Updates

Some things are getting easier to let go of. They're just material items, and they will be so much better loved when they are actually used. Sure, there are people who make special outfits or shirts in to a keepsake stuffy. But do you know how many stuffies my child has? His trunk is overflowing with them. The last thing we need is another stuffy to become attached to at this point. Marie Kondo has definitely been on one of my shoulders as I walk though each room and just ponder what can be pared down.
Recently, I found a pile of super adorable baby clothes that P wore at some point as a baby. We've already donated the majority of his baby clothes, and have a good rotation of clothes going to friends with younger kids who can then continue the love. And a few special items have already been set aside in a trunk as keep sakes. Part of me felt this newfound pile needed to be kept as well. The clothes are just so tiny! So cute! Queue the squealing and cooing. But this mentality will only, over time, fill every crevice of our home. Things will begin to overfill. And life will become too untidy for us (especially Ryan who has to have order in order to function in our daily routine).
Again, these are just material items. A reminder I have to repeat over and over and over again, as though it were my mantra. The clothes will go to friends. They will be used and loved and adored. Life will regain some order.
What I just can't seem to get rid of, even though it doesn't necessarily bring me joy any longer, is the app I used to track my pregnancy with Korbin. As phone memory space gets larger and larger, just like computer and "cloud" space for photos and videos and documents, my need to clean out old apps and make room for more pictures lessens. Most apps are flushed out with a new update. The completely unused gone, just in time for the next best thing to take their place. This app, however, sits on my phone. Untouched since I last looked at it, the Monday of 24 weeks. I checked Korbin's size, pondered what the next steps were for testing in my pregnancy, and then exited the app. Since then, the app continually wants to be updated. But I can't bring myself to even update it, let alone delete it. I don't think I even have the one I used to track Ps progress any longer. We're just so far beyond it, we made it through that stage and have been through so many other trackable stages at this point.
But Korbin's progress was so suddenly halted, it feels wrong to see a piece of that go away. Updating this app would most likely mean deleting parts of the data that could potentially still be held there. Details I had jotted down, or questions I had flagged for my OB. Maybe it's the potential I'm still holding on to. It's not even by a thread any longer, a glimmer of a far away dream perhaps? Either way, the app remains and reminds me with every mass update time what was possibly going to be.
It's hard to let go of past possibilities. Especially when they held such a hold on your heart. But maybe sometimes it's okay to hold on, even when the hope is gone. Because there's still so much love wrapped up in the memories and what ifs.
And I got a lotta love to give.

Gearing Up

As winter moves on and the promise of spring comes closer, my fears of loss swell up as if to swallow me once again. After last spring, grief left me so incredibly low. I was angry more often than not, jealous of others' perfections, and just plain blue. Participating in the October month of healing through the Capture Your Grief project dug me out of the hole I was falling down further and further. And I learned that I don't want to repeat last year.
Each spring has been a struggle. It starts with anxiety and fear of how I'll react this year to the overwhelming emotions that come in waves and try to drown me. Last year I felt I was literally drowning in my pain, in Korbin's deeply felt absence in our lives. This year, he's still gone, and I'm still left wondering where we'd be with him and how he'd be P's big brother. But I feel as though I'm gearing myself up better this year for the upcoming emotional battle. There are new tricks up my sleeves, new coping mechanisms I'll be putting in to use a great deal as the sun shines a bit more each day.
It's funny, spring time is usually thought of as full of renewed and restored life. Leaves budding, seedlings sprouting, the earth turning green yet again after the darkness of the winter. For me, however, spring time feels quite the opposite. It's death. Death of the life we were supposed to have, of the son who should be with us, of the love we should be sharing with him daily. Each year since Korbin has been dealt with by feeling his death over and over and over again. As my body physically relives every one of our moments together, him growing inside me, hearing his heart beat for the first time, feeling first movements after an 11mile hike at 18weeks pregnant, the fear of losing him comes back full force. I can remember the anticipation of that spring, the excitement and how I really truly felt the growth and change of spring time through being pregnant. As we did not experience pregnancy through spring with P, the spring season now holds no other meaning to me than loss. This time of new life and joy has been reduced to nothing more than death, something to live through unbearably instead of enjoy.
Something I'm finally latching on to as my grief journey continues to evolve, is how I need to be busy 100% of the time. And it can't be just busy watching a movie or favorite TV show, my mind has to be fully occupied or I begin to spiral out from anxiety of wondering what horrific thing is going to blind side us next. This is exhausting, but it means I sleep at night, at least for the most part.
Sometimes I feel as though I'm a bad friend, or daughter, or sister because I'm just so incredibly busy. Does everyone think I'm just blowing them off? That I don't want to see them? That seriously can not be further from the truth. I've just filled my day to day with so many activities that it's hard to find time to sit and have a cup of coffee just because. Even at work, when finally sitting for a moment on a break after going non stop for hours, I can't just unwind and look longingly at the amazing view of Mt Rainier we enjoy each day. There's something to read, to learn and absorb and research how it helps others and what's missing and how to fix it and why and what's the truth of it all and where's the source and can it be trusted. There are things to make, paintings and sketches, blogs or even books to write. Constant ideas and notes. Non-profits to join and contribute my ever-dwindling time to because others are in such need and I tell myself that I have so much of myself to give still.
It is so much, and yet it has to be done or I fear I may spiral again. That spiral is not an option this year. So forgive me if I seem absent at times. There's just not enough time in the day to do all the things I need to do in order to keep grief at bay. It's only a season, and everything is temporary. Or at least that's what I continue to tell myself.
Because I got a lotta love to give.

