Thankful with a Twist

I've always loved Thanksgiving. Family, football, food (and everyone knows calories don't count on holidays) and, for me at least, the official beginning of the Christmas season. I come from high-quality culinary stock. There has never been a shortage of very talented cooks very eager to prepare some very wonderful down-home Southern dishes, so I have never really needed to lend my less-than-stellar skills (one more time, how do you boil an egg?) Thanksgiving generally finds me kicked back, relaxing, enjoying my family, the occasional football game, and sometimes even a book. Until last year, I still went first in line with the kids, since being unmarried and childless made me a kid in their estimation and therefore a de facto member of their club. But last year was different. Last year I was pregnant. I remember thinking, this is the last year I will get to eat at all! Yep, I was paying attention to my sister all those years, where her growing family meant more plates to fix for other people and a secure job as waitress to the kids' table. After getting up and down approximately 37 times to fulfill various requests from said table, she somehow managed to eat a little herself. It was going to be different this year. And I was ready for it. Looking forward to it.






Finlay should have been nearly 5 months old this Thanksgiving. I should have been doing the eat with one arm while holding my adorably clingy daughter in the other thing. But I'm not. And it just isn't right. And it makes me very sad.






After I lost her, the doctors told me that there were going to be tough times in the months and years ahead. I hadn't really expected Thanksgiving to be one of them, but here I sit, typing through my tears. I grieve for my daughter so intensely at times that I can scarcely collect a breath. I am exhausted. Emotionally weary. Physically spent, because every time I was able to doze off last night, I dreamt of her. She was smiling and alive and okay. And then I'd wake up, and I'd lose her all over again. One time last night I dreamt of her and was startled awake by loud, mournful sobs piercing the night's quiet. It took a second to realize that the horrible wailing was coming from me, emanating from somewhere too deep inside my soul. And must have been for quite some time, as my eyes were swollen, face and pillow drenched with tears. Never made it back to sleep after that one. It just hurts too much. Too much.






Today my family is gathering as we do every year, and I am really trying to be excited. I love these people, and they love me. There isn't anywhere I'd rather be than celebrating with them. I just wish I didn't have to be doing it with this giant hole in my heart. Finlay is all over my mind today, and I feel like I'm barely keeping it together. Hanging on by the tiniest of threads. I don't want to cry in front of anyone, especially not the kids. I don't want to bring them down. I hate to worry anyone, particularly my niece and nephews. And I know that the tears will never be too far away today. I miss her. I miss her so much. I know that I have so much to be grateful for, and I am. I really am. But man, I wish I were whole again. I wish my angel could have been here.

Thoughts on Osama's death...

I slept through the big announcement last night, but found out early this morning about the fact that Osama bin Laden is now dead.  I know this is what the vast majority of Americans have wanted since the terrible day that the towers fell in NYC, myself included.  But honestly, I'm not sure what to think about what I'm seeing on the news.

I remember the devastation I felt that day in 2001, as I watched for really the first time in my life, my country being attacked on her own soil.  I remember the fear.  I remember the outrage.  I remember the sense of patriotism.  And I remember the disgust I felt at seeing news coverage of the throngs of people in the streets in some other countries celebrating the attacks and the deaths of all those innocent Americans.  That would never happen here, I thought.  Why do they hate us so?

Almost as soon as I turned on the television, I saw the reports of the gathering masses of "jubilant" American citizens in front of the White House.  It reminded me very much of the footage back in 2001, and I find the whole thing, well, vulgar.  This is America.  We are supposed to be better than that.  I'm not saying that I am sorry he's dead, for that is by no means the case.  He was a terrible person, he did unspeakable things, and it has been a long, arduous road to find him.  And at such a tremendous cost.  How many thousands of innocent lives were lost along that road?  How many brave men and women did we lose who volunteered to serve their country?  If any man ever deserved death, certainly Osama was at the top of the list.  But, 'jubilant'?  No.  I don't feel jubilant today.  I am relieved that at least that part of this ugly war is over.  But what's on my mind are all the lives, all the sacrifice it took to get here.  And I'm also thinking of the inevitable aftermath.

