In the photo search...

All my books and magazines say to go ahead and pack my bag for the hospital--just in case! One thing that I really wanted to have with me is a photo of you in case I need it for moral support during the delivery. A year or so ago, I started a project of scanning all of our family photos and saving them to my external hard drive to eventually go on to CDs. So, in the search for the perfect motivational photo of you to take with me, I found these to make me giggle...





















Of course, I have the hooded bath towel in Emmy's little closet at home and I can hardly wait to get her here and take her picture wearing it. She has no idea what is in store for her upon her arrival!

The Morning After

It really is like a bad hangover. The trend for me this year of all new firsts has been to do really well on the holiday itself but then crash on the following day. I am not sure if it is because I have to go back to work and that in and of itself is reason to be in the dumps and it just brings it all out of if it just that there is only so much denial and pushing down of feelings that I can do. I can flitter around on Christmas Day and be oh so excited but once I get home and then reality of it sets in the following morning, it is enough to send you over the edge. Next year will be different. Next year we will have gotten through the firsts of everything. The biggest milestone we have left to face is the first anniversary of your death. Thankfully we are going to be really busy--my baby shower!!!!--and then I will have that Monday off to regroup.

Merry Christmas and Happy 34 Weeks

I enlisted John to join me in my 34 week photo since he is off work for 11 days over the holidays--what else does he have to do? I had him sit on the arm of the couch but realized that he might not want his ever growing wife to sit on his lap so instead it looks like he just likes being boob level.

The other day a friend was over and made the comment, "oh well you are pregnant" to which I told him that there was not a breath I took that I didn't remember I was pregnant. This has turned into our little phrase now with John reminding me I am pregnant or asking if I knew I was. Today his family came over for Christmas dinner and after they left and we are piled up on the couch wearing our Christmas PJ's, I told him I wasn't sure I would have made it this Christmas if I didn't have Emmy on her way. A good friend lost her mom a couple of months ago and I feel guilty that I don't seem to be in as much pain as she is right now. I hope you know that I miss you as much as anyone could ever miss anyone. I just can't be too sad right now. If I start crying now and thinking of how you should be here this Christmas--talking with all of us of how NEXT Christmas is going to be so different--then I might never stop crying. What then? What do I do at 8 months pregnant if I can't stop crying? So yes, I want you here--I would give anything for it--but I am just so thankful for all we do have this Christmas and for what we are going to have next Christmas. I wish you were here to see it but I know you are watching over it all now and just as excited for us as we are... More,

December 6th

Neall and I got up early to head to Little Rock but missed the neurosurgeon by minutes. Daddy told us that the tumor was such that it could not all be removed surgically. Neall and I went to get cokes at a nearby service station and I literally thought I might faint walking into the store. After we got back to the hospital, Neall and Daddy went to get some breakfast for us all at the cafeteria. You were so confused and kept saying that you didn't want to have any treatment--please just take you home. You also kept saying you didn't want to die at Christmas--we would always hate the holidays after that. Always thinking of us, you were.

One of my fondest, most precious memories of my life was that morning. You were so terrified and crying so I finally just got into the hospital bed with you and held you. It was the most horrifying moment of my life and so very touching at the same time. For the next several hours, all four of our cell phones rang as friends heard what was going on and called to tell us to call them if they could help in any way. We started calling people that needed to hear the news from us and not through the grapevine. It was heart wrenching. Finally, at 6 the doctor came back, told us the tumor was the size of an orange and if we didn't have surgery you would die in 3 months. We agreed to come back on Friday morning for surgery, I had the doctor write down the name of the tumor so that I would remember it and now glioblastoma multiforme astrocytoma is forever in my vocabulary and we lost you 40 days later.

December 5th

It was exactly one year ago that it all went so very bizarre for us. You had been acting weird and Neall had finally convinced the neurologist that you needed to be seen quickly. Daddy and you had gone to the Hogs game on the Friday night before and I was terrified he would lose you there. Pat and Paul met you in Branson, which was good since your car kept messing up. Here you are in a brand new car and it won't start several times. Of course, that was my fault becuase the talking air gauge that I got Daddy one year for Christmas had fallen out of the back of the glove box and knocked a wire loose.

Your appointment was that morning and I was so scared waiting on the call. Finally Daddy called and said that you were okay. It was a nervous breakdown. I had had no idea that you really were so worried with so much going on in our lives. I thought for sure being retired had given you a new sense of calmness and that you were at the happiest point ever. The doctor felt like you would be just fine once all the Zoloft got out of your system and you got some rest. Then he called back. The two of you were at the Honda dealership and the doctor's office called and said to come back. Something was very wrong--there was something on the CT scan. Daddy asked what it could be and the doctor said, well it might be a tumor. What a liar. He knew damn well it was a tumor and that you would not be alive in another six months. So Daddy told the serviceman he needed a car RIGHT NOW and got you into a rental Civic and headed back to the hospital. Of course you were terrified. Daddy called and told me that they found something--not sure what it was. I ran into my boss's office, told him I had to go and I didn't know when I would be back and took off. I called Tara, who as usual, took charge and called everyone else, and I took off to Wynne. Daddy asked me to stay there and wait to come to Little Rock to the hospital until the next morning.

My sister in law told me it was a brain tumor. I remember saying a little thank you to God that it was not Alzheimer's. The most hideous shirt was hanging on the closet doorknob in the hallway and we joked about how one day we would all laugh at you buying that shirt "back when you had the tumor". I never, ever dreamed you would never wear that ugly shirt or that it would hang in my closet now with all of your other clothes that you will never wear again.