, platelets, fresh frozen plasma and cryo. The nurses were constantly bringing blood products into the room.

It wasn’t until after Ellie’s autopsy that we learned her spleen did not work and she never stood a chance against the “high-velocity” germ that took her life. In the end, no amount of blood was going to save Ellie’s life. Her fate was determined before anyone even knew she was sick. But each and every unit of blood product brought into that room gave her a chance. It gave us hope. We can look back and know that every effort was made to save Ellie. Without the blood, she would not have survived more than a few hours. The transfusions allowed our family and friends to get to the hospital to say goodbye and to be with us when we set our little girl free.

We are incredibly thankful to those who took the time to donate their blood, never knowing that it would give our little girl a fighting chance, and her family peace of mind knowing that everything possible was done to save Ellie’s life. And for us, that’s an incredible gift.

****

Hope to see you next Saturday!!

Not every kid gets to go to Kindergarten

Awww the first day of school...
A day I have come to dread.

Most parents are dancing in street as the bus pulls away from the corner. Clinking their coffee mugs together in a celebratory cheers. As they walk home, they happily post their obligatory "First Day of School" pictures.

Today Facebook is jam packed with adorable faces sporting new backpacks and shoes, and carefully chosen outfits. Most are holding up carefully designed signs that announce what grade they are entering. Some parents moms go on to lament about the great sadness they are experiencing now that their BABY is gone. Gone? Really? Gone?

Listen, I get it. It's hard to send your child off to school all day long when they have been with you since the moment they were born. I get that it's hard to not know exactly what they are doing, what they are eating, if they are sad, being picked on, etc. I get it. It is hard to realize that your child is growing up and some day they won't need you.

I get it.

But what I would like some people to understand is that not every child goes to kindergarten. 

Sometimes kids die. 

Next year, there will be one less kindergartner getting on our neighborhood bus. And I can tell you that it will rip my heart out. It's going to kill me. When the other kindergarteners in the neighborhood line up to get on the bus across the street from our house, my vision will tunnel, my heart will pound and my breath will evade me. 
Her absence in her kindergarten class will be felt by me yet not a single soul in that room will recognize the loss. I will not be posting a picture of my kindergartener next fall. A picture of a headstone just isn't the same.

Not every kid goes to kindergarten.

In fact, my five year old didn't go to kindergarten today with the rest of the five year olds in our neighborhood either. 

He did go to school, just like he has almost every single day since he was 2 years old. But he didn't go to kindergarten. He went to school, which is really a pseudonym for his "therapy based center." All of his "friends" there have autism too, and very few of them realize that most kids have summers off and don't go to school ALL OF THE TIME. I didn't take a picture of Max this morning. Today wasn't anything new for us. We did speech and OT before heading to "school" just like we have every Tuesday for the last ...... I don't even know how many months...

I know a very sweet little boy that did go to kindergarten today. This little boy has been in school with Max since they were little tiny two year olds. He isn't even my child, and all day today, I worried about him. I prayed he would have a great day, and I hear he did. (Go Gus!) I'm so proud of him and wish I could squeeze him and tell him how awesome he is. 

Why would I be so worried about and proud of a child that isn't even mine?

Because I know how hard he has worked. I know how far he has come and I KNOW he DESERVED to have the best first day of kindergarten ever. He didn't just pick out a new backpack and show up at the bus stop for his first day of school. He EARNED it. His family earned it. 

So when my brutally honest friend said (in regards to all the other "typical" kindergarten parents), "My day is bigger than your fucking day!", I couldn't have agreed more. She, too, knows that not every kid gets to go to kindergarten with all of the other five year olds. She knows that sometimes kids die, and she knows that some five year olds just aren't able to handle a typical kindergarten class. She knows that sometimes this milestone is one that has to be fought for.

Today, I should have taken a picture of Max sitting on our porch steps, proudly holding his "First Day of Kindergarten" sign. His four year old sister, should have been standing next to him holding a sign announcing her "First Day of Preschool". But that is not my life. 

I'm not ok that Ellie isn't here. There will always be an Ellie shaped hole in our lives. But I'm ok with the fact that Max didn't start kindergarten today. Max is awesome, there is NO doubt about that. But he isn't ready for kindergarten quite yet. 

Max has been working his tiny little butt off for the past three years to prepare himself for a day in early January 2015, when I will insist he stand out on the front porch (yes in the Minnesota cold), holding a sign that PROUDLY states, "First Day of Kindergarten."

