The Empty Room...

Sitting in Callie's room, I am surrounded by things.  Baby things.  Empty baby things.  Lately, I have been completely consumed with thinking about her nursery.  I just don't know what to do with it and not knowing what to do stresses me out.  I like to have a plan.  It is part of my teacher soul to approach a problem with a well-thought out plan... step-by-step.  But who plans for this?  There is no manual and no right answer.  And that bothers me to no end.

When John and I left the hospital, my parents and friends asked if we wanted them to put away all the baby stuff.  I appreciated their concern but I said, "No!"  I had to see it...I needed to see it.  Our first stop after D.C. was Reston Hospital to pick up our car.  There, inside of it, was Callie's empty car seat, her diaper bag, and a "Treats for Daddy" bag that my friend had stuffed full of snacks for John.  This is not how we had expected to go home.  Those treats were supposed to be eaten.  Her diaper bag rifled through for Callie's "going home" outfit.  And, of course, that empty car seat was supposed to be filled with our brand new baby girl...our bundle of joy.  The sight of it ripped my heart out, but something deep within me had to face it.  The thought of ignoring all of those things felt all wrong.  Getting into that car was so hard and I cried looking back at the empty car seat covered in a soft pink BundleMe meant keep our little Callie snug and warm in that cold January weather.

As we drove home, I wept thinking of the night we had packed Callie's diaper bag.  It still remains one of the happiest memories of my life, now so bittersweet.  I had washed all of her sweet little clothes in baby detergent, giving it that indescribable smell of an infant.  We had so many pink outfits we didn't know where to start!  I smiled as I folded Callie's going home outfit and put it in the bag.  John and I had picked the cute black pants and ruffled pink top the day we found out we were having a girl.  That outfit was a must.  As for the rest, I let John take the lead.  I absolutely loved watching him take out every single outfit from her closet and hold it up...  grinning, ear to ear.  He would pick an outfit and I'd fold it up and put it in the bag, the perfect picture of a parenting team.  We laughed and smiled and wondered what Callie would look like.  That bag was stuffed full of pink happiness and dreams for the future...clothes, blankets, hats, bows, and baby socks.  Oh god, baby socks.  What is it about baby socks that brings me to my knees in grief?  

When we came home from that long drive from the hospital in our empty car, we knew all of the items that would greet us inside.  First, in the basement, there was the stack of baby books on the coffee table, the stroller and the exersaucer.  Up the stairs in the living room, there was the swing and the bouncer...the bassinet my father had used when he was a baby, my mom had dressed it all up in pink.  And on the top level, Callie's room and the pack-n-play set up in our bedroom to be used as another bassinet.  John had wanted it on his side of the bed so that he could pick Callie up when she cried and hand her to me to nurse in the middle of the night.

But her room was our first stop.  We wound up the stairs past all of the other baby things, straight for her room.  We opened the door to the green walls and pink curtains and shut it behind us.  Opening her closet, I looked right into the door organizer that held all of Callie's socks.  Those tiny socks broke my heart into a million pieces.  They symbolized the smallness and fragility that is a newborn infant.  The smell of the baby laundry detergent wafted over me as I wept.  None of those pairs of cute socks would ever be worn by our baby girl.  As we looked around the room at all the preparations we had made, I couldn't help but feel stupid.  I know I shouldn't feel stupid, but I did.  Looking at the little diaper caddies I had stuffed with diapers and wipes, I felt foolish.  I felt like an unknowing idiot preparing for something that was never meant to me.  I felt dumb for letting myself be so happy.  Like I said, I like to plan and I had tried to anticipate where would be the best place for every little item.  I had agonized over exactly how to organize her dresser.  I had put the nursing cover on the back of the rocking chair where I planned to nurse during the day.  The diaper creams were in the top drawer underneath her changing pad.  I'd even put her little whale bathtub and baby washing supplies in the guest bathroom, ready for her very first bath.  I'd thought of everything...except for this.

