Quiz: How strong are YOU?

When I was an early teenager, I was obsessed with all teenage girl magazines, especially the ones with all of the quizzes in them.  I subscribed to Teen and Seventeen and every month, my favorite thing to do was to take the quizzes they offered — sometimes there would be an entire issue devoted to these quizzes, which was so exciting I couldn’t even handle it.  It was like I was looking to these quizzes to tell me something about myself, that they would discover something about me that I didn’t already know or give me insight into myself that I wouldn’t have otherwise found.  I guess when you’re 14, you’re just dying for someone to tell you what you’re like and who you are, since you’re just starting to attempt to figure it out and it’s all really confusing.

I’ve heard “you’re so strong” so many times over the last month or 6 weeks and it feels like a result from one of those quizzes.  I can see it now: “Quiz: How strong are YOU in the face of hardship?”  The only difference is that instead of breaking up with my boyfriend that I’ve dated for 6 weeks (which, let’s face it, in early team terms is equivalent to a lifelong marriage), I’ve lost the baby I carried for over 9 months.  And I suppose my result is, “You’re a survivor,” but I’m not sure I believe that about myself.

Strength is a funny term.  Yes, I get up every morning and get dressed and go to work.  Yes, I am making it, but I’m still so sad inside.  I look like I’m doing ok — and maybe I really am, considering I’m just over 6 weeks past the death of my son — but I’m still devastated.  But, maybe that’s what strength means — continuing to do what needs to be done, even when I’m hurting and barely holding it all together.  The crazy part about this is that it doesn’t feel strong.  Most of the time, it feels like I’m just about to fall apart.  It feels like anyone would do what I’m doing because all I’m doing is surviving.  All I’m doing is continuing.  It doesn’t feel optional — it feels like the bare minimum.  But, maybe just surviving now is way stronger than thriving was two months ago, because two months ago, I had no reason not to thrive.  Now, I don’t know when thriving will be back in my vocabulary, even though I know I can survive it.

And I guess that’s the difference between when I was 14 and now.  Now I know more about myself and it hasn’t come from a quiz.  Although, if I could trade, I’d take the quiz version of figuring myself out way before how I’ve had to learn recently.

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Skinny Flong Margaritas

So, I absolutely love the Real Housewives of New York City on Bravo.  And I especially adore Bethenny Frankel, who is (or was) one of the Real Housewives.  Anyway, she came up with this awesome recipe for something she calls a Skinnygirl Margarita and it’s basically a margarita without all the extra sugar and such that comes from sour mix.  Well, her recipe is a little intense — you have to love tequila to drink it.  So, Jed and I made margaritas the other night that are kind of a combination of a regular margarita and a Skinnygirl — and, of course, I named them the Skinny Flong Margarita.

So, here’s how you make them (a batch):

Juice from 8 limes

1 cup Splenda simple syrup (find a simple syrup recipe, sub Splenda for sugar)

1 cup soda water

Tequila — preferably a clear tequila that’s 100% de agave (this means it won’t suck — hopefully) — Patron is a good one to use

Now, here’s the deal:  I’m not really sure how accurate any of these measurements are.  Just mix them together until you get what you think tastes good and pour over ice.  Here’s what ours look like (note this was taken after most of the jar was gone…)

So, a few caveats: 1.  I don’t recommend drinking these alone.  Even drinking the batch with Jed left me with quite a headache in the morning.  2.  I can’t take any blame if they don’t turn out right.  I warned you that the amounts are estimates and that you have to taste to get it to what you want.  3.  If Bethenny’s people threaten to sue me for copyright infringement, this post is gone, so you should probably write down the recipe now.  Just sayin.

I hope everyone is enjoying their Sunday and cheering for the Redskins!

