Walk to Remember, 2013

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

Yesterday was the annual Walk to Remember. I have been gearing up for this event for about a month and a half now. Not only is it one of those events that's sad AND joyful, at the same time, it is something that affects me for a month after.

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

This year, I was especially emotional going into it, because of having made the quilt (see previous post). But I was trying so hard to keep talking myself into going. You see, a few days prior, I had dropped off that quilt to my amazing friend Lisa W.'s house. She runs the bereavement group, and in charge of this whole event. She actually asked me to present it at the Walk. I just couldn't. For a week prior to finishing the quilt, I have been having terrible nightmares. Not really nightmares, but just reliving memories. The most difficult, and scarring memory, that I constantly relive when I get stressed or depressed, is the moment I had to hand my Ellie over to my great friend, and nurse, Tammy, and watching her walk out of the room with her. There is a moment, where Tammy walks out of the room with her, and just outside of the door, I see her cover my daughters face, and then continue walking. That was the single most painful, terrible, haunting moment of my life. In my dreams, I was dreaming of wrapping Ellie in the quilt I had just made, and handing her over again to Tammy, and reliving that same moment over again. So, when Lisa wanted me to present it at the Walk......I just couldn't. I couldn't make that dream a reality again. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me. Instead, Lisa P. and her husband held it up, while Lisa W. talked about it for a second and pointed to who made it. I waved from a distance, and that was it. I was so relieved.

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

At the Walk, I couldn't go over and look at it with everyone else. I didn't want to know what anyone was saying about it. What if they didn't like it, and I had just poured my soul into that blanket? I was terrified. But during the event, and even many hours later, Allan was telling me what everyone was saying about it, and how much they loved it. He would tell me about moments with certain people, and how appreciative they were of it. Or the moment he had with the lady who made the quilts in previous years, and her tears. There aren't many times that my husband exudes pride for me, and yesterday, and even this morning, he can't stop telling me how proud he was, and is, to be my husband because of that blanket. It was truly special.

Now, if you read my previous post, about the quilt, you will know that even with all of this emotional turmoil going on inside of my head and my heart, I would totally, completely and happily do it all over again, every year for the rest of my life. It was so hard, but one of the best experiences I have had coming out of this.

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

At the Walk, there is a huge group that stands in a circle, and we go around and say our baby's name and birthday. I was standing in between my mother in law, who surprised us by coming for a few minutes (I was so grateful that she did that for us!) and my sweet friend, and nurse when I lost Ellie, Tammy. The microphone came to me......and I froze and just passed it along. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I'm sure that's weird to most. I mean, why wouldn't you want to acknowledge your child?! Why wouldn't you want to say her name and shout it to the heavens to let her hear you that you love her? I didn't want to say her name. I never have, in the years that I've gone to the Walk, I've never said her name in the circle. It hurts too much to say it in that setting. I can talk about her, when it's in regards to helping someone, and when it's a happy thing. But, in sadness, in that setting, it's almost like a confirmation that she is gone, and is never coming back. I should know that, and I do........but to say it, I just can't. That is always the hardest part of this event for me. Acknowledging that my daughter is dead, and I have to say it myself.

We did a balloon release, and tied on pieces of paper with their names on it. I did this. I was so distracted by the kids, and making sure they got to do it, and write their notes to their sister, that it was releiving. I had something to occupy my emotions. When I wasn't occupied anymore, I took out my camera and started taking pictures of the moments happening around me. It's a really great mask for the tears. Like a pair of sunglasses or a receiving blanket for me. HA!

If it makes you feel any better, Lisa, I'm wiping my nose, and face right now. :)

Just after the balloon release, I had been watching everyone during the balloon release. I glanced straight across from me, and I saw Lisa. She was standing their alone, crying, watching the balloons float away, occasionally wiping her tears, nose and, to me, looking around, almost lost, like she didn't know what to do with herself, because she was standing alone. I doubt that's what she was doing, but in my head, that's the story as I was watching her. It was so hard not to just run over there and give her the biggest hug and let her know that I was there with her, and for her......but I didn't. Why?! A good friend would've! I couldn't do that either!! I knew that as soon as I hugged her, I was going to lose it. So I stood there, frozen, pushing down the tears, sadly watching my friend cry. I was so relieved when she walked over to another woman and started talking to her, and watching her try to help balloons get off of the ground that had gotten tangled in things.

