Normal to Feel Normal?

This evening my mom called me as she was out and about as she often does.  This time, however, was different then her, "How are you doing?  What did you do for dinner?" type of phone calls.  Instead she broke out of our  usual conversation and told me, "Your dad called me from work.  He told me to come and get him - he is sick."

Before I continue, let me explain something.  My dad is a strong man.  Even when feeling ill, he finds some hidden strength and pushes through.  Only once in my life do I recall him calling in sick for work - and that was within the last month or so.  Never has he called my mom to leave work early after driving himself to the location of his job.  While feeling well or ill...he pushes through and holds on to his responsibilities, even if it requires working double shifts.

By sharing that bit of information you now know that my mother calling with that news was unusual.  After talking to me, she went and got my dad taking him directly to the ER.

The hospital actually got him in rather quickly.  If you were going to have an emergency that requires the ER, tonight was the night.  Once I got to the ER there was at least an hour's time of which I was literally the only body in the waiting room.

Turns out dad has another infection.  The first decision was to hospitalize him.  They don't know the type or location of the infection, but they do know it's a serious one.  (Although from what they can tell, not as serious as one he had in March of this year.)  When I left they were talking about releasing him to go home.  (Which they've done that before but made him come right back a few hours later after getting test results.)

I got to the hospital around 9:45 PM and left around 1:30 AM, getting home around 2:00 AM.  When I left mom was still there and dad was still in the back as they still have yet to determine what they want him to do...Go home, or stay.

While being in the waiting room my mom let me play with her iPad.  Doing what a typical young adult does, I got on the free WiFi of the hospital and got on Facebook.  While on Facebook I chatted with 4 or 5 friends to give me something to do as it was too late to text "my usual people".  I can't remember which friend asked me first, but they asked, "How are you doing??"

That's when it hit me.  How am I doing?  That was a good question and one I didn't quite have a quick answer for.  I hadn't yet thought about how I was doing.  Thinking back to March, I could tell you how I was doing then when 911 was called and dad was taken away from the house in an ambulance.  I was a mess.  Thinking back to March I can recall the emotion of fear flowing through my veins.  Once the ambulance left and mom followed in her car, I remember being home alone taking the whole scene in (before leaving myself), soon to be followed by being doubled over in tears in the middle of our hallway.  There were countless tears I shed that night before heading to see my dad.

How am I doing?  This time around it is different.  At this point it seems almost routine and normal.  I've seen about as many movies in the theater as times my dad has been hospitalized this year - if not less than the times he was hospitalized.  If you look at how many times our family has visited the ER (not cancer diagnoses, surgeries, hospitalizations, or the death of my niece), we have been to the ER at least three times the amount of movies we have seen this year.  We've been there enough times in 2011 alone that I've just about decided they should have V.I.P. recliner seats for each member of my family.

This time when mom called to tell me she was taking dad to the ER, I started to shed a tear or two thinking, "Not again...", but stopped myself to ask my mom, "What do you need?  What do I need to bring you?"  (Granted, my reaction this time may of also been different than in March because in March I saw how bad my dad was, which was worse than tonight.  From what we know right now, the situation in March was a lot more severe as we would of lost him that night had we waited just one more hour to call 911.)

To actually answer the question, "How am I doing?"  I still don't know.  This is routine and normal now.  I'm not sure if I've either numbed this part of my brain and heart for it to hurt less, if it's just that I've become stronger through all that I've been through this year, or if I've not completely taken it in that he's back in the ER.  I'm not sure if my mind is waiting to react until we know more details of the infection (severity, type, etc) or if God is just giving me a peace about the whole situation.  Any of those are possibilities.  In fact, it could be a combination of all of the above, or a mixture of certain ones.  

Is this normal for this to feel normal?  For it to feel as though it's part of our life and routine?  Is it natural to numb myself to the situation?  There are other questions that come to mind but those are to just name a few.   I've had a few unique situations in my life where it's hard to find people who have been in similar situations. (Example: The death of my niece.  It's hard to find people who have experienced the lose of a child from an aunt's perspective.  In the past I've even Googled support groups for the aunt/uncle perspective and there are none that I could find.)  However, while I know there have been unique situations in unique combinations, I do know I must know people who have had a sick father or sick mother in their lives.  It's a more common situation for people to experience and yet I have no idea which of my many friends have gone through a similar situation.  (And although common, it doesn't make it any easier.  Having a sick parent is a tough thing, and I imagine that goes for a child of any age.)  It's amazing what you learn about other people when go through different trials and situations.

