Addy's Story

Addison Grace LeCroix

September 6, 2012 - September 15, 2012

8:26 am 6lbs, 6oz 18.5 in

Brother Bryson, Sister Abigail

This is the story of Addison Grace LeCroix.  Beautiful, isn't she? While some of her story has been shared and is general knowledge, a lot of it remains speculation and some will always be an unsolved mystery... one full of "what-ifs" and "supposes" and "woulda-coulda-shouldas". Feel free to draw your own conclusions.

Part One: A Beautiful Girl is Born
My husband and I were blessed with child number 3, Addison Grace LeCroix, on Thursday September 6, 2012.  She was born at 8:26 am, 6lbs 6oz and 18.5 inches long.  My third c-section and first child that was NOT breech.  Beautiful, healthy baby girl. Small, like her older sister Abigail. We were discharged Sunday, September 9, 2012 with no worries except how I would manage a 2 year old, 3 year old and newborn while husband worked and coached football.

She died in my arms 6 days later.

Whhhhattt?  Why? How? What happened? Yep.... all that AND the whole bag of chips.... Over the next several segments I will try and share Addy's story as accurately as I can remember it.  I will be posting everything as I felt it, saw it, observed it, and researched it.  Feel free to use extra Kleenex - I know I have.

Part 2: Before there were 3...

Bryson Turner LeCroix was born July 14, 2009.  Hubs and I immediately began trying for a second child, and we were blessed with Abigail Leilehua LeCroix on August 23, 2010.  Turner came from hubby's grandfather, Granville Turner, who passed away from cancer when my hubby was 16.  Leilehua is my dad's mother... she's Hawaiian and French.  Yep, we have a hula dancer, actress and singer in my family!  I'm told she was pretty famous in Honolulu, you know, back in the DAY. It's pronounced Lay-luh-who-uh for those of you having a teensy bit of trouble.

Anyhow, I digress...

Did we have a certain number of children we "wanted"? I thought 2, then I thought maybe 4?  As my faith in God and His reign over my life grew the hubs and I decided that our Heavenly Father would make that call.  He did, after all, allow me to conceive Bryson while on birth control, so we're leaving that number up to Him.  We are ALL His children anyway.  I just have one request - please no odd numbers...

Ok, so we had our set timeframe where we wanted to have a child... summer is easiest when you're a teacher.  As you can see, we were a little off with Abigail (August), and we had given up trying to have it our way with Addison.  She was due September 17, 2012. So much for a summer newborn.

Problem #1: Vericose Veins - yee-ouch!
This pregnancy was one of the hardest I had experienced.  I've always had varicose veins, you know, those ugly purplish things on the back of your legs?  Well, I never really knew what the big deal was until this pregnancy.  Pardon my French, but they hurt like HADES..... Support hose?  Ha.  They hurt to wear and the second I took them off I was in unbearable pain as blood began to flow through my legs.  Were they hot?  Not for me.  I'm cold natured anyway, so that was NOT a problem.

Problem #2: The Haters
You know, they always say you should NEVER walk up to a woman and ask if she's pregnant.  Well, on the flipside, telling a woman she doesn't LOOK pregnant doesn't make us feel great either. Get to know the person BEFORE deciding to say either, that's my motto.... Telling me your sob story of how big you were, how small you were, how you waddled around and your ankles were swollen beyond belief does absolutely nothing for me.  Just because you cannot physically observe the large mass protruding from my belly does not in ANY WAY mean I don't hurt, I'm not nauseous 24/7, I don't swell, I don't waddle and I don't feel pregnant. Trust me, I go through it too.  If you don't believe me, ask my husband. I carry extremely low and inside... so I have an incredible amount of pain in my lower back and down there.... thanks little one! To add to it, the cute maternity clothes don't fit right... I don't have this massive belly protrusion so all that fabric just hangs there and it's only purpose is to draw your attention and your comments to how I look and ultimately how you don't think I feel. There was a time in my life where I wanted to draw attention with my clothing... not anymore.

Problem #3: Don't Touch my Belly
If you don't want me groping you, please refrain from rubbing my belly like it's a magic lamp. Nuff said.

Problem #4: Hiding a Pregnancy
I hid my pregnancy while at my job... first and foremost for safety reasons... I worked at an alternative school, you know, the school they send all the knuckleheads to when they decide they've done something worth expelling them for... well, it's not a safe environment.  Workdays filled with drugs, thugs and violence does not make a happy pregnant mommy.

Secondly, there were rumors that they were closing our school and would be transferring us somewhere else.  As much as they say it doesn't matter, I didn't want my pregnancy to be an issue or a factor in deciding where I would be teaching the next year.  (Really, who wants to hire a teacher just to take off for maternity leave? Very few employers.) So I took advantage of carrying low and inside and, having a chest large enough to push out my shirts, no one knew unless I told them.  (There were a few, for security purposes... my boss for instance...)

Problem #5: New Job
So I didn't want to wait until I found out if my school was closing or not, and was offered a job at a local private Christian school. My husband and I hemmed and hawed, prayed and prayed, calculated and recalculated the budget, ultimately deciding that God brought about this opportunity and I should go.  I would be teaching AP Calculus and Honors Pre-Calculus... classes some of us never have an opportunity to teach due to seniority... but, but, but... baby girl was due Sept 17... do you know how extremely hard maternity leave is when a) you don't have any sick leave and b) you still have to do all the work?  As a teacher, we still have to submit lesson plans, grade papers, and are still responsible for our cherubs whether we are physically there or not.  Now can you see why a summer baby sounds
so much more reasonable? Well, they hired me anyway, knowing I was pregnant and would need a couple of weeks off.  We already had a nanny, so I really just needed enough time to recoup from my C-section.

Problem #6: Weird Blisters
Wednesday, August 29, as I went through my day teaching at my wonderful but stressful new job, I felt this stinging on my chest.  Like a little bee sting or mosquito bite. I remember telling my friend and coworker that my boobs were on fire... what in the heck was that all about?  I called a friend and asked her if she'd ever encountered the firey boobs... yes, she said. And ice hurrrrrt... so she recommended heat. Or maybe the other way around, I can't remember now.  I just know I felt better because someone else had fiery boobs too. I got home and yep, I looked... and yep, little mosquito bites or blisters or something.  A tiny bit of blood, not much. Didn't even need a Band-Aid.  I put some Neosporin on those bad boys and called it a day.

As I got ready for bed the next day, I went to change shirts and yee-ouch!  Something bit me again!  Well, not really... the little blisters had formed a little scab and stuck to my clothing, so that when I pulled it off, scab came off.  OUCH!  But hey, no problem, that's what Band-Aids are for...

Fast forward to the following Tuesday, Sept 4.  Week 38. Doc says ok, time to schedule... this Thursday or next Thursday?  He was going to be out of town over the weekend.  Shoot, lets get this over with!  Thursday!  Oh... and I have these little mosquito bite blister things that are bugging me.... whaddya think? Do you need to look at them? Nah, probably nothing.  Women's bodies go through so many changes during pregnancy it's hard to tell.  I figured I would be in the land of estrogen in two more days so no problem, no worries….

Wednesday night, kids are with grandparents, hubby and I settle down for our "Night Before We Become Parents Again" Meal…. it has turned into a tradition…. Steak dinner… and yummy steaks from Star Market too.  Filet Mignon, Sweet Potato and steamed broccoli.  I know I have the picture somewhere.  We settle down to watch a movie recommended by a friend called "The Fifth Quarter".

Do NOT watch that movie the night before you're about to give birth to a child.

While we thought it was a football movie and were told it had an alcohol struggle in it that was overcome (one day we'll discuss that…), we thought it was your basic feel good movie.

No.

It wasn't.

And I won't spare ruining it for you.  The family has a son that's a senior (I think) in high school.  He is in a car accident and in a coma.  The family has to make the decision to take him off a life support or watch him be a vegetable… so they choose to take him off of life support and donate his organs. The rest of the movie is about how the family copes with the loss of a child.

WHY ON EARTH WOULD ANYONE RECOMMEND THIS MOVIE TO US? JEEZ LOUISE!

God.  That's why.  Hindsight is like 20/10 baby.

God had a plan, and this movie played an integral part.  I see the big picture NOW.  Right then, I wanted to jump off the cliff.  Did we watch the whole thing?  Yes… we hoped it would get better, that we would see the football element at some part. Nope.  So we went to bed and prepared for welcoming Addison Grace into the world the next day.

Part 3: She's Here!

So Addison Grace LeCroix was born at 8:26 am.  6lbs, 6oz 18.5 in. My mother-in-law and husband were both there.  Let me tell you, after 3 C-sections, staying awake while someone is squishing, pulling, sewing, stretching, etc., your innards is NOT a fun experience... and you don't get to see a thing with this big blue sheet hung in front of your face.  You have your arms stretched out and literally are in a T position laying down.  You can't raise up... and they bring this bundle to you, shove it in front of your face and say "Here's your baby [insert sex]!" You cannot hold, cuddle, kiss, etc., do anything on your own so it really is an awkward moment, at least it was to me. There's a picture of my with my oldest... see the curtain? Can you feel the awkwardness?

So I'm in recovery and they wheel her in.  I get a little nostalgic... and trust me, that's not easy because I'm NOT the person that thinks newborns are cute.  I think they look like shriveled up little rodents.  Depending on how they're born, some have a little bit of a stretched head or extra gooey stuff everywhere.  Yep, not cute.  Not cuddly.  They sleep and squawk, literally.  The fun begins when they can smile, follow you with their eyes, interact, etc.  Ok, so this is my opinion but then again it IS my blog, so I have a right to my opinion on my blog.  If you think I'm being crude please don't read the rest of my story.

Yep, digress again.... anyhow, I'm in a moment of sappiness and self-pity, all alone with baby Addison and the recovery team and I get this inkling that I might want to nurse this child.  Now, I have NEVER nursed any of my children, nor did I ever wish to.  Call me selfish, call me whatever you want, but it's my choice and it's one I did not want to do. I had no desire to have a child eat off of me. If YOU want to nurse your child, that's awesome.  If you need help, support, a pump, etc., I am your biggest cheerleader.  Yes, I know the benefits, I know the positions, I was a child member of the La Leche league... so please keep your holier than thou judgments about my choice to not nurse to yourself.

Ok, so I told the nurse, you know I think I may want to nurse her while I'm in the hospital, maybe while I'm at home with her.  At least she'd get some of this good stuff that's soon to be dripping everywhere.  I've never seen a nurse move so fast.  She had Addison over to me in 2 seconds flat.  But, I said....

But....

But, there's these blister looking things.  They HURT.  They're bleeding (still, a week later... scab keeps getting yanked off by various clothing/Band-Aid, etc. and they HURT)... I don't know what they are but they won't go away.  Can a baby nurse on THAT?  Oh yes, honey... it's fine... I've seen so much worse, you're fine.... Oooookayyy....

So we go to it.  She's a pro.  She's a natural.  Addison is the poster-child for newborn nursing.  She knew exactly what to do and how to do it.  That's my girl.  Not even 2 hours old and smart as a whip.

Me?  Horrible pain. Yee-ouch doesn't begin to describe a child nursing on a cut, blister, skeeter bite, whatever it was.  It hurt so incredibly bad, but she was doing so incredibly well.  The nurse was sympathetic and said she would ask the nursery staff to bring me a nipple shield when we got up to our room and that should help.

Up to the room... my legs are dead to the world because of the anesthesia.  I'm hungry enough to eat a horse but I guess grape juice will have to do.... And by the way, do NOT engorge on all those juices because you are so hungry you want to eat a horse.

Fruit Juice = Bloating = Pain in Belly

There's already pain in belly so this is NOT a good combination.

(No this is not a picture of my belly... HA, that would be great!)

Nursery staff brings me said nipple shield.  Sorry to the men who may be reading this blog.... you can always click somewhere else if this is too much for you.  It does get worse, I can promise you that.

Anyhow, a nipple shield looks like the nipple of a bottle and it goes exactly like you think it would, over the boob. Now, mad props to the nursing staff because it DID feel a lot better.  The pain was still excruciating, but not quite to the point of tears. They decide to set me up an appointment with the lactation consultant.


Around 6 or 7 that evening (where did the time go?), the lactation lady comes.  She looks at my blisters, murmurs a lot of hmmms and wells, and says hmmm, well it looks like mastitis, but I usually don't see that until you've been nursing 3-4 weeks.  Interesting.  But I don't see why you shouldn't nurse, if you can handle the pain.

IF I can handle the pain?  Lady, I've been cut open 3 times... I can handle some pain.  Bring it on.  After all, my baby is getting the "good stuff"

I gave up at 5am.  The pain was unbearable.  Shoot, I gave it almost 24 hours... I did the best I could.  And please people, support a mom's decision, WHATEVER that is, EVEN if it's not your choice.  Don't try and guilt me into continuing to nurse my child, or any of them for that matter.  Don't drop hints or tell me how wonderful it is.  If I want to know, I'll ask.  If you think the mommy in front of you is too scared to ask you, 1) You may not have the relationship you need to have to be discussing boobs and babies in the first place or 2) Kindly offer to go through pros and cons with her, then let her decide what she wants to do.

Addison switched over to formula just fine. She ate fine.  She slept a LOT, but then that's what newborns do.  My nurse Friday evening was concerned about my blisters, wondered why the doctors hadn't ordered a culture or given them a second thought and said she would be discussing it with my Saturday morning nurse. Hmmm, ok I thought.  I mean, I literally flashed everyone and anyone with a medical background and no one was worried... BUT THEY HURT.  A LOT.

Okay, so enter Saturday... Drill Sargent Nurse.  She informs me that she and my night nurse have discussed my blisters and she thinks I have Staph infection.  She says she will be in after I'm done with my breakfast to inspect the blisters and begin the quarantine procedure.

Part 4: Stapha what??

Okay, sorry to keep everyone on a cliffhanger... trust me, it gets pretty emotional just reading back through this story. Like I said in the beginning, some people know the full story, and many just know bits and pieces... when you get the whole thing you'll understand why this isn't something you discuss over dinner, with your friends on Facebook, or even in the confines of a snuggle with your loved ones...  It's gut-wrenching and will cut you like a knife.  You'll wish you hadn't read it.  Shoot, I wish every single day I hadn't lived it.  Not a day goes by that I don't wonder... the only thing that keeps me going is knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that my GOD has a plan with this that will ultimately bring him glory. Change WILL happen because of Addison Grace LeCroix... like I said before, lives will be saved, both spiritually and physically.

Ok, so back to Drill Sergeant nurse...reminds me of this picture I found when I did an internet search for "mean lunch lady"... so just to give you a mental image....

She meant business. I don't think "NO" was in her vocabulary.  So when she told me she thought I had staph infection and that me and my baby would be put in quarantine and such-an-such procedures would be followed... I was in tears.  She told me we would do this after I ate my breakfast.

Well who wants cold eggs after that?

I was beyond myself... staph?  I had staph?  How'd I get staph?  Ooooo those surgeons!  Someone gave me staph.  I shouldn't have had anyone visit me... some visitor gave me staph.  Ooo my daughter?  What will happen to her? Will she be okay? My mind was going a gazillion miles a minute and she wants me to eat my EGGS?

So what did I do... phoned a friend.  Burst into tears and probably boo-hooed to oblivion and back, partially due to post-partum hormones and secondly because I was scared outta my MIND. She assured me that it was okay, I was in good hands and to call her when I knew more.. or something like that.  Honestly, I don't remember what she said, but I'm sure it was something like that... that's what I would've said.  I know I wouldn't have been like "Hold on, honey, I'll be right there!"  Riggght... who wants staph?

And yes, I ate my cold eggs. I still wanted to eat a horse, remember?

Enter Drill Sergeant Nurse.... I flash her the boobs and blisters, which by now have gotten beyond little ant bite sized to nice mosquito bite sized.  They're red and they hurt really really bad.  Sting. A little bit of bleeding, but that's because the derned things can't scab over.  There's one on each side.  Ya know, it's all about being symmetrical.  Couldn't just have one blister/bite/sting/whatever.... gotta have two.

