How many men?

How many men does it take to carry a baby's casket?

Just one... Her father.

I am grateful that Addison's grandfathers were able to escort her daddy as he took the most difficult walk he could imagine. Have you ever seen a baby's casket? I'm sure you never wanted to. I hope you never do, especially a second time if you were able to attend Addison's funeral. From other grieving mothers, I have heard they are not all the same. Addison's was a delicate white fabric. It was simple and perfect. It sat upon a wheeling cart which had a cloth draped over it, there were no handles. It had one single clasp, to open and close. When I first arrived at the church on her funeral day, her casket was closed. I ran (or did the best I could since I had a C-section just 6 days before) to it and opened it immediately. I needed to see my little girl.

How strange to see a baby wearing make up. I wondered what her skin looked like beneath it. There were some areas of her head, beneath her hair, that appeared red and splotchy. I tried to assume that's the way newborn heads look. I brushed her hair to the side. She had a natural part that mirrored mine. Her skin was cold to room temperature. Her feet had little white socks. Her fingers were open, as if my finger was permanently frozen in her hand. She had her hospital band on her left foot. Her ears were still a little squished. They never had time to adjust from being in the cool cap. The back of her head was flat from never having spent much time alive off of her hospital bed...

I have a duplicate of her funeral gown. I have not looked at it since the funeral. I just had a thought that I could dress Addison's sisters in it for their baby blessings... That might be morbid...

I accidently got some of Addison's lipstick on her dress when I set her back inside her casket. I was terrified when I saw it.... I thought it was blood.

Her feet where white. Ghost white. I noticed the black hairs on her arms because of her paleness. But she was not born fair... That came as part of the embalmment process (I think).

I thought to cut an extra lock of her hair... I couldn't do it. I had some at home... It would have taken away from her beauty.

I might continue this later and expand the post... I might not. I'm stuck in this memory of her at the moment.

With... who knows....

Addison's Mommy

Disappointed

Disappoint

 

verb: to

fail to fulfill the hopes or expectations of (someone).

 

This is my new word. This is how I have decided to answer the forever "how are you" question which seems like such a stupid question but people don't know what else to say. And then they don't know how to react to my shrug of the shoulders. My "I'm alive (but she isn't)" statement. I am disappointed in so many things and in a few people. Before I had used the word angry. But that wasn't true. That wasn't the right word. That was just the only word I could find at the time.

 

More than anything, I am disappointed that I don't have Addison. My hopes and expectations have been so, so ruined. I hoped to have a painful, labor intensive delivery. I hoped to cry and moan and be completely exhausted. I hoped to eventually hear that they could see her hair. Her beautiful black hair. She would have been almost here. Daddy would have been ready to cut the cord. I would have heard her cry as they passed her up to me. We all would have cried.... for joy.

 

Did you know I never got to cry for joy? Not once did I get to do that after she was born. To put it simply, I have been excruciatingly disappointed.

 

Since the horrific disappointment of losing Addison, I have been disappointed by many, many things. Some have been facts of life. Some have impossible circumstances. Some have been mistakes made by myself, like losing her hair. And I have been disappointed by a small group of acquaintances, friends, and family. It is strange to think that  I ever had hopes of their sensitivity to the loss of my child. But I guess those hopes, maybe even expectations, came shortly after my life changed forever.

 

I do have one friend (not the only one) who has not once failed my hopes and expectations. She is the mother of Baby #1. She came into my life as she was running from her own life changing events. Now, we want exactly what the other has, but nothing of what the other doesn't. See, our families are a bit broken, to say the least. I have lost a child, but have an amazing husband. She has two beautiful children, but has an abusive husband. She needs help. She is doing her very best to raise these boys in a healthy, loving, Godly environment and her husband has not made this easy. Her divorce has put her into severe debt and she has humbled herself greatly in order to ask for help. My friend deserves her babies just like I deserved Addison. We couldn't save Addison, but we can save her boys. If you are able to help my dear friend, please consider donating. She has also asked for encouragement and support. This is the link to the fundraiser she has set up (Click Here). Please read her story that she so bravely has shared. I know what it's like to lose a child. No one else should have to.

 

And I have one more thing to ask on her behalf, if you know her personally. Go hold her baby. Go love on him and say how stinking cute he is because I can't. It hurts too much (and if you don't understand that, stop reading my blog). I wish I could.

