The Perfect Storm

Mom is still in ICU and they think there is the possibility of a hereditary lung disease that is progressive. While it's a slight possibility, it's still a possibility and I'm scared. I go to visit her every day and she's still the same Mom she's always been: caring, supportive, loving, grateful and happy. And yet she's on oxygen and has been in the ICU for a week now. It is serious. For now, we are hoping that she will be moved from ICU within the next 2 days, and we're really hoping that she doesn't have this lung disease. I'm scared. Very scared.

Two days ago, Laura flipped over backwards on her little chair and hit her head on the fireplace hearth. She cried for about 10 minutes and then started bleeding out her left ear. We spent the rest of the day going from doctor to doctor, including X-Rays and MRI's to rule out skull fractures and brain damage. Thankfully, all those tests were negative. She did have raging double ear infections and the impact of her fall caused one of her ear tubes to come out. They aren't sure why she had so much bleeding from the ear (which has, thankfully, stopped) but we're on a course of antibiotics (both drops and oral medication) to clear up the infections, then we'll determine what do to regarding the lost tube. While I remained perfectly calm during all the testing, doctor's visits, etc. Afterwards, all I wanted to do was fall apart and cry, but I couldn't because I didn't have any time alone.

And the kicker is that my sister-in-law is pregnant again, with number 3. I feel a whole mix of confusing emotions: jealousy, anger (at life, not at them), desire for another myself, joy for them but, most of all, sadness. WE were supposed to be the family of 5. WE were supposed to have more children. It comes so easy for them and yet it was so hard for us. We had so many complications and difficulties and sadness and pain that there was no real choice for us but to end our fertility journey. We wanted more children. We just couldn't take the chances that things would go wrong for us, yet again. The risks are now too high...

Whenever someone I know gets pregnant again, there is always a twinge of jelousy and awkwardness inside me. I don't wish away time but I do look forward to the days when most of my friends are finished having children so I no longer feel that awkwardness. I was so hoping that I wouldn't have to feel this way again with the people who mean the most to me. I hoped that my siblings wouldn't have any more children and we would be passed the baby-making days. But now I find myself thrown back into all that pain and sadness and awkwardness and it's so much more difficult when it's people I truly love. I want to feel nothing but happiness for them. And yet I can't because it hurts so much.

Power of Prayer

Today, my Mom was admitted into the hospital with severe pneumonia. After an hour or so in the hospital, they relocated her to ICU. She cannot breathe on her own and is very sick. The next 24 hours are critical-to see how she responds to IV antibiotics and oxygen. I am scared.

While I do not believe we can pray for specific outcomes or things, I do believe in the power of prayer to provide us with strength. Today, my family could use some support and some strength. I ask you to please to take a moment of time out of your day to say a prayer for my Mom, my Dad and the rest of my family.

Thank You.
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It's Christmas Eve day and I'm going to see my Mom today. It's the first time she's wanted visitors, so I take it that's a good sign. However, she's not responding to the treatments as they had hoped she would. She's still in ICU and will be there for quite some time. I feel so badly for her. She won't be home for Christmas, but we will take bits and pieces of Christmas to her, instead.

Last night, I went to my parents' house and cleaned it for my Dad and so that when Mom comes home, it will be nice for her. When Dad got home, we decorated the tree together and then spent a really nice time admiring our "work" and talking. It's been a very stressful week for my Dad and I think he enjoyed the company. I know I enjoyed being with him.

I wish you all a very safe, happy and healthy Christmas and may you and yours experience all the love and joy of this holiday. Again, please continue to keep my family in your prayers.

The Yuletide Begins

This past weekend, we went out as a family and purchased our Christmas Tree. It a Pennsylvania Douglass Fir, so it is tall but well tapered and not too wide. Joey, R and I decorated it together and it is beautiful.

I worked tonight, and as is customary for Mondays in our household, I arrived home after the kids were asleep. R had some work to finish up on the computer, so I made myself a cup of hot tea and took my book into the family room to enjoy the quiet and read for a while. When my cup was empty, I closed my book and let the dog out. I switched the lights off and went to turn the tree lights off, but stopped suddenly. The tree was magnificent with it's softly glowing lights in the now darkened room, and quite unexpectedly, I was overcome with emotion. Soft tears fill my eyes.

I wasn't sad by any means. I was just full of some rather powerful feelings. As it does so often during moments like this, my mind went to Hannah, Ryan and Abby. It was my first quiet moment of the Christmas season and I am grateful that I spent it with them.

Grief and Depression

Within months of losing Hannah, Ryan and Abby, people started asking me if I was going to take medication for my depression. I often heard this from well-meaning friends and I began to wonder if I needed medication. I knew I was sad and that my sadness wasn't like anything I had ever experienced before and I knew that how I felt certainly seemed to match the little I knew about depression, but taking medication didn't seem right to me, even during the darkest days of my grief. It somehow seemed like I would be denying myself the right to grieve, which I seemed to innately know that even though it was difficult, it was something I had to do.

However, as more time when by and I wasn't feeling better, I realized that if I wanted to piece my life back together (and I did) that I needed help, so I made an appointment with a counsellor. At my first session, I asked her this question: "Is what I'm feeling normal for someone whose children have died?" I wanted to know-I needed to know-that my feelings were normal. My counsellor helped me understand that, yes, what I was feeling was completely normal because I was experiencing acute grief and that it is a natural and healthy (albeit painful) process of grieving. She explained to me that losing a child (or children) is the worst loss a person can experience, ever and that acute grief lasts much longer than most people realize. When polled, most people say that it takes 2-3 months to recover from the loss of a loved one (any loved one, not necessarily the loss of your child/ren) but studies have shown that most people grieve deeply for at least a year after someone has died.

I am not an expert on grief or depression. I know very little about either, with the exception of my own experiences with losing loved ones. However, I find it sad that so many women are told they need medication after their child/ren die, when in truth, they would benefit more from counselling, support groups and support in general. I have no clinical knowledge about either topic, but I have to believe that it's important to go through the stages of grieving in order to start the process of healing. And yet so many people are denied this right by their family, their friends and even the professionals that they seek help from. I can't help but wonder why this is?
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Please don't feel like I am anti-medication, because I am not. I think medication can and does have a place in many situations and perhaps grief is one of them, but I think it's often used as a first attempt instead of a last resort in helping people-especially women-who are experiencing grief. If I have offended you, I am very sorry-that was not my intent in this post. I am just trying to understand why grief is so often confused with depression.