What does Drill Sergeant lady say?

Hmmmmm.... errrr.... well.... hmmmm, interesting. (Sounds a LOT like the lactation lady, except she had a cool English or Australian accent - who knows, it was cool so I really don't care where it came from).

Hmmmm, well... it's not staph.

Whhhhhatttt? Geez lady, I mentally prepared while eating cold eggs and boo-hooing to whomever on the phone and now you say it's not staph?  I even think for a millisecond I was excited at the thought of seeing everyone around me in hazmat suits... like in Monsters Inc... LOL!

Okay, so it was a brief moment of insanity thinking that would actually be a fun way to live.... but it kept me from going totally bonkers.

So Drill Sergeant nurse decides that we won't let the OB leave today without looking at my bites/blisters/whatevers.... that's something, but it's not staph and I definitely don't know what.


Then she proceeds to drill off the rest of my day... that I needed to do so many laps around the hospital, up and walking, etc.  She informed me that I could now take a shower and she'd take Addison to the nursery while I dressed.

Well gee lady. An apology for scaring the living daylights outa me would have been appreciated.

Okay, so here's a picture of Addy and I doing laps... okay, well just Addy.  As you can see she had some goodies...some of my coworkers brought her a beanie bear all tatted up with the school logo, and there's her ducky pacifier... those things totally and completely rock, by the way.  The paci is ATTACHED to the duck... our daughter Abigail had a giraffe.  We named it Zip because he zipped that girl up.  She loved her zip.  And we were the idiots that didn't buy two.

We had it down this time.  There were two ducks... just waiting for one to be lost.

She had her cute Auburn hat - the matching little baby booties weren't on her at the time.  Auburn had a game that day and we figured we would dress the part.

Am I an Auburn fan?  My husband is.  Many of his family members are.  I went to UGA for a year, so technically I claim my bulldogs.... but I do realize I'm raising my children in a WAR EAGLE household, lol.

So we're lapping... and doing a dern good job, I'd say.  She had this weird bump/blister on her chin, but we figured she had too much fun with her paci last night.  She was wrapped up with him after all... So we moved Ducky to a new location to give her chin time to dry.  Poor girl... ducky rubbed her raw!

That's what happens when you love the duck.... AFLAC!  Okay, well.... it's a yellow duck, not white....

Other than Addison sleeping as all newborns do, she's a picture of perfect health.  She passed all her different screenings, etc., eats fine, sleeps fine (a LOT), doesn't constantly puke like her older sister Abigail.... we couldn't ask for a better baby.  A sleepy baby.  Who sleeps a LOT. A whole lot more than the other two, or so it seemed....  but hey, we had nicknames for all our children...

Bryson: the EATER.  Doc called him a barracuda feeder.  Every time he drank his bottle he would do this little yooop, yooop, yoop... hilarious.

Abigail: the PUKER. She puked up everything she ate, about 40 minutes after her bottle.  We tried everything, my friend.  Had an ultrasound to rule out pyloric stenosis... switched formulas a gazillion times... shoot, that's a whole other blog.  Anyhow, she was the puker.  We had a point system for her "episodes".  One point for everything she touched and extra bonus points for creativity.

Addison: the SLEEPER.  That girl could sleep. Sleepy sleepy sleepy.

So around 4:00 the OB comes.  My regular OB is out of town and this is the on-call lady.  Quick glance at my blister/bite/sore whatever and prescribes some Bacitracin ointment and asks for them to bring me non-stick pads. She agrees it's not staph, but really didn't seem all too concerned.  Said we could go home whenever we wanted.  I chose to wait until the following morning so I could have one more night of rest.

Hmmmm... you really thought you had the mystery solved at staph, didn't you?  Figured it ended there, I'm sure. Nope. So what happened?  How is it that this perfectly beautiful princess of a baby took her last breath in my arms a week later? Did we miss something?

Part 5: The Narcoleptic Baby… Who Complains About a Sleeping Child?

It's Sunday, September 9, and time to take baby girl home.

Infant Carrier?  Check.
Strapped in? Check.
Blanket? Check.
Ducky? Check.
Pants?  Oops. Oh well. (A definite indicator that she was child number three..)

Did we have a cutesy going home outfit? Nah… we learned our lesson with the other two.  Yes, buy your cutesy outfit to take the hospital pictures in, but there's no point in a going home outfit.  Our hospital dictates that you have to have baby strapped in the carrier before you can leave your room.. so any cute dress will be squished up by the straps, and there's always going to be a blanket tucked around the cute little legs… Sorry to disappoint you but if you're the type that needs all the cute pictures, etc., do a pic in the outfit, in your lap, in the wheelchair, while still IN the hospital, or pose when you get home and you've had a chance to freshen up.  Yep, gone are the days of balloons and everything strapped to the wheelchair and momma holding a little bundle.  Seriously, I don't think you could've seen my face with all the stuff we were loaded down with.  Definitely not the mental picture I had visioned with baby number 1.

So I go through my discharge, Addy's discharge, sign my name in a gazillion places... and here's one of the papers I received.  I thought this picture was worth posting… it's the only live footprint picture I have of my
daughter.  And darnit, her left foot is not fully imprinted. Seriously, who thinks of these things?  Who thinks, quick, gotta get this picture and that picture and the newborn photo session and this and this and this…. really, you just want to get home and sleep in your comfy bed, oh and take a shower in your perfect shower WITHOUT wearing flip flops…

I never imagined I would run out of time.  Gives new meaning to the "treat every day as if it's your last". Like I said, all the woulda coulda shouldas in the world.

My biggest regret?  Work. If you'll take a second to let me digress and jump back, remember I just started a new job… and I was teaching some pretty tough classes, AP Calculus, Advanced Math, Honors Pre-Calculus and 7th grade math.  Now, the 7th grade math, no problem… I can teach that in my sleep.  The other three?  They needed lessons and assignments, etc.  Not busy work.  A senior knows when he/she has been handed busy work and it's not fair to them. When you're a teacher, it takes a ton of planning, work and effort to be out of school.  In my opinion, it's pointless to try and take time off. Maybe it's easier with other subjects, but not math.  Or at least, I've yet to figure out a solution.

My boss didn't help either…. the day Addy was born he stopped by to see us, brought a banner the students made along with some cards (how sweet!), then the conversation quickly turned to when was I giving a test, my students in such and such class hadn't had their first test yet and he needed that to happen.

I just had a baby cut out of me a few hours ago, and you want to know when I'm giving a test to my students?  Really?

Now, I might have the day wrong… it may have been the next day he stopped by.  Honestly, I don't remember.  But my thoughts and feelings on the topic were the same.  What did I say, you ask?

"I'm on it. They're having one this Tuesday and I'll have the grades put in by Friday."

Yes, go ahead and be mad.  Be irate.  Me? I just felt guilty that I couldn't be everything for everyone everywhere. This was supposed to be my dream job, a private school, teaching top level mathematics to students who actually wanted to learn!

Like I said, we have to have everything in place AS IF we were actually there teaching the class, AND find someone suitable to run your mini-program… which is probably the hardest when it's math. Or I could just try and find someone suitable and say here is where we are, go for it.  A lot of my colleagues in the teaching world do just that. I, on the other hand, cannot. I just can't. I have to deal with the aftermath… Yes, it was my choice to work while on leave.  Completely my choice. And that's what I chose to do.  Could I have made different choices?  Prepared more in advance? I could sit here and make excuses as to why I only had a few things ready, football in full force so I'm a single mommy to two, teaching 4 classes (in teacher world, 4 preps is a lot of work) in a new job where I don't have tenure and want to make sure my contract is renewed at the end of the year, pressure, pressure, pressure… pressure to hold it all together. Pressure to keep everything going smoothly so others don't fall.  When I start my pages on Celebrate Recovery, you'll learn about something called CODEPENDENCY… I was waist-deep in trying to hold together a ticking time bomb…

Okay, so back to the original story.  We came home Sunday.  You saw Addy's going home picture. Notice we forgot to put her pants on… LOL, after getting her all strapped in it was just easier to lay them next to her in the carrier.

That evening my mother-in-law and her husband brought the kids by to meet their sister. Or was it the next day?  Again, I really don't remember… I just know how gut-wrenching it is when I see these pictures.  These are the only pictures I have of my three children together. Alive. Bryson was soooo careful holding little Addy, so protective, wanting to make sure he did it just right and didn't bother her. So gentle and protective.  Abigail, who just turned two and didn't have many words just yet… kept patting her head and saying Baby sister, Sister sleeping… baby sister.

If you're not teary-eyed yet, or packing a few little sniffles in there,  you have absolutely no heart.  LOL just kidding… It may be more gut-wrenching for me knowing this was the only picture I had. And some of them were from me stopping the video I took and doing a screen shot.  Sigh.

The next few days, honestly, were one big blur. Addison was great, slept a lot, more than Bryson and Abby did.  I noticed, but really, who complains about a sleeping baby?  Especially with child number 3? You're told a gazillion times that every child is different, no matter what you do to try to put them all in the same "box".  She slept.  Bryson ate, Abby puked, Addison slept.  Normal.


It was hard to catch her with her eyes open. She'd fall asleep through diaper changes, through a bottle, while being held… just drift away into la la land.  I mean, yes she would cry and voice her displeasure and being unwrapped from her cocoon of warmth to have her clothes and/or diaper changed.  But she was so sweet.  She would squawk a couple of times then drift back off to sleepy land.  And yes, I did just say my daughter squawked.

Newborns squawk. Babies cry…. or at least they do in the LeCroix household.

Addison didn't squawk/cry very much at all.  None of our children did, really.  They squawked, we gave them what they wanted, they slept.  Yes, our children were incredibly easy to care for.  Even Abby, the puker. You just knew not to change her or do anything for about 45 minutes while you waited for her to "hand back" whatever her sensitive tummy didn't want, LOL.

We had visitors.. not many but a few.  People signed up on this cool website, Take Them A Meal (you should check it out if you ever want to do any type of meal scheduling for someone.  Completely free and awesome.) Anyhow, thank you to everyone for all the wonderful meals you brought by, they really were a big help. One visitor and conversation in particular stood out to me, so I'd like to end today's segment sharing it with you.

I don't remember which day it was, honestly that doesn't even matter.  My friend Farrah came by to drop off supper and check in on me. Farrah is one of the sweetest people in the world, for those of you who don't know her.  She's one of those people that you wonder if they ever get angry, she just has the most pleasant demeanor.  Sorta like Michelle Duggar.  Anyhow, she's holding sweet Addison, who is of course sleeping, and we approach the topic of having more kids.  Farrah has two adorable girls.  Her youngest was born a few months before my oldest.

So of course when a young mother is holding a baby, the question always comes up… do you and your husband want more children?

Her response took me off guard.  She said something to the effect of it had been a difficult year, she had seen so much suffering with friends and family that she while she did want more children, she wasn't sure she wanted to go through with it.  Something like that.  Like not really scared to have more children, but just sensitive to how quickly it can all turn and how nerve-wracking that is. She said, look what happened to so-and-so…

I didn't ask for permission to post so-and-so's name yet, so we will just refer to her as that… ok?  Anyhow, she went to her 38 week appointment (I think it was 38… she was really close to delivery, it could have been 37…), and there was no heartbeat.  Talk about devastation. Most of us think we're in the clear at 20 weeks… and here she was at the end, losing a child. Having to birth a child you… well, I just can't even imagine.

What I said next haunts me…. while I meant to give comfort and assurance to Farrah…. well, here's what I said…

Everything happens for a reason, Farrah.  God has a plan.  Perhaps so-and-so went through this so she could be there to support someone else.

Never in a million years would I have thought I was talking about myself.

Part 6: Something's Wrong…

So as the week went on, we noticed that Addison could sleep…. Boy, could she sleep…. But really, who complains about a sleeping baby?  We began to jokingly call her the Narcoleptic Baby… did we think anything was wrong?  No.  We (hubby and I) discussed calling the doctor but felt sorta stupid.  All babies are different, right?  No one-size-fits-all mold? We also thought calling the doc would jinx it… that Addy would then become colicky and never sleep… who wants to chance that, right??

So let's make that Lesson Number 1 learned…. don't ever worry about feeling stupid with your question.  Call. Even if you're a parent of 8… when you get that "feeling", call.  Don't ignore it.  Don't let pride and the I-can-handle-it get in your way.

Not that calling would have done anything.  But we'll never know, will we?

So anyhow, it's Thursday, September 13.  Addison must really like her Ducky pacifier, because the sore on her chin still hasn't completely healed. See it? (This picture just looks creepy anyway...) Mental note: she can go to bed without her ducky, and if she does have her Ducky, don't wrap it in the blanket with her so her mouth moisture creates a blister.  Yep, mental note.

I was at the kitchen table, working.  Yep, working. Guilty.  Working.  Resting? No. Working.  Like I said before, new job, new pressure, new expectations and I wasn't strong enough to say no and just Let it Go.  I had to handle it all… I had to keep everything functioning smoothly…. Notes, lessons, videos, whatever.  Gotta keep everyone happy. Yep, Codependency 101…

Addison was in her bouncy seat, sharing a HUGE kitchen table with me.  No, she wasn't going to bounce off and no I wouldn't have left her there to go use the bathroom or anything, she was just sitting here, chillaxin, taking it all in.

Then she started choking. Almost like the little cough you do when you choke on your own spit… you've never done that, you say?  Liar.  You know what I'm talking about.

Tiny little choking sounds.  Color was normal… I grabbed her up, weird sounds stopped.  Put her down…. a few minutes later choking sounds…. that was weird.  Ok, so it's the bouncy seat… every baby is different, right?  No bouncy seat for Addison, nope.  Don't know why but she doesn't like it.

I'm not sure how the rest of the day went or if she ever did go back to that bouncy seat.  I just know she looked unhappy and pitiful in it.  Just not right.  But not "not right" enough for me to think anything was abnormal.  She's a baby, and they're all different.

So either I picked Bryson up from school or someone brought him to me, not sure… all I know is I was alone with all three… and tired…. and all I could think about was if my students had whatever lesson it was they needed to have for the next day or this or that, and probably a gazillion other things… overwhelmed doesn't even begin to describe it.  I thought I was going to lose it.

What did I do? I asked God for help.  Asked him to take it away.  Told him I didn't know what I was thinking with three…..

I immediately took it back. I was just overwhelmed… new mommy again, jeez how guilty would I feel if something happened to one of them after I just asked God to relieve me?

Famous last words.

Guilt doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about that innocent prayer. Be careful what you wish for, right? Guilt.

Big. Huge. Guilt. Regret.  Anger.

I got my head screwed on straight after that.  Hubby came home, we gave Addison her first bath, thinking that might help her some… she just seemed a little fussy.  Maybe she had the tummy issues like Abigail did.  Dunno.  Just seemed fussy.  But not "abnormal" fussy.  Every baby's different, right?

How was I?  Physically, I was a little sore. I had a few other pregnancy "annoyances" that made life miserable, but I was surviving. Emotionally? Wondering what I just got myself into with the new job and child number three, not to mention all the other things going on with my family.  Pressure is probably the best word I can use to describe it all…. lots and lots of pressure.

I stayed up until about 4 in the morning holding Addison.  Seemed like every time I put her down she got fussy, like gas pain or something.  I gave her Mylicon… not sure if it was helping, but when I held her she settled right down and went to sleep.  That was fine because I had plenty of schoolwork to do.

Yep, still doing schoolwork now.  Everyone's asleep and I'm working on lesson plans… and lessons, and tests, and everything under the sun. Work-a-holic?  Yep.  That's ok.  I claim it.

Friday morning, September 14…..  I feel awful (impending doom?)  I went to bed around 4 and it's 7, so I should feel awful. My other "issues" were bothering me to the point of tears… time for me to call my doc and ask for help. I'm hurting, and a little pride is not going to stand in the way of getting relief. What do I have that a doctor hasn't seen, really? So I make an appointment for 2pm. Ahhh.  Relief.  I feel relieved just knowing I have an appointment.

