Guilt.

“Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.” CoCo Chanel

Sadness, anger, guilt. I feel these 3 things on a daily basis. Some days I feel more sad than angry, some days more angry than sad. All days I feel the same level of guilt.

I feel guilty because sometimes I laugh and smile and feel completely happy. Sometimes I think, "wow, my life is perfect." Then I immediately feel guilty because how can I feel those things when they aren't here. How can I be happy without them?

After my dad passed away, I would have given anything to see my mom smile, to hear her laugh, for her to be happy again. And now, here I am without the both of them and I feel guilty for smiling, for laughing, for being happy.

I feel guilty because I can't remember the last time I said "I love you" to my dad. I always said it when I left him, but I don't remember it.

I feel guilty because I couldn't save them. Trust me, I know that I am not a doctor, not even close. What I mean by that is that my parents have never been the most healthy people. My dad had his first of 4 heart attacks when he was only 45. My mom was an insulin dependent diabetic. I feel guilty because I should have tried harder to get them to take better care of themselves. I was the only daughter, I lived with them the longest of their children. I should have tried harder. I should have been able to make a difference.

Most of my guilt lies with my mother. I have never said this out loud, I have never written it down, but I have thought it nearly every day since January 24, 2011. I feel guilty because I feel as though gave up on her. I mind knows that the decision we made that day was the right one for her, the logical one. My heart screams at me, screams that maybe with more time, she would have woken up. Science sides with my mind. Now, I have always been a girl who believes "Que Sera Sera," "whatever will be, will be" and in my heart that day I hoped and prayed that she would just wake up. I begged her to. I begged her not to make me say goodbye. I prayed that the doctors were wrong. I feel like I gave up on her, and for that I feel guilty.

Since that day I have worried that her family, her sisters and brother, her mom, her friends, blame us. I have been afraid that they think we made the wrong choice. I pray that they don't. But that fear is there.

The nightmares don't help. I did my mom's hair and makeup for the funeral. I didn't really want to, but I felt like I had to, for me, and for her. It wasn't the first time I had done this, I also did my great grandmother's hair for her funeral and I cut my daddy's hair for his. But doing my mom's was the hardest one. I wanted to get it right, make it perfect. I have never had nightmares about my maw or dad, but I do about my mom. It's usually the same, her waking up and yelling at me because her lipstick is the wrong color, those times I usually wake up smiling, because my mom rarely wore makeup, but loved her lipstick. Other times I wake up in tears, because she opens her eyes and asks me "why?"

Now, the logical me, the part of me who can reason, knows that we did the right thing, knows that my mom was no longer there. And all of me knows without a doubt that my mom is where she wants to be. I know that she would not have wanted to be in a coma, kept alive by machines when she could be with her love in a more beautiful place than we see on earth.

But the guilt is still there. And the thing about guilt is that it eats away at you, breaks you down. I do not know how to get passed it. People say that the sadness, the hurt gets easier. But will the guilt? Will it go away?

October.

October

For as long as I can remember October has been one of my favorite months. October means Gumbo, Halloween, fall. I've always loved October, I have always looked forward to October. This year is different, this year all I feel is dread.

October 2010, the last month my father was alive. My last memories of my dad are in October. The last place I went with my dad was the Gumbo Festival (my favorite weekend of the year) as he held Izabella I watched in awe at how proud he was to show her off. That same weekend was also the last time I spent the night at my parents with both of them there. He woke up with Bella so that I could get some sleep. October 30, 2010, the last time I sat on my daddy's swing with him while he finally got Bella to sleep, we watched the traffic go by and gossiped like 2 little old ladies. The last time he kissed my cheek and told me to be careful, the last time I felt his arms around me, the last time I heard his voice.

 October 31, 2010, the Saints vs Steelers game, I didn't talk to him that day but for the life of me I cannot remember why I didn't call him first thing Monday morning. The morning that changed my life. I could have heard his voice again. I could have heard "I love you" one more time... Why didn't I call?

I dread October for all the "lasts" it holds. I dread October because it will bring November. I hate November. I hate November for all the "firsts" it held last year and will hold again this year. 

I hate November for breaking my heart.