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

Sarah hanging her ornament she made for Ellie

Luke hanging his ornament he made for Ellie

In another moment, though, talking to Lisa, Sarah walked up to me, and wrapped her arms around my waist. I hugged her back and asked what was wrong. She put her head deeper in my stomach and said, "I miss Ellie" and just cried so hard that it came from deep down inside of her soul. I asked Lisa if we could have a moment, and Sarah and I walked away. I held her tight and let her cry. I don't want my children to block these emotions like I do. I want them to feel safe coming to me, and letting them out. They are a great example to me. I told her that I miss her too, and that I feel the same way, but that this event is kind of like a party for them! I told her that we didn't get to have their first birthday parties and their first anythings. So this event is like a birthday party for these children every year. Yes, it's so sad, but it's also kind of happy. Also, I told her that at their party, I can feel each child running around us, getting their faces painted, playing with their sword balloons, and eating cake too! She really liked that. A while later, Scott came up to me and said that they were sitting on the bench, and he looked at Sarah and she had her arm out to the side, with her hand cupped. He asked her what she was doing, and she said she had her arm around Ellie. That broke my heart to hear. She, more than any of my other kids, has been forever changed because of the loss of her baby sister. And she wants more than anything to have her back here.........and as a mom, it's gut wrenching that I can't give that to her, and to feel like I have caused that pain in her.

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

Photo taken by Scott Roeben

After that, we did the walk around the park, while the children held the banner up. It was amazing to look back and see the long line of families that infant death has touched. It just makes your heart break over and over and over again, every time you look at each face. You know how each person is feeling, because you feel it too. Its an indescribable pain that you wouldn't wish on anyone! No one. Not even the worst person in the world. And you know that they are feeling it too, and you can't do anything about it. But, looking back at them, I also see so many friends that this tragedy has brought me together with. So many people that will be in my life for many years to come, helping each other on this journey. It's a strange club that you are grateful for, but don't want to be a part of. HAHA!

Fear was a huge theme for me at this event. While I love it, and love getting to reconnect with people I haven't seen in a while, and I try so hard to make it positive, it is an uncomfortable event for me. I still struggle with showing sadness in front of anyone, and I don't know what to do with myself when others are sad too. Honestly, I'm a little jealous of them. I wish I could just let it out so much!

So, I came home, put the kids in bed, put Allan in bed, and sat on the couch, drinking my much deserved Dr. Pepper, and reflected on the day. I went upstairs and worked on the few photos that I took. I looked at one photo of Sarah hanging her ornament that she made for her sister, and the pride she had in making that for her......and then, it all came out. I put my head down on my desk and just sobbed, and sobbed. I sat there and thought about all of the things that I had regretted during that event. When I first lost Ellie, and in the first days after having her, I promised that I would never say no to anything, because I was scared of regretting not doing something. I can't get many moments back, so even if it's hard, I don't want to NOT do them. The whole day yesterday, I said no to everything. I avoided handing over the blanket. I refused to say her name at the circle. I blocked myself from feeling anything during the balloon release, and distracted myself, when I could've just stood there, and looked up to the heavens, and loved my daughter. I regretted the whole day......and I can't get it back. I had done what I said I wouldn't do, no matter how hard. I gave in to the fear, and the difficulty.

After every event that I push myself through, I always go home feeling proud of myself, and knowing that Ellie is proud of me, and knows that I love her. I went home from this event uneasy, and not feeling that pride. I went home and cried because I don't know if she knows that I love her, and I don't think she's too happy that I didn't push myself to do the hard things. I did not honor her the way that I wanted to, during the event that was just for her, and the many other children that are gone.

I hope that one day, I will be present in those moments, and feel her, and send that love up to her. I hope that one day, I will walk over to my friend and hug her tight, and tell her how much I love her, and cry with her. I hope that one day........I will say her name. I hope that one day, when I meet her, she will hug me and say, "I am proud to be your daughter. Thank you for honoring me by acknowledging me, and using my passing as a path for service. I love you." One day, I will hear that.