The small things that make me happy

I was just sitting on the porch, listening to the thunder coming closer and closer. I love the smell of a coming rain. I love the way the air feels just a bit heavy. I love those first precious raindrops.

You know, every day I appreciate things that are new. Today, as Steve was hanging his laundry in his closet, I saw a glimpse of the old Steve. He is still just the same, the same man I have loved for years, for what seems like all my life. He is still as handsome as ever, even if his smile only works on one side of his face. I remember the scary days that I didn't think that I would ever see that smile again. I am grateful to see it at all.

And then there are my boys.... My joy. My loves. My Cars has the biggest smile you have ever seen, and eyes that sparkle like no others. My Connor... he talks more every day. I love his little voice, and all his questions. And my Cadan, or Cadybug as well call him most of the time. He is such a brave, sweet little soul. He is growing up way too fast.

Longing for easy times...

My blog is probably no fun to read. Some day it will be again.

Some day soon I will fill the pages with stories of my boys. I will tell you about how in love I am with my newborn baby. I will cry happy tears as I write these entries. I hope those days come soon.

Today, I am not there yet. I am in mourning for my life as it was. I want my children to have a normal schedule. I want my husband to be whole again. I want a day to pass that I don't cry, or worry, or feel like crawling in a hole.

I have always said that I would teach my children that life is not fair. HA! Life has really taught me that lately. I thought I knew, I thought I knew. I am so sad that that my boys are having to learn these hard lessons already. I know Carson and Connor are too young to know a whole lot about what is going on, but my Cadan feels it. I can see it on his face and in his spirit. That hurts me to my very core. I just want to protect my babies.

I worry so much about this baby I am carrying, baby Corbin. Has he been traumatized by all the events that have happened? I pray that he is healthy and happy.

Breaking Point

Breaking point... That is where I feel like I am today.

The culmination of the events of the past 2 months is really starting to wear on me. I am close to a total breakdown. I know that I have to find a way to hold it together, for myself, for Steve, for the kids, for the baby I am still carrying.

I had an OB checkup on Friday, I am now 32 weeks along. I have gained a slight amount, 3 pounds, over the past 2 weeks. This is a milestone for me, as I have not yet been able to make any weight gains this pregnancy. I told my OB about the contractions I had earlier in the week. He decided to do a fetal fibronectin test (fFN) to try to predict pre-term labor. Unfortunately, we received a positive result on Saturday. I was given steroid injections Saturday and Sunday to help that baby's lungs develop, in case he does arrive early. Now I am on "modified bed rest."

I am so worried about this little baby that has had to endure so much stress in my womb. I wonder just how this will effect him. I hope and pray that he does not suffer for the trauma of the last two months.

Lazy Sunday

Laundry, dishes, floors, toilets... There is so very much to do around here. I feel like doing exactly none of it. None. I have accomplished nothing today, except sleeping. I slept the day away. It may sound like a nice way to spend your Sunday, but with all the things that I need to do, I am now filled with regret.

I wouldn't have stayed in bed all day had I not been feeling so badly. My back hurts. Really bad. I actually feel like I could go into labor, although at only 31 weeks, I hope not. This is how I felt shortly before I gave birth to Carson, my only spontaneous birth.

The day that will shape our lives forever, final part 5

I guess there has to be an end to that day, that May 5th. It feels as if it has not yet ended.

I asked everyone to leave so that I could have a few minutes alone with Steve. I wanted to love him, to talk to him, to be angry, to connect... There was so much I wanted from those moments that I knew I couldn't get. I wanted to look into his big brown eyes and see that strong spirit, "the force" as he called it. I wanted him to hold me, though I knew he couldn't. I wanted him to tell me that everything would be alright, just as he had done so many times before. I wanted him to just wake up and walk out of there, but that was not to be either.

The nurse came in to talk to me, disturbing the sobs that I had been holding back for hours. I knew that I needed to tell them about my Steve so that they would be able to better care for him. She asked what seemed like a million questions. Does he smoke? Does he drink? To me it seemed that none of that should matter, although intellectually I knew that it did. I wanted her to know that he hated his feet being cold, and always wanted socks. I wanted her to know that we have 3 little boys, with another on the way, and what a wonderful father this man she was caring for is. I thought that somehow I needed to plead his case, that he needed me to advocate for his right to live, for his right to recover. At that point, not a lot of things going on in my mind were making sense.

The nurse was very professional, my cries and pleas didn't seem to change her attitude toward Steve at all, which I know it shouldn't. Once she was done asking me questions, I had the chance to ask her some questions. I don't remember most of my questions, I am sure I made little sense. I do remember the last answer, and I will never, ever forget it. I will never forget the look on her face, or her long blond, braided ponytail, as see said to me, "We don't know when, or if, he will ever wake up." The matter-of-fact tone almost enraged me. Then she walked away, leaving me alone with my Steve.

I pulled a chair close to his beside and took his hand. He had no visible cuts or bruises. If it weren't for all the tubes and IV's, you would have thought he was just sleeping. I cried, and I quietly begged him to wake up. I pleaded and apologized for every harsh word I had ever said to him. I begged God to bring him back. I lost it a little, but quietly. No one in the unit seemed to notice.

Finally, I looked up to find John painfully watching me cry. He came and took my hand and told me that everything was going to be okay. It was time to go. I once again didn't want to leave my Steve, but I knew I had to. John walked me all the way back to the waiting room, where my Mom was waiting for me alone. Everyone else had gone home.