The importance of this day is not lost on me.  I have read the headlines screaming 'JUSTICE SERVED!"  And perhaps that is so.  Or at least the closest thing to justice you can achieve in a situation like this.  I'm not sure there will ever be true justice for the men, women, and children who died on 9/11.  Nor for our lost soldiers.  I see nothing wrong with being relieved that Osama is finally gone.  But it would be the height of naivete to believe that this is the end of anything.  That we are somehow safer now that he is not in the world.  He paid for his crimes with his life.  But there are so many more just like him.  And now they have yet another martyr.  If anything, right now, I dread what comes next.  It just seems almost certain that there will be at least some attempt at retribution.  I am fearful for our men and women who remain overseas.  I pray for their safety.  And as always, I salute their bravery.  I'm reminded today of a quote by Mahatma Gandhi.  "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."  I fear that this could turn into just that.  A neverending back and forth that cannot be anything but bad for all of humanity.

I guess what I'm mainly trying to say here to my fellow citizens is this:  Take the day.  Be relieved that Osama is finally where he belongs.  But also, do not lose sight of the fact that we still have men and women over there in harms way.  Is footage of Americans celebrating this death in the street really what we want all of Osama's followers to be seeing?   We are supposed to be setting the example for freedom and democracy.  I wish we could do so with a dignity that was sorely lacking in the days following 9/11 in the streets of the middle east.  Maybe also take a few minutes today to remember the lives that were lost in getting here. 

He is gone, but the war is not over.  Let us all pray for a day of peace in the near future, where we don't have to be so concerned with terror alerts, nor do we have to bury yet another one of our country's heroes.

Brighter days

I know my recent posts have been pretty depressing.  I've been in a very bad place.  But I'm getting some help, and things are beginning to look up.  I think I'm going to be okay.  I still miss Finlay every day.  I still cry.  But talking to a doctor about post-partum depression was a really good idea.  I think the medicine they put me on is helping.  I am working on the Finlay's Friends project with renewed vigor.  And every day seems to be just a little easier than the one before.  I know I have a long road ahead, and that I will never stop loving or missing my angel, but for the first time in weeks, I think that I'm going to be okay.  Just thought I'd let you all know.  Thanks for the continued support.

And the Nightmare Continues

Last month I began my attempt to share the story of Finlay's loss.  Writing has always been my manner of choice for working through and expressing my feelings.  I've journaled for most of my life.  I began sharing some of that back in 2005.  A lot of times it can be very cathartic.  Anyway, I started this story in a post called The Nightmare Begins, and got as far as I could at the time.  I meant to finish the story later, but just haven't felt up to it.  I guess now's as good a time as any.

When I left off, I'd just found out that my precious baby no longer had a heartbeat, and that they would be inducing labor so that I could deliver her.  This seemed so surreal to me.  I guess I'd never considered how they would get a baby out under such circumstances, and this answer just didn't seem fair.  Delivery was one part of the whole pregnancy thing that really scared me.  And I hadn't even gotten to that chapter of the books yet.  I was about to get a crash course.

I had planned to have my mother, my sister, my aunt Shannon, and my 'other little sister' Branch in the delivery room with me, when I finally got to meet my Finlay in July.  I was quite certain that my wimpy self would absolutely want an epidural, and that I'd want Branch (an amazing professional photographer) taking pictures, but really hadn't thought much more about it than that.  I'd worried a little about all of the yucky and embarrassing things I'd heard could happen during labor, and never quite believed the women who told me that all traces of my dignity and modesty would be quickly forgotten when the big day came.  My naivete is almost laughable now.

