Are you sure the world isn't over?

This past Friday was the 3rd anniversary of the day my kids were killed in a car accident. Three years. THREE YEARS!!! I still don't get it.

In some ways it feels like yesterday. In some ways it feels like it was 300 years ago. It doesn't really matter. I still don't get it.

I started this blog so I could let people know how I was doing. There were and are so many people who care and who worry and I wanted to let them know where I was in my grief so maybe they wouldn't have to worry so much. I also wanted to have a place where I could share my feelings and thoughts so I could get them out of my head and not feel so alone. For a while blogging really helped. I just had no way of knowing that life after the death of my kids would be this difficult.

I chose the name "Callapitter" because I loved the idea of the callapitter turning into the butterfly just when she thought the world was over (and of course I also loved the way Peter said "callapitter"). I knew things were bad and that losing my kids was some sort of horrible awfulness that cannot even be imagined, but somewhere in my soul I thought that things would get better. I thought that, initially, this blog would be a place to release the dark and disturbing experiences of grief, but eventually I would have more positive things to share.

Here I am, THREE YEARS LATER, and I'm still convinced the world is over.

It is so hard for me to share this with you. I'm not the type of person to complain endlessly or be negative all the time. I try, I REALLY TRY, to find the bright side in even the worst situation. But at this point I can't. There is no bright side. My kids are dead. The end.

Here's the real reason I haven't blogged in forever: I can't stand to be this negative. I feel like a big fat jerk for complaining when I have so much. Some people have nothing. I am not one of those people. Therefore I am a jerk.

But here's the thing: I am trying so hard to move forward and turn my life around after this truly devastating loss, but it's not fucking working!!!!

Let me cut through the crap and be specific. Many of you have inquired, hinted or suggested that maybe I should have more kids. Maybe that would help. I agree with you 100%.

I am a mom. I have always wanted to be a mom. When I was 13 and all my friends were saying they wanted to be teachers and doctors and marine biologists (because for some reason everyone wanted to be a marine biologist in the 80s), I said I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. My high school teachers teased me because I was going to spend a shit-ton of money going to college when I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I can't help it. It's who I am.

Problem is, at this point, I'm a "childless mom". That term is all wrong. That's all I have to say about that.

So 18 months ago, as you know, I got married to a wonderful, amazing man who I love very much. I thought, "This is a new beginning. We're gonna have kids. I can be a mom again."

Now don't get me wrong. I know in my heart of hearts that having more kids is not going to take away the pain of losing Kate and Peter. I can't replace them and I will miss them with every ounce of my being until I someday see them again.

I do believe, however, that having more kids could add joy to my life which might help balance out the pain and sadness. I also think Ken and I could be pretty good parents and maybe have some kind of nice, happy family. Trouble is, it's just not happening.

I realize that 18 months isn't really that long when you're talking about trying to get pregnant. I also realize that I'm getting old. I'm not older-than-dirt old, but I'm old enough. I'm old enough that doctors say wonderfully sensitive things to me like, "at your age, you can't afford to wait a year before considering your options. You just don't have that much time left." Or, "we have to look at your ovaries to see how many eggs are left in your egg reserve. At your age, you may not have enough eggs left to actually get pregnant". Gee thanks, I appreciate that. Assholes.

So 18 months in I have spent many hours in doctors' offices having every test imaginable. The tests show nothing. I have something called "unexplained infertility". Like I couldn't have figured that out myself.

I mean, I guess it's good they haven't found anything wrong, but the recommendations are the same as they would be if they had found something wrong: extremely expensive, hormonally charged, crazy-inducing fertility treatments that are rarely successful. Sign me up!!!

I apologize for the extremely sarcastic tone of this post. I'm angry. Very, very angry. For once, I want something to be easy. Really, I just want my kids back, but that's not going to happen. Did I mention I was angry?

Ken and I are at the point now where we are considering our options. All of them. We are fortunate, we have options. I know that.

I also know it's not a hopeless situation, but I feel hopeless a lot of the time because I'm so damn sad. I miss them so much. SO MUCH!!!

I do hope to someday blog again more regularly, but I won't do it if I don't have anything good to say. For now just know that I am still swimming and I'm still trying to find my kids, wherever they may be. I occasionally still have moments where I feel them around me or I get what I consider to be a sign or an "after death communication". To end this horribly negative post on a more positive note, I will share my most recent experience.

Ken and I recently spent some time in Australia and New Zealand with my brother (who lives in Australia). We did a lot of hiking in New Zealand, which may quite possibly be one of the most beautiful places on Earth. One day we were hiking in the Southern Alps near Mt. Cook when I looked to the side of the trail and saw this:

Yes, it is a heart made of rocks with the letters K and P in it. No, I did not put the rocks there and no, it is not photoshopped. I swear. I can't explain it. I can only say that on my worst days, it's things like this that give me a little bit of hope. So thank you, Kate and Peter.

still swimming...

I've had this song stuck in my head since yesterday. I think it's because that's exactly what I'm doing to try to make it through the holidays.

