Where I'm at: 6 months, 1 day

Exhausted. Emotional leads to physical exhaustion and I'm spent. Never did I think life would be this difficult. Loss is a brutal, brutal enemy.

This month marked 1/2 of a year from Andrew's birth/death and 6 months from when I used to be normal. To make matters worse as 6 months feels like quite the milestone (in the life of a live baby), the days occurred on the same days they did in December. December 4 was the day we went in for our final doctor visit--Saturday. We heard Andrew's heartbeat and left thinking we'd be giving birth any time! Sometime between December 4 and December 5, our son died. The next day, Sunday, I woke up and began feeling sharp pains in my abdomen. I was in labor and didn't know it until hours later when the contractions became unbearable. Hours later, we found out our son passed away. Today is a Monday and Monday was the first day without Andrew with us. In my body, in our arms. He was gone. GONE.

On the facebook front, I often want to announce this but realize those who should read it won't have access: If you have an infant, are blissfully pregnant and have never experienced a loss, or feel the need to talk about babies nonstop, I probably will not accept your friend request. I make no apologies.

It doesn't particularly help that this negative post is being written on a day just after a would-be milestone where our {large, empty} house was filled with lots of crying. I should've probably waited to write because I've got nothing positive to say. But this is where I am at today.

When I was on that hospital bed about to deliver my deceased child, I thought about wanting to immediately start over. I wanted to become pregnant as soon as possible. I wanted more children. I wanted to experience their bodies growing and kicking inside of mine and to know parenthood would not be too far ahead in our future. I was certain that a half of a year later, I'd be pregnant. I'm sitting here typing right now, at 6 months and 1 day without a child. Not pregnant and still at the exact same point I've been at for 6 months-- aside from not needing to be peeled off the couch from sobbing all day. I still do that quite regularly, but at least the blinds aren't closed. Of course when I see another person with a stroller walk by, I wonder why the blinds are still open and wish them closed again.

I'm feeling like my entire life in the last 6 months has been a waste of time and stagnant in nature. We've been distracting ourselves and managed to book up most of our summer weekends on distraction trips. Sometimes that makes matters better, and sometimes worse. We are out of our house and experiencing new things, but know that we'd rather be with Andrew. We'd rather be doing anything with Andrew over all these "fun" things we planned instead. We went for a nature walk yesterday and all I could think about was how wonderful it would've been to carry Andrew in the Bjorn or push him in a jogger. We would've taken photos and talked to him about all the animals, flowers, and trees. Instead, we just commented about how much we're missing out on.

I'm still distant from friends and my entire old life. I don't think that old life will ever be back and I guess in many ways I am okay with that. Because Andrew changed me. He changed us. Our house is looking more beautiful than ever but I could care less about any of that. I'd give it all up in an instant to just have Andrew here. A lot of people have said a lot of stupid things to me recently as 6 months marks a milestone. Many expect you to move on from here or to at least have a hope of new pregnancy. They are hoping we get pregnant, too, so I can be "fixed" and move on. So the old Brandy will come back. That's not how losing your child works. New babies, albeit wonderful, will never fill that gaping hole that Andrew fits.

I'm still very much devastated by losing my son. I still can't look at Parents magazines and still turn my head when I see babies on the street. I still avert my eyes at pregnant bellies and still refuse to attend baby showers. Being around newborns is nearly impossible. Seeing 6-month old babies is painful also, but since I only have one image of Andrew to remember, it's hard to even grasp what having a growing child would look like.

In some ways I feel like I was in a better place a few months ago and am now back in a slump. I was exercising and occupied and withholding sweets (which got me back into my size 2's and made me more health conscious). I'm thankful for my baby loss friends who literally get me through the days in knowing that what I feel is completely normal and acceptable. Knowing that I'm allowed to still cry and feel crushed by this pain. The only thing I am completely thankful for in this sadness is that my marriage is better than it's ever been (though it's always been pretty fantastic).

At 6 months and 1 day, I'm still surviving. Not sure about thriving, still, but getting myself out of bed every morning. Sorry for the downer, but it's right where I'm at in this moment.

Six.

Very heavy heart this week. Circumstances that lead to today were not helpful. Just really dark and difficult. Not sure why we can't catch a break. Too many losses all around us and it's just so hard to swallow. 

I was at a school a week ago and heard a woman say something piercing. To add context, she was asked if she'd like to join a group of women for a game of golf. And here was her response:

I'd love to, but I haven't seen my niece and nephew since December 5th. 

For obvious reasons, I immediately perked up at the mention of that date. December 5th will always be so difficult.

But then I started thinking about what she was doing with her niece and nephew on that day. Was she taking them to the zoo (doubtful since Chicago was having its first blizzard of the year on that weekend. How fitting)? Was she baking with them? Were they watching a movie? Playing a game of Candyland?

All these thoughts loomed through my mind as I paralleled a very different existence on that day. That day brought no smiles and all tears. But it was also beautiful. I met such a beautiful little boy that I crave so much to have with me still.

When I heard that sentence spoken, it stopped me in my tracks (omitted the word dead in that idiom for obvious reasons). I know it's true, but were people really enjoying that day? It was the worst day of my life, yet others were experiencing joy, happiness, excitement, reunions with family. I had my own somber reunion with family. And that was the last one. First, and last.

It also struck me that the woman speaking chose not to play golf because, as she said, it had been too long since she saw her niece and nephew. She had an obligation. A priority. A desire. An interest. A right, and (this is the hardest one), an ability to see them. Six months is a long time to go without seeing the ones you love.

It's been six months since I've seen that baby face and the numbers are just creeping further and further away from that first introduction and goodbye.

It's been far too long. I'd prefer to forego the golf game, too, and see my son again. But sadly, devastatingly, I don't have that option. Golf it is. 

Dear Andrew,
I miss you little man. It's just too hard to breathe thinking about how chubby and cute you'd be right now. And how much joy you'd bring to our lives by just being here. We miss that joy and wish with every part of our beings that you would be here with us. My brain won't stop thinking about that delivery room and how most parents cry tears of joy. They see a bewildered little person emerge and see the world for the first time. We saw you, a beautiful little person, too, but never will the rest be true. I showed your pictures to a good friend the other day. It felt so good. I was so proud, yet sad that I'm not parading them on facebook and this blog as I expected to do when you were born. Instead, I am cautiously holding them close to my heart as they are all I have of you. They're gorgeous. You're gorgeous. With all of our hearts and love. We give it all to you.

Tired.

Is anyone else just plain tired? Not physically tired, but emotionally drained. That's how I've been feeling for the past couple days. Of course that doesn't mean the well has dried, because I still sob often enough.

I was watching Oprah last night before bed (we have re-runs near midnight in Chicago) and Oprah was reminiscing of her favorite guests over the years as her 25-year run comes to a close. This little boy, Mattie Stepanek, was on there:

My mom bought me the book his mother wrote, Messenger, but I haven't read it yet. Sometimes I just can't deal with reading about more babies and children dying. And sometimes reading about these misfortunes is the only thing that gets me through my own darkness.

