Dynamic

You should know that this blog one form of my therapy. It is my diary and I have chosen for better or worse to share it with you all, not to be dramatic or because I am seeking pity or any other motive. To be honest, I'm not really sure why I chose to share it other than I am hopeful that by sharing this journey, and allowing all of you some insight into my grief process, you will understand it a little better and maybe find some ways to relate. I’ve always been much better with writing my feelings than expressing them in other ways so this seemed most natural to me. Also, so many of you shared in our joy and our journey with Reagan, this is another part of that journey. I wish that I could tell you that somewhere in this process I am going to discover a wonderful, meaningful, beautiful, reason for all of this to have occurred; but I can’t. What I can promise you is that I am trying and will continue to try and make some sort of peace with all of this. I want to be a better person because I had Reagan in my life, not a bitter person because I couldn’t keep her and so I will be.

Anyone who knows me well will tell you that I have a pretty complex personality. I am an extrovert with mainly introverted tendencies; I like asking for advice but I rarely take it. I love being around people but often need my space and alone time. I like knowing people are there for me but I am fiercely independent. Sometimes I do things that make absolutely no sense (even to me).

 

1.       dy·nam·ic /dīˈnamik/

Adjective: (of a process or system) Characterized by constant change, activity, or progress

Noun: A force that stimulates change or progress within a system or process.

                I’d say that pretty much sums me up J

 
These things make me who I am, but it can make me hard to analyze, no one knows that more than Matt and my family.  As of late, my moods have become more dynamic than usual… it is something I am working hard to control but sometimes it just comes out and certain things, most of the time things I wasn’t expecting, trigger my reactions. Sometimes it’s a day, like December 1. It was our due date, it should have been Reagan’s Birthday but instead it was an emotional rollercoaster. Even surrounded by some of my favorite people I felt completely alone. Even though I had a million thoughts running through my head all day, I had a hard time expressing any of them and probably reacted boldly when things did catch me off guard. Please know that there is nothing that could have been said or done that would have made that day any better or worse.

I want to say thank you to everyone who loves, is there for me, and never questions my ever changing dynamics. I hope that I am doing alright and holding myself together as well as is expected but to be honest I’m probably not nearly as “together” as I appear. Please bear with me... You know those mornings when it is foggy enough that schools are delayed, but it is not so foggy that you cannot make it to work? You leave 10 or 15 minutes early and you creep along much more slowly than you normally would on your regular commute. You have your headlights on and you know this road like the back of your hand but through the fog it seems somehow… different and intimidating. It is not what you know is there that scares you; you know that as you go around the next curve the road suddenly curves back to the right, but through the haze  it’s hard to anticipate how sharply. What you can’t see, the unknown, is what has you so unnerved. You can see just far enough in front of you to continue to creep forward, but you cannot possibly anticipate if there will be another car going more slowly than usual just out of sight or a deer crossing the road just through the haze… I think that there is a parallel to grief here. We know the routines, the road we must keep going down. We are as prepared as we can be for the unexpected we have our guard up and our headlights on but what we can’t anticipate are the things around us and out of our control. How would you react if that deer just ahead ran out in front of you in the fog? And what do you say when someone says something that catches you off guard. Do you overcorrect? Sometimes I do and it is hard to recover when that happens. If my reaction ever comes across more impudent than expected, I’ve likely overcorrected. Maybe something caught me off guard, maybe something hit a nerve, or maybe it is just because I struggle with adequately being able to socialize more so now than I ever have. It might be insecurity, but it might just be that “normal” things require more effort through a thick haze.  

I feel that there is also a mental fog element involved. It is easy to become preoccupied as you strain to see ahead of you through the fog. You become so worried about the “what if” that you momentarily lose sight of the obvious. You’re worried about other drivers on the road and you lose your place, suddenly you don’t remember if you’ve gone past the stop ahead sign or if it is just ahead. Or you look at your phone during a meeting only to realize the date is somehow significant and you struggle to force your thoughts back to the task at hand. But you have to keep moving forward so maybe you slow down a little but you don’t stop.

…Now try to imagine driving blindfolded through the fog with only a passenger to guide you and give you directions. You nor the passenger giving you directions has ever been on this road before and on top of that, your passenger is a moody little thing and seems to go mute randomly as things you cannot see fly by the windows… that is the task I feel like my support system has been burdened with.