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Little Heartaches

So, one thing I’ve realized about grief is that when you’re really in it, it’s always with you, but there are times when it hits you really hard.  For me, these times are usually when I do something that I haven’t done since before Wilson died.  And it can be the simplest thing — like this morning, it was that I cleaned the way I did when I was still pregnant.  And then my sister and nephew came down and spent the day with me, which was awesome, but also hard because the last time just the two of them came down, I was 39 weeks pregnant.  And we went to lunch at a restaurant I haven’t been to since I was at the end of my pregnancy, which is so silly, but still hard.

And these moments of heartache are almost like earthquakes in that I feel so shaken by them.  It’s almost like a mini panic attack each time — I have to catch my breath, I feel sick, and I am just so overwhelmed by everything.  I have to remind myself, though, that these moments are just moments.  Life is overwhelming for me right now, but I don’t have to live more than what’s just in front of me right now.  I just have to take it one bit at a time — thinking long term at this point is too much.  It’s like how eat an elephant — one bite at a time.  And Jed reminds me that I am doing so much better now than I was a month ago.  He reminded me last night that a month ago, I wasn’t really talking, I couldn’t focus on much, I wasn’t eating.  It was really bad, and I’ve come really far — but it seems that progress may have leveled off for a bit and now I just have to sit with the sadness until enough time passes and the rawness starts to soften.  And waiting until that point sucks.

But, good things have happened this week, too.  I made it through a “week” of work (I have to use that term lightly, seeing as how I actually only worked 20 hours — teehee).  I ate healthy and exercised and lost some of the baby weight (even though I haven’t quite managed to cut out the alcohol yet — I mean, cutting out ALL coping mechanisms at once is a recipe for disaster).  I got to hang out with my sister and nephew (who managed to go from “I don’t like Uncle Jed” to “Now I like him” over the course of about 20 minutes — ahhh, 3 year olds), which was super fun.  And, I managed a double-digit trip to Target for the first time in awhile — so we may not have to start searching for second jobs to support my shopping — at least, not yet (I think Jed’s really happier about that one).

Oh, and my friend (who shall remain nameless) told me the quite possibly the best in-law story I’ve ever heard.  I won’t share the story here, as I’m trying my best to write a blog entry that will truly give it justice, but in order to prepare yourself for the story (assuming I can accomplish the task ahead of me), you should probably check out this video.  (And I just did.)

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First Day Back

Today was my first day back at work and it was awesome… but it kinda sucked, too.  I work with some amazing, wonderfully talented people who are so fun to be around and who truly care about me, not just because of the work I produce but care about me as a person, too.  Seeing and getting to spend time with these people is always fun.  And having something else to put my mind on – something productive – was a blessing.  Feeling that I was (am) a part of something larger than myself (even though it’s not like my job is saving lives) is awesome.

And yet, I was supposed to go back to work with a baby at home.  And I was supposed to be dropping him off at daycare in the morning.  And I was supposed to leave work and be so excited to pick him up.  And I was supposed to cry because I had to spend 8 hours away from him, not because I have to spend the rest of my life away from him.  And I miss all of those things and I’m devastated that I don’t get to have them.  And work is yet another reminder of that.

Mourning, for me, is this very careful balance between grieving the loss of my son and recognizing the blessing it is that I got to have this amazing baby as a very real part of my life for 10 months.  Sometimes I am so devastated and hurt and sad for myself that I literally want to throw myself on the floor like I did as a two year old and kick and scream.  I want to throw the biggest temper tantrum ever and just scream that this isn’t fair, that I’m supposed to have a baby with me now, that I wasn’t supposed to lose him, that Wilson wasn’t supposed to die.  But, just like when I was two, it won’t change anything.  I won’t get what I really want, which is to have Wilson back.  And so I’m left with the memory of him and the time we had with him.  And I am blessed to have that.