It's been a difficult year for a number of reasons, and December is never easy. I haven't written in so long (I didn't even realize how long until I logged in today) but so many of you are still posting thoughtful and encouraging comments. THANK YOU.

I wanted to let you know that I am still here and I'm swimming the best I can. I haven't had the energy to put my thoughts into coherent sentences in a long time which is why I haven't been writing. I'm always hoping that will change and I will be able to get back to doing this regularly.

Again, I thank you all for staying with me even when it doesn't seem like I'm still here. I wish you much peace, joy and love throughout the holidays and may we all have a Happy New Year!

Surrender...

I was just flipping through the channels when I decided to watch the last half of Oprah's most recent interview with Shirley MacLaine. I used to think Shirley MacLaine was a little crazy, but now I'm not so sure (though I'm pretty sure I'm a little crazy, but that's beside the point). She said a few things that really resonated with me. I felt I needed to share.

What first caught my attention in this interview is that Shirley mentioned she no longer attends funerals. When Oprah asked her why she replied with something to the effect of "well, none of us die so why go to a funeral?" According to her beliefs (in a nutshell), souls don't die, they just shed their bodies and move on to another state of consciousness. From there they can decide whether or not to incarnate again.

Anytime someone talks about their belief that souls don't die, I get a little excited. It's like somewhere in my deep pool of sadness a little bit of hope bubbles up. I don't really want to get into a full-on discussion of my feelings about reincarnation right now (maybe in a later post) but, suffice it to say, I've considered the possibility.

At this point in the interview I was somewhat glued to the TV, feeling quite emotional, hoping to hear something helpful. It's not that I think Shirley MacLaine is some "enlightened being" (who knows, maybe she is?) or guru I want to follow, I just believe that we can learn something from everyone.

After more reflection on Shirley's life experiences and accomplishments, Oprah asked her what her biggest life lesson has been so far. She replied that she has learned to "let life happen". Then she used the word "surrender".

It's hard to explain why the word surrender had such a huge impact on me, but when she said it I had a major realization. It hit me that for the past two years, three months and twenty-seven days I have used every ounce of energy I possess to fight against reality. Every moment of every day, both when I'm awake and when I'm asleep, I'm thinking "this didn't happen, my kids can't be gone, there must be some mistake!"

Hundreds of times each day I say to myself in my head or under my breath "I just want my kids back, please give me my kids back, I'll do anything - please!" All I do is fight, fight, fight and I'm getting angrier and more anxious all the time. Just this afternoon I tried to take a nap and woke up in a complete panic. It has to stop.

When Shirley said "surrender" the word sounded like a vacation (I know that sounds strange, but stay with me for a minute). Surrender, to me, seems like a land far, far away in which I might be able to rest. I thought, "if I could just give up this fight and accept what has happened maybe some of the anger, stress and panic will subside, at least temporarily".

I have to tell you that accepting what has happened to Kate and Peter is not something I want to do. It's not right, it's not the natural order of things and I fucking hate it. But I can't fight it anymore. I certainly can't change it because, let me tell you, if I could I would have changed it a long time ago.

So I guess my next step needs to be finding a way to surrender. I have a feeling I'll last all of five minutes and then be back to my usual fighting, but I think that's ok. Maybe the next time I try I'll be able to last six minutes instead. Maybe eventually I'll be able to find some peace . I'm not convinced, but it can't hurt to try.

Maybe if I can "let life happen" something will shift or change and I'll be able to move forward. Despite my best efforts to move forward, I'm currently stuck in some sort of holding pattern of relentlessly negative emotions. Something's gotta give. Maybe it's me.

I'm still here...

...which is the first thing I say to my therapist every time I see her. She always asks, "How are you?" and I always reply, "I'm still here" with a tone of annoyance in my voice, frustrated that some act of God hasn't yet taken me out. Typically she'll respond with something like, "well I, for one, am glad" at which point I roll my eyes and groan.

I have major guilt about the fact that I don't want to be here, but it doesn't change how I feel. I know there are many, many people who love me and are doing all they can to help me be happy, but I miss my kids terribly and each day seems to be more difficult than the last. Whoever said grief gets easier with time was full of shit as far as I'm concerned. Seems to me it only gets worse, at least that's how it feels at the moment.

I can't believe it's been almost three months since I posted anything on this blog. I'm sorry if I worried anyone and I appreciate all of your messages and support. At the time I wrote my last entry I had gotten so busy with school and work that I unfortunately had no time to do anything extra such as sleeping, breathing or blogging. Somehow I made it through and managed to do well in both of my classes. Since then I have reduced the number of hours I'm working and the number of classes I'm taking to preserve whatever sanity I can.

I'm fairly certain that, in addition to the fact that my kids are dead, my extreme busy-ness is the reason for my current funk. If you remember, a few months ago I declared that I was going to do whatever I could to try to "find" my kids and for the first time in a long time I felt hopeful. I was so hopeful I was almost excited. Sadly, my intense schedule squashed those hopes, at least temporarily.