But take heart those who mourn. Fog is unpredictable. Sometimes it burns off slowly, it takes most of day but it continues to get better. Sometimes it seems like a few minutes and it lifts, or you drive continually in and out of the fog. As a whole, this will have to burn off slowly, but day to day, sometimes it lifts suddenly or we drive out of it and we can see clearly, even if just for a few minutes.

It is always okay to talk or ask about Reagan… If you think that Matt and I don’t think about her constantly, you would be mistaken, and honestly most of those thoughts are happy. But guess what? If something you or I say during the discussion upsets me, or brings me to tears, it is probably NOT the first time or the last time that will happen today J I’m not trying to dramatic that’s just reality and its okay we know that is going to happen sometimes. So thank you, Matt, Mom, Dad, and ALL of my friends and family who try to gracefully navigate through my fog. I promise your efforts are not unappreciated or unnoticed.

Oh Christmas Tree, No Christmas Tree?

I've been debating this one internally, and with my mom (and Matt when he listens) for weeks now. I've already decorated and taken a tiny tree out to the cemetery for Reagan, but the truth is, I don't know how I feel about putting up a Christmas tree in the house this year...

My birthday is December 24th. To say that I love Christmas is an understatement. I think I inherited that from my Mom, who's single greatest joy in life is making the people she loves happy. Sometimes she stresses herself out over everything being perfect for the holidays, but only because she wants it to be the best possible for everyone around her. Those of you who have known me for a while know that I've always been (or at least tried hard to be) mature for my age. I was the kid who when asked what they love most about the holidays or "oh how do you like having your birthday so close to Christmas, do you miss out on a lot of presents?" Would respond; "I love it! I get to have my entire family together on my Birthday!" ...and damn it I meant it!

By the time I was 10 years old all of my brothers and sisters had moved out, off to college, or onto their next chapter in life. I missed them! I was the baby after all, NOT an only child! I didn't really understand why they didn't come home more (until I moved out and onto the next chapter of my life that is :). But while they were all in college, Christmas break was my favorite season! All 7 of us, under one roof, my brothers and sisters too broke from the last semester to go out every night. Also for you of the younger generation, this was long before the advent of the internet, before everyone in the family had their own laptop aka perfect excuse to ignore one another while in the same house. That meant we did some CrAzY wild stuff like actually talk to one another while in the same room. We decorated cookies, we laughed at my brothers new ear rings ;) razzed each other for everything under the sun, played games, watched movies, had snowball fights, went ice skating on the pond, you name it. It would never again be like it was when we all lived there, (back when it seemed like our united goal was to drive mom and dad crazy) but it was a blast and somehow, every year was even better than the last.

Then came Christmas, and in our family, Jesus' Birthday is an event and we celebrate like no one else! Christmas Eve, every year looked something like this: everyone invited was told to show up around noon... Grandma and Grandpas always came around 10 because they were excited, my mom would then triumphantly serve the coffee she had brewed anticipating their early arrival. Then aunts uncles and cousins would filter in and the house would really get to rockin' :)  We'd eat lunch, we would have my Birthday Party ALL afternoon, we'd go to Church, come home and have a HUGE Christmas feast (usually on top of cookies and candy we'd been snaking on all afternoon) then, BAM gift exchange time! I can't explain, it wasn't the gifts that made it my favorite part of the day, but the memories. Everyone happy, usually making fun of me for things I had said as a two year old that are still common phrases at Christmas time like "let 'er RIP! And "but I don't WANT open no more!" (I was two and I had play dough and m&m's what more could a girl need?). I don't ever remember feeling more sad than happy on Christmas.

I used to lie under the Christmas tree... I was a weird kid :) I just loved to watch the light shine! Our Christmas tree at my parents' house was decorated with white lights, purple and gold ornaments, gold ribbons, and these lovely curly gold stick things that my mom and I referred to as "tings". I don't know why I like to lie under the tree and look at the lights but I did, like I was seeing the imperfect inside of the tree and still loving it. It was relaxing. We also had all kinds of sentimental ornaments, a little red bell with "Billy" scrawled in glue and green glitter that my dad made in kindergarten, baby's first Christmas, we all had ornaments that meant something to us and from under the tree I could see everything from a different angle. One year, when I wasn't very old and we lived in the old house, mom and dad even let Lyndsi and I have a Christmas tree in our room. I?t was a tiny cedar tree and of course we never watered the thing. The needles hurt so badly when you stepped on them that after (Mom) vacuuming around it for weeks, Lyndsi and I un-decorated the tree and evicted it from our room via the window a full week before Christmas. I don't think I was ever brave enough to lie under that tree :) The first year we lived in the new house I decorated the whole upstairs for Christmas. I Hijacked every strand of lights that hadn't been put up elsewhere and strung my room, my closets, the hallway, and the stairway landing with leftover lights, some of them blinked some of them only half lit up, some were white, some were colored, and some were old large bulb exterior lights. The whole mess resembled a runway and from outside through the windows it looked like the upstairs was on fire, but I thought it was beautiful.

