Sometimes I find myself in situations where I have to make a very conscience effort to remind myself that the people I have encountered are not aware of my journey and that they are simple doing their jobs. 

Yesterday was one of those days.

My "worst case scenario" self had my realistic self totally paranoid about some leg pain I have been experiencing lately so my PCP ordered an ultrasound to put my mind at ease. All was well but I added a tally mark to the ultrasound list...I am almost certain that I have had more ultrasounds this year than most have in their entire life. 

As I laid on the exam table the sonographer was explaining the machine to me and telling me how good the imaging has become. She does not know me nor did she know that I am an ultrasound pro so I just listened to her. In her explanation of the imaging she asked if I had ever had an ultrasound. I hesitantly answered yes and she asked if it was "for the exciting gender reveal during a pregnancy." My instinct was to say, "nope, I found out I has having a girl after they stuck a massive needle into my abdomen while I was awake and nicely ripped out a piece of my placenta." I resisted the urge but politely responded that I had to have several ultrasounds due to a complicated pregnancy. My hope that this would satisfy as the answer was quickly crushed as she asked a few more questions.  I know I am beginning to heal because I can talk about my journey without totally losing it but I don't always like to share with strangers. It is sensitive and personal so I don't usually provide all the details but the sonographer seemed to really want to know our story so I give her my very quick and very rehearsed run down...Addy had a cystic hygroma and after an MRI, we knew she also had a right sided diaphragmatic hernia, dysplastic kidneys, and underdeveloped lungs.

After sharing, she asked if I drank enough water throughout my pregnancy. 

I found it to be an odd question after I just explained how Addy had passed away but she proceeded to tell me her story. She shared that her son had to go to the NICU after his birth because "he also had issues with his lungs." She explained that her doctor told her his issues were a result of "lack of amniotic fluid most likely caused by not drinking enough water throughout the pregnancy." She continued that he is "perfectly fine now" but he has "really bad asthma" which she feels really guilty about because she "caused it by not drinking enough water." 

I left the conversation at that. 

There was nothing else to say. 

For me, it isn't helpful to hear that God needed an angel in Heaven.
It isn't helpful to hear that my Addy is in a better place.
It isn't helpful to hear that I am young and can have more children.
And it isn't helpful to be made to feel like I did something wrong. 

I would have ingested the Mississippi River if it would have changed Addy's prognosis. 

I am convinced that there will never be a Tuesday 

that the first thought I have as I rise is, “today my Addy would be ….”

Surely I will be 90 and thinking, “my Addalyn would be 3,225 weeks old.”

Today, she would be 23 weeks old.

My heart still aches. It hurts, it burns, and it longs for my beloved daughter.

Tonight, I watched the recording of Addy’s memorial service.

Is that strange? Perhaps

Is it healthy? I have no idea.

Is it some part of the blessed grief cycle?  Probably

Is it needed for this grieving momma? I believe so.

To hear Jim beautifully reflect on Addalyn's precious life, or to hear Michael sing “All Of Me,” or to hear letters written to Addy after we had the opportunity to meet her, or to see her life displayed in pictures…it is all needed by this momma...even though it hurts. Her life may have been limited but it will be my life's work to ensure that she is never forgotten. 

I wept as I remembered back to that day…the day she was born and the day she passed and the days to follow after I parted with what made my heart whole.

It was and will forever be one of the very best and the very worst days of my life.

I have been forever changed.

To the moon and back my beloved daughter. 

And so it begins...

August 2, 2012

 I had my very first positive pregnancy test one year ago today.

I had been feeling tired at work so my dear friend Casie convinced me to take a test. 
I took it more as a way to prove her intuition that I was pregnant wrong.

This was the series of text messages that followed... 

Me:

Negative

(I included a picture of the test for Casie's viewing pleasure)

Casie:

I see a slight pink line! Are you sure?

Me: 

The second line is so faint that I think it is negative.

Casie:

Ok, I just showed Jason the test and before I said anything I asked what he thought.

He goes, "oh yeah there are two lines!" 
YOU ARE PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!

And just like that, I was a momma.

I will never forget the overwhelming amount of joy that I felt in that moment. 
Joy and disbelief...I took a test on the 3rd, 4th, and the 14th just to be 100% certain!

There are life alternating dates that will be ingrained into my memory forever and I know it will be difficult as those dates resurface this year. What I have certainly learned through the grief process is that life does not stop, it will not even slow down, it just keeps on going whether you are ready or not. 

...........................

To the moon and back my precious Addalyn.

Momma loves you and misses you beyond words.

18 Weeks

I hit my highest weight when I was working nights in the Pediatric ICU. 

It was a stressful job where I faced life and death on a nightly basis (perhaps forshadowing for what was to come in my life?).  It takes a special nurse to work in the PICU and after a year, I realized I was not one of them.

When I would have a stressful night, I would go to the cafeteria during my lunch (mind you it was 2am) and get a plate of fries and a grilled cheese sandwich...you know one of those really good grilled cheese...texas toast rolled over the cascading butter and then fried in even more butter. It was so good that I used to eat them with a fork because I didn't like the butter saturating my fingers. 

After a shift change and a job change, I took up boxing and dropped my PICU weight. At the beginning of my pregnancy, I continued with the workouts. I tracked my heart rate at my OB's request and scaled the workouts back to stay in a safe zone. Once things got complicated around 12 weeks, I struggled to keep up with the workouts. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted so I gave myself permission to stop boxing.

