2020

 It’s been a hiccup since I blogged... again. Getting into habits is hard. 

The last month has been rough. Liam hasn’t been sleeping well, so I’m trying to get him into a groove. It’s hard when the 3 older babies don’t leave us alone long enough to get him to sleep. 

Josh is at work, the kiddos are outside, playing. I really should be cleaning the house, but I don’t want to. What I want to do is just throw most things away and start over again. Maybe not the big furnishings or the sentimental items, just clothes and junk. 

Being married to a semi hoarder is hard in such a cramped space. I need to just do it. 

I’ve been trying to do scripture study with the boys, and I did really well for 2 weeks. Then, it frizzled because of the need to get kiddos on a schedule. I also need to get the kiddos school room set up, but to do that requires dejunking the “office”, which has been overwhelming since my pregnancy with Xander, when it went completely off the rails. 

Wish me luck. 

It’s been a while...

The last post I shared was before my youngest babies were born. 

That’s nutty. 

I guess at the very beginning, I should be sure to post the baby birth stories so I have a record somewhere. 

I’ll see where I should start. 

But, for now? 

I’ll just pray that I make sense. 

“Even if there are these times that this life will just shit you, run over you or when this life just doesn't make sense in a minute. The ride goes on. This life will continue.” ― Happy Positivity Blankly Ahead

It's been a crazy ride since I really last posted.  I want to keep these memories of my babies growing up, but I always feel this sense of dread when I try to blog or write in my journal.  I think it's because I know the importance of now and being here, but honestly, it's hard to be present when I'm so distracted by so many things.

Other than my post of my babe being born- only part of it mind you, the last time I wrote was roughly 6 weeks after my mom passed away. My mom has been gone for 15 months.  The longest and shortest amount of time.  I really didn't understand what people meant when they said that it would happen.

But life does go on.  On February 1, 2015, I gave birth to Xander Rusch Rowley.  His birth story will follow shortly after I finish Sloan's.

I've been in school and attempting to understand philosophy which is bunk.  It is so hard for me to fully comprehend it.

I've finally put a finger onto what my feelings are and I called my doctor to see if we could figure out what we can do to help.

I've successfully breast fed Xander for over 4 months- I feel a huge sense of accomplishment in that regard because I could not breast feed Sloan for that long.

Life does move on.  Life does regain some happiness after such a loss.

But there are days when I can't seem to catch my breath when I think of my mom passing away.  It's hard to push her final moments out of my head because I want them there but they are almost too painful to relive.

But most days, I cry when I'm missing her- not when I'm happy and talking about how amazing she was.

My little sister is coming home from her mission in 23 days. 23 days.

Sorry for my nonsensical update. But that's how my brain is right now.
I think I'll go frost my cupcakes now.

A Birth Story- David Sloan

So, a lot has changed since the last post..

I had written out a really *REALLY* long post but then it got deleted and honestly, I lost all motivation.  

Suffice to say, life has changed.

On May 18, 2013 the baby that I had been growing in my belly made his appearance.  

David Sloan Rowley was born.

David Sloan Rowley  5/18/2013 8lbs 15oz 21 inches long

The nurse helped me onto the bed- she seemed surprised that 

I woke up on Friday, May 17th feeling as though my period had started.  Thursday, I had passed my mucus plug, so I wasn't surprised when I woke up feeling off.

Something was going to happen-- and soon.  

The day wore on and I went about my day... lunch with my friends, having a friend come over and get a blessing from my Husband. The evening wore on and we got a really late dinner at Taco Bell.  We went to our dear friends, Scott and Shelly Sackett and played Bohnanza.  While playing, I was having contractions.  Shelly was timing them and she smartly told us to go to the hospital.  Part of my brain was freaking out- no way was this happening, but calmly, I realized that it was.  Before we left, Husband and I received blessings from Scott.  I don't remember what it was that I was promised but I was ready-ish.  Husband drove us to Orem Community Hospital and we got there around 12:45a.  After getting undressed and checked to see how far I was, (2 cm and 90% effaced) I was told to stay so that they could see if I would be progressing.  An hour or so after being checked, they sent me home around 3a.  Off we went.  On our way home, I got a call from the nurse and was told that my purse was there.  I told her that I would come get it in the morning.  