I had coffee with a friend of a friend last week who lost her firstborn nine years ago and it was so wonderful to be able to talk to someone who knows what I’m feeling.  And I said to her that I really feel jipped – I feel like I carried this baby and fell in love with him and all I have left of him are some pictures, a footprint and handprint, and a lock of hair.  And that sucks.  And she told me, with the wisdom of someone who is farther along this journey than I, that those pieces aren’t all I’ll have of Wilson in the future.  That I will learn lessons from him and take pieces of him with me in my heart forever.  She said, “I don’t let things bother me anymore – I don’t get upset at little things, because I know what it’s like to go through this, and that’s something that [my baby] taught me.”  And that thought gives me so much hope, because  I do look forward to learning these lessons.  I look forward to having my pain not be so raw.  I look forward to a day when everything isn’t a reminder of my feeling of emptiness.  And, I know that day is coming, I just think it’s going to be awhile.

On a side note, I was able to go shopping last week so that I could have professional, good-looking clothes that actually fit to wear to work today and I felt good about that.  The downside of this is that shopping has definitely been one of my most preferred coping mechanisms.  While better than heroine physically, it’s probably not a whole lot cheaper.  And, as of today, I am giving up alcohol and limiting my carbohydrate intake in an effort to lost some of this hideous baby weight, which should be an interesting experiment, as those are two of my other “go-to” coping mechanisms.  So if I end up doing a “Let’s all donate to get Flong out of the poorhouse” post, please forgive me in advance.  At least it won’t be a “Look for Flong on Intervention” post.  Unless they do interventions for shopaholics…

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New York, New York

This past weekend (Labor Day), Jed and I decided, since I have officially gotten the “activity is OK” blessing from my doctor, that we would drive up to New York (Astoria, Queens, to be specific) to visit Jed’s brother Brendan (my brother-in-law) and Brendan’s wife (our sister-in-law), Meghann.  This was my first real test of Can-I-Enjoy-What-I-Used-To-Love.  And, I’ll be honest, it was tricky and hard.  But, knowing that it would be both tricky and hard, I bought a package of individually packed tissues to take with me everywhere we went.  And then I promptly forgot to take said tissues with me anywhere we went.

The weekend started off, and continued with, pretty much straight wins across the board.  First off, we hit NO TRAFFIC.  What’s that, you say?  On a holiday weekend?  Seriously.  NO TRAFFIC on the way up, except for a minor slow-down caused by some random minor league baseball field around exit 87 in Maryland.  What?

And here are some pics from the drive up of my favorite NY sights:

The Verrazano at night -- taking us into Brooklyn.

The Brooklyn Bridge -- we would've been on this if we were either coming from or going into Manhattan. From Brooklyn. Which we weren't even staying in Brooklyn, so it's a moot point.

We spent most of Saturday in the city — Manhattan — which was really fun.  But, I still have breakdowns randomly and I had a minor one on the train on the way into the city and a more major one when we got back home.  I’m still at a place where I need to cry for awhile sometimes — like, an hour or more.  And that’s just life.

And, I’m still at a place where I feel guilty enjoying myself.  I mean, I know it doesn’t make sense and I know that logically, I shouldn’t, but I still do.  If Wilson hadn’t died, we wouldn’t be up in NYC having fun, so how can I not feel guilty?  But, at the same time, I would’ve traded that trip — and a million other things — to have Wilson here.  It’s a hard thing, this grief, and it doesn’t make sense at all.

Saturday evening we went to one of Mario Batali’s restaurants, Otto, for a yummy pizza/pasta dinner.  It’s not Del Posto, the one that everyone probably thinks of when they think of Mario Batali’s famous NYC restaurant, but it is Del-icious.  (Bad joke.)

Meghann and I at Otto's Bar, waiting for a table -- note my Rachel Zoe ring. Pretty awesome.

The evening was awesome — one of my favorite New York evenings ever and we were so lucky to share it with family and friends.

One of my other favorite sights to see in NYC is…

CAPITAL ONE BANK!!!  As a Capital One employee (in Richmond), seeing our banks (since our bank presence is not strong in Richmond) is really exciting.  At least for me.

