Sometimes and Always.

Sometimes I wish it hadn't happened to me. I was sitting on my sister's couch last weekend, and I looked in her kitchen and saw Ruby smiling down from the fridge. And then I thought, "Dangit, why does that have to be MY baby that people hear a sad story about?" It was much, much easier to hear the sad stories, than to BE the sad story.

Sometimes I wish it hadn't happened to me. When someone asks how many children I have...I wish I could happily reply "TWO!", and not get awkward when I am asked their ages. The words, "Our youngest would be turning 2 in January...but..." hurts, every time. Sometimes I don't feel like explaining to strangers, so I just leave out the "but" of the explanation. It was easier to reply "2 and a 1/2 and a newborn" with a big fat smile on my face!

Sometimes I wish it hadn't happened to me. When I look at pictures from when Ruby is here, I long for my old life. I long for the old me. There are times when I feel like a bystander in my own life. Times when I know something should make me laugh and or bring me joy...and I just can't feel it. I wish I would have been protected from the reality of just how fragile life is.

Sometimes I wish it hadn't happened to me. I find an image of myself holding my baby girl close to me. Her tiny hand resting on my arm, my shoulder, my face, or my own hand. I realize that I had her, she was real, I use to hold her and nurse her and love on her! I could touch her? It seems so foreign to me now. I walked into my house after a busy afternoon and looked at our family picture on the wall, and Ruby almost looked photo-shopped in. It was the strangest feeling. It just looked so odd to see my husband HOLDING Ruby.

Sometimes I wish it hadn't happened to me. I wish I didn't feel resentful towards mothers publicly complaining about their children. It's normal to complain about your children, yes!, but when I am aching for my own child to just BE, hearing about teething, pooping, messes, and sleepless children makes me a little crazy inside. Do you know how lucky you are? No. I really do not believe anyone can realize what they really have until it is gone. I know that I didn't. If I had known, OH, if I had know!... I would have never put that baby down. I would have taken a thousand more pictures. I would have taken video,  after video, after video! I miss her mean cry. I miss changing diapers, and I miss sleepless nights. I miss well checks, and the 10 seconds of crying after a shot! I wish I had my two here, and that I was stressed about all the small things. I wish I was the mom complaining, because it sure beats having none of that to complain about.

Sometimes I wish it hadn't happened to me. But it did. It happened. It HAPPENED. My child, my daughter, my baby; died. She was here, and then she was not. In an instant, her heart stopped beating and just like that...she was gone.

Always? Always I am grateful she is mine. It would have been worse to not have had her at all. I am constantly amazed at her far reaching influence. It is a confirmation to me, that she did in fact live, and that she did in fact fulfill her purpose of touching the lives of those who learn about her. I am always, always thinking about her, trying to better myself, trying to become more like her. Ruby? She is always. She is always mine, always around me, and always will be. And that makes a little more do-able.







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For those of you that do not know me in "real-life", I feel like I need to explain something. This blog use to be a place for me to record the stories of my family. Since Ruby came, and went, it has slowly become a blog about her. For right now, it does not feel right to post my feelings about her, and then the next day blog about a fun vacation or a TV show, etc. I have gotten a few emails from sweet people wishing I would feel happiness at some point. I want you guys to know that I DO! We are happy most of the time. We sing, we dance, we laugh! A LOT! We have spent a lot of this year traveling, spending time as a family, and finding joy in the things that we have around us. For some reason, when I am feeling down, this is my place. I feel like Ruby is known on these pages, and it feels appropriate to chronicle the continuation of her legacy here and also my journey of grief. This, oddly, is my safe place.

Ruby Jane Wristbands

 

 

A few months before Ruby passed away, we had these wristbands made for people who wanted to show their support for her. It has become a little something more now. I love wearing my wristband, and hope everyday that someone asks me about it, so I can tell them about my girl. We send them to whoever would like one, for free. We only ask that you will consider becoming an Organ Donor, and you take the steps to become one if you decide it is right for you. We also ask that you share her story as often as you can. Ruby was here for such a short time, and I know that she was meant to touch people, and give them a different outlook on life. She may be gone, but she is still touching anyone who hears her courageous story. 

We chose Romans 12:12  which says, "Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer;" For me, it was my motto while she was sick. It gave me hope that maybe she would be healed, encouraged me to have patience that the time would come for her transplant, and solidified my faith in prayer, and that I was being heard. The scripture takes on a different meaning to me now. I have a hope that I will be with Ruby again someday. I am encouraged to be patient through this trial and until I am reunited with her again, and to not give up.

If you would like a wristband, please fill out this quick form with your information, and what size and color you would like (we also have grey). We will be sending these out very soon.

  

Form found here: CLICK!

Forgetting for an instant

In the first weeks, and months her absence was seen everywhere. Swing in the corner, binkies in my purse, bottles in the dishwasher,  stained onsies in the hamper. Not only was her absence seen everywhere, but it was felt constantly, all day long. In that first week or two, several times during the day, my breasts would quickly sting, and I would think, "Time to nurse!" only to realize there was no baby to nurse. I remember waking up and thinking it was odd I had not heard her cry yet. Only to realize I would never hear that cry again. After I tuck Kate in at night, I longingly stare at Ruby's crib while lingering in the doorway. I used to walk in there, looking for a baby to re-swaddle for the night. When she was here, I was use to getting sleep when it might come, and once I was awake in the morning, I hit the ground running. Meds, TPN, nursing, naps, diapers, Kate, baths, doctor appointments, etc, etc. In the weeks after she left, it was so quiet. I didn't know what to do with myself. So much of who I was, was burried with my daughter. The daughter and sister that our family had adored more than anything, and centered our life around, was gone. She was so obviously gone. 

Those feelings and thoughts of forgetting she is gone have mostly subsided, so it surprised me the other day when those familiar feelings pained my heart once more. It was a Sunday afternoon. Kate was taking a nap for the first time in months. I was waking up from my own nap on the couch and looked at my husband still snoozing. The trees were blowing outside, and the thought of what a perfectly happy Sunday afternoon it was, crossed my mind. In my mind's eye I saw Kate and Ruby both napping, knew Matt would be asleep for awhile, and I was content to start browsing my recipes for a dinner idea. It occured to me that she was gone, almost the exact second that I forget and thought she was still here. 

A few minutes later I was standing over a steaming pot, mindlessly stirring its contents, when I happen to glance at the time, and again, I forgot. I was just about to say, "Hey Matt, can you go get Ruby up from her nap." It surprised me. It surprised me, and it hurt, and I am sure my dinner was a little extra salty from some rogue tears, but I was also happy. I am happy that her presence is felt so strongly, that it practically feels like she never left at moments. I savor that feeling. I savor the feeling that she is here, that she is still part of this family, forever. 

As unpleasant as it is to forget and then remember that my child has passed away, that second of forgetting is pretty amazing.