whirlwind...

What an emotional rollercoaster this past month has been. 5 years has been a tough anniversary. We're far enough out that most days we've accepted that Keely is gone and it seems so far from having held her and yet far from holding her again.

I'm not sure what it is about this 5 year mark. The days were the same as they were that year, a Monday, a Wednesday and this Saturday is 5 years from her burial. I don't know if it's some silent marking of grief that is like a rite of passage. I don't know if maybe it's this heart wrenching every year, but this year was rough. Easter came and went, just as it did that year. I lost myself in love for my sweet living children and how lucky we are to be their parents. I lost myself in love and grief for our precious girl we wish could've been with us.

We are so lucky that our friends and family remember alongside us. I know that many on this heartbroken road don't have that luxury.

Her balloons were released into a gorgeous, sunny sky and sent straight up to Heaven. Her cake was make, decorated and eaten. Her Easter basket was filled.

And she was missed. So, so, so missed.

XOXO

perfect quote for her final moments...

" There was no noise, no tremble, just peace. Oh god. I realize as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life."

~Steel Magnolias

It was a Monday then too.

This time, 5 years ago, Keely still kicked away.

I went into my regular doctor's appointment. We did the usual check up, everything seemed great. Then she got the doppler out and found that precious heartbeat. It seemed... slow.

She thought it must be the machine so we used the portable ultrasound machine that was already in the room. There was that heartbeat again but it didn't satisfy the doctor. We made the trek down the hall to the big ultrasound room. Walking down the hallway, I thought to myself "I could find out the sex!". I still had no idea. None. I knew the heartbeat was slow but it was there.

The doctor puts me in the ultrasound room with the technician and shut the door. We watch in complete silence until it is apparent that the slow heartbeat is slowing down even more and under her breath, the technician whispers "oh my god". I hold out hope until the very last beat and then the tears overtake me. The technician just shakes her head no and I can see the tears have overtaken her as well. She leaves the room. She left the image of our girl up on the ultrasound screen, now completely silent, completely still.

I remember those moments like they happened yesterday, maybe even better than I used to now that the shock has worn off.

5 years ago, our lives were irreparably changed. A defining moment in life.

We miss you, Keely Rae! But we love you even more <3

5 years ago today and tomorrow and 5 years ago on Easter and her birthday and...

This day 5 years ago, Keely was alive and well, kicking and dancing in my belly. 5 years ago today, we were remembering the passing of my grandmother who had passed on this day in 1991. 5 years ago today, we had no idea. None.

We had gone to my parents' town, to church and to tour a home. The realtor and I joked about finding out the sex. She was pregnant too, due about the same time I was. Her daughter will be 5 soon. I will visit my daughter's grave. I felt fine. I had been to the doctor the week before because something didn't feel right but I couldn't quite figure out what. At that appointment, we heard her sweet, precious heartbeat. She was perfect. My mind had been put at ease. All was well for 4 more days.

Today, 5 years ago, was the last day we knew complete, naive happiness. There is happiness now, but there is always someone missing. I don't really remember who I was before. I don't remember what "it couldn't happen to me" felt like.

XOXO

memories...

Some of the memories are hard to remember, not that I can't remember well but that I remember too well and some of them are just plain hard. I've decided that they're also too precious to forget. I'll record them here so my children and grandchildren can know even after I'm gone.

Boston, Keely's big brother, was not even 2 yet when she died. I remember him in his little suit at the funeral, the same one we'd purchased that year for him to wear at Easter. When we bought it we had no idea...

An almost two year old at a visitation for 2 hours then the funeral for another 1.5+ hours. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn't it? But I couldn't bare the thought of having him far from me so we gave it a shot.

Between my sisters, parents, Nana, husband and myself, he was not only cared for but entertained and quite cordial throughout the entire visitation. He never caused a scene or threw a fit. And then the funeral came, when I *needed* to be able to listen to the words and let the tears flow so I could give her a proper goodbye. As we settled into our seats for the eulogy, he crawled into my lap and fell asleep before the first word was even spoken. Oh how I needed him there, just like that! He slept throughout the funeral, slept as I walked past her casket for the very last time and stayed asleep until we got into the car to go to the graveside service. I needed my living child, to feel his warm, deep breaths, to feel him curled up next to me and remind me that I was still living and needed to live for him, for his future. After everyone walked past the casket, he slept as his daddy carried his sister to the town car, a trip to her final resting place. Then, graveside, he just watched.

I don't know if he remembers any of the funeral, I don't think so. But I will remember for him, that even in his very early days, he knew just what Mommy and Daddy needed. I will be forever grateful.

XOXO

the famous bereaved...

In honor of the Duggars and the loss they suffer publicly, I'd like to look at a few other famous families who've buried their children far, far too soon.

One of the woman in American History I most admire, a classic beauty, a poised leader, an adoring mother, Jacqueline Kennedy knew more than her fair share of heartache. Before being widowed (twice), she suffered a miscarriage, the stillbirth of daughter Arabella and the death of 2 day old son Patrick, born premature.

I have a vivid memory of standing at Arlington National Cemetery as a little girl and being fascinated by those graves.

Rest in peace, Jackie, along with 3 of your 4 children.

XOXO

Grief does not discriminate.

I would even go so far as to say grief reaches every. single. person at some point in their lives. Rich, poor, every racial and religious background, every level of education, every age.

But there's something especially painful about grief that goes outside the normal cycle of life. We expect to bury our grandparents someday. That isn't to say that it won't be painful and heartwrenching and sorrowful, but it is generally expected sooner or later. We even expect that, someday, down the road and still too soon, we'll outlive our own parents, maybe even siblings. It may not be a conscious thought but it's within the normal realms of expectations.

And then a child dies. Maybe not even our own child. Maybe not even a child we knew well. But a child dying is out of the ordinary, even against what feels like a natural order of events and it shakes us to our human core. It isn't supposed to happen.

And then the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the kind of event that years down the road, you have to remind yourself is reality. YOUR child dies. In 3 years of posts here, 5 years of thoughts and a lifetime of vocabulary, I have yet to find the words to describe what happens when a very part of your body, part of your heart and soul beats you to Heaven.

"I don't think of him every day; I think of him every hour of every day."
~ Gregory Peck, in an interview many years after the death of his son