1,734 days "She Can't Come Visit You... She Died"

 My Cousins daughters went to build a bear after Leeona Died and made this teddy bear. They gave it to me so that I could feel better, and have something to hold on to. It brought me layers of comfort when I needed it most... Naturally it became Mitchells when he was big enough, and he knows that it once belonged to her. 

 We have photos of our daughter in our house - we always have. From the day she was born/died, there has never been a time that we didn’t have her everywhere. So naturally when our son was born 2 years later we still had them up. As he’s grown he has mentioned them and I have always told him the truth- that that was his baby sister ( even though she technically would have bene his big sister ) … As time has passed and he’s gotten older & the more questions he’s asked about her - the larger explanations I have had to give. For a long time I would say that she lives far away  in heaven that was enough for a while. Lately it hasn’t been - So we have had to have hard conversations. Every night at bed time for a week straight Mitchell had asked about her picture above his bed. I started to realized that somewhere with in the last couple weeks he learned “what” a sibling, or sister is… So every single night he has asked to play with her and when I say that she lives far away, it hasn't been enough…

 It’s  “Well... she can come a different day?” 

“She can come visiting me annuuuder time? Right Momma” 
Each time clinging to her pink teddy bear that she “ let him keep”. After four nights of going through the exact same conversation and feeling like my breath was being sucked out of me when I answered. 
I finally had to tell him, bluntly and honestly…. 

“She can’t baby, because she died. Leeona is Dead.” 

The amount of understanding that this boy had blew my mind and honestly tore me open even a little more….
"ohhhh She died? Like Tadashi?” 
-(Tadashi is a big brother in one of his favorite cartoon movies, who goes into a burning building to save a teacher, and then the building explodes.)

I told him yes… That she died like Tadashi... Then we had a bit of a tangent and I had to explain  she didn’t die from fire… but that we should never run into burning buildings… he put his attention back on her and continued questioning me.. 

“So she’s wrrrellly wrelly gone…"
" She can’t play with me… never-ever?!”
“Mumma…. Where you wrellly wrelly sad?”
“And was daddy wreally sad too?”
“And Neverybody criweddd and criewedd?”
“That’s really sad…. We miss her so muccchhh, huh?”
So we continued talking about how sad I was and that yes, I do miss her every day... I told him how excited we were when we found out we were pregnant with him, and how he saved Mommy and Daddy from a place that was really hurting and that we are so thankful to his sister for bringing him to us. 
Parenting after loss is beautiful, and hard and has some super unexpected moments, that I probably saw coming, just not this soon… Not tonight, not the middle of the almost summer as my son is winding down for bed, but  I think the beauty of parenting a child is all the moments you learn to get through together.. I wasn’t ready for the talk, I wasn’t ready to break his little innocent mind, until I had to be in that moment… and then realized I wasn’t. I didn’t break him, and everything I thought would hurt him was something his little mind had already processed off a cartoon… Kids understand so much more than we think they do, and he maybe even taught me a little bit. <3 

Oh, you left so fast.

 “I’d never pictured every minute without you in it,

Oh, you left so fast…

Sometimes I see you standing there.

Sometimes it's like I'm losing touch…

Sometimes I feel that I'm so lucky to have had the chance to love this much,

God, give me a moments grace… 

‘cause if I’d never seen your face; 

I probably wouldn’t be this way.”

Today it’s been 11 years since Matthew asked me out on our first date. Every time I think of our growth as individuals, and as a partnership so much of it revolves around this day. This little girl, who we had to say goodbye to in such an unexpected way and time. I’ve been thinking a lot, about how far we have come from a couple of kids to two people who are still figuring out exactly how to be the best of ourselves. This song, ^^ it got to me today. The date, it got to me. The photos that I flip through when I’m needing to remember all that she was, they got me.

And I think thats okay. 

I am SO much more mentally healthy, with in our loss than I was. I have coped, I have learned how to use our tragedy to help others, and to give back. I have learned and taught myself healing, I have figured out how to have a ‘normal’ life and move forward. I can tell my story with detail and not bat an eye, hold it in.. 

