Guilt

I have been struggling for a while with guilt. Not guilt over our daughter's death because I know (even though it's a difficult thing to know and understand) that there is nothing I could have done differently that would have saved her. But I feel guilt when I'm happy. Friday marked 8 weeks post-op (it's easier to think about my surgery than to think about it in terms of 8 weeks since our daughter was born or died or how old she would have been), and although I still break down in tears almost every day and rub the side of her urn almost every day and look at her picture a million times every day, I feel guilty when I'm happy.

I made it to Oklahoma and Jim will join me here next week (2 DAYS!) and I have really enjoyed getting to see my family, spend time with my niece and nephew, and see the house that Jim and I are buying. I have spent a lot of time with my dad, which is a rare treat because we have traditionally stayed with my mom when we are in town visiting and my dad works a lot and really hard and so generally we see him rather sporadically on evenings and weekends while we're here and spend the majority of our time with my mom and stepdad or sister and her family. I have had a great opportunity to spend a lot of time with one of my little brothers, who is at the peak of his college social life and working full-time, but is, just by happenstance, staying with my dad, also. I got to see the house we are buying and I loved it and although looking at the two bedrooms that will more than likely be turned into kids rooms I pictured kid stuff, I never once thought of either of them in terms of how one of them should have been Angel's room. I ate at T@co Buen0 and went to happy hour at $onic. I got takeout from one of my favorite Mexican restaurants and made plans with some lovely friends from high school to go to our favorite Tex-Mex restaurant on Monday. I signed up for cell phone service and love love love my new Bl@ckberry. I got our beautiful car out of storage and, though 5 years old now, it still runs like the day we bought it when it was only 2 years old, and though driving in miles per hour instead of kilometers per hour is a lot faster and quite frightening, our little hybrid Hond@ drives so well that it makes me forget how much I hate driving. I am so happy to have our cat back (she was living with a "foster family" in Japan because of pet restrictions in our apartment building) with me, even though she and one of my dad's dogs don't exactly see eye to eye - the dog wants to play, the cat doesn't. There are so many things about being here and away from Japan that make me smile.

But then, when I have time to sit and think, I feel guilty for being happy. I feel guilty that I'm here - away from the hurt and pain that being in Japan brought. I feel guilty for being glad that I'm gone from the only place she ever was, the only place she ever really lived, the only place I got to hold her and touch her and kiss her. I feel guilty for being relieved that I never have to see the hospital again where she was born and died. I feel guilty for starting this new chapter of our lives without our little girl. I feel guilty for being relieved that we are starting this new chapter at all - because this is not a chapter I thought I'd have to open. I feel guilty when I go a day without crying for her. I feel guilty when my family members tell me they are glad I'm here and glad that Jim's coming and I don't acknowledge that while we're glad we're here we hate the circumstances behind our early return to the States. I feel like a bad mom and a terrible person.

I hope the guilt ends soon, because I know our little girl wouldn't want me to be sad for being happy...

Thank you to my wonderful readers for sticking with me, even though this blog has become an outlet for my sadness. I so appreciate your love and support and know that you know it won't be this way forever. Prayers and/or positive thoughts, as always, appreciated.

Moving

Hi, Friends,

I have been amazed at the responses I've been getting lately. I had no idea that people would continue to read the blog after everything that happened, but I appreciate more than I can say the support, love and compassion that has been shown. I'm so thankful I can continue to use this blog as an outlet for my emotions and that we have so many people who are praying for us. Also, I hope to use this blog to document any future children we might have or adopt. Until then, it's just for emotional storms and information.

As you all (probably) know, Jim and I live in Japan. As many of you have figured out, he is in the military. Well, his branch of service (I'm not sure if it's all of them) have a program for Permanent Change of Station (PCS) moves called Humanitarian assignments that you are able to apply for in the face of a terrible situation. Many people will apply for a Humanitarian if a family member is sick or they need to go home to take part in a custody battle or take care of a family member after someone passes away. The idea is that you apply for a PCS to the nearest location to your largest support system. My family lives in Oklahoma, and Jim's is spread out between California, Colorado, Missouri and Florida. In a year Jim will be separating from the military and we had planned to move to Oklahoma because there are several jobs in his current field for which he could apply, and OU has several programs in which he's interested as well as the PhD program I want to work through. In the face of our situation we opted to apply for a Humanitarian to leave Japan and go to Oklahoma a year earlier than we'd planned. It was approved and we will be moving soon. I am leaving Tokyo on Tuesday with our cat and Jim leaves a week later.