No one plans for this, the very worst outcome.  And here we were... in it.  Surrounded by empty things, empty arms, and empty hearts.  After coming out of Callie's nursery, we told our family to help clear up the baby items scattered around the house.  Every one of these items represented our broken hearts and dreams crushed.  When we emerged later, everything was taken out of sight.  It made me sad, but it helped us move around the house without crying.  Now, all of those things are shoved into our guest room and Callie's nursery.  Every time I pass by there, I think of all of the things inside.  Often, I go into Callie's room and sit in the rocking chair to think, cry, or write.  That's where I am now.  Sometimes we leave the door closed, sometimes open.  But where do we go from here?

At first, John and I had very different ideas of what to do.  I thought about storing Callie's things and making it into an office again...I wanted to acknowledge that she had left us.  John wanted to shut the door and open it back up again when we have another baby...it just made him too sad to imagine putting away her things.  Completely opposite ends of the spectrum and, therefore, a stalemate.  On thing that haunted me was Callie's clothing.  I kept thinking about the fact that we are not guaranteed to have another girl.  In fact, we're not guaranteed to have another baby.  NOTHING is a guarantee anymore.  If we have another girl, maybe she won't be born at the same time of year as Callie and none of these clothes will fit her.  The list went on and on with little thoughts like this that plagued me about Callie's belongings.  What do we do???

As time has passed, though, our feelings have changed and we have both migrated somewhere to the middle.  I don't want to take away everything and John is ready to start thinking about it more.  Talking with a colleague and good friend changed my outlook on things.  She asked me to imagine what I would be doing with Callie's things if she were still living and we were expecting her little brother or sister.  I hadn't thought of another baby as her brother or sister before.  Of course, so long as we are fortunate to conceive again, he or she WILL be her brother or sister.  Duh!  Now we look into Callie's nursery and think about how we would have handled things under different circumstances.  We wouldn't give away all of her clothes!  We'd save them in case we had another girl one day, even if another girl comes at a different time of year...hand-me-downs!  This way of thinking has helped, but it doesn't solve everything.  Some of Callie's clothes are just too emotional to pass down to another baby...what do we do with them?  Do we donate them to Children's Hospital?  After all, the cute yellow-striped outfit Callie wore had been donated to us.  It might be nice to do the same for someone else.  When we met with the genetic team last week, I had all intentions of doing just that.  But, when I opened that diaper bag, I was overcome by emotion and memories and I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  

Ultimately, we've decided to go very, VERY slow.  We ordered two bookshelves to put in our bedroom.  These shelves will help us display some books that were taking up space in another closet.  Clearing this closet will in turn help give us room to store some things like the swing and the bouncer and the stroller that are now cluttering up Callie's room.  After that, we are buying plastic bins to store Callie's clothes.  That part will be so, so hard.  But I know that is exactly what I would do if Callie had been living and had outgrown her clothes.  I'd put them away for a potential baby sister to wear one day.  After that, we have no idea.  We know that in the end, we want Callie's room to reflect both the fact that she was here and also acknowledge that she has left us.  

As much as the memories that surround this room cause me grief, I would not trade them for anything in the world.  As foolish as I had felt when we returned home to see all of the well-made plans we had laid for Callie, I now know that it wasn't stupid at all.  One can't go through life scared of what might happen.  I have to force myself to believe that sometimes, but I know it is true.  People who fear commitment, really fear getting hurt.  And that's what happened to us.  We got hurt...BIG TIME.  We allowed ourselves to be happy, blissfully happy and it bit us right in the behind.  John and I have some choices to make now.  Certainly Callie will affect those choices, but it is up to us in what way we let it happen.  Do we hold back, hesitate to commit to being happy for the fear that something will happen?  Or, do we live fully, without holding back for the hope that something wonderful is on the other side?  Right now, we are still working on it...but I believe that in the end, we will choose HOPE.  

Jeremiah 29:11  "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

The Yellow Balloon

So, if you read my last post, you heard about my 'sign'...  the Maggiano Angel.  I had prayed for a sign that Callie was in heaven and that God was real.  Our encounter that day left me feeling relieved and, although I was (and still am) extremely sad for our loss, I felt a sense of peace wash over me from that day forward.  But for John, well... John needed a sign too.  


