Six Months & A Remembrance Service

Today marks six months since our sweet Peyton passed away.  Six months seems absolutely incomprehensible.  It is surreal to think that so much time has passed.  I have said it before - no matter how much time has passed, it all at once seems like an eternity yet seems like it was just yesterday.

It is also very hard to believe that we are now in November and are charging full steam ahead into the holiday season.  I don't expect this to be an easy time for us.  For myself, this month I will celebrate my first birthday without Peyton.  For our family, we will celebrate Thanksgiving without her present with us and then Christmas next month.  Then it will be a new year.  That is so much more difficult to comprehend.  It has always been difficult for me to transition to a new month wherein it is a new month that Peyton has not been present with us.  I can't bear flipping that last calendar page and beginning a new year that she will not physically be a part of with us.

On November 1st, Ron and I attended a Service of Remembrance at St. Luke's Chapel at MUSC.  One of Peyton's home nurses attended with us.  I was honored that she attended with us as she was the last home nurse to work with her.  She moved out of town shortly after Peyton went into the hospital and wasn't here when she passed away.  She has since moved back and I am so grateful she could attend this with us.

The service was so touching.  It was as much for MUSC staff members as it was for the families grieving the loss of a child.  I have no idea when the other families suffered their losses, but my heart broke for them as it did for my own loss. The service opened with words from a Chaplain from MUSC's Pastoral Care group as well as from the Administrator of MUSC Children's Hospital.  Similar to Peyton's funeral service, there were so many comforting words spoken, yet so few that I could recall to memory right now.  The Administrator spoke to the medical staff, addressing the fact that this year has been a challenging year with some very difficult cases.  I believe I know one of the cases to which he was referring.  I know what it is like to be a grieving parent.  I do not know what it is like to be in the shoes of the medical staff who work with patients like Peyton.  I can honestly say that my heart breaks for them in the losses that they must endure in their profession.

A beautiful poem was read.  I have heard it before, but it is always touching and always brings tears to my eyes:

"We Remember Them"

By Jack Riemer and Sylvan D. Kamens | Poem

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.

In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.
In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.

In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.

When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.

After this reading, the Chaplain spoke again.  This was followed by the reading of names of children who have passed away.  As the names were read, candles were lit in the child's honor.

Peyton's name was the last name read in the first of three groups.  Of the three individuals who read the names, only one had a history with Peyton.  It was one of the pediatric hospitalists who worked so hard to figure things out for her and for us.  It was this doctor whose service Peyton was on for the first eleven of those forty days in the hospital.  It was this doctor with whom I first discussed the matter of "if" Peyton would be going home - not "when".  It meant a great deal to have this connection at the service.

I do not know what period of time all of those names covered.  But there were far too many children's names on that list.  One name would be too many.  There were eighty names read.  Eighty candles lit.  Eighty children for whom many hearts have been broken.

There was a slide presentation incorporating pictures some family members submitted in advance of the service.  Tears streamed down my face as I saw the faces that accompanied some of the names read earlier.  What was shocking to me was that not all of these children were little children.  Yes, some were infants.  Some were young like Peyton, who was 11 days short of her 7th birthday.  But some were older, wearing a cap and gown in their photo.  Some children appeared to have some sort of medical issue, having obvious scars or special need.  Others looked completely healthy and vibrant in their photos.  I wondered what their stories were.

The service was beautiful.  It did bring a sense of peace to me on some level.  I know that it did a lot of good for me to see people again.  I saw several doctors and nurses who worked with Peyton as well as a respiratory therapist and one of the people with hospice.  It was really nice to catch up with some of them at the reception that followed.  For me, one of the losses represented in Peyton's passing is the loss of the connections with the medical community she was a part of.  Once she passed, there were no more appointments.  No more trips to the ER.  No more hospitalizations.  Imagine having a kind of relationship with several people and then having all ties immediately severed.  Not because you don't want to see them, but because there is no need.  Peyton was the reason I saw them.  It is very strange.  I miss these people.  So for me, it was beneficial to be able to see them again.  I had not seen one of the doctors since the family meeting we had the Wednesday before Peyton passed in order to discuss how we would proceed.  A meeting I would not wish on anyone.  One of the nurses was one of the last people I said goodbye to before walking off the unit after saying our goodbyes to Peyton the morning she passed.  One doctor I hadn't seen since a day or so prior to her passing, when we were trying to tie up loose ends with Children's Hospital in Boston with regard to eventual autopsy issues and the genetic research to be done after her death.  There is a conversation I hope no one ever has to have {not to mention the paperwork needing to be signed}!  I suppose it's like these are the last memories I have of my involvement with Peyton's doctors and nurses.  While Peyton is now gone, it is nice to have a more positive encounter to replace those final memories - if you can call a remembrance service a "positive" memory.  It is.  It's just the circumstances.