I’ve learned how to do all that when I see it coming ( and I’ve learned to - almost always- make sure I see it coming) but today, I didn’t. I didn’t prepare for the way it would hit me when the song sang; 

“Oh, you left so fast” 

She left me, so fast. She was gone before I knew it -  in the most real way that sentence could be read. She was gone. So fast. And Somedays I am still trying to catch my breath with that. 

I was gone with her, so fast. Who I had pictured myself becoming was gone, and who I thought I was, what I wanted to be. It was all gone. 

I was an empty shell of who I used to be, with an empty stomach to prove it. 

And some way, some how.. this man stood by me. Through postpartum  hurricanes and grief tidal waves he held on to me and we pushed through to the other side. We both have things, and worlds of work to do on ourselves but we aren’t the people we were before. 

“Sometimes I feel that I'm so lucky,

 to have had the chance,

 to love this much

God, give me a moments grace… 

‘cause if I’d never seen your face; 

I probably wouldn’t be this way.”

I’ll feel lucky, for the rest of my life that we had a chance to love her that much. And I feel lucky that loving her this much, lead us to be better people, better parents better spouses. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant with Leeona, I don’t know where we would have ended up. I don’t know who we would have grown into. But I do know that she made me “me” and mom, and who I am now, and she made Matt a Dad and who he is now. 

I’m thankful to all the grace ever given to me during that time - lord knows I needed it. I’m thankful that I saw her face, and that she made me this way. Even if today it’s a mess, and a broken heart that can’t be reined in. 

I miss my daughter, and the life we could have lead together, the sister she would be to her Brother… And today, I’m not able to hold it all in. Tonight, I’m not able to act, like I have ‘healed’ I’m not able to pretend that it’s not hard. 

So hears to 11 years of love, and loss. Happiness, sorrow, growth, falling down and standing up.

I’m thankful to her, that “I am this way” and that  we are this way, and that we are still figuring this out after 11 years.

To everything, there is a season....

In the mornings, before work, and before my little guy is up for the day, I sit outside on my and drink my coffee. It’s usually the only quiet moments I get until Mitchell is down for the night. There’s something about peace and quiet with hot coffee, even in the summer, that just feels right. My dog Bella, roams around the yard and takes off after rodents, occasionally a car will head down the drive way, presumably for work, and maybe a bird will chirp; other than that the only noise that I hear over and over again, is the acorns bouncing off my car. 

We park our cars in a row that begins in front of our porch, my car, my husbands truck, and then his work truck. Between my car, and his truck is a big old oak tree, when the cars are moved, my son is able to swing high in his infant swing that hangs from the limb. 

Every summer I sit out there and listen to the acorns dropping. 

It starts at the end of July, and goes through September. 

When the acorns fall, it is my season. My season of grief. 

At Leeona’s funeral, my aunt read scripture from Ecclesiastes; 

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

This is my season of grief and of mourning. 

It’s weird, how something similar can bring you back, my body remember  things that I didn’t know I remembered. It’s the heat somedays, crisp, no moisture sun on your face kind of heat, that I remember at the funeral. I couldn’t bring myself to take off my cardigan, I couldn’t bring myself to strip off that bit of color and be left wearing black. The breeze was enough, to allow me to keep it on. The sound of the acorns falling, the sound of my cousins voice belting out “Amazing Grace” only cracking occasionally when her grief took over for moments. I remember the sound of feet crunching the dry over growth on the ground beneath us, and the sound of a dragonfly wizzing by my head. 

So I sit on my porch, and I listen to the sound of acorns falling and with every ping, off the top of my car, I miss my daughter. I wonder who she would be and where life would take us, and what her voice would sound like. I wonder what would make me think of her, I wonder what smells, and sounds, and moments should make me remember her. How different this list would be if she had survived. 