The Monday before her memorial service, John and I laid Callie to rest.  We had wanted to do this privately instead of waiting for the memorial...it needed to be intimate and private...  just the two of us.  It was a cold and windy day, but despite the wintry chill in the air, the sun managed to shine down upon us.  I believe she was with us that blustery afternoon.  Our pastor led us to the garden outside our church where we had decided to bury Callie's ashes.  With us, we had brought a single yellow rose and a cheery yellow balloon to release at the end of the service.  The pastor said some beautiful words, but I don't think I heard much of it at all.  It seemed so very surreal to be burying our daughter, the one we had waited those nine long months for.  Nine months of dreaming and hoping and wishing for her future...  imagining what she would look like...  how we would say her name when she got in trouble...  kissing her boo-boos when she fell... dressing her up in girly outfits... and most of all, praying that she would grow into my best friend.  And now, as we stood in the garden, all we had left of those dreams was a rose and a yellow balloon.


After he was done, the pastor showed us the plant he had bought to serve as a marker for Callie's resting spot behind the cross.  It was a beautiful and thoughtful gesture.  I laid the rose on the cold earth and John released the yellow balloon.  We cried as we watched it drift upwards with the wind.  I hoped that it would reach heaven for Callie to see.  As the balloon grew smaller and smaller in the bright blue sky, my emotions rolled over me and I looked down at the ground, sobbing and trying to wipe my eyes.  When I looked back up, the balloon was gone and I was crushed with disappointment.  I had wanted to watch it drift away until the very last minute, but had been unable to.  And now it was gone... and so was Callie.  We spent the rest of the week preparing for her memorial service that Saturday and talking with friends and family who were coming into town to be there with us as we celebrated Callie's short, sweet life.


The day before Callie's service, John came bounding into the bathroom where I was showering and said, "You're never going to believe this."  And then he started his story...


John had been praying every night for a sign...  just like me, he wanted a sign from God too.  He needed to know that Callie was in heaven and that He was in control.  Each day since Callie's death, John had struggled with the "Why?" of it all.  Why would God do this to us?  Why should children have to get sick and die?  How could a kind and benevolent God do such things?  After the Maggiano angel, my faith had grown stronger, but his had wavered...he was angry at God, very angry.  It was eating him alive and threatening to destroy his faith.  He was so consumed with these thoughts that I began to worry that he would grow cynical and lose that warmth about him that I love so much.  Like me, Callie's death had shaken his faith and he begged God for a sign.  


And then it came...  


The previous day, as he was walking the dogs around the neighborhood, John had noticed a yellow balloon caught in the weeds just around the corner from our house.  He looked at it, and it reminded him of Callie's service, but he didn't really think anything of it.  He dismissed it quickly with so many other things crowding his mind at the time.  When you are grieving it is so hard to think of anything else but your all-consuming emotions.  But then, the next morning, as John took the dogs out, there sat the little yellow balloon...  right in front of our house.  Now, it had been quite windy the night before and for that yellow balloon to come all the way around the corner, just to land right outside of our home was no coincidence.  John rushed inside to show me the little shriveled up balloon and when he told me the story of how he had seen it the day before and then again that morning, I got chills all over!  Could it be the very same balloon that we had released earlier that week??  What are the chances that someone else accidentally let go of a single yellow balloon and that it would somehow land right outside our door?? 

The yellow balloon

No matter where that balloon came from, again we knew that it was no accident.  John needed a sign... a clear, unmistakable sign that God could hear him and was standing by his side.  And when John was too dense to see the sign the first time, He blew that little yellow balloon right smack in front of his face.  We chuckle to think that God was probably shaking his head and saying, "What more do you want from me, John?"  