They began my induction at 2 am Monday, March 7th, with something similar to Cervadil.  It was my understanding that this would cause me to begin dilating and having contractions.  I was half right.  It brought on contractions.  Just increasingly uncomfortable cramping at first.  They inserted more of this medicine every few hours.  And every few hours, the pain became more intense.  Time became a bit of a blur.  I know by Monday evening, the pain was still SOMEwhat manageable because I remember Christan bringing dinner for everyone, and I remember taking a walk outside with Mary and Shannon.  It was sometime late on Monday that I started REALLY getting interested in the epidural they had promised me.  But they had changed their minds.

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song...

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.


The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.




Excerpted from "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden

No Light, No End, Just Tunnel

I’ve been struggling for weeks to find that ‘will to live’ that I hear people talk about. It’s been an exercise in futility. If it weren’t for the people who love me, who I know would be hurt by my loss, I think I would have given up already. I’ve been telling myself that it’s not that I ‘want to die’, but that I just ‘can’t want to live any longer.’ Semantics, really. And it all ends up the same, doesn’t it?


I love my family. I love my friends. I would never intentionally hurt any single one of them. But I am hurting so bad. People don’t understand my not wanting to stick around. They say things will get better. But they are not getting better. Every day is just another day without her. And it’s not like I’m depressed over a break-up, reeling from the rejection and all that. That kind of loss is remediable. New loves come along. But my baby can never come back. She can never be replaced. There is no light to be found at the end of this tunnel. She’s gone. And I wish I’d gone with her.

I’m sorry that my feeling this way hurts the people who care about me. It makes

Failing

I'm hearing a lot lately about what I NEED to do, what I'm SUPPOSED to be feeling.  I know that all of these statements come from well-meaning people who care about me, and that they are not all without their merit.  But I'm not there yet.  And I don't know how to get there. 

I'm told that I need to get back out there, be around people, do things.  And I've tried, to some extent, to do that.  But it's hard.  I tried going out to dinner a couple of weeks ago.  I knew it was going to be hard to see people, but I decided it was time to try.  I made it to the restaurant, even into the lobby where the large group I was meeting waited for a table.  And it seemed like every where I turned, there was some happy person holding a beautiful, healthy baby.  And it just brought my own loss rushing to the forefront of my mind, and my eyes filled with tears.  I knew I was going to lose it, and I just had to get out of there.  So I left. 

One day this week,

Miles to Go Before I Sleep...

Things haven't been easy lately, to say the least.  I've had some very, very dark days.  Yesterday was one of them.  I've managed to make it through another night, sleepless though it was, and I now sit on the back porch listening to the world wake up as I try to remember the seemingly endless list of things I need to accomplish.
There is a poem I've always liked by Robert Frost.  Lately it has taken on new meaning for me.  Before I set out to tackle my list, I thought I'd share it with you.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.


My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


The last verse is very much my favorite, and I find myself lately repeating it often.

About the last minute name change...

So, shortly after I found out that Finlay was going to be a she, I finally decided on a name. And I wrote a blog (The Kid Has a Name!) about how I came to that decision. Some of you may have noticed that once she was here, I changed my mind on her middle name. I thought I'd explain why.

It was around 8 or 9 pm on that Sunday that they confirmed that her heart was no longer beating, and around 2 am on Monday that they induced labor. Needless to say, I got zero sleep that night. My emotional state bounced back and forth from complete hysterical crying to a kind of shock and numbness. At some point early Monday morning,

Remembering Finlay

This is a slideshow of the album I made on Picasaweb.

This is a link to the album online, where you can see the pictures in full size along with captions.

Was Lost but Now am Found?