Times and traditions change. One by one, we started getting settling down and Christmas included spouses and significant others and soon kids! Mom decided she didn't care when "Christmas" happened at our house, just so long as it happened when everyone could be there together. Now, sometimes Christmas is new years or December 20th, or whenever we're all together and that is more than fine by all. We have a new set of kids to spoil and now we're the mommies, daddies, aunts, and uncles. It is fun and exciting to have all of the little ones trompping through the house like a herd of baby elephants; up the stairs to their "fort" aka my old closet, thud thud thud, down the stairs to the basement to rough house and whack on the piano, thud thud, ding ding "jingle BELLLLLSSSS!!" And finally back up the stairs "is it time to open presents YET!?" Six sets of smiling, innocent, excited eyes stare, punctuating their request with "PUAAALLLLEEAASSEEE????" (For the record I don't know how any of you ever say no to those sweet little beggers faces!) These things have come to be the traditions that I look forward to the most. Why? Because like the days when Christmas meant at least a week together, this will not last. All too soon these little ones will grow up. They'll be WAY too cool to build forts or get excited for cookies or reinact the story of Jesus' birth (which my strong Catholic mother forces them to do every year before a single present is opened :) they'll be too big for horsey rides on Grandpa or sitting on Grandma's lap. And WAY too sophisticated for tickle fights and the giggles that warm the house today.

I've told you, I love Christmas, well... Matt really doesn't. He doesn't hate it, he just doesn't necessarily see it the way I do (guy thing?) Last year, even though he told me he didn't have time, even though he is usually too busy for my shenanigans (but allows them, thus why I love him), even though he could care less about Christmas... with the help of my brand-new brother-in-law, we convinced Matt to help me go pick out a tree. "You only have your first Christmas tree once" I remember Jurgen telling him. I drug him to Kelly's Christmas Tree Farm on our way home from visiting the Ehlers. The kind employee must have sensed my husband’s general lack of enthusiasm for the bit and handed him a pink ribbon offering; "if ya don't wanna cut the tree down urself jus tie this on it and come back, remember what row its in an I'll go cut it down and haul it back on the gator" the helpful kid said... He didn't know he was helping me out. "Smartass, like I couldn't cut down a stupid tree." Matt mumbled as he grabbed a saw from the side of the building and started towards the neat rows of pine trees. I knew the kid was just trying to be helpful, but I let that one slide and tromped off alongside Matt to pick out our first Christmas tree as newlyweds. "What about this one?" Matt asked at practically every tree we came to, anxious to get this over with. We walked up and down the rows and I sensed he was relaxing a bit, getting into this tree picking thing (a nod to the old "if you're going to do it, do it right" school of thought). The more he relaxed, the more fun we had, and the more excited I was. Finally, (in the last row to Matt's dismay), we found it. It was a white pine with long silvery green needles, not to fat not to skinny, one tiny bald spot that would be easily covered. Perfect. It took Matt less than 2 minutes to cut it down and another 2 minutes to drag it to the designated pickup spot. We tied our ribbon on and went back to tell the "smartass kid" (who by the way was MAYBE a year younger than me) where to find it.

I spent the whole next day decorating it while Matt, still pretending not to be into the whole Christmas tree thing, popped in the house 3X more than usual to check in on progress. It took me an hour just to get it to stand up straight and sturdy in the stand. I played Christmas movies all day, drank coffee with a candy cane, talked on the phone to my mom, sister, and friends, and carefully decided where each ornament belonged. When I was satisfied with it I plugged it in, turned off all the lights, cleaned up the boxes and before Matt would come inside and wonder if his new wife was completely insane, I put on George Straight's Christmas CD and laid under my Christmas tree admiring the white lights and red ornaments.