Each and every single night of my pregnancy, John and I had both prayed for Callie to be born healthy and strong.  After her passing, we had struggled with the fact that God had completely ignored our prayers.  But after the Maggiano angel and the yellow balloon, we knew God could hear us just fine.  But then, why?  Why answer some prayers and not others?  Well, like Garth Brooks says it best, "Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers."  We have no idea why He chose Callie to be born with a genetic disorder and then to die 35 hours later.  But now by his signs, we do know that he is listening and that there is a greater plan in store for us.  Callie's short life has already caused a domino effect greater than we will ever know.  She has impacted our lives tremendously and taught us to treasure each moment and to love deeply and without reservation.  Many of you have shared how Callie's life has changed you... and you have no idea what that means to us.  It gives meaning, to the senseless... peace, where there was none...  hope, where once there was despair.  Sometimes we all are just a little too busy to take note of the little 'signs' that are all around us.  But they are there...  you just have to slow down and look.

Our Maggiano Angel

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys, in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme.  If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms."

From the book, Emma by Charlotte Bronte;  referenced in the book, Empty Arms by Sherokee Ilse

Empty arms...  Where once I held our little baby girl, my arms are now achingly heavy from the emptiness that is her absence.  The days after Callie passed away were a blur of friends and family trying to do their best to comfort us.  Slowly, though, the visitors trickled away, lingering at the doorway with looks of concern and a desperate hopeless feeling of wanting to do so much, but not being able to do a single thing to help us through our grief.  John and I were left alone.  


We wanted it that way.  Well, not really.  We were supposed to be busy taking care of our newborn daughter.  No sleep.  Smelly diapers.  Baby crying.  That is what we really wanted.  But, of course, that is not the hand that we were dealt.  Instead, we were alone...  and the house was so quiet.  We needed people to leave so that we could have time to think and talk and cry... cry like I really needed to.  The kind of crying that scares people.  And I just couldn't do that to my family and friends.  John held me as I wept and wailed, night after night after night... and he still does. 


During these moments, I started to question God.  Why?  


I have always been a bit of a doubting Thomas.  I can remember asking my preacher as a young child about where the dinosaurs fit into the creation story.  It just didn't make sense to me.  And could Jesus really walk on water?  The burning bush...  really?  C'mon!  No way!  My doubts grew to the point of disbelief as a teenager.  I desperately wanted to believe, and I went to church every single Sunday.  But, my practical mind just couldn't wrap my mind around God.  What I lacked was faith.  


Very slowly, faith snuck up on me.  I can't tell you exactly where or how or when, but I started to believe, "What if?"  and "I think it might be so".  Not exactly a foundation made out of stone, but it was better than no foundation at all.  I think this rekindling of faith was largely due to marrying John.  When we first started dating, John was... well, kind of a party boy.  Not exactly the kind of person, upon first meeting him, that you would think of as a church-going, God-fearing person.  But, like so many other things about him, appearances were not what they seemed.  I learned that John was deep and had an unshakable faith in God that was quiet and not in-your-face and I liked that.  He wasn't "holier than thou"...  he was (and is) a good person, who at the time, just liked to have a little of fun... and so did I.  We both have grown up a lot since then (no more late nights at Clarendon Grill) and John has taught me a lot about faith along the way.  It is one of the million reasons that I love him so much.


And then, fast-forward to our little Callie Marie.  Her birth and death shook what little bit of faith I had to its core.  A few weeks after Callie passed away, I was in a place of desperation.  They say that experiencing a death can build one's faith, or break it down completely.  And, I was teeter-tottering somewhere on the brink of breaking down.  One night, as I prayed, I laid it out there for God.  I told Him that I was having trouble believing.  I begged and pleaded with him for a sign.  A sign that Callie was safe in heaven with Him....  that heaven existed, that He was real.  


The next day was Valentine's Day.  John had planned a romantic date for us, following the tried-and-true dinner-and-a-movie formula.  With our emotions still so raw, we wanted to do something simple and easy.  When we were seated at our table at Maggiano's, we were quickly greeted by a large man with a smooth, jazzy voice.  He was at ease and casual and chatted with us about the movies in a friendly way.  He told us of his wife and how much they had both liked the latest Denzel Washington movie.  After taking our order, he walked away and John's phone rang.  It was the call we had both been dreading.  The funeral home was calling to arrange the pick-up of Callie's ashes.  This is the kind of stuff no one tells you about having to deal with after someone passes away.  John had trouble hearing the funeral director in the noisy restaurant, so he stepped away from the table to take the call.  