Perhaps the timing of the Service of Remembrance was good for us.  It fell just 3 days prior to Peyton's six month anniversary.  Six months seems pretty significant - more so than three or four months felt.  I am grateful to MUSC Children's Hospital for this event honoring not just Peyton, but the many other children who have passed.  The care we received while we were in their care was beyond what I could have expected.  That they continue to care for families like ours means so much.  I am touched once again by the level of care of the medical staff at MUSC Children's Hospital and am certain that Peyton could not have been in better hands.

Life Lately

I wrote a little over a month ago - at the 19.5 week mark on this grief journey.  We are now at just over 24 weeks and I have to say that the issue of "time" has intensified for me since last time I wrote.  The marking of time has been so significant.  Each Saturday morning at 6:12 am I wake up and I remember that moment Peyton passed away.  I don't necessarily dwell on it for a long time, but there's something about that moment of the day that I cannot allow myself to pass through without remembering her.

I shared news last month about a serious ankle sprain {grade 3 with torn ligaments} which had sidelined me.  With this injury came a flood of emotions, causing me to have very emotionally painful recollections of taking care of Peyton when she was in so much pain from bones that were fracturing for no good reason.  My limitations caused me to recollect how severely limited Peyton was - and had been for the whole of her life.  While my own struggles with this injury are temporary {I hope!}, her issues were not - and it was painful to think of what it must have been like to be her.

So here we are about five weeks further down the road than we were the last time I wrote.  I wish I could say that I'm well on the way to recovery with my ankle because I've been going to physical therapy three times a week for the past five weeks or more - but that would be a lie.  I wish I could say that I am in a better place emotionally today than I was last time I wrote - but that isn't really the case either.

Why?

There are times in life {it seems} where you just get pounded with one thing after another, after another, after another...and another.  This is one of those times.

If we are acquainted, perhaps you know where this is going.  If we haven't connected lately or you don't know me that well, here's what's been happening since I last wrote...

My ankle injury was September 8th.  I rolled over on my right ankle after getting up off the couch and taking a few steps.  As I shared, it was a grade 3 sprain {on a scale of 1 to 3, 3 being the worst} with torn ligaments.  I was laid up for a while with that, but after seeing an Orthopaedic Surgeon, I was put in a boot which I used consistently until the last few days.  I have a splint that I've been wearing all along, but am only now beginning to wear it round the clock and am able to walk around without crutches and with tennis shoes on - as long as the splint is on too.  I did start physical therapy three times a week.  I went a few times.  I was making some progress.  The bruising was finally starting to die down.  The swelling, too, was going down somewhat.  It's still swollen to some degree, but nothing like it once was.

Then September 30th happened.

I didn't feel "right".  I'd been pushing myself to move around and do things for a couple weeks or so, but was still pretty limited in what I could do as the pain I was in was pretty significant still.  I had aches and pains that weekend.  When I went to bed on September 29th {Saturday}, I was sore and couldn't get comfortable.  I was starting to become concerned that the pains I was having weren't just aches and pains from being laid up in bed for a few weeks.  Ron knows me well and he knows that when I start getting weird pains in my back, my mind sometimes gets farther ahead of me than it needs to and I start getting a little paranoid.  Past medical history dictates that these pains, when legitimate, are not good.  So, of course, his concern for me was heightened that night.