We know that things won't be easy, starting this new life in a new place without our little girl, but we are hoping that things might be easier to take with our family nearby. Even those that live out-of-state from where we will be are a lot closer than when we are here in Japan. We want to start a new chapter of our lives, while realizing the previous chapter will never really close or end. I want to be able to go to buy groceries without having to wear my headphones so that people won't talk to me and ask questions about our baby. I want to be somewhere I wasn't pregnant. We want to be in a home where she never had a nursery, where the door doesn't have to stay closed so that we don't have to look at the crib or the rocking chair or the changing table or her sweet little clothes. We want to be somewhere that we don't have to drive past the hospital to go see friends.

I still sometimes forget that I'm not still pregnant and she's not going to be here. Jim still sometimes feels like she's just still at the hospital and we have to go pick her up. We need to be somewhere that this stuff didn't happen, that we can move on with our new lives without her and plan for our future and remember her fondly instead of having the constantly nagging negatives that we associate with this base. We also want to remember Japan fondly, and right now that's just not possible for us being here in this situation.

So we're moving to Oklahoma. Please pray for us.

Fridays Suck

I used to look forward to Fridays. Yesterday I was looking forward to today because Jim was finishing up his first week back to work and I was ready to have him home for a couple of days. But then last night, I was reading in bed and I happened to look over at the clock. It was about 12:30 a.m. and my mind wandered to six weeks ago at that same time, when I was in labor with our little girl. And then I was going over every second of that night and the next horrible morning in my mind. I was thinking about how at that time six weeks before we had no idea that we were going to lose her, we just thought I was in labor and that we were going to go home in a couple of days with our sweet girl. I was thinking about how surreal everything seemed then and how excited we were.

After lots of tears and very little sleep, I awoke this morning feeling exhausted both mentally and physically. I visited with a friend and then went for lunch at my old office and I let myself laugh and I got some great hugs and I went home to wait for Jim to come home. But everything today reminded me of our girl, and nothing even happened; no one got to me, no one asked about her - nothing bad happened. I just got upset from seeing little families of three or women that I didn't even know but I knew were pregnant at the same time as me. And I got upset by the thought of something happening that never occurred. I dreaded going to the convenience store for soda because I remembered talking to the attendant the day before I went into labor when I bought a bottle of wine for Jim for Thanksgiving dinner. I hoped and prayed that the owner of the restaurant where I picked up dinner tonight wouldn't be there because I acted like I was in a hurry and just said "hello" the other day when I saw him so he wouldn't ask any questions and I didn't want to have to explain it tonight. I walked through a nearby store with my earphones in so I could pretend like I was in my own world and people wouldn't bother me and I tried to ignore everything and every one around me. Nothing even happened, I just felt sad and dreaded the prospect of something happening.

I know it's not healthy to live from week to week and to think about how old she would be now and where she would be and what she would be doing and how we would probably be hitting our groove about now. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to be awake crying every Thursday night and sad every Friday. I don't want to be counting weeks in 6 months or dread the 27th of every month when the weeks get too high in numbers to count.

Please pray for me or send positive thoughts my way. I thought it would start getting easier by now. I'm okay during the week, I'm fine with almost everything: I can let myself laugh, I can be productive throughout the days and be happy with Jim in the evenings, I can sleep at night. But when Thursday night rolls around everything comes flooding back and I feel like I'm starting from scratch all over again. I know it will never be easy to not have her here, but I'm ready to be able to get through the weekends without reliving that night and morning.

All I Need

Marriage has always been a source of concern for me. My husband and I both come from split families, and though we are well-adjusted and love all of our parents and don’t judge the decisions they’ve made, we have always vowed to never consider divorce, never let anything get the better of our relationship, and to never let our children see us fight. But let's face it: before you get married you have an idea of what marriage will be like, and after you get married you realize that it's not really much like you expected. Some things are much, much better, but there are a lot more hardships to marriage than people tell you there will be before you say "I do."