Shortly after John left, the waiter came back around to top off our glasses.  He looked at me and then looked back at the glass he was pouring and said, "I feel like we've been here together in this moment, you and I.  Exactly like this moment."  The way he said it gave me goosebumps and a lump in my stomach.  "Oh, like deja vu?," I said nervously.  "No, like so much more than that.  It's hard to explain, but it's like I was meant to see you today."  And he looked up at me and smiled...  a warm smile.  Not creepy.  I swear!  I know it sounds creepy, but it wasn't.  I mumbled something like, "Oh?" and laughed it off and the waiter smiled again and walked away.  I looked down at my goosebumps and tried to figure out why exactly I had been so nervous.  Immediately, I thought about my prayer and wondered if it had anything to do with the waiter's "deja vu" moment.  When John came back, I quickly put the encounter to the back of my mind as John shared with me the details of his phone call with the funeral home.  


We continued our dinner and tried to force our minds not to think of our little baby girl being cremated.  It was a struggle to make pleasant conversation, but we managed despite the fact that I had completely lost my appetite.  About ten minutes later, John's phone rang again.  It was the funeral home calling back to clarify something.  He apologized and walked away again so that he could hear.  Sitting alone, I must have looked so sad.  I looked around the room at all the happy couples who seemed to have no troubles in the world.  If they only knew what we were going through...


Once again, the waiter stopped by our table to refill my water.  This time, in a soft voice, he proceeded to tell me a lot of things about his faith and the peaceful feeling that his belief in God gives him.  Unprompted, unasked for.  I can't even remember everything he said because my heart was pounding so loudly...  I just recall his last words being, "It's like God is talking to me and I just have to share it."  I remember wondering why I was so nervous and realizing that it was because I actually thought he was an angel...a for real angel, messenger from God, sent down to answer my desperate prayer for a sign that He was real and that Callie was in heaven with Him.  I smiled and nodded, too stunned to say anything at all.  He walked away smiling and humming a little tune to himself.  I watched him as he served other couples, and it sure didn't seem like he was having this conversation with anyone else.


When John returned, this time, I filled him in on what had happened in his absence.  I realize now that he probably thought I was completely crazy, but at the time, I really didn't care.  God was there in that restaurant, restoring my faith.  Ok, was our waiter really an angel?  I don't know.  I mean, probably not, right?  People now a day just don't see angels...  And if you do see angels, you probably also see a shrink.  But, what if?  I am reminded of the many bible stories that involve angels and how most of them described the people that encountered them as trembling in fear.  I think I know that feeling... and I'd like to think that it was more awe, than fear.  I was frozen in awe that this really could be happening... that God really could answer a prayer.  So, this waiter probably had a few screws loose and was probably not a real angel...  but I do believe that it was no accident that he was put in our paths that day.  We had changed our original dinner reservations earlier that day on a whim.  This was no accident.  And I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of relief and sense of peace.  


When the waiter came around to give John our check, he asked if I was ok and told me that he was sorry and didn't want to freak me out.  "I just love to share God with others, "he said.  I told him that I wasn't freaked out at all (ok, maybe a little!), and that I appreciated him sharing his thoughts with me.  After he left, we turned the bill over and wrote him a message that went something like this:


"Two weeks ago, we lost our baby girl.  I prayed to God last night for a sign that she was safe up in heaven with Him.  We do not think it was an accident that you were our waiter today.  Thank you so much for sharing your message with me today.  My prayer was answered thanks to you.  You will forever be our Maggiano Angel."


Sometimes, I wonder what happened when he saw that message.  We left without waiting for his reaction because we didn't really feel like talking about it.  I can picture him opening it up slowly and smiling that warm smile and shaking his head at the curious ways of the Lord.  Somehow, I think he wasn't surprised...  not surprised at all.