I remember sitting in the chair in my parents’ living room, a couple of days out of the hospital, and listening as my Pastor told me that I had a purpose. That there was a reason I was still here, and that I could choose to find it, or to give in to the sadness, to the depression and give up on life. I remember thinking how ridiculous that sounded. A purpose? I had finally found my purpose. And I was planning her funeral that very moment. I doubted very seriously that I would ever find any good in this, the most horrible thing I had ever experienced. And then the other night, I was sitting on the porch, just enjoying the breeze and the quiet, and it came to me. Something I could do to help other people who were where I was a couple of weeks ago. A way I could remember my daughter and use my experience to bring even some small measure of comfort to others. And for the first time in weeks, I got excited. I had found my passion again. And maybe even a new purpose.




While still in the hospital recovering from surgery and still barely comprehending the totality of my loss, a family member gave me a copy of the book Heaven is For Real by Todd Burpo. This is a non-fiction book which recounts a very sick little boy's descriptions of his visit to heaven. Amongst other very compelling arguments for the existence of Heaven, the 4 year old describes meeting and playing with the sister he never knew he had, a baby that his mother had miscarried long before his birth. At a time when my faith was faltering, to say the very least, I cried tears of joy as I began to accept the fact that my little girl, too, was now in Heaven. And the idea that I would one day get to see her again, to hold her, and to finally have answers to all the "what might have been's" that so haunted my every thought brought me more comfort than I could possibly convey in words. I would like very much to make this incredible book available to other families who are faced with the loss of their precious infant. A memorial fund has been established, and the money collected will be used to purchase and donate, in Finlay's memory, copies of the book to area hospitals. It is my goal, through the help of friends and working with hospital grief counselors, to be able to offer every woman who faces this tragic loss a copy of this book. In this way I hope to help other families who are in crisis, to find some good in my own devastation, and to keep the memory of my beloved daughter alive. I would very much appreciate your help in making this happen. Donations can be made through PayPal by clicking the “Donate Now” button below, or directly to me or my parents. Feel free to email with any questions, or for a mailing address.  Please help, if you can.  I believe this can really make a difference.  No donation is too small. 

Obituary

Finlay Irene Ramsey was born an angel on March 8, 2011, in Tallahassee, FL. Though she never got the chance to know them, she left her tiny footprints on the hearts of the large and loving family who anxiously anticipated her arrival. She will be forever missed.

Please let this be rock bottom

Today marks two weeks since my life may as well have ended. That’s when I found out she was gone. And still not a minute goes by that I don’t think of her. Not a minute goes by that it doesn’t hurt. Some minutes the pain is more intense than others. Some minutes, it is so bad that it literally takes my breath away. I can hardly even breathe, much less cry. In the darkest times, the very darkest, I wonder why on Earth God would take her from me, and leave me here without her. I wonder why he couldn’t have just taken me too. And the only reason I can come up with is that I am being punished. That it was, in whatever way, my fault that she died. Somehow, I killed my precious little Finlay, and my punishment is having to endure what is left of my life here without her.


