From me to you

If I could write a letter to myself and deliver it to the 18 year old me, this is what it would say.

Dear me,

Happy graduation day!  The reason I choose this day is because your life is just beginning.  At least, the point where I feel like it is beginning.  You already live on your own, you still work at the pharmacy and you still drive your first car (which I assure you, you will always love even though it's a junker).  You, my friend, are doing well for an 18 year old and I am still so proud of you, even today.  I know there are a lot of questions you may have and I still don't have all of the answers for you.  But as you work your way through the hard choices, just know that you are making the right ones.  Even the crisis question of this big day.  It is chilly and you aren't happy that you are supposed to wear a dress under your graduation gown.  And because you know your diploma is already printed and what could the school say now, you chose red pants and sandals instead of a dress and heels.  You are the only girl in your class that isn't wearing a dress but you know what?!  You go girl!  You are rocking your National Honors Society and bronze GPA sashes, so you deserve to wear whatever you want!  This personality will pull you through the trenches some day, I promise you.  There are things that you can't even begin to imagine right now, that are going to happen to you.  You will get married and have children.  You will be the best mom that you know how to be.  You may think right now that you can't handle ever having a child with special needs, but you will.  And you will be the best mom to that little boy.  He will be one of the most beautiful parts of your entire life.  And even though his life will be heart breaking, you will give him a beautiful life until his last breathes.  Your marriage will be tough and it won't last forever.  But don't worry too much...you will pull through it and you will go on to find love again.  You will find a love for emergency medicine and helping others.  Your life will change colors many times over the next 15 years so hold on tight.  Don't be worried or scared though, the rough roads will change seasons and you will weather the storms just fine.  Because that is who you are.  You are brave. You are strong. You are wonderful.  Don't ever let anyone tell you differently.  I know you have spent most of your childhood trying to prove that you are something to be proud of and I want you to open your eyes and see it!  You don't need approval from anyone else but yourself.  I am proud of you.  So as you cross that stage and say goodbye to this chapter of your life, try to be easy on yourself for who you are.  You will always worry a lot.  You will always be stubborn.  You will always second guess yourself.  You will always carry the burden of the world on your shoulders.  But give yourself grace.  Forgive yourself for all of the things you judge so harshly.  And I beg of you to do ONE thing...embrace the moments, both good and bad.  Because those moments will pass you by and even the ones that seem too hard at the time, will be ones you miss just as much as the good.  I am writing this to you from a time and place of peace, love and happiness.  So from me to you, let life begin!

Sincerely
Your 33 year old you.

Lily

As we drove home from her doctors appointment this afternoon and the endless questions about Christmas and her upcoming birthday turned into silence, I glanced into the backseat to see why she had gone so quiet.  I found her fast asleep.  As every mother in the world can relate, I found myself feeling weepy and grateful for this little girl I am so lucky to call my own .  I admire the little angelic face as any worry she may feel, is at rest and she is peaceful.  Today, more than most days, I felt the edge of my forever broken heart, jab at my soul. This little girl that I created over 8 years ago, who has endured some of the most heart breaking and traumatic moments than any child ever should. I never dreamed that she would go through so much in her childhood.  As I type this out, she has her head on my shoulder and just said "you are the best person in the whole world".  How do I put into words how I feel about this beautiful little girl?  I remember when Carter was a baby and I begged God to heal him.  I was begging God to allow my child to be naughty and get into things.  I begged for him to be able to make choices for himself and be able to do big things.  When God gave me Lily, he answered my pleas ten fold.  He gave me a little girl who has challenged me on a daily basis.  She has the tenacity and spunk beyond anything I have ever seen!  She has the biggest heart in the world. She has been through all of the ups and downs right along with me...so much loss and so much growth.  There have been countless moments when I have felt like a failure as a mother, but then she smiles...just like her brother.  Without even realizing it, she fixes everything.  She reminds me that it is okay.  She tells me that I am the best mom in the world.  When I wonder why life has turned out the way it has, I am reminded by my beautiful Lily, that life is good.  SO good.  We may be missing a huge part of our life and always will, but he lives on through his sisters.  He is constantly here, in their hearts, in their smiles, in their milestones, in their time-outs, in their achievements.  These girls remind me every single day that everything is going to be okay.  My only hope is that they will always know how much I love them and how much I owe them for everything they give me.  How grateful I am for them and how proud I will always be! 