My sitter/best friend arrives. She immediately picks up Addison.  She opens her eyes and we grab the camera… and catch an open-eye picture. Remember, she sleeps all the time and barely has her eyes open.  Beautiful, isn't she?  This is my last live picture of my daughter.  Does she know she'll be dead in less than 24 hours? Does she know it's her "time"? She looks peaceful, doesn't she? I think she knows….

The phone rings.  It's the pediatrician's office.  They need to reschedule my two-week appointment because something with one of the doctors or something.  I don't know.  We reschedule or shuffle or whatever it was they wanted.  How's the baby, the nurse asks?

Well….. I hate to complain…. but she SLEEPS.  A LOT.  Like a LOT LOT. More than the other two. Is this normal?

She asks a few questions… how much sleep, how much formula is she getting, etc. She calls me back after consulting with the doctor.  Their verdict?  She's not getting enough calories… we think she isn't eating enough and therefore isn't getting enough energy to keep herself awake.

That makes sense.

So they say wake her up every 3 hours and offer her food instead of waiting (at most) 5.  Unwrap her, wake her up.  Whatever it is I have to do.  Keep track of it and if her sleeping/eating and bring her in Monday if there's still no difference.

Sounds good.

So I bundle up Addison and head over to the doctor's office.  While there in my little exam room, she makes this weird cough and spits up.  Well that's new.  Uh-oh.  Do I have a puker on my hands like Abigail?  I'm a little embarrassed because I only have one bib with me (who forgets an extra bib?).  So what do I do?  Flip it over. Yep.  You know you've done it too… so don't judge.

Doc comes in.  He oohs and ahhs over Addison (yes, he washed his hands).  The nurse oohs and ahhs and coos and whatever other sounds you make to a newborn.

My baby disappears while I'm getting checked out.  She's in good hands… they're playing pass the baby.  Not a problem.  I'm a proud, tired mama. Doc checks me out, gives me a prescription, and we are good to go.

I pick up Bryson from school, and head home.  There's a package hanging on our doorknob, and it's a beautiful baby blanket from my sister-in-law.  She's in charge of the niece/nephew blanket.  That's her thing.  Any new children come along, and Jade gets the blanket.  She picks the greatest blankets and cute embroidery. I wish I could show you a picture of the blanket... but the only one I have does not have a live baby in it.

It's going on 4:00, just about time for my friend to go home (she was watching Abigail).  Addison needs to be changed, and of course my friend wants her "Addy time".  We head to the changing table and go to change her diaper.

We unsnap the onesie. Unwrap the diaper.  There's blood in it.

Oh my God.

Something's wrong.

Part 7: Hospital or Not?

So my friend Deedee and I look at each other… surely that's not blood…. Yes, it's blood, she says…

And just in case we didn't think it was blood, she starts "going" again while we're changing her.  Now there's a string of "fresh" blood.

Call doc now.  No ifs, ands or buts.

I call the doctor.  He's nice and calm, asks about her diet for the day, etc.  Different questions.  I really like our pediatrician.  He doesn't jump to conclusions, he's not overly dramatic, panicky or anything.  He's a researcher, more like an engineer…. So he says hmmmm, could be a milk allergy, I've seen that happen with babies who are allergic to milk.  You can always take her to the ER, just to be safe.

I hang up with the doctor and hop on the internet.  I search everything possible for blood in diaper.  Milk allergy.

Milk allergy.

Milk allergy.

Oooooook. So, do I take my newborn to the Emergency Room and expose her to all those germs? Do I wait a little while and see if anything changes?  Maybe it's a fluke.  I mean, the first was dark blood and it wasn't much… and the second was fresh but well, maybe it was a milk allergy.  That's always possible.

Deedee (best friend/babysitter) leaves.  I have all three children.  I'm hurting from my other "issues", I hadn't picked up my prescription yet, I'm tired, I'm overwhelmed, I'm sore… I'm all alone.

I call my mother-in-law and ask her to keep Bryson and Abigail for the evening.  She's more than happy to help out.  I give her a quick synopsis of Addison and her issues.  She's concerned too, but like me also wonders if we should take her to the ER and expose her to all those germs.  I told her that I would give it a little more time.

A friend from church stops by with dinner.  Ahhh, dinner.  I'm so tired and that's just awesome.  I have dinner already ready.  She looks at me and says is everything ok?  I try not to burst into tears, knowing most of it is just pregnancy hormones.  I take a deep breath and quickly fill her in, telling her my mother-in-law was coming to get Bryson and Abby, that I was probably just going to take a hot bubble bath and go to bed early.

She lingers at the door for a minute.  I know she has to go, but you could tell she wanted to be there for me too.  I urge her on, saying we would be just fine. Later on she would tell me how completely awful she felt when she found out what happened.  She was so upset for leaving me, she had that "feeling" and didn't listen to it.  I remember reassuring her that at the time I did not feel like Addison was in any danger, that it was most likely a milk allergy like both the doctor and the internet said, and who would have ever thought it'd end up the way it did?

She leaves and I do exactly as I told her I would.  I took a bubble bath.  Addison is in her rocker/ napper (that thing is awesome - a must have for every parent) sleeping peacefully.  I pull it into the doorway and take a bubble bath.

I notice that every so often, Addison does this weird little cry out… like a gas pain or something.  When I say every so often, it wasn't often enough that I timed it or noticed a pattern, just noticed a few times.  I wondered if I should take her to the ER.  I really had no desire to go to the Emergency Room and sit there for 6 hours just to have them tell me my baby has a milk allergy.

So you're probably wondering by now, where's the husband? What's his opinion?

He didn't know. I hadn't called him.

Before you rush and judge me, let me explain.  It's Friday.  It's game day.  It's Homecoming.  My husband is a football coach, and a darn good one at that.  I knew if I called and said I was taking Addy to the ER that he would leave the game.

It's just a game, right?  This is our daughter. And she could be sick.

No, it's football. If you're a coach's wife, you understand.  Most of the time, you take a backseat during football season. You understand the sacrifices a family makes.  You understand that weekends are full of meetings and trainings, holidays and vacations are worked around schedules, if a child is sick, everyone calls you first because he has football practice.

We got married during football season. He missed a game because of the rehearsal dinner.  That was a big deal. We did not go on a honeymoon.  It was football season. It's understood.

It's not JUST a game.  It's a way of life.  And apparently it was a way of life that certain people did not think I supported.  I met with another couple about two weeks prior to that, seeking help and support for my husband in balancing some of the things going on in his life.

Watch out.  When you reach out for help, be prepared for it to backfire.  And oh did it backfire.  I was accused… no, not even accused… I was TOLD that I did not support my husband's football career, that I constantly made it difficult for him to do his job and he always seemed torn.

Let's get something straight.  I did everything I could to support my husband's coaching career.  I was so incredibly mad that this couple, a couple I loved and respected, that had known my husband and I for years, would actually say those words to me. I arranged babysitters when needed, I moved and shuffled things around, gave up my free time and my days anytime impromptu meetings were called. I was mad.  I was hurt. It stung.

Stung so much that when the choice came to pull my husband from a football game to take our daughter to the ER or wait it out, I chose to wait it out.

I made the choice.

I pulled up the game on the Internet.  I watched the score as I hemmed and hawed over what to do.

I spoke with my sister-in-law a few times… sent her pictures of the diapers.  Yes, I know, TMI… but she's in the pediatric medical field, so shoot… this is her business… her area of expertise…. she was expecting blood blood… not the little amounts we had. So she was a little on the fence too.

The diapers continued.  I wrote the time on the outside and bagged them up, thinking we would go to the ER after the football game.

I check the score.  The score is outrageous….. I think it was like 34-7 or something like that.  I call hubby and leave a message… something doesn't seem right and I think we need to take Addy to the ER.

My sister-in-law calls back… says why not just be safe and take her… I agree with her and told her I had just called hubby.  She offers to call the ER and find out who's on call tonight, let them know we're coming, etc.  (They know her… so maybe if I name drop I can get in and out without even being there too long).  I tell her no…. thanks, but that's ok.  I don't want to use her name for something as simple as a milk allergy.  I already felt stupid for pulling my husband from his football game.  I still had no desire to go to the ER.  I still thought we'd sit there for 6 hours and pay $200 just to find out she's fine.

I don't like wasting money.

Hubby calls and says he is on the way home to get me.  I fill him in, tell him not to rush because I'm sure it's just a milk allergy like the doc said.  I apologize profusely for taking him away from the game and hope the head coach isn't upset with me.  I didn't want him to think I wasn't supporting my husband's coaching career… that hurt was still so fresh. (Codependency, anyone?)

I pack a bag for Addison and throw my Gap fleece on over my scrub pants and slip my feet into my hubby's camo Crocs.  Shoot, if I'm gonna sit in the ER I'm gonna be comfortable. My fleece is like 12 years old and incredibly soft… the shoes are comfy.  I grab a book to read, and I'm ready to go.

On the way to the ER, my pastor's wife texts me.  She tells me he and another Coach just left the game and are headed to the ER, to keep her updated.  I'm so embarrassed.

All this fuss. For a milk allergy.  So embarrassing.

We get to the ER, sit down, start filling out the paperwork.  I can just see the dollars ticking away… I look at Addy.  She's fine, absolutely fine. She's asleep, of course.

I hate myself for bringing her to the ER, exposing her to germs, disrupting everyone's evening.

We take Addison into the little triage area.  They check her vitals, etc.  The nurse does a lot of clickety-clackety on the keyboard and scribbling on the clipboard.

Seems normal to me. I'm tired.  I want to go home.

Another nurse comes in, starts getting stuff… she asks the triage nurse if she took Addy's temperature.  The next thing I hear… "seriously?". My ears perk up.  That didn't sound like a normal "seriously" to me.  The girl says, well, I'll check it again when we get in there.  She tells us to pick up Addy and follow her. I was like, what's her temperature?  97.1, I'm told.  Oh.  Hmmm…

That's bad?  Isn't 98.6 normal?  Shoot, what do I know? I just figured we were getting the royal workup - figured someone name-dropped.  I'm impressed that my sis-in-law has that much pull.  I'm embarrassed that either she called or my hubby name-dropped.  Especially for a milk allergy.

We follow the nurse back into an ER room.  What happens next is like a scene out of ER or Grey's Anatomy.  This little baby cubby thingy is raced into the room, forcing hubby and I to step back from each other.  Scrubs are everywhere, doing everything, calling out all these acronyms and medicines and things I don't understand. Hubby and I look at each other.  I'll never forget the oh crap look in his eyes. Not quite terror.  Not concern.  Oh crap. Is it really this serious?

I can't take my eyes off of Addison.  I felt like screaming wait wait, what the hell is going on? Will someone please tell me what's going on? Why isn't my baby crying?  You're sticking her with all these needles and she's not crying.  Shouldn't she be crying?

I say nothing.  I've gone mute. I can't speak.  I'm trying to text my sister-in-law every time I hear something.  She offers to come back down there… I tell her no.  I'm still embarrassed at the royal treatment we're getting.  I don't understand why they keep asking me why she was so cold. Did I know she was that cold, they asked? I felt like they were accusing me of shaken baby or something.

I said she was fully clothed with a blanket around her.  My hubby keeps the house pretty cool… that could be it.  I was about to feed her when we got to the ER so I had started to unwrap her.  Perhaps that's why she was a little chilled. I didn't understand what the big deal was.  After all, 97 is one degree away from normal.

Well, either I heard the nurse wrong or she mixed the numbers when telling me.  Her temperature was 91.7.

Is that bad?  Yes. They have her in a baby warmer trying their best to warm her body up.

My sister-in-law arrives.  I finally asked her to come translate, because I had no clue what they were saying and it was getting harder to type.  They were saying so many new words so quickly I couldn't keep up.  I needed a translator.

She arrived with the ER doc.  Doc introduces herself… seems pretty calm.  Everyone seems calm, just doing a whole lot at once. Doc says, how long has she had the cold sore on her chin?

Cold sore?  Oh, you mean the blister?

Yes, the cold sore.

Almost a week.  We thought it was from her pacifier… you know, moisture from her mouth and the constant sucking.. rubbed her raw.  But ok, cold sore.

Hubby has cold sores, daughter has cold sores.  No big deal. I guess it runs in the family. What's the big deal?

My sister-in-law mentions my skeeter bite/sores/blisters on my chest.  The doc looks at me… this look like oh, is there something you're not telling me?

I wave it away… I tell her about the blisters… explain the week as quickly as I can…. but it feels like they're healing…

They do every test imaginable on Addison.  I see this nurse holding her hand.  Aww, so sweet.  I figure maybe he can tell me what's going on.  I asked why she wasn't crying… shouldn't she be crying, I said?

He nods yes, a sad look on his face.  He's holding a gauze over a needle prick on her wrist.  It won't clot.  I wondered why he wouldn't just put a band-aid on it, but I figured he was comforting her and offering me moral support, so he just wanted to hold her hand for me.

They tell me we're moving upstairs to the Pediatric ICU, where they can run further tests and see what's going on.  I still haven't been told what's wrong…. I've been told she's cold and they're trying to warm her, and that her blood won't clot.

I don't understand at all.

We're directed to a family room.  It has a tiny two-person couch and like 4 or 5 chairs.  My mother-in-law and her husband arrive.  Her sister is watching the kids. Deedee arrives. My brother-in-law arrives…. coaches begin arriving.  We fill the hall. Students are texting me.  They've stopped their homecoming party and are holding a prayer vigil.

Our school has an e-newsletter… and anytime there's anything happening, that newsletter goes out.  They sent out an email saying we were taking Addy to the hospital….

I look out in the hall and it looks like the entire coaching staff is out there.  School board members are out there.

What a caring, loving family.  I'm so glad I work at this school. What support we have.

Still don't understand what the fuss is all about.

Why are they taking so long?  What's going on with her?  My sister-in-law, AKA "translator", says they do a full work-up and get her settled, try to come up with a game plan and then come and communicate that plan to us.  She knows the doctor working the PICU and likes her a lot.

She's good.  She pays attention to every single detail.  If I had to pick anyone, it would have been her.

Sure, she could've just been saying that.  But I felt so much better knowing this doctor had my sister-in-law's stamp of approval.

The doctor comes in and shuts to door. I'm sitting ton the tiny couch with my husband. She starts going into detail on all the tests they've run and medicines they're using on her, the antibiotics, etc., etc.  Her blood isn't clotting (why in the world is THAT such a big deal?), something about liquid plasma, treating her with cold sore medication, etc.

She finished her looooong speech.  I feel overwhelmed with medical jargon.  I need English.  For those that know me, I'm pretty direct.  I don't like to sugarcoat things.. I don't like beating around the bush… I want to know what I'm up against.  I want to know what to prepare for.  And if you haven't figured it out by now, I have absolutely no filter. I just say what needs to be said.

So I said it.  I asked it.  THE question.  The question that was in the back of everyone's mind.

Is she gonna die?

We brace ourselves for what seems like forever.  Why is she taking so long to answer?

I don't know.  But it doesn't look good.

Holy Crap.

Part 8: It Doesn't Look Good

Ok, it doesn't look good….

I'm stunned.

My husband is sobbing. Others are crying.

I'm in a daze.  Die? Really? I mean, she basically said yes…. she definitely didn't say no.

Die?

Nah.  My daughter can't die. No way.  We're just going to be in the hospital for a while.  Struggle a little, maybe… run up a huge bill.

But die?

No.  There's absolutely no way this can be God's plan.  Absolutely not. No way, Jose. My family can't handle a death.  That's not the way it's supposed to happen.  I die first.  She buries me.

A movie starts playing in my head…. that STUPID movie. That movie we watched the night before she was born. The Fifth Quarter….

Maybe God was getting us….. NO. NO. NO.

Absolutely not.  Pure coincidence.  I will never ask that person for a movie suggestion EVER.  No correlation whatsoever.

A TV show starts playing in my head… 19 kids and counting… Michele Duggar just found out her baby has passed away at 20 weeks…. I watched the funeral.  I watched her go through that.

Maybe God was preparing…. NO.

Not me.

A conversation I had with a sweet friend starts replaying in my head…. I hear my own voice saying "Maybe so-and-so went through this so she could walk someone else through it…."

