Hope

It was what I had last year when I would look at Bridget and worry that she looked like Dominic did -- weak and floppy and so lethargic. One year ago and we still were living in oblivion. Unaware of how the whirlwind of agony would come to wrench so fiercly around our hearts again. Here I am a year later, and worried that she looks like Dominic did, like Bridget did -- weak and floppyand so lethargic. And it doesn't matter. Just like there were no answers for Dominic. No answers for Bridget. There are no answers for Sarai. My heart is in a panic for the child I tried so hard not to love. And I love her more deeply because the depths of my heart were left unguarded, exposed by the holes ripped into the fleshy tablets of my heart when Dominic died. When Bridget died. I try to guard against the powers of the universe, but I have no strength. I am helpless. Absolutely and completely helpless. All I can do is to sit here. To watch her and wait. And hope. Hope that all hope will not be lost.

Moments

For a moment it was hopeful. It was okay again. Now it is all that it seemed a year ago. And too many triggers. Weeping should only last a moment. It is morning, and where is the joy? I am so worried and so afraid and trying to still be hopeful. I thought everything was better again. I sit in the room and I hear their babies cry. Their babies playing. Why aren't my babies waking up!? I cover my ears and I still hear them. I can't stop myself from going back there where we were with Bridget. And I didn't want her to die and leave her there and walk by all those rooms with their babies that are crying and playing. But I have to walk by their babies, and mine is gone. I am just so sad, so worried, so sick about it all.

Here

Is she here? Does she hear me?

Why are we here again? Why can't I hear the answers?

Birthday

Here in the hospital. Each of my children had the chance to live during the day we celebrate my birthy. Bridget was born too late and died to soon to experience that with her dad. Now they keep confusing Bridget's birthday with Sarai. Here in the hospital where Bridget died. "Her birthday is July 18th, 2007?" No! That's her sister's birthday! "She's 13 months old?" No! She's two months old. Bridget would be 13 months, but she died when she was two months old. I wanted cake for my birthday. I wanted to have the chance to celebrate with all of my children living. Now I'm really worried. Is there a portal in the universe that opens up on this day, when I came into the world? Inviting, enticing, my little ones away? An open door that is calling them?


I was born just in time to meet my grandma before she died -- September 10th. And September 8th, did she beckon my sweet Dominic, my beautiful Bridget through a weakness in the fabric of the world? How do I fight against it all to keep their little sister here, whole and healthy? I am so weak, so helpless.

Peaches

Yesterday, I finally got around to trying to thin the peach tree. I usually go out in the spring, spray the dormant oil before the buds come out. Then soon after the blossoms open. That's when the thinning is the easiest. But this year I was too distracted.

I've avoided the peach tree since last September. The peaches begin ripening the end of August, and are abundant and sweet by early September. To have fresh fruit right outside your door is such a treat. Though our tree is quite young, we planted it the Spring after Dominic died, it still produces a good crop. From the end of August through the beginning of September, I was eating fresh peaches.

There was a storm the first week of September. The wind and the rain forced some of the peaches to surrender and fall to the ground. I went out, early in the morning. I left Bridget in the house for that short time while I gathered peaches from the ground.

And that night we came home from the doctor's office with Bridget. That night I had a dream. It was about peaches. About how they were infested with worms. And poisonous. It was just an odd dream, and I didn't really think too much of it in the morning. The morning of Saturday, September 8th.

I'd forgotten about them that whole week we were at the hospital hoping for the miracle we didn't get. We came home, and there were the peaches. More had fallen to the ground. Was it a storm or had they just given up?

And then I remembered the dream. I wondered if it had been meant to warn me. If it had been meant to give me answers to this world of uncertainty.

All those peaches on the ground. Some were shriveling, some were infested with slugs and insects. I remembered when Dominic died how I'd had an apple in the pocket of my coat. I'd forgotten about it, hung the coat in the closet. It had been weeks until I wore that coat, and reaching into the pocket to keep my hands warm found the decaying apple. It made me think about Dominic in the ground. How his little body must be so distorted, and it scared me.

The peaches are growing. I thinned some of them out, though I couldn't reach them all and couldn't finish the job I started. So much of my life is not finishing what I've started. Little blooms taken off the tree too soon. I don't know if having fresh peaches outside the door will be such a treat this year. So many ways it reminds me of what we've lost. And I wonder about that dream. And if it would be safe to eat them.

When Bridget died, so much changed. There has been so many ways our lives have been changed that no one can even understand, or even try to comprehend. I can't express even the most obvious impacts, and even the slightest of things have a different manifestation now.

I miss Bridget. And I miss taking for granted the sweet peaches on the tree.

Trance

Bridget had her "trance state". She looked around the room, but not looking at anything in the room. She smiled. A lot. Sometimes we called it "talking with angels", because it appeared she was very actively engaged in some sort of conversation, but not with anyone who was present. It was odd. It was in many ways disturbing, but we thought it was also cute to see her smile so much.

When Bridget was in the PICU dying, the neurologists told us that it seemed very suspicious of seizure activity. All we had was a few, not so good videos, a lot of pictures of her "smiles", and our descriptions. They didn't have enough brain activity to do an EEG. It isn't so cute anymore.

And now her little sister does the same thing.



And it still isn't cute anymore.