Theres this weird thing that happens when you grieve. Its like everyone in the world is “there for you” and they understand, and they want to help in whatever way they can, and then all of a sudden, their lives move on, and you are left there still struggling to keep your head above water. All of a sudden they have climbed into a speed boat, thrown you a life preserver and sped off into the sunset. You are bobbing there, trying to breathe trying not to drown. Like they have forgotten that you’re still learning to swim.  

I’ve gotten good at floating, I think I have learned to swim, but there are still times that I need a boat. I think that if I had never been given the gift of being Mitchells mother; I would have drown already. 

Remember when you see people who have faced a significant loss, that their pain goes with then everywhere they go. It doesn’t just stop once everyone has sped off. Remember that they will go through seasons, seasons of happiness, and love, and loss, and grief, it will come back and slap them in the face, sometimes even when they aren’t expecting it. 

I feel my daughter more, during this calendar season, than usual. I face more pain, and more guilt, more emotions during this time of year, because im always left with the “what ifs” 

I don’t really have a point to this post. I don’t have some kind of story to tell you, or a revelation that I’ve come to. I guess, I’m just asking, to forgive me if I’m distant, forgive me if I’m rude. 

Be gentle with me. 

I’m in my season. 

Being thankful for a scraped knee.

I needed my son to scrape his knee today. 

You see, my son has pushed me to my limits this week. He hasn’t been sleeping; he’s been wild and all boy, and screaming his lungs off every time he wants attention.  Ive always been incredibly grateful for him, and have been feeling guilty about how irritated I’ve been with him lately. No sleep will do that to you.

Today, we played all morning. He napped when he decided he wanted a nap, I let him run the schedule.  We played in the yard, in his little blue truck, and Sometime during that he decided he wanted his Dada. So he wobbles and runs up the drive way towards our garage, and once he made it to the tar, he fell. 

Insert scraped knee. 

It wasn’t until I sat him on my counter and cleaned up his leg, did I realize that this was the first of many. He had never scrapped his knee before, and I remembered how incredibly lucky I am to be present for another first. I was never able to be a comfort for my daughter. I was never able to kiss her boo boos or hold her when she cried, I never stayed up for hours and hours trying to soothe her. Oh, but I spent so many nights staring at the ceiling wishing I could hear her cry. 

My point, is that I got to put my baby boy up on my counter. Clean up his little booboo. Slap a bandaid on it, and give him snuggles. I’m grateful for that, because it’s a privilege to be his momma I needed something this week to remind me of that. 

It’s not that I don’t always know it, but of course somedays are harder than others. 

I can finally say, I know what killed my daughter...

I’m finally able to say it. 

I think I know what killed my daughter. 

I don’t have anymore medical evidence today, than I had yesterday, or six months ago, or a year ago. Things have just started to click together more in my brain, and fell into place for me. 

If you follow my blog, you’ll have read a post not too long ago, about finding my old planner. That planner held my life in it. I had “mom brain” ( which is really just Kassie Brain) so I wrote down all the things I wanted to ask my care providers at my next meeting, and if I didn’t write it down, I would forget. 

So I still have those notes. 

They had comments like 

“Dark Pee. Water intake?”

So I asked my midwives how much water I should be drinking. 

“itchy Skin. Benadryl?”

So I asked my midwives if Benadryl was okay to take.

     ~ Reading that note brought up a memory of  Matthew attending one of my appointments, he told my midwife that I had been itchy. That immediately caught her attention, and when she asked

me about it, I brushed it off to a medical condition that I have, that causes hives when my skin temperature changes, I told her it was (my) normal. 

“Changing her position.” 

So I asked for stretches I could do to keep her out of my rib cage. 

     ~And that one sparked a memory, about how she seamed to Always have her foot under my ribcage Always on the right. 

Dark Urine, Extreme Itching, and Upper Right Quadrant pain are all the top symptoms of Intrahepatic Cholestasis of pregnancy (ICP). 

“ICP is a liver disorder that occurs in pregnant women. Cholestasis is a condition that impairs the release of a digestive fluid called bile from liver cells. As a result, bile builds up in the liver, impairing liver function.”