God?  No.

Never.  Pure coincidence.  I'm a math girl… a stats girl.  Correlation does NOT imply Causation…. just because things SEEM to be linked mean absolutely nothing.

Nothing. Nothing, you hear me?

Gotta keep it together.  Gotta hold it together.  My husband needs me. Must be strong.

Ok, doc.  What's the plan?

We have her on the strongest antibiotic we have.  We're pumping her full of everything we can think of.  We're running every test imaginable. Her liver isn't working.  Her blood won't clot.

She asks me about the cold sore again.

Why in the WORLD are we talking about a stupid cold sore?

She's not accusing….just trying to cover all her bases. She says Addison is being given acyclovir (Valtrex - herpes medication).

Ok, sure, sure. Whatever you think she needs.

She asks me to go back through the entire week. I have a book. We write everything down.  Every pee, every poo, every bottle, every dose of Mylicon…everything.

I've given her everything I can.  Every iota of information.  I wish I had more to tell her.  I wish I could give her the magic information to go with the magic cure.

Can we see her?  Yes, two at a time.

Funny, we weren't told to wash our hands… it' sorta funny how you remember some of the little things.  Maybe they figure we would do it automatically… or they have Addy on so many drugs it doesn't even matter. Either way I found it sort of amusing.

Yes, I still have my sarcastic sense of humor even in times of crisis.

But this isn't a crisis.  She's gonna be fine.  Yes, she's sick.  But she's fine.

Addy doesn't look much different than she did before.  Peaceful.  She's sleeping. Of course she's sleeping. I told you she could sleep. Maybe it's the drugs…

The nurse is pleasant.  Gives us the run-down on all the machines.  Tells us how well Addison is doing. Everything looks good.

Well that's a stark contrast to the doctor…. Mrs. Gloom and Doom didn't seem to think everything looked good.  Hmmmm, strange.

I go back to the waiting room, confused. I thank our school board president for coming.  I call him Mr…. he hugs me and says we're all family, no Mr. needed. I post a prayer request on Facebook.

I sit.  I text.  I wait.  I talk to Deedee.  It's her son's birthday tomorrow…. what are the party plans? Not that I think I'll be able to come now.  but her boys are like sons to me.  I hate missing his birthday party.

I tell her she needs to go home.  Get some rest.  Doesn't look like much is going to happen quickly.  We're just gonna be here for the long haul…. it's just gonna be awhile.  She'll have plenty of time to come back and visit.

Doc comes back.  Numbers don't look good, but Addy herself doesn't look so bad. She's not peeing. Urine output not good.  That raises an alarm in my head.  

Liquid in must equal liquid out. Liver failure.  Body shutting down.

No. No. No.  She's just very sick.  That's all.  Just sick sick.  Ok doc, do all you can.  Thanks for the update.  I go see Addy.

The nurse is extremely positive.  Calm and caring.  I don't get it.  She's not acting like Addy's very sick.

I post another update on Facebook.

People begin leaving.  It's just a waiting game, so it seems.  I need sleep.  It's 2am.  There's one little pull-out chair.

Hubby offers to go home and let me stay with Addison.  We live right down the street. He'll be back in the morning.

No.  not ok.  If something happens to her, he won't forgive himself for not being there.  Worse yet, what if something did happen and he's so distraught he does something stupid?  He doesn't need to be driving.  No, no. I'll go.

I know I can handle it.  She's just really sick. She'll be fine.

My mother-in-law and her husband take me home. It's close to 3am and I think I just fall into bed.

I wake up to the phone ringing.  It's 6am and it's the husband.  He says they want to move Addison to Birmingham.  They think she either has a genetic disorder or need to be down there where they can get test results back more quickly. After all, they're sent down to Birmingham… and then we have to wait a day for answers.  Makes sense to me.

He says her urine output is better.  Numbers still don't look great but she's not worse.  He's going to come home and get me, and we're going to head to Birmingham. His sister will stay with Addison until the Med-flight team takes her.  She'll call us when they take off.  We are to meet them in Birmingham.

My boss calls.  I update him and he says he has friends down there.  He'll make sure we have a place to stay.  It's so nice to have people in your life that care.  Connections rock.

There's a knock at the door.  It's my friend Stephanie and her husband, Jay.  They brought breakfast.  I think someone updated them.  I can't figure out why else these two would be at my door around 7am.  Where's their son? With grandparents… he's fine.  They start tidying up and tell me to go get a shower. Stephanie will get clothes and stuff for Bryson and Abigail.

Oh yeah.  Bryson and Abigail.  Wonder how they are.  Hmmm… I didn't think about who was going to keep them while we're in Birmingham.  Maybe I need to figure that out.  Completely escaped my mind.  Yes, there are two other small people that require my attention.

I pause and look at my phone, not even sure who to call.  Stephanie gently takes it away… she's already figured it all out for me.  She can keep the kids and take them to school with her son.  No problem.  Go get in the shower.

What nice friends.  Nice that I don't have to figure out everything.  She was a step ahead.  How kind.

The shower is nice.  I'm not even sure I feel tired.  Just in a daze.  Hubby arrives, and things start moving faster.  I just throw stuff in a bag…. no clue what I'm gonna need.  At some point, I need to get my prescription filled…. my "issues" still hurt.

Do I pack for Addy? Sure why not… throw in a couple bottles, diapers and outfits.

Husband wonders why his sister hasn't called yet.  They should have left by now.  He walks back in the door and says we need to go back to the hospital.  His sister called and they haven't left yet.

Ok.

We head back to the hospital.  I update Facebook.

It's not a long drive to the hospital.  Ten minutes, tops.  At some point, this feeling comes over me and I feel the need to hurry.  I feel like we're in labor and having a baby.  Go quickly, I said to the husband.  Something doesn't feel right.

We screech into the parking lot and quickly walk in.  A sense of panic takes over.  I hit the elevator button.

Tears are running down my cheeks.  Why?  Where's the stupid elevator.  Bam, bam, bam… I hit the stupid button like it's going to tell the elevator to come faster.  I feel like I'm in a movie.  Where's the stairs?

Shouldn't there be stairs around an elevator?  I could run by now.  Sure, I had a c-section a week ago.. but I can run.  Pure adrenalin, baby.

The elevator comes.  FINALLY.  I can't hit the button fast enough.  Why is my heart pounding?  Why am I so anxious? Why am I crying?

The doors open.  We RUN down the hall.  I don't remember the doors opening.  I just remember running.

There's people everywhere.  I see my sister-in-law.  Her eyes are sad and she's shaking her head no.  It's like super-dee-duper slow motion.

My head swings left.  There's a guy in a flight suit with one of those little pump CPR things… and he's squeezing it.  There's another one giving her CPR.

I kiss my girl and start praying.  Come on girl, you can make it baby.  You're strong, you're a fighter.  Come on Addison. You've got this.

I hear snoopy talk in the background.  I cannot comprehend anything at all.  It's just me and my baby. I'm praying.  They're squeezing and pumping.  We're a team. We've got this.

I feel like the room goes silent.  I'm telling you, it's like super slow motion.  The doctor has walked up to me.  I know she's talking, but I have no clue what she's saying.  Her mouth is moving but I don't hear what she's saying.  There's gestures and murmurs….

I look behind her.  The crowd looks sad.  They're all watching me.

I look back at Addison.  The guys are still pumping.

I look at the doctor. Finally I speak.

Is there any hope?

She shakes her head.

I look back at the guys.  Still pumping. I look at Addy.  Looks the same as she did last night.  I look at the doctor.

Why are we doing all of this then?

We were waiting until you got here.

Oh.

OH. Whoa. Wait a sec. Wha…

It finally hits me.  When the guys stop pumping, she will die.  My baby girl will die.  I am about to watch my little girl die.  Actually die.  Like take her last breath die.  Like dead.

I tell the doctor that none of this pumping stuff is necessary.  There's no point. Stop. She asks if everyone is here that I want to be there.

I'm here. (What in the world is she talking about - everyone?  Who cares?  My husband and I are there… no one else matters.  I know, selfish…. I didn't think. I didn't know.  Really, who thinks about these things?)

Do you want to hold her?

Oh dear Lord. Watching her die is one thing… watching her die in my arms is something totally different.

I can't do this.  I can't watch my daughter die.  It's not supposed to be this way. I can't. I won't.

You will…. a voice in my head says.  You can.  You can do all things through Christ.

Do they even know what they are asking of me?

My mother-in-law arrives.  She has Nana with her….

If I don't hold her, if I chicken out… someone else is going to do it.  Do I want my daughter to die in my mother-in-law's arms?

No.  I must gather the strength.

I tell the doctor I'm ready.  A chair is brought over.  My husband is to my left.  Nana is to my right. I post on Facebook.

I call my dad and stepmother so they can say goodbye to Addison.  They haven't even gotten the chance to meet her.

I open my music folder.  She must go home to Jesus with a song.

My song of choice?  Hillsong's Jesus, Lover of My Soul. Here's a LINK if you want to listen to it.

Addison takes her last breath.  She's gone.  I kiss her sweet forehead and say the only thing I can think of.

God gives and God taketh away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I post on Facebook.

That's the story. Her birth, her life, her death. What happened?  Why? How? It's taken quite a bit to get this far…. the worst is yet to come.

Part 9: Now What?

I held Addison for what seemed like forever.  I knew she was dead, but for some reason she wasn't dead until I actually released her from my grip… you know, actually acknowledged and gave her up.

She's with Cristina now… Cristina was a good friend of mine that had lost her battle with breast cancer 4 months earlier.  This was just too much.  Cristina left behind a husband and family of 5… seemed like she was trying to recreate her family up in Heaven.  She had so-and-so's baby boy… now she had Addison.

Oh well.  I couldn't ask for a better caregiver…. if they have those up in Heaven.

Nana wanted to hold Addison.  Either her or my mother-in-law… I really don't remember, I just know I went super-psycho in my head for a split second… this is my daughter… no one can hold her but me.

I passed her over.

I don't really remember walking out of the room.  I felt defeated. A part of me was gone.  In the back of my head I blamed myself.  I wished her gone.  I did this. I prayed that prayer.

I missed something.  I had to have missed something.  I was so caught up in work that I must have missed something.

Stupid new job.  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The doors to the PICU opened.  The hall was packed with people.  People from church, people from work, friends, family.

Packed.

I zeroed in on so-and-so.  She was first in line.  I think I collapsed into her arms. She's with your boy now. They're not alone.  They have each other.

Did I believe myself?  I don't know.  It sounded good.  It sounded "right".  Shoot, I wasn't sure what I believed.

A gazillion people hugged me.  We went back into the family room to speak with the doctor.  She needed to wrap things up.  I asked so-and-so to come with me. I had no clue what happened next, and she just went through it.  Gosh, I didn't even stop to think if she would be able to handle it. How hard that must have been for her.

The doctor looks exhausted.  Drained.  I know she tried all she could.  She expressed her condolences.

What happened doc?  Why did she die?

My best guess at this point is herpes simplex.

WHAT?

I guess she repeated it.

No. No.  HERPES?  My daughter died from HERPES?  No.

Absolutely not. People don't die from Herpes.

She mentioned the cold sore… said she was treating her with medication for it… I guess in my head I knew Herpes I and Herpes II were in the same family, but I guess I never knew you treated them with the same medication. Makes sense though.

But dead? No… I don't think so.  I'm sorry, but I disagree.  People don't die from cold sores.  EVERYONE has cold sores… well, I mean, everyone but me. (I don't have cold sores.)

She said she wasn't sure, that it was just a guess since that's the only known infection she could figure out at the time… more tests were ordered and would come in over the next couple of days.  She listed a lot of symptoms… liver failure, blood wouldn't clot, etc., etc…. but those all happened as a result of something. She said she wanted to order an autopsy and needed our permission.

I looked at so-and-so.  (I think it was her… someone told me this.) She nodded yes…. said something to the fact of an autopsy is a lot of money if we order it ourselves… if the doctor orders it, it's included.  At this point, I didn't really care.  All I know was someone was gonna find out the real cause.

People don't die from cold sores.

Yes, of course… autopsy is fine.  Can we donate anything?

No. Since we think she died of an infection, we can't donate anything at all.

Well, gee… that sucks.

The doc then wants to know if we have a funeral home of choice we'd like to have her taken to.

Yeah, sure…. I keep funeral home on my list of preferred doctors in my wallet.  You know, doc, dentist , eye doctor… OB… funeral home.  Yep, sure do…. NOT.

I look at so-and-so.  Who did ya'll use?

Laughlin.

Ok. We will use Laughlin. (What did I know?  Funeral homes are funeral homes, right?)

The doc gets up to go… she's finished all her last details.  I'm informed that the nurses are preparing Addy's body and making a parting gift for us, that we will have as much time as we would like… she does want to get the autopsy soon, but take our time.

My doctor calls.  He's in shock.  He's like, I just held her yesterday.  She seemed FINE.  What happened?  I told him what I knew.  He just keeps saying over and over, she was fine…. just a normal baby…. she was fine.  I agree with him.  I have no clue.

I start making phone calls.  I talk with my friend Misty.  She tells me someone is going to come and want to take dead baby pictures.  She says as grossed out as I might be, as much as I may not want to, go ahead and do it.  She says her friend regrets not doing it.

I promise they don't call themselves the "dead baby" photographer.  That's me and my lack of filter.  They are part of a group called NILMDTS (Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep).

Yeah… you'd go with dead baby photographer too…

I call my OB and my pediatrician and leave a message with the on-call service. They both call me back.  They're in shock. I guess it wasn't a milk allergy, I jokingly tell my pediatrician.

He doesn't laugh.  He's pretty upset too.

What am I supposed to do?  Cry? I've cried all the tears I think I can cry. I'm not sure any more exist.

Someone from the staff comes and says Addison is ready for us. Husband and I go walking back into the PICU.

I get to the doorway, see her dead body laying their on the table, some outfit and blanket on her and I collapse. My husband catches me.

No, no, no……. no………

I'm hysterical. Can't breathe.  Not sure why.  I knew she was dead… how was this any different?  Because she had clothes on?  Because she had her new blanket on her?  The beautiful blanket she'd only had for 24 hours?

A chair appears underneath me.  I breathe.  Gotta get it together.  I'm making a scene.  Shoot, make a scene girl.  This is your daughter.  She's dead.  Make all the scene you want.

Part of me wanted to just let myself go totally nuts so they would sedate me. Put me in the padded room…. anything but feel the pain and the emptiness. The logical side won over…

The staff hands me a box.  Inside is a scrapbook they make for the parents… with a lock of hair, pictures, hand and foot prints..  There were two beanie baby angels, one for Bryson and one for Abigail, to help them "cope" with the loss.

They're still at the aunts house.  They have no clue what's going on.  They're 2 and 3… absolutely no clue.

I'm told the dead baby photographer is at a wedding and can't make it until after the autopsy… I'm sure I can get another photographer friend here.

Someone comes in and says three girls are here to see me.  They say they're my students.  I remember getting a text from one of them asking if they could come. Sure, they can come in.

I'm greeted by warm hugs and tears.  They don't seem weirded out that there's a dead baby in the room.  They gather round us and say a prayer.  How sweet.  Someone raised these girls right.  I want my kids to be raised like this… not afraid to face a tragic situation and to turn to God in prayer.

One of them has a phone number I'd been trying to find.  I call her and she agrees to come and take the pictures. That must have been an interesting phone call, now that I have the time to think about it.

I didn't have a chance to get newborn photos done yet.  Sure, the hospital took some pictures but we didn't buy any… we bought the slideshow but no pictures.  Well, at least I have something.

She and her daughter arrive and begin snapping photos.  They're very professional…. told me their ideas for different shots, etc.

I can't imagine people actually take the time to think up good dead baby shots…. I have no clue what I want… shoot I just know my friend said I needed to get them and it seemed like a good idea.  Now… not so much.

We pick Addison up and pose with her.  It's sort of surreal.  She feels like a baby doll, heavy and stiff… just like a baby doll.  I'm posing with a baby doll.  A dead baby doll.