Instead of doing something constructive, like reading, searching or meditating, I starting spending any spare time I could find in a less-than-sober state. Don't worry, I haven't become an alcoholic or drug addict and I'm a very careful and responsible person, but I have put a lot of effort into self-medicating and numbing out. I know some of you are probably horrified (especially my parents - I imagine my phone will be ringing in a matter of minutes), but I have to politely ask you to give me a break. I realize drug-induced altered states of consciousness may not solve any problems, but I do occasionally find a few hours of peace. I often feel like I'm living in hell, so it's nice to take breaks periodically.

For the past few days I've felt like I'm facing a decision, like I've reached a fork in the road and I need to choose a path. I can either continue doing what I'm doing - struggling through each day and rewarding myself by numbing out - or I can try to make some changes that might actually improve my life. I have to tell you that the first option sounds a whole lot easier than the second, but I know it's getting me nowhere and it's actually making me feel worse. I'm not exactly sure how to go about the second, but gradually I might be able to figure something out.

I am feeling good about the fact that, for the foreseeable future, my schedule will be much easier. I should have enough time to start reading and trying to "find" my kids again. As ridiculous and far-fetched as this whole idea may sound, it is the only thing that gives me hope. There HAS to be more out there, we HAVE to be eternal beings, or this whole thing called life is a bunch of bullshit. Just sayin.

I also hope to write more. I never make any promises because I know I could get busy again and not have time, and the last thing I want to feel guilty about is my blog. When I'm not writing, it's generally because I'm having a hard time and I feel like I'm only complaining. I don't want my blog to be one endless rant of "Woe is me, life sucks". I don't want to write if I can't say at least something positive.

But writing does help - it allows me to get my thoughts out of my head where they tend to bounce around and get distorted - and, thanks to all of you, it makes me feel less alone. It also makes me feel accountable. If I tell everyone I'm gonna make changes, I feel like I should do that.

So I am still here, wherever here is. And I'm hoping here will get better.

Happy birthday, Peter!

Well, I'm not in school where I'm supposed to be and I feel pretty bad about that. But it's Peter's 7th birthday and I just can't hold it together well enough to be there. So I'm home, looking through pictures and I found these two that were taken when Peter was 2 years old.

Happy birthday to my baby boy (even though I'm sure you're not a baby anymore)! I love you, Peter.

Rub a dub dub...

Scooge in a tub.

Scooge (also Scoogie or Scoogie-man) was one of Peter's nicknames. I think I mentioned it before, but in case you haven't read that far back, there it is. I started calling him Scoogie Woogie the day after he was born (because I'm weird like that) and, for some reason, the Scoogie part stuck.

Anyway, this picture was taken when he was about 8 months old. Peter loved taking a bath. This child would have spent hours in the tub if I would have let him. He would just hang out in the water, playing with his toys and, as he got older, swimming in the tub. I so wish I could just pick up his chubby little baby self, wrap him in a towel and snuggle with him. At least I have the memories. And the pictures. They're far better than never having known him at all.

I should be planning a birthday party...

...but I'm not. This Thursday, April 21st, would have been Peter's 7th birthday. He didn't even make it to his 5th, though it had been planned and he was very excited about it. We were supposed to go bowling with his friends and we picked out Batman party invitations. I imagine we would have gotten a Batman cake as well.

I look at his friends who have grown for two years and are turning or near turning seven, and my mind can't reconcile why he's not here. I still cannot wrap my brain around it, even though it's the reality of every day of my life. I don't have the proper wiring in my brain for "my kids have died" and I'm guessing I never will.

Since I won't be celebrating on Thursday I at least want to do something to honor him. Thursdays are my busiest day of school (I have class from 7am to 6pm) so I'll be busy and distracted, but I'm hoping I can find a little time each day this week to share a picture of Peter that most people haven't seen before and maybe a quick story. It makes me so sad when I realize that the pictures I have of my kids are part of a finite collection - that I'll never be able to take another picture of them - though I'm grateful I took many while they were here.

Here's a picture of Peter when he was about two months old. I always felt he was wise beyond his years (or months) and this picture illustrates that completely. Maybe it's just because I'm his mom and I'm biased, but I think he looks like he's fully aware of everything that's going on around him and that at any moment he may start spouting off words of wisdom.

But he's still my baby, and I miss him.

Where does the time go?

Last week was my week off and I had high hopes for blogging. Now the week is over and I completed almost one post (which I'll publish now even though it's sort of after-the-fact), but that was it.

Now the week of the anniversary is upon me and, though I will be starting my new classes at school and spending time working at my new job, I can think of nothing else. How is it possible that it's been almost two years since I've held my babies?! It doesn't make sense. It's getting difficult to believe that they were real. I know they WERE real and that they still are but somehow, in this physical plane of existence, it just doesn't add up.

I don't know what to do this year on the anniversary. I sort of want to crawl in a cave and hide until it's over however that day, the 6th, is my first day of class. I've emailed my instructor to let him know why I probably won't be myself that day, but I know it will be difficult to even be present in that class. I'm sure he would understand if I didn't come, but I hate missing the first day - I'll feel like I'm behind for the rest of the quarter. I need to find some super-human strength to get through it.

After class I plan to spend time with some good friends and I'd like to do something to honor and remember my kids but I have no idea what. None. Zippo. Not a clue. Maybe this year just getting through the day will be enough.

