Most people see...

a happy go lucky, thriving, strong person, who has been through so much and has bounced back.  Much like the plants in my garden I do get through many things.  That's what everyone thinks.  In some aspect it's true.  I feel like after the death of Lainey, God was with me and held me close.  He filled me with the spirit and I was able to proclaim my gratitude.  

In all reality, I'm not thriving, not like I want everyone to think I am.  I'm ripped to shreds, torn down, lifeless.  My attempts to build a life here have been in vain.   No matter how I try to fill my calendar, nothing seems to divert my attention from the complete isolation, nothing.    

It doesn't mean I don't believe or that I blame God.  It's me that's so out of touch with him.  The fight to get back is overwhelming, because to get back to him I'd have to allow myself to feel.  

To feel is to hurt. 

Maryland

Saturday morning I was up bright and early, getting ready to see family.  Aunt Kate, who Lainey Katherine was named after, her grandson Joseph and other family members I love as well.  

My Mom and I drove to Street, MD.  We passed strawberry festivals, we passed churches having dinners...and we kept saying, "oh, that would be nice on stop at on the way home". 

At first we got to visit with Aunt Kate, then Joseph and Sherie came over, eventually Jennifer stopped in for a few minutes I sat arm in arm with Uncle George.  It was so good to be with everyone.  

Once we left there we headed straight to the cemetery.  

 Something surreal about driving up.  How have I managed to live through all of this?  Rick and I both feel so grateful to have the lives of our babies "noted".  Their names listed for others to see.  What might people think when they see it?  Will they wonder how we've been?  Will they shed a few tears?  Will they be surprised that we lost two babies so far apart?  

I've been here plenty of times before and from Ricky and Lainey I have always been drawn to other grave markers.  A larger marker diagonally from my babies labeled "NIGHT RIDER".   Just beyond that one is another, in clear site.  

 I've seen this one before, but it just never stood out to me like today.  

Beloved Son of David & Shirley Brown.  

Oct 23, 1971.  

There I stood, 43 years old, born just 4 days after their baby.  I'm the age of their son, they lost 43 years ago.

I lived, he didn't.  

I imagined his parents standing on these grounds having to do what we've done.  My heart breaking for them and myself.  His flowers had fallen over, and grass had grown over them, making it difficult to pick up.  But I pulled them out of the weeds and placed them upright again.  

David and Shirley I'm so sorry you had to bury your son 43 years ago.  It's been 22 years for us this year, will we see the 43rd year?  It seems like we have already lived a lifetime without our children, to think we still have another 21+ years, just depressing.  

It was still hard to leave my babies, at times I just wanted to lay on the ground and stay with them. Part of me wanted to give up and just stay there.  The other part wanted to trust God's plan, believe in it and know we are blessed.  

We are blessed.    

Trip Home

Gosh, where to start.

Kaylie spent three days trying out for cheer at the middle school.  On the last day (Friday, my day to go home) she found out she didn't make it.  I didn't realize there would be both 6th and 7th graders trying out.  (I really would have warned her that maybe the older girls would get first preference...)

I was so mad at myself that I haven't been able to put her in dance or cheer.  She is such a naturally dancing little girl.

Anyway, we left the school, Kaylie crying, I was crying...I had to drop her at the house and leave. Somewhere along the way I bit my tongue.  Lindsay drove me to my ride, my new friend Karen, and I got into her car with a mouth full of blood crying.  It was awful!  I'm sure Karen wondered how a 7 hour drive would go, with a bloody crying stranger...eventually we were able to enjoy ourselves.

Back home, people were doing their best to comfort Kaylie.

We arrived late at night and I went straight to bed.

Fresh Tears

I don't cry often anymore, just some subtle tears at night maybe. 

In anticipation of going home for a few hours over the weekend, I thought maybe I would call about the headstone for my babies.

You wouldn't know or understand the difficulty of such a task unless you too have buried a member of your family.  Something you have to work up too, something you have to have strength for, something you have to get up the nerve to do.  I had such a moment at work today. 

I immediately acted on it, for those times will quickly pass.

I dialed, had to explain who I was and what I wanted twice.  (All while biting my lip and holding my breath for this dreaded call, about such a hard topic, to be over)

The gentleman at the end of the phone knew what I was talking about.  I could hear him flipping through papers and his words, "Oh, yes, that is to arrive this week!" 

I explained how I live in NC, how I'll be home on Saturday and I thought I would be visiting the cemetery on Saturday. 

He acted with a sense of urgency, letting me know he wasn't certain of the schedule, providing the stone has come in correctly with no errors that perhaps they might be able to place it on Friday. 

Even writing these words the fresh tears flow.  Years in the making, the time, effort, energy of others as well as countless donations, is finally here.  I am old enough and have lived long enough to know not to get my hopes up, but I can hardly contain it.  Will there finally be a visual marker that my children lived and died?     Will people pause at their marker and think of the Mother of those sweet babies, having them 21 years 18 days apart?  Will they think of their Father, wonder if other children were born?

The last time I was there I was still sore from surgery, walking slow, still somewhat numb.  The ground was cold, hard and wet with snow.  I am hopeful for a beautiful sunny day, a happy day.

Whether the headstone makes it there or not, I am really looking forward to spending a few minutes with my babies.