Is she going to look dead in the pictures? Do I want a dead baby face in pictures?

I have no clue… It's been 21 months and I still have yet to look at the pictures.

It's time to leave.  They really want to do the autopsy.  My husband and I get into the car… feels like a million years ago that we threw our bags in there to go to Birmingham, but it's only 4, 4:30pm.

This morning seemed so long ago.  Everything is a blur.  I'm in a daze. I'm told my mom is on her way from Atlanta. Not sure why.  Addy's dead.  There's nothing to see.  I'm sure there will be a funeral or some sort of service later this week.

We get home and grab bags out of the car.  Hubby grabs the infant carrier.

Our eyes meet.

It's empty.

Oh My God it's empty. The realization hits me again, and I nearly lose it.

Hubby helps me inside and into bed.

A million gazillion thoughts are swirling through my head… it's like a movie, replaying part by part.  Maybe it's a dream…. maybe I'll just wake up.

My daughter is dead.  Dead.  Finito. Dead. Gone.

Part 10: A Message of Faith

I slept.  At least, I think I did.  I remember people stopping by.  The head coach's wife stopped by, came and gave me a hug.  I think I was in and out of consciousness.  I'm not sure I made much sense to anyone.

Some family friends from Atlanta brought my mom to my house.  They weren't sure she was in any condition to drive, so one drove my mom's car and her husband followed.  It's a four-hour drive…. and they dropped her off and headed back home.

Wow. I have people in my life who care that much? Would I have done the same? I'd like to think so….

I remember they came and gave me hugs too.  I know I babbled something to them… perhaps about God, perhaps about me… I'm not sure if I made sense at all, but I know it didn't matter to them.  They love me, they care about me, treat me like one of their own. Well, as the saying goes… it takes a village to raise a child, doesn't it?

I honestly don't remember when day ended and night began.  My nightmare of the last 24 hours kept replaying in my head.  I kept waking up, realizing it really wasn't a dream and my daughter was actually dead.  I know at one point I was screaming and crying.  My husband did his best to console me…. I think I finally fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Sunday came. Husband and I looked at each other.  Now what?  He asked if I wanted to go to church.

Why in the world would I want to go to church and praise the God that just took my daughter away?  Why?

I was mad.  I was angry.  I was sad. I was upset…. not in any position to walk into church, paste a smile on my face and pretend everything in my life was perfectly normal.

That's what people in "church" do.  They don't really care. They pretend…. they check a box, bring a meal, sign up for meetings…. paste a smile… pretend, pretend, pretend.  And I wanted absolutely no part of it.

I wanted my daughter back.  I hurt. I just had a major operation 10 days ago… I HURT. The incision wasn't closed yet. I still had gooey tape marks and steri strips hanging on…

but no baby.

No "reason" for all my pain. Nothing, absolutely nothing.  Empty hole in my belly, empty hole in my heart. I was empty.  Again, why in the WORLD would I want to go PRAISE the one who made it all happen?

I sit up, grab my laptop and hop on the Internet.  My hubby pulls out his Bible to do his reading.  He said he had a little catch-up reading to do.

I read all the comments and prayers on Facebook. I'm just numb.  I cannot even comprehend the past 48 hours.  It all happened so fast.  She was here, then she was gone.  It was just supposed to be a milk allergy.  It wasn't supposed to end this way.

I hear a "huh" and look at my husband.  He has this surprised look on his face, almost like a shock or disbelief… of course I ask… who wouldn't?  He said "huh"… he made a noise.

He looks at me and says, wow… I gotta read this to you.  The LAST thing in the world I want to hear is God's word. But hey, my husband is actually interested in something biblical, the codependent wife in me said I'd better encourage it.

So he explains that he'd been reading through the book of Romans.  He said he hadn't had a chance to read yesterday's portion with everything going on and listen to this…. 

What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory - Romans 9:23

Wow.  I was immediately humbled, put in my place, slapped…. however you want to look at it, whatever you want to call it.  That was a straight message from God Himself…. here I was being a spoiled little brat, questioning my maker, questioning Him.  The one who controls it all. 

He answered my question, boy did He. In my opinion, this was God's way of telling me He had a purpose and a plan. 

I looked at the clock.  Church was about to start… there's no way we would make it, and the last thing I want to do is arrive late.  I hop online and go to our website…. we can just watch service online.  How cool is technology?

Well, apparently not as cool as I thought it was because I couldn't get it to work.  It wouldn't connect. Really? Seriously? 

I text someone at church and ask him to call and just keep his phone on… We can listen to service that way.  He calls… it sounds like Snoopy church…

Whuh wah, whuh waaaah…. music music… whuh wah whuh wah…. 

Forget this.  Let's just go.  I know we're late… but really, I think we have a good reason. I throw on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. I'm ready. I don't care to impress anyone.  I have clothes on, and I'm sure I look like a pile of poo but I don't care.  God wants me at church.  Not sure why, but I got the message loud and clear.

We pass my mom as we're leaving.  She still has jammies on too.  I told her we didn't have time to wait. She can just drive and join us if she really wants to go. (I know, that wasn't very nice… but I really didn't care to be nice to anyone for any reason…. ) We hop in the truck and head to church.

We arrive, and the three of us walk in.  Yep, three.  I guess my mom drove quickly, because she was fully dressed and right there with us.  (Turns out she actually rode with us… how in the world did I miss that?  Was I really that unaware of my surroundings?)

The service is about half over, but I didn't care.  We found some seats in the back and sit.

Ok, God.  I'm here. Now what? I felt sort of stupid. People behind me were patting me on the back… a few in front turned around and gave me sympathetic looks… I think someone came across and gave me a hug.

Service went on as usual. How weird.

Our pastor began his sermon… I couldn't tell you a thing he said.  I just remember going, how weird is this… so surreal…. do these people KNOW my baby just died?  Well of course some of them knew… I'm not sure exactly what I wanted to happen or what I expected to happen… 

And then it happened.

In the middle of the sermon, someone gets up and walks up to the front… up the couple of stairs and stands next to the pastor.  He stops mid-sentence and gives up the microphone.  

Well, this is awkward.  Definitely not planned.  Or maybe it was, our preacher is a think-outside-the-box kind of guy.

The guy then announces that we are here.  That we've come to church and he thinks everyone needs to surround us in prayer. 

Super cool. Super embarrassing… here's a LINK to the video (of course it works now, right? Fast forward to 25:25 and you'll see what I'm talking about).

God knew we needed it. That big guy in the picture there… the one with the plaid shirt on, grey hair?

That's Big Papa.  My boss' boss.  President of the school.  He has the biggest heart of anyone I know.  We call him Big Papa… trust me, once you meet this man and see the heart he has for ministry, the love and compassion he has for others, you'll get it.  He attends a different church.  Something told him to come to ours that day. 

Interesting.

After service, I think the entire congregation line up to hug us… to offer condolences, support, food, whatever we needed.  We were told there was a spot open in the next weekend's Outback America retreat, if we wanted to get away. (Outback America is a fantastic weekend retreat for parent-teen and husband-wife couples to go and strengthen their relationship… we've been twice now and it truly is a wonderful experience.)

Later that afternoon, I get a text from one of my "boys".  I call them my boys, because well…. they are.  My husband's linemen…. they're my "boys".  One calls me Mama…. I look out for them… I care about them.  I keep up with them, graduated or not. I lecture them and love them.  They're my boys.

Anyhow, one texts me and asks if he and a couple of the guys can bring by some food.  I'm sure a mom was behind that text, but hey, I'm never one to turn down free food, and the company would definitely be welcome.

I forgot that a "few" in guy language means 10-15. Eleven offensive linemen fill up my 10x10 living room.  A huge tray of chicken tenders appears, cupcakes, cookies, and all sorts of "snacks" arrive.

They've packed up the entire Homecoming party and brought it to my house, along with a tray of chicken tenders.  

How sweet.  That's guys for you. Not overly sentimental or mushy, just simple… they wanted to bring food and saw what was available.  I know you're laughing.  Once I realized where the food came from, I couldn't stop laughing. It was so sweet.  I wanted to cry. 

We sat around and watched football.  How normal.  It felt good to be normal. My boys are such a joy, such a treasure. They didn't sit and stare at me and make things awkward… they didn't try and get me to talk about my "feelings".  They didn't cry.  They gave me big, huge, warm hugs and talked football.

I love my boys. I'll never forget how full my heart felt at that moment.  

Later that evening I was talking (well, texting..) with our campus minister, and sharing about the day and everything God had done.  He said it would be a cool testimony to share in chapel one day if I ever wanted to.  I thought about it for a moment and offered to do it the next day.  

What in the world was I thinking?  The next day?  Two days after my daughter died? Speak at my school in front of 400+ teenagers, coworkers, bosses? 

The next day was September 17.  It was the original due date given to Addison.  I knew it meant something. I knew it would hold special meaning for me to share what was happening on that specific day.  The messages, the people brought into our lives… not a coincidence at all.  Nope.  That was God, and these teens needed to know.  I got to writing… and I called it "His Plan".  As I close today's segment, I'd like to share my speech with you.  It impacted 400+ people that day, perhaps it will impact you as well.

His Plan
Today is Monday, September 17, 2012.  This may be just a normal Monday to you.  It’s a typical day for most, the beginning of the work or school week for many. It may even be a special day for you, an anniversary or a birthday. 

Today was my baby’s due date. Now most doctor’s say a due date is just an estimate of time, a day to plan events around, a goal to keep in mind as you move through a pregnancy, and I’d have to agree.  Since I knew I had to have a c-section, I took it upon myself to make a plan of my own that was convenient for my family...It was my plan to have my baby girl before the September 1st cutoff for school. Doc vetoed that. It was then my plan to have her soon thereafter so I could be here at school for homecoming week and go to Friday’s homecoming game.  It was my plan to be at home for about two weeks and then be back in full force, slow moving but back.  It was my plan to try and be in two places at once, being your teacher via video and email while also being mommy to little Addison at home.

It was not in my plan to hold my little girl as she took her last breath Saturday at 11:40 am. It was not in my plan to say goodbye to my baby girl just 9 days after I met her.

I keep on trying to tell God my plan, without much regard to his approval or advice, and for some reason I feel it keeps backfiring on me.  If I could tell you one thing today it’s to learn early on the phrase “Not my will but His”. If you listen closely enough, you’ll see He does have a plan and it’s been going His way all along, even though you thought you were in control. I’ve come here today to tell you how God’s plan has come full circle for me and my family in just a short period of time.

Many of you know I came from Huntsville City Schools.  But I didn’t just come from any school, I came from the Seldon Center.  Seldon was home to all the students who were kicked out of their schools for various offenses, from weapons and drugs to violence and fighting.  Others were there filling a 90 day probationary requirement as part of being released from juvenile jail.  Either way, it wasn’t a pretty place to be or a pleasant place to work.  I couldn’t offer Christ as an option for getting their lives back on track without fear of losing my job. I knew I would not be remaining with the Seldon Center for the next school year, my husband and I had already prayed and made that decision.  We decided that God would have some sort of plan for us, whether it was staying at home with our children, being transferred to a less stressful school, or finding a job somewhere else.  We knew that if we put trust in the Lord, we had options. So we did..... and it came to be that there was a position to fill here at Madison Academy.

I questioned God and his plan at that time... was Madison Academy where he wanted me to be? It was such a different environment from what I was accustomed to.  Would I fit in? Would I be a shining light to others when my own faith was relatively new?

After much prayer we decided yes, MA was where God wanted me to be... we didn’t know why or how but decided we would trust God and his plan, knowing it was the right thing to do.

As I’ve experienced life and death this past 9 days, I’ve seen why God brought me here.  You all put together a beautiful banner of autographs and hand-made cards for me to look at after little Addison was born.  You sent well wishes and food, and some of you even came to see us. Dr. Burton and Mr. Laird were there at the hospital to welcome my baby girl into the world before I even got to hold her.  You all showed me that we’re a family. When we left for the hospital Friday night for what seemed like a trivial, just-in-case, make an overly concerned mom feel better visit, Coach Privett and Blackston were close behind. They almost beat us to the hospital.  As I began going through this nightmare of an evening, the hall began to fill with faculty, staff, and even board members who wanted to be there and lift us up.  I found out that you all stopped your homecoming celebration just to pray for my family. Some of you girls came and prayed with me and my baby girl as I said goodbye to her. You guys brought me cupcakes and smiles Sunday as you filled my house with laughter and football talk.

Yes, God had a plan all along.  He brought me to MA so we wouldn’t have to go through this alone.

I had two friends experience death this summer... one lost her husband to a car crash, the other lost her baby 32 weeks into her pregnancy.  I remember holding my friend the day her husband died, telling her God has a plan and a purpose, and that he had been preparing her during our Bible study these past couple of months, preparing her to be able to weather this storm and maybe one day help someone else.  

I had no clue I was forecasting my own future. But God knew.

Just last Wednesday, I sat in my living room while a dear friend held little Addison and we talked about the lady at church who lost her baby 32 weeks into her pregnancy.  I distinctly remember saying no, I didn’t know why God allowed this to happen to her, only that perhaps she needed to go through this so she could walk alongside someone else.

Never in a million years would I have thought that someone would be me, just 2 and a half days later. God knew that though.

Two weeks ago, a friend recommended we watch the movie, “The Fifth Quarter”.  He told us it was a little bit of a tearjerker but that we would benefit from it.  We had never heard of the movie but figured since it was a “football” movie we would watch it the night before we had our baby girl.Yes, The Fifth Quarter does have a slight football theme but it’s main message was that a family of 6 loses its teenage boy in a car accident and must figure out how to pick up the pieces, come together as a family and move on. My husband and I looked at each other and wondered, why on earth would anyone recommend us watching that movie? Who in their right mind sits down to watch movies like this?  How in the world is this supposed to benefit me?

I found out a week later as I lost my baby girl to the unthinkable.

I sometimes sit back and look at the chain of events that have transpired over the past couple months and I’m just in awe that God’s plan is playing out in my life even at times I didn’t know he was there.  Sunday morning I laid in bed wondering what in the world I was going to do now, what was the point of getting up and doing anything?  Then my husband shared a message from his Saturday bible reading.  He said, you know I’m reading through Romans, and well, yesterday’s reading was supposed to be Romans 9. Well I read it now and listen to verse 23

What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory?

God placed that message in our hands the very day he welcomed my baby girl into his loving arms. 

No one could’ve predicted back in May that all these things would come to pass so that I could stand before you today and be comforted. Not one of us could’ve strung it together so perfectly, allowing life to give us little mini lessons as we awaited this ultimate test of faith and strength.

No one except God, the one who plans it all.

So as I join my husband in facing the unthinkable these next few days, weeks, and months, I know that I have a family of loving people behind me, praying with me and for me.  I know that God has put and will continue to place people and events and circumstances in my life that I may not fully understand, but will rest in comfort knowing that I have a 212 family that’s encouraging, comforting and urging me to live a life worthy of God who calls me into his kingdom and glory.

And I can rest on the promise that one day, I will get to hold my baby girl again. Today may have been her due date here on earth, but it looks to be like she was due for an appointment with Jesus instead and she wanted to make sure she got there in time.

Part 11: Humility and Humor

My chapel speech wasn't as scary as I imagined it would be.  My audience hung on to every word… I heard sniffles… I read from my paper in case I broke down and cried or forgot what I wanted to say.  I know my purpose was for these students to know that God is real.  I desperately hoped they would see the connection I saw, that they would "get" it.  For those who were wavering in their faith or had no faith at all, I hoped to shed some light on this whole God/Jesus subject.  Maybe they'd give God a chance…. seek Him and His will.  All it takes is one tiny drop of faith… faith as small as a mustard seed, Jesus said… just a teensy bit and God can handle the rest.

After my chapel speech I received about 400+ hugs.  Students and teachers were in tears… Parents sent me emails thanking me for my strength and courage.  It seemed to be a recurring theme… this wonder at my strength, faith, courage, etc.  I didn't really see myself as strong.  I felt like anything but.  I felt weak in my faith… wondered why I wasn't struck dead for being angry with my heavenly Father… for questioning him, for being selfish and wanting my child for me.  I'm no Abraham… there's no way in the world I could put my son up on an altar and offer him up to God.  I'm not strong enough.