I try to remember what I once loved about living. And when I can come up

The Nightmare Begins

Friday, March 4th started out just fine. I woke up early, too excited about my scheduled ultrasound to sleep any longer. I got dressed and headed to the doctor’s office. Dr. Hume was the specialist I was seeing because of Finlay’s slightly elevated risk for a heart defect. They were planning to look at her heart that day, and I was expecting good news and hoping to catch a glimpse of her little face that day, since she hadn’t felt like showing it at the last exam. I was on the table in no time, and a technician started without the doctor. Almost immediately, I could tell something wasn’t quite right. She kept asking how far along I was, which was 22 weeks. I saw her taking measurements and noticed that when she calculated the baby’s size, it was coming up to only around 19 weeks. She had always been right on track growth-wise, so I was a little concerned. Then the technician asked if I’d had low amniotic fluid at my last ultrasound, and if they’d said anything about the size of the placenta. No, they hadn’t. And my anxiety only increased. Dr. Hume joined us and didn’t like what he saw when he looked at her heart. It was structurally sound, he said, but was tilted in a way that it shouldn’t be. Tears were streaming down my face at this point, and I was so scared that much of the rest of what he said was a blur. I remember him talking about how this could indicate some problem that they would be better able to diagnose at Shands. He said he would be referring me there, and that I should get a call in a couple of days to schedule the appointment. I left the office confused and terrified. I fell completely apart about halfway home.
I talked to my parents, and realized just how little I really understood about what was going on. We decided that I should call my regular OB’s office, and try to get some more information before the weekend. I spoke with a nurse who was very empathetic and offered me an appointment with one of the other practice physicians for that afternoon, as my doctor was in surgery and not expected back in the office. I declined, saying I’d really rather talk to Dr. Friall. I was hoping that someone could talk to Dr. Hume and find out what exactly he thought was happening, and perhaps alleviate some of my tremendous fear. The nurse told me she’d already gotten a call from his office and that they were sending a report for my doctor to review. The nurse, whose name I failed to get, offered to personally walk over to Dr. Hume’s office and retrieve the report, and said she would make sure Dr. Friall got it that day, and that someone would call me back with some answers. She told me to go to bed and try to relax until I heard back from someone. In just a couple of hours, I got a call from my amazing doctor, Dr. Andrea Friall. She tried to calm me, explained what they knew, and really did help me to calm down some. The best thing we could do was to get more information, and the best way to do that was to go to Shands, where a pediatric cardiologist could make a diagnosis. It meant waiting, and the uncertainty was unbearable, but for the moment it was all I could do.
The weekend was pretty low-key. I rested and tried not to worry. I also didn’t feel very well. This was pretty much par for the course, since I’d had ‘morning sickness’ for the entire pregnancy. On Sunday, however, I felt a little worse. And I had this terrible feeling that something wasn’t right. I couldn’t shake it, so I went to triage at the Women’s Pavilion at TMH. I had been there before, with the ongoing risk of dehydration due to the constant vomiting. I was taken back pretty quickly, and after asking some questions, the nurse got the Doppler to look for the baby’s heartbeat. They did this every time. And every time, hearing that little heartbeat racing along was such a comforting sound. This time it didn’t happen. She tried for a while, and told me that it could just be that the baby was still small and she could be in an awkward position. She called the doctor on call, and he said he’d be right over to do an ultrasound. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Somehow I just knew something was wrong. I called my family and asked someone to come up and be with me. I began texting everyone I could think of who might have some pull with the man upstairs and begged for prayers. And then I began praying, too. I begged God to please let her be okay. I promised that I would sleep more and eat better and do anything in the world if only she could just be okay. My sister arrived, and then my parents. The doctor came in with the bedside ultrasound, and he couldn’t see her heartbeat either. She was eerily still. My heart began to break,

The Kid Has a Name!

So after many hours spent perusing the sometimes ridiculous babynames.com, much debate with and input from a few very close friends and family members, and more than a little changing my mind…IT IS SETTLED. She has a name. And it shall be…Finlay Adair Ramsey. Why, you might ask? Because I said so. (Getting my parenting practice now.) Actually, I heard the name Finlay on a TV show a few months before I got pregnant. I liked it. When I started making my list of possible names a few weeks ago, that was one of the first to be added. I then proceeded to add about 20 other girl’s names that I saw and liked. Finally, a week ago, I got serious and cut the list down to three. Surprisingly enough, it was pretty much the first three I’d started with. The deciding factor ended up being the meaning. I KNOW! I have no idea why I didn’t look that up sooner. Finlay (sounds like Finn-lee) is a Scottish name that means ‘Fair Warrior’, which is pretty much a perfect representation of the kind of person I hope and dream my daughter will be. I want her to be ‘fair’ in every sense of the word. Pretty, sweet, tolerant, just, kind…you know, the fairest of them all and stuff. But I also hope that she will be smart and tough and independent and passionate and willing to fight for what she believes in. A perfect balance. So, there it is. Finally. Can’t wait to meet Miss Finlay Adair.
And she may even have her first nickname! I told my parents her name the other day, and got pretty much the exact mixed response I anticipated. I believe my dad’s words were, it’ll take some getting used to, but that’s nice. Later Daddy and I were at my sister’s and I was recounting my mom’s reaction to the great name unveiling. I think my sister asked my dad what he thought, and he said, “Of what? Ol’ Finnegan Apricot?” Those of you who know my dad know that this is typical Steve Ramsey. But it made me laugh, and I’ll admit to thinking of the baby as ‘little Finnegan Apricot’ more than a few times since. So, perhaps we have a nickname, at the very least, a special story to tell Finlay someday about her Grandpa and her name.