Unwritten pages

As I left my first day of clinical orientation this afternoon, I was overwhelmed by everything that has changed.  I am not sure if overwhelmed is the right word, but it best describes how I felt.  After such a rough few years, I wondered if my life would ever find the one thing I craved.  But I can whole heartedly say that it has.  I am amazed every single day by how much has changed in such a short time.  3 years ago, I was still in a deep grief over the loss of my 7 year old son.  I was finalizing my divorce and trying to find my way as a single mother.  I wasn't sure week to week how I would pay all of my bills and still afford gas and groceries.  I was certain that I would never feel settled or at home again.  My whole entire life was in shambles.  The fear of how I was going to rise from the ashes kept me awake at night.  There are things that happened that I still cannot publicly talk about, but just know...life was HARD and very unfair.  When shit hits the fan, shit goes everywhere.  It took a long time, but I can say that I have finally washed most of it away.  I would like to think that all of the things that have happened, have made me stronger.  So much stronger.  How I got through all of it without losing my mind, is a miracle.  Things meant to break a person, has made me want to fight just that much harder.  Giving up is not in my blood.

I would like to think that my precious angel has been here all along, helping guide me where I am meant to be.  Some may question me for moving around in jobs quite a bit this last few years but the doors that have opened along the way, are why it makes sense.  I met this amazing man in my life because of it.  I have met some amazing friends. And I have learned so much!  As a result of my indecisiveness, it has led me to everything that makes sense.  As of this last week, I have permanent sole custody of my girls and have begun training as an ER tech.  Both things I have worked so hard for throughout this last few years.  I can't describe what has pushed me in the directions I have gone, but it's like an internal compass has been pulling me where I am meant to be, even when I had no idea why.  But here I am, writing this tonight surrounded by everything good!  I am home.  I am happy.  I am strong.  I am content.  I am healing.

Tonight I decided to tackle the last thing that has been a burden on my mind.  I started clearing out my storage unit.  It is full of memories and things from the old chapters of my life.  There are a few things I will hold on to for a while, things I will throw away and things I will donate.  But I want that unit gone.  As I pulled boxes out, I could feel a weight lifting.  I am ready to brush off the last remaining dust from my soul and let the unwritten pages of my story, continue.  

My craving in life is finally satisfied; I am at peace.

Laughter heals

Even though my journey has been full of everything that is meant to break a person, it has done everything but that.  I strongly believe that the way we see the world is what makes us or breaks us.  We can choose to cry for ourselves and wonder why bad things happen or we can take these struggles and grow.  This morning, the sun is shining, my girls are playing a board game together in the dining room while I make breakfast, Kirk is healing, we have music playing as we all bob our heads.  8 weeks ago today, our world was shaken when Kirk was shot in the line of duty.  There was uncertainty and fear for what the days ahead would hold. But here we are this beautiful morning and we are better than okay.

The day that Kirk came home, I was scared.  The idea of a rehab facility was out of the question for us.  I took an emergency leave from work and decided without a doubt, that I would take care of him.  A wheelchair, wound care, medications, acute blood loss, therapies and all.  I was scared but knew I could do it.  Kirk is the strongest person I've ever known so I knew we would could do it together.  Pushing him out of the SICU that day, was just the beginning.  Kirk was somber and quiet as he tackled the first transfer into the van and ride home.  His friends and I made the drive home and they helped me get him up the new ramp that his co-workers built over the front steps and into our new "normal".  Born from these scary firsts and unknowns, we have had experiences and adventures that have brought both tears and laughs.  

The first few weeks that he was home, I feared so many things especially him falling or something going wrong. I would check on him after showering, dressing or doing anything that took 10 minutes or longer.  He wouldn't tell me if he needed something especially if it would wake me up, so I had no choice but to hover.  And hover I did!  He won't admit it, but I'm pretty sure he finds joy in watching me panic or worry so in his own ways, provokes that.  But little did he know, I could keep up with that game!  I've had to threaten to take his walker away in order to reduce my worry (although I never actually did).  But the texts that followed with his parents in regards to me threatening to take away his mode of transportation, have made my face hurt from laughing so hard.  