Funny thing is, God gives us what we need, when we need it most. Perhaps He gave me my sarcasm, my dry sense of humor and no filter because He knew people would see me as real.  They may be offended, shocked… but you won't hear them saying I beat around the bush,  that I don't say what I mean and mean what I say, that's for sure. I'm just me. I'm not perfect.  I am a sinner, I make mistakes.

We left school and headed to the funeral home.  Ugh. Definitely NOT something I ever dreamed I would be doing… I posted a prayer request on Facebook.

The pastor and music minister met us there.  Not exactly sure why.  I thought they would walk us through the process, but the funeral director did.  We decided to cremate Addison… went back and forth and back and forth and finally came to the decision to cremate.  I wasn't sure I could handle a mini-casket at all.  I thought I'd fall to pieces. I didn't want a "visitation"… I'm really not big on walking into a room with a dead, dressed up body sitting out on display, and again, not sure I could handle it with a baby. So cremate it was. Looking back, I'm not sure we made the right decision…. I have no desire to visit her grave because, well… to me there's no "body" there…. just a bunch of cat litter (the ash looks like cat litter, in case you were wondering, not like ash from a fireplace like I envisioned). But it's not like I can go back and "un-cremate" her.  It is what it is.  Like my daughter's preschool teacher says, "You get what you get and you don't pitch a fit". We made the decision. It's done.

There was no charge for the cremation, the funeral director said.  They weren't in the business to profit off of a newborn's death, he said.  That was nice to know.  I felt a little guilty, though.  I mean, business is business and it wasn't his fault she died.

The pastor and music minister asked if we'd thought about the service at all, what we wanted, songs, etc.  Really? I wanted to laugh.  Like I plan funerals every day.  Seriously? My daughter's been dead 48 hours and now you want to know how we'd like to honor her memory?  What memory? She was nine days old for crying out loud…. what celebration of life? What glory? What praise?

They seemed uninterested, texting on their phones like they had somewhere else to be.  Shoot, they probably did.  I mean really, who wants to plan a funeral like this? 

I felt alone.  I wanted to go back to school where I was just surrounded in love and hugs… anywhere but here. I had absolutely NO desire to lay my baby to rest, to tell this stranger what to do with the body, to figure out what to write in a newspaper obituary, or how to commemorate her brief moment on earth. My husband kept looking to me… what did I want?

I wanted to run.  Hit STOP on the movie, take the DVD out and smash it into a gazillion little pieces. 

I was angry.

I was tired.  I wanted to go home and go to bed. I didn't want to plan my daughter's funeral.  Who cares anyway?  She's dead. Why do we even need a funeral? Take the stupid urn and throw it in the ground, put it on a shelf.  I really DON'T care.  It's not like it'll be her anymore.

I WANT MY BABY BACK.  I wanted to scream.  Everyone was talking and murmuring in what seemed like super-slow motion.  The memories were just flooding my brain… 

I can't imagine how people work at funeral homes.  I guess they have to… we need them.  But geez… the tragedy they see every day.  How in the world do they come home and say, yep, had a great day at work today? What's a great day?  Good day?  Bad day? Was this a bad day?

I snapped out of my daze and returned to the real world.  My hubby has told the music minister a couple of songs he'd like for the service.  I told him I had a ton of pictures and we could do a slide show, that we had one from the hospital photographer and we could pair that with the pictures I'd taken over the week.  I requested Casting Crown's "Praise You in This Storm"… they said they'd make the "program"  for me.  I text Big Papa and asked if he would do a prayer… such a wonderful man… of course he said yes.  My husband's brother is a minister, and volunteered to speak at the funeral, do a sermon, partner with our pastor, etc.  I wondered for a split second if that would be ok.  Baptist minister, Church of Christ funeral… is there such a thing as a COC funeral versus any other? I was still fairly new to COC, so I wasn't entirely sure… were we requesting a "no-no"? 

Apparently not because it wasn't vetoed. I had no clue so much went into planning a funeral.

Music? Check.
Prayers? Check.
Flowers? On our list.  Mother-in-law wanted to get flowers for the service …. go pick out.
Slide show? Yep.
Time?  Can you believe the school administration decided to close school early so students and faculty could attend… Wow, Addy… you closed school. How about that?
Preachers? One Baptist, one COC… don't think we need more.
Obituary? 

I've gotta stop you on that one.  Those things cost money!  They charge by the WORD.  Now I know…. goodness, not sure I would have put all I did in it had I known…. That was over a hundred dollars… yipes!

Urn? Ugh…time to go pick out Addy's "container". We say our goodbyes to the pastor and music minister and head to the showroom.

I've never seen so many caskets.  Wow.  And good golly they are expensive.  Like thousands and thousands of dollars expensive.  I always thought the point of putting a body into the ground was so it could decompose and return to earth…. but some of these caskets looked roomier and more comfortable than my bed! Wow, just wow.

He leads us over to the urn "wall".  There's two options for Addy.  A small, $45 silver vase looking thing, or a $100 teddy bear with the silver vase thing. It fits inside the bear.

That's it?  My God that's tiny.

I'm told there's not much left when a body is cremated.  I can't imagine my precious daughter being compacted so small and want to vomit.  

What about this wooden box… more like a jewelry box?

That's $300 and it's an adult size.

THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR A BOX? You've got to be kidding me.  You've got to. And whaddya mean, "adult size"?  Do you really think I'm going to open it up and go gee, the box looks half-empty… or half-full…. hmmm, quite the conversation starter… but no.  really? Who cares? And what if we decide to scatter the ashes?  What am I going to do with this urn/box/whatever?  So it's either $45 and tiny or $300 and huge?

My husband gets the giggles.  I glare at him. He is absolutely NO help. Tears are running down his face.  I pick the stupid $45 heavy silver vase/cup thing and call it a day.  I'm ready to go home, and we still have to go to the cemetery. Here's a picture of how small the darn thing is...

We remember one more thing… I wanted to do Addison's hand and feet prints… you know, the kind you see on the stepping stones?  I wanted her prints… maybe do a shadow box or something.  We told the director our idea and he was more than happy to help.  Even offered to do it for us if we'd bring him the kit. (More on that story later…)

So that's it.  That's our funeral home story.  While the staff was warm and friendly, that place still gives me the creeps.  

Are you still wondering what my husband found so funny?  Had he reached his breaking point?  Had he finally lost it?  He clued me in on the way to our next stop.  Asked if I'd ever seen the movie "The Big Lebowski"… never heard of it.  He's in tears again, laughing so hard… as he tries to explain the movie clip "The Bereaved". If you've ever seen this movie, you're probably in stitches too… Here's a LINK to the clip.  I will warn you, there is foul language in this clip.  Turn the volume down… You may find it offensive, but then again you may find it hilarious like my husband….

And since I was still on the fence with scattering the ashes versus burying the urn…. he tried to describe THIS CLIP to me… It's called "Scattering Donny". Again, language warning, (stop it around 1:48) but you can see why my husband found it hard to control himself.

Yep, that's why I married him.  Gotta love the sense of humor…. so off we go to the cemetery…. and it's pouring rain.

Halfway there, my husband's uncle calls… too wet to go to the cemetery, let's meet tomorrow.  Well good… didn't want to go do that anyway.  But, we've got one more stop to make.  Something of a surprise.

I'm not sure I like surprises at this point.

He turns into a shopping center and leads me into  Gary K Jewelers.  Really honey…. I mean, diamonds ARE a girl's best friend, but 1) we're about to spend a lot of money on a piece of marble I never wanted to order in the first place and 2) that's not my daughter.  I said nothing but followed him in, curiosity getting the best of me.

Once inside, I see a familiar face… one of our girl's basketball coaches.  Turns out Coach Kay is the daughter of the owner…. and someone has requested that we go and pick out a special piece of jewelry in remembrance of Addison.

So glad I kept my mouth shut.  I'm again humbled… okay, well not so much at first.  When I was told to "pick something out", of course my mind and my eyes went straight over to the diamonds…. (can you blame me?). Common sense and frugality then won over and I asked to see charm bracelets and cross necklaces.  We picked out a heart charm and had Addy's initials and birthdate engraved on it.  I received a bracelet to go with the charm.  I also picked out a cross necklace.

My first ever cross necklace. It's been 22 months and I've never taken it off, nor do I ever plan on doing so.  It's simple and beautiful.

I'm speechless that someone would do something like this for us.  I now know who bestowed such a wonderful and timeless gift upon us, and I thank that family from the bottom of my heart. I'm pretty sure they wish to remain anonymous, so I'll just say thank you a gazillion times over.  These pieces truly are special to both my husband and me.  He wears his charm on a necklace, attached to a cross he bought on a mission trip to Ecuador.  It means the world to him.


What a way to end the day.  I'm beat.  I'm humbled.  I'm too exhausted to continue shaking my finger and yelling at God. He's brought humor into my day… humility and humor.

Part 12: What Do You Want on Your Tombstone?

The rest of the week was pretty much a blur, but I'm going to hit on the high points.  Tuesday we had to go and pick out Addison's cemetery plot.  

Why, you ask? Isn't she in a 2.5 inch tall urn? What in the world do we need a plot of ground for?

Because that's what the husband wanted.  And a family member paid for it.

Oh.

Seems pretty simple…. I think at the time it was "gifted", we had not decided between casket or cremate.  I was all about scattering ashes and really just never thinking of her again, moving on, putting the horrible event behind me and never looking back.

Hubby wanted somewhere to go to pay respects, to honor her, to "see" her.  Made sense, I guess… a lot more expensive than just dumping the ashes in the ocean, lake, garden, etc…. but hey if that's what he needs to cope, I'm all for it.

So we meet the uncle at the cemetery attached to Copeland Presbyterian Church.  That's where his grandfather is buried and the majority of passed family members.  I figured if we were picking Addy's "plot" we might as well get the whole kit-and-kaboodle.  Why the uncle?  He's affiliated with the church and their cemetery, so he could look at the map thingy and tell us where they could "dig". 

So creepy.

I figured I would make the most of my cemetery time and see what people write on these big, massive tombstones.  Do they put a verse, a poem, a saying…. ok super creepy but now some of them have pictures…. kuh-reeepy! Most of them seemed pretty standard, birthday, death day (death day?  Date of death? DD?), vase with dead flowers or fake ones that are sun-bleached… ok so I get the idea.

I found my husband's grandfather's grave.  Figured it was time he and I had a chat.  Nice tombstone, headstone, whatever you call it.  I asked him to look after baby girl, do all the grandfather-y things he could with her, love her, look out for her…

Do they need to be looked out for in heaven? Do they "do" things in heaven? Is she in heaven?  Is he?  Is heaven for real? Or is it some made-up place people talk about so I don't feel so awful when someone dies?

Cuz I feel really awful.  And no, I don't feel "at peace" being told my baby is in heaven. It doesn't make it any better.  She's not supposed to be there.  She's supposed to be with me.  HERE.  

But I guess if I could choose any other place for her, it would most definitely be in the arms of Jesus.  I mean, when you put it like that, I have nothing to worry about, that's for sure. Again, I'm taken back to Abigail and Bryson's preschool teacher…. she teaches them "you get what you get and you don't pitch a fit". 

Ok. Thanks Mrs. Milam. I needed that. I'm still mad on the inside… but shoot, I'll quit fighting it on the outside. At least people won't think I'm totally bonkers.  And heck, I teach at a private Christian school, so I'd better not be questioning this whole heaven/Jesus thing…

The inner turmoil is almost more than I can bear.  This is soooo NOT what I wanted to be doing on my maternity leave.  It was NOT in MY plan.  EVER.  NEVER EVER.

So hubby and his uncle join me at the grandfather's grave.  I make a stupid joke about standing on him and how that's a little weird.  Come to find out, I was standing on someone else, having a conversation with someone else's feet.

LOL.

I was talking to the correct tombstone… but he was on the other side.  Oh the things you learn at a cemetery.  Didn't know there was a choice between standing on top of the "casket" and reading the tombstone, or having it face the other way so you're reading it with the "casket" part behind it.

Yep, I've lost it.  I'm now talking to marble.  Haven't lost my marbles…. just talking to them. Good grief.

So we pick out two plots and call it a day…two because we've decided Addy will be buried with us.  One plot for hubby, the other plot for me.  Since I want to be cremated, Addy and I can share the second plot.  That way she'll never be alone.

Riiiigggghhht. Back to the whole, is she alone, is she in heaven, has she actually been cremated yet… does she still have all her limbs in place… oh the depths your brain and the devil can take you to when you're vulnerable.  Word of caution and advice: Don't ever imagine someone being cremated.  Really, who does that? What kind of sick torture am I putting myself through?  It's bad enough I've been cut open and a baby yanked out of me…. and that same baby died in my arms for no apparent reason… but really, did my brain really need to take me to thoughts of cremation?  REALLY?

That devil is good.  Spiritual warfare…. "and the battle is not with flesh and blood"… nope, it's all in the mind.

So here's your spot, Addy…. nice and grassy.  I mean, really, what's there to choose?  It's a piece of grass, a section of ground… why in the world do I care where it is?  Does it matter?

Oh, it matters…. if we want our whole family to be together, we need to make sure there are enough spots around where we are looking… 

Oh jeez, really?  Now I have to think about Bryson and Abby dying?  Apparently so.  Bryson would probably want a plot with us, near us… Abigail would most likely be buried alongside her husband, in his family's graveyard section… 

What about more kids?  Will we have more?  Do we need more spots? Pay now, pay later? Goodness Jesus, help me. I'm so completely overwhelmed by grass.  But it's so much more than grass…. I can't even think straight anymore. Everything is moving in super slow motion again and I feel like I'm going to lose it. Tears are rolling down my face and I just can't do any more. Time to go.

It didn't get much better.  Our next stop was the tombstone shop, or whatever they call those places. Creepy-fest number 2.  Looks like a bunch of rocks to me. Tall ones, short ones, dark ones, light ones… too many choices.

Oh, but they have a catalog.  And a photo album "portfolio".  They take pride in their craftsmanship.

So what do you want on your tombstone?

It was my turn to get the giggles…. but seriously, all pizza aside, that's a HUGE decision.  And apparently, you can get whatever you want.  You can write a book on the whole darn thing… there's no "set" template.  At least, not with this place.

We decide we're going to get a stone that goes across both of our plots.  His name on one side, mine on the other, Addy's in the middle. As if it couldn't get any worse, now I have to think about us dying.

But it IS significantly cheaper for them to go and add a date of death to our stone than to wait and buy a whole new one…. shoot, I'll be dead.  Do I care? Don't even get me started on that conversation.  That could take a few hours… Let's just say the more you take care of before you die, the easier it is on those remaining.

I guess we'd better stay married, then. Hmmm… what happens when people get divorced?  Do they have a marble "eraser"? And ha, even funnier…. remarried?  Would "she" want that tombstone after she knew MY name was on it? Oh, the hilarity. My grandmother remarried about twelve years after my grandfather died… does her new husband mind that she's buried next to my grandfather?

Oh the devil.  Death, dying, divorce…. all in a couple of hours.  Yep, I'm definitely losing it. Gotta get out of here.  Way to much to think about.  I can't do this now.  I just cannot.  I've reached my limit.

We get all the information we need and leave.  They'll put whatever we want on the stone, I just send it to them.  I'm good.   Gotta get out of here. I'm so glad my husband is driving.  I'm hurting.  Physically, emotionally… everything.  I'm spent.

We pick up a newspaper… gotta have Addison's obituary.  Hmmm… she died between a nut, a shaver and a stapler… pepper died on the 17th…. the random things I now think are funny...

And all I can think of is how much the darn thing cost…. remember people, they charge by the WORD. You're definitely not in your right mind when you're writing that thing… maybe that's why some English teachers have students write their own obituaries… sounded a little morbid at the time, now I can TOTALLY see the merit behind this assignment.  Sorry, fellow teachers… it took me a bit to come around.