"Well?" I said when Matt came in for the night. "It's freakin' huge!" was his reply. "Yeah it um looks a little bigger inside" I said, still hoping he would decide to like it. "Hey, you're happy, I'm happy. Looks nice. Huge, but nice". I knew he'd love it :) "this should be our new tradition!" I happily exclaimed and plopped down next to Matt. "Sure, what's for dinner?" he said with less enthusiasm than mine. Okay, maybe I couldn't make him love Christmas but I wasn't going to stop trying.

When we found out Reagan should be born December 1, I was overjoyed! As much as I laughed about another December baby all I could think about was picking out the perfect Christmas outfit for her, a family picture in front of our first family Christmas tree. I thought this may actually give Matt reason to get into the holidays a bit more, to watch our child grow up and be excited for Santa. This year I just wanted to pass her around in her tiny pink blankie for everyone to hold. Especially my Grandma and Grandma Jean. Babies are so precious, as are kids in general, but newborns always seem to be such a joy to their great grandmas who know that the tiny baby, all too soon will be crawling all over the place, then walking, running, into everything, and soon sassy with a toddler mind of their own. Newborns and great grandmas are the perfect speed for one another, both perfectly content to rock and be surrounded by loved ones.

When Reagan came into the world on August 1 instead of December 1 Christmas became a target... "I can't grow her any faster than she would have grown in there" our first doctor had told us pointing at my now obviously empty belly, it was the second scary day of our NICU stay. "I want to send her home by her due date but it may be a little later than that. She will still be on oxygen and her immune system will be very vulnerable." He had told us. I'm not going to tell you that my first thought was of Christmas traditions, but as Matt and I discussed things we found ourselves saying over and over; iff all goes well, we will be home for Christmas. As much as I loved our Christmas traditions, I was excited! What the doctor had told us, inadvertently, was that Rea would be too susceptible to viruses to be around a lot of people. We would be home for Christmas, and we would be staying in, just the three of us.

The NICU is quiet, and sometimes scary, and during long days while Rea was resting, my mind always wandered to taking our baby girl home. I imagined starting our own traditions while quarantined in our little house. I think I was also excited (selfishly) that when we went home, I could hold her as much as I wanted to and only share her with her Daddy :) I imagined sending Matt out to pick upa tree, then he and Reagan watching me decorate it. I thought about laying our baby girl under the Christmas tree and watching the lights in her eyes and watching her wiggle and squirm, fascinated by them. And I would take 5000 pictures of her and this tree; I could dress her up 100 times in whatever outfit (tutu mandatory) that I wanted to. I would find the perfect little Christmas dress for her even if everyone else would only see it in pictures. We would be home for Christmas, and it would be the best Christmas we would ever have.

It won't be. In fact, this year will probably be one of the hardest (not worst, hardest). Everyone hates the first Christmas where a loved one is missing, I get that. But I still don't know what to do about the stupid tree. Yesterday, the day I was going to go pick out a modest tree and decorate it, I woke up with the stomach flu and couldn't get off the couch all day (sign?).

…That was last week and after reading it over I thought, we needed to have a tree. I called Matt and asked him if he could go with me after work and my husband, who this year really hates Christmas, didn’t argue or ask questions. He picked me up 30 minutes after I got home and we drove 2 miles to Harvestville Farms to pick out a small (already cut down) tree. We chose another white pine with long, silvery needles. We came home and dumped it in the house then went outside to work a set of calves. When I came back in I didn’t turn on any music or make hot chocolate with a candy cane… I poured myself a (big) glass of wine and got to work. It only took me 15 minutes to get this tree to stand up straight and sturdy in the stand. Again, the tree looks much bigger in our house than it did outside but not nearly as large as the mammoth that was last year’s tree.  I strung all the lights while doing something I swore I never would; multitasking while decorating for Christmas. I cooked dinner and decorated the tree simultaneously. When there were just a few more ornaments to go, I stopped. I took a deep breath, sat down my glass of wine, turned the stove off, and went into Reagan’s room. I sat in the rocking chair we had picked out for her room and I let go. It felt like I had been in there for days when the oven timer jolted me from my pity party. I finished decorating our tree (and my glass of wine) after dinner. Then I lie down underneath it and let the lights go bleary through the tears again.

It is a week later and I am glad we got the tree, it is a beautiful  tree. I still use the decorations I bought while I was in college… I was really cool then and thought that an angel on the top of the Christmas Tree was cliché. I don’t feel that way anymore and this year I will find the most beautiful angel to top our tree.