Here are some other fun things we saw/did:

Righteous Animal T-Shirt at Astoria Street Fair

As I was taking this picture with my cell phone, I literally overheard a gal about my age say to a woman she was with — I believe it was her mother — “Oh, these shirts are so great.  I always get comments when I wear them.”  Note she said comments, not compliments.

Horse Trailer we followed out of NYC

Is there anything else to be said here?  I mean, what’s a horse trailer even DOING in NYC?  Seriously, this was taken in BROOKLYN.  What?

Our car's DVD player

We discovered two things about our car’s DVD player on this trip.  First, you have to bring DVDs with you to be able to watch them on car rides.  Who knew?  Second, we’ll never actually watch DVDs on this player because it BLOCKS THE REAR WINDOW.  Two fails in one.

So, that was our trip to New York.  It was great.  It was hard.  It awesome.  It was sad.  And, honestly, I think that’s just how life is going to be for awhile — awesome but sad.  Great but hard.  I’m not going to be OK with losing Wilson anytime soon — in fact, I’ll probably never be OK with it.  I miss him like crazy all the time.  My heart hurts to not be able to hold him.  Yet, I still get to live this awesome life.  And one thing that Wilson has shown me is that life is both precious and not guaranteed and so I have to live it because Wilson can’t.

PS — Sorry the photos kinda stink in this post — they were taken with my new *awesome* Blackberry.

PPS — The ride home took us less time than the ride up.  5 hours, 45 minutes — you can barely make it through the airports that quickly.

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One Month

Today marks the one month anniversary of the best and worst day of our lives.  The best day because it is the one month anniversary of the birth of our first son, Wilson Campbell Kennedy.  The worst day because it is also the one month anniversary of his death.  And, since his death technically came before his birth, it can be a hard idea to wrap my head around.  A month ago today, I was so excited to be going to the hospital.  But that was short-lived, as I was immediately devastated with the news of the death of our son.  A month ago today, I got to spend four precious hours with my baby boy.  I was amazed and in awe of this little being that grew inside of me.  But, a month ago today, I also had to say goodbye to that baby, which feels like an impossible task as a new mother.

But, this past month is also a story of survival.  Jed and I have made it through the first month.  We have grieved, cried, and celebrated over the life of this baby and are learning to make it through our new reality in which he is not with us physically.  We are surviving.  We are making it.  Our new reality is not our choice, but it is our path and we are making it through.

People tell me I am strong, but the truth is, I don’t feel strong most of the time.  But, one thing I have discovered in the last month is that you can either let your grief define you or you can let it shape you.  I want this grief to shape me — shape me in some way that makes me more able to love, more compassionate towards others, and more aware of the gift that life is.  I don’t want it to define me, though — I don’t want it to break me.  I want this anniversary to be the anniversary of a moment that changed my life forever, but I don’t want it to be the defining moment of my life.  Life is full of moments, and while this may have been one of the worst ones, it also was one of the best — my son came into the world.  I created a being.  That being was amazing.

And so, having said that, I just want to take a moment to celebrate my son.  He was beautiful and perfect and wonderful and and with us for way, way too short of a time.  But, he will always be in our hearts and he will always be our son.

Thanks to all of our family, friends, co-workers, and neighbors who have poured out their love upon us over the past month.  Jed and I still consider ourselves very blessed in this life, even though this loss feels unbearable at times.   We will survive, and our love for each other continues to grow stronger as we manage through this together.  Our largest blessing, in addition to the honor and privilege of being Wilson’s parents, is that we have each other.

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Good News

So, Jed and I went to see our doctor yesterday for the 4 week check-up and we got some really great news:

1.  I’m healing well.  The incision is looking great and I am, overall, healthy.

2.  I can start driving and exercising again.  This is AMAZING because I can now have my independence back and start to become myself again.  Being a mommy is, I’m sure, all-encompassing, but being a mommy without a baby is devastating and can be pretty all-encompassing in a not-so-healthy way.  Being able to do simple things (like driving myself to the gym and working out — which I did this morning!) just helps to put me back together, even if it is little pieces at a time.