Back to this little boy. What an incredible inspiration. He and his 3 siblings were all born with muscular dystrophy. His mom was the carrier and passed it on to all four children without knowing it. She buried four babies who lived and died. He lived the longest, until age 13. I can't even come close to giving justice to how wonderfully courageous this little boy was-- I was crying just knowing that someone so wonderful and inspirational would be taken at such a young age.

When I Die (Part II) 

Excerpt of original poem written by Mattie

When I die, I want to be
A child in Heaven.
I want to be
A ten-year-old cherub.
I want to be
A hero in Heaven,
And a peacemaker,
Just like my goal on earth.
...

For knowing you're going to die, he has such a positive outlook on life and death at such a young age. I only wish I had half the wisdom this boy of (well under) half my age had. It's such an honor to know Andrew is in heaven with someone like him.

Okay, sobbing again. Tired.

Letters to Andrew {2}

Dear Andrew,

Today marks another sad day for me. Your dad and I miss you very much. You'd be 5 whole months today. I'm sure you'd be growing like a weed and I'd be writing obnoxiously wonderful things like, "Andrew's getting so big--he's already grown out of his 6 month clothes and he's only 5 months old!" Instead, I just speak of you in past tense because I have no new stories of you to type.

I was walking downstairs this morning to grab some breakfast before work and saw the greatest beam of light shining through the crack of your nursery door. It made me sad and comforted all at the same time. It's amazing how that happens.

This exact day last year was our very first doctor's appointment. I already knew it, but we were having a baby and that baby was you! We walked into the OB's office quite smugly that we managed to become pregnant so quickly and efficiently. We wanted you more than anything else in the world and still very much want you.

In three days, it's Mother's Day. I can't even begin to imagine all the wonderful things we could've done together on that day. I picture walks in the park, wearing you in the Baby Bjorn, strolling along the riverwalk, having brunch at a quaint restaurant, and snuggling on the couch. Instead, your dad and I will be working on one of those distraction projects we started to get our minds off of the sadness we carry.

Missing you is no simple task. Tonight, I light your candle. At 9:04, the minute you were born 5 months ago today, I light the candle that I placed in your nursery before you were born. It's now downstairs on a bookshelf and I often catch a whiff of you when I walk by. I love that smell. I thought to buy every one of those candles from Amazon so I'd never run out of smelling you. There truly isn't anything I'd rather have than you here with me right now. You'd think I'd have run out of tears by now, but it turns out there is an unending supply in one's body.

We love you so incredibly, incredibly much.

Love,
Mom

p.s. That word seems so foreign to type. It breaks my heart.

Remembering Autumn

I remember a day back in Autumn... we had dinner with two wonderful friends, Derrick & Liz. I was blissfully pregnant and it was still warm enough to sit outside. We ate at a lovely Greek restaurant for the very first time. I remember what I had-- a sort of Greek lasagna. My friend Liz had the same.

We talked, joked, and shared in such a wonderful moment. Liz shared through her prayer of thanksgiving before our meal that she was expecting. It took me longer than Ray and once I realized what she had said, I was beaming. We were both pregnant. To think we'd have babies within months of one another who would share experiences together, play together, and be in the same grade at school. Derrick is a CPA, so tax season is his busiest time. They were expecting their baby just as tax season ended! What a joy! Well, that day of expectation is today.

They were the first friends here in Illinois we shared our early pregnancy with over dinner at a Spanish tapas restaurant. We couldn't wait to tell people and we had a feeling these two would become great friends. During my entire pregnancy leading up to their news, I was hoping they would become pregnant, too. I wanted to share this journey with a couple we both greatly admired. And for awhile, we did share that same love and joy new parents have.

And sadly, both of our stories are incomplete. I suppose they are complete, but with endings we so sadly realize as unfortunate. Liz miscarried sweet Autumn, and because of when she was conceived, that became the name of their first baby.

Today, we remember Autumn and all the joy we shared in carrying our babies. Forever loved and never forgotten.

Celebrate or Contemplate?

Went to church this morning. We actually contemplated not going. Ray asked me, "So... we going to church tomorrow?" I looked at him and answered with a sigh, "Well, it is Easter."

Easter. It's a holiday, but to Christians it's kind of a big deal. Logically we'd attend service on the day people who don't even regularly attend church actually attend! But we actually had to think about it. Do we have it in ourselves to get up, get dressed {boycotting the Easter dress, however} and walk inside the walls of a place that usually makes us cry so much? Knowing we don't have our little boy to dress in a cute sweater-vest that still hangs in his closet clean and ready? Knowing we'll see other little boys and girls holding Easter eggs and wearing the cutest clothes picked out perfectly for them?

We went. Our favorite speaker was there and the music was fantastic. Nevermind that I couldn't sing the words because I was concentrating on holding back the floodgates. My mind was a bit like this during the entire service:

Jesus. Cross. Babies. Little boys in cute bowties. Sins. Forgiven. Risen. Easter eggs. Baskets. Andrew. Savior. The Christ. My son. My little boy. My little Andrew not here.

It's hard. Really, really hard. I was crying for most of the second half when I was finally able to knock out some of those sad thoughts about all the wonderful things we'd be doing if our son was with us today. We'd be walking to church while pushing our baby boy in his stroller-- him smiling, laughing... us smiling, laughing and actually happy. I've all but forgotten what that feels like to be genuinely happy and content.

Despite crying through most of today's message, it was one of the best Easter messages I've heard in my life-- out of all 28 of them. The speaker asked if we were there today to celebrate or contemplate. If we were there to celebrate the Risen Lord, or if we were there to contemplate our relationship with Him in our time of struggle. Knowing that many people visit churches on Easter to check the box for their 2 services a year, I'm used to similar messages on this day. Are you here as a "believer", or are you here because you are not and struggle today in finding that balance and relationship. But this message struck me differently. First, I believe you can have both at the same time. Who says you can't believe there is a God who loves you, but struggle with your relationship?

I both celebrate and contemplate. I celebrate the belief I have in Christ who has given his life for me eternally, and I contemplate the state of my being knowing that there is a Christ who loves me greatly and is indeed a source of comfort, but did not save my baby boy from death. I've come to the realization, or is it revelation, that it wasn't God's fault that Andrew died, but I still have a hard time being thankful for the rest of my life since the one thing that meant the most (aside from my husband) was taken. I have a ton to be thankful for, and therefore celebrate, but I have a gaping hole of sadness there reminding me that life can really suck.

The speaker told us about a church his friend pastors that ran an interesting campaign this Easter Sunday. They posted a space for those in the congregation/audience to write about their contemplations-- the messes they have in their lives. The areas in their lives that are causing them to contemplate rather than celebrate during this Easter season. For a few reasons I found this intriguing: I love the idea of raising awareness (reasons we shouldn't hide the reality of our babies dying from others to "save" them from sadness), opening up to support from others and allowing people to free themselves from internal sadness/frustrations. It's not good to keep all that inside. The project is called Beautiful Mess and it looks a bit like this:

He went on to speak about the messes people shared: adultery, divorce, Alzheimer's, hospitalized children (cue floodgates). They were open and unguarded because they did not have to attach their names to their mess. They were uninhibited. I loved that. It reminded me that others struggle and we are not alone in dealing with grief.

