This week I am 17 weeks pregnant. It has been a tumultuous time to say the least. Since we moved here, every second has been busy and I feel like I haven't been able to breathe. It also seems that many of my biggest "life moments" are all happening at once.
For instance, we bought AND remodeled our first house. The day I got here, I got pregnant. Then we were busy fixing up our house (painting, tearing down wall paper, buying furniture etc...not even close to done with that...). A week after we moved here, my sister had her 4th baby, and we were scrambling around to help out with that. Then I was tackled with morning sickness, which kicked-off with an exhausting 10-day trip to DC. Then Erik lost his job (and got another one). And then the holidays hit. Trying to earn a little extra money and to help my sister out, I did most of her shopping and all of her wrapping in addition to our own. Then we hosted almost 20 people at our house for X-mas dinner.
Then my mom died.
With all of the sorrow, grief and mourning that comes with such a loss, we have also been traveling a lot back and forth to Hico and Houston, and it hasn't even been four weeks. Between renting cars, crying all day and bringing back belongings from my dead mother's house, I feel like I have been hit by a train but am expected to keep going.
I also feel like I haven't had any time at all to pay attention to this pregnancy. It has been a marathon of just getting through every day one day at a time, most of those days filled to the utmost brim with other things. And I have to say that I've been fortunate that our little Firecracker seems to be doing OK through all of it, not giving its mama any problems - I am so grateful for an uncomplicated pregnancy, thus far. Now that my morning sickness seems to have vanished, and I'm starting to resurface from the holidays and from tragedy, I am trying to focus more on preparing for this baby. I feel like I lost the first 4 months and there's still so much to do.
I wanted to do a better job of tracking all the changes that happened during pregnancy as a sort of scrap-book, but with all of the craziness, I'll just have to try and remember it...
I can report that my food aversions are almost gone. I went through a stage of some serious aversions that included doing the dishes. I hated almost all things green (broccoli and green beans were OK), and I hated chicken (after I went through a phase of wanting nothing but chicken). Everything that I thought I would like, I felt like I had to buy in huge portions. Before my chicken aversion, this included chicken soup. I bought huge amounts of chicken and vegetables with which to make huge pots of chicken soup, but once it was made, I couldn't even look at it. Erik ate chicken soup for weeks, and he ate anything else I bought in huge quantities and then decided that I hated. When I was very newly pregnant, I wanted BBQ every single day, and fries, shakes and hamburgers. Thank goodness for this healthy fast-food hamburger place out here called P. Terry's - they use locally grown produce and local meat for their burgers (they even have veggie burgers, not that you'd catch me eating one of those during those early stages).
Some cravings that have stuck around are chocolate and lemon meringue pie. Luby's Cafeteria (remember that place?) is my favorite place to eat right now. You can get crazy combinations of food and not feel out of place. I can get a salad with iceberg lettuce (don't ask), mac and cheese, broccoli, fish, pie, lemonade and jello, and no one even looks twice. My craving for the ever-stereotypical pickles has started to chill a little. At first, I only wanted to eat things that I could eat with pickles (hence my hamburger craving). But now I can actually pass on the pickles every once in awhile. Cheese sandwiches with mayo were a huge craving that has stuck around. It used to be that I especially liked grilled cheese, but now the smell of toasting bread in a skillet makes me want to wretch. I still crave a good cheeseburger, though they're not as much fun right now because I have to order them well-done, but they're still good...especially with mayo and pickles (and onion rings on the side...and a shake...).
Since we have been on the road and so freakin' busy, I have had my complete fill of fast food. Now that life is hopefully slowing down a bit, I hope that we can get back on track with groceries and cooking (what's that?). After my mother died, my sister and friend were so nice to bring casseroles over that we could freeze and eat for weeks, and these casseroles totally saved us. While Erik was gone for a week in DC and I was completely mourning, I never left the house and ate casserole for every meal. Man, I forgot how convenient frozen casserole can be. Actually, I forgot that casserole existed at all - it's my new fave.