 

With Love,

 

Addison's Mommy

Father's Day from Daddy

Father's day was yesterday. It was a good day for me. I was able to see family and friends and listen to good talks about fathers. There was one part of two talks that I feel I related to very well and those who have been through a similar situation can agree. They both talked about our heavenly father having to sit by and watch his only begotten son being torchered. And hung up on the cross. At a moments glance our father in heaven could have saved his son, but even him knowing the importance of that event and Christ fulfilling the atonement had to sit back and be subject to the atonement and it's importance to the rest of us on earth. (these are my personal thoughts and I am not sure if it is doctrine, but me trying to fully understand how it would have been).

For 3 days I sat at my daughter's bed side and watched many machines and medicines work to keep her alive. The only thing I could do was pray. I gave Addison a blessing her first day in the NICU. In that blessing I had a peace come over me that all would be fine. Me, wanting to say the words that Christ so many times had said, "rise and be whole." The spirit did not guide me in that direction. And I knew at that moment that we were subject to a higher will. And knowing that my daughter's life was in the hands of our heavenly father was reassuring for me that all would be fine. Now thinking of how I can be a good father to Addison is for me to do my best to keep the commandments so that I can be with her for all eternity. To live a righteous life. One that my father in heaven and my daughter Addison would be proud of. 

But having been through this helps me know more of what our heavenly father had to go through in subjecting himself to the will of the atonement. I can imagine him on his knees in tears for having had his son go through all that. But what joy did he have when he saw him again at his presence. And at that day when I get to see my Addy again, oh great will be the joy that this father will have to hold his daughter once again. 

I love you Addison and I love your mom so much. I know that you are about a great work. And I am proud to be your dad. Your mom and I love you so much.

Love,

Dad

You are Contagious

Did you know you are contagious. Everything about you is. Your love. Your hope. Your pain. Your fear... I want to talk about that last one some more. 

I am not afraid. I am not afraid of anything anymore with a couple exceptions. I am afraid of getting cholestasis again. I believe it did not cause Addison's decline but if I do get it again, I will become an immediate c-section and I will only be allowed to have c-sections there after due to having 2 c- sections in a row. Therefor, the amount of children I am able to have will decrease in number. 

I also am afraid of insensitive people and comments who could worsen my pain for as little as a moment. 

But there are so many things I am not afraid of anymore. Petty things. Things that could have been contagious for stupid reasons. 

Do you think Addison was afraid? Was she afraid because of me? Was I afraid of death and was she?

Well I wasn't afraid of Addison dying. What I was afraid of was life afterwords and rightfully so. But I pray she didn't feel that fear. I tried to be so strong for her. Because that's our job as parents. We are supposed to teach our children they can do and be anything. They should not be afraid. Especially not of our fears. They shouldn't even be afraid of death itself. 

Most fears of the world seem so petty to me now. Spiders. Ghosts. Physical pain. A bad grade. Disagreements. I have lived through my greatest fear, the loss of a child. Something I didn't even know I should be afraid of. But it was never death that scared me. It's always been life there after. 

So don't tell me I'm afraid. And if you need someone to be stronger than your fear, I am. 

With confidence,

Addison's Mommy

I Shut the Door

I shut her casket door. Or rather we did. But for now, I am only going to talk about my side of it....

How could I shut that door? How could I say goodbye. I didn't want to and I still wish I hadn't. I just wanted to keep holding her. My dead baby girl. She shouldn't be in this white box. She shouldn't have makeup on or be without her blanket. I just wanted to keep holding her. That's right. You may not have known this. I'm not sure if any one does but we held her. After the funeral I picked my baby girl up out of her casket and held her. I cried. I brushed her hair. I kissed her sweet, soft, cold skin. I held her hand. But she couldn't hold mine. Can you imagine holding your cold, dead baby? The little girl who never got to open her eyes to see her mommy and daddy.

I tried to open one of her eyes. It was before we took her off the machines. I just wanted to see what color they were, but I couldn't see. I knew and know that most babies' eye color doesn't develop for several months. And at first they almost always look black. It felt so wrong trying to open them but I just wanted to know what color Addison's eyes were.

She was wearing a diaper. My poor baby girl had a diaper on at her funeral. I don't even know what size it was. Diapers are for accidents. They are for children who have not yet learned to control their need to go potty. Why would Addison be wearing a diaper??? Well, they don't make underwear her size. Because babies always wear diapers.