Needless to say, I cried during that portion of the service. Not only because he shared some of the messes people revealed through the website, but also because I have my own mess. For the first time in my 28 years, I would actually write something down in that box and hit that "submit" button. I have a mess. And because I have a mess, I am a mess. I would say that it is, however, a beautiful mess. Because of Andrew, I found that part of my heart that can love this much. He caused quite the mess-- quite the beautiful mess in my life.

While I'd love to turn the clock back in my life to a time when I felt genuine happiness, I'd never erase my son from our story. He's far too precious.

So today... on this Easter day... I celebrate the life of Christ and the life of my son for every day that he lived within me. I also contemplate as I remember this beautiful mess I'm living. Today and everyday. 

Formerly Creepy

I have to be honest. There are a few things I always thought were creepy: cemeteries, urns in homes, open caskets, and thrift stores. Wouldn't you know that I'd have experience with each one of these in my life. Such is life (or death).

I'll start with the easier of the four, thrift stores. My understanding as a child was that people died and then their items were donated to thrift stores. I felt they were dead as they wore the clothing and it was gross to wear dead-person clothing. Obviously, that's ridiculous. I know that. While I know (as an adult) that I was misinformed despite my mom telling me repeatedly that was not the case, I had developed my own {albeit stubborn} opinion. Now I'm not creeped out and have actually purchased some items from thrift stores.

Cemeteries are next up. Two of my blog friends recently posted about cemeteries and their visits. I don't handle death well and always thought it was gross to be in the presence of a bunch of dead people. The whole idea of maggots, formaldehyde, velvet-lined boxes just made me all sick inside. Blame it on Hollywood movies, zombies, grave-diggers? Maybe. I have not experienced many deaths in my family. Though grandparents have died, I've only attended one funeral for them and two total funerals in my life. I've been to two graves in my entire life that I can remember: a friend's mother, and my great-grandfather. I was itching to get out of that dead park ASAP each time. I now understand that people visit cemeteries because people they love are there (well, their bodies) and it makes them feel a bit closer to them. My friend Keleen who lost her baby Addi the same day we lost Andrew to stillbirth wrote about visiting a cemetery on her blog today. Cemeteries are less creepy to me now. I drive by one quite close to our home often (and ironically right next to my OB and the hospital where I gave birth to Andrew) and look at the ground differently. I see all these headstones and inscriptions as tributes to loved ones. It's a place full of love, really. There is someone out there missing a loved one and that was how they decided to remember them.

Next, obviously, are open caskets. My great-grandfather had one and I did not attend the viewing. My personal interest was to remember him as he was living. I didn't need to see him again when I knew it was just a body. To an extent, I still agree with this. Not only do I really dislike the idea of my loved one being preserved, beautified, and pumped full of chemicals, but it's just a body. It's not the person I knew and they are no longer able to communicate with me. I understand why people prefer this method, but I never attached myself to the whole idea. I will not have an open casket at my own funeral. Both Ray and I want to be cremated, just as our son has been. Unless you've had a child cremated, you can't even come close to imagining what it felt as I just typed those words. It's heart wrenching. We've always wanted to be cremated, so when we had to sign over our son's body in the hospital {seriously!?}, we knew he would also be cremated. Do I understand more the interest to see our loves ones and touch/hold/be in the presence of, absolutely. I held my deceased child and took photos with him. I touched his cool skin. Having been dealt this awful card, I would've wanted nothing more than to spend time with his body though knowing "he" was no longer with us. If there were a house fire, my son and our photographs would be the two things I'd desperately want to save. There's irony in there, but I'm not willing to point it out.

Now on to cremation. My mom used to work in a funeral home that had a crematorium inside. I always thought it was disgusting! My former self would've said, "Gross, that's a dead person in a jar?! In your HOUSE?!" And now... now I'm the person who wants nothing more than to have her son in her home where he belongs. He may not be alive, but it's his home and he is our son. It may be gross, but this is all we have of him. I don't have a shrine and I don't draw attention to him, but he is there. He belongs here more than anyone else to step foot into our home, so I don't have apologies to make. It's just one of the many ways I've changed throughout the course of these 4 1/2 months.

He's not in a jar. He's in a blue, heart-shaped urn. And the most heart-wrenching thing about it all {as if that's not enough, right?} is that not all of him is in that small urn. I struggle with this thought. It makes me cry--like right now. I guess knowing my son is dead, him being cremated and his body "living" in an urn is enough to make anyone cry, but this makes me cry even harder: he DIDN'T fit. That's right. It turns out that full-term babies don't always "fit" baby urns because they are rare to die at full term. I wouldn't think they were that rare, but it turns out there just isn't a "place" for our babies. They're too large for the "baby" urns that I believe were made in their size for babies born premature {vs. full-term} but the "regular" sized urns are far too large for the amount of mass my cremated child makes up. He still has mass. Still volume. But unfortunately doesn't fit into any category. I hate that he's a bit of an outsider. But not in our home. He is part of us and deserves his place with us. I don't know what we will do with his body once we die eventually, but I do think he will need to be with us, whatever that means.

When we picked him up from the funeral home on that very gloomy day, he sat on my lap during the drive home. I was surprised how heavy he was. I'd never held a dead person before. I was surprised and disappointed that he had a label on the bottom that read "Baby Wilson" and it didn't say his name. I was disappointed that it was a stupid piece of label tape that someone actually had to type, print out, and peel onto a very small urn. I know labels can't be stupid. Whatever. I hated seeing the beautiful name we chose perfectly for our firstborn printed on another box that held the rest of him that didn't have a place.

So there you have it. My insides, out. Literally and figuratively written about on this very page.

Broken Choo-Choo Train Dreams

I was sitting in a little boy's bedroom tonight. I was there reading books with our friends' nearly 3-year-old boy. And right there on the floor lay a Thomas the Train set with those adorable wooden track pieces, all strewn out.

And then I realized yet another broken dream. Our little Andrew will never place his little hands on train pieces and string them across his bedroom floor.

You see... this train set has meaning.

On Thanksgiving night 2010, we set out for our very first Black Friday shopping experience, ever. Technically it was Black Thursday evening since sales started at 10 p.m. that night. We did this mostly for the thrill. We had time to waste since we knew (new) parenthood would leave little room for crazy, late-night freedoms like this in our future. We decided to shop at Toys r' Us and buy a toy for our little boy. It was almost Christmas and he was almost here. We knew that any toy we purchased would not be suitable for at least a year or two, but we didn't care. You would have thought that we were proud parents of a little boy already sound asleep in his bed awaiting Christmas, aside from the obvious-- my massively pregnant belly that gave it all away.

We stood in line and it was very cold outside. After awhile, I headed back into the car while Ray remained in line, determined to buy our son his first wooden train set. When I walked back out to join him once the line started moving, he was already inside. I waited in the line myself and finally got in to join him. In the meantime, I watched people flooding their carts with toys for their own children. I was amazed at how much stuff people were purchasing and wondered if that was really what happiness was all about. Things. I've never really been into owning a bunch of things just for the sake of it. We prefer time spent with one another in nature, exploring, and eating great food.