Once home, I ran from the car down the stairs, stripping as I went.  I figured that I was going to be wanting to be horizontal after the morphine shot.  I lay down and Husband lay down right next to me, falling into a deep sleep.  (Poor guy was exhausted... he had been up since 5a on Friday morning) I, on the other hand, lay in bed, contracting. I remember thinking that the morphine wasn't kicking in.  Contractions kept coming in waves.  I think I fell asleep between contractions- which I always thought was a crap story when I heard it from other people- and breathed thru the rest.  I lay and labored in the dark morning hours, listening to my husband breathing and snoring beside me realizing that this baby was going to be born... soon.  The thought was terrifying and exciting at the same time.  As time wore on, my leg, independent from conscious thought, lifted up every time a contraction would come.  Then, before I realized what I was doing, I was trying to push.  This startled me.  I reached over and woke my husband up. Only 3 1/2 hours of sleep, poor guy.  I remember telling him it was time to go to the hospital.  As he slowly woke up, the adrenaline not quiet coursing thru yet, I contracted.  As soon as it was done, I waddled upstairs.  I had felt something between my legs, but not knowing what it was, I started to freak out.  I went to the bathroom and I touched, what I thought was my baby's head, but what turned out to be the amniotic sac.  As I sat on the toilet, contracting, my husband groggily asked me if there was anything else he needed to grab before we left.  I calmly told him that I thought I had touched our child's head.  All color drained from his face, the adrenaline starting to really wake him up now.  I pulled my robe around me tighter, slid flip flops onto my puffy pregnant feet, and walked out to the car, enjoying the early morning storm.  

We got into the car, husband driving.  He told me that I didn't need to worry about putting my seat belt on, but I felt strongly to keep it on due to my ingrained habit of buckling in regardless of travel length.  We drove along the 2 miles to the hospital.  As we arrived, I asked Josh to get me a wheelchair.  He, not being sure of what I asked, clarified, reminding me of a story similar to my friend.  As I was wheeled in I told the lady asking me to sign in that something was happening and that I would sign papers after this baby of mine arrived.  As they wheeled me back into the triage room, they handed me the paper gown.  Before the door was even shut, I was pulling my robe off, putting the paper gown on.  The entire time, during each contraction, my left leg would bounce uncontrollably.  

...

To be continued

“You endure what is unbearable, and you bear it. That is all.” ― Cassandra Clare

It's been 6 weeks, 3 days, and 2 hours since my mom left this world.

I miss her.

Often, throughout the day, I'll say a very simple prayer.

"God, I miss her."

Uttering those words allows the tears to fall down my cheeks.  It allows my heart admit how much I miss her.  How much saying goodbye hurt me.  It brings a rush of anger and frustration and jealousy.

"God, I miss her."

I know many may see this phrase as a swear, but it's not.  It's a plea to Him to let her know how much I miss her.

As a family, we experienced a miracle that we had been praying for.  It wasn't the miracle we wished and prayed for; it was the miracle we needed.

On Wednesday, March 12, we gathered as a family at my parent's home.  We sat around, some eating dinner extremely late, knowing that the next day we would tell the doctors and nurses that had so lovingly cared for our mother for the past few weeks that we were agreed to discontinue life support from our beloved momma.

My uncle and his wife and daughter flew in from California to say goodbye.  My aunt came in from Colorado.  My grandparents from Nebraska came as well.

People always roll their eyes at me when I say she is the favorite.

But it's truth.

She's the favorite sister, daughter, friend, momma, aunt.  She is the favorite grandma and was my most favorite person in the entire world aside from my husband and son, and even then, she gave them a run for their money.

We decided to say goodbye.

"God, I miss her."