I know that I need to focus on the good and happy firsts November will bring, but my heart is still so broken. I am trying to learn how to do that. How to focus on the good, the happy. I know that is what they would want for me. 

But for now, I just want to sleep through November. Wake me up when its over. (Although I know the months that follow will not be any easier.)

Carlee Marie

I have been avoiding writing this post, one, because I haven't been able to find the words to accurately explain how I am feeling, and two, because I know it will be an extremely personal post. You can't write about the birth of your child without it being personal. So, here goes...

Carlee Marie entered this world on August 23, 2011 at 8:12am. She weighed 7 pounds 14 ounces and was 20 1/2 inches. She is absolutely perfect. Seeing her, holding her, kissing her for the first time, life made sense. The first moments of her life were happening so fast I had no time to think of anything other than the perfect little girl I had been blessed with. 

It wasn't until an hour or so later when I felt the "bitter" to this bittersweet day. Seeing my in-laws hold their new granddaughter for the first time I felt a piece of my  heart break again. Watching my husband watch his parents hold his little girl with such pride in his eyes reminded me that I will never have that moment. I will never see Carlee is my mom and dad's arms. She will never hear their voices.  

I guess to fully give you a glimpse into my head, my heart, I have to take you back a few months, well, about 9. The first few months or so of my pregnancy were a blur, I don't think it really hit me that I was going to have another baby until I started to feel her move around. There was just so much going on, so much I had to process. And part of me was too afraid to really embrace the pregnancy, I was terrified that this baby was just someone else that I would lose. There was a moment, around the time we found out we were having a girl, when I thought that I would find some sort of peace when Carlee would be born. I truly believed that I would feel better, happier, that I would be healed. That moment has yet to happen. The birth of my daughter has not made the death of my parents any easier.

Please, do not misunderstand what I am saying. I absolutely adore and am completely in love with my sweet baby girl. I just expected, or at least hoped that having her here would heal me. Would make me "ok" again. She fills my life with a thousand times more joy. I have 2 beautiful little girls who give me a reason to smile, to laugh, to dance, to play. Even on the hardest days, its impossible not to smile the moment I see their faces.

However, with the joy comes the heartache. Because it is impossible for me to not wish they were here to witness it all. Every milestone one of my girls' reaches is also a reminder of the heartbreak I have experienced. Izabella learns a new word, or does something cute or funny, and I immediately want to pick up the phone to call and share it with my parents. Carlee is crying and I can't calm her, and I want my mother's advice.

Those things will never change, I realize that now. I just have to learn to live with the sorrow that will always be in my heart. I have to learn to let the joy, the happiness I feel not be overtaken by the sorrow, the sadness. One day...

(Carlee is now a month old and weighs 10 pounds 8 ounces and is 22 1/4 inches! Izabella better watch out, her baby sister may not be her "little" sister for long! She is doing well, and is a happy baby, except from the hours of 7-10pm, silly colic! Bella loves her sister and often wants to hug and kiss her without us asking her to. I live a truly blessed life.)

God gave me you...

Their Love Story. 37 Years later...

On August 17, 1974 my mother and father stood before God, their family and friends and promised to love, honor and obey. They took those vows seriously. 37 years later they are no longer here with us, however, their legacy, their love story lives on. They left behind 3 sons and a daughter, all with families of their own. 8 (soon to be 9) grandchildren who loved and adored them. They live on through all of us, we are their story.


They never spent one of their 37 anniversaries apart. Even last year, when my mom had open house at THS, my dad sat in the back of her classroom, waiting to take his wife out to dinner. They loved and cared for each other more than their own selves. I am proud to be a part of their story, I am proud to be their daughter.


Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. I know you are celebrating in a more beautiful place than I can imagine, and dancing to more beautiful music than I have ever heard. I love you both and miss you more than anything.

one week.

In exactly one week my world will change once again, but this time it's an amazing change. One week from today (if not before) my husband and I will be welcoming our second daughter into the world. I am a crazy mix of emotions right now! From terrified, to thrilled, to overwhelmed. I am trying to sort through all of the crazy things I am feeling!