I did go to bed and I did fall asleep eventually, only to be awoken around 2:30 am Sunday.  I was very sore.  I couldn't get comfortable.  And I felt short of breath.  Of course, I thought it could be the paranoia of the source of these pains, so let's just take a moment to calm down, relax, take a deep breath.... and that's when the sharp pains hit.  In my efforts to calm myself, I did fall back to sleep somehow for about an hour.  At 3:30 am I was awake and trying to figure out how to get up out of bed {at this point, I'm still sleeping on the pull out couch I've been sleeping on in Peyton's room because it's on the first floor - more on that subject another time, but suffice it to say it has been extremely convenient with this ankle injury}.  It wasn't just the getting out of bed that was the issue - in my mind it was getting up, getting the splint off my foot, and the boot on, and getting to the bathroom...without dying.  Literally.  That's what was in my head.  I couldn't walk without the boot, but I needed to get in there.  I didn't know how I would stand up without passing out - that's how poorly I felt.  The pain was worse.  At this point, I could not take deep breaths.  Shallow breathing, sharp pains.  I knew where this was headed.

20 steps from bed to bathroom.  It seemed insurmountable but I did it.  Without the boot.  I grabbed on to everything I could along the way, last of all the bathroom counter.  I made sure to bring my cell phone with me to the bathroom because I had a feeling I'd need it.  I texted Ron, who was asleep upstairs, at around 4:00 am - only after I'd somehow managed to pull on clean underwear, yoga pants and a t shirt, brush my teeth, and run a brush through my hair.  Yes, somehow as I'm staring at this dusky looking, sickly looking, barely able to breath image in the bathroom mirror, I'm thinking that if I'm needing an ambulance, I surely need to freshen up.  Right?!?!  Because when you can hardly breathe and are at a point when you're texting your husband to call 911 for you, you've got to look your "best".

Fast forward through delivery of Moira sometime before 4:30 am to the next door neighbor and the arrival of the same two EMS guys who brought me to the ER just a few weeks before with the ankle injury...I was brought, once again, to the ER of the same hospital.  Upon arrival, there were some nurses who recognized me.  You've got to be kidding me!!  I was thinking, so this is what it must have felt like to be Peyton - to arrive at the ER and have people recognize you as soon as you pass through the door!  I wasn't digging the familiarity at this moment.

I was seen immediately and had blood drawn.  Labwork confirmed what I already knew in my head to be the diagnosis.  Pulmonary embolism.  Don't know what a PE is??  Good!!  I hope you never do!  As for me, this is my third time down this road.  Third.  Once the d dimer test results were back, I was off to the CT scan pretty quickly to confirm a massive bilateral pulmonary embolism - blood clots in my lungs.  Yes.  Both lungs.  Again.

To say that I am grateful to still be walking {or hobbling} on this Earth right now is a mild understatement.

I spent 3 days in an ICU step down unit where I heard multiple times how fortunate I was to have survived this life-threatening event.  This is not the first time I've laid in a hospital bed being given news of a potentially life-threatening condition.  Five times now, by my count, have I received news of my health being in jeopardy.  Three of those times it has been a massive pulmonary embolism - two of those events were post partum.  This one...after an ankle injury???  While my injury isn't mild, it certainly isn't the worst possible injury.  At this point in time, I have not had any surgery on it.  I am awaiting MRI results but so far as I know, there is no fracture.  The Orthopaedic Surgeon said he has never seen a case with a similar injury result in a PE.  Ever.  Lucky me.  He said, "I'll even give you a fracture...I've still never seen a PE from this type of injury."  Great.

I am now a few weeks past the pulmonary embolism diagnosis.  I've not been to physical therapy for a few weeks now.  I am seeing my primary doctor this week and hope to get his blessing to return.  If I thought I was slowed down as a result of the ankle injury, that was nothing compared to how much the PE has slowed me down.  My body flat out revolts when I've overdone it.  I'm past the major shortness of breath stage, but if I do too much, I feel very much out of breath and completely exhausted.  I followed up with my Hematologist today.  So far, the test results that have come back show no clotting disorder as a cause for what happened.  Just as the Ortho was mystified by the PE happening as a result of this injury, so too is the Hematologist.

So we come to this past weekend.  I've been going stir crazy.  I haven't been out of the house except for a few times since September 8th.  As I process through the grief over losing Peyton in addition to essentially living in her room, my mind has been racing with thoughts of what we are supposed to do with this space.  Her room.  What could we do with it?  At the same time, the thought of taking her crib down was just not a place I wanted to visit.  Her crib was still set up - sheets and all - the exact same way we left it the morning of March 30th when we took her to the ER which resulted in her final hospital stay and eventual passing.  I couldn't go there.  I've put away little things and gotten rid of some things.  But her crib - that's just entirely different.  To me, it's a very obvious physical presence in her room and to get rid of it, to me, is acknowledging that she doesn't exist anymore in a very real, tangible way.  It marks the end of this being her room.