After we had talked with the doctors about her condition and how she was never going to improve much more than what she had, the doctors allowed us to bring our children into the Neuro Shock Trauma ICU, where the children and siblings had spent much of their time in, to say goodbye to Grandma.

I am grateful that my sister-in-law was there when I was able to bring my sweet son into the room.  She was able to capture moments that I will treasure forever.

6 weeks, 3 days and 2 hours later, my tears are still as hot and sorrowful as they were that day.

Just as a warning, there are pictures of my Momma on her 2nd to last day here on Earth.  Her head was shaved, tubes were coming from her mouth and nose, but she is just as beautiful to me then as she has been for my entire life.

It's just hard to see her attached to machines.

"God!!! I miss her!"

I am so grateful for the atonement.  I am grateful for the priesthood.  I am grateful that we honored my beautiful Momma's wishes by letting her go.  My entire life, whenever the topic of living on machines came up, my mother very adamantly stated that she never wished to live her life like that.

She stayed behind to say goodbye.

I wish she had stayed still.

I cry and sniffle every day...

I'm sure I always will.

Goodbye to you my momma,
Goodbye to you, my friend.
I am looking forward to the day,
when you can hold me again.

Wanting so desperately for her to hug me and hold me.

Kissing her silky soft weathered hand.... 

Having my momma open her eyes to see my babe.

He knew he was experiencing something that would change the course of our lives forever.

This one is one of my favorites 

My momma served without end.  I'm so glad Liza captured this picture.

Kissing Grandma

My Grandparents saying goodbye to their beloved daughter.

"God is closest to those who have a broken Heart." ~Jewish Proverb

It's been almost a year since I've written anything. Honestly, I wish I was better. Mommy blues hit us all differently, and for me, it was retreating into a shell that I, at one time, thought I had abandoned.

But, I'm not here to write about Mommy Blues. Or about my sweet baby boy that is almost 10 months old.... I'm here to write how my heart is breaking and how I don't know how to make it stop.

February 23, 2014
Started out as a normal Sunday.  My mom had been in the ER the night before last and sent home last night.  They didn't find anything in her GI as they were thinking.  She had thrown up blood, (we think) and wasn't feeling right... but seeing as they didn't find anything, sent her home.  I should have gone to see her, but I had errands to run.  Damn errands.

Sunday, like I had said, started out normally enough.  We got ready and arrived to the chapel of my husband's family to hear my youngest brother-in-law give his farewell talk because he was leaving to the MTC on March 5,2014. After church, we went and enjoyed food and company of relatives.  I got a call that my mom was going back into the ER because she wasn't coherent and wasn't feeling well.  My thoughts were, well, hopefully they find something this time and make her feel better.  End of thought.

Later on that evening, after we had crashed home because babe needed to go down and my husband wasn't feeling super great, I got a call that would forever change my life.

"Mom's has a brain aneurysm.  Keep calm, and call Karla.  I'll let you know if there are changes or if they're going to do surgery tonight.  I'll be in the ER with Mom."  I called back later, having already taken a sleeping pill because I'd had a headache coming on and wanted to sleep it away.  "Mom isn't having surgery tonight, but tomorrow morning."

At this point, I didn't know what to expect.  I went to bed, trusting that it was a minor one and that the surgery would be small.

Monday morning, Husband went to work. I was home all day with the babe as my entire family was at the hospital, waiting.  I watched my 2 nieces, daughters of my sister who had driven down from Vernal that same morning.  I cried. We watched movies and ate lunch.  I cried again. On and off all day, tears just would fill my eyes.
 This wasn't going to be easy.

Once my husband came home, I set off for the hospital.  Dropped my nieces off at my parent's house with their brothers, got gas in my car, since the light had been going off since yesterday. Drove down to the hospital.  On the radio, I heard Katy Perry's "Unconditional" .  Out came hot tears of fear and frustration. Disbelief and anger were things that I was clinging to.  I got to the hospital, got into the elevator and went to the Neuro Trauma Shock unit on the 2nd floor.  I step off the elevator, dazed and right into the arms of my dad, who shared an awkward hug with me.  We're not particularly close... I'm more of a Mommy's girl thru-and-thru.

