Happy Girl

I've said time and again on this blog that I have always been a "happy girl" aka, an optimist. And I've said how hard it was to be that girl after Rip died.

I know the expression, "hope for the best, expect the worst and you'll never be disappointed". It makes sense, kind of. But I just don't operate that way. I'm more of the "think of the absolute best (probably never gonna happen) scenario and day dream about it until it doesn't happen". And yeah, maybe I get disappointed but usually not for long...by then I'm already on to the next great thing that's going to happen any minute.

It was really hard believing that after Rip died and when I got pregnant with Gracie. Really hard. Even with my perfect, beautiful baby girl it was hard. I wanted to believe the best again soooo badly. But it was hard.

This year, for our anniversary, Parke and I went back to Tortola-our home away from home. The last time we were there was when our wonderful, thoughtful friends sent us after we lost Rip. It was amazing how healing it was to go back. How different we are today than we were then. Parke was like a little kid.

Before we left, I'd made up my mind I would be pregnant by the time I got back. This is the kind of thing I do, only to make up my mind again the next month. Nonetheless, I bought a pregnancy test and left it for our return.

We got in the car and the song "He Called Me Baby" came on the radio. The same song I heard when I  knew I was pregnant with Rip. You can imagine what was going through my head.

Unfortunately, by the time we reached paradise, it became quite clear that I was not pregnant. Like, the exact thing you DON'T want happening on your romantic beach vacation had happened. To make matters worse, I was completely unprepared for this unwanted visitor (optimist remember) and all the resort had to offer resembled what I was given to wear by the hospital after the birth of my children. Awesome.

Still, we had a wonderful vacation. Really, really good. And the whole time that same song played in my head, and I thought "Maybe??". And I had to smile, because the Old Anne was back. Here in this beautiful place, I felt like I'd found that Happy Girl again. The one who still believes even when EVERYTHING point to the contrary- like basically wearing a diaper in her bathing suit contrary. I'd missed her,  a lot.

The last day or our vacation Parke came and grabbed me to show me this:

So, of course I took the darn test when we got home (I'd paid for it, right? Also, patience is sooooo not my thing).

We are expecting our third child in early August.

And of course I have that voice in my head..."but Anne, what if you write this and then something happens again?!!" So what? The joy I have over the baby is not something I am willing to sacrifice to fear. Not this time.

I saw him (of course I don't know yet, just a feeling) yesterday at 12.5 weeks. I am a Happy Girl.

Peace, Love, and Happiness

I haven't written on this blog in almost two months...which I think is the longest time I've ever gone without saying SOMETHING. I've thought about writing a million somethings, but those thoughts usually occur somewhere around 3 am when I am in crazy "see what I can dig up to worry about" mode.

After Rip died, I felt compelled to write. That's not a strong enough word...it was almost like if I didn't write what was in my head that very minute whatever it was would become too big for me to deal with. Writing was a lifeline.

Writing also became a part of me, something I will always be thankful for. I still write, in fact I'm writing for a couple of local publications on the side now, and I truly enjoy it. But that need to put everything on paper seems to have faded.

I guess my life seems pretty normal right now. Almost everything I do is stuff that every other mom I know is doing. There isn't a reason to get it out here because nobody understands it out there.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still different. I still feel my heart sink when somebody says "wait til you have two!" It will always catch me off guard when someone asks how many children I have. I will always have days when I cry because I miss my baby boy.

But most days, I feel peaceful. Well, busy and peaceful. At peace, I guess. At peace with exactly the kind of mother I am, and exactly the kind of family we are. A broken thing that is slowly being put back together, with the cracks still visible to anyone close enough to us who cares to look.

Most of the time I feel love. And I feel loved...by God, by my husband, by my friends, by my drama queen of a two year old. That love doesn't look a darn thing like I thought it would four years ago, but it is fought-for love...and that's the best kind.

I am happy. I never in a million years thought I would be. Could be. Its kind of a miracle, really.