~It also dramatically increases your chances of Stillbirth. 

~It reoccurs in 60-90% of following pregnancies,

~And it occurs more often in women who’s sisters or mothers have also had it. 

My sister was diagnosed with ICP in her pregnancy less than six weeks after my daughter died.  I was diagnosed with it 2 years later while I was pregnant with our second child. 

And I had all the signs. I just never said them out loud to my providers. 

In up to 100% of Intrauterine deaths, related to ICP there is meconium present. (Also present in 15% of live births) There are also symptoms of oxygen deficiency recorded in the autopsy, a majority of the time. 

We chose not to have an autopsy preformed, but she had a heavy presence of meconium, and symptoms of anoxia including purple lips. 

I don’t have any new evidence, I just have my gut, and when I throw all this information together, for me; its enough. 

I can finally say what killed my daughter.

When someone asks me, what happened? Instead of saying, 

“I don’t know. We had a ultrasound 6 hours before and everything was fine.”

I will look at them and give them an answer. I will tell them that she died of a medical condition, that occurs occasionally in pregnant women. I will tell them what my symptoms were. I will tell them to speak up about their symptoms, and tell their providers. I will tell them so that maybe, they will be able to catch this before it gets ahead of them, or someone they love. 

Just like  I did a few weeks ago. I told a Momma about my story, about my daughter,  and she told her Doctor about her symptoms, and was able to take action during her pregnancy, she delivered a healthy baby,  and for me, that helped me cope with my daughters death a little more. 

Talk about your symptoms. Even the small ones. I promise you, you'll never regret telling your doctor/midwife too much. 

                  Leeona Christine, where ever you are, you are loved beyond measure. 

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2678574/

Pancakes and Pajamas.

A birthday party for a little birthday boy. 

I read a post once about a mom to a rainbow baby going "over the top" for her rainbows birthday party. She felt like she had been robbed of birthdays with her first child, and so she made a point to make each birthday party special for her next baby. I'm not sure I can blame this on loosing my daughter.  I think her first birthday party probably would have been a little extra cute too. 

However the day of his actual birthday, I spent alot of time thinking of her, feeling extra grateful for him, and considering how lucky we are to have this sweet boy. We spent the whole day, just the two of us, ( with the occasional interruption for Bella, our Jack Russel) We snuggled, and played with his new birthday truck. We read books, and giggled, and it was a great day. I am so so thankful for this sweet little boy! 

NOW; LETS TALK PARTY. 

I've learned that I'm a Pinterest Momma. I got it from my mom, who is a party planner extraordinare. And thanks to all kinds of help from Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery in Ellsworth, we made his party ADORABLE <3 She flipped pancakes to order, and set up the cutest breakfast bar. We had a muffin tower, yogurt parfaits an adorable mimosa bar, and sprinkle dipped milk cups!💗💗💗💗 

 Watching his face when he realized he was allowed to smash into this adorable cake was priceless! 

ess!
We had a Cereal Bar!
Complete with Strawberry milk, whole, and Chocolate!
A home made pancake banner draped across the front of the table,
Mitchells Daddy glued 100 tiny pancake confettis together by hand!
And Mitchell happily helped himself to some Yummy Fruit Loops! 

   

My Birthday boy <3 

So grateful that we got a couple photos of him in front of this cute set up Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery

 The Muffin Pile was QUICKLY devoured!

Can you really have a brunch without a Mimosa Bar!?

Frozen Grapes to keep those Mimosas cold!

 Kisses from his "Cookie" (Grandma Cook) 

 Scrumptious Yogurt Parfaits!
Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery

Having fresh made pancakes during his party was THE CUTEST and they made the whole place smell amazing! My personal pancakes were made with sprinkles and topped with whipped cream! Although I was eyeballing those chocolate chip and banana ones! ;)
Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery

 All Kinds of good toppings!
Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery

Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery

Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery 

Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery

Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery 

 TELL ME THESE MILK CUPS AREN'T THE CUTEST THING YOU HAVE EVER SEEN?