Although it feels routine and normal I can't help but ask myself, "When did this become our way of life?  When did ER visits and dad's ill health become so normal to me?  Is this really our life now?"  And although it feels normal and routine, I still do have emotions, fears, and dreams attached to the situation that I've had since being 15-years-old when his bad health started.  I dream my dad will still be here to see me graduate college.  I dream he'll be here to meet the man I fall in love with, that he'll be here to walk me down the aisle as I stand next to him dressed in a beautiful white gown.  I dream he will hold my future children, his grandchildren. At the same time I fear my dreams are truly only that - a dream and not reality. 

I'm not much of an emotional person.  Okay - I take that back.  I'm not an openly emotional person.  If I want to cry, I usually wait until I'm in private and am all alone.  I let myself break when no one else can see me or hear my cries of pain - whether it be physical, spiritual, mental, or emotional pain.  Even when my niece died I was like this with family.  My grandfather, of whom I love dearly, asked me, "How are you doing?"  Instead of telling him the true burdens and pain on my heart I hid from him the honest cries of my emotions telling him, "I am fine."

This is something I am really trying to work on as I realize it's unhealthy.  I know of a few reasons in some situations, but I'm not 100% sure why I hide and ignore what I feel, especially around others.  I'm trying to be more open with my feelings and to be honest with family and friends that I know genuinely care.  (Obviously I'm not going to tell a random stranger how I feel, but when friends or even family ask, I want to be more honest and to not feel ashamed or as though I need to hide the feelings I experience and have.)  For me this blog is a start.  While I don't open up about everything on this blog (as that is not what is for as some situations, emotions, or feelings, are meant to be private), I want to open up some.  

How am I doing??  Ask me tomorrow (which I guess is technically now today).  Ask me once I get some sleep and once my dad's third infection of the year sinks in deeper.  Ask me when we know more to the situation.  My answer may be different than my repeated answer of earlier tonight, "I'm okay.  This almost just seems like it's routine and  normal."  Once sleep is in my system and we know more details, it may not feel as routine and normal.

What is your story?  Please share with me via message, comment bellow, on FB, text, or call me (there is a "Contact Me" page above).  I would love to hear your story and your experience.

Tonight was an eye opener.  Even if my family is currently done with cancers, tumors, and most surgeries, my dad's weak health and ER visits are and more than likely will forever be apart of our life and routine.

Oh, and is he hospitalized or coming home?  I've already posted this blog, so this is an update, but as of Monday, December 12 - He was taken to the ER once again.  This time he has been hospitalized with double pneumonia. 

The Travelin' Chick,

Crystal

PS: Thank you for the prayers for my dad, me, and my family!

Going Home

*This is a lengthy and slightly scattered entry...While it's long in words, it only briefly covers my thoughts, emotions, and only a fraction of the story.*

"You need to come home."

It's a phrase I remember all too well. I was in Japan a few weeks ago (helping with disaster relief work) when this was said to me. It was a phrase so unexpected - just as unexpected as the situation taking place at home.

Within 24 hours of landing in Japan I received a text from my mom telling me to call her as soon as possible. Knowing that phone calls and texts to and from Japan aren't the cheapest from the USA (even with a special plan), I knew something was wrong. Honestly, considering my dad's health this year, I figured it had to do with him. I assumed he was back in the hospital for a third time.

Once I got a hold of my mom back home in California I found out my theory was all wrong. Dad was okay. She was okay. This time around my sister and my niece were the ones who were in the hospital.

At this point my sister, Amanda, was about 22 weeks pregnant with my niece. Just a couple of weeks earlier we found out who my niece was. She was Ashley Elizabeth. Ashley would be my sister and brother-in-law's first daughter. Their first child. She would be my first niece, my parent’s first grandchild, and my grandparent’s first great-grandchild.