Sometime later that day, evening, night… can't remember…. my husband tells me the most awesome story in the world.  Our "boys", our football boys… they've done something incredible.

The day Addison died, they decided to do something in her honor.  No, they didn't paint a water tower, they didn't do donuts in the practice field to spell out her name….

They made stickers. Hundreds of them.

Pale yellow background, her name in a pinkish-purple, with wings behind it.  Yep, my boys did this. BOYS. Not girls… from what I've been told, no females were consulted for this project. 

And what did they do with said stickers?  Stuck em, of course.

That night, the night she died… they met up at the locker room and put stickers on every single football helmet.

Thus began a "Play for Addy" campaign that would last the entire football season.  It even spilled over into the other sports… and purple was adopted.

Purple shoelaces for volleyball.

Purple everything for cross-country…hair ribbons, m&ms, duct tape… yep, duct tape…. not sure what that's used for but yep, duct tape.

The cheerleaders had purple scarves tied somewhere… hair, arm, leg… 

The basketball players ordered purple towels with "Play for Addy" embroidered on them…

One of my seniors dedicated an art project…

A student made this for my classroom…

Our foreign exchange student wrote "Play for Addy" in Chinese on someone's arm…

The run through at one of the football games was dedicated to my baby girl…

The football team later went on to win the state championship… and dedicated it to Addy.

The sticker that started it all… looking back, it made the pain more bearable.  It was touching, knowing that many people cared about my family, about my daughter, about a tiny human they never met.  

Perhaps that's why my faith was able to remain in tact. Seeing that outward profession of love and faith from teenagers, hearing teens confidently tell me that Addy was in heaven with Jesus…. definitely helped.  A long time ago, someone told me "Fake it till you feel it"… makes sense now.

We still have the rest of the week to get through.  The funeral is Thursday and family will be arriving tomorrow. Death is overwhelming.  Death is tiring. Death is draining.

Part 13: Saying Goodbye

It's rather ironic that part 13 just happened to be the funeral part.  I must be lucky. Or unlucky.  Or perhaps luck has nothing to do with it. Perhaps I just Am.  God said that.  He said "I AM".  Makes more sense now… and no, I'm not equating myself to God or trying to downgrade his wondrous statement, it just so happened to make me go "hmmm". 

Things that make you go hmmm….

So it's Thursday.  The day we lay our daughter to rest.  Or well, the day we put a silver cup into the ground and pay our respects to the daughter that never got to be.

I wondered how the day would go.  I wondered if anyone would attend the funeral/memorial.  Who on earth would WANT to attend a memorial that's so sad? Shoot… maybe no one will really come.  Just the family…. just the people who feel "obligated".

I guess I should wear black. Seems fitting.  It's all just a blur really. I really wanted to wear purple, seeming that the high school sorta took on the wear purple campaign.  My aunt found a scarf for me at Wal-Mart…. that'll work, I supposed.

Not that I know how to fold/hang/wear those silly things.  I am sooooo not the fashionista.  I'm not completely "What not to wear" material, but don't look to me for fashion inspiration, that's for sure.

So I'm running around trying to get pictures for the display at the funeral.  Again, who thinks to get newborn photos done the FIRST WEEK? With the help of the hospital staff, I was able to get in touch with the photographer who takes the pictures in the hospital, and she was hopefully having prints overnighted to the church. Hopefully.

But I had a plan B.  I always do.  Can't have my baby in a tiny jar smaller than a dollar bill sitting on a table with no picture.  That's worse than a small casket.

So why no casket, you wonder?  I didn't think I could handle it.  I think caskets are a foolish expense.  You're in the ground, the Bible says Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust… and yet you spend thousands of dollars on this box within a box that is indestructible.  Why?  I didn't even want the pewter urn thing.  Seriously, just like on the movie, I was fine with a ziploc bag.  I could then dump the contents in the hole in the ground.

Yes, I opened the urn.  I wondered what "ashes" looked like. Well, I got my answer.

Cat litter.  The cheap kind that doesn't clump very well.  Not sandy…. more like little bitty chips.

I'm not sure what I expected… I guess I sorta thought it would be like campfire ashes or fireplace ashes.  They seriously could have just filled that urn with cat litter and I'll never know the difference.  Perhaps they did just that.  Maybe not.  Who knows?  Too late to change my mind now.

Looking back, would I have chosen differently?  Only if there was such thing as a biodegradable casket. Looking at cat litter took all the emotion out of it.  Perhaps a casket would have held more meaning for me. Either way, she was going in the ground.  I thought about opening the urn and dumping that, but that didn't seem like the politically correct thing to do either.

So anyhow, we're running late.  Yep, late to my own daughter's funeral.  Still have to stop at Walgreens and pick up "backup" pictures in case the nice ones haven't arrived at the church.

We get down the street and realize someone vitally important to the day is not with us.

Yep, I admit it.  We left Addy at home on the table.

Go ahead, laugh.  You know you want to.  It is pretty funny, actually.  At least we didn't get ALL the way to the church.

Hubby pulls a u-turn, we rescue Addison from the table and are on our way once again.  Stop at Walgreens and pick up pictures, making it to the church just in time.

There are flowers everywhere.  I guess it doesn't matter if you put "In lieu of flowers" or not, there are still people who send flowers.

Flowers from my pediatrician, flowers from the hospital, flowers from my stepmother's work, flowers from my doctor, flowers flowers everywhere.

They've set up a table at the front.  I put Addy's blanket and urn on it.  There's absolutely no way that I can arrange it so she doesn't look so small.  We put an 8x10 photo next to it.  Still looks horrible, but what can I do?  I can't magically make it larger.

I should've gotten the $300 box.  At least it would have been bigger.

We set out our traditional autograph frame.  Each of our children has one.  I write their name and birth info on the mat and have nurses, doctors, friends and family sign it.  Eventually, I'll put a picture in the frame and actually hang it on the wall.  Shoot, at least I have three frames with signatures….

People begin arriving.  And arriving.  And arriving.  So many people.  An incredible amount of people.  People I know, many that I don't know.  Tons of students from Madison Academy, all wearing some form of purple.

Family friends from Atlanta. Old coworkers. Rugby teammates.  Friends from a Bible Study I attended.

Most surprising?  Roger Lang. 

We attended the same high school.  He was a senior when I was a freshman. We were both in marching band. When I began my first "job" job at Dairy Queen, he was my trainer.  Incredibly patient with me and quite a talented ice cream cone maker.

We weren't BFFs.  The only similar crowd we had was marching band… he was four years older than me. We reconnected through Facebook. We didn't email, message, talk on the phone…. we were just "connected". 

He drove 4 hours from Atlanta to attend the memorial service. I recognized him immediately and was overcome with emotion.  I couldn't believe that my daughter's death was that significant to him. I was humbled.  You never know the impact you have on others…

The church was packed. PACKED. It fits somewhere in the 3-500 range. 

PACKED.

I guess that many people wanted to get out of school early, huh?  Just kidding.  I couldn't believe the crowd…. it was huge.

The funeral began with our slideshow.  We chose Casting Crown's "Praise You in this Storm" to play while the pictures ran….

It didn't take long for the tears to begin.  I'm not sure there was a dry eye anywhere.  The song is incredibly powerful…. here are the lyrics…

------------
I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say "Amen", and it's still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

[Chorus:]
And I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can't find You

But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

[Chorus]

I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth
------------

Sorry if I made you cry…. if you didn't want to cry, you probably should stop reading this story.  I'm not trying to be mean or rude, just stating a fact.  It's a tearjerker story. It just is.

The funeral continues.  There's a few songs here and there… then the Pastor gets up and reads the obituary.  That long thing…. it cost so much money and gee, did I really have to put all those surviving names in there?  Didn't make sense after the fact.  Oh well.

He then delivers a short "message"… telling us we have support and the church is behind us… remarking on the families of Madison Academy and how they've surrounded us in love an prayer.

Then, he calls me quirky.

Quirky? Me?

Now, I've been called many things…. bubbly, OCD, Creative, idealistic, direct, no filter …. but quirky? Ooookkkay… if you say so I guess.

So he finishes with his part and my brother-in-law goes up to deliver the "main" message.  He's a Baptist preacher, and this is a Church of Christ church….. I wonder how this will go.

The first words out of his mouth after he thanks everyone for coming….

I'm not Granville.

For those of you who were there, you've started laughing already…. for those of you who weren't there but know my family, you're probably laughing. The rest of you, let me help you….

My husband is a twin.  They were never declared identical or fraternal, but if you mix them up… to me they are identical.  Shoot, I think they're identical.

So as people start laughing, he explains that he's incredibly sorry to have misled so many… but it was just easier to go with it and thank them for coming then to stand there and correct person after person. He then felt convicted to "come clean" when addressing the congregation.  Yep, pretty funny.  We definitely needed that after such a tearjerker slide show.

He remarked on our strength and our faith.  He told the story of David and Bathesheba, how they lost their son at 7 days old.  2 Samuel 12:16-17 states,

David prayed to God for the baby. David fasted and went into his house and stayed there, lying on the ground all night. 17 The elders of David’s family came to him and tried to pull him up from the ground, but he refused to get up or to eat food with them.

Then in verse 20, after he found out the baby died, here's what happens…

20 Then David got up from the floor, washed himself, put lotions on, and changed his clothes. Then he went into the Lord’s house to worship. After that, he went home and asked for something to eat. His servants gave him some food, and he ate.

21 David’s servants said to him, “Why are you doing this? When the baby was still alive, you fasted and you cried. Now that the baby is dead, you get up and eat food.”

22 David said, “While the baby was still alive, I fasted, and I cried. I thought, ‘Who knows? Maybe theLord will feel sorry for me and let the baby live.’ 23 But now that the baby is dead, why should I fast? I can’t bring him back to life. Someday I will go to him, but he cannot come back to me.”

I saw the connection.  We got up the next day and went to the Lord's house to worship.  This was the first time I'd ever heard the story….

Well good… at least I did SOMETHING right.

We headed to the cemetery after the funeral.  I hadn't expected so many people to want to attend that portion too…. it was a mad scramble to get everyone directions. A difficult place to find if you're not local to the area. 

I passed out flower clippings to all the female family members I could recognize…. and there were so many I didn't know.  How embarrassing. We just figured on 20 or so people being at the gravesite and that we'd toss in a flower, say a prayer and be done with it…. oh no… lots more than that.

I brought a few things to put in the grave.  The urn, of course… a purple scarf, and her pacifier duck. We said a prayer and everyone started putting in their flowers.  I go to put my things in, and you hear Abigail say, "that's baby's zip".

Oh dear Lord…. Abigail was only 2… just turned 2 a month prior.  She recognized the duck pacifier and knew exactly who it belonged to. (We call them all "zip" because they literally "zip" up the child…) Yep, I'm crying all over again. I dry it up quickly though… and put on a happy face.  Or perhaps a "sober" face.  No one needs to see me lose it.  Won't help anything.

So baby girl has now been laid to rest.  Or buried in the ground.  Or properly memorialized.  Whatever you call it. It's a hole to me…. a big gaping hole… even if it's only a foot or so deep and wide.  

Represents the hole in my heart. The emptiness. The pain and sorrow.  Will it ever close? Will there be someone later to replace it? Will God really heal my wounds?  Will good come of this?

Why oh why did this happen? What did I do to deserve this?  Why? Why me?  Why us? 

Part 14: The Power of One Word
So what does one do after burying a child? Or a silver cup with kitty litter in it that once was a child?  (I don't think I'll ever be able to get the kitty litter image out of my head…)

I could wallow in self-pity.

I could become a hermit. Never leave the house. Recluse.

I could go back to work.

Can't have another child right this second…. that's sorta a long term thing, so nope, can't just whip another one out.

Shopping? Retail therapy? Shoot, we just spent a couple grand putting a silver cup of kitty litter in the ground.

Guess I should go back to work.  Hospital bills will start rolling in soon… I'll soon discover just how much it cost to not keep my daughter alive.

Our church sponsored us to go on a weekend retreat called Outback America.  We went once before and it was a nice getaway…. it just so happened that the weekend after the funeral was the fall date.

Sounded like a good plan.  Get away from Huntsville, get away from the memories, away from everything reminding me of her.

We didn't have a nursery set up… just her changing table.  It still had her last change of clothes on it…. trash bag of dirty diapers….and her stack of clothes and diapers on the second shelf. Talk about tearjerker…. goodness.

Yep, time to just get out of town.  I didn't know if it would work or not, but at least I would be out in the wilderness, surrounded by Christians and a huge group of prayer warriors.

So we went.  Yes, we had a good time, received lots of hugs and prayers and support. It definitely felt good to get away.

I went back to work Monday.  I guess it fit in my plan anyway.  I told them I was only taking off two weeks, God knows I never planned on it happening the way it did though.

Life moved on….it was sort of surreal.  On September 21, I woke up to the Life Goes On song…. Yep, God is right… life does go on.  I felt fine.  I wasn't an emotional mess.  More like numb. I didn't feel much of anything.  I think people didn't know how to take that.  they didn't know what to say, how to act. I'm not sure what I wanted them to say, actually.  I definitely didn't want their pity. Didn't really care for their attention. I was shocked at the "you're so strong" comments I kept getting.

I didn't feel strong.  I wasn't really sure what that meant.  I just went through the motions.  Is that strong? I was mad, confused, upset, sad…. angry at God, angry at the devil, not sure which one I was supposed to blame. I knew there had to be a reason, there just had to be.  My baby couldn't die for nothing.  God had to have a plan… if not, I wasn't sure if He was someone I cared to believe in and worship.  Who would do this to a family? Why?

 A student made this beautiful canvas for me.  Such a sweet, sweet gift. It reminds me that yes, he has a plan… to give him glory and honor. He's God, after all.  He doesn't need another plan. It's just hard to swallow.

Days pass… weeks pass…. families are still bringing us meals and I'm thinking wow, what a blessing. People I don't even know signed up to bring us a meal.  Normally, my OCD would kick in and I'd be like, um… I don't know you, how do I know you're not going to poison my family…. but I guess I just didn't care to go there.  I figured God had that part under control.

I'm just tired all the time… too tired to be mama, too tired to cook, too tired to do much of anything. Emotionally, I feel fine.  I guess that's what denial does to you.  I was just tired. Not a basket case, not a grieving pile of poo, just tired.  Just going through the motions.

Enter Thursday, October 4th, 2012.  Pretty normal day…. until I got home. Husband was at football practice.  I had the kids at home. Or at least I think I did.  Not sure where else they would have been…. I go to check the mail and Addy's birth certificate has arrived.

I don't just tear into the envelope.  I ponder if I even want to open it.  Do I really want to go there? Do I really want to see all the wonderful details of a birth that I guess was just never meant to be?  Why am I contemplating?  I mean, I'm the one that ordered it…. she was dead when I ordered it so it's not like I was getting my hopes up or anything.  It would just make a nice addition to the scrapbook I may eventually one day make. 

So I go to our bedroom and sit on the bed.  I brace myself for a few tears, a little sadness. 

I open the envelope and pull this out.

Sucker-punched doesn't even begin to describe how I felt.  The power of one word, eight letters. I try and breathe but I can't. Breathing is not happening.  I felt light-headed.  I thought I was about to join my little girl.  

I'm sobbing and don't even know it.  So surreal. Everything is a blur. Is my vision blurry from tears or am I dying from shock?  Is this the end?

One word.

I call my husband. I'm blubbering.  I think I managed to tell him what happened.  I NEVER ask him to leave practice or a game, never.  Those of you who are wives of coaches understand… you just don't. Nothing is ever that important and can't wait. Nothing. 

I ask him to come home. Yep, I did. I admit it.  I could not handle this one. Not on my own.

My phone rings…. don't recognize the number.  I don't want to answer it since I'm still blubbering, but then it dawns on me that the person bringing dinner may be lost.  I answer the phone, and sure enough, I'm right.

Well, sorta.  She's not lost, just wanted to let me know she was on her way and did I need anything.  I start blubbering all over again and manage to get out what just happened. She says I'll be right there, hang on.