Jim and I have shared our share of hardships. We had only known each other for about three years when we got married, and our courtship was only eight months long, followed by a four-month engagement and then our wedding. Also, I was 21 and Jim was 19 when we got married. That's young. Our parents married young and were a little wary about our decision because their marriages didn't work out. But they consented (and, let's face it, we wouldn't have listened if they hadn't), and we were wed. A few years after we got married we talked about what we would do if we had it to do over again. We agreed that we'd probably still have gotten married, but probably not that young. Neither of us regrets marrying the other, at all, but had realized that we were not as mature as we thought we were when we got married.

We've also both changed a LOT since we got married, which for some couples tears them apart. For us, it almost did. But we were able to take our differences and embrace each other and our differences and make it work - a feat of which we're both very proud. We, essentially, came into adulthood together. We were told the first year of marriage would be the hardest. We were apart for about two months of our first year of marriage due to Jim's job, and lived in three different states and four different homes by the time we celebrated our first anniversary. Then we were told our second year of marriage would be the hardest because the honeymoon stage is over. It was hard, but we were happy. Then we spent another five months apart in our third year of marriage. Then we moved to another country where we've celebrated four, five, and six years of marriage. Things were never easy, in part because of Jim's job and all of the moving, and in part because of the maturity we lacked in the beginning. And marriage was always a lot more work than I thought it would be, frankly. The fifth year of our marriage was the hardest. Things almost came to a head after our fifth anniversary, and we were both uncertain of our future together, despite loving each other more than life itself, despite working so hard at marriage, and despite having vowed to never let divorce enter our minds.

Then we worked it out. And we got stronger. And we realized that just because we were so very different, we had in common what counted - our love and our faith. And even though we are complete opposites, having little in common would allow both of us to grow. We both conceded that we would do whatever it took to be together. And we grew even closer. And we found that we shared more personality traits than we thought. We learned that the ways in which we had changed as we had both grown up over the past five and a half years could be the source of our staying together, rather than letting us tear it apart.

Now, more than a year and one GIANT trial behind us (but more often than not still in the forefront of our minds), we are stronger than ever. Individually the last year or so was one of growth for each of us, wherein we discovered what we wanted to do with our lives, how our career aspirations had inspired us, and how we wanted to grow and learn and be better for our growing child. Together, we aspired to be more loving and to get along better, longed to inspire a great capacity for love in our little girl, and to be better together so that she would never doubt how much we loved each other, even when we had rough times in the future, which we were not so naïve to believe wouldn’t exist, and we wound up experiencing in ways we hadn’t imagined.

But instead of arguing and staying mad for hours or days, we argue and resolve it and deal with it in a grown-up and healthy manner. Instead of letting outside things bother us until we take it out on each other, we talk and vent and laugh and hug and cry together often. Instead of getting on each other's nerves, we are open with one another about needing time alone in our own thoughts, out of the house, or in the house in the same or a different room from the other. Instead of placing irrational blame on one another for what happened to Angel, we share the grief and burden of our loss and hold tightly to one another during our time of need. Instead of letting something like our daughter's death be the end of our marriage, we let it bring us even closer together. Instead of looking at the negative and allowing ourselves to be torn apart (individually and together), we hold each other up when we can and crumble together when we can’t, then build each other back up, and look to the future and hope for better days with fond memories of our sweet girl.

I am more thankful for Jim than I ever could be, and I love him more than life itself. Before we ever started our courtship back in 2002, I knew that he was the man for me because he was my friend. Then he was my best friend. Then he was my best friend and my boyfriend. Then he was still my best friend and became my husband. We both realized that when we had our hardest times we had forgotten to be friends. We don't forget anymore. He’s all I need. I long for my child to be back in my arms or back in my belly where she was safe. I long for my future children to be here now. I love and miss dearly my family - especially my siblings and parents. I am so thankful for my friends and the wonderful support system we’ve had here in Japan through our tragedy. But Jim is all I really need. I’m so glad he’s here.

