Not quite the tribute that is normally on this date.

I have sat here with an open screen for over 20 minutes, unsure of what to post.

It's annual post I make every year. Either on today, Feb 5, or on January 31st.

January 31st was my step father's birthday.

Febuary 5th is the annivesary of his death.

In 1979 he turned 50 years old on January 31st. On February 5th, he took his own life. I was 14 years old.

In 32 years he, by his own choice, has missed:
My high school graduation
My 1st wedding
My divorce
My 2nd wedding
My first pregnancy
My only stillbirth of a daughter ... my only daughter
My second pregancy
My first sons birth
My third pregnacy
My youngest sons birth
My diagnosis of chronic and at times, debilitating illness.
My sons diagnosis'
My oldests graduation from high school
My mother's decline .. emotionally, physically, socially, financially
My return to college
My induction into PTK


Those are the highlights and some of the lowlights ...

Everyone one of them, I needed him there.

When people say they've lost someone they love, they often mention that 'not a day goes by without thinking of them' and that is certainly true for me.

I have identified myself as a survivor of suicide for so long ... and today, as I've tried to write this ... I've realized that I am no longer identifying myself that way ...

I AM A SURVIVOR of LIFE.

You should be here, there is no doubt. Though, in recent months and years, I've started to realize that you may have died by other causes by now. Still, you would have only been 82. Your mother was alive and kicking, as were many of your aunts and uncles. Your cousin that is your age is still alive ... as are others. There is not real reason to think you might not still be here.

In 32 years, I've rarely allowed myself to be angry at you ... you were hurt and broken and desperate. I understand ... but ...

My tributes to you are normally filled with all the love I've felt for you ... how much I miss you. I guess, this year, it's filled with regret, some anger, a lot of frustration and ...more than I'd ever thought of ..

release.

I loved you. I LOVE you.
You taught me almost everything good about life. When people hear of my history they have asked "why are YOU ok?"
honestly it's because you taught me to pray, to look for good, to not give up. Ironically, that was the lesson you spent the most time on ...encouraging me to not give up .. not quit ...

but you did not live by your own lessons.

But you also taught me the worst pain and the worst trauma that I could have imagined.

I keep trying to end this on a good note. I guess, this year .. it's not going to happen. I will always miss you. I will always be grateful for your love. I will always be so glad of the lessons you taught me. I will always MISS you

and that

was your choice.

Epilogue

So, after years of walling off and going numb the week of Jessica's birthday, a few years ago, with the death of my friends daughter, I knew it was time to mourn her and at the same time learn to celebrate the brief time she was a part of my life.

Last year, my friend went with me to pick out a bracelet with Jessica's initials and date of birth on it.

This year, I wondered what I'd do and decided to blog first thing in the morning, then release a balloon before class that evening.

I got up, I posted the tribute and then, as I do, I posted a link to twitter that I blogged.

I got immediate feedback ... twitters, direct messages, face book private messages and emails ... all saying "you've touched my heart " "you told my story" "I lost a daughter" "I lost a son"

Suddenly, yesterday, it seemed that my grief was shared ...and there is truth that says that a grief shared is a grief lessened.

I've been learning the truth of the idea that as I tell you my story, I heal, you heal. As you tell me your story, you heal, I heal. It is in the sharing of the stories that healing takes place.

On my way to get the balloon I thought of KylieBug (my friends daughter) I thought of those on Twitter and FB that had messaged me. I thought of the few others that I've known that have lost a child. So I got a balloon for Jessica, and one for Dr. Snit's child, and one for Kyle, and 1 for the person who DM'd me that she'd lost twin sons, and Dr. Gunter's son, and one for my niece who we never got to meet ...and one for the twitter friend who had 3 miscarriages and 3 failed adoptions ...

I took pictures of the individual balloons, and shared them ... and I tied them to a post so they could be seen together ... then, I let the group fly ... and I saw all our babies hearts together. I knew then, that I wasn't alone ...and neither was Jessica.

I have been amazed, humbled and encouraged by the outpouring of love that has come from this.

I'm grateful that others shared their stories with me, I'm grateful that they allowed me to experience this and I'm grateful they shared with me in this day!

For the babies we all loved and still hold close in our hearts, there will always be a bit of sadness,m sometimes a lot of sadness ...but all of us ..now know that we, and our babies, are not alone.

