Only You

Remember a while back when I got all riled up about writing Rip's book...actually wrote a book?  Then got rejected by 40 some odd editors and publishers?  That was (not) fun.

Finally, a very nice man who offered to take a look at some of what I'd written confirmed what I already feared to be true...I needed to re-write the whole darn thing.  Well, maybe not the WHOLE thing, but most of it.  Talk about exhausting.  I mean, wasn't it enough to live it, write a blog about it, and then kind of copy and paste all of that into a book?

Yeah, I was afraid not.

The problem was that mainly I wrote like I thought I person might write who was writing about losing her baby...I didn't write like me.  I didn't write what I wanted to write, I wrote what I thought "they" wanted to hear.  And "they" hated it.

So, for a while I've kind of not done anything with Rip's story.  And to be honest, for a while I've been pretty angry with God.  This may be a post for another time and place, but it all kind of seems to go together so I might as well get it all out in one fell swoop (what does that even mean?).

When I was pregnant with Gracie, I was clinging to my faith so hard, I needed God to be there more than ever.  Then when I had her, a lot of that anger that I couldn't afford to have after Rip died just came bubbling back up.  I came to the conclusion that I believed in God, but I was supposed to have all of this LOVE for Him...and to put it mildly, I wasn't feeling the love.

And that lasted for a while until I didn't feel that way anymore.  And that's that, or what months of inner turmoil looks like in blog form anyway. But sometimes I think people go through really hard things and they don't admit to feeling doubt or anger and I think sometimes I was one of those people.  Heck, even Mother Theresa had doubts!

Yesterday I was reading a blog another mother had written who had lost a baby years ago.  She was talking about a sign she received after praying for that very kind of sign.  And I felt such a sense of recognition.  I don't know how God works all of the time in the world, there are certainly things I will always question Him on, but I do know that He sends signs to mothers who have lost their children.  I believe in signs.

So, last night I started thinking about Rip's story again.  And kind of talking over with God whether or not I should write it again.  I flipped open my Bible (after many months of staying away, I've started reading it again) and the following verse is what I read: Now finish the work, so that your eager willingness to do it may be matched by your completion of it...(2 Corinthians 8:11)

And I realized that I am the only one who will ever be able to tell Rip's story.  I am the only one that was with him from the very beginning to the very end.  The only one who can complete this for our family.  So I hope I can do it, even ten years from now, I hope it is something I finish.

Dat?

Gracie has reached the age now where she wants to know what EVERYTHING is.  She is constantly pointing her meaty little finger and asking, “Dat?”…”Dat?”

Some things you can just pray that she only asks to see at home.  One she has recently become obsessed with is my c-section scar.  As you may remember, I had some…troubles…when I got out of the hospital with Gracie and so my scar is a bit larger than most (ie you could probably see it from space). 

Still, when this little love of my life points at it and asks “dat?” and I tell her “that is where Gracie came out of mama’s tummy”, she nods very smugly and smiles a small little smile… and I feel very, very lucky to have been so beautifully scarred by my children.

And “dats” all that matters.

Nights of Crinkling Dipes

Gracie has been sick for the past few days (somebody please tell me this immunity thing is going to kick in soon!)

Because I am now neurotic by nature and nurture, I always come to the come to the conclusion that something is terribly wrong any time she cries out in the middle of the night.

This has resulted in several nights of Gracie and me setting up camp in the guest bedroom, my body wedged into a "V" in case my strategically placed pillows missed a spot and, God forbid, I should fall asleep and she could roll off the bed.  Really, there is no need to worry as the mama is not getting a lot of sleep in this scenario.

Last night, as I lay there with a footy pajama-ed foot slung across my face, thinking about all of the things nobody should think about at 3 am, Gracie rolled over.

It was the crinkling noise her diaper made that did it.  It's just such a comforting sound for some reason. I looked over at her tiny little body, all compact in her bright rainbow pajamas, and the THERENESS of her got me good.  All snugged up, safe and sound.

There will be a day when she doesn't need me to wind my body into a "V" to protect her.  There will be a day when she knows I can't make it all better.  But in these nights of crinkling dipes, where we need each other, that's the good stuff.

Perfectly Said

I read a blog post this morning that put something into words so perfectly that I had to share it.

It gets harder as time goes on to know how and when to talk about Rip.  It's sometimes hard to tell other  people why I want to talk about him so much, but Jack's mom did it so much more eloquently than I ever could.

I love that when I go shopping with Gracie, giggly little teenagers stop trying to be cool and tell me that she is adorable.  I love that I can exchange knowing glances over her head with other mothers when I pick her up from school and an end of the day tantrum is imminent.  I love that everything about me when I am with her screams that I am this child's mother.

And I miss those things so much with Rip.  I miss having all of the same love for my child who is not here, so I can't be his mother without saying a word.  So echoing the words of someone who said it perfectly, thank you for continuing to say and for letting me say Rip's name.

When God says "Girl, Please"

I hit a low Saturday night.