Once in the store, I  finally found Ray about 100-deep in line with not only the starter train set, but an additional set to add to the collection. We planned to buy pieces of the collection every year since he would obviously be really into trains. As soon-to-be-proud-parents would, we bought the items and walked away feeling excited and exhilarated that we just braved our first Black Friday all for a special train set for our firstborn baby. That story we'd carry forever and it would be so special to cherish as we saw him string along the train cars making fun choo-choo noises as he glided them quickly along the track.

Excerpt pulled from my blog. Written 8 days before we said goodbye:  
The whole week was wonderful. We spent Thanksgiving with our friends Jim, Kristi, and Joel along with their families. Ray and I are in the midst of 4 days off together which is such a blessing to have right before chaos hits (aka having our first baby!). Sure, it will be chaos, but also a precious time in our lives we will only share together.

Broken choo-choo train dreams, indeed.

Praying for the Pointless

I believe in prayer. I always have, but it's more for the comfort of our souls and growing closer to God that matters in the act of prayer {to me}. I'm convinced that what's going to happen will happen and we can't do a whole lot of begging or pleading to get those things to change. Sure, we can ask God for things, but we aren't guaranteed anything in this life (except death and taxes, right?). Praying for a miracle is nice, but I find it more beneficial to pray for comfort, strength, and guidance in a time of struggle. I didn't pray for God to bring my son back. He was dead upon arrival. I could do nothing to change that. I prayed and continue to plead with God that I might be given calmness, peace, and persistence to carry forward despite my sadness. I still pray for that. I'll always be sad. God isn't trying to change that and I don't want him to. I just want the strength to get up every morning despite my sadness. God's good with comfort and strength like that.

Since Andrew, my thoughts about prayer have changed. I feel like prayer need be less trivial. God seems to have better things to do than to listen to my prayers about it not raining on my vacation or healing me from a minor cough. Those things are going to work themselves out and no one is going to die because of it. They're just little bumps in the road we can handle. I just feel like other people in this world are suffering so much more than some of the trivial things we lay before God. I can't pray for friends who aren't getting sleep because they have a newborn who is (ugh) keeping them up all night. Oh how I have not an ounce of sadness or pity on them. I can pray for them to see the extreme blessing through the exhaustion. {An aside, I was reminded by my mom how brutally honest I can be--and often offensive in being so. I love ending sentences with conjunctions. Grammar gods must hate me. If you really know me, that's me in the flesh. No sugar coating, no fancy words. Just the real deal. It's not always nice and yes, I need to work on that because I truly don't like hurting those I love. And I'm not really trying to. It's a flaw, but one I sort of like and sort of hate all at the same time. The good news is that you'll always know what I'm thinking, right? Sarcasm runs through my veins.}

It's just, with prayer, I feel like we often pray in the "wrong" way. We ask God to do things that we already may know he isn't going to fulfill or do. Sure, I believe in miracles, but I also believe that they occur infrequently. And frankly, I believe that if God were to want to perform such a miracle, no prayer on my part would be good enough to warrant his grace, love, and gift to me. He does it because He wants to. I'm a mere mortal that has no divine power and little wisdom. I can just thank God for eternal comfort and pray for strength. Many people live life without muttering any prayer and are still granted miracles. You can't say they received the miracle because they were so fervently praying, can you? Bad things happen to good people and good things happen to "bad" people.

Rather than pray I "get the job" (not a real example. I'm not looking for one.), I pray for wisdom, a clear mind, and to be calmed and comforted during the interview. If the job is for me, I'll get it. That's already been predetermined. I don't think that by praying the job will just land in my lap because I begged God enough times, bargained with him, or any other reason. Because honestly... if I could have bargained my way to keeping my son, I would have given up every single material possession I own to see that it happened.

This whole prayer thought comes to me from a few books I've been reading in addition to realizing how transformed my prayers have become. I used to pray that God would make sure Andrew was safe, without defect, and was healthy. Well, he wasn't. Something wasn't right, and I don't believe if I would have prayed a million more times that God would have allowed the outcome to be any different. I cannot change the course of my life. If that were the case, I would pray about every little thing as to never run into an issue, ever. If I could pray that I will never become sick again, I would. Will I be spared of sickness, absolutely not. I will get sick. It's sort of expected. Maybe I'll add that to the list. Death, taxes, sickness.

My prayers have changed in both the way I pray and what I am "asking" for. Though God and I have been battling it out a bit (and in this battle, I've been provided with clarity on prayer, for instance), I am still praying. I just pray more for the way I handle life situations than for the actual outcome of events. So now for the title of the post. I touched on it a bit, but I'll drive it home right here. I believe we often pray for things that are trivial, and pointless. Why pray that God will allow your team to win the game when God isn't really causing you to win or lose? It's a prayer that should be changed to something like this, if it's worth praying about at all: God, give me the strength, determination, and persistence to play the best game I can today. That way, you're never disappointed and you're praying for the correct thing. You aren't going to win every game just because you threw God a shout-out.

To my understanding and belief, God doesn't cause bad things to happen, nor does he prevent them from happening. He is just there as our comfort source and divine strength when we feel as though our world has crumbled. He's got our back, but he can't cover us with a bubble for the rest of our lives. I believe he mourns along with us as our best friend and greatest support.

Totally my own opinions. It's the process of transformation I'm going through. It may not conform to the idealistic fundamentalist theology, but I'm not trying to fit a category. I'm just journaling, honestly, as always with whatever has been rattling my brain lately in this crazy whirlwind of baby sadness.

Living the Statistic

Sometimes I like to Google search sad things like stillbirths. You know, to somehow be reminded that I should have more pity on myself or something. I should probably stop.

In the world of blogging and the internet, it allows us to feel less alone. We meet people who have similar experiences. I communicate with someone who gave birth to her baby, born still, on the same day Andrew was born. We share the same sad anniversaries of seeing our babies without life. We may have shared the same birthday had our children lived, as well. Oh, how I wish that were the case. Instead, we're bonded like sisters, forever carrying an equal void of sadness and loss that our babies are not here with us.

About 1 out of every 8 times I share our story, the person listening also shares that they knew someone or is a person whom has experienced the death of a baby. While I follow many blogs and have spoken to many wonderful, grieving mothers like myself, I'm also stunned at what a small world it really is. When I Google searched just a few hours ago, I saw women on message boards talking about their losses that I already know through blogging and email. Are we really the only ones? It feels like a small world in the grand scheme of the internet and the 12,100,000 results Google spits out onto my computer screen.

I sometimes look at the statistic of 26,000 stillbirths a year as astounding. 26,000 families (or some families with multiple losses. Gut punch.) going through the daily process of realizing their child will never walk on this earth. 26,000 babies that were loved, cherished, planned for, and desired. {When you add miscarriage and infant death to the number, it jumps to nearly 1 million. Not to diminish those losses or forget them, but just isolating one incident of sadness-- because God knows, they are all babies we will forever grieve.}

Then I think about the number of births each year at our local hospital alone (serving a community of about 150,000 and surrounding areas) being about 4,000 babies--though I specifically remember them saying it was more around 6,000 in 2009 alone at one of our baby prep classes (read: what a waste). I'm not sure if 4,000 is an old statistic. But even so, this one hospital alone accounts for such a small percentage of births in the US, yet 4,000 babies is quite a few when comparing it to the number of stillbirths in the entire US population. Then there's always the statistic of stillbirths with unknown reasons wavering between 25-50% (yeah, could they narrow that down more, please?). So that leaves us in the population of roughly 13,000 other unexplained baby loss in the entire US every year. Those odds are pretty freaking low. Lucky us.