A Single Step.

It will come as no surprise to anyone that the holiday season is going to be particularly difficult and emotional this year. As I was reflecting today I let doubt occupy my heart and my mind because sometimes it is okay to do that, and sometimes it just happens whether you try to control it or not. Thanksgiving, I thought, what do I have to be thankful for this year? My life feels shattered, my heart is broken and most days I don't even want to get out of bed. And then, like a kick in the head shouting “shut up and look around you!!” God did something amazing... He answered a prayer I pray every day and since I was paying attention for once, I heard it over the shouts from my shattered heart.

I’ve never been as faithful as I should be. I’ve always believed in God but found it hard to be close to him. I've been having a pretty hard time with God lately. But I am trying really hard because I really want to feel faithful and close to Him. I’ve been reading, I’ve been ranting, I’ve searched for meaning and I’ve given up that search entirely and I've picked it up again… but one of the most profound things I read in one of my various books about God, heaven, death, etc... was in a book by a brilliant Christian woman named Angie Smith. If you’ve ever been struggling, feeling inadequate, down, or otherwise at odds with God and the world around you, I would suggest “I Will Carry You” or “What Women Fear”. I also need to thank Mrs. Sara Newton for passing along the wonderful book “I Will Carry You” at exactly the right time. What Angie Smith said completely changed the way I pray… to paraphrase; God knows what is in our hearts, he made our hearts before we ever felt breath or saw the light of day. He knows what it is like to have a child die he had to make that choice for his son, prayer does not have to be so formal. Ask Him for what you need. Tell Him how you are feeling and ask for help (He knows anyway and He wants to help if you will get out of your way and let Him).

I’ve been asking for a lot of help lately. Well, begging really, every day. My optimistic and catholic mother  always told me things like “don’t worry about anything, pray about everything!” My dad, also catholic had even truer words for me shortly after Reagan died: “sometimes we just don’t get to know or understand the why… I pray every day that I get to meet God someday so I can ask him why” I thought a great deal about both of those pieces of wisdom and decided that I was going to try to be more faithful. So I’ve been starting each day with this simple prayer when I can think of nothing else to pray for: "good morning Lord, thank you for this day, I know you are good every day, but some days it is so hard to see. I am struggling. Every day I am struggling and it hurts; I wrestle with doubt and resentment every day. I have love in my heart, I want to be close to you, I want to be a good wife, daughter, sister, and friend but I need help. Please ease my doubts. Please help me with my struggle and with my unfaithfulness. And above all, keep my baby safe."

Today as I allowed my mind to feel so sorry for myself, God was working with my heart and the answer hit me hard. What do I have to be thankful for? Everything. I have a family that has and continues to stand behind me every day of my life. I have two parents who have more love and compassion in their hearts than you would expect to find in 1000 hearts. Parents who taught me that it is okay to feel things fully and wholly and to be open with those feelings. Parents who taught me that I cannot expect perfection in this world, that pain, hurt, heartbreak, and setbacks are sometimes out of our control... What is in our control is how we CHOOSE to react to adversity. In a word, it is resilience. I have a choice in how I react. No one would probably blame me if I chose to not get out of bed some days, if I chose to be angry most days, and if I chose to let my sadness and emotions overwhelm and overpower me... But that is not my choice. I have chosen, and have to choose again everyday to get up, to channel my sadness and emotion into something better. Now I still fail at this, I fail at this a lot when I indulge the negativity that we are all prone to and embrace my doubts. But my choice is to try as hard as I can to be the person who clings to faith. I want to be the person whom Reagan could have been as proud to have as a mother as I am of the mother that I get to call mine. I also have a husband who tries everyday to make me happy. He does try every day… even when I make it really hard, even though he is not happy himself. He tries for me and I try for him. I have the best friends a girl could ask for, I have sisters who are always there for me, brothers who will get me drunk to distract me if it seems like a good idea a sister-in-law who can relate to the situation but doesn’t have to say a word about it to let me know she cares. Sometimes it is just nice to get on a horse and ride and talk about horses. I also have the most adorable nieces and nephews on the planet. Just looking at pictures of them or talking to them on the phone reminds me to feel joy in every day, child-like, whole hearted, giggle playing peek-a-boo joy. All of these things are gifts that I am thankful for.