And so, that day, that day that has changed our lives, and will shape our lives forever, was over. The sun was coming up on the next day. So much changed that day.

So what's the point?

So what exactly is the point of my long, long four part story? I really don't know. The truth is, I am not yet far enough removed from the situation to know what the point might be.

Is there a lesson that I should have learned? I don't know that either. I don't think that me or my family did anything to deserve the pain that we have endured the past 5 weeks, especially my children.

The boys break my heart. I see them look at their Daddy in a new way now. Daddy is not invincible. That is a sad reality for little ones to have to face. Connor and Carson will probably not remember any of this, but I fear that Cadan will always remember the pain and the tears.

I cry every single day. I don't want to. I would love to have many days with no tears. Every day is just so damn sad. I know I am lucky that Steve survived such a horrific accident. I know this, but this knowledge does not ease the pain. Oh, yes, and the fact that I am 30 weeks pregnant doesn't help either.

I just crave normalcy. That doing the same thing over and over routine of life. I just want that. Again.

I also don't want my husband to be in such pain, to have double vision. I want to see his smile and hear his normal voice.

I am just too emotional today...

The day that will shape our lives forever, part 4

It took me a few days to continue. I had a very hard time with that last post. The accident was just about 6 weeks ago, so it is still all very raw for me.


I slowly made my way back to the emergency room waiting area where my family was anxiously waiting for word of Steve's condition. John walked back with me and Kim. She was somehow ahead of us, and John stopped to tell me that I was doing a good job handling everything. It was nice to hear, I felt so weak. He was truly a professional at giving comfort.

I barely remember going back into the waiting area. I just wanted to collapse into my Mom's arms, and let her take everything painful away. I couldn't do that, though. I had to stand strong on my own, after all, this time, I am a Mom.

Kim and I shared what we had seen. There was really no way to describe it. The harsh reality could only be witnessed personally. Steve's friends and family slowly soaked up the news, everyone looked so sad. Jacob and Jim, Steve's 2 best friends, were there. Seeing the obvious pain and grief on the faces of these grown men, who were so close to Steve was so difficult.

The next few hours are very much a blur for me. There was really no concept of time or space. It was almost as if I were in a trance. My emotions were crazy. I was angry, I was hurt, I was every emotion I have ever felt. I think that anger was the most prominent feeling during those first long hours. I was mad that this happened at all. I was mad at Steve for getting on that damn motorcycle. I was mad at Jacob for letting him, even though in reality, I knew Jacob had nothing to do with it. I just wanted it to be someone else. I wanted to turn back time. Just give me a few hours, please, I prayed and begged of God. Then I would think, no, don't do that. I would think if just one small thing were to change, Steve could very well not be here.

I remember looking at my in laws, feeling so terrible that they were having to go through this nightmare. I told them that I was sorry about the accident, and they looked at me with very puzzled expressions. What I meant was I was sorry that they were having to go through this, I would be sorry for anyone, but it was so hard to watch people I love in such pain. For that, I was sorry. I was sorry that they were sitting there wondering if they were going to lose another son, after losing Steve's older brother Chad in 2000. I cannot imagine losing my child. I cannot imagine seeing my child laying there the way Steve was.

Sometime in the night, my sister, Donna, called. She was having a really hard time with everything. She was actually at our church, on the altar where I was saved, praying for Steve. She was crying, but trying to hold it together for me. It was so comforting to hear her voice, to know that she was there at our church talking to God. I don't think that I have ever thanked her for that, I really need to make sure that I do.

My best friend, Mindy called sometime, too. She was just stunned. She offered to come down right away, but she has small children, too, and no sense of direction, so I wanted her to wait at least until morning. The last thing I wanted was for someone else I love to have an accident.

Finally, about 3 am, John reported that Steve was being moved to the Trauma Intensive Care Unit. He said that it would still be about an hour before we would all be able to see him. The ICU team would do a head to toe assessment to see if there were any injuries missed in the ER.

That must have been the longest hour ever. I held my breath every time the phone rang at the desk, every time John looked our way. I was a nervous wreck.

About 5 am, we were escorted to the TICU by John. That hour turned into two hours, as if often the case in hospitals.

The walk was very long from the ER to the TICU. I thought, as we walked those long winding hallways, that there was no way I would ever learn to get around in there. We all seemed to walk very, very slowly, with dread weighing heavily on us all.

John stopped us just before we walked into the TICU and explained the rules a bit. We all had to wash our hands before we were able to go into Steve's room. He explained the visiting hours, we were able to see him 3 times a day, at 10:30 am, 4 pm, and 8:30 pm, for 30 minutes each visit. No one under 14 would be allowed.

We formed a line at the small sink just inside the TICU. Steve was in the very first room, so we could all see him immediately.

One by one, we filed into the stark, sterile room. Everything was bleak and white. There were monitors and tubes everywhere. The beeps from all those monitors and the hum of the ventilator were maddening. We all formed a circle around Steve's bed, some standing closer than others. There was shock all around, as the gravity of the situation planted itself firmly into the hearts and minds of our loved ones.

I stood as close to Steve as I could. I held his hand and stroked his hair. I searched desperately for signs of consciousness, but there were none. I felt that helpless feeling wash over me again.

I became angry with everyone just standing around looking at Steve as if he were dead. Jim came over to comfort me, and I pushed him closer to Steve's bedside. I wanted Steve to know who all was there. I wanted him to feel the comforting touch of those who love him.

I will finish the story of this first day later. I am tired and it is bedtime.