Oh you can't?!
That's right, because you would be lying! 

I loved these.
They were probably my favorite part,
 Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery went
ABOVE AND BEYOND with these..

Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery 

Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery 

A nice Pop Tart Selection on the Mimosa bar! 

Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery

Harper was pretty impressed with the sprinkle cups by Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery  

Dear Mom.

Dear Mom. 

The day I lost my child, you lost your grandchild. 

When I look back at pictures from the funeral, there are pictures of me hugging everyone else, but you. 

And I’m so sorry. 

While I was grieving, and I was lost, in the sorrows of moving on with out my child, I forgot that you were grieving too. 

And I’m so sorry. 

While I was being hugged by people, some that I barely knew, you were working. You were setting things up, and tearing things down, and organizing flowers, and taking care of me, of my pregnant sister. You were passing out tissues and drying my tears. 

And I’m so sorry. 

I wouldn’t have survived my grief with out you. I wouldn’t have been able to pull myself out of some very dark spaces, with out you. 

Thank you. For reminding me to shower, for brushing my hair, and bringing me coffee. Thank you for letting me know, that a little deodorant, and basic hygiene would go a long way.  Thank you for the smiles and the laughs, that you forced onto your face to keep me moving in the right direction. I know that that couldn’t have always been easy; and I’m so sorry, that I never stopped to ask if you were okay.

 I know people will say that I was lost in my grief and that it was okay, to think of myself, and they are right. But it would have been okay for you to think of yourself too; but you didn’t. You thought of me.

You put your daughter before yourself, and you met my needs before you even evaluated your own. 

I’ve always been good with words. But I’m not sure I will ever be able to say how much I appreciate who you are. All that you’ve done. And all that you’ve taught me. I made decisions about my daughters life, death, and funeral, with her in mind. What was best for her? What would she have (hopefully) grown up to want? What choices might she had made if she were given the choice. And I made those choices because you taught me to put my child first, by always showing me that. 

You’ll never ever know, just how amazing of a mother you really are… and I’m so sorry that I don’t have the ability to make you see. 

I love you, to the moonshine and back, Momma. More than Iced Lattes. 

Ditching the guilt.

When you find people who love you unconditionally, with out reservations, with out fear; hold on to them. 

I’ve never had a hard time sharing images of our daughter, images of our grief, but there are some photos that I shy away from posting. Mostly fear of judgment, but also guilt. I feel so incredibly guilty that there are several images of me smiling after my daughter died, smiling at her funeral. When we were in the hospital, they give you a “pillow” which was actually a rolled towel in a pillow case, to press against your incision, when you need to sneeze laugh or cough, after a cesarian. After I had my daughter, my family labeled mine, my “Giggle Pillow”, and it drove me nuts, I felt guilty every time someone said it. 

So while I was going through the images of her funeral today, I stopped on this one. It wasn’t a moment of happiness, but a moment of love. Loving this man who had taken such good care of me unconditionally. Loving him so much, that I could look into his worried and stressed eyes, and know that somehow we would survive this. Our daughters casket is behind us, and our family is all around, but in that second we found a way to just be him and me. We found a way to communicate that we loved each other endlessly, and that we were gonna push through this together. 

And I thought “It was okay, for me to feel that. It was okay, for my grief to not overwhelm every single second of me.” And I thought about how this may be one of the most intimate photos of the two of us, ever taken. And that its okay, to share, and okay, that it happened on what was one of the worst days of our life. 

When you find the people who love you unconditionally, with out reservations, with out fear; hold on to them.  And if you’re grieving; ditch the guilt. Embrace every single second that the guilt isn’t drowning you. It’s okay, I promise.

So while I am at it, Here are a few more. 

Pretty sure Matthew wasn't impressed that I forced him to smile for the first one ( tickling never fails) but the second one was much more free. It was us releasing balloons in her honor, and It felt like a beautiful way to say "happy Birthday" to her. Even tho her Birth, day was shadowed by her death .