If you don't hear from me for a week or so, don't worry. I'll be ok. I may find that I need to write because often that's a good way of dealing with my emotions, but I have a feeling I'm going to be more quiet this time around.

A whole new level of sadness...

I've been quite busy lately so, unfortunately, I haven't had much time to blog. I'm nearing the end of my quarter in school which means that this is finals week and I've overscheduled myself as usual. It's good to be busy, but only to a point. I may have crossed that line.

I'm still working on finding my kids and I've had a few encouraging experiences, but I don't have much time to write so I'll save that for later. After my finals, I'll have a week's break from school so I should have time to fill you in then.

One of the tasks I've been trying to accomplish this weekend is to transfer my home movies from a Digital 8 format to DVD. I've looked for someone who does this professionally, but I gave up on that search so, with Ken's help, I've been loading the movies onto my computer and trying to burn them that way. Unfortunately, Windows XP doesn't include a DVD burner so I either need to buy some software or just buy a separate DVD burner. Either way, it's a real pain in the ass.

When I first started importing the movies onto my computer I was excited to watch them. I've only watched a few minutes here and there over the past two years and I always thought that, while it made me sad, it was nice to see my kids having fun at Christmas or birthday parties or in whatever they were doing. In the past few days, however, I've watched a couple of hours of video and it's had a much different effect on me.

Instead of making me smile or laugh remembering how beautiful and wonderful Kate and Peter were while they were here, these videos have launched me into a whole new level of sadness. When I watch them, they look and sound so real that when I realize they're gone it's almost like living through the trauma of the accident all over again. Except this time I'm not in shock. I'm all too aware of reality.

After living through the experience of losing my kids, I've learned that being in shock is truly a gift. I honestly believe it's the only way a person can go on living and breathing after that kid of experience. The more it wears off, the harder it gets.

This is one of those moments when I just don't feel like I can do this anymore. I think "How much longer do I have to be without them?!" But I don't have a choice, so I have to keep doing this. I hate that.

So for now I'm going to take some Tylenol PM (don't worry - only the recommended dose) and cry myself to sleep - which reminds me: I had another dream about Kate two nights ago. We were together doing something, I don't remember what, but it felt so real. I do remember thinking, in my dream, "Is this real or is this just a dream?" Finally I decided, "Who cares! Just enjoy it!!"

So I'm going to bed and hopefully when I wake up tomorrow I'll hurt a little less and be able to do the things I need to do and move forward in my journey. Goodnight.

Can someone please turn off my brain?!

It's driving me crazy!!

Lately I've been a little obsessed with the accident. Obsessed in a really bad way. Obsessed in that I seriously can't stop thinking about it.

Most of the time it begins when I'm driving on a highway. I'm driving along, singing some Gaga and it hits me. I look at how fast I'm going, I look at the side of the road and I start imagining what the accident was like for Kate and Peter. And then I freak out.

I start crying and apologizing to them and praying to someone that they didn't suffer. I go over it and over it, and each time it seems worse. I think, "I NEED to know that they were ok - that it was quick and they didn't feel anything or that they were unaware of what was going on". Then I think, "THEY WEREN'T OK, OBVIOUSLY - THEY DIED, YOU STUPID MORON!!!!"

And then I lay in bed at night and it starts all over again. Or I wake up in the middle of the night. I don't know how to stop it and I know it's not helping anyone.

It's not like I can go back and fix it, though that's what I think my brain is trying to figure out a way to do. It's not like I'll ever figure it out either. So why can't I stop?

Ugh.

Catharsis anyone?

I wanted to quickly update you all and let you know I've been feeling a little better. I'm not sure exactly what changed, but wearing my Mr. Yuk stickers, carrying my princess wand and forcing myself to get up and moving has helped.

I've also started "managing" my overwhelmingly negative feelings in a way taught to me by my good friend, Kearsty, a few years ago. Back in the day (circa 2007) we were having a conversation in which we were sharing our woes and feeling sorry for ourselves and each other (I have no idea what exactly we were lamenting, though it was most likely related to men) when she shared with me something her mother had taught her.

Kearsty said that when she was having a rough time and began wallowing in self-pity her mom would tell her to take 5 minutes to feel sad, be angry, cry, scream, kick, punch, stomp her feet - to do whatever she needed to do to get it out. She encouraged me, "For 5 minutes, just feel everything you need to feel and feel sorry for yourself if you must. But when those 5 minutes are over, it's time to get on with it. Get up, get moving, get out of that space."

Honestly... it works. Please know that I'm not trying to minimize the intensity of grief, because it's huge and certainly not something you can get over in 5 minutes. But, for me at least, wallowing just isn't helpful. The feelings begin to snowball and eventually get so big that I can't find my way out of them. Feeling them in 5 minute increments is manageable.

If you've read this blog for a while you know that music is very powerful in eliciting my emotions. A couple weeks ago I discovered a song that captures much of what I've been feeling, and makes me cry - no, sob - every time I hear it. So what I've been doing lately is letting myself have that time: I listen to the song, cry and swear and kick and scream, and then I let it pass. I pull myself together and move forward. For a little while, until I need to do it again. Some days I only need to listen to it once, other days I listen to it 10 times.