I was really struggling this weekend.  I have been in pain.  I have been sick.  I am sick of being sick. I'm sick of being tired.  I'm sick of hurting physically and emotionally.  On Sunday morning, I woke up before 5:00 am.  My mind was instantly racing, again, with thoughts on what we need to do next.  By the time Ron and Moira were up and getting ready for church, I felt that Sunday would be the day for me to work on the crib.  I didn't know if I could do it.  I put out a request on facebook asking for prayers to help get me through this task.  While Ron and Moira were at church, I did it.  I placed her toys in the closet.  I folded the sheet and blanket that were on her bed and tucked them away.  Her urn, which had been placed in the crib along with her pink hippo back in May, was moved to another location {so was pink hippo}.

It was the hardest day since Peyton passed away.

I can think of a million things I would rather do with my time than to pack away the belongings of my deceased six year old daughter.

The crib has been disassembled.  Other items were gone through.  Some furniture has been moved into the room in the crib's place.  We will work on making our environment functional and hopefully considerably more organized than it has been lately.

The hardest task is done.  I no longer have to fear it or dread it because it is behind me now.  The crib wasn't "her".  This, I know.  It's another milestone on the journey of grief.

I am so grateful to the friends and family who prayed for me through Sunday.  Without your prayers and support, I couldn't have done this.  It needed to be done.  I am so grateful to God for the strength to get through this.  I literally could not do this on my own.  I don't know how anyone could.  A parent simply should never have to go through this.  Ever.  But with God as my strength {our family's strength}, somehow we are making it through this.

One day at a time.

Peyton's 2nd Halloween - 10/31/2007

19.5 Weeks

It's been 19.5 weeks. More precisely, it's been 136 days 16 hours 18 minutes since Peyton passed away at the moment I type these words.

I open my calendar and I stare in disbelief as the weeks that have passed have not only moved out of the "single digits", but are nearly out of the "teens".  It's been 4.5 months.  The time that has passed weighs heavily on my mind.  As of a few moments ago I calculated nearly exactly how much time has passed using an online tool:

136 days, 16 hours, 22 minutes
or 4 months, 13 days
or approximately 3,280 hours, 22 minutes
or 196,822 minutes
or 11,809,320 seconds

That is how much time has elapsed since Peyton breathed her last breath.  The weight of those months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds is heavy.  To some, it was "a few months back" or maybe it was "recently" or "near the beginning of summer" or "at the end of the school year".  To me, it was 11,809,320 seconds ago {more now since time has passed since I found that figure}.

Ron and I started attending a support group at church called GriefShare.  It is a 13 week cycle that covers several topics on grief and loss from a Christian perspective.  I attended one complete cycle a couple years after my mom passed away.  I began a second cycle, but only made it about half way through {if that} before Peyton's health was declining and was beginning to have multiple fractures.  A new cycle began the week of/before/or after Peyton passed away.  I forget which.  But it was right around that time, and was way too soon {besides the fact that we'd have missed one or two weeks at the time she passed}.  We decided that we would both attend when the next one came around.  It began last Tuesday night.  We attended our second meeting of the 13 week cycle this evening.

We are only a couple weeks in, but between the group discussion, the dvd presentations in the meeting, and the workbook we use during the week, it has me thinking so much more about Peyton - her life and her passing.  Not that there was ever a moment where I wasn't thinking about her.  She's in the front of my mind now.  It is ever present.  It is painful.

I think I probably wear a mask some of the time.  I'm not always on the verge of tears, but I'm not always "ok".  I'm sad.  It hurts.  Certain situations hurt or bring back memories or feelings.  But I can't go around in tears all the time or talking about how painful it is all the time because no one wants to hear that, right??  Truthfully, I don't cry all the time or feel the pain that intensely all the time, but there isn't a day that passes where I don't feel sad at some point during the day.  If asked how I am doing, you probably aren't going to hear exactly how I am feeling.  What a conversation killer that would be.  But I'm not back to "normal" - nor will I ever be.  Peyton is gone and there is a gaping hole in my life right now that can't be filled with "things" to make it "all better".  I don't even know if we've found a "new normal" yet.