And I will plaster Facebook with those pictures all the while knowing that not every kid gets to go to kindergarten. I will do it with complete gratefulness for every single therapist, teacher and aide that has crossed Max's path thus far. I will do it with an incredible amount of pride for a boy that has fought tooth and nail for every word and social interaction that has brought him to this place. I will do it with complete respect for every terrified parent that has released their special needs child into the wild world of public schools before me. I will do it with a love in my heart for all of those kids that aren't ready quite yet, or that may never be ready for kindergarten. I will do it with a great sadness in my heart for every parent that will never get to take that all important picture for their child. 

So to every parent that has (rightfully) posted a picture of their precious child on the first day of kindergarten- I beg of you, please understand that not every child gets to go to kindergarten. Please recognize this day with gratefulness and excitement for your child. And please, in the back of your mind, remember that for some parents, the first day of school is a painful and heartbreaking day.

 

 Maybe some day, I'll get it together enough to blog again! For now, these three keep me VERY busy!

The Other Side of The Other Side

It has been a while since I've spent any time in this space... Life has been busy and not afforded me much time to spend here. And in all honesty, this space has been consciously avoided at times. But we are nearing that time of year again when the air is crisp and fills my chest with dread. My mind starts to drift places that I typically don't allow it to stray. And there is something that has been on my mind since Monday, July 22nd...

When Ellie died, my life changed forever. In fact, the second Ellie entered the PICU in critical condition, my perspective on everything instantly changed. It quickly became obvious that those who had not stood where we had did not understand. Most tried, but never really understood. I found great comfort in those who were on my side- The Other Side. 

The Other Side... On this side, a nurse has looked at you with incredibly sad, knowing eyes. A doctor has sighed before walking up to you to say the words that you will remember forever. On this side, you have had sleepless nights at the hospital and spent hours in prayer, begging for a miracle. You may have had a conversation with a serious man in a tie that ended up with you picking out a casket or burial spot for your loved one. On this side, you have walked back through your door wondering what the hell has just happened to your life.

It is hard on The Other Side- impossible at times. Suffocating, lonely, desperate and out of control. It is sad, full of regret and guilt. To me, I could almost see a physical wall between me and those who were not on The Other Side. Being on The Other Side is all consuming and it is blinding. It isn’t that you stop caring about those you once stood with, but you just can’t see past where you are at now.

The wall never completely goes away, but I think, over time, it becomes more transparent. You get glimpses of what is going on over there and sometimes remember what it was like before the wall. You remember that there are loved ones still over and maybe, you understand that it hasn’t been easy for them either. It is hard on them having you on The Other Side…

On the evening of Monday, July 22^nd, 2013, Dave and I were powering through another dinner with the kids. Life here was our normal. Kids throwing food on the floor, demanding more fruit and Dave and I were looking forward to bedtime! We had no idea that we were about to cross over to The Other Side of The Other Side.

Right at the end of dinner, Dave’s phone rang. It was the call no one ever wants…

Our brother-in-law, Travis, and one year old nephew, Layton had been in a bad car accident. All we knew was that they were on their way to the trauma hospital and Dave’s sister, Chrissy, was on their way to meet them. We made plans for my mom to come sit with your kids after they were in bed so we could go down there. Over the next hour, we got confusing bits of information from various people but it became obvious that the accident was much worse than we assumed…

Travis and Layton had been on their way home, when a man fleeing the police, driving down the wrong side of the road, ran a red light and broadsided them. Both were air-lifted to the hospital and emergency personal at the scene were certain that Travis would not make it to the hospital. Layton had a small brain bleed in one ventricle and a bruise on his temple. Travis had a larger brain bleed, a collapsed lung, broken ride, large facial laceration and internal bleeding. Both were intubated and sedated in the Trauma ICU when we arrived.

From the beginning, the doctors were pretty sure Layton would be just fine. And he was. Within a week and a half, he was out of the hospital and mostly back to himself. I have no doubt that during that car accident, his cousin Ellie, laid down right over the top of him. It is a miracle that this beautiful, beautiful boy survived with such few injuries.

At the time of the accident, Chrissy was seven months pregnant. And there were times during those first couple days, when we weren’t sure if that baby would ever get to meet his Daddy or at least the Daddy that the rest of us knew. Conversations were had about survival, catastrophic brain damage, long term care…. It was devastating. It was shocking, heart-breaking and mind numbing. In an instant, the rug was pulled out from all of us. In a split second, everything changed.