In researching for this post, I read that in 2006, a poll of pregnant women indicated 13.2% smoked during their pregnancy at some point. And I bet those terrible people are abusive happy parents to living 5-year olds as I type this. That's where I want to cry, kick, scream, and stomp my feet yelling, "UNFAIR!!!" Because I did nothing to jeopardize what a precious gift I was carrying in my belly. Of course I hope those babies did live despite their terrible caregivers (do they even deserve the "parent" title?) because I believe that no matter how foul you are and how much wrong you do in life, a child dying should never be a consequence for your actions. I just hope they've matured and learned how best to care for their children now while they're lucky enough to still have them.

Just still stunned. In exactly 14 minutes, it will have been 4 months since I gave birth to my lifeless baby. I miss him still so much every single day. Still feeling cheated, angry, and often still living in shock that such a rare and life changing experience would happen to us. 1 of 26,000. And the odds are so unlikely. Never do I think to myself that I am not a part of the statistic.

When I dropped my husband off at the airport for his first flight out of the US since Andrew died on Saturday, I drove away hyperventilating. I probably should have pulled the car over. My eyes were filled with tears and I was crying the ugly cry. It's the one where you cannot catch your breath and ugly shrieking noises come out. I have not, to my knowledge, ever cried like this in my life until Andrew died. It even catches me off guard sometimes. I'm 28 years old and never experienced a deep cry quite like this. It may have taken 28 years for the onset, but it's apparently here to stay. I would normally drop him off nervous, but now that I know it is indeed possible to be that statistic and that bad things don't just happen to other people, I freak out. It felt just like I did in the hospital before and after giving birth to our baby. That sense of uncertainty and trepidation.

On this 4 month date, I miss that boy more than ever. That little boy we wanted so much.

Massage Envy?

I <3 Massages.

I don't get expensive haircuts. My hair is au naturale (though it wasn't always that way. Helllllo college). I've had 2 pedicures in my life; once before prom and once before my wedding. I can count on one hand how many manicures I've had. Not that any of these things are too indulgent, but because they just aren't something I get too excited about. But massages, my vice.

I've had quite a few in my life. I'd say about 10 professional massages/wraps in fancy places. One Christmas my MIL and SIL treated me to a chocolate massage and wrap at the Hershey, Pennsylvania hotel! We also had our feet eaten alive by fish at the original salon famous for the pedicure and we all admit that it was royally disgusting, but lots of fun.

On the day of my engagement, my wonderful husband (to be) scheduled me a hot stone therapy massage at my favorite spa in Manhattan Beach, Cali, Trilogy. Of course I was a nervous and thoroughly excited wreck because it was scheduled just before I would be getting engaged-- the hour before!

My engagement story is nothing short of incredible. I arrived at my car that Friday morning (running late) and saw my favorite flower, orchid, and a puzzle box (link to exact box) on the driver's seat of my Honda Civic. The box included instructions about what to do later that day. After teaching all day (and still unsure), I followed the instructions in the box to drive to his apartment in Manhattan Beach for my next clue. Once there, I walked in to see tons of my favorite things: favorite bottled water, snacks, sweets, pictures of us and our adventures together, etc. There was a second box. In that puzzle box, I was instructed to drive a couple miles to my favorite spa for that stone massage. At this point, I had a pretty big hunch the engagement was coming. He even provided me with quarters for the parking meter at the spa! During my incredibly nerve-wracking massage, I was thinking about the possibilities. I wasn't the least bit calm, cool, or relaxed as I usually am when it comes to all things massage. Once done, the masseuse gave me my third puzzle box which instructed me to meet my (very soon to be fiance) at the 26th street lifeguard tower in Manhattan Beach. There he was, standing there as our two kites were flying in the wind, waiting for me. I arrived and received my fourth puzzle box (no ring inside: he was worried I'd be too excited/nervous and lose it in the sand!) and the most wonderful question anyone has ever asked me came next. Then, the ring.

All that to really drive home how much I love massages. Well, here's where I get all sad on you.

In the hospital on December 6, the day after delivering and saying goodbye to my son, a masseuse walked into the delivery room (I did not change rooms as they felt I deserved the space, all things considered). I was a little startled by the masseuse's arrival because 1. I forgot all about their free massage service after delivery (who would've thought my mind would've been so screwed with at this point) and 2. I didn't understand why a masseuse would even want to walk into a room where she would meet a bereaved couple. I had a falling leaf and poem on my door obviously indicating we were mourning and not celebrating. {Just the thought of someone walking over to our door and placing that poem and symbol there makes me feel utterly shattered.}

When she arrived, we created smalltalk as I was sobbing. She apologized and then shared the story of her own loss-- a son 20 years ago and no answers to why he was born still either. She asked if I wanted a massage.

I told her I did not want one. This is completely out of character for me. I just couldn't joyfully receive a gift that I usually love so much in the midst of such sadness and anger. I almost felt like I didn't deserve the treatment. After all, my son died and I did not have the instinct to know that he died inside of my body. I was feeling shame, guilt, sadness, anger... all negative. I felt that receiving a massage would feel like a big slap in the face. My son died. I don't deserve this luxury! I saw the massage gift being a reward for the hard work of labor. But I labored for 12 hours (yep, that's it) and yielded a dead baby. I was unproductive. I ruined everything.

I know that what happened is not my fault, but like I've said before, try telling a bereaved mother that as she questions everything in her being.

Nearly four months later, I have yet to have a massage. I still feel undeserving. I feel like I should be sad and mourning, not enjoying incredible, highly indulgent massages. My husband has been asking me to make an appointment because he tells me that I deserve to be happy. I just don't know if I'm ready for that just yet. I believe in happiness, but the very thing that connects me to that day and my previous happiness is a massage. I know I can be happy and sad concurrently for different reasons, but I'm having a hard time justifying this type of happiness so close to the death of my son.

There's a massage place close to our house. It's one of those chain stores, Massage Envy. Anyone ever received a massage there? Perhaps when I am able to move forward and experience that type of luxury again, I'll consider giving that place a shot. Not yet, but I'm hoping I'll get there soon.

The Perfect Soul

I knew today was going to be interesting. I often sub at a middle school (like today) and knew that there was a pregnant woman there nearing the end of her pregnancy. It was the last day before Mrs. G's maternity leave officially begins. I already knew this. I'm pretty keen on knowing what is going on around me, especially since everything seems to be babyloaded lately. Ultra baby.

Sure enough, I walk into the teacher's lounge and Mrs. G is surrounded by lots of food and the staff as she is being showered before motherhood officially begins. I grimaced at the thought I had to visit the teacher's lounge today at all since my food had to be microwaved. I avoided it yesterday by making a PBJ. Yes, I specifically planned not having to enter the teacher's lounge so I might avoid the baby talk. I checked to see which lunch slot I would have, knowing she had 8th grade lunch. Phew, earlier. The rest of the day carried on fine.