In my defense, I was recovering from the stomach bug...
An aside here...before I got pregnant with Rip, I was on a solid 19 year streak without a single stomach ailment.  Ever seen that episode of Seinfeld?  Yeah, that was me...now I've had five in the past two years.  My, how the mighty have fallen.  I digress...
It had been raining for 72 hours solid, and some other things that fall under the category of "not fit for internet consumption" were going on.

I was sick, weepy, and I'd had it with the whole world.

By Sunday, the sun was up and my head was out of the toilet, unfortunately my attitude stayed where my head previously resided.

I ventured out into the world, crappy attitude and crying toddler in tow, to the grocery store.  Keeping Gracie happy and my list checked off distracted me enough to have a little clearer mind when I got back in the car.

What came to that clearer mind went something like this..."So what if life isn't going exactly how you planned?  So what if "things not fit for internet consumption" aren't going exactly the way you want them to?  Are you going to have a miserable life because of it?  Is that what you want Gracie to see?  A mom who droops around all of the time because life is hard? Here is how this is gonna go down..You CAN be Happy and You WILL be Happy."

I'm not sure if that voice of reason came from things I have learned over the years, or maybe it was my mom (who is known to give some pretty sassy advice)...but I think it was probably just God saying "Girl, please".

When we got home, I opened the doors and windows and turned the music on as loud as I could.

The first song that came on shuffle was Van Morrison's "Full Force Gale"

"Like a full force gale
I was lifted up again
I was lifted up again by the Lord"

When God says "Girl, please" you best listen.  I CAN be happy, and I darn well WILL be happy.

Hold on...or not

I tend to hold on too tightly.  To things, people, you name it.

I am also not particularly adept when it comes to technology.

And I am really impulsive.

These three things proved to be a nasty combination earlier today when I wiped out about 100 emails I've been hanging on to for the past two years in one fell swoop of impulsiveness/I wonder if I can't take more pictures on my phone because it is full of emails.

See, I thought that if I deleted the emails from my phone, they would still be on my computer.  I was wrong.  They are also no longer in my trash.  Two years of emails...emails of desperation to anyone and everyone after Rip died, emails written in fear when we found out we were expecting again, emails  of joy when Gracie arrived.  At first, I could't believe what I'd done.

But, before you write to tell me how I could get those emails back (and I am sure there is some super tech-y fix to this problem), once I sat for a minute and stared at the white space on my computer I actually breathed a little sigh of relief.  I lived those emails, the memories are still there, but it's kind of nice not to have them staring me in the face all of the time.  Maybe it's good to start fresh every now and then?

I hold on tight...it's what I do.  But maybe accidentally throwing two year's worth of some pretty emotional emails into cyberspace isn't the end of the world.  Maybe choosing what to hold on to, or not, makes what we are left with mean that much more.

Hot Chocolate

I realized today that I have a lot I need to write about.  Namely Gracie's first birthday and Gracie's first Christmas.

Those are HUGE milestones in any kids life, but if there ever comes a time that Gracie wants to read this blog, I want her to know just how much she is loved and what an answer to a prayer she is.  Yes, I want this blog to document Rip's life and how he shaped our family, but that goes for Gracie and whoever else comes along too.

What brought all of this on you ask? You didn't, but I will answer anyway.  A craving for hot chocolate that brought back a long forgotten memory.

When I was pregnant with Gracie I lived in constant...fear is probably too light of a word...total terror is probably more accurate...that something would happen to her before I got to hold her in my arms.  Losing Rip taught me how precious every second we have with our children truly is. I still believe that, not in a morbid way, but in a children really are miracles kind of way.

Anyway, my doctors tried to ease my constant anxiety with weekly non-stress tests.  Whoever named those things clearly never had one.  I get that they are not supposed to put any stress on the baby, but I was sweating bullets.  The deal is that you get to listen to the heartbeat, see if you are having any contractions, and the baby is supposed to move a certain amount of times in fifteen minutes.    The first week there were four of us lined up, huge bellies out, watching what somebody's idea of a cruel joke...a birthing movie.  Ten minutes in guess whose baby hadn't moved yet? 

Eventually, after being "buzzed" (they actually put a large buzzer to your stomach and for all intent and purposes scare the baby half out of his or her mind), she moved...but I spent the next week convinced something was wrong.  So I took matters into my own hands.  From then on, each week on the way to my appointment, I stopped at Starbucks for a tall hot chocolate.  The kid never failed a test again and neither of us was in the least bit stressed (or buzzed off of anything except chocolate).

So today I had a random craving and stopped for some hot chocolate.  All of the sudden, those feelings came rushing back..  All of that fear and yearning for my baby girl and wondering if she was ever, ever going to be in my arms...just all of it.  And now she is here, and it was so worth it. 

I want to make sure that she knows that, and her whole little life is documented here right along with her brother's.  More Gracie to come (who, by the way, loves anything chocolate...hot or not.)