Addy's Story Part 16: Existing

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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?

Addy's Story Part 15: I Killed My Daughter

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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.

Addy's Story Part 14: The Power of One Word

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

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.

Addy's Story Part 13: Saying Goodbye

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

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 their 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? 

Addy's Story Part 12: What Do You Want on Your Tombstone?

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

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.