I See You In My Dreams

It was a Tuesday Morning, August 16, 1988 and I had an OBGYN appt. They would be doing an ultra sound that day. *IF* we were lucky, we'd find out the gender.

I went off to my appt, waited to be called back, and they put that gel on my belly. The baby had lots of movement and the doctor squealed in delight when the baby decided that it would, in fact, reveal that it was more than just an 'it'.

I'd always dreamed of little girls. Bows in the hair, frilly dresses, Mary Jane shoes, or sharp white patent leather that goes clickity click click with Mamma's heels but at twice the speed.

I'd dreamed of girl scout camp outs with my daughter. I dreamed of throwing her her first slumber party. I dreamed of that first boy talk ...and the second and the third. I dreamed of dressing her up for the prom, I dreamed ...

The toddler girl dressing up in mamma's clothes, and lipstick smeared across the face. The pretty little plaid dress with black patent leathers for that first day of school.
Easter Bonnets and Easter dresses.

Baking cookies on a rainy day ...
This ...was my dream of parenting.

Quiet nights cuddled up reading Ramona the Pest, or Pippi Longstockings, sharing things like The Little House on the Prairie ..both books and TV.

Dressing her up for her prom ... watching her go off to college ... helping her plan her wedding and watching her dance her first dance as a married woman ...
These were the things I dreamed about when I thought of parenting.

I sat there with my mind like a whirling dervish and the doctor asked me if I had a preference. With tears in my eyes, I said "I'm terrible, but I WANT A GIRL"
She asked me if we'd had names picked out. "For a girl yes, we'd not agreed on the boy."

She smiled "Meet Jessica Eagler. Miss Jessica, we'll get to hold you in about 20 weeks"

I was 20 weeks along and my dreams of being a mother were coming true.
The doctor said she had a few concerns but didn't want me to worry. Take it easy, I could still work, but don't lift too much and don't do the walking in addition to working ... it was take my walks or work ..but not both in one day. Nothing heavier than a gallon of milk.


I went to work Thursday night at 10 pm. I reminded my co workers no bus tubs, but if I could help them to make up for it let me know.

The bar run had just finished. It was funny, There was less hitting on me now that I was showing, but the tips had almost doubled. I sat down to take a break, and evidently went white as a ghost. I told my boss I needed to go home ... NOW.
He let me go only I didn't go home, I drove myself to the hospital. They never asked about my marital status, they didn't ask if my parents were around, or family around .... did I have a friend they could call.

I was an invisible single, teenage pregnant teen as far as they were concerned, what was happening did not matter. I over heard the nurse say "We've got a late miscarriage happening. A teenager, here alone. "
The doctor came in and I said "I heard the nurse, I am NOT a teenager ... I was born in 1964 and am 23 years old. I'm married and was so when I got pregnant"

The doctor just said we have your age as 16 ... whoever wrote that is wrong! I actually, in the middle of a miscarriage had to pull of my drivers license.

At that point, a new nurse came in. This time, they took a history, a full history. Before they could complete it, I felt a sharp pain and doubled over and there was a gush that I'd not expected, but it sent the medical team into high gear. I've never asked if it was blood or amniotic fluid.

They gave me something in my IV, I assume it was versed. As I drifted off, I heard "Damn! this was a planned pregnancy, not a teenage mom!"

I woke up a few hours later. A doctor, nicer than the ones that I'd first dealt with came and sat down next to me. They told me that since I was 20 weeks along, the state would require a funeral, so to 'save me that' they put 19 1/2 weeks on the paper work. That difference made the difference between a miscarriage and a still birth. The problem had been an unusual one. My body was not built to have a baby, it essentially had smothered this baby and had not given it enough room to grow. They explained it to me in terms that I could not understand, using words I'd never heard before ..and I was still coming of what I assume to be versed. What I did hear and understand was "you will never be able to carry a baby to full term."

Not once during all this time had they offered to call anyone for me. I finally asked them to call my husband, then remembered we had no phone. So they called my mom. By the time she got there, I was standing outside the hospital, waiting.
Alone.
No Jessica
No dreams
No hopes
No baby.

That was 22 years ago today. My heart still wonders about Jessica.
Would she have my mousy brown hair or Don's dark curly. Would she be musical and drama oriented like me, or a math geek like Don? Would she have been popular, would she have struggled. What was my Jessica meant to be.