During 8th period, I headed to the empty teacher's lounge to read since it was a free period for me. Another teacher walks in and asks me how I am doing. She was always really sweet during my pregnancy. She reminds me a little of myself; type A and brutally honest. She apologized to me and said she knows because she had a stillborn daughter born 35 years ago. She also told me that she went on to have two more children. I was frustrated. Of the two schools I sub at most often, I met two women who had stillborn babies. It angered me. Then, she looked me in the eye {...which is super impressive. It seems no one does that anymore} and said something very important. At least I think it is important:

It doesn't get better, but it does get easier.

I'm glad she acknowledged that it will never be better, or okay, that my son died. Never. But I am also glad she followed it with a statement of hope. You know when you're on a road and know that the only way to the good part is through the bad part first? That's what living in my shoes feels like. I know there will be times ahead where I am genuinely happy. I'm still on the beginning of that road, though, and it's so hard to see what's ahead through the fog.

She asked me if we were able to see him once he was delivered. I told her we were and that we even took photos with him (still no photos from NILMDTS, though I did email and receive a response). We held him. We spent time with him. We could have kept him as long as we wanted since he was our child, after all. Thirty-five years ago, that wasn't reality. You could not see your deceased child-- they would not let you. While I knew this also to be true, I still cannot imagine that. I can't imagine health professionals in hospitals denying me the right to see my son, dead or alive. It's not their child or decision to make, in my opinion. She told me that she really wanted to see her daughter and it still angers her that she was not allowed that right. Frankly, before I became a mother to a dead baby, I would've thought it to be disgusting that anyone would want to hold or, gasp, kiss a deceased person. I thought having ashes in your house was creepy. I'm ashamed of thinking such thoughts. How naive. How ignorant.

She then went on to tell me a story of woman she met while fresh from her tragedy. That woman also had a stillborn baby (more common then of course).  She told her a story that I'll probably mess up in writing/interpreting. I was half giving myself a pep-talk to prevent myself from crying as she was speaking. I heard parts of the story. The woman explained to her that sometimes babies are born perfect souls, like our babies. They never lived life on earth and just needed their souls to be born perfect into the arms of God. We were chosen to be mothers to perfect souls.

While I don't accept that as proof or explanation for Andrew's death, it does give me a small portion of peace in knowing he was born a perfect soul. He was born pure and lives on with God and all the other babies and deceased loved ones we've lost here on earth. She told me hearing that helped her tremendously. She was okay with being the bearer of a perfect soul as it takes a special person for such a job. Perhaps it's just what someone says to provide an answer in the midst of confusion, but it sounded wonderful, despite my scientific doubt that Andrew's death was strictly so I could give back to God a perfect soul. But either way, he was a perfect soul no matter why he passed and I have to accept that.

{...pausing for a moment as I watch two robins playing on our front yard. It's in the 50's, smells like spring, and I can barely contain myself...}

I walked into subbing 9th period feeling a little better until 3 girls shouted over the loudspeaker an announcement of congratulations to Mrs. G and her baby girl. Phew. Dodged a bullet there. I'm sure glad it's a girl. Why? I guess just knowing I never had a girl makes me feel better. My jealously is far greater when facing those who have newborn boys. It's the life I envisioned having... but I didn't envision pink and bows. Silly, I know. But again, it's my ridiculous logic.

Once the bell rang, I headed to a house of a woman who also gave birth to a stillborn baby a couple years ago. I have been reading her blog for sometime now (in tears far before I even conceived Andrew) and she has since adopted one boy from Africa and they are currently in the process of adopting a second boy. She and her husband will be flying to retrieve {what word is appropriate when talking about human life?!} their second child very soon. Since infants in Africa are not given the proper nutrition or formula, she asked if anyone would be willing to donate formula. She wanted to bring the maximum luggage allowance and provide formula as a gift to those children. I read this and felt that I immediately had something to give. You see, when you sign up for a baby gift registry, your information is sold to the masses. Similac and Enfamil sent me at least 6-8 cans of powdered formula with hopes to hook me as a formula feeder. When Andrew died, I threw out all the cans that landed in my mailbox-- all except 2 cans and a few smaller samples. When I read that she needed formula donations, liquid gold she called it, I entered the nursery and rummaged through the bags of stuff we quickly unloaded all of the baby contents of our kitchen cabinet into once we showed up back home empty-handed. (Holy run-on sentence! I don't care... my thoughts are winded sometimes) I managed to scrape up those two cans. I dropped those off today and met her adorable son, Tommy.

As I was driving home, I began to weep, yet again. She allowed me to borrow two books that she read when first dealing with the loss of her daughter, Leah. Holding on to Hope, and The One Year Book of Hope, both by Nancy Guthrie. While thankful, I was taken over emotionally by this. My thought process went as follows:

Really, a year? I have to grieve my baby for a year? No wait... a lifetime.
Someone wrote a book of hope for grief because they had experience with it, sadly.
She read these because she lost a daughter, also to stillbirth.
I saw two women in one day that lost babies also to stillbirth. That's not acceptable. 

A song came on the radio-- something about a newborn and how time flies as babies grow-- so I turned the channel, obviously. Channel 3: a Christian channel. And then Praise You In This Storm by Casting Crowns came on.

So, weepily, I did.

Desperate Dependence

Every morning I wake up to a devotional email. I signed up to receive these to convict me and force me into spending a little time with God everyday. I'm sure by now you've figured out that I've been pretty distant lately. Losing your child can cause you to break down in the greatest of ways and paralyze you. I knew I needed to be forced and I'm willing to admit that as truth. I knew that if they appeared in my email, I couldn't delete them without reading first. I'm not fooling anyone by saying I'm strong, trust God's "plan" (and for the record, if you tell me it was God's plan, I may never speak to you again because I don't believe that and find it hurtful you'd say my son died because the God of love willed that to happen), and am carrying on with empowerment and fortitude. Not happening quite that way.

These emails are hit-or-miss. I received one last week I couldn't delete fast enough. I got about 3 sentences in when the woman talks of her baby son Andrew waking her up in the middle of the night. Pretty sharp dagger to the heart. I wanted to throw my computer on the ground when I read that. Not the kind of hope I was looking for in signing up for a daily devotional.

But today's email was empowering. It was about a man who lost both limbs but went on to live a passionate life, have a family, and work as an advocate for the deaf and handicapped.

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7

There have been plenty of days I question(ed) that love. In our master bathroom, I used a post-it note to stick another verse to the mirror. This had been placed during my pregnancy before all of our hopes were shattered.

"I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength" Philippians 4:13

Maybe that was a foreshadowing of what was yet to come... because I'd say pregnancy was a wonderful thing that required little strength to carry me through.

I would say that I'm doing all these things out of necessity to carry on, but I've lost a lot of vigor when my child was given and taken away.

Still desperate. Still dependent. Still broken. Still shattered. Still frustrated. Still angry. Still distant. Still waking up in a haze every morning wondering when a new hope will come.

But I do still believe there is hope out there. It just hasn't landed on our doorstep yet.

Letters to Andrew {1}

My mom recommended I write a letter to Andrew a few months ago and it hasn't felt right... until now. It's March 5th. Today, under "normal" circumstances, I'd have a baby boy that just turned 3 months old. I don't know how many letters I'll write, but I numbered this one just in case.