We waited. And waited.  Even though Momma was out of surgery, they had to bring her into her room and get all of the tubes into her and out of her.  Wrap her head in a turban of gauze.  And all the while, we waited.  Every face was splotchy with dried tears.  Strained laughter and small talk reign supreme in the waiting room on that floor.  And we waited some more.

After what felt like eternity, my brother, his wife, and my dad all went and saw her.  My beautiful Momma.  I waited my turn.  As I walked into her room, I couldn't see her.  I couldn't see my beautiful Momma.  Her hair was shaved off.  Tubes ran from her mouth and the top of her head.  The hot tears returned with a vengeance that couldn't be controlled.  I gingerly walked around the bed to the other side, where the tubes were not obstructing her soft face.  -- and there she was, my beautiful strong amazing mother, lying in a semi-restful state.  The turban was worse than seeing her shorn head. And I took her soft hand, weathered and calloused from the harsh winter and work, and held it to my face as the tears came down.  Why wouldn't they stop?

I prayed.  I prayed that she would wake up.  I prayed to want God's will as my own.  I prayed that I could at least say good bye.  My heart broke into a million pieces that Monday.

I had to let others have a turn to hold my momma's hand.  I left the room and went back to the waiting room to wait some more.  I waited with my little sister and she let others go before her.  I waited until most everyone had left.  Then, when I felt like I could steal another moment, I went back into her room... my momma that raised me and is the example of service that I have had in my life, and I just watched her.  I looked onto her soft face and just cried.

Now, it's been 2 weeks since the surgery.  She woke on the Thursday after surgery and has talked to most everyone.  Apparently, my little sister asked her if she wanted to see me, to which she responded yes.

But whenever I'm there, her eyes remain closed.  She doesn't seem to want to talk to me.  Other than the Tuesday that she looked and saw me, I haven't really talked to her.

So, my heart is still broken.  People can't quite decide what we are going to do from here.  We are praying. We are hoping.

But my heart is still broken.

A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten and the future worth living for. ~ Author Unknown

I should be starting dinner- but I have the most difficult part done, so I figure I can sit and write for a bit before my memories all fade away.

As of today, Baby R is due in 12 days.  That is weird.  I remember vividly around Christmas time, going to Husband's work party in Provo, driving along and telling him that I was 16 weeks along- which meant I was 4 weeks away from being halfway done, and the look of surprise on his face that followed. 

Once I hit 20 weeks, and it was confirmed that he was going to be a boy, I remember thinking that it was weird I was growing a penis.  I remember thinking how fast the first 20 weeks had gone.  I was looking forward to being in a new semester at school. 

Finals hit when i was about 35 weeks along. 

Then, Ashlynn got married when I hit 37.5 weeks.

Baby sister Ashlynn is married.

Weird. 

It was a stressful day, full of confusion for the family but for them, I'm sure it was only the solidifying of their love for each other that will continue to grow.

It was a stressful weekend because they chose Manti Temple to be sealed together.  That's a far drive for a 9 month pregnant woman to do.

And here I am.  38.5 weeks along.

No sooner feeling prepared than the day I found out we were going to be adding to our family of 2.  We'll now be a family of 3. 

I'm so excited.  But as Husband and I were talking, there's this small part of us that is going to miss the "us-ness" of us. 

But, God knows where we need to be and we are following Him and His timing.  Do we question- sometimes, but I think all of us do.  However, the questions have never been, "what are you thinking?" and more along the lines of "How do we do this when we can't even do (insert something here)".

However, my Mom also had a total knee replaced.

That threw a wrench in the plans.

But it will be good.  She needed to have it done, I just wish it could be done later.  But here we are.  And here is where we'll stay until God tells us otherwise.

Life is good.  Stressful, but good.