It took me a long time to get to the point where I didn't just zone out and let this week pass without consciousness. Last year, was the first time I celebrated her place in my life and heart.
This year, I wanted to honor her by telling her story. Recently it has been told to me that stories heal ... telling our stories heal ourselves and they heal others

Jessica Dawn Eagler ... you are forever loved.

Thank you

20.5 years ago, my life changed. In one fell swoop I became a mom and a chronically ill patient in the same day. It took 2.5 years to get the diagnosis of Myasthenia Gravis.
My neurologist suggested I contact the MG Foundation for support. I did and then a year or two later was asked to join the board. I did. I particpated in fund raisers, support groups and other aspects.
I served for 3 years on the board.

During one of those years we had a fundraiser ..a fashion show and the guest speaker was a dynamic woman who, herself, had Myasthenia Gravis.

I sat in awe of her. I was still incredibly ill and had as many days as not that I was either unable to get up, or needed assistance in getting dressed. I could not drive. (Vision and what is hardest for people to understand, my leg was not strong enough to get the gas pedal enough pressure to go beyond 25 mph.)

She had MG, she was not in remission, she *had* been as sick as I was and yet, here she was speaking to the people supporting the MG foundation, patients, family, friends and media ... a chronically ill person and the first female chief of the cherokee nation.

Wilma Mankiller.

She spoke that day with confidence that while MG is difficult, it is not impossible to live with. It is something that is better now than it was in the 60's (and even better now 15 or so years later) and that she had hope for the future in MG care. She spoke of her role as Chief and what it meant to be a woman doing that job ..and a woman with health issues doing that job.

It all felt so undoable to me. I couldn't imagine ever feeling better. But I was determined to live the best life I could with what I had.

As the years went by, and the medications started to work, I began to understand her drive, her abilities and her passion for life.

My admiration of her grew and grew.

In the meantime, Wilma revitalized the Cherokee nation. Initiating projects like literacy and historical preservations. She was an outspoken (in a good way) advocate for women every where of every race, belief system and socioeconomic status.

This semester I picked a coarse in women's studies. For International Women's Day we did an awareness campaign. Our class had display tables of important women in the history of women's rights. I chose Wilma Mankiller for our group.

A week before the Awareness day, it was announced that Wilma had pancratic cancer. A direct result of the medications she has taken for Myasthenia Gravis (same drugs she needed to take after a kidney transplant, kidney disease being one of the many health issues she fought).

Today, sitting in class, watching a video a classmate turned her cell phone to me. Wilma Mankiller had passed away from pancreatic cancer at the age of 64.

Wilma, may you rest in peace and thank you for the influence in my life and the role model that you were to me. It is not a small thing that because of you, I knew I could do more despite MG.

worst day of the year.

First, I want to start off by offering my condolances to one of my dearest friends. We went to church together for 5 years and barely, if ever, spoke. We wound up in a class together and got to know each other. We still refer to it as "THAT class" .. it was a good class, but it was an incredibly painful past as we talked about how we got to be who we were.

Wanda and I learned that for every one thing that we did not have in common, we had three that we did.

I don't see her as often as I'd like. Since I left the church, it's required real effort to keep the relationship going ...but the heart of it, is there, will always be there.

She is a mother ... and her youngest, Chris has had many challenges ... agoraphobia ... severe agoraphobia at that. I adored Chris ... he was delightful, funny and rather precious.

A couple of years ago, we had an ice storm. Much of Oklahoma suffered greatly. We, like most of the state, lost electricity. Within a couple of days, our cell phones died ... and we were left without ability to communicate with family and friends.
Her son, her agoraphobic son ... had Wanda bring him to check on us, so that he could see with his own eyes that we were ok. It was a delightful visit ... one I will never forget.

A week ago, Chris passed away ...at 27 years old. A cold, pneumonia and septicemia. Taken too young too soon ...with too much in front of him.

My heart breaks for her ...
Wanda, you're so very precious to me ..and as RS said today ... you're so easy to love.
Please keep her in your prayers and if you would, stop by her blog to let her know she's being covered in prayers.


It's February 5 (2 am) and once again, I'm looking at the calendar anxious for this day to be gone ...31 years ago today, I found my step fathers body after he committed suicide.