We still have a lot left to do on the house, and we have a lot to do with the pregnancy (including pick a midwife), but I'm hoping for some peace so that we can enjoy the bundle that is quietly growing bigger every day. I meant to include a picture in this post, but when I reached for the camera I discovered it wasn't charged. Next time!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Flowers
Erik has been out of town on business all week and it's been almost too much to handle. While my sisters and best friend have tried to fill my evenings, I have all too much emptiness all day and all night. I spend the day working and trying to chase my thoughts away, but no matter what I do, she is there. When I approach the stove to heat up lunch, I remember one of the last conversations I had with my mom when she was in the hospital. For the millionth time, I asked her to walk me through her cornbread dressing recipe so that I could serve it yet again for a large Christmas crowd at my house. That memory hurts for so many reasons that are hard to explain - partly because of my regret of not cooking her a Christmas dinner when she got out of the hospital when she asked me to (I was sick). Memories good and bad flood my mind and I can't seem to escape them.
Any quiet moment is filled with her. Without Erik here, I read and read in bed, trying to distract myself to sleep, just to turn the light out and start crying harder than ever. Then I try to read again and the cycle continues.
The sympathy cards are piled on my table, and I can only get through one or two a day. I had several of her belongings spread out on the table, things that I took from her house during the funeral: a music box from my childhood, the headband she was wearing when she died, the last magazine she read in the hospital. Some people said it was good to leave it out so that I could grieve her openly - some people said I needed to put it away. I at least wanted to put it all together in a safer place, but every time I approached it, I crumbled. Tonight, I moved it all to a different room as I painfully wept. Something about it didn't feel right, putting the only things I have left of my mother in a different room, but I suppose it will help to not confront her things day after day. It was so, so hard. My next goal was to try and organize that room (the baby's room), but I can't go back in there without losing it. I just can't believe this is all happening.
Tomorrow I will visit her grave for the first time since the funeral. Someone asked me today if it was too early. I believe it will be hard to see an unmarked grave without a headstone and with fresh dirt (her headstone isn't ready yet), but my sister asked me to go.
After the funeral service at the grave site, we went back to the funeral home to finish-up some things. On the way out of town, we passed the cemetery, and Erik asked if I wanted to say one last goodbye. I told him no, as I thought that I would see a bulldozer shoveling dirt over my beautiful mother's body (I saw it waiting as we finished the service). But as we drove by, I gave a scared glance and frantically asked to turn around and go back.
I'm so sad that she never saw the most brilliant collection of flowers ever on her behalf. I only wish I would have showered her with flowers when she was alive.
Any quiet moment is filled with her. Without Erik here, I read and read in bed, trying to distract myself to sleep, just to turn the light out and start crying harder than ever. Then I try to read again and the cycle continues.
The sympathy cards are piled on my table, and I can only get through one or two a day. I had several of her belongings spread out on the table, things that I took from her house during the funeral: a music box from my childhood, the headband she was wearing when she died, the last magazine she read in the hospital. Some people said it was good to leave it out so that I could grieve her openly - some people said I needed to put it away. I at least wanted to put it all together in a safer place, but every time I approached it, I crumbled. Tonight, I moved it all to a different room as I painfully wept. Something about it didn't feel right, putting the only things I have left of my mother in a different room, but I suppose it will help to not confront her things day after day. It was so, so hard. My next goal was to try and organize that room (the baby's room), but I can't go back in there without losing it. I just can't believe this is all happening.
Tomorrow I will visit her grave for the first time since the funeral. Someone asked me today if it was too early. I believe it will be hard to see an unmarked grave without a headstone and with fresh dirt (her headstone isn't ready yet), but my sister asked me to go.
After the funeral service at the grave site, we went back to the funeral home to finish-up some things. On the way out of town, we passed the cemetery, and Erik asked if I wanted to say one last goodbye. I told him no, as I thought that I would see a bulldozer shoveling dirt over my beautiful mother's body (I saw it waiting as we finished the service). But as we drove by, I gave a scared glance and frantically asked to turn around and go back.
I'm so sad that she never saw the most brilliant collection of flowers ever on her behalf. I only wish I would have showered her with flowers when she was alive.
Friday, January 9, 2009
It's a Long, Slow Ache
I've always felt like people that have passed are in the wind. When the wind blows strong and pushes your hair back, it feels like someone's touching your face or gently moving your hair around. It is a particularly windy day here in Austin and I feel like my mother is blowing through the trees and moving my wind chime. I fear that if I go outside, I may fall apart right in the yard. Each breeze is like an embrace, and while watching it soothes me, feeling it brings on a deep burning in my throat and heart.