3.  Jed and I can start having babies as soon as we’re ready — our doctor would like for us to wait 4 months (which means early December), but essentially, I am healthy enough to go for it again and soon.  I want to use the next 3 months to mourn Wilson, to get healthy, and then get ready to give Wilson a little brother/sister.  This baby won’t replace Wilson — nothing could replace him — but I know that having a baby will help to heal my heart a little bit more.

4.  We are going to NYC for the weekend to visit our brother & sister in law (Jed’s bro & his wife).  I am so excited because I LOVE New York and I need a break from Richmond.  We had thought about doing this before, but were unsure that I would be able to handle all of the walking than NYC requires, but now that I have the OK from our Dr, we both feel like it will be an awesome trip.

Finally, before I head out, I wanted to mention that my friend from college, Kirsten, has a blog called “I Still Hate Pickles” — see it on my blogroll to the right — and she asked me to be a guest blogger to tell my story about Wilson.  So here it is.  Take a moment to read it if you’d like — I was really honored that she asked me.

Life has been getting a bit easier the last couple of days.  I still bawled in the waiting room at the Dr’s office yesterday seeing all of the very pregnant women and was envious when our Dr had to leave for a few minutes (literally 20) to go deliver a baby, but I am starting to see the blessing that Wilson is before just being the sadness.  I hope this continues.

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Finding hope (even when fate sucks)

Four weeks ago today, I was getting ready to have a baby.  And I was feeling him kick and move in my belly.  And I was talking to him and begging him to come out.  Every night before going to bed, I thought that that night might be the night that I would go into labor.  It’s so surreal being in the last stages of pregnancy for your first baby because you don’t know what to expect.  And you’re so excited because any minute, you’re going to have a baby, but you’re also really, really scared because parents LOVE to tell you how hard it is at first — it’s sort of like the seniors hazing the freshmen.

So, when Jed and I headed to the hospital on August 7 (24 hours before we were supposed to go to start the induction process), we were pretty excited.  I was a little nervous because I hadn’t felt him move all day, but I figured that I was making a big deal out of nothing and that everything would be fine.  And in ten minutes, our entire life changed.  There was no heartbeat.  Our baby had died.

And I have to say that life has been pretty hard since (as probably evidenced in my posts).  I miss my baby constantly.  I do things to distract myself — I’ve had more manicures and pedicures in the last 3 1/2 weeks than I think I did in the entire year prior — I try to do lots of things I enjoyed before Wilson died and things I still enjoy somewhat.  But, overall, I still feel really lonely not having my baby.  I felt about Wilson the same way I’m sure any new mom feels about their baby — so in love — perfectly, completely in love — and so amazed that this perfect being had grown inside of me.  And so to have that perfect being be given to me and taken away from me almost at the same time is so painful, especially when it is the result of something so random as an accident.  It seemed like fate decided to be exceptionally cruel to us.  And right now, it feels like the pain of this loss will never go away.

And, yet, we have been so supported and so loved by all of those around us.  My good friend said to me today, “It’s like an entire community lost a baby.  We all were expecting Wilson, we all wanted Wilson.  We don’t feel it like you feel it, but we all feel the loss.”  And so, even though I may not know what all the afterlife entails, I do really pray that wherever Wilson’s spirit is right now, that he knows how much he was loved and wanted, and that he knows how much he is still loved and missed.  And, while I know that my pain won’t go away soon, I do know that I am not suffering alone, even though I may feel lonely.

And so there has to be hope.  I may not feel it, but I have to know in my head that it exists.  There is hope in that Wilson is loved so dearly.  There is hope in that we can still have more babies.  And there is hope because we will always keep Wilson a part of our family and Wilson will always, always be deeply loved and wanted and missed.

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