I can't say it's gotten better over the years, but the grief has changed.

I loved him so ... so very much. I don't think I'll ever be able to say that all things worked out ... nothing in my life is better off without him. He'd only have enriched every good experience and made the bad ones just a bit more bearable.

Daddy, Chris ... we're anxiously awaiting the day when we get to see your smiles and hear your laughter again. You are loved, will always be loved and treasured. Thank you both, for the memories.

Never Forget

It's been a year since my friends daughter went to be with Jesus ...
Her mother wrote a beautiful tribute to her at this memorial site.

I don't know how she has managed. But, she has, and beautifully so. Kylie would be so proud of her mother.

http://kyliekesterson.memory-of.com/About.aspx

Year in Review.

It's been quite a year. I went back and tried to find the most important blog postings for the year and realized why my therapist has been so concerned about me. I've gotten a bit annoyed at her over protection of me, concern and feeling like she fusses over me. Looking at it as a whole unit ...it is a bit ... intense.
My best friends baby died, my mother broke 6 bones, my husband almost died ..and spent 45 days in the hospital, another friends six year old died, a blog friends husband died on Christmas eve, my pastor of 10 years resigned and my church went 10 months without a pastor, I left a ministry I'd been with for 8 years ...and left worship ministry all together (after being in worship ministries since the age of 13!) and started working with children's ministry. I had a book published, a brand new house my oldest son turned 18 and my youngest child turned 16. I've been in the media, which I was ill prepared for and I've come to terms with my own daughters death 19 years ago, when my friends baby died. My eating disorder relapsed (gee, wonder why) and my depression tanked. My health went up and down like a roller coaster and I have spent 51 days at a hospital bedside. *I* managed to stay out of the hospital and off the surgeon's table for the first year since I have been a mother!!! YEAH WHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've come up with some of what I consider to be the best postings of the previous year. If they are not linked into the previous paragraphs, they are below.

Thank you for the few faithful readers that have stayed with me. (my readership dropped from 65 to about 25 this year! EEKS! )

Grief

I'm not sure I understand the grieving process. The minds insistance on dealing with issues ...even if you, as the owner of the experience choose to not deal with a situation that causes pain. You can put it aside for a time, sometimes a long period of time ..but eventually it will surface. Sometimes you can see the trigger that causes it, other times not.

It is quite normal for men and women to not deal with issues of abuses in childhood to start to deal with them in their mid to late thirties and into the the forties.

An anniversary of a death, or a friend becoming ill with an illness that took the life of a loved one.

For me, dealing with my step father's suicide ... it was having a few friends who were suicidal ...all coinciding with the 25th anniversary of his death. That forced me to actually look at how his death had not only effected me but what meaning was I going to let it bring to life.

I have had a few situations that were grief causing situations. I did not find the people around me very understanding of the pain I was going through. "He was 'just' your step dad!" I can't even count the number of times I heard that comment. (um, he married my mom when I was 13 months old, sorry, he was my Daddy)

The dismissal of my pain, soon caused me to stuff the pain.

When I went through my divorce ...that one I learned to stuff fast "you're young, you'll marry again!"
Wow! I heard that comment the WEEK of my ex asking me for a divorce ...
With in a week of the divorce being granted ... life was expected to go on ... Happy shall we be! "Speak only good words over your life or you'll give the devil a foothold to destroy your life!"
Grief? Not allowed ... only allowed to speak good!
There was no one that I could tell of the feelings of loss, betrayal, fear ... and just plain being ripped in two.

Then I married again. I got pregnant ... I felt the baby move a little early, but not too much, about 16 weeks. I went in for my prenatal appointment. It was time for an ultrasound. They'd told me that if the baby was in the right position, and it was clear enough, they might be able to tell me what the baby was. As I lay there, listening to the heart beat, they said the heart beat was 162 bpm ...and they did the ultrasound ...all I could see was the spine and the head and some fingers. The technition called the doctor in so I could be told what the sex of the baby was, because she (tech) was pretty sure she could tell. The doctor said that he would bet it was a girl. He said, that ultrasounds weren't perfect. So don't go pink crazy yet. Wait till we do a later ultrasound.

I didn't ... I knew in my heart that this was a little girl. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God had answered my prayers.