Dear Baby Andrew,

Today is full of sadness for me. First, it's the 3-month anniversary of your birth, which means we've gone 3 whole months without you in our lives. Second, it's Saturday. You know how I feel about Saturdays since they are family days-- it's not the same without having you here. We're a family of 3 minus 1. Finding the energy to enjoy today is already a battle. The weather is cold. Snow is flurrying outside. It's days like this when I wish we were living in Cali at the beach again.

I wonder what you are like right now. Will you always be the 7lb.6oz. baby I birthed? Are you growing up in heaven just like all the other babies that are born and still here on earth? I truly don't know what a 3-month old would be like since you are the only baby we've ever conceived. I haven't read the milestones for 3-month old babies because it's too painful to know what we're missing as we cannot watch you grow.

Another thing I think about a lot is that you won't ever get to experience meeting your amazing dad. He is so supportive and the most loving person I've ever met. I bet you would have been just like him. You really looked like him when you were born. I was amazed at how much you looked like both of us. Your dad is so mild-mannered and was so proud to be your father.

So here we are, carrying on in life without you. It's as painful as it was when we found out you went to heaven. Someday we hope to make you a big brother. Our family will never be entirely complete without you here, though. Know that I love you with my entire heart and think of you every single day.

Love,
Mom

Bermuda, BAHAMAS, Come on Pretty Mama...

Here's my attempt at being positive for the week. Photos and commentary from our cruise this past weekend below.

But before I carry on with smiles and giggles, I first have to state a couple annoyances.

1. I just had to pay Google $5 to buy storage for this "free" resource. And even more annoying, I'll never reach 20 GB in one year, but it expires on 3/2/12. So every year from here on out, I pay the man. I know $5 is no big deal, but seriously... nothing in life is ever free.

2. I'm so tired of seeing things on facebook about babies. I finally deleted 1/3 of my friends list yesterday and may continue. Don't be offended if I unfriended you. I just can't handle the daily reminder of what I'm missing that all you moms out there have been so blessed with. It kills me to see those photos. I'm sorry if you don't understand but my shoes are really unpleasant to be in. A lot more unpleasant than someone unfriending you on facebook. You can get over it and then go hug your babies, I can't.

Also, I have to be honest and say that during our first day on the cruise, we were playing a game of table tennis and I commented that this was a pretty crappy consolation prize we've been given {the cruise v. being at home with our newborn son}. I thought to title this post "Consolation Prize" but figured I could think of something more positive since it was mostly a nice experience in and of itself. The only reason we booked a cruise in the first place, though, was because when we returned home from the hospital empty-handed on 12/8/10, we had to figure out what to do with our plane tickets we had booked for California (scheduled for early March). We were planning to have a post-birth baby shower to bring Andrew to my hometown in California and show him off to all our friends and family. So much for that. We re-booked our flights (thanks Southwest for no penalties!) to Florida instead to get away. If Andrew were here, this cruise wouldn't have been happening and I wouldn't have wanted to go anywhere that would mean leaving my son behind!

So, here's the re-cap of our consolation prize cruise. We did try and make the most of it. It felt really nice to be out of Chicago and the freezing temperatures to experience 80-degrees every single day!

Leaving Miami beach...

Here's the Majesty of the Seas, Royal Caribbean boat we took. We're in Nassau, Bahamas as we took this photo and the cruise ship is behind us. I think we counted 5 or 6 cruise ships in the Bahamas on the day we were there. Do the math. That's a whole lotta peeps. The day before we arrived the Disney Cruise ship was there. The day after we left, the newest, largest cruise ship was scheduled to arrive in port.

They trap you (just like all tourist islands) in this building that force you through all their shops and you get haggled on your way out the door. I paused here to take a photo with this cool thing.

In the land of the Caribbean, Cuban cigars are legal. Well, they're legal everywhere except America, actually.

We took a ferry boat ($6) over to Paradise Island where the Atlantis hotel is located. We had full intentions of buying passes to go down their lazy river because the Wilsons love lazy rivers. We walked through this crazy Vegas-like hotel and waited in a line that seemed like forever for them to tell us it would cost $120 per person to use any part of their facility for the day. Yeah right! $240 for a lazy river ride? We were not having any of that, so we decided to follow what the ferry Bahamian guy told us to do-- walk to the right of the hotel onto the beach. It's public. They can't kick you off. Then proceed to walk toward the Atlantis hotel and no one will stop you. So, we did. We paid nothing to walk around the Atlantis resort and could very well have used any and all of their facilities without paying. Before you comment about our dishonesty (and let's be honest, they are ripping people off!!!), I'd like to say we didn't use a single facility-- not even a bathroom! We didn't get in the water and didn't go on the lazy river. We just walked around for about 30 minutes to check out why on earth anyone would ever pay $120/person to go down their waterslides! I snapped some photos of what you see below...

One waterslide takes you through a clear tunnel. Sharks surround you in the water. It's pretty cool and we were able to see it from the underground access.

This is the waterslide. There are two ways-- one without an inner tube and one with a tube.

 View of Atlantis

 Here's the hotel from the Atlantis resort grounds. I snapped this shot before we left.

From the cruise ship, we looked down on the island of Nassau (capital of the Bahamas). Romantic, huh? Yeah, not so much. If you look closely, you'll see that a large portion of buildings on the left of the yellow tower were completely demolished by a fire. The cause of the fire (just 2 weeks before we arrived) was said to be a faulty telephone electrical box.

My husband drinking a local brew, the Kalik. It's legal to walk the streets with alcohol in the Bahamas as long as it's in one of those super classy paper bags.

 We attempted to go into this bar, but it was so packed and just smelled of sweaty people and drunkenness. Yuck.

 

 Sunset on our second night at sea.

If you know us well, you know we're not really the formal, dressy type. We're casual and like it that way. Maybe it's the beach culture I grew up in, but I would rather throw on a pair of jeans and a tank top any day than wear heals and fancy dresses. Rather then pack too much luggage we'd just have to check and schlep everywhere, we packed light, hence our unformal attire on "formal" night. I at least get credit for a. wearing a skirt, and b. painting my toenails in the winter months! Here's a photo in the ship's lobby.

This one's for Tommy Ferguson. Two words: Poker Face.

{Tommy and his wife Alli went on the same cruise ship just two months prior to our trip. We intended to replicate some of their photos. Tommy had many poker face photos. We only managed to take one}

 A tree with paper-like bark. I can't remember the name...

 It's blurry, but can you spot the large, striped iguana tail? I'm so bummed I didn't get a real photo of him. He was huge!

 We went on a nature trail walk on the island of Coco Cay-- our second (and final) stop in the Bahamas before returning back to Florida. It was really nice and very few people chose to do any walking. Most people just headed straight to lay out on the beach. We, being the active folks that we are, chose to walk the trail to find two infamous chairs our friends Alli & Tommy were telling us about on this walk. Here's Elliot exaggerating about being tired at the end of the trail. Halfway through our trail walk, I stopped off at the restroom. I walked in to be scared half-to-death by a CAT sitting on the toilet and drinking the toilet water. Yummy.

 

Our cruise ship in the background. This was at the very end of our nature walk on Coco Cay.

Our cruise ship and the sister cruise ship (Monarch of the Seas) in the background.

