Monday, December 26, 2011


Christmas on the beach was the best idea ever.

It was our first time seeing the Pacific Ocean.

Our dog, Austin, loved racing the waves and running around the beach like a mad man.

Austin's enthusiasm and pure happiness was amazing. And contagious. There was something healing about it. Magical, almost.

There's just something about the sand and the waves. I felt like a little kid again. Running as fast as we could in every direction and splashing through water and racing away from waves. Laughing so deeply that we couldn't breathe. Completely forgetting that the outside world even existed.

It was happiness, in its deepest and purest form. Happiness that I haven't felt in such a long time.

And of course, no trip to the beach is complete without writing your name in the sand. But instead, I wrote my babies' names. And some of the other babies that had been heavy on my heart all week. Austin even tried to help, deliberately stomping his paw print wherever I was trying to write.

Work starts again on Wednesday. I'd rather just go back to the beach.

Monday, December 19, 2011

12 Days.

Christmas is in 7 days.

I haven't been home for or had a real Christmas in 4 years.

Christmas used to be fun when I was a kid. We would spend Christmas Eve with the entire family at Granny's house. Papaw would make popcorn in the fireplace. Uncle Timmy would start a paper wad fight. One year my dad set the cat on fire. (The cat was ok, just for the record.) There was more pie than you could actually eat.

It was a great time for everyone. Until the grown ups started fighting. Money. Food. Being on time. What time to have it. This person wants to do this but that person wants to do that. Their fighting ruined our fun nights. They killed the magic of Christmas...especially at Granny's.

Christmas with my parents was still fun. The stockings were always my favorite part. (My first Christmas away from home, my dad made my mom mail my completely stuffed stocking to me.) And the pie. For breakfast, of course.

This year, it's just another day.

I don't want to see Santa. I don't want to see Christmas trees. I didn't get excited about seeing the light displays across the neighborhood. I even had a hard time motivating myself to send out Christmas cards.

It's weird. This unmotivated, not caring about the holidays, not wanting to indulge in any Christmas spirit or festivities hole that I seem to have fallen in. It's not about the babies. To be completely honest, nothing even close to "Christmas without my babies" has crossed my mind. It's not about not being home. I don't think it's even about not talking to half my family anymore.

I think I'm just that exhausted.

The most exciting part of Christmas this year is the 12 days of leave. 12 whole days of not having to be at work. 12 whole days of no uniforms or tight buns. 12 whole days of not dealing with people I don't like. 12 whole days of no flight line induced flashbacks. 12 whole days is the best present ever.

And to make these 12 days of leave even better, Bryan and I are spending Christmas in Oregon. In a beach front hotel overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I can't wait to spend the weekend beach combing with the dog, enjoying a big hot cocoa on the cold beach, and falling asleep to the sound of the ocean. And hopefully, catching a good Pacific storm from the warmth of our room.

Saturday, December 10, 2011


I had a York Peppermint Patty Hot Cocoa today while we were climbing around Mt. Baker with some friends. It was delicious. But it made my stomach hurt something fierce, and I don't really feel like writing tonight. So here's a picture from today's adventure in the snow. Just to prove that I can actually still smile. Sometimes.

Friday, December 9, 2011

It Has To Be Better Than This.

I probably don't even have to say this, but I'm miserable at my job. Completely-rather-drive-off-Deception-Pass-bridge-than-be-here-miserable. (Don't worry, I don't plan on actually doing that.)

Things got to the point that I couldn't make eye contact with or even look in the direction of my boss without my stomach lurching and feeling like I would puke. Every time I see him, I start feeling those contractions deep in my lower back, and I start hearing the ambulance outside my house, and I start hearing that conversation the day he told me that I had to move on.

I'm still trying so hard to not have hard feelings, but I still have hard feelings against the world in general.

I know that the biggest fault lies with the ER that sent me home without consulting an OB the night they said my uterus was full of blood. I know that work couldn't have known something that serious was going on, and I know that if he had any idea something like that would have happened, my boss would never have done what he did. But that doesn't ease the hurt or the fear of the future.

I'm terrified of pregnancy. I'm terrified of pissing in the middle of the night. I'm terrified of sex. I'm terrified of the possibility of watching another baby die.

I've lost what little motivation I did have, especially at work. I don't want to be there. I don't want to deal with people. I don't want to learn. I don't want to constantly defend or explain myself. I don't want to deal with another flashback on the flight line in the middle of the night.

I don't want to do anything anymore. At home, I don't want to put in the effort to get out of my pajamas unless I absolutely have to. Most days I just lay in bed, snuggled up with Brake's blankey and the dog, fighting nightmares and dreading reality. 

(Most days look a lot like this, except I'm in the Pacific Northwest, so those would be rain clouds.)

I can honestly say that I am in much better control of my emotions now than I have been in the last several months, but I am definitely in a lot worse place now than ever before. I have seriously all but given up. I can't say it's because of this new work/doc stuff because in all honesty, I knew what happened a long time ago. I might not have had a doctor tell me, but in my heart, I knew. I think I'm just that exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically.

I have 9 months and 1 day left in this place. My boss asked where my reenlistment package was a couple days ago, and I laughed in his face and said "Fuck that." I start preparations for separation this week. Transition-back-to-the-real-world classes. Separation physicals. All that nonsense. I told Bryan to start looking for a real job. I want him to be able to finish his degree, but I can't keep carrying the weight of being the provider anymore. I can't keep carrying the burden this place puts on me. I want out of this. I've already started looking at jobs outside.

I don't know how this is gonna go, but it has to be better than being as miserable as I am now.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Finding Peace.

Peace is not something you can force on anything or anyone...much less upon one's own mind. It is like trying to quiet the ocean by pressing upon the waves. Sanity lies in somehow opening to the chaos, allowing anxiety, moving deeply into the tumult, diving into the waves, where underneath, within, peace simply is.  -Gerald May

Thursday, December 1, 2011

8 Months Too Late.

My heart hurts.

There's a good chance that we have some answers as to what happened with Brake.

There's a good chance that, had the Navy's pregnancy instruction been followed correctly, what happened might have been completely preventable. Or it would have at least happened much later.

I'm trying really hard to not be bitter. I'm trying really hard to not be angry. I'm trying really hard to not throw blame.

I'm failing miserably.

Even if it was preventable. Even if it is sorta someone's fault in even the slightest way. I don't want to blame them. I don't want to put that blood on their hands. I don't want to harbor those bad thoughts and bad feelings. I don't want that in my heart.

But when said person walked in at work this morning, my stomach immediately dropped. I thought I was gonna puke. I can't look at them. I almost made eye contact once, and I immediately almost puked again. Now every time I even think about not looking at them, all I can see is my little boy struggling in his fluid sac. I can't even picture the good things anymore. His perfect tiny fingers. His beautiful smile. How absolutely in love I was even though I knew he didn't stand a chance.

I don't know what to do.

My heart hurts so bad. 

Sometimes when you finally get the answers you've been seeking, even if it is 8 months too late, you realize that maybe you were better off without knowing. Or at least that's how it feels right now.