Showing posts from January, 2012

Dear Parker

Dear Parker,
I miss you, Parker Marie! I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. I think you are a pretty cool little kid. I miss seeing your dance routines and your funny faces. I miss hearing your jokes and your giggles and laughter. I even kinda miss watching you put your parents through the ringer with your super amazing temper tantrums. I’m still waiting for you to turn green and go all “The Hulk” on everyone. Unfortunately, one day you’ll learn you are only allowed to do those sort of things in your head, and it’s not nearly as fun.
I love your smiles and hugs and how we can tell you we only love you a little bit and you’ll say, “Noooo! This much!” and spread your arms as wide as they can go. I love how whenever you have a sleepover at my house we read the cookie pop-up book and before we turn the last page when the gingerbread house pops up we look at each other and grin and ask, “Ready?!” I also love how you now think your daddy should buy you a gingerbread house to live in.

It's Called Grieving.

Many of you won’t get this. In fact, most of you won’t. That’s a good thing. Because if you truly understand everything I’m writing, it means you have been here, and here is a place no one should ever be. And maybe there will be some you say “I get this!” and then I’ll write another post that completely contradicts everything I’ve said in this post and you’ll want to have me institutionalized. So. You’ve been warned.
I think I try in my writing to end off even the most melancholy post with a hint of hope at the end. What people may not realize is that this is mostly due to the fact I am terrified people will show up to my door ready to stage an intervention if I say completely what I’m feeling in the moment. Often I write after the storm has passed. After I’ve wiped my eyes, got a drink of water, had a nap, and groped around blindly for some perspective.
I’m afraid of writing in the storm. Sometimes what I write in the aftermath is depressing enough. But the purpose of me writing, and…

Dear 2011

Dear 2011,

As with everything these days, I have mixed emotions about you. Perhaps my New Years Resolution should be to try and feel only one emotion at a time – but I think I’ll just stick with “surviving”, as that’s taking up all of my energy and then some.

You were a year of excitement and newness. After 2 ½ years of waiting, with extensive doctor/specialist appointments, medication and drugs, I got pregnant. Finally, Sheldon and I were expecting our own little bundle of joy.

You were the year I gave birth to my daughter in an ambulance. You were the year Sheldon and I got to name our baby Rory Rose. You were the year I became an NICU mommy. You were the year I held my baby in my arms, skin to skin, and heart to heart. You were the year of hopes and dreams, of fear and faith. You were the year of devastation and despair. You were a year of grief, mourning, sadness, and strength. You were the year my baby daughter was born. You were the year she died.

You, 2011, were the worst ye…