As I stood alone in my nephew’s room, next to his crib, holding his hand, I listened to the nurse in the next room explain Travis’ injuries to his wife, parents, grandparents and sisters. I thought about my sister in law Chrissy, and I was sick for her. I knew how I felt as the sister in law to Travis and aunt to Layton. I couldn’t imagine how horrible this was for her. To be seven months pregnant and have your one year old intubated in the ICU and your husband- your support and other half- in the room next door with life threatening injuries, is way more stress than one person should ever have. It was tragic and unfair…

It was there in that quiet room, standing next to my unconscious nephew, that it hit me- this is what it feels like to be on The Other Side of The Other Side. This beautiful, innocent family that we love so much was suffering and hurting, and we were powerless to help them. There wasn’t one thing we could do to make it better. I didn’t have words to make it not hurt so much and I couldn’t do anything to make it go away. We couldn’t make the doctors stop telling her about all the bad things that happened to her family and we couldn’t erase the vision of her son and husband lying in hospital beds from her memory. And when everything was “calm” for the night, we got to go home to our kids, together, who were safe and sound in their beds, and leave Chrissy keeping vigil at her boys’ side.

We were sad, angry, anxiety-ridden and shocked. We hurt for Travis, for sweet little Layton and for Chrissy. We wanted it all to go away. We were sad for not being able to be at the hospital with our family every moment… In these moments, I began to understand how our friends and family felt when Ellie was sick, and after she passed, and when Levi was shortly hospitalized for “meningitis.” They not only hurt for themselves, but for our children and for us. They wanted to make it better, make it go away, yet they were powerless. They were left to hand out hugs and bring bottles of wine, all the while knowing it wasn’t enough. They were grieving for themselves, and for us. They too, had sadness, anger and pain. It wasn’t the same as mine, but just as real.

As I’ve said before, I have very little recollection of many aspects of being in the hospital with Ellie, and the few days after she died. And for that, I am extremely grateful. I most certainly have aspects of PTSD, and can’t imagine how it would be if I had to carry around memories of everything that happened. One thing I don’t remember is how our friends and families were notified when it came time to say good-bye. And I don’t want to know. It might be selfish, but I don’t want to know how it all went down. I don’t want to know how they felt at her funeral, how they felt carrying her small casket or standing at her graveside. I don’t want to know, and I am so grateful that no one has forced that on me. I’m not sure I could handle it. I feel like I can hardly handle my own grief- I think it would kill me to know how hurt our loved ones were and still are.

But being on The Other Side of The Other Side has reminded me just how much our families and friends went through when Ellie died and again when Levi got “sick.” It reminded me that they too were traumatized and forever changed. They dealt with all of that while standing by us while we drowned in our grief. And for that, I am forever grateful. I’m thankful they had the strength to endure it and eternally sorry that they had too. Because if I learned one thing this summer, it was that even though being on The Other Side is nearly impossible, it’s not easy on The Other Side of The Other Side either.

*****

Travis walked out of the hospital just over three weeks after the accident and graduated from outpatient therapy after just two weeks with minimal residual injury from the accident. He isn’t completely 100% yet, but he will get there. Less than two weeks ago, he was there by her side, when Chrissy gave birth to our new perfect and completely adorable nephew, Nash. Without a doubt, we witnessed a miracle this summer….

The second lesson I learned this summer- sometimes there are happy endings…

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to the best moms we could ask for! We wouldn't have made it through this last year without you!

And to our wonderful Grandmas!

I am so thankful for the four perfect little people that made a Mommy!

10 months x2

So the babies are actually 11 months old today- so I suppose that I should get this finished up before I forget!! yikes I'm behind!

I cannot believe that the babies have entered double digits. I can't believe that they are now older than Ellie ever was. This milestone was much harder than I even anticipated that it would be. The several rounds of fevers the kids had certainly didn't help at all. But we got through it, and the babies are double digits!

Levi
Weight: 18lb, 4oz.

Diaper Size: size 4

Clothing Size: 12 months

Nicknames: Buddy, Giant Baby, Mister

Feeding: Levi still takes about six bottles a day of Gentlease formula. He does a good job with his purees, and is finally doing better with solids. However, we are still very, very slow to introduce them as neither baby does a great job. He's had bits of kiwi, mango, banana (so not a favorite- he hates them!), carrot and avocado. Plus the puffs.

