Survival

We survived Christmas 2013. That's about all I can say. I don't feel like Amy of us have been particularly graceful through the process, especially not me. I feel particularly graceless, as a matter of fact. 

 I'm hurting. I'm being as kind as I can to others, but I hurt. Mom wants to go visit her aunt. It would add 5 hours to our trip should we "swing by" on our way home. I don't want to go. Libby sure as HELL won't want to go. So Mom is playing her wounded card. 

I seriously have no tolerance for anyone who plays like they are hurting more than me. Yes.  Your life sucks. It seriously does not suck worse than mine. Lemme talk to a mother who has lost two kids, and I'll acquiesce. There are people who hurt as much as I do. NO ONE hurts more. 

Yes, there is a bigger rant there than just my mother. No, it does not involve anyone else in the house with me. 

Everybody has to deal with their own shit. 

Not my problem. 

I'm dealing with the fact that I spent Christmas without my first born. Sleeping in a room literally across the hall from Katie's room because we have to have everyone here at the ranch because it's Christmas. I'm showering in her bathroom, using towels she's used. 

I went into her room here. I touched her bed and her makeup and her clothes. I saw her pictures and her displays. And I miss her. And I cry. 

Christmas Eve, 2013

O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer
our spirits by thine advent here;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
and death's dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice, rejoice. Emanuel shall come to the O Israel. 

I don't feel like rejoicing. It doesn't feel like Christmas. I really feel like I'm stuck in some Beckett-esque surrealist play. Except when it hurts. 

I try to keep busy and keep going. She is everywhere because she is within me. She is intangible, though. 

O come, o come, Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel. 

Nightmares

I've been sitting on this one for a long time, contemplating if I should even blog about nightmares.  I'm still not sure, but I've been haunted by nightmares lately.  Thankfully, I've not had the same nightmare twice, but the ones that I have are the ones that stick with you for days after.

The biggest baddest one was back when Katie's accident just happened.  We were all together, and for whatever reason we decided that we wanted to have a natural burial out where she was killed.  Instead of a funeral home or whatever, we had her at home with us.  She looked like she looked when we saw her before the cremation.  I was holding her in my lap, crying, and I looked over and Libby just laid over on the couch where she was sitting.  She just... died... right before my eyes.  Just... died.  Joe came in and was yelling at me, asking how I could have killed them both.  And in my dream I KNEW it was my fault.  I had done this terrible thing.  I just wanted to die myself.  I woke myself up crying.

I still haven't been able to shake the feeling that I was the cause of Katie's death.  Now I look at Libby with fear that something will happen to her.  That by some neglect I will kill her, too.

Rational Me knows the truth.  Rational Me says that It was not my fault.  I wasn't there.  It wasn't something I did.  It was a mechanical failure that caused the accident and killed my baby.

Rational Me knows that I'm not neglecting Libby.  If anything I'm hovering too closely over her, making sure she eats and drinks and gets to school on time with all of her homework done.

But deep down there are things that I can't shake.  And I won't be able to shake them until I know what mechanical failure actually happen.

If I can shake them then.

I feel like I'm going to be haunted by this for life.

By the numbers

15. How old my beautiful daughter should have been this year. 

14 years, 10 months, 16 days. How old she was when she was killed. 

8,035,200. The number of times my heart has beaten since the accident.

Wednesday the 11th

What comes two days after?

Friday the 13th. 

Three months exactly from the last Friday the 13th. 

Three months exactly from Katie's accident. 

It feels fresh and painful all over again. It's like the 1 week mark. It's the first of many Friday the 13th anniversaries to come. 

Dammit. 

This week is kicking my ass. (And Libby's and Nana's and Joe's and Cheryl's and...)

This is something that I knew would happen when it was Friday, September 13th. But somehow I didn't think about it being Friday, December 13th. 

Damn. 

Mary must be my Patron Saint

I look at my Nativity set that's up on top of a cabinet in the parlor. The colors are rich and the expressions are gentle. It's all about the awe. 

When Katie was in 5th grade and thought she might want to live with her dad, I found myself sitting in church and looking at Mary's altar every Sunday. She had a beautiful son, raised him well, and had to lose him. I would think that if she could do that, I could let Katie live with Joe. That time she changed her mind. 

Katie decided in 8th grade that she really did want to go to high school in Oklahoma. She told me, "If I don't live with Dad now, I never will."  Then I prayed to Mary for her to give me strength to handle it until she came home. I was thinking a year, maybe just a semester. Mary who had to watch her son be crucified would understand my plight. She would watch over my baby until she came home. 

Then... 

Then the unspeakable happened. 

How can I not look to Mary now?  She must know my grief and anguish and pain and anger and fear.  I wonder if she railed at God for giving her something so precious only to have to lost forever. 

I doubt she was the calm beatific Mary. If she was anything like me she had a hard time bathing and eating and sleeping. She may have had "grieving mother hair" like mine. 

It's easy to say that Jesus went to Heaven and is at the right hand of God. 

It's easy to believe that Katie is in Heaven now. 

But that doesn't stop my grief. The loss that is too painful to bear at times. The tears that drip on the floor as I write these words. 

Believing in Heaven doesn't alleviate the pain. 

Back to the basics.

As my sweet Other Mothers are reminding me, I've got to go back to the basics this month. Breathe in. Breathe out. Eat, drink, pee, repeat. 