Now, this is not to say every day is peace, love, and happiness. Peace is generally not having your two year old smack your face and make a big production over saying sorry. Love is not always having your husband fuss over the new scratches on your car for thirty minutes (its not like I do this stuff on purpose). Happiness is rarely found while cleaning out a crock pot a solid three weeks after making a roast. No, that's all called yesterday.

That's also called normal. Sometimes normal can be even better than peace, love, and happiness.

Why do we need to know?

I am sitting on a tropical island right now. I am writing this blog post because what I just heard on the television behind me, I couldn't keep inside.
They are having a round table discussion about whether or not the Newtown CT 911 tapes should be played publicly, and most of these people are agreeing that it is our right as Americans to hear them.
I want to ask  each of these people if they have ever lost a child.
I did, at one week old I lost my son to meningitis. I was with him every moment until he died. And still I cannot walk into a hospital, eat red and white mints, or wash my hands without thinking of him, remembering the day he died.
These parents, the ones of the babies who were killed that day, they have it worse. The worst fear of every parent in America, in the world.
So why- why, why, why- is it our right to make this harder for them? One year later they are trying so hard. They are trying so so hard to heal. To have Christmas for their other children, to make the memories of the children they lost mean something. Why, on top of everything else, should they live in fear of turning on their TVs and hearing something they already hear in their worst nightmares? How can we possibly say we have the right to know?
I wrote this quickly and angrily, and I'll probably regret doing so. Surely there are people who need to hear these tapes, who can learn something from them...but for the rest of us... It's just not about "us".

The Definition of

Thanksgiving.

When I see you in Heaven

Dear Rip,

I used to worry about when my time came, and I made it up to heaven, if you would know me.  If you would know that I was your Mama.

The day you were born, I only got to see you for a few minutes before they wheeled you away.  You were black hair, pink cheeks, and even from feet away, mine.

After that I didn't get to see you for one whole day.  You were too little to leave the nursery and my body wouldn't let me get to you.  It was terrible.  I cried and cried, and asked anyone who would listen if you would know me.  If you would know I was your Mama.

But you did.  You did, you did, you did.

The moment you heard my voice, the minute you were in my arms, it was so obvious you had very literally been a part of me and that nothing could make either of us forget that.

Even as you took your last breaths on this earth, I knew you were at peace because I felt your peace in my arms. That was a gift you gave to me.

So I don't worry about it anymore.  When I see you in Heaven, I will know you and you will know me.  We are part of one another.  You will always know me.

I will always be,

Mama

Why its sad

This probably seems like a no-brainer.  The fact that I am sad on Rip's birthday, that is. But its more than the fact that he is not here to celebrate it...I deal with that kind of sad every day.  Note that I did not say that every day is sad, I have lots (more than not) of wonderful, happy days.  Its just that each of those days I carry with me the fact that my son is not here.

When I was a little girl, every night before my birthday, my dad would tell me the story of how I was born.  The lead up (my mom eating cheesecake and watermelon just beforehand), the wait (aka my dad took pictures in the hall while my mom labored for hours and eventually had a c-section), and finally the big reveal (a little girl, surprise!).

Every person has a birthday story. A story of when your life changed the lives of your whole family. What makes me sad on Rip's birthday is that his birthday story was such a happy one.  On any other given day, I can say "well at least I know things are better than they were three years ago".  Except on the night before Rip's birth and the day after.  Those days were happy, so exciting.  The pictures we have from those days show nervous, excited first time parents about to have their lives changed.  Those pictures show our families with huge grins on their faces. They show a perfectly healthy little boy. Those were happy, happy days.

Parke and my biggest statement about Rip's life is that he is A Good Thing. He will always be A Good Thing.  We are trying hard to make our lives reflect his as A Good Thing.  But while I cherish his birthday as A Good Thing, it still makes me sad, and it is much, much harder on me than the day he died. So that is why yesterday was sad, but my sincere hope is that we will find a way that it won't always be so.  Thank you so much to all of the people who reached out yesterday and remembered our boy on his big day, it helps more than you know.

My Person

"For where you go, I will go and wherever you live, I will live.  Your people shall be my people and your God my God"
Ruth 1:16

Happy Birthday, my Rip.  Wherever I am, there you will also be.
I love you so, so much.