Sleep: Levi usually goes to sleep around 7:30pm and that's a stretch for him. I think he would be happier going to sleep a little earlier but that doesn't really work with our schedule- sorry buddy! He takes to naps a day, and they are usually pretty good. However, they started to get sick at the end of the month, and that really put a horrible wretch in the schedule. Sick babies are not sleeping babies!

Firsts: First Baby Shower- one neighbor threw a shower for another and the babies went with me to celebrate. Levi met his friend, Jason for the first time! Jason is the son of my good friend from college and we were soooo excited to finally meet him! St. Patrick's Day. We didn't do anything, and in all honesty, the kids didn't even wear their cute outfits until the next day- that's what happens when Mommy doesn't feel good I guess!

Skills/ Milestones: Getting up on his hands and knees- he is so close to crawling! He does this cute little army crawl/ scoot thing! Standing up at the couch without much help. Plays Patty-Cake. Improving on his self-feeding skills. Doing a great job waving and even does it without being prompted! Turning pages of a book. Got a tooth on the top- three total!

Words/ Noises: Ma-Ma, Da-Da, Ba-Ba, Ni-Ni

Life with Levi: Levi is observant and very focused. He is reserved at first but his little personality is really emerging. He is so silly! Once he decides that something or someone is ok, he will gladly share his smiles. He loves to cuddle and is so sweet with stuffed animals and dolls. Levi has finally started to fight back a little bit when Addy takes things away. He is becoming super interested in books and really likes to look at the faces of things. Levi is a pretty laid back baby but when he is tired, hungry or not feeling well, he is quick to cry- and it is a very pathetic cry. When he sticks his lip out, he looks just like his brother! I could just cuddle him all day long! And he'd probably let me too!

Addy
Weight: 16lbs

Diaper Size: Size 3

Clothes Size: nine months for most everything. But some shirts and dresses are 12mos.

Nicknames: Buggy, Bug, Buggers, Little Missy, Stink Face, Buglet

Eating: This child is going to blow away in the wind, if she doesn't start eating more! A somewhat nasty cold and ear infection really put a damper on her already finicky eating habits. Towards the end of the month, she was only eating 2-3 oz about six times a day. She only eats bites of her purees and bites of whatever solid we give her. She has eaten chunks of kiwi, carrots, apples, avocado, mango and banana. She does not like banana either! We can usually get her to eat puffs, but she has even been refusing these lately :(

Sleep: Addy went from sleeping almost all the way through the night for over a week, to having to be held ALL night long. Being sick really made it hard for her to get good sleep so we ended up with her in our arms for pretty much the whole night. I also think that not eating during the day made it hard for her to rest well at night. She is generally taking two naps a day, but with the illness she has been taking little cat naps on and off all day.

Firsts:  First Baby Shower- one neighbor threw a shower for another and the babies went with me to celebrate. Addy met her friend, Jason for the first time! Jason is the son of my good friend from college and we were soooo excited to finally meet him! St. Patrick's Day. We didn't do anything, and in all honesty, the kids didn't even wear their cute outfits until the next day- that's what happens when Mommy doesn't feel good I guess!

Skills/ Milestones: Addy is almost crawling. She is sooo close! Days away I would guess! Plays peek-a-boo with blankie and also does a pretty good Patty-cake. Standing up at the couch or holding onto our hand- she thinks she's so cool when she does this! Addy waves, has starting pointing, and is pretty good at feeding herself. Addy got a tooth on the top!

Words/ Noises: Ma-ma, Da-Da, Ba-Ba, MA-MA!!!, mo-mo (more), Hiiii, he-he. Ba-ba (which I think is for her bottle). "inky"- stinky. Ba (ball).

Life with Addy: This little stinker sure gives us a run for our money! (and I can say that because we did in-vitro and we did actually pay for our children!) She is so funny, mischievous and too adorable to get mad at. Addy craves attention and gets rather annoyed if she's not the center of attention. If people are laughing and she isn't directly involved in the situation- she laughs anyways. Even from across the room. Her stink face cracks me up and she knows even her "I'm annoyed with you" face is funny. We see her stink face quite often these days and I can only imagine what the teenage years are going to be like with this one! She likes to pick on play with her brother and when he isn't with her, she definitely notices. There is no way that he gets to do something or have something that she doesn't. Addy is good stuff, that's for sure!

Some pictures of our small people-