Why am I still holding the birth certificate? Why am I still looking at it?  It's like I can't let go of it, it's glued to my hand. I can't comprehend that the devil could be so cruel.  

I've experienced some pretty cruel injustices in my short thirty years on this earth… but this one wins. Devil-1, me-0.

The angel with dinner arrives. Again, no clue who this woman is.  I open the door and burst back into tears and she just holds me.  Turns out she lost a little one too… she knew her child was sick and wouldn't make it very far past the birth, so while her story was slightly different it still hurt nonetheless….

I try to joke my way out of it… I've read many self-help books, been to therapy…. I'm just like well, guess I can't be in denial anymore.  That's taken care of.

The power of one word.

Husband arrives and they switch out.  I'm forever grateful for the angel God provided in the midst of my suffering.  He knows what we need exactly when we need it.  I still just don't understand why I have to endure all this.  I'm reminded of the passage about being tested from James 1…

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."  James 1: 2-4

Joy?  

Joy?

I disagree.

Part 15: I Killed My Daughter

Yep, I think I had this title picked out a LONG time ago.

Why, you say?

Well, I AM a marketing major.... I was taught to grab a reader's attention. Secondly, I'm a teacher... it's engrained in us that we need to have some sort of "hook", some engaging preview to the lesson ahead so our students are motivated to pay attention.

Did it work? Do I have your attention?

Good.  Because for me, this is the HARDEST and most DIFFICULT part of my daughter's story.  It's the worst to relive, to remember, to write, to think about... and yet there's rarely a day that goes by where I don't remember this part. I try to reframe the title in my head, to place blame elsewhere, to deny, to make excuses.  Nothing works. It's there, haunting me forever.

I killed her.  I did it.  It's my fault.

The Devil sure is good.  He knows our weak spots.  He knows where we are vulnerable.  And when I say he got me good, man... he sure did get me good.

But My God is Greater. My God is Stronger. How do I know that?  He tells me in his Word...

Romans 8:28 says "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

Jeremiah 29:11 says "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

and our "verse" Romans 9:23 "What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory."

Sure, you can tell me it's not my fault.  You can tell me I didn't do this intentionally.  You can claim ignorance for me.... shoot, you can tell me whatever you want, but my thoughts still go back to the original....  These three verses, along with thoughts of my two beautiful children and husband, kept me from killing myself. I wasn't sure my husband would be able to handle things without me, and I definitely didn't want to be responsible for more grief.  Plus I didn't think I could actually go through with killing myself. I just knew I wanted the pain to end.

So is that enough of an attention-grabber for you?  Are you ready? I sure wasn't.  Make sure you have tissue close by.

Enter Tuesday evening, October 16, 2012.  It's funny, I didn't realize the date until I started writing this part. This horrible, horrible realization began exactly one month after my daughter took her last breath.

My phone rings.  It's my pediatrician calling.  Not unusual.  He's an awesome doctor.  He's a researcher, and a gazillion different tests were ordered during Addy's 14 hours at the hospital.  Every single time he received a test result, he researched and followed through.

A few days after her death, he received test results showing elevated iron levels in her blood.  An investigation into that led him to neonatal hemachromatosis. It's a genetic disorder that's typically fatal for infants, and if that was the official diagnosis, we would need to consult a specialist if we ever wanted to get pregnant again.  I remember feeling somewhat relieved at that possibility, believing that my child was born sick and really never meant to be... that we were oblivious and able to bring her home and enjoy 9 days with her rather than being stuck in the NICU watching her die.  Morbid, yes... but for some reason that was comforting.

Too bad it wasn't that.  I'd like to say I'd give anything to go back to that type of diagnosis.

Ok, so back to the Tuesday evening phone call.  I just didn't want you wondering why my pediatrician is calling me in the evening.  He really is just a great detective, following every lead possible and trying to piece together the puzzle of her death.  I'm sure he felt some sort of responsibility, thinking perhaps he missed something.  Shoot, we all did. Has he ever said those words specifically to me?  No. Like I said, I was looking for something or someone to blame.... not just some freak accident.  I needed a reason.  I needed answers.

I rambled again, didn't I? Can you see I'm stalling?  I'm trying to save you from the intense pain, the feeling like your insides have just been ripped out.... it's not just a Band-aid you can just rip off really quickly.

So ok.  He calls, asks how we are, the normal greeting hello, etc., etc. Then he says he's gotten a few other test results back and would like me to go and get bloodwork done so he can compare.

Why didn't I just say ok and let it go? Why?  Curiosity killed the cat? I just couldn't fathom what my bloodwork had to do with hers.

So I asked. What are you looking for, doc? What test are you having them run? I mean, of course I'll go get the lab work done, no problem at all.  I just sorta want to know what tree he's barking up now.

Doc: Well, I want to test your antibody levels for HSV 1 and HSV 2. (Or something to that effect. It really doesn't matter, because I didn't have a clue what he was talking about.)

Me: What's HSV 1 and HSV 2, doc?

Doc: Herpes Simplex.

Me: I don't have herpes. They do an STD test as part of my prenatals, and I know I've been tested for genital herpes.

Doc: Herpes 1.  Cold Sores.

Me: But I don't have cold sores either, doc.  That's my husband. Wait a sec.... why do you think I have cold sores?  What new test result have you gotten?  Is the autopsy back?

Doc: Long pause... yes, the autopsy is back.

Me: And it lists a cause of death?

Doc.  Yes.  Herpes Virus Type 1, Cold Sores.

Me: Ok, but I already told you, I don't have cold sores. That's Granville, not me. How are you thinking these are related? (I must be really naive.... you probably already know where this is going.)

Doc: Well, you said you had sores on your nipples, and Addison had contact with those sores. An antibody level test will tell us if you have the virus and if you presently had an infection. (I know he said some other medical jargon here, but that's all I remember.)

Me: Ok, sure I'll go have bloodwork done.  Anything to help.

We hang up and it still hasn't hit me. I remember sinking down on the couch, going over the details of our conversation in my head.  It's like a slow, painful realization.....

Tears have begun falling down my cheeks and I don't even remember starting to cry or feeling like I was going to cry. In fact, it took me a minute to realize WHY I was crying.

And I thought the whole birth/death certificate incident was hard...

It hit me like a ton of bricks.  Everything went from super slow-motion to flying a mile a minute.  All the pieces connected in one split second.

I can't breathe.  Someone literally has a hand wrapped around my throat.  I want to scream, but I can't. I want to speak, but words won't form. I'm numb.  Mute. Dying.

My husband becomes painfully aware that something is wrong and is by my side in a second. I want to tell him, but I'm not sure I can speak into existence the connection my doctor just made.

If I don't speak it, it's not real.  It just becomes a random thought, just someone's opinion.

He's wrong.  Of course he's wrong. No way is this true.

Did he REALLY just tell me I nursed my daughter to death? Well, technically no. He didn't use those words.  I did.

He said he thought, or had a hunch, that the sores I told him about may have been cold sores. And that somehow, something as ridiculously common as cold sores, KILLED my daughter.

He must be wrong. I don't have cold sores.  I've never had cold sores.  My husband has cold sores. Everytime he feels cold sores coming on, he doesn't kiss me on the mouth.  He's really careful.  We'd been married 4 years, dating 5, and I never got cold sores. Nah, no way. He's careful.

Isn't he? Maybe just once, he didn't know he had one.... maybe the doctor was right? But aren't cold sores on your mouth?

Google took care of that question.  They are typically on the mouth, but really can be anywhere you have an open cut or wound and make contact with a cold sore. Fingers, mouth, nipples... genital area. Apparently they call Herpes 1 anything waist up.  Herpes 2 is waist down. Same virus, different location.

My mind is spinning a mile a minute. No way is this real. He just told me I nursed my daughter to death.

I did.  I nursed her.

A split second decision to do something so completely natural cost my daughter her life?

I never wanted to nurse her. I felt guilty. I thought I would at least try and nurse her while I was home, you know, give her that good stuff, the "gold" milk, give her the BEST chance at life.

And he just basically told me it killed her.  My decision killed her.  My decision ended her life.

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. My mind was going back and forth between actually believing him and denying his story.

I called a medical friend.  No way, she says.  Nope.  Addy was sick before she was born.  You didn't do this.  No way. She went over all the "abnormal" things Addy did that week, like sleep ALL the time.  She reminded me that Addy's long sleep time was from the beginning.  I wasn't so sure, but it did sound a LOT better than me killing her. I remember her sleeping rather normal the first day or two.  She was born Thursday and it wasn't until Saturday that I first noticed she slept a reallllly long time.

Now I'm confused.  One medical person says one thing, the other says something completely different. I'm still in shock.

It's easier to believe the friend, of course.  That takes all the blame off of me.

So I go get the lab work done the next day.  Here's what the results said, for those of you with knowledge of how to read these things.

I called my OB and he got the results almost immediately.  I went to see him for my postpartum checkup and he explained what they meant.  He said I did indeed have the cold sore virus.  He said my pediatrician ordered a test that would tell him 1) IF I had the virus, and 2) If I had just recently been infected, and 3) If I had just had an outbreak.  Apparently all answers were yes.

I asked him if he agreed with the pediatrician, that the blisters on my nipples were herpes cold sores. His "yes" was without any hesitation.

But no one ever tested them, I said.  No one cultured them.  No one worried about them.  Not even you. They told me Addy could nurse on them.  EVERYONE said it was okay.

I'm not sure what he said to me. I just knew I didn't want to lose it in my OB's office. So I calmly finished my appointment and left.

I'm getting pretty good at putting on a mask. I'm dying inside, completely dying.  Two doctors have just confirmed that my decision to nurse my daughter killed her.

Sometime later that week or next, I spoke with my pediatrician. I told him the OB agreed with him, but my medical friend did not. He said the PICU doctor also agreed with him.  The not-so-great-bedside-manner-but-awesome-at-trying-to-save-my-daughter doctor agreed with him.

3/4

75%

Not great.

I'm devastated.  Completely, absolutely, utterly, entirely devastated.

I did this. I killed my daughter.

I wasn't going to nurse her.  I wasn't.  I had NO intention of doing it. None whatsoever.

I had a weak moment.  Felt guilty.

BUT I ASKED IF IT WAS OK.

I pointed out the blisters.  I said they hurt.  I said they weren't going away.  I told them how long they'd been there.

The post-op staff looked at them and said it was okay.

The nursery staff looked at them and said it was okay.

My friend with 5 kids looked at them and said it was okay.

The LACTATION CONSULTANT said it was okay.

My medical friend said it was okay.

The scary nurse said it was staph, then changed her mind... at least she insisted a doc look at it.

The on-call OB said it was okay, ordered me the Bacitracin ointment.

My husband and I went back through the calendar of when the blisters appeared and yes, he did have a cold sore at that time.  I'm not going to delve into any TMI detail on how they arrived at their location on me, but it did confirm to us that the verdict was indeed plausible.

I can't remember who first suggested I contact a lawyer.  Many people did.  I wasn't sure what exactly a lawyer was going to do... my blisters were never tested, so to me I didn't have exact proof.

So I called a recommended attorney's office.  They asked for medical records.  I went and picked them up, and saw that a copy of the autopsy was included.

I'm including little snippets of the autopsy for you.  If having the complete report or any of these records would help you in any way, please contact me and I'll send it to you.

Here's the cause of death page....

I'm no medical person, but in part A up there it says she had the cold sore virus on the tip of her tongue, her esophagus, and her liver.

I don't know about you, but looks like she swallowed poison. Here's another part that really gets me...

Focal erosions... had to look that one up too.  Seems her esophagus was like a mountain terrain.... no wonder she wouldn't eat.  It was so incredibly painful.  My daughter's poor body was in shock from the pain.  No wonder she slept all the time. The overly sleepy child syndrome started at right around 48 hours, I remember. She was infected just that quickly.

Reading an autopsy is no picnic.  It details everything about my precious baby girl, from the weight of her heart (55 grams) and brain (400 grams).  That means these organs were actually removed from her body and placed on a scale. I can't believe I'm actually reading this.  There's a reason only medical people read these things. They can stomach it. I don't know how many times I cried and sobbed and blubbered over this report.

It was so matter-of-fact.  So impersonal. Didn't this person know this was my baby girl?

Of course he did. He's just doing his job.

His job though... his ever-so-thorough job has cost me my sanity.  My peace.  My hope. My joy.  My trust in doctors. My trust in myself.

I did this. My decision cost Addison Grace LeCroix her precious life.

It's my fault.

I killed my daughter.

Part 16: Existing

It's definitely hard to stomach that you had an integral part in the death of your daughter... it's easier to blame someone or something else.  No, there's not 100% proof that Addison contracted the virus from me.  There's not 100% proof that the lesions on my breasts were in fact cold sores.

It's all speculation. You choose what you wish to believe.  I've made my choice, and no amount of reasoning from anyone, medical or not, will change that.

So NOW what? How do you move on from here? What's next?

We have two children. Do we want more? Should we try again? Dare we go through it all again?

Should we pursue a lawsuit? Against who? Whom? What? How?

When people ask how many children I have, how do I answer?  Do I say two? Three? Two living with me? All versions that include my angel daughter lead to more questions and heartache. Do I just forget she existed? Do we put away the pictures? Do we pretend it never happened?

Life was incredibly lonely.  My husband was coaching football and not home very much.  I hated the walls of the house - it seemed they were closing in.  I even started bringing the kids to the Monday night JV games so I wouldn't have to sit at home alone.

They were so super cute....

Hubby brought them matching jackets from his Ecuador mission trip.  Nice and warm!

Me and Abby - thankful for her sweetness!

So I didn't become a recluse... no hermit here.  I just existed.  

Do you know how hard it is to just EXIST? Breathe? Not feel? Carry on as if nothing happened?

I didn't know what I was supposed to do/think/feel.  I wasn't sure how to pick up the pieces.  Shoot, I wasn't even sure if there WERE pieces.  I didn't feel "broken"... but then again I didn't feel "complete" either. I just simply existed. 

People didn't know what to say.  I'm sure they offered to help, but what did I need help with? I still had a job to do, teenagers to teach, and children to care for. I couldn't just quit life.

One person told me she was so sorry and "knew how I felt", because she had a miscarriage at 10 weeks.

Really? Seriously?

You know how it feels to hold a live baby, a baby that's perfect and healthy one day, then watch her DIE in your arms? Really?

You bled. Come on. Do not even REMOTELY put us in the same boat.

Did I say that? Of course not. I smiled and said I was sorry for her loss and kept on walking, steaming inside. Sure, she probably had hopes and dreams for her baby too, dreams that were shattered and torn apart.  That, yes that I could relate to.  Here's a first day of school that will never be, a sweet 16 that will never come, a wedding that will never exist.

Good grief.  Kill me now.  This sucks. 

Was I holding it together by a thread? I've heard people say that, but was that me? Did I seem like I just watched my baby take her last breath?  Did I have death written on my face? Did I walk around looking like someone died? Was I even more sarcastic that my normal sarcasm? Did I seem angry? Sad? Happy? Fake?

Or was I just there?

Existing?

I was so completely devastated that really, exist is the only word I can come up with that makes sense. 

Going through the motions.

Numb.

We made it through the holidays thanks to family and friends.  My stepmother and I took the kids to have Christmas pictures made....

Yes, I included her.  Yes, it was sad.  I went back and forth with whether or not to include the picture at all.  In the end, I'm glad I did. I knew people would be sad when they saw the card, but when someone is a part of you, you don't just simply "delete" them out. She would have been in the picture.... so she still was.

"Living" was confusing for me.  I would catch myself in a laugh and stop... not really sure why.  I guess I figured people might be upset because I wasn't upset... sheesh...I know, I know.... here I am existing and trying to figure out how to live again, but then I catch myself living and feel ashamed. I remember reading Cold Sassy Tree back in high school. The grandfather announces a new marriage just three weeks after the death of his wife, Mattie Lou. Apparently, this was WAY too soon and definitely taboo. While I might have to agree with three weeks being a little quick, I do understand his desire to move on and not care what others thought.  How soon is too soon? Do I wear black and mourn for a year?

When is it OK to smile and really mean it?