It is hard to put this in words but I will try. When your child dies, your love does not. The love is where the hurt comes from... No matter how much I believe in heaven and that I WILL get to see my daughter again, it is the space between now and then that hurts and tears and rips through even the most thought out composure to reveal raw and unyielding love for a little girl that I wanted to teach to walk and be sassy and ride horses and go shopping and dress up in ridiculous tutus and bows and frills. Someday I may have another daughter, but what it sometimes feels like people fail to understand is that I wanted all of that and more with Reagan Jean... Not a child, THAT child. No child will replace Reagan. There is a hole in my heart that will never be filled and I would never want it to be. But there is hope too because there has to be hope or I wouldn’t get out of bed every morning and because I know that she will live in my heart forever. She has forever changed and reshaped me and I am so thankful to God for giving me the opportunity to know her and to feel the kind of love for her that is capable of changing and reshaping the foundation of a person and a heart. Not everyone gets a chance to feel a love like that…

Grief is hard. Grief is exhausting. It puts strain on every relationship that you have. There is always this little voice in the back of my head saying things like: “you talking about Reagan too much, you’re making people uncomfortable by bringing up your sob story again. People are going to get sick of you being so damned sad all the time and quit asking you to do things. Don’t be the person that sucks all the good energy out of a room when you open your mouth. Don’t make your problems their problems.” And so on. I have this constant inner dialogue now that never shuts up. I second guess everything before I’m going to say it, “will this add to the conversation or just turn the focus back to me and my sadness”. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to be overcome all the time. To my friends and family: I appreciate your love and support more than I can ever put into words… but it is okay to tell me about your day too. Tell me about something that feels normal. Had a fight with your boyfriend? Got drunk and did something stupid? Tell me! I want to be a good friend to you too. Also if I bring up Reagan, it doesn’t always mean that I am sad… many times, things remind me of her, most of the time in a really happy way. I don’t know how to explain how much life and living was done in those 22 days. It feels like it was 2 years with all of the memories I have of the pregnancy and planning her room and decorating and then her time in the NICU. I refuse to quarantine those memories into the ‘do not discuss’ box. People freeze up the second I say the name Reagan… real palpable tension freezes and no one knows what to say. I completely understand, but I just hate that! Just know, she was my daughter, I love her very much, and regardless of anything and everything that I could feel, I have an overwhelming feeling of pride that she was mine and that she was tough and perfect even if she was tiny! Even if just for a little while, all 1 pound 1 ½ ounces of that beautiful little girl was ours and that seems pretty damned amazing to me. I don’t know jack about potty training, disciplining toddlers, or teaching kids to sit still in church but I know what it is like to love your kid and people who love their kids talk about their kids… so I won’t stop don’t ask me to.

I am also trying to find outlets to deal with my grief. I read a lot. I read books about religion, about grief, about heaven, and sometimes when I just need an escape I pick up a fluff book. I'm going to church every Sunday. I stop by the cemetery on my way home and tell Reagan about what I've just heard. I've told God on more than one occasion that I was planning to tell and teach Reagan all about Him... but since I won't be able to I'd really like it if He could tell her a little bit about me and then I promise to continue to try and be the kind of person that they can both be proud of. When I come home on Sundays I reflect, I write down the message I picked up during the Gospel and the sermon and then I paraphrase it, put it on a stikcy note and put it somewhere in my house that I am sure I will see it every day so that I will be reminded. I’ve started writing again… yesterday I sat down in front of the computer and wrote something out that actually made sense. For the first time since the last post on Reagan’s blog I wrote something that was not just a random bunch of trash and rants. I may try to write a book, though I haven’t the slightest idea how one goes about writing a book.

What I am trying to say is that I am thankful for love and support and resilience. Vivian Greene has said: “Life’s not about waiting for the storm to pass…It’s about Learning To Dance In The Rain.”Don't be surprised if you ask me how I am doing and I say “I’m okay”. I’m not good and I’m not going to tell you I am good. Most of the time my smile is fake and I’m trying really hard to hold an intelligent conversation because I have to try really hard to focus on anything right now. But I am alive, I am upright, I am trying, I am choosing to put a smile on my face, I am choosing to focus on the positive things in my life, and I am really REALLY and truely thankful for everything that I do have. God has blessed me in many ways and someday maybe I will get a chance ask Him my whys, but until then I will choose to put my faith and trust in Him and put my energy into learning to dance in the rain.