I ran home from the doctor's and told Don. We immediately came up with a name

Jessica Dawn Eagler.

She was due the end of the year ... a New Years Baby ...we talked about how fun it would be to have the first baby of the year and how much we did NOT want a Christmas baby.

Jessica was after his grandmother Jesse and a friend of mine, Jessica, who'd died when she was 14.

I was just starting to wear maternity clothing and was having so much fun. I was waitressing and so enjoyed telling my customers that it was a girl named Jessica Dawn, after my friend, her great Grandmother and her Daddy Don.

Then, one night, I was waitressing in August, I felt sick. Just sick. I didn't hurt, I was just sick. I was a bit dizzy and I couldn't handle the heat of the resteraunt. I almost passed out a couple of times.

I told my boss I had to go home at 1 in the morning ...and I started to go home. Instead, I drove to the ER. We had no phone at home, so I couldn't call my husband. It didn't occur to me to call anyone else, a friend, a family member. I didn't want to make a fuss.

In the ER ... the doctor asked me if I was having pain .. I said no. He looked at me funny, like he didn't believe me. They did some lab work and gave me a pelvic exam. He asked again about pain as they hooked me up to a monitor for the baby. There was no heartbeat. I started to cry. I told him again there was no pain. He just didn't believe me. I really honestly don't remember if there was no pain, or if I wouldn't accept that there was no pain. I kept telling him I was sick to my stomach, there was no pain.

By 6 in the morning, August 19, 1988, I'd lost Jessica Dawn Eagler.
She'd died.
The medical records reflected that it was a 19.5 week pregnancy. A miscarriage.
But, by my count from my due date, I was past 20 weeks and almost 21 weeks. A stillbirth.


My sister "miscarried" at the same point in a pregnacy several years later, and was given the choice of picking 20 weeks or 19 weeks. With 20 weeks, by law, you're required to have the funeral. 19 weeks, it's a miscarried. The mom is 'spared' the stress of the funeral. My sister, much to my dismay, chose the 19 weeks.

I was not given the choice. They made the decision for me. I'd have taken the 20. I needed the finalization of saying goodbye. Although, right then or there, I'm not sure what my decision would have been.

I think it was the few days after as people were acting like we'd lost our newspaper that I'd wished we'd had the funeral. For people to realize, we'd lost a BABY. We lost a part of our family.

We bought a little silver bear from an engravement shop that says "Jessica Dawn
8-19-88 We love you" and we thought ...we would always keep her center of our thoughts. Christmas time, my mom and Don's mom bought a little ornament with her name engraved on it. Don and I bought her a stocking that we put up every year.

When Samuel was about 6, he asked what the stocking was for. We explained that he had a sister in heaven. We asked him to not tell his brother, but to let his brother figure out the stocking or the bank, like he did ..and ask in his own time. Being a little boy, he couldn't wait to tell his little brother about his sister in heaven. So, a few weeks later Benjamin shocked me as he asked "When do I get to see my sister Jessica?"

Over the years, Benjamin has occassionally asked questions out of the blue like that. He talks about Jessica as if he knows her. To them, it's not a question that she is a part of our family. Don, and I, do not talk about her. The loss, is too painful. Her bank sits on our computer desk, and occassionally we both look at it, and I can still see the pain in his eyes when the stocking is hung. When Benjamin says something about her, I feel like I've been jabbed.

When Kylie died last week ... Benjamin's comment was "Jessica is there to show her around"

Woah.

For the last few days, I've been staring at Jessica's bank. As we had a senior graduation banquet this weekend at church, the realization that she would have been a Senior in High School that would have been her in one of those beautiful dresses ...

So, why Kylie's death has forced these memories, I'm not sure. My psychiatrist wasn't surprised at all. His response was "maybe now you can get to know your daughter as well as Benjamin knows his sister"

Daughter.

wow. My daughter. I've never dared to call her that. It makes my stomach turn flip flops and it hurts my heart ... she's the baby we lost.

My Daughter, Jessica Dawn ... I wonder what you would look like at 18? I've always pictured you with dark curly hair like your daddy ... blue eyes like mine ... and more than likely ornery like me. What are you like in heaven? Are you a baby? Are you 18? Are you taking care of Kylie for Teresa like I'd like you to? What does time do with babies who are stillborn? My Daughter, Jessica Dawn.