Early into this journey, it was very difficult for Kirk to sleep in bed between the discomfort and positioning of his hand and leg so sleeping in the lazy boy was easiest.  But there was a night he wanted to try to get into bed.  As I said, he didn't like to wake me when he needed something but I am a light sleeper, so usually did any way.  That night he tried to sleep in bed, he tried to roll over...of course waking me.  I was half asleep and reached out for him when I felt his movement, but couldn't find him.  I yelled "KIRK, WHERE ARE YOU?' and he responded, "I'm right here, stop yelling at me".  I keep in close contact with his mom and texted her the next morning that I had lost him in the middle of the night.  She asked me, "where was he? In the bathroom?".  My response: "No, he had rolled over and just couldn't reach him".  

In the beginning, it was a feat just to get out the door on time for therapy or appointments.  Things that were once simple and thoughtless had become quite rigorous and time consuming.  There was the morning when we got out to the van to leave with 30 minutes to make it to therapy after all the careful planning...and I managed to lock my keys inside the van.  My only set of keys.  So there we were, him calling AAA and me calling therapy to let them know we wouldn't make it to the first appointment.  Not quite so funny in the moment, but we found humor in later.  We made it work and he was able to do physical therapy a little later in the day.  

A couple days ago, we had gale force winds.  No big deal, right?!  Well, we met Kirk's parents for dinner and when leaving the restaurant, I parked his wheelchair in front of my van so I could unlock the doors and open the side doors for the girls.  (I don't have a fancy key fob like most) This took me all of 3.6 seconds. When I looked back up, Kirk had vanished.  I ran to the front of the van to see if he had scooted himself to his side like he sometimes does, but he wasn't there either.  It hit me.  He must have gotten caught in a gust of wind and I panicked!  I turned around quickly and seen he was halfway across the parking lot.  He never yelled out or even raised an eyebrow.  There he was, in his wheelchair calm and collected as he waited for me to rescue him.  I'm sure it was quite the sight for his dad who was standing not too far away!  

Kirk has a long ways to go with recovery, but even through his tough days or many unknowns, we laugh and smile through the daily bloopers and countless ungraceful moments.  That is what life is all about.  We can't control the curveballs, but we can choose how we handle them.  So far, we are hitting home runs OUR way.  

Unwavering Strength

April 17th, 2019.  Kirk's birthday.  Those close to me know that birthday's are a big deal to me.  It's the day we celebrate the birth of those we love and all the reasons we are thankful for that special day that brought them to us.  Through all of my heartaches over the last 10 years, finding a man who is so solid, strong and wonderful is always something to celebrate.  I wake up every single day in awe of the person he is and thankful that he is such an important part of my life.  So I looked forward to his birthday.  I had already ordered a cake for him from a bakery near my brother and he planned to drive it to me early that afternoon.  I had worked the night before but set my alarm to only sleep for a few hours so I could get up and spend the day with him before he had to go to work that evening.  Even the girls were excited to get out of school to have cake with him.  Everything went as planned.  I'm pretty sure I wished him happy birthday at least 10 times that day.  But as I snapped pictures of him blowing out his candles and the girls faces with joy as they watched, I had a pit in the bottom of my stomach.  Something just didn't feel right.