 The two chairs we found at the end of our nature trail walk. We weren't sure if these were the two chairs our friends told us about, but we took advantage anyway! There wasn't a soul anywhere around!

These stacks were found all around-- someone was obviously a little artsy that came before us. But being honest, MANY people had been there before us. This island is basically Royal Caribbean's privately leased island in the Bahamas. It's real name is actually Little Stirrup Cay. But that doesn't sound so romantic or island-like, so it was re-named by a cruise company and now Royal Caribbean calls it home to one of their Caribbean stops. Adjacent to it is Great Stirrup Cay that is owned by Norwegian cruise lines-- that was their second stop. We could see their boat. Our island had little significance, but theirs has a ton of history!

Just relaxing on our private ocean-front property... for an hour or so. I look ghostlike here and I'm not ashamed. Ever since my skin cancer incident, the shade of white skin seems much more appealing to me. I <3 sunscreen.

Trying to replicate a photo my friend Alli took on her cruise here. She was standing on the edge of a rock and her husband shot a photo from the background.

 

Starfish sighting #1!

Hanging out with a starfish and some live coral in the gorgeous water.

Starfish sighting #2!

Starfish sighting #3! See my linea negra? A little piece of Andrew still with me. I both hate it and love it. I sort of never want it to go away, but some days I hate it because it's a painful reminder, too.

 

 Here birdie, birdie. Wait, nevermind. Don't come near me, thanks.

Doing a little kayaking in the Caribbean water. It cost $15 for 30 minutes. We thought that was a rockin' deal compared to the $120/per person at Atlantis! They also ran by the honor system on time. Gotta love the Bahamian people!

 

Heading back to shore.

We found this cozy little spot to hang out away from the sun but still enjoying the views. We were peacefully sitting when a couple walked up to have their picture taken in front of the water. They started talking with the couple who took their picture and wouldn't leave! I don't know what it is about the need people have to meet friends on their cruise vacations, but I'm not signing up for that.

 

Our priorities were clearly different. :)

Our ship had a rock wall. Cool, except they were open exactly 7 whole hours (sporadically) of the 68 hours we spent on the ship. If you're doing the math, that's just over 10% of the time. Boo. I did have a chance to try it once, though. Being that high and only seeing water in the horizon made the experience a lot different than climbing at a rock gym.

The only dinner (food) photo I took. This one is to show that my husband managed to eat two whole desserts that night. I certainly can't speak... I had an ice cream every single day and I don't think there was a day that went by we didn't eat pizza (you know, just because it's there) after we had dinner already!

When we stepped off the boat, it was 8 a.m. Our flight was not scheduled to depart back to Chicago until 8 p.m. What to do with 12 hours of time in southern Florida? Rent a car and drive down to the bottom of the state, of course! We wanted to check out the Everglades National Park (since we love national parks!) and we were only about 50 miles away. Once we arrived, we explored two spots before heading back north to Ft. Lauderdale. Here is some of the wildlife we saw:

Vultures were everywhere! When we drove into the parking lot of a nature trail, we saw cars with plastic bags attached to their windshield wipers and other places. Why? Because they eat car parts! Here's a photo + article if you're interested.

We counted about 42 alligators and I'm sure that is a modest count considering we only had access to nature trails and there was lots of brush around.

 Up close and personal with my happy husband. :)

We have tons of photos of really interesting birds, but I'll spare you the whole album.

We drove further south to the very bottom of Everglades National Park and stopped at the water. ENP actually extends to hundreds of "keys" (islands), but we stayed ashore. We were attempting to find salt water crocodiles and came across a pelican.

And here's the crocodile!

There couldn't possibly be any place more appropriate (other than on a key itself) to enjoy Florida Key Lime Pie! I looove key lime pie when done right (which is almost never... must be key lime juice from Florida for it to be worthy of my praise!). Just past the pink visitor's center is water... and in that water are the keys. If we wanted to, we could've taken a boat out to one. There are so many of those little islands everywhere. I just had no idea until we were given a map! We saw about 10 just by looking out from the end of the water. The closest one was easily less than a mile offshore. I stared at the Keys eating Key Lime Pie! It was seriously delicious. Good timing, too. February 28th was my dessert/sugar cutoff!

After the Everglades, we headed up early because we feared lots of traffic. With the extra time before heading to the airport, we checked out a beach at Lauderdale-by-the-sea. We were walking along the beach and noticed hundreds of these washed up all along the shores. Portuguese Man-of-War everywhere! These little guys are super dangerous and can sting humans pretty badly. Needless to say, that's why we saw very few people in the water. They are not jellyfish, I learned, but a siphonophore. They "travel" (though they can't move and are only moved by currents and wind) in groups of 1,000+, so it wasn't weird to see hundreds onshore at the same time.

 
...speaking of Beach Boys songs, did you know Kokomo {the name of the Beach Boy's song I referenced in the title of this post} is actually a fictional island? There is such a thing as Kokomo, Indiana, but no such island. Sandals later went on to use the name at one of their all-inclusive resorts.

The March 1 no sugar, no alcohol, no soda cutoff  has officially begun! I'm on day 3 and doing very well!

And finally... since this was my first cruise ever, here's my take on them:

• It's the middle-class way of overindulgence and luxury. For a good deal, you can have anything you want and have it all catered to you. 
• It's too lazy for me! I like to explore, walk around, and go on hikes. Laying out by a pool, gambling, and eating non-stop isn't really my thing. 
• I thought the food was outrageous-- too much and mostly mediocre. Quality lacks when food is cooked in large quantities. Surely that didn't stop (us) me from eating my weight every night. What is it about free food and all-inclusive deals that make people want to stuff themselves silly? It's only one meal, after all. You're still going to need breakfast no matter how much you eat for dinner. On our normal travel vacations, we often lose track of our mealtimes because we're so busy exploring (and exercising, what's that?) to notice that the clock struck 12 and the free lunch buffet is open.
• It was a cheap way to get-away, but I'm not sure I'd like to go on any more Caribbean cruises-- possibly with friends, but never just the two of us again. I'd consider Europe (Mediterranean) & possibly Alaska.
• I disliked being on a boat with all those people day in and day out. I felt trapped with them. And I was!
• My final piece of criticism is this: I stepped off a boat to the Bahamas. I explored. I stepped back on the boat for lunch (you know, because it's free and huge!). I stepped back off the boat to explore some more. Then back on. It was like I couldn't leave little America behind! For goodness sakes, there was a Johnny Rockets on our ship! I mean, we honestly can't live without that "luxury" for a few days? I didn't like that I wasn't immersed is what I'm trying to say. I like to be immersed and forced to experience culture. But then again I also realize that the Bahamas are just a little over 100 miles off the coast of the United States-- they get all their food and much of their culture from us. So this example may not entirely apply, but the point was made.

I think I'm more of a plan, fly, hotel kind of girl myself. The kind of hotel that isn't moving. I'm not ruling them out forever, but I wasn't overly excited. I was excited for the weather and to get away with my amazing husband, though. And was it worth it for the experience, absolutely! We already tentatively planned a future winter-getaway to fly into Miami/Ft. Lauderdale and drive down to Key West. That's the same exposure to great weather and island living but road-trip style! :)