New normal.  What is that supposed to look like?  A family of 4 became 3.  I know that we both feel like there has to be something beyond this.  Something more.  That Peyton's purpose is not entirely fulfilled.  Her physical life with us, yes.  But there has to be more.  There has to be something more to her life than the 6 years, 11 months and 18 days she was with us here.

I am injured.  No, really, I am.  I was sitting on the couch.  I stood up and took a step or two before rolling on my ankle.  I heard a very loud pop followed by a buzzing in my ears, breaking out in a cold sweat and passing out for a few moments.  I "came to" to the sight and sound of Ron on the phone.  All I could think of was that this was a pretty poor time for a personal call {until I realized he was giving his "friend" a list of my current meds and realized it was 911}.  Went to the ER in an ambulance.  The doctor said it was not fractured - was a Grade 1 or 1.5 ankle sprain {3 being the worst}, and I was to stay off it for a week.  I was given a shot of Dilaudid, put in an air splint, handed crutches and sent out the door.  I got in to see an Orthopedic Surgeon on Monday of this week, earlier than I might have thanks to a friend who is a current patient of his.  He took "weight bearing" x-rays {involving intense pain and positioning my foot in positions it hadn't been in in 8 days} and confirmed no major fractures or cartilage damage.  He didn't suggest there were any minor ones either, so I guess that was good.  Just torn ligaments and a Grade 2 to 3 sprain.  2 to 3 is a long way off the Grade 1 that the ER doc said I had!  Still, "they" say that with torn ligaments, you're probably better off with a fracture.  Maybe I can invite Kathy Bates over to finish the job?!?!  Oh, and when my leg is not properly elevated or I am standing, my leg turns purple from the knee down.  The Ortho doc noticed this himself and checked my other leg.  Apparently there is some sort of autonomic disorder associated with trauma/injury in extremities that can cause weird things to happen with temperature regulation and, though not common, it's more often seen in fair skinned/fair haired or red headed people.  Lucky me.  Should "hopefully" return to normal in several months.  Good to know.

Right Ankle - 9 Days After Injury

I would love to share with you that I did this in some "exciting" way - like roller blading, cycling, training for a marathon, sky diving or base jumping.  But the reality is that I got off a couch and took a step.  That's as exciting as it gets.  But we'll go with "base jumping injury" if it sounds better.  Seriously.  If this is the damage I can inflict just getting off a couch, I need to be banned from all extreme sports!  Or any sports for that matter.  I do get some new footwear out of the deal though - a boot.  I've got to wear this God-awfully heavy thing for the next several weeks, except during the night when I go back to that air splint.

Why do I share this?  Aside from the fact that it's what's going on with me right now, it is having an impact on how I am grieving.  How can an ankle injury impact your grief??  Here's how:

* I am in a lot of pain.  A lot.  I'm out of hydrocodone.  I'm hurting.  It's just a sprain.  I think to myself how much pain I saw Peyton in.  It brings back memories of those ER trips with fractures beginning last February.  It brings back memories of her laying in bed at home with a huge cast from toe to thigh as well as a cast on her arm, in addition to having compression fractures in her spine.  It brings back memories of the pain she was in with the initial fractures and then the newer fractures and then the fracture she developed simply laying in her hospital bed with her leg in a splint!!  I envision her pain and suffering and think to myself that I have no right whatsoever to complain an ounce about the pain I am in after all she endured.  I think to myself, so what if I am out of hydrocodone.  I have other things and I can just suck it up if it's not working.  Peyton's pain was out of control towards the end.  I am not "suffering".  As painful as this injury is, it pains me more to think about what Peyton endured.

* I have been virtually bed-ridden since I got home from the ER on September 8th.  I went to our grief support group last week and this week.  I also went to my Ortho appointment.  That's it.  The rest of the time, I've pretty much been in bed, with some time spent on the couch for a change of scenery.  I can't weight bear on that foot, so I'm in bed.  Laying in bed hurts after a while.  I shift and turn and it just isn't comfortable because I've got this boot on my leg.  I think to myself how Peyton's last few months she was pretty much bed ridden.  Once those fractures started in February, she barely spent time in her wheelchair.  Some, but not much.  Her whole life, if she wasn't in her wheelchair, she was either laying in bed or on a mat no the floor.  I have no right to complain that I'm "stuck" for what I am hoping is a short term injury.