Grief Barometer

Last Thursday we said our final goodbyes to our sweet pup, Seven. This was the first time Ryan and I had to deal with putting a pet down, something all our parents must have done numerous times as we were growing up. It was so much harder than I imagined it could be.
Going in to owning a pet, you don't consider what it will be like to lose them. We focus on the fun times ahead, even though our mind knows that most likely they will die before we do as many domesticated animals don't live as long as humans do. This is my scientific, matter-of-fact side showing. I know the details, it's how it is. Period, the end. Then there is the heart. Sometimes pets weave themselves so intricately into the fabric of our lives that the hole(s) they leave become much larger than we'd expected. Such is the case with Seven.
He's been through so much with us. Our first house, updating homes and yards, attempting to train a dog for the first time, having kids, and even losing kids I don't feel like we were always the best dog owners, with how much a dog really needs from their human. But oh man did we love, and we sure did need him through the worst of times.
I am most definitely grieving the loss of a truly loved family member now. Seven was my pup from the beginning, even if he and Ryan developed their own unique relationship, Seven was my pup. And damn it hurt to see his chest stop rising and his eyes lose their last bit of life. He was beautiful, sweet, demanding of our love, awkward and quirky, dependent and protective. I will miss him so damn much.
Even though I am in the midst of grieving so hard for Seven now, it's difficult to not compare it to losing Korbin. I wrote of this before, and I'll say it again. It is so different. And it's as though now I compare all my grief experiences to losing Korbin as if to say that's the true measurement of grief. Losing Korbin put me in to the epitome of grief. A grief I feel to this day. Losing Seven has definitely left a hole in my heart, and an emptiness in our home. And yet, it is still different.
Some have said that losing a pet is worse than losing a person. I can't agree with that. But that's not to say that losing a pet is easier, or that it doesn't hurt to lose a pet. Especially when that pet is such a part of your family.
I think in this case, my grief barometer threw me off from what to expect through this new grief experience. In preparing myself for losing Seven, I knew mentally it wouldn't be the same, and so I told myself in my head that it wouldn't hurt my heart so badly. But that was wrong. Just because the grief is different and not perceived in my mind as not as great as the grief of losing Korbin, that doesn't mean it is going to hurt less. My heart definitely knew better.
The path of grief itself, however, will be different. There's an emptiness in our home now without Seven in it to care for and listen to him yell at us. But I let myself really feel everything this weekend, and I honestly feel better already. I'm still sad he's gone, but I needed to let those emotions happen, no matter how similar or different they may be. They need to happen just as in any other type of grief journey.
Before, I hadn't thought twice about grieving other losses after Korbin, as nothing else since losing Korbin really felt like such a hard loss. Grandparents have passed, but they've lived their long and beautiful lives and even seen great grand-children. I've lost aunts and uncles suddenly, and yet the grief was felt more by other aunts and uncles who were so much closer to them than I was.
This was my first loss since Korbin that really, literally, hit close to home. Maybe it hurts so much because we love so much.
I'm definitely not going to stop loving, even though it means potentially more losing and hurting.
Because I've got a lotta love to give.