Now at 22 weeks within the womb, my sister found them sitting in the hospital being told the odds weren't good. The amniotic fluid was leaking. One more week is all they needed to increase the odds to better ones. Bed rest was a necessity and we would all know more in a few days.

In my mind I honestly thought, "Everything is going to be okay. God is in control. He'll take care of them. I'll make it home in about a week. Things will be okay and if she has to come early - I'll be home for Ashley's grand entrance into the world."

Stories and stories of God's care and miracles kept coming to my mind, encouraging me. I was worried, but praying about it I put it all in God's hands. Being in Japan I couldn't do anything about the situation other then pray and have my team members pray. Even if I had been home I still couldn't really of done anything more then what I was already doing.

A few days went by. During those few days a lot was accomplished. The team I was on in Japan took a night ferry from one island to another to get to the disaster-affected area. We got to where we were staying during our time volunteering. We met new friends with shovels in hand. We worked and we sweat. We laughed at silly moments (probably increased by jet lag). We cried for the Japanese and the destruction, horror, lose, and pain they have had to face in their lives and for the stories and memories they have to bear. (And again, there will be blogs about the whole trip and with the stories of the Japanese survivors.)

One day after several hours of bagging up rubble from where a house once stood we got back to the gym that was our temporary home. I hadn't looked at my phone all day. When I did I saw a missed call from my aunt and text messages saying to call her "ASAP". This is when I knew there must have been a drastic turn in events back home.

Calling her back she informed me that my sister had suddenly gotten an infection. An infection that sent her fever well above 100 degrees. The doctors made the call to induce labor. My niece’s arrival would more then likely occur within the next 24 hours. The odds weren't good at all. She had less then 1% chance to live. They still had her heart beat, but we wouldn't know anything until she was born.

In that moment as I sat in the gym on my sleeping mat, phone pressed against my ear, tears started to roll down my cheek. Other then the basics of the situation, all I remember my aunt heart-brokenly saying, "I am so sorry Crystal...I am so sorry." All I could really ask in reply was, "When will they know if she’ll make it? When will they know?" More then likely, we wouldn’t know for a few hours or until she was even born.

A few hours later the team was headed to the onsen on the bus, I got the call. My sister was still in labor but Ashley didn't make it. My sister would be giving birth to her beautiful daughter as a stillborn.

This was all so unexpected. The pain of losing my niece has caught me off guard. I had no idea it could hurt so much to lose a child that I never got to know. My heart was breaking, knowing I would never even get to hold her. Everything that could happen seemed to be happening to our family in the recent months. I was thousands of miles away as my family was being hit by one of the strongest storms we've had to go through together. Confusion hit me as I thought, "I thought God wanted me to come to Japan, but why would he want me here when my family needs me there? Why is all this happening - especially now?"

During the days in Japan I truly felt mostly okay. The work kept us busy. The laughter and silly moments kept me laughing. Our team kept me encouraged and prayed for my family often.

Nights were the worst for me. That’s when life slowed down. It’s when I was alone in my own little world and thought process. It’s when there was silence…Silence where my mind could wander back home, back to where I knew the pain and shock of the situation was devastating my family.

After working in Japan I ended up going home about two days early. I was leaving on a Monday and the visitation for Ashley was Tuesday. The service would be Wednesday.

Those few days were a blur. Leaving Japan I felt heartbroken. Every time I leave the wonderful country of Japan I feel as though I leave a little bit of my heart behind. Once on my plane I spent over 24 hours flying, arriving home in California before I ever left the country of Japan. (Yay for time differences!)

Tuesday came as my sister knocking on my door awaked me. Together we talked and we cried. She told me that I would, after all, still have a chance to hold Ashley if I wanted the chance. My sister and brother-in-law also asked me if I was willing to put a soft stuffed animal rattle I had bought Ashley in the coffin with her. “We would be honored if you chose to put it in with her, but we understand if you don’t.”

I knew I had to give her the toy and I was honored that they asked. When pulling down the bag of baby stuff mom and I had been collecting, to retrieve the item, I thought to myself, “This isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to be pulled down until her baby shower. This is suppose to be used in a time of celebration.”