I got to change her diaper once in the hospital, before we held her. Although she had a catheter in, she had a stinky diaper. I don't even know if that's what new born baby stinky diapers are supposed to look like. I so wish I could just change her diaper again. I could do some mommy thing for my baby. But you know what? In the moment I almost didn't worry about how good of a job I did, you know why? Dead babies don't get diaper rash.... At least not to my knowledge. So if I didn't quite get it all, it wasn't like her skin was going to have long to react. But really, the reason why I wasn't meticulous about it was because I was scared. She was hooked up to so many machines. I didn't want to bump one or cause her any more pain by lifting her bottom by holding her ankles up. She looked like she was in enough discomfort.

I have only one single picture of me holding Addison while she was alive. Just one. There was a photographer there to take pictures. She took pictures of us giving Addison her first, last, and only bath. She captured the moments of us getting all the bubbles in her hear and being more delicate than we have ever been, because she was still hooked up to all the machines. I couldn't bear to wonder if my baby would die as we gave her her first bath. And I couldn't bear to bath her as she got cold after her heart stopped beating. There were pictures taken of Daddy holding Addison and an alive family picture without us leaning over her hospital bed. There were pictures of me singing to her and us kissing her as she left her body... The SD card malfunctioned. They are gone. Stuck as the best memories I can conjure up. Professionals have attempted to unlock or fix the SD card. It was unsuccessful. So, by elimination, now you know that all these "pretty pictures" of Addison were not taken when she was breathing. Her heart was not beating. She was cold.

You may not like how I have spoken about these things but it's real. It happened. It still happens over and over in my head. I would give anything to have not had to close that casket.

With sorrow and loss and mourning and anger and tears,

Addison's Mommy

Not rhetorical

Not rhetorical. What does it mean to you "to mourn with those who mourn"? Is there a time frame? A limit to the depth of grief? I'm not trying to call anyone out but I'm really just curious. How do you mourn with someone else? What if it's someone you can hardly relate to. I haven't always been a shining example. In 2012 a family in my area suffered a terrible tragedy. I thought about how aweful it was but I didn't go to the funeral. I didn't know the family directly and didn't want to be insensitive. I wasn't capable of understanding the depth of their loss. I wish I was as empethetic then as I am now. 

I love all those who came to Addison's funeral. I especially love those who had maybe never met us but wanted to show support. And even now there are people reading this blog that know seemingly nothing about me but have chosen to participate in this life altering experience of ours. 

I want her back. I want her back in the most selfish ways possible. Because her mother needs her. 

I have recently made the decision to be angry. Furious even. There have been things said and done that I have not shared with you. Horrible and terrible memories. I have put a lot of energy into trying to not be angry at these people. But guess how a coke bottle explodes? Pressure. How do you open the coke without getting soaked? Let the pressure out. Little by little it has to come out. Keeping it locked away will only make it worse  once it is set free. I still think these people don't need the whole world hating them, but if you would like to ask me about it one on one, I'd like to share now.  And if you do ask, don't you dare judge me or try to "fix it" or worse, "fix me". It's already done. It can't be changed. Just like she is gone and can't come back.

Thank you for your best efforts in understanding. 

With Love,

Addison's Mommy

Her Heart was Always Strong

Never Let Go

By some miracle, Addison was able to respond to us taking our finger away from holding hers. She would tighten her grip. You can see here where her grip was strong enough to lift her hand off her bed slightly.

My Heart in My Hand

The Love of Her Father

 

She was for Daddy too

I survived fathers day. Some may not like that I might sound like I'm making father's day about me. It wasn't my day. I wasn't the one who should have been falling apart as the church talks discussed wonderful father-child memories. Well I wasn't the only one at least. I actually got through mother's day better than father's day. I'm going to try to explain it. I don't really expect many people to understand. Those who have suffered infertility will probably relate to what I'm talking about.

All my life, I wanted to be a mom. First I would get married. I figured around 20-21. My plan worked. I got married when I was 20. After marriage, I decided I wanted to have my first child around 21-22. That worked too. But I never imagined this could happen to me. I couldn't be the one to have a miscarriage, or have a handicapped child, let alone a child that would die. It was not in my plan. It shouldn't be in anyone's. What was really the most flawed in my plan though, was that "I wanted my first child". Well Addison was not mine alone. She is ours. Mommy's and Daddy's. So I should have said, "After marriage, I hope WE can have our first child by the time I was 21-22." Because Addison was not just for me. She was for Daddy too. I wanted to give Daddy a child. I wanted to see him hold her and kiss her. I wanted to see daddy toss her up in the air as she giggled and screamed for more. I wanted to watch Daddy read a book to our little Addy and watch her head fill with wonder. I wanted to see her run to the window when she would hear his car come in the driveway. I wanted to watch her melt his heart as he let her brake Mommy's rules. I wanted to watch him dress up for her tea party's and then teach her how to shoot a gun in the same week. I wanted so many things for them. And now Daddy doesn't have his little girl. Sure, he has me. But I'm not who I used to be. Not without Addison. And sure, he has her, but not in his arms. I know Daddy adores me. I know I will get to see him do those things with her and also with our other children. But I just wanted Daddy to have his little girl. He should get to have his baby. Especially on Father's Day.