PAIL

Last month was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, PAIL for short. And for the first time, I participated in the #CaptureYourGrief project and finished out the entire month. A goal that has been hard to reach in past years as this project dives so deep in to each individual's grief journey. This year was so, so therapeutic.
The part of the project that touched me the most, which was completely unexpected, was the number of people who reached out to me privately to either share their own experiences with loss, or to thank me for being so open and honest about my own grief journey. It was amazing! We still have so far to go in society to recognize that grief exists and it doesn't have a timeline and that it looks different for each individual, and yet we've come so far already. I'm thankful that today I can share my experiences, even when others feel they can't, or shouldn't. Possibly the most precious was a newer acquaintance on Facebook sharing her lost children's names with me. I tear up thinking of it now, such a touching moment. I feel honored that she shared something so dear to her with me, that she felt she could trust me with knowing something so precious to her.
As I stated in my first post on October 1st, sometimes an old wound needs to be ripped back open and cleaned out in order to heal better. This is exactly what the Capture Your Grief project did for me this year. I was hurting so much, as for whatever reason 6 years has felt the hardest in a while. Through this project, I was able to dig deep and pull out what was eating away at my heart. And the outward display, laying it all out for everyone to see and hopefully come to understand, felt so good.
I will continue to share my grief journey and all of it's ups and downs.
Because I've got a lotta love to give.

Energy

Throughout the past few (okay, four and a half) years, my energy levels have seriously dipped. Early on it was just the excuse of not getting enough sleep because, hey, every new mom understands that. Then it was that I was staying up late to do the things I wanted to do but didn't have time during the regular day; you know, trying to find myself again. Lately though, I've been getting to bed at a reasonable hour, sleeping hard most nights, napping, exercising semi-regularly. So why am I so tired?

Oh yeah, I do a lot.

A. LOT.

This seriously just dawned on me today. I pack as much as I possibly can in to my days because there is so much I want to do. Gardening, fixing things, refinishing old furniture, painting for fun and painting to update rooms, cleaning, cooking from scratch each evening and prepping lunches, reading, keeping up (kind of) with our favorite TV shows, making plans with friends, attempting to write more often, instagraming, work, commuting, taking care of my husband and my four year old, puppies, chickens, sketching, sewing, planning outdoor adventures for the family, traveling. Life. It really never dawned on me that I'm tired because I'm so busy. Most days I feel like there's just so much, and nothing is really being touched. In reality, I'm doing so much, just not necessarily the fun things I want to focus on all the time.

It all boils down to balance, and making sure that fulfilled feeling is felt daily, whether from reading an interesting article I had saved weeks prior, painting for half an hour, or getting a quick work out in. These things all make me who I am now, even if most of them are barely touched for large chunks of time. In finding the right balance, one has to prioritize what needs to happen now with what would be really great to have happen at any point during that day. During the less-than-balanced days, the tired feeling definitely creeps up more. And sometimes there are less-than-balanced periods of time that last for weeks, or even a month or two, at a time. I realized today that it's during these long durations that I feel more tired and therefore less fulfilled.

Time to restructure, refocus, and carve out the small chunks of time I need to be me through all the craziness that is life and it's overly scheduled madness. Making sure each day has even just one of the extra things I love fills me with the joy and excitement to power me through the day, an insatiable internal energy that is only satisfied once I've painted, or sewed, or been in the garden pulling weeds, even if only for 15 minutes.

I love this life we're living now, and feel as if am better better able to give to and care for others when feeling fulfilled.

Time to paint!

Because I've got a lotta love to give.

Chill

At times, when life is overwhelming and flying by (wait, isn't that all the time?!), one would not know how obsessive I am about keeping things together and organized. Currently there are a few piles about the house: magazines for a quiet afternoon (yeah right), Seven's vet bills and pill schedules (I made calendars with time stamps for each med he's on so we know what he needs to take, how many, and exactly when), bills to pay, and even just general paperwork to look at and then toss. Seriously though, I am forever reorganizing things; life, work, none of it is ever perfectly organized. While there is a joy that comes with this obsession, there is also a load of stress and anxiety as well.
Keeping things tidy includes keeping shoes and clothes, accessories, free of lint and even specks of dust. Imagine my horror when an employee at a grocery store swiped my white leather purse with his permanent marker. Thankfully I was able to send the purse in to Coach to have it tidied up. But whew boy, I was livid.
Shoes get dirty. I mean, you walk around in them and they protect your feet from getting wet and dirty. But if my shoes get dirty, I panic. My grey Vans slip ons had a branch fall on the top while at the Seattle Center for Brick Con earlier this year and the small bit of a brown mark it left almost made my head explode. Ryan, who's even more obsessive about keeping things tidy that I am, just said, "meh, shoes get dirty." Seriously Mr. Clean. [insert side eye here]
Basically, if things get out of order, get dirty, get messy, I am thrown off and my head might just explode. This is really awesome when there's a kid in the mix. It has been such a learning curve, like, seriously steep! Trying to remain calm when a four year old is just being a four year old is my daily challenge. Well, one of them at least. And yet, tonight, P wiped my new pants (that I spent too much on) with his chocolate covered ice cream cone, leaving a brown swipe just above the knee. After dinner I asked him to keep his hands to himself as the fried lumpia left his hands super greasy. He touched my pants and left a grease mark. Typically, I would have a mini flip out episode. But I'm realizing lately that I just need to chill. We all just need to chill. I can wash the pants. They are just clothes that will get worn and worn down eventually. Life is too short. And there's so much more to life that being spotless. Life is messy. And that's what makes it interesting.
Here's to letting things get a bit more messy and not freaking out about it constantly.
Because I got a lotta love to give.