I've never stopped with the "grown up sippy cup" of water.  (Thanks, World Market for the 32 oz tumbler with lid and straw. It has been the only thing between me and dehydration for 2 months and 26 days.) At the beginning I had to have someone fill it and put it in my hand. Now I fill multiple cups multiple times per day. I have a tendency to lose them within the house. 

Naked Juice protein drink reminds me of the Slim Fast shakes in college. I even put mine in the blender today with ice, just to relive that sensation. And it starts my day with protein even when I don't think I can eat. 

Tonight I went to Noodles and Company to pick up dinner. Somehow I didn't know a dad from school manages the place. His daughter played volleyball with both of my girls. He got our dinner for us tonight. 

Breathe. Eat. Drink. Pee.

And someone watching over to help me remember to do it. 

That's back to the basics. 

Mixed feelings.

I am so surrounded by love. 

On Friday Wendie and her middle daughter drove in from Nebraska and surprised me. I was so shocked! She has always said she just wants to hug me while I cry. I obliged her. 

Saturday was wonderfully chaotic as friends and family descended on the house to help with last minute cleaning and tweaking and all the appetizer making. 

10th Annual Cookie Exchange was a success. Lots of cookies and laughter. The house was filled with love. But if I stopped. Even for a moment, I started to cry. So like Dori in Finding Nemo, I just kept swimming. At one a.m. I crawled in bed and was almost instantly asleep. 

Today was friends and family and girls to sleepover with Lib, so fairly busy. Not much downtime. The Other Mothers came over this evening, and we gave them the thank you gifts. 

We decided on a code phrase for me to send in a text message when I'm drowning. I'll just have to text, "It's really shitty."  Very subtle, but they can read between the lines. 

Right now I'm in bed. I've got a nagging headache. Probably partially because I'm weepy. Partially from not eating well today. Partly because some days I have headaches. 

It's downtime, and I'm processing. Just a review of the weekend running in my head. I've a lot of people who love me. A friend from college who married a dear sorority sister from college emailed me on Saturday to tell me that I am loved and have more friends than there are flakes of snow. 

That's a blessing. 

I just wish I didn't need them so desperately now. 

Hard so I cry

It's been a hard two days. I'm crying again. I'm trying to put on a good face and at least get my stuff done that I need to do. 

Right now I'm just on the couch. Doing what I do best. Crying. 

It's a hard season. 

Random

1.  I'm back to a tank top and a hoodie today. It's been a no bra kind of day. 

2.  I either have no motivation or I'm exhausted. Or both. 

3.  I made vegetarian northern bean soup for dinner tonight with cornbread muffins. I also pulled a loaf of zucchini bread out of the freezer. I'm glad I baked it back in August. 

4. I cried while listening to the Into The Woods album today. 

5.  We are all easily distracted here. None of us can stay on task for long. 

6. More tired = more easily distracted. I often can't remember a question I've just asked. Or even remember that I asked a question. 

7.  I want to fix my hair and makeup, but it's hard when sometimes I even forget to shower. 

8. I bought a new comforter at Target for my bed. That's the first new comforter I've had in 14 years. My last duvet cover and coverlet literally fell apart.  I wouldn't have bought it had Libby not insisted. Low priority.  Though it will look pretty for the cookie exchange. And my down duvet is under the new comforter. 

9.  The 10th Annual Cookie Exchange is Saturday night. Katie REALLY wanted to be here for the party. We'll REALLY miss her. 

10.  I need a hug. 

Gah!

I don't want to wear clothes. Clothes make my skin crawl and itch. 

I don't want to have any lights on. Lights make my head hurt. 

I don't want to listen to anything loud. Loud noises startle me. 

I'm just extremely sensitive right now. 

And I'm going to cry again. 

Crying posts

I don't know how many crying posts I can make or you can stand. Hence, my reluctance to blogging these last few days. 

I cried yesterday. A lot. One of Katie's friends (a boy from here, a friend since early grade school) lit a tree in memory of Katie. I told the story of last Wednesday's "Katie" phone call to my counselor. I heard "I'll Be Home For Christmas" at the grocery store this morning. I missed her particularly keenly today while sitting on the couch. 

I'm crying now. Blogging about how I've cried. 

I feel like I've fallen back into the depths of grief. 

Someone explained grief like trying to make it around a giant slippery pit. (The Pit of Despair, if you will.) The edges are steep and slippery and you have to carefully edge around to the other side. Some days you slip at the very beginning. Some days you make it almost all the way around only to slip in almost at the end. 

One misstep. One second lacking focus. Or sometimes no reason at all. And I'm back down in the grief. Unable to do anything but try again the next day. 

Maybe tomorrow. 

Maybe next week.

Maybe. 

Wash, rinse, repeat

Or cry, dry, repeat. 

Damn. It seems like I cry a lot. Tears are good, but I feel like I should run dry sometime. 

Crying releases stress. It cleanses emotion. I've read that there are stress hormones that can only be shed by tears.  I've heard it said that only salt water can heal you: tears or the sea. 

People are so kind. Katie has been on my mind so much. People are telling me their Katie stories, which I love. And I weep. 

Tears are streaming as I write. Forgive ant typos because I can't see. 

Oh God, I miss her so much. It hurts I want to keen. 

I want my baby back.