Yesterday I posted this poem to his wall. I hoped that I did enough to make him feel like the amazing father that he is. I'm very thankful for those who wished him a Happy Father's Day. It took some of the pressure off of me.

A Father's Grief

It must be very difficult
To be a man in grief,
Since "men don't cry"
and "men are strong"
No tears can bring relief.

It must be very difficult
To stand up to the test, ...
And field the calls and visitors
So she can get some rest.

They always ask if she's all right
And what she's going through.
But seldom take his hand and ask,
"My friend, but how are you?"

He hears her crying in the night
And thinks his heart will break.
He dries her tears and comforts her,
But "stays strong" for her sake.

It must be very difficult
To start each day anew.
And try to be so very brave-
He lost his baby too.

Author Unknown

 

Remember Her

I went to the church mingle the other night. Every Wednesday hot dogs are provided and the rest is a pot luck. I used to love going to these things. I actually once even played in the rain with the kids. Well, I really contemplated going for about 2 days. I wondered how many babies would be there. How many people in general? How many people who have said inappropriate things? How many of my go-to people.

I guess I didn't contemplate enough. 5 out of the 6 babies were there. The crowd was small. They were hard to avoid. I stood in line with my back to the crowd so I didn't have to make eye contact with them, the babies. 

What was I supposed to do once I got my plate? Where was I supposed to sit? The babies had started to be passed around. I guess most of them are old enough for that now. Addison would have been old enough. She would have turned three months on Wednesday. So now, not only did I have the literal babies that were getting carried and passed around, but I also had to avoid their families. By families, I don't mean the people exactly. I mean the location of their car seats and strollers and blankets and pacifiers. So really, where was I supposed to go? I walked down the hill to sit on the bench. Nathan went with me. We just sat there. The two of us and River. It was embarrassing. I wanted to go. No one talked me into it. I honestly thought it would go well. And it didn't.

My baby died. She should be in my arms. More than that, she should be in yours. She should be adored and passed around and I should have to worry about who has her. She should need a stroller and car seat. She should be cooed over and tickled. One of the things I hate is not knowing what she would have been like at 3 months now. I have no other children to know or compare to. Could she role over? Could she hold her head up? Could she sleep through the night? How much should she weigh? What size clothes would she really be in? There is one way I can know. One way I can get an idea of how she compares to mile markers. And it hurts too much. I don't want to look up on the internet what a 3 month old baby can do. I don't want to look at all the church babies and see what she can't do.

How can anyone help? What can you do? I feel like I've said it, but maybe not directly enough. REMEMBER HER. Well what does that mean? Reading this blog is HUGE to me. It really is the biggest thing anyone can do. Secondly, somehow tell me that you are still reading. I don't expect anyone to read every day. Not everyone's life can revolve around mine. But it really does bring so much joy to me when someone asks me a little more about something I wrote recently. Or I get to read a comment that said you hear what I'm saying and feel this loss as well. I trust you people who read my blog. That is a big deal. Especially if you have one of those 6 babies. I feel like I can hang out with you and you will be able to be careful about my triggers and know where my heart is. And please, never stop asking about Addison. Ask if I have felt her recently. Ask if I am working on any more memorial projects. Ask. And know that sometimes I might cry, not because you have hurt me, but because I have gotten to share my memories with you. They are the biggest burden of blessings I will ever carry and I am nearly begging just to have someone to share them with.

One of the things I realized early on that I would be very sad about is her name. Addison's name was hand picked, even before she was born. I just loved it. I wrote it a million times. My calendar, my school notebooks, any scrap paper always had me practicing writing her name. I hate that I hardly get to use it now. Maybe I still use it as much as I would if she was alive but over time, I think that will change. Not as many people will remember. Not as many people will know. That beautiful name for my precious baby. I know it wasn't wasted. She deserved a beautiful name. But I just hate that I don't get to say it, or won't get to, as much as I wanted. And you won't say it as much either. Not in the long run.