Furbaby

As we started to settle back in to daily life after vacation last week, one of our pups presented with a super lumpy leg and a bad limp. We got him to the vet immediately, and I remember us joking with the tech on drop off that we can just wait for their call, no rush. He's not dying, haha! Wrong. Turns out our beautiful pup, Seven, has osteosarcoma, a very aggressive bone cancer. Two days later we were at the specialists to discuss amputation and chemo. We discussed every aspect we could think of. Seven's quality of life with and without surgery, as well as his quality of life with and without chemo. Cost is a factor to think about, too, as amputations aren't cheap. And neither is the subsequent chemo. In all of this, one thing I'm so grateful for is the vet specialist saying, "you are doing the right thing; no matter what you do." In other words, even if we chose to just keep Seven as pain free as possible for the next month, that's a good option for him. I was fine and together up until he said that.

This is where some may chime with, "well, he's just a dog." Ya, he's not a human child. And I will tell you that there is definitely a different feeling to this than losing a child. Trust me. But Seven's still our furbaby. He's a part of our family and our love and compassion for him, even if just an animal, drive us to do everything we can. And fortunately, we can afford all that that entails. We're hopeful his next year will be a great one, even though it's only one more year.

My heart has dealt with such grief before this. It's as if I have already bolstered myself up to weather the worst as the worst has already happened. Nothing can really compare. I think what I feel most right now, though, is shock. Before all of this in just the past week, I had been stealing myself for Bear to be our first furbaby to pass. She's older, a pure-bred, crotchety. I seriously thought that she was going to be the first to leave us and I had been trying to imagine how Seven would be, how P would understand her absence. Instead it's our younger mixed-breed pup that is suddenly leaving us too soon. I guess no matter how old, dogs leave us too soon as they never live as long as we do. And sadly, as Ryan pointed out, P may not really remember Seven. That broke me a bit, too. It's so sweet to see Seven follow P around and lick and sniff him.

What's really hard to imagine at the moment, though, is how broken Seven will be coming out of this. I so regret not taking him to more dog parks and open fields. Any time he's "escaped", he's just been lying in an open field, happy as a clam, soaking in all the sunshine he can get. We took him to the dog park last Saturday for one last four-legged hoorah, but he just tired so quickly. He had already stopped using the bad leg (practice, right?), and seemed a bit wary and nervous instead of excited and wanting to explore. I know he can be okay as a three-legged pup, I just can't imagine him like that yet. As not whole any more. It hurts my heart a bit. Even knowing it's so good that the cancer has been removed, I just hope he understands and can still be so happy and playful and goofy.

Finally, what will Bear think when Seven's gone? She's a bit prissy and thinks he needs to submit to her constantly. Will she be relieved to have us all to herself again? Or will she be mopey and lack energy like just before we got Seven? He became her baby, sort of, and really woke up her energetic and playful side again.

As for now, I've cried. I've felt so anxious, out of sorts, worried. I love Sev to pieces, but honestly, it's different. Maybe because we go in to welcoming a pup in to a family knowing full well they will leave us before we know it. We still get dogs despite knowing they will die before us. Maybe that's what sets it apart from losing a child, even if your pet is your baby. Can it be devastating and crushing? Heck yes. But, please don't compare losing a pet to someone losing their child. Seriously, I love Sev and it saddens me that he's going through all of this, but it is not the same.

On the bright side, he is still here and supposed to come home tomorrow, and I so look forward to having him back home and safe with us for now. 

Because, even if he's just a dog, we've got a lotta love to give.