It's a week today that I buried my mother, and I feel like time has stood still. While the rest of the world stays on its schedule and rushes by, I feel like I am paralyzed with grief and unable to join the world again. Something about going outside makes me begin to count the millions of things that she will never do again or that we'll never do together: she'll never shop as she used to love, she'll never go out to eat, she'll never listen to the oldies, she'll never see another movie, and she'll never feel the wind. I'll never feel her arms around me again, and she'll never feel my head again when I'm sick. The things I took for granted about her I can now barely utter.
Below are some photos of the two Christmases before. She loved to make Christmas dinner and serve it on her best china and on a very dressed-up table. We would work for hours in the kitchen, and I took for granted how much it all meant to her. I will gladly continue the traditions she loved every Christmas.
2006
2007
This year, she was in the hospital on Christmas day. A huge part of my regret is that she wanted me to cook a Christmas dinner when she got out, but I had a terrible stomach bug and wasn't up to it (I also knew she'd micromanage it and she needed to rest). Instead, I told her that we'd have a huge Valentine's party and to just let Christmas go this year. She had a bad black eye from a fall she took in the hospital, so I didn't even take one picture this year. I wish I could go back and change it all. Everything is so final. And final is so incredibly painful.
It's a week today that I buried my mother, and I feel like time has stood still. While the rest of the world stays on its schedule and rushes by, I feel like I am paralyzed with grief and unable to join the world again. Something about going outside makes me begin to count the millions of things that she will never do again or that we'll never do together: she'll never shop as she used to love, she'll never go out to eat, she'll never listen to the oldies, she'll never see another movie, and she'll never feel the wind. I'll never feel her arms around me again, and she'll never feel my head again when I'm sick. The things I took for granted about her I can now barely utter.
Below are some photos of the two Christmases before. She loved to make Christmas dinner and serve it on her best china and on a very dressed-up table. We would work for hours in the kitchen, and I took for granted how much it all meant to her. I will gladly continue the traditions she loved every Christmas.
2006
2007
This year, she was in the hospital on Christmas day. A huge part of my regret is that she wanted me to cook a Christmas dinner when she got out, but I had a terrible stomach bug and wasn't up to it (I also knew she'd micromanage it and she needed to rest). Instead, I told her that we'd have a huge Valentine's party and to just let Christmas go this year. She had a bad black eye from a fall she took in the hospital, so I didn't even take one picture this year. I wish I could go back and change it all. Everything is so final. And final is so incredibly painful.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
My Beautiful Mother
I apologize to those of you who have already read this message in an email. I'm posting it here for my friends and family that may not have heard yet.
Thank you for your kindness and support during this time. I appreciate the flowers and plants that you all sent as I know it is very expensive and these are hard times for everyone. The flowers and plants were beautiful and just perfect for my mother - she loved flowers and plants so very much. In fact, her husband suggested collecting donations in lieu of flowers, but I knew she would prefer to be showered with flowers. She would have truly loved the site of all of those flowers there just for her.
My mother, Cathey, died on Dec. 30 after years and years of battling sickness. Toward the end, she had suffered strokes and bowel trouble and had pneumonia during this last stay at the hospital which was around 4 weeks long. They had discovered a blood clot in her brain but had let her go the day after Christmas because it did not seem to be growing and she seemed to be improving. While at home for the next couple of days, she ran around the house as usual, cooking, cleaning and ordering things out of catalogues. She was truly glad to be home and out of the hospital. She would lose her balance the more tired she got, and I begged her the whole time to get in bed and stay there, but as soon as I would turn around, she would be up again and onto the next activity. Her balance issues were due to the strokes that she'd had - things seemed pretty good other than that. We even took a requested trip to Walgreen's and we also took her to have her hair done. However, we didn't realize her pneumonia was as bad as it was. Other than the typical shortness of breath while she ran around, it did not even seem that she still had it. Erik and I left her house on Sunday, and she called me in the car on the way home to help her find something she had misplaced. On Monday, I meant to call her after work, but we were so busy getting ready for our California trip for a late Christmas with Erik's family, that I completely forgot. Tuesday morning I got the call. Monday night and Tuesday morning she had been coughing terribly, and her lungs eventually filled with fluid. She begged not to be taken back to the hospital, and while the intention was to take her a little later, she died at home instead, where she wanted to be.