It's helped. For now I can get through each day. I know many of you who read my blog are grieving too, and this time of year is especially hard. So here's the song. I can't promise you'll have the same experience with it, but give it a try. Listen to it, feel all of your feelings and then do your best to pull yourself together and move forward. Even if it's only for a little while.

Mr. Yuk

I'm not very good at being a mess. There's this part of me that has decided to not hold it together anymore, the me who wants to shut down and no longer be a functional member of society, but to everyone else I still seem pretty normal. I just can't let myself be a mess. I don't have time, dammit! But I still want to...

This morning I woke up with my to do list in mind. I got as far as making breakfast when I decided that I don't want to do anything on my list - I just want to sit in my pajamas and play Bejeweled Blitz for the next six weeks. (I love that game because while I'm playing my mind is completely focused on the stupid little jewels. I can't think about or feel anything else. It's a HUGE waste of time, but the best escape I've found that doesn't involve any mind-altering substances.) At the moment, I would welcome another Snowpocalypse (did I say that out loud?!) so I'd have a good excuse for doing nothing for a very long time.

The way I feel this morning reminded me of an experience I had about a week before my kids died. I was in a bad mood, feeling sorry for myself (apparently this is a long-standing pattern in my life) because a guy I was dating was being a jerk (or maybe he just wasn't that into me - which, in my mind, makes him a jerk). I felt like I was gonna end up being single and unloved for the rest of my life so I decided to stay in bed and mope. This kills me now because my kids were alive then - they were there with me and I was being selfish. I was taking them for granted and now I would give ANYTHING to have that time with them back and to be focused on them and not on some dude.

Anyway, it was a Sunday...I got up and made breakfast for my kids and told them they could watch as much tv as they wanted because I was going back to bed. Every few minutes, one of them would come into my room and ask for something and I felt like saying, "can't you see I'm trying to be depressed in here?!" I don't think I did, but I really can't remember.

After about 45 minutes of my attempt to block out everything and disappear into my bed, Peter came in and said, "Look, Mama...I'm Mr. Yuk!" and he made this face:

He really did look like Mr. Yuk:

And that was it. The end of my moping and wanting to be a hot mess. I cracked up hysterically and got out of bed, thanks to my little man.

In the most difficult way possible - by losing my kids - I learned a lot from that experience. I know now that nothing is guaranteed. I would honestly do anything to go back and change so much about how I spent the time I had with my kids. I spent so much of that time focused on stupid, non-meaningful things because I took them for granted and just assumed they'd always be here. And they're not. And there's nothing I can do about it.

I can only change how I act from now on. I realize that sitting in my pajamas and playing Bejeweled Blitz for the rest of my life would be a dishonoring of my kids. In order to make their lives mean something I need to take what I've learned from them and use it to be a better person, no matter how much it hurts - because the pain is truly indescribable.

Even though I may not want to, I know I am capable of helping other people and so I must. I also need to be as present as possible and spend all the time I can with the people I love and who love me because, as I mentioned, there are no guarantees. And if possible, I don't want to have anymore regrets.

In a related story, at Kate and Peter's wake and funeral everyone - and I mean EVERYONE (even the priests, nuns and choir) - wore Mr. Yuk stickers in honor of Peter. We also handed out little princess magic wands for people to carry in honor of Kate. So I think for the foreseeable future, at least until I'm out of my current funk, I'm going to wear a Mr. Yuk sticker and carry around my magic wand to remind me that the present is all we have. We need to make the most of it.

I think I'm stuck...

Yeah, I'm pretty sure of it. I haven't blogged in forever because...well...I'm not sure what to say.

The sadness I feel every day is overwhelming. Usually I'm able to find some sort of perspective or silver lining or SOMETHING positive to say, but not lately. I got nothing.

So I start feeling guilty because I have a lot of good in my life. When I feel this sad it seems like I'm being selfish or ungrateful and not recognizing all that I do have. But honestly, I'm so sad that I don't care.

Then I think about all the people who have gone through similar situations - or even worse - and I realize I'm not the only one. And I feel bad for all that others have or are going through. And then I think "I'm too sad to think about other people". Then I feel like a self-centered bitch.

So this is why I haven't written. I don't want to admit to people that I'm a sad, guilt-ridden, ungrateful, self-centered bitch - especially when I just got married, have wonderful friends and a lot of other good stuff to be grateful for. But there it is. I'm admitting it. I'm a hot mess and I don't care. I tried to hold it together for a really long time, but then decided a few weeks ago that I just didn't want to hold it together anymore.

The only reason I'm writing this is because I had a conversation with someone this morning who reminded me that some people read this blog to "connect" with someone who understands what they're going through, and to maybe feel that what they're experiencing is "normal". I've tried in the past to be as honest and uncensored as possible and to tell it like it is. Today this is how it is. I don't know if it's normal, I just know that it is.