Today is her 3 month angel day. I don't know why it is that I remember these days more than her birthday. I worked all day in the yard. It was a good distraction. On our way home from dinner, we stopped for fathers day cards. Sorry dad, I just couldn't get in the right mindset to get you one. I was focusing on getting a card for Nathan. I don't suggest you ever try it, but it really is quite a challenge to get a card from a child that has passed. I'm sure it is also very difficult to get a card for a father who has passed. And a father who has not been a father. Where is that section at the hallmark store? Where is the unfair father's day section? I think these holidays might be even harder than Christmas.  I don't really have a plan of how to get through tomorrow. Not like I did on mother's day. I guess I will just rely on people's prayers to get me through.

Very soon the dates are going to start recurring. The day Addison was conceived (July 6th), the day we found out we were pregnant (I think the 18th), the day we took announcement pictures (our anniversary the 28th)  the days we announced to our families (about August 18th), the day we announced to the world... and so on. I don't think its the numbers that will bother me the most. It will be the feelings. The things I was doing a year ago on those days...

Anyway, thank you guys for reading. I know I don't write as much. That doesn't mean I don't have as much to write about. But sometimes I need to process it myself before I tell it to you. There are a lot of things going on right now. Things I want to share but am nervous to. Sometimes even the happing things are incredibly overwhelming. I don't want the slingshot effect.

With Love,

Addison's Mommy

Compare Not Compete

Compare not compete. Compare not compete. Compare not compete...

Tonight I met with several other angel mommy and daddies. It was wonderful. It was awful. I am one of them and we never wanted to meet each other. Not like this. It's not some social group to talk about books. It's not some team where we practice our skills. Our babies died. My baby died...

I always knew no loss was the same. Tonight I learned that on another level. Some babies were lost early. Some were full term. Some lost twins. Some have a lot of support. Some seemingly almost have none. I know I'm not alone. That's what this is supposed to be about. Unfortunately though, there was one thing I found myself jealous of. It's hard to understand being jealous of someone else's loss. It's easy to be jealous of someone who has not lost...

Addison NEVER cried. She NEVER moved. She NEVER opened her eyes. I do have a video of hiccups. And some might think "that's movement". But that's not voluntary. She never had the opportunity. I will never know her voice in this life time. I will never know her eye color. I don't get to remember a quivering chin or a desperate hand reaching out for someone to hold. IT SUCKS. It's so stupid!!! She was there, she was in that body. She moved in me. She stretched and grew. It was so unfair that she didn't get to show off what she practiced. Blinking. Sucking. Breathing on her own. She didn't get to because.... because....

She died. My baby died. Addison died.

Alive

I wish I was tired. I thought I was. Now Daddy is falling asleep though. What would I be doing right now if Addison was alive? I feel like I should specify and say "alive" instead of "here". Several people have said to me "she's right here with me". Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. No one can prove where she is exactly. But if she was alive, if I'm really honest, I would probably be fast asleep, trying my best to rest between feedings. Or I might be in her nursery, rocking her in the glider with only a lamp on so she didn't think it's was day time...

Lately I have noticed the phrase "______ is in heaven right now". But who they are talking about is not dead. They are very much alive and joyful. It's almost a cruel phrase. They're child or baby is not in heaven. Mine is. My daughter had to go through death to get there. Heaven is her reward. I don't think there is anything on earth deserving to be "in heaven" than to die. I pray no one ever uses this phrase on me while I'm on earth. In a lot of ways, I would rather be in heaven. That's where Addison is. But I can't get myself there. I won't try. 

I take words very literally now. Heaven. Angel. Baby.... Unless you are speaking litteraly, those words hurt out of context. Those words should not be joked about or said lightly. Not around me atleast. 

When I was a teenager, I went to a camp in the summertime. There was a boy there who liked to tell cruel jokes. He was "cool" and so I tried to be friends with him. But he told dead baby jokes. I pray you have never heard these. Now they play in my mind though. How could anyone joke about such a tragedy? A true nightmare? It takes a lot of effort not to hate people sometimes...

These are the things that slip into my head at night. Terrible, terrible things. How could anyone expect me to be ok? My life has become my worst nightmare. I'm just trying to survive... 

Addison's Mommy

I would have brought my baby

Do you know where I would have brought my baby? Everywhere. My baby would have gone everywhere with me. Because that's what babies do. You don't leave a baby in the car with the windows cracked. You don't tie them to a tree with a leash. Even when they are crying and screaming, you don't send them out of the grocery store. 