I brushed it off and kissed him good-bye as he left for work.  We texted here and there as we always do before I lay down.  Around 9:40 that night, I texted him that Nola was having trouble falling asleep and he texted back saying to let her work through it.  At approximately 11:08, I woke to my phone vibrating relentlessly.  The first thing I seen on the screen were Facebook messages asking me if Kirk was working and if he was okay. I felt that pit turn into a boulder.  Then the hospital number starting ringing...I knew.  I knew something was majorly wrong. I managed to answer although I could barely breathe.  The doctor told me that they had Kirk in the ER and that he had been in a trauma.  She proceeded to tell me he had been shot twice.  The sheer panic set in.  I managed to ask her if he was okay and where he was shot at. She told me he was going to be okay and had been shot in the upper leg and hand.  A small bit of relief as I knew we could work with those injuries.  I remember another doctor getting on the phone who knew us personally and she explained that he was alert and angry but that he was going to be okay. Shortly after they hung up with me and I was still standing in the same spot hyperventilating and dry heaving, my phone rang again.  This time, the sergeant was on the phone and he told me not to drive and that an officer was on his way to pick me up and bring me to the hospital.  It was then that I realized I needed to get dressed and call someone to come over to be with the girls. My cousin is who had messaged me asking if Kirk was okay when she heard an officer had been shot so I knew she would probably answer.  She was able to get to our house before the officer and took over things with the girls so I could leave immediately.  The officer drove me to the hospital as fast as he could even though it felt like an eternity. I remember pulling into the ambulance bay and knowing I just had a short distance left to travel before I could see him and touch him.  I ran.  I ran the rest of the way. There he was.  Laying in the trauma room, calm and pale.  The first thing he said to me was, "I'm 100%" as I gasped and felt relief flood my soul.  This man who is always so strong and calm, still saying he was okay even as the trauma doctor explained that his femur was shattered and they needed another CT of his hand to see what damage was done there.  The pain, surgeries and days to follow are a blur.

There are things that stand out more than others.  His parents and brother rushing to the hospital and embracing me with so much support and love.  Driving Kirk's car home from the hospital after an officer brought it over and hearing the most profound song playing (Get Up by Shinedown) and I cried big ugly tears for the first time through this.  And the most vivid memory; the sight of seeing Kirk stand up from his bed with the help of physical therapists on day 4 and mastering the modified walker as if it was all he ever knew.  It was at that moment that I knew he would overcome this as strong as he has alway has.  His calm and steady demeanor never wavered.

We are at almost 2 months post injuries and I am even more amazed by him than I was before.  The unimaginable super man!  He still has a long ways to go in his road to recovery and healing, but has come so far already.  As hard as this all has been, I can say that this has brought us closer.  He makes me laugh and smile every single day. So many stories but for another blog.  I want to end this by saying how amazing the support has been from every angle.  From all of his family, friends, co-workers as well as mine.  They always say that the men in blue are a tight family and I can say first hand, it most definitely is.  I am so proud of this man that I am so lucky to call my own.

The Call

I know I have written about grief before.  It's a never ending cycle that people publish books about. The stages of it, the process of healing, the unusual ways that people learn to cope.  I could write about it for days and how different each day is; the song that goes on and on and on.  But the bottom line is, it sucks.  There are days when I feel like my past is just a dream and then there are days when the reality of it cripples me.  I have endless issues with over thinking, constructing scenarios that have never happened, self doubt.  I constantly fear the day when shit hits the fan again.  I brace myself for it.  Just the sight of something out of place on the kitchen counter or our mailbox being hit by the snow plow, throws me into irrational thoughts of what may have happened.  If we all had time, I could go on and on about the things my mind has blown out of proportion.  I have been through months of counseling to help me rewire the way my brain copes.  I have to talk myself off the ledge multiple times a week.  I drive myself nuts sometimes.  If you see me, will you see the pain on my face, feel the ache in my heart or the permanent pit in my stomach?  More than likely you will not.  I will keep my fears quiet and later find humor in the craziness.  But this is a cycle, a never ending cycle.  I often wonder if I will ever learn that it's okay.  Life is okay.  And even if it isn't, it will be.

Today, I got a phone call.  I recognized the number as that from University of Michigan hospital, expecting that it may be the cardiology department since my girls have an appointment next month.  But the voice on the other end was familiar.  It was one that a mother never forgets.  From the moment he asked if I was Sierra, I could hear the compassion and worry in his voice.  He said, "this is Dr. Innis, is this an okay time to talk?"  I felt so many emotions that I burst into tears.  YES, YES now is a good time, it will always be a good time to talk to this man.  He told me that he got a notification from the genetics study on my son's genome sequencing that we did back in 2013.  He explained that the pathogenic cardiac mutation changed to unknown.  This means we will continue to have my girls followed by cardiology throughout their lives.  He then told me that the unknown significance in the Mitochondrial mutation that came from me had changed to benign.  This means that we no longer need to worry that this finding caused Carter's medical issues.  So far, there's no indicator that he inherited a genetic problem from me or his dad.  I am not sure how to explain the way this feels.  All I know is that it makes me cry.  We are no closer to answers than we ever were before.  But to know that his genetic testing is still being reviewed regularly and that I will hear from this man who has meant so much to us, brings me peace.  Dr. Innis has been a place of comfort and alliance in this battle.  He has fought so hard to find answers.  He spoke at the 4th birthday benefit we organized to raise funds for research and he sat with the rest of Carter's team of specialists the day that we made the decision not to intervene anymore.  I remember sitting across from all the doctors as they explained that Carter was tired and that intubating and intervening wasn't helping him anymore and Dr. Innis got up mid way through and walked out.  He hurt with us.  This decision impacted so many people.  Carter mattered to his team, especially to Dr. Innis.  In the medical world, they see so many things and so many cases.  I imagine that doctors become conditioned and shut off from the pains that disease brings, but I can whole heartedly say that I felt the love and pain from his team as they sat through that decision with us.  We have yet to find the answers and hearing from the geneticist today reminded me that it still matters and although Carter's journey has ended, the search for a reason have not.  