Maybe my admission of stuckfullness (it's not a word, but go with it) will help unstick me. My guess is that now that I've broken the seal, a tidal wave of nasty emotions is going to come forth. Oh well. "Better out than in", right? (I swear I have never really understood that saying, but it seems fitting in this case.)

Persistence and pansies...

The cloud of sadness seems to have dissipated slightly, though it's still here. Thank you all, once again, for your kind comments and words of encouragement. It is so helpful to know that even when I'm home alone, feeling intensely despondent, I'm really not alone...that caring friends and strangers are, for some reason, willing to go through this hell with me. I don't know why you're all still reading, but I'm sure glad you are.

Since Tuesday night, when the cloud arrived, I've managed to make it through each day, trying to be as productive as possible, but it hasn't been easy. I just can't shake it this time. In the past I've been able to distract myself by staying busy, but for the past few days I feel like I've had to reach into the depths of my being to find strength I don't even think is there. It's like everything I do takes so much energy and everything I see or hear makes me even more sad. But I have no choice - so I just keep going, hoping that this too will pass...or at least get easier.

While I actually have a moment to sit down and write I would like to share one little story that brings a smile to my face when I think about it. It has to do with perennial pansies growing in front of my house.

Let me begin by saying that I am the farthest thing from a gardener. I generally feel that I don't have time to deal with my yard so I cut my grass and call it a day. When I do try to plant things they usually die so I don't plant things.

Two years ago, in April of 2008, I was getting my house ready for Peter's birthday. I knew a lot of people from out of town would be stopping by, so I wanted my yard to at least be presentable. We're not talking about any kind of real landscaping, but I did trim my hedges, put some mulch down and attempt to plant a few flowers.

I have two planters in front of my house so one day while Kate was in Kindergarten, Peter and I went to Home Depot to pick out some flowers. As I said, I know nothing about flowers so I thought I'd let Peter pick some out. It wasn't a big deal to him, but he happily chose some yellow pansies. So together Kate, Peter and I put them in the planters where they survived until the fall when it got cold. I was amazed that they actually survived through the summer.

Then last spring came (2009) and I definitely didn't feel like planting anything (though, thankfully, sometime in mid-June a bunch of friends came over and helped me with me yard). However, one day in early June I noticed two little yellow pansies growing in between the bricks of my front walk. As I mentioned, I know very little about flowers, but I do know that pansies are annuals, not perennials. They were so sweet. They grew there all summer and were still blooming when I came home from Italy in November. I know they're not much, but to me they felt like a little gift from my kids.



This spring rolled around and I wondered if the pansies would come back, though I doubted it. Nope, nothing but dandelions this year...until two weeks ago, when two yellow pansies popped up on the other side of my walk. One day they weren't there, the next day they were. Thank you, Peter and Kate! I needed that.

(and, as you can see - I haven't done anything about the weeds this year)

Some days I just can't deal...

and today is one of those days :(

I mean, I'm having a hard enough time keeping up with everything going on in my life, as I mentioned in my last post. I actually got so overwhelmed with my to-do list that I completely wigged out yesterday and went to a yoga class instead of going to school. Honestly, it was the best decision I've made in a while. After I did the whole downward dog - legs up the wall - ohm - namaste extended dance remix (I'm talking about yoga people, not sex - I swear) and I felt all chilled out and grounded, I got a lot of stuff done for a change!

But because I still have 999,984 things to do I was trying my best to have another productive day today. I was just doing my thing, getting ready to dive into some homework when sometime around 4:30 this giant cloud of sadness enveloped me and sucked out all of my drive and motivation and even my desire to keep breathing. I don't know where it came from, but all of a sudden it was there. And it won't go away. I hate it! Fuck you, stupid sadness!!!

Now I'm useless. I feel so empty that I can't even feel the emptiness anymore, not that that makes any sense. It's a scary empty feeling. Maybe I can't feel it because I'm afraid of it. I know I'm afraid to start crying because I may never stop.

Let me just say this please...I want my kids back!!! I know I feel them with me a lot of the time, but I want them back the regular way. I want to take them swimming and to Kennywood and I want to hear them fight with each other and say, "Mama, he/she won't leave me alone!" I want to complain that summer is too long and I can't wait for school to start because we're all stir crazy! But I can't!!

Then I think, 'well, I'm getting married again. I could have more kids.' BUT I DON'T WANT MORE KIDS, I WANT MY KIDS, DAMMIT!!!!!! I don't want to move on or move forward I just want my old life back the way it was, with all it's imperfections and my amazing, beautiful, wonderful kids. I would do anything. I mean it.

I could sit here and kick and scream and cry and swear and bargain with the universe all day, but it gets me nowhere. It won't bring them back. Nothing will. Fuck.

So what to do now? That is the question.

I guess I'll try to use my superhuman coping skills to stuff my feelings somewhere and tell the cloud of sadness where to stick it. I mean, I gotta do my homework eventually. I'm guessing that skipping two classes in a row would be frowned upon.

But really, who gives a shit about homework? In the big scheme of things it doesn't really matter. Maybe I'll just go to bed early and explain to my instructor why I didn't get my homework done. I'm sure he'll understand. I think. Oh, who cares.