Well my baby isn't here. She is dead. Daddy and I took her off life support so that she could die in our arms instead of on machines. Machines that couldn't do enough to keep her alive because her mind was already gone when they resuscitated her. 

It's so lonely to go anywhere without her. I should have to lug around a huge car seat and worry about all the things I should have in the diaper bag. I should try my best to fold up that chunky stroller to fit in my car. I should be conscious of when the last time was that she ate and how many diapers I might need. 

Well I don't my baby, instead I have a dog. It's a poor replacement. But it's the best I can do to fill this gaping hole in my heart where my baby should be. I am getting sick of people telling me that I can't bring River.  I debate whether I should tell them. Can I even speak the words? My baby died. I would have brought her instead. Unfortunately, all I have to bring is my dog. Can she please stay? Can she please help me to not feel alone? At least I look like a mom when she is around. I have her bag of chew toys and extra dog food. I don't want to look alone. Even worse, I don't want to feel it. 

Currently, we are in the process of trying to get River trained as a service dog. PTSD is accepted as a disability in which a service dog can help calm anxiety attacks. Not many dogs qualify to become service dogs. First she must go through extensive training for obedience for about 3 weeks in NC. This costs about $1500. Then she must be assessed for her learning ability. 

I have spoken with the owner of one training facility. I am hopeful that River is capable of learning the skills to be a service dog. I was told that the best thing I can do is expose her to everything. They said not to sweat the small stuff like chewing and "sit". They will fix all that. Worst comes to worst, atleast I will have an incredibly obedient dog. But the best case scenario is that River can go with me ANYWHERE the public is allowed. This alone will help me tremendously. I could maybe breath when I go to the grocery store. I could relax at church. I could never worry about scheduling a puppysitter because "dogs aren't allowed" where I need to go. 

Anyway... If you know of some places or things I could expose River to, that's the first step in this process. Some things they have recommended aside from the ordinary are crowds, crashes, revolving doors, wheelchairs, diverse groups of people, other animals (not just dogs) and other things I can't think of right now. 

Another thought I have had is to my local grocery store, library, doctors office, and other common places to see if they would be willing to let me expose River to their environment. I don't know if I want to call. It might hurt too much if they say no. But it would mean a lot if they said yes. Let me know if you feel like calling...

With Love,

Addison's Mommy

All that I need

Lately I haven't felt like writing. But right now I feel like crying. But if I start, I won't be able to stop, so I'm holding it in...

For the past few days I have been reading. Not anything immaculate. Actually, I've been reading about you. Now really it's only been a couple people. But I wanted to see what you were doing during the hardest week of my life. Are there traces of comments you made to me? Are there joyous pictures of your family? Are there no posts at all? I'm not looking to be mad at you if your life didn't revolve around mine, but sometimes I just wonder if that week existed to others. Was it documented? Did it change you? I know we had and have a lot of support, but it's not in my face anymore. I have to look for people to be supportive OR tell people how not ok I am so they remember I need them. It's exhausting. I know I don't need to prove anything to anyone, but somehow that's the only way I feel close to people anymore. I have considered sharing the dirty details. The things that would make you cringe and give you nightmares. They are sacred and lonely memories of my baby. But I don't think you can handle it. I don't want to make you try. 

My baby died. That statement should provide all the support I will ever need. It should...

With Love,

Addison's Mommy

Baby Blessings

Yesterday was exhausting. I woke up with a head ache which evolved into a migraine. We went to church. It had been a while because I have been avoiding baby announcements and because of our trip. It's really hard not to cry at church. It's hard to be there at all. There are so many babies. So many little girls. And that's where her funeral was. We wheeled her casket into that room. That's where I saw her for the last time. 

I can't sing anymore. I used to love to sing. It's too hard now though. I have to predict if the words are going to trigger me and try to keep from crying. 

There was a baby blessing yesterday too.   I asked someone when they were going to be. I didn't expect one that very day. I knew I couldn't stay for it. When the time came for it, I bolted. Daddy stayed so he could text me when it was over. I went outside and sobbed. Addison didn't get a blessing for all to hear. She did get one. Right before we took her off the machines. Right before she died, we blessed her life. 

Today is Daddy's birthday. He is 27. I don't think he likes that number very much. At least this year he wouldn't have expected a gift from Addison. She wouldn't be able to color a picture or sing him a song. I think the future will be harder. 

I need to go back to visit the hospital soon. I need to. 

With love,

Addison's Mommy