I only gained 35 pounds throughout my pregnancy which I felt pretty good about since carrots don't constitute "comfort food" in my book. When we had a bad appointment, we would cope with good food...Mexican, Flea Market Burgers, Mac&Cheese from McCoy's, Stroud's, etc. Why is it that food has a way of making us feel better?

After Addy was born, I started walking and by 6 weeks post baby, I had dropped 15 pounds. With the blessing of my OB, I started boxing again after 7 weeks and slowly my clothes are beginning to fit again.

Most days, I find that I am exhausted from trying to feel normal in a very unnormal world. My emotions fluctuate, I feel drained, and a good nights sleep is few and far between. So, I am getting serious about getting healthy...physically, mentally, and emotionally. I started seeing a counselor weekly to help me work through the grief, am making an effort to attend the monthly support groups at Alexandra's House, made a 'bucket list' of things I want to accomplish in the coming year (perhaps I will share as I begin to cross things off the list), continue to go to my boxing classes, and am trying to avoid processed foods to refuel my weary body with natural, clean foods. 
  

 
Sad, Depleted, Heart Broken, Weary, Bitter, Devastated, Angry, Jealous
Grief is a process and I have felt the gamut of emotions...sometimes all in just one day. There are days where the tears will not cease, some days my chest burns without avail, and some days I find myself being so angry and frustrated that everything just makes me mad. 
 
This year, I have to focus on me and restoring my brokenness. 
When I turn 29 next July, I want to be able to look back and know that despite how difficult the year was, I can hold my head high and know that I made it though.

Easier said than done? Sure. But I have to start somewhere.
Here is to turning 28.





 

I have been beyond touched by the personal gifts that we have 
received in remembrance of my Addalyn. 

A wall plaque with Addy's birth statistics, an engraved necklace, a charm bracelet, a picture frame holding her hand and foot prints, a monogrammed keepsake box, a 'sleeping baby in angel wings' garden statue, a monogrammed blanket, and the list could go on.

I am beyond grateful for the outpour of love. 
Thank you to you all. 

This past week, a beautiful drawing of Addy and her luvie showed up in our mailbox.

I have no idea who it is from, it was sent to Alexandra's House and then on to me. 

She is remembered. 

If your hands crafted this work of art, thank you. 

Thank you for caring enough about my journey to bless me with a 

beautiful drawing of my precious daughter. 

Support

I have been so blessed by Alexandra's House. 

Monthly, they host support groups for brokenhearted parents regardless of where they are in their journey. There are expecting parents, parents who have recently lost babies, and parents who lost babies years ago.

We attended in April and for various reasons, I have not been able to go back until today. 

To sit in a room of people who have or will experience the loss that you have experienced cannot be explained. No two stories are the same but the feelings of pain, sorrow, sadness, and heartache are felt by all.  There is an indescribable sense of understanding as you share your story and listen as others do the same.

Both times I have gone, 

I have walked away feeling comforted by the fact that I am not alone. 

At 4:45, we gathered for family pictures on Emily's wedding day. 

As the photographer assembled my entire family, he casually said, "is this everyone?"

My heart sank. He simply wanted to insure that everyone that needed to be in the picture was present but Addalyn will forever be missing.

Missing, but never forgotten. 

Much to my surprise, Emily insured that Addalyn was with us.

Woven into Emily's bouquet was a charm with Addy's picture. 

I can't even begin to tell you how touched I was. 

As a grieving momma, it delights my heart so to see Addalyn being remembered. 

She was mentioned, she was talked about, and she was remember. 
 Her spirit was present and felt in the warmth of the sunshine on such a perfect day.

I am blessed with an amazing family and am so touched by their love for my daughter. 

Mr. and Mrs. Brinkmeyer

Emily and Chad wed at Eventful at Locust Grove in Weston, MO 

in a beautiful outdoor ceremony.

 

  

 

 

And the pictures would not be complete without the beautiful bride and groom!

Welcome to the family Chadwick. 

Father's Day

Nate had never really held a baby.

Babies made him nervous so he always preferred to let me hold while he watched.

For not really being a 'baby person,' Nate is an amazing daddy to our Addy.

He was a natural with Addy and it was pretty incredible to watch his love.

 

He wrapped her up in his arms. 

He read to her like it is something he has done many times before. 

And, he loves her with a love that I don't think he knew he was capable of. 

 

Happy first Father's Day Nate.
I know the emptiness and longing you are feeling today.

But through the pain, I hope you know that your role as a daddy 
will never be forgotten. 

 

There is no doubt that she knows your love.

12 Weeks

It is Tuesday.

I dislike Tuesdays.

 I might even go so far as to say that I hate Tuesdays.

Every Tuesday, I wake up to the realization that one more week has lapsed.

I find myself getting lost in the thoughts of what should be as a way to mask life as I currently know it.

Today, my precious Addalyn would be 12 weeks old.

This should have been her first week at daycare and my first week back at work. 
I should be shedding tears on my commute as I leave my precious little one with someone else for the very first time. Instead, I shed tears over what will never be.

What would her laugh sound like? 
Would she look more like Nate or more like me?
Would she be sleeping through the night or still waking every few hours?
 Would she...would she...would she...I will never know.

To the moon and back...forever.