Goodnight.

Letting go, a little bit...

Today I decided I needed to do some cleaning. Not only is my house not yet on the market, it's no more ready than it was 6 months ago. I need to get moving if I ever want to move. Hah.

I have no place to put things anymore, especially in my kitchen where I spend most of my time. I recognize I need to get rid of the things I don't use anymore, before someone puts me on that show about hoarders.

A few months ago I told you about all the snacks I bought my kids right before they died and how they were still in my pantry and how I was never gonna get rid of them. Well, I decided to it's time.

I guess I've realized that material things, for the most part, do not make me feel any closer to my kids. There are certainly some things - special clothes and toys of theirs - which evoke specific memories that I will hold onto as long as possible. And I will never get rid of any of their artwork. But snacks, well...

....they had to go.

I did take a picture first:

My mom gave me one of those Keurig coffee makers in early 2009 and sent some Hot Cocoa K-cups for Kate and Peter. The marshmallows in the picture were one of Peter's favorite things. He would ask for marshmallows in his cocoa, eat them all, then ask for more. He never drank his cocoa. It was merely a vehicle to bring the marshmallows closer to his mouth.

The aforementioned Pirate's Booty is not in the picture because earlier in the day today I thought maybe I'd eat some of it. It was in a sealed foil-ish bag so I thought it could still taste ok, right? Yeah, no. It tasted a little like styrofoam peanuts, or at least what I think styrofoam peanuts would taste like. So I threw it out.

I did hang onto one box of cereal:

still swimming, thanks to all of you...

I'm still sort of in a fog of shock, confusion and sadness, but thanks to all of you I'm feeling a little less crazy and a lot less alone. I thank you all for you comments, emails and Facebook messages letting me know that you're all right here with me in the middle of this icky horribleness. The strength you all have given me through your kindness, compassion and love has helped me make it through a few more days. Sincerely, thank you.

I just want to quickly remind everyone about Monday's community meeting regarding Kate and Peter's Treehouse. It's at 6pm at the Wilkins School Community Center located at 7604 Charleston Ave in Regent Square (15218). I know many of you will be there and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your support. I'm truly looking forward to this meeting and think it will be a great opportunity to hear what everyone in the community has to say so that we can move ahead with this project in the most positive way possible.

Please be ready to not only share your point of view if you feel so inclined, but to also listen to the suggestions of others. I believe the only way this meeting will be productive is if we all listen to each other - and allow ourselves to hear each other, if you know what I mean. I think if we can understand why people are concerned about this treehouse as well as why people support it we will be able to do what is best for the whole community. I know that's what Kate and Peter would want so that's what I want too.

I look forward to seeing you all there and meeting some of you I have not met before. I'll be the one in the green shirt :) I hope you all have a safe, wonderful weekend with some time to do the things you love with the people you love. Thank you again for everything.

I may quite possibly be losing my mind...

My life over the past fourteen months or so has been quite a roller coaster, as anyone who's dealt with grief understands. Some days I'm ok. Some days I even border on being happy or having fun. Some days I'm sad and want to cry and hide in my bed all day. Some days I want to punch things or people or both. And honestly, I think all these ups and downs are fairly normal.

Overall, I think I've done ok at getting out of bed in the morning, living my life, attempting to move forward and trying to come to grips with reality. I know I've had moments of disbelief and denial, but for the most part I've accepted that my kids were killed.

However, over the past two days something has changed and I have no idea why - except that maybe I'm really losing it.

Yesterday I recalled so many memories about my kids that seemed like they just happened - Kate's kindergarten end-of-the-year picnic, a trip to Kennywood with Kate and Peter's grandparents, dinners I made them, movies we watched, books we read - last night I swear to you I thought Peter might walk into my bedroom at about 2am and ask me for a snack as he did from time to time (I can't blame him, I can't sleep when I'm hungry either). It seemed to me that they had just been here, like yesterday, and now I can't figure out where they are.

I try to use my rational mind to remind myself that they died, but I mean to tell you, for some reason my brain will not accept that information right now. It's inconceivable, intolerable and I don't care what you say - it couldn't have happened!!! No effin' way!!! Or at least that's how I feel.

I cannot think about my kids right now without going into this weird state of shock. Like I'm so sad that if I start crying I may cry so much that I dehydrate and die, but I'm so far in denial and confusion that I can't cry one tear. I feel suspended or stuck - where I don't know, but somewhere, or maybe nowhere.

So do you see what I'm saying? I may really be losing it. And this is not good timing. I have homework to do, papers to write, chickens to de-bone, vegetables to tournee, a house to pack up and move...etc. How is it that I held it together for so long and now I'm wigging?! OMG, WTF?!

My rational brain tells me that it's fairly sure I'll get through this and find my mind again and if not, that someone who loves me will come over and gently guide me to the nearest insane asylum. And I guarantee that if you saw me on the street or met me in a coffee shop you would have no idea that my mind has left my head, been run over by a Mack truck and then been eaten by vultures. (I've got skills when it comes to coping in public) But it has.