Marriage has always been a source of concern for me. My husband and I both come from split families, and though we are well-adjusted and love all of our parents and don’t judge the decisions they’ve made, we have always vowed to never consider divorce, never let anything get the better of our relationship, and to never let our children see us fight. But let's face it: before you get married you have an idea of what marriage will be like, and after you get married you realize that it's not really much like you expected. Some things are much, much better, but there are a lot more hardships to marriage than people tell you there will be before you say "I do."

Jim and I have shared our share of hardships. We had only known each other for about three years when we got married, and our courtship was only eight months long, followed by a four-month engagement and then our wedding. Also, I was 21 and Jim was 19 when we got married. That's young. Our parents married young and were a little wary about our decision because their marriages didn't work out. But they consented (and, let's face it, we wouldn't have listened if they hadn't), and we were wed. A few years after we got married we talked about what we would do if we had it to do over again. We agreed that we'd probably still have gotten married, but probably not that young. Neither of us regrets marrying the other, at all, but had realized that we were not as mature as we thought we were when we got married.

We've also both changed a LOT since we got married, which for some couples tears them apart. For us, it almost did. But we were able to take our differences and embrace each other and our differences and make it work - a feat of which we're both very proud. We, essentially, came into adulthood together. We were told the first year of marriage would be the hardest. We were apart for about two months of our first year of marriage due to Jim's job, and lived in three different states and four different homes by the time we celebrated our first anniversary. Then we were told our second year of marriage would be the hardest because the honeymoon stage is over. It was hard, but we were happy. Then we spent another five months apart in our third year of marriage. Then we moved to another country where we've celebrated four, five, and six years of marriage. Things were never easy, in part because of Jim's job and all of the moving, and in part because of the maturity we lacked in the beginning. And marriage was always a lot more work than I thought it would be, frankly. The fifth year of our marriage was the hardest. Things almost came to a head after our fifth anniversary, and we were both uncertain of our future together, despite loving each other more than life itself, despite working so hard at marriage, and despite having vowed to never let divorce enter our minds.

Then we worked it out. And we got stronger. And we realized that just because we were so very different, we had in common what counted - our love and our faith. And even though we are complete opposites, having little in common would allow both of us to grow. We both conceded that we would do whatever it took to be together. And we grew even closer. And we found that we shared more personality traits than we thought. We learned that the ways in which we had changed as we had both grown up over the past five and a half years could be the source of our staying together, rather than letting us tear it apart.

Now, more than a year and one GIANT trial behind us (but more often than not still in the forefront of our minds), we are stronger than ever. Individually the last year or so was one of growth for each of us, wherein we discovered what we wanted to do with our lives, how our career aspirations had inspired us, and how we wanted to grow and learn and be better for our growing child. Together, we aspired to be more loving and to get along better, longed to inspire a great capacity for love in our little girl, and to be better together so that she would never doubt how much we loved each other, even when we had rough times in the future, which we were not so naïve to believe wouldn’t exist, and we wound up experiencing in ways we hadn’t imagined.

But instead of arguing and staying mad for hours or days, we argue and resolve it and deal with it in a grown-up and healthy manner. Instead of letting outside things bother us until we take it out on each other, we talk and vent and laugh and hug and cry together often. Instead of getting on each other's nerves, we are open with one another about needing time alone in our own thoughts, out of the house, or in the house in the same or a different room from the other. Instead of placing irrational blame on one another for what happened to Angel, we share the grief and burden of our loss and hold tightly to one another during our time of need. Instead of letting something like our daughter's death be the end of our marriage, we let it bring us even closer together. Instead of looking at the negative and allowing ourselves to be torn apart (individually and together), we hold each other up when we can and crumble together when we can’t, then build each other back up, and look to the future and hope for better days with fond memories of our sweet girl.

I am more thankful for Jim than I ever could be, and I love him more than life itself. Before we ever started our courtship back in 2002, I knew that he was the man for me because he was my friend. Then he was my best friend. Then he was my best friend and my boyfriend. Then he was still my best friend and became my husband. We both realized that when we had our hardest times we had forgotten to be friends. We don't forget anymore. He’s all I need. I long for my child to be back in my arms or back in my belly where she was safe. I long for my future children to be here now. I love and miss dearly my family - especially my siblings and parents. I am so thankful for my friends and the wonderful support system we’ve had here in Japan through our tragedy. But Jim is all I really need. I’m so glad he’s here.