All of this to say, grief sucks.  It can take us from okay to turmoil in an instant.  A smell, a voice, a picture, a memory.  It is real and it is hard.  For some reason that call this morning brought me back to the visits we had with the geneticist.  Sitting next to Carter in his wheelchair, the grin on his face and the sound of his voice as he watched and listened.  The planning it took to make the trip to Ann Arbor and the endless parking battle once we arrived in P2.  The twinge of hope I felt each time we went as I hoped for something, something that might help my little boy.  And although there was never a discovery or medication that worked, the team never gave up.  Even at the end, I like to think they still hadn't.  We all knew the same thing; that fighting was only causing suffering.  There is such a thing as saying enough is enough, is still fighting.  We had to make the hardest decision there is in life.  Letting go.  Letting go of all the things we couldn't fix. We had to let this beautiful boy go.  Fighting for what was right had become everything wrong.  So as I process the phone call I got today, I am still emotional and my heart feels raw. 

A decade

I am consumed with emotions this week as I try to wrap my mind around what can happen in a decade.  And the fact that it can fly by in the blink of an eye. 10 years ago today, I was doing last minute preparations for my first baby to be born.  Last belly pictures. Checking the diaper bag for everything I thought he would need.  I still remember painting my nails the night before, like it would matter that this tiny newborn would see them when he met his mommy for the first time.  I remember choosing garnet earrings to wear to the hospital because it was both of our birthstone.  I knew this little baby boy would change my life.  But never in a million years did I think all the dreams I had for him, would never come true.  That I wouldn't be mailing 10th birthday invitations and blowing up balloons to adorn the house for his party.  I was never prepared for that, in all of my planning.  I remember being filled with so much excitement and hope as I waited for him.  I still remember his first cries and seeing his face for the first time.  Never realizing that in a decade, I would be making paper mâché balloons to leave at the cemetery on his 10th birthday.  My heart was never ready for this, it will never be ready for this.  I am bitter that he was never given the same fair chance as most other kids.  I am robbed.  I was driving to work the other day and was flooded with uncontrollable tears as I realized how close this decade was rearing its ugly face.  As I imagine what he would look like if he was still here.  And then realizing that in order to post a birthday collage like I do every year for my children, that I cannot find new pictures...they will all be the same.  They will be his toothy 7 year old pictures from the last days he was here.  He will never age.  The pictures will never change.  Their backgrounds will age as the times change.  Over the last couple of weeks, I have been scrambling to find things that I now loose sleep over.  All I have left are things.  I am so thankful I saved so many things. His art projects, locks of hair, hospital arm bands.  I am thankful that I have always been obsessed with taking pictures and I have ever angle of his face so that I never have to worry about forgetting his features.  I can almost reach out and still feel his soft skin, I can almost imagine his giggles somewhere in the distance.  I still get hints of the way he smelled.  The way he searched for me when I walked into the room.  I still look.  I still look back at his seat in the van and imagine him there.  As this decade comes and goes, I just hope that I can still imagine him so close over the years.  Despite my pain as this birthday comes, I will celebrate him.  I will celebrate the life he had here and how much he changed our lives for the good.  How strong he was through all of his battles.  We will remember him and share memories of him and never forget, everything that he will always be, to us.

Happy birthday in heaven my precious son.