Figuring out how to be both

Jill was my first friend when I moved to Tallahassee.  

She might be one of the first people I ever visited in a hospital after having a kid.

Jill was my first person to text the day morning after I found out about dad.  

She is ... was a beacon of positivity in a life that had seen so much tragedy.  She lost both parents before she was done being a teenager.  

Right as I was starting to tell people about being pregnant, Jill got in a fatal car crash and was taken off life support 2 or 3 weeks later.  I never got to tell her I was pregnant. 

I will not get to talk to her about my dad again.  

I am an ass for thinking anything about how I am affected by her absence. 

I hate that she's not in this world. 

I hate that she's not with her 4 kids. 

I hate everything so much.

She was somehow awake the morning I text her in Sept.  It would've

been about 7 in FL.  I woke up with panic and tears and not ready to text other friends. 

She sent this:

I still have her other texts.  The one I remember is this is going to be hard.  Really she said, 

"Best advice to you though is to love with all your being and allow yourself to receive love with all your being as you go through this.  It will be one of the hardest emotional journeys but if you allow, you will be able to learn more about yourself and be there for your dad with no regrets.  This is all easier said than done."

I was always amazed at how Jill could live her life the way she did with the sadness she had had. 

She always gathered others together:  Xmas cookie swaps, pumpkin carving parties, girls' nights out... I will draw inspiration from her (and others) but especially her when the crap is crappy.  

I also am blogging to use this is as my journal... Jill also said, "Start journaling - it's helped me."

So here I am.

Kitty picture break.

January-- not my favorite.  We went home again for MLK weekend. 

Dad was weaker.  Mom was freaking out about him and the house. 

How am I supposed to be happy about a baby?    I'll tell you how.  

After you get home, cry some more, take a bump pic for the people who are asking, then go to the doctor and get scary dooms day news.  

20 week apt. was 3 days after this.  Big ultrasound. Joe came for first time.  Met the doctor. 

Doctor comes in and I ask her about possible mental health options for me because I just don't know how I'm handling things. 

Then, "the baby has a cyst in it's head.  Sometimes that can be a marker for Trisomy 18."

I crumble inside and am convinced that's what it is.  Joe here's the "98 percent of the time these cyst go away and don't mean anything" and would've probably moved on with his life.  I ruin it.  

There's the other 2 percent.  Why not me?  Why not my baby?  The 2 percent has to be somebody.  

Meanwhile, Katie goes into labor and Ruby is born.  We go by sonic to pick up milkshakes for them.  That's when my control spins out and I'm crying and Joe's crying and I'm ruining it. 

I want a healthy baby.  I want something happy to work out. 

Silver lining, I'm not sad about my dad in this moment.  

We go to hospital and literally see baby Ruby an hour or 2 after birth.  

Katie asks about my 20 week.  I try to gloss over it the first time but later it comes out.  

I tell my sister in law this news on the night she has her second birth. 

I am the Grinch that stole newborn excitement. 

This pic isn't in the hospital but soon after they go home.

All conversation about baby stops.  I walk by the ultrasound on the fridge every day and look at the hands and feet.  

Doc said there were no other markers.  Clenched hands.  Clubbed feet. 

"But that hand is sort of clenched, isn't it?"

Google pics of healthy and unhealthy baby ultrasounds.

Googling is dumb and I do it and I go nuts inside waiting on blood tests that take a week and a half. 

Students at school ask about me and comment with excitement and I just pretend. 

Some people I tell, really depending on my mood... depending on if they ask. 

This quote is what I keep in my head.  This quote and Jill and journaling.  The beginnings of my coping armory that I'm slowly amassing. 

Meanwhile, Donald Trump is burning down the world.  But we marched on a pretty Saturday and baby Ruby was there and it was a happy day despite my doomed baby thoughts.

Thank you, Mary Tyler Moore, for your life.  Your death brought out memories and news stories on you that were uplifting...as well as this quote.   

As if things weren't low enough, while waiting on baby blood work - I get the stomach bug or something.  Then sinus and chest cold attack.  By the end of the week I was as low as I could go and wasn't even adding Dad sadness to the equation.  

I'd have to wait A WHOLE NOTHER weekend before finding out test results.  

Joe moves a mattress into the living room to avoid my sicknesses.  

Sunday afternoon we're napping.  I wake up to the voicemail of good news, results were negative.  

I love you, doctor.  You called me on a Sunday oh my gosh I love you. 

I kick Joe and start spreading the news.  

We can be happy again.  

We can talk about a nursery again. 

We can say things under the assumption that baby will be ok.  

"for now" - says the dark side of my brain.  SHUT UP.

"until the next landmine explodes" - shut up shut UP!

But I do manage to shut that voice up sometimes and for sure 

the next week it is quiet and I am happy. 

For just a moment I am driving home from work, talking to mom about nursery stuff, and I feel it. 

Normal - or a glimpse into what this all would be like without cancer.

It would be so so great. -- Ok now quick back to the quote before I cry

"it's what is happening and not what SHOULD happen."

Juicy is not phased by the good news.... but to be fair she wasn't phased by the bad news either. 

The next week is bliss.  Light and airy and smiles.  

We go to Jackson and see so many friends at council and other places. 

Then mom texts Saturday.  Dad got sick and is getting fluids and is so dehydrated and weak and is going to skip chemo this week and needs home health and physical therapy and I just cry.

Ah, yes.  This is where I live.  This place is more familiar than bliss week.  Pregnant happiness there but buried deep under dad sadness.  But now, the bright side is I am not also stressed about a blood test.  

This roller coaster though - Mrs. Noble.  Science teacher at our school who is also fighting cancer that was also diagnosed in Sept.  She is part of my armory.  

Jill, journaling, quote and Mrs. Noble.  

She's got a strong Jesus/God thing in her that is getting her through

and it is comforting and inspiring even if the words themselves are hard (impossible?) 

for me to believe/find comfort in.  The person she is gives me strength - and that person is fiercely faithful.  

Besides council we 

Saw Mary Ellen  

Watched the Chargers win soccer state championships.  Go Charley. 

And met baby Rue.  

The humidifier came to Jackson with us.  Clearly, Juicy missed it. 

The bump really bumped out around week 22 and 23.  

I was going to take some cuter clothes pics but by the time I get home and Joe gets home -- I'm in these giant, baggy numbers.  Why can't I just wear my sweatpants every day.

Bet just left our house and now it's much more prepared for a baby

This rug and some furniture...

And new stuff for our bedroom...

Mom should be here to but ..."it's not what should happen" -- it's what's happening. 

Also add the new podcast "Terrible, thanks for asking" to my armory.  Thanks, Elise. 

My new skill (or one I'm working on) - How to feel both happiness for baby and intense sadness for dad.  The seesaw isn't working.  Back and forth and back and forth between ups and downs.  

I'm looking for more of a whirlpool of both -- which makes more room for the fear and anxiety to also join in.  B/c they are there... they don't want to be left out.  And they are certainly not leaving any time soon.