I know it will be a bittersweet day for me, and I am sure for some of my family. Bitter because it will be another event that reminds me of what I have lost. It will be a reminder that they aren't here. Sweet because my family will be complete, the gift that my father sent to me, will finally be in my arms. I would be lying if I said that I am not terrified. Will I be strong enough? My daughters birth will be the true indicator of how I am actually coping. It will be the first big event that my parents are not here to see. Of course, I know that they are watching. But, let's face it, it is just not the same as if they were here to hold my hand, hold my daughter.


I could never explain what Carlee means to me, she isn't even here yet and she has changed my world, changed the way I view the world. She has shown me that life really does go on. She has given me hope when I have felt completely hopeless. She has been my light at the end of a long dark tunnel. And I am pretty sure she has been that for other members of my family. Carlee's birth will be the first really positive big event in a lot of our lives. She is such a special baby, I hope one day she truly understands that. 


--Carlee Marie, she is named after my dad, Carl, and Zeb's two grandmothers whose middle names were both Marie. (Yes, I have had to explain that.) I cannot wait to meet her. I cannot wait to hold her. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life taking care of her and her big sister. I pray that I can have the impact on my daughters' lives that my parents had on mine. Izabella and Carlee truly saved my life. I have gotten out of bed every morning for the last 9 1/2 months for them, to make their lives the absolute best that I can. I hope I am doing a good job of that.


[Sometimes the thought of my parents never getting to meet Carlee is so overwhelming, I begin to panic. Then I take a deep breath and remind myself that they are with her now. Somewhere in heaven they are sitting on a swing watching the traffic go by, they are holding her and kissing her. They are telling her all about her Mom, her Dad and her big sister. They are getting her ready to meet us. They've been with her this whole time, taking care of her until she is here with us. They are teaching her everything that they would if they were still here. When I begin to panic about them not being here to welcome her, I remind myself that they are the ones sending her to me, that she will leave their arms as they place her in mine. Maybe this isn't the way your heaven works, but it is the way mine does. Believing this keeps me sane.]

not fair.

"It's not fair," those were the words of my then 6 year old cousin when she came up to me and hugged me at my father's wake. Those were the words I have thought to myself over and over again over the last 9 months. The difference between her saying it and me saying it, is that I know better. She is 7 now, she doesn't understand the way life works. She only knows she loved her Uncle and her Aunt and now they are gone, she doesn't know though, how blessed I was to have them for as long as I did. And sitting here writing this, I am trying to remind myself of just that.

When I was just a little girl 2 of my uncles died too. I remember their funerals, I remember not understanding. I understand now.

My parents were there when I started kindergarten, when I had my first broken heart, when I graduated high school. My dad walked me down the aisle the day I said "I do." My mom held my hand while I was in labor with Izabella. They were there for all of my life's "big moments." I am blessed and lucky for that. I know that without a doubt, because I have seen how much it hurts when your parents aren't able to be there.

I have watched my sister-in-law, Alyssa's, brother "give her away" at her wedding because her father passed away when she was still just a teenager. I have seen my cousins go through most of their "big moments" without their dads there to see. Kyle was just a baby when his dad passed away, and his older sister and brother were really just kids. Angie was so young when her dad passed, but the memories she does have she holds very close to her heart. Her older sister and brother were just young adults, just teenagers. That is what is not fair. Grandchildren born who never had the opportunity to meet their Paw Paws. Daughters whose fathers never got to "give them away." Sons whose dads never got to teach them to play ball or how to drive.

I am heartbroken to no longer have my parents. But I cannot deny how blessed I am to have had them for as long as I did.

In some ways maybe I don't know what true heartbreak is. I have watched both of my grandmothers bury their children. And I stood in a cemetery and watched my cousin bury the baby she carried within her body, the baby she loved, and felt move, but never got to hear cry. I do not know that pain. And I pray that I never have to.

I don't know their kind of pain, I just know my pain. I know the pain of having your whole world turned upside down in a matter of months.

The 26 year old me knows that death is a part of life. That I am lucky, blessed and fortunate to have had my parents for as long as I did. But the 6 year old me wants to cry, kick and scream, "It's NOT fair."

I miss them, I want them back. The heartache feels like it will never go away. 

=)

She won't ever remember the times she spent with them, but I will never forget.