Walking into the visitation room tears instantly trickled down all of our cheeks as the little pink coffin came into our vision. Instantly I couldn’t help but think, “No coffin should ever be that small.”

During the first 30 minutes or so of being in the room I couldn’t get myself to go past the back row of the chapel. As my family walked to the front crying and hugging one another, I sat in the first chair I saw - frozen. As a couple of family members tried to get me to go closer, I couldn’t move. I had no words to say. Eventually even my tears froze as I sat there taking it all in, not knowing what to think, do, say, or how to react.

There were many thoughts going through my mind that day. Reality was finally really hitting. Being in Japan and hearing what was happening, it hurt and I felt broken. But being home…Seeing the pain…Seeing the coffin…It really made it sink in as real even more then just hearing what was occurring. What I knew as broken before felt more like little cracks in comparison to what I was now feeling. (Kind of like Japan. It’s one thing to hear about the disaster and work that needs to be done. Pictures help to understand, videos really helped, but being there in person…hearing the stories…seeing their pain in their eyes…seeing the destruction and rubble…it’s a whole different ball park in comparison to just reading the papers and online news.)

As I watched my family from afar it felt unreal as a loving father took his precious 14-ounce daughter wrapped in pink out of the coffin they were to bury her in the next day. It felt unreal as her mother, my sister, gave her one last kiss on her little forehead and as great-grandparents held her for the first and last time (as they, like me, were out of town when all this took place).

Up until this point I didn’t know if I would hold her or not. In fact, I still hadn’t even gone up to look at her yet. This wasn’t due to a lack of desire – believe me. The desire was all there. The strength is what I feared I lacked.

When I realized it they were getting ready to put her back into the coffin for the last time, I jumped up realizing this was my last chance. This was my last chance to see her…to hold her…This was my last chance to create my first and last memory with her as she was out of the womb.

As they handed her to me she felt so light. Tears started to pour out of my eyes and down my face. I remember family surrounding us. I remember my mom saying, “Look at her little hand…” as she uncovered it from the blanket she was wrapped in so snuggly. She had five little fingers and a cute little nose. She was beautiful.

When putting her into the coffin for the last time she was given a little tiny Bible by her little hands. We also placed in a stuffed animal rattle that I had purchased in excitement for a future baby shower. Also with her I put in a little bib I had just purchased a couple of weeks before that said, “My heart belongs to my aunt.”

The next day we drove to the cemetery. As we got out of are cars, we saw other family members and friends standing under a tarp all dressed in black. We were guided to our seats where the service would take place. We heard a preacher speak and two beautiful songs, including, “Jesus Loves Me”. Before I knew it the service was over and it was time to lower Ashley into the ground. As my tears once more flowed down my cheek, my cousin Brett held me while shedding his own tears.

The last month has been an emotional roller coaster for all of us. We’ve all experienced some kind of anger, happiness, bitterness, sadness, and times of laughter. Many thoughts have run through all of our heads about all the situations surrounding our family. A month after all this has occurred I still feel the urge to run to Babies ‘R Us or Carter’s to buy a cute little pink frilly baby dress for my niece. Instead, I remember we all had to purchase black funeral ones for ourselves in mourning and sadness.

Everyday is different in our house. Some days are easier, some are harder. We all always think about Ashley. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think about her. I think about the memories that should have been made. I think about the ones that one-day will be made when we meet face to face and can hold a conversation. I think of her in her new body soaring on the wings of angels and being held by our Heavenly Father.

I’ve been battling the question, “Am I still considered an aunt??” It’s taken a while for me to figure out if I still am considered one until recently. When people ask me if I am an aunt, or if I have any nieces or nephews, my answer will always be “Yes!” without question. Ashley is as much part of our family and lives as anyone else with our shared DNA. My love for her started from the moment we knew she was in existence – before we ever even knew she was an “Ashley”. While she may not be with us physically anymore, she is always in our thoughts and hearts as our love for her always lives inside us.

Hey Ashley - I love you. And I am NOT afraid to say it!

The Travelin' Chick,

Crystal