And as I sit here trying to describe this I'd be lying if I said that I didn't hope the tornadoes currently forecasted would come to my house, suck me up and carry me to Oz - or even better - to wherever it is my kids are hangin these days. (I told you I wouldn't kill myself - I never said I wouldn't pray for an act of God to take me out) (and yes, I can practically hear my parents gasp after reading that)

I'm not trying to cause undue concern, or even complain about what I'm going through. I'm just sayin it like it is, because right now this is how it is. And it sucks. And I miss them. And I'd give ANYTHING to have them back or just to talk to them and find out how they are and know they're ok. But I can't so I'll just sit here at my computer, in my non-crying suspended shock state, and try to finish my homework. And go to bed. And hope and pray that tomorrow feels different.

Just for today...

I've had a bunch of school-related things I've wanted to write about but literally have not had a minute to sit down and write them, until now. And now I realize that it's Mother's Day and I don't feel like they're all that important. I'll save them for another day.

Unfortunately, I don't have much to say about Mother's Day except that I know a lot of real great moms, including my own, who deserve to be appreciated and have a fabulous day.

Last year Mother's Day was sad because it was the first one I spent without my kids. I think this year may be even more sad because I feel so far removed from being a mother.

I know I will always be a mom and can always call myself a mom, but I don't get to do mom things anymore. So while I still have the "title" Mom, I no longer have a role as a mom, at least not in any practical way. I hate that.

Just for today I'm going back to bed to cry and be sad and feel sorry for myself (and hopefully sleep so the day goes by faster). But I promise that tomorrow I will get out of bed and try to have a better day. Really, I will.

And while I'm in bed feeling sad, please don't doubt for one second that I will also be feeling grateful that I've had the chance to be a mom at all...if there is one thing that will ALWAYS outweigh my sadness it is how fortunate I feel to have been Kate and Peter's mama for any length of time.

I sincerely wish a Happy Mother's Day to all the other moms out there - to those who are with their children today and to those who, for whatever reason, are not.

trying to move forward...

After all the intense sadness and anger I've experienced in the last couple of weeks I'm doing my best to pick myself up and keep going. As I mentioned before, I just started culinary school. I've wanted to do this for a long time - I looked into it when Kate and Peter were around the ages of 4 and 2, but realized at that point there was no way I would have time. Now I have all the time in the world.

So here I am. And so far I love it. I can sit through a four hour lecture or a five hour practical class and not wish class would end because I'm so interested in what I'm learning. I can actually go home and use what I'm learning! What a concept.

There are challenges to this whole going back to school thing, however. I'm not just talking about homework - though there's a lot of that. The biggest challenge I'm finding is how to tell people who I am, something that comes up rather often, without making me sad or freaking them out.

The first day of class we had to go around the room and introduce ourselves, explaining why we're in school and what we hope to do when we graduate. Easy enough. "Hi, I'm Amy. I used to be a guidance counselor, then I was a stay-at-home mom. Now I'm looking into getting back into the career world and I love to cook. I'd like to be a personal chef." Clear, concise, doesn't raise any questions.

I'm also taking an online class and our first assignment was to write an autobiography. Seriously.

I figured I'd basically expand on what I said in class but first I read what everyone else posted. For the most part, the posts went like this, "Hi, I'm Happy McHappington. I live in Atlanta with my wonderful husband and my two adorable children. And I'm pregnant with twins. I love cooking and I'm so excited to be taking this class! Life couldn't be better!"

Ok, so I exaggerate a little because I'm jealous and sad. But really, almost everyone in the class was a stay-at-home mom with two or more children. They all shared the names and ages of their kids and how fabulous they are. Why shouldn't they? I was so torn about what to write. I was afraid that if I shared my real story, I might freak everyone out. I wasn't sure that assignment was the right forum for such sad news. On the other hand, I felt that if I didn't talk about my kids I was denying their existence. And that felt even worse.

Fortunately, my good friend Jenny called while I was in mid-internal-debate. She encouraged me to share my story and speak my truth. After all, it is the truth. My kids are every bit as important to me as everyone else's kids are to them. So I did. As clearly and concisely and non-dramatically as possible. Funny...no one commented on my autobiography. Oh well, I can't blame them.

Now that I'm getting to know my classmates in my real-life classes a little more this issue is coming up more often. We talk about what we did before coming to school, I mention I was a stay-at-home mom and the next question they ask is "How old are your kids?" It's a logical question.

Unfortunately, I find myself minimizing the situation. I find myself saying, "It's really sad, but they died in a car accident last year. It's ok though." WTF? Why do I say this?! It's not fucking ok! I just don't want to deal with the awkwardness everyone feels after I drop this information. But then I feel like a jerk. Ugh.

I've run into this problem all year. When I travel, when I go out - whenever I meet new people. I guess I should be used to it, but I probably never will be. And I know it will never be "ok" so I'm going to stop saying that. Maybe instead I'll say "I'm doing my best to keep going, to move forward, but I miss them everyday". That sounds better and more honest.

On the bright side, I really do LOVE the cooking part of culinary school. I leave there every day feeling energized and like I want to go home and cook some more. So that's a great thing. I am moving forward, but I will never move on.