Out of the Mouths of Babes...

• Overheard while on the phone with my sister this morning, who was home with her 2 and 4 year old boys: “No, nobody needs a screwdriver." Never a dull moment in that house.

• After picking up my 6 year old niece Haylee from school today, she said, “Mammy, I know how you can get some more money,” a recurring theme with her these days. Usually she tells me of some great job she’s decided I should get. One time she said I should go work at a bakery, so that I could bring home all the extra cookies for her. Last time she told me I should just go be a doctor. Today she says, “You can get a man to bring you some home from work.” Oh, if life were only that simple!

• Haylee is always full of questions about the coming baby. Today she asked me if they would be able to tell me if I am having a girl or a boy when we go to “look at the baby” in a few weeks at my next ultrasound. I told her yes. She then says, “But how will they know since it still doesn’t have hair?” Trying to avoid an outright anatomy lesson, I replied, “Well, how did you know that your brothers were boys when they were born? They didn’t have hair.” And she patiently answered, with a touch of exasperation in her voice, “Because they TOLD us they were boys. I REALLY wanted them to be girls, though. Can you please have a girl baby so she can play with me?” Doing my best, Doodle, doing my best.

• Still my favorite baby-related conversation to date was one my sister overheard between the kids at the breakfast table a few weeks ago. Haylee: “I want Mammy to have a baby girl.” Brayden – “Well I want her to have a boy.” Haylee – “WHY?!” Brayden – “And I want her to name him Iron Man! Everyone will probably laugh about that. But not Mammy.” If my own kid thinks I’m even half as cool as my niece and nephews do, I’ll be one lucky Mommy. :)

Experiences

Things that I have experienced in the last week.
1. While shopping in Publix, I made the mistake of glancing up from my shopping list. My eyes immediately landed on a figure stooped over one of the produce cases. His back was to me, affording me a great view of his jorts, belted just below his butt cheeks, which were mostly covered by his red plaid boxers. I say ‘mostly covered’ because just above the boxers was about two inches of crack. I roll my eyes and think to myself, ‘His mother should kick his butt,’ about the time he stands up, turns around and reveals himself to be no less than 65 years old. It’s a whole new world out there.
2. At my second hospital visit this week for pregnancy-related dehydration, instead of a room, I was place in one of the 3 trauma bays, which only had a curtain. At one point during the night, a very chatty young guy was in the area next door. It finally got pretty quiet around 2 am. When my oxygen alarm began going off every minute or so, I heard what sounded like an echo. It took me a minute to realize, that dude next door was imitating every noise that came out of my room, including when I coughed or audibly sighed. It was a special kind of irritating.
3. Had to bite my tongue on visit 3 to the hospital when the admissions clerk came in to verify my information, lest I had moved or gotten married in the 2 days since my last stay. She asked all the regular questions, and then said is this the result of an accident? It was all I could do to not say, “Well, technically….” ;)
4. On another trip to Publix, this time in the pouring rain, I was nearly run down while loading my groceries by some idiot who was backing in, from the wrong direction, to the parking space right next to me, which happened to be the closest spot to the door. To do this, he had to cut off a little old lady who was approaching the spot from the correct direction. His hurry? To park and wait for the passenger whom he’d just dropped off at the door. REALLY?? Chivalry is definitely dead.