I would like nothing better than to report that I expected it and was prepared, but the truth is that I didn't expect it and I wasn't as prepared as I had been in the past when she had been so sick before. There are times in the past when she seemed more sick and weak than this time and I had been more ready for the call. But I was shocked and devastated when the call came, especially just having seen her.
I can't express to you how deeply sad I am on so many different levels. She was so excited about our baby, and perhaps that is the most painful part of all - that my children will never know the kind and gentle and beautiful mother that I had. I am struggling a lot with regret regarding my not seeing her enough this year and my own inability to see how sick she was this time. I have the deepest pain and sadness that I ever thought possible. While everyone says that time will heal, for now my every thought is full of nothing but her, and I can't imagine how the pain will subside, but I suppose it will. The absolute only comfort I have is that I saw her before she went and that she is no longer in pain.
She wanted to be buried in Hico, Texas where she was born. This is a very small town about 6 hrs from Houston where she lived. We had a nice service for her and the weather was beautiful. She was buried next to her grandmother in the family plot, exactly as requested. I've attached some words about her that I said at her funeral in addition to the eulogy the preacher gave. There are also some photos from a few years ago.
Thank you again to all of you for your support during this time. This has definitely been the worst and hardest thing that I've ever experienced, and you all are helping to provide me the strength to get through it. Thank you.
Thank you for your kindness and support during this time. I appreciate the flowers and plants that you all sent as I know it is very expensive and these are hard times for everyone. The flowers and plants were beautiful and just perfect for my mother - she loved flowers and plants so very much. In fact, her husband suggested collecting donations in lieu of flowers, but I knew she would prefer to be showered with flowers. She would have truly loved the site of all of those flowers there just for her.
My mother, Cathey, died on Dec. 30 after years and years of battling sickness. Toward the end, she had suffered strokes and bowel trouble and had pneumonia during this last stay at the hospital which was around 4 weeks long. They had discovered a blood clot in her brain but had let her go the day after Christmas because it did not seem to be growing and she seemed to be improving. While at home for the next couple of days, she ran around the house as usual, cooking, cleaning and ordering things out of catalogues. She was truly glad to be home and out of the hospital. She would lose her balance the more tired she got, and I begged her the whole time to get in bed and stay there, but as soon as I would turn around, she would be up again and onto the next activity. Her balance issues were due to the strokes that she'd had - things seemed pretty good other than that. We even took a requested trip to Walgreen's and we also took her to have her hair done. However, we didn't realize her pneumonia was as bad as it was. Other than the typical shortness of breath while she ran around, it did not even seem that she still had it. Erik and I left her house on Sunday, and she called me in the car on the way home to help her find something she had misplaced. On Monday, I meant to call her after work, but we were so busy getting ready for our California trip for a late Christmas with Erik's family, that I completely forgot. Tuesday morning I got the call. Monday night and Tuesday morning she had been coughing terribly, and her lungs eventually filled with fluid. She begged not to be taken back to the hospital, and while the intention was to take her a little later, she died at home instead, where she wanted to be.
I would like nothing better than to report that I expected it and was prepared, but the truth is that I didn't expect it and I wasn't as prepared as I had been in the past when she had been so sick before. There are times in the past when she seemed more sick and weak than this time and I had been more ready for the call. But I was shocked and devastated when the call came, especially just having seen her.
I can't express to you how deeply sad I am on so many different levels. She was so excited about our baby, and perhaps that is the most painful part of all - that my children will never know the kind and gentle and beautiful mother that I had. I am struggling a lot with regret regarding my not seeing her enough this year and my own inability to see how sick she was this time. I have the deepest pain and sadness that I ever thought possible. While everyone says that time will heal, for now my every thought is full of nothing but her, and I can't imagine how the pain will subside, but I suppose it will. The absolute only comfort I have is that I saw her before she went and that she is no longer in pain.
She wanted to be buried in Hico, Texas where she was born. This is a very small town about 6 hrs from Houston where she lived. We had a nice service for her and the weather was beautiful. She was buried next to her grandmother in the family plot, exactly as requested. I've attached some words about her that I said at her funeral in addition to the eulogy the preacher gave. There are also some photos from a few years ago.
Thank you again to all of you for your support during this time. This has definitely been the worst and hardest thing that I've ever experienced, and you all are helping to provide me the strength to get through it. Thank you.
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