* I have become dependent on others.  I am on crutches.  I can't bear weight and simply moving from one room to another has caused me a lot of pain and nausea, so I don't get up more than necessary.  I can't just run to the kitchen and grab breakfast or lunch or anything during the day.  Ron's had to be my waiter and butler and nurse for the past 9 days.  I think about how Peyton was dependent on me or her nurses for everything.  I have the ability to ask for things or make my level of pain known.  She did not have that.  She was so dependent on us for every single little thing for her whole life.  I feel guilty having to ask for anything because I should be able to do it myself.  But I can't.

* This time simply reminds me so much of when we'd go through a medical crisis with Peyton.  Normal life would stop for a time.  I'd be at the hospital.  Ron would have to rearrange his work schedule.  He'd have to handle getting Moira up and ready for school as well as making her lunch.  He'd get her to the bus.  He'd get home for her getting off the bus.  He'd get her to her after school art class.  He'd run errands needing run.  We are having deja vu.  I can get up {barely} in the morning, but I can't go upstairs to wake Moira up.  I can't make her lunch or iron her clothes, or even easily do laundry for that matter.  I can't walk her to the bus stop or go down again in the afternoon to get her.  I can't drive, so I cannot run any errands at all.  I will be starting physical therapy.  I will not be able to take myself.  Ron is having to rearrange his work schedule around me.  I love him for all he is doing but it brings back the memories of times we did this because of Peyton's needs.  It is painful.  We are trying to get back to some semblance of "normal" then this happens.

So, you can see that there are several things associated with this ankle injury which are bringing forth a lot of pain associated with the loss of Peyton.

Moira has been doing a little better the last week or two.  She had been having several tough days in a row where she'd suddenly start talking about Peyton, cry a bit, and then move on.  It was happening with great frequency.  It seems to have calmed down a bit but I know she still has moments.  She is cheering me on with my use of crutches and the new boot, but I wouldn't be surprised if this whole thing has stirred up some memories for her as well.  I know she was teary-eyed and very worried looking as I was taken out of the house on a stretcher and put into an ambulance.

I don't know what I "need" right now in terms of dealing with grief.  I am sure the next several weeks of our support group will bring many things forward that I haven't dealt with or maybe even thought about yet.  I'm frustrated.  I felt like I was taking some positive steps forward until one of those steps literally proved to be too much for me, causing me physical injury!

All I can do is lean on God during all of this because I don't really know where else to draw strength from.  I don't have it myself.  I don't feel like I do.  And I will literally be leaning on Ron for support during these weeks ahead as we process through this cycle of GriefShare together.

Four Months

How is it even possible that it's been four months since Peyton left this world?  It was just yesterday, wasn't it??  The memories of that day are still so fresh in my mind.

It is so strange to not have Peyton in this house with the rest of us.  So strange to see all the things in her room, still where they were when she was last here.  I have made some progress in putting some things away.  The things that aren't readily seen.  But, for the most part, her room is as it was.  I think I find that comforting.  I spend quite a lot of time in this room.  It is difficult to not be around the things that remind me of her.  It's sad at times, yes, but comforting at the same time.

Moira has been asking more questions.  Just a couple weeks ago she asked if she could visit Peyton's grave before school started.  There isn't one.  She was cremated and her urn sits in her crib in her room.  Perhaps that is why I spend so much time in her room.  I had the task of explaining cremation to my nine year old daughter.  If you don't ever have to go there....don't.  There is no way to explain what it means without it being horrifying to a child.

Just last night, Moira was very upset.  She is missing Peyton just as Ron and I are - she just doesn't vocalize it as much.  She didn't understand why it had to be her and not another child.  I told her that while I am very sad that it was Peyton, I would not want another family to have to go through what we went through.  I told her I don't understand "why" either, but we were blessed to have her for the time we did, even though it was short.  It's hard seeing families with multiple children.  No, not envious or angry.  Just sad that our family dynamic changed so much, and much too soon.

I am working on the whole "purpose" thing.  I've got some ideas in mind that I'm carefully considering pursuing.  I'm trying to weigh everything out.  Is it the right time?  Is this truly what I need and want?  How difficult will it be?  Yet there is a desire stirring in my heart that I need to be at least thinking of doing something.  I think Peyton had bigger plans for me.  There is a fear in stepping out, but I have the faith to know that there is more to my life {and hers} than sitting in this room.

Four months.  I just miss her so much.